More Than You Know (19 page)

Beryl looked up, her eyes glistening. “That’s it,” she said softly, “she didn’t write any more.”

PART III

 

—Psalm 139:1

26

T
hunder rumbled across the skies in the early hours of Thursday morning, sending Beryl and Isak scrambling for the windows. Within seconds, the floodgates of heaven opened and a deluge of rain poured from the clouds. Beryl hurried downstairs to close the kitchen windows too. She looked at Flan sleeping soundly. “In case you’re wondering,” she said softly, “you’re going to have to wait until this passes to go out.” But Flan just kept snoring and Beryl shook her head. “Oh, to be a dog!”

“Maybe in your next life,” Isak teased, coming down the stairs, still wearing her Barnard T-shirt and yoga pants.

“Maybe,” Beryl smiled. “Seriously, though—look at her. There are definitely no worries in that world.”

Isak filled the coffeepot with cold water. “Well, I wouldn’t mind switching places with her—just for today. I can’t even begin to get my mind around all the things we have to do. In fact, I need to make a list.” She sprinkled cinnamon over the ground coffee, pressed down the lid, and plugged the pot in. Within seconds, it sputtered to life, perking cheerfully. “There’s something comforting about that sound,” she said. “Especially Mum’s old pot—it has a song all its own.”

“Why don’t you take it home with you?” Beryl suggested.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’d be nice to have it, but our Keurig is so convenient and easy, I don’t think I’d ever use it.”

“You could use it when you’re missing Mum—or when you don’t have to rush out—or when you and Matt have a cup of coffee together.”

“That never happens.”

Beryl sat down across from her. “Well, that’s what needs to happen. You guys need to find your way back to each other—you need to make a new, smaller nest for just the two of you and stop dwelling on the empty one. Time marches on, Isak. You can’t go back to the way things used to be. This whole week has been proof of that.”

“It’s hard to live in the moment, Ber. Even Mum struggled with that.”

“I know—against everything she believed in and taught us, she fell for a married man and pinned all her hopes on some future day when they could be together—free from guilt and remorse and secrecy. But, tragically, when that day finally came, it was too late.”

Rumer appeared in the doorway. “Do I smell coffee?”

Isak looked up. “I don’t think it’s ready yet.” Then she turned back to Beryl. “Did you find out when Catherine died?”

Beryl nodded. “Micah looked it up when he got home—three years ago—right around when Mum went into the nursing home.”

Isak nodded. “David must have known what was happening to Mum.”

“He must’ve—Micah said he’s still alive.”

“How old is he?”

“He must be around seventy-six or seventy-seven.” Then a shadow fell across Beryl’s face. “Oh, no, I wonder if he knows she died.”

Isak shook her head. “He may not, but it’s definitely not up to us to contact him. We aren’t even supposed to know about him.”

Beryl frowned. “Don’t you think Mum would want him to know?”

“I don’t know, Ber,” Rumer said slowly, joining in. “I kind of agree with Isak. It’s not really our place.”

“And what place is that exactly?” Beryl’s voice was suddenly choked with emotion. “She loved him—and he loved her. Besides, his wife is gone . . . it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“He’s also famous,” Isak said dismissively, “and I think we should leave him alone.”

Beryl bit her lip, and as she got up to put the kettle on, she brushed away her tears.

Isak looked back at the blank notepad in front of her. “Do you guys know if it’s supposed to rain all day?”

“I don’t know,” Rumer replied. “I can’t remember the last time I saw the weather, but if it is, it’s not going to be a very good day for flying.”

“Or driving,” Isak added. “Matt called last night and said he and Tommy are getting in to New York around three, picking up Meghan and all her stuff, and heading north. What time are Will and Rand getting in?”

“Four-ish.”

“Great! We’ll
all
get to deal with rush-hour traffic.”

Rumer glanced at the clock. “Will offered to rent a car, but I said we’d pick them up. If it’s a problem, I’ll try to reach him.”

“Nope, we’ll pick them up.” She looked at Beryl. “I know you said someone’s bringing food today, Ber, but I think we should still go shopping. We definitely need drinks—soda, juice, milk, beer, ice. We also need to get cold cuts, rolls, snacks

. . . I don’t know about Rand, but Tommy never stops eating.” “Rand doesn’t either!”

Isak laughed. “Well, trust me, the bigger he gets, the worse it’ll get.”

Beryl was leaning against the counter, waiting for the water to boil. “I think we should wait.”

Isak shook her head. “I want to go early because I’d also like to clean the bathrooms and the kitchen today—and figure out where everyone’s sleeping.”

“The house doesn’t have to be spotless,” Beryl said. “It is what it is.”

“It won’t be spotless, that’s for sure,” Isak retorted, looking at Rumer. “We should probably leave around two—just to be safe—especially if it’s raining.” She started to jot notes on her paper but continued to talk. “Ber, you’re going to stay here and work on your eulogy, right?”

Beryl nodded.

“We should also get some pictures of Mum together for the service. Maybe you could start on that if you have time.”

“I have to check on the shop too.”

Isak looked up. “Are there any more croissants?”

“I don’t think so,” Beryl said, pouring hot water over her tea leaves. She put a slice of bread in the toaster. “Anyone want a piece of cinnamon toast?”

“I will,” Rumer said, getting up to pour a cup of coffee. “Isak, do you want coffee?”

Isak looked up. “Yes, please—to both.”

Beryl put in two more slices, reached into the cabinet for the cinnamon and sugar, and when the hot toast popped up, immediately spread butter on it and then generously sprinkled the sugary mixture on top—Mia had always said,
When it comes to cinnamon toast, timing is everything
. She brought a plate over to Isak; then she and Rumer both took big bites of the warm, sweet toast—it was heavenly. “Mmm!” Rumer said, nodding her approval. Beryl smiled and looked over at Isak, whose toast sat untouched as she continued to write.

 

An hour later, Isak and Rumer left Beryl sitting at the old kitchen table alone, listening to the rain, and staring at the blank Word document on her laptop that she’d already titled and saved as “Mum.” After ten minutes of staring at it, she got up to look out at the rain. She could see the raindrops splashing on the pond, and she pictured the frogs and peepers sitting happily on their lily pads, enjoying every drop. “Oh, Mum,” she whispered with tears in her eyes. “Where do I begin?”

She sat back down and tried to picture her mom’s face, but the image that kept coming to her mind was the one that always broke her heart. It was of her mom, sitting alone at the end of the hall in the nursing home, watching her go—and waving tentatively with the sweet smile that said she loved her with all her heart. Tears spilled down Beryl’s cheeks. “This isn’t working,” she said, pushing back from the table again. As she did, she heard car doors slamming, followed by cheerful voices drawing closer to the house. She looked out and saw five hooded figures with umbrellas and trays of food climbing the porch steps.

Wiping her eyes, Beryl hurried over to open the door. “Come in! Come in!” she said.

The ladies were all laughing at their damp dilemma and shook their heads. “We can’t—we have more!” One at a time, they handed her their covered casseroles and hurried back to their cars. They returned with coffee cakes, rolls, a large meat platter, deviled eggs, a big bowl of fresh fruit, and a tremendous chef’s salad with three kinds of dressing.

“Oh, my goodness!” Beryl exclaimed. “Look at all this food!”

Finally, the ladies all bustled into the kitchen, leaving their umbrellas on the porch and filling the house with life, while Flannery nosed about happily. They pushed back their hoods and Beryl realized she knew each one—they were all teachers from the elementary school and they each came forward to give her a hug.

“I’m so sorry, Beryl dear,” Mrs. Williams said. “Your mom was such a lovely person.”

“Oh, hon,” Mrs. Conn whispered. “We loved your mom so much.”

Mrs. Bayers smiled sadly and looked in Beryl’s eyes. “Your mom was such a dear person. We’ve missed having her visit our classroom.”

And Mrs. Shemeley came forward and gave her a long hug. “It’s so hard to lose your mom,” she said softly.

Finally, Mrs. Coleman put her arms around her. “If you need anything,” she whispered, “you let us know.”

Beryl nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“It’s okay to cry,” she said gently. The ladies all smiled and nodded and began chatting at once. Beryl wiped her eyes and they each explained what they’d brought.

Mrs. Shemeley smiled. “Bill made his famous lemon chicken—and he said if you need a pie or anything, let him know.”

Beryl nodded, trying to absorb everything. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked, suddenly remembering her manners.

“Oh, we’d love to, but we can’t stay,” said the chorus of voices. “Thank you, though.” They pulled on their hoods and each gave her another hug as they made their way to the door. “Please give our condolences to your sisters and their families. We’ll see you on Saturday. Don’t forget to let us know if you need anything.” And as quickly as they came, they were gone.

“Thank you,” Beryl called after them.

They waved and hurried through the rain to their cars. “You’re welcome!” they called back.

Beryl watched as they pulled away and then turned to make room in the fridge. She reached for the meat platter but stopped, pulled out her phone, and slowly typed:
don’t get cold cuts!
She hit Send and, within seconds, Isak had written back:
too late!
Beryl shook her head and mumbled, “Told you to wait.” She pulled a slice of provolone off the tray, tore it in half, popped the bigger half in her mouth, and gave the smaller one to Flannery. “C’mon, Flan-O,” she said, “let’s go find the photo albums.”

She went into the family room and pulled two big albums off the bookshelf. As she did, a folder that had been tucked between them fell to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere. Beryl knelt to pick them up, but then stopped and stared. Scattered across the floor were a dozen black-and-white photos of her mom sitting next to a handsome dark-haired man, whose contemplative smile and sparkling eyes would steal any woman’s heart. The photos had obviously been taken aboard a sailboat, and in all of them he had his arms around her or his head against hers. Beryl looked at the folder; the year—
1986
—was scrawled on the tab, and when she opened it, she realized there were two more pictures that hadn’t fallen out. The first was of the man, standing alone next to the mast, looking out to sea, and the other was of the gorgeous forty-four-foot sloop on which they’d sailed. The name
Sweet Indiscretion
was painted on its bow and, under the name, was painted its home port—Bermuda! She gazed at her mom’s face and smiled—she’d never seen her look happier.

She gathered the pictures together, slipped them back into the folder, and was carrying everything to the kitchen, when she heard a loud knock on the door. Flannery bolted in front of her, trying to get to the door first and almost tripped her in the process. “Flan,” she said in frustration, “could you
not
do that?!” She set everything on the table and opened the door.

An older gentleman was standing on the porch, holding the most beautiful blue hydrangea. He had raindrops dripping from the brim of his hat. “I was beginning to think no one was home,” he said. “Is this the Graham residence?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Beryl answered.

“That’s okay,” he said, smiling and holding out the plant. “This is for you.”

Beryl looked surprised as she took the plant from him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, tipping his hat.

She brought the tremendous, wet plant inside, set it on the counter, slid out the damp card, and stared at the words:
In memory of your beloved mum. With deepest sympathy, David.

27

I
t was still raining when Isak and Rumer pulled in the driveway, and Beryl slipped into her jacket and went to help. “You’re not going to believe what I found,” she shouted as they carried bags of groceries from the car.

“What?” they asked breathlessly.

She looked at their wet hair and jackets. “You have to be completely dry before I show you so you don’t drip on them. In the meantime,” she said, opening the fridge door, “we have plenty of food! All the teachers from the elementary school were here, and they said to tell you how sorry they are. You should’ve waited. They really outdid themselves.”

“You’re right, we should’ve,” Isak said wearily, hanging her jacket on the back of a chair.

“Where’d that come from?” Rumer asked, seeing the hydrangea.

“The florist delivered it,” Beryl answered, showing them the card.

“No way!” Rumer exclaimed.

“I guess we don’t need to worry about getting in touch with him,” Isak said.

“I guess we don’t . . .” Beryl said, still feeling the sting of their disagreement.

“Okay, I’m dry enough,” Rumer said, toweling her damp hair. “What’d you find?” Beryl pulled out the folder and spread the pictures on the table.

“Holy Sh-ugar!” Isak said softly.

“You can say that again,” Rumer whispered.

They studied the photos for several minutes. Finally, Isak sighed and said, “Well, a picture is definitely worth a thousand words!”

“How the heck did she pull off a trip to Bermuda without us knowing?” Rumer asked.

“The folder says it was in 1986—so we must’ve all been in college.”

“Unbelievable,” Isak said. “I wonder if they went anywhere else.” She studied the photo of the sailboat.
“Sweet Indiscretion,”
she murmured. “That’s very telling,” she said with a smile. “What I’d really like, though, is to find David’s drawings. They must be in the house somewhere.” She glanced at the clock. “Anyway, how’d you make out? Did you get anywhere with the eulogy?”

“I started it,” Beryl said with a sigh, “and that’s the hard part.”

“Find any other pictures? Because we can’t use these,” Isak said with a grin. “Can you imagine?”

“That would certainly surprise everyone,” Beryl said, laughing. “The reserved, little tea lady with her famous, very handsome . . . and very illicit lover.” She handed them some of the family pictures she’d pulled from their old family albums, including some from Mia’s childhood.

“Are you sure this isn’t you?” Isak said, holding up a picture of their mom when she was twelve years old. “It looks just like you!”

Beryl laughed. “It says 1954, silly, so, no, it’s not.”

“These are great, Ber,” Rumer said, handing them back to her. “Now we just need to get some poster board to put them on.”

“I’ll stop and get some on my way to the shop, and I’ll make copies of the story so we each have one.”

Isak nodded. “I’m going to clean the bathrooms before we leave.”

They all got to work—cleaning, dusting, vacuuming, and pulling the couch out into a bed.

“Any idea where the cot might be?” Isak shouted over the vacuum.

“Mum used to keep it in the closet in the spare bedroom,” Beryl called back.

Isak disappeared into the room where they’d just put fresh sheets on the double bed. When she didn’t reappear, Beryl went to check on her. “Did you find it?”

“I did,” she said with a smile, “and, behind it, I found this . . .” She held up a large, old-style drawing tablet. “And this!” She pointed to a large, flat package wrapped in brown paper leaning against her leg. “Let’s go into Mum’s room—the light’s better. Call Ru!”

“Rumer, come quick!” Beryl hollered down the stairs.

Rumer switched off the vacuum and ran up the stairs. “What’s the matter?” she asked, her face filled with concern.

“Come see,” Isak said excitedly as she leaned the painting against the bed. Then she picked up the tablet and, after a brief hesitation, opened it up and slowly turned the pages as her sisters looked on. They were stunned by its contents. Each page was a drawing of Mia in a different pose . . . and in varying stages of undress. And as they came to the last few pages, it became clear that the artist had finally convinced his model to pose nude.

Isak whistled softly. Rumer and Beryl both nodded in agreement, and Isak glanced at her phone—it was two o’clock. “Damn! We have to go, Ru, but I want to see what’s in the package too.”

“We have time,” Rumer insisted eagerly. “Go ahead.”

Isak laid the ensconced painting on the bed and picked up the end of the dry, yellow masking tape. It practically crumbled in her hand as she pulled it away, leaving a brown stain where it had held the paper closed for many years. Isak slowly removed the paper wrap while Beryl lifted the painting by its hanging wire and leaned it against the headboard; they all gazed at it in amazement. It was a portrait of Mia sitting next to a window. She was wearing a beautiful ochre-colored robe that had delicate embroidery stitched around the collar. The robe was open, allowing the late-day sunlight to fall seductively across her body—and making the entire painting glow in an ethereal light.