Leanne let out a surprised laugh. “No one tells Dean anything.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.” Eleanor’s voice was edged with just enough bite to get her point across. “No one ever has. Maybe hearing what he needs to hear—from you—might finally wake him up.”
There was a pause, like something delicate was shifting.
Eleanor sighed. “The doctor telling me I was in the early stages of dementia wasn’t what I wanted to hear. But it…it forced me to stop putting things off. To stop pretending I had all the time in the world.”
Leanne looked at her mother then, truly looked. “Music?”
“Yes. Art. Creation. Expression. Doesn’t matter what form it takes—singing, writing, painting, baking a cake… If it stirs your soul, that’s what you’re meant to do. That’s how you leave your mark.”
Leanne’s face lit up, the spark of realization flaring in her eyes. “I love to bake, and I’ve won many contests with my confections. But I’ve been thinking of going on strike when I get back home.”
Eleanor gave a knowing smile. “But that would only punish you.”
“Yeah,” Leanne murmured. “Yeah, you’re right.” She glanced down at her hands, then back at her mother. “Thank you, Mom.”
Eleanor nodded, her smile small but steeped in something deeper. Pride. Sorrow. Hope.
“Go live your life, sweetheart. Or it will keep living you.”
Chapter Forty-Four
They climbed into the Lincoln Continental, the top down, the sky above them wide open and blue. The breeze ruffled their hair like it had missed them and was welcoming them home.
The drive back to Ossining would take a little over an hour. First stop: Eleanor’s house. They’d ensure everything was in order and that Eleanor had what she needed, with a plan to discuss the next steps. Then, it would be back to Leanne’s own front door. Back to the house with the trimmed hedges and perfectly folded towels. Back to Dean. If he wasn’t avoiding her by burying himself at work. Again.
The highway unspooled before them, black asphalt and trees lining the median familiar but different, the way a place always looks after you’ve seen something new. After you’ve changed.
From the back seat, Nora leaned forward and touched Leanne’s shoulder. “Mom? Would you mind if we went to Orchard Beach before we go home?”
The question made Leanne’s heart catch. It had been years. She used to take Nora there when she was little, just like her mother had taken her. They’d go after school or on weekends, get ice cream fromthe vendor by the boardwalk, dip their toes in the Long Island Sound, and watch the boats drift like ghosts beneath the lighthouse’s steady gaze. But around the time Nora had entered high school, the visits had become few and far between until they petered out completely.
She turned to Eleanor. “Would you mind?”
Eleanor grinned. “I wouldn’t mind at all. I used to take you there when you were young. You always danced in the sand.”
Leanne smiled. She remembered those days with almost painful clarity. How the wind would whip their sundresses around their legs and her mother laughed like the world hadn’t told her to hush.
And she remembered trying so hard to give that to Nora too. Little borrowed pieces of joy passed down like recipes.
Now Nora wanted to go back. To taste it again. And Leanne realized she did too. There was no telling when they’d get a chance to repeat a trip with the three of them, if ever.
“Orchard Beach it is.” Leanne turned the car toward the shore.
They drove the extra hour past their house, following the coastline until the road curved and the scent of the ocean filled the air.
The day was perfect for the beach—bright sun, a soft breeze coming in off the Sound, and just enough of a crowd to feel alive without being overwhelming. Nothing compared to the madness of Woodstock and the roar of half a million voices.
They didn’t bother changing into bathing suits. Instead, they kicked off their sandals and ran laughing into the water like kids—like they were racing time itself. The surf licked at their ankles, cool and refreshing. Spindrift spraying and tickling their knees. Eleanor held up the hem of her flowy skirt as she waded in, grinning like someone who had nothing left to prove.
They held hands and kicked at the water, the splash of it catching the light like glitter.
They reminisced about that time Nora had been knocked overby a rogue wave—and how, in a heroic attempt to rescue her, Leanne had gone under too. All limbs and laughter and seaweed in their hair. They’d giggled until their sides ached, hugging each other, wet and sandy and full of joy.
Later, they made their way to the ice cream stand. Nora chose her forever favorite, mint chocolate chip. Eleanor and Leanne each went for chocolate, the same as always.
Leanne stood at the edge of the boardwalk, watching her mother and daughter holding hands and skipping along the shore, their skirts fluttering, their voices carried on the wind like a song, and Roxy chasing behind. The world doubled. She closed her eyes, picturing Nora little again—toothless smile, sandy knees, arms stretched wide with wonder. But the illusion flickered. Nora was a young woman now. Beautiful. Grown.
