Page 113 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“I am. After she died, I couldn’t take it. I brought the journal back to the house; I was going to see if anyone else wanted it. But first, I pulled out everything surrounding the pregnancy and Charlie’s love for Simon. I assumed Janie already knew, but I couldn’t bear to think someone else might uncover the truth. I wanted to protect my parents’ secrets. Protect anyone else from having to work through the trauma like I was.”

“How did it end up in the trash?” I ask.

“Walking into their empty house did something to me,” he explains. “I was so lost. So angry. I don’t know why, Ivy. I just couldn’t deal with it. I was afraid someone would want the diary and would ask about the missing pages, and I didn’t know how to explain that. So I decided to just throw it out.”

“As it turns out, that’s exactly what happened regardless,” I say wryly, remembering the feeling of my car’s floor mat against my fingers as I shoved the diary under the seat.

“I’m sorry for keeping the truth from you; I wasn’t in a good place. I wanted to understand what made it worth it to them; how it didn’t break all three of them completely over the years.” He pauses like he’s shaking his head. “I’m never going to understand. Not entirely. And now there’s no one left to explain it to me.”

“Simon’s still here,” I offer quietly. “He still loves your father.”

“I know,” my dad says.

“Dad, what happened with Mom?” Hearing this story, I’m still not understanding what drove them apart. Not really. He was sad? I know my mother too well to think she’d abandon him just because he was depressed.

“Like I said, I couldn’t handle it. It was eating me up inside, but I wouldn’t get help. I didn’t know how. Your mother tried so hard, and I just retreated, further and further away from her. Away from you both.”

I think back to the countless nights when I came over for dinner and Dad worked late, blue light glinting out around the closed door to his office. To the look on my mother’s face when I bid her goodnight after our meal, not having seen Dad at all. And I begin to understand.

His voice shakes. “It was years, after Grandpa Charlie died, before your mom left. She tried so hard. But all that time, I was struggling; I was pulling away from her. There was no ‘us’ anymore. She said we had nothing left; that she’d given me everything she could. That I needed to work through things on my own for a while.” There’s a long pause. “She said she’ll be there waiting for me, whenever I’m ready to come back to her.”

My eyes overflow then. The split had never made sense to me; it was hard not to vilify my mother for taking off right after Eleanor passed. It felt cruel and unusual, leaving your spouse in their time of greatest need. And maybe it was. Maybe that was the mistake my mother made in this situation.

But if she was doing all the emotional work in their marriage for years on end, trying desperately to help him, but running up against a wall, time and time again? Especially as a psychologist who is perfectly equipped to help others in their time of mental trauma, being unable to reach the person she loved most? I understand why she might have felt she had nothing left. She’d done all she could, and it still wasn’t enough. She probably thought she’d failed him. And I can imagine how hollow that might feel. Especially if he had nothing left to give her, either.

“I’m so sorry, Dad.” I don’t know what else to say. What solace could my consolation offer him, really? I wish Oliver were here; he always manages to find the words.

“Don’t be. Don’t be, Ivy. Thank you for pushing me on this. You deserved to know the truth. I would have told you sooner, but it was so complicated; the truth was wrapped up in your memories of Eleanor; your memories of Charlie. And it became entangled with Mom and I, and then I was afraid telling you could shatter the only stability you had left. I know you’ve been struggling with your job and your breakup with Kyle. I just couldn’t throw another wild card into the mix for you.”

Hearing Kyle’s name is like a bizarre throwback. I haven’t thought of him in weeks, since the night Oliver wore his old sweats. And, thanks to what happened next, my brain sort of overwrote the Kyle part of those memories.

“Thank you,” I say earnestly. “But I don’t want you to have to bear this alone anymore.”

“Love you, Ivy Bean.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

thirty-three

I’m reading the last book in my stash on the porch at Beach Haven when my phone rings. Glancing at the caller ID, I see it’s Brianna.

All the air rushes out of my lungs. I’m not sure I can handle this right now, on top of everything else. But my anxiety dictates I do what’s expected of me, no matter how it destroys me inside, so I swipe to answer the call.

“Hello, Ivy.” Brianna sounds both chipper and completely overwhelmed. I hear shouting behind her. Maybe she isn’t at the library?

“Good morning. It’s great to hear from you.”

“Sorry about all the noise,” she whispers, like she doesn’t want to be overheard. “The kids are doing a STEAM lab that involves building roller coasters out of cardboard, and it’s gotten a little rowdy.”

My heart pangs. That sounds like exactly the sort of program I’d love to run. The type of thing that would actually make a difference for kids.

“Oh, no problem.” I want her to rip off this Band-Aid.

“Let me cut to the chase,” she replies. Thank God. “I was really impressed by your interview, and I’d love to offer you the head of children’s services position.”

The air hangs heavy with opportunity, like humidity over the beach. It’s so heavy, in fact, I think I might be suffocating.

“Wow,” I manage. “I really appreciate that. Freehold seems like it would be a perfect fit for me.” As soon as the words are out, I mentally curse them with every profanity in my repertoire. Because it does seem perfect, and I hate that fact with every fiber of my being.