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Zoey had spent so much time blindly defending her mother to her father, who was equally as determined to speak ill of her, that she’d never let herself think of Paloma as anything other than a good mother. It was the natural result of losing her so early. She got to make up what she wanted to fill in the gaps. Zoey thought about what Charlotte and Frasier had said about some stories not needing to be told. Zoey had only thought about the loss of the story itself.But now she wondered if finding out the truth behind some stories would constitute an even greater loss, because it meant losing something you were happy believing.
There would always be stories Zoey would never know about her mother, questions she would never have the answers to.
But maybe, just maybe, that would be okay.
Her phone suddenly dinged.
Zoey, this is Oliver Lime. Frasier told you that I don’t want anything from my mother’s place, but I guess you need to hear it from me personally. Please stop sending me photos.
Oliver! He’d texted her! She wrote back immediately.
I understand, I really do. And I’m sorry. It’s just the only thing of yours I found and I thought you might want the option of keeping them. I finished cleaning out your mother’s condo a few hours ago. Do you think your aunt would want anything out of the box of things I saved?
She stood and walked to the balcony as she waited for him to respond. There were three dots indicating he was writing back, but then they disappeared.
She looked out over the garden before she added:
There’s a fat dellawisp hopping around the garden path right now. It has a long red ribbon in its beak. The others are chasing it like it’s a worm. The bird with the ribbon is very annoyed about this.
Nothing. She waited a few more minutes, and was about to put her phone away when his response appeared.
I haven’t seen Lucy since I left for college. And she barely said more than a handful of words to me while I lived there. In fact, the only thing I ever remember her saying is, “Are you all right?” when I fell in front of her patio once and she opened her doors to kneel by me. She kept looking over to my mother’s condo, as if afraid she’d see her. So I have no idea what she would want. My guess is nothing. I kept that photo of them as girls and hid it because the only thing I ever remember my mother voluntarily throwing out was evidence of her family. She wanted nothing that reminded her of Lucy. Before you ask, I don’t know why. At this point, you probably know my mother better than I ever did.
She knew the feeling. She didn’t want to lose him while she knew he was there, so she quickly typed:
Frasier said you just graduated. Congratulations, that’s a big deal! I start in the fall.
What college?
The College of Charleston. But I don’t know what I want to do. What did you major in?
I have to go. I can’t write right now.
Zoey started to lower her phone, but then Oliver added:
But it’s okay if you want to text me later.
Smiling, she went back to the coffee table to look at photos again. Her eyes fell on the photo of Lucy and Lizbeth, and she suddenly had an idea. She and Oliver both had digital copies now… what would be the harm?
She went in search of an envelope, looking in drawers and shaking out random books. But there wasn’t one to be found. It was something that was just around her old house in Tulsa because someone else had thought to buy it. She cursed with impatience and put envelopes on her grocery list on the refrigerator. Then she made a makeshift pouch out of aluminum foil. She put the photos in it, along with a note saying she thought Lucy would like to have them.
She walked down the steps and over to Lucy’s patio. There, she wiggled the pouch partially into the seam where the patio doors met the frame, knocked, and returned to her balcony.
It was still there when Charlotte got home.
It was still there when they had dinner.
And it was still there when Zoey walked back up to her studio.
She sat on her balcony as long as she could, well into the night, waiting for Lucy to come out and take it. She finally had to give up and go to bed.
But when she woke the next morning, it was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
When Mac started working in the Mallow Island Resort Hotel, the restaurant had been a posh place called the Marsh. He’d made sous-chef while working at the Marsh. Camille, who had been nearly one hundred years old at the time, had come to dinner to celebrate. It was one of his best memories, cooking for her that night and making it a celebration ofher,because all that he’d become was due to her.
Later, when the restaurant changed hands, the new owners decided to take the restaurant in the same eco-direction as the hotel, focusing on sustainability. Despite Mac’s lack of formal training, he’d applied for executive chef and pitched his idea of paying homage to Camille with dishes created around cornmeal. The new owners were impressed with his respect for locally sourced food and his extensive knowledge of Low Country cuisine, so they decided to take a chance on him.
