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For the first time since India had arrived, Farris smiled, a full-on, gorgeous flash of white teeth. “That’s what I have you for, Inkie.”
Three hours later, India arched her back and groaned. She and Dottie had bent over the coffee table nonstop, sifting through photographs and separating them into piles. Dottie was no help at all. Every third or fourth image prompted a story.
India sighed, holding out a handful of prints. “Dottie, you’re going to have to get rid of a lot of these or we’ll never get finished. This stack has sixteen almost-identical copies of bougainvillea from your trip to Hawaii in 2008. Pick the nicest one, and we’ll toss the rest. Please.”
Dottie took the pictures and flipped through them. “But they’re all so good. Farris had just bought me a top-of-the-line digital camera for my birthday.”
“And now a smartphone can do even better. What’s the point, Dottie? You only need one. If you can’t bear to throw them away, let me do it, and let’s move on.”
“Fine,” Dottie huffed. “I pick this one.” She laid the winner carefully on the table. “But I’m tired of this box. I’d rather look at some of the older stuff.”
“Whatever you say.” India took a pair of scissors and slit the tape on a box labeled Early Years. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
Dottie reached in and took out an age-stained envelope. Her smile faded. “Yes. This one says 1988. I remember this batch.” She took out the prints. “Look, India. This was Farris’s first day of kindergarten. Or maybe first grade. I can’t remember.”
India took the photograph and studied it. The young boy was instantly recognizable. The same blue eyes, the same steady stare. “He looks sad,” she said.
“His father had just abandoned us.” Dottie’s voice didn’t wobble. She didn’t blink or wince or give any indication at all that the memory upset her.
“I knew he left, but I never heard the whole story.”
Dottie shrugged. “I discovered my husband had another family. One that predated me and my son.”
India was stunned. This was huge. Why had Farris never told her about something so formative in his past? Surely this was the kind of traumatic experience that one spouse shared with another.
Had she ever known him at all?
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry,” she said.
“It was a long time ago. I got over the man, but I’ve never forgiven myself for harming my son.”
“You didn’t harm him. Farris turned into a wonderful, successful man.”
“It took a long time.” Dottie sat back on the sofa with a sigh. “My poor boy was so angry all the time. So hurt. How can a child understand what it took me years to deal with? Sometimes I think Farris will always bear those scars.”
India didn’t know what to say to that. It was true that Farris wasn’t a warm, fuzzy man. But when he had wooed India, he had been irresistible. She had adored his infrequent smiles, his passionate lovemaking, his tender humor.
He had never talked to her about his childhood, not really. Bits and pieces here and there. She knew Dottie had been a single mother. But India had never asked about the details. Her yearning for a family had encouraged her to accept everything at face value. Now she had the maturity to realize that she had accepted far less than she deserved. And infinitely less than she wanted and needed. Her perfect marriage had been underpinned with too many secrets to survive.
Though India and Dottie had been on very good terms during the marriage, Dottie hadn’t lived with Farris back then, of course. She’d had her own place and a full social life. India had seen her often, but never for huge blocks of time, not like now. There hadn’t been the opportunity for deep heart-to-hearts.
Although, looking back, perhaps that wasn’t exactly true. Maybe she and Dottie had honored an unspoken agreement not to delve too deeply into Farris’s psyche or the Quinn family past.
When she glanced over at Dottie, she knew something was wrong. “Dottie,” she said urgently. “Are you okay?”
Farris’s mother was flushed. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her harsh breathing. “I’m fine,” she said.
India decided in an instant that she couldn’t tiptoe around the subject for weeks on end. She sat beside Dottie and took her hand. “Farris told me you’ve been ill. I want to take care of you, but I need you to let me know when you need to rest.”
Dottie closed her eyes and grimaced. “Bloody, stupid heart of mine. Don’t get old, my sweet girl. It sucks.”
India laughed softly, as Dottie had intended, but she was concerned. Dottie wasn’t old at all. Barely sixty. India had read up on Dottie’s condition since Farris told her the whole story. There were a multitude of possible causes. Unfortunately, at this late stage, there was no cure.
“Let me help you up.” India took the older woman’s hands and gently pulled her to her feet. “Can I get you anything?”
Dottie shook her head, her expression stubborn. “Nope. I want a nap. And I may watch TV in my room later.”
India slipped an arm around her waist. “I’ll walk with you,” she said.
