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Aunt Izzie sighed as she bent to retrieve the photograph that had come loose. She stared at the image of my mother on the bike while she paced the room. I could see my aunt’s mouth moving, but no words came out. I imagined she was having an imaginary conversation with my mother, asking if she could show me the photos. She stopped pacing and stared out the window, her back straight and her shoulders rigid. She seemed to decide something and turned on her heel, striding back across the living room toward me.
“I always look through this near your mother’s birthday. I meant to bring it back downstairs but got distracted.”
I felt a tightness in my chest at the mention of my mother’s birthday and the thought of my aunt looking at old pictures to commemorate the day. Next year, I’d make a point of spending time with her so she wouldn’t be alone with her memories.
“Maybe it’s good that I didn’t. Maybe it’s time for you to see this.” Her voice sounded too timid to be my aunt’s.
I nodded, not sure if she expected an answer.
Aunt Izzie sat down so close to me that our arms touched. She slid the photo album onto my thighs with the care of an explosive expert deactivating a bomb. “Have you seen any of the high school pictures yet?”
“No, just baby and toddler pictures.”
Aunt Izzie swiped her tongue over her upper lip, something my mother used to do when she was nervous. The photo album couldn’t have weighed a pound, but it felt heavy enough to crush not only my legs but my life. I was no longer sure I wanted to look inside.
Aunt Izzie watched me with her lips folded inside her mouth. I started at the beginning of the book again, taking in the toddler pictures. Photo after photo, my mother’s smiling face looked back at me. In some of the pictures, she was with her parents. In others, she posed with Aunt Izzie. My favorites were the ones of the four of them together.
Halfway through the album, my mother’s friends began to appear. At first the pictures were from elementary school. I recognized my mother’s best friend, Rosemary, but none of the other girls.
As I turned the pages, my mother aged before me. Soon, I was watching her get ready for the prom. Next to me, Aunt Izzie scooted toward the front of the sofa cushion as if she were preparing to bolt.
My mom and Rosemary starred in the first prom photos, wearing their taffeta gowns with the big hoops, Mom’s dress pink, Rosemary’s blue. Mom looked radiant. Her olive skin darker than usual with a spring tan and her eyes as bright as I’d ever seen them. God, I missed her. In the next picture two teenage boys held white corsages. I recognized my father right away; even then his thick eyebrows had dominated his forehead. It took me a moment to figure out the second boy was Hank.
I turned the page. Aunt Izzie sat up straighter. Hank posed with his arm curled around my mother’s waist. My mother leaned all her weight against him. I bent closer to the photo album, not understanding what I saw. My mother stared adoringly at Hank, seemingly unaware that anyone else was in the room with them. He, on the other hand, looked right into the camera lens with a huge smile. From the photograph,teenage Hank appeared to be looking right at me, making me as uncomfortable as the grown man did in real life. His eyebrow was slightly raised, and I had the feeling the boy in the picture was about to let me in on a joke.
Aunt Izzie put a hand on my arm.
“I don’t understand. Why is Mom posing with Hank and not Dad?” My question came out angry.
“Nicole,” Aunt Izzie said. “You can stop looking if you want to.”
The next several pages were more pictures of Mom and Hank. There were shots of them in their graduation gowns, at a party reclining in lawn chairs by a keg, sitting shoulder to shoulder on a beach blanket by the water at Castleton Lake. The last picture was under a banner that readGood Luck. Hank held my mother in a tight embrace, her face buried in his shoulder. A New York Rangers hockey shirt with Hank’s last name and the number eighty-eight embroidered on the sleeve hung on the wall behind them. I pulled the photo out from underneath the plastic. On the back, in my mother’s large loopy handwriting in purple ink, was the date, August 17, 1980, eight and a half months before I was born.
“So Mom cheated on Hank with Dad.” That was it. It had to be. My voice betrayed the calm I tried to project. “So what. They weren’t married, and Hank was leaving anyway.”
Aunt Izzie squeezed my hand. I looked up at her. She wore a sorrowful expression. “Hank should tell you what happened. It’s his story to tell, not mine.”
Chapter 44
Hank led me through his house to a wraparound deck in the back overlooking Mount Stapleton. The ski lifts were running, carrying tourists over the lush green pine trees to the summit to take pictures or ride the alpine slide down. In the distance, mountain bikers in bright shirts whizzed across trails carved through trees and rocks. I took it all in, watching these people enjoying their lives while fearing everything I thought I knew about my own life was about to be blown apart.
Hank pointed to a large sectional wicker couch arranged in a U around a table. I ignored him and settled in a hanging swing chair shaped like an egg.
He leaned against the railing with his back to the spectacular view so that we were face to face. I couldn’t see his eyes beneath his dark sunglasses, and his impassive expression gave nothing away. When I’d called him yesterday to tell him I needed to speak with him, he had agreed without asking any questions about what I wanted to talk about and suggested we meet at his house. I’d assumed my aunt had warned him that I’d seen pictures of him and my mother. Had Hank and Aunt Izzie conspired about what story he would tell me today?
“Your aunt told me you found your mother’s old photo album. I wish you had brought it with you.”
“My aunt has it. She’s very protective of it. Didn’t want me or Dana to see it.”
Hank flexed his hands. “Well, there are some things that your mother didn’t want you to know, and I ...” He trailed off and turned to face the mountains. A few seconds later, he continued in a soft voice. “I reluctantly went along with her, kept her secrets.”
Secrets.His use of that word made my stomach twist. I pushed against the floor deck with my feet so that my chair swayed. If only it would break free and soar into the sky so I could fly away from Hank’s house and whatever he was about to reveal, away from Kyle, Casey, and the baby, and away from this tiny town, where everyone knew what had happened.
Behind me, the glass door slid open, and footsteps crossed the deck. “It’s hot out here. I thought you might want some iced tea,” Arianna said. She placed a pitcher and two glasses filled with ice cubes and mint leaves on the table.
My mother had always sneered when she’d come across photos of Arianna, which were everywhere when I was a kid. I could never understand my mother’s dislike of the woman because my mom loved everyone, and all the articles I’d ever read about Arianna proclaimed how down to earth she was, how likable. The supermodel who could be your best friend.
“Call me if you need anything,” Arianna said, squeezing Hank’s arm. He watched her as she cut across the deck and slid the door closed behind her.
