Never Look Back. Robert Ross
wouldn’t hurt either.
It was clear that Lettie didn’t resemble her father in the least. Her face was heart shaped, with a high strong forehead that looked even larger with her hair pulled back so severely, but her gray eyes were warm and intelligent, and her reddish lips were full and soft. Her skin was pale white, and her neck long and graceful. Her brown hair had glints of red that almost sparkled in the sunlight. She was shorter than Sarah Jane, but she had ample curves and the bosom of her white blouse was full.
The girl eagerly put out her hands. Sarah Jane took them, and the girl kissed each of her cheeks in turn. “Shall I call you Mother?” she asked, giving her a radiant smile.
Sarah Jane froze. The girl was older than her youngest sister. She tried to detect any hint of malice in the soft voice, but couldn’t find any. “I—”
“Of course you should call her Mother,” Horace said with a hearty laugh. “She’s your mother now, girl!”
“Mother,” Lettie said, smiling. But the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I am sure we will be great friends, Mother.”
“Sister would be more appropriate.” The older woman, still standing on the stairs, sniffed.
Horace’s smile quickly faded from his face and he darted fury across the room. “And that would be none of your business, Ann Windham, and as long as I am paying for your keep, you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head!” The senator’s face reddened with rage. “I’ll not be told how to govern my family by a servant!”
Ann Windham glared at Horace for a moment before turning to Sarah Jane. “I have tea ready in the kitchen, if you are so inclined, madame.” Her eyes glinted malevolently. And her tone had gone up a notch when she’d said “madame,” almost making a mockery of the term.
“That would be fine, Mrs. Windham,” Sarah Jane said.
But she couldn’t help but wonder: had she made a mistake by marrying Horace Hatch?
Karen sat up in bed and shivered. Lightning lit up the room, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder so powerful she felt it in her bones. What a strange dream, she thought. So vivid, so real.
The room was dark, even though the alarm clock on her nightstand showed that it was after ten. She threw the covers off. I can’t believe I slept so late—what’s wrong with me?
She’d been having trouble falling asleep since she’d arrived. Sleep had never been a problem for her before. Her mother had once joked, “My Karen could sleep through nuclear war.” But ever since her first night in the house, she had tossed and turned and found herself waking up at various times throughout the night.
She swung out of the bed and walked over to her desk, switching on her computer. I’ve got to get a grip, she decided. Philip had finally called, several times in fact, ingratiatingly apologetic for how busy he had been. She had kept her anxiety and fears to herself, and hadn’t found the steel to ask him about Ivy’s suicide, and when he had been planning on telling her. He doesn’t like confrontation. He’ll think I’m weak, or complaining. “That’s my biggest turnoff,” he’d told her, time and time again. “Nagging women.”
Yet every time she hung up the phone, she cursed herself for wimping out.
But maybe she was being too hard on him. Maybe he hadn’t told her because it was too painful. Besides, Karen thought, it’s not something we should talk about on the phone. She’d wait until he was home to bring it up.
But why didn’t he tell me this was the old Hatch house?
She walked into the bathroom and turned on the water spigot, staring at herself in the mirror. Dark circles were forming under her eyes from the lack of restful sleep. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and headed back into the bedroom. Thunder crashed again, and through the window she could see whitecaps crashing in the bay. Everything outside was gray.
Like my mood.
Jessie still wouldn’t speak to her. They ate meals in silence. When Jessie was finished she would bolt from the table and head back to her room. Then her door would slam. Karen had stopped trying to talk to her.
“I’m sorry she’s so distant, Karen,” Mrs. Winn had offered, and Karen had just sighed.
“She’s just a girl, Karen, be patient with her,” her mother had said on the phone last night. “And have a little sympathy for her.” She clucked her tongue. “How horrible to have your mother kill herself—poor thing. Teenaged girls need their mothers, and you’re going to have to be there for her.”
But I’m not her mother, Karen wanted to say, and for the first time, she wished she hadn’t married Philip, hadn’t left Louisiana, hadn’t moved up here to this weird house in this strange little village. Of course, she was instantly ashamed of herself.
Stop being a baby and go get some coffee, Karen scolded herself as she finished brushing her teeth. You’re always a complete bitch until you’ve had coffee.
Alice Winn was in the kitchen reading the Boston Globe when Karen walked in. “There’s coffee,” Alice said without looking up. She had the paper open to the sports page. “Damn those Red Sox!” She looked over at Karen and smiled. “Sorry, after all these years you’d think I wouldn’t get my hopes up, but—”
“I know,” Karen commiserated. “My dad’s the same way with the Saints.” She filled a cup of coffee and spooned sugar into it, gratefully raising it to her lips. “What a miserable day! Where’s Jessie? In her room?”
“She went out to meet a friend.” Alice put the paper down. “Oh dear, are you not sleeping well?”
“Does it show?” Karen grimaced. “I don’t know what it is, Alice. It takes me forever to fall asleep, and then I’m restless all night.” She sat down at the table.
“I know what it is,” Alice said, a sly smile playing with her lips.
“What?”
“You’re still a newlywed. You miss your husband.”
Karen smiled. It was true. How wonderful it had been for those few short weeks to fall asleep every night in Philip’s arms. Philip Kaye—her hero.
Their honeymoon had been spent in various hotels in New Orleans, Washington, and New York, as Philip fulfilled his publishing commitments, giving readings, lectures, interviews. So it wasn’t the romantic trip to Hawaii she’d always imagined. But traveling with Philip Kaye, getting into bed with the dashing successful author every night—how much more romantic for a fledgling writer was that?
Then it had been back to New Orleans, where Karen got the Lexus and the directive to pack her things and head north. Here. To Provincetown. To this house. And Philip took off for Los Angeles. Then San Francisco. Then Seattle, Chicago, St. Louis…
“Wait a minute,” Karen said, her mind suddenly registering something. “Did you say Jessie went out to meet a friend?”
“That’s what she said.” Alice shrugged. “That’s all she would say, actually, and I didn’t press her. Would you like some breakfast?”
“You don’t have to—” Karen felt a little guilty that Alice made all of their meals, but she’d insisted that she didn’t mind. I’m just not used to having someone wait on me, that’s all.
“Please, Karen. Allow me. Eggs and bacon?” When Karen nodded, Alice took down a frying pan and started cracking eggs into it. “Now, when I have trouble sleeping, I have some red wine—that always puts me straight to sleep.”
“I’ll have to try that.” Karen yawned. “Maybe it’s a good sign, Jessie having a friend.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Listen, Alice, I’m going to try to get some writing done this morning. It’s a perfect day, all stormy and rainy, to really get into my story. But I have a contractor