wished she had never learned about the abortion. It wasn’t that she condemned Mara for it—she could understand the fear a sixteen-year-old must have felt in as intolerant a house as hers—but she wished Mara had told her, herself.
Paige had thought they were best of friends, yet in all the talks they had had about Mara’s marriage and its lack of children, about the foster children she had taken in over the years, and the child she would have adopted had she lived, never once had she mentioned an abortion. Nor had she mentioned it in any one of the many, many discussions they had had on the issue as it related to the teenage girls in their care.
Paige was heartbroken to think that there were important things she didn’t know about someone she had called a close friend.
Friday morning dawned warm and gray, the air heavy as though with Mara’s secrets. Paige found some solace in the fact that the church was packed to overflowing. If ever there was proof of the number of lives Mara had touched and the esteem in which she was held, this was it. Particularly in light of the presence of the family that had never recognized her achievements, Paige felt vindicated on Mara’s behalf.
But that small, victorious kernel came and went quickly, buried as deeply in the grief of the day as Mara in the dark hole in the ground on the hillside overlooking town, and before Paige could quite catch her breath, the cemetery was left behind, the lunch at the Tucker Inn for all who cared to come was consumed, and the O’Neills of Eugene, Oregon, were delivered to the airport.
Paige returned to Mara’s house, a Victorian with high ceilings, a winding staircase, and a wraparound porch. She wandered from room to room, thinking that Mara had loved lighting the narrow fireplace, putting a Christmas tree in the parlor window, having lemonade on the back porch on a warm summer night. The O’Neills had told Paige to sell the house and give the proceeds to charity, and she planned to do that, but not yet. She couldn’t pack up and dispose of Mara’s life in a day. She needed time to grieve. She needed time to get used to Mara’s absence. She needed time to say good-bye.
She also needed time to find a buyer who would love the place as Mara had. She owed Mara that.
She left the kitchen through a bowed screen door that slapped shut behind her and sank onto the back porch swing, watching the birds dart from tree to tree and feeder to feeder. There were five feeders that she could see. She suspected others were hidden in the trees. Mara had enjoyed nothing more than to sit on that very swing, holding whatever child was in her custody at the moment, whispering tidbits about each bird that flew by.
I’ll feed them for you, Paige promised. I’ll make sure that whoever buys the house feeds them. They won’t be abandoned. It’s the least I can do.
Mara would have taken Paige’s kitty, no doubt about it. She had loved wild things, weak things, little things. And Paige? Paige wasn’t as adventurous. She loved needy things, too, but in a more controlled environment. She thrived on constancy, order, and predictability. Change unsettled her.
Leaving the swing, she wandered into the yard. The birds flew away. She stood very still, held her breath, and waited, but they didn’t return. She was very much alone.
I’ll miss you, Mara, she thought, and started back toward the house, feeling empty and old. The house suddenly seemed it, too. It needed a painting. I’ll have it done. The door needed new screening. Easy enough. A shutter had to be replaced by the upper left bedroom window. No sweat. And by the upper right bedroom—the upper right bedroom—Oh, God…
The doorbell rang, distant but distinct. Grateful for the reprieve, Paige returned to the house. She guessed that a friend might have seen her car and stopped, or that one of the townsfolk who hadn’t made the funeral wanted to offer condolences.
The wavy glass panel of the front
Paige had thought they were best of friends, yet in all the talks they had had about Mara’s marriage and its lack of children, about the foster children she had taken in over the years, and the child she would have adopted had she lived, never once had she mentioned an abortion. Nor had she mentioned it in any one of the many, many discussions they had had on the issue as it related to the teenage girls in their care.
Paige was heartbroken to think that there were important things she didn’t know about someone she had called a close friend.
Friday morning dawned warm and gray, the air heavy as though with Mara’s secrets. Paige found some solace in the fact that the church was packed to overflowing. If ever there was proof of the number of lives Mara had touched and the esteem in which she was held, this was it. Particularly in light of the presence of the family that had never recognized her achievements, Paige felt vindicated on Mara’s behalf.
But that small, victorious kernel came and went quickly, buried as deeply in the grief of the day as Mara in the dark hole in the ground on the hillside overlooking town, and before Paige could quite catch her breath, the cemetery was left behind, the lunch at the Tucker Inn for all who cared to come was consumed, and the O’Neills of Eugene, Oregon, were delivered to the airport.
Paige returned to Mara’s house, a Victorian with high ceilings, a winding staircase, and a wraparound porch. She wandered from room to room, thinking that Mara had loved lighting the narrow fireplace, putting a Christmas tree in the parlor window, having lemonade on the back porch on a warm summer night. The O’Neills had told Paige to sell the house and give the proceeds to charity, and she planned to do that, but not yet. She couldn’t pack up and dispose of Mara’s life in a day. She needed time to grieve. She needed time to get used to Mara’s absence. She needed time to say good-bye.
She also needed time to find a buyer who would love the place as Mara had. She owed Mara that.
She left the kitchen through a bowed screen door that slapped shut behind her and sank onto the back porch swing, watching the birds dart from tree to tree and feeder to feeder. There were five feeders that she could see. She suspected others were hidden in the trees. Mara had enjoyed nothing more than to sit on that very swing, holding whatever child was in her custody at the moment, whispering tidbits about each bird that flew by.
I’ll feed them for you, Paige promised. I’ll make sure that whoever buys the house feeds them. They won’t be abandoned. It’s the least I can do.
Mara would have taken Paige’s kitty, no doubt about it. She had loved wild things, weak things, little things. And Paige? Paige wasn’t as adventurous. She loved needy things, too, but in a more controlled environment. She thrived on constancy, order, and predictability. Change unsettled her.
Leaving the swing, she wandered into the yard. The birds flew away. She stood very still, held her breath, and waited, but they didn’t return. She was very much alone.
I’ll miss you, Mara, she thought, and started back toward the house, feeling empty and old. The house suddenly seemed it, too. It needed a painting. I’ll have it done. The door needed new screening. Easy enough. A shutter had to be replaced by the upper left bedroom window. No sweat. And by the upper right bedroom—the upper right bedroom—Oh, God…
The doorbell rang, distant but distinct. Grateful for the reprieve, Paige returned to the house. She guessed that a friend might have seen her car and stopped, or that one of the townsfolk who hadn’t made the funeral wanted to offer condolences.
The wavy glass panel of the front
Similar Books
The Humans
Matt Haig
The Legend
Kathryn Le Veque
The Summer Invitation
Charlotte Silver
Cold Case
Kate Wilhelm
Captcha Thief (Amy Lane Mysteries)
Rosie Claverton
Unseen
Nancy Bush
The Listening Walls
Margaret Millar
Ghost Aria
Jeffe Kennedy
Nights of Villjamur
Mark Charan Newton
Flesh for Fantasy
Kelex