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Susannah’s Garden
DEBBIE MACOMBER

For my friends all through school, as we remember the paths we took, and didn’t take.

Jane Berghoff McMahon, Judy St. George Senecal, Cindy Thoma DeBerry, Diane DeGooyer Harmon, Cheryl Keller Farr, Kathy Faith Harris, Bev Gamache Regimbal, Yvette Dwinell Lundy

and

Carol Brulotte

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Coming Next Month

CHAPTER
1

Vivian Leary stood motionless at the corner of the street, her eyes darting from side to side. She had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten lost. After all, she’d lived in Colville her entire life. She should know—did know—every square inch of this town. But the last thing she remembered was going out to collect the mail and that must have been hours ago.

The street didn’t look familiar and the houses weren’t any she recognized. The Henderson house at the corner of Chestnut and Elm had been her marker, but it was nowhere in sight. She remembered that the Hendersons had painted their place white with green shutters. Where was it? she wondered, starting to feel frantic. Where was it? George would be upset with her for taking so long. Oh no, how could she have forgotten? George was dead.

The weight of grief settled over her, heavy and oppressive. George, her beloved husband, was gone—taken from her just two months short of their sixtieth anniversary. It had all happened so fast….

Last November, her husband had gone outside to warm up the car before church, and a few minutes later he lay dead in the carport. He’d had a massive heart attack. The nice young man who’d come with the ambulance had told her George was dead before he even hit the pavement. He sounded as if this was supposed to comfort her. But nothing could have eased the shock, the horror, of that dreadful morning.

Vivian blinked hard, and despite the May warmth of eastern Washington, a chill raced up her bare arms. She tried to extinguish her growing panic. How was she going to find her way home?

Susannah would know what to do—but then she remembered that her daughter didn’t live in Colville anymore. Of course Susannah wasn’t at home. She had her own house. In Seattle, wasn’t it? Yes, in Seattle. She was married with two precious children. Susannah and Joe’s children. Good grief, why couldn’t she think of their names? Her grandchildren were her joy and her pride. She could picture their faces as clearly as if she was looking at a photograph, but she couldn’t recall their names.

Chrissie. The relief was instantaneous. Her granddaughter’s name was Chrissie. She was born first and then Brian was born three years later. Or was it four years? It didn’t matter, Vivian decided. She had their names now.

What she needed to do was concentrate on where she was—and where she should go from here. It was already starting to get dark and she didn’t want to wander aimlessly from street to street. But she couldn’t figure out what to do next.

If there’d been any other pedestrians around, she could’ve stopped and asked for directions to Woods Road.

No…Woods Road had been her childhood address. She hadn’t lived there since she was a schoolgirl, and that was before the war. For heaven’s sake, she should be able to remember her own address! What was wrong with her?

The place she was looking for was the house she and George had bought almost forty-five years ago, when the children were still at home. She felt a mixture of fear…and shame. A woman of eighty should know where she lived. George would be so frustrated and impatient if he ever found out about this…. Only he’d never know. That didn’t make her feel any better, though. She needed him, and he wasn’t there to help her, and that filled her with anxiety so intense, she wrung her hands.

Vivian started walking again, although she wasn’t sure where she was headed. Maybe if she kept moving, if she concentrated hard enough, the memory would eventually return to her.

Her legs tired quickly, and she sighed with relief when she saw a bench by the side of the road. Vivian couldn’t understand why the city would place a nice wooden bench there—not even near a bus stop. It was a waste of taxpayers’ money. If George knew about this, he’d be fuming. He’d been a public servant all those years, a superior court judge. A fine one, too, a man of principle and character. How proud Vivian was of him.

Still, she was so grateful for somewhere to sit, she wasn’t about to complain. George had freely voiced his opinions about matters of civic responsibility and what he called city hall’s squandering of resources. While she listened to her husband’s views, she didn’t always share them. She had her own thoughts when it came to politics and things like that, but she usually didn’t discuss them with George. That was something she’d learned early in her marriage. George always wanted to convince everyone of the superiority of his ideas and he’d argue until he wore people down. So when her views differed from his, she kept them to herself.

Sitting on the hard bench, she glanced about, hoping to find a landmark. Oh my, this was a busy street. Cars whizzed past, their lights blinding her until she felt dizzy. She wasn’t nearly as tired now that she was sitting. That was good, because she needed to think. Thinking was important. She hated forgetting basic facts, like her address, her phone number, people’s names. This happened more and more often now that George had died, and it frightened her.

Perhaps if she closed her eyes for a moment, that would help. She’d try to relax, clear her mind, since all this worry only made her memory less reliable.

It was chilly now that the sun had gone down. She should’ve brought a sweater but she’d been working in the garden earlier and it had been hot. Her irises were lovely this spring, even though her garden was in sad shape. For years, it had been a source of pride and she hated the way it looked these days. She did as much as she could, but so much else needed to be done. Weeding, pruning, planting annuals…After dinner she’d decided to do some watering and remembered that she hadn’t collected the mail. That was when she’d gone out, planning to walk to the neighborhood mailbox. And now here she was, lost and confused and afraid.

That was when Vivian sensed someone’s presence and opened her eyes. Joy coursed through her veins as she stared, wondering if her mind had betrayed her.

“George?”

Her husband of fifty-nine years stood beside her, shadowed under the nearby streetlight. His smile warmed her and she straightened, eyes wide open, terrified he’d disappear. George had come to help her, come to save her.

“That is you, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer but stood there plain as could be. He’d always been such a handsome man, she thought, admiring his broad shoulders and his confident posture.

They’d been high school sweethearts and known each other their entire lives. Vivian felt she was the luckiest girl in the world when George Leary asked her to marry him. They’d been apart for nearly three years while he was fighting in Europe. Then he’d gone to college to get his law degree on the G.I. Bill. That time of struggle had paid off, though, and after a few years of private practice, he’d been invited to join the bench. George had been the one and only love of her life and she missed him terribly. How like him to come to her now, in her hour of need.

Vivian reached out to him, but George backed away. She dropped her hand abruptly, biting her lower lip. No, of course—she should’ve realized she couldn’t touch him. One couldn’t touch the dead.

“I’m lost,” she whispered. “Don’t be angry with me, but I can’t find my way home.”

He smiled again and she was so relieved he wasn’t upset with her. She’d forgotten things before he died, too, and sometimes he got frustrated, although he tried to hide it. She’d even stopped cooking but that was because she’d forgotten so many of her recipes. The ones in cookbooks were too hard to read, too confusing. But George never complained and often heated soup for both of them.

Vivian felt she should explain what had happened. “I went to get the mail and I must’ve decided to go for a walk, because when I looked up I wasn’t anywhere close to the house.”

He stretched out his hand and she got to her feet.

“Can you take me home?” she asked, hating how plaintive and helpless she sounded.

He didn’t answer. Then she realized that dead men couldn’t talk, either. That was all right; she didn’t care as long as George stayed with her. Six months it had been since he’d died and every one of those months had seemed an eternity.

“I’m so glad you came,” she whispered, trying to hide the way her voice cracked with emotion. “Oh, George, I miss you.” She told him about the garden, even though she knew she was rambling. He’d never liked it when she talked too much, but she was afraid he’d have to leave soon, and there was so much to tell him. “George, I’m sure Martha is stealing. I just don’t know what to do. I watch her like a hawk when she comes to clean, but still I find things missing. I can’t let her rob me blind, and yet I hate to fire her after all these years. What should I do?” She hadn’t really expected him to answer, and he didn’t.

Then, suddenly, she saw the house. They were on Chestnut Avenue, where they’d lived since 1961. She walked laboriously to the front door, holding on to the railing and taking the steps one at a time. When she looked up to thank George for helping her, her beloved husband had vanished.

“Oh, George,” she sobbed. “Come back to me…please. Please come back.”

CHAPTER
2

Susannah Nelson dumped the leftover broccoli salad into a plastic container and shoved it inside the refrigerator, closing the door with unnecessary force. Brian, her seventeen-year-old, had mysteriously disappeared after dinner, leaving her with the dishes. She shouldn’t be surprised. He had a convenient excuse every night to get out of doing his assigned chores.

“Is something bothering you?” her husband asked from his perch in the family room. Joe lowered the newspaper and all Susannah could see were his dark brows and his eyes behind the steel-rimmed reading glasses.

She shrugged. “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed, but this is the third night in a row that Brian hasn’t done the dishes,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended.

“I’ll do them,” he offered.

“You shouldn’t have to do that,” Susannah told him. “Nor should I.”

Joe set the newspaper aside. “This isn’t about Brian, is it? You’re upset about something else.”

“Well, I am annoyed about the way he’s been skipping out on chores, but you’re right, that isn’t everything.” What concerned her most was her inability to identify a specific reason. She’d been on edge for weeks, feeling vaguely dejected.

It didn’t help that she’d dreamed of Jake again last night. Her high school boyfriend had been making nightly appearances, and that unsettled her as much as anything. Susannah was happily married and despite the abrupt ending to her teenage romance, there was no good reason for her to dwell on Jake. Her marriage had survived the crises that any successful marriage does. Her children were nearly grown; her daughter was in college, ready to start her own life. Brian had summer employment, working for a construction company, and would earn enough to pay his own car insurance. The school break would officially begin in a day’s time, and she’d be free for nearly seven weeks. Why, after more than three decades, was she dreaming of Jake? It made no sense whatsoever. There he was, big as life, filling her head with memories of a long-lost love.

“School’s almost out,” Joe reminded her. “That should cheer you up.”

He was right; it should. Today was the last day of classes and her fifth-grade students had been overjoyed at the prospect of summer vacation. Susannah was equally ready for a break. Maybe for more than a break—a change. What kind of change, she didn’t know. She supposed she could think about it over the summer—after tomorrow, anyway, when she’d be finishing her paperwork.

“You’ve been restless since your father died,” Joe commented in a mild voice. He glanced at her across the family room. “Maybe you should talk to someone.”

“You’re saying I should talk to a counselor?” She hated to think it had come to this. Yes, her father’s death had been a shock, but at the time her grief had seemed…formal. Almost abstract. As though she’d mourned the idea of losing a father more than the man himself. She’d never gotten along with him. They’d tolerated each other, at best. As far as Susannah was concerned, her father was dictatorial, overbearing and arrogant. The moment she turned eighteen, she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

“He was your father, Susannah,” Joe reminded her gently. “I know the two of you weren’t close, but he was still your father.” He removed his glasses. “In fact, maybe that’s why you’re feeling like this. Now that he’s dead, there’s no opportunity to settle your differences—to work things out.”

Susannah shook her head, dismissing the suggestion. Her relationship with her father had been difficult. Complicated. But she’d accepted that reality years ago. “This has nothing to do with him.”

Joe looked as if he wanted to argue, but she didn’t let him. “Yes, his death was unexpected, but he was eighty-three and no one lives forever.” The truth of the matter was that while they weren’t completely estranged, they rarely spoke. That didn’t seem to bother him any. Over the years, Susannah had made occasional efforts to bridge the gap between them, but her father seemed incapable of deepening their relationship.

Whenever she’d phoned or visited, Susannah talked to her mother. George Leary was a decent grandfather; she’d say that for him. Both Chrissie and Brian thought the world of her father. As for her—well, it was better to not think about the way he’d interfered with her life, especially during her teenage years. Yes, she was sorry he’d died, especially so suddenly, but she discounted the possibility that his death was the cause of this discontent she felt. If she was going to blame anyone, it would be Jake. But it wasn’t as though she could mention this to Joe, her husband, her wonderful husband. Hey, honey, I’ve been thinking about another man lately. That wouldn’t go over too well, no matter how understanding Joe was.

Her husband continued to study her. “Even though you don’t agree,” he said slowly, “I suspect your father’s death had a strong impact on you. Don’t you remember what it was like when my parents died?”

She did remember and was embarrassed to admit that she’d grieved for her father-in-law more than she had her own dad. When Joe’s mother died ten months later, they’d both been devastated. It had been a rough time for them as a family. Susannah had envied Joe’s close relationship with his parents when her own, particularly with her father, was so distant.

“Of course it was a shock to lose my dad,” Susannah went on, “but I don’t think this mood—”

“Depression,” Joe inserted. “Low-grade, garden variety depression.”

“I am not depressed.” Even while she denied it, she knew Joe was right.

Her husband raised his eyebrows. “If you aren’t depressed, then what is it?”

Joe was a solid, strong, self-assured man. Honorable. After twenty-four years together they’d grown accustomed to each other, so alike that they often ordered the same thing from a menu, read the same books, voted for the same candidates. She didn’t understand how she could lie beside him in the same bed night after night and dream about another man. This wasn’t like her. Not once in her entire marriage had she even considered looking at another man.

She’d be crazy to risk her marriage by searching for a high school fling. The episode with Jake was long over. She hadn’t seen or talked to him since she was seventeen, and that was…oh, more than thirty-three years ago now.

Joe replaced his glasses after polishing the lenses on his shirt. “You’ve had a lot going on in the last six months. Your father’s death, your fiftieth birthday, a demanding year at work and everything else.”

He wasn’t telling Susannah anything she didn’t know. Perhaps those were the reasons for this discontent, this need to find out about Jake, but she doubted it. Even gardening, her passion, didn’t soothe her—or distract her. While she was quick to deny that anything was wrong, Susannah felt certain it all went back to her high school boyfriend and the way their relationship had ended. What she needed was closure—that irritating, overused word. And yet nothing else quite explained it. Jake was an unfinished part of her life, a thread left hanging, a path not taken.

In that sense, her father’s death had triggered her unease, her recurring memories of Jake, since George was the one responsible for breaking them up. As always, he’d been so sure he knew best. The problem was that he sat on his high and mighty judgment seat in court during the day and didn’t step down from it when he came home to his family at night.

Susannah refused to dwell on thoughts of her father, refused to let herself nurture these negative feelings toward him. But tonight, for reasons she didn’t understand, her memories of Jake wouldn’t leave her alone.

“It might be a good idea for you to spend a few weeks with your mother this summer. Perhaps then you’ll find some resolution concerning your father.”

“Maybe,” Susannah agreed, although she didn’t really believe it. They’d already decided she should visit Vivian once the summer holidays started, to check up on her and assess the situation.

The phone pealed in the distance, but neither Joe nor Susannah hurried to answer it. With a teenager in the house, there was no need.

Brian stuck his head out his bedroom door and shouted her name at an ear-splitting decibel. “Mom!”

Susannah wanted to ask him who it was, but he’d retreated into his bedroom so fast she didn’t have a chance. Walking over to the kitchen phone, she lifted the receiver and waited for him to hang up.

“Hello.”

“Susannah, is that you?”

The female voice was familiar, but she couldn’t immediately place it.

“It’s Martha West. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Susannah tensed. Martha had been the family housekeeper for years. The only reason she’d be calling was to tell her something had happened to her mother. “Is everything all right with Mom?” The last time Martha phoned had been with the news that Susannah’s father had dropped dead of a heart attack.

“She’s just fine,” Martha assured her. “I did want to talk to you, though, before you drove here. Vivian mentioned that you planned to visit soon and, well…” She hesitated. “There’s no easy way to say this.” Again she paused. “Susannah, your mother seems to think I’m…taking her things. I hope you know I’d never do anything like that. I swear I had nothing to do with those missing teaspoons.”

“Teaspoons?”

“Your mother accused me of taking four of her matching teaspoons when I was there to clean this afternoon.”

“Martha, I know you’d never do anything like that.” The woman was completely trustworthy.

“I would hope not,” she blurted. “And let me tell you that if I was going to steal, it wouldn’t be teaspoons.”

“Makes sense.”

“Then she said I hid her purse. I searched for an hour and found it tucked behind the sofa cushions. When I showed it to her, she said I was the one who’d put it there.”

Susannah groaned. “Oh, Martha, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” the housekeeper said, sounding exasperated. “Nothing’s been the same since your father died. One day she’s her normal self and the next, well, I hardly know her anymore. She asked me why I’d take her things. I would never! You know that. Teaspoons? She believes I walked away with her teaspoons and God help me, even though I looked everywhere, I couldn’t find them. But I didn’t take them!”

“I’m sure you didn’t. I’ll talk to her,” Susannah promised.

“So she hasn’t said anything to you about me supposedly stealing her things?” Martha asked.

“No.” This was a half truth. In their last conversation, her mother had said she wanted to have a talk about Martha once Susannah arrived. Susannah had assumed that the housekeeper was planning to retire. As it was, Martha cleaned the house only twice a week now. She was getting on in years, too.

“I’ll talk to her,” Susannah said a second time—although she had no idea what she’d say.

“Please do, and if you can’t convince her that I’m an honest and loyal employee then…then maybe I should look for work elsewhere.”

“Don’t do that,” Susannah pleaded. “Give me a chance to get to the bottom of this.”

“Good.” Martha seemed somewhat appeased.

“I’ll be in touch when I get there,” Susannah said.

After a few words of farewell, Martha ended the conversation and Susannah replaced the phone.

“What was that all about?” Joe asked as he refolded the evening paper.

Susannah sighed deeply and told him.

“You did say your mother seems awfully forgetful these days.”

Susannah nodded. “I talk to her almost daily, but there’s only so much information I can get over the phone.” She sighed again. “Mom keeps telling me the same things over and over, but I thought that was simply old age. Maybe it’s more than that.” Many of her friends faced similar concerns with their aging parents.

“What about asking one of her friends?” Joe came into the kitchen and stood beside her. Gazing down at her, he clasped her shoulders, his eyes serious.

She looked up at him with a resigned smile. “I’ll give Mrs. Henderson a call. She’s been Mom’s neighbor for years.”

After finding the Hendersons’ phone number, Susannah reached for the phone again. When the initial greetings were dispensed with, she was quick to get to the reason for her call. “I’m worried about my mother, Mrs. Henderson. Have you talked to her lately?”

“Oh, yes,” Rachel Henderson told her, “she’s often out puttering in her garden—not that she gets much done.”

“How is she…mentally?” Susannah asked next.

“Well, to be honest, she just hasn’t been herself since she lost George,” the neighbor said thoughtfully. “I can’t say exactly what’s going on…but I’m afraid something isn’t right with Vivian.”

“How do you mean?” Susannah asked. Joe walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a mug while watching her.

She knew. Deep down, Susannah had known for weeks that her mother was having problems. She’d sensed changes in Vivian even before her father’s death.

“I realize you talk to your mother a lot and I don’t mean to be putting my nose in where it doesn’t belong. Al said I should mind my own business, but then this evening…”

“What happened this evening?” Susannah asked, suddenly nervous.

“I’m sure you’re aware that Vivian hasn’t adjusted well to losing your father.”

“I know.” Her mother was often weepy and sad, talking endlessly about George and how desperately she missed him. Susannah had driven across the mountains to visit over spring break but had only been able to stay four days. Vivian had clung to her, pleaded with her to remain in Colville longer, but Susannah couldn’t. Driving there and back meant the better part of two days, and that left only one day to prepare for school.

Susannah had tried to talk her mother into moving to Seattle, but Vivian had stubbornly refused to consider it. She didn’t want to leave Colville, where she’d been born and raised. Her surviving friends all lived in the small town sixty-three miles north of Spokane.

“Something happened this evening?” Susannah repeated, wanting Rachel to get to the point.

“I know this may shock you, but your mother asked me to help her find George.”

“What?” Susannah’s eyes shot to Joe. “She thinks my dad’s alive?”

“She claims she saw him.”

“Oh, no,” Susannah muttered.

“She was wandering down the street, looking confused. I got worried, so I went after her. Then she started talking all this nonsense about George—how he brought her home and then disappeared. When was the last time you saw her?”

“March.” Susannah knew she needed to visit Colville more often, but she hadn’t been able to make it during the last few months. Between Brian’s sports, other commitments, including a teaching workshop, and social engagements, there hadn’t been a single free weekend. Guilt felt like a lead weight dragging her down. “I planned to drive over this weekend. School’s out for the summer and I’m going to spend a couple of weeks with Mom.”

“That’s wise,” Mrs. Henderson said. “She’s lost weight, you know.”

Her mother was barely a hundred and ten pounds when Susannah had seen her in March.

“I don’t think she cooks anymore,” her neighbor went on.

During her visit, Vivian had asked her to make dinner every night. Susannah hadn’t minded and the shelves certainly seemed to be well stocked. Although Susannah had noticed a number of gourmet items her mother had never purchased before. Like fancy mustards. And sun-dried tomatoes in pesto, which Susannah had used in a pasta sauce.

“You mean she isn’t eating?” Susannah clarified.

“Not much, as far as I can tell. I keep inviting her over for dinner, but she refuses every time. I’m not the only one she’s refused, either. She seems to be holed up in the house and barely comes out, except to work in her garden.”

“But…why?” Her mother had always been social, enjoying the company of others, hosting parties for George and their friends.

“You’ll have to ask her that.”

“But on the phone she talks as if she sees you quite a bit,” Susannah said. It wasn’t like her mother to lie.

“Oh, yes, we chat over the fence, but I swear…” Mrs. Henderson paused. “Sometimes I’m not sure your mother knows who I am.”

“Oh, dear.” This was what Susannah feared most. Her mother was losing her memory, and it seemed due to more than the erosion of old age.

“Another thing,” Mrs. Henderson said, hesitating again.

“Go on,” Susannah urged.

“The other day when I went to check on her, I found her sitting in the dark. Turns out she forgot to pay the electric bill. She felt embarrassed about it, and I don’t think she’d like me saying anything to you, but I felt you should know.”

Susannah groaned inwardly. These were the very things she’d worried about. Bills unpaid, the stove left on, meals and appointments forgotten.

“Not to worry,” Mrs. Henderson rushed to add. “I helped her get it straightened out and her lights are back on. Like I said, she told me you’d be visiting soon and I thought I’d talk to you then, but this business with her seeing George—now, that’s got me worried.”

It worried Susannah, too. She wished Mrs. Henderson had contacted her earlier. “I tried to talk to Mom about moving into assisted living when I was there in the spring.”

“Yes, she told me. It upset her something fierce that you were going to kick her out of her own house.”

“She said that?” Susannah’s stomach tightened. She was hurt that her mother would even think such a thing, let alone voice it to a neighbor.

“Yes, but quite honestly, Susannah, I don’t feel she should be on her own any longer.”

Susannah should’ve insisted back in March, but she hadn’t felt she could take her mother out of her home so soon after a major loss. She’d had enough upheaval in her life. Evidently it’d been a mistake not to act sooner.

Susannah ran one hand through the soft curls that had fallen onto her forehead.

“It might be best if you came right away,” Mrs. Henderson suggested. “I would’ve phoned you myself, but Al said I should keep out of it. Seeing that you phoned me, well, I figured I’d better tell you what’s going on with your mother. I hope that’s okay?” she asked anxiously.

“I’m grateful you told me,” Susannah said. “I’ll drive over as soon as I can make arrangements.”

After a brief farewell, Susannah replaced the receiver. Joe leaned against the counter, still watching her, coffee mug in hand.

“I’m afraid it’s worse than I thought,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “Apparently she’s wandering around the neighborhood looking for my father.”

Joe released a low whistle. “You’re going over right away, then?” Originally Susannah had intended to wait for the weekend.

“I guess that would be for the best.” Then, thinking out loud, she added, “I don’t have any choice but to put her in an assisted-living facility.”

“I agree.”

Susannah pinched the bridge of her nose, dreading the approaching confrontation. Her mother would fight her on this. She didn’t doubt that for a minute.

“Do you want me to go with you? Perhaps the two of us will be able to talk some sense into her.”

Susannah shook her head.

“You’re sure?” He frowned as though disappointed. “You were wonderful when my parents died, Suze. I want to be there for you.”

For a moment Susannah was afraid she’d cry. “No…I need to do this on my own. I’ve decided,” she said, the idea taking shape in her mind as she spoke, “that I’ll stay in Colville for a while.” Although it was crazy to even consider the idea, she might be able to find out where Jake was living. She had to talk to him, had to find out what had happened and why. Susannah knew her father had something to do with the breakup; she just didn’t know the details. Maybe, once she learned the truth, she could put an end to this fantasizing about Jake.

“Okay.” Joe sighed heavily. “But after you convince her to move, you’ll have to make a decision about the house.”

Susannah hadn’t even thought of that. All at once the task seemed overwhelming.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Joe asked.

She didn’t meet his eyes while she contemplated spending time in Colville. “Three weeks should do it, I imagine. Possibly a month.”

“That long?”

“It isn’t going to be easy to talk my mother into leaving her home,” she said. “And there’s the matter of arranging assisted-living accommodation for her. And cleaning the house. Whether I decide to rent it or put it on the market, either way it’ll need to be cleared out.”

“I could help. Brian, too.”

“No, I can manage.” She appreciated the offer, but she wanted to spend time with her mother—just the two of them. Not only that, she had a private agenda concerning Jake, an agenda she couldn’t confide to her husband. She had to resolve that problem on her own. If Joe and Brian were there, she’d be torn between her present and her past. “Perhaps on the weekends, if you want.” As a dentist, Joe couldn’t change his appointment schedule at the last minute.

“Brian and I have our fishing trip scheduled for next weekend, but we can cancel that.”

“No, don’t,” she protested. It was hard enough for the two of them to find time together.

Joe nodded. “Then we’ll try to come one weekend after that.” He put down his coffee mug and glanced at her, a half smile on his face. “I have a feeling you’re going to learn a lot more than you expected from all of this.”

Susannah suspected he was right.

CHAPTER
3

Chrissie Nelson shoved the last of her clothes into her suitcase and looked anxiously out her dorm room window. Jason was late. He’d promised to be here by ten to take her to the airport. School was over and the dorm was mostly deserted. She’d be flying out of Eugene, where she attended the University of Oregon, to Seattle for the summer. The end of the school year didn’t thrill her, mostly because she’d be leaving Jason behind. She wasn’t like some of her friends, eager to return home. In fact, Chrissie dreaded the emptiness that lay ahead.

Pushing her long straight blond hair over her shoulder, she suppressed a deep sigh. Her roommate, Katie Robertson, had left the night before, and so had several of her other friends. Jason had driven Katie to the airport, but Chrissie’s flight wasn’t until today. He’d stopped by the dorm after he’d dropped Katie off; he and Chrissie had gone out for a farewell drink and he’d promised to meet her in plenty of time for her 11:30 flight. When he’d picked Katie up, he’d arrived with two hours to spare—and he’d waited with her at the airport. Chrissie had a niggling sensation that he’d been more solicitous than necessary….

That made it sound as if she was jealous and she wasn’t. Jason had never given Chrissie the slightest reason to doubt his devotion. He was simply thoughtful. Latching her suitcase closed, she grunted as she lifted it off the mattress with both hands and set it on the floor.

The problem with going home for the summer was that she didn’t have a job. And at this late date, the prospects of decent employment were slim to none.

She was almost twenty and still tied to her parents. Chrissie hated that. The idea of being at home for the next eight or ten weeks—and dependent on her parents for spending money—depressed her. She preferred to stay in Eugene, but her part-time job on campus had ended with the semester. Next year everything would be different; Chrissie intended to make sure of that. This would be her last summer in Seattle. She was an adult, and she wanted to live her own life.

As soon as she got home, she planned to tell her parents that she was moving out of the dorm. Two other girls had invited her to live off-campus with them in a small house. They’d divide the rent, and it would be much cheaper than living at the university for a third year. It would be a good experience, she’d tell her parents, plus it would save them money. She was perfectly capable of managing on her own. Her father would listen to reason, but she wasn’t sure she could count on her mother.

Jason’s Honda Civic pulled up to the curb. Chrissie leaned out the window and waved. He climbed out of his car, glanced up and smiled, then waved back. “I’ll be right there,” he called.

That was typical of Jason—always considerate. She felt fortunate to be with him. They’d met on a blind date and he’d impressed her the moment they began to talk. They had a lot in common, but that didn’t mean they were alike. Far from it. Jason, a law student specializing in accounting law, was about as conservative as they came. His grades were high and his work habits disciplined and methodical. Chrissie, on the other hand, was carefree and fun-loving, and something of a procrastinator. The problem, she’d decided, was that she worked best under pressure. Term papers were written the night before they were due. What other people failed to understand, she often explained righteously, was that she’d been thinking about the subject for weeks, gathering the needed data. Starting it early wouldn’t have improved the end product.

Jason never left anything to the last minute and her delay tactics exasperated him. Still, they were crazy about each other. He did occasionally try to change her ways—and vice versa. At least he didn’t constantly complain about her study habits like her parents did. Her grades weren’t any worse in college than they’d been in high school. Okay, they weren’t great but she never got less than a C. The major reason she’d decided on college was because all her friends were going. Everyone just expected her to continue her education, and she hadn’t come up with anything she’d rather do.

She stayed more because of the social life than the academics—the parties and the boys. Jason, with his wide muscular shoulders, could have been a football player, but sports were of little interest to him. He dressed for class as if he were going into an office, wearing sweaters and slacks in the winter and short-sleeve shirts and Dockers in the summer. His hair was conservatively cut, above the ear. Basically, he was every mother’s dream. Her dream, too, although she would never have expected to fall for a guy like him.

On that first date with Jason, she’d tried to find the beast within, striving to break through his proprieties, with limited success. She was convinced there was a bad boy inside him waiting to emerge and Chrissie wanted to find him. Jason certainly didn’t object, and while they were different they were also good together. He appreciated her spontaneity and lightheartedness. She liked the fact that he was reliable and thoughtful. And although they might argue about everything from politics to movies, they had an enjoyable time making up afterward.

Needless to say, her parents were thrilled with him, and who wouldn’t be? He was as close to perfect a boyfriend for their daughter as they could hope for. She and Jason hadn’t talked about marriage yet, but it wouldn’t surprise her if he gave her an engagement ring at Christmas.

Jason came into her room and heaved the heavy suitcase into his arms. Grunting and panting, he maneuvered it down the stairs—no elevator in her building—while she carried her backpack and purse.

When they reached the bottom, Chrissie cast him a woebegone look. “I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

“It’ll be fine,” he said without meeting her eyes. But that could’ve been because he was busy hoisting the suitcase into his trunk.

Still, his offhand remark startled her. “It will?” She found that hard to believe.

“I’ll miss you like crazy, but before we know it you’ll be back.”

His cavalier attitude was completely unexpected. She wanted him to feel as bereft as she did; obviously he didn’t. Eyeing him closely, she wondered if she was reading more into his comment than warranted. She didn’t want to sound like a whiny ten-year-old, but she was taken aback by his response.

She decided not to overreact. “You’re right, of course. Besides, I can come and visit you over the Fourth of July.”

“You can?”

“Sure, why not?” she asked.

“Don’t you want to save your money for school?”

She shrugged, as if financial concerns were of little significance. She’d assumed he’d leap at the suggestion. Apparently not. A moment later, Jason took Chrissie by the shoulders and astonished her by kissing her long and hard. Normally, he frowned on public displays of affection, but today nothing about him was the same. She reveled in his moist lips molding to hers as he held her close. “Next summer…” she whispered.

“Next summer?”

“I’ll find a way to stay in Oregon.”

“Good.” With that, he placed her backpack carefully beside the heavy bag and shut the trunk.

“First things first,” she said as Jason opened the passenger door.

He hesitated, looking puzzled.

“I have to convince my mother to let me move out of the dorm before I talk to her about staying in Eugene next summer,” she elaborated.

“You really have a thing about your mother, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Chrissie flared.

“You always seem worried about what she’s going to say.”

His observation irritated her. “That’s not true.” She didn’t want to argue, but he’d totally missed the point.

“You just said you had to get your mother to agree that you can rent with Joan and Katie,” he murmured. “For the last week, ever since final exams, you’ve been complaining about going home and having to deal with her. Not once did you mention your dad.”

“My father is the more reasonable of the two.” She was furious that Jason would even suggest she had a problem with her mother.

“From what I understand, it’s fairly common, you know? Mother-daughter conflict, I mean.”

“Really?” Chrissie said coldly as she climbed into the passenger seat and without waiting closed the door. She fastened the seat belt while Jason walked around to the other side of the vehicle.

“You and your mother seem to have these underlying issues,” he said when he got into the car. He inserted the key into the ignition.

She stared at him, annoyed that he was pursuing the subject. “Are you trying to start a fight?” she asked, refusing to be drawn into one.

Jason turned to her, then gradually smiled. “Not really. Are you?”

“No.”

“Good.” He pulled away from the curb.

“You don’t act as if you’re going to miss me all that much,” she said, and immediately wanted to swallow her words. They made her seem insecure and she wasn’t.

“What makes you say that?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head.

“Is it because I didn’t encourage you to fly down for the Fourth of July? If so, the reason—aside from not wanting you to spend the airfare—is that I already have plans.”

“You do?”

“My parents asked me to visit them and I said I would.”

It didn’t escape Chrissie’s notice that he didn’t invite her to join him and his family.

“Are you glad I’m leaving Eugene?” she asked. She knew he’d be staying; he was fortunate enough to have a full-time summer job with a big law firm. His family lived in Grants Pass, a couple of hours away.

Jason sighed as if she were behaving like a difficult child. “Forget I asked,” she snapped. “It was a stupid question.”

“Yes, it was,” Jason said. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Why are you being so sensitive?”

He was right; she was overreacting, even though she’d vowed not to. “Maybe I don’t want to go back to Seattle for the summer. Maybe I’d rather be here with you instead of trapped in a house with my mother for the next ten weeks.” The moment she mentioned her mother, Chrissie realized she’d said the wrong thing.

“Why don’t you talk to her, then?”

“About what? My relationship with her? My mother’s so caught up in her own world that she can’t be bothered with me.”

Jason stopped at a traffic signal. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“How would you know? You only met her once.” Chrissie had brought Jason home at Easter and he’d spent three days with her family. The visit had been a success on all counts.

As they’d pulled out of the family driveway, Chrissie had basked in her parents’ approval. Both of them had liked Jason immensely.

“You have wonderful parents, Chrissie,” he said now.

“Yes—but my mother’s going to make my life hell this summer. She’s upset with me for not having a job, although she’d never come right out and say so. Instead, she’ll find a hundred different things to criticize.”

“I thought you were going to look for a job over spring break,” Jason reminded her.

“I was, but I got busy—the time just slipped away. Don’t you start on me, too.”

“Chrissie…”

“You have no idea what this summer’s going to be like.”

“Oh, come on, Chrissie. It’s not—”

“Let me give you an example,” she broke in, “and this is based on experience. Mom will ask me to clean the bathroom and I will. Then she’ll come in after me and scrub the sink all over again. This is her way of letting me know that I didn’t meet her high standards.” The summer stretched before Chrissie like one long exercise in tolerance and patience. “If she didn’t like how I cleaned the sink, you’d think she’d just say so, but oh, no, not my mother.”

Jason muttered something noncommittal.

“Brian has a job,” she continued. “Mom’s already mentioned that fact about fifty times. He’s working for a construction company.”

“You’re making too much of this.”

“I don’t think so,” Chrissie muttered. “What she’s really saying is that if I’d looked for a job like she wanted me to over spring break, I’d have one waiting for me now.” She could imagine the constant barrage of digs that lay in store for her. Her mother couldn’t bear the thought of Chrissie being idle all summer, so she’d threaten to line up babysitting jobs for her. Babysitting at almost twenty? In Chrissie’s opinion, that was cruel and unusual punishment.

“She seems to believe that finding temporary employment is easy. I suppose I could get a job at a fast-food place, but even those aren’t as available as they used to be. Besides, I don’t want to spend my summer asking someone if they want fries with that.”

“Well…” He clearly wasn’t interested in arguing with her.

“As a last resort, my dad will leap to the rescue and offer me a pity job.”

“A what?”

“He’ll bring me to his office and I’ll be reduced to doing menial tasks, for which he’ll pay me minimum wage.” She sighed. “It’s going to be a dreadful summer. I can tell.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jason countered absently.

Chrissie doubted he’d even heard her. His mind certainly wasn’t on her; that much was apparent. She looked at him and frowned, unsure what to think. Something had changed between them. She could feel it—had felt it from the moment he arrived. Jason had never been late before.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, then added, “Between us, I mean.”

He glanced at her and shrugged. “Sure. Why shouldn’t it be?”

Instinct said otherwise. “You drove Katie to the airport last night, didn’t you?”

“You know I did.”

Chrissie noticed that his hand tightened around the steering wheel. What had happened between him and Katie the night before? She didn’t mention how long he’d spent at the airport. Originally she was supposed to tag along, but Katie had a lot of stuff and it would’ve been a tight fit in a small car, so she’d stayed behind. That, apparently, had been a mistake.

Nothing had happened, she told herself. Chrissie couldn’t believe Jason would do that to her. Besides, Katie was one of her best friends. They planned on renting a house together in a few months. The last thing Katie would do was steal Jason away from her.

No, neither of them would betray her, Chrissie thought firmly.

The rest of the drive was completed in an uncomfortable silence.

Jason drove up to the curb at the airport and Chrissie climbed out as soon as he came to a stop. Without a word, Jason jumped out and opened the trunk, heaving her suitcase onto the ground.

“The summer will go fast,” he said with false cheerfulness. “You’ll be back here in no time.”

“Right,” she agreed with the same fake exuberance. “No time at all.”

Jason nodded. “I’ll call you soon.”

She nodded, too, and dragged her bag onto the sidewalk. “I guess I’d better get inside.”

“Have a great summer.”

She tried to smile. “You, too.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, but it fell short of just about every other kiss they’d exchanged. She was afraid she was losing Jason and it broke her heart.

CHAPTER
4

Susannah wasn’t looking forward to this trip back to Colville. The eastern Washington community was like small towns all over the country. Her eyes went immediately to the town clock, which featured a statue of a frontiersman, as she drove through the city center. Colville with its JCPenney store on Main Street was the big city to many of the smaller communities surrounding it. There was a traffic roundabout now, but while she was growing up, Colville had the only traffic light in Stevens County.

It was small-town America at its best.

And its worst.

The drive took seven hours with a brief lunch break. As Susannah rolled into the outskirts of town, her tension grew. She turned the music up louder, trying to lose herself in the insistent beat of the Rolling Stones. The first building she passed was the Burger King restaurant, which had closed its doors. It was probably the only franchise in the entire chain to go out of business. The bowling alley came next. The sign out front listed the special of the day as a breakfast of two eggs, toast and coffee for $2.99—up from the $1.99 of her childhood. That had been the special for as long as Susannah could remember.

She drove past Colville Mortuary, which had once been owned by her uncle Henry, who was long dead now. Susannah had grown up with hordes of cousins, none of whom had settled in the area. They, too, had no reason to stay in Colville.

As she continued down Main Street, she felt a growing sense of dread. Getting her mother into an assisted-living complex wasn’t a prospect she relished. This anxiety, however, resulted from more than the difficult task that awaited her. When Susannah left Colville for college, she’d never looked back. Oh, she’d returned any number of times over the years, but whenever she did, the familiar depression returned, too. Part of that had to do with her brother’s death; he was killed in a car accident the year she turned eighteen. She was in a French boarding school at the time, and her father’s phone call had come in the middle of the day. A call from America was sure to be bad news. And it was. It’d been the worst news of her life. Her brother, older by three years, had died in a crash on a notoriously bad curve just outside Colville.

Susannah’s world changed forever that day. If her brother’s death wasn’t devastating enough, her father had refused to fly her home for the funeral. She never forgave him for that. He’d been the one who insisted on shipping her off to France in the first place. Then, while she was so far from home, her whole life had collapsed. Susannah was never the same afterward. Her parents had never recovered, either.

It seemed to her that whatever happiness her parents had shared vanished after Doug died. Joy fled from their lives, leaving their marriage stark and empty. That was Susannah’s perception, although her mother had a different version of events, a version Susannah considered a case of denial. But then, how could Vivian have stayed with her husband if she’d been honest about her unhappiness—and his role in it?

When Susannah had returned from her year away, she could barely tolerate living in the same house. After she left for college, she didn’t even consider moving back.

Doug’s death wasn’t the only reminder she brought with her. She couldn’t come here and not think about Jake Presley—especially now that he’d invaded her dreams on a nightly basis. Any number of times over the years she’d wondered about him, but never more than in the last few months. The sweet tenderness of her first love had been ruined by her father, too.

Susannah wanted to believe that Jake was happy, a husband and father, and successful in whatever field he’d chosen. It’d taken her a long time to get over him—but she had. Or so she’d thought.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Susannah slowed her car to the reduced thirty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit. She passed Benny’s Motel and the Safeway store where her mother had shopped for fifty years. The four-block-square City Park was behind the motel. Farther down the street was Ole King Cole’s restaurant. Every year on Mother’s Day, that was where her father took her mother for dinner. Either there or Acorn’s.

Refusing to be ambushed by the past, Susannah forced herself to stare straight ahead. When she reached the end of Main, she ventured up the hill toward ChestnutAvenue and her childhood home.

The light was on, although it was barely five o’clock in the afternoon and summer-bright. Susannah pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. The screen door opened instantly, as if her mother had been standing on the other side waiting for her arrival.

The house, built in 1960, was constructed of brick. At the time it had been one of the new ranch-style homes, among the most elaborate in town. It had four bedrooms, one of which her mother used for crafts, plus a finished basement with rec room and laundry.

And the garden. Her mother’s beautiful garden. Vivian liked to sit there in the cool of the evening and read or knit. Her father had installed lighting on the back deck for that very reason.

“Susannah.” Vivian held out her arms as Susannah climbed from the car.

Bounding up the front steps, she was shocked to see how frail her mother had become, especially in such a short time. She appeared to have aged ten years since Susannah’s visit in March. Mrs. Henderson was right; Vivian had lost weight, so much that her clothes hung on her. The belted housedress bagged at the waist and her stockings were wrinkled and loose. Susannah wrapped her arms gently around her mother and felt immersed in guilt. She should’ve come sooner, should have realized how poorly her mother was doing.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Vivian said.

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” Susannah told her. Joe would be fine without her for a few weeks. The children, too. But Susannah’s mother needed her.

“Come inside,” Vivian urged. “I made iced tea.”

Susannah slipped her arm around her mother’s narrow waist and together they walked inside. She was surprised to see a few newspapers scattered on the steps, still in their protective plastic sleeves. This was unlike her meticulous mother.

The house was much as she remembered it from her last visit. The chair where her father had watched television every night sat empty. The crocheted doily pinned against the back was still in place.

Even in his retirement, the television wasn’t allowed on before the five o’clock news. The judge had decreed it and no one dared question his decisions, least of all her mother. Susannah wondered if Vivian watched daytime programs now that her husband was gone. She suspected not. Old habits die hard.

The kitchen table was set with dishes and silverware. “You didn’t make dinner, did you?” Susannah asked.

Her mother turned from the refrigerator and frowned. “You told me not to.”

“I was planning to take you out to eat, anyplace you want.”

“Oh, good. I was afraid I did something wrong.”

“No, Mom, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her smile seemed so fragile, so tentative. After all these years of marriage she was lost without George. Her dependence on him had been absolute, Susannah thought. She blamed her father for that more than she did her mother.

“Sit down and tell me about the children,” her mother said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table for Susannah. The round oak table was an antique now and the chairs along with it.

Stepping over to the counter, her mother filled tall glasses and brought them to the table. Then she sat down, looking expectantly at Susannah.

Susannah sipped her tea. “Brian has a summer job in construction. He’s thrilled and the money is excellent.”

Her mother smiled with approval. “And Christine?”

“Joe’s picking her up from the airport this afternoon.”

Her mother’s smile faded. “She was away?”

“At school, Mom. Chrissie’s coming home from college for the summer.”

“Oh, of course. Chrissie’s away at school now, isn’t she?”

“That’s right. She’s about to enter her junior year.”

“She has a summer job, too?”

Susannah should have anticipated the question. “No. Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll find one.” This was wishful thinking on her part.

Her mother nodded. “Yes, she will. She’s such a beautiful young girl.” Susannah’s gaze drifted into the dining room, where Vivian kept family photos on the buffet. Chrissie’s high school graduation picture stared back at her. Her daughter’s long blond hair, parted in the middle, flowed down over her shoulders as she smiled into the camera. Susannah’s own high school graduation photograph, taken after her return from France, was positioned next to that of her daughter. Her hair had been long and blond then, too, but curlier than Chrissie’s. It had darkened over the years and was now a light shade of brown. These days she kept it short and styled. In her graduation picture, Susannah wore a cap and gown and held her diploma, tilted at an angle as if it were a cherished scroll. It was all for show.

“Chrissie’s so much like you at that age.”

Susannah’s gaze flew back to the photographs. Frankly she didn’t see the resemblance. Her daughter was nothing like her in temperament or in looks. At almost twenty, Chrissie still had a lot of growing up to do.

“It’s in the eyes,” her mother continued.

Susannah looked again, partly, she supposed, in the hope that her mother was right. For the last year or so, Susannah and Chrissie had been at odds. Not for any particular reason, but over a succession of little things. Susannah felt that her daughter didn’t take life seriously enough. She didn’t put much effort into school and tended to waste time lounging in front of the TV, indulging in long conversations with her friends and sleeping in until noon. Chrissie should have summer employment, but instead of going on a job search, she’d frittered away her spring break, convinced she could charm herself into employment when it suited her.

“Your hair was that blond when you were young,” her mother said wistfully.

Susannah didn’t want to disillusion her mother, but Chrissie’s pure blond color came courtesy of an expensive salon.

“The minute Joe’s mother set eyes on the baby, she told us Chrissie looked exactly like her aunt Louise,” Susannah commented. Joe had rolled his eyes, but Susannah did see a resemblance. Not then, of course, but more recently.

“She’s still at school?”

“No, Mom, Chrissie’s flying home. Joe’s going to the airport to pick her up.”

“Oh, yes, you said that, didn’t you? I forget sometimes.”

“That’s all right, Mom, we all do.” She gave her mother’s hand a reassuring pat, then stood. “I’d better bring in my suitcase.”

“You’ll stay more than a day or two this time, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mom, I’ll stay.”

A smile brightened her mother’s dull eyes. “Good. I hoped you would. I’ve been so lost without your father. And now Martha’s left me, too!” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her dress and removed a tissue to dab her eyes.

Martha had quit! Susannah groaned inwardly as she walked out of the house and opened the trunk of her car. She brought in a large suitcase; assuming she’d be in town for a few weeks, she’d packed more than her usual overnight bag.

Susannah carried her suitcase down the hallway to her childhood bedroom, which remained exactly as it had when she’d lived at home. Her desk was still there; her chair, too. The heavy blue drapes were the same, although faded, and the lighter blue shag carpeting looked terribly dated now. She couldn’t imagine why her parents had never updated their home after she’d graduated from college. It was as if they’d been stuck in a time warp for the last thirty years. There’d certainly been money to make changes.

“I saw a friend of yours last week,” her mother said, coming to stand in the bedroom doorway, watching Susannah as she unpacked.

“Who?” Susannah had few friends in town. She’d attended her ten-year reunion, but had felt awkward and out of place. She’d been married to Joe for three years then, and the two of them had stayed at each other’s side. Susannah hadn’t returned for subsequent reunions. She didn’t know these people anymore. Because she’d been away for the last year of school, she hadn’t even graduated with them, not officially.

“Just a minute,” her mother said and closed her eyes, forehead creased in thought. “Carolyn!” she said triumphantly. “You remember Carolyn. Carolyn Bronson.” Her mother paused. “She said you should phone her sometime.”

“Carolyn Bronson?” Susannah couldn’t believe it. Carolyn had been her best friend and the richest girl in Colville. They’d gone to France together. Her father owned the mill that employed nearly forty percent of the town—or had at one time. With the changes in the lumber industry, Susannah didn’t know how the yard had fared.

“You were good friends with her, right?”

Susannah nodded. “But I haven’t seen Carolyn in years.” Carolyn had been the one friend from Colville she’d stayed in touch with for a while. Then they’d grown apart and their correspondence had dwindled down to an annual Christmas card. About twenty-five years ago, Susannah’s card had come back stamped: MOVED—NO FORWARDING ADDRESS. She hadn’t heard from Carolyn since. Her mother had read in the paper—she regularly studied the obituaries—that Carolyn’s parents were both gone. Susannah hadn’t realized Carolyn was back in Colville.