"For me, you are that person. Hannah. You help me care about myself. I need you to love me. Hannah. I need you to forgive me,"
"I love you Mommy. I can't help it."
She smiled. "Nor can I help loving you. So," she said, rising out of the patio chair. "let's begin by forgiving each other first."
She held out her arms and I rushed into her embrace. For a very, very long moment we simply clung to each other. It was as if the whole world had stepped back.
"Now," she said, taking my hand. "let's walk along the beach, and you can begin to tell me all about this crazy thing you did and all that happened along the way." We started walking and I did just that.
.
When I reached the end of my story. I told Mommy I had called Daddy first to ask him to help me. I explained what had happened, and she shook her head and told me she wasn't surprised, but she thought I should call him that night and tell him I was home anyway.
He wasn't home and thankfully, neither were my twin brothers. The butler put Danielle on the phone. She said she
would let my father know, but she sounded very sad herself. I thought it was because she still believed I was to blame for what had happened at the house on the twins' birthday. I started to explain again, and she stopped me,
"You don't have to tell me anything. cherie. I know the truth. I know now just who my sons are." she said. I thought her voice cracked again. and I asked her if she was all right. She said she was and again assured me she would tell my father I was safely back home.
I expected to hear from him that night or at least the following day, but he didn't call. I called his office, and Mrs. Gower told me he was out of town. She would give him the message when he called in for his messages. Again, the day passed and he didn't call. I decided to stop pursuing him.
As he had promised. Miguel brought Uncle Linden to Joya del Mar for lunch two days after we had returned. I could see Mommy was nervous about it. but Uncle Linden wasn't. He was very talkative and sat on the rear loggia making comments about this or that on the property, recalling things that had happened at the pool or on the beach front. I thought he had forgotten everything about our trip, until he paused at the end of his visit to tell me I should stop by when I had an opportunity because he wanted to show me the completed picture he had made of Bess and Rosemary. Mommy and I looked at each other with a little concern. She made arrangements to go to see him at the end of the week.
It had been a long time since she and I visited the residency together. Uncle Linden was very excited to see us, but not. as I thought at first. because Mommy was with me. Na. he couldn't wait to bring us to his room so we could see his finished work of art. I had prepared Mommy for this, describing to her what I had discovered when I had gone to fetch his painting and put it in the motor home. We were both prepared to pretend we saw something that made sense.
Imagine the shock both of us experienced when we entered his room and saw the picture on his easel. It was a remarkable picture. Bess's likeness so exacting I could look at it and actually hear that thin and fragile laugh and see the vulnerability in her eyes. What interested me the most about the picture, however, was the rendering of Rosemary. The little girl beside her bore only the slightest resemblance to me and that was just in the color of her hair. She looked happy, too. so I imagined that the photograph Bess had given Uncle Linden was one taken before her husband had begun to poison Rosemary against her. I could see some of Bess in Rosemary and even something of Grandmother Stanton. Perhaps that had been Uncle Linden's contribution.
As in all of his recent pictures, the background was somewhat abstract, but the colors were vibrant and true, I thought.
"It's a wonderful picture. Linden." Mommy told him. "I want you to help me get it to her," he said.
"We can do that right away. I'll have it packaged properly and sent express delivery," she promised.
"Good." He stepped back to admire his own work,
"And you did the little girl from a photograph?" Mommy asked, showing her admiration.
He turned and looked at her, shaking his head. "Oh. no. Willow," he said. "She was there. I saw her. Wasn't she, Hannah?"
I smiled. "Yes. Uncle Linden. She was there."
Afterward, we had some iced tea on the porch. Uncle Linden had gotten Mrs. Robinson to buy some mint tea. He made a point of telling us, however, that somehow, it didn't taste as good as Mrs. Stanton's.
"She has secret ingredients for everything. I bet. Next time I see her. I'll coax her into telling me." he said.
I thought it was nice that he expected there would be a next time. Mommy thought it was healthy for him to have a goal like that, to want to return to see someone else. He then revealed that he was writing letters. too.
"Well, when you're ready, then, Linden, you should take a trip like that." Mommy said.
"Yes. I should. When I'm ready," he agreed.
We took the picture with us when we left. and Mommy went directly to the packaging store to have it prepared and delivered. Afterward, we both agreed it was one of the nicest visits we had ever had with Uncle Linden.
"I am still amazed at how he did this picture. Mommy. What were all those lines and that mess I saw?"
"Maybe what you suspected: an artist's notes. Linden always had a visual mind, a real
photographer's memory. He took his snapshots and kept them in his head along with the colors he saw and put down on that canvas. It is something amazing," she agreed. "Maybe he will came out of there one day," she concluded and then looked at me and smiled. "but not to go off in a broken-down motor home."