Untouched by a dustcloth too. She sneezed and closed the door behind her. Grabbed her cleaning supplies and gripped the pine banister as she descended to the main floor. In those same pretend dance days, she’d preened her way down the grand staircase, swishing imaginary skirts and flirting with phantom beaux, the belle of the ball that wasn’t.
A sweet memory.
To her surprise, her mother wasn’t washing windows or banishing cobwebs from corners. Instead, Peggy sat on one of the lumpy leather couches, staring out at the lake. Or whatever it was she saw.
Sarah set her bucket down and sat next to her mother. Flecks of green and red paint dotted her mother’s nails and knuckles.
“After your grandmother died,” Peggy said, “yo
ur father and I talked about moving out here. He wanted to live on the lake and wake up to this view. I’m sorry I disappointed him by saying no.”
“Why did you?” Sarah had been busy with two small children then, and not paying a lot of attention.
“It just—it just didn’t feel right. I never could explain.”
“Well, sure. It was your mother-in-law’s house.”
“No. I adored Mary Mac. And I do love the place. It was almost as if—oh, never mind. Too hard to explain.” Peggy started to get up but Sarah pulled her back.
“Try, Mom.”
“It was as though the house wanted something from me that I couldn’t give it. See? Now you think I’m nuts.”
No, she didn’t. Not at all.
Peggy stood. “But I know what the house wants right now. It wants a good cleaning.”
* * *
They decided to wait on the windows until the sun wasn’t shining directly on them, and moved up to the second floor, to her grandparents’ bedroom. After all these years, it still held faint scents of cedar and lavender. A milk glass lamp sat on a simple oak dresser with cut-glass knobs, and Peggy switched it on. “This lamp is one of my favorite pieces in the entire house.”
“Speaking of which, where’s all the stuff from the third floor?”
“Don’t you remember?” Peggy asked. “Brooke had visions of turning this into a luxury rental. They started clearing, but didn’t get very far—Connor got too busy with work.”
“Oh, right. I completely forgot.” Her memory had become a sieve, another casualty of Jeremy’s illness. Not a bad idea. Except that she hated it. Strangers in their house.
“By the way, your brother has something to discuss with you.”
“That sounds ominous.” Connor hadn’t mentioned anything in Seattle. He and Brooke, a bubbly brunette who barely reached his shoulder, had brought the kids out for the funeral, but it had been a quick trip, so the kids didn’t miss much school. Not much time to talk.
“No, no. Nothing to worry about.”
A phrase guaranteed to make her worry. But Connor was rock solid. Always had been. She regretted that they weren’t closer, mainly because of the age difference—he’d only been twelve when she left for college.
“I always felt like I was sleeping in a tree house when we stayed out here,” she said. “That’s the feeling I was after when we built our house. Watch out for falling spiders.” She ran the yellow-headed dust mop around the coving where the walls and ceiling met, then both women picked up dustcloths.
A few minutes later, Peggy straightened. “So why is Janine here? Neither of you wanted to tell me.”
And Sarah didn’t want to talk about it now.
“It has to do with Lucas, doesn’t it?” Peggy continued. “With whatever happened the day of the accident.”
“You know what happened, Mom. He attacked her.” Sarah started dusting the head of the sleigh bed she’d always loved. She’d searched all over for a king-sized version that didn’t scream “new,” and finally had one custom-made. After Jeremy’s funeral, she’d crawled into it, seeking comfort. Instead, it felt cold and foreign, no longer hers. She’d crept down the hall and slipped into bed with Abby, the two of them holding each other through the long, sleepless night.
“I always felt terrible that I wasn’t a better friend to Sue,” Peggy said.
Sarah stopped dusting. “Janine’s mom? You weren’t friends at all. Were you?”