Charlotte took a step back, reeling from that piece of information. Her entire life had been built on the premise that her father didn’t care enough to take them with her. Annie had fostered that belief. She’d never once said Russell had asked them to join him.
Charlotte trembled, shaking in her denial. “No. No. Mom would have gone to California. She wouldn’t have chosen to stay here alone, pining for you. Letting people talk about us. Letting the kids make fun of me because I didn’t have a daddy who loved me.” She looked to her mother for confirmation.
Because to learn otherwise now would mean she’d unnecessarily lost out on years of having a father. Even if he wasn’t in town, if she’d known he loved her, known he wanted her, her emotional foundation would have been more solid.
Surely her mother would have known that. “Mom?” Charlotte hated the little-girl sound to her voice and straightened her shoulders. She’d handle whatever happened next.
Unbelievably, Annie nodded. “It’s … it’s true. I couldn’t leave town and everything that was familiar. And I couldn’t bear to be separated from you, so we stayed here.”
“But why didn’t you at least tell me Dad wanted us? You knew he wanted you. You had that thought to keep you warm and comforted at night. Why didn’t you want the same for me?”
“I wanted what was best for you. But I’m ashamed to admit I did only what was best for me. The way you reacted when your father left and the way you kept reading up on all those Hollywood books, I was afraid of losing you if you knew. You always were more like your father than like me.” She sniffed, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I thought you’d go to him and leave me behind. Alone.”
Charlotte blinked. Feeling numb, she lowered herself onto the couch. “All these years, I blamed you.” She met her father’s gaze.
“I let you, honey.”
And he had. While her mother had allowed her child to suffer, her father had perpetuated the lie that he’d abandoned them both. “Why?”
He let out a groan. “At first, it was out of love and respect for your mother’s wishes. She was so afraid of losing you, I couldn’t help feeling she needed you more than I did. And how do you explain all this to a little girl?”
“And later?”
“You became an angry teen.” He wrapped his hand around the back of his neck, shook his head, and began massaging. “On my trips home you wouldn’t have a civil conversation with me about the weather. Then you went to college, moved to New York, and were old enough to schedule your trips home so you could avoid mine.”
That was true enough, she acknowledged with sudden, unexpected sadness and guilt. Maybe there was enough blame to go around, she thought.
“I suppose I just didn’t try hard enough.”
Charlotte exhaled hard. “And I didn’t try at all.” The admission didn’t come easily.
“It’s my fault, but there’s an explanation. I’m not looking to pass the blame, but look. …” With shaking hands, Annie reached for her purse and pulled out a small vial of prescription medication. “Dr. Fallon said it sounds like I’ve had a severe case of depression.”
Hadn’t Charlotte approached the doctor sensing just such a possibility?
Annie blinked back tears. “Maybe I should have taken these before, but I didn’t realize I needed help. Your father said … he said Dr. Fallon had spoken with you and you thought there might be a problem. I didn’t know. I thought I had to feel this way. I thought it was normal. I mean, I’ve always felt this way.” Her voice broke, but she continued, “And I couldn’t bear to lose you too. I know I caused you pain because of my … illness, and I’m sorry.” Annie hugged Charlotte tight. “I’m so sorry.”
Her mother smelled like her mother—warm and soft and comforting. But there’d always been something childlike about Annie. She’d always seemed so fragile, Charlotte realized now. Even the librarian job was so perfect for her because of the silence and soft words spoken there.
“I’m not mad at you, Mom.” She was just off kilter and confused. The lump in her throat was so large it hurt, and she wasn’t sure how to absorb the truth.
Looking back, so much made sense, but only recently had Charlotte realized there was a more serious problem. She still had a hunch they were dealing with something more deeply rooted than mild depression, something akin to mental illness. Why else would a person keep her shades drawn and windows closed, preferring loneliness to other people’s company, including the husband she loved?
Why hadn’t any of them picked up on the signs before? Perhaps they’d all been too self-absorbed, Charlotte thought sadly.