The Lavender Hour by Anne Leclaire

Author:Anne Leclaire [LeClaire, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-48733-9
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2007-11-11T16:00:00+00:00

fourteen

ALL THAT WINTER and spring, even on the wildest of days with winds near gale force or fog so impenetrable I was the one foolish enough to brave it—those days when I sought escape from boredom, from fear of an unsettled future, from a formless, free-floating anxiety—I would head for the beach at the end of our street, a narrow strip of sand with stone jetties that jutted out into the sound every thirty feet, and I would walk. That stretch of beach held the power to bring me some measure of calm, some semblance of peace. After I left Luke, I drove straight there.

Although it was still cool for June, I kicked off my shoes, peeled away my socks, and rolled up the cuffs of my jeans, then walked across the sand to the jetty and, progressing carefully from one to the next, made my way to the large gray boulder at the very end and folded myself down, perching like a herring gull. The tide was low, and the water lapped in the crevices between rocks where barnacles and periwinkles clung. In the distance, Monomoy Island lay flat on the horizon like a mirage. There was a light onshore breeze, and I inhaled its salt, closed my eyes against tears. This was where Faye found me.

I hadn't heard her approach, and the first I knew of her presence was her hand on my shoulder.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I'm fine,” I said, although a blind man could see the blatant untruth of this.

Faye lowered herself to the rock. “Lily called last night.”

“Mama called you?”

“Just after midnight. When she couldn't reach you.” Just after midnight. When Luke was telling me he had no intention of dying piece by piece. “She's worried about you.”

I searched Faye's face, wondering how much she knew, how much she had guessed. It occurred to me that Ashley might have called our mama and repeated the details of our last conversation. That would explain Lily's call to Faye; certainly she hadn't been worried simply because I was out after midnight. There were times in my late teens when I hadn't come home until morning, and Lily had long ago given up trying to control my behavior or my morals. Or maybe she was afraid I was sick. Why else would she call Faye?

“I stayed overnight at Luke's,” I said. “Nona was taken to the hospital. They thought it was a heart attack, but it turned out to be anxiety.”

“I know. Jim caught me up on everything.” Faye waited for me to say something, but I stared out at Monomoy. The island shimmered in the sun, and although it had been deserted for decades— the last of the beach shacks long ago had surrendered to time or fire or vandalism—some deception of the eye made buildinglike silhouettes seem to rise above its shores.

“Jim was under the impression you had arranged for a respite nurse for the night,” Faye said.

“I don't know, that seemed kind of silly when there was no reason for me not to stay.

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