“I know you think I don’t understand how you feel, Lucy,” her mother said. “But I do.”
“You do?” As Lucy waited for her mother to continue, her gaze fell on a print of Munch’s painting The Dance of Life. The work depicted several couples dancing on a summer night. But two women stood alone in the picture. The one on the left was dressed in white, looking innocent and hopeful. The older woman on the right, however, was dressed in black, the uncompromising angles of her body conveying the bitterness of a love affair gone wrong.
“Before I was married,” her mother said, “I was involved with a man—I loved him very much—and one day he broke the news to me that he was in love with my best friend.”
Her mother had never divulged anything of the kind to her before. Lucy gripped the phone, unable to make a sound.
“It was beyond painful. I had … well, I suppose you would call it a nervous breakdown. I’ve never forgotten that feeling of not being able to get out of bed. That feeling of your soul being too heavy for you to move.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said in a hushed voice. “It’s hard to think of you going through something like that. It must have been terrible.”
“The most difficult part was that I lost my boyfriend and my best friend at the same time. I think they both regretted the pain they had caused me, but they loved each other so much that nothing else mattered. They got married. Later my former friend asked for my forgiveness, and I gave it to her.”
“Did you mean it?” Lucy couldn’t help asking.
That provoked a rueful laugh. “I said the words. That was the most I could manage. And I was glad I had done that, because about a year after the wedding, she died of Lou Gehrig’s.”
“What about the guy? Did you ever get back in touch with him?”
“You could say that.” Her mother’s voice turned gently arid. “I eventually married him, and we had two daughters.”
Lucy’s eyes widened at the revelation. She had never known that her father had been married before. That he had loved and lost another woman. Was that the reason for his eternal remoteness?
So many secrets, hidden in a family’s history. Inside a parent’s heart.
“Why are you telling me now?” she finally managed to ask.
“I married Phillip because I still loved him, even though I knew that he didn’t care for me in the same way. He came back to me because he was grieving, and lonely, and he needed someone. But that’s not the same as being in love.”
“He does love you,” Lucy protested.
“In his way. And it’s been a good marriage. But I’ve always had to live with the knowledge that I was his second choice. And I would never want that for you. I want you to find a man who thinks you’re the sun and the moon.”
“I don’t think that guy is out there.”
“He is. And Lucy, even though you said yes to the wrong man, I hope that won’t cause you to say no to the right one.”
Six
After two months of living at Artist’s Point, Lucy had narrowed down a list of potential apartments, but there were issues with each of them. One was out in the middle of nowhere, another was too expensive, another was depressingly dark, and so forth. She would have to make a decision soon, but Justine and Zoë had encouraged her to take as much time as she needed.
It had done Lucy a world of good to stay with the Hoffmans. Their company had been the perfect antidote for her postbreakup blues. Any time she felt gloomy or lonely, she could keep company with Zoë in the kitchen, or go for a run with Justine. It was nearly impossible to stay depressed around Justine, with her raffish sense of fun and boundless energy.
“I’ve got the perfect guy for you,” Justine announced one afternoon, as she, Zoë, and Lucy prepared the inn for a monthly event at the bed-and-breakfast—a silent reading party. It had originally been Zoë’s idea. People could bring their favorite books, or choose from the selection at the bed-and-breakfast. They would settle into the deep sofas or chairs in the big downstairs common room, and have wine and cheese while reading to themselves. Justine had initially scoffed at the idea—“Why would people go somewhere to read when they could do that at home?”—but Zoë had persevered. And it had become a huge success, with long lines forming at the front door, even in bad weather.
“I’d suggest him for you, Lucy,” Justine continued, “but Zoë’s gone longer without a guy. It’s like triage—I have to assign priority to those in the worst condition.”