Page 12 of The Lake House (Southern Charm #2)

Chapter Twelve

Before long, Rita went home from the café.

She was exhausted to her very bones. She hadn’t felt this tired…

well, ever. It was all catching up with her.

The treatments, the business, the stress of family drama and the unraveling of so many things she’d thought were true.

She’d held it together through Matilda’s revelations, but if she gave herself a moment to be honest, it had devastated her at a deeper level.

The fact that Julie wasn’t who she’d thought all these years was hard for her to accept.

She knew it didn’t really matter—Julie was still Julie.

But it knocked the wind from her lungs when she let herself ponder it on the drive home.

She felt small in the driver’s seat, she didn’t often feel small, but lately her weight had plummeted and her skin felt loose.

The house was quiet. She padded to the bedroom and lay down without changing.

She kicked off her shoes, and they thudded one by one to the floor.

Then she closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

She dreamed of the past—when her parents were young and vibrant, and her sister was with her, hand in hand.

They explored the lake shore and found small birds eggs in a little nest buried in tall grass and reeds.

Helen wanted to take them home to see if they could hatch them under a lamp, but Rita told her no.

The birds needed their folks, just like human kids did.

When her eyes blinked open, there were tears on her cheeks.

She shut them again, willing herself back to that happy place.

But it was no use—she was awake now. It was darker in the bedroom, which mean the sun was close to setting.

She got up and splashed water on her face.

She felt drugged, but better. She must’ve slept for hours.

Julie was in the kitchen making dinner with a white apron covered in red flowers tied neatly around her trim waist. That apron hadn’t fit Rita in years.

“Something smells ‘bout good enough to eat,” she said, sniffing the air.

Julie smiled. “Country fried chicken with greens and mashed potatoes.”

“Music to my ears.” Rita sat with a sigh in a chair at the kitchen table.

“You slept well,” Julie remarked as she mashed the potatoes.

“I slept like the dead. I think there are still sheet marks on the side of my face. I haven’t slept like that in an age.”

“I wish I could sleep that way. I’ve been an insomniac for weeks.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I know that’s frustratin’.”

“It’s okay. As long as you’re getting sleep, that’s what matters to me.”

“Thanks, honey. Can I help with dinner?”

“Absolutely not. You sit and relax. In fact, why don’t I pour you a glass of something cold, and you can rest some more while I finish up here?”

“You’re spoiling me.” Rita chortled. “But I won’t object.”

“One more thing . . .” Julie replied, glancing at Rita out of the corner of her eye.

“Yes?”

Julie inhaled a sharp breath. “I want you to know that I realise this is crazy. So, let’s just get that out in the open right now.”

“Hmmm… that’s a promisin’ start,” Rita quipped with a wink.

“You recall I went to dinner with James?”

“How could I forget? My wonderful doctor. Handsome, too.”

Julie blushed. “He is, both of those things. Anyway, he’s invited me to go to Australia with him next week on a business trip, and I agreed.”

Rita gaped. For a moment she couldn’t formulate a sentence, which was very unlike her. “Australia? Next week?”

“He has a spare ticket. Someone cancelled at the last moment. And on impulse, he asked me to go with him. You know I want to meet my family there… I wasn’t expectin’ I’d get to do that anytime soon given the state of my life, so this seemed like an opportunity that was too good to miss.”

“Your life is fine, honey,” Rita stated resolutely. “You’ll get through all this and come out the other side, I promise you that.”

“I’m glad you’re confident, but I’m not sure… I don’t know if I can pull myself together enough to finish my doctorate.”

“Of course you can. You need a break, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of in that. Every one of us needs a break sometime. You’re the first in our family to go to college—did you know that? My kids didn’t go, but you did. And we’re all so proud of you.”

Julie sighed. “I know it. There’s a lot of pressure.”

“It’s a privilege. And one you deserve. If you want to go to Australia, I’m not going to stand in your way. I do think it’s kind of wild, to be honest. You barely know him.”

“I’ve known him since we were kids.”

“But he’s a different person now. You don’t really know him. You think you do, but he could be someone completely different to who we’ve seen at the hospital.”

“I don’t think so. He seems genuine to me. And besides, I’ll have my own hotel room if I need some space — it’s already booked and paid for.”

Rita’s frown faded into a tentative smile. “Well then, honey, I hope you have a great time together.”

After dinner, Rita needed some time to think.

She hadn’t mentioned the trip to Julie again, but it’d been on her mind.

Should she step in? Is that what Helen would’ve wanted?

She didn’t think so. Helen was so like their own mother—she would’ve given Julie the information she thought she needed to make a decision and then would’ve left her to it.

Rita hoped she was doing it the right way.

It was so hard to be an aunt sometimes, without the authority to be a mother, but with no one else there to fill the job.

She often felt the urge to intervene but held herself back. Maybe she was wrong.

With a shrug, she wandered to her bedroom and took out the box of letters and photographs she’d stowed under her bed to continue reading.

She’d been too tired lately to even consider looking them over.

But she felt a little better after her nap and was curious to see if she could find out anything more about her parents.

The first envelope she pulled from the pile was aged and had a stain on one corner as though a cup of coffee had once sat there. It was sent from her aunt Bedelia in Ojai, California, and addressed to her father, Raymond Lambert. She opened it gingerly and extracted the thin sheets of paper.

Dearest Ray,

It’s been too long. I do hope you’ll all manage to visit over Christmas this year, although I know the café makes it hard for you to get away. And I’m not going to be able to travel with the new baby, so we may miss each other a little longer.

I was happy to receive your letter last week, telling me all about Rita and Helen and what they’ve each been up to. I love that Rita plays the piano. I used to do that myself, although not as well as Sylvia. And Helen is enjoying softball? She must have more coordination than I do!

I’m sorry to hear that you and Sylvia have been arguing more.

It’s strange how memories work, but when I received your letter, for the first time I recalled our parents doing the same for a few years when we were around the age that your girls are.

Maybe it’s the strain of parenting. But I’m hopeful that the two of you will make it through to the other side and will be praying for you.

I wish I could be there, but unfortunately Chris’s job keeps us up here away from you all for now. I’ve been begging him to look for work back home in Atlanta, but so far he says he’s happy where he is. And so, I’m stuck far away from everyone I love.

It’s not all bad though, of course. The town here is lovely, and the people are welcoming, although I’m never going to be accepted as a local. They have a very established social order, and I’m not part of it. Still, I love my little ones, and I’m grateful I can spend each day with them.

Write again soon. Or better yet, come and visit when you can.

With love from your sister,

Bedelia

Rita put the letter away and returned the envelope to its place in the box.

Her brow furrowed. Her father hadn’t been the letter-writing type, so she was surprised that he’d written to his sister.

Not to mention the fact that he’d confided in her about his marriage.

She couldn’t picture her father doing that, but then again, he and his sister had always been close throughout their lives.

She chose the next letter from the bunch and tugged it free of the envelope.

It was sent by her mother around six months later, but originated from her grandparents’ address in Rodanthe, North Carolina.

After Aunt Penny, her mother’s sister, had lived there several years, her folks moved up there to live close by in their twilight years.

Penny had never gotten the chance to return to Atlanta and stayed in North Carolina until the day she died.

But at least she’d had her parents with her for a while.

Then her children kept her there, since they were well established by that point.

Rita wondered if she ever regretted that, or came to peace with her new home at some stage.

She hoped she found peace, although she’d never asked the question while her aunt was alive.

There were so many things she wished she’d been more curious about earlier in life.

Ray,

I hope things are going well for you at home. We’re settled in with Mom and Dad now after a few days here. It took Helen a little while to adjust with her nap schedule —you know how she is. Although I don’t know how much longer she’ll take an afternoon nap, she fights it so often.

Otherwise, she’s fine and is loving the trips to the beach with her pail and shovel.

She gets sand all over her, in every single crevice.

But she doesn’t mind one little bit. She could easily live at the beach.

Her hair is wild and knotted, her knees are grazed from the number of times she’s fallen, and her nose and cheeks are red from the sun and wind. But she’s having the time of her life.

Rita is more subdued. I think she knows there’s something going on between you and me. She heard us arguing, and she’s asked me a few times if we’re fighting and when we’ll be going home. I tell her we’re just here for a vacation, but I’m not sure she believes me.

It is true, though. I need a vacation. You know that. I’ve been run off my feet for years, with the two girls and the business. It’s a lot for anyone to handle, and with my asthma, it only makes things harder. I hope you can understand that I needed to get away.

Not only because I’m tired, but because of the things you said.

I don’t know how to process it. I’ve made mistakes, Ray, but so have you.

This isn’t one person’s fault. We can share that blame, without a doubt.

But do we need to participate in the blame game?

I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything at all.

I’m completely lost. It scares me at times.

I wonder if I’ll ever be able to recover.

But then I look at the girls’ faces and I know that I have to try. For their sakes.

You have to speak to Bill. He’s your brother.

You own a business together. You can’t let things lie.

I know that’s what you prefer to do, but the two of you have got to work things out between you.

You owe it to the café at the very least. You’ve built something special together, and you can’t let it sink because of a dispute.

I don’t know how long we’ll be here. I only know I have to stay until I can face things again.

Will that ever happen? I can’t say. I feel weak now, and I need to become stronger.

The fighting and yelling was too much for me.

The anger was never-ending. I can’t live that way. And you shouldn’t want to either.

Even in the midst of it all, I wish you the best and send my love.

Your Sylvia

Rita put the letter away with the others and leaned back on her bed, one arm beneath her head.

She stared at the ceiling, thinking about what she’d read.

It had shaken her more than she’d expected.

She remembered the trip to her grandparents’ place.

They’d bought a small townhouse close to Aunt Penny’s near the beach.

They’d moved there when Rita was around six or seven years old.

She couldn’t quite recall all of the details of their visits to see their grandparents, but there were flashes of memories.

Helen in her little terrycloth shorts, with her pail in hand, laughing as the waves lapped at her feet.

The water was cold, and it had shocked Rita at first. But gradually she’d learned to love it.

They must’ve been there a while that time, although she couldn’t be sure how long.

She recalled celebrating her eighth birthday there though, it’d been such fun but she’d missed seeing her Dad.

She’d forgotten all about the fighting between her folks.

But now that she read the letter, she recalled feeling scared and upset on the drive north.

It must’ve been due to the tension between her parents.

Reading between the lines, it seemed as though her father was fighting with everyone in his life.

What could’ve caused that? Why was he so angry?

And why had her mother felt the only option she had was to take her daughters away?

Her memories of her father during her childhood years were good ones.

Yes, he was the grouchy type, but she never took it to heart.

He loved her—she knew that. And he was a good man, albeit a short-tempered one.

He didn’t speak often, but when he did, he meant it.

She’d always appreciated that about him.

So, what were they yelling at each other about?

Was it the common issue of financial pressures, raising children, growing a business?

Or was there something more to it? Something she still knew nothing about after all these years?