Diane Chamberlain - Secrets She Left Behind

Was he confiding in me? “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said.

“She had a very rough start,” he said. “She hemorrhaged during the delivery and is anemic and I think she feels isolated and…unsure of herself.”

“Oh. Poor thing.” I felt sympathy for the woman I’d met only a couple of times. How hard to have a new baby and not feel up to taking care of her. “I hope she feels better soon.”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

I looked at the stack of real-estate brochures on Jamie’s desk. “It’s strange, seeing you here in an office,” I said. “Seeing you look human.”

He laughed. “I’m very human,” he said. “That’s all I am. All I want to be. A good human.”

“I…” I wanted to tell him what my few visits to the chapel had meant to me. I knew I would be going back, with or without Steve. I looked down at Maggie, whose long-lashed eyes were now closed, the lids twitching a little as if she was dreaming. “I don’t know how to explain to you how I feel in your chapel,” I said, raising my gaze to him again. “I’m not religious, so it’s strange. It’s hard to put into words.”

“It’s bigger than words?” he suggested.

I nodded.

“Oh, Sara,” he said. “Welcome to my world.”

Jamie and Laurel lived in a round cottage called the Sea Tender, right on the beach. I didn’t want to feel envy when I walked inside the cottage and took in the ocean view from the living-room windows, yet how could I help it? Clearly, the Lockwoods had money, something I doubted I’d ever have myself.

“Oh, this is fabulous!” I said as Jamie led me through the room to the sofa, Maggie sleeping against his chest. He’d asked me to stop by to “reconnect with Laurel,” since I’d be helping out with the baby. “Have a seat,” he said. He handed Maggie to me. “I’ll let Laurel know you’re here.”

I settled down on the sofa, the sleeping baby on my knees. A few minutes later, Laurel walked into the room. She moved slowly, as though her legs were made of concrete, and I honestly wasn’t certain I would have recognized her. Her hair was long and stringy and dull, her eyes lifeless. Her face was not pale as much as jaundiced, like a tan that was fading in uneven patches. She wore a yellow robe that needed a good washing.

Seeing her, I felt deep concern that the pretty woman from the chapel had been replaced by a ghost. I could see that she had a long recovery ahead of her. Maggie’s delivery must have been horrendous.

“You have a gorgeous baby.” I lowered my eyes to Maggie to hide my shock at Laurel’s appearance.

“Thank you.” Laurel sat down in a rocking chair.

Jamie brought me a glass of iced tea I knew I wouldn’t touch. It would be sweet, no doubt. That Southern abomination.

“You two remember each other, of course,” Jamie said as he sat down on the other end of the sofa.

“Of course,” I said. “Your house is beautiful, Laurel.”

“Thanks.”

“I…Jamie and I thought I should meet with you to see if you have any special instructions about Maggie.”

Laurel shrugged as though she didn’t really care how I took care of her daughter. “Just don’t kill her,” she said.

“Laurel!” Jamie said.

My body must have jerked at Laurel’s words because Maggie started to whimper.

“Shh, honey.” I tightened the blanket around the baby, wondering if Laurel could possibly know about Sam. Who could have told her? I was afraid to look up. I didn’t want to meet her eyes.

Laurel laughed, breaking the tension in the room. “You know what I mean,” she said.

“Well, okay.” I attempted a laugh myself. “I think I can manage that.”

Jamie had a tiny office in the chapel, and that’s where I spent most of my time with Maggie because Laurel didn’t want me in the house.

“It’s not you,” Jamie reassured me. “It’s anyone right now. She’s too tired to have someone around.”

Or the baby around, I thought. It was unspoken between us, but Jamie and I both knew there was something more going on with Laurel than tiredness. Laurel wanted Maggie out of the house. Out of her sight.

The chapel had electricity and Jamie installed a small refrigerator and a hot plate in the little office so I could heat Maggie’s formula. There was also an old-fashioned wooden cradle and a lightweight stroller. I spent my days there with Maggie, reading and teaching myself to knit when I wasn’t feeding, cuddling or changing diapers. I couldn’t believe my luck at being able to spend so much time in the beautiful, simple building. I was drawn to the panoramic windows, and I watched the sea for dolphins and the sky for pelicans. In a way, I finally had beachfront property.

When the weather was mild enough, I took Maggie for walks in the stroller. I’d push the little girl right past the Sea Tender, learning quickly there was no point in stopping in for a visit. Neither Maggie nor I would be welcome.

On Sundays, I sat next to Jamie in the chapel with Maggie on my lap. The first time, Jamie briefly explained to the thirty or so people there that I was helping him and Laurel out with Maggie. When new people came during the summer, though, I wondered if some of them thought I was Jamie’s wife.

It fascinated me to feel Maggie melt into my arms when she heard her father speak. He had a hypnotic quality in his voice that soothed not only Maggie and myself but most of the other people in the chapel as well. With the influx of tourists, the fifty seats were nearly full each week. People stood one after another to say where they recently experienced God, but I rarely stood myself. I felt too raw with emotion in the chapel during the service. In just a couple of months’ time, I’d filled up with such a painful sort of joy that I knew if I tried to speak during the service, I would lose all control. God—Jamie’s God—was with me nearly every minute of every day by then. I had a purpose: I was able to hold a tiny life in my arms. I was able to help Jamie when he so clearly needed my help. Even at home, I caught myself smiling as I made dinner or pressed Steve’s uniform or cleaned the small house we rented. I had enough joy inside myself that the sorrow over Sam, over my loveless marriage, didn’t have a chance to come through.

A few months later, Jamie told me he thought Laurel needed a friend.

“She doesn’t have any friends with babies,” he said. “Not that you have a baby. But you’re so warm and nice and kind.” He looked away from me, as though he’d said more than he meant to. “She’s depressed. She’s not taking care of herself. You know. Grooming. Hygiene.”

“Maybe she needs more help than a friend can give her,” I suggested gently. The truth was, Laurel was unpleasant to be around, and I avoided her as much as possible. There was nothing of the starry-eyed young woman left in her.

Jamie sighed. “You’re probably right.” He sounded tired. “Her doctor thinks she needs that new Prozac medication, but neither of us likes the idea of her taking drugs. I think she just needs a girlfriend.”

He looked so lost. I would have done anything to bring a smile back to his face.

“I’ll visit her one day while you have Maggie,” I said. “Then maybe she and I can have a good talk.”

It had sounded possible when I said it, but I’d had no idea how bad things had gotten with Laurel. She was incapable of having a “good talk” with anyone.

I visited her under the guise of taking over a chicken-and-rice casserole. I found her lying under a thin blanket on the sofa watching a rerun of I Dream of Jeannie. The air in the cottage smelled stale in spite of all the windows being open.

“I brought you a casserole for dinner.” I headed for the kitchen after letting myself in through the unlocked door. “I’ll just put it in the fridge, okay? It should last you at least a couple of nights.”