I wanted to share everything that I loved about my new life with both of them, especially my mother. I wanted her to see that I had escaped from our cycle of sickness and absence, and that I was thriving.
During their stay, Robin and my mother took the short walk with me down to the beach—two miles of soft white sand and clear blue waters that met a bright blue sky at the horizon. I was going to show my mother and sister how to snorkel.
We waded into the warm, shallow water, and I helped my mother put on her snorkel mask, tightening the straps and adjusting the breathing tube. I remember she was wearing a swimsuit in pale pink, always her favorite color. I explained how she was going to float on top of the water and submerge her face, breathing through the tube in her mouth. I wanted her to practice now because in a day or so we were planning to go by ferry to Trunk Bay, the best place for snorkeling in the area.
My mother watched me as I demonstrated what to do, and then, awkwardly, she bent down and put her face to the water, just barely beneath the surface. Immediately, she stood up again, gasping. I encouraged her to try one more time. It really wasn’t that complicated. Again she put her face to the water, then stood right back up again. I felt immediately annoyed. This shouldn’t be a big deal. It was so simple for me, and I had never even taken swimming lessons because she had always been too worried I would catch a cold. If I could do it, anyone could! I begged her to just try, told her that there was a whole magical world beneath us—the darting yellow and orange fish, the magnificent flame-colored coral. I wanted to share it with her; I hoped it would make her happy, the same way it made me happy. But instead, she just stood there, staring up at me, her wet pink bathing suit clinging to her thin frame, the mask on her face making her look like a lost child.
At that instant, I couldn’t stand it anymore.
For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to become furious with my mother.
“All I wanted was for you to experience this one thing,” I told her, tears forming in my eyes. “You’re not even trying!”
It was so rare for me to show my feelings to anyone. That was something that Robin did, or Jill at times, but not me. I was too intent on being “the good one”—always quiet and obedient, watchful of others and considerate of their feelings. But I couldn’t hold back my feelings a moment longer.
“Why can’t you do anything I need you to do?” I bawled at her. “What is wrong with you?”
Years of pent-up anger and hurt came spilling out.
“Why is it up to me to teach you how to do this anyway?” I asked. “Why aren’t you teaching me something for a change?”
Even in the moment, I knew my tantrum was selfish. It was silly, over nothing. But I couldn’t control it. My mother was incapable of giving me what I needed as her daughter. She just stood in the water, trembling, looking down at the waves, her mask hanging uselessly around her neck, the tube of the snorkel drooping.
“I’m so sorry,” she kept repeating, shaking her head. “It’s my fault.”
The fact that she blamed herself infuriated me even more. She never took a stand. She always backed down, blaming herself, even with my father! That she was unable to defend herself against my pathetic attack was the final indignity. No wonder my sisters always described her as “the martyr.” I stalked away, leaving Robin to pick up the pieces.
Back at the apartment, I sat down in the living room, looking around me. I had my rented piano and my cookbook for two; I had my husband, my little crystal statue, my job at the department store, my clothes in my closet. I was seventeen years old, and this was my world, and I had made it myself. I wasn’t going to be silent anymore. I alone was in charge of my own destiny.
Later that week, my mother and Robin went home. I stayed on the island for the next two years, living completely independently from my family. Although Robin came to visit me again while I was there, my mother never did.
CHAPTER 15
Carolyn
It was Fred, Sherman’s groundskeeper, who came to the hospital to pick up my mother and me to bring us home that cold day in late November. Fred helped Carolyn to the car, holding her arm so she wouldn’t slip. He was always kindly that way. Together, we returned to the Dream House. In the weeks to come, the snow continued to fall, until there were fourteen inches of white covering the land. The nanny took Jill and Robin to the school bus each day and brought them home in the afternoon while Carolyn rested and tried to get her strength back. It was months before the incision fully healed and she felt as if she could move around easily. During the week, Malcolm was in the city for work.
