“I know you’re a very independent young woman and I admire you for it,” Dot said, her words rushing out. “And there’s nothing wrong with being financially prudent, but you only get married once. At least I hope you do. Anyway, I saw this and I thought it said, ‘Karen.’ But if you don’t like it, I won’t be at all offended. I’ll just return it.”
Karen loved the frock for its elegant simplicity and lack of froufrou, but she loved it more for what it represented—a welcome to Peter’s family. The gift undid her carefully constructed lie that marrying Peter was just a necessary piece of paper so the bank would approve their home loan. Instead, the dress said love and acceptance. The contrast with her own family was stark and unforgiving, and it quickly exposed the ugly truth she tried so hard to bury. A home that was a prison. The baby sister she’d left behind. She doubled over at a twist of visceral pain and fell sobbing into Dot’s arms.
The woman stroked her hair, clearly bewildered. “I’m sorry, dear. It was supposed to make you happy.”
“I … am … h-happy.”
Dot pressed a hanky into her hands. “I think we could both do with a sherry, don’t you?”
A decade after Dot’s death, Karen still missed her loving presence in their lives.
“Hi, Mom. Good class?”
Alice’s question sent Karen’s memories scattering and she got a flash of a much younger Alice creating chaos all over the house. Whenever Karen had complained, Alice defended her actions: “It’s art, Mom, not mess.”
Karen tried not to sigh at the disarray in front of her. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for photos.”
“Why?”
Alice jumped to her feet, her face flushed with excitement. “Hilary called half an hour ago.”
“Darling, we all like Dan but after your heartbreak over Lawrence, is he really the type of man you’re looking for?”
Alice blinked, clearly confused. “What are you going on about? Why would Hilary call me about Dan?”
Damn it, Hil! Although she didn’t think Alice dating Dan came close to a good idea, right now it seemed the lesser of two evils. “What did she want?” she tried to keep her voice casual.
“There’s an art therapy job at Summerhouse. Hil gave me the details and I called the manager. She offered me the job on the spot! It’s a great hourly rate, there’s a decent budget and I’ve got total creative freedom to help the residents create life pages for a memories book. I’m so pumped!”
Karen pushed down her dismay and tried to infuse her voice with enthusiasm. “That’s great news, darling.”
“Isn’t it? It’s like the job’s been tailor-made for me.”
“I doubt that,” Karen said crisply, unable to maintain her fake enthusiasm. “It’s hardly working in fine art.”
Alice grimaced. “You’re forgetting I did some art therapy when I first graduated. Anyway …” She waved her hand over the clutter of photographs. “I thought I’d make a couple of demo pages to show the residents and get their imaginations sparking.”
Karen mustered up a faint, “Lovely,” as she pictured glitter and glue and shavings of craft paper all over the carpet. “Just promise me you’ll put everything away before dinner.”
Alice didn’t look up from flicking through a stack of photos she’d removed from an old yellow envelope. “No problem.”
“I’ll put the kettle on. Would you like a tea or coffee?” Given it was too early for a gin and tonic, Karen planned on nursing her disappointment with a cup of Earl Grey.
“Chai would be lovely.”
Karen was almost at the door when Alice said, “Mom, where are our baby photos?”
An old frustration returned. Karen prided herself on being organized. Neat and tidy was her mantra, along with OHIO—only handle items once. But Alice and Peter had the “inability to file” gene and consequently they were always losing things and asking her where they were.
“They’re where they’ve always been. Our favorites are in the pink album and you’re holding the others in your hand.”
“But the earliest ones here are labelled ten weeks. Where are the newborn ones?”
“They’ll be there somewhere.”
“Except I’ve been through them all and they’re not here.”
“Perhaps they got separated the last time you looked at them. That was probably the end of Senior Year when you needed a baby photo for graduation. You’re not the best at putting things back in their rightful place, darling.”
“But it just seems a bit weird that all of them are missing.”
“Not really. Back then film was expensive and I think we only had twelve photos. They were out of focus and I probably threw them out.”
Alice stared at her aghast. “Mom!”
“There’s no point keeping fuzzy photos.”
“I guess not. Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “Twins are always big news so the Gazette would have taken photos of us in the hospital, right? I wonder if the files are still around.”
Karen’s hand tightened on the door frame. “I doubt they archive baby photos. Anyway, there was a fire at The Gazette a year after you were born and they lost a lot of negatives. To be honest, Alice, that photo you’re holding is my favorite. Before then, we’d been too worried about you to take photos, but you’d finally gained weight and smiled. I was so happy, I shocked your father by paying for a studio portrait.”
Alice smiled dreamily at a photo of her and Libby in matching smocked gowns and matching gummy smiles, gazing up at the person behind the camera. “I know I was small but we were irresistibly cute. If we were babies today, you’d be bombarding Instagram with us.”
Karen smiled weakly and left Alice looking at photos. Instead of returning to the kitchen, she walked directly to the dining room. With a shaking hand, she splashed brandy into a wine glass and gulped it down fast, welcoming the fiery burn that dominated the tangled mess of emotions rising fast from the past and threatening to choke her.
