Seeking Carolina. Terri-Lynne Defino
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to be used, because a wish can be scary to actually make, and no one has yet had the courage.”
“Not even you?”
“Not even me. But you do, my Johanna. I have no daughters-in-law, so when I am gone, I give this to you. The wish will be yours to make.”
The clarity of memory left Johanna trembling. She had been seven, and so fragile, always fantasizing about the fiery death she deserved, one that would have spared her all the pain that came after. Gram found her in a closet, curled into a ball and weeping. It was all her fault. If not for her, she and Nina would still be living happily in the woods of New Hampshire with Mommy and Daddy. Words would not come, not then and not ever, because they would have made Gram think Johanna didn’t love her and Poppy, wasn’t glad to be in school, relieved to wear clothes that were not stolen out of a drop-box she’d been lowered into because she was the smallest.
Johanna shuddered. To be so young and so confused, so full of grief and relief—tears started back then continued into the present. They had always been her way of coping. Cry enough and weariness overwhelmed the confusion, put it into perspective of a kind. The older she got, the better Johanna understood how the evasion of tears became the evasion permeating her life. She simply didn’t know how to change it. Or if she wanted to.
Trembling fingers clicked open the locket. She saw the same faded photo, but not even a sparkle that could pass for a wish. Johanna touched the picture of Carolina Coco, young and smiling, her head thrown back. Just beyond the round of her mother’s cheek was what Johanna always believed was her father’s shoulder. Looking at it now, adult eyes focusing beyond the illusions of childhood, it was probably a wall.
“If there is a wish in here, Gram, why didn’t you use it to make Mom well? Why didn’t you use it to get her back?”
Johanna closed it, kissed it, and slipped it over her head again. Emma would want the medal. Julietta and Nina could decide on who got what rings. But the locket was hers.
Gram said.
* * * *
The letter is old and crumbling, and a lie. It speaks of love ferocious, one undefeated by time and distance—or locked doors and walls and razor wire that cuts deeply. Leaves scars that do not heal. It speaks of happiness, that false thing made of chemicals rushing through the brain and can be altered by more chemicals crushed and stirred into orange juice. It made promises that were lies before the ink dried on the page.
But I didn’t know then. I did not know. If you ever believed all the other lies, please believe this one truth I was never able to speak.
Chapter 2
Eleven Pipers Piping
Gunner was already on his way out the door by the time Johanna found her way to the kitchen. Dashing about, stuffing things into his duffle, yanking his cell phone charger from the wall-socket, he called out to her as he hurried past.
“Nice seeing you, Jo. Keep Nina out of trouble. Ha, look who I’m asking. I’ll see you at Christmas, right? We’ll celebrate.”
And out he went, snatching a kiss from Nina as he blew through the door. She watched him, her arms crossed against the cold coming in. Johanna went to stand behind her, rested a cheek to her sister’s arm.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” Johanna asked.
Nina stepped back and closed the door. “If what you think is that the gallery sold? Yes. They made us an offer we’d be insane to refuse.”
“Woohoo!” Johanna grabbed her sister’s hands, bounced up and down. “How fantastic.”
“I suppose.”
“Nina, you’re rich.”
“I had plenty of money without selling it.”
Johanna let go her hands. “I thought this is what you wanted.”
“I did. I do.”
“Then?”
Nina sighed, pulled a chair away from the table, and flopped into it. Johanna sat opposite her.
“I feel this…loss.” Nina’s lip trembled. She would not cry. Tears were Johanna’s thing. Her elder sister had no patience for them.
“Is it Gram?”
“Sure. Of course. But it’s more. We’ve sacrificed everything but one another to this dream of ours, and now it’s gone. Poof. I think this must kind of be like what a mother feels when her kid goes out into the world.”
“But like kids, you can still visit.”
“It just won’t be mine anymore.” She shrugged, and like that, it was settled. “Gunner’s happy, that’s for sure. He’s already planning what comes next.”
“Of course he is.”
“The man is perpetual motion.”
“You married him.” Johanna reached for her sister’s hand. “Congratulations, Nina. I’m really happy for you.”
“Thanks.”
“We should go out tonight and celebrate, just the four of us.”
“I’d like that.” Nina squeezed Johanna’s hand, and let it go. “My treat. I’ll ask Emma what’s good in town these days.”
“D’Angelo’s.” Julietta swept into the room. Hair piled on top of her head, two crossed pencils holding it in place and glasses slightly askew, she poured herself a cup of coffee. “Why?”
“The gallery sold,” Nina answered. “We’re going out to celebrate tonight. And pizza isn’t appropriate celebration food unless it’s for a winning soccer season.”
“Pizza is always appropriate.”
“Only in your world, Jules.”
“I live in the same world you do, and pizza is the perfect food.”
“What makes me think that now Gram’s gone, you are going to live on D’Angelo’s pizza?”
Julietta only sipped her coffee. The fear was not a new one. Johanna had been thinking thoughts along those lines since she got the call that Gram was gone. Old as she had been, none of them expected her to die. Ever. She, Nina and Emmaline had lives outside of the old house, outside of Gram. Julietta worked from home, via the internet, as a freelance researcher. Gram cooked, cleaned, laundered, made sure her youngest granddaughter actually got dressed on occasion. It had been a running joke among them for as long as she could remember—without Gram, Julietta would be another Howard Hughes, toenails and all.
“How about Moose Tracks?” Julietta suggested. “It’s a new place in Great Barrington. Opened up where the Thai place used to be. Remember it?”
“Vaguely,” Johanna answered. “What kind of food?”
“Americany-bistroish.”
“How do you know the place?” Nina asked. “Did you go with Gram?”
“Gram?” Julietta snorted. “No.”
Johanna leapt off her chair to grasp her sister by the arms. “Did you go on a date?”
“Jo! You made me spill coffee on my sweatshirt.”
“It’s a sweatshirt, and it looks like it should have been washed ages ago. Come on, Jules. Spill it.”
“You spilled.”
“Don’t pretend not to know what I’m talking about.”
Her youngest sister dabbed at the coffee on her shirt with a dishtowel. Red splotches spread across her cheeks.
“I’m not that hideous,” she murmured. “I’m thirty-two. A date was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Don’t