Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [36]
Ty pulled out of the inn’s circular front driveway, the whole Chevy leaning as he maneuvered the curves.
“So is your head still pounding from last night?” Ty asked.
“I’ve started to feel a little better.”
“You want to tell me what got you in such a mood that you had to drink me and every guy in Woodland Dunes under the table?”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad I was there to mop you up, but something tells me that’s not everyday drinking for you.”
“Ha,” I said. “Definitely not.”
“So what was it? This thing with your mom?”
I watched the larger beach homes give way to smaller ranch-style houses as Ty turned the car away from the lake. “It was so many things,” I said, suddenly tired and wishing this was just an easy dinner with a guy I liked.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Ty said when I didn’t explain.
“I do want to tell you. It’s just that it’s complicated. Being back here, dealing with the memories. It’s been bizarre to say the least. But the thing that pushed me over the edge was this stack of letters I got from Della.”
“Yeah?”
“Actually, talking about it would probably help me to sort through it all. How soon until we get to your parents’?” We were heading into town now, and we passed the deli where Ty had taken me for lunch.
“About two minutes, but I can take the long way.”
“That would be great.”
Ty looped around the neighborhood, passing a park, an old pharmacy and a rash of small, aluminum-sided houses. By the time we pulled into the Mannings’ blond brick home, I had explained about Caroline’s disappearance and Dan’s last two envelopes that bore the name Singer instead of Sutter.
“So where does that leave you?” Ty asked as he turned off the ignition. “I mean, it seems like you’ve learned more but you still don’t know anything definite, right? And your sister…Shit, that’s scary.”
“I know, but I’m hoping your dad will add some more to the mix. Maybe he’ll be able to explain everything. Even if that happens, I’m still going to Portland to see Caroline’s husband. I want to help him if I can. And I want to meet my sister again.”
Just then a woman appeared in the doorway of the Mannings’ house and waved at the car. She had short hair the same rust color as Ty’s and wore jeans with a sleeveless mint-green sweater.
“That’s my mom,” Ty said with a laugh. “And she’ll come out to the car and get us if we don’t move.”
I glanced at Ty, at the affection on his face while he looked at his mother, and I felt a pang of envy. I would never get my mother back, but maybe I would be recovering members of my family soon. “Let’s go then,” I said.
The Mannings’ house felt like a quaint, seaside cottage, even though it was miles from the lake. Wood furniture painted white was mixed with quilts, embroidered pillows and decorative flowerpots. Ty had told me that his mom was instrumental in decorating Long Beach Inn, and I could tell that she must have done the room where I was staying.
“Hailey, how are you? It’s so nice to meet you,” Mrs. Manning said. She squeezed my forearm. “Now, please call me Bert. My real name is Roberta, but I hate it. Let’s get you a glass of wine.”
Bert looked as though she might be in her forties, rather than approaching sixty as Ty had told me. She was the kind of mother I’d always wished for, one I could have fun with, who I could have a drink with and confide in. It was obvious that Bert and Ty were close judging by the glances and private jokes that passed between them.
“Your father’s late,” Bert said, removing a tray of lasagna from the oven.
“Surprise, surprise,” Ty said.
“So we’re going to let this cool and start on the salads without him.”
The three of us sat down at a whitewashed kitchen table with leaves hand-painted in the corners. I passed on the wine that Bert offered. The thought of it made my stomach shriek. Over a large salad and a loaf of garlic bread, Ty and his mother talked about Ty’s older brother, who was a computer programmer in Chicago, and his younger sister, who was getting a master’s degree in child psychology at Northwestern.
“She said she