Women Who Stay, 28

Chapter 1 ... Chapter 27

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I'm going to the shore for better air, Gordon texted when I chased after him. Feeling dreadful. Will let you know when I've returned. So, with apprehension, I set up an interview with Annabelle.

I chose the diner with purpose. I thought the location might set her back in the mindset of her childhood and help her recall things more clearly. I also thought it might put her off her game. Indeed, when I arrived five minutes late, she was twitchy and nervous.

"Thanks for waiting," I said. She jumped. "Had a previous engagement." That was a lie. I'd been dawdling in the park, letting her stew.

"No problem." She looked miserable.

"How's Gordon doing?" I asked.

"Oh, his little jaunt to the shore? He'll be fine. He's a hypochondriac, you know," she said, a vicious gleam in her eye.

"No, I didn't. Tell me more."

As we waited for our food, she launched into a series of stories in which Gordon malingered at Janie's side while she charged around with Antonio. I didn't care about these stories, not really -- they were obviously poisoned by sibling rivalry and smacked of exaggeration -- but as she spoke, I could see the icy disdain with which Annabelle had historically treated me melting. That, I knew, was helpful.

When our food arrived, I subconsciously slipped back into the silence Janie and I had shared while we ate. Annabelle did, too. I wondered if she, like me, suddenly felt like the ghost of her mother had pulled up a chair to our table.

"So, come on. Let's get this over with," Annabelle said, breaking the silence through a mouthful of bacon. "What do you want?"

"Jacob gave me a pretty good idea of what life with your parents was like, but he didn't spend much time at Hollow Hill Farm."

"Yeah, only the first couple of years."

"Gordon was probably too young to remember much. And, frankly, I'm not sure how well I can trust your mother's recollections. She implied Antonio was the hoarder, and, well, we've both seen the condo. I think you're the only person left who can give me an accurate picture of the Robichauds at the Farm."

She pushed a slice of french toast around with her fork. "You have to understand that I don't like talking about it. I don't even like thinking about it. I've spent most of my adult life trying to forget where I came from.

"When you're a kid, you grow up thinking your life is normal. And then you see how someone else lives, and you're like, 'Wait, that's how good it can be?' When I was eight, I had my first sleepover with a friend from school, and her mom was so... nice to me. And her house was clean. I came home and saw how we lived, and it all looked suddenly different.

"The Farm was huge, but it felt very small to me. There were whole rooms we couldn't go into. They called it 'stock,' though, for Second Story, but more stuff came in than ever went out. I think for Dad it was kind of joyful. He liked the hunt, looked for good finds. We had so much fun going picking with him. But for Mom, it was like filling a wound. Nothing was ever enough for her. And she spent all day walking around, touching her things.

"Even in '92, when she filed for divorce and moved into the condo. Every day, she came back. Not to see me. Just the stuff."

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Read on to Chapter 29