Scarlet smiled.
“Sure,” she said. She turned to Blake. “Just wait for me on the porch, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“I think porch-time is a great idea,” Caleb said, not missing a beat as he walked to Blake and draped an arm over his shoulder. “I think I’ll join you. It will be a perfect opportunity for us to get to know each other.”
Blake looked nervously back at Scarlet as Caleb led him outside.
“Dad, be nice,” Scarlet cautioned.
Caleb turned and smiled as he opened the door, leading Blake to one of the overstuffed wicker chairs on their wide, Victorian porch.
“Don’t worry honey,” Caitlin said, as the door closed behind him. “I’m sure he will be. And by the way, I really like Blake.”
Scarlet smiled as the two of them walked through the windy, quirky house to a small sitting room, lined with bookshelves.
As they entered the room, Scarlet’s eyes opened wide in surprise at the site of a small gift box sitting on the coffee table.
Caitlin beamed. She had been preparing this for the longest time. Now, finally, it was the perfect moment.
“You really didn’t have to get me anything, mom,” Scarlet said. “That cake was more than enough.”
That was Scarlet. Always so considerate. Always so selfless.
“This is an important one,” Caitlin said. “Go ahead. Open it.” Scarlet took the small box and removed the delicate wrapping. As she did, it revealed an antique, mahogany jewelry box.
Scarlet looked over at Caitlin in surprise. Clearly, she was stumped. She slowly opened it, and as she did, her eyes opened wide.
“Oh my God,” she said, raising a hand to her mouth. “I can’t accept this. It looks so valuable. It looks, like, ancient!”
Sitting there, against black velvet, was a small, silver necklace. An antique cross.
Scarlet held it up, examining it, struck by its beauty.
“Where did you get it?”
“My grandmother gave it to me,” Caitlin said, “when I turned 16. And her grandmother gave it to her.”
Caitlin took the necklace, went behind Scarlet and draped it around her neck, clasping it. She then came around and examined it, smiling.
“It fits beautifully,” Caitlin said.
Caitlin had stumbled across the necklace just the other day, in the attic, and knew Scarlet should have it. After all, she didn’t wear it herself anymore. It was so beautiful, and mysterious, with that strange inscription in Latin on the back.
“I’ll never take it off. I love you mommy,” Scarlet said, hugging her.
Over her shoulder, Caitlin felt Scarlet’s tears.
Caitlin had no idea what she’d done to deserve such an amazing daughter.
“I love you, too.”
*
Caitlin lay there, in bed, late at night, in the dark, tossing and turning. Caleb had been asleep for at least an hour, and she listened to the steady, measured sound of his breathing. She was always amazed at how well he slept.
But not Caitlin. Most nights, she had a hard time falling asleep. She reached over her bedside table and turned the clock towards her: 12:30. She had laid down in bed over an hour ago, and still nothing.
She lay on her back, resting her head on the pillow, staring at the ceiling fan, thinking. Her mind raced, and she couldn’t get it to quiet down. Tonight was worse than usual. She wondered if she was stirred up because it was such a big day, with Scarlet’s turning 16. She remembered when she, herself, turned 16, and she still felt in some ways like it was yesterday—to think of her daughter turning 16 was surreal. It was so weird to think of herself as a mom. In some ways, she really was still the same 16-year-old Caitlin.
What bothered her most wasn’t what she remembered—rather, it was what she could not remember. It was like there was some hazy corner of her consciousness that she couldn’t quite get to come into focus, some deep part of her brain where things were murky. She willed herself to focus, to think back to the day when she herself turned 16, to remember everything that had happened that day, all the details—and was frustrated to find that she could not.
Often, Caitlin tried to remember her upbringing, especially her early childhood, convinced that she must have some early memories of her father. Something. But she often drew a blank, or muted images, so vague and muddled that she didn’t know if they were actual memories or just her imagination, just something she had concocted over the years. It was like there was this huge black hole in her memory, this hidden part of her life that she just could not remember. And it bothered her to no end.
Maybe she was just imagining there was something more. Sometimes, Caitlin found herself feeling like she was destined for greater things, a bigger life. Like she had some great destiny, some huge purpose or meaning in the world. Sometimes, she couldn’t help wondering if her life was meant to be so much bigger, if she had a secret mission waiting to be revealed.
But that day had never come. As Caitlin pondered her life—a normal life, a life which seemed so much like everyone else’s—she didn’t actually see anything about her that was that special. It seemed like she was just destined to live a normal life, in a normal town. A part of her refused to accept that.
Another part of her wondered if she was just going crazy. After all, what was wrong with a
“normal” life anyway? Wasn’t having a normal life an achievement in its own right? Why did life have to be greater than normal? When Caitlin looked around and saw so many people with real problems, with broken marriages, with health problems—with real suffering—she realized that normal was OK. It was better than OK. She should be so grateful, she knew, just to have normalcy, just to have what she had. And she was grateful. She was not unhappy.
It was just that sometimes, she wondered, if maybe, she was meant for something more.
Thinking of that necklace, the one her grandmother had given her, had stirred her up. It brought flooding back memories of her—one of the few clear memories Caitlin still had. She remembered her, one of the few people she loved, on her eighth birthday, giving her a box of rare books; she remembered holding that box as if it were a treasure chest; she remembered all the times her mother had insisted on getting rid of that box, and all the times Caitlin had refused. She remembered one time, when she came home and discovered her mom had thrown it out—and bringing it back in and hiding it. She kept it hidden, under her bed, for years, determined her mom never find it again. And she never did.