Page 146 of The High Tide Club
Marie scowled. “That horrible, horrible woman.”
“Who? Josephine?”
“Yes.” Marie tossed the stack onto the table. “She read these letters, then hid them. She knew Mama was in love with Gardiner, was having—I mean, had—his child. Mama was her oldest, dearest friend. And Josephine just cut her out of her life. No wonder she wanted to make amends with us.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Brooke said. “Maybe that’s why Josephine quit talking to Ruth too—because she knew Granny had confided in Ruth but not in her. Of course Josephine read all the letters. She must have been furious at her best friends.”
“Why? Why, after Pops died, didn’t she reach out to Mama? The secret wouldn’t have mattered so much then, not between the two of them, anyway.”
“I don’t know,” Brooke admitted. “There’s so much I didn’t understand about Josephine. After Preiss died, she was essentially alone for the next fortyyears or so. All those years, she had no family, and she isolated herself from her oldest, closest friends. But she did have family—she had us, and we were what? An hour and a half away, in Savannah? A phone call, that’s all it would have taken. Instead, she waited until she knew she was dying.”
“Mama never said a word,” Marie said, twisting and untwisting the napkin she held in her hands.
Brooke sat down in the chair opposite her mother’s and gripped her hands in hers.
“Do you think Pops knew?” It was a question that had haunted Brooke since she’d read Millie’s last letter to Gardiner.
“He must have, but he certainly never let on to me,” Marie said, attempting a smile. She dabbed at her eyes with the napkin. “Pops was my father,” she said finally. “He was! He was the most patient, most loving and gentle man in the world.”
“I can’t believe Granny kept this a secret, all these years. And none of us had any idea.”
“I can,” Marie said. “Looking back now, I can understand why she was so private, and self-contained. I always thought it was just that famous New England reserve.”
“It must have been awful for Millie, keeping that secret. Pregnant and unmarried, knowing it would cause a scandal, wondering if Gardiner would come home from war to marry her. And then having to grieve him all alone,” Brooke said.
“I’m glad Josephine didn’t reach out to us,” Marie said. “I couldn’t have forgiven her for the way she treated my mother. She didn’t deserve to call us her family.”
Marie jumped to her feet and went into the kitchen. When she came back, she had an open bottle of wine and two glasses. She poured a glass and offered it to Brooke.
“No, thanks. I’ve got to drive home, remember?”
“Right.” Marie took a long drink of the wine.
“These letters change everything, you know. You’re Josephine’s niece, her closest relative and her heir, unless we find out that C. D. actually was her son.”
“I don’t need Josephine Warrick’s money.” Marie’s voice dripped scorn. “I had a career and saved my money, your father was generous with the divorce settlement, and I’ve done well with my investments. I thought it was a nice gesture when she reached out to us. I thought I’d be indulging her by going over to Talisa to meet her. And yes, I wanted you to have whatever bequest she wanted to give you. But knowing what we know now?” She drained the wineglass. “I’d be willing togivethat damn island and the house to the state just to spite Josephine.”
“Who are you kidding?” Brooke said. “You’re the least spiteful woman I know. Anyway, are you telling me you’re not even just a little bit curious about Josephine’s estate? Don’t you want to know what it’s worth? Call me a mercenary little money-grubber, but I am. I’ve been wondering ever since I first set foot in Shellhaven.”
“I feel like I’m suddenly living in some weird parallel universe. All of a sudden, I’m not who I thought I was. I can’t even begin to process this. Anyway, what if this is all some kind of a mistake? And we’re jumping to conclusions?” Marie asked.
Brooke pointed to the letters. “Do you think they’re fake? Does that look like Granny’s handwriting?”
With a fingertip, Marie traced the elegant slanting script on a brittle envelope.
“It’s Mama’s handwriting,” she said slowly. “And the voice in these letters, it’s hers. I can hear her so clearly as I read them. She used to write me letters like these when I was away at college. I still have them, you know. Packed away somewhere in the attic. I even have a few letters Pops sent me when I was away at summer camp. He knew I was homesick, so he’d draw these funny little cartoons of my cat, Mrs. Whiskers, with the silliest balloon captions.”
She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes again. “I wish you’d known Pops, Brooke. I wish he’d known you. And Henry, of course.”
“I wish it too.” Brooke stood up. “I’d better hit the road.”
Reluctantly, Marie handed her the letters. “You’ll need to give these to Gabe, right?”
“Yes. I had Farrah make copies of everything for you, but he’ll want theoriginals,” Brooke said. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if the cousins, once they hear this news, don’t insist on getting your DNA compared to Josephine’s.”
Marie shuddered. “Does that mean needles? You know how I feel about blood. And needles.”
“I think it’s just a matter of something simple. Like a cheek swab,” Brooke said.
