The Last Time I Saw You

She looked for a letter or postcard every day. She searched for her mother’s face in movie posters and television shows. Her father kept telling her to forget about Shaina, that she was gone for good. But Blaire couldn’t believe that she would leave her behind forever. Maybe she was just waiting until she made it big before coming back for her. After a year had passed with no word from her mother, Blaire started to worry. Something must have happened to her. She’d begged her father to take her to California to look for her, but he just shook his head, a sad look on his face. He told Blaire that her mother was alive.

She’d looked at her father in shock. “You know where she is?”

It took him a moment to answer. “I don’t. I only know that she’s cashing her alimony check every month.”

Blaire was too young to wonder why he kept paying the bills after they were divorced. Instead, she blamed him, told herself that he was lying and deliberately keeping them apart. Soon her mother would come for her, or if Hollywood wasn’t what she thought it would be, maybe she’d even come home again.

So when her father told her he’d decided to marry Enid, Blaire had run to her room and locked the door. She’d told him she would refuse to eat, sleep, or talk to him ever again if he went through with it. There was no way insipid Enid Turner was going to move into her house and tell her what to do. No way she was going to take Blaire’s father away from her. How could he even look at Enid after being married to her mother? Shaina was vibrant and exciting. Enid was ordinary and boring. But nonetheless, a month later, they were married in the local Methodist church, with Blaire a grudging witness.

They quickly converted the den, where Blaire’s friends used to come and watch TV or throw some darts, into a craft room for Enid. Enid painted it pink, and then she hung her “artwork,” a collection of paint-by-numbers dog breeds, all over the walls, while Blaire’s games and toys went down to the basement.

The first night after the room conversion, once Enid and her father had fallen asleep, Blaire had crept into her former den. Grabbing a Magic Marker from the dresser, she’d drawn eyeglasses on the cocker spaniel, a mustache on the golden retriever, and a cigar in the mouth of the black lab. Soon, she’d been doubled over with silent laughter, her body shaking as she held it in.

The next morning, Enid’s cries brought Blaire into the room. Her eyes were red and puffy.

“Why did you do this?” Enid asked, looking wounded.

Blaire widened her eyes innocently. “I didn’t. Maybe you sleepwalk.”

“Of course I don’t. I know you did this. You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t want me here.”

Blaire stuck her chin out. “I bet you did it, just so you could blame it on me.”

“Listen to me, Blaire. You may have your father bamboozled, but not me. You don’t have to like me, but I won’t tolerate disrespect or lying. Do you understand?”

Blaire said nothing, and the two stared at each other. Finally, Enid said, “Go on. Get out of here.”

Any time anything happened after that, Enid had blamed Blaire. Her father’s devotion transferred from Blaire to his new wife; he had done nothing to defend his daughter, and it wasn’t long before she hated going home and did anything she could to avoid it. It turned out to be a blessing that they had sent her away—living with Enid for over a year had been more than enough for Blaire. She went home for the summer after eighth grade, but in her second year at Mayfield, Lily had invited Blaire to spend the summer with them at their beach house in Bethany, Delaware. She was sure that her father wouldn’t allow it, but Lily made one phone call and it was all arranged.

Blaire fell in love with the house the first time she saw it—the cedar-shingle dwelling had white decks and porches that stood out against the dark wood, as did the pure-white trim of the large paned doors and windows. It was so different from the boring colonial she’d grown up in, where the rooms were dull rectangles and all the furniture matched. The beach house was filled with breezy white-walled rooms, and big windows that looked directly at the ocean. Soft floral sofas and chairs were strategically placed so the view could be enjoyed while still sitting in cozy groups. But the most intoxicating things were the sound of the crashing waves and the air that smelled of the sea as it floated through the open windows. She’d never seen such an amazing house.

Kate had taken her hand and led her upstairs. There were five bedrooms, and Kate’s, a large room next to the master, was painted a pale sea green. French doors led to a small balcony overlooking the beach. All the linens were white—the canopy over the bed, curtains, chair cushions—except for the comforter, which was a bright pink with mermaids embroidered all over it. The walls were decorated with mermaid pictures, and mermaid figurines lined one of the bookshelves. Kate’s name was even spelled out above her bed in sparkling blue sea glass. Kate had everything—two parents who gave her whatever she wanted, including this beach house. Suddenly Blaire couldn’t breathe, the loneliness and emptiness of her life closing in on her like a vise.

“Your room is great,” she’d managed to say.

Kate shrugged. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m getting a little old for the mermaids. I’ve been asking my mom to get me a new comforter, but she keeps forgetting.”

Blaire was stunned. Kate had all this at her fingertips, and she was complaining about a stupid bedspread? Before she could say anything, Kate grabbed her hand.

“You haven’t seen yours yet.” Kate’s eyes had shone with excitement.

“Mine?”

“Come on.” She’d pulled Blaire to the room across from hers and pointed to the name above the bed—it read “Blaire” in glittering sea glass.

Blaire hadn’t been able to speak, hadn’t known what to think or how to feel. No one had ever done anything so generous and kind for her before.

“Do you like it? My mother came down last week and took care of it.”

She’d run over to the window and pushed the curtain aside, a wave of disappointment settling over her. Of course it wouldn’t have an ocean view—it was across from Kate’s room, so it faced the front. She hid her disappointment and gave Kate a forced smile. “I love it.”

“I’m glad. Course, we’ll probably both sleep in the same room anyhow, so we can talk all night.”

And she had been right. They’d taken turns in each other’s rooms, lying there in the dark, spilling all their secrets. Blaire hadn’t really needed her own room, but Lily, wise woman that she was, had known that having it would make all the difference to her. Blaire spent every following summer with them at the beach—until the summer of Kate and Simon’s wedding. She wondered if they still had the beach house, if Kate carried on the tradition with Annabelle.

Selby stood up and pecked Kate on the cheek.

“I guess I’ll go now. Remember—whatever you need, I’m here for you.” Selby grabbed her handbag. Blaire recognized the Fendi floral design. The cheerful flowers didn’t suit Selby’s personality at all, Blaire thought. She’d have pegged Selby as more of a Traviata fan, decidedly in black or dark green, holding it over her arm like the Queen.

“I’ll walk you out,” Kate said. She looked at Blaire. “Do you mind staying with Annabelle a sec?”

“Love to,” Blaire answered, and then turned to Annabelle. “Would you like me to finish your story?”

The little girl nodded and handed her The Giving Tree.

“It’s one of my favorites,” Blaire said. They sat together at the table, and she began to read. Annabelle had one arm around Sunny the unicorn. She was an adorable child, with big brown eyes and a beautiful smile. She had a sweetness to her that reminded Blaire of Lily. What a shame that Lily wouldn’t see her grow up.

“Auntie Blaire, read!” Annabelle demanded.

“Sorry, sweetie.”

Selby came rushing back into the room with a frown on her face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something is very wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” Blaire asked as she readjusted Annabelle in her lap.

“The police came to the door with a package,” Selby said. “They’re with Kate and Simon.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “I’d stay, but I have a massage booked.”

“You don’t want to miss that,” Blaire said.

Selby glared at her. “Maybe I should cancel it. I’m Kate’s best friend. She needs me.”

Why couldn’t Selby give it a rest? They weren’t in high school any longer. Blaire felt herself getting angry but took a deep breath, determined not to say anything she’d regret. She gently twisted a lock of Annabelle’s hair around her finger and continued to stare at Selby, then said in a neutral voice, “I’m here. Go to your appointment. Kate will be fine.”

Selby’s face turned red. “Why did you come back? Didn’t you cause enough trouble before her wedding?”

Was she serious? Their friend’s mother had just been murdered, and all she could do was dredge up the past? Blaire let her anger bubble to the surface. Moving Annabelle from her lap, she got up and stood close to Selby, whispering so Annabelle couldn’t hear.

“What’s the matter with you? Lily is dead, and Kate needs all the support she can get. This isn’t the time for your petty insecurities.”

Obviously flustered, Selby opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Maybe it’s time for you to go,” Blaire said. “You clearly need to let out some of that tension.”

Glaring at her, Selby grabbed her purse and stomped away.

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