Page 40 of Look on the Bright Side

A veil edged with satin ribbon, and that was that. Lunch followed, with lots of champagne and laughter and love.

There was a moment at the restaurant where Lark just looked at everyone—Mom, her sisters, her grandmother, Heather, all so full of support and love for her and Justin, their happiness, their future children, their entire lives. She was so lucky. So loved. If this was what the future held, her life would be incredible.

But the future, the hateful bastard, had other plans.

SEVEN

ELLIE

“Babe? Everything good up there?”

Ellie jumped at her husband’s words, as if she were the guilty one. “What?” Her voice was strangled.

“Did you find the lamp?”

“I…I…I did. Be down in a sec.”

The air of the attic was stifling and dead, and for a second, Ellie felt faint. What was she supposed to do now? She sat frozen, then slid the iPad under a nearby box, picked up the lamp that had caused her to go into the attic in the first place, and came down the rickety, pull-down ladder.

“Got you, hon.” Gerald’s hands were at her waist, and he took the lamp from her. For a second, she wondered if she’d just hallucinated that whole thing.

“So this is the lamp your mom’s got her panties in a twist about?” he asked.

“Yeah. I know. Um…hey, I have a wicked headache. I think I need to go to bed.”

“Yeah, you sound a little off,” he said. “Want some Motrin? A cold cloth?”

“No, no, I’m…I’ll just sleep in Harlow’s room.”

“Want me to rub your shoulders or anything?”

“No. Thanks, though. Good night.” She paused. “Um…sorry.” Then she hated herself for apologizing. Without further thought, she went into Harlow’s room and closed the door.

“I’ll let you sleep in.”

“Okay,” she called through the closed door.

“Love you.”

Another pause. “Love you, too.”

Three hours earlier, she’d come home to their ramshackle house, not minding the disemboweled lawn mower in her parking space. Barely noting the broken parts of the fence. Idly thinking she’d like to weed the flower beds. As she opened the door, Gerald was pouring her a glass of wine, bless him, her thoughtful, handsome husband.

They had indeed sat on the deck, as promised, and talked about their days. Gerald had cut down a branch that overhung their property line, and was quite proud of himself, detailing the exchange he’d had with their backyard neighbor. She told him about the wealthy couple who’d sneaked out of the gallery when she’d gotten a call. He grilled chicken, she made a salad. They talked about the kids…Robbie wanted to go deep-sea fishing on Sunday, and Gerald thought he might tag along.

“That sounds very manly,” she said, smiling. “Go ahead. Have some father-son time.”

It was only after she’d cleaned up the kitchen and was about to sit down and add a few things to the gallery’s Instagram that she remembered the lamp. Her sister had texted her over the weekend, asking if Ellie knew about an old lamp from their grandparents’ house that their mother suddenly had to have. Ellie did have it; Mémé had given it to her when Ellie had moved into her first apartment after college. It had a carved wooden base with a creamy porcelain shade painted with violets. She’d put it up in the attic when Robbie was about six, since the child seemed to break everything. Aside from smiling every time she saw it up there, Ellie didn’t use it, though she’d been meaning to put it in one of the empty bedrooms. But if it would make Mom happy to have it again (and if that meant Mom would stop torturing Grace), fine.

Their attic was the kind with the pull-down stairs, which screeched as she extended them. Up the narrow ladder she went, the air hot and stuffy. Someday, they were going to put in central air-conditioning, which would mean using this space, and probably reinsulating up here, which would then require a new roof. It seemed like a big project, and Gerald was not exactly a strong closer. Case in point: the lawn mower in the driveway was celebrating its second month in that spot.

She pulled the string for the light, and there was the lamp in a cardboard box in the corner, next to the old rattan rocking chair with the tattered back. She picked it up now and sat on the chair, the painted porcelain shade smooth and warm under her hands. Ellie felt a fond pang for her grandmother, a plump, white-haired woman who’d always smelled like lemons. That lamp had been a little hint of gentility in Ellie’s otherwise grungy first apartment.

Then something caught her eye. There, almost under the chair runner, was Gerald’s iPad. He’d been searching for that thing for months. Why on earth had he been using it up here? The attic was freezing in the winter, unbearably hot in the summer. The only light up here was from the bare bulb. She smiled as she reached for the device. It always made her feel triumphant, finding something that was lost. It was a mother’s superpower, after all.

As she picked it up, the screen lit up. Battery hadn’t run down yet, then. Without thinking, she typed in the password—their anniversary. They both used it on all their devices. Not exactly original or safe from hackers, but really, who’d want to hack them?

The screen showed Facebook messages, which was odd, because Gerald didn’t have a Facebook page. So whose messages were these? She set the lamp down for a better look.

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