Page 40 of Sunset at Embthwaite Farm
Daisy.Anna pushed the thought of her away, knowing she couldn’t think about her now. Sheneverthought about her. She simply didn’t have the strength. “I’ll tell Ruth,” she agreed heavily. She—and Daisy, Anna supposed—both needed to know. “But I don’t know how to contact her…”
“My address book…” He nodded towards the bureau in the corner of the room, piled with old bills and receipts. “It will be there. Ruth Hatch.”
Anna swallowed the taste of bile in her throat. Ruth Hatch. A woman who had given her so much heartache in her life. “All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
He tried to reach for her hand, but his fingers barely twitched on the sheet. “Thank you…Anna.”
She nodded, a lump forming in her throat, and then she stooped to pull the cover over his thin shoulders. “You should rest,” she said quietly. She feared their conversation had utterly exhausted him.
Peter nodded, his eyelids already fluttering closed. Anna stood and watched him for a moment, her heart feeling as heavy as a stone in her chest. Peter had been so aggravating, and stubborn, and hurtful, for so many years. Yet somewhat to her surprise, she’d let go of all that emotion, cast it off like the useless flotsam and jetsam it was. What was left, though, was only sadness for the wreck of this man’s life, the mistakes he’d made that he could only now, on his deathbed, acknowledge.
It was, she thought, a salient reminder to live your life well…and make amends as soon as you could, when you needed to. She wished she’d been able to do that sooner with Harriet and Rachel, but she had now, and now, more than ever, Anna wanted to look towards the future…whatever the future looked like.
Chapter Sixteen
Anna didn’t leaveEmbthwaite Farm till after suppertime, which had been a subdued affair. The whole day had been subdued, a shroud of grief already seeming to be draped over the house, even though Peter hadn’t died yet. It was coming closer, a looming reality, and Anna knew they all felt that. It was only a matter of time, and a short amount of time at that.
In the afternoon, Rachel had broached the subject of funeral arrangements, and Harriet had snapped at her, then apologised, then became tearful. Anna had hugged them both and made soup and fresh bread for supper. It felt like the only thing she could do—tangible ways to show her love for these girls of hers who were grieving a man they’d been desperate to love and be loved by, but it hadn’t quite worked out that way, or at least not as much as they’d hoped.
She still longed for Harriet and Peter were able to reconcile, in some way, no matter how small, and she’d encouraged Harriet to try to talk to him.
“He doesn’t want to talk to me, Mum,” Harriet had replied. “I don’t think he ever did, but even less so now.”
“He wanted to talk to me,” Anna had pointed out gently. “I think he’s trying to make amends, Harriet, as best as he can. I know it’s late, almost too late, but I think you will feel better for it, if you listen to him.” She wanted Harriet and Peter to reconcile for Harriet’s sake more than Peter’s, as sad as she felt for her ex-husband. She hoped Harriet might feel released from the burden of feeling like a disappointment to her father, if she and Peter could finally talk.
Harriet had looked doubtful, and she hadn’t ventured upstairs all afternoon.
Could any parent keep from disappointing their child, Anna wondered as she started the drive through the dark back to her house in Mathering, after promising to return in the morning. Of course, both she and Peter had disappointed Harriet and Rachel in specific, tangible ways, but it was so easy to let that tangle you up and keep you back, rather than moving forward in a way that helped both parent and child.
Maybe the very nature of the relationship—the importance and expectations parents and children invariably put on each other—made disappointment inevitable, something to work through and deal with along with everything else. Maybe, she reflected, feeling a bit too emotionally weary for such deep thoughts, and yet having them anyway, disappointment wasn’t so much about failure as simply another emotion to process and accept. A normal part of life.
Her phone pinged with a text from James and, with her heart skipping a slightly apprehensive beat, she pressed the car’s touch screen to listen to it over the speaker.
“Hello, just wondering how you’re recovering from our long drive! Hope to see you soon—maybe even venture out to a pub for a meal?”
Even in her phone’s automated computer voice, Anna fancied she could hear James’s whimsical tone, the hint of a smile. She was glad he’d texted; she’d been semi-worried—okay, alotworried—that yesterday had somehow scared him off. Nine hours in the car could be too much, too soon for anyone, and towards the end of their journey it had started to feel both intense and morose.
And yet, when she thought about all the stuff she still had to tell him,too much too soondidn’t even begin to cover it. There was so much more to come. When was she going to tell him about leaving Peter, the girls, spending three months in a psychiatric facility? Her stomach clenched at the thought of it all.
Her phone rang, startling her, and with another ripple of apprehension as well as excitement, she saw it was James. He’d just texted, and now he was calling? Anna couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad sign. She pressed the screen to answer the call.
“Hello?” She sounded cautious.
“Anna.” His voice was warm and rich, with that hint of a smile she remembered, and it made her smile in return.
“In the flesh,” she replied breezily, only to amend, “well, not actually.”
“No, indeed not,” James agreed. “I was wondering how you were. Unpack everything yet?”
Anna glanced back at the still-full back seat and boot of her car. “No, actually, I haven’t even taken anything out of the car yet,” she admitted. “I was exhausted last night.” Now, she decided, was not the time to mention her little run-in with Jane. “And this morning Rachel rang me to say Peter was asking for me. I came right away, and I’ve spent the whole day at the farm. He’s…he’s starting to slip away.” Her voice caught as the reality of it hit her all over again.
“I’m so sorry,” James said, his voice full of quiet warmth. “That sounds incredibly difficult.”
“It was…sombre, I suppose,” Anna replied. “Honestly, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel in this situation. I’m sad, yes, but more for what never was rather than what once was, or even what could be, but maybe that’s the nature of any relationship…” She was blathering, she realised, because she’d been so wrapped up in deep thoughts. “Sorry, I don’t know if I’m making any sense. I’m probably not.”
“You are making sense, but I’d love to hear about it in more detail,” James told her. “Have you eaten?”
Anna thought of the bowl of soup she’d barely touched at supper. “A bit.”
