Family Skeletons by Bobbie O'Keefe Page B

barely aware of it. She asked, “Did my mother know?”
    “I don’t know. I never told her and doubt that
Franklin would have. It was after their divorce, a long time after. But that
doesn’t excuse anything,” she added. She stubbed the cigarette out in the sand,
put it in her cupped left hand and closed her fist over it. “It was the last
time he was up here.”
    “How about Tom? Does he know?”
    Still looking at her closed fist, Mavis nodded. “I
told him. I had to.” Her gaze moved to a trash receptacle sitting where the
sand met the cement walk. She got up and walked over to discard the cigarette
butt. Before returning, she slipped her shoes off to carry back, one in each
hand. She sat down, leaning on her left hip, and her arm and hand supported her
weight. Though she faced Sunny, she was looking beyond her. She didn’t appear
to be looking at anything in particular, however, just staring into space.
    “It was a bad time,” Mavis said, speaking in a
monotone. “I was at a really low point. I can’t explain it, even to myself, so
I don’t expect anyone else to understand. Tom was...furious. And not just hurt.
Injured. So much so that I wondered if I was only adding to the wrong by
telling him. But I thought then, and still do, that hiding unfaithfulness only
compounds it. I had to face up to it, be honest with him.”
    The Frisbee sailed by and careened away in an arc.
The blond lab snagged it in the air and loped back to its master. Mavis watched
with incurious eyes. She picked up a handful of sand, let it run through her
fingers, and looked out over the water. “For a while it looked like I might
lose Tom. But he accepted it. In time he even forgave me. I know what kind of
man I’ve got. If I didn’t before, I learned then. But I don’t know if I’ll ever
be able to forgive myself. It wasn’t exactly an affair. It was...” She stopped
and looked down at the sand. “A one-night stand,” she finished in a near
whisper.
    She picked up another handful and watched the grains
dribble through her fingers, took in a long breath, let it out and then
tonelessly went on. “Tom was out of town. Had been for a long time. He’d called
that afternoon to tell me it would be at least another week, grew impatient
with me when I got impatient with him. I went out to dinner alone, feeling
sorry for myself, ran into Franklin, drank wine with him, walked the beach...”
    Suddenly, angrily, she made a fist and struck the
sand. Grains spit out in an uneven, explosive design. “It happened, Sunny. I
don’t excuse it, don’t expect anyone else to, and I don’t want to talk about it
anymore. I can’t, really can’t.”
    She jerked up to her feet and walked away, angry
regret and pain evident in every step she took. When she reached the sidewalk,
she balanced on one foot and then the other as she slipped the shoes back on.
She never turned to look behind her. Sunny watched her for as far as she could
see her, then she worked her way upright and began the trek for home.
    It was nearing 4:00 p.m., and the relentless sun
bore down on Sunny as she approached the old Victorian. No official vehicle was
in sight, and the shade of the porch should have beckoned her, yet dread slowed
her steps. When she entered the house, the bathroom door was open, and she
heard a broom swishing across the floor. She stopped midway up the stairs and called
Jonathan’s name.
    He came to the door, straw broom in hand. “Hi.”
    Her gaze moved to the stepladder in the alcove.
    “No,” he said. “No more grisly discoveries. You can
rest easy.”
    She turned sideways to lean against the wall and
drew in a relieved, easier breath. But there was more to come. It would be a
long while before she or anyone else could write an end to the legacy of
Franklin Corday. Unzipping that duffel bag had been like opening Pandora’s box.
    Jonathan stood still for a moment, watching her.
Then he leaned the broom against the doorjamb and started to descend