Page 26 of What You Never Knew

Leslie shakes her head. “No, she passed away years ago of a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” My words barely seem to penetrate her leathery, tanned skin. “What about your father?” I would have preferred Suzanne, but he’ll do.

“We’re estranged. I haven’t seen him for years. Don’t plan to, either.” She lets the bold statement sink in. “He and my mother had an ugly divorce, and I can’t ever forgive him for some of the things he did to her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that too.” I try to hide my disappointment within my condolences.

“Aw, it’s just life. We got this place in the end, which was a victory.”

“So you’re up for the summer, then?” I ask, trying at some friendly conversation.

“I’m here through most of the year, not just summers. Moved up after my mom died. Just me and Solomon.” She points at the black cat, who’s now lying in a patch of sunlight on the rug. “I do Reiki treatments and tarot readings from May to January, then take off for a few months of travel. Get some beach time in, if you know what I mean.”

It seems unimaginable to me, but I nod my head anyway and smile. “Well, I’m sorry to have barged in on you, and I know you have a twelve thirty, so I’ll just leave you be.” I turn toward the door.

“You’re looking for answers,” she says, stopping me in my tracks. “I’m a bit psychic,” she explains. “Come sit down and have a cup of tea. I have some time before my client arrives.” Again she disappears from the room, expecting me to just follow.

It wouldn’t be hard to deduce that I came here for answers, since I was looking for her parents, but something about her is intriguing, which is what compels me to follow her into the kitchen.

I pause in the doorway, not sure where I’ll fit in the chaotic clutter of the room. The sink is full of dirty dishes, the counter is packed with jars and the kitchen table with books, and every other free surface holds a plant. There are even plants hanging from the ceiling, creating an overwhelming rain forest vibe.

“Go on out to the screened-in porch,” she instructs, while filling the kettle with water. “I’ll bring the tea out there where it’s not so busy.”

Busy is an understatement, I think to myself as I leave the kitchen for the porch. I’m relieved to see that it’s exactly how I remember it as a child—white wicker furniture with down cushions covered in chintz. There were more than a few afternoons where I sat with my mother on this porch while she and Mrs. Swann drank gin and tonics and gossiped about the other cottagers on the lake. I move a pile of newspapers to the floor and sink down into one of the chairs.

Leslie appears with a tray, her cat following close behind. “Hope you like chamomile,” she says, setting it down on the table in front of me. I’d prefer a strong cup of coffee but keep that to myself.

“Chamomile is lovely, thank you.” I take the steaming mug and sip tentatively, hating the floral taste of it. “You were right about me looking for answers, by the way.”

“I usually am,” she’s quick to say.

“After arriving here, I realized that I don’t know much about when my father disappeared. I didn’t even know there was a search for him. My mother just said he’d left us.”

“Your mother was quite the woman,” Leslie says, before lifting her tea to her lips.

It’s not said with admiration. There’s bitterness behind it, so I can’t help but ask, “What do you remember of my mother?”

She shrugs. “Not too much, really. Just that she was beautiful and always dressed so nicely. Most of what I know about her came secondhand from my mother.”

“Your mother was my mother’s closest friend on the lake.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily use the word friend.” Her words startle me, and I take in more tea than I meant to, burning my tongue. “More like a keep-your-enemies-close type thing,” she adds.

“I always thought they were good friends.”

“It was my father’s fault,” Leslie explains. “As most things were. He was constantly flirting with your mother, a getting-caught-in-dark-corners-at-parties kind of thing. Your mother didn’t do anything to discourage it, and that drove my mother mad.”

Suzanne Swann was neither attractive nor unattractive; feeling that she was competing with my mother for her own husband’s attention would have been horrible. “I’m sorry to hear that” is all I can think to say.

Leslie points a finger at me. “You look a lot like her. Your mom. Lucky I don’t have a husband around for you to steal.” She lets loose a loud, obnoxious laugh, and my stomach twists into knots. The comment is too close for comfort. “But seriously,” she continues, once she’s had her laugh. “That’s not even the main reason for their final falling out.”

“They had a falling out?” Again, information about my mother that I didn’t know.

“They sure did.” Leslie pauses, seeming to revel in the suspense she’s building. Her cat jumps up onto her lap and she bends down to rub noses with it, prolonging my agony.

“About what?” It comes out too impatient. “I just had no idea,” I say, trying to soften my words. “I thought they stayed friends for years.” It’s a bit of a lie. I actually never gave Suzanne Swann much thought after we stopped coming up here.

“It was a couple of things, actually,” Leslie says, finally getting to the point. “First was when your mother asked my mother to lie to the police for her.”