The Key to Anchor Lake ✓

28 : Blaire

I know Sukie's terminally kind, that she's an open book with her emotions and her time, but perhaps this is something more. The thought that it could be, that the love and the kisses aren't just friendly, sends a swarm of overexcited butterflies to my stomach. I fold the note in half and slip it into my pocket, keeping it close.

"These were Mum's favourite flowers," I explain, touching the soft pink petal of a round, bulbous flower. "Freesias and peonies."

"She had good taste." Elizabeth sits down and I follow suit, buttering toast and spooning an assortment of fruit into a bowl. "Did she ever tell you why she named you Liberty?"

"Do you know?"

"No. I'm interested," she says. "She always called me Libby when I was little, she was the only one who did. And we go, what, thirty years without talking? And she calls you Libby too."

"She must have cared about you," I say. Elizabeth must feel as unmoored as I do, overwhelmed with information and questions that can't be answered because the people who know are the people who have died. "She had a thing for freedom, and she loved New York, too. One of her other nicknames for me was Statue."

A faint smile crosses Elizabeth's lips. "That's sweet," she murmurs. "Funny, isn't it, how parents will spend so long finding the right name for their child, and then call them anything but. Fee was always Fee, or Fifi, or Munchkin. Anything but the name on her birth certificate."

"Mmm. Mum never called me Liberty. Not even if she was mad." I spread butter on warm, crisp toast, and I drizzle a careful amount of marmite. "You know what, she was always insistent on me being free to be who I wanted to be and do what I wanted to do. She had this, I don't know, this fear of being pinned to one place. Maybe that's why she chose my name."

"She was scared of turning into me," Elizabeth says. "Do you feel free, Li- sorry, Blaire?"

I don't know how to answer that. "Not right now," I say. "Not because of you. Just ... everything."

She spends a couple of minutes slicing fruit over her granola. I pour myself a coffee and add a bit more sugar than usual, a splash more milk. We don't speak for a while, not until I finished half of my drink.

"Are we okay?" I blurt out, head tilted.

"In what way?"

"You and me. Are we okay with each other? I know I've been a shit to you, b—"

"Your behaviour has been completely understandable," Elizabeth says. "I wish I could say I know better, but I don't. Clearly. Neither of us were prepared for this, not so soon. Not ever. But yes, we're okay. I think ... patience. Patience is key."

"Mmm. Yeah." It's going to take time, I know. But looking at us now compared to where we were just a few days ago, it's night and day.

"You're my niece, Blaire. You're my flesh and blood. My big sister's daughter. I'm still coming to terms with it – I've never been good with change, and I've grown too comfortable on my own – but that counts for a lot. Your mother and I are hardly a shining example, but family should stick together."

Is this a breakthrough? Are we having a moment? My face is warm and I feel like the weights on my shoulders have turned into balloons, lifting me up rather than pressing me down.

I finish breakfast with a smile on my face.

*

I don't want to rush anything, so after two days with Elizabeth, she heads upstairs to paint once more and I head outside to find Sukie. I walk, taking my time along the long and winding road, and it feels even better to make it to the café nearly thirty minutes later.