Eleanor listened to her mother cry, didn't know how to respond, or if she even wanted to. She waited, and decided. "I suppose, then, that Emma didn't tell you everything. Did she."

"No."

"Just enough to reinforce your judgements of me," Eleanor paused. "Did you even ask her, mother, why? Why I was in the hospital in the first place?"

"She said she didn't know, really. That you never told her."

Eleanor let out a harsh, sharp laugh. "Of course."

Margaret seemed to regain her footing. "I trusted Emma to take care of you. If you weren't going to let me, you needed someone, Eleanor. And not just anyone. Someone strong. Strong enough to love you unconditionally. Someone who understood the nature of commitment, and all it entails."

"Strong enough to account for my weaknesses? My irrationality? All my ridiculous emotions?"

"No. Someone who was strong enough to deal with the barrage of troubles life throws at us, dear. So that you didn't have to. You'd had enough of that already."

Eleanor turned back. The wind played at her hair again. She gathered it up angrily and slipped a tie from her wrist. She pulled it back and into a loop low at her neck. She narrowed her eyes and leaned toward her mother. "And you think Emma is that person? Strong – with an understanding of commitment?"

"She's devoted to you, Ellie."

Another sharp laugh from Eleanor. "Don't Ellie me. Have you met Emma? She wouldn't know commitment if it bit her in the ass."

"There's no need for rough language. And she was committed to you. She remains so."

"And did she tell you about the women she had while we were married?" Eleanor shook her head vehemently. "Before we were married? I knew of at least three. I'm not sure how that lines up with your definition of commitment. But it certainly doesn't with mine."

Margaret considered her and sighed. "You know this, Eleanor. Fidelity and commitment are not the same thing."

"Oh that's bulls – that's rubbish Mother."

Margaret's eyes grew darker, and sharp again. Another break in the wind came, and she spoke quietly. "It's not rubbish, Eleanor. And I should know. How do you think I kept my own family intact? It certainly wasn't by throwing in the towel every time your father was indiscrete."

Eleanor tilted her head back, almost as though she'd been struck.

"Oh yes dear. Much of our early marriage. Until June died, in fact. There was no ultimatum, no dramatic line in the sand about it after that. I think the desire just went out of him. I hated to see him change like that, become soft. But of course it meant that at least I didn't have to look the other way anymore."

Eleanor's response was just a throaty whisper carried on the breeze. "Does Daddy know – "

"That I know? Of course he does. But we're not dramatic. We don't have to constantly bring it up. Rehash it and reuse it over and over to liven up our lives. And he's contrite about it, certainly." Margaret's composure reinstated itself and her tone picked up confidence. "We're married. We've been married for almost fifty years. There's nothing at all we don't know about the other. That's what commitment is, Eleanor. Knowing the other person, and loving them despite that knowledge."

The wind had finally calmed and now the gulls were out, shrieking to each other as they soared along the face of the sandy cliffs.

The two women faced each other, mirrored each other. Heads held at the same angle, sun hitting their hair and bouncing off identically. Shoulders and hips at the same cast. Both with hands in their coat pockets. Chasms between them emotionally, but physically inseparable in so many ways. But for her blonde, short hair, Margaret simply an older version of Eleanor.

The silence between them and the noise of the gulls went on. The waves ceased their crashing, but the roar of the tide remained.

Eleanor looked away, then back. Her tone was even again. "Does Daddy know about me?"

"London? The hospital? No. That didn't seem necessary. He dotes on you, Ellie. He adores you."

The fire in Eleanor's eyes rekindled. "And he wouldn't anymore, if he knew? Is that what you're saying?"

Margaret sighed. "No, dear. What I'm saying is that it would have crushed him."

Fresh tears began for Eleanor as she looked down and nodded. "I want to tell him."

"Because it will make you feel better, or because it will make him feel better?"

She looked up again, angry at Margaret's stubborn unwillingness to live openly. "Because it's the right thing to do. Keeping secrets – it's an awful business."

"Perhaps. But secrets, properly managed, run the world, Eleanor." A single gentle nod from Margaret to underscore her point.

"I'm sorry, but that's not how my world is, Mother. It's not how I want it to be."

A smirk began to creep on to Margaret's lips, and a flash of a twinkle appeared in her eyes. "Your world is different than mine, isn't it?" Her smile faded back into passive countenance. "I suppose that's how it is, with daughters. Though we don't want to believe it."

Eleanor stepped forward abruptly and hugged her mother. Roughly and passionately. Margaret didn't react at first, but eventually she put her arms around Eleanor. They stood together stiffly, but still close, Eleanor's strong arms forcing Margaret to stay with her.

Finally, Eleanor stepped back. She sniffed and looked down. She turned her foot into the gravel before gazing back up. "You are my mother. And I love you."

"I suppose that's enough, isn't it? Love. And I love you, Eleanor. You're my daughter. I can't help it."

Eleanor laughed and smiled at her. "Yes Mum. I know that."


Caroline wandered toward the sound of a piano. The notes echoed and bounced off the coffered ceilings. The house was large enough that she wasn't exactly sure where she was or where she was headed. But soon enough she came upon an open door and peered in. A library. Books in thick oak cases floor to ceiling, and a great black grand piano in the center of it. Eleanor was fiddling around with pieces of different tunes. She kept coming back to a piece by – Caroline racked her brain – Barber. She was thrown, it wasn't a piece she'd heard on piano before, only ever performed by strings.

She hadn't seen Eleanor since she'd returned from the walk with Margaret. It was hard to keep track of people in this place. Rooms and wings for hiding and losing people. She stood in the door for a moment and smiled quietly to herself. Eleanor wasn't turned completely away from her, but she was far enough in the room that she hadn't noticed her yet.

Caroline pulled her cardigan across her chest as she crossed her arms and strolled slowly forward, still smiling. "Know anything I'd like?"

Eleanor looked up. The edges of her eyes were red. They shone brightly, but the shine quickly became a twinkle. "As a matter of fact - I think yes."

"Sounds promising."

Eleanor tilted her head down over the rim of her reading glasses. Skipping them for the mobile on occasion was one thing. But she'd confessed, once Caroline had caught her wearing them, that the bars merged and the notes turned to black globs if she attempted to play the piano without them.

"This song has been running through my head, here and there throughout the summer. I even gave it quite a few runs on Lily's keyboard when I had the chance. I think I've got it well enough in hand." Eleanor moved over just a bit on the bench and tilted her head to Caroline. "It's one of your favorites. That must have been partly why it came to mind."

Caroline's heart picked up by a beat or two as she sat on the bench next to Eleanor. "Hmmm. One of my favorites…" She narrowed her smiling eyes at Eleanor. "So. Stevie or Christine?"

"Stevie." Eleanor smirked. "Sorry."

"If you're singing, I don't care." She leaned against Eleanor's shoulder.

"Good then." Eleanor smiled, endlessly pleased with herself and with Caroline's affirmation. Caroline was glad piano, song, had come back into her life, their lives. Eleanor liked music, she liked singing. It was easy enough to see how eagerly she'd missed it.

She looked across the little space between them on the bench one more time, small bashful smile, and began to play.

It took Caroline only two or three notes to pick up the song. She'd listened to it more times than she could begin to count. Sung along with it in the car, at home, in the shower, the laundromat when she'd been young and she and John just barely making it work. Sung it to the boys and to Flora, in the grocer and the mechanic. She listened along silently and thoughtfully sometimes. But she couldn't really remember ever turning it off, or skipping it on the album. Of course it had come to mind, when Eleanor thought about them – and this summer.

"Wait a minute baby – stay with me awhile -"

No matter how often Caroline had heard the song before, this time would now be her favorite. Even more than when she'd heard it for the very first time in 1979, sitting on the floor of her bedroom buried in green shag carpet, circled around the record player with three of her very best friends in the world. All of them giddy and impossibly in love with at least two of the members of Fleetwood Mac. Caroline had really only had eyes for Christine, but she told everyone she was completely and totally mad for John.

"Drowning, in the sea of love –"

She tried not to stare at Eleanor, tried not to make her feel self-conscious, because she never wanted her to stop. She watched her surreptitiously from the side, only turning to her on occasion to smile.

Eleanor was clearly comfortable with the piece, but hadn't mastered it. She looked over to Caroline just once in a while, smiling, but mostly studied the sheet music carefully. She had a confident, bold style, but was still graceful and kind with the keys. Her phrasing rolled more like a pounding wave than a gentle tide, but it fit for Eleanor. And her voice… it was as deep and smooth and lovely as ever. Vintage and charming. She didn't sound a thing like Stevie, but it didn't bother Caroline.

"Said Sara, you're the poet in my heart – "

'She couldn't fit 'Caroline' in? It's just another couple syllables….' Caroline snickered to herself, giddy in the moment. Eleanor looked over, didn't quite miss a beat but grinned. She was torn between wanting Eleanor to go on and on and wanting her to stop, because she felt that if she didn't kiss her immediately she'd just… explode.

Caroline watched the afternoon light as it streamed in from the giant mullioned windows and across Eleanor, lit her auburn hair and brought out the mahogany tones, shining and falling in waves over her shoulders as she moved and played. 'I'm going to spend the rest of my life with her. And it's going to be profound. It's going to be like nothing that's ever happened to me before, even if it has.'

The sun poured past Eleanor and flooded on to the worn and crinkled cream paper of the sheet music and the dark black walnut of the piano. Her pace slowed just a little as she started to reach the end, where the music and the words began to mingle.

"… would you swallow all your pride?"

She finished the piece and turned, not bashful but clearly anticipating a response, then preempted it with one of her own. "I agree. It was fantastic."

"I haven't said anything yet." Caroline's face was lit with her brightest smile.

"Well I already knew what you were going to say, so I thought I'd save time." Eleanor reached over and ran a hand down Caroline's blonde hair, then, pulled her hands back and rested them both in her lap.

Caroline didn't speak. How could she? What words could she use to describe her sheer, dumb luck at being the recipient of something so wonderful, so freely given, with only the hope that the giving would make her happy, would make her fall more in love with Eleanor - as though that were possible.

She found words she hoped would be - adequate. "It was fantastic. It was - everything. It melted my cold, cold heart. Just as everything you do does. Even if you can't always get me to admit that." She slid a leg over and straddled the piano bench, leaning on palms laid flat in front of her. Eleanor leaned toward Caroline and they kissed, gently. Caroline felt like taking her time about it, and they did, lazy and luxurious in the pool of sunlight surrounding them.

Eleanor tilted her forehead against Caroline's. "I forget how well music produces my desired effect on you. I'll be more mindful in the future."

Caroline kissed her again. "I remember something about using your powers for good?"

"Always."

"Do you want to talk about your walk with your Mum?"

"Not in the middle of this perfect moment."

Caroline swung around again on the bench and plunked at the piano. "Will you play something else then? Or sing something else?"

Eleanor's smile was so wide that the effect was comical. "I can do both."