by Wendy Wax
“Lauren?”
“Hi, Dee.”
There’s a moment of hesitation. Then she says, “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
And just like that I go from never wanting to see my mother again to a litany of worst-case imaginings. She’s overdosed. Been in an accident. Dropped dead from a heart attack. “What is it? What’s happened?”
Spencer sits up. His eyes are on me as he tries to pinpoint the source of the panic that has turned my voice shrill.
“I’m glad I caught you.”
I hold my breath.
“There’s been an accident.”
“Oh my God.” My head is spinning. There’s not enough air in the car. “What, what’s happened?” I swallow. “It’s not fatal, is it?” My mind races through the plot points. Mother and daughter have a huge fight after which one of them dies, leaving the other forever bereft and guilty for not trying to repair the relationship in time. “Please tell me no one died. Should I go straight to the hospital? Do you want me to call a specialist?”
There’s another pause. Then Dee says, “Only if that specialist is a plumber.”
I notice the red light and barely mash on the brakes in time. “Did . . . did you say ‘plumber’?”
“Yes. Not five minutes after the cleaning crew finished in the Sandpiper room we discovered that a pipe’s been leaking in the wall. The wall is now ripped open and we’re trying to get things cleaned up, but the room’s not habitable and probably won’t be for a couple days.”
“But . . .”
“I’m sorry, Lauren. I know you were keen to move over today. I called around again but there’s a family reunion coming in tonight for the rest of the week. When are you heading back to New York?”
“Friday morning.”
“I’m sure your mother would be glad to have you both . . .”
“No.”
There’s another silence. I feel Spencer’s eyes on my face.
I’m shaking now with nerves and anger. “And if this is some attempt to get me to go back to her place . . . or force Bree and me to spend more time with each other . . .”
“I’ve always been fascinated by how your mind works. But this is not some elaborate plot or even a stab at fiction,” Dee says in a tired but wry tone. “It’s just plumbing.”
Heat rises to my cheeks as I end the call.
“Everybody okay?” Spencer asks as, with a shaky hand, I set the phone on the seat.
“It appears so.” I feel like a car that went from zero to one hundred in less than sixty seconds, sprang out of control, then somehow didn’t crash.
“So the plumbing will recover?”
I turn to meet his eyes. They’re dancing.
“I’m glad you find this amusing. It looks like we’re going to have to go back to Bree’s.” I snap the words out, but I’m beyond glad he’s with me.
“Should we call first and make sure it’s okay?”
I barely think about this, which, given everything that’s taken place between Bree and me, is a pleasant surprise. I know without hesitation that Bree won’t mind if we stay longer. “No, Bree’ll be at the store until six anyway. And I think she mentioned that Lily has some after-school thing, so it’s not like we’ll be in the way.”
“Do we need to stop and get a key from . . .” He stops mid-sentence. “Never mind. I forgot the come-on-in-and-take-anything-that-looks-interesting welcome mat is always out.”
I take a right and then a left on Wingina. Clay’s truck is parked in its usual spot, but the house looks quiet. We clomp across the front porch with our suitcases and carry them inside.
“I’ll just run them up.” Spencer hefts both suitcases and moves toward the stairs. Footsteps sound on the landing. It’s Clay. His hair is still damp as if he’s just out of the shower. He’s looking down, buttoning his shirt as he takes the first step. The surprise on his face when he glances up and sees us is comical. Or would be if the blonde behind him, who also appears freshly showered and not quite dressed, was Brianna.
Clay’s face goes white, but there’s an unattractive smirk on the blonde’s otherwise attractive face.
“Are you kidding?” Fury spikes through me. I’m about to give them both a piece of my mind when Spencer puts down the suitcases and takes my hand. A small shake of his head is meant to stop me from saying anything more. I stop talking, but only because I’m trying to come up with the most scathing indictment of Clay and this clichéd and offensive behavior possible. I mean, right here in Bree’s own house? In the bedroom that once belonged to her grandmother?
“Oh. Hi.” Clay is clearly at a loss. “I thought you were moving over to the Dogwood.”
“Plumbing issue. Our room is uninhabitable,” I reply. “We just found out a couple minutes ago. I didn’t realize we needed to call and warn anyone.”
I actually enjoy the sick look on Clay’s face. At least he seems to care that he’s been found out. I’m not so happy about the triumphant expression on the blonde’s. She appears just bitchy enough to wish it were Bree who’d come in unexpectedly. In that moment all I want is to wipe that look off her face. Bree and I have had our issues, but no one deserves this. “Who’s your friend?” I ask Clay.
Spencer nudges me.
“What?” I turn to him with the most innocent expression I can muster. “I said ‘friend.’ Not ‘piece of ass’ or even ‘sleaze on the side,’ like I wanted to.”
Spencer sighs.
“Nobody you need to worry about.” Clay says this quietly and I know him well enough to understand that’s as close as he’s going to come to asking me not to say anything to Bree. But I don’t know what it means that he feels free to do this here in their home. Or whether Bree already knows.
I don’t respond. Not even when the blonde, who doesn’t look anywhere near as attractive close up and who really needs to do something about her roots, flounces past us.
“Did you really used to date that guy?” Spencer asks after the truck has started up and backs out of the drive.
“Yeah.” Now that the encounter is over the adrenaline and anger are seeping out of me. “But I was young and inexperienced. And my taste has obviously improved.” I feel in need of a shower and somehow guilty just from knowing. “I did try to warn Bree that he was too immature to settle down. That was one of the things she’s held against me. But I had no idea he was screwing around.”
Spencer shakes his head. “Man, that sucks. I kind of liked the guy.”
“I know. Me, too. He’s got lots of good qualities, but . . .” I slump. It’s all too much. My mother’s lies. Clay’s cheating. “In case you’re wondering, that’s not something I would ever put up with.”
“Yeah. Me, either. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the antithesis of what marriage is about.” Spencer puts his arms around me and pulls me close until our foreheads touch. He’s so real and solid.
“God, I wish we were back in New York.”
“We can go if you really want to,” he says gently. “But I thought you’d want more time to get to know Jake. And show me more unpronounceable yet very cool sights.” He hesitates for a moment. “And, well, I still hope you can at least sit down and talk to your mother.”
I don’t bother to say no as I follow him up the stairs to Rafe’s bedroom. But that’s not going to happen. I also know that telling Bree what we just witnessed would be a big mistake. She’s made it clear before that she doesn’t want to hear anything bad about her husband. Only, I don’t know how I can look her in the eye and not tell her what we just saw.
* * *
Kendra
It’s Tuesday morning and I am still hiding inside like a frightened mouse. Look at me the wrong way and I will squeak in terror. Since I’m not really sleeping, I started baking at three A.M. and had everything that was promised for today ready by six thirty. I e
ven got dressed; something I haven’t done since Saturday. But at the last minute I couldn’t take the first step off the front porch. When my neighbor Julie, who’s delivered before in a pinch, came over to pick up the baked goods, I could barely meet her eye.
I am frozen in place, unable to break free. I can’t bear being alone with my thoughts and mistakes and regrets, but the longer I hide here the harder it is to contemplate going out.
Virtually everyone I know has called, but I don’t answer the phone. My voice mail is full and I can’t bring myself to listen or delete. Mouse that I am, I have locked the front door and brought the key inside for the first time in memory. I cower behind the curtains at the first sound of a car turning into my driveway. Jake has been here twice in as many days and both times I could hardly think or hear for the pounding of my heart and the whooshing of blood in my ears.
Dee and Bree have stood and knocked until their knuckles must be raw. They called through the door to try to get me to open up and to let me know that Lauren and Spencer are still here. They’ve begged me to come talk to her. Reminded me that their flight back to New York is on Friday. As if I’m not counting the minutes left.
Through it all, I hear their hurt that I never took them into my confidence, their shock that I was never married and that I kept Lauren from her father and both our families. But even when they threaten to use their keys I still don’t let them in or even make a sound.
The only person I haven’t heard from is the only person I want to. But I know my daughter. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly. And I am the biggest fool of all.
Twenty-four
Lauren
It’s Tuesday evening. Spencer, Jake, and I are sitting at Ortega’z over on Sir Walter Raleigh Street. I’m nursing a margarita while I watch Jake and Spencer chow down on what they have proclaimed to be some seriously great Mexican/Southwestern food. Although I’m too stressed to eat, I’m proud of the fact that the foodie I’m marrying seems perfectly happy with everything he’s consumed since we arrived on the Outer Banks, from Tortugas’ Lie and Ortega’z, which he’d seen featured on Food Network’s Diners, Drive-ins and Dives, to Sam & Omie’s, where I took him for lunch today for old time’s sake, because I’ve been going there practically from birth.
My birth. My eyes turn to my father—
I still stumble over the word even in my head—as he tilts the margarita to his lips and contemplates me out of his kindly brown eyes. He has an easy warmth that makes everyone around him comfortable. From what I’ve seen of him he and my mother should have been well suited.
I stumble again over that thought and another lump rises in my throat. I cannot understand how she could have walked away from their wedding and the life they had planned.
* * *
I’m lost in imaginings of what my life might have been and only come back to the present when Spencer takes my hand. I realize he’s in the middle of filling Jake in on our morning at the Fort Raleigh National Historic Site, his enthusiasm for the waterside theater where The Lost Colony is staged every summer. “I told Lauren I’d be glad to come back to see a performance and anything else we don’t get to this trip.” He doesn’t add that it’s clear I’m trying to cram everything in because I have no intention of coming back this summer. Or possibly ever. The Outer Banks might stretch for over a hundred miles, but the full-time population is far too small to avoid anyone for long. I held my breath through a good part of our lunch, afraid my mother might walk in.
For what might be the millionth time I wonder what she’s doing right now. Is she going about her daily life, baking and delivering, waiting for me to get over my shock? Or is she racked by guilt for lying and keeping my father from me? I don’t understand how she could possibly rationalize what she’s done.
“After lunch we went to Jockey’s Ridge,” Spencer continues. “Good God, that’s one hell of a sand dune. Then we went to the Wright Brothers monument.” I listen with only half an ear while he relays the park ranger’s explanation of how and why Kitty Hawk was chosen, the hardships the brothers encountered, and their refusal to give up their quest to prove that man could not only glide but fly in machines that were heavier than air.
He squeezes my hand and I add, “I always forget how phenomenal the view from the top of the memorial is.”
“And tomorrow?” Jake asks.
“I figured we’d go north. Maybe stroll around Duck a bit then head up to Corolla to see the lighthouse and town center. We might take one of the wild-horse tours late in the afternoon.”
“I’ve heard they’re an impressive sight,” Jake says. “Descendants of the Spanish mustangs that were originally brought to the New World as long ago as the 1500s.”
Just like that I’m six years old, holding my mother’s hand, the breeze off the water riffling our hair as we watch the herd of horses gallop up the beach with their heads tossing and their manes flying. I feel the smile of memory on my lips. It fades as I acknowledge that my mother is a part of every important memory. She wasn’t just the center of my universe. She was my universe. The thrum of anger vibrates through me. Why did we spend my whole life living like two orphans whom fate had turned its back on?
“So do they still run wild?” Spencer asks, once again pulling me back.
“Yes.” I try to refocus on the conversation. “But they started dying off when civilization got too close. Now they’re in a protected habitat where they can roam freely without being in danger.”
“And Thursday?” Jake asks.
“Then Thursday I thought we might go fishing either offshore or inshore so Spencer can get a taste of being on the water here.” I finish my margarita. “I promised him I’d bait his hook.”
“Good thing, too.” Spencer is not embarrassed at his inexperience with a rod and reel. “The closest I’ve ever come to fishing is ordering sushi.”
Jake smiles softly. I sense something is on his mind, but I don’t know him well enough to guess what it is.
“Would you like to come with us?”
“No. Thanks, though.”
“Do you hate baiting hooks, too?” Spencer asks.
“No.” Jake grins. “I grew up fishing with my dad. Used to spend time on the James River. I learned to bait a hook when I was about five.”
Just that easily he refers to the grandfather I never met and who didn’t know I existed. My heart actually hurts.
“I’ve got appointments on Thursday and a couple of conference calls. But if you’re free, I’d like to take everyone to dinner. Dee told me that Blue Point up in Duck is one of your favorite restaurants.” He’s watching my face as he offers up options. “Or if you’d like to stay closer to home we could go to 1587.” He names an upscale restaurant in the Tranquil House Inn on the Manteo waterfront.
“I think Blue Point would be great for our last night,” I say.
“Good.” Jake smiles. “I thought I might invite Bree and Clay.”
I’m careful not to squirm at the suggestion. The sight of Clay and the blonde coming down the stairs right out of the shower is still fresh in my mind. “Sure. The more, the merrier, right?”
We’ve finished our main courses and are contemplating dessert when Spencer asks Jake if he ever gets to New York.
“About three or four times a year.”
I blink. “You come to New York?”
“Yes. I have investment partners there.”
“We could have walked right by each other and never even known it.” It’s almost a whisper.
He nods and I see him swallow. I’m not the only one mourning for the time that’s been lost and what might have been. But once again my sorrow is infused with anger. I could have been part of a family, not learning how to live without one.
The bill comes. Despite Spencer’s protests Jake insists on paying. We’re working out details for Thursday night and waiting for the receip
t when Jake says, “So what are you going to do about your mother?”
“Do?” I hear the surprise in my voice. I also hear the fury. I’m practically shaking with it. “Nothing. Not anything. As in I do not intend to do one single thing.”
* * *
Bree
Lauren and Spencer are out with Jake. Clay and Lily and I are having a rare family dinner together. As we eat, my husband steals glances at me. Guilty glances. My heart sinks. I’ve seen that look before and I know what it means.
“When are Lauren and Spencer leaving?” Clay asks, and I realize I’m no longer looking forward to their departure. Even in the midst of the turmoil surrounding Jake’s appearance, this time with Lauren has reminded me how close a bond we shared and how much I’ve missed her. Witnessing Lauren and Spencer’s happiness has made me even more aware of how separate Clay’s life and mine have become. We’re both here for Lily, but in so many ways I feel as if we’re simply putting on a show. Going through the motions. He plays everything so close to the vest. Today when I stopped by to visit his mother, Gina, she asked what I thought about the new spec houses selling and I had no idea what she was talking about.
Lily always used to be an open book, at least to me. But I feel her beginning to pull away, weighing what she shares, keeping her feelings to herself, if not her complaints.
“I still can’t believe she couldn’t make time to come talk to my class,” Lily whines now.
“I didn’t ask her. I told you there’s too much going on for that right now. And she’s spending time getting to know her father.” The news of Jake’s connection to Kendra and Lauren was all over town before I could figure out how to explain it to Lily.
“I can’t believe Kendra never told her about her own father.”
I have no answer for this. I can’t quite believe it, either. Or reconcile any of it with the Kendra I know and love. The Kendra who seems to be hiding even from those she’s closest to. I keep telling myself there’s no need to worry, but if I haven’t heard back from her by tomorrow I’m going to go over and use my key whether she’s ready or not.
