by Dorie Graham
“That’s just great.”
“But I talked her into going home and we thought—”
“You talked her into going home? How and when and why were you involved in this?”
“Rusty asked for my help.” He shrugged. “Well, at first he did, but then he kind of changed his mind.”
“You were meddling. Trying to fix everything for him, without breathing one word to me.”
“You already had so much to worry about—”
“So you decided I didn’t need to know what was going on with my own brother? That man could have called the police. There could have been charges—”
“I don’t think that would have happened.”
“But you don’t know that. The point is it could have. When were you going to tell me? When they arrested him? Thank God she wasn’t a minor.” She shook her head. “You can’t possibly think you were helping me by keeping me in the dark.”
He stopped at a light and turned to her. “I care about you. What is wrong with sharing some of your burden?”
“Sharing? That wasn’t sharing. That was you keeping the truth from me. That was you being the big man and taking care of everything. Only it was never your place to do so!”
She cocked her head. “This wasn’t the first time, was it? How much else have you not told me about?”
Frustration welled up inside him. “Look, if it makes you any happier, I think I’ve learned that lesson. That’s why when Rusty came to me with Pickard on his tail, I told him to handle the situation himself.”
“Great. And it still didn’t occur to you at that point to give me a call? Let me know Rusty was in trouble?”
He reached for her. “Lauren—”
She jerked away from him. “Don’t.”
He drove on in silence until they pulled into her driveway. “I’d still like to come in.”
“I don’t see what else we have to talk about. Is this how you’d act if we had kids? Because, this definitely doesn’t work for me. Raising kids should be a joint venture.”
“I agree.”
“I don’t think so. On the one hand you’re insisting you need a stay-at-home wife to take care of your kids, but on the other, it looks like you want to take on all the problems by yourself. That’s so unrealistic.”
“You’re right—”
“Besides, I’m really upset with you. You’ve completely humiliated me.”
A feeling of impending doom crept over him. She knew. He should have told her sooner. “Lauren, I’m so sorry.”
“You should be. I can’t believe you let me throw myself at you that way. How could you, Adam? Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t my secret admirer?”
He threw out his arms in defeat. “I’m not sure. I knew you’d be upset.”
“I am upset.”
“I didn’t want you to think this—” he gestured between them “—was a mistake.”
Silence hung over them, then she shifted away from him. “I don’t know what to think.” Her voice sounded small and strained and hurt and he wanted to kick himself for making her feel that way.
“I just…” She got out of the car, and peered through the open window. “Don’t…call…me.”
Without looking back, she climbed the steps to her town house.
LAUREN WOKE to a relentless pounding on her front door. She opened bleary eyes and peered at the digital clock on the nightstand. She blinked, focused again. Had she really slept past noon?
Grumbling, she stumbled from her bed, then pulled on her robe. Her aggravation building, she yanked open the door, then straightened. Her mother stood on the doorstep. Her eyes gleamed with purpose.
“Mom? What’s wrong? What are you doing here?”
“What’s wrong?” Delores pushed her way inside. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong.” Her intense look softened. “Look at you, all puffy-eyed. Have you been crying?”
Lauren stiffened. She shut the door, feeling raw and empty inside. All the upset from her conversation with Adam last night crowded in on her. Just as her father hadn’t trusted them to handle his illness, Adam hadn’t trusted her to handle Rusty’s transgressions.
Her throat tightened and her eyes misted. The truth was, she’d cried herself to sleep last night. But long years of holding in her feelings prevented her from admitting that.
She drew a deep breath and blinked the moisture from her eyes. “Must be allergies.”
“Right.” With an unprecedented take-charge attitude, Delores propelled her into the kitchen. “Let’s make you some coffee.
“Sit.” Her mother directed her toward one of the chairs around the drop-leaf table.
“What are you doing?”
Delores paused as she rummaged for coffee filters. “I’m being your mother.”
“What?”
“That phone call from Mr. Pickard really got me thinking.” She turned and cast a narrow gaze Lauren’s way. “It occurred to me that you’ve been sheltering me. I know your brother has a mischievous streak. Always has. I can’t imagine he’s scraped his way this far without more trouble than what I’ve caught wind of. I think what’s different about this time is that I found out about it.”
“Mom—”
“Wait. Hear me out.” She pulled a container of coffee from the refrigerator. “I know I was a basket case when your father died—”
“Mom, don’t—”
“And I fell to pieces on you. I figured you turned out so strong and independent, maybe it was a good thing.”
“Mom—”
“But being too strong and too independent isn’t always so good. You should never have had to take the lead, sweetheart.” Delores stopped, coffeepot in hand. “And I never should have let you.”
Lauren squeezed her eyes shut. She felt like a dam was bursting inside her.
Delores continued, “So, I’ve decided it’s way past time for me to step back in as the head of this family. And my first job is to talk some sense into you.”
“Me? You mean Rusty.”
“No. I’ve already been to see him this morning. I think we’ve gotten your brother all straightened out. For the time being, anyway. We also had quite a lengthy discussion about you, though. I believe I’ve put two and two together on why you’ve been looking so run-down and strained lately.”
Lauren shrugged. “I’ve been working a lot.”
“I know the signs of lovesickness, dear. All has not been well between you and Adam, has it?”
One fat tear escaped and rolled down Lauren’s cheek. A second quickly followed. “No.”
“You blame him for almost losing a key account?”
“I did at first.”
“And I’ll bet now you’re upset with him for not telling you what was going on with Rusty.”
She nodded.
Delores set the coffeepot on the counter, and came to sit beside her. “For years I couldn’t forgive your father. He could have told us about his illness, helped us prepare. Maybe I would have handled his passing better if I’d known it was coming. Half the problem was the shock of it. I never understood why he didn’t tell us, why he chose to suffer on his own.”
The pain in Lauren’s throat grew almost unbearable. She’d been angry, too. “He was trying to be noble, to protect us.”
Delores nodded, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I think he and Adam were maybe cut from the same cloth.”
Lauren drew a deep breath. “How did you manage to forgive Dad?”
“It took me a long time to get past the anger, but once I did, all I had left was love. I think when you love someone that much, forgiveness is kind of built in.”
“But it isn’t just that. Adam wants a stay-at-home wife and…children.”
“Well, you can always compromise on working, but there really isn’t a compromise when it comes to having children. Either you have them, or you don’t. And only you can decide that.”
“I know.”
“Whatever you decide, I�
��m here for you now. I’m so sorry I haven’t been in the past, but from now on I promise you can count on me.” She shrugged. “I’m counting on you.”
Warmth bloomed in Lauren’s chest. “I’m always here for you, Mom.”
“Good.” Pink tinged Delores’s cheeks. “I’m going to need all your advice. Phillip asked me to dinner last night and I said yes.”
“That’s great!” Lauren smiled. If her mother could find happiness, maybe there was hope for her yet.
“I’m sorry.” Delores rose and picked up the coffeepot. “I never made the coffee.”
“That’s okay, Mom. I think I’m going to get dressed, then go for a drive. I have a lot of thinking to do.”
“You do that, sweetie.”
She opened her arms and Lauren walked into her embrace, letting herself be mothered for the first time in all these years.
SUNLIGHT DAPPLED the windshield as Lauren drove along a tree-lined lane. Her gaze traveled over the spreading branches of an old apple tree, its fruit golden in the shafts of light permeating the thick foliage. The distinctive curve of one limb struck a note of familiarity. She leaned forward, recognition flooding her.
“That’s old man Sheedy’s tree.” She glanced around, amazed. She’d been in such a haze, she hadn’t paid attention to where she was driving, and had unwittingly arrived in her old neighborhood. It had been forever since she’d traveled this way.
As children, she and Adam had spent many an afternoon in that tree. Its sturdy branches had provided the ideal structure for their climbing feats. Mr. Sheedy had let them pick and eat as much of the lush fruit as they’d wanted.
Her gaze fell on the row of neat brick homes shaded by aging trees. A corner house displayed a front border of azalea bushes. Her mother had always set a vase of the bright blossoms on their dining-room table when they were in bloom. They’d been her father’s favorite.
Lauren continued down the quiet street. The old Wilson house remained the same, with its rock garden and pristine yard, while the ranch-style house where Adam had lived shone beneath a coat of fresh paint. A bicycle and wagon sat forgotten on the front walk, and the driveway sported a basketball hoop that hadn’t been present in their day.
She pulled to the curb before the house next door, the one she’d called home for nearly seventeen years. They’d been forced to sell the house and move to an apartment after her father’s death. A For Sale sign presided over the front corner of the yard. Weeds had started to overrun the yard, mixing with tall grass and poking up between cracks in the sidewalk. The azalea bushes along the front that her father had always kept meticulously trimmed now climbed toward the wide picture window, which, like all the windows, had been stripped and left bare.
The house appeared to have been deserted for some time. Its emptiness echoed the hollow feeling in her gut. Her throat tightened as sadness filled her. A deep sigh rose in her chest.
“So much for ‘Home Sweet Home.’”
Biting her lip, Lauren exited the car. As she glanced again over the property, a memory of her father, hammer in hand and a look of pride brightening his face, swept over her.
“Hey, Pop, think the tree house is still out back?” She glanced around, but no one moved on the quiet street. Irresistibly drawn to the memories the house evoked, she stepped onto the grass.
The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled the air as she rounded the garage. Anticipation crept up her spine. She turned the corner and the backyard stretched before her, much smaller than she remembered. The weeds had taken over, making it a virtual jungle.
Picking her way through the tangle, she moved to the shaded area beneath the tree. Insects buzzed, seeking refuge from the afternoon heat. Somewhere in the distance a wind chime tinkled, the sound echoing like silver laughter. A slight breeze tugged at the frayed rope her father had hung decades ago from the ancient oak. Above it, the tree house sat nestled deep in the branches, peering out at her like an old friend.
She pulled aside some vines to reveal the old ladder running up the trunk. With her heart thudding, she ascended, one rung at a time. Ducking her head, she cleared the low doorjamb, then stopped just inside the threshold. The roof sloped down from a center point, clearing her head by an inch.
Adam wouldn’t have been able to stand.
A cricket chirped from some hidden spot. The interior smelled of dust and oak and turpentine. She drew the old scent into her lungs as her gaze fell on the small table shoved into a far corner.
She smiled at the memory of Adam building that table. Even at seven, he’d been fairly skilled with hammer and saw, thanks to her father’s help. He hadn’t cared that the legs were uneven, or that she’d covered it with an old pillowcase to protect them from the splintery edges. In his estimation, the table had made their fort a home.
The pillowcase was long gone, as were the curtains she’d hand sewn with uneven stitches then tacked above the windows, but something about the place brought a warmth to her heart. She moved to the window that looked out over the yard and back of the house. Laughter from her past drifted to her.
Where’s my princess? Her father’s voice boomed from the backyard.
A seven-year-old Adam jumped up from his place at the table. “Your dad’s back. Let’s show him the radio we made.”
Lauren peered out the window. Her father waved at her as he tucked her mother against his side. She rubbed one hand over her distended belly.
“Lauren, come on!” Adam started down the ladder, the lopsided radio in one hand.
“But it doesn’t work,” she grumbled as she hurried after him.
“That doesn’t matter.” Adam tugged on her braid, then tore off toward her parents.
“What have you got there?” Her father’s face lit with interest as Adam halted, breathless before him.
“It’s a radio.” Adam pointed to the front. “I put the box together and Lauren added this speaker from her broken tape recorder. We both made the dials.”
Disappointment tugged at Lauren’s mouth as she stopped by her mother. “It doesn’t work. It isn’t real.”
“Let’s see.” Her mother turned one of the makeshift knobs.
“Listen.” Her father cocked his head. “Is that…‘Moon River’?” He began to sing the words and her mother crooned along.
Her parents fell into each other’s arms, singing and dancing to the imaginary tune.
Lauren giggled. Adam took her hand. “Let’s dance, too.”
He swept her awkwardly across the grass and she laughed harder. “I think we need a better station.”
Adam leaned closer and whispered, “We’ll change it after they go.”
She smiled at the happiness on her parents’ faces. Their joy seemed to reach out and infect her. “Naw, we can leave it.”
Lauren turned from the window, her heart full and warm. They’d been happy here. Both she and Adam owed her parents a huge debt for supplying them a carefree, stable childhood. No wonder he wanted the same for his children.
Lauren’s throat tightened as she thought of the warmth in her father’s eyes each time he looked at her mother. Longing welled up inside her. What would it be like to have the simple, unwavering love of a man? Adam hadn’t spoken of love, not even during their time at the lake. Could he ever love her the way her father had loved her mother?
He’d been a rock when Rusty was born, sticking beside her mother through it all, then falling to pieces once Rusty came wailing into the world.
Lauren blinked moisture from her eyes. Her hand went to her belly. A baby. What would it be like to bear new life? She rose, then headed back down the ladder, saying a silent goodbye to the tree house.
She’d been wrong to measure her success only in terms of what she did in the business world. No matter how many accounts she acquired, or how many hours of commercials she logged, she’d never find what she’d had as a child. Not if she kept putting her personal life second.
Unless she changed her priorities and changed them
fast, she’d never have a loving home life. She pulled out the keys and headed for her car. If she didn’t act quickly, she’d lose her shot at happiness. She’d lose Adam.
ADAM BREATHED IN the scent of the earth as he pushed the tiller through the hard Georgia clay. Squeezing his eyes shut against the image of Lauren walking away from him, he gripped the tiller tighter. He couldn’t think about last night. He focused on the buzz of the motor and the vibration of the machinery, desperately trying to distract himself with the drudgery of the task.
He’d have to add some topsoil, but this spot received plenty of sunlight for a small garden. The afternoon sun beat down on him. September could be unpredictably hot in the South.
He made one more pass with the tiller, then stopped as Lauren’s car pulled into the driveway. His heart skipped a beat as she emerged from the vehicle.
She made her way toward him. “Hi.”
Somehow he managed to speak past the lump of apprehension in his throat. “Hi.”
“What are you planting?”
“Probably alfalfa for now, but more flowers in the spring.” He shrugged. “You know I have a soft spot for roses.”
Her eyebrows arched. “They’ve made you a successful man.”
“Can I get you something to drink? Some juice? A soda?”
“Sure.”
His heart thudding, he led her into the coolness of the kitchen. She perched on one of the stools by the breakfast bar as he washed the dirt from his hands and squelched the memory of their first night together as lovers.
He turned. Her gaze skittered off the long table and pink tinged her cheeks. Had she been remembering that night, too?
Blowing out a breath, he yanked open the refrigerator, and pulled out a can of soda. “What’ll it be?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
He handed her a second drink, then settled beside her as she drew a long sip from the can. She’d pulled her hair up into a loose knot. Stray tendrils brushed against her cheeks and the nape of her neck. He closed his eyes against a wave of desire.
“Lauren, look, about last night—”
“No. Me first.” She set down the can, clasped her hands and laughed nervously. “I’m not sure where to start. I guess first I should apologize.”
