Knowing this, believing this, how could she be so upset with her youngest child, her beautiful daughter, for bringing her heartbreaking problem home and dumping it on her doorstep?
“Are you going to keep the baby?” Sam asked.
Elizabeth didn’t miss a step clearing the table, even though she felt as if someone had come up behind her and hit her in the knees.
“How can I?” Stephanie said. “What would I do with a kid? I still have school to finish, and then I have to find a job.” She gave her father a hopeful look, seeking approval and confirmation of the wisdom of what she was saying. “And it’s not like I wanted to get pregnant.”
Elizabeth busied herself at the sink. She didn’t want Sam or Stephanie to see how disturbed she was at the thought of a stranger taking her first grandchild, the baby she had dreamed would one day come into their lives to fill her heart and give her purpose again.
“Well, you have some time to think about it,” he said.
“I thought you would be mad.”
He took her hand in his. “What good would that do?”
“Are you disappointed in me?”
Stop pushing, Elizabeth wanted to shout. Give him a day or two to get used to the idea before you start asking for absolution. But Sam surprised her.
“What would be the point? It’s done, Stephanie.” He passed a hand wearily over his face. “If there was a lesson to be learned from all this I would hope you learned it. If not, nothing I say is going to make any difference.”
“I’m sorry.” She was crying again.
“I know. And it isn’t fair. It took two of you to create this child, and only one will pay the consequences.”
“I just wish I could make it go away.”
“You can,” he said flatly.
“An abortion? Is that what you think I should do?”
Elizabeth looked at their reflections in the kitchen window. Stephanie was staring at Sam, her look almost hopeful.
“I can’t make that decision for you. I just want you to know that, whatever you decide, I—your mother and I—will support you.”
“You don’t believe it’s murder?”
“No.”
“A lot of people do.”
“And a lot of those same people believe in the death penalty. You can’t listen to the fanatics on either side, Stephanie. You’ve got to go with what’s in your own heart.”
“Could you do it?”
“You want something from me I can’t give you. It isn’t my body or my decision—it can’t be.”
Elizabeth had never loved him more than she did at that moment. Maybe someday Stephanie would realize the gift her father had given her, but now was too soon. Now it was enough to know she was home.
“I told Sharon I would call her when I got here,” Stephanie said, bringing an end to the conversation. “I’ll be in my room.”
“Wait—” Elizabeth said. “I know there’s no way to keep this from your grandmother forever, but I’d rather—”
“I know what you’re going to say, Mom. And don’t worry, I don’t want her to know about it either. I’ll check caller ID before I answer the phone, and if it’s her I’ll let the machine pick up.”
“What about Michael and Eric?” Sam asked.
“Do they have to know?” Stephanie said.
“Yes,” Elizabeth answered. “But we don’t have to tell them right away. We’ve got time.”
Stephanie nodded, fresh tears shimmering in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“We’ll deal with it,” Sam said. “Now go make your phone call.”
When she was gone, Sam brought his glass to the sink. “Don’t you have class tonight?”
“I decided not to go.”
“Why not?”
“It’s her first night home.”
“And she’s in her room on the phone. She could be there all night.”
“I couldn’t concentrate anyway.” Tears she’d been holding back since Stephanie shared her news gripped her throat like a vise. “I can’t go off to school every day, living the life she had to give up.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m going to withdraw.” Before he could protest, she added, “Just this semester.”
He rinsed the glass and put it in the dishwasher. “She’s twenty-one, Lizzy—two years older than you were when we were married. You’d had Michael by the time you were her age. You’ve got to stop babying her and let her grow up.”
“Things are different now. Kids don’t grow up as fast as we did.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”
“Since when is arrested development a good thing?”
Now she was crying. She put her arms around him and burrowed her head into his neck. “I don’t want to fight with you. Not tonight.”
He pulled her closer. “Promise me you’ll think about this some more before you drop out.”
“I will.” It was an easy promise. She would think about what she was doing right up to the moment she did it. Stephanie needed her. Tough love would have to wait.
Chapter Thirty-five
Ginger
Ginger held John’s hand while they waited in line to buy cotton candy. Rachel and Cassidy were next in line to ride the roller coaster, something John was too small to get on and Ginger too cowardly. “So, what do you think, pink or blue?” she asked John.
“Blue.”
“What about Cassidy?”
“She likes blue, too.”
“You’re absolutely sure your mom lets you eat this stuff? I don’t want to get in trouble with her.”
“She buys it for us all the time.”
Ginger laughed. “Yeah, I’ll just bet she does.” She paid for the spun sugar and looked around for a bathroom. As she remembered, wet paper towels were a necessity with cotton candy.
They found an empty bench under a tree to wait for Rachel and Cassidy. “Are you really my aunt?” John asked.
“Yep, I really am.”
“How come I never saw you when I was a little kid?”
“I didn’t know I was your aunt when you were a little kid.” She ruffled his hair, smiling when he tilted his head to get away from her. She loved being around him and Cassidy, loved talking to them, listening to them, hearing them call her Aunt Ginger. If she wasn’t careful she was going to turn into one of those obnoxious relatives who pinch chubby little cheeks. “If I had known, I would have come to see you all the time.”
“Uncle Logan sends us presents.”
She had a feeling she was being set up. “What kind of presents?”
“He got me a fire engine for my birthday.”
“A real one?”
John laughed. “No, silly, a ride around one. It has a bell and goes really fast downhill. But my dad won’t let me go downhill anymore ’cause I almost got hit by a car. It was an accident. I didn’t turn fast enough and went out in the street.” The story was important enough to pause eating for the telling.
Ginger took a tuft of candy off his nose and popped it in her mouth. It was as sweet and gritty as she remembered. She pulled a small cloud off the bottom of his wand, bit into it, and let it melt in her mouth the way she had as a child. “Where does your Uncle Logan live?”
“Washington.” Bite. “We went there to see him one time.” Lick. “He took us to his firehouse.” Wipe hand on pants.
“I’ll bet that was fun.”
“I didn’t like it when he turned on the siren. It hurt my ears.”
If anyone would have told her a year ago that she would eagerly give up a day at a spa to spend it in an amusement park with an eight- and a five-year-old, she would have said they were nuts. That the trip was her idea was even more unbelievable. The tickets were sent as a thank-you for the lateral transfer she arranged for a woman who wanted to be in Houston to be near her dying mother. Normally Ginger would have passed the tickets on to someone who had kids. This t
ime the first thing she did was call Rachel.
“Is your Uncle Logan your daddy’s brother?”
He frowned. “Huh uh, he’s my Uncle Logan.”
She considered explaining the connection but decided to leave it for another time. She heard a series of clicks that indicated the roller coaster was on its way up the first big climb. “There they go. Can you see your mom and Cassidy?”
He turned to look. “I don’t see them. Yes I do,” he squealed. “There they are.”
Ginger wasn’t looking. A tall man in a yellow shirt and tan shorts had caught her eye. He had his back turned to her, his arm around a woman who had her arm around his waist. There was something strikingly familiar about the man—his build, the way he stood, the way he wore his sunglasses propped on top of his head, the careful comb-over to cover a growing bald spot on the back of his head. The woman tilted her head to look up at him. He bent to give her a kiss, exposing his profile. Ginger’s stomach did a slow roll.
It couldn’t be. She had to be mistaken. Marc was in Kansas City at a meeting of district managers and wasn’t due home until Wednesday. He’d tried to get out of the meeting. They’d had plans for the weekend, important plans. They were going to the wine country. Ginger had made dinner reservations at Mustards months ago. It was someone who looked like him. A double. Supposedly everyone had one.
Two kids, a boy and a girl, came up to talk to him. The girl tugged on his back pocket. He turned. Oh, God—it was him. He wasn’t in Kansas City. He’d lied to her.
He’d lied so he could be with them.
Despite the ninety-five-degree heat, goose bumps covered her arms. She couldn’t let him see her. Not now. Not like this. Not when he was with Judy—with his children.
But she couldn’t get up to leave. She felt weighted, anchored to the bench, the sight of Marc with his family was so painful it stole her breath. Still, she couldn’t look away. They seemed so happy, the perfect unit, his daughter laughing and hanging on to his hand, his son waving them toward the roller coaster line. Judy looked up at him and smiled.
The cotton candy Ginger had eaten rose on a swell of bile. She was going to be sick. She put her hand over her mouth and swallowed hard. Once. Twice.
John pointed and shouted, “See, there they are.”
Ginger was sure Marc would turn at the noise, but as usual he was caught up in his own world and oblivious to everything and everyone else.
“Here they come,” John announced. “Let’s go.” He jumped up and started toward the line.
She ran after him, grabbing his hand and steering him in the opposite direction. “They get off this way.”
Rachel and Cassidy were disheveled and grinning as they relived the ride on the way down the ramp. Rachel’s smile disappeared when she got a good look at Ginger. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” she lied. She had to get out of there. Now. “John and I were sitting over there waiting for you. I felt fine one minute and like this the next.” She chanced a quick glance behind her. She panicked when she couldn’t see Marc. “I’m sorry. I have to leave.”
“We’ll all go.”
“No—please don’t.” Thankfully they’d met there, each bringing their own car. “That would make me feel even worse.”
“Are you sure you can make it home by yourself?”
“Positive. It’s not that far.” She handed Cassidy the second cotton candy. “Have fun. I’ll call you later.”
Ginger threw up in a privet hedge near the park exit and again on a freeway off ramp. Her hands were shaking so violently by the time she arrived home that she had trouble fitting the key in the lock on her front door. She held on long enough to call Rachel and leave a message on her machine telling her she’d made it home and was going to bed. She promised to call back later. Finally she crawled into bed and curled into a fetal position. The first tears spilled silently onto her pillow. The sobs that came later rose from a dark, lonely place filled with indescribable pain.
She had never felt so desolate, so alone—so embarrassed. Not even when Marc first told her he was going back to Judy had she experienced this kind of pain. But then his reason had been so noble, so kind, so loving. He was doing it for the children. She understood. She loved him even more because of it.
She’d felt no shame in loving him, in being the other woman. She was his refuge from a controlling, manipulating, evil woman, a woman who made his life hell when he was with her.
How could he show a woman like that the affection she’d witnessed between them? How could the children respond to the two of them as a couple if there was the constant tension Marc described? How could every day be the misery he’d described when he was the one who reached down to take Judy’s hand?
Now shame overwhelmed her. She was not the love of Marc’s life. She was the other woman, the one he used for the kinky sex he couldn’t get at home. She was safe, disease-free, and cheap. Bottom line, what did that make her?
What had she been thinking when she gave up friends and family to follow Marc to California? Why had she hung on for so long? Most humiliating of all, where had she found the blinders that kept her from seeing herself for what she really was?
She was still in bed six hours later when the phone rang. It was Rachel checking up on her. She was sure of it. She rolled over, cleared her throat, picked up the receiver, and chirped what she hoped was an acceptable “Hello.”
“I was beginning to think you weren’t there and I was going to have to tell your answering machine how much I miss you,” Marc said. “Where’d I catch you?”
“Where are you?” she asked, her voice monotone.
“At the hotel. I would have called sooner, but I missed my connection in Denver and just got settled in my room.”
He was making this easy. She should be grateful, but all she could think about was how many times he’d lied to her in the past and how readily she’d believed him and how much those lies hurt now. Why had she never questioned him when he’d insisted she only call him on his cell, never on the hotel phone?
“How was the flight?”
“I got stuck next to an old couple who’d been visiting their grandkids. They insisted on showing me a hundred pictures they’d taken on their visit.” He laughed. “That might be an exaggeration. But only a small one.”
Did he spend time making up these kinds of stories or did they just come naturally? The details were always intimate, utterly believable. “And the ride in from the airport?”
“Other than the cab driver not speaking a word of English, it was okay. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I guess I just miss Kansas City. How does it look?”
He laughed. “The same. It’s always the same. I don’t understand what you love about this place.”
“I miss my friends. It gets lonely out here.”
“I keep telling you to get out more. What did you do today?”
He only asked to prove his point. “I went out with Rachel.”
“Good for you.”
“And her kids.”
“Oh?”
“Remember me telling you about the woman who sent me the tickets for Great America?”
A long pause followed. “Now that you mention it.”
“We used them today.”
A longer pause this time. “Did you have a good time?”
“For a while.”
He let out a deep sigh. “I can explain.”
“I know. You always have an explanation—for everything.”
“But not on the phone. Give me an hour.”
“Take two. After all, you could miss your connection again.”
“Okay, I deserved that. Just promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid.”
“Like?”
“Talk yourself into anything.”
“Like?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She put the phone back on the base, got out of bed, and went to the closet to examine he
r luggage, trying to decide which piece she should use to pack his things. None of them. It was a matched set her mother and father had given her for her birthday. Paper bags would have to do.
It didn’t take as long as she’d anticipated to strip her condo of everything belonging to Marc. A razor, aftershave, underwear, his favorite wine, cigars and the humidor she’d bought him for his birthday. She considered throwing in the gifts he’d given her over the past three years but decided they’d be put to better use at a battered women’s shelter.
Or Goodwill.
Or the Dumpster downstairs.
She put the bags by the front door and sat on the sofa to wait. Like always. She was good at waiting for Marc. Too good. If she had a dollar for every hour she’d spent this way, she could donate it to the local PBS and receive every premium they’d offered at their last beg-a-thon.
Why was she waiting for him anyway? They were really finished this time, and there wasn’t anything he could say that would make her change her mind. Her heart lightened at the conviction. It wasn’t the absolution she would have liked for what they had done to his wife and his children, but it was a start.
She grabbed her purse and keys and moved the bags to the small porch outside her front door. Marc would think she was still inside and be slow to accept her not answering his summons. She liked imagining him knocking on the door, waiting, expecting, impatient, and finally giving up believing her strong enough to wait him out.
Without a destination in mind, she headed north. She’d gone twenty miles before she realized she’d subconsciously headed for Rachel’s, the one place she knew without question she would find what she desperately needed—a friend.
Oddly, and completely unexpectedly, she had a flash of longing for her other two sisters, too. Elizabeth was wise in a wounded way, her battle scars a shield for the vulnerable little girl she still sheltered inside. Christina was young and bold and brash and lived her life poised for a fight, passionately looking for proof she was worthy of being loved, poignantly expecting to be disappointed.
The Year that Everything Changed Page 23
