Mr. and Mrs. Wrong

by Fay Robinson

  “You’ll answer?”

  “I promise that whenever that phone rings, no matter what I’m doing, I’ll pick it up. Will you call me?” She nodded, feeling better. “That’s my girl. Now, I’ve got to get back to work. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry about me.”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He started to walk out. “Jack…a lady came in today to buy some copies of a photo I took of her grandson, and she’d just moved here from Mississippi. I was telling her I’d married a man from Mississippi. Um…where did you say you were born?”

  “Biloxi.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “YOU’RE THE ONE who suggested this,” Jack said to Lucky, helping her back into the Blazer. “If it’s not what you want to do, we won’t do it, but the architect can’t start on plans for the house until you make up your mind about the land.”

  He came around and got in the driver’s side. They’d checked out at least ten pieces of property over the past two weeks, any one of which would have been fine, but she’d found fault with all of them, as she’d found fault with every house they’d looked at.

  “I’m sorry, but it isn’t right. Too hilly.”

  “Baby, it has to be high not to flood.”

  “I realize that, but I don’t want to have to be a mountain climber to get to the house from the river.”

  “This piece has no more slope to it than your property.”

  “Then why buy it? We may as well stay where we are.”

  “Because it doesn’t run solely along the water like your place does. We can build up here by the road and stay dry.”

  “And have to hike when I want to fish? No, thank you.”

  “You’re being unreasonable.”

  “I am not. I’m being practical.”

  “I like this place. I want to call the agent back and tell her we’ll take it.”

  “Jack, you promised me we’d make this decision together, and here you are up to your old tricks again, trying to dictate what we’re going to do. You go right ahead and call the agent if you want to, but you can live here alone.”

  He sighed and started the engine. “All right, we’ll find something else.” He was beginning to wonder if she’d ever see anything she liked. He’d prepared himself for a long search, but not this long. Thanksgiving was around the corner, the baby was due in six weeks, and they were still quibbling over where to live.

  “I’m cold,” she said, so he punched up the heater. “My back’s hurting, too. Can we just go home?”

  “Sure.” He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Two other pieces of land were listed that he’d hoped to look at this afternoon. Now it would be next weekend before they could see them.

  Back at the cabin, her mother had left a message on the answering machine. She wanted to know if they’d changed their minds about not coming for Thanksgiving dinner.

  He let Beanie out, then asked Lucky what she wanted to do.

  “I’d like to stay here.” She went to the sink and took a couple of Tylenol. The doctor had said acetaminophen was safe after her first trimester, but she only took it when nothing else would ease her back pain.

  “You want to stay here or you don’t want to go over there?”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “No, it’s not. Are you feuding with Leigh over something? Is that why you don’t want to go to your parents’ for the holiday? Cal says you two hardly speak at work.”

  “Cal should learn to mind his own damn business. I’m getting tired of him running and tattling to you all the time.”

  The outburst was uncharacteristic. She adored Cal.

  “He didn’t tattle, Lucky. He casually mentioned it. Are you fighting with Leigh about something?”

  “No, she hardly crosses my mind.”

  Well, that told him what he wanted to know. No wonder she’d been in such a foul mood lately.

  He offered to heat some soup for her, but she said she wasn’t hungry. Even hot chocolate didn’t tempt her, which wasn’t normal. Given permission by the doctor to overeat, she usually did.

  She went to the bathroom for what had to be the fiftieth time since sunrise. How any human could pee that often in one day, he couldn’t comprehend.

  She came out grumbling, holding her back again.

  “Want a back rub?”

  “Would you? I’ll give you a million dollars.”

  “I’ll rather have a smile.”

  She gave him a joyless one. “I’ve been a grump today, haven’t I.”

  “Not too bad.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m fat and ugly and ill-tempered.”

  “You’re not ugly.”

  “Oh, just fat and ill-tempered?”

  “Well…yeah.”

  She hadn’t expected that and she smiled for real this time. “I ought to punch you.”

  “Never hit your masseur. Come on. Lie down.” He helped her sit on the couch, then sat himself, easing her down to rest her head on his thigh. “How’s that? Comfortable?”

  “Pretty good. I’m sorry for what I said about you being dictatorial.”

  “No, you were right. I was. I’m anxious to get started on the house.”

  “I know you are, and I’m sorry to be so picky, but I’m determined to find the perfect place for us, somewhere that gives us both what we want. Can you understand that?”

  “Yeah, I can.” He pulled up her sweatshirt and rubbed the muscles of her lower back. “We’re running out of time, though.”

  “I know. But we can manage here for a few more months, can’t we?”

  “I guess we’ll have to. Do you want me to put the crib up tonight or wait until you’re feeling better so you can supervise?”

  They planned to turn their bedroom into a nursery, the only viable option. A bassinet and their bed wouldn’t both fit in there, and they wanted the baby close by them at night.

  They’d stored their bed at a rented locker in town and were sleeping on the extra one in the living room. The crib would go in the now-empty room for use when the baby was old enough to be separated from them at night.

  “Go ahead and put up the crib,” Lucky told him. “I’ll never feel better.”

  “I doubt that’s true.”

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t have someone kicking your spine and bladder twenty-four hours a day.”

  “Booger’s moving around because he’s healthy.”

  “Yes, thank God for that.” She gave her stomach a loving pat. “But Booger’s a she. I have a feeling.”

  “Should I change the yellow paint to pink?”

  Before she could answer, the phone rang. He started to reach for it, but Lucky said to let the machine pick up because she was too comfortable to move. Her mother left another message to call.

  “You need to get back to her tonight. She sounds upset.”

  “I’ll call her before I go to bed.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to have Thanksgiving dinner there? You’ve always gone. We had a good time last year.”

  “I’d rather we celebrated here, alone, just us. We have to start some traditions for this family, don’t we?”

  “Sure, but it doesn’t mean we have to exclude the one you already have. If Leigh said something to hurt your feelings, I’d hate to have it ruin everybody else’s holiday. Ignore her.”

  “She can be so hateful sometimes.”

  “Want to tell me what you fought about?”

  “No. Just be thankful you never had any sisters.”

  “Yeah, I am,” he said, but the words held no conviction.

  That night, after he’d assembled the crib and Lucky had gone to sleep, he sat for a while at his desk, but couldn’t keep his mind on work. He opened a carton containing his books and dug to the bottom for the cigar box containing the only mementoes he’d saved from his childhood.


  He pulled out two crinkled photographs. The first was of his mother, and he rubbed his fingers across her face, wishing he could touch it in reality. As he’d told Lucky, she’d been a good woman, but she’d died broken and unhappy.

  The other photograph made his eyes tear up. His big sister had been twelve, all legs and teeth with a promise of beauty to come.

  “What happened to you, Emma?” he whispered to the image.

  He prayed to God that one day he’d know.

  LUCKY’S SITUATION with Leigh remained tense. They spoke for business reasons only and avoided each other whenever they could. If Leigh was sorry, she never expressed it, and Lucky couldn’t forgive her for what she’d done.

  On Wednesday afternoon the next week, Lucky had her doctor’s appointment after lunch and took the rest of the afternoon off. Her checkup went well. She felt energetic for a change. After washing two loads of clothes at the downtown laundry, she walked to the produce market on the next block.

  While picking out a few fresh apples, she felt the hair rise on her arms.

  She leaned over the display and pretended to choose, but glanced covertly in the security mirror, instead. The man she’d chased outside the cleaners was watching her from behind a table of pumpkins.

  Ambling along, she added a winter squash to the basket she carried and headed over to see if there were any bananas. The man hung back, and as she rounded a tall produce case, she used the few seconds he couldn’t see her to grab her phone. Jack’s number was on speed dial. He picked up immediately.

  “I’m at the produce market and being followed by a man in a navy windbreaker and dark gray pants.”

  “Where are you parked?” She told him. “Here’s what I want you to do…”

  Lucky continued to shop, leisurely, giving Jack enough time to get into position. She bought the apples and squash, as well as a small bouquet of flowers, then walked back in the direction of her car, stopping now and then to window-shop.

  The alley where Jack had said he’d be waiting was next to the greeting-card shop, but Lucky didn’t glance in as she passed. Only when she heard the scuffle did she turn. Jack had the man pinned to the wall of the building, his face pressed to the brick and his right arm behind him. Lucky hurried back.

  “See?” she said. “I wasn’t crazy. He’s the same one who followed me and Cal.”

  “I’m Captain Cahill of the Potock Police Department.” Jack ordered him to put his left hand behind him and to spread his legs. He cuffed him. “Do you have any needles or sharp objects in your pockets?”

  “No,” the man said.

  Jack carefully patted him down. “Why are you following this woman?” When he didn’t respond, Jack took out the man’s wallet and flipped it open. Abruptly it fell from his hands to the pavement. He grabbed the man and whirled him around. “My God!”

  “Hello, J.T.”

  Lucky stepped closer. The man was sixty or so with graying hair, attractive despite the rugged, dangerous look of his face. She was certain he wasn’t anyone she knew, yet something about him nagged at her brain. The shape of the jaw, the coffee-colored eyes…

  Confusion turned to dreaded realization. She was staring at an older version of Jack, what he would look like in thirty years or so. She sucked in a ragged breath. Jack’s father. The father he’d supposedly lost in a car accident at sixteen.

  Her stomach plummeted to her knees.

  “Well, Mr. Webster,” she said, knowing without a doubt the name was right, “you look pretty darn good for a dead man.”

  SOMEWHERE IN THE BACK of his mind, Jack had known this day would come. He’d changed his name, changed where he lived and tried to change who he was, but he was tainted by his past, and the stain of it lingered no matter how hard he labored to scrub it away.

  Disgusted even by the feel of the man’s jacket beneath his fingers, Jack released him—his father, though he’d never called him that. Father. Dad. Daddy. Pop. None of those had ever seemed appropriate. The son of a bitch didn’t know how to be a father. Growing up, Jack and Emma had both called him by his given name: Ray. “When did you get out of prison?”

  “A few months back. I’m living here now. Got me a nice room at the boardinghouse over on Sixth Street and a job at the car wash three mornings a week. I’m a good boy. Don’t cause trouble, and I report to my parole officer once a month.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “To see you, J.T.”

  “I don’t use that name anymore.”

  “So I heard.”

  “How in God’s name did you find me?”

  “Didn’t have to find you. Knew where you were all along.”

  Jack swore. “Vinnie?”

  “Asked him to keep an eye out for you. Pretty ironic, son, you being a cop. I guess you turned into Marshal Cahill, after all.”

  “I’m not your son.”

  “Whatever you say.” He grinned and looked past Jack’s shoulder. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to my daughter-in-law?”

  Jack momentarily closed his eyes, drawing strength. In the heat of his anger, he’d forgotten Lucky was even there. Her words haunted him. She’d called Ray “Mr. Webster.” Somehow she’d known.

  He turned to look at her, and what he saw in her eyes cut him to the bone—pain, distrust, disillusionment. All the blood had left her face. “Take the handcuffs off him,” she said softly.

  He glanced around; they’d drawn a crowd. The store employees had come out to gawk, and people on the street stood watching. “Police business. Move along,” he barked, making them scatter. He released Ray from the cuffs. “I want you gone from this town by the end of the day. There’s nothing for you here.”

  “And violate my parole?”

  “You never gave a damn about it before.”

  “That’s true, but I think I’ll stick around now that I’m going to be a granddaddy. My family’s here.”

  “You have no family, old man. No wife, no son, no daughter. You killed us all, you good-for-nothing son of a bitch—or at least, you made us wish we were dead.”

  “Daughter?” Lucky’s sack and the flowers she held fell to the pavement.

  “Where is Emma?” Ray asked.

  “I don’t know, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. She hates you as much as I do.”

  Lucky turned and walked off.

  “Lucky, wait!” Jack called, but she didn’t stop. Forced to choose between following her and staying with Ray, the choice was easy. Jack swore and took off after her. “Wait, please,” he begged, grabbing her arm. “We have to talk about this.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I can explain everything.”

  “Explain? My God, how? I thought I was married to a man named Cahill who lost both his parents in a tragic accident. Now I find out the name is a lie, your father isn’t dead and you have a sister you never bothered to tell me about. What about your mother? Is she really dead or can I expect her to pop out one day and yell, ‘Surprise’?”

  “My mother’s dead. That part’s true. Look, I don’t want to have this conversation out here on the street.” He thought about where they could go. Not the station. Not the newspaper. “I’ll take you home.”

  “No. I don’t want you taking me anywhere.”

  He swallowed a lump the size of a baseball. “Please don’t push me away.” She seemed so lifeless and pale it scared him.

  “Leigh tried to warn me something was wrong about you, but I wouldn’t listen.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “She checked records in Mississippi and there wasn’t a John Thomas Cahill with your birthdate born in Biloxi, but there was a John Thomas Webster with parents Raymond and Grace. Even when she showed me the proof, I defended you.”

  So that was how she’d known about Ray. “I was born John Thomas Webster. I changed my name legally.”

  “I told Leigh you’d never lie to me.”

  Her pain became his. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? That’s all you ha
ve to say?”

  “I didn’t tell you because I was ashamed of my past, ashamed of my father and what he was and what he turned me into.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s a thief, Lucky. And he made me one, too.”

  LUCKY SAID SHE FELT sick to her stomach, so he followed her in his car to her parents’ house two blocks away, leaving Ray on the street. Jack planned to deal with him later.

  He explained to Ruth and Matt that Lucky was okay physically, but had suffered an emotional shock.

  “What happened?” her mother asked. She clutched her chest. “The baby?”

  “No, it was my fault,” Jack told her. “I did something that upset her. Can we have a few minutes alone?”

  “Lucky?” Ruth asked, expressing concern about how chalky her skin looked. “Are you all right? Do you want to be alone with Jack?” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to her daughter.

  Lucky debated, then nodded. She gave her a weak smile. “Let us have a few minutes, please.”

  Her father offered them his study. Lucky went in ahead and sat down.

  “I don’t know what you’ve done,” Matt said in a low voice to Jack, “but whatever it is, make it right. Whatever she says, you agree. Whatever she wants, you give it to her. She doesn’t need to be upset just now.”

  “I don’t know if I can make this one right, Matt. I screwed up royally.”

  His father-in-law gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and closed the door. The man had been more of a father to him than Ray ever had. But when Matt found out the truth, Jack feared he’d lose his respect, along with Lucky’s.

  She had curled up at one end of the couch, and she watched him warily as he approached. He dragged a chair in front of her, sat down and rested his forearms on his thighs. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you the truth the minute things got serious between us.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was afraid, embarrassed. Ray’s been a thorn in my side most of my life. I got used to pretending he was dead. I haven’t seen him since before my mother died. That’s been…more than eighteen years.”