by Susan Wiggs
“I’ll tell you what’ll help. Back off and leave the kid be, for chrissake. He’ll come around. I’ll read a book to him tonight.”
Easy, she told herself. Logan worked hard all week, and he lived for the guy time with his soccer league. Then she thought of something else. “Isn’t this a meeting night for you?” His Sunday night twelve-step meeting took place with invariable regularity.
“Yes, and I don’t want to miss it,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t worry, I’ll make some time to read with Charlie.”
She already knew the time would not magically materialize. Sometimes when Logan went off to his meeting, she would feel a twinge of irritation, immediately followed by a stab of guilt. He needed the fellowship to keep himself clean and sober. His very life depended on it. She sometimes wondered what he said there, what went on. And then she backed off the thought.
“I need to go get changed now.” He headed upstairs.
Daisy exchanged her dress shoes for flip-flops and exhaled a long sigh. A vague unsettling shifted through her, and she tried to figure out what that feeling was. Discontent? Frustration?
Life was confusing. Marriage was confusing. How was it possible to have exactly the life you thought you wanted and still feel pangs of yearning for something else?
She wandered over to the small nook off the kitchen that served as her home office, and woke up her computer. Somewhere along the way, she’d stopped feeling a surge of excitement at the prospect of work. She had security and predictability with Wendela’s Wedding Wonders. She’d learned a lot. But there was no denying, the wedding photography had consumed all her time and creative energy.
The calendar indicated several upcoming wedding shoots. There was a shaded box in the middle of the week. “Shoot,” she said under her breath.
“What’s the matter?” Logan came back, dressed for soccer now in shorts, league shirt and shin guards, carrying his spikes in one hand. For a second, he resembled the guy he’d been in high school, cocky and sure of himself, a ladies’ man.
“The deadline for the MoMA photo competition is this week. I haven’t worked on my portfolio, and it’s not even close to ready.” She slumped back in her chair, deflated with disappointment.
“Isn’t that the competition that already rejected you?” he asked.
“Well, when you put it that way…”
“I don’t mean anything by it. Just seems like you go to a lot of trouble to put your pictures together, and for what?”
“For…the possibility, I guess. I’m getting better every year. I like to think I am, anyway. The shows and competitions are a way of measuring that, and MoMA is the biggest one of all.”
“Doesn’t seem worth all the stress and extra work.”
“It does to me.”
“Maybe if you spent a little less time messing with those photos and more with Charlie, he’d behave better.”
“You are not suggesting my work is causing his problems.” A cold knot formed in her stomach.
“Your work?” He glared skeptically at the screen, then leaned forward and opened a folder to display all her portfolios from past years. He clicked on a series of portraits she’d done of Julian right after he’d asked her to marry him. “You call this work?” Logan demanded. “Hey—”
“You’re still stuck on him.”
“He’s dead, Logan,” she said, resenting him for making her say so aloud.
“Like I don’t know that.”
“Then don’t accuse me of being ‘stuck’ on him.”
“Just telling it like it is. You don’t love me the way you loved him. I can’t compete with a ghost.” He made an impatient gesture at the computer screen. “He’s perfect. He’ll never hurt you or disappoint you, never screw up, never get old or fat.”
“He’s a memory, Logan. You’re my husband.”
“Yeah, well, lately I feel like your roommate,” he snapped.
“And whose fault is that?” she snapped back.
“Why are you fighting?” Charlie said, coming into the room. “You’re always fighting.”
“Ah, Christ,” Logan said peevishly, “nobody’s fighting.”
“Watch your language,” she said before she could stop herself.
“When you talk mean, that’s fighting,” Charlie stated. He put his arms around Blake and glared at them both. “You were more fun before.” He stomped away, the dog at his heels.
“Whatever,” said Logan. “I’m out of here.”
She watched him go, feeling her jaw clench in frustration. Before. They could never talk about Julian without both of them getting all bent out of shape. For that matter, they could never talk about their deepest feelings without quickly backing away from each other.
Her stomach churning, she opened another file on her computer, containing shots she had been thinking about submitting. It was a very small collection, and none had been edited to her satisfaction. If she wanted to make the deadline, she would need to work practically around-the-clock.
And for what? In order to get rejected again, as Logan had bluntly pointed out.
What Logan didn’t get—what no one seemed to get—was her passion. This was not merely a job to her. It was a huge part of her life. She wanted to grow as an artist, to tell her stories through the camera’s eye, to have the validation that came from showing her work, garnering reviews good and bad.
Still smarting from Logan’s words, she clicked back to the Julian file. He was still alive on her hard drive, vibrant and intense, exuding a passion for life, for adventure, for her. The pain of losing him had subsided to a dull ache, yet seeing his face, the light in his eyes, the shine of his spirit, brought him back to her in fresh waves of remembrance.
She had been wrong, earlier, when she’d told herself no one seemed to get her passion. Julian had from day one. He was the reason she had pursued photography in the first place. Back when they were teenagers, she had regarded it as a hobby. Julian had insisted it was deeper, as if he’d glimpsed something in her that she had not even recognized in herself.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, studying a shot she had taken of him their first summer at Willow Lake. He had been fascinating to her, unlike anyone she’d ever met. She had captured him at the top of the diving platform that towered over the lake, about to jump. His hair was a ropey mass of long dreadlocks, and his eyes were on fire with excitement.
Sweet lord, she missed him. For as long as she lived she would never stop—
“Who’s that in the picture?” Charlie asked, coming back into the kitchen. He regarded the big computer screen.
“You don’t recognize this guy?”
Charlie shrugged. “His hair is weird. He looks like a lion.”
“He kind of does. It’s Julian, before he went into ROTC and shaved off all his hair.”
“Oh. I like him better with no hair. Can I have something to eat? Please,” Charlie added quickly.
She closed the file, feeling a now-familiar sense of restlessness. What dreams she’d had of her life with Julian. What beautiful, high-flown dreams she’d had of the three of them together, making their way from one adventure to the next.
Charlie had so few memories of Julian. Did he remember how Julian used to make him laugh? Did he remember that he used to call him Daddy-boy and beg Julian to show him how to jump off the end of the dock?
Charlie never asked to jump off the dock these days. He just quietly lowered himself into the water.
Twenty-Five
“This doesn’t feel weird anymore,” Daisy said to her mother, Sophie, when they encountered each other at Avalon Elementary School at carpool time. They had decided to let their kids play together on the school playground for a while, to unwind after the final bell, and to give themselves some mother-daughter time. “Maybe that in itself is weird.”
Her mom smiled. “Life is funny that way. I never thought I’d end up with five kids, the younger three being in the same age group as my grandson. All right, now you h
ave me thinking it’s weird.” Though Sophie was Charlie’s proud grandmother, she certainly didn’t look grandmotherly. She had an innate fashion sense that stuck with her through her career in international law to her current role as fourth-grade room mother.
“But in a good way, right?” Daisy asked, bending down to peek into the stroller where her baby brother slept. Noah Jr. was known as the miracle baby. Daisy’s mom had been told she couldn’t have more children, and so Noah and Sophie had adopted from overseas. Then one day, Sophie discovered she was pregnant. Now Daisy had a half brother who was younger than Charlie.
“In a really good way,” Sophie said.
Daisy felt an intimacy that had not always existed between them. Back when her parents were struggling with their marriage, she had turned on Sophie, blaming her for the family’s unhappiness. Now she saw the situation more clearly. Her mom had simply been in the wrong relationship, living the wrong life, despite doing her best to make it work.
Now Sophie was living the right life. She had a kind of serenity about her, a glow of contentment that shone through, no matter how busy she was. Daisy was one of the few people who knew how hard that had been for her to achieve.
“How’s Charlie?” Sophie asked.
Daisy felt her stomach tighten. “I’ve got to set up another meeting with his teacher. He’s not doing any better with his schoolwork.” Or his behavior, but she didn’t bring that up. Her mom had enough on her plate without being saddled with worries about Charlie.
“I’m sorry. Anything I can do?”
“We’re working on the situation. Charlie struggles, and he seems like he wants to nail this problem, but then he shuts down.”
“What do you mean, he shuts down?”
“Folds his arms, sits back. His eyes glaze over like he goes somewhere else in his head, you know?”
Sophie was quiet for too long.
“Mom?”
“I know that look. I know it all too well. It sounds like Max at that age.”
“That’s what I thought, too, when this first started going on. All that trouble Max had learning to read.”
Daisy remembered feeling hopeless and lost as a little girl because she couldn’t figure out how to fix what was wrong between her parents. She’d tried being perfect and it hadn’t helped. She’d tried rebelling and not only had it failed to help; it had turned her into a teenaged mom.
The family dynamic had been even more destructive to Max. He’d lagged behind in school, particularly in reading. He’d had trouble controlling his temper. Nothing seemed to help until Greg and Sophie had taken a break from their marriage, one summer at Willow Lake. That was the summer everything had changed for the Bellamys, she recalled with a shiver of premonition. Max had experienced a complete turnaround. Something clicked and his reading had come up to grade level. He’d stopped picking fights and losing his temper. It had been an incredible summer of growth for Max. For their parents, it had led to a heart-wrenching decision to divorce.
More silence from Sophie. Then she asked, “How are you and Logan doing?”
“What?”
“As a couple, I mean. And the three of you as a family?”
“Charlie couldn’t be happier about us being a family. Logan is a good dad.”
“I’m glad to hear that. But you do know, you didn’t answer the other part of the question. How are you and Logan doing?”
“Fine, I guess.” Daisy bit her lip, looked away, then back at Sophie. This was her mother, for Pete’s sake. She could tell her mother anything. “I know it’s lame to say fine. I’d love to say it’s one big, long string of wedded bliss.”
“And I’d love to hear that,” her mom said. “But I’m not hearing it, am I?”
“We’re…in a bad place. Don’t get me wrong, we’re not in a fight or anything. It’s just that, this doesn’t feel the way I thought it would feel. I thought it would feel like…a marriage. Instead, it’s like a friendship. Or a project, I guess, like…remodeling the house.”
She did not want to repeat her parents’ mistakes. But wasn’t that what she was doing? Enduring a strained marriage for the sake of the family?
She stiffened her spine. No. She and Logan were going to deal with this. She was not going to put Charlie through the kind of stuff she and Max had faced as kids.
“Does Logan know you’re feeling this way?”
“We’re seeing someone—a couples counselor. Logan doesn’t have much to say except he likes being a family. I barely see him,” she confessed. “He works long hours, and when he gets home, he’s on the computer until bedtime. On weekends, he’s all about whatever sport Charlie happens to be involved in or his own soccer league. Logan’s been talking to his sponsor a lot. His AA sponsor, a guy who’s in the program.” Her mom probably knew it was Eddie Haven, who was in a band with Noah.
“I hope he’ll talk with you, too. Even if you’re not fighting, Charlie could be picking up on the tension. Kids have an incredible radar for things like that.”
Daisy said nothing, testing the validity of her mom’s words by imagining what things were like for Charlie. “So do you think he could be having trouble because of me and Logan?”
“Every situation is unique, and I’m hardly the poster woman for marital perfection. I’m sure it’s quite complicated,” her mother said. “Seeking counseling is a good move. Give this the time and attention it needs, Daisy. Your little boy is worth it. You’re worth it.”
“Mama,” yelled Aisha, her little braids flying as she raced across the playground. “Can you push me on the swing?”
“Go ahead,” Daisy urged her. “I’ll stay here.” She put her hand on the handle of the baby stroller. As she watched the children at play, memories nagged at her. Growing up, she and her brother Max had ringside seats at their parents’ marriage, which had gone round after round for years and ultimately ended in defeat.
Daisy had no specific memory of discovering that things were awry. There was a sense of knowing but not knowing. It had felt like a tug of discomfort in her stomach. Her parents rarely fought. There was no yelling, just a pervasive sadness that could not be hidden, yet would not be acknowledged. The invisible force had proven to be toxic for the Bellamys.
She had developed an early obsession with family photographs. She’d spent hours collecting shots of her family, smiling for the camera, as though to convince the world—and herself most of all—that everything was fine. Capturing those happy moments eventually led to her passion for photography.
Her art was illusion. The images on paper showed a life her family didn’t have.
She shivered again, despite the warmth of the day.
“Jogging sucks,” Logan said to Eddie Haven, his longtime sponsor in AA.
“Hey, this was your idea,” Eddie reminded him.
“Doesn’t mean it was a good one. I’m dying here, and we haven’t even gone a mile.”
“One step at a time,” Eddie said. “We’ll get this done.”
“That slogan sucks, too,” Logan said, but he grinned as he spoke and forged ahead, glad to have company. Dealing with alcohol and drug addiction was a daily struggle, and having a mentor to help him work the steps was a key element of recovery. The two of them were fellow survivors and now fast friends. You’d never look at Eddie Haven and think, “recovering alcoholic.” These days, he was a happily married man, with clean-cut, all-American looks, an open and honest face, like one of the Beach Boys, with a shock of straight hair and surfer shorts. He didn’t seem like a guy with a hidden dark past. He did have one, though; Logan had heard him speak of it in meetings.
Everybody had their secrets, he thought. Everybody.
After he’d convinced Daisy to marry him, Logan had felt as though he’d finally reached a goal. The feeling of triumph didn’t quite cover up the fact that something wasn’t right. They shared a deep regard for one another, they both adored their son, but the marriage itself had never been right, and it was getting harder to preten
d. Logan never fully understood his feelings for Daisy. It seemed obvious that he should love her, and he’d convinced himself to do exactly that.
He scanned the trail ahead, marked with paving stones every tenth of a mile. Jogging was part of his self-imposed fitness regimen. To Logan’s acute dismay, looking fit was no longer a no-brainer. With a desk job and settled lifestyle, he’d stopped paying attention to his physique. He cut out the Sky River Bakery kolaches for his midmorning coffee break and replaced his lunch hour with a daily jog. Eddie, self-employed as a songwriter, had agreed to join him, both for the fitness and the fellowship.
“Keep talking,” Eddie advised him now. “It’ll get your mind off the pain.”
“Or shift it to another kind of pain,” Logan said. With Eddie, he could be starkly honest, even when it was not much fun. “I never thought I’d be saying this, but my marriage is…it’s not turning out the way I thought it would. And it’s not just in my head. Daisy knows something’s up, too. It’s the elephant in the room.”
“You’ve been saying that for a while. You been working on it?”
“We don’t talk about it. I bet we’re both thinking if we don’t bring it up, then it won’t be real.”
“Magical thinking, my friend.”
“True. So now we’re in couples counseling.”
Daisy’s idea. The counselor asked hard questions. The hardest of all was the first thing he’d asked: When did you first fall in love with Daisy? To his extreme discomfiture, he could not answer this. The first time they’d had sex? Hardly. They’d both been too young, too stupid and too wasted to feel anything. When they found out Daisy was pregnant? Again, no. Horror, not love, had been his reaction. At Charlie’s birth? Ah, the love had come over him like a warm wave—but now he knew that was all about Charlie.
“We’re talking openly,” he said to Eddie, “but instead of bringing us closer, it’s making us both wonder if getting together was a mistake we can’t fix.” They passed a couple who were power walking together, laughing and talking, as if being a couple was the easiest thing in the world. “I pushed so hard for marrying her. Focused on it like a laser. I was convinced we belonged together. And you know me—I’ve never been one to take no for an answer.”
