Marrying Daisy Bellamy

by Susan Wiggs

  “Welcome back,” she said to Ivy. “I was hoping you’d come to the reunion.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” Ivy gazed out the window at the lake. “I love it here. It’s always bittersweet, though. Makes me miss my granddad, but I feel closer to him here than I do anywhere else.”

  Ivy’s grandfather was George Bellamy, who had spent his final days right here at Willow Lake, in a cabin known as the Summer Hideaway. Daisy veered her mind away from thoughts of losing a grandparent, or losing anyone. “I’m sorry,” she said to Ivy. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “Maybe after a few tequila slammers. Join me?”

  Daisy was tempted. However, due to Logan’s situation, she had made a private vow to abstain. “I’ll stick with lemonade,” she said. “My grandmother made her special kind, flavored with lavender.” She helped herself to some from a frosty glass dispenser while Ivy made a quick trip to the bar.

  “Tell me everything,” she said, rejoining Daisy and clinking glasses. “You were a newlywed last time I saw you. How’s married life treating you?”

  “I’m fine,” Daisy said, pasting on a bright smile. Later, maybe, when they had some private time—like hours and hours—she would go into detail about the emotional roller coaster she’d been on since Julian’s return. “I want to hear about you and your fabulous life as a kinetic sculptor.”

  “What can I say? It’s fabulous. I have some juried shows coming up so I’m insanely busy. In a good way, that is. There’s something about the whooshing sound of an upcoming deadline that squeezes my best work out of me. I bet you’re the same.”

  Daisy didn’t reply, because she wasn’t sure it was the same for her at all.

  Ivy sipped her margarita. “Ahh. And what about you? How’s work? Last time we talked, you were getting a portfolio ready for a spot in a big exhibition.”

  The MoMA show—again. To Daisy, it was like the rock to Sisyphus; she’d never get there. She felt a small flutter of guilt. Once again, she was allowing life to get in the way of what she really wanted to do. “The wedding stuff is steady. I’m mad at myself for not taking the time I need for studio work.”

  “Go easy on yourself. When the time is right, you’ll get it done. Life is long and every day is precious.”

  Daisy grinned. “I like the way you think. Must be all that California sunshine. I’ve only been to California once—Disneyland.” Ah, the fateful trip with Logan.

  “Disneyland doesn’t count. Come see me in Santa Barbara. I promise, you’ll be seduced.”

  “Sounds good to me. Sometimes I wish I could live someplace seductive like that. Or, not even seductive. Just…different.” Daisy was surprised to hear the words come out of her.

  “What the hell? You can.” Ivy lifted her glass and finished it off. “Excuse me. I spotted Ross and Claire. I haven’t seen them yet.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

  Ross and Claire were an intensely gorgeous couple. They’d had the most dramatic of Bellamy romances, one that had ultimately turned out well for them. He rested his hand easily at the back of her waist, and she tucked herself against him, looking secure and contented. Though they’d been married for a couple of years, they still had that honeymooners’ glow when they gazed at each other.

  Daisy caught herself wondering if she and Logan had that glow, if they’d ever had it. No, she ordered herself. Stop it. Don’t compare.

  Turning away from Ross and Claire, she brought herself up short. Julian had just walked in with his brother.

  Though she fought the feeling, something inside Daisy caught fire when she saw him. She reminded herself of her marriage. She and Julian were done. They’d missed their chance. This had been clear to her on his first night back, when he’d refused to discuss the intimate details of his imprisonment, his ordeal in South America. She was unable to imagine the nightmares he’d endured. She didn’t expect him to tell her, though. She couldn’t share his pain and his deepest secrets. That role wasn’t open to her now. She wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t allowed to love him and carry his burdens. It made her wonder, who did he have to lean on? Was he looking for someone else?

  Choose me, she thought, her heart crying out against her will. On the heels of the thought came a painful mixture of guilt and longing. She’d expected to be able to handle this—seeing him but keeping her distance. Yet instead of getting easier, the encounters were harder each time. She hadn’t crossed any lines, though, and was determined not to. She and Julian had not had a private conversation since the night of his return. After she told him she was committed to staying with Logan, there was nothing more to say. Particularly now, in the wake of Logan’s relapse, she couldn’t imagine abandoning him when he was at his most fragile and needy. Yet a curious thing was happening with Logan. He didn’t seem so fragile and needy after the episode. Something in him was getting stronger. Still, that didn’t mean she was free to turn her back on her commitment.

  Best to get the uncomfortable greeting over with. “Hey,” she said, approaching him.

  His eyes lit when he saw her, but she could see him dim the reaction. “Hey,” he said.

  She studied his face, his strong hands and tall frame. He bore scars that hadn’t been there when he’d left. There was so much she wanted to say to him but couldn’t.

  And honestly, she didn’t have to. She and Julian could say more with a single look than a long conversation. They’d always been that way. Maybe in time the connection would weaken, but today it was powerful, filling her with yearning and forbidden heat.

  “I…uh, wanted to say thank you for helping Logan out. He told me, you know, that you were there for him.” It felt easy and right to say these things to him. She was deeply grateful to him for rescuing Logan that terrible day. He could have looked the other way, let Logan crash and burn at the country club. But that wasn’t Julian’s way. When he saw someone who needed rescuing, he stepped up. Even if it meant helping out his rival.

  Good lord, this was awkward. How could she be so awkward with him when all she wanted to do was—no. She couldn’t let her mind go there.

  “No problem,” he said. “He doing all right?”

  She nodded. “He slipped. It happens. He’s back with the program.”

  “How about you? Are you doing all right?”

  “Sure,” she said, quickly, brightly. “I’m great. Work is good. Busy. Charlie is good, too.” When he’s not getting in trouble with school. “He’s going to be excited to see you.”

  “I’ll go find him in a minute. Daisy—”

  “So how are you?” she broke in, wanting to change the subject.

  “Hoping to get to the end of this medical leave. I’ve got more rounds of physical therapy and psych evaluations, more hoops to jump through.”

  She was dying to ask him about his plans for the future, but she couldn’t let his future matter to her. “I hope it goes well for you.” The tension was extreme, prickling over her scalp. “Julian?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I—” She broke off as Logan strode through the door, lifting his hand when he spotted her.

  “There’s my wayward wife.” He slipped his arm around her, drawing her close.

  She smiled up at him. “Moi? Wayward?”

  “Hey, Logan.” Julian shook hands with him. “I was about to head outside. See you around.” He sauntered away at an unhurried pace, though Daisy sensed he wasn’t eager to linger.

  Logan dropped his arm and stepped back. “How’s our man Julian?”

  “Fine, I guess.”

  “Were the two of you discussing my screwup?”

  She winced. “I thanked him for helping out, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, he’s a real prince.”

  His comment unleashed an anger she’d been holding in for days. She’d been trying her best to do the right thing, but each day, her marriage seemed more and more untenable. Inches from losing it, right here in the middle of the family reunion, she took
a deep breath and said, “Well. On that note…” She didn’t let herself finish, knowing the conversation would lead to nowhere good. Turning on her heel, she went and grabbed her camera bag to take some pictures.

  “Don’t walk away from me,” he said.

  She could see an impending fight seething in his eyes. “This isn’t the right time.”

  “It’s never going to be right,” he said.

  She paused, taking in his words. “We’ll talk,” she said at last.

  “Right. Catch you later.”

  She stood for a moment watching him go, wishing she felt more connected to him. But ever since the relapse, the unease that existed silently between them had grown more pronounced. It was as if he’d gone to a foreign country and come home a different person. Troubled, she stayed busy taking pictures, comfortable with her eyes obscured by the camera as she captured the laughter and sentiment in the faces of her cousins, uncles, aunts and immediate family. With her lens focused on couples, family groups, children and grandparents, it struck her how many paths love could take—even for her own parents, whose beginnings as a couple were eerily similar to hers and Logan’s. They’d married for the sake of a child. And they’d gritted their teeth and endured it for years. She remembered something her dad once said to her. It wasn’t the divorce that was so painful. The real hurt came from the failed marriage that preceded it.

  As a child, had she noticed the sadness in her parents? Not consciously, no. She’d focused like a camera lens on the happier moments and maybe her brother had done the same. But both of them had ended up as collateral damage—she with her reckless behavior and Max with his school troubles.

  Now she turned her fastest portrait lens on her dad as he and his wife, Nina, participated in a fierce match of bocce balls on the lawn, their opponents her uncle Philip and his second wife, Laura. Both her dad and his brother were blissfully remarried. Neither got it right until the second time around.

  Feeling weirdly guilty about her own thoughts, she returned to the banquet area, capturing a shot of little Zoe carefully mounding whipped cream onto a serving of berry cobbler. In the background was Logan, chatting up Max as they both helped themselves to seconds.

  “I like a man with a hearty appetite,” said a voice behind her.

  “Grandma.” Daisy set aside the camera and gave her a hug.

  “It’s a glorious day, isn’t it? Perfect weather for the reunion. Come sit with me. I need to get off my feet for a few minutes.” They retreated to a pair of luxurious club chairs in the deserted reception area. “Now,” said her grandmother, “tell me what’s troubling you.”

  Daisy gave a short laugh. “Direct as ever.”

  “Dearie, when you’re my age, you learn to get to the point.”

  “Why do you think something’s troubling me?”

  “I know that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The one you were wearing just now, when you were taking a picture of your husband.”

  Daisy drew a deep breath, reminding herself that Grandma was safe to talk to. She was one of the most beloved and trusted people in Daisy’s life. “Logan and I are in a weird place.”

  “Darling, marriage is a weird place, make no mistake. Sometimes I wonder why it was ever invented.”

  “Grandma!”

  “So speak. Tell me about this metaphorical weird place.”

  “Logan and I…it’s not working out the way we’d envisioned. And don’t get me wrong, I didn’t romanticize things or expect the impossible.”

  “There’s your first mistake. Sometimes the only way to get through the rough patches is to over-romanticize and expect the moon. You have to take each other’s most annoying traits and turn them into virtues. I recall spending the whole of 1967 pretending to love the hippie beard your grandfather grew.”

  Daisy laughed, trying to picture her buttoned-down granddad with a beard. Then she shook her head and laughter gave way to a painful hiccup of tears. “I’m afraid…all the pretending in the world only magnifies the fact that we’re pretending. This past year, I kept thinking things would get better. We acted as if everything was fine, but it keeps getting harder and more strained.” She swallowed past the thick despair in her throat. “A few months ago, both of us were thinking that getting married might have been a huge mistake. We were moving toward a really difficult conversation—about splitting up. Then Julian came home, and…it didn’t seem right.”

  “You didn’t want to dump your husband just because your ex-fiancé showed up,” her grandmother said bluntly.

  “That’s part of it,” Daisy admitted. “Only part. I’m so scared of repeating my parents’ mistakes.”

  “Daisy, what do you want to do?”

  “I want to be madly, passionately in love with my husband.” Willfully she drove away a flash of fantasy that had nothing to do with Logan. “I want him to feel that way about me. But I’m beginning to wonder if that’s possible with anyone.”

  Her grandmother’s eyes grew misty as she gazed out across Willow Lake. Daisy had the sense that Grandma was reliving something in the distant past. “Oh, yes,” her grandmother said quietly. “It most certainly is.”

  “I ask myself that every day. I started asking long before Julian returned. And I have a feeling Logan’s been asking himself the same thing. Neither of us has a satisfactory answer.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “I’m working on it. I really am.”

  Jane hesitated, then turned her pale eyes back to Daisy. “Sometimes we don’t get what we want no matter how hard we try. Dear, listen to me. I’m not perfect but I’ve learned a thing or two in my time. Most important of all, listen to your heart. What is your heart telling you?”

  Daisy bit her lip. “That I’m a terrible person because I got married for the wrong reasons, and now Charlie is feeling the effect. And that…Julian never really left my heart, even when he was presumed dead.” She said the last on a broken note of pain. “I am terrible.”

  “You’re not. You’re human and flawed, and beating yourself up over it will get you nowhere.” Grandma took her hand. “I wish I were as wise as I am old, but unfortunately, I’m human, too. I can only tell you this—live your life and be happy. That’s all you can do.”

  Thirty-Two

  Daisy allowed Charlie and Blake both to spend the reunion weekend at Camp Kioga, in one of the vintage bunkhouses with an assortment of cousins. She pictured them staying up until all hours, giggling and telling ghost stories, sneaking to the kitchen for a midnight feast. Like all kids, Charlie was happiest when he was unplugged and in the fresh outdoors. She knew he’d come home grubby and exhausted but filled with memories.

  She pulled up to the house, parked and got out. Twilight was coming on, gilding the neighborhood with a soft glow. It really was a lovely house; people commented on it all the time. Logan had been fixing it up for years. She still remembered the day she’d driven up in time to see him slide off the roof. The memory would always make her cringe in fear for him. People were so fragile. He’d survived the fall, though, and now the house was their home.

  She’d done her share of work, getting every room just so and turning the garden into a riot of flowers. And yes, the white picket fence was a cliché, but it looked perfect there at the front boundary of the lawn. Soon, the sugar maples would be turning, and the colors would change. She could already smell the autumn coming, when the wind shifted just so.

  As she gathered her things from the car, the neighbors, Bart and Sally Jericho, drove up and waved. They didn’t linger to visit. Daisy had nurtured high hopes that they’d become friends, but since Bart had witnessed Logan’s scene at the country club, there was a distinct chill that hadn’t existed before.

  Shouldering her big straw tote bag and camera bag, she headed inside. The house was too quiet, and an indistinct smell hung in the air. For some reason, the atmosphere depressed her. It depressed her to see the walls and baseboards and furniture she’d labored ove
r in a vain attempt to find the joy in her life with Logan. Staying busy was no substitute for true happiness.

  She turned on the radio for a little background noise. The thud of a car door alerted her that Logan was home. He came inside, his attention glued to the screen of his iPhone.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.”

  “How’d you like the reunion?” she asked.

  “It was fine. Good to catch up with all your folks. Charlie seemed pretty happy with it all.”

  “Yes.” She hesitated. “It’s still pretty early. Want to see what’s playing at the Palace?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got some stuff to do on my computer. Then I thought I’d turn in early.”

  “All right. Logan—”

  “Daisy—”

  They both spoke at once, interrupting each other. “You first,” she said. Every muscle in her body felt tense, as though bracing for a blow.

  “I’m sorry as hell about the slip,” said Logan. “And today, too. I wasn’t in the best of moods.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re back in the program. And I owe you an apology, too. I stopped remembering how hard sobriety is for you because you make it look so easy. I breezed out of here and went along to work. I wish—”

  “Daisy. We need to talk.”

  No good conversation had ever started with those four words: We need to talk.

  In the ensuing pause, she was tempted to do the old-Daisy thing, jump in and reassure them both that everything was fine, just fine. She always avoided upsetting him, not wanting him to ever have a reason to take a drink. Now she knew that was not her job. Only he could keep himself sober.

  She sensed they were on the verge of having the most honest conversation they’d ever had. A cold lump formed in her throat. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said.

  He grabbed a cream soda from the fridge and offered it to her. She shook her head, so he opened it and took a slug. “I’m thinking it’s time to face facts.”