When Delilah Dambro collapsed into the comforting arms of Alex’s father and sobbed hysterically at the news that her daughter had just died, Alex felt his world was permanently destroyed. Even Robby couldn’t comfort him, no matter how hard he tried. There was nothing anyone could say or do to repair the damage done to Alex’s soul.
Jillian was gone.
But the kind doctor urged Alex to come with her. So he followed the hope in her voice to the maternity ward, to the nursery, to a maze of incubators and babies and nurses. And one of them—an older woman who smelled like roses—she placed a newborn baby into Alex’s open arms, saying, “Here’s your daddy.”
He took the child and a wave of love flooded his heart, temporarily holding his drowning grief at bay. He held the baby close to him, amazed by how tiny she was, how much she needed him.
Alex wasn’t sure of what to do, what to say. He’d never held a baby before. Maybe the nurse could tell how overwhelmed he was because she offered him some advice: “Just use your instincts. You’ll know what to do.”
He knew at once he shared an unbreakable connection with the delicate little girl in his arms. He could tell just by looking down at her.
Just as he had, she’d inherited her mother’s beautiful eyes.
Martha
There was no question: Martha knew she had to be there. Once she received the texted words from John—what Harley had done and that Jillian was fighting for her life and the life of her baby—she dismissed her dance class early, rented a car and drove six hours straight from Amelia Island, Florida, to Harmonville, Georgia.
But halfway there, Martha had to pull over. She hurried out of the car and rushed to the side of the road. Where the shoulder and asphalt ended was a sloped embankment filled with the most gorgeous wildflowers Martha had ever seen. The colors were so vibrant, she couldn’t help but wonder if someone had painted them in purple, white, and pink. They reached up to her knees. She stood, clutching her stomach and staring at the tops of the flowers. She felt the hot sun beating down on the back of her head, as if God were reprimanding her and contemplating her punishment. A wave of nausea rocked her body and she knew she was going to be sick.
John hadn’t sent any details in his text, but Martha couldn’t help but feel terribly guilty. She thought back to that night—New Year’s Eve—when she’d found a distraught and shivering Jillian standing on her front lawn, her eyes transfixed on Harley’s ominous silhouette in the upstairs window.
I could have stopped it then. I could have saved her. None of this would have happened if I had stayed. If I had destroyed Harley myself.
The smell the highway flowers were emitting was sweet and powerful. They soothed Martha’s soul, calming her, instilling in her a sense of deep purpose.
She straightened her body, stared out to the endless horizon. She knew there was no one else in Harmonville who could handle the aftermath of what Harley had done. She was the only person who had the strength it would require to piece everyone back together, even if only temporarily. No one else would have the capabilities of coordinating the funerals, especially if there had to be one for a teenaged girl.
Martha returned to the car, wiped her eyes, and whispered a prayer. She knew she was a strong woman, but she begged for God’s help and for Jillian’s life to be saved.
She pulled back onto the highway and glanced in her rearview mirror. Despite how much she loved and cared for the people she had left behind five months ago in Harmonville, there was a part of Martha that couldn’t wait to return to her new life in Amelia Island.
As she drove, Martha reflected back on the eleven years she had known Harley. How could a man she had once loved so much turn into such a monster? What had sent him over the edge, to the point he wanted to kill?
Martha was a single mom eleven years ago, struggling to get by when she’d met an unshaven Harley in the grocery store. He was standing in the produce section with a cantaloupe in his hand, staring at it and inspecting it like it was the head of an alien. Martha had smiled to herself, amused by how cute and helpless Harley appeared. She approached him and explained one way to tell if a cantaloupe was ripe: smell it. He did as she instructed and he nodded and placed the fruit in his cart. They talked for a while. She explained she had a seven-year-old and was a receptionist. He talked about being a graduate student at a nearby university and being lonely in Pittsburgh. They exchanged numbers, and three nights later, they had their first date. Five months later, they were married in a small, no-frills wedding. From that moment on, Martha’s life had never been the same.
In the beginning, Harley was romantic and kind, doting on her and constantly showering her with affection. But once he began teaching, Martha’s world shifted. Gone were the flowers and poetry, replaced by constant criticism and a frustrated strain in every word he spoke. Martha soon felt she couldn’t do anything right, no matter how hard she tried. Harley would never be happy, not with anything or anyone. Nothing could measure up to the impossible expectations he set for her.
Martha shook the memory away, turned up the car radio, and concentrated on the long drive. When she arrived in Harmonville, she was exhausted and heavy with concern. She pulled into the hospital lot, parked the car, and sat for a moment, motionless. Only able to breathe.
Martha worried she wouldn’t be able to face John. She’d left him without a good-bye. And her own son, abandoned by his own mother to fend for himself. To deal with Harley’s moods, his new relationship with Alex.
How could I have left my own child behind? And John? The only man who’s ever really loved me. My God…what have I done?
*
Martha reentered their lives only seconds after death had arrived, shaking their worlds, rattling and breaking their hearts. She rushed past John and reached for Alex and Robby. She pulled the boys to her and refused to let go until their sobs subsided. All the while, she whispered words of comfort to Delilah, whom John was doing his best to hold up.
Finally, Delilah crumbled in a chair in the waiting room, demanding, “Why would he do this to her? He was her teacher.”
Martha sat next to the woman, squeezed her hands, brushed the tears from her cheeks. She sent John to get coffee from a vending machine. The boys sat across from her, enveloped in each other’s arms.
“She was a good girl,” Delilah sobbed. “She never hurt nobody.” Delilah’s eyes moved to Alex, as if he were the only person in the waiting room who understood what she was saying. “Alex,” she stammered, “what am I going to do now? She was all I had.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You have a granddaughter now.”
A beam of hope started to shine in Delilah’s bloodshot eyes.
Martha turned and asked, “Is the baby okay?”
“She’s fine,” he said. “My daughter is fine.”
Martha gave him a look of confusion. “Your daughter?”
Alex nodded, tightened his grip on Robby, who still cried. “Yes,” he reiterated. “My daughter.”
*
It wasn’t until early morning that Alex explained to her what had happened in the hospital room. They were standing on the front porch. Across the street stood the house Martha had once shared with Harley. Now the house looked terrifying, haunted, a place of evil. Her wicked, sad life with Harley felt like it was a hundred years ago.
“There’s no other choice,” Alex said to her, leaning against the white balustrade. The air smelled sweet and sticky. Honeysuckle had recently bloomed. The scent made Martha feel dizzy. “People assumed the kid was mine anyways. A lot of people at school thought we were in love.”
“But the baby isn’t yours, Alex…not biologically. As much as I hate to say it, Harley was the father,” Martha reminded him.
Alex’s eyes flashed. “And where is he now?”
Martha sighed, feeling her shoulders relax a little as she sat in the porch swing and started to rock gently. “Good point,” she agreed.
“No one wants the baby exce
pt for me,” he continued.
Martha shot him a look. “That isn’t true.”
“So you want to take her back to Florida or wherever it is you’ve been hiding all these months? You think my dad wants to get up in the middle of the night to change a diaper? Or do you want her to end up at some orphanage or in a foster home?”
Martha lowered her eyes, feeling ashamed. “I understand.”
“No, the baby isn’t mine,” he explained. “But she is now. I signed papers at the hospital. Jillian told the doctor I was the father.”
“This is what she wanted?”
He nodded in the moonlight. “Yes.”
“Then I won’t interfere. It certainly isn’t my place.” Martha stood up, prepared to go into the house. She’d been avoiding John since she arrived. Except for giving him a hug at the hospital and assuring him, “We’ll get through this somehow,” she hadn’t said a word to him.
“I know why you’re here now,” Alex said, stopping her a second before she was at the front door, her hand on the screen. “Why in the hell did you leave in the first place?”
Martha had no answer for him. She simply replied, “I’m here now, Alex.” She went inside to find John waiting for her. He was sitting in a recliner in the living room, his eyes heavy and tired.
Martha had few words of explanation for John when he posed the question to her: “Where you been, Martha?”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she went to him, bent down, and slid her arms around him. He stood up from his favorite chair and held her. Only then did Martha allow herself to cry.
*
Martha took control of everything. She unofficially elected herself to be the person in charge.
And there was so much to do.
First, she made the funeral arrangements, agreeing with Alex’s request that Jillian’s body be cremated. “I want to take her ashes with us when we leave,” he told her.
“Leave?” she repeated back. “Where are you and Robby going?”
Martha resisted at first when she was informed Alex and Robby were intent on moving to Chicago, to start a new life there. She questioned them, voicing concerns that they were too young, they had never been on their own before, Chicago was so far away and the winters there were brutal.
Once Robby and Alex assured her this was what they wanted more than anything in the world, and they explained to her how they had planned this move originally with Jillian and the baby in mind, Martha not only gave in, she took on their cause.
Martha organized their entire move. She reserved a moving truck, helped them pack their things, made them care packages—one for the ride there, the other to open when they got there. She searched the Web with them, narrowing down the best choices for an apartment. She even called their perspective landlords, grilled them for info, and negotiated their rent, lowering the monthly payment by nearly a hundred dollars.
The boys were illuminated, euphoric with their escape plan. Their eyes were constantly filled with excitement. They talked endlessly about what their life would be like. They strategized and discussed their visions in great detail. Martha watched from the outside, realizing that Robby had never looked so happy.
*
Harley’s funeral came and went with no reaction from anyone. Martha took care of the details: the plot, the headstone, the flowers. She let the high school principal know. He informed her, “We’re sorry for your loss, ma’am, but I don’t expect anyone from our school will be attending the service.” That was same reaction Martha received from Harley’s distant relatives—his cousins in Maine, a half sister in Hawaii, a former college roommate in Pittsburgh. No one wanted to come, but they all wished her well. It seemed to Martha the world was a happier place without Harley LaMont. His lust for teenaged girls was sending him to his grave as a man best forgotten.
Martha decided not to go to the cemetery and stand graveside as Harley was lowered into the ground. It was an agonizing decision for her, but she hoped Harley would somehow realize how alone he had made her feel. She wanted him to know about the damage he had done—that the lives he’d tried to ruin would go on without him.
*
Nearly two hundred people attended Jillian’s service, held at a local church. Inside, white flowers draped the sanctuary. A lifetime’s worth of photos of Jillian were on display.
People Martha had never met before—mostly high school students—sobbed through Alex’s heartfelt eulogy. He spoke of the meaning of friendship, articulated how much Jillian meant to him, to his life, and how much she would impact his future.
Mrs. Gregory was there, and so was Giselle. Tommy Freeman and his older sister Sue Ellen sat together in a pew. Tommy tried his best to comfort Sue Ellen, but it was no use. The siblings were dressed in black, and they held each other’s hands as they walked out of church, grief pressing down on their hearts and backs.
Martha helped Delilah Dambro to her feet while the devastated mother cried out for her dead daughter, teetering in her black heels. Martha helped Delilah into a limousine, promising Delilah she’d check in on her from time to time, to make sure she was okay. Delilah nodded through her tears and thanked Martha profusely, almost desperately.
On the front steps of the church, Martha watched as Alex and Robby embraced. As they pulled away from each other, she saw the beautiful tenderness in their eyes, their shared love reflecting in their gazes. She knew the two of them would be okay.
As long as they had each other.
*
Emily Siran Bainbridge was brought home from the hospital twelve days after she was born.
Martha took it upon herself to load the boys up with everything they’d need to properly care for Emily: a car seat, a crib, a stroller, clothes, bottles, diapers, and plenty of food. She reminded them constantly about how important it would be for them to find a pediatrician as soon as they got to Chicago. She rambled on to them about vaccinations, the importance of keeping records and paperwork, sleep deprivation, and how to cope with teething, diaper rash, potty training, and anything and everything else she could possibly think of.
“You know I’ll be visiting you every other month,” she told them in the driveway the morning they were packed and ready to leave.
John had agreed to drive the moving truck to Chicago and help the boys unpack. Alex and Robby would follow in John’s car, with baby Emily in tow.
Martha hugged them both, afraid to let go.
“I love you both,” she said into their necks, hoping her words would somehow dissolve into their skin and remain there forever.
*
While John was gone in Chicago, Martha kept busy. She put Harley’s house on the market, set up a trust fund for Emily, called the boys every hour on the hour, and checked on Delilah daily.
When John returned, she met him on the front porch. She was sitting on the porch swing, drinking a cup of coffee. He was exhausted, and she knew it. But they were finally alone. She gestured for him to sit beside her, and he did.
“There’s no one here but us now,” she said. “It’s strange.”
John was silent for a moment before he spoke. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Martha,” he said to her. “You broke my heart when you left without a word. Not even a good-bye.”
Martha’s eyes closed. The hurt in John’s voice was almost unbearable. “I don’t think I can ever explain to you why I left,” she answered. “I only know…it’s what I had to do.”
He turned and looked at her. She felt his eyes on her, questioning and scared. “And now?”
She took a sip of coffee and said, “I put Harley’s house on the market while you were gone.”
His voice cracked with a smile. “Does this mean you’re moving in with me?”
“Not quite,” she replied. Martha took a deep breath, then: “I’m going back to Amelia Island, John. I have an incredible life there. I’ve opened a dance studio. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”
He swallowed. “So, is this good-b
ye?”
She reached for his hand, covered it with hers. “I hope not,” she replied.
“What are you hoping for?” he asked.
She smiled. Her bottom lip trembled. “That you’ll come with me.”
He turned and their eyes met. “Is that what you really want?”
Martha nodded. “More than anything.”
“Leave Harmonville?” he wondered aloud. “It sounds like a great idea to me.”
Martha kissed his mouth softly. “We need to leave, John. This place is haunted. Too many ghosts.”
He put an arm around her, pulled her closer to his body, and held her. “Give me two days to tie up some loose ends,” he said.
“I’ll give you as much time as you need,” she told him. “You’re definitely worth the wait, John Bainbridge.”
September/September
Alex
Alex purposely asked Robby to meet him on the steps of the Art Institute on Michigan Avenue. He was very specific in the text message he’d sent him over an hour ago.
While he waited for Robby to arrive with their daughter, Alex sat on the cement steps outside of the majestic museum, welcoming the warmth of the sun on his skin. He watched the throng of tourists, college students, the corporate clones in business suits. They moved together in a sea of camera flashes, drinking in the beauty and marvel of the place, awed. It was impossible to walk by the museum and not be touched by the grandness of it.
Alex thought of his mother then. He wondered what the moment felt like for her when she had laid eyes on John Bainbridge for the first time, over twenty years ago. Alex was curious where his mother was standing or sitting when it happened. He hoped it was in the exact spot where he sat, waiting for Robby LaMont to appear—the love of his life.
For a moment, Alex imagined his mother was sitting on one of the concrete steps below his. She was smiling, drinking in the sights and sounds of her favorite city, high from the hope shining in her eyes. She waved at him, gestured at him to come to her, to sit beside her. He obeyed and moved through the crowd to join the ghostly vision of his mother.
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