"He looked around the room, out the window, you know, like people do when they're feeling awkward." Annabeth watched Doug's reaction to her story. His expression was guarded, but in his eyes was a message, something she could see, but couldn't quite make out. "Oh! You think he lied? That he picked the wrong size himself, with no help from a salesgirl?"
"Maybe," said Doug, his face still betraying no opinion.
"You just think he lied, don't you?" Annabeth suddenly faced the truth. "That teddy was never for me."
Doug's hand reached out to squeeze Annabeth's. Looking deeply into her eyes, he gave her a quiet smile, something that comforted her.
"And he made love to me then to take my mind off it, to distract me from the truth, not because he was swept away by the idea of me in the teddy. Oh, I see. But at least he was good at the lovemaking."
Doug looked at her once again, silently, the look in his eyes a touchstone for Annabeth, who was replaying the scene in her mind. He sat quietly, holding her hand, allowing her to review the past and glean from it the truth as she was ready to absorb it.
"You know," she said softly, slowly, thoughtfully, "He was always in a hurry. Maybe he was never the world's greatest lover."
Doug nodded. "Probably not."
"I saved that teddy all these years, wrapped in tissue paper, up in the drawer of an old armoire in my attic. I always thought maybe one day if I lost weight, but really it wasn't that I was going to wear it. It was just a sentimental treasure. Of my husband's devotion." Her voice trailed off then gathered strength, "But I threw it out today, even when I didn't realize."
"Good for you."
Annabeth smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. Doug, in seeing them, reached for his handkerchief and gently touched her face, absorbing the moisture before the tears even rolled down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, feeling silly. Doug wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against his chest, allowing her to relax against him and be supported. When he released his grip slightly, she leaned back in his arms and looked up at him, "Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come back to be my best friend."
He said nothing but a soft "Ah," and pulled her close again.
They sat down to the table then and talked of less serious things. Later he took her on a tour of his house and they stopped in his den, which was a large and pleasant room, containing a big oak desk with many pictures of his children on it, a solid filing cabinet, a large bookcase filled with leather-bound books and a comfortable couch. "I plan to put a pool table over there. I just haven't had time to shop for one."
"What's in this box?" Annabeth asked, seeing an opened box padded with newspaper on top of the filing cabinet.
"It's my baseball collection." He reached inside and pulled out a baseball signed by someone famous whose name Annabeth thought she may have heard, although she wasn't certain of it. "I'm going to have a cabinet built and put them on the wall. Sometime when I get around to it."
Annabeth nodded. "How many do you have?"
"Seventy-eight."
"Wow."
"I used to collect model cars too, but they're all down at work." They sat down then on the couch and talked for a bit about collecting various things until Doug took a deep breath and said, "You know I had such a crush on you in high school."
"You're kidding!"
"I figured you'd never go out with me, though, so I didn't do anything about it. Just stayed friends. Well…."
"I had a crush on you too, but you were too smart for me, I knew that." And now he had Patsy for his girlfriend.
"Too smart! You're kidding."
"No. I never thought anyone as smart as you are would ask me out."
"I was going to ask you out. I mentioned it to Grady and he said…um…said he was dating you."
Annabeth's eyes opened wide. "But why?"
"Just to give me grief I guess. We had a fight about it the day you bought your car." Annabeth watch Doug as he continued, seeing the tension on his face. "Remember I asked you if you had dated him?" When she nodded he said, "And you said no, so after you went on the test drive I went out to confront Grady. I said 'You never slept with Annabeth,' and he said 'Slept with her? You didn't even let me sell her a car.'" Annabeth laughed, but Doug was serious. "Then I said, 'I mean in high school.' And Grady laughed, 'Oh yeah, I remember, I said I was fucking her. So what if I did? You could never take a joke.' And he glared at me like I was the biggest jerk alive, and the thing was, I knew it was true. I was a jerk to listen to him then and ever since. So I hauled off and socked him on the jaw."
"You're kidding," she said, shocked. "He asked me out a few times recently."
Doug's eyes were shaded with concern.
"But I never went. Just didn't make sense to me that a football star would want me. Now I see--he was trying to use me to hurt you. I'm glad I didn't go--at least the slut thing didn't kick in then." She smiled at him and touched his hand.
Doug shook his head. "A smart guy wouldn't want you. A football star wouldn't want you. Who did you think would want you?"
They answered that question simultaneously, "R.J."
Doug squeezed her hand. "You have to stop selling yourself short, Annabeth." He took a deep breath, hesitated, then continued, "You need a real man, not a jerk like R.J., someone like me."
Annabeth looked deeply into Doug's eyes, seeing the twinkling that was always there plus the light that came from within, and in it she took comfort. Of course he'd say she needed someone like him; he was a loyal friend and he had a girlfriend now--he'd been over her a long time. But he must still feel something or he wouldn't have socked Grady. She would have to think about this when she was alone. He squeezed her hand then and smiled at her, making his eyes twinkle even more. Oh! He was teasing her again. She smiled back then and said, "Oh you're just thinking of me in that teddy. Swept off your feet again."
Doug tossed her a wicked grin and said, "Nope. Not at all. I'm thinking of you without that teddy."
"Sure. Keep dreaming."
He leaned in then, grasping her hair in his big hand and bent her head back against the couch, his lips coming closer, closer, closer to her neck, but stopping just beside her ear. "You weren't meant for quickies, so wake up and think about it. Imagine how it's going to be. Hours. Long hours. Come on, Annabeth, you can't think straight, can you. Can't breathe right. Look at you. You're mine."
Her eyes opening, astonishment on her face, a quickening deep inside her, she struggled to right her breath, to take control, to show him she could do it. Hours, long hours. How she wanted to say yes. Hours. She was about to reach for him, to turn her face toward his, to kiss him, to let it all happen, but then she thought of Patsy and Doug together, thought of all the times she'd given in when she shouldn't have, and although she knew this was different, she leaned away, took a deep breath, and said triumphantly, "I'm no nymphomaniac!"
His voice, strong and confident, his eyes merry, Doug said, "Yes you are. Just wait." Then they laughed together for a long time.
The next day, Annabeth and Sally toured the Women's Club with Julie. It was located in an old house, one deeded over by a member who had no children to claim it after her death. On a large piece of property, there was a lot out front for cars, street parking for any overflow, and several gracious rooms inside where many local events were held. In the back was room for a tent, and of course the best thing about the location was that it lay on the water, so there was a pleasantly salty smell in the air.
"I went to a wedding held here," commented Julie, "And it was just lovely. They used the front two rooms, had a buffet, and the bride came down this stairway."
"Who was that?" asked Sally.
"Katie Hemming, you know her, don't you?" Both Annabeth and Sally nodded. "Anyway it was really lovely."
"How many people were here?" asked Annabeth.
"Hmm," said Julie considering the crowd she remembered. "Maybe seventy. I'm sure not a hundred."
&n
bsp; "That seems about the right amount, I think, what with us and Jackson's group and friends from school. Maybe a few more. Bank people. Law office people. And Uncle Chip will be coming back from California with his whole family, do you think?" Sally asked.
"Gee, I don't know," answered Annabeth. "Chip hasn't been home but a few times since he moved out West."
"Yeah, he went out there for college and basically never came back. Anyway you can always invite him and see if he comes," said Julie.
"How much do you think to use this place?" asked Sally.
"I'll find out for sure, but I think maybe two hundred, maybe three."
"Wow," said Sally, "I had no idea. Maybe we should just have the tent at home. The back yard at home is just as pretty, even if there is no dock to take pictures on."
"Is it worth looking at the Garden Club or are they about the same?" asked Annabeth.
Julie shook her head. "You've lived in this town all your life. How did you manage not to get involved in the right clubs?"
Annabeth shook her head. "Just not interested, I guess."
"Well," said Julie in a condescending voice, "As you can imagine, the garden at the Garden Club is nicer. Of course in February, there's not much of anything to see, plant-wise anyway. But it's a nice house, like this, more lawn, basically similar."
"Oh, Gosh!" exclaimed Sally, "I've gotta get back to work." She hugged her mother and aunt and raced off. "We'll decide later," she said waving.
"I'm going to need something nice to wear to the wedding," commented Julie. "Now this is what I was thinking. A heavy silk, something not too complicated to sew."
"To sew?" asked Annabeth.
"Sure. There's nothing good enough to buy in this town. You might as well sew me something, don't you think?"
Annabeth felt like groaning, then kept silent. She didn't have time to sew a dress for Julie. She didn't even know what she herself would wear to the wedding. But how could she say no, after Julie'd been so helpful today and was counting on her?
"I was thinking a tailored dress, a soft skirt, not too straight, maybe some fancy trim at the throat. Have you seen any patterns like that?"
Annabeth remained silent for a moment, then thought back to her conversation with Doug about always saying yes to everything that was asked of her. She took a deep breath to strengthen her resolve then reached out and put an arm around Julie's shoulder. "You're my sister and I love you so much," she began. "I've always enjoyed sewing clothes for you, you know that."
Julie nodded happily, "Yes, you're the best."
"But I can't make you a dress for the wedding."
"What?" Julie's voice rose three octaves.
"I just don't have time. I'm working around the clock on my art--painting knick knacks to sell--it's the only way I have to make money now, you know. Plus I'm cleaning out the house. I'll probably be moving soon and I haven't even had time to look at places yet. I just can't take on any more work now." Annabeth looked imploringly at Julie, "Please understand."
Julie sighed, but Annabeth remained firm, praying that there would be no need for an argument. "Okay then, guess I'll have to take a shopping trip."
That was so easy! Annabeth thought of Julie hours later as she climbed the steps to the attic. She should have been firmer earlier. She could stop being a patsy. She laughed then. Yes! Be an Annabeth.
In the very bottom of the armoire drawer was a long, narrow box, which Annabeth opened and immediately began to weep. Lifting the object from the box, she examined it. It was a baby's mobile, storybook characters suspended in air, a music box at the base that could be wound up and played while the baby fell asleep. Biting her lip, Annabeth paused, then steeled herself and started the music. Her mind filled in the familiar lyrics, lullaby and good night….
"You're a big boy aren't you, two months old, so big and so smart." Cooing like that, Richard loves it, loves to hear me coo, "Big boy, yes my big boy." Holding the baby to me, the smell of him, the feel of him, soft in my arms, baby soft and warm, molding to me, so tender, oh the feel of him, this baby of mine. Kissing his forehead, him smiling, silly baby grin, my baby, oh my baby. Mother I am, to be this thing, this mother, caring for this baby. Oh to hold him to me. All I think of is to hold him, the feel of him, the love in me like a tidal wave for this person, my baby.
"You're going to spoil him," Mother Welner teasing me and then laughing, hugging me.
Smiling at her, "Oh I hope so."
R.J. scowling, "I need some attention too."
"Of course you do." Touching R.J. on the cheek, but I don't put the baby down.
"We could go away for a weekend, leave the baby with Ma," R.J. insisting.
No, I can't, not yet, no. So small. My baby. "Soon we will, I promise."
Winter, so cold in that garage apartment. Big boy now, seven months old. Bundle you up. Make it warmer in here, yes better. Wriggling on my lap, so big so strong.
"Too warm in here," Mother Welner insisting, lowering the thermostat. "Babies don't need to be smothered."
But I want to smother him, want to surround him with love, with myself the way he was when he was inside me. Holding him, always holding him, oh the feel of this baby.
Mother Welner kissing him. "He's too warm. Doesn't need all those clothes."
"He's not too warm, he's growing. Thermo-nuclear energy, really."
"What?" Mother Welner bewildered.
At the table in the house, R.J. insisting, "Come on, it's just a weekend. Ma will watch him. You said we could months ago." Always too cold in this house.
I don't want to go. I want to say no or to take him with us.
"I insist," R.J. always winning.
Kissing Richard, so small, such a big boy. Oh, my baby. Never want to let go. Of course he'll grow up and wriggle free but for now, I can hold him, breathe in his smell. He does feel a little warm.
R.J. and me, all alone, how strange, no baby sounds, no need to hurry, can talk. R.J. talking about business, wanting more, so full of ambition and dreams. "We won't be in that garage apartment forever, you know." Nodding, agreeing with him, thinking of Richard back with his grandmother, missing my baby. "I'm going to start my own business, make money, working for someone else, you're a jerk. Big dreams, baby, that's the answer." Nodding, looking into his eyes, blazing with light, breathing fast, R.J. so excited, then kissing me, pressing me down, kissing me.
Going back to the house. Richard! A weekend is so long. A new tooth I bet or rolling over differently. I missed it. Mother Welner at the door as we walk in, her face haggard, looks so tired. Before I can touch her arm, ask was Richard a lot of trouble, she says, "Baby's been deathly sick all weekend."
Gasping, my heart pounding, going back to where he is, lifting him. Deathly sick….
"I called the doctor and gave him some baby aspirins. Probably a bad cold." Mother Welner looking frantic.
"I always give him Tylenol." Holding Richard, burning up, he's burning up. Kissing him, so hot, oh my baby. "You should have called us."
"Same thing, isn't it?"
Taking Richard to the hospital. Deathly sick. Waiting, cradling him, burning up, and in a hospital bed, vomiting, so strange, the look in his eyes, doesn't recognize me, deathly sick. Pacing, cradling, trying to help him sleep, cool down, deathly sick.
Big, strong babies don't die of a virus any more. No never. They get better. They come home. They grow up and then when you tell the story of how once they were deathly sick as infants, they laugh at you and say "Sssh, Ma, you told me that a million times."
"Reyes Syndrome," the doctor explaining, maybe aspirin after a virus making it worse, I can't think, head pounding, throbbing, can't see straight.
Walking into the corridor. Mother Welner, her eyes on mine. My baby, all I can think of, Tylenol not aspirin. She knows what I'm thinking. It's her fault. Her face, tortured, guilty. It is her fault. She knows it, trying to touch me, but I'm thinking you're not my mother, and I pull away, walk away, outside that hospita
l, some air, my baby inside, dead, gone, no more Richard, dead.
Sitting for months in that apartment, R.J. at work, Mother Welner making me tea, bringing cookies, sitting with me. I can't look at her. Go away, I think, go away. You're not my mother. You're a murderer. You murdered my baby. I want to scream at her, but no, I say nothing, let her be, see the look on her face, the guilt, she knows she's a murderer, should be locked up, the throbbing in my head for years, 'till after Laurel was born and was safe, far away from Mother Welner.
Tears streaming from her eyes, Annabeth sank down to the floor, buried her head in her hands and wept until she had no more tears left. A thought, a treacherous thought, found its way into her consciousness. Mother Welner loved Richard too. She didn't do it on purpose. It probably wasn't even her fault; he might have died anyway. But there was guilt on her face. She thought it was her fault. No wonder she hated Annabeth. It had to be her fault because…because…because…if it wasn't Mother Welner's fault, it must have been…no she couldn't…she couldn't…yes…if it wasn't Mother Welner's fault it must have been hers.
"Oh," said Annabeth aloud, "Oh," pressing her hand to her throat, struggling to right her breath. "Sometimes people get sick and die, like my mother did. Nobody's fault, just happens." She thought about the years of migraines, the hatred she felt for her mother-in-law, and the hatred that was returned to her for decades. She didn't know, Mother Welner didn't know. How could she know he would get so sick, that Mother Welner wouldn't know what to do? Nobody could know and she didn't know either. She didn't murder Richard. He died, he just died. Yes, but if Annabeth been there…if she hadn't left him. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Reaching into the armoire, Annabeth removed the baby blanket, so carefully wrapped in tissue paper and stored in a sturdy department store box and then walked down the stairs and out the front door.
She drove first to a florist, bought a bouquet of pink roses intertwined with baby's breath, and then another bouquet, just the same, only red. It was a short drive to the cemetery, one of two in town. The sorrow as intense as it was all those years ago, Annabeth walked toward the grave. There was a small headstone, simple lettering, a dove carved into it above his name and the dates of his so very short life. Annabeth stood silently shivering without a coat in the chilly December air, remembering her child, the smiles, the tears, the way his life ended. Laying the flowers down on the ground she touched the stone lightly, and in her mind she saw the life he might have led, the triumphs, the laughter, the love they might have shared. He was gone, he died, and by some stroke of fate, she was not there to prevent it. If only she could have done something to save him. If only…. She stood for a long moment, feeling all her sorrow, not knowing how to stop it, then she walked toward her mother's grave, and set down the other bouquet.
A Change of Heart Page 25
