by Beck, Jamie
“Her father back under the same roof.”
Lauren lets loose another dramatic sigh. I can hardly believe she’s the kind of woman Richard prefers. “Okay, Anne. I thought we could be adults about this, but clearly I was wrong.”
Her tendency for condescension must be how she and Richard first bonded. “Understand me, Lauren. My daughter is not a drug addict. She’s a National Honor Society member, an athlete, an artist, and an all-around wonderful girl whose world has been thrown into chaos thanks, in large part, to you. She will not be bringing drugs to your house, so don’t start with that nonsense. Richard is her father, not Brody’s and Zoe’s. If you don’t trust Katy, then take your kids and go visit your parents or whomever you like while Katy is with Richard. Frankly, I’d prefer that because then she wouldn’t have to spend time with you. But don’t call me under some pretext just to make judgments about my child.”
“If you plan on laying the blame for Katy’s choices on me, it’s no wonder she can’t accept reality.”
My entire body strings as tight as a cocked bow. “Back way up. Katy is taking full responsibility for her choice. But if you can’t acknowledge how your stealing my husband has shaken her sense of security, then I feel sorry for your kids and what they’re learning from someone as entitled as you.”
“Don’t you think it’s time we all move on from the whys of your divorce? Richard wasn’t happy. That’s not my fault.”
Her words are like scissors to my heart. I vividly imagine her head on a spit. The violent urge actually scares me. “My divorce isn’t even final, yet you’re already meddling in Katy’s relationship with her father. So, no, I won’t simply ‘move on’ to appease you.” Mentally, I add the C-word to the end of that sentence. “I’m pretty sure Richard wouldn’t be torn if you weren’t putting those thoughts in his head. At least he’s not rolling over on this for you. Get used to that, Lauren. You may have stolen him from me, but you will never replace Katy. And if you try, you’ll eventually lose Richard.”
“Mom?” Katy must’ve slipped inside while I was on my tirade. My throat is sore, which tells me I’ve been screaming, too.
Great. Dan and Joe are probably ducking for cover. Maybe now that they’ve heard my temper, they’ll work faster to be done with me. That’d be one upside of all this, anyhow.
“Are we done?” I ask Lauren.
“It seems so.”
“Thank God. Lose my number.” I hang up and chuck the phone onto the sofa. “Dammit.”
“Was that Lauren?”
I hang my head. Another outburst to pick over when I’m alone. “Ignore her.”
“She doesn’t want me to come, does she?” Katy’s eyes are misty.
“It doesn’t matter what she wants, honey.” I embrace my daughter, and to my shock, she lets me. It would be wonderful if her acquiescence wasn’t the result of how upset she is. “Sweetie, I’m sorry you overheard that, but don’t follow my example. Treat Lauren with respect so she doesn’t have any leverage to use against you. Do you understand?”
Katy nods and sniffles into my shoulder. “I really messed up. Dad probably hates me now.”
“I promise he doesn’t hate you, honey.” The memory of Richard teaching Katy to ride a bike—of the thrill in his young face—is another reminder of all we’ve lost. I ease away and move some of the hair off her forehead. “Be honest with him. Open up about your feelings.”
She grunts. “Dad doesn’t do feelings. He only cares about results.”
“Then share the wins. You’ve gotten two As on your first real assignments, and you made the varsity team in a competitive district.” I hug her again. “But also remember we all make mistakes. Don’t let anyone make you see yourself as the sum of your worst behavior instead of your best.”
When we break apart, she tugs on her hair again. The last time I suggested therapy, she got angry and Richard made me feel like a failure for needing outside help. Is it time to push back, or will that only make everything worse?
Her chin is at her chest when she mumbles, “I’m going to lie down for a while.”
“How about we grab lunch?”
“I’m not hungry.” She takes her book and clomps up the stairs.
Once she’s out of sight, my shoulders droop, sinking me onto the sofa. I used to cry easily. It’d been cathartic. Restorative, even. But lately my emotions simply churn like they’re stuck in a dryer that can’t finish the job.
I could use a hug right now. Maybe I’ll visit Gram. She might not remember me, but it could help just to see her. After a quick text to let Katy know that I’m leaving, I grab my keys and take off.
CHAPTER NINE
MARIE
“Hey, Gram. I brought pudding!” a pretty young woman says when she enters my room. “I would’ve made the stove-top kind if my kitchen remodel were finished, but this will have to do for now.”
She cracks a cup off the pack and hands it to me with a plastic spoon from her coat pocket. The way she’s smiling at me tells me I know her, but I don’t know why she’s calling me Graham. “Thank you.”
“Let me help.” She takes the cup back and peels off the lid before giving it back to me. Then she sits down in the empty chair and opens herself a pudding cup, too. “Almost like the old days.”
I nod, although I’m confused. Do I like pudding? I test out a creamy spoonful. Chocolate. Pretty good.
The woman has already gobbled hers up. She heaves a sigh when she sets down the empty cup. “It’s not nearly as good as when we’d eat right from the pot. I miss those days.” Then she laughs to herself. “Maybe I’ve been kidding myself this whole time, thinking that returning here would be a magic fix for Katy and me. When Richard first asked for the divorce, I couldn’t believe it. You remember how sweet he was in the beginning? All the plans we made? I still miss how he used to love to cook—his second-favorite study break activity during law school.”
She winks at me in case I missed the innuendo, but I’m still trying to place her and this Richard. It’s vaguely familiar but just out of reach, so I nod and continue to listen.
“I remember thinking that he reminded me of Grandpa back then—full of happy energy and affection. When he started working, he’d share everything about his day—what he was learning, the people he worked with. He’d thank me for being supportive and giving him a nice place to come home to. Always telling me how much he liked me and my kind heart. He hasn’t said that in a few years, though.”
Her expression loses all animation when she pauses. “When I first started to complain—about the fact that he no longer could sit through an entire movie without jumping up to take a call, or that he’d stopped holding my hand or putting his arm around me on the sofa, or how he left me to raise Katy except to second-guess me after the fact—I felt guilty because you and my mom were always such satisfied housewives. I mean, honestly, I never heard you complain to Grandpa. Not once.”
She looks at me as if seeking confirmation. Is she talking about my husband, Martin? I got lucky with that one—loyal and patient. Compassionate. Easy to please. “Martin is very kind.”
“The kindest.” Her eyes light up for the first time, then her forehead crinkles. “I miss him, but I’m almost glad he isn’t here to see all my failures.”
Where is Martin? I need to tell him that even on melancholy days when regrets overwhelm me, I never regret marrying him.
The woman sighs again. “I really thought moving here would make it easier for me to move on, but it’s only made things worse for Katy, and I’m still picking through my marriage, trying to figure out where I went wrong. The truth is, despite Richard’s and my problems, I thought our foundation was solid. That our love lay beneath the frozen surface, waiting to bud again. Even when Richard was in New York for that deal after he announced his decision, I thought he’d realize what he’d be giving up—his family—and come home to work on our marriage. I mean, we were each other’s first real loves . . . How do you really lose that?”
First love.
My sweet, dear Billy.
“Gram?” The young woman touches my knee, and Billy is gone all over again. “Did you hear me?”
“I’m sorry.” My head is fuzzy. I can’t help this woman, although I wish I could.
“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to dump all my problems on your lap. I just needed to talk to someone, and you’re always a good listener.”
I nod and force a smile.
“I have an idea.” She stands, shaking off the past five minutes like a dog does water. “It’s a gorgeous early-autumn day. Let’s go outside and watch the boats on the bay.”
“That sounds nice.” With a slight hesitation, I take her hand. It’s been a while since I’ve even been outside.
She links arms and pats my hand, calling my attention to my translucent, spotty skin. When did that happen? She steers me down the hall to the back door, which leads directly to a concrete patio with benches and tables. I shuffle along. When she opens the door, I raise my face to drink in the burst of sunlight and inhale the briny air.
We sit at a picnic table partially shaded by a giant sycamore tree canopy. The gulls soaring low across the sky draw my eye, as does the sunlight dancing atop the undulating water, sparkling clear to the horizon.
I close my eyes and shiver, thinking of the old wooden pier that stretches into the bay from the end of my street. People fish off it and launch small boats there in the summer, but during the winter it’s eerily quiet except for the creak of the boards and the gentle lapping of water against its pylons. It’s where Billy and I used to steal time together, early in.
I remember one morning I’d sneaked away to meet him at dawn, just a couple of months after we met . . . It’s so clear I can relive our first kiss. That day the water vapor scattered the December light, making it look like steam was rising from the water. If you ignored the science and admired the effect, the bay had looked mystical.
With each step, breath clouds blurred my vision. The Polaroid Land camera my father had bought felt heavier than its few pounds, possibly because I’d taken it without asking. If he caught me, he would be angry, but not as furious as he would be if he found me with Billy.
I walked the length of the pier, its boards sagging beneath my weight. When I finally reached the end, rising mist surrounded me.
The big water views roused me. While staring at the horizon, I could pretend to be far away from Potomac Point—maybe even at the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Mother Nature was waking up. The foggy daybreak resembled an Ansel Adams photograph. How would he have captured the bay, or the geese gliding along its surface? Setting the camera aside, I crouched all the way down to lie on my stomach. I extended my hands and fingers forward as if framing a shot.
Water lapped below me. A bird broke the silence with its song. I synced my breath with the rise and fall of the small waves splashing onto the shore behind me. In my daydream I was a renowned photographer, hiking into unfamiliar territories to capture images to share with people who clamored for more.
A creak nearby snapped me from my musings.
“You didn’t fall, did you?” Billy teased as he approached.
“No.” I rose, brushing off bits of dirt and splinters from my coat.
When he reached me, he kissed my cheek and clasped my hands. “It’s chilly.”
An invitation if I’d ever heard one. I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face and cold nose against his chest. “I like it brisk, and we have at least thirty minutes before I have to sneak back.” My parents slept until seven thirty on Saturdays.
“I don’t like slinking around, Marie.” He eased away. “We should talk to your dad again.”
“We need to wait for the right time.” This conversation made my stomach hurt. Putting him off insulted Billy, but I was stuck. Until I graduated from high school, I didn’t have many options. “My dad can’t see past your job. He doesn’t care that you’re a good person.”
A great person, truthfully. The kind who’d moved here to help his sister, Angie, care for her toddler, Ben, after a car accident killed her husband. Their Catholic parents had disowned her when she converted to Judaism for her husband. She’d been foundering, trying to figure out how to raise a child on her own, until Billy came to her rescue. He was a true prince, but my father didn’t care about any of that.
Billy shoved his hands in the pockets of his unzipped bomber jacket, which hung over his loose-fitting filling station attendant uniform. His manliness sent a little flutter to my chest. “I don’t know, Marie. Angie still cries about how my parents won’t forgive her even though they’re missing out on knowing their grandson. If you keep up this way, you could end up like her, and I don’t want that.”
I shrugged in silence, worried about that exact thing. I liked Billy a lot—more than I’d ever liked any boy ever—but I wasn’t ready to lose my family over him. “We don’t have much time. Let’s not waste it talking about my parents.”
He dropped his chin with a sigh. “Okay. Tell me why you brought me here.”
I bent to lift the camera. While I unfastened the leather case and exposed the camera lens, I asked, “Have you ever seen one of these?”
“Only in advertisements.” He inspected it closely, raising it above his head, turning it about. “Does it really develop a picture inside this box?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Want to see?”
“Sure.” He handed it back to me.
The light was still flat, so it probably wouldn’t produce a crisp image. “Stand there at the end of the dock.”
He held up a hand. “Won’t my picture be a dead giveaway?”
“I’ll hide it, but I’ll take a picture of the scenery that I can show my dad if he catches me sneaking back into the house.” Cunning was not a virtue my friends aspired to, but I couldn’t deny my nature or make myself ashamed of it.
Billy’s brows rose as he chuckled. “You’re too clever for your own good, but it’s one of my favorite things about you.”
“Oh?” I did like compliments. “What are your other favorite things?”
Billy stepped closer and touched the ends of my hair, making me shiver. “These strawberry curls. Your boldness. The fact that you don’t want to be like everyone else. I know, whatever happens, you’ll make something special of your life. That’s good, Marie. I hope I get to see it.”
He was so close I wished he would just kiss me. This was the eighth time we’d secretly met up, and he’d been too much of a gentleman. “Maybe you will—we could travel around, you fixing cars, me taking pictures.”
“We’d need money first, and your dad’s approval.” He dropped his hands and stepped back.
I suppressed a pout. “Let’s not worry about that today. Let me take your picture. Stand right there. Be still, or it will be blurry.”
“Like this?” His hands dangled at his sides, relaxed, and he tipped his head just left of center. A gentle smile softened his swarthy looks.
“Perfect.” I widened my stance to steady myself and snapped the image.
“Now what?” He came closer.
“When we turn this knob, it pushes the paper through tiny rollers that use chemicals to transfer the image from the negative to the paper. We peel apart the two pages, and voilà, there you are!” I gave it a wave to dry it before I showed him. His wide-eyed amazement gave me a little thrill, but mostly I was ecstatic to finally have a picture of him that I could look at whenever I wanted.
“Wow! That’s unbelievable.” His broad smile set my heart ablaze.
Billy would never be able to afford that camera. That made me sad, because he worked as hard as my dad. Some might say harder, because he worked two jobs. “Would you like to try?”
“Sure thing.” He nodded.
“Don’t photograph me. Pick something else . . . like that copse of trees over there, or maybe the geese on the bay.”
He lay on his stomach exactly the way he’d found me. “How’s this?”
I w
as smiling so hard it hurt to talk. “Good!”
He aimed at the gaggle of geese and snapped the image, then carefully handed me the camera, almost as if he’d been afraid he’d accidentally break it. The camera probably did cost more than he made in a month, but I pushed that reality aside.
We were shoulder to shoulder when I turned the knob and peeled apart the paper.
His expression was nothing short of awe. “You know I’ll never be able to give you nice things like this. That’s why your dad thinks you can do better, and maybe he’s right.”
I wasn’t naive. Money was important, but I could help take care of myself. “I’ve been given a lot of nice gifts in my life, but you give me something no one—not even my own father—does.”
“What’s that?” We were almost nose to nose.
“Hope. You make me believe in my dreams without making me feel peculiar for not wanting what everyone else thinks I should want.”
“I like your spunk.” He held my hand again. “I like you.”
“I like you, too. A lot.”
My breath was heavy, whooshing in and out of my lungs. This is it. We’re going to kiss. I could feel it as we stared into each other’s eyes, my heart racking my ribs. Everything was buzzing, in my head and all around me. When I closed my eyes and craned my neck, his lips softly brushed mine. I made a little noise just before his hands cupped my face.
Billy ran his tongue along the seam of my lips. I gasped but let it inside. The warm, wet stroke of his tongue against mine was so overwhelmingly sweet that my knees went soft. He held me up, but then set me apart, stopping everything before it got more heated.
I was somewhat bereft at the suddenness of his withdrawal.
“I need to get to work.” His eyes were soft and glowing like amber. “When can I see you again?”
“Soon. I’ll call you, and we’ll figure something out. Another ‘babysitting’ job for Angie?”
“Or I could come over and give it my best shot with your parents. There has to be some way to earn their trust.” Billy’s face radiated confidence that I didn’t have the heart to dash.
