All I'll Ever Need

by Mildred Riley

  INDIGO LOVE SPECTRUM

  An imprint of Genesis Press, Inc.

  Publishing Company

  Genesis Press, Inc.

  P.O. Box 101

  Columbus, MS 39703

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, not known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission of the publisher, Genesis Press, Inc. For information write Genesis Press, Inc., P.O. Box 101, Columbus, MS 39703.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

  Copyright © 2009 Mildred Riley

  ISBN-13: 978-1-58571-496-4

  ISBN-10: 1-58571-496-8

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Visit us at www.genesis-press.com

  or call at 1-888-Indigo-1-4-0

  DEDICATION

  To Leticia Peoples—mentor and friend.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to my family and friends, whose love and support have always been there for me.

  PROLOGUE

  During their three-year marriage, they had been down this same road too many times to count. Each time the confrontation had ended with Elyse Marshall deferring to her husband’s wishes. It had been the same with her mother. Theirs was not a typically warm mother-daughter relationship. Many times during her adolescent years she had endured scoldings, harangues, advice, dire warnings, so many that she learned to turn off her ears, answer “Yes, Mother,” and distance herself from the source.

  There was the time she was reprimanded for allowing James Rhodes, a junior classmate in high school, to walk home with her. As they sat on the front steps, talking about school, Elyse heard the front door open. She turned, saw the anger on her mother’s face.

  “Get in this house right this minute, young lady!”

  With a wave of her hand to the startled James, she obeyed her mother, whose face flushed as she yanked her daughter over the threshold and into the house.

  “What’s wrong with you, bringing that boy to our home? Don’t you know who he is?”

  “He’s in my high school class . . . moved here . . .”

  “I know all about him! He’s the kid whose father just went to prison for beating his wife so badly she’s in a coma! What’s wrong with you, child? Don’t you have the sense God gave you? I’m not raising you to mess around with trash like that!”

  Her mother had continued to push her towards perfection. “Remember you’ve got to measure up to the high standards of this family!”

  The words echoed even now in Elyse’s mind. Even her MBA from Harvard and her thriving book and gift shop received scant approval from her mother. Elyse’s marriage to Barry was marginally accepted.

  “He just works in a drugstore,” Elyse heard her mother tell a friend over the phone. The fact that Barry had a degree in pharmacy and was a registered pharmacist did not impress the woman.

  Another bitter memory rose up in her mind. She was fifteen, a sophomore in high school. She had been so happy, excited because her new jeans fit perfectly. But when she went into the kitchen to breakfast, her mother took one look at her.

  “Oh, no,” her mother had said. “You are not wearing those overalls to school!”

  “Why not?” Elyse had protested. “Everyone’s wearing them, and they are not overalls, they’re jeans!”

  “I don’t care what you call them, you’re not leaving this house dressed like a farmhand! I won’t have it. Now you go right back upstairs and put on that plaid wool skirt I bought you from Filene’s!”

  The remembered scene made Elyse’s face flush all over again as she relived running up the stairs to her room, desperately flinging hot tears from her eyes. Her broken sobs made her gasp for breath.

  She nearly collided with her father coming out of the bathroom, a white towel draped around his neck.

  “Hey, hey, Leese, what’s wrong?” He swiped at his damp chin with a corner of the towel. “Why are you crying? Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Mom. She says I have to change . . . can’t wear my new jeans to school,” she sobbed into her father’s chest as he held her close.

  “And, and,” her voice elevated to a thin pitch, “I bought them with my own money, too! She says I have to wear a plaid skirt. And, Dad, everyone is wearing jeans! I don’t want to look different! Mom never lets me do anything I want to do! Why, Dad?”

  Jerome Joyce took a folded handkerchief from his trouser pocket and tried to wipe the tears from his daughter’s eyes. He led her to her room and together they sat on her bed. “Listen, hon.” He still had his arm around her shaking shoulders. “Your mother loves you . . . wants only the best for you, you know that.”

  “But, Dad, I never do anything right for her. Never!”

  “Today you can,” he told her. “Go ahead and change. It won’t hurt you to please your mother. Put on the skirt and I’ll drive you to school. The bus has come and gone, but I’ll get you there before the first bell.”

  Jerome Joyce knew the time had come when he had to explain certain facts to Elyse . . . about her mother’s bleak childhood.

  He was a CPA, with an office on Blue Hill Avenue in Mattapan Square. It was only a few miles from their home, and his daughter’s high school was halfway between the two locations.

  A large man, well over six feet, with a tendency toward a roundness in his build, he tried to keep his weight in check by taking walks at noon around the square. His straight nose flared slightly at the tip, indicating his African-American heritage. He had smooth skin, walnut-brown coloring and dark brown eyes beneath well-shaped eyebrows. On meeting him, people often remarked that he resembled Colin Powell, the soldier-statesman, a comment that he would accept with a modest smile.

  Frances Joyce had married Jerome shortly after his return from Vietnam. With the GI Bill, he’d earned a degree in accounting and passed the difficult examination to become a certified public accountant. As a CPA he was able to open his own office. Over the years his business had done so well, he added to his staff. It was not long before the young family bought a house in Milton, one of Boston’s most affluent areas.

  Frances had just graduated from nursing school and worked as a private duty nurse at many of the city’s major hospitals. When she married Jerome she knew she was doing the right thing. She visualized a life much different from the grim life that had been ahead for her at Orchard Park.

  For his part, Jerome was fascinated by the feisty, attractive young nurse. He had met her at the social that St. Barnabas Episcopal Church held weekly for the youthful parishioners. Although petite, Frances Joyce was strong and healthy. Later, her husband would remark to his friends, “Frances may be small, but believe me, she’s as strong as an ox. Should see how she can carry our daughter on one hip, and with groceries loaded in the baby’s stroller, haul everything into the house in one trip!”

  This day it was Jerome’s hope that somehow during the short drive to the school he could help Elyse understand her mother. As soon as Elyse was settled in the car, her seatbelt secured, her book bag in her lap, he started out of the driveway of their home.

  Jerome took a quick glance at his daughter as he waited for the morning traffic to allow him access into the street. He saw her twist and clench the damp tissue in her hands. He handed her a fresh one from the console. He wondered what she was thinking.

  Her
anger towards her mother likely still bubbled up in her mind. At fifteen she just knew she could make up her own mind. Since it was her life, she thought she could do what she wanted. He knew her rebellious nature was a vital part of her growth and development. He had to accept that reality.

  He cleared his throat, got his daughter’s attention. She looked over at him.

  “I want you to know, Leese,” he said, “your mother is a wonderful woman who loves you with her whole heart. Would give her life for you. She wants only the best for you. And you have to understand something. Your mother, well, she didn’t have a mother. I believe from what she’s told me her mother died when she was three.

  She barely remembers her. Vaguely recalls being lifted up to see her dead mother’s body in a casket.”

  He glanced over at his daughter, saw a softening of her face. He continued to talk.

  “After her mother’s death, it wasn’t long before her father, left with four children, married a widow with three little girls. Frances told me that from the time she had a stepmother and three stepsisters, her life was pure torment. Like the fabled Cinderella’s. Her stepmother always told her, she said, ‘You’re not goin’ ‘mount to anything. Earn you livin’ on your back.’ Meaning as a streetwalker. Frances told me that she vowed to make a liar out of the mean, dreadful woman.”

  There was silence in the car. They were almost at the school. Jerome realized that Elyse had been stunned by his words. He knew she was not comfortable with what he had just revealed to her, but he sensed that she was receptive and that was what he wanted.

  “So, if Mom isn’t always hugging and kissing you, it’s not because she doesn’t love you. It’s because she never had a mother to demonstrate affection in her life. But, dear daughter of mine, hear me when I tell you that I fell in love with the most wonderful, strong woman who brought into my life the essence, the love, that makes me whole, brings me peace and fulfillment. And my fondest hope is that someday you will find a love like that.”

  Her father pulled into the school parking lot. He placed the car in park and leaned over to kiss her goodbye.

  “Bye, Dad,” she said as she threw her book bag over her shoulder. She ran up the stairs into the building, thinking about what her father had told her. She felt quite ambivalent about her situation. Who am I, anyway? she thought. Do I always have to please her? When can I do what I want?

  So, for the past fifteen, sixteen years, she had followed her own path from high school to college graduate school at Harvard. But today that memory forced her to wonder why she had fallen in love with a man whose impoverished, loveless childhood had been so like her mother’s. In Barry’s case it was the lack of the father he never knew. He had been raised by a single mother who tried to meet her only child’s needs.

  But Elyse loved him. There had been other young men, one she came close to marrying until Barry Marshall came into her life with such an air of self-confidence and strength that she found herself drawn to him. And then later, when he began calling her his queen, “Queen Leesy,” it made her feel as if she were the most important woman in the world. She fell hopelessly in love with him. He never left her side without saying, “Love ya.” She knew that was true, but why did he stall when he knew that her happiness would not be complete until they started a family?

  She decided to broach the subject one more time.

  Standing in front of his dresser as he adjusted his tie (they were due at the realtor’s office in twenty minutes), Barry heard the angst in his wife’s voice as she expressed her concern.

  “Barry . . .”

  “Yes, hon, what’s up?”

  “Barry, you do know that my biological clock is ticking, slowing down, possibly . . .”

  “Oh, babe, of course I know. But not to worry. We’re going to do just fine! We’ll start that project just as soon as our house is built. I promised you happy days when we got married and I intend to live up to that promise. I want our child as much as you do. Family means a lot to me.”

  He shrugged into his sports jacket and turned from the mirror to face her.

  “I intend to give you nothing but the best. A beautiful home and a wonderful family of our own.” He flashed his warm smile at her.

  She sighed deeply when he pulled her close and kissed her. She knew his background made him reluctant to start a family, but she longed for a baby, knew she would not feel complete until . . . She moved away from her husband to put on her makeup.

  “My mother did all she could,” he had explained to her early on when they first started dating, “but she could never scrabble enough money together to buy us a house. All my life that’s been my goal, to own a home. Sadly, Mom’s gone now, and I can’t give her . . .”

  “I understand,” Elyse had said, but she didn’t, not really. That was then, this is now, she thought. Now he’s my husband.

  She turned back from her vanity table and watched her husband, who was slipping his feet into a pair of dark brown boat shoes. He looked up at her. “Are you almost ready? Promised the real estate agent we’d be at her office at ten.”

  “Yes, I’m ready, but, please, Barry, think seriously about my ticking clock. It will be another year before we can move into our new home and then if I do become pregnant, another nine months . . .”

  “Oh, Leesy,” he interrupted her, “we are going to have it all! Trust me. I haven’t let you down thus far, have I?”

  “And I’m holding you to your word, husband mine. And don’t you forget it!”

  She tried to keep her tone of voice light and cheerful because she was deeply in love with this man. He was her future. She knew that he loved her. She linked her arm in his and they walked to the car. His car, really. His beloved 1996 Volvo, the first purchase he had made as a registered pharmacist. Although not new, with tuition bills still to pay, it was all he could afford for now.

  * * *

  They found a cool, serene atmosphere when they walked into the realtor’s office. Carla Gentry was a middle-aged woman of color whose frosty white hair framed her warm, unlined face, and whose firm yet soft handshake put Elyse at ease.

  “Please come in, both of you. It’s great to see you, and I have all the documents ready for you to sign.”

  “We’re very excited. Right, Elyse?”

  “Can hardly wait,” Elyse said. “It’s an exciting start for our future,” she told the real estate agent who placed a large folder on the center of her desk as she sat down.

  “You know that I wish you both all the luck in the world, and if ever I can be of assistance to you, please just let me know.”

  “We most certainly will,” Barry said.

  “Thank you very much,” Elyse added, hoping the agent realized that she was an equal partner in this negotiation. She had made up her mind. This purchase of land for a house was not going to be the only change coming into their lives. One of the reasons she loved Barry was his singular determination. He chose a path to follow, always the right one so far except for the baby . . . why wasn’t he more agreeable to that idea? It could not be money. Her book and gift shop was doing well, and he had a great job as a pharmacist. Well, okay, he’d wanted to be a doctor, but hadn’t had the money. That’s why he’d joined the National Guard. The promised stipend would help.

  She always knew, too, that her husband saw the anxiety she was experiencing whenever they made love, knowing how much she wished to become pregnant. He did not discount her determination.

  “You wouldn’t pull a fast one on me and forget your diaphragm, would you, Leesy?” he asked her one evening as they were preparing for bed.

  “Of course not! What kind of a woman do you think I am?” she bristled. “I want to have our child. And more than that, I want you to want it, too. It’s extremely important to me that we’re in this marriage together.”

  “Honey, of course we are, and I intend to be the best father in the world.”

  Elyse did not answer him, remembering something her mother had said ab
out “two strong-willed people butting heads and making trouble.” But there had to be a compromise. She was not willing to give up on their marriage.

  The change came sooner than either of them had expected.

  * * *

  Barry Marshall knew that he could no longer delay telling his wife about the dreadful news that would so drastically alter their lives. Jay Collins, his best friend and lawyer, had put it quite simply.

  “Man! This is going to mess up your future big time. You know that?”

  “Of course I know it, but I never thought it would come to this. I mean, I joined mainly for the benefits, school tuition and such. Knew I could be called to active duty, but overseas in a war? Iraq?”

  “You never gave up on the idea of med school?”

  “No, it was always my dream. Thought pharmacology would be satisfying, but it has only made me want a career in medicine even more. The tuition from the Guard would help me do that.”

  Barry and Jay were almost like brothers. In fact, people often thought they were. Both were tall, with slim, muscular bodies, perhaps because they had participated in track and field in high school and college.

  Barry had run the 440 relays, and Jay had won honors in the high jump. Both had reddish-brown skin tones and each had dark brown hair, close cropped.

  Although much alike in physical appearance, their personal lives were very different. Jay was the last of six brothers, and as he told Barry many times, “Bro, I had to fight my way out of everything! My brothers wouldn’t give me an inch!”

  “That’s why you’re such a good lawyer.”

  On the other hand, Barry had no siblings. He had been raised by a single mother.

  When they said their goodbyes that day at Jay’s office, Jay had promised to help Elyse in any way, should she need him.

  It was a tense moment. Jay clasped his arms around his friend. His voice was choked with emotion. He could barely get his next words past his lips.

  “Take care, man. Be safe, and come home soon.”

  “Will do, God willing,” Barry said, his own voice husky with restrained tension.