“She made the choice to climb that rock, Seth. You didn’t make it for her.”
“She was scared,” he said. “I told her I wasn’t going to let her leave unless she called you. Nobody was in a position to drive. And there wasn’t any cell service.”
Abigail said, “Emily told me the story, Seth. I understand how it happened.”
“She was afraid to go up. I told her I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. I pushed her to do it.”
“You pushed her in good ways, too, Seth. You encouraged her about this piece of art. You were a good friend to her over the years. You were trying to protect her. I want you to remember the good things you did for my daughter, too. I don’t want you to forget that.”
Seth stood with his feet planted wide in the middle of the yard, grasping Laura’s statue.
Ben bounced the basketball a couple of times and then gripped it with both hands. “Can I see it?”
But Seth ignored Ben. He was watching Abigail traipse back to her car. She had her hand on the door handle when he said, “I don’t get why you wanted to do this.”
“Take care of yourself, Seth.” Abigail shot him a sad smile. “Someday you’ll understand.”
If Hilary tried to pick one short sentence to describe Chicago, she’d say, This is a city where people read. Everywhere she went, she saw people with their noses buried in books. When you rode the L, everyone was either thumbing through magazines or peering intently into the pages of a novel. Along the Noble Square balconies with their arrangements of plastic furniture and roses in pots, people were creasing and pleating their newspapers, perusing the headlines. Here in Wicker Park, where there was the field house and a spray park for the kids and even the chance to dash through the fanciful cut-granite fountain, everyone had a bedsheet spread out on the grass and they were reading. Everybody had a book open.
Hilary was sitting at the cement table alone, waiting for John Mulligan. She was terrified John was going to come around the corner and give her more daunting trial-lawyer news that was too dire to be relayed over the telephone, something so critical that it had to be shared in person.
But when John stepped around the corner this time, his sleeves were rolled up, his arms were bare except for his watchband, and he was whistling. He was carrying two of those bullet-shaped red, white, and blue Popsicles.
“Here.” He handed Hilary one. “You like these things?”
“What’s wrong, John?” she asked. “What’s so important that you needed to see me again?”
Two little girls went Rollerblading past them on the sidewalk. One was a pro and the other tried to keep up without having a wipeout. Hilary honestly wanted to follow the little girl with her arms out just in case.
“What’s so important?” To John’s credit, he seemed bewildered. “Oh. Did you think I needed to see you because of something about the case?”
Hilary nodded.
“Did I give you that impression? That this is because of the case?”
The Popsicle Hilary was holding was called a Firecracker. It reminded her of the third grade when they’d buy them in the school lunchroom and then laugh at one another when their tongues turned blue.
“You did.”
“Nothing’s important. Except that you’re here. That’s important. At least, it is to me.”
Hilary’s jitters started to disappear.
Oh.
Oh, I see.
Well, then.
His words evoked a twinge of surprising warmth in her. She leaned back and propped her chin on the heel of one palm.
“Did you know that some kid invented these things when he was eleven?” John’s attention returned to the frozen treat he was wielding in one hand. “Kid stuck a stir stick inside a fruit soda and left it outside. He found it later, broke open the bottle, and voilà.”
Hilary peeled the paper away from hers and bit into it. Then she leaned on her hand to watch John Mulligan. He straddled the seat beside her and waved at a cop who was cycling past. “A friend of my son’s,” John said, smiling. “You just watch. Give it twenty minutes; every cop in this precinct will meet at the fountain for lunch. You can always find them here if you need them.”
“Thanks for the Popsicle,” Hilary said, running the stick across her tongue, loving the smooth feel of it.
“They either meet here or they meet at that place around the corner with salads and chess tables. They go in there and play chess whenever it’s raining. Do you like to play chess? I could take you there sometime.”
Hilary asked, “Do they have black coffee?”
John laid his Popsicle stick on the cement table beside Hilary’s. “I believe so. Or, if they don’t, I’d find a way to get them to make some for you.”
“So.” Hilary smiled. At last. A chance to employ the master skills she’d developed from listening to the hordes of boys who’d frequented her living room. “If we visit this place, this chess place?”
“Yes?”
“Are we just hanging out together? Or are you asking me on a date?”
John threw his head back in a hearty laugh that Hilary liked. How long had it been since she’d been able to laugh like that?
“Did anyone ever tell you that you ought to be a lawyer? You do know the right questions to ask.”
Hilary didn’t let him distract her. She propped her elbows on the table. “Well?” she said, enjoying teasing him. “I don’t go for false pretenses.”
John picked up his Popsicle stick and pointed it at her. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to make it a date.”
The ladies piled inside Spilling the Beans on a September morning and removed their sunglasses, shoved aside their windblown hair. Their eyes adjusted and (how could it be?) there were others chatting in their very private corner booth against the window. Didn’t they know it was Tuesday? Didn’t they know they were sitting in someone’s seats?
They stood looking at one another, not knowing where to turn. They just sort of milled around for a few beats at the door, waiting for someone to take charge. Maybe they expected Gina to march across the room, place her hands on her hips, and let everyone know that this group of best friends had arrived. They were nurses or accountants or stay-at-home moms. Some had gone through their kids’ graduations; some were newly divorced; one had a child in third grade. Some were Christians. A few weren’t. There had been times the group had swelled in numbers, times those numbers had waned. They’d supported one another for two and a half decades, over coffee at Spilling the Beans.
“You’re in our spot, you’re not aware,” Gina might have complained in one of her classic quips, “said the table to the chair.” But that wasn’t what Gina did at all. She headed toward the cash register and ordered a chocolate mocha latte.
With the ebbing of spring into summer, Gina had been taking some time off from the hospital. She’d told all of them she wanted to give herself a seasonal makeover. She and her husband, Herb, had gone on a trip to a five-star resort in Branson. She’d been straightening her hair and carrying a metallic satchel bag that she’d found at Bess & Loie. She looked about ten years younger since she and Herb made that trip. And she picked a completely different table, one in the dead center of the shop. It seemed they had a new location today. Which Hilary guessed meant that they had a whole new view of things.
Hilary made her way through the line, and while everyone else waited for steamed milk, shots of espresso, streams of spicy flavoring, she gripped her cup of black coffee between two hands and stared at herself in the reflection. Even as they shuffled through the line, Hilary’s empty-nest friends had their heads together, whispering. “That’s a great idea,” Fay was saying beneath her breath. “We can use my house. We’ll make cookies and everyone can bring things to put inside care packages and it’ll be a huge assembly line.”
Julie added, “We’ll do it next month after your kids all leave home. We’ll all do it. No matter if we have college freshmen or not. All your kids will get care pa
ckages at the same time.”
Hilary saw Julie clamp her mouth tight when Hilary approached. Hilary didn’t blame her friends for changing the subject whenever she joined the group. She knew they were trying hard to keep from reigniting the pain for her.
So you’ve been grieving all this time because your son was leaving for college, how is it that you can also grieve because your son isn’t going to go yet?
“I’ll be there to help,” Hilary said.
Fay jumped in. “Oh, Hilary. I’m so sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, let me tell you!” Hilary couldn’t keep her newfound confidence from shining through.
“Really?” Fay asked. “What are Seth’s plans, Hil? What has he decided to do?”
Each time the door to Spilling the Beans swung open, new customers spilled in and joined the line. The proprietor had set wrought-iron seats and umbrellas outside where members of the crowd could return to sip their coffee blends. The colors on the umbrellas in the sunlight seemed to be throbbing.
“He’ll stay home this first semester,” Hilary said. “It was too late to apply anywhere else since he decided against Emhurst.”
“Oh, honey,” Gina said. “Are you okay with that?”
“I’m okay with whatever Seth is okay with,” Hilary said. “He’s applied for a paid position working with the kids at Clissold House this fall.” The Clissold House was the center where Seth had completed his community service for the MUI, a center where he’d mentored at-risk middle schoolers. Seth had told his mom that he could get the kids to really talk to him when they were out on the court shooting hoops, their feet dancing across the pavement, their shirts soaked with sweat. He came home every night exhausted, and feeling he’d accomplished something.
Kim asked, “So he decided against Emhurst?”
“He did.” Hilary’s voice held steady. She felt certain of their future now, although it looked different than she’d once imagined. “Emhurst was too expensive without the scholarship. That’s what started us talking about it. And it turned out that Seth had never really been sure of that school anyway. He’d agreed to it because he thought it would satisfy me.”
“Oh, Hil,” Donna said.
“He’s been accepted to the University of Illinois for the spring semester. Pam and Eric are helping him with tuition. He’s filled out the FAFSA to see if he’s eligible for any grants or subsidized student loans.”
Fay touched her hand. “Honey, that’s so great.”
“He’ll have some catching up to do. He and Remy will be rooming together. And next year maybe they’ll find an apartment.”
“That sounds terrifying,” Julie said.
“It is terrifying,” Hilary agreed. “But I’m fine with it. We’ll see how well they do. Whatever happens, they’ll learn from it.”
“This is the party we’re going to talk about,” Gina said. She was carrying a lemon bar with a lit candle stuck in the center of it. She set the plate in front of Julie while the crowd of coffee drinkers, including the ones in their corner booth, launched into a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Of course the part of the song where everyone sings the name was left blank because nobody knew her name except for her friends.
“It’s Julie!” Fay shouted to everyone. “Her name is Julie.”
Which made the people in the next booth sing it again. “Happy Birthday, dear Jooo-lie.”
Hilary would still have a difficult good-bye with her son when the time came. But it would be so different now than it would have been before. This schedule seemed right; it would give Seth time to heal. He’d have time for more sessions with his therapist. And whenever Seth needed to blow off steam or when he wanted to have one of his talking binges, Hilary would be there to listen. Who, except the Lord, knew where each day was going to take them? Show me, Father, when I can love my son most by getting involved. Show me when I can love him most by standing back.
In the morning, when Hilary worshipped, her heart touched on truth, that this pain of letting her son go could give her a hint, a finger touch, as if she were trying out the pain of a bruise, of what it must have been like for God to let Jesus come to earth. And yet…his love for us. His willingness to allow Jesus scorn, pain, separation.
Sometimes at night, when no one could see or hear her, Hilary still cried. Those were the times when the only prayer she could choke out was an exhausted, Help. Oh, help. Please help us. And every time, her Heavenly Father proved that he would.
Seth had found Hilary a few hours ago while she’d been wrapping Julie’s birthday present. She had mitered the corners, taped the flaps on each end, and stretched the yarn lengthwise to make sure the bow would come out even. She was right in the middle of tying the first loop, pulling it taut, when Seth’s finger landed on the yarn to keep it from slipping.
Hilary had pulled the knot tight and Seth had yanked his finger out just in time. He smiled and asked, “You okay, Mom?”
Hilary considered her answer. “Yes. I’m okay.”
“You know,” he said as he settled into the bed pillows to talk. “I’ve got to thank you for something.”
Hilary had been rummaging in the drawer to find a pen to sign Julie’s card. She lifted her eyes to his.
“You’re the coolest mom.”
“Me?” Hilary asked, feigning surprise. “You’re talking about me?”
“Mom. Quit joking around. I’m serious. You know you’re cool. All my friends tell you that.”
“Is that what you’re thanking me for?”
“No.”
“Well, what then?”
“I’m thanking you for the way you look at me.”
Hilary narrowed her eyes at him, confused.
“It’s been different lately.”
“How so?”
“You look at me like I’m your son. But you also look like I’m a grown-up who has to take care of myself. Like you trust me enough that your emotions aren’t riding on me all the time.”
Hilary shot him a little salute. “For noticing how I’m making progress I give you my thanks.”
“It’s like I don’t have to be the one to make life come out all right for you anymore.”
And Hilary couldn’t help thinking, This is what comes in the end, isn’t it? Because, before, her prayers had only been the night prayers: Help me get through this, God. Show me how to handle what comes tomorrow. And now she had the morning prayers, too. Oh, Father. I couldn’t have done this alone. Oh, Father. Thank you for changing me.
Not long after Seth and Hilary took their voyage on the four-masted topsail schooner, he started bugging Hilary for another trip. Only this time he wanted to go when his father had flown into town. He wanted to show Ben how to trim the sails. He wanted to hold Lily and help her take a turn at the wheel. Which meant he also wanted Pam to stand on the deck during the voyage, he wanted her to feel the sails being silently pushed by the wind. He wanted Eric’s other wife to stand in this place where Hilary first began to find so much peace.
So, on a blustery fall day after they’d convinced the entire Wynn family to return to Chicago and visit them again, on a day after most of the senior class had departed and Seth’s part-time job was under way, the entire family boarded the boat. Pam had signed the kids up for an educational program, which included their captain giving ten-minute talks on maritime history, sailing, maritime arts, physics, navigation, and seamanship.
“Mom,” Seth teased Hilary. “How come I never got to do anything like this for school?”
Hilary swatted him on the behind with her sweater. “You got to do plenty of cool things in school. Don’t rile me up.”
Overhead, the sails were beginning to unfurl. Eric stood on the starboard side, watching Chicago slip past. They all held their breath as they stared up at the masts, watching while wind inflated the sails. Once the sails were set, the engine was turned off. Silence, all was beautiful silence, as the prow sliced through th
e water and their course was chosen.
Seth lifted Lily and she gripped the wheel with tiny, knobby fists. “I’m driving!” she shrieked. “I’m making us go where I want us to go!”
Hilary’s son kissed Lily on the top of the head. “That’s what you think, munchkin.”
Ben craned his neck and peered straight up through the riggings at the flags while the captain explained to him what each of them meant. Eric turned to Hilary and smiled. She knew what he was thinking. He was thinking how, here they were, the entire Wynn family, the first wife and the second, all these kids, crashing forward through the waves of Lake Michigan, with their faces turned into the wind.
When Hilary looked for Pam, she found her at the bow of the boat, looking straight out over the open water. The spray was splashing toward her. She was getting wet, but she wasn’t flailing or backing away. She was letting it soak her. She was wearing maternity jeans with a placket of stretch knit at the front. And the knit was stretching. Her pregnancy was starting to show. Lake water glistened on her neck.
After Hilary joined her Pam said, “I wish this could last forever.” And Hilary was thinking, Maybe it will, Pam. Maybe it will.
Hilary reached across the gap between them and took her hand.
Author’s Note
For a long time, I’ve been intrigued by the story of Hannah in the Bible. The account of Hannah’s life, as she aches to have a baby, as her husband’s other wife constantly reminds her that she isn’t good enough, is often overshadowed by the stories of her son. God had bigger plans for Hannah than the woman who provoked her. When at last Hannah gave birth to a child, a boy named Samuel, she handed him over to God. Samuel became one of the greatest prophets ever to lead Israel.
My favorite part is how Hannah’s circumstances don’t change, but she changes. Hannah must learn to trust God before he changes the situation around her. She finds her peace before she sees any evidence that her family relationships might get any easier. Hilary needs to learn the same lesson that Hannah did. Having Hilary go through feelings of shame, of not being a good mom, of having to prove herself to another woman who is constantly judging her, seemed a good way to parallel the two women’s lives. This is how His Other Wife was born.
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