by Brenda Hill
“Give me one good reason why not.”
“I can’t take your money.”
“Sure you can. If it’s your conscience bothering you, marry me. That way I can take it out in trade.” He grinned in that lecherous way that melted my heart. “When you return, we can make our plans. As soon as my divorce is final, we’ll be married. We’ll travel and you won’t ever have to worry about money again.”
I was going to Shanna’s! I gave Terry a quick kiss, scrambled off his lap, and ran to the bedroom closet to pull out my suitcase. What clothes should I take? I’d only be there a few days, just until I made sure Shanna was okay. And when I could see to my satisfaction that she was doing well, I’d tell her about her father and her half-brother. I wasn’t sure yet what I’d tell her about her aunt and uncle. Even though I’d love the satisfaction of ripping away any affection Shanna might feel for Stan and Maggie, I didn’t want her to lose her aunt and uncle. I’d just have to tell her the entire story and let her make her own decisions. What a relief to finally have it all in the open.
I heard Terry on the phone with the airlines and smiled. He took such good care of me. I couldn’t remember when I had felt this good. When I returned home, we’d move in together, and when his divorce was final, we’d...We’d what?
Just after I closed the suitcase and picked it up, I thought about what Terry had said. Marriage? Travel? He was going to take care of me? Wasn’t that how I’d felt when I married Mac? What about my new-found sense of independence? Was I ready to give that up before I even had time to fully experience it?
Still clutching my suitcase, I sank onto the bed, knowing I couldn’t do it. Not right now. Terry’s plans sounded wonderful, and I felt sure some time in the future I might want to do all those things. But now wasn’t the time. I was still learning about myself. If I ever married again, I had to feel I was a full partner, not someone who needed to be taken care of. And I had to know the timing was right.
After placing the suitcase back on the bed, I walked back into the kitchen and caught Terry’s eye.
“Just a moment, he said into the phone. “The next flight leaves in an hour, but we can’t make that one, so there’s a red-eye in four hours. That’ll give us time to—”
“Put down the phone, Terry. I can’t go.”
He stared at me, mumbled something into the phone, then hung up. “Why, Lisa? I don’t understand.”
“I’ll try to explain.” I slid onto a kitchen chair. “When I was a child, my mother and step-father governed my life and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Then, when Mac offered a stable life, I was grateful. When I started feeling dissatisfaction, Mac wouldn’t talk about it so I thought it was me. I didn’t want to upset everything so I reverted back to my childhood and stopped feeling, but the only way I could make life bearable was to make sure everything was perfect. Everything had to be perfect, you see, because then I would be acceptable. And safe. But in trying to make everything perfect, I pushed my husband and daughter away.”
“Your husband was an ass.”
I leaned over to kiss Terry.
“Yes, in some ways,” I said. “But I allowed it by closing down instead of fighting back. With you, I’m learning, for the first time in my life, who I really am. I’m discovering that perhaps I am a different person.”
“Just don’t get too different. I happen to like you just the way you are.”
I settled on his lap. “That’s wonderful, but I’m still in the process of discovering me. I’m forty-four years old and just now discovering what I like, even what I really think. Until I get to know that person a little better, I don’t want to lean on you or anyone else.”
“Can I still be in your life while you’re discovering you?”
I gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll gladly share my life with you, but I can’t let you govern it.”
“I’m not sure I understand what that has to do with lending you money, but I’ll go along.”
“Whatever it means, I need to be my own person and find my own way, emotionally and financially.”
“Okay, person. What are you going to do about your daughter?”
“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I told him. “I just wish that being independent wasn’t so damn hard.”
***
At midnight, I was pacing the house. What could I do about Shanna? I hadn’t wanted to burden her about everything that had happened since Mac died. Losing her father had been terrible enough. And now, because of her medical condition, I didn’t want to risk a shouting match on the phone and upset her further.
But now she thought I was sleeping around after her father’s death, and worse, that I preferred being with a man rather than going to comfort her.
I had thought the exact same thing as a child.
The similarity hit me so violently that my legs gave way and I sank into the nearest chair, thoughts, scenes of the past whirling through my mind so fast that I felt dizzy. I saw Mom standing by as my stepfather made more of his cutting remarks, making sure I knew how lowly I was, how insignificant my life was in the important issues of the day, such as making sure his brand new suit was pressed just so, spending money on his suits and ties and French cufflinks when neither Mom nor I had a decent outfit to wear.
For years, Mom proudly kept a snapshot of my stepfather and me when I was fourteen, taken in front of the old sofa she and I had scrounged from Salvation Army. There he was, looking all dapper in new suit and tie, and I was dressed in cutoffs and a threadbare tee-shirt. It wasn’t threadbare because I’d wanted it that way. Couldn’t Mom see?
When I needed something for school, I had to work for it because there was never any extra money, but when my stepfather wanted new cufflinks, she always found money for him.
How many times had I longed for her to say something to my stepfather when he harangued me for something, and how many times had she avoided my eyes. Most of the time she simply looked away or left the room. I’d felt abandoned.
Was I doing the same thing to Shanna? Had I made her feel insignificant in my life? If so, I had a lot of correcting to do.
I’d call her first thing in the morning, but even now I knew it would be difficult. The last few times we’d talked had turned ugly, and what I needed to tell her was too important to chance her hanging up. Almost running to the computer, I logged on and began a letter, consumed by the need to set things right.
I knew my daughter, knew that if I could phrase the letter in the right way, she would take it in and, although she’d be surprised and perhaps a little shocked, she could absorb what I had to say without becoming overly upset. It was the verbal confrontation we had to avoid, a confrontation in which she was certain to listen only to part of what I had to say before yielding to the ever-present temptation to blame me for everything.
For once, I would be completely honest and tell her about the problems in my marriage, and though I dreaded telling her about her father’s secret life, she needed to know she had a half-brother. The words seemed to pour out, but I tried to temper them, to be as even-handed as I could be. I didn’t want to alienate her by blaming her father or even her aunt and uncle. But I told her of my shock when I discovered Stan and Maggie had known all along. I wound up by telling her all of the ugly details of my finances, at the same time assuring her that there was nothing here that I couldn’t deal with. But that I had to deal with it now.
Why was it so easy to say on paper what I couldn't tell her face to face?
Now I needed to tell her about Terry.
How could I tell my daughter that I was in love for the first time in my life? I had loved her father as much as I could under the circumstances, but Terry’s love and acceptance had triggered an emotional journey into my self-discovery as a woman. And I was still learning.
I also wrote that because of my financial situation, I’d prefer to wait to visit until the birth of her child, but if she continued to bleed, or if it progressed, to let me know. I’d be there in a matter of hou
rs. Most importantly, I told her how much I loved her, and how much she, Kyle and Leif, meant to me.
When I finished the letter, I almost sent it as an email attachment, but hesitated. If, by any chance the Internet server went down, the letter could be lost. No, I didn’t want to risk it. Even though it would take longer, I’d take it to the post office and send it priority mail.
After a sleepless night, I slipped out of the house before Terry woke, made the trip to the post office, and sent the letter. About three days, they said, then she’d have it.
Walking back to my car, I felt a curious sense of irony. It had been here where I’d discovered my husband had betrayed me and it was here where I was desperately trying to let my daughter know I wasn’t betraying her.
I could only hope she’d read it and understand.
Now I could only wait for her response.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Over the next few days, Terry brought clothes and some personal items to my condo and we were settling into a form of domesticity. While I loved having him there, I wasn’t ready to officially commit to another marriage. Not yet.
He stocked the house with groceries and wanted to shop and pay for a new sofa. I didn’t think it was fair for him to purchase a piece of furniture for my home, but he protested.
“After all, I’m here most of the time,” he said, “and I like to stretch out and relax.”
Knowing how cramped he felt in my small wing chairs, I relented, suggesting we compare prices at the discount stores. He had other ideas.
“How about Homestead House? Or who around here carries FlexSteel? Their furniture is comfortable and will last far longer than we will.”
I checked the computer, and after a short jaunt on the freeway, we were browsing the showroom. We picked out a soft material, similar to corduroy, with muted gold and maroon tones and a touch of green. I loved it. My hunter green wing chairs would match perfectly, and, it was entirely different from the one I’d had before. Terry paid for expedited delivery, so by that evening, the new three-cushion sofa sat in my living room.
While I’d loved playing house with Terry, I had to get back to work. The next morning I dressed in a pantsuit, but this time, instead of picking out my small realtor pin, I fastened one of my sparkly crystal brooches to my lapel, then stood back and admired the flash. There. If anyone didn’t like it, that was too bad. I liked it.
When I walked into the kitchen, Terry was taking an English muffin from the toaster.
“Wow!” he said, splitting his muffin and slathering each half with butter and peanut butter. “You look gorgeous. Going somewhere?”
“Work.” I poured cream into my coffee and eyed his muffin. When he went to the fridge to get the orange juice, I swiped half of his muffin, gobbling it down like a guilty child. I felt ridiculously pleased with myself, and when he saw his half-empty plate, I laughed at the expression on his face.
“Good God, I’m hooked up with a thief!”
Paying no attention to him, I licked my fingers. “Got any more?”
He sighed dramatically. “Guess I’m recruited to do double-duty in the muffin brigade.”
“You poor thing.” I glanced at my watch. “No time for more,” I said, rising, then I leaned down to give him a kiss.
“Honey, I don’t like you going to the office without that spray.”
“Relax. I’m just going to get some addresses to preview later. I’ll be home around noon.”
“I’m not comfortable with that, babe.”
“I’ll be okay.” Waving my arm, I headed for the door.
Most of the agents had already been in the office and left, except for Ed. As usual, he sat at his desk, steadfast in his dogged determination to answer phones and greet walk-ins. I was glad the office was quiet, which gave me the opportunity to make copies of the current listings and checking them with the Thomas Guide map book for exact locations. Then I made my own list for houses to preview for another open house.
Sometime later, my grumbling stomach told me it was nearly noon, so I punched in Terry’s cell number to let him know I’d be home soon. He didn’t answer, so I called the home number. Still no answer so I left a message. He was probably out shopping to surprise me with another fabulous dinner.
Heading to my car, I thought about Shanna. When would she get my letter? I mentally calculated the time: three days since I’d dropped it into the mailbox, which covered a day for the post office to do their processing, plus a couple more days for it to reach Minnesota. She could get it at any time. What would she think? And, would she call after reading it?
She had to. We had so much to talk about. I could only wait and pray that she would understand.
Just as I unlocked the door, something red caught my eye and I glanced up and saw a Corvette buzz by the office. Rick? I hustled into my car and locked the door, but the red sports car didn’t stop or even slow down.
If it were Rick, what could he be doing? I didn’t want to think he might be watching me, couldn’t imagine why he’d do so. Surely he knew I wasn’t a threat. If I had intended to turn him in for assault, I’d already have done so. But if he’d intended to visit the office, why hadn’t he stopped?
Checking both directions when I pulled onto the street, I felt uneasy and I didn’t like it. I certainly didn’t want to start glancing over my shoulder every time I left the house, but wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Since Mac had been a large man, I’d never overly worried about crime, but I knew I’d better give it serious thought. I’d always felt confident enough to disregard most of Ben’s guidelines, but I realized how naïve I’d been. Naïve? Now, idling at a red light and checking the rearview mirror for a red Corvette, I suddenly realized how utterly stupid I’d been to not have armed myself after the episode with Rick. What had I been thinking?
That was the problem. As if standing by and helplessly watching my husband weaken and die wasn’t emotionally draining enough, after his death I’d been slammed with one deplorable catastrophe after another, and I’d been too grief-stricken and preoccupied to think straight.
Then, of all things, I fell in love.
Thank God Terry had been there to come to my rescue with Rick, but what about the future? I needed to feel I that I didn’t have to rely on anyone, that I could take care of myself.
Terry was right. It was time, past time, actually, to investigate pepper sprays and other items of self-defense.
When I got home, Terry was waiting in his car.
“You coming or going?” I asked, walking over to the driver’s window.
“Hop in and I’ll show you what I’ve discovered.” Backing out of the driveway, he told me he’d been to several self-defense shops while I was at work. “We’re not waiting for your boss’s next meeting; we’re getting something today for you to carry. I’ve gone along on almost everything, but not this. Understand?”
“Yes, dear,” I meekly answered with a smile. I didn’t tell him about seeing Rick. Might as well let him think he talked me into it.
Yucaipa didn’t have a self-defense shop so we headed west on I-10 to San Bernardino. The Tippecanoe exit was just ahead and my stomach rumbled. Most of the good restaurants in the area were clustered on Hospitality Lane just off Tippecanoe and Waterman.
“You have to feed me first,” I told him. “My half-muffin this morning is gone.”
“My muffin, you mean. Serves you right if you’re hungry.”
“Now how can I shop for anything when I’m starved? All I’ll pay attention to is my stomach.”
“Lord, I’ve never met such a whiner.”
I’d thought we’d have a quick sandwich at Coco’s, but he had other ideas. He pulled into the parking lot at Mimi’s, an upscale café with beamed ceilings and Mardi Gras prints on brick walls. When ordering, I found out I wasn’t the only hungry one. I selected the pot roast sandwich, and Terry had the French onion soup followed by an appetizer plate with spinach and artichoke Dip. My sandwich
and his entrée arrived, the garlic shrimp spaghettini, a pasta with large shrimp and marinara sauce. When I looked at our table loaded with food, he shrugged.
“Gotta keep up my strength, you know,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
I laughed and dug in, helping him with the appetizers.
An hour later, we stood at the counter in Milo’s, a shop specializing in self-defense products. The wall behind the counter was covered with metal hooks holding plastic cartons of sprays in various sizes.
“Take a look at this.” Bruce, the owner, the sleeves in his white t-shirt rolled back to expose tanned muscles, placed a shiny red metal cylinder about the size of a lipstick, in my hand. “Perfect for a woman.”
“Looks like lipstick,” I said.
“That’s the idea, but inside you got a powerful pepper spray. Reaches up to six feet.”
During the next half hour he patiently showed us a variety of pepper and mace sprays, all which, according to him, swell mucus membranes and make breathing difficult. “And when the guy rubs his eyes, he rubs the pepper in.”
He took another black cylinder with orange wrapping from the cabinet. It was larger than the lipstick.
“Now this mace spray is great,” he told us. “It’s a thick foam and covers the guy’s face. But get this: the foam leaves a dye the cops can see. The asshole, pardon my French, wouldn’t be able to deny a thing.”
I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take it.”
***
At seven that evening, I eyed the phone. Shanna should have received my letter by now, so why hadn’t she called? The stove clock told me it was seven here, so it would be nine at Shanna’s. She’ll call now, I kept thinking. She probably wanted to wait until after dinner and Kyle was asleep. I just needed to occupy myself for a few moments more.
Terry had gone to his apartment to pick up some odds and ends, so I tried to read one of his thriller novels. I sank onto the new sofa’s soft cushions, but it didn’t take long to realize I’d skimmed the same page several times and still didn’t know what I’d read. Glancing again at the phone’s handset, I picked up the TV remote.
