by Anna Adams
As he went back home, fighting a wind that seemed to be needle-tipped in ice, he saw the porch light at the front door. Otherwise, the house was dark. He turned the doorknob, half expecting it to be locked, but they’d remembered he was out there.
He eased up the stairs, smiling wryly. He wasn’t a child anymore; his parents could at least be counted on to offer him a bed and not expect him to sleep outside if he didn’t show up before their early bedtime.
He washed up and stripped down to boxers and a T-shirt and felt his way across his childhood bedroom in the dark. Lydia lay on her side, her back to him. The moonlight caught strands of her hair. He reached out to touch her, but stopped, uncertain of his welcome, positive she needed sleep.
He willed his mind to shut off. Pictures formed in front of his eyes—that empty crib, the cold headland. His mother, looking so hopeful, his father gruff. A horrifying memory of Clara in that hellish green water.
He turned, his heart pounding so hard he felt dizzy. Suddenly, Lydia rolled over and sneaked one hand into the space between them. She massaged his side.
He covered her hand, breathing hard. Could she know how much she meant to him? He needed to matter to her.
After a few minutes, she moved back onto her side. Her soft groan broke his heart as she dragged the blanket over her.
Josh flattened his palm against his T-shirt where she’d touched him. They weren’t through talking about her terms for staying. She hated his job, and she was going to force the issue. They both knew it was coming. She might have been saying goodbye or she might have been comforting him.
He chose to hope she’d decided to stay.
CHAPTER FIVE
JOSH WOKE FIRST the next morning. The air outside was fresh and the sky blue. The mudroom door, below his room, slammed. He knew, having seen many blue mornings in the past, that his father was leaving to work on the boat.
Hard work and forgetfulness. He could use some of that.
Struggling out of the sheets, he went to the window. Cold snaked around his body.
“You want to go with him?”
He turned back. With a sleepy smile, Lydia curved one arm above her head.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
“I’ve been enjoying the warmth. This place gets chilly at night.”
“Dad turns off the heat.” He laughed at a memory not wrapped in resentment. “He never got over the energy shortages in the seventies.”
“Better call him before he gets to the garage.”
He slid his fingers into the two notches at the bottom of the window frame and tugged. His mother had washed the cowboy curtains till they were practically see-through, and someone had done a fair job of refurbishing layer after layer of the same old paint. He finally jerked it open. “Dad?”
His father turned from the barn door.
“Wait while I dress. I’ll come with you.”
His dad froze with underwhelming enthusiasm. “Thanks, but maybe Lydia needs you.”
“Not that much,” Lydia said from the bed.
Josh glanced back. “Nice.”
She lifted both arms and stared him down with a dry smile, which he returned.
He’d become the sensitive type.
“She says not. I’ll get ready and come down.”
His father nodded. “Take your time. I have to load some new rope for the boat.”
“I don’t think he’s in on Mom’s plan,” Josh said to Lydia.
She laughed. “He doesn’t like long silent spaces.”
“We’ll stop at Gordon’s for donuts and coffee,” his father shouted.
“We’re wrong,” Lydia said.
Little did she know. Stopping at the donut shop had been Josh’s favorite treat. Like all little sisters, Clara had copied her big brother. They’d begged many Sunday mornings for breakfast at Gordon’s. When their parents wouldn’t go, he and Clara had searched the sofas and chairs for change and walked to the bakery by themselves.
He waved at his father and shut the window. The moment he turned, Lydia dropped her arms. “What?”
“Nothing.” He hid his expression in a search for last night’s jeans and sweater, but as he reached for the waistband on his boxers, he stopped. Uncomfortable in front of his own wife, he considered crossing the hall to the bathroom. What the hell? Who needed a shower to work on a boat? Shivering, he hurried into his clothes. “You don’t mind if I leave you alone?”
“I’m fine. Have a good time.”
“Yeah.” He leaned down, intending to kiss her, because they’d always kissed goodbye—even at the worst times. Too many brush-offs in the past few days stopped him. He squeezed her shoulder instead. It felt thinner.
“Bye, Josh.”
“I’ll bring you a fish.”
“Cool. What about an aquarium?”
He laughed. “You must be feeling better. I meant to eat.” He stopped at the door. “Don’t go out unless you’re feeling up to it.”
“I won’t.”
Something in her eyes drew him back. Sadness shadowed her gaze, made her seem almost defenseless, but she’d never needed anyone to take care of her.
There was a difference between needing and wanting to be cared for. Maybe she’d just never asked him.
“You’re sure you don’t mind if I go?” He circled the bed to take her hand.
“I want you to. Have fun.” Her mouth curved, and the sadness flickered out. “Work hard for Bart.”
“Try to take it easy.”
She nodded, and they shared one of those long, silent spaces his father didn’t like. He stroked her fingers, and she curled them around his.
“I’m trying to find a medium,” he said, “between smothering you and putting you first.”
“I’m trying to believe it’s not just for now.”
“And when we go back home, I’ll go back to work and forget you?”
“I’m not sure I can go home.”
His mouth went dry. “This isn’t ‘love me and leave me.’ We’re talking about our marriage.”
“You know I’ve tried.” She rose on her knees, her face flushed. “I’m sorry I brought it up now.”
“You’re asking me to quit my job and move.”
“I guess I am. I want to wake up every morning like we did today, in peace and quiet, with no fear. No horrible crimes waiting for you, no crazy killers lurking where I work.”
“Be rational, Lydia.” He could have chosen a more sympathetic response.
Her skin grew pinker by the second. “I’m sorry. We can talk when you come back.”
“I can’t just go.” But what would he say if he stayed?
“You can.” She pushed her hair back.
“Your timing—”
“I know, but moving away from Hartford has been on my mind for years. You just haven’t listened.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to hear.”
“And now, Josh?”
“Now, I think this is too important to decide when my father’s waiting.”
“Because your life is there?”
He looked around the room that had been half safe harbor and half perdition in his childhood. “I’m trying to tell you in every way I can that my life is with you.” He felt so betrayed, “I love you” wouldn’t come.
“Okay, okay.” Waving him toward the door, she sat back on her feet, looking mortified. The longer he stayed, the more resentful he grew, so he left.
His wife, embarrassed, and he, furious to hear the demand he’d dreaded. And that was normal for a marriage?
He wasn’t a man who held a divining rod to his own emotions, but he knew he didn’t want a marriage where his wife shamed herself by speaking her mind. He couldn’t find an answer beyond his frustration.
He went to the kitchen in search of coffee. His mother set the brewer on a timer each night, and she left cups and the sugar bowl beside the coffeemaker.
It was later than his father usually left, but he was still surprised to fin
d his mom up to her elbows in cookie dough.
“Josh.” For a second she looked like Clara, caught being naughty.
If he didn’t want to talk to his wife, he certainly didn’t want a cozy chat with his mother.
He reached for a mug.
She grabbed a towel that stuck to her hands. “What are you doing?”
“Going with Dad.” Pouring coffee, he eyed the sugary-looking dough, spiked with chocolate chips. “You’re up early.”
“I’m making cookies.”
Her slender body couldn’t shield the massive mixing bowl at her back. “For an army?” It kind of pissed him off. For Clara’s only school-aged birthday, he’d helped his little sister make a dozen rocklike cupcakes they’d iced with watery cream cheese frosting.
“For no one in particular.” His mother slapped the water faucet on and stabbed at the stream of water. She tapped soap from the bottle beside the sink into one palm and then scrubbed until her hands turned red.
Josh took a swig of coffee. “You must have enough for four dozen, Mother.”
She composed herself. “Six.”
He upturned his coffee mug into the sink. Cookies might have made Clara feel cared for years ago. A whole bakery would be too late, now.
“Six dozen?” He washed his cup. “Why so many?”
With a spoon the size of a small, wooden shovel, she stirred her mixture. “I’m selling them at Gordon’s.”
“Gordon’s?”
“They sell cookies now, too.” She crossed to a stack of square papers by the fridge and held up the top sheet. “By Grandma Trudy.” Eye-catching orange and yellow surrounded a sprightly grandma-type sporting a huge cornucopia that spilled cookies behind her.
“For Thanksgiving?” He set the label down and then straightened it on the counter. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why not? I started with Halloween-themed cookies. Your dad said I worked a spell on the recipe.”
“You’re Grandma Trudy.” He pointed at the wrappers. “I don’t get it.”
“I started my own business. In fact, I’m doing so well at Gordon’s, Geraldine Dawson’s been helping me look for my own building.”
“Geraldine Dawson?” She’d been his teacher a million years ago.
“Sure. She’s retired, but she finds herself looking after her twin grandsons.” Evelyn closed down, a New England woman who’d exposed more town gossip than she meant to. Which meant there was more she hadn’t said about the Dawsons. “She needs some extra money so she’s gotten her real estate license.”
Josh cut to the chase. “Are you and Dad in trouble?” Fishermen still didn’t rake in the bucks. His mom had never set foot out of the house for a job except to work his father’s boat when they couldn’t find another hand.
“I knew you’d be upset. I just don’t know why.” She looked at him, her face tight. “Make me understand you. Just this once.”
“I’m not upset and you don’t have to look guilty.” He backed away. “I just never expected you to start a business and I’m surprised. Better go.” As he reached the door, she caught him.
“What about you helping me look for a place?”
“What?” This must be “the plan.” He tried to free his arm, but his mother held on. “You have Mrs. Dawson.”
“I need legal advice, too.”
He had the perfect excuse. It wasn’t his expertise, but his mother’s face was so earnest. “Maybe.” Yet, what he meant was—don’t involve me. “Lydia and I are only here for a few weeks.”
“That’s plenty of time.”
“Your plan won’t work.”
“Lydia told you we talked?”
“She didn’t go into details, but she’s my wife, Mom. We don’t keep secrets.” Except about their own feelings.
“I want you to be part of your father’s and my lives again.”
Lydia, in his head, begged him to be kind. He grappled with a smile that hurt. Everyone who mattered to him needed him to change. Right now. Today.
His father honked the truck horn. Salvation. “We’ll talk at dinner.”
Escaping, he slammed the mudroom door and ran to meet his father, who’d begun to roll down the driveway in his battered, pale blue truck. A classic if it weren’t so neglected. Maybe Grandma Trudy’d help his father replace the thirty-year-old pickup, he thought with an unwilling smile.
Josh climbed in, pounding the dashboard with an open hand and fake good humor. “She still runs.”
“Yeah,” his dad said. “Let’s move. The fish won’t wait.” He started down the driveway. Several miles brought them to the edge of town.
“When did Mom start making these cookies?”
His dad’s head turned as if it were on a swivel. “Her business bothers you?”
“I know I’m wrong to resent it, but imagine how much easier ‘Grandma Trudy’ would have made life for Clara and me.”
“You’re talking about the past, Josh. Won’t you ever be able to let it go?”
He seemed to feel Josh’s rush of anger. “I’m not asking you to forget, but to try forgiving.”
He wanted to do as his mother and father and wife had all asked, but despite their jack hammering and his best intentions, he still felt the loss of everything his parents’ negligence had denied him and Clara.
“What’s the big secret?”
“I didn’t realize she planned to tell you so soon.”
“One of the ironies of my childhood was that my mom was a great cook, but she never bothered.”
Bart stared straight ahead, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Evelyn’s a good woman. A clean and sober woman.” Bart eyed him with the righteous anger of a father and husband. “And she’s your mother.”
“Sorry.” He tapped the dashboard close to his father’s hand. “I meant that. I’m sorry.”
His dad turned onto Kline Street and swerved into the closest open spot in front of Gordon’s. “I don’t want you to feel sorry.” He opened the door. “You refuse to give up on strangers. And I’ll never give up on you.”
Josh stared at the truck’s floor, helpless, strangled by the sorrow of his father’s loss, too. He’d wanted his boy, had planned baseball games and bike rides and hikes through the park—all the fun he’d have loved to have shared with his dad.
No matter how he rationalized it, his job was partly to blame for his own son’s death, and the town house, their neighborhood, the city would never look the same to him or to Lydia. “Let’s go to work, Dad.” He inhaled the salt-laden, cold air. The perfume of his youth. “I need to think.”
“YOU’RE MAKING COOKIES for a living? And Josh said he’d help you?” How was that even possible? “Am I still asleep?” Lydia asked.
“He said maybe.” Evelyn poured coffee while Lydia held the mug in both hands. “Oh, that one’s chipped, honey. Let me get you another.”
“No, no.” Lydia sipped. “Tell me what you said to Josh.”
“I told him the truth. I want us to be closer, and I need his help. He’s part of my family, you know. Families help each other.” She wiped her hand on a towel printed with beaming lobsters. “Maybe I didn’t say all that, but he’s a smart man. He deduced what I couldn’t say.”
“You didn’t start this business just to lure Josh home? You must have put money into this already. You could lose all your investment.”
“I’m using the business to reach my son, but I’m serious about it, Lydia. I’m small potatoes right now, but this idea is my own.” Her pride fueled a bright smile. “All mine, something worthwhile and profitable, good work.”
“Why not let Josh see that? You don’t have to involve him to make him see you’re sticking to it. Isn’t that the point? That you’re trustworthy?”
“He’d have to be blind not to realize I stick to my promises and responsibilities now. What he doesn’t see is that he still deserves a mother and father, and he’s not betraying Clara if he lets himself be our son again.”
“How
will a cookie business achieve that?” Lydia drank more coffee.
“I need his help as much as anyone does. I’m buying property and sinking our savings into a company. I’ll need legal advice.” She wiped her hands again. “He can’t resist a challenge, and he’s incapable of turning down a cry for help.”
“He’s not an expert on corporate law.”
“He’ll research.” Evelyn began to wrap the cookies with flying fingers. Then she added a colorful sticker marked “Grandma Trudy” to seal each wrapper. “I’ve tied myself to this house for years, trying to prove I could be a good mother, a decent homemaker.”
Evelyn turned “homemaker” into a slur. “I want to be if I have another child.” Lydia had never considered leaving her job before now. During her pregnancy she’d planned for day care, but her priorities had changed.
Caught up in her own emotions, Evelyn continued as if Lydia hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been trying to make Josh see I’ve been a good mother for a lot longer than I was a bad one. I started dying inside these walls again when I realized that nothing I did made Josh see I’ve changed.”
Lydia set her mug down so hard the coffee sloshed. “You mean you wanted a drink? That’s why you drank before? Because you didn’t like being home? With Josh?”
Frustration emanated from Evelyn’s spare body. “You blame us too?” she asked quietly.
“Josh is my first concern.” Lydia didn’t want to hurt Evelyn, but suddenly she wanted to protect Josh. “I won’t ever tell him why you drank. What happened with Clara isn’t truly any of my business.”
“You’re family.”
“I won’t take sides.”
“You can’t choose only the good things when you marry into a family.” Evelyn slapped a wrapper on the last cookie. “You’re caught in the middle.”
The words reproached Lydia. “Could you be right?” She wiped the coffee off Evelyn’s spotless counter.
The other woman looked up, fear that she’d gone too far in her eyes. “Right? I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about my own problems with Josh. I shouldn’t have suggested…”
