“A lot has happened in the last year. Ed, then Brent, then the wedding. I think we have excuses,” Bernice said.
“Still, it’s not something I feel great about. Marie would be hurt if she knew.”
“Miranda is well taken care of and loved by Tom and Sandra,” Nelda said. “By the way, how’s Tom the cop taking the news?”
“I don’t know,” Pam said. “I hung up on her.”
“Well, call her back! I want some dirt. Invite her here,” Bernice said. “I want to see my great-grandchild.”
“And my grandchild,” Nelda said.
Obedient, Pam went back to her bedroom and dialed Sandra’s number.
“Sorry about hanging up,” she said without saying hello. “I guess I’m in shock.”
Sandra blew her nose. “I understand. Trust me, I’m in shock. But I wanted you to know because Tom and I are finished. It’s more than the baby,” Sandra said. “We were having problems all along, or I wouldn’t have been attracted to Brent like I was.” She remembered having to corral her feelings when she was around him, trying to rationalize that a kiss was okay as long as Tom never found out about it.
“Why would that be my business?” Pam asked. “I’m on a need-to-know basis, and everyone seems to think I need to know more than is necessary.”
“Well, because it means we won’t be a team to raise Miranda, and that is a stipulation in the custody agreement. Our house is also an issue. And I thought it would be comforting for you to know Brent had an heir.” Once the word was out of her mouth, she couldn’t take it back. Brent had an heir. Brent, with his lofty trust fund and entitled lifestyle, had a rightful heir. Never having thought of the money he might be entitled to, Sandra suddenly thought her money worries were for naught. She’d have a DNA test done on him if necessary.
“Why is Tom making such a big deal about it?” Pam asked.
Sandra smiled at the phone. Pam would expect Tom to look the other way; she’d done it herself.
“Tom would rather make me suffer,” Sandra replied. “He wanted to live together because it was convenient, but not be together. Plus, he hates the baby. Even his mother won’t touch him. His father and Gwen, well, they turned on me, too. They sent a card saying Tom had explained everything, and they felt they were off the hook. They still wanted to be in Miranda’s life, but as far as Thomas Brent went, no.”
“Now what does that mean? Your last sentence’s got my Italian up.” She started to pace. “So you’re telling me Tom has the potential to be cruel to the baby?”
“Yes, as much as I hate to make him seem unkind, that’s about it. He won’t even look at him. I can’t raise my child in that environment.”
“No, you’re right. It’s abuse is what it is. The ladies want you to come over. It’s not noon yet. Can you get a car to bring you around?”
“Yes, but I have two kids in tow now,” Sandra said. “Are you sure you want that confusion over there?”
“There are two sets of lonely arms waiting,” Pam said. “And we can go visit Lisa if you want.” As much as I don’t want to see that snake, she thought.
Sandra’s heart lifted; she needed Pam on her team, especially if there was going to be a problem with Tom.
“What can I tell Tom?” Sandra asked, eager to tie up all the loose ends she could before leaving for the island.
Pam thought about what Sandra was asking of her. She’d spent a small fortune on housing Tom and Sandra because she wanted the best possible environment for Miranda. It seemed that no matter how much she’d done for the spoiled young people, they would do whatever they wanted.
“Tell him to go to hell.”
Chapter 5
Gladys Ford sat on the floor playing dolls with granddaughter Megan. Her husband, Ed, said he never thought he’d see the day his wife would trade in her customary housedress for slacks, but Megan changed all that. At fifteen months, Megan filled Ed and Gladys’s life with meaning and purpose in a way their own children never had.
“I guess it must be the absence of worry about money,” Ed said. “It’s not our responsibility to put a roof over her head or food in her mouth. And she is well taken care of in that regard. So we can enjoy her without the work.”
“When you figure out how to accomplish not worrying, let me know,” Gladys said, laughing, as Megan walked on unsteady legs, pulling on her arms. They’d made the decision to stay involved in Lisa and Megan’s life, even though Dan was lurking before their son, Ed, became ill. It was a source of distress they’d worked through, now simply relieved that Lisa seemed so determined to keep them around even though she and Dan married less than six months after Ed died.
“What would I do without you?” Lisa had said. She was honest with them from the beginning. “My mother doesn’t want to be here because of Dan. Dan’s family has no reason to be involved with Megan. They don’t even seem that interested in her. Besides, I love you both.”
When she got pregnant right away, Gladys had her first and only pang of regret. Would she care about the new baby? Having been there for her during the pregnancy, Gladys’s concerns disappeared. She was as thrilled about little Marcus Brent as if he were her own grandchild. Lisa cried, so grateful for her presence during a rough nine months.
Lisa and baby Marcus would arrive home any minute, and life would completely change in the house. Gladys wanted to ask Lisa if she could move into a small, rarely used room Lisa referred to as the maid’s room. It was a perfect place to sleep over when she stayed. Big Ed didn’t mind, saying that although he’d miss her, he’d drive over every Friday if Lisa agreed. For now, she’d been sleeping on the fold-out couch in the den.
When Dan pulled into the driveway, Gladys was standing in the door, holding Megan on her hip, both smiling broad smiles.
“I guess we need to let Gladys get back to her own life,” Dan said gently, tired of the woman hanging around, preferring someone from his own family replace her.
“Oh no,” Lisa said. “She loves taking care of Megan.”
“My sisters have offered to help us,” Dan said.
“Gladys is Megan’s grandmother, Dan. I’m not asking her to leave,” Lisa said firmly. “It’s not going to happen.”
“How long do you plan on having her stay?” he asked, determined.
“As long as she wants,” Lisa said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “She’s been the most unintrusive houseguest.”
“I’m not so comfortable with her around.”
Lisa stopped what she was doing and turned to him. “Gee, how can I say this without hurting your feelings? Tough shit!” She got out of the car but bent down to look at him and smiled beatifically before she got the baby out of his carrier. “Get over it, Dan.”
“Great way to start our new life together,” he said, not offering to help her with the car seat in spite of her just having a baby. Feeling her episiotomy stitches pulling, she tried not to grimace. He could be such a putz.
“You should have thought of that before you got involved with a married woman and her child,” she said, lifting Marcus’s car seat out of the car. “I need Gladys to stay in Megan’s life. If you can’t deal with it, oh well. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“You don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”
Lisa laughed. “Bitch is a nice word for what I feel right now. The last thing we are going to do is make that poor woman feel uncomfortable. The days of Lisa and Dan scratching every itch are over.” She pointed to the diaper bag and her suitcase. “Please bring them inside.”
He did as she asked while Lisa walked up to the door, grinning at Megan.
“Look what momma’s got!” she said.
Gladys was bouncing Megan on her hip. “Oh, look at baby Marcus,” she said, choking up.
Dan was standing behind Lisa, but he saw the genuine interest Gladys had in his child. Having her there would probably make it easier on them both, with a newborn and a toddler to care for. He’d make a larger effort to be nice. He bent o
ver and kissed the side of Lisa’s neck, whispering, “Sorry, honey, of course you’re right.”
Lisa turned and looked at him with a smile. “Always am, always will be,” she said. The last thing she’d let happen in her household would be succumbing to a controlling man.
~ ~ ~
Sandra called for a car, then packed a bag for the kids. She didn’t feel nervous about leaving the house, except for one thing. Hidden in her closet, way in back, was a treasure box of Marie Fabian’s diaries. Sandra spent lonely nights reading the first pages, putting them away when the contents made her too sad. Afraid in case Tom, in a fit of revenge, decided to search her belongings, found the diaries and threw them away, she carefully arranged boxes of Miranda’s baby clothes and old toys around them.
When the car arrived, they were ready to go, waiting on the stoop. The driver helped her with the car seats and the paraphernalia necessary to care for two small children. She thought of the single mothers who took the bus to work every day, first having to drop their babies off at the daycare center. She’d work extra hard to keep this lifestyle going, even if it met selling the brownstone and moving back to a small apartment. Buckling the children into their seats, the anticipation of being at the beach brightened her outlook. She could suffer through a week at work if there was the beach to look forward to on Friday. She’d always wanted to ask Pam if that would be an option, but never had the nerve. Maybe this time, she’d be able to, using the baby as leverage.
The ride was quiet and peaceful while the babies napped. The hour sped by until the limo pulled up in front of the beach house, Pam and the ladies watching for her from the kitchen window.
“Here she is!” Nelda shouted, her early derision of Sandra being an opportunist forgotten.
They ran out to greet the car as Sandra emerged from the back with the first car seat and a waking baby.
“Oh my God, he is the spitting image of Brent,” Pam said, grabbing for the seat.
Sandra relinquished it and turned to unbuckle Miranda. Nelda was waiting for her while Bernice cooed over her shoulder, more interested in Brent, who was her flesh and blood, the grandson of her son Jack.
“Yes, he really is. He looks like his grandfather, if I may say so,” Bernice said, aware that Sandra had been pregnant with Jack’s baby not so long ago. It occurred to her that bringing that up in front of Pam might not be the smartest thing she ever did, so she kept quiet.
“You may say so! He surely does look just like Jack. Look at that mouth! I just said this morning that Lisa’s baby has her mouth. The Smith mouth must be very dominant,” Pam said.
“Smith? It’s the Stein mouth!” Bernice insisted. “Compare my mouth with this child’s, if you will.” The women looked over at Bernice, back to the baby, and to Bernice again.
“You might be right, Bernice! This child looks like you,” Sandra said, and they all laughed.
The driver patiently waited for the entourage to move forward so he could get back on the road. While the grandmothers and Pam walked up to the house and Sandra dug through her pocketbook for cash, he took the bags to the door.
After he drove off, Sandra looked up at the roofline of the house, the copula with the giant copper weathervane on top, listened to the sound of the surf and gulls, and remembered how she’d fantasized about living here after Jack died. Now that she had a Smith heir, it might be possible. She’d see how the day progressed, hopeful a follow-up invitation would be forthcoming.
The women played musical babies, handing off a child to the next person so Nelda could begin preparations for a midafternoon meal. Pam held Miranda and talked to her softly, watching as Nelda moved around her kitchen. The best thing she’d ever done was have the women move home with her. Both seemed happier and more energetic. They were still best friends, but not joined at the hip like before. Nelda liked to spend her time baking or doing something creative, and Bernice was happy reading in the den, Jack’s old afghan over her lap. They made few demands on Pam because their assistant Annabelle was there, so she was free to go about her daily routine.
She still got up early each day. Before Lisa called her to the birthing center that morning, lying on her back in the beautiful bedroom she once shared with Jack, she saw the familiar light along the top of the drapery. Pulling the drapes aside, she’d looked out over the sea; sometimes fog obscured the view, but today the sun was already peeking up over the horizon. Before Jack died, he’d say, “How’s it look?” She’d give him a detailed account. “It’s cloudy, but the horizon is yellow, and the sun is just coming up. I see a barge going south,” or, “It’s foggy, but I can see dolphins.” He’d crawl out of bed to look over her shoulder. If there was anything to see, they’d grab for the binoculars and run to the veranda to watch.
She’d make coffee and bring him a cup, and they’d sit together, talking and looking out over the water until something took his attention from her; a golf game or an appointment in town, or another woman. Of course, she didn’t know at the time he was unfaithful. Unfaithful was a nice word for what Jack was.
“I’ll be home for lunch,” he’d say or, “Tell Brent he owes me a repeat tennis match.” Hearing him talk about their children always thrilled Pam. She had the perfect family: a husband who she worshiped and who appeared to worship her, fabulous children who never disappointed her, fulfilling a dream she had of having her own home and family someday that would be completely opposite of what she knew in her family of origin.
If there was nothing to see, he’d pull her down next to him. “How’d I get so lucky?” he’d often say. “I have a beautiful wife, a fantastic home and two great kids. Why do I deserve this?”
Pam knew he was sincere, kissing her and often making love to her before they began their day.
As she lay in bed, she knew she was doing penance for her stupidity. She wasn’t just grieving for Brent, or even for Jack. The death of her dreams, the lie she’d allowed herself to believe in was greater than grief, because it was of her own making. Sitting up at the edge of the bed, she had a horrible thought. What if she could’ve changed history by pulling her head out of the sand? If the things that had concerned her had been investigated and possibly stopped—Jack’s abuse of her sister Marie, for starters—so her children weren’t exposed to it right under this roof. How different would life have turned out? The ringing phone temporarily halted her self-torture. It was Lisa, on her way to have baby Marcus Brent.
“Mother, I just wanted you to know what’s happening,” she said, choking back tears. She needed Pam, but Pam wasn’t available to her.
“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll get Noni and head out right away.”
“Oh, Mom, thank you so much,” Lisa cried. “It means so much to me.”
“No problem,” Pam said, needing to say something loving, but having to force it. “Of course I’m coming.” They hung up the phone, and Pam went to tell Nelda.
Tapping on her bedroom door, she whispered so as not to wake up Bernice. “Mother, Lisa’s on her way to the hospital.”
Nelda told her to come in. She was fastening her watch around her wrist, fully dressed with her going to the city outfit, hair done and makeup on. Her assistant, Annabelle, was making Nelda’s bed.
“You’re all ready!”
“Annabelle heard the phone ring,” she said. “Who else would dare to call this early? The old lady was up all night, by the way.”
Pam frowned, looking over at Annabelle. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Me? Oh, yes. I take drugs for sleep,” Annabelle said, smiling.
Oh great, my mother’s assistant is a doper.
“I guess I’d better get dressed, then,” Pam said, ignoring her.
They would leave the house within the hour, two women ready to face what should be a happy, joy-filled occasion.
“Are you going to be okay?” Nelda asked, looking at her daughter, knowing how difficult what they were doing must be for her.
“What choice do I have
, Mother?” Pam was giving the steering wheel the death grip.
Nelda turned to the windshield. “None, I guess. This reminds me of having to take care of Marie when she was sick.”
Shocked, Pam turned to her. The quick look at her mother said volumes. She might be well dressed and made-up, but she was still an elderly woman, eighty years old. Like a small bird sitting in the front seat, her gloved hands folded over her brown leather pocketbook, Nelda’s frail countenance brought tears to Pam’s eyes.
“Oh, Mother, I’m sorry. How awful,” she said.
Nelda had cared for her daughter Marie when she was at the end stages of a severe brain infection caused by AIDS. Pam alternately felt responsible and angry. Now, she just felt regret. “It must have been so difficult.”
“Well, you know how it feels to lose a child. It’s the absolute worst thing that can happen to a person. I can see how you wouldn’t survive it. I often wonder what the purpose of my own life is, having outlived her. I better make the best of it; I better not waste a second.”
Pam didn’t reply. She wasn’t thinking clearly enough yet about Brent being gone to wonder anything about her own life. She was still asking why. The idea that she’d have to make the best of it was too dynamic to dwell on for long. Taking a nap was more her speed.
“Please, please let’s change the subject,” Pam begged. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” Nelda said. But it wasn’t okay. Nelda knew her daughter was saving her grief for something big. She could feel it. A big explosion of sorts, a catastrophe. She hoped she wasn’t around when it happened.
“So in a few hours we’ll have another baby in our life. Are you ready?” Nelda asked.
Pam snorted. “No! I’ll never be ready for Dan’s baby.”
“You better try, Pam. You don’t want the little guy to suffer because you dated his father for a few months.”
In Memoriam: Pam of Babylon Book #7 Page 4
