She spun around and strode down the hall. The boys and I followed her into the living room, which was uncharacteristically messy. Magazines, dishes, and library books littered the coffee table, and there was a burp towel on the couch. I would’ve made a sarcastic comment if Jude’s howling hadn’t distracted me.
Logan approached the bassinet and examined the baby carefully just like he’d done in the hospital with my mother. “Hmm … no scorpions or obvious flesh wounds … maybe he just wants to be held. When Zane was a baby, he cried all the time unless we held him. Remember, Mom?”
I nodded and waited for Eleanor’s backlash. She’d chastised me severely for constantly holding Zane, insisting I was creating a monster by catering to him. If I would just read her book … if I would just let him cry it out … if I would just put him on a schedule.
But I couldn’t do it. I hated hearing him cry. Everything inside me said to hold him because as long as he was in my arms, he was happy. So he’d spent the first year of his life against my chest in a sling. To my relief, he’d learned to sit up, crawl, and walk at a normal age. And given the fact he was turning out to be a pretty cute kid, I obviously hadn’t completely destroyed him.
“You could put him in the swing,” Zane said, pointing across the room.
Eleanor exhaled. “He likes the swing and stops crying whenever I put him in it, but—”
Jude let out a blood-curdling shriek and my body tensed. “For all that is holy, Eleanor, put him in there!”
My sister bit her lip. “What if he develops poor sleep habits?”
“His crying is going to damage our hearing,” I insisted. “Besides, Zane took the majority of his naps in the swing and he’s fine.”
As if to prove my point, Zane squatted and pushed up to a headstand. “I’m better than fine. I can stand on my head for thirty-two seconds.”
“Not if I push you down,” Logan said, doing exactly that.
Zane toppled over. “I’m going to kill you,” he yelled.
Logan laughed. “Not if I kill you first.”
Eleanor pressed a hand to her temple as the boys chased each other through the living room. Aubrey shook her head with disapproval until I intervened and put both boys in time out on the couch.
Meanwhile, Eleanor scooped up her baby and marched toward the swing, giving me a warning glance. “Don’t you dare say anything.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Jude did the gasping-for-breath thing that babies do when they’ve been crying for a long time. Eleanor jiggled him until he settled down and fell asleep in her arms.
“Ah, he just wanted his Mama,” Zane said, imitating my mom’s voice perfectly.
Although I couldn’t be certain since Eleanor’s back was turned toward me, I was pretty sure Zane’s comment caused her to smile.
*
We sent the kids upstairs to the playroom, and I made a pot of coffee. “He’s beautiful,” I said, joining Eleanor on the couch where she was gazing at her sleeping son.
“He is,” she agreed, fingering his earlobe. “But how am I supposed to get anything done if I’m holding him all day?”
I looked around the messy living room. Even the couch cushions were askew, something I imagined was driving Eleanor crazy. “Maybe you aren’t supposed to get anything done right now. You go back to work in six weeks, right? Maybe until then you’re just supposed to be Jude and Aubrey’s mom.”
She sighed and looked toward the laundry room door, which was slightly ajar. I followed her gaze, and when I caught sight of the mess inside, I gasped.
I jumped to my feet and strode across the room. “What on earth happened?” I pushed open the door, shocked to see dirty clothes, wet towels, baby blankets, and socks covering every surface. “Wow! I had no idea your family was capable of producing such a mess. It’s extraordinary.” I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture.
“If you put that on Facebook, I’ll smash your phone,” Eleanor said, standing outside the door. “It’s disgusting. What kind of a person lives like this?”
I gave a grunt of disbelief. “Every mother with little kids lives like this. Trust me, your immaculate house is the exception.”
“Well, it’s not immaculate today, and we certainly didn’t live like this when Aubrey was a baby.”
“Aubrey was a different baby. She was a textbook perfect baby who didn’t require a lot of attention. Most babies aren’t like that, Eleanor. You got lucky with Aubrey. Honestly, for a leading expert on childhood behavior, you can be a little dense.”
I meant my last sentence as a joke, but I could tell I went too far. My sister bristled, shoved open the door, and stepped into the mess. Still holding Jude, she removed a load of clothes from the dryer and chucked them on the counter. A clean T-shirt tumbled to the floor.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, picking up the T-shirt and pounding it on the counter.
I nudged her aside. “I’m sorry. Here, let me help.”
“Just hold Jude.” She thrust the baby into my arms and returned to the laundry.
I felt guilty for teasing her. She probably did see herself as a leading expert in childhood behavior, and I’d just belittled her. It wasn’t her fault she only had one perfect child and didn’t understand how the rest of us lived. “I’m sorry, Eleanor. I didn’t mean to give you a bad time.”
She shrugged and opened the washing machine to transfer the wet clothes to the dryer. “It’s fine.”
Jude puckered his lips as though preparing to cry. I rocked him from side to side, and thankfully, he sank deeper into my arms and fell back asleep. Shifting him in the crook of my elbow, I began folding the laundry, but Eleanor stopped me. “Just go check on your boys and make sure they’re not destroying the playroom. It’s the one room that’s actually clean.”
I pushed down my frustration, refusing to be offended. Even on her best day, my sister could be abrasive. I’d obviously pushed her to the limit, and she needed a break. Deciding to be generous, I left.
With Jude in my arms, I climbed the stairs and found the boys quietly playing with pink Legos while Aubrey sat on the couch reading to them. Eleanor had been right about the playroom—it was extremely clean. The toys were neatly arranged on clearly labeled shelves, and the dress-up clothes were hung on hooks according to color.
“Everything okay up here?” I asked, feeling inspired and ashamed that at our house, the boys simply threw all their toys into one large plastic toy box I’d bought at a garage sale.
Logan placed a finger over his mouth and shushed me. “Aubrey’s reading us a story about a dinosaur that went to space.”
“Perfect,” I said.
Zane placed a hand on his hip. “Mom, you should teach Logan how to read.”
“I know how to read,” Logan said, making a fist.
“Yeah, but not as good as Aubrey. She even makes the voices of the different people like Mom does.”
Logan raised his fist and looked at me as if expecting me to say Sure, go ahead and slug your brother. You have my blessing.
I shook my head in warning. “Logan is a great reader, and soon you’ll know how to read, too.”
Satisfied with my answer, Logan lowered his fist. Aubrey returned to reading the book, and both boys resumed playing with the Legos. I crept down the stairs, regretting my intrusion. You would think with all of Eleanor’s money, she’d install a video camera in the playroom accessible from the kitchen.
Returning to the living room, I placed Jude in the swing. His eyes widened at first. “Don’t you dare,” I said in a singsong voice. I turned the switch on high, and moments later he fell back asleep.
In the laundry room, I told Eleanor I was going to help her take care of the mess. “Then I’ll make us both a nice cup of coffee.”
“You and Mother drink too much coffee,” she told me, not for the first time.
I gritted my teeth. “Okay, we’ll have a lovely glass of tap water. Doesn’t that sound delicious and heartwarming o
n a cold winter’s day?”
“Just go take care of your kids. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I said, folding one of Aubrey’s sundresses and setting it on top of the pile with the others. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you need my help. Or someone’s help. Where is Vilda, by the way? Did she run to the grocery store?”
Tears welled up in Eleanor’s eyes, and she shook her head. Before I could feel sorry for her, she yanked Aubrey’s neatly folded dress from my pile and shook it out. “Like this,” she said, folding it into a perfect rectangle before slamming it on the pile. “They all need to be folded the same, or they won’t stack correctly in the dresser drawer.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m trying to be nice, but I really want to slap you right now.”
She pressed her lips together tightly but said nothing. I turned away and focused my attention on sorting the dirty laundry. Surely I couldn’t mess up that simple task, but apparently I could. Eleanor complained I needed to keep the dish towels separate from the bath towels.
She pointed at the offending pile of wet and disgusting towels. “You can’t just wash everything together.”
“Says who?”
“Says everybody. If you want to help me, you have to do it my way, otherwise, just go watch TV or something.”
“Where’s Vilda, and why are you being so rude?”
Fire raged in her eyes, and she pounded her fist on the counter. I waited for her to yell. Instead, her shoulders slumped forward, and she hung her head.
“Eleanor, what’s going on?”
She straightened and picked up a pair of Jim’s boxers. Methodically, she folded them into a neat little bundle and placed them on the counter. “It’s the oldest cliché in the book. Jim slept with her.”
“With who? Vilda?”
She nodded. “He says it was a mistake and only happened once, but—”
“Oh, Eleanor …”
She started folding another pair of boxers, and something inside me snapped. I ripped the boxers out of her hands and threw them on the floor.
“What are you doing?” she asked, horrified.
“What are you doing folding your cheating husband’s underwear?”
She looked at me, then at Jim’s boxers, then back at me. “You’re right,” she said, astonished as if she never imagined I could be right about anything.
“Of course I’m right. He can do his own laundry.”
Eleanor frowned. “I don’t think he knows how.”
“Well, too bad for him.”
For the next twenty minutes, my sister and I worked together in silence until the laundry room reached some semblance of order. Eleanor put away her clean and correctly folded clothes while I helped the kids put on their jackets so they could go outside to play. It’d stopped raining, and the sun was peeking through the clouds.
In the kitchen, I poured a tiny bit of wine into two coffee mugs and carried them outside where I found Eleanor sitting on the back porch under a heat lamp. I handed her one of the mugs, and she scowled. “This isn’t coffee.”
“No, it’s better than coffee. It’s wine.”
She hesitated, then took a sip and shook her head. “Jude is sleeping in the swing, and I’m drinking wine out of a coffee mug in the middle of the day. What’s wrong with this picture?”
“Nothing.” I raised my mug and clinked it against hers. “This is motherhood at its finest. Not something I’d recommend every day, but in moments like this, I think it’s okay.”
She stared into her mug. “Why didn’t you use a wine glass? A mug makes it seem like we’re doing something illegal.”
“I was afraid the wine glass might break around the kids. A mug just seems safer. More sturdy.”
“That makes sense. Maybe I’ll put that tip in my next book.” She smiled weakly, then without warning, she began to weep.
I hesitated a moment, not sure what to do. Eleanor never cried. Ever. Reluctantly, I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.”
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Ever since Jude was born, I can’t stop falling apart.”
“Oh, Eleanor.” I gave her a tight squeeze. “Let’s see … your mother is in a coma, your husband is a slimeball, and you just gave birth to a colicky baby. Am I missing anything?”
She pushed out a breath. “No.”
“Oh!” I said, clapping my hands. “I know what I’m missing. You’re probably feeling fat because you can’t fit into your pre-pregnancy clothes yet, and you have nothing to wear.”
She blinked, her brow wrinkling. “No, I can fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes. They’re a little tight, but they fit. I only gained about fifteen pounds during the pregnancy.”
“Of course you did.” I swirled my mug of wine. “Now, I really hate you.”
Chapter 26
In an unprecedented move, Eleanor spontaneously invited me to stay for lunch. Together, we made pimento cheese sandwiches and cut apple slices. After eating, I convinced her to take a nap while I looked after the kids.
She awoke two hours later in a much better mood. We bundled everyone up and walked down to the lake.
The lake was beautiful during the summer, but I loved how it looked during the winter. Loved the way the big gray sky met the rippling water. Loved how even though the live oaks remained green and strong, the landscape was desolate due to the barren deciduous trees. Somehow, I found the bleakness oddly comforting, and today was no exception.
“Thanks for letting me sleep,” Eleanor said, as we stood on the shore, watching the kids chuck rocks into the water.
“You’re welcome.”
Jude started to fuss, so Eleanor sat on the bench and nursed him. I sat beside her and told her about reading the newspaper article online last night.
Gathering my courage, I asked the difficult question, most on my mind. “So, is Father Tim the same Tim who sent Mom the letter? Is that why you acted so strange when I mentioned him?”
She started to deny it but changed her mind and simply nodded.
“Is Mom having an affair with him?” Given Jim’s indiscretion with Vilda, I regretted the question as soon as it was out, but I had to ask.
“What?” Eleanor’s eyes widened. “No.”
“No? Then why would a priest write to Mom addressing her as My Darling Nadine? And why would you lie about not knowing him?”
She tightened the scarf around her neck. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
She glanced at the kids, who had moved on to throwing sticks into the water. “Remember what I said about people having secrets? I think this secret is best left untold.”
“It might be too late for that,” I said. “I called Father Tim. I told him about Mom, and he’s flying from Ireland to see her.”
All the color drained from Eleanor’s face. “Oh, Autumn. You shouldn’t have done that.” Her voice sounded small. Vulnerable. Frightened.
“Why not? What are you hiding from me?”
She closed her eyes for a long time. When she opened them and spoke, her voice was shaky. “I always thought Father Tim was the reason Mother and Ruby lost their friendship.”
I kept my mouth closed as she looked at the ground and slowly exhaled. “After the accident, Mother was depressed. We all were, but she couldn’t get out of bed. I know that’s impossible to believe, given how active she is, but the depression crippled her. Seeing her like that was incredibly disturbing, and I was afraid the doctors would send her away.”
“Oh, Eleanor.” My heart ached for that terrified child my sister had been. How horrible to endure the loss of your father and sister, and then fear your mother might be taken away.
“People from the church and neighborhood dropped off meals,” Eleanor said. “But we wouldn’t have made it without Father Tim. He was wonderful, bringing us groceries and driving us to school.”
“I don’t understan
d. Why did Father Tim’s help cause a problem between Mom and Ruby? Because of Eric?”
She eyed me warily before reaching into her diaper bag and pulling out the crumpled letter I’d found on my mother’s nightstand.
My pulse jolted. “Why do you have the letter?”
“I drove to Mom’s house after leaving the hospital that first night—after you were so adamant about contacting Tim.”
“Why?”
She licked her lip. “I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
As way of explanation, she unfolded the letter and read it to me.
My Darling Nadine,
I’m sorry I upset you when we last spoke on the phone, but it’s time, sweetheart. Time to tell them the truth. Time to tell them about the choice you made, and the choice I made to help you.
“Choice?” I asked, interrupting. “What was the choice?”
Eleanor’s face tensed. “Let me just finish reading it, okay?”
“Okay.”
I know you’re afraid, but you don’t have to do this alone. I love you, and I’m here for you.
I wasn’t able to tell you this on the phone, but Ruby’s daughter is trying to find you. She’s planning a party for her mother’s seventieth birthday, and she wants both of us to be there.
I have no doubt this beautiful and capable woman will succeed, even without my help. That’s what I was trying to tell you before we were … disconnected.
I know you’re angry and scared, but please don’t shut me out. Please don’t ignore me. I’m not the enemy.
All my love,
Tim
My sister handed me the letter and I reread it, wondering what it all meant. “Why wouldn’t Mom want Ruby’s daughter to find her?”
Eleanor brushed a speck of dirt off Jude’s head. “After the accident, but before you were born, I heard Father Tim and Mother arguing about the baby. He said he loved Mother and only wanted what was best for her.”
“And …”
Eleanor hesitated before staring straight at me with a frightened expression. “And they were talking about adoption. Father Tim wanted Mother to give you up for adoption.”
A Mother's Choice Page 17
