But as she'd waited through the long hours of the night, she'd thought about other times, their honeymoon in Hawaii, their first years together, the dreams they'd shared, the nights they'd talk for hours about nothing really, just wanting to be together, to hear the sound of each other's voice.
It had all gone wrong when they'd begun to focus on having a baby, when they'd started to doubt and resent and blame each other for the inability to conceive. Everything seemed to go downhill after those years of test tubes and sex on schedule.
It was a lifetime ago that they'd been happy, but she still remembered and wished she didn't.
"Mary Jo, there you are." Leeanne Callaway hurried through the doorway, her navy blue spike heels clattering against the floor. She wore a slinky blue knit dress with a matching scarf, making Mary Jo feel even more tired, more lonely, more out of whack.
"Why didn't you call me yesterday?" Leeanne wanted to know.
She shrugged. "I kept thinking we'd go home any minute and it would be a false alarm."
Leeanne's gaze narrowed on Mary Jo's face, allowing her no opportunity to lie. "Is it bad?"
"I think this one was a warning."
"I hope J.T. takes it seriously. What on earth happened?"
"We had a fight, a huge, ugly fight. The next thing I knew, he was holding his chest and this terrified look came into his eyes, like he was about to die. I've never seen anything so horrible."
Leeanne sat down on the couch next to her. "He'll be all right, Mary Jo. J.T.'s not that old. The doctors will help him."
"If he dies, it will be my fault."
"Don't be ridiculous. If he dies of a heart attack, it's because he has been eating cheeseburgers by the dozen and drinking beer by the keg. You didn't fill his heart with cholesterol. You didn't block his arteries."
She wished she could agree with Leeanne, but J.T.'s body hadn't done him in. No, he'd been stricken by her words, by her accusations, and by the photograph of Margaret, an image that still burned in her brain.
"Tell me exactly what happened," Leeanne ordered. "You need to get it out."
"It was my need to get it out that put J.T. here in the hospital.”
"Go on."
"I went looking through his things. I wanted to know if he was really Katherine Whitfield's father."
Leeanne let out a breath and sat back on the couch. "I should have called you yesterday."
"Why?"
"Because I know J.T. is not Katherine's father.”
"How could you know that?" Mary Jo asked in amazement.
"Yesterday Jimmy went into Lexington for a business meeting. He was acting so strange about it that I followed him. I thought I'd just turn around when I got there, but he didn't go to a bank, he went to a house..." Her voice faltered for a moment. "He went into this run-down little house with run-down toys on the steps and a run-down woman in the living room." Leeanne put a hand to her mouth as if she were nauseated. "He called her Evie. And he asked her if he was Katherine's father."
Mary Jo gasped. "But that can't be. Not Jimmy..." She shook her head. It didn't make sense. J.T. was the cheater, not Jimmy. "What did she say? Did she admit that he's Katherine's father?"
"I don't know. I was too afraid to stick around and find out." Leeanne's eyes filled with pain and anger at herself. "I heard the question and I panicked. I ran like hell back to my car and drove away before they knew I was there." Leeanne shook her head. "I'm such a coward, Mary Jo. I couldn't stand there and hear her tell him he had other children than ours."
"Oh, honey, I don't blame you." Mary Jo put a hand on Leeanne's arm, realizing the other woman was trembling. Leeanne had wanted to add pizzazz to her life, and she'd certainly done that.
"This woman, this Evie, she had other kids, babies. I suddenly started wondering if Jimmy had another family I knew nothing about."
"That's impossible."
"Until yesterday I would have agreed with you. But for Jimmy to ask her that question... well, he must have slept with her at least once. God, Mary Jo, what am I going to do?"
"You have to talk to him."
"He didn't come home last night. He called and left a message that he was staying the night in Lexington." Leeanne bit down on her lower lip. "With her, I think. I never in my wildest imaginings thought it would turn out like this."
Mary Jo wrapped her arms around Leeanne's thin body and gave her a tight squeeze. "You can't jump to conclusions. You need to talk to Jimmy."
"Mary Jo, Leeanne," Claire called to them as she entered the waiting room with a worried look in her eyes. "How's J. T?" She looked at their faces and put a hand to her mouth. "He's not--”
"No!" Mary Jo shook her head. "He's holding his own. The doctors want to watch him today and tomorrow. They think he'll be okay if he takes care of himself."
"Thank goodness. You both look so somber."
Mary Jo exchanged a quick look with Leeanne. "Leeanne is upset because there's a woman in town who thinks Jimmy might be her father."
"A woman? What woman?" Claire asked sharply.
"Katherine Whitfield," Mary Jo replied.
"Katherine?" Claire's lips tightened. "Jimmy isn't Katherine's father."
"He's not?" Mary Jo asked. "How do you know?"
"Yes, how do you know?" Leeanne echoed. "Katherine said her mother's name was Evelyn and Jimmy went to see a woman named Evie last night."
"Katherine's mother made up the name Evelyn Jones when she ran away from home," Claire said. She paused. "Her real name was Margaret. Margaret Stanton. Katherine is my granddaughter."
"No." she gasped, looking over at Leeanne who also appeared stunned.
"It's true," Claire replied. "I spoke to Katherine yesterday afternoon. She has Margaret's hope chest and quilt, and when I showed Katherine a photograph of Margaret, she told me the woman was her mother."
"She could be lying, trying to ingratiate herself with you," Leeanne said. "In fact, what do we really know about this woman? She could be lying about everything."
"She didn't know her mother was Margaret until I showed her the picture. She was shocked."
"But we buried Margaret years ago," Leeanne said. "Harry had her body--”
"It was a lie," Claire cut in with ruthless determination. "He did it so I'd stop looking for Margaret. He told me everything last night."
Mary Jo couldn't believe what she was hearing. Harry Stanton had faked his own daughter's death and lied to his wife about it? Was there no man in Paradise who knew how to tell the truth?
"Is Margaret really dead then?" she asked.
Claire's lips trembled. "Yes, but she died fifteen years ago in an auto accident when Katherine was twelve. I don't know anything more than that. Katherine took off before I could ask her any more questions."
"Took off as in left town?" Leeanne questioned.
"I hope not."
Mary Jo leaned back against the couch. "It seems there's no end to the secrets in this town."
"I can barely believe it," Claire said softly. She suddenly looked old, the weary lines of too many lies, too many heartbreaks, showing through her makeup. "I'm not sure I can ever forgive Harry for what he did."
Leanne stood up and paced restlessly around the room. "Let me get this straight. Katherine Whitfield comes to Paradise looking for her father. And instead she finds her mother. Which, of course, begs the question, if Margaret is Katherine's mother, then who is Katherine's father? The woman I saw in Lexington yesterday was not Margaret." Her lips hardened. "Imagine that. Katherine's innocent question turned up another little nasty secret."
"I wonder if that's the last of them," Mary Jo said with a sigh. Because deep in her heart she had a sinking feeling that J.T.'s picture of a naked Margaret could only mean one thing -- that he was Katherine's father.
* * *
Katherine dug her hands into the earth, wondering how many times her mother -- Margaret -- had done the exact same thing. She'd intended to go back to the hotel after slipping out of Zach
's bed, but instead she'd found herself once again in the garden. She'd meant to stay only for a minute, but it was going on two hours and she couldn't tear herself away. Here amidst the lavender plants, she felt warm and safe and secure.
"You should have told me," she whispered to herself, to her mother, to the wind. "You should have told me who you were and where you came from and whether or not I should let these people into my life."
There was no answer in the breeze that lifted her hair off her neck, no whispers on the wind. With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the weeds. The morning sun was pouring heat down upon her head and shoulders. It was a new day, a new beginning, but she didn't know how to begin or what to do next.
She put her hands back in the earth and continued piling weeds on the cobblestone path next to the flowerbed. She needed better tools, but all she had today were her hands and a willing heart. If she managed to accomplish one thing before she left Kentucky, it would be to weed this garden, to put to right the only piece of her mother's life that she had the ability to reconstruct.
A few minutes later, she heard someone come into the garden, and she knew without looking who it would be. She went on with her work even as her pulse began to race and a dozen questions formed in her mind. She was scared of the conversation to come, terrified of the relationship between her and the woman standing behind her.
"I thought I'd find you here," Claire Stanton said.
She pulled her hands out of the soil and looked up at her grandmother. Claire wore beige slacks with a gold belt and a cream-colored blouse. As always, she looked like she'd stepped off the pages of a magazine. Maybe Margaret hadn't been able to compete with that kind of perfection, that kind of control. Lord knew Katherine had a hard time doing it herself. She pushed a piece of hair out of her eyes. "I can't seem to find anyplace else to go," she admitted.
"You feel close to your mother here?”
She shrugged as if she didn't care, even though they both knew it was a lie. "I'm not sure who my mother is anymore."
"I can tell you about her."
"I don't know if I'm ready yet."
"Then maybe you can tell me about the woman who raised you. I'd like to know what became of my daughter. Not just what she looked like, but how she felt about life, if she was happy, if she was healthy, if she suffered."
She slowly stood up, mindlessly wiping her dirty hands on her jeans. "You make her sound like two different people."
"She was two different people -- the young girl from Kentucky and the single mother in California. I know this is difficult for you. It's hard for me, too. But we're connected, Katherine. We're family."
Her stomach turned over at the word family. How she'd longed to be part of someone's family tree. But it seemed unreal the way it had happened, and not at all the way she'd imagined.
"I loved Margaret," Claire continued. "I adored her. She was my precious baby girl, even when she wasn't so precious. She was imaginative and impulsive and quick to temper, but she was also funny and generous in love. She made friends easily. And if you told her she couldn't do something, it only made her work harder just to prove you wrong." Claire paused, her gaze kind and compassionate. "You may feel angry and bitter towards us, Katherine, knowing that we forced your mother out when she was pregnant with you, but it wasn't as cold-blooded as you think."
"Wasn't it?" Katherine did feel angry. Ever since her earlier conversation with Claire, she'd realized that the Stanton hadn't wanted her. She had been the crux of their fight with Margaret. Her very being was what had shattered the family apart.
"No, it wasn't. When Margaret told me she was pregnant, I was shocked. She had just turned nineteen and I saw her life slipping away from her. Even she agreed that getting pregnant was going to cost her something. I tried to reason with her, but I got nowhere, and her refusal to tell us who the father was only put a bigger wall between us. I was ashamed for Margaret. I admit it. I let my pride and my husband's pride get in the way of our love."
"You wanted my mother to have an abortion?"
"No! Heavens, no. I don't believe in that. We wanted Margaret to give you up for adoption, so she could go on with her life."
"And you could pretend she'd never had a baby."
Claire turned pale. "I suppose that was part of it, at least for Harry. My husband -- your grandfather -- he's very strong in his belief of what is right and what is wrong. Having a baby outside of marriage was a sin in his mind, a sin that should be punished. He felt the only way Margaret could pay penance was to give her baby away."
"To some family who could love her the way you couldn't," Katherine finished, her voice turning hard as Claire's painful words tore away another illusion of a happy family reunion. The Stanton had never wanted her. No wonder her mother had run away. "I understand," she said to Claire. "It all makes sense now."
"You don't understand. You weren't a person to us then. You weren't real. You didn't even show in Margaret's body. You were a nameless, faceless reminder of how we'd gone wrong in raising our daughter."
"And God forbid anyone else should see your mistakes. No matter what you thought of my mother getting pregnant without a husband, I was still your grandchild, and you were willing to turn your back on me."
"We had a fight with Margaret. We all said things we didn't mean. And Margaret left. I thought she'd come back. I thought we'd all cool off in a few days. But I was wrong. By the time we realized Margaret was really gone, she was lost to us. Haven't you ever said something you regretted? I regretted what we said to Margaret the moment we said it. And even Harry was sorry as time passed and he realized what we'd done. But it was too late."
"It's too bad you can't apologize to my mother," Katherine said, not sure she was quite ready to accept the explanation or the apology.
"It's also too bad Margaret never gave us the chance," Claire answered back, her eyes flashing with anger and pride. For a brief second Katherine saw a hint of her mother in Claire, and it caught at her heart.
"What did I say?" Claire asked, her eyes searching now.
She blinked back her tears. "You reminded me of her just then. She was very stubborn, very proud. She hated to be wrong, absolutely hated it. I don't think I ever heard her say the words, 'I was wrong. I made a mistake.'"
"She was like her father in that way. I tried to be the buffer, to keep the peace, but it didn't always work. Harry loved this farm and he wanted Margaret to love it, too. When she didn't, it broke his heart. And you have to believe me when I tell you that Margaret hurt me as much as I hurt her. You don't understand, Katherine, because you weren't here all those years ago, but I loved my daughter. I spent hours with her, braiding her hair and reading her stories and teaching her how to sew and listening to her problems. When she went away, I felt sad and confused, but I never stopped loving her. I thought she would come home eventually. I really did."
As much as she wanted to defend her mother, as much as she wanted to rail against Claire for what she'd done all those years ago, she felt torn. She was angry with Claire, but she was also angry with her mother for never telling her the truth, for never telling anyone the truth. Evelyn or Margaret or whoever she was had deprived Katherine of her grandparents and her father, whoever that was.
"I practically ripped Harry apart last night. I was so angry with him for faking Margaret's death," Claire continued. "He says he did it to stop me from going crazy with searching for her. Maybe that was his reason. I'm not sure it even matters anymore. Margaret is still dead. And what he did doesn't really change that, although I might have had a few more years to find you, to find her." Claire drew in a deep breath and let it out. "But I've been married fifty years to that man. And we're both old, too old to start over. We've done what we've done and we are what we are. I don't want to look back anymore. I want to look forward, to you. I'd like you to meet Harry."
"I don't know," Katherine said.
"He's ill, Katherine. You don't know him and probably don't care, but I w
ould like him to see you just once, if that's all you'll give us."
Katherine wandered over to the cement bench and sat down. "I used to make up families when I was growing up. I'd write down names on pieces of paper and imagine a big family with lots of brothers and sisters and a really great father and mother and grandparents."
"What about your stepfather and his family? Were they kind to you?"
"Yes. They were nice. They kept me. That's all I could ask."
Claire hesitated, then sat down next to her, careful to keep her distance. "Do you think there's a chance we could get to know each other?"
"I don't know. I'm confused. I came here to find my father. I had no idea I'd find grandparents instead."
"About your father, I truly don't know who he is, but if you want, I'll help you find out."
"I'd like to know. At least I think I would." Katherine shook her head. "Zach warned me that first day that I was going to stir up all kinds of trouble, and I have."
"Come with me," Claire said. "I want to show you something. It's not far, just the top of the ridge."
"All right." She stood up and followed her grandmother out of the garden. They paused at the top of the hill and looked out at the valley.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Claire asked with a sad smile.
"Yes. It reminds me of my mother's quilt."
"It was Margaret's favorite spot besides the garden."
"I feel like she somehow called me home. But that's crazy. She had nothing to do with my finding the quilt. In fact, she hid it from me years ago."
"If she really didn't want you to come home, she would have gotten rid of the chest. She would have thrown it away and then you would have never known."
"Maybe she didn't get a chance. I'm sure she didn't expect to die that young."
"No, but when Margaret took the chest with her, I had hopes that someday it would bring her home. Instead, it brought you home."
"This isn't my home," Katherine said firmly.
"It could be."
Katherine crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked out at the widespread valley, the squares of fences, the colors spread out before her like the quilt that comforted her. She'd never felt like she belonged anywhere until she'd come here, to Paradise. But how could she embrace the town, the people, who had turned their back on her mother? She had to leave.
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