The Comfort of Lies: A Novel

by Randy Susan Meyers

  The truth stung.

  Occasionally Nathan admired women’s willingness to examine one another’s relationships, but most of the time it drove him crazy. Like Juliette and Gwynne: Nathan was positive that Gwynne knew everything he did, especially the bad things. At times it made him uncomfortable to be with Gwynne, knowing she’d heard about everything, from his affair, to how he compulsively checked his hairline every morning.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror, saw a truck barreling down, and switched to the right lane.

  “Robin says I was the whore to your wife’s virgin.” She tapped him on the leg in the familiar manner of old lovers. “You know, the virgin-whore complex.”

  “I know what a virgin-whore complex is.”

  “Sorry, I forgot for a moment what a genius you are.”

  Had she been this sharp tongued when they were together? God knows he could have ignored anything, he’d been in such a sexual headlock with her.

  Keeping his marriage vows had come easy after getting over Tia, like a pacifist who’d adopted nonviolence after dodging combat bullets.

  Nathan had fooled himself: he’d worked overtime at the task. Except for moments when a stab of sexual memory excited him, he’d just about put Tia out of his mind. Yes, there had been a discomforting curiosity about the baby, but then when he never heard from her, he convinced himself that she’d had an abortion. He’d managed to believe that Tia was out of his life forever, and he and Juliette would live happily ever after. He’d been so grateful for her forgiveness that he forgave himself and then absolved himself of the memory of Tia.

  Nathan never tried to find out what happened with the pregnancy. Battling for a pardon from Juliette overtook everything in his life. He walled off thoughts of Tia. He’d convinced himself that his renewed devotion to Juliette and the boys made him a good and faithful husband, and a father above reproach. The past disappeared. Abracadabra: his affair was expunged via good deeds.

  Denial, sure, but that’s how he moved ahead. His ability to rationalize, figure out things—assure himself that he was a good man—now seemed like the actions of a delusional man.

  Juliette never let go of the why, which seemed to bother her more than the actuality. She searched for a reason that would put his infidelity into a paradigm she could understand and thus prevent from happening ever again. As though if he revealed the truth, she’d then understand how to prevent him from straying.

  Why the hell had he been unfaithful? The real answer made him seem like garbage. Sharing the truth of his hunger, his want to see himself through the eyes of a besotted woman, would make him seem like . . . like exactly the man he’d been.

  Juliette had never been less than a satisfying lover. No woman ever felt closer or more right, though, truth be told, some had been more exciting, but only in the way that one occasionally wanted wasabi to electrify the tongue.

  Now Tia provided agitation, not electricity. Sleeping with her had been stupid. Had he really believed he could get away unscathed?

  He’d learned to live without lightning, but it had come back to knock him on his ass.

  • • •

  Caroline and Peter Fitzgerald stood in the doorway, the child between them, each with a hand on her shoulder. He studied the couple before staring at the girl, afraid of seeing her.

  Tia moved closer to him, and he inched away.

  The neutral set of Caroline Fitzgerald’s mouth, neither smile nor frown, gave away little. She had an unthreatening appeal, willowy and wholesome.

  Nothing about Peter Fitzgerald’s expression was neutral. His tight lips were locked, maybe against words that might escape. Judging from the man’s expression, his first words could be a demand that they leave. He thought Peter unlikely to win if they fought, Nathan being rougher and wider, but Nathan could be very wrong. Despite Peter’s average build, he had the air of a street kid who’d know how to fight dirty. Nathan wouldn’t bet on himself if they were tangling over the child’s safety, not after seeing how the man clasped the child and glared at Nathan.

  Nathan looked at the girl.

  His daughter.

  The words barely computed, but seeing her struck him in the gut.

  She was lovely. Rosy cheeks. Hair so dark he’d call her Snow White if she were his daughter. His princess. He smiled. She looked back with mistrustful eyes. She grasped her father’s hand. Peter leaned down to her. “It’s okay, pumpkin,” he said.

  “Why don’t we go inside,” Caroline said.

  Tia and Nathan followed the family, Savannah clutching Caroline’s and Peter’s hands as they walked through the large white-tiled hall to the living room. Unlike Nathan’s home, all warm wood, cushions, and jewel tones, this house shone with aluminium and gloss. Sun bounced off the burnished surfaces, showing everyone in an uncomfortable clarity. Tia looked tired, Peter irate, Caroline anxious, and Savannah—the poor child seemed confused and terrified.

  “Want to get the cookies we baked?” Peter asked Savannah.

  The girl moved her head in an infinitesimal nod. “Okay.”

  Hearing her voice for the first time knocked Nathan out. She sounded so little—a little, little girl. He’d somehow built her into a large and unwelcome presence; now the sound of her tiny voice washed away his resentment.

  Savannah peeked back as she walked away, staring at Tia but also catching Nathan’s eyes. He worked to hold her glance without appearing stern. Seeing her in three dimensions confused him, and he whipped between curiosity, fear, and some atavistic pull. He wanted to take out his phone and capture her face in a picture. Show his mother. Look at it later.

  “What have you told her?” Tia asked the moment Savannah was out of sight.

  “The truth.” Caroline didn’t embellish. “Why did you want to come?”

  “Because she’s my daughter,” Tia said.

  “She’s been your biological daughter since she was born.”

  “But you never came to see me before,” Tia said. “I needed to know what changed and what was going on. See if everything was okay for my daughter.”

  Tension showed in Caroline’s shoulders as she rearranged magazines on the coffee table, first straightening them and then fanning them out into a decorator design. Caroline reminded him more of Juliette than she did Tia. Sympathy for Caroline’s rigid stance stabbed at Nathan. Caroline and Peter certainly hadn’t bargained for a visit like this when they adopted Savannah.

  “We haven’t been formally introduced,” he said. “I’m Nathan Soros.”

  Caroline scrutinized him. “Yes, I know. Does your wife know that you’re here?”

  “Fair question. She does.” Nathan heard Tia take a sharp breath.

  “So what exactly is your intent in seeing Savannah?” Caroline asked. “Do either of you realize the possible ramifications of this? This could work out very well, or very badly. Have you—all of you, including your wife, Nathan—have you even thought about her?”

  “Why did you say yes to our visit?” Nathan asked. He really wanted to know—this wasn’t a truculent question, and he prayed Caroline would understand that from his tone.

  CHAPTER 30

  Caroline

  Caroline realized she should get off her very high horse. Riding so far above the ground helped no one, least of all Savannah. If Tia’s face got any tighter, it might shatter. The poor woman’s hands shook even as she folded her arms around herself. Savannah must be terrified by that fear. What did she make of it?

  Having Tia and Nathan come here might be the very worst parenting decision they’d ever made.

  Dear Lord, she hoped this wasn’t going to damage her girl. How had she been so righteous and convincing when urging Peter to allow it: “Better to face the truth,” she’d said. “These are her biological parents. She’ll try to find out more about them sooner or later. This may be the right time.”

  Then she’d read to him straight from her research sites: “The philosophy of comfort does not take into consideration s
everal very important factors, one being that open adoption should not be based on making the adults involved comfortable; rather it should be about providing for the needs of the child.”

  But maybe she’d been wrong. Or they’d been wrong.

  Caroline took a calming breath and ordered her face to relax. “We let you come because we thought it might be healthy for Savannah to have a more open adoption. Even in the best of homes, adopted children fantasize about their birth parents. No matter what, she will always wonder about you—she already does. Peter and I agree, better to put that overwhelming curiosity to rest.”

  Before Tia or Nathan could comment, Peter and Savannah returned. Peter carried a large tray covered with a platter of cookies, glasses, and a pitcher of iced tea. Savannah, who’d recently entered an everything-pink phase, clutched the pink glass sugar bowl she’d picked out for the occasion. Lost for ideas of how to prepare for this meeting, Caroline had taken her to Target to pick out serving pieces for tea.

  Peter set the fuchsia lacquered tray on the coffee table, and Savannah placed the sugar bowl beside it. The moment Peter sat, Savannah sidled between his knees, staring openly at Nathan and Tia.

  “Do I have to go away with you?” Savannah clutched the fabric of Peter’s pant leg, looking at Tia and Nathan with an expression somewhere between fear and awe.

  “Oh, honey, of course not,” Tia said.

  Nathan leaned toward Savannah. “We just wanted to meet you. That’s all.”

  Savannah nodded. “Are you my real daddy?”

  Nathan shook his head. “No, honey. Peter is your real daddy. I’m just the man who made you with Tia.”

  Caroline began to understand why women were drawn to this man. His concentration on Savannah didn’t waver as she pondered his answer.

  “Is this lady my real mommy?” Savannah asked him.

  Tia’s eyes went from the child to Nathan, as though not sure who to absorb first, her hunger shaking Caroline. No one should look at Savannah with eyes like that. How could the child breathe under such pressure?

  “No, Savannah,” Nathan said. “She’s the woman who made you with me. Caroline is your real mommy.”

  Savannah turned to Tia, moving a little closer to her and Nathan, while keeping a pudgy hand on Peter’s knee. “But I was the baby in your stomach, right?”

  Tia nodded. She stared into Savannah’s eyes. “Yes. You grew in my belly. I have a picture with me.”

  Tia picked up the large leather bag at her feet.

  Caroline and Peter’s eyes met. She telegraphed, Is this okay?

  I hope so, his eyes answered. He looked as helpless as Caroline to stop or even slow down the crazy train.

  Tia rummaged in her bag and drew out a large brown envelope.

  “What is that?” Peter put out his hand as a stop sign.

  “Some pictures I thought Hon—Savannah would like. From before she was born.”

  “Pictures?” Caroline wanted to snatch the envelope from Tia’s hand and shuffle through them, edit them, even as Savannah stretched out a hand to see them.

  “Just one, okay?” Peter’s question was not a question. “Let’s not overwhelm anyone.”

  “Right.” Tia opened the envelope on her lap and peeked in until she drew out a tattered photo. “I should have copied this so I could give you one.”

  Tia held out the photo to Savannah, but Caroline intercepted it. She glanced down and saw a pregnant Tia sitting in shadows. Savannah left Peter and sidled over to Caroline, who was closer to Tia. Caroline felt the weight of Savannah’s warm palm on her forearm.

  “This is me?” Savannah tapped the image of Tia’s swollen belly. “Before I was born?”

  “Yes, baby, that’s you before you were born.” Caroline lifted the girl to her lap. “And then as soon as you were born, you came home with me and Daddy.”

  “Like in the Tell Me Again book?”

  “That’s right, honey, like in the book.”

  Savannah asked for the Tell Me Again About the Night I Was Born book at least twice a week, always making Caroline repeat her favorite lines, and then once again tell the story of Peter and Caroline bringing Savannah home.

  “Tell me again how you carried me like a china doll all the way home and how you glared at anyone who sneezed.”

  Savannah squinted at Tia. She left Caroline’s lap and took a few cautious steps toward Tia. “You don’t look too young,” she said.

  “Too young for what?” Tia asked.

  “Too young to take care of me.”

  “That’s in her book,” Caroline said. “Where the pregnant woman is too young to be a mother, so she gives the baby to the baby’s mommy.”

  Why did Tia give her child away? All those lies Tia told about not knowing the father’s identity, her intimations of some sort of abusive episodes with men, her fragile emotional state, all of it had been lies. Peter hadn’t allowed his wife to ask Tia a single question. He’d been too thrilled that they’d been chosen to be Savannah’s parents to risk irritating her.

  “I guess I was too young in ways you can’t see,” Tia said.

  “Like what?” Savannah asked.

  Tia blinked rapidly. Nathan put an arm around her shoulder. “Like I wasn’t married, and I didn’t have a job or a good place to live,” she said.

  “That’s why you gave me away?” Savannah asked.

  Oh, Jesus, please, let me take this child’s pain. That’s what Caroline should research: how to surgically remove a child’s pain and transplant it in the mother’s body.

  “We knew that your Mommy and Daddy would do a better job,” Nathan said.

  “So you gave me away, right?” Savannah’s lip quivered.

  Tia’s tears spilled, and she reached out and took Savannah in her arms.

  Caroline hugged herself as she watched Tia twine her arms around Savannah. “I just couldn’t do it right, honey,” Tia said. “I just couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

  Savannah leaned into Tia. “It’s okay,” the child said in a quivery voice. She touched her biological mother’s back with a tentative child’s pat. Tia responded by leaning her head upon Savannah’s, their dark hair mingling.

  Who comforted whom was impossible to determine. For a few moments, they fit in a way that shattered Caroline’s heart. Then Savannah broke away and ran back to her father.

  Savannah looked at Peter, tears mixing with the panic on her face. “I am staying here, right? Right, Daddy?”

  • • •

  Caroline spent an hour with Savannah before bedtime, reading Adoption Is for Always three times and then repeatedly writing words like Love and Special on her back before her girl finally fell asleep. Savannah, once Caroline calmed her, declared herself lucky, because unlike the girl in the book, she was able to meet her birth mother and birth father. Caroline felt grateful that whatever happened, this one truth felt right. Savannah wouldn’t spend her life imagining who Tia and Nathan were. Caroline prayed that somehow, in that way, the almost disastrous afternoon had blessed her daughter.

  After Caroline’s initial gratitude that she could soothe Savannah, and that her girl seemed to have weathered the drama, the time spent rubbing letters on her back became no less boring than the day before. Still, despite the tediousness of bedtime—the long hour spent reassuring Savannah how much they loved her, that no one would take her away, and that she was their girl forever and ever—once Savannah slept, Caroline remained in her room. She sat on the rose-colored carpet next to her daughter’s bed, legs crossed, listening to Savannah’s soft breathing.

  After all the tears and hugs, Savannah had asked Caroline a final question. “Can I see the other-mother and other-father sometimes? Not for a long time, just for itsy little bits. Just to see.”

  “Just to see what?” Caroline had asked.

  Savannah had shrugged, and unlike the motion of a child avoiding truth, it was the gesture of a girl who truly didn’t know. “Just to see what they look like.”

  • • �
��

  Caroline found Peter in the family room kneeling on an old oilcloth his mother had given them after one of her cleaning sprees. Caroline remembered her urging it on them after a Sunday dinner. “You’ll be surprised. It will come in handy one day. Take it. I have three of them.”

  Caroline hadn’t asked why Peter’s mother had three red oilcloths. She hadn’t a clue how Peter’s mother imagined they might use it, and yet here Peter was, kneeling on the slick material, his tool box open, a row of tools laid out neatly beside him.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He looked up, a wrench in one hand and a pair of pink handlebars in the other. “I bought a bike for Savannah.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I forgot. It was in my trunk.”

  Caroline didn’t think it was likely he forgot. Buying toys for Savannah was Peter’s sedative. She knelt beside him and picked up a piece of the bike. “A two-wheeler. Do you think she’s ready?”

  “Maybe I’m rushing it.” Peter looked drained and tired despite his brave smile. “Maybe I’m the ready one.”

  The bike pieces were spread out in a deliberate pattern. Caroline was sure he’d laid them out in the order they would be put together. He was always careful. They were alike in that.

  “I’m so sorry, Peter.”

  “We’ve fought enough. Let’s just let it go for now.” He held out his hand. “Phillips head, please.”

  Caroline began crying. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt Savannah.”

  Peter ran a chamois cloth over a piece of chrome.

  “I don’t want to hurt any of us,” Caroline repeated when he remained silent. “I wish I could do a better job with her. Really. I wish I could be the wife you want. Be the mother Savannah needs.”

  Peter leaned over the handlebars as he attached them to the body of the bike.

  “You must hate me.” Caroline fell on her knees beside him on the oilcloth. “I’d do anything to be able to take all my words back. To feel different.”

  Finally he looked at her. “I just don’t know what to say. I can’t believe we put Savannah through this today.”