The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

by Ninya Tippett

  I arched a brow at her. “I don’t imagine you’d just go running out of your house dressed like you are right now for anyone. I’m not exactly an expert on maternal instincts but I know it when I see it.”

  Layla’s face, despite now swelling on one side from the ugly lump on her cheek, was inscrutable as she stared out of the car window.

  “I did what every knocked-up fifteen-year-old had to do without having to abort her baby,” she said in a distant voice, glancing at me with a half-smile that didn’t make it to her eyes. “I gave him up.”

  Even though I guessed the truth, my mouth still rounded in surprise as I stared at her for a moment. “Why?”

  The laugh that escaped her lips was dry and hollow. “Why? Funny you’d ask the same question that’s been branded into my brain in the last twelve years. But the answer is quite simple really.”

  She directed flat, blank blue eyes at me. “I had no choice.”

  “I think we’ve all borrowed that excuse one time or another,” I said with a shake of my head, remembering my own secrets. “It’s a climactic, pause-for-extra-drama one-liner that arrests the audience and pulls in their sympathy for you—until they’ve had a moment to realize that there is always a choice. We just have ones we prefer—say, making a little confession over having your fingernails pulled out with pliers.You know, that kind of thing.”

  Layla’s blank expression didn’t improve so I kept going. “When one outcome is substantially more impacting than the other, it feels like the choice is obvious.”

  When she still didn’t say anything, I shook my head and dared touch her knee briefly. “What I’m trying to say is that I understand, when you say you had no choice. It often feels like it even when we do have another choice. Sometimes, there’s really only one that we can live with.”

  Layla finally blinked, shaking her head slowly, a fleeting smile ghosting over her lips. “And sometimes, what you can live with at fifteen, can be very different from what you can live with at twenty-seven.”

  I reached into the built-in cooler in the backseat of the town car and took out a chilled bottle of water, handing it to Layla with a gesture to her face.

  She winced slightly as the cold plastic bottle touched her swollen cheek and I worried for a moment that the reminder of the present would draw her away from the past.

  But she continued.

  “It was one of those silly summer flings with a cute boy I met while staying with my grandmother at her plantation home in North Carolina. My grandmother was the quintessential southern belle, born to wealth and privilege—one of those old-fashioned-minded ones who still believed in marriage alliances. She, herself, married into an equally affluent family and set the same path for my mother. When she found out I was sneaking out with a boy, she got very angry. I think it was more the fact that the boy, who was only a few years older than I was, didn’t come from a family of any significance. He was the son of one of the farmers but even though he was working on a scholarship for college, he was still less than nothing to my grandmother’s eyes. She banned me from leaving the house and I never saw my summer sweetheart ever again. As summer came to an end, I realized I was pregnant, and because my grandmother had the maids spying on me all the time, I couldn’t keep it a secret.”

  Layla smoothed her skirt over her lap, her fingers catching the delicately embroidered hem and fidgeting with it. “She stopped me from going back to my parents. She summoned my mother and between the two of them, they decided that I was to stay at the plantation until I gave birth and that my baby was going to be given away. They assured me my distant cousin Danny was going to take care of my baby—he owned a real-estate firm and was happily settled down with a wife and a couple of kids.”

  As Layla slowly divulged every detail of her secret past, the glacial mask that was a near-permanent fixture on her face started melting.

  Her light blue eyes were stark with a sorrow I imagined hurt her more than the large welt on her face.

  My heart twisted but I kept my mouth shut, afraid to break the fragile trust she'd given me in this rare moment of honesty.

  “Two years later, after my life was back to normal, my mother died of a kidney complication,” Layla said with a mere shrug, her indifference obvious. “My grandmother followed a few years later. I was twenty-one, fresh out of college and finally free from the two women who forcibly shaped my life into the mold they chose for me. I tracked Danny down to Boston and without really knowing why I was doing it, I moved. I didn’t want to intervene but I just wanted to keep an eye on my son, even from a distance. I had some family here—Bessy and her parents took me in without questions and easily found me a place in the city’s elite social circles.”

  Oh, Bessy. Not you too.

  As much as the other girl antagonized me, I had a sinking feeling that just like her cousin, she was going to be, if not already, another woman Don LeClaire would use and abuse.

  As if she could read my mind, Layla met my stare with her own stony one as she continued. “That’s when I met Don. He was handsome, charming, rich, possessing of a last name that was solid and old enough to fit the husband criteria ingrained in me since I was a little girl. I married him. Things seemed to finally fall into place—I was living the perfect life I thought I’d forfeited when I got knocked up.”

  She brushed off an imaginary lint from her skirt, her lips curved into a bitter smile. “But having gone through what I had, I should’ve known that happy endings were for fairy tales, and fairy tales were for fools.”

  “Don found out I was looking in on Riley. When he demanded answers, I broke down with the truth, begging that he forgive me for not telling him my secret.” Layla’s face creased with disgust. “What I thought was his possessive, slightly controlling nature became my worst nightmare. He cut off all access I had from funds except for a spending allowance. He has an accountant go through every penny I spend to make sure that none of it was spent on my bastard child, as he often put it. I was young and naive when I married him. There was no pre-nup or anything that could actually protect me and my own money. The only alternative I have is to go to my father but he knows nothing about Riley or Don’s cruel side. To my father, Don was the son he never had and he’s very fond of him. Don threatened that if I disobeyed him or went to anyone for help, he would make sure my dirty secret was published to the world, that he would turn my own father against me, and that he would make Riley disappear.”

  I hadn’t realized my fists were curled so tightly until a sob caught in Layla’s throat and I reached out to grab her some tissue.

  It was a little ridiculous, Don’s nefarious threats, but when you’ve once had something so vital taken away from you and you barely managed to put up a fight, it was easy to believe that there was no way you were ever going to be able to fight back and actually win.

  “For the next few years, I busied myself with social duties and friends—avoiding my husband at all cost and going through extreme measures to discreetly check on Riley,” she said as she dabbed at the few tears that spilled down her cheeks. “Then three years ago, my cousin Danny was divorced by his wife who left with their children and all his money. He lost his business, he lost his house, he lost his goddamned mind.”

  Anger suffused Layla’s marred yet beautiful face as she crumpled the tissue with unnecessary force. “They ended up in a ramshackle apartment. I gave them what money I could sneak away but it never lasted. If Danny wasn’t off working a part-time job he could only hang on to for a few weeks, he was drinking himself to death, and he was taking my son with him.”

  Whether people look for redemption or plain escape in a bottle, it’s no excuse to stick your head in and forget about the rest of the world. The first step to a better life is to want one more than you want the temporary relief of forgetting that you aren’t living it. Someone should've told my father that.

  Layla thrust her chin up stubbornly. “I decided I had to intervene. I... I showed up one day, thankfully wh
en Danny was sober enough, and I introduced myself to Riley—as his aunt. One of Danny’s cousins.”

  I couldn’t help the grimace. “He knows he’s adopted. And if he’s as smart a kid as I suspect him to be after sitting with him earlier, he probably knows you’re not really his aunt.”

  A big, fat tear rolled down Layla’s cheek and she impatiently brushed it away. “I can’t... I can’t tell him the truth. Not when I can’t do anything for him anyway. What good is knowing I’m his m-mother going to do when I can’t even care for him? I can’t take him in. I can’t support him. I can’t even get him out of that shit hole he lives in!”

  There was little of Layla’s polish and poise left.

  She gripped the water bottle so hard, her knuckles were white.

  I eased the bottle away from her, as careful as a zoo keeper would be when trying to feed a lioness.

  In fact, she reminded me of just how ruthless wild animals get when their young was threatened.

  “Sometimes, the truth alone helps,” I said gently, remembering Riley’s face when he talked about stars. “Knowing that he hasn’t been completely abandoned might be enough for him for now.”

  “Are you sure?” Layla scoffed, her eyes slitting in derision. “Has it occurred to you that maybe he’s going to loathe me for abandoning him in the first place?”

  I exhaled loudly and looked right into Layla’s eyes. “Tell me something. Do you think Riley’s a good kid?”

  She blinked. “Yes.”

  “Do you think he has a good heart? A good head on his shoulders?”

  “Of course,” Layla answered indignantly even though she looked confused. “He’s intelligent and resilient. He’s a great kid.”

  I smiled and sat back. “Then maybe you should trust him with a chance to understand why you did what you did. You might be surprised.”

  There was a brief flash of hope in Layla’s eyes but anxiety quickly chased it away as she chewed at her lip for a moment. “I don’t know if I can take that risk. I don’t want him to hate me more than I already hate myself. What if... What if he never forgives me?”

  I shrugged. “You can’t expect forgiveness if you don’t admit your faults first. And if forgiveness was always guaranteed, everyone would be doing every kind of bad thing out there.”

  The small beep indicating the microphone at the driver’s seat turning on sounded off.

  “Pardon, Mrs. Maxfield, but might I inquire as to where your next destination is?” Gilles’s extremely formal, stiff-sounding baritone which he liked to use when he was in full chauffeur-mode, came through the speakers in the backseat.

  I turned off the mute button that was automatically activated when the privacy panel was raised and spoke, my eyes seeking Layla who quickly looked away. “Not sure yet, G. Why don’t we do a nice, leisurely loop around downtown for now and I’ll let you know where we’re headed to next. I promise it’ll be one round. I know what a tree-hugger you are.”

  “Will do, Mrs. Maxfield,” was Gilles’s unflappable reply. “Thank you.”

  I pressed the mute button again and faced Layla.

  She was now looking at me with a sardonic expression—which was a bit of a relief. While that look typically foretold a criticism or a set-down about to be cast my way, it was least indicative that Layla was pulling herself together.

  Despite her half-hearted denials, she was nowhere near being completely alright, but at least she wasn’t breaking down anymore.

  “How does your staff take you seriously when you don’t act like their better?” she asked with a raised brow.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Maybe by first doing away with the whole better-lesser labels. I call the shots when necessary but I like my staff and I’m pretty sure they like me. We mutually look after each other and we occasionally share a joke or two.”

  Layla just looked at me for a second before shaking her head in what seemed to be resignation. “You’re unconventional.”

  My lips quirked. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you put it nicely.”

  I caught the slight twitch of Layla’s mouth as if she were about to smile but she straightened back in her seat instead, inhaling deeply. “You can drop me off back home, Charlotte. I’ll be fine.”

  I shook my head slowly. “You know, over two years ago, I had a fractured cheekbone, a bruised spleen and a face that resembled a rotting avocado. It wasn’t until I saw myself in the mirror that I decided I really wasn’t fine.”

  “Someone hurt you?” Layla asked softly, her eyes darting all over my face as if she could still find traces of my abusive past. “Who was it? A jerk boyfriend?”

  “It was my father,” I told her without pause. “He started drinking ever since my Mom walked out on us when I was six. He never stopped.”

  Layla lowered her gaze and spoke in a near whisper. “Don doesn’t do it all the time. Only when I make him angry. He went out of town and I thought I could take Riley out for a nice brunch today. I gave the staff the day off and brought Riley home so we could hang out for a little bit but Don came home early. He was angry at me for disobeying him.”

  “We can defend him a thousand ways but could you really trust your welfare to a man who beats you broken and bloody because he can’t control his temper? Because he can’t hold his drink?” I asked her fiercely. “I don’t call it a tantrum, Layla. I don’t even call it a lapse of judgement. I call it abuse.”

  “Well, we know how bold you are in calling everything as you see it,” she muttered bitterly. “Some of us... some of us can’t be that candid.”

  “I wasn’t candid at all,” I told her with a pained smile. “I couldn’t tell anyone. I just decided to leave because while I couldn’t say it out loud, I could at least walk away.”

  Tears started to sting my eyes at the bits of memories that started to dot the surface of my mind again but I quickly blinked them back, focusing my attention on the woman in front of me. “No one needs you to make a big proclamation, Layla. You don’t have to declare war or beat down anybody’s door. We can’t all be soldiers but we can all be survivors. You just have to get yourself away. That’s all.”

  Her lower lip quivering, Layla bent her head down as she took a deep, shaky breath. “Riley needs me, right? He needs me to be strong for him. For us. For once.”

  I reached forward and lightly squeezed her hand. She didn’t pull away. “You have no idea how much it will mean to him—to have someone fight their demons for his sake because he’s too young to be left on his own.”

  Nodding briskly, Layla lifted her head, sniffling but shoring up her courage as she squared her shoulders. “You’re right. I couldn’t fight for him then. I can fight for him now.”

  I smiled. “And as for finding them a better place to stay, I have an idea. My father left behind a house. Well, he left the house and a whole lot of debt that went against it. I managed to save it though. It’s nothing grand—just a small, two-bedroom Colonial with white siding, a cute little front porch and a small garden out front. It’s in a quiet, friendly area in West Roxbury. No one’s been living in it since I moved in with Brandon but we’ve hired a housekeeper to come in once a week and maintain it. Riley and Danny can move there. Maybe a new place can give them a clean slate.”

  Layla watched me warily, her mouth half-open, her eyes blinking slowly as if she had trouble focusing. “And what’s in it for you?”

  I tilted my head and gave her a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

  “Clearly, after all this... this heart-to-heart talk, you’ll want something in exchange,” she explained with a slight roll of her eyes. “I mean, you’ve already got half the chairmanship in the Society. I can make my support known, if you like. I don’t know, it’s up to you.”

  My brows knitted together as I struggled not to smile in amusement. “I don’t really require payback, if that’s what you’re getting at, Layla.”

  She gave me a disbelieving look. “Right.”

  I gave a little shrug.
“You’ve already trusted me enough to tell me your secret. Trust me a little more when I say that I just want to help.”

  She still didn’t look convinced but she didn’t offer any protest.

  “Why did you trust me with it anyway?” I asked, curious all of a sudden.

  Until about an hour and a half ago, Layla and I were still technically at war. We had a temporary ceasefire, but still at war with each other, nonetheless.

  Layla took her time answering—she probably couldn’t figure it out herself at first.

  Hell. I couldn’t think of any reason why she would trust her dirty little secret with me, of all people.

  “I think... despite the opinion I’ve expressed about you,” she started slowly, squinting a little as if the answers hovered in the distant horizon. “You’re not going to turn around and use this against me. You had plenty of chances before to throw me under the bus—and you didn’t.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “What would have I proven to any of you if I just went and did exactly what you did to me? That would contradict my philosophy.”

  Layla’s brows rose questioningly. “And what philosophy is that?”

  “Never become your worst enemy,” I answered with a grin and a wiggle of my brows. “That’ll be me doing you a favor, and proving to everyone that to get ahead, I had to cross the line.”

  I could tell Layla was fighting a reluctant smile. “When you’re not always hovering over the gray, it’s easy to see the black and white of things. I get it.”

  “Oh, trust me. I have my moments blurred right over the lines,” I told her cheekily before taking on a more serious tone. “But more than anything, I want to help because I’ve been there, and it’s a place I wouldn’t want to find anyone alone in, even my worst enemy.”

  Layla gave me an arch look, reminding me that even though she was broken, she was still a social blue blood who knew it too well. “And why trust your worst enemy to keep her mouth shut about your dark, bitter past?”