Right All Along

by Heather Heyford

  They drew out their competition for another half minute, clearly enjoying the drama.

  “Just tell her!” said Freddie finally.

  Frankie turned to Melinda. “Guess what? Harley’s having a baby!”

  * * *

  Later, when Jack came back downstairs after kissing the twins good night, Mother was waiting for him.

  “We have to talk.”

  Jack plowed a hand through his hair. “Can it wait till tomorrow? I’m bushed.”

  “No. It can’t.”

  With a sigh, he followed her into the living room.

  She turned to him with a scowl on her face.

  “Is it true? Is Harley having a baby?”

  So, that was the secret the girls had been buzzing about that night at Harley’s, when she let them loose to explore.

  “It is.”

  “She can’t do that.”

  He could tell Mother that Harley wasn’t giving birth. But why should he? It was none of her business. Besides, after all her meddling, she deserved to stew a little.

  “When are you going to stop trying to control everyone in your orbit?”

  “You can’t have a child with her.”

  Annoyance changed to suspicion. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

  “She’s wrong for you. And bringing another child into the world will only make it worse. Jack, you have to put a stop to it.”

  “Stop it?” he snapped. “When are you going to start trusting me to run my own life?”

  “When you start showing me you can.” She picked up his jacket and dangled it in the air between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Because I threw my coat on a chair? Did it ever occur to you that I might pick it up myself if you’d give me half a minute?”

  “What if someone comes in and sees it before—”

  “Who cares? Who the hell cares? You’re so worried about appearances. I wish you cared more about my feelings . . . the girls’ feelings. But it’s never been like that, has it? All you ever cared about was that we live up to some impossible standard that only exists in your mind.”

  Mother glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Lower your voice this instant. The help—”

  “I don’t care about the help or anyone else. The help is human, just like us. Human, Mother. We fall down and we bleed . . . and we cry and we throw coats on chairs. We fall in love.” He recalled his parents’ chilly relationship and added, “If we’re lucky.”

  “Are you quite through?”

  “No.” Jack squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye. “I’m not. You’re such a hypocrite. All my life you acted like we’re better than Harley, and yet you’re running around with the vineyard manager.”

  The color drained from her face.

  “You think I didn’t know about Alfred? How could I not? Whenever you’re not in the house you’re in one of the outbuildings with him. It’s been that way ever since I can remember.”

  “Alfred and I have to work closely together. How can I not be expected to spend time with him?”

  “It’s more than that, and we both know it. Tell me. How long has it been going on? Since before we even went to New Zealand?”

  Mother’s mouth was a tight white line. “Leave Alfred out of this.”

  “Why? Isn’t that what we’re talking about here? The fact that in your warped mind, class trumps genuine feelings?”

  “That’s not what we’re talking about.”

  “Then what?”

  “If I had married a man like Alfred instead of your father, we wouldn’t have any of this—” she spread her arms wide in reference to the heart of the house, with its antiques and its crystal chandelier.

  “I’ve had this all my life,” he spat, gesturing angrily to the room. “But this never made me happy. I was an empty shell before Harley came into my life. She makes me whole. We were meant to be together. If only you would have let me live my own life without your incessant interference.”

  He headed out of the room.

  “Jack!” she called, running after him.

  At the door, he turned back around and pointed at her. “Harley’s adopting,” he spat. “But I’ll tell you something. I wish that child was mine. No matter how much you have against her, you’re going to have to get over it. Because I love her. I’ve always loved her. And whether you like it or not, we’re going to be together. In the beginning of the year, I’m taking the girls and we’re moving in with her.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  In his closet office, Alfred shushed Melinda with long, slow strokes of his hand over her hair, down the nape of her neck, until her heart stopped racing and her breathing returned to normal.

  When she had finally quieted, he pulled back and looked at her face. “There, now. You okay?”

  “Alfred. What would I do without you?”

  She took off her ever-present strand of pearls and poured it from hand to hand. “You see these? Growing up, my Grandmother Esther never lacked for anything. Her father was one of the wealthiest men in McMinnville. He started out raising beef cattle. Then, realizing that timber was Oregon’s main natural resource, he started a trucking company to haul logs to the mills. He was able to send Esther to private school. As she got older, he screened all her acquaintances. That was much easier to do, back in the forties. He chose a man, a decent man he knew would be able to provide the kinds of things his daughter was used to having.

  “But youth is foolish. Esther rejected the man her father chose for her and married a boy she knew nothing about. A lay about and a gambler who swore he loved her but, she soon found out, loved a lot of women. They lived in one rented house after another, skipping town in the dead of night when they couldn’t fend off the landlord any longer. Esther took in laundry and ironed tablecloths for a local hotel until she died a painful death from diverticulitis, thanks to her abysmal diet. These were the only thing of value she had left.”

  Alfred stared at the pearls. “What happened to her father’s money?”

  “The business went to her brother. You know how it was in those days. It wasn’t considered proper for a lady to work. Women were at the mercy of men. First their fathers, and then their husbands. It wasn’t like today, with the internet making it possible to market ideas without ever leaving the house, and women becoming educated and receiving fair pay.”

  She sighed. “In every day and age, once you’re down, it’s hard to get back up. Instead of learning from her mother’s mistakes, my mother followed in her footsteps . . . fell in lust with a man whose paycheck barely made ends meet.”

  “Were your parents in love?”

  “Love?” she huffed a bitter laugh. “Love doesn’t keep the wolf from the door.” She thought for a minute. “Were yours?”

  He shrugged. “I like to think so. Doesn’t every kid? What good’s money if there’s no love? I didn’t grow up rich and I turned out just fine.”

  “Unless you’ve been truly poor, you don’t know what it’s like. You live in a constant state of insecurity. It’s a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach when you go to the fridge yet again and there’s nothing to eat. Not seeing a dentist for years at a time . . . opening your dresser drawer to see the bottom of it showing beneath the same old rags, season after season . . . never having anything new. It’s like a heavy secret you carry around, embarrassed people will see. It makes you feel less than. Beneath.

  “And even when you’ve finally made it and you live in a beautiful home and your pantry is stocked full of nutritious food and you can give your child golf lessons and music lessons and take exotic vacations, even then, that knot of fear never goes away.

  “I was determined to be stronger than my mother. To get back what my grandmother had thrown away. I was hell-bent on rising above my circumstances.”

  There was a heavy pause.

  “If that’s what will make you happy,” Alfred said, rising from his chair with a small groan at the ache in his knees.


  “Where are you going?”

  “If I don’t get back to work, what’ll happen to all that success of yours?”

  He walked out of the tasting room, leaving her there to think.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  On a frosty December morning, Jack called Harley to say he was taking the twins Christmas shopping at the mall in Tigard and to ask if she wanted to come along.

  “Thanks, but you guys go ahead without me. I’m putting the finishing touches on my greeting card collection, and I just looked at my planner and remembered I promised to stop by one of those home parties where women sell things like makeup and Tupperware.”

  “You’re making some friends.”

  “Dad!” shouted Frankie before Harley could reply. “We’re ready. Are you coming?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Go ahead. Have fun,” said Harley.

  She was drawing when the phone rang.

  “Harley? Stacy Rubenstein.”

  “Yes!” Harley leapt from her desk chair. It had been a while since she and her adoption attorney had spoken. Now that the due date was only three or four weeks away, she shouldn’t be terribly surprised to hear from her. But she began pacing her office. “Hi, Stacy.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” Whatever you’re calling for, please . . . get to the point!

  “We’re at T minus two weeks and counting. Just checking in to see how things are going on your end. You ready for the holidays?”

  Stacy’s voice was maddeningly calm.

  “I think so.” Harley looked out the window at the inflatable snowman in the yard. Downstairs in the living room, the tree glistened with lights and shatterproof ornaments.

  “Have you talked to the people up there lately?”

  “My latest contact with the birth father before he went back overseas confirmed their intentions.”

  “What about Kelly?”

  There was a pause.

  “I called Kelly a week ago and left a message. I’m still waiting for her to call me back.”

  Mind racing, Harley clenched the phone so hard it might break. As the due date had drawn closer, her fears of the adoption falling through had receded further into the distance. She dreaded asking, but the only thing worse than knowing was not knowing. “Why would Kelly keep us on hold like that?”

  “I wouldn’t read too much into it. She has two little kids, her husband’s deployed again, and it’s almost Christmas. Plus, she’s gained twenty-five pounds and she’s ready to pop.”

  “Okay. If you say so.”

  “Meantime, is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?”

  “N-no, nothing.”

  “I don’t have to tell you that due dates are only estimates. If you’re not already, be sure to keep your phone turned on and with you at all times.”

  She laughed. “I’ve been doing that for months.”

  “Perfect. The next time we talk, then, will be when Kelly goes into labor.”

  “Wait! W-will you let me know the minute Kelly gets back to you?”

  “Oh. Yes. Sure thing.”

  She exhaled. “Thanks.”

  She hung up and gazed down at her work, but despite her looming deadline, she couldn’t focus. She went to the nursery and opened the drawers where the tiny undershirts and sleepers lay neatly folded. Screwed open the top of the baby lotion, closed her eyes, and gently sniffed. That was what her baby was going to smell like. Soon, he would be here. How could he not be, when she had gone to such effort to make a cozy, safe home for him? There was absolutely no need to worry.

  * * *

  At the mall, Jack stood behind the girls as they pressed their hands against a glass case and peered down into it.

  “See something in there that catches your eye?”

  Immediately, they dropped their hands, expecting to be told it was time to move on. But Jack had another idea.

  “What were you looking at?”

  Freddie pointed shyly into the case. “Those fur earrings.”

  The silver dollar–sized disks might just be the tackiest thing Jack had ever seen. “You think Mimi’d like those, huh?”

  Freddie nodded. “They’re beauuuutiful.”

  “What about you, Frank? Something in there you like?”

  “That pin,” said Frankie, pointing to a red enamel chrysanthemum brooch.

  He was wrong earlier. That took the prize for most tacky.

  “You want to look around a little more before you make a final decision?”

  They had never selected gifts without his or Mother’s direction. They looked at Jack and then at each other, trying to comprehend.

  “Tell you what. Why don’t we meet back here in, say, forty-five minutes?”

  “You mean . . . walk around by ourselves, without you?”

  “Why not? That way I can do a little shopping, too. You never know what I might come up with.” He winked as he slipped two crisp fifty-dollar bills from his wallet and handed one to each of them. “Here you go. Don’t spend it all in—” He caught himself just in time. “Have a ball.”

  “Ta!” they thanked him, in their excitement reverting to the Kiwi expression. He watched them saunter away with their heads together, giddily gazing down at the most money they had ever handled and debating over what each planned to buy with it.

  Jack headed back to the teen department, snapped up the sweaters he’d seen the girls admiring earlier and had them gift wrapped, then bought his mother yet another bottle of the scent she’d been wearing forever.

  At the appointed time, he returned to the jewelry counter, half expecting the girls to be late. His eyes lit up when he saw they had beaten him there. But instead of multiple shopping bags, they held only one small bag between them.

  “What’d you get?”

  “It’s for Christmas,” said Frankie.

  “We can’t tell,” said Freddie.

  He suppressed his curiosity. “Are you finished shopping, or do you need more time?”

  They looked at each other. “We spent everything we had,” they said.

  Jack sighed. “All right, then. Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  Harley arrived at Pru’s father’s stately home to find it packed with women in festive attire, tippling wineglasses, voices raised to be heard above the din.

  Pru reached for her coat. “How’s it going at the Victorian?” As usual, she looked like she had just come from the track. “Rakin’ it in?”

  “Not exactly,” said Harley, slipping off her coat and handing it to Pru as ordered. “Turns out running a bed-and-breakfast isn’t as easy as I thought.”

  Pru slapped her on the back. “We’ll talk.”

  Recovering her bearings, Harley glanced at the booklet Pru handed her. “Pure Delights,” she read aloud. Sounded like some kind of food product.

  “Grab yourself a drink and some food. The presentation’s about to start.”

  Harley speared a couple of sausages and cheese cubes from the spread on the dining room table, then carried her paper plate to the living room and looked around. Apparently, the wine boom had brought even more newcomers to town than Harley had thought. She didn’t recognize a single face.

  Weaving through the crowd, she found a seat on a low footstool between two women gossiping about the extramarital affair in the neighborhood.

  As Harley opened her booklet, Pru asked everyone to pick teams for an icebreaker game.

  Not surprisingly, Harley was the last to be picked.

  “Now, ladies,” said Pru. “I’m going to describe a product. If you know what it is I’m describing, call it out. The team that finds the most products first wins.”

  Harley sat up. This might be her chance to ingratiate herself to her team and, in the process, make some new friends.

  “The first item might come in a tube or a bottle. It’s used to alleviate friction.”

  Harley shouted out the first thing that came to mind
. “Lubricant!”

  The next thing she knew, a tube was flying through the air, straight into her lap. Her teammates cheered.

  “Taste it!” shouted Pru. “It tastes like strawberry.”

  She examined the label. So that’s what this party was about. “I’ll take your word for it,” said Harley, feigning a smile.

  “Taste it! Taste it!” The chant spread throughout the room.

  Far be it for Harley Miller-Jones to be thought of as a poor sport. She opened the cap, squirted a pea-sized dab on her finger, and touched it to her tongue. Harley smacked her lips and nodded feebly. “Strawberry.”

  The room erupted in cheers of approval.

  “What did I tell you?” demanded Pru. “Next up. This handheld item requires a battery—”

  * * *

  An hour later, when Pru’s sales team captain disappeared into an adjoining room to take orders, Harley said farewell to her teammates with the excuse that it was feeding time for her goats. But she couldn’t leave without saying good-bye to the hostess.

  “Did you have a good time?” asked Pru, handing her her coat.

  “Lovely. Such a surprise.”

  “You said the B and B business isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Well, I have an offer just for you. If you join my team of sellers, you can earn commissions on our sales.”

  “Er—what are we talking about?”

  “It all depends. Say you throw a party. If you sell five hundred dollars, you’ll earn fifty dollars toward your own merchandise, plus a half-price item plus twenty percent off additional purchases plus—”

  Harley held up a halting hand. “What with my design work and waitressing and the inn, I’ve already got a lot on my plate.”

  “Don’t think of it as selling. Think of it as performing a genuine service to the community.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself. See you at the office.” Pru disappeared into the melee.

  “Harley?”

  She turned around from where she was buttoning her coat. “Sylvie Collins,” said the woman.

  How could Harley forget? Back in high school, stirring up trouble and causing arguments was Sylvie’s favorite pastime. That ensured she’d be the center of attention. It was a wonder her performance after being thrown from the parade float hadn’t won her an Academy Award.