“Hello? Laini, what’s wrong?”
Good grief. I haven’t gotten a word in edgewise and darn whoever invented caller ID.
“Ma, calm down, for crying out loud.”
“How can I calm down when you’re calling me at three in the morning while I’m on my honeymoon?”
Three in the morning? Oh, New Orleans. Central time.
“Let me talk to Aaron, Mom.”
“Why do you want to do that? Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
I’m not about to fill her in when she’s already keyed up just from the phone ringing. “Mom. Seriously.”
“Oh. Fine.”
“Laini?” Aaron’s voice sounds concerned. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Honey? Well, I guess that’s okay. I fill him in, including what his son did to the house.
“I just can’t believe it.”
Poor Aaron. I know he’s got to be mortified. “The police are looking for him. I’m not sure what they will do. But I imagine Mom’s going to have to press charges.”
“Yes, yes, of course. We’ll come home right away.”
I know there’s no point in trying to persuade them to stay in New Orleans, so I don’t even try.
Aaron hangs up with the promise of calling the airlines and seeing about tickets home.
I walk back into the living room to find Pastor Moore and Patty. They’ve already started diving into the glass, and they’ve tossed the majority of the larger shards into heavy-duty lawn-and-garden bags that they must have brought along.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your kindness,” I murmur. I suddenly feel so shy and unworthy in the presence of these three. People who live out their faith in flip-flops and lounge pants, with plastic bags.
Tom is pulling pieces of glass from the window itself. I see wood planks lining the wall, and I frown. “What’s that?”
“To cover the windows. We can’t leave them without something on them—for one thing, it’s still too cold, and for another, it’s dangerous.”
Heat fills my face. “You’re right. I didn’t think about it.”
Patty slips an arm around my shoulders. “You’ve been through a traumatic experience tonight. Why don’t we go out to the kitchen and make you some tea?”
“I should help clean up!” I don’t need to be treated like a fragile crystal vase, but I have to admit it does sort of feel good.
“Oh, the guys have all that covered. There’s not much. Mostly glass. They’ll get it cleaned up in no time and then they’ll cover the windows.”
My phone rings again and I heave a sigh as, sure enough, I see Mark’s name.
“Do you need to get that?” Patty asks, eyeing my phone.
“I’d rather not.” But he’s not going to stop calling until I do, apparently. I decide the very next time he calls, I’ll answer.
What a night. Seriously. What. A. Night.
22
Chad sits across from me, his tearful face making my heart squeeze with sympathy even as I want to sock him for damaging my mother’s home.
“I know what I did was wrong. I have been coping with my problems lately by drinking. Not that I’m saying that’s an acceptable excuse.” He gathers a deep breath. “I know I scared you, and I’m completely sorry.”
We’re sitting around a conference room table at the law offices of Handegraff and Reed. Chad’s lawyer clears his throat and fixes his lawyerly gaze on me. “Will that apology suffice?”
“Wait, Hank.” Chad looks from his lawyer back to me. “I know part of your mother’s agreement to not press charges has to do with my apology to you. But I want you to know I’m truly sorry. This isn’t just about getting off legally. I know I was wrong. You have every right to toss me in jail.”
Hank clears his throat again. Loudly.
“It’s okay,” Chad says to the guy who is this close to a stroke.
“Don’t worry about it, Hank,” Aaron says, clapping the attorney on the shoulder. “You’ll get paid either way.”
Hank glowers.
Silence filters through the room and everyone’s eyes are on me.
“Okay, look.” I know that doesn’t sound like the beginning of a speech that needs to end with “I forgive,” but I’m still holding a little bit of a grudge. Sympathetic or not. “My mom’s house is going to need a lot of work to get it ready to sell, thanks to your little tirade. How do I know you won’t get smashed some night and do it again?”
He blinks, as though he is mortified that I would ask such a thing.
“I mean,” I continue, since he just doesn’t seem to get it, “have you been drinking long? Is it a problem? Are there alcoholic tendencies? I think this deserves answers that go beyond a simple apology.”
He opens his mouth, and I cut him off again. “Don’t get me wrong. I do believe you’re sorry. I don’t think you’d be inclined to take a bat to a house in your right mind. It’s your anesthetized brain swimming in alcohol that I worry about for next time. What steps are you willing to take to reassure us this won’t happen again?”
“Now, listen,” Hank begins. “I don’t think there’s any cause to assume this will happen again. My client has complied with Mrs. Bland’s wishes.” Okay, not the issue at the moment, but hearing my mom called “Mrs. Bland” leaves me a little cold.
Aaron takes my mom’s hand and spears—and I do mean spears—Chad with a look. “I think Laini has a very good point. I’ve seen similar behavior from you in the past. And don’t even try to deny it.”
“That was three years ago, Dad!”
Aaron nods. “Yes, but you were drunk and violent and destroyed your wife’s car.”
Chad’s face goes white, as though he can’t believe Aaron brought it up. “I thought she was cheating,” he mumbles.
I turn my gaze to Brenda, who looks miserable. She shrugs at me. I suspect she’s had her share of heartbreak over this idiot stepbrother of mine. My heart goes out to her.
“Personally,” I blurt out, “I wouldn’t let you off the hook without anger-management classes and documented AA meetings.”
Hank frowns at me. “Are you saying you’ll forgive him if he agrees to those two conditions?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ve learned that forgiveness is a gift. I bestow that freely. What I’m saying is that if I were my mother, I would insist on those two things along with his apology to me. Otherwise, I’d press charges.” I give him a too-sweet smile. “But that’s just my opinion, Hank. I can’t begin to guess what my mother will do. It’s her decision. After all, it was her house he smashed up.”
I turn and meet Chad’s narrowed gaze head-on. He doesn’t look at all happy.
“Now wait a minute. The agreement was that I apologize to you, and your—” He pauses and I want to forget forgiveness and hop across the table. Jerk. “And your mother here wouldn’t press charges.”
I refuse to answer. I just keep staring at him and give a shrug.
My mom speaks up for the first time. “Chad, you are about to be a father. I know what it’s like growing up in the home of an alcoholic.”
She does? She never told me.
“Laini’s suggestions are good ones.”
Chad scowls. “You would think so. You’re her mother.”
Aaron slaps the table. “Stop interrupting and listen.”
Mom touches Aaron’s hand ever-so-slightly and her new husband immediately calms. “Chad,” she says, “I’ve been watching your wife during this exchange. She’s humiliated and, if I’m not mistaken, a little fearful.”
Brenda’s eyes go wide and I have a feeling Mom hit it on the head. Will the little wife have the guts to speak up for herself, though?
“You don’t even know my wife,” Chad says, keeping his tone even—deliberately even, I’d guess. At least he’s smart enough to do that. I don’t think it would take much to push my mom into letting him rot in jail for a while.
“That’s true, Chad. But I hope to.” She gathers a breat
h and pans the room, including each person in her line of vision—Chad, Hank, Brenda, me, Aaron. “That’s why I’m going to do this: Chad, you’ve got two real problems that need to be controlled before your child is born. Alcoholism and anger.”
At this moment, I marvel at my mother. Chad keeps his mouth shut, and surprisingly, his eyes are not reflecting anger. Something else . . . hope, maybe?
“I want you to get help for both of those things. Anger management and Alcoholics Anonymous, just like my daughter suggested. You agree to those things in writing, and I won’t press charges.”
When all is said and done, we accomplish a lot in the meeting room of that attorney’s office. Poor Hank is slightly bewildered by the whole thing, though. He and Chad both probably thought they would get off easy. Apologize for scaring the life out of me, pay for damages to the house, and voilà, you’re off the hook.
Brenda turns to me as we leave the room and squeezes me a lot tighter than one might think possible, as tiny as she is. “Thank you, Laini. Maybe this will all be worth the trouble.”
I hug her back. “I pray so, Brenda.”
We make it out to the curb and Aaron hails a cab. After we’re settled into the back of the car, I turn to Mom. “I can’t believe how great you were, Ma!”
“It was your idea. I was waffling on what to do.”
Aaron nods. “It was the perfect solution. He’s needed this for a long time. I’ve been too preoccupied with his mother for the last two years to realize how much he’s been drinking.”
“You can’t blame yourself, hon. Chad’s a grown man. This might have been just the nudge he needed. God is using this situation to get him help.”
He is? God? I’m just about to get mad since I’m the one who had to go through the ordeal. But Mom’s next words effectively diffuse the bomb about to blow up in me.
“Laini is much more capable of handling this sort of thing than I am. You should have seen the way she held up after her father died.” Her voice cracks and she reaches over to take my hand. “I fell apart. But not my girl. She finished school, worked hard, and then had the gumption to start over.”
Aaron nods, and I swear I even see pride glinting in his eyes. “It takes a lot of strength to stand on your own two feet like you have. Your mom is right to be proud of you.”
All right. I can’t continue to let her think I’m amazing when I know better. “Listen, Mom, I have to tell you something.”
Her silky eyebrows go up just a smidgeon, and she waits for me to continue. So I do. I tell her all about how bad I am at interior design and how I don’t even like it all that much.
“But you enjoyed decorating your apartment.”
“I know! I’ve always loved putting things together, going to antique auctions and finding bargains that might look nice in a house. But my idea of what works and most people’s ideas just don’t mesh. My grades are horrible.”
Her eyes go wide. “Will you get your degree in May?”
I nod. “Technically, I’ve passed all my classes. A couple of Ds, mostly Cs.”
“I’ve never known you to receive less than a B in a class.”
I give her a rueful smile. “Tell me about it.”
“But you will pass this semester?”
“The project is going really well. The concept anyway. After the contractors finish knocking down and building up, Jazz and I will start painting and putting together the furniture and pictures and the rest of the actual decorating. Then we’ll schedule an open house where the entire design department will come and observe. We took extensive photographs of the place before, and we have to blow them up and display them on easels.” It occurs to me that I’m rambling. But I’ve lived for this woman’s approval for as long as I can remember. The thought of confessing failure makes me nervous. “Anyway, I should pass, but I won’t be at the top of my class by any means, and most likely I’ll work as someone’s assistant.”
I stop and take a deep breath.
Mom pats my leg. “It’ll all work out.”
I wait for the rest. For the part about hard work paying off and how I need to find a job where I’ll be happy. But it doesn’t come.
“Look,” Aaron says, “it’s starting to rain again.”
And just like that my entire gut-wrenching confession is trumped by a chat about the weather.
“Who is that man?”
I look in the direction my mom indicates as the taxi pulls up in front of the house. My heart does a loop-de-loop. It’s Mark. Pacing and inspecting the damage. His dad’s black Tahoe sits in our driveway. He rushes to me as soon as I step out of the cab. Before I can greet him, he pulls me in for a hug. What would have been welcome two nights ago suddenly makes me uncomfortable.
“Mark, what are you doing here?”
“I had to hear from Liz that your mom’s house was vandalized?” He’s frowning, and his tone sets my teeth on edge.
“Well, if you had answered your phone Monday night instead of letting your girlfriend answer, you would have heard it from me.”
“Mark has a girlfriend?” Mom whispers loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“No, I don’t have a girlfriend,” he snaps.
“Don’t talk to my mother that way!”
Aaron clears his throat. “I think we’d best go inside and leave these two to talk.”
Mark looks to Mom. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sullivan—uh—I’m sorry, I don’t know your new last name.”
Mom’s face softens and she gives his arm a maternal pat. “Mrs. Bland. But you can call me Lydia. And I know you didn’t mean to be rude.”
Relief crosses his features. “Thank you.”
The two of them leave us in the drizzle and walk into the house.
Mark looks down at me. “Kellie lost her apartment.” He takes a deep breath. “I felt responsible. All those years we lived together and I paid most of the bills. I just didn’t know what to do.”
“So you let her move in with you?”
“Just until she finds a more reasonably priced apartment.” He rakes his fingers through his hair.
“She doesn’t have family?”
“She doesn’t really speak to them.”
“Well, maybe she should and she’d have someplace to go other than your apartment.”
“I’m sorry. I should have told you. I was going to tell you yesterday. You’ve never called me at four in the morning before.” He attempts a boyish grin, but I’m not buying it. It’s not cute. This is a crazy situation. I can’t be part of it.
“Mark, you’re a great guy and I like you a lot.”
He groans and his face clouds. “Don’t break up with me.”
“I can’t break up with you. There’s no commitment between us anyway. But there obviously was with Kellie, and I can’t deal with that kind of baggage. Not when you’re still carrying it around.”
I know I sound selfish and harsh.
“What about when she finds her own place?”
I shrug. “Maybe. If you can cut her loose for good, I won’t be put in a position where I’m jealous or suspicious.”
He nods. “I understand.” His eyes are glistening, and I’m aware of tears lurking below the surface. I don’t want to bring attention to it, so I turn my head.
I’m trying to figure out how to bring this to an end and send Mark on his way when the drizzle suddenly starts to come harder and faster.
“Well, I’d better let you get inside,” he says.
I nod but don’t ask him to come inside. He’s driving his dad’s SUV, so I figure he must have come over here from the restaurant. He hesitates for a second. “All right, then. I guess I’ll call you soon.”
I watch him go. My stomach tightens, but I know I made the right decision.
“Well, Laini-girl,” I tell myself, “you’re on your own again. What are you going to do with your life?”
23
By the time I return home Wednesday night, I have seven new orders for cinnamon rolls, bread
bowls, and stuffed sandwiches. Each order is for more than three dozen of everything, and I’m feeling pretty darn overwhelmed. Nancy isn’t too happy either.
“Look, Laini,” she says. “No hard feelings, okay? But I think I’ll have to start looking for another place. You need to be able to use the kitchen all the time, and I need to be able to make a cup of tea without burning my hand on a pan of bread sitting on top of the stove to cool. I mean, I know I could use the kitchen, but it’s always so cluttered up with bread rising, cooking, or cooling that I don’t feel like I have a right to it.” Nancy sounds more frustrated than I’ve ever seen her. I wonder briefly if something more than bread is bothering her.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Her eyes fill with tears. “Tyson called again.”
My hackles rise.
“He says he’s left her for good and wants to see me.”
“You told him to go take a hike, right?” Her silent gaze tells me otherwise. “Oh, Nance. What are you going to do?”
“He’s flying in this weekend.”
“You didn’t tell him no?”
“I wish I had the strength.” She flops down onto the sofa and covers her face.
Compelled, I sit next to her and hold her loosely while she sobs. When her body stops shuddering, I grab a couple of tissues from the coffee table and press them into her hands. “Thanks.”
“Look, I think you need a few days to get your head together without me in the house bugging you. I’m taking my bread and will stay at my mom’s house.”
She looks at me, horrified. “I didn’t mean to kick you out of your own place!”
“You’re not. Mom has two ovens anyway. I’ll be able to work faster.”
Despite her protests, I definitely see relief in her face. I have a feeling Nancy’s going to be getting her own place soon. I don’t mind. I figure at almost thirty-one years old, it’s time for me to be on my own anyway.
I ask my mother if I can stay at her house to give Nancy some space. Since she and Aaron are renting a little two-bedroom apartment and the house is just sitting there while it’s being repaired, she readily agrees.
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