The Hideaway

by Lauren K. Denton

  “No way,” Crawford said.

  “It gets better. The van stopped before it got to the barn, but then it pulled right up next to where I was sitting. Mags hopped out of the van and walked over to me. I remember being so glad she’d skipped her bird’s-nest hat and boots, but the four gray heads peering out the windows of the van was spectacle enough.”

  Crawford buried his face in his hands. “Stop,” he said, laughing. “That’s terrible.”

  “If you’ve never been the one whose grandmother and her friends shut down your party, it’s a special feeling.”

  “I can only imagine.” His laughter died down. “So, were you and Mags close? Or did you just bide your time until you could move out?”

  “We weren’t on bad terms by any means. She was my grandmother, and I loved her. But . . . it was complicated. It was hard to be really close to someone who seemed to try to be as eccentric as possible. I just didn’t understand her.”

  “Is that why you left?”

  I stood and walked to the edge of the dock. Out in the distance, a dolphin fin sliced through the calm water. “It was a lot of things. My parents’ accident, then living with Mags and her friends. The barn party was just the last straw. Plus, I knew if I did stay in Sweet Bay, the only designing I’d be doing would be helping Staci at Tips and Tans decide the best layout for her tanning beds and foot baths, or maybe decorating the principal’s new office at Baldwin County High if I was lucky. I wanted to design houses and beautiful spaces, and I didn’t feel I could do that in Sweet Bay where everyone saw me as just Mags’s granddaughter.

  “After college, I moved on to New Orleans and started working two jobs to save money to open my own shop. I came back often at first—at least every couple of months. But as I got busier, the amount of time between visits got longer. Once I opened Bits and Pieces, all my time went into the shop. I always came back around the holidays, and maybe once in the summer, but that’s all I’ve been able to manage. But you have a business—you know how busy it is. How often do you get up to Tennessee to visit?”

  He shrugged and gave a half smile. “Honestly? As often as I can. It’s a long drive but my mom’s alone, and I don’t like to go too long without checking on her.”

  I looked out at the water and sighed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s probably not what you wanted to hear.”

  “No, there’s no reason for you to hide that. You’re a good son, and you take care of your mom. I should have done the same thing with Mags. It hurts to think . . .” I turned my head when my eyes started to fill.

  He stood and crossed the wood planks toward me. When he put his hand on my shoulder, I leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around me.

  After that day, Crawford always came bearing gifts, climbing the front porch steps with a half grin on his face. He’d offer up a box of cinnamon rolls from the diner or a bag of cleaning supplies once I started tackling the years of grime on the porches and dock. Dot and the others loved it. Whenever he’d stop by, especially if it was after work hours, they’d make a big show of leaving the room. “We’ll give you two some privacy,” they’d say, tripping over each other to get out of the way.

  One night when Crawford had a late meeting in Mobile, Bert requested we all gather around the coffee table after dinner for a game of Monopoly.

  “You only like that game because you cheat,” Major said as Bert set up the board and divvied up the silver game pieces.

  “I don’t cheat,” Bert said, aghast. “Is it even possible to cheat at Monopoly?”

  “If there’s a way, you’ll find it, I’m sure.”

  “Major,” Glory said. “That’s enough. No one cheats. You’re just not very good. But that doesn’t mean you can’t close your mouth and indulge the rest of us.”

  We were an hour into the game when a car pulled up out front. Dot lifted a corner of the window curtain and peered into the dark night. “It’s a truck. Let’s see, it’s black . . . the door is opening now. It looks like a man . . .”

  “Thanks for the play by play,” I said, hiding a smile. “I think it’s Crawford.”

  “Oh heavens. My hair’s a mess.” Glory shot like a dart toward the stairs.

  “Wait, Glory, you don’t have to go,” I said. “Crawford probably won’t even notice your hair.”

  “Well, why not?” she asked from the bottom stair. “It’s a new color and I think it’s quite lovely.” Dot joined her on the stairs.

  I opened the door so Crawford could see their frantic exits.

  “Where’s everyone going?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “We’re old and in the way,” Bert said. “You two don’t need us cluttering up your evening.” He stood from his place on the couch next to Major. “Come on, Major.”

  Major didn’t budge. “I don’t see why I have to get up and ruin a perfectly good lead in Monopoly just because this young fella decides to show up.”

  “Don’t quit on my account,” Crawford said. “I’ll just join in.”

  Major narrowed his eyes.

  “Or sit and watch,” Crawford said.

  “Don’t you worry a thing about it,” Bert said. “We’ll continue our game another time. Major, you’re coming with me.” Bert bumped Major’s outstretched legs with his knee, urging him to get a move on.

  Major grumbled and stood. “All right, all right, I’ll go, but I don’t like it.”

  We watched helplessly from the front door until the room was empty and quiet. Crawford started laughing, then I did too, relieved that everyone’s swift escape hadn’t rendered the evening too awkward.

  “What do you say?” He gestured to the game still spread out on the coffee table. “I’ve been known to win a game of Monopoly.”

  “You’re on.”

  He settled down on one side of the table and waited for me.

  Getting involved with a man in Sweet Bay was the last thing on my mind when I left New Orleans. In fact, I was almost embarrassed at the thought of telling Allyn about Crawford—not because anything about him was even remotely embarrassing, but because I’d been so focused on doing what needed to be done in Sweet Bay, then getting back to New Orleans.

  Now not only had I met someone, but I actually craved his company. More than that, I missed him every time he closed the door and walked away from me.

  “Well?” He patted the floor next to him.

  We picked up the game where the rest of us had left off. Crawford took over Major’s spot in the lead. Amid conversation, walking through the house to look at odd mementos and souvenirs, and occasional game playing, I beat him by five thousand dollars and three hotels.

  23

  MAGS

  MAY 1960

  I let Robert move into The Hideaway. Maybe it was the shock of William leaving. I actually preferred to think that was it and not that I was still able to be swayed by my parents’ wishes for my life. Whatever it was, I agreed to my father’s plan to keep us together—although I knew it would only be an illusion. I did put my foot down at the idea of returning to our home in Mobile. It was out of the question. If they wanted us to have the look of a happy marriage, he had to come here, because I wasn’t leaving.

  The day he moved in, I sat him down in the living room when everyone else was out.

  “Margaret—”

  “It’s Mags.” I hadn’t planned that, but it worked. I was no longer Margaret, but I also couldn’t bear to hear William’s nickname for me coming from Robert’s mouth. I shortened it to the least proper thing I could come up with on the spot.

  “Mags?” He laughed, then went silent when he saw my face.

  “Don’t speak. If you’re going to live here, we will have rules.”

  He nodded and waited, a grin still struggling to escape his lips.

  “First, you are never to mention AnnaBelle’s name. Or any other woman you may have . . . met . . . since we married. I won’t have the guests in this house thinking I am a ridic
ulous woman for taking you in. They know nothing about you or where you’ve been. They’ll believe me when I tell them you’ve been away on business. Because that is where you’ve been, right?”

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “Marg—”

  I held a hand up.

  “Two, you are not to ask any questions about how I’ve spent my time since I’ve been gone. Not a word of it. It is mine and mine alone. Three, you’ll have your own bedroom and I’ll have mine.”

  “Wait a minute, you mean to say I’m sleeping alone every night? When my wife is in the same house?”

  “I’m your wife in name only. I know how this works—it benefits both our families for this marriage to work out. Or at least look that way. I’ll hold up my end of the bargain, but don’t expect me to forget everything that’s happened. And not just AnnaBelle. All of them. For all three years.”

  He drummed his fingers on the armrest.

  Suddenly exhausted, I sat in the chair behind me. I sighed and rubbed my temples with my fingers. “Also, I’m pregnant,” I said with my eyes closed. “If this is a problem, you can go ahead and leave.”

  I’d known for a few weeks—ever since I vomited in the kitchen sink one morning not long after William left. I’d just reached for my usual cup of coffee, but the smell left me reeling and retching into the sink.

  Starla’s eyes had widened as she handed me a dish towel. “Gary had it last week.” She backed away from me. “I can’t get sick—I have yoga to teach. Sorry. Let me know if you need anything.” She hurried for the door of the kitchen.

  “I don’t think—” I began.

  “Oh, you have the bug, all right. Either that, or you’re pregnant.”

  I was carrying William’s child. It was both perfect and absurd. Laughable and heartbreaking.

  Robert fired back at me. “So you skewer me for my indiscretions when—”

  I shook my head. “You have the option to leave. Believe me, the door is wide open.”

  He stared at me, his jaw clenching. “Okay, I won’t ask. You’re right—I have no right to do that. You’re my wife. I’ll help take care of you while you’re . . . sick . . . unwell. Whatever happens when you’re carrying a baby.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “You don’t have the first clue what to do around a pregnant woman.”

  “I’ve taken care of wounded soldiers on the battlefield with bullets whizzing two feet past my head. I think I can handle a vomiting housewife.”

  “We’ll see about that. And just so we’re clear, you are the convalescing housewife in this situation. I have a house to run.”

  Robert was true to his word over the next nine months. For the first time, he did exactly what I asked him to do. He brought me saltines and ginger ale when I needed them, answered the telephone when I couldn’t get to it fast enough, and mopped the floors to a shine. He learned to peel shrimp when the sight and smell of the slippery little things sent me running to the toilet. He grew handy with a vacuum and even got the motorboat up and running again.

  Dot and Bert checked into The Hideaway when I was a few weeks away from giving birth. They had no reason to think the baby’s father was anyone but Robert. That is, until the night Dot found me in the garden. I’d been going out there most evenings. Sitting on William’s bench made me feel closer to him—thinking of his hands on the wood and on me, smoothing us and turning us both into something sturdy and beautiful. The fact that I was about to have his baby without him in my life made me feel like I was carrying much more than an extra thirty pounds.

  In the garden, with the dark covering me like a cloak, I let myself cry. Since William’s departure, I’d been able to hold back the threatening tears, resolutely going about the business of keeping the house in order and finding new ways for guests to pay for their stay. This time, with no one around to watch, I stopped holding back.

  I didn’t know how long Dot had been standing there, but by the time I looked up, I knew my face was a wreck. She sat beside me, took my hand, and rubbed circles onto my palm with her thumb. The gesture—and the lack of questions—not only calmed me, it solidified our friendship. I knew I could trust her.

  She sat with me as my tears came and went. When I was done, spent from the energy of letting out all my closed-up emotions, she handed me a tissue.

  “I could have used this about an hour ago,” I said, wiping my damp face and hands.

  She laughed.

  “You’re not going to ask what that was all about?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t need to. That baby isn’t your husband’s, is it?”

  My mouth dropped open, but I quickly closed it, then shook my head. “How’d you know?”

  “Just a hunch. You and Robert don’t seem exactly friendly toward each other. Is the father here?”

  “He left. But I think it was partly my fault.”

  “You’re pregnant, he left, and you think it’s your fault?”

  I sighed. “I—my father came and . . .” I didn’t even know how to explain. “Anyway, he didn’t know I was pregnant. I didn’t know it then either.”

  “I see.”

  But I knew she didn’t. She couldn’t have. It sounded like any other misdirected love story—two people in love, someone gets hurt, and one leaves, never to be seen again. Love stories end like that every day, but ours was different.

  “It’s just temporary. He’s coming back.” I willed my voice to sound sure, but to me, it just sounded tired.

  “What about Robert?”

  I shrugged. Was it wrong to wish for him just to disappear? He’d done it before—with AnnaBelle and others before her—maybe he’d do it again.

  “What are you going to do?” Dot asked.

  “I guess I’m going to keep waiting.”

  I still loved William, and he had to love me too. What we’d started here hadn’t been a dream, that much I knew. We would be together again. Those truths were the only things that kept me going and allowed me to go through the motions of my life.

  One day, I told myself again and again, he’ll come back.

  24

  MAGS

  OCTOBER 1960–OCTOBER 1962

  As my body grew larger to accommodate William’s baby, my heart grew as well. I cried over everything. Everyone attributed my weepiness and mood swings to the pregnancy. Only Dot and I knew the real reason for my tears. I assumed she told Bert what was going on, although he never let on that he knew. Bert was a loyal friend and a wonderful partner to Dot, but “women problems” weren’t high on his list of topics to discuss.

  My water broke early one foggy morning as I stomped around in the vegetable garden, trying to remember where I had planted the carrots. All the little rows of upturned earth looked the same. For some reason, it became important that I knew exactly where they would grow that fall. Okay, perhaps I was also letting off a little steam—mild contractions had rolled through my body all night, and anger was hot on their heels. I was furious with Robert for being in the house, with William for not, with my parents for conspiring to keep me from the man and the life I so desperately wanted. To be honest, I was mad at myself too. After all this time, I still couldn’t stand up to Mother and Daddy.

  At the hospital, Dot waited in the room with me while Robert stood with a handful of other husbands in the waiting room. He was likely the only man in the room about to greet a child who wasn’t his.

  Everyone assumed Robert was the father of the baby struggling to free itself from my body. A nurse by the name of Yolanda was the only one who found out the truth. Dot had left the room between contractions to find me some ice chips, leaving me alone with Yolanda.

  In a burst of pain, I cursed Robert with all the strength I had in me.

  Yolanda murmured and patted my hand. “Baby, I know it hurts, but you can’t lay all that blame at your husband’s feet. Sure, he put that baby in there, but this little one will make it all worth it. You’ll be kissing Robert’s face in no time.”

  “Robert
may be my husband, but he did not put this baby in me,” I spat out between clenched teeth. Finally, the contraction released its grip on me and I exhaled. “I should be raising this baby with William in our little house in the cove.” I turned my head toward her. “But we’re not, are we?”

  Lord have mercy, Yolanda had no idea what hit her.

  “That man out there didn’t father this baby?” Yolanda’s eyes grew wide.

  I shook my head and wiped sweat off my face, waiting for the next contraction.

  “Where’s the baby’s daddy?”

  “I don’t know.” I didn’t have the energy to explain.

  Jenny was a sweet, beautiful baby, and I took easily to mothering. Perhaps it was because so many people had warned me of colic, diaper rash, and every other potential pitfall of a new mother’s life. Jenny had none of that—she offered only gummy smiles, infectious laughter, and plump cheeks and fingers.

  It was hard at first—having Robert around without William—but there were good times too. We had a picnic in the backyard for Jenny’s second birthday. It was a sparkling fall day, brisk and sunny. Starla and I set up the long picnic table next to the house, and we scattered various toddler toys on the grass for Jenny to play with. The adults sipped apple cider and laughed at Jenny’s antics with a two-foot-tall plastic Mickey Mouse. Bert found it on the side of the road “in perfect condition,” he said. Dot disagreed, but Jenny loved her new Mickey.

  After gifts and cake, everyone went back inside except the three of us. I sat at the wrought-iron table—one of Mrs. DeBerry’s leftovers—to rest my feet in the shade while Robert picked up wrapping paper and empty cups. Jenny sat in the grass and dumped blocks from one box into another. When Robert finished cleaning, he picked Jenny up in the air and swung her around and around.

  She squealed and laughed, her voice carrying through the quiet air. As soon as he put her down, she ran to me and threw her arms around my neck with the force of a tiny hurricane. I hugged her little body, and she ran happily back to her blocks.