Love Me Forever

by Muriel Jensen

  “You went to my mother’s?” Sandy queried him, her tone cold and stiff. Her girls came over to her, sensing her distress.

  “Mommy?” Zoey said. Sandy put a hand on each little girl’s head and pulled her daughters close. “It’s all right,” she reassured them.

  Hunter went for broke. “Mom saw your mother at Freddy’s, and was a little worried about the man with her. She seemed to want to go one way and he another. Mom thought she might be with him against her will or something. She asked me to check.”

  He hoped that would pacify Sandy somewhat, but she simply regarded him darkly, waiting for him to continue.

  “I was surprised to find Harris Connolly at your mother’s, the man I knew as Astoria’s benefactor. He was helping your mother pack. The rest—what’s gone on with him since he left and why he’s here, he should tell you.”

  “Really. So far, I’m the only one who knows nothing about him.”

  “Sandy...”

  “And just when did you visit my mother?”

  He tried to free his reply of all guilt, certain he didn’t deserve it. “A couple of days ago.” But he still felt guilty, and he knew she’d painted him all over with it, anyway.

  She shot him one final, painful look that screamed betrayal, shouldered her purse, caught each girl by the hand and said stiffly to his mother, “Thank you for the lovely dinner, Stella.”

  “Sandy...” his mother tried to plead, but Sandy was already on her way to the door.

  “You don’t have a car,” Hunter reminded her as he followed her.

  She stopped, remembering, and leaned her forehead against the open door.

  “Mommy,” Addie whined, pointing to the kitchen. “We didn’t get ice cream!”

  Zoey, realizing something was amiss, shushed her little sister.

  Hunter turned to his mother, who still appeared horrified over what her innocent remark had brought about. He gave her a quick hug. “It’s all right. You take her to her car, and I’ll clean up while you’re gone.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, then grabbed her purse and hurried to follow Sandy out the door.

  Sandy sat in the passenger seat, the girls in back in their car seats. Her teeth were clenched so tightly her jaw hurt.

  Addie had begun to cry, upset about missing her ice cream and the cookies they’d made. Zoey was unusually silent.

  Stella drove over the hill to Sandy’s side of town and Safeway, missing a stop sign in her agitation and braking to a halt that would have sent them all flying forward had they not been wearing seat belts.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Stella. I’m sorry it’s been such an awful evening.”

  After an eternity, they reached the Safeway parking lot. Early evening shoppers were everywhere. Sandy pointed to the spot near the carts where she’d left her VW.

  Stella pulled in beside it and climbed out to help Sandy transfer the girls into the back of the Beetle.

  Sandy thanked Stella for the ride home.

  “Do you want me back in the morning?” Stella asked in concern.

  “Stella, I know none of this is your fault. I’m not blaming you for anything. If you’re available tomorrow, I’d be grateful.”

  Patting her hand, Stella said gently, “It isn’t Hunter’s fault, either, you know. I sent him to your mother’s, and he said nothing because he was asked not to.” Sandy opened her mouth to object, but Stella went on. “Yes, you’re his dear friend, but he was in an unwinnable position.”

  Sandy opened the driver’s side door, then smiled weakly at Stella, deliberately ignoring all she’d said. “Thanks for dinner and for the ride.”

  “Of course.” Stella seemed to sink several inches. “See you in the morning.”

  Twenty minutes later, Sandy sat the girls at the kitchen table with bowls of ice cream and store-bought chocolate chip cookies. Addie was not happy, wanting the cookies she’d helped make, but when she tried to complain, Zoey gave her her cookie, too, and told her to be quiet.

  Sandy felt as though she was trapped head to toe in a tar pit.

  Hunter had lied. Hunter, who came to rescue her from the police station, overrode all her plans to go to work and took her away for a day, who played games with her at the arcade, then kissed her as though he wanted her desperately.

  She poured herself a small glass of Moscato and drank it down. So, he lied. Their time at the beach today had been wonderful, despite how her day had begun, but he’d made it clear he had plans that didn’t include her, and she didn’t have time for him, anyway. She had to build a business.

  Alone.

  She went into the living room, out of sight of the girls, and sank into a chair, letting the tears fall. Hurt, betrayal and a simple anger came out in a little scream. She covered her mouth with both hands to stifle it.

  Suddenly, a small, soft arm stole around her neck. It was Zoey. She held a box of juice in her free hand. “Drink this, Mommy,” she said, in the comforting tone Sandy often used with the girls. “You’ll feel better.” Then she touched the box with her wand, a gesture that was uniquely her.

  Sandy wrapped an arm around her and drew her close. She smelled of strawberry shampoo. “Thank you, sweetie.” She took the juice, straw already inserted in the box. Zoey knew Sandy always had trouble with it. Sandy had a sip. Icky sweet but somewhat restoring liquid trickled down her throat and into her stomach.

  “Why are you and Hunter mad at each other, Mommy?” Zoey wanted to know.

  Sandy struggled to simplify. “Oh...sometimes adults have trouble understanding one another.”

  “When Addie and I don’t understand each other, you say we have to love each other anyway.”

  Sandy kissed the top of Zoey’s head. “That works for little sisters, Zo, but not always for big people.”

  A rap on the front door interrupted Zoey’s questions. Sandy hugged her again and pushed her back toward the kitchen. “Thank you for the juice, sweetie. I feel better already.”

  She went to the door, praying that it wasn’t Hunter. Or her father. Or her mother. Considering all the people she didn’t want to see, the odds were against her that the visitor would be welcome.

  It was Hunter.

  * * *

  HUNTER SAW THE HURT and betrayal in Sandy’s eyes and refused to let himself wince. Maybe he should have told her about her father, but it wasn’t his place. And Harry and Loretta had said they were going to talk to her right away. No, it wasn’t his fault.

  Sandy looked as though she’d been crying. He steeled himself against feeling sympathy, determined to say what he’d come to say.

  She stood in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest defensively. “I have nothing to discuss with you.”

  “Good. Then just listen!”

  She gazed off as if she couldn’t be more uninterested. He caught the front of her sweatshirt and yanked her to him to assure himself of her attention. Their faces millimeters apart, she was apparently too stunned to struggle.

  “You’ve somehow convinced yourself we’re all against you,” he said. “I did not deliberately hurt you. What happened was an accidental order of events. I learn through no fault of my own that your father is back and I don’t tell you because it isn’t my place, and I’m out of the picture. Your father comes home to try to put his family back together, and without allowing him a chance to talk, you put him out of the picture. How many people are you going to throw out of your life? And how many times? You might give that some thought before I do marry someone else, your girls do live their own lives and all you have is your ten-chain coffee cart.”

  He lowered his head. “And think about this while you’re at it.” He kissed her hotly, angrily. His lingering mouth drew out her bottom lip when he finally did brea
k the kiss, and left her mouth in a pout as he turned and loped down the steps to his car.

  He wasn’t sure what the point of that kiss was. He’d just wanted it.

  * * *

  SANDY BEGAN THE following day as she’d started all the others since she’d become owner of Crazy for Coffee. In her pink T-shirt, she hugged Stella goodbye, drove to work while mulling over plans for the Clothes Closet opening, climbed the steps and let herself into the cart, aromatic with coffee and all the wonderful flavors of syrup that lined the walls. She made sure everything was ready, then turned on her espresso and open signs, and greeted Dave with a smile.

  Business was brisk. She hurried from window to window for an hour, until Calli arrived, followed by Terri. Sandy looked at the clock, then at her schedule. “You’re an hour early,” she said to Calli, then added to Terri, “and you’re not scheduled at all.”

  Calli nodded. “Yeah. Terri and I are giving you a free day.”

  “A free day? I was off all day yesterday.” And she couldn’t afford to pay them for more days.

  “Yeah.” Calli waggled her eyebrows. “You were busted. We know all about it. My mom’s a good friend of Stella’s and they think you need another day off. And the free day means Terri and I are working for free. Just to be nice. ’Cause, you know, you’re a good boss. So, go.”

  “No, Calli. You did yesterday morning all by yourself, and I...”

  The door opened and Sandy paused in her argument as her father walked into the cart. Followed by her mother. All coherent thought fled and all she could do was feel. The small space inside the cart amplified her anger, but then she took a second look at their faces and her anger dissolved into something complex she couldn’t identify.

  “Please, Cassandra,” her mother said softly. “We have so much to say to one another.”

  Her mother looked brighter, somehow, and Sandy thought she caught a glimpse of the woman Loretta had been before Sandy’s father left.

  Sandy didn’t want to talk, but knew they had to. “Calli,” she said. “Are you sure you’ll be okay today? Terri?”

  “Positive.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Calli’s mother was a good friend of Stella’s. Sandy detected collusion in the way this day was progressing, but she had to deal with it.

  “Fine.” Sandy reached for her purse.

  Sandy hugged her staff and followed her parents out. The three stood apart on the pavement.

  “Where shall we go?” Loretta asked.

  “My place,” Harry said with a reluctant smile. “I have a feeling there’ll be a lot of yelling. Come on, Sandy. You’re riding with us.”

  Loretta pointed to Sandy’s car. “But she has her...”

  Harry nodded. “But she might decide on the way over to do something else today.” He opened the rear door of a silver Lexus and gestured her in. It reminded her of the old days when she rode in the back of her parents’ car on shopping trips and other drives. Though their car then hadn’t been this elegant.

  She climbed in, admiring the red leather upholstery and the French stitching. She guessed her father was no longer a sous chef in some little restaurant. Of course. Hunter had said he was the mystery money man. If nothing else, hearing how that had come about would be interesting.

  In ten minutes, Sandy was climbing out of the car and following her parents into the lower level of a structure that leaned out over the river and housed her father’s condo. They stepped into an elevator and rode up several floors. She felt a stab of memory, of the time before everything had gone bad. She’d just turned thirteen and they’d spent all day celebrating her birthday.

  They’d gone to breakfast, then to buy her a new outfit for school, and after a picnic of burgers and shakes at the park, they’d gone to the movies to see You’ve Got Mail.

  They’d trooped into the house after driving home, Sandy carrying her leftover popcorn. Her mother was telling her about the New England boiled dinner she’d made, Sandy’s favorite meal, and the chocolate birthday cake with sour cream frosting.

  Though she hadn’t thought about that day in years, Sandy remembered her happiness then, the pleasure she’d felt in their simple, happy lives. A year later, everything would be different.

  Her throat constricted and tears scratched the backs of her eyes. Emotion billowed inside her, taking her completely by surprise. How feelings of love and sadness could overtake her when she should have a head of angry steam going was mystifying.

  Her father unlocked the door and stood aside to let her and her mother go in. The place was elegantly simple, with a view of the river immediately visible from the door. Her mother turned left into a moderately sized kitchen. Sandy glimpsed granite counters and pine cabinets.

  Sandy’s father, walking in behind her, pushed her gently toward a square living room in subtle shades of brown and cream, with a brick-trimmed fireplace on one wall, neutral Berber carpets and sliding doors leading out to a small patio. The day was stormy and dark clouds crowded together over the purple hills of Washington.

  He looked a little more comfortable, as though being in his own surroundings gave him an edge.

  “Please. Sit.” He went back to the kitchen. “I want to talk to you first, Lorrie.”

  Sandy heard that, and while she wondered suspiciously what it was he wanted to discuss with her mother first—ground rules for their conversation, probably—she remembered that no one called her mother Lorrie but him. Sandy had the oddest sense of reeling backward through her life.

  She took one corner of her father’s wide sofa and sat primly, waiting while her parents disappeared into the bedroom to talk. She’d waited this long to learn what had happened all those years ago; she could wait a little longer.

  Admiring the view, she spotted a pot of fuchsias on the patio, her mother’s favorite flower. Clearly her parents had reconciled.

  Still, she heard the sounds of an argument coming from the bedroom. If they had reconciled, it apparently wasn’t without some disagreement. She heard her father’s “That isn’t necessary!” in a voice intended to be quiet but failing, then her mother’s firm “Yes, it is!” The two of them finally emerged from the bedroom, and her father and mother sat down side by side on the other end of the sofa.

  Being here felt so strange. The three of them hadn’t been together in almost sixteen years and it was all her father’s fault. Yet, maintaining anger was difficult when her mind was crowded with old memories and many unanswered questions.

  Her mother now appeared tired, frail, as though she was about to burst into tears. She drew a deep breath, blew it out like some extreme athlete and turned so that she faced her daughter. She reached a hand out. Sandy was forced to move closer to take it. She could feel the tension in it.

  “You’re going to hate me,” her mother warned. “I mean, more than you already do.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Sandy heard herself deny that before her brain even formed the words. She’d wanted to be cooler about this situation. “I don’t hate you,” she repeated, “but I would like to know what happened—and what’s happening now.”

  Her father gently rubbed her mother’s back. Such a small gesture, but it reminded Sandy that she was an outsider in what went on between them.

  “You don’t have to,” her father said softly.

  Her mother’s voice was firm. “Yes, I do.” Then she faced Sandy and said intrepidly, her voice breaking, “Your father left because I...I cheated on him.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SANDY REPEATED THE WORDS to herself because they didn’t make sense. Her mother had been the ultimate housewife, though she’d worked long hours, too. Meals were always on time and special. Laundry never fell behind, lunches were always made. Of course, good housekeeping wasn’t the definition of a faithful woman.

 
Sandy sat still to absorb that information. Her mother tightened her grip, grinding Sandy’s knuckles together, but she was only dimly aware of that pain because the startling revelation was so much more painful. Her mother had cheated on her father.

  “It was a rough time for us.” Her father leaned backward to catch her eye behind her mother’s stiff body. “You know there’s never been a fortune in restaurants, unless you’re a celebrity chef or work for a big house in a big city. We’d both had our hours slashed. You remember. The mill that had supported the restaurant closed down and business was cut in half. I got two other part-time jobs, one of them at night, and I was tired and grumpy all the time. It got to where we could barely talk to each other without shouting.”

  “That was no excuse,” her mother said thinly, “I understand that, but he wouldn’t talk to me about it, wouldn’t go to counseling, slept a lot or just kept to himself when he was home, and I felt old and unloved. When a patron at the restaurant paid attention to me...” Tears fell down her pale cheeks as she continued, “I was foolish.”

  “It was my fault,” her father insisted. “She was my wife. The two of you were my family. No matter how bad things were, it was my job to keep us together. I should have been stronger. But when I found the two of them, I was so hurt, so compromised as a man, that it was either run away or murder both of them.”

  He shook his head regretfully, apparently the intervening years and acquired wisdom having changed him. “It didn’t occur to me that I’d been a jerk. All I could focus on was the betrayal of the woman I’d loved so much and for whom I’d worked three jobs.”

  He sat forward and reached around Loretta to put his hand on top of hers and Sandy’s. “I didn’t think I could explain my leaving in a way you’d understand. And you had to be better off with your mother than with me. I worked in a dozen little cafés across the country on my way back home to Fairhaven. Then I got a job in a great little restaurant where the owner liked me, wanted to add new items to the menu and appreciated my ideas. Still, I was just getting by. And then he retired, gave me easy terms for buying the restaurant, and I developed a new whoopie pie recipe.” He smiled, squeezing both Loretta’s and Sandy’s hands. “Remember when your mom and I were working on developing a new flavor?”