My mother was sitting on the couch sipping coffee. “Care for a cup?” She asked as she started to get up.
“Yes, but sit. I can make it.” I replied as I walked over to the unit and pressed the appropriate buttons. One of these days, I need to splurge and purchase this machine for my home.
I sat down on the couch next to her. Before I took a sip of my coffee I asked, “So, what did you want to show me? Does it have to do with the wedding?”
“No. Not at all,” Beatrice replied. Her eyes were sad and her body was slumped. “I need to show you.” She paused as if she was searching for the right word before finally saying, “me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked as I put my cup down on the table.
“You’re not the only one who has secrets, Annabel. I have plenty of my own as well. I want to open up to you. I want to let you see me, the real me. The woman I’ve kept hidden for far too many years. I’ve been trying hard to open up lately. I hope you can see that. Walter has been encouraging me. He has been helping me find the strength to break down the walls I have built in an attempt to protect my heart.”
“Is that why you told me about Daddy?”
My mother took a sip of coffee. “Yes, it was exactly why I wanted you to know the truth about me and your father.”
“Are you saying there’s more?” I asked as I removed the elastic band from my wrist and put my hair up in a ponytail. Suddenly I felt hot.
Beatrice sighed deeply. “Oh, there is way more than your father’s infidelities.”
“Maybe I should have fixed a martini instead of coffee,” I joked as I looked at my cup.
“Possibly.” My mother chuckled. “I for one, most definitely should have. In fact, I think I will have one. I’m gonna need a little liquid courage.” My mother got up and walked over to the bar and took out all the fixings for a cocktail. “Do you want one?” She asked as she poured a generous amount of gin into a silver shaker.
“Yes,” I answered honestly, “but I think I will stick to the coffee for now.”
“Suit yourself,” she said as she poured the contents of the shaker into her glass. She took a sip before sitting back down. “Back at the diner you asked me why I said what I did to you at the hospital. I didn’t lie when I said I was overcome with grief, but it was more than that. I felt like I had to push you away. I wanted to distance myself from you. It wasn’t that I didn’t love you. I did, and I still do. You may not believe it but I always loved you, more than you could possibly ever imagine, especially after the way I have behaved all these years. I lashed out at you because loving you hurt me too much. I was scared to lose you. After all, everyone I loved died tragically and I couldn’t take another hit to my heart. It was breaking and I didn’t want to risk it breaking anymore. It was selfish of me, I realize that now, and I’m sorry. I know the way I reacted wasn’t rational. But given my track record, I couldn’t help but feel whenever I loved completely I put him or her at risk for a catastrophe. Which makes your suicide attempt even more ironic. I thought by distancing myself from you I would manage to keep you safe. Instead, look what happened. I prompted you to try and take your own life.” Beatrice paused to wipe a tear from her check.
“I don’t understand what you are talking about. Yes, Brody died tragically but Daddy didn’t.” As an afterthought I added, “He died ungracefully maybe, but definitely not tragically.”
“I am not talking about your father. I cared about him greatly, of course, but I didn’t love him. Not in the way I loved William.”
“William? Who is William?” I asked. I had never heard my mother talk about a William in my entire life.
“William was the reason I so adamantly opposed your brother buying a motorcycle. William was the first and only love of my life.”
My eyes were glued on my mom. I watched as she slowly leaned over the coffee table and picked up her glass and took another sip. After she placed her glass back on the table, she reached into a box, which was on the floor next to her, and pulled out a picture frame and handed it to me. The frame contained a black and white picture of an incredibly handsome man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties sitting on a motorcycle. He was looking off to the side. There was love in his eyes, and he was smiling wide.
“This was William Brody.”
“Brody?” I asked as I wondered if I heard her right.
My mother slowly nodded her head. “Yes, I named your brother after him. Your father never knew. And he probably wouldn’t have cared either. After all, by that time Mindy already won his heart anyway.”
I was trying to process what she was telling me but I was having a difficult time comprehending. “William was very handsome. Did you take this picture?”
“Yes.” She took the picture back and traced his face lovingly with her index finger. “He was looking at me. That’s why he was smiling. We were so happy together. The time I spent with William was by far the happiest time in my life.”
“What happened with you two?”
“So much.” She sighed. “But before I go into everything I have to start further back. I have to talk about your grandfather.”
“Alright,” I answered as I took a small sip of coffee. I was so confused. My mother wasn’t acting like herself at all.
“I know you think I am a cold and difficult woman, well I’ve got news for you. I’m a walk in the park compared to my father. The man was impossible.”
My grandfather had moved to Florida before Brody and I were born. We never spent much time with him. He had extremely limited patience for children. Whenever he’d come to the house he’d always give us a pat on the head, and then he’d go into a room with my mother and talk to her behind closed doors. I don’t remember if I ever had a full conversation with him. My only true memory of him was the massive trust funds he put aside for my brother and me. I wished I had a relationship with him instead of an inheritance.
“You already know he was extremely successful. But his success came at a cost.”
My grandfather was pretty much a self-made real estate tycoon. He started from nothing, but by the time he died, not counting the properties he had previously flipped, he owned twenty-five buildings all over Manhattan, each one was worth a small fortune.
My mother continued. “He was the first and only person in his family to have money. Everyone else was dirt poor, but rather than remember his humble upbringing he pretended it never happened. He acted like he had always been always rich. Which I guess would have been fine if he wasn’t so mean and demeaning to others. He had so much, but was he ever generous with others? No. Never. Not unless he got something out of it.”
My mother paused to take a sip of her martini. “Oh how his family used to kiss his ass. It was pathetic. They were so desperate to stay in his good graces, hoping to get any scraps he decided to throw their way. I’m sure if he lost his fortune they would have high tailed it away from him, and told him what they really thought about him. But they held their tongues just as they held on to the hope that one day they’d get to share in his wealth. Now don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t completely horrible. He’d help them out on occasion. But when he did he made sure everyone knew about his generosity. Sometimes this ended up causing more problems for the recipient. My uncle Jack, his older brother, for instance hit some hard times and reluctantly went to my dad for help. My father gave him the money he needed, plus a little extra. But then a couple of months later, at a family wedding, my dad took great pleasure in making sure the entire extended family knew all the gory details of my uncle’s issues. I’m not going to get into what they were, but suffice it to say they were very, very personal. My uncle was mortified, betrayed, and oh so hurt. I remember sitting at the table watching tears stream down his face. It was the first time I saw a grown man cry. I will never forget that day.”
“What was your mom like?” I asked. My maternal grandmother passed away when I was about two years old, and I didn’t remember anything about her. It’s sad how much I
didn’t know about my family history. I didn’t want the same thing to happen to my kids, which is why my mother’s distance hurt me so much.
“In one word, broken.” My mother paused and took another sip of her cocktail. “My mother was a very simple woman. When she and my dad got married, he was just starting out. Money was tight. They struggled, especially after I was born. But she said he was different then. She said he was fun and outgoing. She even described him as the life of the party. She would always talk about how happy she was in the early years. By my third birthday his luck took a turn and he started raking in the dough. My mother always said it was the beginning of the end.”
“That’s hard to imagine,” I said, although I had no idea why. It isn’t like I ever had to struggle financially a day in my life.
“I know. It would seem that way, wouldn’t it. But once he started making a little money, he got greedy and wanted more. Money was like a drug to him and he got addicted fast. His work consumed him. It was all he ever thought about, all he ever did. He hardly spent time with my mother, or me, unless it was to advance his career. She was so isolated and lonely. It’s funny how people were back then. All of her family and friends catered to my dad in the hopes of him sharing some of his fortune with them, but they shunned my mother. They were jealous of her for her fancy clothes and jewelry. They blamed her for my father’s arrogance, like she could control a grown man. My mother hated the wealthy society women she had to associate with when she had to accompany my father to events. She said they made her skin crawl. I remember once, my mother told me they were like vipers always out for the kill, and lethal when they strike. But my mom remained the perfect wife. She kept her feelings to herself. My mom would always be polite, but she remained detached. She hardly chatted with the other women. As time passed, she grew incredibly depressed. More days than not, she’d spend the entire day in her bedroom alone, reading. Books were her escape and companion.”
“So sad,” I said, as I imagined how lonely and depressed she must have been. I was also sorry my mother had to grow up in such an unhappy home.
“It was especially difficult for me. On the outside I was the pretty rich girl. On the inside I was an accessory to their marriage. I was something for them to parade around and show off. Maids and nannies raised me. I don’t think my parents ever loved me. I desperately wanted a different life for you and Brody. I wanted to break the cycle but I didn’t, and I’m so sorry.”
“You did, mom,” I said as I placed my hand on her knee and squeezed. “Sure we had help, but you spent a lot of time with us growing up. You were a good mother. You were tough, but fun. The three of us had a lot of great times together, don’t you remember?”
“I do. But I was afraid you didn’t.” My mother once again wiped a tear away from her face. “You make me feel so much better, Annabel. Thank you. I loved you children so much. I only wanted you to be happy and feel loved.”
“We were both,” I said as I remembered the good times we shared. “We both knew you loved us, and we felt the same way about you.”
“I hope so,” my mother said quietly. “I never understood what love felt like until I met William. I was twenty-four years old at the time and working for my father, managing his buildings. I despised what I was doing. It was dreadfully boring. Did you know I always wanted to be a teacher?”
I looked her in the eyes. “No, I didn’t. Why didn’t you teach then?”
My mother picked up her glass but returned it to the table without taking a sip. “Because my father refused to send me to college.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He said it was a waste of his money, me getting an education. Can you believe? Who says that to their child?”
I shrugged my shoulders and my mother continued her story. “He said I should just focus my attention on finding myself a proper husband, make babies and join a country club. He wanted me to live a life that would make him proud. I had a dream and he tried to kill it. I wasn’t going to let him though. I went through the motions. I worked for him but I saved every penny I earned. I was determined to eventually send myself to school. That’s how badly I wanted to teach. I loved children so much.”
I didn’t know what to think or feel. Here my mother was declaring her love for kids yet she barely had a relationship with my children.
“Would you ever have guessed, I wanted a huge family? I imagined having at least six children.” She said with a far away look in her eyes.
“No, I didn’t. If you wanted a big family, why did you only have two children?”
She took another sip of gin and replied. “I didn’t.”
With every passing moment, this day was getting more surreal. I felt like I was watching a bad soap opera, not sitting in my mother’s bedroom.
“You and William had a baby?” I asked. Could I have a brother or sister out there somewhere I didn’t know about?
My mother once again traced Williams face with her finger as she replied, “Unfortunately we never had the chance.”
“Then what are you talking about? I’m so confused.”
“Besides the three miscarriages I experienced, your father and I had another baby.”
I stared at my mother. She wasn’t making any sense. “What are you talking about? What other baby?” I asked.
She put William’s picture down on the coffee table and asked, “Do you remember Scottie?”
I gasped and ran my fingers through my hair. What was my mother saying now? Yes, her martini was almost gone but she didn’t seem drunk to me. Why was she talking crazy? “You mean my imaginary friend, Scottie?”
My mother buried her head in her hands and sobbed. “No Annabel, he wasn’t your imaginary friend. He was your real life, flesh and blood baby brother. You were so excited when we brought him home from the hospital. You were only two and a half years old but you were over the moon. You kept calling him your baby. You were always on top of me when I was caring for him. You were cute as a button. I think you were the only toddler in creation who wanted to help change a diaper. You loved him so much.”
I felt all the color drain from my face. My fingers turned to ice. “He was real? I always thought I imagined him.”
“I know you did, Sweetie.” My mom leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “I encouraged you to think he was make believe. I didn’t want you to go through that kind of loss. I didn’t want you to start your life knowing what grief and sadness was. You were too vibrant and innocent a little girl to experience so much pain. I wanted better for you.”
I was crying now too. I wanted to ask her if anything in my life was really what it seemed to have been. But instead I asked, “What happened?”
“He was a little over six months old. I put him down for a nap and then you and I went into the den and played Chutes and Ladders. Do you remember how much you loved that game?”
I nodded my head.
“You beat me,” my mom flashed me a sad smile. “When we were done playing, I brought you into the kitchen so Rosie could give you a snack. I went into Scottie’s bedroom to check on him. He was napping an awfully long time. I wasn’t concerned. I figured he was just tired; he was a very good sleeper, unlike you, and Brody for that matter. But as soon as I looked in his crib, I realized something was dreadfully wrong. He felt cold to my touch. He had a bluish hue around his nose and mouth. I picked him up. He wasn’t moving, and he wasn’t breathing either.”
“Oh my God, Mommy,” I said as I cried, knowing she lived every mother’s worst nightmare. I inched closer to her and she hugged me tightly.
When she broke away from the embrace she replied, “It was devastating to lose a child to sudden infant death syndrome. I was a wreck. I didn’t want to go on, I was so heartbroken, but I had no choice. I had to be strong. I had you to take care of. Such a sweet and innocent girl, you didn’t understand why I was so sad but you worked so hard constantly trying to cheer me up, and you did.” She patted my knee. “You kept me going. I
convinced your father to try for another baby right away, but I miscarried. Three times.”
“God Mom, I can’t even imagine what you went through,” I said honestly. My two pregnancies were perfect, just as my children appeared to be.
“With every loss of a baby, my marriage began to slip away a little bit more. If I’m honest with myself, I’m responsible for your dad seeking solace and falling in love with Mindy. I pushed him away. I blamed him for the babies. I had no patience to hear about his difficult days at work when I was dealing with constant loss. When I conceived Brody, I promised your father it would be our last attempt. If I wasn’t able to carry him to term I’d give up on trying to grow our family. I kept my pregnancy a secret as long as I could. I never dared to dream I would actually give birth to a baby again. I was shocked when I did. As soon as I saw your brother’s face, I was overcome with love for him, just as I was for you. When I held him in my arms the first time, I knew he was destined for greatness. I wanted him to have the life my William didn’t have the chance to live. I wanted to name him after the only man I ever loved as much as him. William Brody.”
My mother got up and walked to the window and stared at the backyard. I took the few minutes to try to process everything my mother just told me.
“Are you okay?” I asked as she sat back down beside me.
“This is harder than I imagined, Annabel. I didn’t plan on telling you so much at once, and definitely not today,” her voice cracked as she said today. “But I feel like I have to. And given what you told me over lunch, it can’t wait any longer. Too much time has already passed.”
Plan Bea Page 15
