Lily Rose

by Deborah Robinson

  Monday morning, Jeff woke up feeling queasy again, her stomach churning as she dressed for school. She dabbed some blush on her pale cheeks and faked her best smile as she walked into the kitchen, sitting down at the table just as Jenny placed a sunny-side egg, two slices of bacon, and some buttered toast in front of her.

  “Mom, I don’t think my stomach is ready for that yet,” Jeff said. “Could I just have a plain piece of toast?”

  “Certainly, Jeff.” Jenny looked at her, the worry lines between her eyes deepening. “Are you sure you don’t want to see the doctor?”

  “I don’t think it’s that serious,” Jeff told her. “Actually, I think I might be on the mend.”

  After eating her toast, she regained some strength and ran to catch the bus, eager to get out from under her mother’s watchful eye. At school, Jeff used the public phone to call the women’s clinic and was relieved to learn she could make an appointment for the following afternoon. She’d tell her friends she had terrible cramps from her period, and ask her mother to borrow the car so that she could work extra hours at McAlpin’s after school. Until then, she’d just have to try to keep herself from barfing at home or in class.

  Only then did it occur to Jeff that Eric hadn’t called her back that weekend, and that she had barely thought about him since the unsuccessful phone call. If she needed to tell him something . . . well, she’d deal with that later.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, after walking out of the clinic, Jeff sat in her car. Her heart was pounding, little beads of perspiration moistened her hairline, and her hands were icy cold. Could it really be true? She lifted her shirt and ran her hands over her belly, flat as it had always been. But something was growing in there, and she didn’t know how to stop it from taking over her very being.

  In a fog, Jeff drove home and walked through the door to find her mother, who had caught a ride home with a colleague, sitting in the living room.

  “Everything all right, Jeff?” Jenny asked. “They’re not overworking you at McAlpin’s, are they?”

  Jeff just shook her head, mumbled something about not being hungry, and went straight up to her room. In front of the full-length mirror she lifted up her shirt again, higher this time, trying to see any changes in her body. Her breasts were full and heavy, and her nipples ached with something more than longing. A wave of nausea rippled across her belly, the familiar feeling that had tormented her for the past few days. Gripped by a sudden rage, Jeff drove her fist into her own stomach. Breathless and stunned, she collapsed onto her bed and curled into herself, choking back sobs.

  She cried until she could cry no more, and then she lay with glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling. Only one person could help her now. Eric. Eric needed to know. And when he did, he would make everything better. Jeff sat up and pushed back her hair, damp from her tears, eyes starting to glimmer with hope instead of despair. Maybe he would even want to marry her. Jeff could finish high school in Greenwich with the rest of the rich kids, and then she and Eric could start their life together. She wouldn’t be Anna James Jefferson anymore. She would be Anna James Langvin.

  This thought sustained Jeff enough for her to get up, wash her face, and go downstairs to face her mother. If Jenny noticed anything was different about her, she didn’t show it. Instead, through dinner, she chattered away about her recent promotion to sales manager at the boutique and the pay raise that came with it. Jeff picked at her food and thought how awful it would be to be her mother’s age and stuck in a thankless job, standing on her feet all day helping well-to-do women try on fancy clothes that she’d never be able to afford. Although Jeff had decided a long time ago that she was going be the one wearing the clothes, she hadn’t yet been able to figure out how. Now she knew. It would be through Eric, and this baby was going to be her ticket to a better life.

  Of course, if Eric ever returned her call. Jeff knew she couldn’t wait that long. That night, she concocted the perfect plan. In the week between Christmas and New Year’s, she’d travel to Greenwich to tell him the wonderful news in person. To her mother she’d say that the poverty awareness tour had invited the representatives from the schools they’d seen to pay them a return visit in Connecticut, all expenses paid. Didn’t Jenny want Jeff to have the opportunity to see more of the world, and for free? Jeff would type up a fake permission form at school for her mother to sign, and Jenny would be too preoccupied with her new job and the holiday shopping rush at the boutique to question it.

  To get to Connecticut, Jeff would need money. Luckily, back when her mother and father had gotten divorced, Jenny had set up a savings account in both her and Jeff’s names in case of emergencies. Jeff even had her own checkbook, although she’d never used it before. Hopefully Jenny wouldn’t find out how much money was withdrawn until much later, when Jeff was comfortably living with Eric. For a moment Jeff felt a pang of regret for abandoning her mother, but she knew Jenny would understand. What mother wouldn’t want the best for her daughter’s future, even if it meant being separated from her for the rest of her life?

  Finally, Jeff reasoned that she would need a lavish wardrobe to look like the well-dressed girls she saw in Couture magazine, not like some hillbilly from Kentucky, when she would meet Eric’s parents. She needed to prove to them that she looked the part of their future daughter-in-law. Thankfully, she knew just how to do this. She would select her new wardrobe the following Saturday, the last day she worked at McAlpin’s before the new year. It wouldn’t be stealing, she told herself, but simply taking what she was owed after working there for so long.

  Jeff had it all figured out, her set of lies, one on top of the other. While she had always told little white lies to her mother or her friends, it had never quite been on this level. But with this baby growing inside, she felt a deep, dark side of her oozing to the surface.

  * * *

  That Saturday, Jeff started to put her plan in motion. Although she no longer worked in the clothing department at McAlpin’s, she knew it inside and out. The fashion coordinators and their assistants were always pulling clothes for fashion shows and pushing around rolling racks. The fashion assistants were constantly changing, and there was a new girl every couple of months, but you could always spot them because they were attractive and had their noses in the air. Jeff had changed her clothes immediately following school, slipping into a dress and kitten heels. Then, with a smirk on her face so not a single salesclerk would dare ask any questions, she grabbed a rolling rack and headed straight for the designer area, where all the clothes she lusted after were displayed. Everywhere she looked were satin blouses and silk scarves, cashmere sweaters and woolen trousers. Jeff loaded her rack with them, then added a few party dresses for options in case Eric wanted to take her out on New Year’s Eve. She could just picture how handsome he’d look in a tuxedo.

  A woman Jeff didn’t recognize touched her arm, startling her out of her reverie. “Miss, I wasn’t informed we were doing another fashion show right before Christmas.”

  “I’m so sorry no one told you,” Jeff replied without missing a beat. “We’re just doing a last-minute thing for gentlemen to buy Christmas gifts for their wives.”

  Although she still looked disapproving, the woman gave Jeff a single nod to proceed, and Jeff hastily rolled the rack out of her sight. Then, just like she had watched the fashion assistants do many times before, she rolled the rack out of the store and into the parking lot, where she laid the clothes on the back seat of the Pontiac. After returning the rack, she went back to the fine china department and finished up her shift. If all went well, this would be the last time she stepped foot in McAlpin’s.

  Her next stop was the bank. Jeff didn’t know if she would need her mother to be with her to take out money, but the elderly teller behind the window hardly gave her a glance as Jeff handed her the withdrawal slip. With $500 in her purse, Jeff felt a little like a thief—although this was her own money, she reminded herself. She wasn’t sure if the amount was en
ough to cover the bus and train tickets, as well as other expenses, but she figured that once she got to Greenwich, Eric and his family would take care of her.

  Jeff headed home with just one more step to complete. The previous day during study hall, she’d typed up a permission form about being invited to Greenwich by Eric’s school as the follow-up to their poverty awareness tour. Now, as she handed the form to her mother at the kitchen table, she explained how Amanda Brown, who had originally been selected to represent their school, had dropped out at the last minute.

  “She had a family emergency . . . her grandmother passed away,” Jeff made up on the spot.

  “I hope she’s doing all right,” Jenny said.

  “Oh, she’s fine.” Jeff wished she had left out that last part about the grandmother. “So, can you sign the form?” She pushed the paper and pen toward her mother.

  Jenny read it with more care than Jeff had expected. “Are you sure they’re paying for everything?” she asked. “It’s a big trip.” She had never let Jeff go farther from home than Lexington, or stay away longer than a weekend sleepover at a friend’s house.

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” Jeff reassured her. “I’ll be perfectly safe the entire time. Just think of the places I’ll see and the people I’ll meet. I might never get this chance again.”

  Slowly signing the form, Jenny said, “I’ve always wanted to give you more, Jeff, you know that. But ever since your father left us, it’s been hard to make ends meet. I just wish things were different.”

  “I understand, Mom,” Jeff said, giving her a hug. “Thank you for letting me go.”

  Later that evening, upstairs in her room, Jeff could breathe a sigh of relief. In her closet, hidden behind her regular clothes, was her new, fancy wardrobe from McAlpin’s. Tucked in her dresser drawer, beneath her underwear, was a stack of ten- and twenty-dollar bills. All she had to get through now was Christmas, which ever since her father had left had been a quiet, even somber affair, usually church followed by a lunch prepared by her mother and an exchange of presents. Jeff had gotten a porcelain vase at a discount from McAlpin’s for Jenny. At the time, she’d wondered if she should buy something for Eric’s parents as well, but ultimately decided against it. Nothing in Paris was good enough for them, plus wasn’t the baby the real present? She could just imagine how excited they would be to find out about their grandchild.

  By the following Monday she would be in Greenwich, knocking on Eric Langvin’s door. Jeff loved the name of where he lived. She opened up her school notebook, where she must have written “Anna James Langvin” more than thirty times in class this past week, and had carefully copied Eric’s phone number and address from the crumpled piece of paper he’d given her. She went to sleep that night with the name dancing through her dreams. Belle Haven . . . it sounded like a magical place.

  Chapter 3

  THAT SATURDAY AFTERNOON, SNOW WAS coming down fast as Eric Langvin hurried to his car after basketball practice. Coach Eastman liked to keep his team in fighting form over the holidays, but today he’d ended practice early, as a nor’easter was predicted for New York City, Long Island, and Connecticut. The weather forecasters were projecting winds up to 90 miles an hour in some areas, and Eric wanted to get home fast. He scraped the frozen windshield, then started up the engine of his Porsche, a gift from his parents for his seventeenth birthday. Even though Greenwich Avenue was almost deserted, he drove carefully. The last thing he needed was to total this new red beauty. If that happened, his father would ground him until he went to college. Things were so strained between his parents these days that going away couldn’t come soon enough.

  After pulling up to the gate at Belle Haven, Eric waited for the guard to wave him through, and then turned on to Harbor Drive. Belle Haven was one the oldest and most historic patrician enclaves located on the southernmost tip of Greenwich, on the Long Island Sound. The Grand Dames steeped in history, built in the late 1800s, sat perched right above the ocean. He passed the Belle Haven Club, which was like a second home to him. He’d spent every summer of his life there, sailing, swimming, and playing tennis. His family would eat dinner twice a week on the porch. His time spent at the club had shaped a lot of his life, and he wished all the summers of his life could be just like the ones he’d had before.

  Eric was almost home. The glistening snow on the pristine street only served to accentuate the splendor of Viking Manor, the dwelling in which he’d grown up, although he’d never given the wealth or opulence of the place much thought. This was his normal. When he arrived at the large black gates, the guard immediately opened them.

  “Welcome home, Master Langvin,” the guard said formally.

  “Thank you,” Eric responded, heading up the long hill to the massive estate.

  He entered the cloakroom from the garage that had been updated when the old Georgian mansion had been renovated in the late fifties, and removed his snow-covered boots, navy pea coat, and knitted ski cap. Wrinkling his nose, he caught the sumptuous aroma of dinner cooking in the oven. He thought it smelled like pot roast, one of his favorites. Intermingled with the mouthwatering odors that perfumed the air, he caught a whiff of chocolate. Most likely Chef Claudio had just whipped up hot chocolate with fresh whipped cream, a regular staple on cold winter days at the Langvin house.

  These familiar smells reminded Eric of happier times when he was younger, before his sister Mary had died and his older brother Christopher was still at home. Things had been so different then; his family had been so happy. He remembered afternoons when they would hang around the large, sunny kitchen, laughing and talking after arriving home from their various sports practices. His lovely mother would come into the kitchen, just standing on the sidelines while she watched her boisterousness family, a delighted smile on her face.

  Then came that fateful day three years ago when Mary had been only twelve. She had been the most promising young skier that Greenwich had ever witnessed, with everyone speculating that Olympic medals were in her future. On a day in January, the coach of the girls’ ski team at Greenwich Academy invited Mary to join them for some practice runs at Mount Southington. Mary had seemed nervous that morning, but Eric knew it was just because the other girls were older and a little more seasoned. He knew how skilled his sister was; she was a natural, and he was sure that she was destined for something great. Although his Norwegian mother had taught all of them to ski—she had always declared, “We are Vikings. We were born to ski”—and Mary had quickly proved to be more talented than anyone else in the family.

  But after that day, the Langvins never skied again. His parents were called to Greenwich Hospital, where they were told that Mary had died in a skiing accident. A girl on the team had collided with her from behind, causing her to go off course and crash into a tree. She had died on impact.

  That was also the day Eric’s family changed forever. His father had always worked a lot, but now he stayed at the office later and later. But it was his mother who seemed the most different now. Whereas she had once been warm, loving, and outgoing, she was now a recluse. Now when he came home from school, the only thing she did was hold a crystal glass filled with vodka and slices of lime in her perfectly manicured hands. Although she still dressed to perfection, the light from her eyes had vanished. With Christopher away at medical school, Eric was always lonely in that house. Thank God there were members of the staff who were as close to him as family.

  As Eric placed his book bag on the kitchen counter, Chef Claudio smiled broadly. “Eric, my boy, big storm is coming. I made you pot roast just as you like, but I have spaghetti left over from last night you can have, too, if you want.”

  Eric gave Claudio a bear hug, burying his head into the man’s massive shoulders. He loved the way this strong, Italian man was not afraid to show how warm and kind he was. Claudio had been with the family for as long as Eric could remember. His parents had regularly eaten at a very famous restaurant in New York City where Claudio was head chef, and one day the
y just decided to hire him. At first Claudio was uncertain about giving up the ambitions that had brought him to America years ago from Rome, but his wife Sophie wanted a quieter life, so he finally agreed to the position. He and Sophie moved into their own cottage on the property, and he had been with the Langvins ever since. Claudio was also trying to help Eric with his Italian lessons, so sometimes they conversed only in Italian for a few hours a day. Although Eric wasn’t doing too well yet, he enjoyed hearing Claudio tell stories about his childhood in Rome and put Italy at the top of his list of places to visit someday.

  Eric was drinking his hot chocolate and starting on his second fresh-baked peanut butter cookie when one of the housekeepers entered the kitchen, saying that his mother wanted to see him in the Lalique Room, the place where she seemed to spend all of her time now. It was adjacent to the living room, with large French windows that looked down upon the sea. Frosted Lalique crystal, including a chene table with figurines inside it and glass shelves decorated with vases, covered every inch of the enchanted space. The vases themselves were filled with white lilies that spilled over with bloom. Two curved, tufted, velvet peacock blue love seats faced each other in the middle of the room, looking almost gray in the winter light. As Eric approached his mother sitting on one of them now, he imagined what a beautiful photograph this scene would make. He enjoyed taking pictures of people and often practiced his photography on his family.

  He kissed his mother softly on the cheek. “Hi, Mom. Why don’t you go in the living room and warm up by the fire? It seems a bit cold out here with the storm and all.”

  When his mother looked up at him, Eric was shocked at how pale and wan her face appeared, her blue eyes enormous. Had he just not been paying attention, or did he just not want to see it?

  “Oh Eric, I love it right here. I can see all of my beautiful figurines and watch the snow come down. It reminds of when I was a little girl in Norway. We used to play in the snow and ski every day.” Her hands begin to tremble, sloshing the liquid in her martini glass. “If only I hadn’t insisted that my children learn to ski, too. Mary might still be alive.”