A Mother's Homecoming (4 page)

But she'd yearned to find validation through stardom and quickly grew unhappy reporting on other people's fame. So she quit a perfectly good job—the best one she'd ever had, really—to go with her loser boyfriend of the time to California. What followed had been a downward spiral of bad decisions and bad boyfriends.

Ironic.
Pam remembered clearly the day she'd looked into her infant daughter's squalling face and panicked
at the flare of resentment that pierced her postpartum numbness. In that moment, Pam had realized how easily she could become like her own mother—a former prom queen who took her disappointment in life out on her kid and anesthetized herself with booze and men. So Pam had fled, wanting more for herself and more for baby Faith.
I ran like hell, all the way to the opposite coast. Where I promptly turned into Mae.

The silver lining was that she hadn't dragged her daughter down with her.

“You and your mother,” Julia chided, unknowingly echoing Pam's thoughts. “Always so ambitious, always wanting more.”

“Like what?” Pam asked. “I never heard Mae mention wanting to be an actress.” Pam had grown up with the sense that her mother was deeply unhappy without ever having any idea what it would take to fix that.

“She wanted to be adored. Everyone was so surprised when beautiful, outgoing Mae married your father, who, let's face it, was a shy, awkward man. But I know what the attraction was—that mile-high pedestal he had her on. He worshipped her like a goddess, and she treated him like … Well, he snapped after just a year and ran off with a clerk from the bookstore. A man needs to be nurtured! He can't stay married to a woman who intimidates him.”

Pam wondered absently if Julia had become a more nurturing wife over the past decade; it wasn't how Pam remembered her aunt and uncle's relationship. Then again, what did Pam know? She'd always had the impression that her father had left because of
her,
because he wasn't sure he was ready to be a father and because his physical interest in Mae had waned during her pregnancy.

“
I'll never be beautiful again,
” Mae had complained one summer, meeting her young daughter's eyes in a dressing room mirror.
“Pretty, sure, but I was stunning once. You ruined that. See these stretch marks? I got huge with you. No wonder your daddy left us.”

To Pam,
daddy
had seemed as exotic and nonsensical as
unicorn.
Her biological father had never been more than the name on her birth certificate and monthly checks. Who knew what his side of the story sounded like? In her first year after leaving Mimosa, she'd suffered periodic anxiety attacks, waking in the middle of the night, worrying what Nick would tell their daughter about her own absent parent. For herself, Pam didn't care—she deserved anything he had to say about her—but she'd prayed he was careful with the girl's feelings, that Faith would never blame herself.

Faith.
The name came more naturally to mind after this morning's talk with Nick. For years Pam had continued to think of their daughter as “the baby,” long after she'd no doubt been enrolled in school.

“Speaking of ex-husbands,” Pam began hesitantly, “do either of you see Nick Shepard much? I understand he'd moved away but is back in town now.”

Julia and Ed exchanged a glance that made Pam ache inside. For all that Julia could be domineering and Ed could be oblivious, they clearly shared a bond. An entire conversation seemed to pass between them in a single moment of crystalline silence.

“That's what we heard, too,” Julia said. “But, no. We … stay out of his way.”

“Right after you left, he used to come by,” Ed added. “A lot. He was convinced we knew where you were. Or that you'd contact us. After a few months, he realized we were as in the dark as he was.”

Pam winced. “I'm sorry. For any worry I put you through. I didn't—I'm sorry.”

“It's done now,” Julia said decisively. “Maybe you could start fresh, now that your mama left you the house. Move back to Mimosa. Your uncle might even be able to hire you on part-time at the furniture showroom—”

“Absolutely not.” Once the words were out, Pam regretted shooting down her aunt so quickly. Maybe she should have pretended to consider settling here for a millisecond, to spare Julia's feelings.

But really? Move back to emotional ground zero? No. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around doing that even if Nick and Faith hadn't been in Mississippi. With them here, it was impossible. Recalling the furious intensity in Nick's blue eyes, she could just imagine the fit he'd throw if she announced she was staying. Pam shivered.

“I don't know exactly what my plans for the future are,” she reiterated gently. “But I can't see myself in Mimosa long-term. How can I start fresh by going back? I want to stay for a little while—at the house, if I become an imposition here—and I want to keep in touch with the two of you when I go. But I will be moving on.” That part was imperative.

Uncle Ed cleared his throat. “We understand,” he said, overtop of his wife's entreaties. “The important thing is, you're here now.”

After a moment, Julia nodded her reluctant agreement. “I'll start on dinner in a few hours. A big dinner! You're too scrawny. In the meantime, have some muffins. And drink your tea—it's good for you.”

Pam eyed the glass in her hand.
Beverage penance.
Sure, why not? She took a big drink, meeting her
beaming aunt's gaze. Bleah. Yet considering where Pam was, other things coming her way would likely be much harder to swallow.

“Pssst, Faith!”

Faith Shepard shot her best friend a warning glance. Even though both girls were finished with their pop quizzes, Morgan knew what a stickler Mrs. Branch was about talking in class. After yesterday, Faith was in enough trouble at home without her lit teacher sending a disciplinary note. Faith used to think of her dad as one of her best friends—not that she would ever say something so dorky out loud. In the last year, though …

She didn't know what was going on exactly, but lately it didn't take much for her previously cool dad to freak out. Maybe it was the divorce. Or Grandma Gwendolyn always harping on him.

“I have to talk to you,” Morgan whispered urgently. She always sounded urgent.

Keeping her eyes on the teacher's desk, where Mrs. Branch had started grading, Faith asked out of the corner of her mouth, “About Kyle?” The way Morgan rhapsodized, you would think Kyle Gunn was Robert Pattinson's hot younger brother.

Morgan shook her head slowly, also keeping her gaze forward. When she spoke again, her lips barely moved. The two girls could totally do their own ventriloquism
act on one of those talent search shows. “No. About
you.
”

What? Faith abandoned their eyes-front subterfuge, whipping her head in Morgan's direction. What did her friend know? Did it have to do with the strange murmurings in the cafeteria today when Faith passed, the way that hag Arianne had snickered this morning?

“After class,” Faith whispered, hardly caring anymore if they were caught. “My house.”

N
ICK CAME HOME EARLY
for two reasons. The first was, he'd been thinking about his daughter all day and wanted to be there for her—even though he doubted she'd welcome his presence. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he'd grounded her, which meant he was destined to be persona non grata for a few sulky days.

The other reason he came home was much simpler. He oversaw a construction crew. And men who were distracted shouldn't be around power tools and huge pieces of motorized equipment.

“Faith?” He walked through the back door, entering the kitchen and calling out her name. Based on the past few times they'd clashed, she would be holed up in her room, blasting some sort of music guaranteed to annoy anyone over the age of twenty-five, pretending not to hear him.

So it came as a surprise when she met him at the edge of the kitchen tile, hands on her slim hips, glaring at him through exceedingly red eyes. The eyes combined with her sniffling made it clear she'd just finished a crying jag.

“Faith? What is it, honey?” Stupid question, when he already knew the answer. The coincidence was too great. But on the one-percent chance that this wasn't
about Pamela Jo Wilson, he held his breath and waited for his daughter's reply.

“Is it true? Is my mom in town?”

Nick sucked in a breath, wondering for the millionth time when this parenting gig was going to get easier. That entire first year, when Faith had been so tiny and fragile, he'd been scared witless. He'd told himself that when she was bigger, stronger, it wouldn't be so excruciating. But then there'd come the day when he'd had to put her on the bus to kindergarten, and it had been like taking shrapnel in the chest. Which had been nothing compared to the first time she told him she liked a boy. And now …

“It's true.”

She deflated, arms dropping, shoulders hunching. “I was hoping you didn't know. I thought, no way would he keep something like this from me. I found out from
Morgan,
Dad. You don't even like Morgan! Half the school knew before me. Or figured, anyway. Someone's mom knew that you and this chick used to be a thing, so people were wondering … Do you know how squicked I was to hear that people were talking about my parents' sex—”

“Please stop.” Nick flinched, hoping he'd never hear his daughter use the word
sex
again. While he wasn't sure what the exact definition of
squick
was, he felt confident that he was right there with her. “If it makes you feel better, I haven't known long, either. And it's why I came home early today. Why don't we sit in the living room?” This wasn't going to be a simple conversation, suited to a few minutes of standing in a doorway.

“Okay.” But instead of turning around, she marched further into the kitchen toward the refrigerator. She pulled out a gallon of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream,
then went to the utensil drawer, shooting him a defiant look as she withdrew a spoon.

“Make it two,” he told her. They could have ice cream for dinner and, if she was still hungry later, he'd make her salad for dessert.

They sat together on the couch, each digging into the tub while they collected their thoughts.

“Where do you want me to start?” Nick asked her.

“When I was born. You told me that you weren't married long because you wanted different things.”

“That's right.”
I wanted you, and she didn't.

He and Pamela Jo had both been alarmed to discover she was pregnant, but they'd married anyway. Nick had loved her, truly believed they were destined to be together. They'd even been eager to have a baby, in that clueless teenage way, with no idea of what parenting really entailed. Though it hadn't been easy—his trying to take community college classes while Pamela Jo read pregnancy books and tried to cope with his mother day after day—he'd thought they'd make it.

Until the baby came. Pam's personality had undergone a radical change. Worse than that, it was as if her personality had faded away. She'd shut him out when he'd tried to talk to her, and his mother had downplayed his fears, insisting that Pam was jealous of the baby and competing for Nick's attention with her listless “act.”

Faith stabbed her spoon into the already softening ice cream. “You said she wanted more than life in Mimosa. Even if it was a jerky thing to leave her daughter, I guess I can understand her not wanting to be
here.
I miss Charlotte,” she admitted with a sigh.

Had he done the wrong thing, moving them back here instead of staying in North Carolina? He certainly hadn't anticipated
this
when he made the decision.

“But here's what I don't get, Dad. I never really thought about it until Morgan was asking me questions, but if my mother wanted to leave Mimosa, why didn't you go with her? Why didn't the three of us go be a family somewhere else?”

Because she never gave me a choice. Never gave us a chance.
“Honey, you know that sometimes marriages just don't work out. Like me and Jenna.”

“That bombed because she had a guy on the side,” Faith said flatly. She was unlikely to ever forgive her stepmother, which was a shame. Jenna was probably the closest Faith would ever come to a mom. “No mystery there.”

“The truth was, Pamela Jo—your mother—and I were very, very young when we got married. Too young. Most people who get together as teenagers don't last forever.”

Faith mulled this over. “All right,” she said finally, once more the logical, reasonable daughter he knew and not the stranger who'd been breaking rules and picking fights with him lately.

Nick exhaled with relief.
I should have known.
Faith was a good kid. When you got right down to it, he'd been damned lucky. Maybe his visit to Pamela Jo this morning had been an overreaction. He dug his spoon into the ice cream with renewed appetite.

“Dad?”

He looked up with an expectant smile. “Yeah?”

“I want to meet her.”

“P
AMELA
J
O
!” Julia's voice carried easily from the front of the house to the kitchen. “You have company.”

Pam was startled enough that she almost dropped the Jewel Tea dinner plate in her hand, one of her
aunt's Autumn Leaf collection. She corrected at the last moment, so that the dish slid harmlessly into the warm waiting suds. “Y-you're sure?” Her pulse doubled and she struggled to control it.

What were the odds of Nick Shepard tracking her down twice in one day? She felt ridiculous even considering it. The man wanted nothing to do with her.

“PJ the VJ!” There was an excited—and thankfully very female—squeal of excitement from the foyer, then the clatter of high-heeled footsteps across Julia's hardwood floors. A round brunette came into view. Petite but very curvy, she'd seemingly fashioned her entire look from circles: glossy curls, black hoop earrings that nearly brushed her shoulders and a rainbow of polka dots covering her black sundress. “Ohmigod, I can't believe it's really you! I mean, my sister told me. But I had to see for myself.”

Unlike with Nick, whom Pam would probably recognize in every fiber of her being even if fifty years had passed, it took a split second to place this person from her past. “Dawn?”

The brunette grinned. “In the flesh.”

Tears pricked Pam's eyes, startling her. In the past twenty-four hours, she'd weathered the news that her mother had died and that Nick Shepard lived just around the corner. So why should seeing an old friend elicit the waterworks? “You look good. Really good.”

Although Dawn Lewin might be plumper than was strictly fashionable, she'd always been good with hair and makeup. She'd fixed Pam's hair before countless choir solos and high school dances. In the years since Pam had seen her last, her friend appeared to have outgrown a certain girlish anxiousness. As a teen, Dawn had been cute but insecure; now she exuded a subtle
confidence that magnified her charm. Pam felt a twinge of envy. Her own confidence could use a boost these days.

“You look like you've been on some kind of killer diet,” Dawn countered. “I am
never
gonna fit into jeans that skinny. But you have split ends,” she added critically. “You're not so thin that I'll break you if I hug you?”

Pam shook her head, stepping forward to meet the other woman halfway. Dawn smelled like chocolate and expensive hair care products and her hug was more comforting than Pam could have imagined. She retreated quickly, embarrassed.

“I didn't realize how much I needed a hug. Thank you. I just found out about my mother yesterday,” she said by way of awkward explanation.

Dawn clucked her tongue sympathetically. “I thought of you when she passed. Would have sent a card if I'd had any idea where you were. My sister and I used to watch you religiously when you were on that country music show. Then you disappeared and I told her, one of these days, we're gonna go to the Mimosa Cineplex and she's gonna be smiling at us from the big screen.”

Pam managed not to roll her eyes in self-derision. She was about the furthest thing possible from a movie star. “Hardly, but thanks for believing in me. Wait, your sister—
that's
who I saw at Granny K's, your little sister Summer?” The statuesque twentysomething who'd been staring at her was the erstwhile pig-tailed kid who used to beg Pam and Dawn to paint her nails and include her on their gossip? Pam felt like Rip Van Winkle, waking to find the entire world had changed.

“Not so little now, is she?” Dawn burbled with
laughter. “I have to wear three-inch heels just to look her in the eye.”

From the kitchen doorway, Julia delicately cleared her throat. “Pamela Jo?”

“Yes, ma'am?” Pam had given up telling her aunt that she didn't go by her full name anymore—she doubted the woman would change a lifelong habit. But being called Pamela Jo didn't bother her here the way it had when Nick used it this morning. She had too many memories of his saying her name. The day he'd first told her he'd loved her, the many times they'd made love, the infrequent times they'd argued, the day their daughter was born.

“Don't you want to offer your guest a place to sit and be comfortable?” Julia prompted. “Maybe get her some tea?”

Heck, no. Pam liked Dawn way too much to inflict The Tea upon her. Instead, she smiled at her old friend. “Want to sit on the porch and catch up?” There was a slight breeze outside and the sun had set enough for the temperature to dip below baking.

“Perfect! I want to hear about everything you've been up to since you left,” Dawn enthused as they headed for the front door.

“Um … not much to tell, really. You witnessed the pinnacle of my ‘fame.'” She made air quotes with her fingers, shaking her head at the memory of PJ the VJ. She settled into one of the creaky rockers on the porch, and Dawn sat on the padded striped bench across from her. “After the video jockey gig, I tried a few things that didn't really work out. But tell me all about you! Are you even still Dawn Lewin, or is it Mrs. Some-Lucky-Guy now?”

Dawn's cheeks grew rosy. “Not yet, but I'm hoping
he'll pop the question next month. I've been dropping hints that an engagement ring would be a very nice birthday present. You don't know him—Jerry Price. He moved here about five years ago.”

Pam nodded politely, although it was still an adjustment to consider Mimosa a place people would move
to;
for her, the town had always been something to escape. Of course, now that she'd actually seen Nashville and Los Angeles and myriad places in between, she had to admit some of the destinations she used to dream of weren't all they were cracked up to be. And she'd seriously missed the food at Granny K's.

Leaning forward on the bench, Dawn asked, “What about you? Got a special man in your life?” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I feel silly bringing this up—it was all so long ago, you probably don't even think about him these days—but you do know Nick Shepard is in town? If I were you, it's the kind of thing I'd want a friend to tell me. That way you can run out for groceries in cute shoes and lipstick. Just in case. I mean, because you're over an ex doesn't mean you want to bump into him on laundry day when the closest you've come to a hairstyle is a ball cap. Am I right?”