A Thread of Truth (14 page)

I expected her to back away. Deep down, that's what I wanted her to do. It would be easier to leave if there were a rift between us, if I could tell myself once and for all that Margot and I had nothing in common.

She surprised me.

“You're right. I don't know you, any more than you know me. We've each been careful to put on our best face for the other. Well, why not? We're both grown-ups and we know from experience that you can't trust everyone. You've been burned before in that department; so have I. Maybe that's why I haven't been as open with you as I might have. But, you're wrong about me, Ivy.

“My life isn't perfect. Neither is my faith. There are times when I have doubts and, like everybody else, there are times when I carry around my own load of resentments. Sometimes I've been so jealous of you, I could hardly stand it.”

“Me? You've been jealous of me?” The look on her face told me she wasn't joking.

She glanced toward Bethany and Bobby's closed bedroom door, blinking back tears.

“Ever since I was so high”—she held her hand out flat to a height a few inches below the tabletop—“all I ever wanted to be was a mother. I'd be a great mother,” she said earnestly and I nodded, knowing it was true.

“That has been the deepest desire of my heart for as long as I can remember. I always figured that since God must have put that desire there, it was just a matter of time until he fulfilled it by giving me a husband and children.

“College came and went. I left with a diploma in marketing and lots of men friends, guys who thought of me as their cute younger sister, but not even a hint of a proposal. But, I didn't worry. I just packed up my car, moved to Manhattan, and took an entry level job in the marketing department of a giant corporation because I figured in that oceanic pool of potential Mr. Rights, at least one of them had to have my name on him.

“Actually, it didn't even have to be Mr. Right. I'd have settled for Mr. Good Enough. All I really wanted was a family. Is that so much to ask for?” she asked plaintively.

“My twenties passed. I got three promotions, a nicer apartment, and bought a weekend cottage here in New Bern, but still no proposals, not so much as a glint of a diamond. I wasn't too worried; I was still young. Besides, men in Manhattan seem to wait a while before settling down. I don't know why, maybe they're more career-obsessed than other people, or maybe the price of real estate makes them nervous about getting married and starting a family. Who knows? But I figured the guys I was working with would
have
to start getting married once they hit their thirties. And I was right. They did. But guess who they got married to?”

“Women in their twenties?”

“Bingo!” she cried, laughing even while wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

“What's with that? Anyway, you know the rest of the story. Here I am. Looking forty in the face and still no babies. So even after all you've been through, even knowing what you're going to have to go through in these next months, can you imagine how jealous I've been of you and those two beautiful children?”

Yes. I could.

“Did you ever think of adopting?”

She bobbed her head. “Oh sure. But it's especially hard for a single woman. Not to mention expensive. I was actually pretty far through the process, far enough so I was starting to visit stores that carried baby furniture and talking to a contractor about knocking down walls to build a nursery. Then I got downsized, the victim of a flagging economy and a new department head who had a penchant for hiring newer, younger employees with what he called ‘a fresh, funky take on the heartbeat of what's happening now.'” She rolled her eyes and made a gagging sound.

“Yes, this is the wordsmith they promoted over me to oversee the writing of all ad copy and marketing materials for all our product lines.”

“And let me guess,” I said. “These fresh new faces with the funky take on the heartbeat of whatever were all willing to work for way less money than people like you who'd been around a while and actually knew what they were doing.”

“Right. So the new kids on the block were in and I was out on the street, pounding the pavement and trying to find a job in the middle of a recession. With no paycheck and no prospects for getting one in the near future, the adoption agency informed me that I was no longer considered a suitable candidate. They took me off the waiting list after I'd spent five years working my way to the top.” Her eyes were dry now. She sniffed and made a
c'est la vie
face.

Poor Margot. I'd had no idea. My life was no picnic, but I did have my kids. They made up for a lot.

It struck me that, for all my problems, there were good things in my life. And that, even though from my perspective she appeared to be leading a charmed life, Margot had known her share of challenges and disappointments, too.

I realized that I'd been comparing the inside of my life with the outside of everyone else's; measuring my own fortunes against the cheerful how-are-you-I'm-fine façade that people put on for each other. At least in a small way, everybody lies about who they are because you don't have to be alive very long to understand that, in spite of what they say, most people don't give two nickels for the problems of others. No one in her right mind is going to bare her soul to someone else unless she is reasonably sure that the person really cares and can be counted on as a true friend.

I dreamed about having true friends, the kind you can trust with your most secret secrets, the way I'd dreamed about winning the lottery; it would be nice if it happened, but I didn't really believe it ever would—especially since I never bought tickets. And as far as having a friend—well, I'd never bought a ticket for that, either. I'd always considered friendship too risky. Friends honored each other with their confidences, the way Margot was honoring me now.

I reached out and took Margot's hand. I felt awkward doing it, but I wanted her to know that I was listening.

“And the thing is,” Margot continued, “as upsetting as it was at the time, getting fired was a blessing in disguise. I hated my old job, but it paid so well that I probably would never have left if they hadn't made me.

“I'm much, much happier living in New Bern than I ever was on the Upper East Side. And I love everything about working at the quilt shop. I love having contact with our customers, and getting to quilt and being around others who do, and, of course, I'm crazy about my wonderful coworkers.” She smiled.

“The only drawback is that it doesn't pay anything close to what my old job did. Not that I'm complaining. Evelyn is paying me as well as she possibly can, even a little more than she pays herself. New Bern is a lot less expensive to live in than the city, so I can pay my bills, but I don't make enough to be able to adopt. Even if I did, it would take me years to climb back up the waiting list. By the time I did, the agency would probably think I was too old to be a mom.”

Margot was silent, staring off into space at a spot somewhere over my left shoulder, thinking her own thoughts. After a moment, she exhaled deeply, as if consciously releasing old memories into the air.

“Which brings me back to my original point—I'm not perfect. I get jealous of people who have things I think I deserve to have but don't, and there are plenty of times when my faith gets shaky, but in the end I always come back to it because it's the only thing that makes any sense. When I look back over my life, I can see so clearly that God loves me and has always been with me. There are so many good things in my life, so many undeserved gifts, and so many times when something I thought was a curse from God actually turned out to be a blessing. I don't know why God has not seen fit to give me a child, but in the end I believe that there is a reason even for that. It's hard, but I accept it.” She smiled weakly and glanced at the bedroom door again. “Some days more than others, but I try.”

“But, that just doesn't make sense to me,” I argued. “If you want this so badly, and if you believe the desire for a child is something that God planted in you, then why doesn't God let you have one? What could be the harm in that?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “I wish I did, but God is God. He doesn't have to consult me on His decisions.” She grinned. “Hey, not that I haven't been known to look out my front window to see if there might be a burning bush out there from time to time, but so far—nothing. Maybe someday.

“Maybe this will seem silly to you, but this is the way I've worked it out in my mind. Answer a question for me. What would happen if you let the kids have everything they wanted?”

“Well, let's see,” I said slowly, pretending to muse over the answer. “They'd never bathe or go to bed before midnight and probably they wouldn't have any teeth because they'd have rotted out from the diet of straight chocolate and orange soda, not to mention a general lack of dental hygiene.”

“Right!” Margot nodded eagerly. “Some of the things your children want are not in their best interests, but they're children and don't understand. They don't have your wisdom or perspective. So sometimes, because you love them, you have to tell them no. Even if it means they get mad at you, even if it means they push you away and are angry with you, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, don't you think it could be the same way for God?”

“I don't know. I never thought about it that way.”

It was hard for me to think about God as a loving parent, but some of what Margot was saying made sense. It was worth thinking about, anyway.

Margot gripped the edge of the table and leaned in close. Her eyes were earnest. “Ivy, I know you don't believe that God has always had your best interests at heart, but if you can't believe Him, then believe me. I'm your friend and I'm telling you the truth. You can't run away again! If you do, you'll never be able to stop. Is that the life you want for yourself? For your children?”

Her eyes bored right through me. I looked away, catching sight of the quilt that was hanging over the back of a dining chair, the log cabin quilt I'd made in Evelyn's class so many months ago.

I stared at the red centers of the log cabin blocks, those bright spots of red that represented the heartbeat of my life, the center of my being, the best and most beautiful things in my world—my children. With tears in my eyes and solemn conviction in my breast I had sworn to protect them, to keep them safe, and to make a real home for them. Every minute and breath of my life was about keeping that vow. I had tried my best, but my best wasn't enough.

Margot was right. If I ran again, Bethany and Bobby would never have the safe, settled home and family life I'd promised to provide, the life they needed and deserved. Why should it be so hard to give my children the simple, safe life that so many other children had? It wasn't fair.

I wasn't asking for myself. The only dreams I had left were for my babies, but now it seemed I'd failed in that, too.

Just like Hodge had said I would.

 

Two weeks after Bethany's birth and only a month after we'd moved into our beautiful house in a brand-new subdivision built on old farmland that was six miles from the edge of the nearest town, Hodge hit me for the second time.

It had been months since the first incident but because Hodge had been apologetic even to the point of tears when it happened, I'd convinced myself that it was just a one-time thing. I was wrong.

He came home from work and yelled to me from the kitchen. I was changing the baby and called that I'd be there in a minute. Hodge came stomping into the nursery, grabbed me, by the arm, and slapped me, shouting that the next time he called me I'd better come—quick. The slap stung but it didn't really hurt me, not the way his blows would later, when he progressed from open hands to fists and worse, but I was furious.

I screamed at him. Told him if he ever, ever hit me again I'd leave him. Hodge curled his lips into a sneer, laughing.

“You're going to leave me? What makes you think you could ever do that? You've got no brains, no education, no talent for anything. You know that, Ivy. I'm the only thing you've got going for you. If you left me, you'd be back in the gutter where I found you in five minutes.”

He took a step toward me. I grabbed the baby off the changing table and backed away. “I mean it, Hodge. Don't you touch me ever again! You try that again, we're out of here. Me and the baby!”

His eyes flickered with a hard light, like the blue-hot center of a flame. With Bethany still in my arms, he grabbed my hair and started dragging me out of the nursery and toward the front hallway.

“Is that right? You're out of here? Well, if you're planning on going, then you'd better go now. It'd make things a whole lot easier on me. You're nothing but a millstone around my neck, anyway. I only married you out of pity. That and for the sex. Think about it, Ivy. That's all anybody has ever wanted from you. Do you know why?”

He looked at me with that cold fire in his eyes, smiling, drinking in the pain and shame he was inflicting on me before answering his own question.

“It's because that's all you've ever been good for. Since the baby you've gotten so fat and flabby you're not even good for that.” He pulled the hank of hair he held in his fist even harder, forcing me to jerk my head up. “You disgust me, Ivy. If it weren't for the baby, I'd have thrown you out by now.

“So you don't need me? You think you're capable of taking care of the baby without me? Well, then go! Get out! We'll see how you do. But I'm telling you the truth, Ivy. You're nothing! You're trash. You can't even take care of yourself, let alone the baby, but have fun trying.”

He opened the front door, shoved me out of the house, and slammed it closed. The deadbolt clicked as he turned the lock.