Back to Life (13 page)

“Bad timing?”

“I suppose you heard I met your bride. Is that why you’re here?”

“I did hear,” he says. “My mother thought that you may have planned it.”

“Yes, running into your mother is just the kind of thing I would plan. She was thrilled to see me.”

“She was?” He laughs. “That was a joke, I suppose.”

“Does your bride know you’re here? A week before your marriage? Or were you trying to get a bounty on my head?”

“She doesn’t know I’m here. Does that make me a cad?”

“It doesn’t make you ready to commit, that’s for certain.”

“You’re not going to tell me, then?”

“Tell you what?”

“That she’s marrying me for my money.”

“Even if she told me that, I wouldn’t believe her. There are plenty of reasons to marry you besides your money. Those blue eyes on one’s child are quite enough. The money’s just an added bonus.”

“But she did tell you that, and you weren’t going to tell me.”

“No, in fact, she didn’t, and I don’t believe she is marrying you for money. Marriage is hard, Jake. It’s hard enough without questioning everyone’s motives in everything. Assume the best. That’s what Ron always did for me. You’ve waited a long time to get married—embrace it. She thanked me for giving you up. That doesn’t sound like a woman intent on marrying for money.”

He exhales deeply and peers down at me. His gaze darting down the hallway to check if we’re alone. “What if I want out?”

“Most men want out a week before their wedding. It means nothing.”

“I don’t want to marry her.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that!” I exclaim. “And aren’t you telling the wrong person? I’m not marrying you!”

“Isn’t it better now than after the wedding?” he asks, and I look behind me and then back to him.

“Are you practicing on me? Because really, Jake, I don’t understand. She’s not here.”

“I haven’t seen you in ten years, Lindsay. All of a sudden, you’re in the coffee shop, I pay you back the money I owe you, you meet my fiancée at the dress store. I’m worried it’s not a coincidence. What if it’s divine intervention?”

I swallow over the lump in my throat, unwilling to look him in the eye. The young Lindsay within me could run off with Jake and never look back, leaving that poor princess standing all alone
at the altar, but the mature Lindsay—the one I’ve become because of Haley and Bette and the rest of them…heck, even Jane—that Lindsay can’t bear to be thought of as the immoral woman ever again. Besides, how would I know if he’s supposed to marry her? If you look at the shambles my life is currently in, my life choices haven’t been anything to imitate.

He shakes his head. “It’s not cold feet.”

“Maybe it’s not cold feet, but the fact that you’re here doesn’t speak well of that. Jake, you have no idea who I am today. You’re thinking we can go back to being sixteen and carefree, but marriage isn’t like that, I’m afraid. It’s not just sugarplums and gumdrops. Make the choice to be there, and you’ll be there.”

“It was time to get married. I’m getting to that point where you’re either gay or eternally questionable as a partner. I didn’t think it mattered.”

“You didn’t think it mattered who you spent the rest of your life with?”

“I know. That’s sick, huh?”

“Jake, why are you here? What do you think I can help you with?”

He rakes his fingers through his hair, which now has a touch of gray at the temples. I think about the years I’ve missed in his life and wonder if he ever would have had the guts to stand up to his mother. It was one of the first things that attracted me to Ron. He answered to no one. Certainly not an overbearing mother. My experience with mothers had made me more than skittish to ever become one. Would I have been under Mrs. Evans’s rule all these years later? With a baby on my hip?

“Cherry says you’ve been coming here to see me. Is this why?” When I look into Jake’s eyes, it’s impossible not to feel the but
terflies in my stomach that I felt as a young girl. It’s impossible not to feel the soaring emotion of my first love, but to imagine that’s something worthy of stopping someone’s wedding is ridiculous.

“I haven’t been able to sleep well since I saw you at the coffee shop. I came over here with good intentions to put an end to the questions in my mind, but it didn’t work. I thought giving the money back would ease my anxiety, but I’m here now because I have feelings for the wrong person, and I want to know that you’re not coming back. I need to hear it from your mouth that there isn’t a chance in hell of you coming back to me before I commit to Tristin.”

I want to slap him. I mean, seriously take my hand and thrust it across his face until he’s red from the sting of my palm. “Jake, you don’t even know who I am anymore.” But as I look in his eyes, I know he does see a good portion of it. He knows what I’m capable of, and still, he’s standing here. “I am a flawed person, and I don’t want to take the chance to break your heart again. You have a bird in the hand—my advice is to fly away with her. She’s a beautiful girl. Don’t question this Jake. It will only haunt you.”

“Let’s fly to Italy tomorrow.”

“Jake!” I back away from him. Really, I should send him down the hall to Jane. She likes to flee commitment, too.

“I know it’s the one place you’ve always wanted to see, and I want to be the one to take you.”

“You’re getting married next week. You have always done the right thing. Well, except for maybe right now. How would you feel if you broke this girl’s heart, and left all your friends and family stranded? I
had
to live with the guilt, Jake. It’s not fun to get what you want at the expense of others. There’s an enormous price to pay.”

“I’d feel terrible, naturally.”

I don’t feel flattered, as I should. I feel branded, and I know as sure as I stand here that I would take the fall again. I would be the Other Woman, while he got to keep his reputation as the nice guy. I won’t be the
her
again. I’m not strong enough to take it. I’m a Trophy Wife, and we have standards. Biblical standards.

“Jake, get married. Sometimes the price of what you want is too high. This is one of those times. Do the right thing, and God won’t let you down.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do. The right thing.”

“Then break up with Tristin. You’re not in love with her if you can show up on my doorstep a week before your wedding. Either that or you’re a complete commitment-phobe and at this point, I don’t have a clue which is true.”

“You’re not promising me anything if I break it off with Tristin.”

“No, I’m not.”

His dark blue-green eyes still have power over me. Their soulful plead begs me to don a red dress and take my place as the man-stealer. After all, after one betrayal, what’s one more? It’s better than spending my life alone in this cramped condominium with a dozen cats. But I think about Bette’s sorrow-filled eyes when she heard my confession. And Haley’s upcoming wedding to a man who thinks she invented beauty.
This is not love I feel. This is about winning and loneliness. I’m in the race for the long haul, for the crown above.

“If you love her, marry her. If you don’t, let her go before it’s too late, but do me a favor and keep me out of it. I’ve had enough drama for one lifetime.”

Jake steps forward, and I look down at his work boots, not briskly new, but not hard-worn like when I knew him and they’d have to last until he could afford a new pair. He is a different man. I am a different woman. He surrounds my cheeks with his fingers and lifts my eyes to his.

He kisses my forehead, and I’ll admit, I fight the urge to lift my lips to his and dwell in the flesh. Being a Christian never really gets easier, does it? As I watch him, I don’t feel sure of anything. Cherry is perched behind her curtain, but she opens it so I can see her shaking her head. I know just how she feels. Failure is my middle name.

Jane

E
ven Kuku is looking at me with scorn, pacing around my feet. “I know. I shouldn’t have said anything. Even if she is after Ronnie for his money. I raised him smarter than that, didn’t I?”

Kuku meows.

“You’re turning on me, too? Listen, just because she’s pretty and doesn’t throw you off her bed, don’t get any ideas. What am I talking to you for? You’re male, and you all react the same way to a gorgeous blonde.”

I fold my cotton pants. They’re the wrinkled style that travels well, and I get frustrated with folding so I twist them into a ball and drop them in the suitcase, throwing a wadded-up Guatemalan T-shirt on top of them. Everything else, I yank off hangers and out of drawers and pile into the bag. I did my best. I made it nearly
two months and considering the circumstances, that’s about seven weeks longer than I thought I’d last.

Inside the bathroom, I scrape everything off the counter in one fell-swoop, my arm like an elephant’s trunk swathing a new path in the jungle. Only in this case, it reveals a fresh, clutter-free countertop. Just as pristine as the day I found it, with only the brightly-colored, fish-shaped soaps and tropical blue hand towels, in a clam-shaped dish. I straighten the coordinating bath towels and stand back to admire my work.

Every trace of me is gone, except I put the Retin A back where Lindsay so graciously left it for me.
Yes, I’m old.
I know this without her subtle hint of medical products left on the bathroom vanity. Unlike Lindsay, I have more important things to worry about. I leave the prescription tube on the counter, convinced she’ll need it more than me, regardless. Her looks are still a commodity; mine are long-gone, and they never did me any favors, anyway.

“Why do I say things I don’t mean?” I ask the mirror, as I think about what I told Davis. “I feel terrible afterward, and then I can’t even apologize.”

It’s a terrible character flaw, probably right up there with talking to oneself. One of these days, Davis isn’t going to be waiting when I get home. My lower lip trembles when I think of an empty house, and I still it with my finger. I flatten my palms against my cheeks, pulling back the extra skin. I’m in there somewhere, my fresh, girlish self, whose eyes are bright and full of life. I came here, angry at Ron, sure, but Ron was only a symptom of when I didn’t have control over my life. Now I have so much control that no one but Davis seems to want to be around me—and I think he’s just been a glutton for punishment. I thought I could show Lindsay the right path. Now that she’s on her own, and I’ve completely bungled it.
She just thinks I’m a crazy, old lady who belongs with the rest of her neighbors.

Most of my life is over now. Though math has never been my subject, it doesn’t take a genius to know that at fifty-three, the best years have come and gone. I wish I could just call Davis, and blurt how much I miss him, that I wish he was here with me, and the thought of going home to a house without him tears me up inside. But there’s something different about me—there always was. I’m missing some deep, functional part of womanhood. An inner portion of my heart is dead. It doesn’t operate the way other women’s seem to, offering up nurturing words and a warm meal. It didn’t used to be that way. I was the mother all the kids loved. Now, I’ll leave the house and avoid the guilt of what I can’t provide. Something prevents me from saying how I feel, if it will make someone else feel good and reduce me to a lower plane. In fact, often it makes me do exactly the opposite of what I desire.

I’m tired of living this way. But it’s too late now, I suppose. “I yam who I yam,” as Popeye would say.

My son is the only one who breaks through that barrier—the sole person from whom I do not fear rejection, though even that’s a lie, since he doesn’t know anything but my version of his youth. He is the last vestige of my best years. The only thing I ever did right, and someone could easily make the argument I didn’t even do that well. At the very least, I didn’t do it honestly.

A letter slides under my door, and I greet the blue stationery with astonishment. In Ron’s handwriting, it reads R
ON
J
R
. As I clutch the letter, I see that the seal has been broken. I open the door. “You read this?”

Lindsay’s sneaking up the stairs, and she turns toward me when I call out. “I didn’t know there was a Ron Jr. when I read it. I thought
Ron might have thought I was pregnant. I didn’t know. Either way, I didn’t give it to the charity in the desk. I had it all along, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“You let me call all over town looking for the desk?”

“I knew there was nothing important in it.”

“So why didn’t you tell me?”

“This may surprise you, Jane, but you don’t exactly invite warm and friendly information. Everything you do feels like judgment. Maybe you don’t mean it that way, but I’m afraid of you. I imagine a lot of people are afraid of you. And I think you like it that way.”

“What does this letter say?”

“It says nothing, but I thought you’d want to read it before Ronnie got it, so I’m giving it to you. Do whatever you’d like with it. Give it to him, don’t give it to him—it’s none of my business. Considering Ron left him the mansion, it’s probably the least you can do for his memory.”

She continues up the stairs, and I rip what’s left of the envelope and find his old-fashioned script in a letter to my son.

I wasn’t just afraid of Ronnie’s father. I was afraid of Ron, too. The two of them blamed me. “That’s why I left.” I breathe deeply trying to calm my racing heart. I see Ron’s rage-filled face when I told him I could never love him, the spilled milk of Mitch’s fateful choice that night…and I see Mitch all over again, young and full of zeal. Before my life was split into fragments. No house in Pacific Palisades will ever make up for it. I rip the letter into tiny shreds and the pieces float around me in whirling, floating circles…

“Mom? Mom?”

I look up and see my son standing over me. “I didn’t deserve you.”

“What? Mom, wake up!”

I notice that Lindsay is standing next to him and she has the phone in her hand. “They’ll be here any minute. Can you get her on the bed?”

I sit up, but the world is still spinning, so I lay back down. “Who will be here? What’s going on?”

“Mom, we heard you fall.” I look around me frantically for the letter, only to see Lindsay is slyly putting the pieces away in her back pocket.

“I called 911. They’ll be here any minute now,” she says.

I stand up without help. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.” But as I stand, I feel dizzier than ever, and more than slightly hungover, sort of like that time Davis and I had the homemade tequila margaritas.

“Just sit down until they get here.” My son checks my pulse and the worry in his eyes brings tears to my own.

“Ronnie, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” I pat his arm. “You’re such a good boy. Always wanting to take care of me, when it’s my job to take care of you.”

“When you’re found collapsed on someone’s bedroom carpet, it’s generally understood that you are not fine. Stop fighting me.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, I’ll wait for the cavalry.”

Ronnie starts whispering something to Lindsay, and the thought incenses me. “What are you two whispering about? I’m right here! Say something out loud if you want to say it.”

Lindsay darts out of the bedroom, and my son is watching me as if I’m on fire. “Ronnie, I just fainted. It’s not a big deal. I just had a busy day and forgot to eat.”

“When Ron fainted, he never got back up, so I’m not going to take your word for it.”

“Ron had a stroke. I didn’t have a stroke.” If I could find the words, I’d tell him the truth right now. God forbid I die and leave Lindsay to break the news to him.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.”

“How about now?”

“Four. Are we going to do this all evening? Maybe we should get a pad of paper and play Pictionary. You always loved that game. When he was little, he could draw absolutely anything.” I look around. “Where did Lindsay go?”

“Is Davis at home?”

“It’s late there, you’re not calling Davis. Besides, I don’t know if he’s home.”

“It’s a Monday in March, where would he go?”

“We had a fight.”

“You had a fight. Davis never says anything back to you, though Lord knows, he should.”

I smile at Ronnie’s sad assessment of his mother. “You know me too well.”

Soon Lindsay is back, and she’s carrying a glass with orange juice. “Here, drink some of this.”

I take a drink, realizing I am really thirsty. I gulp the entire glass down and hand it, empty, back to her. “Thanks, Lindsay.” I feel fine and stand again. “I just need to eat, that’s all.” They’re both looking at each other again. “I’m diabetic, my blood sugar got low. There is no sense in alarm. This is what happens.”

“You’re diabetic?” Ron says. “Since when?”

“I don’t know, a year or two officially. I always have been slightly. That’s why I can’t hold my liquor.”

Ronnie crosses his arms across his brawny chest. “Mom, it’s all right to tell people pertinent information. What if I have a kid with diabetes, and I tell the pediatrician there is no history of it in my family?”

“You don’t have any children, and I thought you said it wasn’t serious with Kipling.” I watch Lindsay’s eyes as I state this, but she makes no move toward Ron. At least she has the wherewithal to do her dance without me watching.

The doorbell rings, and Lindsay disappears out of the room again and returns with two brawny EMT guys, who are probably out-of-work actors struggling to get by. I can imagine them saying, “I’m not an EMT, but I play one on
ER
.”

“My son overreacted,” I tell them. “I’m diabetic, and I didn’t tell him. I just got low on my blood sugar, that’s all.” One of the men takes my pulse, while the other gets out a blood glucose monitor and pricks my finger. “Ouch! Why don’t you warn a person?”

“They only scream louder when I warn them. Besides, you should
be doing this every day. I get seven year olds who don’t even react. I’ve taken to a surprise entry.” He has gorgeous blue eyes, and if I were a younger woman…“Forty-nine,” he says with raised eyebrows. “You need to get yourself a glucose meter and keep track of this daily.”

“Do you need anything from us?” Lindsay asks, and my strapping young EMT notices her for the first time and, naturally, looks again. I’m glad I’m not dying here.

“No. Thank you, miss. We have everything we need. You drank some juice?” He asks me, still looking at Lindsay.

I take his chin and turn his head toward me. “I did.”

“Are you on any medications?”

“No, sir.”

“Any feeling of pins and needles in the fingertips?” He takes his fingers, and they meet mine.

“No.” Well, save for the fact that I do feel slightly tingly at the touch of a thirty-year-old hunk…never mind.

The other EMT has a stethoscope to my back. “Inhale deeply.” He holds his cold piece to my back. “And exhale. Any history of heart disease?”

“None,” I state proudly. “I’m a hiker. Bet I could out-hike you two.”

“I bet you could.” He pulls the stethoscope away. “I’d like to get you an EKG tonight, just to be certain there are no underlying pressure problems that led to your fainting.”

“I’ll make an appointment with my doctor in the morning.”

“Mom, you don’t have a doctor here.”

“I’ll find one. This is L.A. I assume you have doctors besides plastic surgeons here. They have to have someone to work on, right? That means doctors’ wives.”

“Mom!” Ron says, in that “you’re so embarrassing” tone. I look back at the EMT with the blue eyes, because if I’m going to look at
one of them, it might as well be the one dreams are made of. “I’m not going to the hospital, so you can pack up all your equipment and start writing your report.”

He takes the blood pressure cuff off me. “You might as well take her to dinner. She’ll probably benefit from that more.” He says to Lindsay. “Speaking of dinner—” He raises his brows at Lindsay.

“I’m calling Bette,” she says to me, ignoring the gorgeous man making a pass at her.
What is wrong with that girl?

“Bette? The older woman from your pedicure group?”

“Yes. You don’t listen to me, and you don’t listen to your son, and I know that Bette won’t give you a choice. She demands respect. Therefore, I’m calling Bette. She’ll take you to dinner, slap some sense into you, and we’ll all come back tonight for a rousing game of Pictionary.” She smiles at me. “I heard you from the stairs. How does that sound, Ronnie?” She turns to my son and flashes her giant baby blues.

“Positively brilliant. Though at the moment, I’m up for slapping some sense into her myself.”

I narrow my eyes. “Ronnie—”

He kisses my cheek. “You scared the life out of me, you know? Diabetes?” He shakes his head.

I start to stand, and one of the burly EMT guys holds me down. “We’re almost through here. Would you mind waiting downstairs? We have some more tests we want to run and get a full history.”

“I told you what was wrong with me.”

“I’d like a full history, too!” Ronnie says to me.

“This is California. People sue here, so forgive us if we can’t listen when you refuse service. Too many lawyers. Something happens to you, and I don’t have these stats? My job is gone. Just a few more numbers to get for the forms.”