Daisy (20 page)
“I like her writing a lot,” I said, hoping I sounded reliable. “And it’s about some very different women, which seems like a perfect fit for us.” I made a little circular wave to encompass all of us.
We set the date for next month’s meeting, and I felt flutters of anxiety in my stomach at the thought of what would happen in those four weeks between now and then. So much had happened in the
last
four weeks that it was almost scary to look that far ahead.
Paige served up the Jell-O cheesecake. It was pretty good, though Paige apologized for it profusely, stating she hadn’t gotten to the store so she’d had to come up with something she already had the ingredients for. We chatted some more, then one by one, the ladies said their good-byes while I sat with my feet up like some kind of diva. It was so hard not to show them to the door like a proper hostess.
“I left a piece for Paul,” Paige said when she came into the living room after retrieving her pie tin. She licked some cream from her finger. “It’s on the counter.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me the last few weeks. I’d have been lost without it.”
“You are very welcome,” Paige said, tilting her head and smiling at me. She looked around the living room as though searching for something, then her gaze settled back on me. “So, did you unpack?”
“Not yet,” I said. “I think Paul moved all the boxes into Stormy’s room.”
Paige furrowed her brow. “But he didn’t unpack them?”
She made a good point. He’d been back for three days. Why hadn’t he undone the moving efforts? I didn’t know what to say to Paige though, and for an instant I resented that she’d even raised the question. I shrugged to emphasize that it wasn’t a big deal to me. “It’s been crazy.” But it
hadn’t
been crazy, not really. It had been calm and placid and careful.
Too calm? Too placid? Too careful?
Oh, stop it!
I told myself and smiled even wider at Paige, who was watching me as though she could read the thoughts in my head.
“So, what was up with Livvy?” Paige asked, picking up her purse. “Was it just me or did she seem a little out of it?”
“Yeah, she did, didn’t she?” I said. “Her hair looked great, though.”
“Yeah, it did, but she seemed deep in thought and . . . troubled, I guess. I hope she’s okay.”
“I’ll call her on Monday and check in on her. I haven’t talked to her this whole week, but she was calling me every few days before then to check up on me.”
“She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she?”
“She really is,” I said, “but she’s got issues.”
“Oh?” Paige asked, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder.
I didn’t feel like it was my place to share my thoughts about her husband, especially since Livvy hadn’t verified anything, so I shrugged again. “Don’t we all?”
“Don’t we, indeed,” Paige agreed. She gave me a parting hug and then waved before closing the door behind her.
The house, so recently filled with women whom I had come to care about, seemed quiet and empty without them. I’d almost forgotten about Paul until I heard the bedroom door open. I twisted in the chair and smiled at him when he came into view. I wanted that smile to quiet the niggling little worry in the corner of my mind, but it wasn’t working. Even though she hadn’t meant to, Paige had got me thinking in a direction I’d been trying to avoid.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“Great. They are really wonderful women,” I said. “Paige left you some pie.”
“Cool. Can I get you anything?”
“No,” I said. He turned away but stopped when I called his name. “Paul?”
“Huh?” he asked, turning back to me.
“Thank you for coming back.”
He smiled and nodded before heading into the kitchen, and I felt my smile drop. I had hoped for more reassurance than that.
I was determined to stay out of bed for the rest of the night. I was so sick of the walls of my bedroom that being in the living room seemed like a vacation. I did move to the couch so I could stretch out on my left side, since I’d been sitting up all evening, and I even watched a basketball game with Paul and told myself it was interesting. After the game we watched the news.
The silence was getting to me, especially in the wake of the great discussion I’d had with the book group ladies. Paul and I really hadn’t talked much since he’d returned, and I missed our conversations. We’d gotten used to being together again, and he must know I wasn’t angry at him anymore.
Was I ever angry, or just sad?
“So the book we read for book group last month was really great,” I said.
“Oh, yeah?” he asked, turning away from the toothpaste commercial. “What was it?”
“
Silas Marner.
It’s a classic by George Eliot, who was actually a woman. She took on a man’s pen name, because back then women weren’t thought to be capable of writing. They weren’t thought to be capable of much, actually.”
“Ah,” he said with a grin. “Sounds hoity-toity.”
I smiled. “Kinda, huh? It was good though. It’s about a man who finds his real treasure.”
“His real treasure?” Paul asked, engaged.
I gave him a brief recap but noticed that his attention waned. “So by the end of the story . . .” I stopped.
Paul had already turned back to the TV.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said sharply.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I came back.”
I’d figured out that much, so why did he have to point it out? “I know,” I said, confused and not sure I was ready to pursue the conversation. “Anyway, it was a really great story. It gave me hope.”
“Hope for what?” he asked, still looking at the TV.
Did I dare dig into this? Was I ready? I took a breath and decided that I was. “Hope for us, for our family.”
He looked at me quickly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he stood and headed into the kitchen with his empty pie plate in one hand and the empty bottle of beer in the other. He came back with another bottle and leaned in the doorway.
I didn’t like that I was looking up at him due to my reclined position. It was so tempting to smile, to compliment him on something, and let this opportunity pass, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
“What’s going on in your head, Paul?” I asked. “I’m trying to read you, but I’m not making heads or tails of it.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He tipped the beer and took a long swig. “I’m an open book.”
I could feel all the niggling worries I’d had begin to funnel down, lining themselves up like dominos. “You never apologized for leaving.” My statement was inviting an apology, but he didn’t take the bait. He took another drink, and I went on. “And you haven’t said a word about the moving boxes. Should we unpack, or are we doing a trial run here?”
He looked toward the TV; I watched him carefully. He hung back, keeping the distance, not wanting to get too close.
“Why did you come back, Paul?” I tried to prepare myself for an answer I might not be ready for.
“Because Paige said you were having problems. I was worried about you.”
“Were you worried about the baby?”
Another swig of beer. No words.
“Paul,” I said, trying to stay calm even though I could feel a black hole opening up in my chest. “Were you worried about the baby?”
He took a deep breath. “I want you to be okay,” he said, almost as though he were surrendering. “I want our life back.”
“Our life without a baby in it,” I summarized. The implosion began, and the hazy shapes that had shifted back and forth in my mind began to take on a sharper focus. A painful one. “You came back because if I lost the baby, like last time, we could still have the life we’d planned out before this happened.”
“I’m going to bed,” he said, pushing away from the door frame and turning toward the bedroom. A minute later the bedroom door closed, and I stared at the wall while mentally scattering the dried petals of hope I’d cultivated and grown since he’d walked back through that door.
I thought back to
The Help,
to the line that had stood out to me so strongly. Maybe everything was working out the way it should.
Not with a happy ending, but the way it was supposed to happen.
The thought cut deeply, and yet the pain I expected to feel at the discovery didn’t hurt the way I imagined it would. Is a happy ending worth it if it’s not right? Is a happy ending always the
best
ending?
It wasn’t that Paul wasn’t the man I’d married, I suddenly realized, but he wasn’t the man I could raise a child with. He had come back for
me,
which in its way was sweet and affirming of how much he loved me, but it wasn’t enough. Not anymore. I was now a package deal, and by rejecting this baby, he’d rejected us both.
“Partial bed rest is still a restriction,” Dr. Cortez said to me the following Wednesday after finishing the ultrasound and verifying that the baby was okay. “The placenta is rising, and that’s good, but you still have a partial eclipse, and that carries a big risk. You need to spend eighty percent of your day sitting or lying down. No lifting. No going into the office. No intercourse. No stress.”
I grunted. No stress? What a joke.
“I have good people around me,” I said with a sincere smile. “And I don’t want to take any risks.” Livvy had driven me to the doctor’s office when she realized I was planning to go alone, and she was in the waiting room.
“Any cramping, bleeding, or pain, you call my office, okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Do you want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
My breath caught in my throat. I nodded, and he smiled widely while shutting the chart. “A boy.”
A boy,
I repeated in my head. “I’ve never done boys.”
“Life is full of new horizons,” he said, standing up and putting out a hand to help pull me up. “Congratulations.”
I walked to the waiting room, and Livvy looked up at me expectantly.
“My sentence has been commuted,” I said, treasuring the knowledge that I was having a son for a moment before I said it out loud. I should tell December first, I decided. She’d been last for everything else. “Sort of.”
“Sort of is good,” Livvy said, standing up. I’d updated her about the situation with Paul on the drive over and about the new apartment I’d found across the street from Stormy and Jared. So far, I’d done everything online, but Jared was going to bring me the contract to sign tomorrow. Paul was still staying in the house, but I’d returned to Stormy’s room until I could get moved into my new place, which, I hoped, would be next week.
Paul and I were cordial, but distant. I cried myself to sleep at night, and he seemed to be feeling sorry for himself. The gap between us widened a little more each day, like watching someone slowly die of an illness without a cure. He was there, but he was gone. It broke my heart, and yet I took solace from . . . something. Maybe from Ruby continuing on despite the loss of her husband. Maybe from Athena making difficult decisions about her father’s care. Maybe from Livvy keeping a smile while I knew she was waging a battle all her own. And maybe from Paige, who didn’t have the life she’d worked for but was raising her boys and trying to figure out a new future.
“My kids can help with the move,” Livvy said as she buckled her seat belt, reminding me to blink back the tears that had started to rise.
“I feel horrible having so many people help me,” I said, truly meaning it. “I have a moving company I can call.”
“We’ll come over anyway, just in case. It’s good for us to help each other,” Livvy said. “And it’s good for you to be helped too—it’s what connects people. Service and compassion.”
Livvy’s words reflected my own discovery of the price of my independence, and at that moment, I dropped the wall of not asking for help. What was I so afraid of? The fact was that the last few months had been a crash course on humility. For all my perfect planning and hard work, there were still mountains left for me to climb, but I had faith—that word resonated in my head—that the vistas I would bask in would be worth the journey. It was a journey I had never taken alone, but for some reason I’d wanted to believe it had been a solitary trip. I reached over and gave Livvy’s arm a squeeze. “Thank you.”
She smiled in a way that affirmed she felt good helping me. Allowing her to do so was a positive thing in her life. Go figure. “You’re welcome.”
We drove in silence for a minute, and I thought about the last few months and the changes that had taken place in my life. There was no denying that the women I’d met through book group had made a difference in my life; something I certainly hadn’t expected when I’d decided to go that Saturday night last October. I thought about the books we’d read and how each one of them had impacted me.
The Poisonwood Bible
had been full of such incredible insights.
My Name Is Asher Lev
had led me to reflect on my relationship with both my childhood religion and my current belief system. It also helped me see my parents a little differently. I could now see that they truly believed what they lived. It worked for them, and, lucky for me, I didn’t have to be cut off because I didn’t choose it for myself.
Silas Marner
had been overwhelming on so many levels. Of all the books we’d read, that one had made the biggest impact on me, as it seemed to parallel my current challenges and led me to some rich discoveries. And
The Help
showcased the way every woman had something hard in her life, but a different kind of hard.
I glanced at Livvy and the thoughtful expression on her face. I sensed a kind of anxiousness coming from her, that things were changing in her life. I didn’t know what they were, exactly, but I had no doubt they were good changes. I wanted to be there for those changes; I wanted to do my part to help her just as she’d done her part in helping me. I wondered what she would think of
The Help.
Would it impact her the way it had me?
“I’ve already read
The Help
if you want to borrow Paige’s copy,” I offered.
“Next month’s book?” Livvy asked.
I nodded. “Have you read it?”
“No,” she said. “In fact I didn’t finish
Silas Marner
before the meeting. I meant to, but I . . . lost it. But then after you guys were all so touched by the story, I found a copy at the library. It really had some good messages.”
“It did,” I agreed. “Did it ruin the story for us to have discussed it before you finished?”
“Not at all,” Livvy said. “Just the opposite—I knew what to look for. I’ve always believed it’s the choices we make in our lives that define who we really are at our core, and I felt like the book emphasized that. I can see that I’ve made a lot of good choices in my life, but I’ve made some mistakes—actually, I’ve made the same few mistakes over and over again, and I’m going to do better now.”
I knew there was more to her story, but I sensed she didn’t want to tell it right now. I was okay with that.
There are public demons and there are private ones, and sometimes, like in my situation, they get turned around on us; Livvy was entitled to her privacy. And, honestly, the details didn’t really matter. I’d seen her change over the months, and that was enough for me. I realized there was something I needed to say to Livvy, and I took a deep breath.
“I think you’re a wonderful person, Livvy,” I said. “And I misjudged you.”
She looked over at me, a little startled by what I’d said. I hurried to clarify. “The first week we met, I saw you as . . . less than you are. I didn’t see past my own fears and stereotyping to get a sense of who you really are. I’m ashamed of myself for having done that because I can’t imagine how I would have dealt with all of this if you weren’t so . . .
you.
”
“So
me
?” Livvy said with a nervous laugh. “That’s not always a good thing.”
“Well, it’s been good for me,” I said, leaning back against the seat, glad that I’d been able to say what I needed to tell her. “I want to be the kind of mom who loves her family, Livvy, who wants to take care of them, and who takes pride in what she’s done. I haven’t really been that kind of mom. My goals and priorities have been mixed up, but I have another chance.” I looked at my belly and thought of Stormy and December and little Tennyson.
What would I name this one? Christian, maybe, after my dad, and as a reminder that I didn’t need to turn my back on everything to be myself. The thought made me smile.
“Second chances are priceless,” Livvy said in a soft voice.
“Yes, they are,” I agreed.
I’ll get it right this time,
I said to myself and to whoever else might be listening.
You’re not alone,
a voice said, and I felt a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. I glanced at Livvy and thought about the other book group ladies, about my daughters, my mother, and even Jared, of all people. For all my insistence on doing everything myself and proving that I was capable, I really
couldn’t
do it by myself, at least not well, and I didn’t have to. That was a big discovery.
“I’m feeling like ice cream,” Livvy said as she slowed down at a light. She looked over at me and lifted her eyebrows. “What does the pregnant lady think? Drive-through on the way home?”
I laughed. “The pregnant lady thinks that’s a great idea.” I put my hands on my belly. “We both do.”
Rolo Cookies
½ cup butter
½ cup shortening
1 cup white sugar
1 cup brown sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 eggs
2½ cups flour
¾ cup cocoa
½ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
approximately 48 Rolo candies, unwrapped*
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In a large mixing bowl, cream butter, shortening, and sugars until smooth. Add vanilla and eggs. Mix until smooth. Add flour, cocoa, salt, and baking soda. Mix until combined.
Using approximately a tablespoon of dough, wrap the dough around a Rolo, covering the candy completely. Repeat until all Rolos are used. Place Rolo-wrapped dough balls on baking sheet, 2 inches apart.
Bake for 6 to 8 minutes, or until tops of cookies are just beginning to set. Do not overbake; the caramel will harden when cookie cools if you do. Let cookies cool on pan for at least 3 minutes before removing them to a cooling rack. Wait until cookies are completely cooled before eating; otherwise, the caramel might burn you. Store cookies in an airtight container with a piece of bread to keep cookies soft.
Makes 48 cookies.
*Also works with bite-sized Snickers bars instead of Rolo candies.
Paige: Coming September 2012
The Newport Ladies Book Club: Paige
By Annette Lyon
