Justified (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

“You look a little bloated.” My mother critiqued my appearance as we wandered the aisles of Babies “R” Us in Lubbock, aimlessly picking up items without seeing them. She had called to ask if I'd like to go shopping for nursery items, and I had agreed even though I knew I couldn't possibly need anything.

Judging from the look on her face when she picked me up at my house, I guessed the shopping expedition held a higher purpose than she let on. Maybe the scene my dad made in the yard of the church on Wednesday night had finally compelled her to do something about it.

“Let's get something for the baby to wear home from the hospital.” She picked up a white smocked gown gathered at the feet with a ribbon.

“Too girly. How about this?” I held up a blue sleeper, not as fancy as the gown, but high quality, which I knew would please her.

She fingered the fabric. “Maybe if we got a blanket to match.”

Tyler had bought at least two blankets on his shopping spree, and I saw no need for another one, but I let her buy what she wanted. Spending money had always been a means of therapy for her.

Freshman psychology. JohnScott would have been proud.

Someone on the other end of the aisle repeatedly squeaked a baby toy, and my head started to throb dully. When the clamor didn't stop, I glared.

“Hey there, Fawn.”
Squeak squeak.

It was Ruthie and her mother.

Lynda's gaze bounced from the squeak toy to the floor to the back wall—anywhere but to Mother and me—but Ruthie strode down the aisle and hugged both of us, somewhat brazenly. “Any day now, right?”

“I guess so.” I could feel an electric current traveling between our two mothers that might cause them to spontaneously explode if either of them took a step toward the other. “I'm due in a week.”

“I hope that baby comes soon, because you're so skinny, your body can't support much more weight.” She chuckled. “When you were walking up the bleachers last night at the game, you looked like you might topple backward any minute.”

“Oh, nice, Ruthie. Thanks.”

“Great game, don't you think?” She looked directly at my mother, dragging her into the conversation, and Mom's eyes widened.

“I don't know,” she said. “I didn't go.”

“How could you not go to the Trapp-Slaton game?” Ruthie grinned. “My cousin was amazing. He had those boys so pumped, they could've won the state championship last night.” She shrugged her eyebrows. “Too bad they only had the Tigers to contend with.”

“JohnScott is doing an excellent job with the team, Ruthie. I'm sure you both must be proud.” Mother peered to the other end of the aisle, where Lynda stood with arms crossed, studying the fine print on a pricing sign.

At the lag in conversation, Lynda turned her head hesitantly toward us. “Yes.” She swallowed. “Thank you, Susan. I'm extremely proud of that boy.”

Ruthie must have decided she had tortured her mother long enough, because she tossed the toy onto the shelf with one last squeak. “Momma, we'd better go find Aunt Velma. She's probably hiding a few aisles over so Fawn won't see what she bought.”

The four of us spoke or mumbled our good-byes, and as Ruthie disappeared around the corner, the last thing I saw was her hand.
Who cares?

My mother became energetic with nervousness. “Do you need anything else? Do you have enough bottles? You'll need to sterilize several at once.”

Her chattering seemed like an obvious attempt to prevent me from discussing Lynda Turner, but I figured I shouldn't broach the subject in the middle of Babies “R” Us anyway. My abdomen tightened slightly, and I paused, waiting for the precontraction to ease. “I have three bottles, but I probably won't use them much. I'm planning on nursing for the first year, at least.”

Her fluttering ceased. “You're not serious.”

“Yes, Mother, I'm breastfeeding. Everyone does it now.”

“But you won't have time for that, with your school.”

“I'll be taking online classes mostly, so I won't be away from the baby much. And when I have to leave him, I can pump breast milk for the sitter to use.”

“Oh, Fawn … darling.”

“That's what I need. A breast pump.” I walked toward the feeding supplies section.

“You want me to buy you
that
?” She said the words as though the mere mention might cause a naked breast to appear in midair.

“You asked me what I need, and that's it.” I squatted to read the packaging on three pumps, located on the bottom shelf.

“Oh, Fawn, get up off the floor.” She pulled at the shoulder of my T-shirt and yanked the most expensive pump off the shelf. “Let's go get coffee or something.”

 

Fifteen minutes later, we sat in Starbucks, sipping iced latte and ignoring the proverbial elephant in the room. I wanted to find out what my father had been talking about in the church parking lot, and I knew she wanted to tell me, but after more than twenty years of ineffective communication, it would take us a while to unearth the details.

I decided to sneak up on the conversation from a different direction. “So … Ruthie says you and Lynda went on a double date once.”

Puzzlement showed on her face, but then her eyes clouded with memory, and she nodded. “A double date. Yes.”

I waited for her to expound, but she only folded the corner of a napkin and lifted one shoulder. “Your father still thinks you should be with Tyler.”

Not this again.
“Does he not understand I'm old enough to make my own decisions?”

“That's a luxury few women can claim.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

She stared out the window, where car after car eased past the drive-through. “I haven't made a decision for myself since I was sixteen.”

I rotated my cup. “When you married Dad.”

“Even that decision wasn't entirely mine.”

“What do you mean?” I had long since learned that questions regarding my parents' courtship were taboo, but I had always known they married when my mother was sixteen and my father was twenty-one. And that Mother was already pregnant. From recent revelations, I had deduced that my dad had been dating Lynda when he got my mother pregnant. Hence Lynda's attitude.

Mother twirled her straw in her cup until it honked softly, then she dropped her hands in her lap. “Your father means well, but he's not good at communicating.”

“That's an understatement.”

“He tries.”

“Does he really? Because I don't see it.”

“He's been trying lately … since things went bad with the church.”

I sipped my drink, swallowed, then set my cup on the table. “Will he ever go back?”

“I think so. I don't know. Maybe.” She shook her head. “He's always been a leader at that congregation … for generations. Now they look at him differently.”

“They ought to.”

She frowned. “Yes, Fawn, they ought to, but he
is
trying.”

“Like the way he treated Clyde in the parking lot.”

“It's different with Clyde.”

“How so?”

Her face wrinkled painfully, but she didn't speak.

“I bet they had some kind of disagreement, and Dad can't forgive him. Dad doesn't do that. He holds grudges and remembers things forever and stews on them and gets angrier until he explodes.” I smirked. “As Lynda Turner could tell us.”

Her head twitched as though she'd been struck, and I regretted my words.

“I'm sorry, Mom. I shouldn't have said that.”

“Maybe not, but you're right. He doesn't handle conflict well.”

“He doesn't handle people who won't give him what he wants.”

She blinked slowly. “No.”

Out the window I noticed the sky darkening to a dull red. “Looks like dust is blowing in.”

“Fawn, your dad loves me. In his own way.”

My emotions clouded like the dusty sky. “Tyler is a lot like him.”

“I know,” she whispered.

Anger burned behind my eyes as another precontraction hit. “Yet you expect me to be with him.”

She clasped her hands together, and her rings clinked. “He would take care of you.”

Dirt skidded down the pavement, and I hoped the weather wouldn't turn into an all-out dust storm. We could be stuck at Starbucks for a while. “Tyler represents everything I'm trying to get away from in Dad. I don't want to live my life like you lived yours.”

Her lips flattened before she snapped, “JohnScott Pickett has no money.”

Heat spread from my sides, around my lower back, and over my shoulders. “What if I don't care? I'd rather have happiness than material possessions. Is that so hard to believe?”

“It's unwise.”

The air outside the window began to swirl with dust, and I could feel the temperature dropping. I scoffed. “You've lived so long with a man who pushed you down that you can't imagine anything else. I know back then everybody married if they got pregnant, but adding one mistake on top of another is foolish. I'd be miserable with Tyler. Probably more miserable than you and dad. At least you guys loved each other when you got married. Tyler and I don't even have that going for us.”

My mother's lips moved, but I didn't hear what she said.

“What?”

“I didn't love your father,” she whispered. “And I didn't want to marry him.”

The scent of dust and coffee filled my nostrils. “What do you mean?”

“I hardly knew him when we married.”

“But you grew up in the same church. You'd known each other your entire lives.”

She twisted her hands, avoiding my gaze. “He was older than me and had been away at college. I had my friends and he had his.” Her eyes fogged, and she mumbled, “Though Clyde was older too.”

Dust plinked against the windows like sleet, and I shivered, but my mother stared at the table, unblinking.

“Did you know Clyde?” I asked.

“Yes.” She peered out the window but didn't seem to notice the accelerating dust storm. “He was your dad's age, but he didn't go away to college.”

I searched for a thread of understanding as a thick dust cloud blocked the sun. I could barely make out her Audi in the afternoon's premature darkness.

“Did you …
date
Clyde? Before you got married?” The idea was absurd.

“He was different back then.” She seemed lost in memories. “But the same.”

I did the math and frowned. “Did you date him when you were fifteen?”

She blinked once, slowly, seeming to will me to read her mind. “No, I dated him after I turned sixteen.”

A cramp, more intense than the last, distracted me, and I couldn't make sense of her words. I waited until the contraction passed. “But if you were sixteen when you dated Clyde …” I didn't like the image forming in my mind. “What are you saying?”

Her eyes were red, but there were no tears. “Clyde …” She swallowed, lifted her chin, shook her head.

My jaw dropped, and I slumped against the back of my chair as gears turned in my mind.

Her spinelessness infuriated me, and I gritted my teeth as my life began to make sense. Why my parents had such a stilted relationship. Why my dad treated me as though he didn't love me. Why my mother seemed so distant yet desperate to show love. Always in the wrong ways. Always too weak to stand up to my father. “Say it.” My voice rose, mirroring the screeching wind outside the coffee shop.

She took a shallow breath. “I'm too ashamed.”

My anger exploded, triggering another contraction, and I began to wonder if the pains were real labor, but I didn't have time to think about them. “What are you ashamed of?” My hands trembled. “Ashamed of getting knocked up by Clyde Felton or marrying Dad or lying to me for twenty-one years?”

“All of it!” She threw up her hands. “I'm ashamed of the way your dad treated you, and I'm ashamed for allowing it. I'm ashamed of staying with him all these years.”

“Why did you?”

“What could I do? I have no family left. No money. Your father has control of everything.”

I envisioned Ruthie and Lynda working blue-collar jobs. “We could've managed.”

She dabbed her eyes with her fingertips. “I can't live like that. I'm not strong. I've never been able to stand on my own.”

A tear fell from her cheek onto the table, but I felt no compassion, no connection. I wanted to shake her.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Clyde long ago,” she said. “Your dad wouldn't let me.”

And of course she wouldn't stand up to him. My posture drooped from weariness. “So why do you keep insisting I marry Tyler? It seems like you would understand if anyone would.”

“He's the father of your baby. I assumed you loved him.”