October Snow (30 page)

Suddenly, Max was struck by a memory, an incident between her parents. She was twelve then, and going to the Homecoming pep rally with her friend Olivia. Max and her mother went shopping together at the mall, something they rarely did, for something nice for Max to wear. They stopped for lunch, and then for ice cream; they sampled perfumes, and had their nails done. They made an entire day of it. She remembered trying on hats, and her mom helping her apply lipstick for the first time that day. She bought Max her first pair of jeans, which she wore home from the store. They had held hands, swinging them as they walked; she recalled her mother’s laughter.

Sitting there listening to the water gently lap the shore, it hit her with a stab of exquisite pain that left her breathless: she and her mother had once been very close.

When they returned home that evening after a happy day at the mall, Max’s father had progressed from dismay, and overblown shock, to screaming epithets at his wife and putting his fist through a door. He was shrieking Scripture about beauty not being found in dressing “the girl” like “a two-bit whore.”

Her mother had hugged her quickly, and sent her upstairs to her room; however, Max sat on the top step and listened. And Catharine Allen, the retiring, good Pastor’s wife, had said–Max recalled it clearly now: “You shut your despicable mouth. You say those things about me all the time, and that’s fine because I just don’t care anymore what you think of me. You want to quote the Bible? How’s about a few versus about the tongue being from the pits of hell? No? Okay. But if you
ever
call Maxine
anything
like that,
ever
again, I’ll take it to the Deacons.
Right before I leave you for good
.”

Max remembered the instantaneous thrill of hope, that her mother may leave her father; then, she heard the sounds of her mother being beaten: the thuds of his fists connecting, the scuffling and banging and furniture toppling as her mother apparently tried to fight back. His grunting with the force of the blows he delivered, and her cries for mercy. Max recalled her feeling of paralysis, as she got up on her rubbery legs and made her way to the living room–where her mother lay very still, and stunned, and bleeding from several places.

Her father was grabbing his wallet and keys. The look he gave her made her cower against her sobbing mother. Some of the blood, she recalled, had gotten onto her new jeans as she curled up next to her.

“Take a good look at what a contentious wife does to a family, Max-
eene
.”

Max felt lightheaded as she sat there, looking at the lake but not seeing it. She made a conscious effort to steady her breathing. She realized that Jo was right about another thing she had said last night: it seemed that the mother was always the one who paid.

Catharine Allen had paid, and dearly. Max thought how she, herself, had blamed her mother…

Because it was safer
?

No, it’s more than that
. She wasn’t convinced that was the entirety of it. For some reason, Max also felt that her mother had let her down.

Understanding it now, after a long night of reliving her childhood–knowing why her mother
couldn’t
leave–erased her misguided feeling of being betrayed; at the same time, remorse gripped her, and she felt a momentary sense of self-hatred before she remembered something else Jo had said: “These guys get away with what they do because no one holds them responsible. Not just for what they do, but for what happens to the lives around them.”

The horrible beating her mother took that day happened after doing something that any mother and daughter would do together. The insanity that erupted from the everyday things–it was crippling. In the end, it had crippled her love for her mother. She rarely thought about her; when she did, it was as if she blunted any emotional connection to her.

No, that isn’t exactly true.

She felt contempt for her mother’s weakness–which in a sudden flash of understanding, she realized she related to the entirety of being female.

Is that the legacy, then? That I hate myself?

She wondered what that contempt for the mother became in a male child, as she thought about the pain Jo was enduring because of Matt and John.

She felt again, as if it had happened yesterday, the despair of giving her daughter away. That, and being so betrayed by Brett, had been the final nails in her coffin when it came to her ability to form enduring connections with people.
I just felt done
, she had told Jo. She realized now that she felt pretty much “done” when she was twelve years old.

She cringed inside as she remembered some of the things she had said to her mother over the years. Watching Jo enduring the same cruelty from Matt and John, the same contempt that Max had harbored toward her own mother, was something beyond painful. It was devastating.

“Max?”

“Oh!” Her head snapped up, and she turned to the doorway where Jo was standing.

“Why are you crying?”

“Dave? Gotta get going.” Sam was trying to get her myriad of new items to fit into her duffel bag. “Ty, you all set?”

She went to the door of the bedroom, peering up and down the hallway. Dave was outside Tyler’s door, holding his hand out to her. “Car’s loaded up. Got your last bag?”

“On the bed.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I miss you already.”

“Friday night.” She leaned into him, sighing as she snuggled into his arms. “I’ve been kind of changing my mind.”

He pulled back, looking down at her sharply. “About what?”

She frowned, confused by his response, then smiled up at him as she realized. “Oh, no, not about
us
. About going to Strafford.” Arms still around him, she rubbed his back. “I’m sorry. I should be careful right now.”

He pulled her close again, giving her a lingering kiss, moaning as she pulled away. “I’ve been thinking about asking you to change your mind, but I think–just for now–it’s probably a good idea for you to stay away from Car-boy.” He smiled. “And I think you could use a break from everything for a while.”

“I am kind of looking forward to it. And I miss the girls.” She held up her hand, gazing lovingly at the ring. “Lots to tell them.”

“You’ll get a doctor up there?”

She nodded. “Promise. I’ll call this week for a checkup.”

“Give me the contact info, so I can sign on for the expenses.”

She felt her throat closing, and she ducked her head against him so he wouldn’t see the tears starting again. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“I can’t believe this didn’t blow us apart.”

He chuckled, tightening his hold a bit. “I’m no saint, babe. Don’t put me on a pedestal. My first impulse was to find a way to dispose of the guy permanently.”

With that, she cried harder, her grip on him almost desperate.

“Sammy…Hey…” He pulled away, staring down at her, his hands on her shoulders as she wept helplessly. She tried to move away from him, but he held her there. “Talk to me.”

“I’m just sorry. I’m so
sorry
…” She gulped, choking on her tears. “I always mess everything up…”

“Samantha, don’t…”

“How can you
accept
this? How can you take it all on like it’s your responsibility?”

He led her back into the master bedroom, taking her bag off of the bed before he sat, pulling her onto his lap. “Do you honestly think I could resent an innocent baby?”

She looked mournfully into his eyes, already knowing the answer. “No. I know you couldn’t.”

He sighed, gently rubbing her back, trying to lessen the impact of what he was about to ask her. “Could you?”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but he was looking right into her eyes. His expression was kind, but knowing.

She finally had to look away, hating herself. He was right. There was a part of her that regretted the baby. The timing, the inconvenience of the timing–the baby was in the way now as she stood on the precipice of, finally, happiness. “I was about to get it right, you know?” It was the best she could manage.

“I know.” He pushed her hair from her face, wiping at her tears with his fingertips. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, though.” He dried his hand on his jeans, considering it. “You know, babe, I can’t do anything more than be here for you for this part of it. This is one of the reasons I think it’s good that you’re going to go see the girls for a while. You have to come to your own resolution here, and I think they can help you with that, certainly more than I can. But when you consider the fact that just a few weeks ago, you would have hidden how you really felt, I know you’re going to work this out just fine.” He kissed her hand. “And you know I’m right behind you.”

She sniffed. “You really mean that?”

“Absolutely. On the other hand, you could always stay here…Nah.” He smiled. “I know you want to be with them right now.”

Especially with a stomach that’s going to be growing
. “I have made one decision, one that I want you to trust me on.”

He nodded, waiting.

“We can never tell Jack. Or my mother.”

He was surprised. “I thought we were going to talk about that later.”

“It’s not for my protection, Dave. I’m not doing it this way to take care of myself. It’s for the baby–and for Tyler.”

He shifted nervously. “What happened in that house with him?” Something occurred to him then. “Are you going to the lake
just
to hide the pregnancy?”

She wanted to lie, but stopped herself. “For a while. Until things calm down.” She straightened her shoulders, meeting his eyes directly. “I’ll tell you everything next weekend. Okay? For now, we need to get going.”

Max didn’t try to cover the fact that she was crying. “I’ve been sitting here thinking.”

Jo frowned, concerned. “Did you go to bed last night?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you come and get me? I could’ve at least been here with you.”

“You–we–had a pretty emotional night last night. If you were going to be able to sleep, then I wanted you to do that.”

Jo took the chair across from her. “What’s going on with you?”

“Tell you what.” She wasn’t ready yet. “Let’s hit that diner near Lettie’s. We can talk over breakfast.”

“Sure. You’re okay though?”

“I will be.”

Jo didn’t look convinced as they went back into the kitchen. “Let’s move it. Sammy will be here by noon.”

“I really can’t wait to see her.” She stretched, yawning loudly. “I should’ve gotten some sleep. We’ll be up late tonight.”

They slid into a booth at the diner an hour later. Max looked around for a menu, finding it behind the tabletop jukebox. “Okay, so the name of this place is ‘Marcia’s Roadside Eatery’?”

Jo glanced at her own menu. “It would appear so.”

“Is it worrisome, that they couldn’t put a sign out front?”

“Probably.”

A very tall, heavy, balding man in a faded “Live Free or Die” T-shirt appeared, balancing a coffeepot and two mugs. He seemed to have a naturally forlorn look. “Welcome to Marcia’s,” he grumbled, filling the mugs before he put them on the table. In a weary monotone, he said, “Your waitress is gonna be over very shortly. Enjoy your meals.”

Max took a napkin from the silver dispenser beside the jukebox, then a few more, and mopped up the coffee he had spilled. She grinned at Jo–who, with some amusement, was watching him lumber away.

“Small-town New Hampshire. Gotta love it,” Max smiled.

Jo checked the music selection. “Oooh, it’s all country.” She stretched her body out in the booth, straightening her back to make it easier to access the pocket of her jeans. “Okay, I have two quarters. That’s six songs.”

“Anything upbeat.”

“Okay.”

The music had a tinny, static-like sound to it that seemed perfectly appropriate for the diner. The women stared at each other, breaking into laughter.

“Yeah, those things are, like, thirty years old. Can’t believe they still work.” The waitress, with a fading “Tina” on her smiley-face name tag, had arrived with a plate of mini-blueberry muffins and butter. “Here you go.” She pulled a pad and pen from the apron that was far too small for her girth, cracking her neck as she stretched it out wearily. “What’s for breakfast, ladies?”