Queen of Broken Hearts (17 page)

Neither of us said a word when he did a U-turn and headed back toward campus. I was too embarrassed that he'd caught me to even glance his way, though I did notice when I'd sheepishly crawled into the car that he was still in his baseball uniform. When he returned to the practice field and parked the car by the gate, I figured he was about to call me a coward and tell me to get myself right back into the stands. Instead, Mack eyed me warily, jiggling the car keys in his hand. Finally he asked, “Can I trust you to stay here while I shower? Or should I lock you in the car?”

I managed a small smile and a nod. “I'll be here.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

Again he didn't say anything when he returned and drove the car away from the field. It was that soft pearl-gray time when the sun has retired but dusk hasn't yet pulled up the covers of the night. After we passed campus, Mack turned the car down a tree-shadowed lane that led to the Black Warrior River. I stole a glance at him, but he was remote, unreadable. When he pulled the car into an isolated spot facing the river, he glanced my way for the first time since we'd left the field. “Mind if I let the top down?” he asked.

I nodded eagerly. “I'd love it.”

“As much as you love baseball?” Mack smiled wryly as he pressed a button and the taut white top folded up like an accordion, opening up the opalescent night sky above us.

I shook my head. “That's not why I left.” I had no intention of telling him the real reason, but I was ashamed of myself. He'd been nothing but nice to me, and I'd repaid him with rudeness.

“I know why you left.” Mack regarded me, his face flushed and his eyes stormy as rain clouds. “When I went for you after practice, the catcher's girlfriend, one of the few decent ones in the bunch, took me aside and told me the others were being their usual bitchy selves, saying crap about you being there with me, and that you'd left. I'm really sorry about that. I wouldn't have had it happen to you for anything.”

I looked down at my hands, picking at a ragged cuticle. “I know you wouldn't. It's not like me to be so sensitive. I just felt—” I stopped and shrugged, not looking his way. “Guess I felt out of place. But even so, I shouldn't have run off like that. It was silly of me. Not to mention rude and thoughtless.”

I could feel his eyes on me. “Shit, I don't blame you. I probably would've done the same thing in your place. If we hadn't been so late, I'd have taken you up there to meet some of the nicer ones and made sure you felt comfortable before leaving you. I can only imagine how intimidating that bunch can be.”

I shrugged again. “I think they were just upset because they thought that I was … uh … there to make your girlfriend jealous, maybe.”

Mack was silent so long, I dared to glance over at him. “Ah,” he said finally, nodding. “So that was what it was about, huh? Might've known.”

I picked at the fingernail again, and Mack added gently, “I hope that's not what
you
thought. That I only took you to make another girl jealous.”

“Oh, it doesn't matter,” I said lightly. “I mean, even if you did, no harm done.” I tried to give a carefree laugh, Dory-like, but it came out a pathetic little mewl.

“I wouldn't do that to you,” he said solemnly, and I nodded, eyes lowered. After a long silence, Mack sighed and said wearily, “Okay, I didn't want to say anything, but I've been trying to break it off with a girl I've been seeing all semester. She's not taking it very well, and a lot of her friends were at practice today. So that's what it was about.”

Who could blame her for not wanting to lose you, I thought, but to him I said, “Really, it's okay! You don't owe me any kind of explanation.”

“Look at me, Clare,” Mack said, and I raised my eyes to meet his, reluctantly. When our eyes locked, it was impossible for me to look away.

“I thought something happened between us last night,” Mack said softly. “Something that's never happened to me before. All my life I've known I was looking for something, though I had no idea what. Last night I saw you, and suddenly it was clear. Oh, so that's it, I thought, and it was so obvious to me that I wasn't even surprised. I was”—he paused to struggle for the right word—“I was almost
relieved
to have found you, if that makes sense. And I thought that you felt the same way. But if it didn't happen for you, too—if I was wrong—then you need to tell me now. Before I get my stupid heart broken,” he added with a crooked smile.

I stared at him in astonishment. Before he got
his
heart broken? I couldn't be hearing him right. “Clare?” he said, tilting his head to the side. Stunned, I moved toward him blindly and instinctively, my hands reaching for him like a drowning person might reach for a life preserver. Moving quickly, Mack pulled me close against him, and all he said was “Clare … oh, my God.” With that, I was lost. The fears, the inhibitions, the uncertainties left me. Like the car top, they folded in on themselves, disappearing from my sight and allowing the crystal beauty of the night sky to shine down on us.

From that day on, Mack pulled me into the magic circle that he, Dory, and Son had formed, and he made sure I stayed there in spite of everything, all the odds against us. When Dory recovered from the initial shock of the two of us as a couple, she got caught up in the romantic but foolish notion that I could be Mack's salvation, conveniently forgetting her own warnings. Of course! she declared. She'd been wrong, and I was
perfect
for Mack, being so different from the shallow, frivolous girls he'd always had by the droves. She was convinced I was Mack's destiny, sent by the gods to save him from himself. I doomed myself by falling into the same trap. I was not the first woman to make the mistake of thinking she could save a man from his demons, but not many others failed as spectacularly as I did.

After my unsettling encounter with Son, the rest of my day feels fractured, as though a thunderstorm blew up in the middle of a cloudless day, bringing with it a chill wind and dark sky. I've been jumpy and unable to concentrate since Son left. Between clients, I called Dory and asked if I could come out and talk with her after work. I thought doing so would help settle me down, but it didn't. Even during a session, my mind kept wandering back to the past and the memories that Son's visit had stirred up. I made a mistake by talking to him first thing this morning, and I've been angry and exasperated with myself since. I thought I'd learned that the way you start a day usually determines how the rest of it goes. Stupid me, I allowed Son's outburst to poison everything, even the air I breathed. Or so it felt. The minute the last client goes, I can't wait to get out, and I leave early, rare for me. Etta's so tickled that I think she's going to shove me out the door before I can change my mind.

Outside Casa Loco, I pause to inhale a deep breath of the tangy air blowing in from the bay. My first thought is to go to the waterfront park and sit on one of the benches. The feel of the breeze on my face, as well as the calming influence of the wide expanse of Mobile Bay, will surely dissipate my tension. I used to go there often. I'd watch pelicans soar over the bay before they dropped down to float on the waves like small brown dinghies. Sometimes I'd take Abbie, and we'd bring along a sack of stale bread. She'd break off chunks and toss them high, then squeal with joy when the seagulls dove for them with their high-pitched calls of “Aahh, aahh!” Zoe Catherine taught Abbie the difference between their winter and summer plumage, and she's probably the only child on the beach who can point to a mottled brown gull and pronounce that it's not fully grown yet.
Abbie
… It hits me what I want to do this afternoon. I want, and need, to be with Haley and the kids. Recalling what day it is, I reverse my path, heading back toward town.

As soon as I push open the door of Mateer's, a blast of cold air from the air-conditioning hits me in the face like a splash of ice water. I spot Haley and Jasmine before they see me. Their table is in the back but in full view of the front door, where they can watch everyone who comes in and out. Mateer's is the equivalent of a village pub,
the
place to be if you want to observe the people of Fairhope and hear the latest talk. Every Monday afternoon from September to June, right after the faculty meeting at the elementary school where they teach, Haley and Jasmine can be found here, drinking margaritas or one of the martinis Mateer's is known for. They call it their mental-health break, saying if their principal weren't such a prick as to schedule faculty meetings on Mondays, they wouldn't have to spend so much on booze. This is their first one since school started. They don't see me because their heads are bent together as they whisper, giggling like two teenagers instead of a couple of respectable teachers approaching thirty. I pause a moment to relish the sight that still has the power to touch me: the contrast between my daughter, fair, flaxen-haired Haley, and Etta's youngest, Jasmine, with her ebony skin. Although the schools of North Florida were fully integrated by the time I entered junior high, there was still a chasm caused by the ugly years of segregation, so I had no black friends growing up. Haley and Jasmine have been as close as sisters since their preadolescent days.

When I get to their table, Haley jumps to her feet, her face lighting up. “I'm not believing it—look who's here!” For a moment her striking resemblance to Mack takes hold of me like a cold hand around my heart, and I stumble on a loose tile.

“Hey! You get started on a dirty martini early, Aunt Clare?” Jasmine cries, and I laugh with them.

“I wish,” I say, hugging and kissing both young women before pulling up a chair and dropping my briefcase to the floor. I used to stop by on Monday afternoons and have a drink with them on a fairly regular basis. Matter of fact, even though we live within a few miles of each other and we've talked often on the phone, I haven't seen Haley in weeks. Between my demanding work schedule, Dory's problems with Son, and Lex's recuperation, there's been no time for lingering over dirty martinis—or any other kind, for that matter.

Haley motions for the waiter, and I order a glass of merlot, even though she and Jasmine boo and hiss, saying I should have a margarita instead. “Maybe I'll get my favorite person another one,” Haley says, and Jasmine jerks her head up.

“Whoa, girl. That'll be your third, right?” she asks, and Haley grins.

“Who's counting?”

Both young women laugh, and I smile indulgently. When you're unwinding from the tensions of being closed up in a room of kindergarten kids all day, everything brings on high hilarity, especially the longer they stay and the more drinks they have.

“Just teasing, Mom,” Haley says. “I limit myself to two and make them last as long as I can. Right, Jazz?”

Jasmine pretends to consider the question, and Haley pokes her playfully with an elbow before turning her attention to me. “Mom? Some of the teachers were asking me about a letter to the editor that appeared in Friday's paper. I hadn't seen it, so the librarian gave me her copy. I was furious about it! Did it hurt your feelings?”

I shrug. “A little. But things like that go with the territory.”

“Mama was mad about it, too,” Jasmine tells her. “She swears she's calling that old fool who sent it and giving him a piece of her mind. I told her that Haley and I would call him, too. Dumb redneck!”

I pat her arm but say firmly, “I talked to Etta and got her calmed down. I'm touched that all of you want to defend me, but trust me. The best thing to do is ignore it.”

“Mom's probably right, Jazz,” Haley says. “I'd love to find that Mr. Allen and spit in his face for saying shitty things about my mother. But if we do anything, it'll stir things up. If we don't, it'll die down.”

I agree with a nod, then ask Haley, in an effort to change the subject, “Did Austin pick up the kids today, or did you leave them in after-school?”

She glances at her watch. “He's picking them up in a few minutes, believe it or not. Since Mr. Big got that promotion, he doesn't have time for anything but work. He's as bad as you, Mom. Everybody I know is a workaholic. Except me.” She cuts her eyes over to Jasmine. “Well, and you, Jazz.”

“So, how's it going with his new job now that school's started back?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine. At the beginning of the summer quarter, my son-in-law, Austin, was promoted to head of special services at the nearby community college where he's worked since he and Haley married. With her job as a kindergarten teacher and Austin's as a counselor in the learning lab, their budget has always been tight, so both are hoping the promotion will provide them with more necessities and even a few luxuries. The downside is, Haley worries that the long hours and extra responsibilities of Austin's job will be as much of an adjustment for her as for him. She says that she's gotten spoiled, having Austin around to help so much with the kids and domestic details. Fair or not, the major responsibilities of running a household often fall on the wife and mother, as she's about to find out.

“Oh, it's going full force.” Haley gives me a tight smile, pushing a silky strand of hair behind her ear. “Already I can tell that things are going to be really different at the Jordans' humble abode.”