Scrapbook of Secrets (10 page)
Read Scrapbook of Secrets Online
Authors: Mollie Cox Bryan
Chapter 16
Vera was dreaming. She was certain of it. She was sitting on her father’s lap, just the way she used to, even as a grown woman. She could feel his arms around her, smell his tobacco, and feel his breath on her neck as she leaned her head down on his shoulder.
“Vera,”
he said.
“You’re not happy. Time is wasting.”
he said.
“You’re not happy. Time is wasting.”
“What do you mean, Daddy?”
She wanted to pick up her head, but she was so tired and couldn’t manage.
She wanted to pick up her head, but she was so tired and couldn’t manage.
He ran his fingers through her hair and against her forehead.
“Oh, Vera, I wasn’t ready to leave you or your mother. And you weren’t ready to leave New York.”
“Oh, Vera, I wasn’t ready to leave you or your mother. And you weren’t ready to leave New York.”
“What else could I do?”
“You can’t go backward, only forward. Find out what makes you happy now.”
She thought about her mother, Sheila, her dancing school, and Bill. None of it seemed to make her happy. In fact, when she thought about the people in her life, she sort of went numb. It wasn’t just Bill. It was everybody.
“That’s what I mean,”
her father said.
“Believe me when I tell you, every day is a gift. Don’t waste it.”
her father said.
“Believe me when I tell you, every day is a gift. Don’t waste it.”
“Oh, Daddy, I’m not. I’m making a difference here.”
“Forty-one years old and pregnant?” No, it wasn’t her father speaking. She struggled to open her eyes. It was a blurry Bill, talking with that same handsome doctor who had operated on her mother.
“Yes,” the doctor said. “Vera is pregnant.”
Vera thought she was still dreaming and closed her eyes. She could hear voices as she drifted back off to a place that wasn’t quite sleep. “Daddy,” she said out loud. “Daddy?”
“Vera, are you awake?” Bill rushed to her side and kissed her on the cheek. Tears glistened in his eyes. She nodded. “God, you gave us a scare,” he said, voice quavering.
Just then, she could hear her mother’s voice.
“Goddamn you, get out of my way! My daughter is in that room,” she bellowed. Vera wanted to close her eyes again and now hoped that she was dreaming. But the door flew open.
“Bill, what’s going on?” Bea asked, with Annie at her side. Sheila came in on their heels, still carrying her high heels from the memorial service.
“Calm down, Beatrice,” Bill said calmly. “She’s fine.”
“Yes,” Vera said weakly, smiling at the crowd of women gathering around her bed.
“You don’t pass out if you’re fine,” Sheila said. “I’m no doctor,” she said, looking at the doctor, “but I know that.”
He raised his eyebrows, as if to say,
You again?
You again?
“Excuse me, please,” he said, and left the room.
“Well, she has a point,” Beatrice said.
“Sit down, Beatrice,” Bill said, pulling up a chair, close to Vera’s bed. “You’re going to need to.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, slowly sitting in the chair.
“I wanted to give Vera the news alone, you know like all couples at a time like this. But since the day I married her, I knew you two came in a package,” he said, looking at Bea and Sheila. “So I want you all to know that Vera and I are expecting a baby.”
“That’s impossible,” Vera said, her heart beginning to race.
“That’s what we thought, but that’s why you fainted. You’re eight weeks pregnant.”
“Hot damn,” Beatrice finally said. “I’m going to be a grandmother.”
Sheila squealed, and Annie’s hands went to her mouth.
Bill’s eyes caught Vera’s. It was a moment of connection, a moment of acknowledgment. They would set their past right. They would have this child. A botched abortion in the Bronx had left Vera with problems her whole life—problems that they said could never be overcome.
She wasn’t ready to be a mother, she had told Bill all of those years ago.
“But we can do it. We’ll get married and I’ll graduate in two semesters. I’ll pass the bar,” he said to her.
“Bill, I love you. I truly do, but I’m not ready to get married and have a baby. I’ve been working my whole life to be here and work as a dancer. I can’t do this right now,” Vera told him.
What she hadn’t told him was that it was only a fifty-fifty chance that he was the father. She had met a dancer from Brooklyn during her last show, and Tony was long gone by the time she knew she was pregnant. He was on the road with a Broadway show. He called her a few times and sent a couple of scorching letters.
She and Bill had been going steady for years when she met Tony. From the minute she saw his huge, deep brown eyes, she knew she wanted to sleep with him, but she would not admit that to herself. It was the late 1980s, and she was in the thick of the arts and dance communities. Even though sex was everywhere—she had only slept with Bill. She always believed sex was part of love. It was the Southern good girl in her. She could never shake it. As much as she wanted to be young, hip, and loose, she was who she was. So love came with sex.
But love had nothing to do with the way she felt about Tony. It was as if something reached inside her and made her insides twist. When they were partnered for a very sensual dance, every move was like torture. He held her hand and she felt sparks. He touched her hip and she just wanted to wrap her strong legs around him. When their eyes met, her heart leaped—just like in the romance novels she used to read. When he smiled, showing off deep dimples, it hurt so much that she sometimes could not look at him. When she leaned against him one night—they were all alone in the studio and it was late—she felt his erection. And there was no denying it. She reached up and touched his dark hair, which was soft, even though it was wet with sweat.
“Tony—”
“From the minute we touched, I felt something. Did you?” he asked breathlessly.
She nodded her head. She was sweating and her heart was racing. They had been dancing all night. But as he lifted her to him and lodged her against the wall, her legs automatically found their place around him. Effortless. Sublime.
There was a reason they were partnered in the show—their bodies suited one another’s. And as they found out that night, no partnering could have ever been more sweet.
As she looked into her husband’s eyes now, she wished she could dwell in the comfort of knowing she had made the right choice. She touched his face, now streaming with tears. “Oh, Bill,” she said. Suddenly she realized everybody else had left the room, including her mother. He was the one she chose; the one who chose her. She made a life with him and never really regretted it, but she sometimes longed for the abandon she had felt in Tony’s arms. And now she would be blessed with a child. It was the child she should have had years ago.
Chapter 17
Ben and Sam were running around in the front yard with no clothes on. Completely naked. Annie couldn’t help but laugh as she saw her husband chasing them around the yard. He wielded a huge water pistol, which was squirting them.
“Ahh,” he said, noticing her at the gate. “Finally. Help!” He fell down on the grass and the boys pounced on him.
Annie opened the gate and jumped on her boys, rolling over the grass.
“Mommy! Mommy!” She smiled, feeling the cool grass on her skin. It had been quite a day. The memorial service, almost passing out, visiting with Beatrice, and then heading to the hospital to see a pregnant Vera.
“Who’s hungry?” she said to them. Of course, they all were.
They started to file into the house, and Mike grabbed her, kissed her, and patted her on the behind. “I missed you,” he said.
“I bet,” she said. “It’s been all of four hours, Mike. And I’ve had a day and a half.”
“Really? I saw an ambulance and wondered about that.”
“It was Vera. She passed out at the reception. It turns out she’s pregnant. Quite the miracle story,” she said, with her eyes meeting Mike’s. Having babies still felt like a privilege to them—whereas so many of their friends just took it in stride.
It took Annie and Mike years of trying to get pregnant. Finally, after a diagnosis and treatment of endometriosis, Annie became pregnant, only to suffer a series of miscarriages. Finally her Sam was born. Such a blessing to carry him to term—and she wished for the same joy for Vera.
“And I also chatted for a while with Vera’s mom. You know, the woman who owns that beautiful pink-and-blue Victorian house? We sat out in her garden. Speaking of gardens, I’d like to plant one.”
“What? What kind of garden?”
“A hummingbird garden. We sat and watched them on her porch. It was fascinating. Oh, and she lent me this book,” she said, and held up the book as they walked into the house. She glanced around her home and looked at her husband. “Quite a day, huh?”
Clothes and toys were scattered all over the living room, and dishes were piled in the sink—why not the dishwasher? It was less than a foot from the sink.
Mike looked at her sheepishly. “I wanted to spend time with the boys,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up, but we had good quality time together.”
Annie wanted to scream. Did he not think she had good quality time together with the boys? How did he think the dishes got into the dishwasher? The towels got folded and put away? She managed to do that stuff when they were napping or eating or in front of the television. It took careful maneuvering.
She took a deep breath. “I’ll get supper as soon as I clean up the kitchen a bit,” she said flatly, and left Mike standing in the living room.
“C’mon, boys,” she heard him say. “We need to pick up these clothes and toys.”
Why did she have to get angry in order to force him into action?
She started running water over the cereal bowls, with bits and pieces of cereal already hardened on them, and the sippy cups, smelling like grape juice. Sweet, sickening smell, she thought. And the stickiness drove her mad. After she placed the dishes in the dishwasher, she looked out the window.
Yes, that’s where I’ll plant my hummingbird garden, in that corner. Just a small space at first. Nasturtiums along the fence. Foxgloves. Cosmos.
What else did Bea tell her? Dahlia. Oh, yes, Annie loved dahlias. She thought she’d get some red dahlias if she could find them. A bright little red feeder in the middle of it all.
“Annie, I wanted to tell you that I enjoyed looking at that scrapbook,” Mike said as he brought in more dishes and handed them to her. She stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “Dishwasher,” she said, pointing to it.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, and smiled weakly. “But you’re standing right there.”
“So are you, Mike,” she said.
“Well, okay,” he said, and put the dishes in the dishwasher. “Ta-Da! There.”
“So,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm, leaning on the kitchen sink, “you liked the scrapbook.”
“Yes, I thought you did a great job on it. I liked the way you tore off pieces of postcards that related to the things in her book. The wedding journal entry was a classic, eh?”
“Yes, sort of heartbreaking, considering that her husband probably beat her,” she said, turning to fill a pan with water.
Spaghetti,
she thought,
is going to be my savior tonight. Everybody will eat it. It’s easy to make, and it will go really well with the bottle of wine I’m going to down.
she thought,
is going to be my savior tonight. Everybody will eat it. It’s easy to make, and it will go really well with the bottle of wine I’m going to down.
“She had to know that before she married him,” he said.
“I dunno. You’d think so, wouldn’t you? They were married right out of college. She was probably already pregnant.”
“Aha,” he said.
“Maybe it all just happened after they were married, living in the same place together, with all of the stresses of—” she began to share her observations, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. The boys ran, giggling, to the door. They hardly ever received company.
When Annie and Mike came to the door, a stranger awaited, wearing a sharp dark-blue suit. Had Annie seen him at the memorial service? He held up a police badge.
“Good afternoon, I’m Detective Adam Bryant. May I come in?”
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