The Things We Do for Love (17 page)

“We’re going to see Nanna this morning,” her mother told her. “Do you want to come? We won’t mention
where you were last night. I want you to know I don’t approve, Mary Anne.”

“I never doubted it, Mom,” Mary Anne said, as cheerfully as she could manage. “And, no, I need to get some things done at the paper.”

“You know if you live with a man, he’s much less likely to marry you.”

Mary Anne had never heard any statistics to support or disprove that assertion, but she said, “Well, I’m not living with a man, so we don’t have to worry about that, do we?” Quickly she added, “I’m going to run upstairs and get ready for work.”

“I hate to see you coming home in the same clothes you wore the night before.”

Mary Anne pretended she hadn’t heard.

She met Aunt Caroline on the stairs. “Hi, chicken,” her aunt said. “We’re off to the hospital. Are you coming?”

“Not this morning,” Mary Anne said. “Will they let Nanna come home soon, do you think?”

“Yes, I do,” Caroline said. “And we’ll probably all get out of your hair, then. I know your father won’t want to stay around once Mother is home.”

Mary Anne gave her aunt a look of surprise. She’d never heard her father say anything negative about her grandmother. And Nanna simply pretended not to see his drinking.

Now, Caroline said cheerily, “You know. She likes to run a clean ship, your grandmother does.”

Mary Anne said, “Did you see
Jaws
with my father?”

Aunt Caroline said, “I honestly don’t remember anything about it, chicken.”

Save me from Southern gentility!
Mary Anne wanted to scream.

“He would have seen it with your mother, I’d think,” her aunt continued. “But she never saw it, so there you are. Now, give me a kiss, and I’ll see you later.”

S
HE WAS WORKING
on the layout for the society page when Graham called.

He said, “Just calling to tell you that I really enjoyed you being here last night. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

“Thank you,” Mary Anne said. “And ditto.”

She waited for him to say something else, to suggest they get together that night, but he didn’t. He just said, “Well, that’s all I called to say.”

“Okay,” Mary Anne answered, determinedly upbeat. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Have a great day,” he said.

“Thanks.” He’d just made it better by calling, but it wasn’t the call she’d been hoping for, a call asking her to see him again.

Don’t be impatient, Mary Anne. Everything’s fine.

But it didn’t feel fine.

N
ANNA CAME HOME
the next day. Contrary to Aunt Caroline’s projections, her parents did not leave. Aunt Caroline, however, did.

Mary Anne discovered a strange peace in the arrangement. Her father seemed to be making an effort to curb his drinking—or at least Mary Anne did not see him drunk. She enjoyed his company, and on Thursday—the last full day her parents planned to spend in Logan—he even joined her on a bike ride.

It was also the date of her first appearance on Graham’s show since they’d spent the night together, and Mary Anne was nervous. He had not called since his quick thank-you for their night together, and she couldn’t even discuss her anxiety with Cameron because she wasn’t ready to tell her cousin she’d slept with Graham.

Anyhow, the one time she’d talked to Cameron since their aunt’s birthday, her cousin had seemed preoccupied, extremely agitated about something. When Mary Anne had asked if everything was okay, Cameron had answered vaguely, “I
think
so,” then had claimed to be preoccupied with work.

Mary Anne’s bike ride with her father was in weather cold enough to make Jon Clive Drew hypothesize they might see snow later that day. They turned off the highway onto a familiar dirt road used by the power company for maintaining their lines, and as they rode, Mary Anne said, “Okay, so who really went to see
Jaws?
”

She heard the slow squeak of brakes from her grandfather’s bicycle, a mountain bike–style five-speed that had never been that great. Mary Anne drew to a stop, too, on her own mountain bike, and the wind whipped strands of hair from her helmet in front of her face and across her sunglasses lenses.

She forced herself to look at her father. He was staring up at the trees. Finally, he looked at her.

“Why do you ask that, Mary Anne?”

She said, “I’m sorry. Just being a jerk, I guess.”

Her father shook his head and regarded her with a look that seemed compassionate.

Abruptly, Mary Anne forgave him for so many things. For all the times he’d been drunk, for the mawkish scenes
of remorse. Here was her father, the real essence of her father, a man who could show keen wisdom about people and their weaknesses and their strengths. When he was wise, she wanted nothing more than his love, approval and esteem, nothing more than to feel his pride in her.

Now, he leaned on the handlebars of his bike and put his head in his hands. “Mary Anne, we
all
went to that movie. Your mother included. It’s just one of those things that your mother, for reasons unknown to me and the rest of the world, does not care to admit. And she’s not lying when she says she didn’t see it. We were all drinking some raw stuff that Dean Milligan’s brother had made, and your mother got sick as a dog. A wonder she didn’t die, truth be told. All three girls stayed with a friend, and Louise had to make a phone call to your grandmother and say that’s where they were staying. Your mother is mortified at the recollection.”

“My mother was
drunk?
”

He straightened up and said, “And you will
never, ever
mention it to her.”

Mary Anne tilted her head briefly toward the sky, trying to imagine a younger version of her mother drunk enough to be sick. Her mother, whom she’d always believed had never done anything disgraceful in her life. “Why does she act like she’s never made a mistake?”

Her father bit his lip and was quiet for what felt like minutes. “I think we should all be grateful for that trait.”

Mary Anne looked at him, and saw that his eyes were wet. This wasn’t one of his stupid dramas, his soliloquies on how he needed divine forgiveness. This was genuine sorrow for the mistakes
he
had made. She knew exactly what he had not said.

That they all—her father and her brother and herself—should be grateful that her mother never admitted to past mistakes, because then she might admit to the biggest mistake of all. Her choice of spouse.

Instead, she stayed and loved him.

Mary Anne felt tears come to her own eyes and spontaneously leaned toward her father and embraced him. She said, “That wasn’t a mistake at all, Dad.”

M
ARY
A
NNE WAS IN A
subdued but peaceful mood when she walked into the radio station that afternoon. The day’s topic on
Life—with Dr. Graham Corbett
was Good Date/Bad Date. Mary Anne had already suggested that today’s callers would probably be more interested in listening to themselves than in seeking advice, but he’d just smiled and said that the listeners would like it anyhow.

He was waiting in a brown herringbone sport coat and khaki chinos and he smiled when he saw Mary Anne, but there was an aloofness to the smile.

What have I done?
she thought. She said, “Is everything all right?”

He nodded, his eyes on hers.

Minutes later, Graham was taking the first caller.

It turned out to be a show full of laughter, because so many people wanted to call in with their bad date stories. Graham yielded to the callers’ direction, only occasionally talking people through “turning bad dates to good dates” and similar problems. At one point, he asked Mary Anne for her best and worst date experiences.

She described one date who had actually parked his car, removed the key from the ignition and cleaned his ear with it. Then, she decided to give credit where credit
was due. “My best dates have actually occurred rather recently.” She described going to Rick’s with a man whose company she liked and she described a man joining her for a family dinner and helping her to escape subsequently to a peaceful environment where they could enjoy each other’s company. Her face warm, she avoided Graham’s eyes. “It wasn’t all about champagne or jetting to Paris, but the important components were there. I felt as if I was really spending time with a friend.”

There was an unradio-like pause after her words.

Then, another caller.

“Y
OU SLEPT WITH HIM
, you’re in love with him, and now he hasn’t called you again and you’re miserable.”

It was the heart-to-heart with Cameron that Mary Anne had needed for weeks. It was almost Thanksgiving, and her interactions with Graham had been confined to the radio show and brief conversations in the studio. Finally, when Cameron had asked for the third time how things were going between Mary Anne and Jonathan—
nowhere,
because Mary Anne hadn’t gone out with him again—Cameron had said, “What about Graham?” and Mary Anne had told her.

“Yes,” she said in response to Cameron’s summation. “Now, you and I can be the Graham Corbett Lonely Hearts Club. Or something like that.”

“To be honest,” Cameron said, “it’s been a while since I’ve thought much about him.”

“You mean, Bridget’s potion
worked?
” Mary Anne mused, “Maybe she can make some more.”

“Bridget Cureux is the Wicked Witch of the East. If no one can find a boulder to drop on her, she should be burned at the stake,” Cameron hissed with sudden venom. Then, bizarrely, her tone shifted. Though still tense, she sounded otherwise almost ordinary. “Look, will you go caving with us Saturday?”

“
No
caving,” Mary Anne objected, knowing Cameron was talking about her next Women of Strength outing. “Besides, it’s the day after the biggest shopping day of the year, and I think I want to go to Charleston or something. Maybe I’ll get trampled to death at the mall and be out of my suffering.”

“Childbirth is suffering,” Cameron snapped. “Everything else is just part of being female.”

This was such an odd statement, even for Cameron, that Mary Anne burst out laughing.

“Oh, shut up,” Cameron almost snarled back.

Mary Anne was on her cell phone but on a deserted dirt road, the same she’d traversed with her father just weeks before. She’d been riding her bike when the phone vibrated at her hip. It was mortifying to know she’d brought the stupid thing with her in the hope Graham might call—despite all evidence that he wouldn’t be calling again. She looked around, saw no one, and asked Cameron, “Have you missed a period or something?”

“Yes.”

All Mary Anne’s pain over Graham momentarily vanished. “Who did you—” She stopped. Cameron would tell her if Cameron wanted to tell her. But if Cameron was pregnant, the terror that would provoke in her friend would surpass any heartache Mary Anne could feel over the loss of any man’s affection. She understood the truism that the only help for sorrow was to care for others, to give to them. “Oh, honey. Do you really think—”

“I don’t think. I
know.
Do you think I would put off five minutes finding out?”

“What can I do?” Mary Anne asked carefully. She did not ask,
What are you going to do?
Cameron was such a
combination of rough-and-tough independence with marshmallow vulnerability that Mary Anne feared for her.

“You don’t have to do anything—except not talk about this to
anyone.
He doesn’t know.”

“Who is—” Mary Anne stopped herself again, realizing at the same time that she’d now asked this twice.

“It doesn’t matter.
He’s
not having anything to do with it. Besides, probably a doctor will tell me my pelvis isn’t big enough and I’ll have a cesarean anyhow. Right?”

Mary Anne did not say
Right.
Cameron’s older sister had endured the pregnancy from hell. And the biggest part of that hell had been the constant fear that she might lose the baby. And whoever
he
was,
he
probably
should
have something to do with his child. But she didn’t know what to say except, “Oh, Cameron. Are you all right? Please tell me what I can do.”

“You can go caving. I told you it’s Big Jim’s Cave. Oh, God, I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You have morning sickness?”

“No! I’m terrified! Nanna and my mother are going to die of shame because I’m pregnant out of wedlock, and
I’m
going to die in childbirth.”

“Won’t ginger make your period come, if it’s late?” Mary Anne was going back to problem one, late period.

“I’m
pregnant,
” Cameron snapped. Then added, “I can’t believe I told you this on your cell phone.”

Implying that it would thus be broadcast throughout West Virginia, to shocked family members and the heretofore oblivious father of her child.

Mary Anne wondered how she would feel if she were pregnant with Graham Corbett’s child. She asked abruptly, “Didn’t you use a condom?”

“Of course we did! I should have had my tubes tied when I was thirteen years old is what I should have done.”

Cameron sounded increasingly hysterical.

“Okay. I’ll go caving,” Mary Anne agreed.

“Look,” Cameron said, making an obvious effort to sound calm, “invite him for Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe he’s not calling you because he’s not sure you like him.”

“Oh, please. He’s a grownup and he knows how to ask a woman for a date.”

“It was just a thought.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me who—”

“We’re leaving at ten, Saturday morning, and I promise it’s a big cave with big passages and you won’t get stuck.”

L
ATER THAT DAY,
after brief conversations with Nanna and Lucille, Mary Anne called Graham.

He answered on the first ring. “Graham Corbett.”

“Hi.” She sat on her bed, trembling from head to foot. The sound of his voice did not help matters. “It’s Mary Anne.”
Keep going, Mary Anne. Spit it out.
“I’m calling to invite you to my grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving dinner.”

A minute’s silence. Then he said, “Actually, my mother will be visiting—”

Mary Anne didn’t let him finish. “Well, we would love to have her, too.”

Another pause. Finally, almost businesslike, he said, “Thank you. We’d enjoy that.”

L
ATE
T
HANKSGIVING MORNING
, Mary Anne put on a brown wraparound dress she’d gotten at a resale shop in
New York City the previous Christmas. It was her favorite dress, sexy without making her feel overdressed. She heard a knock at the door and went to open it, getting there before Lucille.

“Surprise!”

Mary Anne stared. On the porch stood her parents, her brother, Kevin, and his girlfriend, Kendra.

The positive feelings with which she’d bid farewell to her parents so recently rushed back through her mind. She’d felt forgiving of both of them and thankful that they had done that one difficult thing of staying together, even more grateful that they’d done it without recriminations and grudges.

It was hard to call up those feelings now, however, to make them a part of
this
moment.

She managed to say, “You’re back…so soon. How nice.”

“We told Mother we’d come soon,” Katie Drew said. “And look who came, too. Kevin met us at the airport.”

“Good,” Mary Anne said breathlessly, stunned, pausing to hug her brother and his girlfriend. Kevin and Kendra had lived together for three years, a fact Mary Anne’s mother never mentioned except to say she wished they’d get married. As far as Mary Anne knew, her grandmother had no idea that Kevin and Kendra lived together.

The new arrivals called for another leaf in the table, and as Mary Anne and her brother accomplished this task over Lucille’s protests Mary Anne thought that it was a good metaphor for life. When the unexpected happens, put another leaf in the table. And pick a tablecloth that can cover it all, the Billingham way.

Briefly, Mary Anne considered calling the Cureux
house to see if Clare or the Wicked Witch of the East—why
had
Cameron called her that?—had anything to keep her family from alienating Graham and his mother. Graham—well, he probably knew the worst. But she’d hoped to make a good impression on his mother. At least Cameron and her parents were coming, too. Maybe in the confusion, Graham’s mother might miss whatever gaffes Mary Anne’s mother and father made.

Cameron had been invited to the Cureux house by Paul, and when her cousin’s family arrived that afternoon Mary Anne had asked her why she hadn’t wanted to go.

Cameron had nearly shrieked, “Would you?”

Mary Anne murmured quietly, “Did Bridget have anything to do with…?” No need to finish that sentence.

Cameron had simply glared at her, answer enough.

At three exactly the doorbell rang, and Lucille hurried to answer it. Mary Anne’s father was on his third whiskey and sitting at the piano, picking out “Dark as a Dungeon” and trying to get Kevin to sing along.

Kevin and Mary Anne sat on the couch drinking cabernet sauvignon while Cameron stuck to nonalcoholic cider. All three exchanged looks, while Kendra harmonized with Jon Clive Drew. Nanna sat in her chair beside Mary Anne’s mother, who was working on needle-point as Nanna crocheted.

Mary Anne stood to welcome Graham and his mother.

Evelyn Corbett was as tall as Mary Anne. She wore her white hair in a chignon, and her suit was the reddish-gold of an autumn leaf. Her shoes and handbag matched, and she said, “Why, hello, Mary Anne. I’ve so looked forward to meeting you, and I was thrilled when Graham told me your family is here, too. This is so nice.”

Mary Anne introduced Graham’s mother to everyone and Graham to Kevin and Kendra.

Immediately after the introductions, Jon Clive Drew said, “Kendra, this song says it like it is. That’s what it’s like down in the mine. You ever lose light down there, you know what dark really is.”

Kevin promptly offered Graham and his mother cocktails, and Evelyn accepted a vodka tonic and a seat on the chair at the opposite end of the couch from where Nanna and Katie Drew sat.

“Now, I want to hear all about you,” Evelyn said warmly to Mary Anne. “Graham says you were a magazine editor in New York City, and now you work for the paper here.”

“For my sins,” Mary Anne said. “I just finished one of your books. Graham gave it to me—
The View from Above.
I loved it. There were so many layers, so much feeling.”

Kendra took over at the piano, and soon she and Mary Anne’s father were singing “Country Roads.” Mary Anne’s mother said, “I love this song.”

“Me, too!” exclaimed Evelyn.

And spontaneously they all began to sing, sitting in the living room. Warmth filled Mary Anne as they all sang of West Virginia.

Afterward Kendra said, “How about this one?” And she began the traditional “These Are My Mountains.”

Mary Anne found with surprise that they were behaving much as she supposed other families behaved on Thanksgiving Day. In any case, it didn’t matter. She’d not forgotten the lengths she’d gone to, attempting to “snare” Jonathan Hale. And she’d won his interest. But she’d never won his love, and somehow, after the mixup with the love potion, she no longer wanted to.

No, she wanted a man who loved
her,
not someone she had to make love her. Yes, she loved Graham, had begun to love him before they’d spent that one night together. But she wasn’t going to try to change herself—or him—so that he would love her back.

And he seemed not to love her. His manner was friendly but slightly aloof. Once or twice when she happened to look at him she seemed to catch him staring, but then he would look away.

The conversation caught her suddenly. Cameron was saying, “Mary Anne could tell you what it’s like being related to a celebrity better than I could. But, Graham, you grew up knowing what it was like to be the son of a famous author, didn’t you?”

Mary Anne had no idea how the topic had come up, but it seemed that Evelyn Corbett had just named her favorite Jon Clive Drew film.

“I did,” Graham said. “And I always thought it made me a little more popular. All the girls at school with me used to steal her books from the school library. In truth, I’m not sure they knew I was alive, but they were frantically curious about my mother and loved her stories.”

“I’m sure they knew you were alive,” Cameron answered with studied politeness and no more. She was not eating much and seemed to be fidgeting a great deal at the table.

Mary Anne found herself thinking again about Bridget Cureux and Cameron’s annoyance and suddenly she knew that Cameron must have slept with Paul.
Could
she have? She’d always sworn she never would, even if he was the last man on earth.

Hmm…

Cameron said, “Mary Anne always swore she’d never marry a celebrity.” She looked at neither her uncle nor her cousin as she said that.

“And
I’ve
reminded her,” Jon Clive Drew chimed in, “that not every celebrity gives his family cause for embarrassment.”

“Yes,” said his wife. “Well, we don’t need to talk about that.”

“Isn’t this cranberry sauce good?” said Nanna, as if on cue.

Mary Anne watched Graham’s face, trying to read whether he was bothered by what Cameron had said. He glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

Well, her feelings
had
changed, but there was no point in mentioning now that she could marry a celebrity—one in particular.

G
RAHAM TRIED NOT TO
look at Mary Anne. She’d already caught him at it several times. He’d agreed to Thanksgiving dinner because at the time she’d asked, he and his mother hadn’t planned anything. That was all. Weeks earlier, he’d thought that at Thanksgiving he would like his mother to meet Mary Anne. Not because he sought his mother’s approval of his choice. He wasn’t making a choice, wasn’t entering another relationship.

Strange, though. He and Mary Anne had gotten to know each other deeply in a short time, with only a few dates. He knew her; she knew him. Even if she didn’t know precisely what he’d been like when he’d lost it after Briony’s death.