Before the Storm (30 page)

no longer was with Jamie, and I felt shaky and awkward when

both brothers were around.

“Listen, bro,” Marcus said as he played with Maggie on the

floor. “I’d like to help out with the…you know, the property

management. The maintenance you talked about a while back.”

I caught Jamie’s look of surprise. His smile. He probably

thought Marcus was finally growing up or that his bout of

chest pains had scared him. I knew the reason behind Marcus’s

offer though: good, old-fashioned guilt. In my sober moments,

I had plenty of it myself. Whatever the reason, the sudden ease

between the brothers helped settle my nerves.

The plan was for Jamie to stay home from work the first

couple of days to help Maggie adapt to being back at The Sea

Tender, but on the second day, he got a call from the fire department and had to leave. He’d just put Maggie down for her

nap, so we were both hopeful he’d return before she woke up.

With Jamie out of the house, my first thought was to get one

of the wine coolers from the refrigerator, but I knew I wouldn’t

be able to stop at one. I wanted to be alert in case Maggie woke

up. Instead, I took a nap to keep myself from drinking, leaving

my door open so I’d hear her if she needed me.

I woke up to the sound of a distant chant coming from the

nursery.

“Dad-dy. Dad-dy. Dad-dy.”

I got up and walked into the nursery to see her standing in

her crib, holding onto the railing, midchant.

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“Dad—”

She saw me and her eyes widened.

“Hi, sweetie!” I worked at sounding cheerful.

Maggie let out a scream, f lopping facefirst onto her

mattress. “Dad-dy!” she wailed. “Dad-dy!”

“Daddy had to go to the fire station, but he’ll be home

soon.” I rubbed her back, but she twitched away from me with

another wail.

My hands shook as I reached into the crib and lifted her out.

She writhed in my arms, pushing me away, and I set her down

on the floor.

“Daddy!” She ran out of the room, diaper drooping, clearly

on the hunt for Jamie. I watched her helplessly, following her

from room to room to be sure she didn’t hurt herself. I held

the front door shut as she reached up to jiggle the knob.

“Come on, sweetie,” I said, “I need to change your diaper.”

“Nooooo!” She flopped onto the living room floor as she

had on her mattress and let out one scream after another,

punctuated occasionally by the word
daddy.
I stared down at

her, uncertain what to do.

Finally, I sat next to her on the floor. I didn’t touch her, but

spoke quietly to her, telling her Daddy would be home soon.

I doubt she even heard me. I tried singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider,”

but the screaming didn’t cease. Was this the terrible twos? She

was only twenty-three months old. I got up and moved to the

toy box, where I took out the toys one by one, talking about

each of them. “I
love
this puzzle,” I said. “I wish Maggie would

help me put it together.”

She ignored me. I read from one of her books, while she

continued screaming.

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She hates me,
I thought.
She truly hates me.

I took a wine cooler from the refrigerator and drank the

entire bottle in one long, sweet pull.

From the bookshelf in the living room, I pulled down the

book on one-year-olds that I’d studied so long and hard during

my pregnancy.
“Tantrums wear themselves out,”
it said. I turned on

One Life to Live
and watched it through my tears. My daughter

hated me, and who could blame her? I was an atrocious

mother.

The tantrum lasted forty-five minutes. I heard her voice

dribble off into nothing as she finally fell asleep on the floor. I

got up, lifted her into my arms and carried her back to the sofa.

She smelled of poop and urine, but I didn’t want to risk

changing her and waking her up again. Having her sleep now

would probably wreck Jamie’s schedule for her, but she was so

quiet and limp in my arms. I rocked her gently, her hair soft

against my cheek.

“I love you,”I whispered,although the feeling behind the words

still escaped me. “I’m sorry,” I said. That, I knew, was the truth.

She awakened and the cycle started again. I had another

wine cooler; I had to. Maggie was still screaming for Jamie

when he came home. I heard his car door slam and cringed,

certain he could hear her screams from the driveway.

As soon as he opened the door, she ran to him and he

scooped her up. “What’s the matter, Mags?” He looked at me

where I stood leaning against the side of the couch, knotting

my hands together.“How long’s this been going on?” he asked.

I hesitated, humiliated by the truth. “She was upset when

she first woke up. Then she settled down for a while, but I

didn’t want to change her because…”

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“She’s soaked.You’re soaked, Maggie-doodle.” He walked

past me into the nursery. I heard her protest a bit when he

changed her; I never would have managed. I brushed my teeth

and rinsed with mouthwash as he tended to her.

“Why didn’t you change her?” he asked as he walked back

into the living room, Maggie toddling at his side, sniffling,

holding his index finger with her little hand.

“She was screaming for you,” I said. “Jamie, she doesn’t like

me.”

“Shh,” he chided.“She understands more than you think. Of

course she likes you. We just upset her routine, that’s all.”

Over the course of the week, things between Maggie and

me improved a bit. I threw out the remaining wine coolers—

except for three, which I stashed in the bedroom closet just

in case. I lasted through two full days without one, proving to

myself that I was
not
an alcoholic. I made an effort to play with

Maggie. I’d read to her any time she’d let me, which grew more

frequent. She never really warmed up to me, though, as if she

could see behind my mask, and I might have been babysitting

for a friend’s child, for all the warmth I felt toward her in spite

of my longing to fall in love with her. Yet, I pretended. I’d

gotten very good at pretending.

Marcus’s work on the Lockwood properties lasted exactly

three days. The first day, he power washed decks. The

second, he repaired a roof. Jamie was so pleased that the

third day, he asked Marcus to replace a couple of windows

in one of the Surf City cottages. Marcus removed the old

windows and enlarged the openings for the new ones, but

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265

he made them too big and too crooked because he was, quite

simply, too drunk.

He came to The Sea Tender that evening to admit his

mistake.

Jamie handed Maggie to me and told me to take her into

the bedroom. I did so gladly, not wanting to witness the fireworks. I sat on the bed with Maggie in my arms. The fireworks,

though, pierced the thin bedroom door.

“Did you
measure?
” Jamie shouted.

“Of course I measured!”

“Daddy!” Maggie scrambled out of my arms toward the

edge of the bed. I held on to the back of her shirt to stop her

progress.

“Well, then how did this happen?”

“I don’t know!” Marcus said. “It just did. It’s not like it’s the

end of the world, Jamie.”

“Daddy!”

I closed my eyes.
Please stop.
I couldn’t take the yelling.

“Sloppy work, Marcus,” Jamie shouted. “It’s going to cost

an arm and a leg to fix.”

“We can get bigger windows.”

“
We’re
not doing anything! I’m not letting you near those

windows again!”

“You’ve just been waiting for me to screw up!”

Maggie sprang free of my grasp.

“That’s the
last
thing I wanted,” Jamie said. “I was hoping

you’d finally gotten your act together. It’s about time.You’re

twenty-two years old! You’re a damn
drunk,
Marcus.You need

help. And you’re fired.”

I reached for Maggie, but she toppled headfirst off the bed.

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I picked her up and saw that she was fine, but her face was

quietly twisting into that I’m-getting-ready-to-let-out-abloodcurdling-scream expression.

“
No,
sweetie.” I bounced her on my lap. “Shh.”

Marcus was laughing. “Fired from
what?
” he shouted. “It’s not

like I’m getting paid. And I don’t need the hassle, man. It’s all

yours.”

The front door slammed, and Maggie let out the scream I’d

known was coming.

I walked out of the bedroom and held her toward Jamie,

who was staring red faced at the front door, hands on his hips.

“I need a nap,” I said, handing Maggie over to him before he

could protest. Back in the bedroom, I locked the door, took the

third and last wine cooler from the bedroom closet, and drank

it warm.

The following night—the night before Jamie and Maggie

were to return to the Weston’s—Jamie got another call from

the fire station. Maggie was already asleep, thank goodness, and

by the time Jamie returned, I was in bed. He knocked on the

door.

“Can we talk for a minute?” he asked, opening the door a

crack.

I wasn’t yet asleep. “Uh-huh,” I said. I sat up against the

headboard, tucking the covers across my chest because I had

nothing on.

Jamie’s anger at Marcus had blown over sometime during

the day—or at least he’d known better than to dump it on me.

Now, he sat on the edge of the bed, the light from the hallway

pooling on his cheeks, catching in his eyes. I’d so loved those

big brown eyes! I wished I could feel love for them—for
him
—

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again. And for my daughter, who deserved so much better than

I was giving her.

“It’s been good being here with you this week,” he said.

I nodded, although I was anxious for them to leave. I wanted

my easy sleeping-and-drinking life back. “At least Maggie

doesn’t scream when you leave her with me now,” I said.

He didn’t smile.“You made a big effort with her. I know you

still aren’t your old self, and I just want you to know that I appreciate how you tried to…to be a mom to her this week.”

Tears welled up in my eyes.

He moved closer, taking my hand and holding it between

those big teddy-bear paws of his. “What is it?” he asked. “Why

the tears?”

“I just wish I could
feel
something for her.” I swallowed.“For

you.
Like a normal mother and normal woman.”

He leaned forward, surprising me with a kiss.“You will,” he

said, his hand on my cheek. Then he kissed me again. His lips

against mine felt familiar, tugging at a place deep inside me—

a place I wanted to get to again but couldn’t seem to reach.

His fingers curled beneath the sheet where it lay across my

chest. He started to lower it, and I let him, because I couldn’t

shut him out of whatever was left of my heart. He fumbled in

the nightstand for a condom, tore it open and put it on.

I feigned desire for him, a gift I wanted to give him, but my

body felt nothing as I opened it up to him. For the first time,

I faked my orgasm.

When we were finished and he pulled out of me, he swore.

“Damn!” he said. “Well, that’s a first.”

“What’s a first?” I asked, worried he was referring to my

poor acting job.

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“It broke,” he said, and I realized he was talking about the

condom. “It must have been old.” He lay down next to me, his

hand on my stomach.“Where are you in your cycle?” he asked.

I thought back to the last time I’d had my period, well over

a month ago.
Well over a month ago.
I remembered feeling woozy

for a few days the week before, a light-headedness I’d attributed to drinking too much. My heart gave a great, breath-

stealing leap in my chest. I wanted to jump out of bed and run

to the kitchen calendar, count off the days, hoping I was wrong.

But I didn’t budge, trying to stay calm.

“I’m not sure,” I managed to say.

“That’s the last thing you need now,” he said. “Another

pregnancy.”

It may have been the last thing I needed, but I knew it was

what I had.

COKE WITH PEANUTS WAS MY COMFORT FOOD, but it wasn’t

working for me that morning. I sat on the back deck of my

tower, watching the waves make chop suey of the beach. The

surf was high and rough, spraying my face and the Wilmington newspaper on my lap. I waved at a couple of beachcombers. Watched their yellow Lab fetch a ball from the water.

Tried to pretend it was an ordinary day, which almost worked

till I lifted the paper again.

Could Fire Hero Be Villain? the headline read.

The last couple of days, the rumors had started flying. The

police had a press conference the night before to try to squelch

some of them. It backfired. Too many questions asked. Too few