Second Chance Friends (23 page)

I
t was Sunday, and Joanna was slow to get up. Saturday nights at Café Fellowship could get pretty late, especially if her boss got a bee up his ass about prepping for Sunday brunch. She thought she'd never get out of there, and when she finally did get away, her fingers were red and pruney from all the vegetable prep.

She hadn't even gone straight home. Instead, she and Sutton and Theo and his boyfriend had gone out—beers and script run-throughs for
Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike
auditions. Sutton had somehow managed to talk Stan into allowing Joanna back into his good graces. Joanna felt like she was returning to family, or maybe truly joining a family for the first time, and although she and Sutton had
still not taken anything beyond a hug, the moments between them were electric as hell.

It was right. Nothing confusing about it.
Confusion
had become Joanna's least favorite word. It was a lie. It was a crutch. It was an oppressor.

Fortunately, Helen always brought Maddie breakfast on Sundays, and stuck around to work on laundry, so technically Joanna didn't have to be over at Maddie's for a couple of hours anyway. Not that she thought it was really all that necessary anymore. Maddie had improved so much—she and Melinda had been doing things together for a while now, and she'd even gone grocery shopping with Joanna last week. Joanna had accidentally driven past the Tea Rose Diner, and while Maddie had given the lawn in front of it a long look, she hadn't shed a tear. Progress.

Joanna was still in bed, blinking at the ceiling, remembering that she had the day off, and planning out way more things than could possibly get done in one day, when the phone rang. She reached over and picked it up, thumbed it on without even looking, assuming it would be Sutton.

“Hello?”

“It's me,” her mother answered. “You sound sleepy. What are you doing?”

Joanna yawned loudly. “Well, sleeping. It's not even noon yet.”

“Nearly,” her mother said. “Guess who I ran into this morning?”

“Who?”

“I'll give you a hint. Your father and I decided to have breakfast out for a little treat, so we went to LaEats, and guess who was working the Sunday brunch?”

Joanna grimaced and sat up. She had not told her parents about the breakup yet. It hadn't seemed necessary—she'd never announced their engagement to them, even though she'd told Stephen that she had. She thought she might save the news until her birthday in May, when she would be expected to bring him around for a family gathering. Not that she wanted to keep her parents in the dark—she hated that, actually—but she was still uneasy about the conversation that would likely follow. She was out, and loving it, but that didn't mean she wanted to discuss things with her mother, who loved Stephen, or her father, who probably didn't even know for sure what the word
lesbian
meant.

“Did he wait your table?”

“Yes,” her mother said. A pause. “So I take it what he told us is true?”

“I don't know, Mother. What did he tell you?” She really didn't need to know. The answer was as plain as the ice in her mother's voice.

“He said you broke up with him. But the real shocker was that he said you'd been engaged. He seemed to think we already knew that part. Is it true? You never said a word. Surely you weren't engaged without even telling your own mother.”

Joanna closed her eyes, a wave of guilt washing over her. Her mother was not the type to show pain, but Joanna
knew it was there all the same. “I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't tell you because it just never felt right. I think I knew deep down that we weren't going to get married and I didn't want to disappoint you.”

“Not knowing that your only daughter is engaged is pretty disappointing,” her mom said.

“I'm sorry.” Joanna climbed out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Her mouth was so dry she felt like clouds of dust were puffing out with every word. Hearing her mother's upset voice only made it worse.

“I would ask you what it possibly could have been about him that you didn't like, but he told us something else, too, so I think I already know.”

Joanna stopped drinking. Stephen had outed her to her parents? How could he do that to her? He knew how hard this was for her. He knew the struggle. He saw the way her hands shook when she told him the truth. He heard the tears of regret as she handed him back his ring. He witnessed it. How could he tell?

She set the water bottle on the counter and massaged the back of her neck with her free hand.

He was that hurt by her; that was how. He felt that betrayed. And could she blame him? No, probably not. If Sutton suddenly told her that she was straight, Joanna would probably feel pretty bitter about it, too.

“Joanna?”

“I'm here.”

“So it's true, then.”

“Yes. I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry.”

“Yes.” Joanna could envision her mother, sitting in “her spot” at the kitchen table, running an emery board over her nails, the phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, legs wound into a pretzel beneath her, as usual. “I'm so sorry.”

“Well, I don't know what you have to be sorry about. If you're gay, you're gay. So what? I mean, I wish you had told me yourself. And I wish you would have come to us. I wouldn't have pressured you so much about Stephen. Is that why you haven't come to Sunday dinner?”

“Kind of,” Joanna said, reeling in disbelief.
If you're gay, you're gay. So what?
Of all of the possible scenarios she had run through her head over the years of how her mother might react to her news,
If you're gay, you're gay. So what?
had never been one of them.

“That's just silly. We always want to see you, Joanna. If there's any place you can just be you, it's here. We love you.”

Joanna slid down the side of the refrigerator until she was sitting on the floor. “Thank you, Mom,” she said, her heart so full it hurt.

“So tonight you'll be here?”

“Sure.”

“Good. I'm still mad at you, but it'll be good to see you. Now, tell me, is there a girl?”

Joanna reached up and found the water bottle, drank from it. “Kind of. I like her, and we've been getting together, but it's nothing official yet. I really loved Stephen. I still do, actually. It was just a different kind of love. I think I just
need some time. This is new to me. Not the part about liking girls, just the part about liking them in public.”

“I see. It's smart of you to give it some time,” her mom said, and started to say something else, but Joanna's phone beeped in her ear.

“Hang on, Mom, I've got another call.”

She switched over. “Hello?”

“Joanna?” Desperate. Breathy.

“Maddie?”

“I'm in labor. I can't get ahold of Melinda.” She let out a wail that made Joanna hold the phone away from her ear. “Can you get me?”

It took Joanna a moment to process what she was hearing. She had known this day would be coming soon, but not this soon. And she always assumed she would be getting the call from Melinda, with Maddie safely tucked away and labor-breathing in a hospital bed nearby. She never expected to be the one to get the call.

“Where's your mom?” she asked. “Are you alone?”

“She's home, sick. It's just me. I've been having contractions all morning, and just all of a sudden it's really bad. Please come? I'm scared.”

“I'll be right there,” Joanna said.

She didn't even bother to change out of her pajamas.

T
he baby was coming early. Karen hoped that was not a sign of something bad. A problem. She had wondered through most of the pregnancy if it was possible for the baby not to be affected by the tsunami of Maddie's grief.

The same elderly lady sat at the information desk—a different paperback this time—but Karen veered into the chapel before approaching her. Maybe it was because of Curt MacDonald's miraculous recovery, but she felt that taking a moment to pray, or whatever you could call what she did inside this bare chapel, would be a good thing.

To her surprise, Joanna was in the front row, sitting quietly.

“Hey,” Karen whispered, sitting next to her. “Everything okay?”

Joanna nodded. “As far as I know. Melinda got here, and things had slowed down, so I took a break. Thought I'd come here and . . .” She shrugged. “Can't hurt, I guess. Right?”

“This chapel worked a miracle for me once before,” Karen said, “so I'm not going to doubt you. How's she doing?”

“Pretty good, actually. She's scared. She wants Michael, and that's been pretty intense. Her mom can't go in there because she's got some sort of viral thing going on. So it's a good thing we're here. Otherwise, she'd really be alone. Can you imagine?”

Karen stared at the candles. Only three or four were lit today. She made a mental note to find a dollar and light one for Maddie's baby on her way out. A part of her wanted to stuff a whole wad of bills into the box and light every one. Get miracles for everyone. “I wonder if that's why,” she said.

“Why what?” Joanna asked.

“If that's why we were all there that day,” Karen said. “At the diner. I mean, don't the odds seem strange to you? We were all there—we were the only ones there—all wrapped up in our own problems, and this thing happened. And we all went out there and we all did what we could to help without any one person taking charge. We all watched this man die.”

“And we all kept coming back,” Joanna said.

“Yeah,” Karen said. “Do you think it was meant to happen that way? That maybe we were purposely put there so we could help Maddie get through today?”

“I never thought of it that way, but you're right, it's possible,” Joanna said. “We definitely are a weird little family.”

“And growing,” Karen said.

Joanna smiled. “And growing,” she repeated. “Right at this very moment.”

•   •   •

It was decided that Melinda would go into the delivery room with Maddie. She'd tried to spin it like she was the only one with medical knowledge, and who had delivered half a dozen babies on the job, and was used to blood and nakedness and all of that, but Karen suspected there was more to it. Somewhere along the line, Melinda had become the one closest to Maddie Routh. And it was only right—Melinda was the person who'd first suggested they find her, after all. It was a full-circle thing.

But Melinda had also been the one to save Maddie when she'd tried to kill herself, and she'd been the one Maddie continually reached for throughout her recovery. She'd gone from the person afraid to park the car and approach Maddie's house to the person coaching her through childbirth. Funny how life worked sometimes.

Karen and Joanna sat in the waiting room, along with another family, who seemed to be very excited about their newest member being born. They whooped and hollered and giggled and paced around, balloons and gift bags
adorning their chairs. Every few moments, it seemed another family member joined them. The waiting room was filling up.

“So how's your son doing?” Joanna asked.

“Trial has been set. He's got a new lawyer who seems to think they won't give him too much time, and that he'll get time served.”

“You don't sound too happy about that,” Joanna said.

Karen absently opened a magazine, even though she had no intention of reading it. Maybe a part of her wasn't happy, which made her sound like a terrible mother. But the truth was, Travis hadn't learned a thing from this go-round, either. And she feared what that would mean for him. How much worse would it have to get—how much higher the stakes—before he would finally turn things around?

“I'm happy that he's taking care of it himself. But there will be some changes when he gets out. For one, he's going to help me find my grandson. For another, he's going to have to find his own place to stay, no more money from me. And he's going to have to accept Marty.”

Joanna grinned. “You guys are really becoming a thing, huh?”

Karen couldn't help but smile. The night before, things had gone to a whole new level. It had taken every ounce of courage that Karen had—and a stout shot of tequila—but she had made a promise to Antoinette.

They'd been on her couch, watching TV as usual, when
Marty leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head—something he did often.

“Whatcha thinking?” he'd asked.

Karen had swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I'm thinking you should kiss me,” she said, hating how she sounded. Rehearsed. Ridiculous.

But he did kiss her again, and this time she'd run her hand through the back of his hair, and he'd pulled back questioningly, but she'd kissed him again. He'd leaned into her, knocking the TV remote to the floor, and she lay back, thrilled with the feeling of want, of being wanted. She'd forgotten so long ago how good it felt to have the weight of a man on top of her; it was almost like having it happen for the first time all over again. She'd kissed him with everything she had, not worrying about inexperience or mothering or heartbreak. She just focused on Marty Squire, not stopping him when his hands roamed.

“You're sure?” he'd asked before unbuttoning her shirt.

She'd nodded. “More sure than I've been about anything in a long time.”

She'd awakened in his arms this morning, filled with nothing but happiness. She'd hated having to leave him to come to the hospital. But she loved that when Joanna brought him up, she could remember the night before without feeling shame or guilt or as if she'd wrongly chosen herself over someone else. She just felt . . . good.

“Yeah, I think it has potential,” she told Joanna. “What about you and Sutton?”

Joanna scratched the back of her neck. “We're working on it.”

Just then the double doors opened and out came Melinda, looking flushed and dazed, a yellow paper gown and hat thrown over her clothes.

Joanna and Karen both stood.

“It's a girl,” Melinda said. “A healthy, pink little girl.”

She came to them, and they fell into a circle of hugs, all laughter and tears and clutching arms.