The Confession (12 page)

Tomorrow was the anniversary. As often as she tried, she’d never forgotten this day. Twenty-nine years ago tomorrow, after two years of failed attempts, she and Nathan had finally conceived their first child, a little girl.

After she’d been taken, her birthday became too painful, so Nathan insisted they cling to the happy memories of the day she was created. After she lost Nathan, both dates became agonizing.

She slowly turned the handle and swung the door open. She stood frozen as the memories flooded back.

She could see Nathan standing with a paint roller in his hand, a smear of cotton candy pink on his cheek. He was laughing, holding the roller out like a sword, threatening to cover her in pink paint if she didn’t put her brush down. He’d walked over to her then, kissed her soundly and left a mark of pink on her cheek to match his.

His excitement for the arrival of their daughter grew daily as he meticulously crossed off the days on the calendar. He’d wanted to be the one to put her crib together, to hang the white lace curtains, and paint the pink walls. All the love he’d felt for his unborn child showed in every facet of her nursery.

Emily walked into the room, drawn by the dreams it once held. The tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks as she remembered the day they’d come home from the hospital alone. Someone had stolen their daughter. In the blink of an eye, she’d vanished.

Nathan’s grief had been debilitating for him. For two weeks she’d awaken to find herself alone in bed. Each night she would find him sitting in the white rocking chair in the nursery, slowly rocking back and forth. His tears had been spent, but the sorrow was etched on his face.

She walked to the far wall and caressed the wooden letters Nathan had carved and painted. They hung from the wall, spelling out AMELIA. Once bright pastels, they’d eventually been painted a bright red but were now dull with time.

She sat on the edge of the twin bed that stood where the crib had been. She ran her hand over the once white eyelet bedspread now discolored with age. The originally pink walls were now a faded version of sunshine yellow. Hand painted vines crept up the two opposite walls as smiling black and red ladybugs climbed up the stalks, or rested on the leaves.

Each year, they’d updated her bedroom in preparation for her homecoming, knowing their little girl would be another year older. It had been their way of clinging to the hope that seemed so hard to hold onto.

Reaching over, she picked up the stuffed ladybug that rested on the pillow. Pulling it close against her chest, she curled up on the small bed.

After Nathan died, she couldn’t bring herself to alter the room again. She couldn’t be here without a lifetime worth of memories flooding back and ripping her heart open. The bedroom stood frozen in time waiting for a precocious six year old girl. Tonight it felt like a shrine to lost dreams. Her daughter had never come home.

Aimee couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning for two hours had accomplished nothing more than messing up the sheets. The tea kettle whistled. Wrapped in her favorite chenille bathrobe, she poured the steaming water over a tea bag and bobbed it up and down mindlessly. She gazed out the window letting her thoughts wander.

What’d happened to her life? She’d been perfectly content running her store in New York, spending her free time alone or with Luther. She was never lonely and didn’t spend her nights dreaming her Prince Charming would show up and sweep her off her feet. She’d worked through the grieving process and didn’t cry about her dad every day. She’d lived her life for herself and liked it that way. Then, three weeks ago, her world turned upside down.

Now she cried every day. She missed her dad more than ever. She wanted to talk to him, to get his advice on how to handle this situation. As for Prince Charming, she’d proven she wouldn’t recognize him, even if he did show up. Instead, she’d fallen for an emotionally bankrupt mama’s boy, who was playing her like a violin.

“I had no right,” he said. Give me a break, she thought. What man on the planet has ever jumped off of a half-naked woman, claiming he had no right? It was crap, and they both knew it. He just didn’t want her. She practically threw herself at him and he pushed her away.

That was just fine with her. She was glad it happened like it did. She didn’t want anything to do with Marcus Lee. To think that she’d been worried about hurting
him.
How do you possibly hurt a man without feelings? He seemed to have a never ending supply of love and concern for others, but he was clearly incapable of affection for a woman like her. Like her? She sighed and closed her eyes. Who was she kidding? It wouldn’t matter if he did love her, they couldn’t be together and she knew it. She’d messed that up the first day she drove through the front gate, and the way she’d handled everything since.

She sat down at the kitchen counter and sipped her tea. The song playing on the radio changed to a loved ’em and lost ’em ballad. She reached over and smacked the power button, silencing the words she was in no mood to hear.

She wished things could have been different. That she wasn’t such a disaster or that her entire life wasn’t in upheaval. Maybe if they could have met under different circumstances. Or never met at all.

Why couldn’t she be smart and fall for someone like Peter? Hell, he was gorgeous, emotionally stable, and easy to talk to. He didn’t seem to be dragging his life behind him like a lead weight. He was probably even capable of forgiveness, unlike the man she knew she’d need it from.

She blew out a breath. Everything in her life was in complete chaos. Needing to talk to someone who would understand, she picked up her cell phone to call Luther. It was almost three
A.M.
in New York, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d dragged him out of bed with a phone call. Before she could finish dialing, the phone rang in her hand. It was Joan.

“It’s the middle of the night there, is Mother okay?” she asked, sitting back down at the counter.

“Will you come home?”

She could hear her sister crying. “What is it?”

“The doctor was here earlier. She doesn’t have much time left. I know you’re mad at her, but she seems really upset she may not see you. She keeps saying she needs the chance to explain. Aimee, what happened between you two?”

She wasn’t sure if it was the lack of criticism in her sister’s voice, or her genuine sadness, but she knew this time, it wasn’t a dramatic ploy. It was time to go home and deal with things before it was too late.

“It’s a long story. I’ll catch the earliest flight I can and try to be home tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I don’t think I can do this alone.”

Hanging up the phone, she dialed the airline. Joan needed her, and despite everything in their past, Aimee would be there for her.

She just wished she could avoid the inevitable conversation she would have with her mother.

Push me higher, Daddy, higher
. Aimee struggled to catch her breath as she pulled into the long driveway leading to her childhood home, past the large maple tree where the old tire swing still hung from its bough. She choked back a sob as memories of her father engulfed her. She lifted her foot from the gas pedal, allowing her Mercedes to coast forward under its own power. The vast lawn sloped toward the house as she rounded the bend.
Bet you can’t catch me, Daddy
. Her ears rung with the sound of his laughter mixed with her own. She somberly remembered the sound of his large feet pounding the grass from behind as he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder, spinning her around making airplane sounds.

Parking the car, she took a minute to check her reflection in the rear view mirror. She paused for a moment, examining her face, trying to visualize what her mother would see. Her mother always found something wrong with her. It was a gift she’d developed early on. She hadn’t understood her mother’s criticisms growing up. She had a better understanding now. It still wasn’t right and it still hurt, but there was little she could do to stop her mother from seeing her out of guilt-ridden eyes. Wiping a tear from her cheek, she pulled a comb out of her bag and ran it through her windblown hair.

Knowing nothing she corrected, or covered, or changed, would make a difference, she put away the comb, turned off the car, and prepared herself for the inevitable.

She reached above the porch light for the spare key. Standing outside the door, she was frozen in place, recalling the day she’d come home to care for her mother only three weeks ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed since that day. Her entire life changed in a single moment. She inhaled, willing herself not to cry as her mind returned there, visualizing the entire scene again.

• • •

The minute she’d seen her sister in the foyer, they had some cross words about her plan to stay in a hotel instead of the house.

“So where are your bags?” her sister had demanded.

“I left them in the car. I booked a room in town.”

Joan’s face changed to its customary scowl. “Why? You know Mom wants you here. She even called you herself. Are you really that selfish? Does it even bother you she’s dying?”

Taken aback, Aimee wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d been reeling from the shock of her mother insisting she come home. Her mother’s illness had been progressing for years and the fact that she was nearing the end wasn’t a surprise. That she had requested Aimee be with her in her final days had been.

Finding her voice, she finally said, “I was thinking about Mother. An extra person in the house would only add stress. This way, I could still spend time with her, but let her have some peace and quiet, as well.” She hadn’t spoken aloud her need for her own place to escape, too.

“Sure, don’t worry about the fact it leaves me to take care of her.”

“What happened to the nurse I hired?”

“Mom didn’t like her so she fired her. She only wants us to take care of her. Grab your bags out of the car and cancel your room. She wants you to stay with her and it’s the least you can do. You may be a high and mighty business woman in the city, but she is your mother, and it won’t kill you to pitch in.”

Being in no mood to argue, she’d silently walked past her sister and headed up the stairs. She’d slowly opened the door to her mother’s bedroom and peeked inside.

Her mother was asleep, her chest gently rising and falling underneath the large stack of blankets covering her. A beautiful cream-colored silk scarf covered her head, her cheeks rosy from sleep, her hands clasped over the covers.

Watching her sleep, Aimee couldn’t help but feel sadness for the relationship they never had and a loss for the love her mother never returned. Her mother stirred, causing Aimee to slowly back out of the room.

“Aimee, is that you?”

She stopped her retreat. “It’s me, Mother. I hope I didn’t wake you. I wanted to check on you before I unpacked my bags.” She walked deeper into the dimly lit room.

“What have you done to your hair?”

Glancing at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser, she ran her hands through her new haircut.

“I cut it. It’s all the rage in the city. Don’t you like it?” Forcing herself to smile, she walked toward the bed.

“Just because everyone else is doing it, doesn’t mean you should.” Her mother shook her head in obvious disapproval.

Aimee took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed. “So, how are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m stuck in this bed. I don’t have the strength to do anything for myself, and you’re fine to just leave me here to rot.”

“You know that isn’t true. I came as soon as you called.”

Her mother continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Joan’s been here. Every day she’s been here. I realize you have a business to run, but I think it’s hurtful you don’t care about me enough to come home.”

She tried to ease her frustration by taking a deep breath. “Mother, you told me to stay in New York, remember? You said I would be in the way if I came home. I was only respecting your wishes.”

“Joan gave up her life to come home and care for me. You just wrote a check and sent someone else in an attempt to ease your conscience.”

Aimee bit her tongue to maintain its silence. She wanted to scream out the fact that Joan didn’t have a job and needed a free place to stay. And that she’d hired a nurse because she was worried about her mother’s care after being forbidden to come home.

Ignoring her defensive urge, she simply stated, “I was trying to help by sending a nurse to assist you. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. That was not my intention.”

“Well you’re here now.” Her mother shifted the covers and slowly scooted back to a partial sitting position, slapping Aimee’s hands away when she tried to help. “We have a lot to talk about.” Her mother silently watched her, saying nothing. She seemed to be deep in thought. Her face angry one minute and distressed the next. After what felt like hours, but could only have been seconds, she said, “I’m not sure how to tell you this, or how I’ll be able to make you understand that I did what I had to do. I want you to try to see it from my viewpoint.”

“See what from your viewpoint? Tell me what?”

“I wish we didn’t have to do this now. I’m not sure I have the strength to do it, but I’m afraid there won’t be another time.” She inhaled a large shaky breath. “Grab the box on the dresser and bring it here.”

Aimee stood up from the bed and crossed the room toward the dark cherry wood dresser. An old leather case sat directly in the center. An uneasy feeling overcame her and she paused before picking it up. She looked over at the silver frame with a picture of her father smiling from atop a log on Myrtle Beach. She lovingly stroked the frame and, picking up the box, walked back across the room.

“Set it here,” her mother directed, patting the covers next to her. Her mother closed her eyes. “Go ahead. Open it.”

Aimee couldn’t remember a time she’d seen her mother so nervous. Her feeling of uneasiness continued as she slowly lifted the lid. Inside laid an old baby blanket that had once been white but was now gray with age. Small, hand-sewn, red ladybugs crawled up one side. She lifted the blanket and looked curiously at her Mother’s tense face.