The Life You've Imagined (15 page)

“There’s nothing humiliating about taking a stand to save your business.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ll go back to your law firm and your fancy suits and I’ll be the one sitting here every day while people cluck their tongues down at Doreen’s.”

“Do you see me taking off for Chicago? Do you see me ditching you to run back there? You’re mad because I tried to help, and now you’ll be mad if I leave?”

“Why don’t you go somewhere,” Mom says. “Go get some lunch.”

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I don’t feel like resting, and Cami will be here soon. I checked my blood pressure and it’s fine, or it was, until now, until I came down here to that.” She jabs at the paper.

“Why don’t you go out, and I’ll—”

“Just
go
, please? I don’t care where, just . . . go.”

I grab my purse from behind the counter and head out into the wet afternoon, jogging between awnings until I’m three blocks away in front of a low brick office building. I walk in and say to the receptionist, “Is Will Becker in?”

Chapter 21

Maeve

A
s Anna takes off into the rain, I cringe at how I must have sounded to her. But all these years since she moved out I’ve been in control of my own agenda, my own business. No one nitpicks what I read, or whether I should be working or not, trying to solve my problems for me, when I’ve got a plan already.

Not that I can share this plan with her, yet. She’s clearly not receptive.

Mailman Al comes in, and I have to grip the counter to keep myself from pouncing on him and ripping the mail out of his hands. Al peruses the shelves for his midday snack, and I flip through the mail, as casually as I can manage. Junk, junk, junk, charity solicitation, bill, bill . . .

There it is. I slip the letter into my pocket, as much of it as I can manage to fit. I make a pretense of sorting through the rest. Al doesn’t seem to have noticed my sleight of hand.

He finally leaves after making some small talk and buying a bag of chips.

With one more glance out onto the sidewalk for impending customers, I tear into the letter.

Maeve!

I knew you could find it in your heart to forgive me. You were always so good, too good for me.

I’m coming up there in August, only I don’t know yet the exact date. Charley is still firming up his plans.

Can I call you at the store? I’ve been afraid you’d hang up on me but to hear your musical voice again!

Write me back, as soon as you can. I can’t wait to see you.

Love from your prodigal husband,

Robert

I glance at my watch. I’ve got a little time before Cami is due. I slide a legal pad out of a stack of papers under the front counter. I settle into the low office chair, prop the pad up on my knee, and begin my response.

Dear Robert,

I haven’t forgiven you, yet. I said we could talk and meet. It’s not going to be so easy to make me forget what you did. Because you didn’t just walk out on me, you walked out on your little girl, and I’m the one who had to explain to her something that made no sense, something no little girl should have to hear, that her father is not coming back.

It’s a dream come true to find out that you’re not only still alive but that you’re sorry and want to come back, but it’s not like we can erase twenty years of loss and absence like scrubbing out a grass stain.

Speaking of your daughter, she’s back at the Nee Nance for a little while, and I don’t know how long. So when you write again, use a typewriter, or get someone else to address the envelope. And for heaven’s sake, don’t call! She doesn’t know I’m still writing you.

If she had her way, we would never see each other again. Now is not the time to let her know we’re staying in touch. I want us to be a family again, and if we go about this the wrong way, it could be ruined forever. First, I need to see you for myself, and you need to explain to me everything that happened, and all your plans for the future. Then I can show her you’re serious, and that we have a future together, and then you can apologize to her directly, in person, and with sincerity.

She always loved you, and despite what you’ve done, I don’t think she could just shut that off like flipping a switch.

It won’t be easy, but that’s what I want for us.

So please, don’t call. And remember, when you write, make sure it’s not obvious that it’s you, from the outside envelope. We have to proceed carefully.

I’ll be counting the days until August.

Maeve

All the times I wished for this over the years! At Anna’s graduation, I looked for him in the crowd. On her birthdays, I watched for cards in the mail. Our anniversary every year I stared out the front door of the Nee Nance. He’s missed a great deal, but yet, not so much. We’re both only in our fifties, and Anna hasn’t yet married or had children. He could still attend her wedding someday, maybe even give her away! Dance with her! All my old dreams seem possible again.

I address the envelope—the return address is different again, this time in Kentucky—and as I seal the envelope, I feel a wash of regret for that argument with Anna. She puts on such a hard shell; sometimes I forget what it must be like for her, that inside she’s still my little girl, no matter how capable she seems in her high-heel shoes and sharp black suit.

I affix the stamp and whisper a prayer of gratitude that this letter didn’t arrive while I was in the hospital, because that would have ruined everything. I slip the letter inside my purse so that next time I walk by an outside mailbox, I can drop it in.

This was definitely meant to be.

I said that to my mother, during that fraught, anxious year Robert and I were openly dating.

“It was meant to be! He loves me and you can’t stop me from loving him!” I bellowed, one of the only times I dared raise my voice to her, and nothing horrible happened when I did, either. I didn’t turn into a pillar of salt and the earth didn’t spin off its axis.

“You’re throwing away your life on that piece of trash! He’s probably seeing another floozy or two behind your back, and you’re too naive and starry-eyed to see it! I know his reputation, I hear the talk about that family, with that crazy sister of his, too, and what’s wrong with them, anyway, hanging around a bunch of teenage kids?”

“If I’m naive, it’s because you hardly let me out of the house! You’re just mad because for the first time in my life I’m doing something you can’t control!”

She slapped me then, but I was wild for our forbidden love and I barely felt it and, in fact, had to stop myself from slapping her back.

My wedding photo is still hanging upstairs. I’ve seen it so often I can close my eyes now and picture all its detail. Robert’s wearing a suit with huge lapels and a loud tie, and I’m wearing a plain white sundress and a flower in my hair. We’re standing on the courthouse steps. I’m clinging to his arm in the picture, and I remember being giddy with the freedom and romance of marrying in secret with only Sally and the court clerk as witnesses.

No, it was never easy for us. Why should it be any different now?

Chapter 22

Amy

I
pound along the pavement, letting the sky spit on me as Frodo pants along, keeping pace.

I surprise myself at my disappointment, not seeing Ed out here with Lucky, but then it is raining and that keeps lots of runners and walkers indoors. Calories know no weather, though, and I don’t have a treadmill.

Also, I’ve been slacking off the past few days, walking with Ed instead of running. Unless I add another run to my schedule, I need to keep moving forward. My mom is always at me to relax and ease up on myself, but she should know better than anyone why I can’t do that.

I adjust my cap, and as I do, I see a flash out of the corner of my eye, someone red-headed. I turn for a second, thinking
Anna?
But it’s not her. She has no reason to be here, and anyway, what would I say to her?

She’s right. I can’t keep apologizing for Paul and it’s not my fault.

But watching him tear into her in front of the council, watching her fist clench up . . .

Back in school once, Maeve sewed me a dress for a National Honor Society thing. It was a pretty pattern in a lovely fabric, and at the time I thought it brought out the blue in my eyes.

“Nice dress,” a girl sneered at me when I wore it that evening, and it was just that same tone of voice that Paul used last night for “liquor store” and “beer signs.”

He’s not like that
, I think, defending him even to myself.

He’s never been snobby around my mom, though she’s no cover girl, and he’s been nice to my kid brother even though he’s a plumber; in fact, he’s thrown some subcontracting work Kevin’s way.

Now that I think of it, though . . . He once told me how proud he is that I “rose above” my circumstances. At the time I just lapped up the attention—he was gazing at me with such worship and adoration—but now, I hear
nice dress
and
liquor store
and
your circumstances
and it all sounds the same to me.

My knees start to throb. All those years of carrying a whole extra person around on my frame already did some damage, and I should really know better than to push myself so hard. Frodo, for that matter, is trying to lap up puddles, he’s so thirsty.

I force myself to cool down and walk back slowly, reminding myself with every step that I love Paul, I’m going to marry him, and the wrecking ball hasn’t yet crashed into the Nee Nance.

I
flick on the lights in the reception area of Lakeshore Realty, and as my computer chimes to life, I take a moment to straighten my desk. There’s a film of dust on a snapshot of Paul and me taken last summer, soon after we started dating. I blow the dust off and wince as some of it flies into my eyes.

When Tiffany grabbed the camera to snap a picture, out of reflex I hid behind Paul, throwing my arms around his neck and cuddling my face against his. It came off as a larky, fun-loving gesture, at least.

The girls are always carrying on over my figure these days, but pictures are still a trial for me.

“Good morning, Amy,” says Kelly, my boss and the agency’s broker. She’s an acquaintance of Paul’s dad, and that was how I got this job, when it turned out I might have to relocate to find work and I was so sad about leaving Haven. Mr. Becker heard about it and hooked me up with Lakeshore because they needed a receptionist.

The Beckers have taken such good care of me.

“Amy,” she says, stopping suddenly in the hall and turning around. “I’d like to have a word with you this morning, if I might, before it gets too busy. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

I follow Kelly down the hall. She’s tall and wears spike heels every day, even so. Her hair is shiny black and cut short in a way that flatters her sharp features. She also happens to be one of the few black businesswomen in Haven, make that Ottawa County, something that’s a source of pride to her, and I think also a burden. Sometimes the light goes out of her eyes when people praise her excessively.

She selects one of the two chairs in front of her desk and indicates the other one where I am to sit. I do sit, and pivot to face her. Our knees are almost touching.

“I just wanted to let you know that although we’re keeping you on, times have been very tough here lately and we’ll be cutting your hours, effective Monday. You’ll be working ten to three instead of nine to five.”

I must have done something wrong. I remember the time my English teacher found me reading a novel behind my notebook and snatched it away from me in the middle of class, giving me a withering stare in front of everyone. I had to beg for the book back. I’ve got that same sinking, sickening feeling in my middle.

“Kelly . . . I know I’ve been taking a little time here and there to go out to do wedding stuff, invitations and fittings and whatnot, but I always work through lunch to make it up and sometimes stay late . . .”

She raises her hand. “That’s not it. It’s just numbers. People aren’t buying houses, and when that happens, no one here makes money. I’m sorry to do this to you when you’re probably saving for the wedding, but I have no choice.”

“I understand,” I tell her, slowly standing up from the chair.

All morning I catch myself staring at people, the other agents and brokers in the office, and I think about how long it’s been since they’ve each made a sale, and I realize my phone isn’t ringing so much, and when it is, it tends to be a client desperate to know if there have been any offers.