The Life You've Imagined (35 page)

“Technically she’s not my wife, seeing as how I’m not divorced. I just got this to shut her up about it.”

“She throw you out, then? Or did you abandon her, too?”

He steps toward me, his arms outstretched. “Anna Banana . . .”

“No!” I jerk my finger at him. “No. Just . . . Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

I pull open the door and figure if we walk fast enough, heading straight out without looking around, maybe the men won’t care that we were here at all.

“Let ’em go,” I hear my dad say, and I can see Cami in my peripheral vision, looking determined and moving more quickly than I’ve ever seen.

Out on the driveway I start to breathe again. My dad’s voice stops me.

“Wait . . . Anna, do I have grandbabies?”

I scrunch my eyes shut at this, at the unexpected stab I feel in my gut at his question. “No. Do I have siblings?”

He actually smiles a little. “Twins. Boys, fifteen years old.”

“I hope their mother has her own source of income.”

We scurry up the drive, Cami and I, as the angry Charley shouts from inside for Robert to get his ass back in the house. It’s clear who’s the boss in that room.

Cami takes the driver’s seat without having to ask, but as she sits down, she fishes around in her shorts pocket, slapping a wad of bills into my lap.

“What’s this?”

“Winnings,” she says, buckling up. “Now let’s get the hell home, yeah?”

Chapter 51

Maeve

T
he sign says “closed forever,” and I hustle myself inside before any busybody types can intercept me to grill me about the closing, or the new store, or whether I’ll be staying with Anna.

I pull myself along the counter and tumble into the office chair, face in my hands.

“What did you expect?” I say out loud to myself.

I’m glad Anna isn’t here, because I couldn’t look her in the face now. I’d never be able to keep my composure, and somehow she would know, she just would.

Also, I need to tell her. Let her know that her father is back in the state and where she can find him if she chooses to. She won’t choose to, of course. She’s smarter than stupid, foolish me. Anna will probably snort and roll her eyes and say,
What would I want with him?

Someone knocks hard on the front door, and it feels like someone kicking me in the head. I fumble under the counter for my bottle of Excedrin, and when the knocking has stopped and the intruder has moved on, I force myself up the stairs.

I flop on my bed with my feet aimed at the headboard, the better to stare at my wedding picture. I was so utterly certain, that day. Not a bit of doubt. My jitters were all related to getting caught by my mother and having a dramatic scene on the courthouse steps. When we finally got married, I was so lightheaded with relief I think I giggled the whole way to that cabin in Ludington where we finally made love and I walked around completely naked, giggling again at how womanly I was at last.

I choke down the Excedrin dry.

He still looks like himself. A little damaged by time, but who isn’t? I’ve got varicose veins popping up, and my hands are looking wrinkled and scarred. I have a healthy start on an excellent pair of crow’s feet, too.

I close my eyes and remember his tight embrace, and suddenly I’m angry, not at him but at myself for my haste. So he hasn’t started the cabin yet. The land truly was pretty, and it was so quiet out there. Maybe this time he’ll listen to my advice, knowing how wrong it all went before, knowing I was right. In fact, he’ll have to listen to me, because I won’t put up with anything less. This time, I’ll leave
him
if he doesn’t toe the line!

I’m in a position of strength, in fact, leaving him angrily like I did. I’ll send him a letter at that address, explaining exactly the conditions under which I’ll see him again. Yes, that will work. It could all work out yet.

My eyelids are heavy, and my limbs feel shaky. I hadn’t realized how tense I was until just now when I’m finally relaxing. I could turn around and crawl under the covers properly, but I prefer to drift off to sleep looking at this wedding picture and the new start we could yet have.

“M
om?”

I pop awake on the comforter, squinting in the afternoon sun falling directly over my eyes.

I hear rumbling feet up the steps, and when I pull myself upright, Anna is framed in the doorway, hanging on as if in an earthquake.

“Oh, thank goodness. Are you all right?” she says.

I clear my throat. My headache has receded to a dull echo of pain. “Yes. I decided to come back early—I got bored all by myself.” Weak excuse, but she surprised me; forgot to think of a better one.

“Mom. You don’t have to lie to me. I know.”

I pull myself to stand next to the bed. “Know? What do you mean?”

“I followed you.”

I put my hand to my chest. “How dare you!”

“Well, not right behind you. But my father called here, thinking I was you. He gave the address, so I went. I was worried about you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you were
worried.
You wanted to ruin it!”

Anna puts her hand to her head. “Mom, can’t you admit now this was a bad idea? You saw that trailer, no better than the one Sally torched. And you must have figured out he’s got no legitimate employment.”

“He just moved back to the state. Times are tough.”

“When are you going to stop defending him? He said himself you were upset when you left; think of the reasons you were upset; think of why you took off instead of staying for the romantic reunion. Whatever made you do that, it’s all still true. It didn’t cure itself in the hundred-mile drive back here.”

“Don’t take that superior tone.”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“It’s very much on point! Your whole life you’ve thought yourself better than me, with your education and your job and your smarts, and you’re right, you are better than me and I’m glad. That’s what I wanted for you. But I didn’t expect you to throw it in my face all the time. Just because he doesn’t meet your standards of what’s acceptable doesn’t mean I can’t have him back if I want him.”

“My standards? Like my standards are so high! How about a man who didn’t jilt you twenty years ago with nothing? A man who is gainfully employed and not a liar and a criminal?”

“Get out of my way.” I push past her, breathing easier now that she’s not blocking my exit. “Criminal!” I shout over my shoulder. “Now you’re exaggerating.” I storm to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water, just for something to do so I don’t slap her impudent face.

She follows me to the kitchen. “Oh, is that what you think? Cami and I caught him running an illegal card game, cheating, no less. The guy who was running the game? Had a gun and was about ready to pull it on us.”

I clutch my glass with two hands, force myself to take slow sips so I don’t make myself sick. “I don’t believe it.”

“I’m not the liar here.”

I glare at Anna. She stands with her feet apart, arms folded, her eyes narrowed at me. She’s got her attorney face on.

“You take that back.”

“You’re the one who promised me you wouldn’t write him.”

“I never should have promised you that. It was none of your business, anyway.”

“How is it not my business if I have to pick up the pieces when he leaves you again?”

“I never expected you to pick up anything! I can take care of myself!”

“Oh, is that why I have to pay your rent?”

I whirl toward the kitchen sink and throw the glass into it, hard, jumping as it cracks in half, water splashing up. “You don’t have to pay anything for me. Your father and I will be just fine.”

“Until his new wife wants him back, that is.”

“That’s crazy. What wife? He can’t be married.”

“He’s wearing a wedding band, and it’s not the one you gave him. Says he has fifteen-year-old twin sons.”

My heart pounds so loud in my ears I can’t hear what she’s saying now, though I can see her posture softening from one of righteous anger. She’s tilting her head and her face is painted with sadness. She steps toward me with an arm outstretched. That’s when her sympathetic expression tips over into pity and I can no longer stand it.

Through the roaring in my head I can’t hear myself scream at her to get out, out, out, leave me alone. I cover my face with my hands and just screech until I feel her vibrating footsteps retreat down the steps.

I curl down to the kitchen tile and wait for my blood to slow down, and picture those cool, piney woods with the birds calling to each other in the hushed forest air.

Chapter 52

Amy

M
y lipstick is too pink.

I knew I should have done a practice run with my makeup at the salon, but with the
delay
, there wasn’t time. Now I look like a tart with lipstick the shade of a child’s crayon, instead of the soft, subtle peachy-pink I was hoping for. I keep blotting it, but then it fades off, so I put it back on, all the while my bridesmaids keep chirping at me like squirrels about this and that, and
don’t get any lipstick on the dress.

Sarah and Kristi have been at my elbow since dawn, practically, rushing to get me glasses of water or tissues or whatever I might need, and I would have thought this attention would be flattering—just what a bride deserves—but I have a powerful urge to smash their faces into the wedding cake.

What is wrong with me today?

We’ve commandeered a nursery room at First Presbyterian and turned it into a dressing room of sorts, though we were all dressed and primped when we arrived, courtesy of Mrs. Becker’s fancy salon and the limousine paid for by Mr. Becker. It’s hot in here. I’m afraid I’m starting to smell less like a bride and more like a sweat sock. Each time I look in the mirror, something else is wrong.

Like this lipstick. And that one curl that keeps sticking funny out of my updo, but when I pick at it, it gets worse.

Tabitha floats behind me, looking elegant in her bridesmaid dress, the only one of the bunch who really has the figure to suit such a narrow silhouette, though the other girls insisted that’s just what they wanted.

“Tabi!”

She stops and approaches me, regarding me with the pleasant, distant smile of a business associate. We’re not close, Tabi and me. But I needed her to round out all the men on the groom’s side.

“Tabi, is your brother out there?”

“Yes, he is. Do you want me to get him for you?”

“No, I just . . . Does he seem okay to you? In good spirits?”

“Just fine. He’s talking golf with the groomsmen.”

I sigh a little and tug on the neckline of my dress to make sure it doesn’t sag too much, second-guessing the off-the-shoulder look, when I should have had straps so I . . .

“He’s not going to take off,” Tabi says, interrupting my fretting, having leaned in close without my noticing. “He wouldn’t do that.”

I meet her eyes in the mirror.
Did he tell her we almost . . .? How does she know?

She smiles and blinks, her eyes crinkling up just in the same way as her mother’s, a reassuring wink of sorts. “Besides, Dad would kill him. And then fire him.”

She glides away. I then ask one of the girls for the time, wondering where Anna is, and if we might have a stranded single groomsman after all.

A
s I’m posing for photos between candelabras decorated with delphinium and white Asiatic lilies and rich green ivy, this feels like tempting fate, like I read somewhere that Jewish mothers don’t buy anything for the baby until after the child is safely born.

I did insist Paul not be in these pre-ceremony photos, despite the obvious irritation of the photographer who doesn’t believe in “bad luck to see the bride” and is trying to “expedite” things.

But I’ve been waiting a year, and my whole life besides, to take my groom’s breath away as I come down the aisle.

The photographer mumbles to himself as he tests the light and I cast my gaze across my wedding.

There weren’t enough pew bows. My bridesmaids, contrary to my request, are wearing too much jewelry. I suggested a nice French twist for Kristi’s hair, but she insisted on having it down, and there’s a riot of ringlets all over the back of her head, which, sadly, only makes her look bigger.

On top of it all, Anna still has not arrived, though when I called Agatha’s this morning she said Anna had been in for some last-minute adjustments.

I peeked in at the reception hall earlier. The centerpieces are too tall and showy. It’s going to be hard for guests to converse over the top of them. I was in a rush to pick the flowers that day. Paul had to work through lunch and couldn’t help me. Also, the cake looks woefully small, though I’m sure I gave the bakery the correct number of guests.

I exhale when I see Anna walk into the back of the church sanctuary. She stands framed in the far doorway. Nikki’s dress looks nice enough on her, but it’s not a flattering style for Anna’s broad shoulders. I send her a mental apology. She seems to be searching the crowd. I nod in her direction and she nods back, but she starts looking again.