by Terri Reed
Like the house. It was too big, showy and a bit garish. Lots of brick and columns and shiny accoutrements that screamed “look at me.” She didn’t like the place, but Douglas had insisted they buy the house when they relocated to town.
It was his money, as he loved to remind her, so she had no say in the matter.
“Come on, honey,” she said to Logan. “Let’s go see if Kay has made something delicious for lunch.”
The inside of the house was just as overdone as the outside. Cold marble flooring, a round marble table with an expensive vase filled with exotic flowers greeted them as they entered. Sometimes Lynda felt as if she were walking into a hotel rather than a home.
She took off her warm wool coat and then helped Logan out of his parka. She laid both on the table.
“Where have you been?”
Lynda froze at her husband’s question. Then with a quick sweep of her hand, she pulled Logan behind her as she turned to face Douglas.
He stood in the doorway of the library off to her right. His six-foot-one frame filled the opening. He still wore the expensive navy suit he’d worn for his TV show Afternoons with Douglas Matthews. He was a handsome man with his jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes. The camera and his fans loved him. At one time, Lynda had, as well.
“We went to story time at the new bookstore downtown,” she answered quietly.
He raised his eyebrows as anger sparked in his eyes. “You went out in public like that?” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand.
She stiffened, expecting him to berate her for showing her face in public. Showing his shame in public.
“You know how important image is. You’re my wife and I expect you to dress the part.”
Of course, her clothing was his main concern. She’d thought her trendy yet conservative long skirt and blouse were very pretty.
“And it wouldn’t have hurt to put a little more makeup on that eye,” he added.
“I’m sorry. I should have thought it through better.”
His expression relaxed slightly. “Yes, you should have. Logan, come out from behind your mother’s skirt.”
Logan tugged at her and Lynda’s heart squeezed tight. She wanted to protect her son from Douglas’s criticism, yet she knew if they defied him, criticism would be the least of her worries. She grasped Logan’s hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze as she gently pulled him forward, but keeping him within arm’s reach.
Douglas had never raised a hand to Logan, but Lynda still wanted Logan close enough that she could shield him if necessary.
Logan looked so much like his father. The same black hair and stunning eyes, but he had Lynda’s disposition, much to Douglas’s annoyance.
“Son, did you enjoy the story hour?”
Logan nodded.
“Speak up,” Douglas snapped.
“Yes, sir, I did.”
Douglas bestowed one of his charming smiles on his son. “Good. It is important to be seen in town at functions that promote learning.”
Good for your image, Lynda thought but knew better than to put voice to her sarcasm.
“Will you be having lunch with us?” she asked.
He waved away her question. “No. I’m having lunch at the country club with Helene and Neal Harcourt. They’ve been big supporters of my show.”
Relief swept over her like a cool breeze. “Very well then. We won’t keep you. Come, Logan, let’s find Kay.”
As they went in search of the housekeeper-cook, Lynda could feel her husband’s gaze on her back. She stuck her hand in the pocket of her skirt and fingered the edges of Trista Van Zandt’s card.
Tomorrow she would call her.
That night at her brother’s house, Trista watched with wry amusement as Ross laughed until his eyes watered.
“You’re going…out with Pastor Scott?” Ross asked for the umpteenth time.
“We’re not going ‘out.’ We’re meeting at the movies. There’ll be a big group of people there.”
“Group?” Kelly exclaimed. “You joined The Kingdom Room, didn’t you?”
Sheepishly, Trista nodded.
At Ross’s questioning look, Kelly explained. “It’s an online single friends group that Naomi started.”
“I think that’s great!” he managed to say between guffaws.
“Then why are you crying?” Trista asked, drily.
Kelly reached across Aidan to squeeze Trista’s hand. “Don’t mind him. We think it’s great.” Kelly gave Ross a pointed look before turning her gaze back to Trista. “Scott is a very nice man.”
“Nice, as in wimp or nice, as in well mannered?” Trista teased.
Kelly grinned. “Definitely well mannered. I can’t say about the other.”
Trista shrugged. “It doesn’t matter either way. This is just two friends seeing the same movie. It’s not going anywhere.”
Ross wiped at his eyes. “Never say never.” He gazed adoringly at his wife.
Something akin to envy twisted in Trista’s heart. Her brother and Kelly truly loved one another. Their union had come with a price, though.
Kelly’s biological mother, Sandra Lange, had hired Ross as a private investigator to find the daughter she’d given up for adoption. Ross had found Kelly but also had uncovered a web of deceit that her biological father’s wife had woven over the years. The fallout had been steep. Sandra had ended up in the hospital in a coma and Kelly’s biological father, Gerald Morrow, then the mayor of Chestnut Grove, helped to bring his wife to justice.
“So, will you be able to watch Aidan for me?”
Ross sobered. “Yes, on one condition. You come to church with us in the morning and then go see Mom with me.”
Trista gritted her teeth. “That’s two conditions and no to both.”
Ross got that determined, ‘I’m going to have my way’ look she hated. “Trista, it’s not okay for you to turn your back on Mom.”
“I’m not,” she protested. But guilt and shame ran a ragged course through her. She hardened her heart to both. She would not feel bad for not wanting to see her mother. The woman hadn’t been there for her growing up. Why should she be there for her now?
Trista stood and began to unbuckle Aidan from the high chair. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll figure something else out.”
Kelly reached for her hand. “Of course we’ll watch him.”
Ross came around the table to put his arms around Trista much as he had when they were kids. Love for her brother brought tears to her eyes. She’d burdened him her whole life with her problems, and she still was. He’d been the rock in her chaotic world. She clung to him.
“Sis, I just worry that Mom will pass on before you make peace with her.”
She gave him a squeeze before disengaging from him. “I appreciate your concern. But I don’t feel I need to make peace with her.”
Ross sighed and nodded. “Well, would you at least come to church with us since you’re dating the assistant pastor?”
Exasperated, she glared at him. “I’m not dating him.”
His mouth twisted with suppressed mirth. “Whatever. Will you?”
“I’ll think about it.”
To Kelly, Ross stated, “That’s her way of ending a discussion without committing. It usually means no.”
Hefting a sleepy Aidan on her hip, Trista smiled. “Call me in the morning. That’s as much as I can promise.”
“Hey, that’s something.” Ross grinned.
Trista kissed her family goodbye and then drove to her apartment. By the time she arrived, Aidan was fast asleep. He didn’t even stir when she changed his clothes and laid him in his crib.
As she was getting herself ready for bed, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hi, babe.”
She cringed. She should have let the machine pick up the call. “Kevin, what do you want?”
“Oh, are we in a bad mood?”
She closed her eyes as anger washed through her. “Kevin, it’s late. W
hy are you calling?”
“I miss you.”
She nearly gagged. “Right.”
“Seriously.” He sounded offended. “I’m coming to see you tomorrow.”
Her heart stalled in her chest. “Why?”
“We need to talk.”
“I think we’ve said everything we need to say.”
“I’ll be there around two.”
She scrambled for an excuse. “We won’t be here. Aidan and I are going with Ross to visit Mom.”
There was a moment of silence before he said, “All right. I have an appointment on Monday so how about Tuesday. I’ll take you to lunch.”
“I’ll have to check my schedule and let you know if that will work.”
“Fine. I’ll call you tomorrow night to confirm.” He hung up without another word.
Trista sat there staring at the phone as if it was a snake about to bite her. She hated that Kevin thought he could just invade her life whenever he wanted. The man had walked out on her and their one-month-old child, stating he wasn’t ready to be a father. She had had so much hope that he’d have a change of heart. He hadn’t. And it wasn’t until after he’d left that she found out about the other woman. Her life had become a cliché.
Agitated by Kevin’s call and knowing it was too late at night to call the lawyer who’d handled her divorce, Trista fired up her laptop and entered The Kingdom Room, but joining the discussion going on in the chat room didn’t appeal.
But she needed to talk with someone. She opened her e-mail and sent a post to Called2serve.
She was surprised when a reply popped almost immediately into her in-box.
Momof1
This must be confusing and painful for you. I can only say that people do change and everyone deserves a second chance. If you don’t feel comfortable talking to him alone, find a friend, a family member or a pastor who would mediate for you. This might be a good opportunity for you to draw closer to God.
Called2serve
Trista didn’t want to give Kevin another chance. He’d hurt her horribly. But she knew she had to hear what he had to say. He was, after all, Aidan’s father, even if he didn’t want to be.
She couldn’t ask Ross to meet Kevin with her. He’d just as soon pummel Kevin than mediate between them. Nor would she ask Kelly in her condition. Trista thought about maybe one of the Bensons, but she really didn’t want to drag her new bosses into her old life. She’d call her lawyer for advice on Monday but she could already guess what she’d say, “No, don’t do it.”
The only other person Trista could think of asking was the man she’d be seeing on a nondate tomorrow.
Pastor Scott was probably going to regret ever wanting to be her friend.
Chapter Four
Trista tried to keep her stomach from roiling at the nauseating smell of antiseptics mixed with…She shuddered. The underlying scent of body fluids, decay and death clung to the air. Trista dug her fingers into the palms of her hands. She didn’t want to be here.
If she hadn’t told Kevin she was coming and hadn’t been fully awake this morning when Ross called to see if she’d changed her mind about visiting Mom, she’d be home playing with her son.
An older woman approached Trista and Ross when they entered the assisted living facility where their mother now lived. “Mr. Van Zandt. It’s good to see you.”
Ross shook the woman’s hand. “Hello, Mrs. Angelo. This is my sister, Trista.”
Mrs. Angelo turned her high-wattage smile to Trista. Her graying hair curled at the edges of her round face. “We’ve met. It’s been a while.”
Trista didn’t take offense at the woman’s subtle reprimand. The woman didn’t understand the history of Trista’s relationship with her mother so of course Mrs. Angelo would think it odd that a daughter wouldn’t want to see her own mother.
But feelings of anger and resentment were the only emotions Trista associated with her mother. Emotions Trista would just as soon not feel. “Yes, it has,” she managed to reply.
“How is my mother today?” Ross asked as they moved away from the administration desk down the hall toward their mother’s room.
“She’s slowing down and has had some bad days recently,” Mrs. Angelo stated.
In self-preservation, Trista tuned their conversation out and grudgingly tagged along at Ross’s heels. A position, she noted with irony, she’d deliberately taken most of her life because of the measure of safety and comfort it gave her. And did even now.
Keeping her gaze averted from the other resident’s open doors, she silently recited her childhood mantra, This too shall pass. This too shall pass.
She just wanted to get this visit over as quickly and as painlessly as possible without being swamped with the anger and hurt that so often threatened to choke her whenever she let memories of her childhood flood her mind.
They entered her mother’s room. The small space was decorated with a cozy recliner, fresh flowers in several vases and gleaming CD boxes sitting on an antique sideboard. All Kelly’s doing, Trista knew.
On the wall hung pictures of peaceful meadows and sparkling brooks. The metal-frame bed was empty with the side railing down.
“Michelle?” Mrs. Angelo called, her voice merry with just a hint of anxiety in it.
Trista watched Ross check the adjoining bathroom. He came out and shook his head. “Could she be outside?” he asked.
Mrs. Angelo frowned. “I suppose. Why don’t we check the garden? She loves to sit near the pond with the ducks.”
“I’ll go,” Trista volunteered. Anything to get out of this building.
A noise from the closet drew their attention. Ross opened the closet door. Her mother sat curled into a ball tucked against the back of the closet. Her graying hair hung in tangled clumps and her dark eyes were unfocused. Her pink flowered nightclothes were bunched up around her knees.
Trista sucked in a breath. Her heart caved in on itself.
“Mom? What are you doing?” Ross asked as he bent down to see her.
Michelle ducked her head and curled tighter.
A sense of surrealism stole over Trista. Why was her mother cowering from Ross? She’d never seen her mother like this. She didn’t want to see her mom as anything other than the awful woman who’d given birth to her.
“What’s wrong with her?” Trista asked, her voice shaky.
Mrs. Angelo moved forward. “She’s been having flashbacks. It happens with advancing Alzheimer’s.” She squatted down beside Ross. “Michelle? Honey, you’re safe. Come out now.”
Mom shook her head.
“Are you hungry? I have some cookies,” Mrs. Angelo coaxed.
Michelle held out her hand. Mrs. Angelo dug into the pocket of her white coat and brought out a small wrapped cookie. After removing the wrapper, she held the cookie just out of Michelle’s reach.
Slowly, Michelle uncurled and crawled out. Ross reached to help her but she flinched away. She allowed Mrs. Angelo to help her to her feet and grabbed the cookie.
Trista held her hand to her mouth as horror clawed at her throat. Pity and empathy washed over her, making her angry. She didn’t want to feel anything for this woman.
Ross’s eyes were sad as he stood. Trista stared at him. Why had he made her come here?
Mrs. Angelo helped Michelle shuffle to the bed. Watching how slow and fragile her mother had become cut Trista to the bone.
She hated caring, but wouldn’t have wished this on her worst enemy.
Mrs. Angelo tucked Michelle into the bed and lifted the railing, locking it into place. “You have visitors, Michelle. Your son and your daughter are here. They want to see you. Isn’t that nice?”
Michelle seemed to sink into the bedding. Trista half expected her to disappear. She looked so frail and vulnerable, so unlike the woman Trista remembered. This woman wasting away in front of her couldn’t be her mother, the one who had been loud, sarcastic and always smelled of alcohol.
Ross pulled up a folding chair. �
��Trista?”
She shook her head, declining the offer to sit closer. She just couldn’t.
“I’ll leave you all alone. Just ring if you need me,” Mrs. Angelo said before shutting the door behind her.
Ross spoke softly to their mother. Her eyes watched him and recognition slowly entered her expression.
“Kelly’s healthy and so is the baby. We only have a month to go. We’ll bring the little one in as soon as we can. Kelly wanted to come today, but she had some work to do at the adoption agency and she’s watching Aidan.”
Michelle nodded, her gaze shifting. “Who’s that over there?”
Trista’s heart withered a bit even though she’d been through this the last time she’d visited. Knowing it was the quickest way to get this over with, she stepped forward. “It’s me, Mom. Trista.”
Mom seemed to absorb that. “Okay. How’s my grandson?”
Surprise and pleasure arced through her. “Aidan’s good, Mom. Real good.”
Mom turned her attention back to Ross. “I found some pictures the other day.” She waved a hand at Trista. “Hand me that binder over there, would you?” She pointed to the sideboard.
The bossy, autocratic Michelle shone through for the moment. Feeling calmer and on more familiar ground, Trista picked up the leather-bound photo album. She’d never seen this. She looked at Ross. He shrugged, obviously sharing her bewilderment. Trista handed the book over.
Mom opened the heavy cover to reveal a picture of a couple on their wedding day. Trista leaned in closer to study the black-and-white photo with faded edges showing a white chapel with stained glass windows in the background.
A tuxedoed man and his bride in her finery smiled for the camera. The bride had dark hair caught up on top with a beautiful headpiece that cascaded down in the back. The slim-fitting dress spoke of a different era.
“Who’s that?” Trista asked.
Mom quickly turned the page. “Just my parents.”
The harshness of her mother’s tone stunned Trista. She exchanged a quick glance with Ross, who seemed just as taken aback.
Their mother had never talked much about her family. Trista knew that her grandparents had been killed in a boating accident before Trista was born.