Changed Somehow

by Chloe Flanagan

  24

  After she left the espresso shop, Natalie headed up Seventh Avenue. The day was sunny and mild, and she really needed to walk. Cars whizzed by and people bustled around her, but her thoughts were too distracting to allow her to hurry.

  Even if she’d bothered to speculate on what it would be like to see EJ again after so many years, she never would have imagined the scenario of being interrogated for blackmailing him.

  Her heart ached for his situation. He didn’t deserve it. But something about the investigator’s air of determination inspired her confidence that the issue would be resolved soon.

  Despite the circumstances, she was grateful for the visit and the opportunity to apologize to EJ. It had felt inadequate, but she knew he’d forgiven her nonetheless.

  Her steps slowed as the full, spicy scent of roasting lamb captured her senses. Glancing around, she was surprised to spot a well-known halal food cart. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t even realized she’d made it to 40th Street already.

  Several blocks ahead, she could see the swarm of tourists wandering around Times Square. Normally, she would delve into the crowd just so she could take in the lights and show posters that had beckoned to her ever since she was a girl. But today, the prospect was exhausting. Instead, she turned and headed for Bryant Park.

  After roaming the park for a few minutes, she found a grassy, unpopulated corner. Removing her sweater, she spread it out on the ground and sat down.

  When she’d moved to Manhattan, she had soon learned how productive it could be, as an actor, to people-watch in a crowded park. Growing up in a small town had only afforded a limited range of people to observe. But one afternoon in the park here was like a pageant of diversity. She could study every type of personality imaginable.

  Today, inevitably perhaps, her eyes fell on a young mother who sat on the grass a few yards away, bouncing her baby girl on her lap. The woman was grinning and seemed to be carrying on a full conversation with her daughter, who was squealing and giggling in return.

  A dull ache settled in her stomach, and she turned away. Reaching inside her shoulder bag, she pulled out the white envelope she had put there earlier. This time, she skipped over the marriage documents and pulled out Timmy’s birth certificate. As she unfolded it, a small photo fell out onto the grass.

  She picked it up and dusted it off. It was a picture of Timmy when he was three months old. He was sprawled on his favorite blanket and beaming up at the camera.

  Gently, she brushed the image with her fingertips. “Sweet, sweet baby.” All at once, her eyes began to burn and her face crumpled. She covered her face as tears started flowing. “Oh, Timmy!”

  ◆◆◆

  Natalie managed to pull it together enough to get back to the apartment. But once she did, she threw herself on the bed and wept like she hadn’t in all of her thirty-three years.

  Image after image filled her mind with stunning clarity: Timmy’s little pink face when the doctor first placed him into her arms, the tranquil rise and fall of his chest as he slept in his crib, his grin as he squealed when EJ held him up in the air. She had kept the mental pictures locked firmly away for so long, but now they overwhelmed her thoughts in an unstoppable flood.

  Why now?

  Fourteen years before, she had rushed to the hospital when EJ had called to say Timmy was seriously ill. But she’d arrived too late. That night, she had been shocked and angry. Oh, she’d cried some in the following weeks, but mostly she had been just as sickeningly numb as she had been through most of her motherhood. But now, she was drowning in grief as though it had all just happened.

  For three days, she holed up in the apartment, sleeping some but hardly eating. The only outside interaction she had was several text messages from Glenn, which she managed to respond to as if nothing were wrong.

  Then on the fourth night, he called.

  For a second, she considered not answering. But the longing to hear his voice overpowered her hesitation.

  She looked at her reflection in the mirror across from the bed and affected a full, lighthearted smile. It was a smile she would have felt from head to toe if she’d received the call a few days ago, before her heart had been wrung out like a dirty dishrag.

  Finally, she answered. “Glenn, how is Boston?”

  He scoffed. “The part I can see from the conference room windows seems nice.”

  “Ha. Sounds lovely. What about after work? Have you had a chance to do some sightseeing or go out to dinner?”

  “Nah. I just eat at the hotel. Use the spare time to get paperwork ready for the next day. Guess I keep up the same habits no matter what city I’m in.” His laugh was a little forced, like he was drained from the day’s work.

  “Glenn, there is such a thing as burnout, you know? Maybe you should think about putting the work aside and resting tonight. You would probably feel better.”

  He was silent for several seconds until she chuckled awkwardly. “I’m sorry. You don’t need me to badger you. I was just …”

  “No, no. You don’t have to apologize.” His voice grew softer. “I-it’s nice. I haven’t had many people around lately who’ve cared enough to badger me.”

  Her heart clenched unexpectedly, and a heavy curtain of despair slowly closed in front of her.

  All at once, she couldn’t absorb his words beyond the surface level. She heard, responded, and played at small talk, then escaped the conversation as quickly as she could.

  As soon as Glenn said goodnight, she turned her phone off and threw it down on the bed. Rubbing her forehead, she tried to determine what was wrong with her now. She had made Glenn feel cared for. Wasn’t that good?

  I want to try to give love for a change.

  Her own words seemed to mock her now. How many chances did she expect God to give her?

  Years ago, he had given her a beautiful, perfect baby, and she’d been unable to muster enough maternal affection to care for him. The night he’d died, she hadn’t been around. If Timmy’s death had been anyone’s fault, it had been hers for neglecting him.

  Then there was EJ. He’d been amazing. She’d been given the chance to be a loving partner to him, and she had ignored that too.

  And now she expected another chance? Did she honestly believe God would entrust her with a man like Glenn?

  What had she done to deserve that?

  25

  Natalie made her way through the apartment one final time to ensure she wasn’t leaving any of her things behind. She was moving out two days earlier than planned, but Jaden probably wouldn’t care since she’d paid the full amount and had arranged to leave the key with the building staff. There was no need to leave with a guilty conscience on his account.

  If only that was all she had to worry about! Reaching inside her sweater pocket, Natalie fingered the small envelope she planned to slide under Glenn’s front door before she left. It was a low move, but she couldn’t bear the thought of playing a scene out face-to-face.

  She would go home and leave Glenn alone. It was for his own good. But she’d never be able to make him understand that.

  Once she made her way back to the front of the apartment, she picked up her bags, squared her shoulders, and opened the front door.

  “Hi!” Glenn stood on the other side, beaming at her. “You saved me a knock!”

  She took a step back. “I thought you were coming back tomorrow.” How did he always catch her by surprise?

  “Negotiations finished early, so I split. How are y—” He halted and looked down. “Hey, you’re packed. What’s going on?”

  Her stomach started to churn. “Glenn, I have to go. I need to go home.”

  His face crinkled in worry. “Oh, no. Is something wrong? Your family okay?”

  She cringed. That’s not how she meant it to sound. “Everything is fine. It’s not that. It’s just …” She struggled to remember the vague explanation she’d written in the note, but the words fled her mind, especially
as he moved closer and placed a firm, comforting hand on her arm.

  “Please tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart. It was the first endearment he’d ever used with her. Just a few days ago, it would have made her heart soar. But now she wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

  Forget the note. It was best to tell him the truth. “Okay, I’ll tell you. It all started a few days ago, when I ran into someone from my past. Someone who once meant a lot to me.”

  She paused, trying to decide how best to get on with it, when he startled her by saying, “This someone is a man, I take it?”

  Natalie met his eyes, which were now crinkled in a pained grimace as if he were preparing to swallow a bitter tonic.

  “Uh, yes, it is a man, but …” Something stopped her. Maybe it would be easier this way. No need to drag him through her sordid past until he was forced to see how wrong they really were for each other. Maybe it was best to get it over with fast and then walk away.

  She swallowed hard and chose her words carefully. “Seeing him again affected me more deeply than I ever could have imagined. It made me think about a lot of things … including us.” She gestured vaguely between them and released a sigh. “I’m sorry, Glenn. I really don’t think this is gonna work.”

  His big brown eyes searched hers carefully, and for a second, she spied a spark of rebellion. But it fizzled out as quickly as it had come. His gaze lowered, and his shoulders sank—not with the exaggerated remorse he had used back when the landlord scolded him—but with genuine resignation.

  It was almost like he’d been expecting this. Her stomach roiled and swished some more.

  Finally, he spoke. “You don’t have to be sorry. I understand, and I want you to be happy.” He ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. “This man you’re talking about, he’s a good man?”

  A dry, hollow chuckle escaped her lips. “He’s an angel,” she murmured. And the cold truth remained that a woman like her couldn’t ask for two of those in one lifetime.

  He nodded grimly. “That’s good. Thanks for being straight with me.”

  Everything inside her squirmed, but years of practice allowed her to keep her face a perfect mask as she said, “Thank you for understanding.”

  Whatever he said after that was drowned out by a sudden, intense throbbing in her head.

  The moment he left, she ran to the bathroom and vomited.

  26

  Natalie swept her eyes over the small Cape Cod-style house that had been her home through her junior high and high school years, not to mention the few times she’d come back when money got too tight for her in Manhattan. Paint was chipping in a few places and the lawn was a little overgrown. Her mom’s old green station wagon was getting faded, but overall, everything looked like it always had.

  Even though she had a key, Natalie knocked. She didn’t want to startle her mom by waltzing into the front door after three or four months of being away.

  When the door opened, her mom stood on the threshold, eyes wide. “Natalie! What on earth?”

  So much for not startling her. “Hey, Mom. I thought I’d come home for a visit.”

  Her mom regarded her bemusedly for a few seconds, then sighed and ran a hand over the long graying curls she had pulled back in a low ponytail. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on inside.”

  As Natalie followed her down the hall to the living room, her mom asked over her shoulder, “So how many bridges did you burn this time?”

  Natalie glared. Nice to see you too, Mom. Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. “It’s nothing like that, really. There’s just—there’s just been a lot that’s happened recently, and I need some time to process. You know?”

  Her mom turned, her face set in a bewildered frown, as if Natalie had said something bizarre. “Process? What could you possibly have to process that’s worth neglecting your career for?”

  “Lots of things, Mom. Like …” she struggled to explain, but her confidence waned in the face of her mom’s challenge.

  Her mom rolled her eyes, and shuffled into the living room.

  Natalie’s frustration inflated like a balloon, but it deflated when she got her first look at the living room. There were stacks of cardboard boxes everywhere, barely leaving a path to the sofa and recliner.

  As they sat down, Natalie gestured around the room. “What is all of this?”

  “I wanted to get the stuff we had stored in the attic organized. I told you that,” her mother snapped.

  Natalie ran her finger over the layer of dust covering the box closest to her. “Yeah, but that was a year ago. Haven’t you made any progress since then?”

  Only then did she notice that the lines around her mom’s gray-blue eyes were deeper than they had been the last time she’d seen her. Her shoulders sagged a little bit too. “Mom, are you okay?”

  “Of course, I’m okay. Things have just been busy at work for a while and I haven’t had a chance to tackle the project yet. It’s not that pressing, anyway. All I was going to do was throw out the stuff that’s trash, and combine some of the boxes.”

  “I see.”

  An uncomfortable silence hung over them, so she occupied her mind with reading the labels made in faded marker on the sides of the boxes. Finally, she stood, removed her sweater, and tossed it on the sofa. “I might as well make myself useful while I’m here.”

  Her mom’s eyes widened. “O-okay. If you want to, that would be fine. Thanks.” She looked at the wall clock. “I’d like to help, but I have to get ready for work. I’m working today.”

  Natalie waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Once her mom left the room to get ready, Natalie picked a box from the top of one stack and opened it. Immediately, the musty smell of mildew greeted her. Ew. This one was full of old clothes. She picked up a striped blouse from the top and shook it out. It was riddled with rips and tears from where moths had snacked on it.

  She took the other garments out, piece by piece, and found they were all in the same condition as the first blouse. Shaking her head, she returned the clothes to the box. That’s one box for the garbage.

  “Natalie, I have to go now,” her mom called from the doorway. “I think there’s some leftover Chinese food in the fridge, if you get hungry.”

  “Mom, wait. What time are you getting off?”

  “Not until six.”

  “A full day on a Saturday? I thought you said you were working less.”

  Her mom folded her arms. “Look, I had no idea you’d be coming today, and I needed to cover for someone. If you’d called ahead, I could have made different arrangements.” She glanced at her watch and headed for the door. “Now, I really have to go. We can talk later, okay?”

  Without waiting for a reply, she swept out the door and shut it behind her.

  Natalie stared at the closed door for a moment, the heavy silence closing in around her.

  She shivered. Just like old times.

  Returning to the living room, she shoved the clothing box to one side of the room to allocate for trash, and opened the next box in the stack. But she couldn’t focus on the contents. Her mind kept returning to her brief interactions with her mom, especially her expression when Natalie had said she needed to process. She’d received a similar response from her mom over the years whenever she said or did something her mom considered nonsensical.

  Was it too much to ask that, just once, the response would be compassion or an attempt to understand her daughter’s perspective?

  She blinked and tried to refocus on the box; it was filled with bundles of paperwork that appeared old enough to be past their usefulness. But she would check to make sure no official documents were mixed up with them. Her mom probably had the most important things, like birth certificates and deeds, stored somewhere else, just like Natalie did.

  A sudden thought struck her with crippling force: Did her mom feel numb and disconnected whenever she witnessed one of Natalie’s
near breakdowns—just like Natalie had felt when trying to care for the baby? Was there a connection between them? Some missing piece within them that made sympathizing with their own children impossible?

  The idea left her cold and clammy.

  27

  After another hour or so alone with her thoughts, sorting and shredding old paperwork, Natalie decided it was time for a break away from the empty house. And there was only one place she could think to go.

  Her mom had kept the ancient Volkswagen Bug Natalie had bought for a song during one of her extended visits back home, but as might be expected, the battery was dead by now.

  However, all she needed to do was lubricate the chains and air up the tires to make her old bicycle ready to ride again.

  The terrain of the woods near her mom’s house was more rugged than she remembered. It was much bumpier than the area she’d biked through at camp a few weeks before. It only took a few minutes for her body to remind her she wasn’t seventeen anymore, but she managed to huff and pedal her way to Betty’s Diner nonetheless.

  Once she arrived, she checked her watch. It was 12:45. Since Betty closed down at noon on Saturdays, the customers would be gone but she’d still be cleaning up. She rode to the back of the diner and parked in the alley.

  As soon as she walked through the back door and into the kitchen, the smell of bacon grease and pastry crust enveloped her. She shuffled through the kitchen, noting how every fixture and surface looked exactly as it always had, ever since she was a teenager.

  When she got to the swinging door leading to the front of the restaurant, she peaked through its porthole-style window. Betty stood on the other side, wiping down the front counter with her back to Natalie.

  She pushed through the door. “Hello, Betty.”

  Betty started and whirled around, her face crinkled in a scowl, as if annoyed by the abrupt interruption. But as soon as she reached up to refocus her glasses, a wide grin broke out on her face. “Natalie!”