by Laura Wolfe
Ethan looked away, considering my response. “Okay. Wow. Well, in that case, I’ve been wanting to tell you something.” His voice was low and calm. “I have a boyfriend in San Francisco. His name’s Sean.” Ethan pulled his phone from his pocket. He scrolled through some photos and held the screen in front of me. “I was going to tell you about him yesterday, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
The image was of a handsome young man with shiny black hair and olive skin. He stood on a rocky beach wearing a blue-and-white striped bathing suit. His body was fit and muscular, his smile charming. This was someone else’s son, a man whose parents had also found out that their son was gay. I wondered if they’d handled it better than me.
I swallowed and forced myself to smile. “Sean?”
Ethan nodded. “He’s a financial analyst. And an amazing piano player. He’s smart and funny.”
I rocked back on my heels. There was so much I didn’t know about Ethan’s life. “Does he treat you well?”
“Yeah. He does.” Ethan put his phone away. “I want you to meet him sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
I studied Ethan, the flecks in his aqua eyes, the dark shadow of stubble around his mouth, his confident posture. In so many ways, he’d turned out to be the perfect son.
I grasped Ethan’s hands in mine. “Thank you for telling me. I’m happy for you.” Hot shame rose into my face, as I realized how courageous my son was. How brave he was to stay true to himself in the face of people who tried to make him be a certain way. People like Mary Ellen Calloway. People like me.
By the time I released Ethan from my embrace, Rascal had disappeared. “Rascal,” I yelled, stepping toward the yard. I peered over the railing and found him staring up at me. He’d eaten the tops off my lilies.
Ethan laughed. “Oh, man.”
“That little devil,” I said, giving up on the dog and facing Ethan. I squeezed his arm. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Thanks.” His eyes hung onto mine and I knew we’d made progress.
“You know, it’s the strangest thing,” I clasped my hands together, then glanced in the direction of the tiny house, “remember how I told you I saw Beth leave in the middle of the night? Right after Joe pulled out of his driveway?”
“Yeah.”
“I just can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t shake the feeling she was following him.”
Ethan stared off into the distance. “I’ll ask her about it.”
A knot tightened in my gut. “No. Don’t. I don’t want her to think I’m spying on her.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Fine. Then I’ll do that background check on Joe. Maybe that’s what she was worried about.”
I nodded. “That would certainly put my mind at ease, too.”
Ethan stepped toward the door. “Hungry?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’ll make some sandwiches for us before I leave.”
The last of the morning dew clung to my sneakers as I wandered over to Beth’s tiny house. It was 9 a.m. and I hoped it wasn’t too early for a visit. Although I hadn’t talked to Ethan, I heard him return from The Castaways before ten o’clock last night, earlier than I’d expected.
I raised my hand to knock on her front door, but it swung open before my knuckles hit. I blinked at Beth’s rumpled appearance. She was fully dressed but looked as if she’d slept in her clothes. Her face held hints of last night’s makeup.
“Would you like to join me for coffee?” I asked, eager to make our coffee outings into a regular routine.
She closed her eyes and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “Sure, Gloria.”
“Ethan took my car to buy camping equipment. Can I trouble you to drive?”
“Yeah.” She leaned against the wall and inhaled a deep breath. “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll pull my truck around.”
Her voice lacked the enthusiasm I’d been hoping for, but at least it was a date.
Fifteen minutes later I locked Rascal in his crate and opened the passenger door to Beth’s truck.
“Sorry about the dirt.” Beth pointed to a layer of mud on the side of her normally shiny truck. “These country roads are killing me.”
“No problem, dear.” The roads leading to my house were all paved, and I suspected my dusty driveway was the real culprit. I heaved myself up beside her, noticing a streak of dried mud where my pant leg had skimmed against the step below the door. The truck rumbled past rolling fields dotted with makeshift wooden signs advertising fresh eggs and bundles of lavender while I chatted about the weather report and my garden. My midsection strained against the seat belt as I bent to brush the smudge of dirt off my clothes. The twenty-five-minute drive had passed so quickly that I hardly noticed when Beth pulled into a street-side parking spot downtown.
I’d hoped to return to the same café we’d gone to the other day—the cozy one with the striped wallpaper next door to the bookstore—but Beth had parked in front of a different coffee shop a few blocks away. She must have seen the disappointment on my face.
“I’m comparing all of the coffee shops in Petoskey for an article. I haven’t tried this one yet.” Her voice was scratchy and I realized I’d been doing all the talking during the drive.
Nodding, I followed her inside. She raised her eyebrows at the metal cut-out sign and wide-plank wood floors. We ordered our drinks and waited at the end of the counter. I preferred the cottage-like atmosphere of the other café over this one’s modern feel, but I kept my grumblings to myself.
The hiss of the espresso machine churning steamed milk into my vanilla latte made my spine straighten. If the caffeine didn’t wake up Beth, then that noise certainly would. I leaned against the exposed brick wall, Beth flipping through texts on her phone and fidgeting beside me as we waited for the barista to produce our drinks. Then we found a small table by the front window.
“It sounds like you’ve been keeping Ethan busy.” Beth lowered her eyes and took a long sip of her chai.
“He’s been a big help,” I said. “I’m glad he got to do something fun with you last night. Did you have a nice time at The Castaways?”
Beth squeezed her cup and stared past my shoulder. “Yeah. A part of me was hoping I’d see Amanda there again. I know that’s crazy.” Her face was pale and her voice was soft as if she barely had the energy to speak.
“That’s only natural. It was the last place you saw her. I admire your commitment to your career. I wonder what on earth is taking so long for her to turn up.” I sipped my drink and uncrossed my ankles. Beth remained silent. “I’m thinking about going back to my church. Just on Sundays. Not the Bible study, of course. I used to love going to the Sunday service, but I stopped going months ago because I was afraid of running into those terrible women. Then I was thinking, why should I let Mary Ellen Calloway ruin my faith?”
Beth’s eyes flickered toward me. “You shouldn’t. You need to take back your power.”
“I think I might finally dare to do it.”
Beth cradled her cup between her hands. “Isn’t it crazy how one person can ruin your whole life if you let them?” She leaned back and looked past me again. I got the odd sensation she wasn’t talking about Mary Ellen Calloway.
“Well, I don’t know if she ruined my whole life.”
Beth stared at her hands. She closed her eyes and I noticed again how tired she looked. Her normally radiant skin carried a grayish hue and the hollows of her eyes were carved into her head. She must have had one too many beers at The Castaways last night.
“Are you feeling okay?”
Beth’s eyes popped open. “Yeah. Sorry.” She tapped her finger against her cup for a second and then took another sip. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
I remembered Beth’s truck creeping down the driveway the other night and wondered if she made a habit of going for a drive whenever she couldn’t sleep. I had a friend who used to do that.
“I can relate to sleeples
s nights,” I said. “I’ve had trouble sleeping ever since Charlie died. And now with Rascal needing to go out…”
Beth’s mouth tugged down at one corner and I thought she might cry. She seemed especially fragile. I wondered if today was the anniversary of an important date, like her wedding day or her husband’s birthday. I decided to stop talking about unpleasant things, to not ask her any more favors or questions that might upset her. Tipping my cardboard cup toward my lips, I sucked in a gulp of hot liquid. Beth rested her elbows on the tiny bistro table, studying the people who strolled past on the sidewalk outside.
Silence hung between us, the lull in our conversation magnified by the clamor of the bustling coffee shop. To fill the uncomfortable hole, I continued talking: “I’ve been reading a book called The Thirty-Day Life Coach. It’s been very helpful. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s like the author wrote it just for me.” I leaned into the back of the metal chair marveling at the book’s classification of me as a “Risk-averse/Conformist.”
More patrons streamed into the shop. The line of people waiting for drinks had grown to at least half a dozen. Beth focused her eyes everywhere except on me, as if I’d grown a massive wart on my forehead and she couldn’t bear to view it.
I continued telling my story. “Whenever I can remember, I write a list of five things I’m grateful for before I go to bed. That idea came from the workbook. Sometimes it helps me fall asleep. For example, last night I wrote—”
Beth’s chair scraped across the floor, the blood-curdling screech causing my head to jerk back. “Let’s go to the bookstore now,” she said, slinging her fabric purse over her shoulder. “I’m feeling claustrophobic.” She stood up, clutching her cardboard cup and angling herself toward the door.
“Okay.” I fumbled for my purse, searching the café for the source of Beth’s strange behavior. Sleep deprivation could cause people to have a short fuse. I’d experienced that myself. But something else had spooked her. At the end of the coffee line, an overweight man leafed through a free stack of real estate fliers. In front of him, two women about my age laughed loudly about something. A couple in their twenties stood at the front of the counter placing their orders. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Outside the window, a young mother pushed a baby stroller past the entrance. Beth almost collided with her as she shoved her way out of the shop. I lagged a few steps behind, trying not to spill my four-dollar cup of coffee, and wondering why on earth Beth was in such a tizzy to leave.
Twenty-Two
Elizabeth
Before
Hunched over the living room table, I shoveled leftover salad into my mouth as a house-flipping show played on TV. I’d planned to make spaghetti tonight, but Caroline had disappeared into her room as soon as I got home, saying she wasn’t feeling great and needed a nap.
Steady rain battered the windows. In between bites of salad, my eyes traveled to the open window in the kitchen. Water pooled on the sill in front of it. Our neighbor’s golden retriever barked. Setting down my fork, I raised myself off the couch and moped into the kitchen to crank the window shut, the simple task draining the last of my energy.
Thirty minutes passed while I lay motionless staring at the people on TV and their brilliant real estate investment, a dilapidated ranch in an upscale California neighborhood they’d effortlessly transformed into a high-end model home that would sell for top dollar.
Ding-dong.
The ring of the doorbell pulled me back into the present, the neighbor’s dog resuming his barking. I clicked off the TV and looked around at my messy living room, wondering who would be at my door at 8:15 p.m. on a Tuesday. Hopefully not someone trying to sell me something or asking for a political donation.
I ambled toward the foyer, ready to send away whoever stood there. When I cracked open the door, my stomach lurched. Jason balanced on the edge of the bottom step, ignoring the rain that pelted his face. He clutched a dozen red roses in his right hand.
“Hey.” He blinked at me through the curtain of water. “Sorry to show up without any notice. I just had to see you.”
A thousand competing emotions swirled through me, my mouth unable to form any words. His drooping eyes clung to me, the rain falling harder now and plastering his hair to his forehead. He looked defeated, making no effort to shield himself from the downpour.
Climbing one step closer, he held the flowers out to me. “These are for you.”
My teeth gouged into my lower lip, my hand clutching the edge of the door. I nodded, taking the flowers from him.
“Can I come in? Just for a minute, so we can talk?” His eyes flickered with something close to desperation, and his shoulders hunched forward like an old man.
My muscles tensed, but I nodded again. I’d never seen Jason like this before, so vulnerable and unsure of himself. I waved him inside where he removed his soaked jacket.
“Should I take off my shoes?” he asked.
“Yeah. Please,” I said, wondering what it must feel like to be a stranger in your own house.
He slid off his waterlogged loafers and followed me into the living room where Caroline’s clothes, shopping bags, phone chargers, and bottles of lotion were strewn across the floor and furniture. I grabbed a dish towel from the kitchen and handed it to him.
Jason’s eyes traveled around the room as he dried his face. “I see Caroline is still staying with you.”
“How did you know?”
Jason chuckled, his thick fingers smoothing back his hair. “Did you get the cookies?”
“Yeah. Thank you.” I set the flowers on the counter, not bothering to put them into a vase just yet. Jason surely knew he couldn’t win me back so easily. He hovered in the opening between the kitchen and the living room, his hands fidgeting.
“You look good,” he said.
Holding my body still, I inhaled, making a conscious effort to not return the compliment.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay. Considering.”
Jason waved toward the couch, “Can we sit down?”
I nodded, striding past him and removing the leftover box of salad from the table. He lowered himself onto the couch. I positioned myself a cushion away, being careful not to touch him. His eyes locked onto my abdomen and he scooted a couple of inches closer.
“How’s the baby?”
“Fine, I think. I haven’t had any more appointments since the last time we talked.”
Jason gave an almost imperceptible nod. “How’s Caroline doing?”
“She’s good,” I said, ignoring the mess she’d created around us. “Are you still staying at Robert’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. I wasn’t sure if you’d moved in with your girlfriend yet.”
Jason sighed and tipped his head back, his eyelids closing. “I screwed up, babe. I know I did, and I hate myself for it.” He opened his eyes and peered directly into mine, a droplet of water sliding down his forehead. “I miss you so much. I don’t want to lose you, or our baby, or any of this.” He waved his hands at the living room.
I raised my chin, my voice hardening. “I didn’t want to lose any of it, either.”
“What do I have to do to make it better? Please don’t throw away our future because I’m an idiot. Tell me. I’ll do anything.”
“I don’t know if it’s possible.”
Jason pressed his palms into his forehead, his face scrunching up as if he was struggling not to cry. My stomach dropped. I hated myself for feeling bad for him, for still loving him, but I did.
“Can we start over?” He lowered his palms and grasped my shaky hands in his steady ones. “Can I take you out for dinner? It will be like our first date all over again.”
Heat built up behind my eyes as I blinked back the tears. Nothing would be better than starting over, yet I wasn’t sure he deserved the chance.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“Please let me take you out for dinner, just for starters. We can talk about everyth
ing else. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
I squared my jaw at him. He couldn’t earn my trust with a dozen roses and a fancy dinner. “We’d need to go to marriage counseling.”
“Okay. Yeah.” Jason squeezed my hand and shifted his position on the couch. “I totally agree. That’s a good idea.”
I focused my eyes on the blank TV, a sick feeling tunneling through me. Would I let him get away with it? Was it worth sacrificing my principles to save our marriage? To keep this house? To ensure an intact home for our future child? The answer wasn’t clear. I’d lose so much either way.
Jason leaned toward me. “So, what about dinner?”
My gaze darted away from his. “I said I don’t know yet.”
“Will you think about it?”
“Yeah. I’ll think about it.” I pulled my hands from his and stood up, ushering Jason to the front door.
He followed silently, sliding on his soaked shoes and draping his dripping jacket over his arm. My hand grasped the metal handle and pulled the door open, a thunderous wall of rain pouring on the other side. Jason hesitated for a moment as if waiting for me to ask him to stay, but I pressed my lips together and stared at the floor.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said as he stumbled out into the rain and then jogged toward his car.
I watched from the shelter of the doorway, a pang of guilt shooting through my chest because I hadn’t offered him an umbrella.
A week after Jason’s surprise visit, Caroline had officially overstayed her welcome. The stench of stale garbage surrounded me as I entered the kitchen. I gagged, my hand covering my mouth. My pregnant body had lost all tolerance for foul odors. The lid on the garbage can tilted upward, unable to close against the mass of trash underneath. Caroline hadn’t bothered to take it outside. Her dirty dishes lay stacked in the sink. It looked as if she’d crumbled an entire loaf of bread across the counter.
I marched into the living room searching for my ungrateful house guest.
“Caroline!” I yelled up the stairs.