Vivian

by Marie, Bernadette

  Brock shrugged. “Sam hired a guy to start on that other bedroom next week.” Brock held up a hand as she took a breath to protest. “He’ll be working after business hours. Sam knows the responsibility for those who will come in and out of the house. It’ll take a few weeks longer, but then you and the girls can move in there.”

  They’d discussed Vivian moving into the old house for convenience. After all, she’d been living in a borrowed townhouse for months since her house had been lost in a late summer tornado. She hadn’t really talked to Sam about it, but she figured the man who had let him use it for her and the girls was probably wanting to rent it out.

  “I suppose I should prepare them for another move,” she looked toward the house where she could see little girls running back and forth from room to room.

  “I could help you move too if you need it,” Clayton offered. “I don’t think you can ever have too many hands when moving.” He smiled again.

  “You’re very generous with your time.”

  “It’s something I can give freely.” He wiped his hands on his pant legs. “I’m off for another box.”

  She watched him walk away—perhaps too intently. When he’d disappeared through the door, she turned toward Brock.

  “Why did Sam ask him to help?”

  “They talked a lot at the barbeque a few weeks ago. When he saw him today, he invited him over. He is, after all, your first paying customer—for lack of a better word.”

  “Don’t you think it’s funny how he just shows up everywhere, but his wife doesn’t?”

  Brock shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe he got the job here and she hasn’t come along yet. I’ve never seen a woman with him.”

  “Neither have I, but he wears a ring. I just think it’s odd.”

  “Have you asked him?”

  Vivian gasped as if she were shocked by his question. “No. It’s none of my business.”

  “Then don’t worry about it. He’s a great guy and the girls love his girls. We can all use a new friend.”

  She had somehow surrounded herself with people who were too damn optimistic.

  Most of Penelope’s things were packed into Brock’s truck before Amelia had arrived. With the laughter of little girls running through Penelope’s now empty bedroom, the six adults stood in the old 70’s décor kitchen and popped the top to the champagne. Sam filled five plastic champagne glasses with champagne and one with sparkling cider for Penelope. They all raised them in a toast.

  No one spoke for a beat and then Amelia chuckled to herself.

  “It might seem like the worst time for this, but a toast to Adam Monroe. Had his mama not screwed him up, we wouldn’t all be here today.”

  Each of them laughed, except for Clayton, who was respectfully quiet. He probably had no idea who Adam Monroe was.

  The bubbles went straight to Vivian’s head and she winced from the bite that champagne always gave her. It was then she’d remembered she hadn’t eaten lunch. She had groceries wasting away in the car. And if she had one more sip from that glass she might have to crash on a nap mat in the toddler room.

  She set the glass down on the counter. “I should get home. I haven’t eaten all day. I can’t have any more of this.”

  Penelope dropped her shoulders and a pout formed on her bottom lip. “Don’t go yet. I made dinner.”

  “You did?” Vivian looked around the kitchen. She didn’t see anything or smell it.

  “It’s at Brock’s in the slow cooker.” She turned her pout toward him, only now she batted her lashes. “Will you go get it? There is wrapped corn bread on the counter too.”

  “Did you plan to feed this many people?” he asked with an adoring grin on his face.

  “I made way too much. Please go get it.”

  Brock caressed her cheek and nodded. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  Vivian felt like a kid who had been drug to an adult function. The adults wouldn’t quit talking and all she wanted to do was go home and soak in that tub.

  Penelope sat down at the table and picked up her cell phone. She’d been wedding planning for three weeks and at every free moment she was looking on Pinterest for the perfect post-baby dress.

  Sam and Amelia were in mid banter about their own wedding as they moved about the kitchen.

  That left her standing awkwardly silent with Clayton. Vivian picked up her glass. “I think I’ll drink this on the front porch.”

  The girls were all still giggling as she walked down the hall and out the door. She sat in one of the two rocking chairs on the front porch and turned when she heard the screen door open. She hadn’t invited Clayton to join her, but she wasn’t surprised to find him walking toward the empty seat next to her either.

  The night was dark and chilly. She’d need to remember to start keeping heavier coats in the car.

  “It’s a clear night,” Clayton said as he looked out to the sky rocking his chair with one foot. “You didn’t get stars like this in the city.”

  Ah, he was opening up. Vivian took a sip from her glass and thought she’d see what she could pull out of him.

  “What city?”

  “Seattle.”

  He’d come further than she’d thought. “I’ve never been there.”

  “You should go. It’s a nice place. But not enough jobs for teachers in the area I was looking. Besides, this is better for the girls right now.”

  “You’re licensed in both states?”

  He nodded as he looked down into his glass. “When Linda and I were first married we moved around a lot. One of those places happened to be outside of Tulsa.” He smiled in the dim light. “I could teach in Kansas too if I wanted to.”

  She had a name. Linda was his wife and they’d moved around a lot. She had a sense of loss. She’d moved away with Adam once and she was miserable. Who knew that would always have been the norm.

  “My degree is in early childhood development,” she said. “I never really got to use it—until now.”

  Clayton took a sip of his drink. “Do you mind if I ask, about Adam Monroe…someone’s husband? Relative?”

  Vivian winced.

  “The toast in there?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve heard the name a few times. And I’ve seen the list at the rec center. You and Amelia have the same last name. I just figured you must all be related somehow.”

  Related wasn’t really the word for it.

  She let out a breath as she contemplated isolating herself from this man—Linda’s husband. Or would he pull the enrollment of his daughters? She was going to walk a slippery slope no matter what she told him.

  “Let’s establish a few things before I tell you about Adam Monroe.”

  “O-kay,” he drew out the word slowly.

  “I would assume you came to Brock’s barbeque, you saved my ass on the side of the road today, and you’re here moving boxes because you consider all of us friends.”

  “I’m pretty sure I made that clear today on the side of the road.”

  “Well, let’s establish some business items. You’re leaving your girls in my care. You’ll be paying me to do so, therefore, my livelihood will depend on you keeping your girls here.”

  “Right,” again he drew out the word. “I’m worried now, I hope you understand that.”

  “I’m worried too.” But she decided to dive in and tell him about the man he’d asked about. “Adam Monroe was my husband.”

  “Was.”

  “He died in combat in July.”

  Clayton’s eyes opened wide and he reached a hand to her and rested it on her arm. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “High school sweethearts. You know, the whole thing. Ten years of marriage and two girls.”

  “It’s devastating.”

  “It was. We’d grown apart. In the past two years, I hadn’t seen him but maybe once.” She sipped from her glass. She needed the liquid courage to continue. “Come to find out the reason I hadn’t had any contact with my husband
in years was because of his mother. She’d stolen all of the letters that came from him.”

  “Why would she…sorry. That’s none of my business.”

  “It’s okay. I want to ask her the same thing.”

  “You haven’t spoken to her?”

  “Not in awhile. But I will.” She bit down on the inside of her cheek to remind herself to not make her night about Stella Monroe. She was going to find out about Linda and Clayton. But to get to that point she had to keep talking.

  “Anyway, in one of those letters he asked me for a divorce—since I obviously was blowing him off.”

  “He seriously thought you had done that?”

  “Yep. And he married Amelia.”

  That had taken the wind out of the man. He sat there silently obviously taking in what she’d said.

  “So he had two wives.”

  “He did until Amelia found out about me, asked for a divorce and before it was final he’d married Penelope.”

  There. It was out. Now he knew their dirty little secret and he was silent.

  Vivian was prepared for the words I’d better be going or I think I’m going to keep the girls at the rec center. But he said nothing. Instead, he kept his hand on her arm.

  “You must have been shocked.” His voice was calm and cool and his hand hadn’t left her arm.

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  “So the three of you,” he thought for a moment, “are all friends?”

  “We’ve become friends.”

  “You didn’t know them before?”

  She shook her head. “No. We met after his funeral in Sam’s office. They were both at the funeral, though I didn’t know about Penelope yet.”

  Now the hand that still rested on her arm moved across her skin in a soothing rub. “Sam. Where does he fit in? He’s engaged to Amelia, right?”

  She nodded slowly, soaking in the feeling of his touch and trying hard to accept it as a friendly gesture and nothing more. “He was Adam’s lawyer.”

  Another slow nod, but judgment didn’t cloud his eyes—only concentration.

  “They fell in love then?”

  “Yes. Very lucky couple.”

  “Penelope? I assume the baby is Adam’s?”

  Vivian bit down on her bottom lip and nodded. “Adam met her and married her two weeks later. She got pregnant and he got deployed and died.”

  Now his fingers stopped their stroking and he gave her a gentle squeeze. “How are you dealing with that?”

  She wanted to be honest with him. Something inside of her said she should. After all, since that day they told her Adam died and the next day when she’d found out about Amelia she’d never had anyone to talk to.

  Her entire body tensed and her breath stuck in her chest. Tears would come next, she knew that, and they did.

  “No one’s really asked me that before.” She put her hand on her chest to calm her heartbeat, which had started to race when she thought about how she felt. “It’s just something I deal with. Please don’t get me wrong. Since we’ve all become more like sisters, I’m very excited for her. The girls are happy to have a sister or brother, but…” The sobbing started. “But my husband made that baby while he lied to me. He was my husband first. The father of my children first. I was to accept he died and left three wives?”

  Her heart hurt. Her body ached. Clayton’s hand held her arm tighter. “Let it out. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. It’s not okay to be mad anymore.” She pulled her arm from his touch and wiped her eyes with both hands. “I love them. They are my sisters now. My family. I can’t be mad. I can’t.” She stood from her chair and he from his.

  “You can be. Inside you are. It doesn’t mean you hate or you have bad feelings toward them, but it’s okay for you to let it go like this.”

  She shook her head. “No. No. It’s not okay.” She wiped her hands on her thighs. “Thank you for the talk. I need to get home.”

  And with that, she turned and walked back into the house to gather her girl and go home. Penelope’s dinner would have to be missed. Vivian needed to escape to that bubble bath right now.

  Chapter Three

  When the house was quiet and he’d gotten two restless and tired girls bathed and to sleep, Clayton sat down at his desk and buried his face in his hands.

  It was ten o’clock and he had papers to look over and planning to do. Not to mention he had a load of laundry molding in the washer he’d forgotten to dry. A sink full of dishes were calling for him to attend to. The bathtub needed to be washed out from all the soap the girls used during bath time. But he couldn’t focus on that right now. He was too focused on Vivian.

  Burned in his mind were those dark, sad eyes and that velvet skin under his fingertips. When she’d started to cry her lips had swollen into a pink pout and he’d fought off every urge to kiss them.

  It wasn’t his place to move into territory he didn’t understand. He wouldn’t have wanted that either. But Vivian Monroe needed some help. She needed someone to talk to. It had helped him when he’d needed it. In hindsight, he realized he hadn’t been too open to the concept either. He just had to find a way to convince her to take the help.

  She didn’t have to accept what her late husband did. She didn’t have to pretend to not be angry either.

  It was completely obvious that Vivian loved Amelia and Penelope like sisters. They’d all take care of each other and stand up for each other. But he wondered, after her breakdown tonight, had she ever let it out?

  But then when would there have been time, he wondered. If her husband died in July and it was easing out of November, when had she had time to mourn or get angry?

  Perhaps she thought she’d done that all those years he wasn’t around—all that time when he was marrying other people.

  What kind of man did that?

  His head throbbed thinking about it. A man who didn’t know his place in the world—that’s who.

  Vivian hadn’t gone into it much, but if it were his mother that truly caused this mess, then what kind of mess was her late husband? Certainly a mother like that wouldn’t have raised a child full of good consciousness.

  His heart ached for Adam Monroe. He’d given his life for his country and he’d left three angry, heartbroken women behind—and their children.

  Amelia seemed to have coped and moved on. If he didn’t know about Adam Monroe, he’d never have known that she’d been hurt. And Brock coddled Penelope in such a way that no one would ever assume that they’d not been a couple for a very long time.

  Vivian should be as lucky to move on, he thought. But she’d need to find peace and when she broke down at his questions, he knew she wasn’t at peace yet.

  Was he?

  Clayton leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. Living in some small town with his little girls wasn’t what he thought he’d be doing ten years ago. He and Linda had plans.

  Travel the world. Teach the world. But things didn’t always work out the way people planned them.

  He rubbed his eyes and looked at the time. Somehow it was now nearly midnight and none of the things he needed to do had been done.

  Clayton shut off the lamp on his desk. He’d get it done tomorrow. Now he was going to fall into bed and see if sleep would come at all. If he was lucky, he might get an hour before Stephanie was in his bed too. But he didn’t blame her. He didn’t like to be alone in his bed either.

  ~*~

  The sun was too bright, Vivian thought as she drove from the townhouse she’d been staying in, to the old house on Main and Pine. The back of her car had suitcases piled in it. Suitcases of nonessential things that had been salvaged from the house after the tornado.

  When she’d mentioned to the girls that Penelope was moving in with Brock and they’d move to the old house, the girls had been giddy. They couldn’t wait to have the bedrooms they’d helped decorate for Penelope.

  Vivian, on the other hand, wasn’t sure she wa
s ready to move on—again.

  For nearly eight of the ten years she’d been married to Adam she’d lived in the small rundown house on the outskirts of town. But that ended when a late summer tornado blew the overgrown tree into the house. Still, she couldn’t be more grateful that no one was home.

  She and her girls were safe and living in a borrowed townhouse. But it was time to move on again.

  It would be another three weeks or so before the other bedroom would be done so she could live in it. The contractor couldn’t work until all of the daycare kids were gone for the day. For now, it looked like she and the two girls would be huddled up together. But that was okay. They were her strength and her sanity.

  When they pulled up in front of the old house with the Our Little Ones Daycare sign out front, Penelope was standing on the porch with her hands on her oversized stomach.

  The girls squealed to be let out of their seats, which Vivian did as quickly as she could. Both girls ran to Penelope, which tugged at Vivian’s heart in a few different ways.

  They loved Penelope. She was, she supposed, like an aunt to them. An aunt who happened to be carrying their sister or brother. A lump formed in her throat. Adam’s baby.

  Vivian opened the back of the car and began to tear out the suitcases. She thought she had a grasp on her feelings. But no. Clayton had to begin to ask questions and stir things up in her that she didn’t want to admit were there.

  She’d suppressed them so much she didn’t realize she was angry or hurt as much as she was. She was mad, sure. Adam Monroe had screwed her over. He hadn’t taken seriously the vows they took or the plans they’d made. He took two more wives and was having a baby with another woman.

  She thought better of it as she threw another case out of the car and onto the ground. He wasn’t having a baby with another woman—no—she was having a baby with Penelope.

  It had become her responsibility and not his.

  And the flood of tears broke and she didn’t want that.

  She looked around to see that no one was there, then she leaned against the car and wiped away her sadness.

  Penelope wasn’t her responsibility. All three of Adam’s wives had chosen to stay where they were and work together. She could have left. She could stay angry. But she didn’t want that.