I put my hand out to shake his. “Hi, Max. Yes. It’s me.”
“What are you doing here?” Max asks as he waves his hand toward the coffee shop. He’s perplexed, no doubt, about the reason I would be mindlessly wandering through town.
“I just got here. I wanted to see Natalie. Obviously. But I got lost. I thought I’d get directions here. My phone’s dead.” I hedge. He nods, as if understanding. He knows where Natalie is. My heart is tripping. I want to shake him, and demand he tell me where she is.
Max shakes his head with a small smile. “This is a coincidence I ran into you. I’m sure Natalie told you about yesterday. Crazy stuff, huh? I mean, after all these years? Now she’s staying there? She didn’t mention you were coming too.”
Yesterday? Crazy? Obviously, Natalie saw Max. Therefore, I must assume, Christina and her mother did too? I am salivating for answers. I want to grab Max and grill him. I nearly beg him to take me to her. My anxiety makes my hands fidget so I tuck them into my pants pockets. I’m still trying to pull off the façade that I’m here casually and fully expected by Natalie.
Instead of showing the way I really feel: despised, distrusted and hated.
It takes a prolonged moment for Max’s words to fully hit me. Staying there? Natalie is staying with her long-lost mother? That is bat–shit impossible. Natalie is more apt to tell her off and be promptly escorted out of town than acting so nice she ended up staying there. I am speechless.
I go for it, hoping I can con Max into believing I’m the caring husband he thinks I am. “I decided after hearing all that stuff, and because she decided to stay, she could probably use my support.”
“I thought you were traveling for work, or something?”
“Cancelled it all.” Or quit. All the same now. “But I still don’t know how to get there, even with the address. I wanted to surprise her by just showing up. You know.” I shrug as if I’m no more than a helpless, sweet romantic for my wife.
“Sure. That’s because it’s in middle of nowhere. Not like where you’re from. I’ll take you.”
“Thank you, Max. You can’t know how much this means to me.”
Max shrugs. “Car’s right there. I pulled over when I saw you. I knew it was you. Hard to miss you. You’re tall.”
“I got a rental car here.”
Max waved it off. “We’ll come back later for it.”
I follow Max to his car and get in. He makes a quick U–turn and drives us quickly out of town, and yes, into the middle of nowhere. I make idle conversation, but don’t even listen to his side of it. He says something about where he goes to school, or what he’s studying, et cetera, et cetera. My heart lodges in my throat. My tongue starts to swell as my raw nerves make my palms slick with sweat. Then, I see a house. We stop the car. It’s a nice, big rambler. Welcoming and pristine. We get out and Max waits as I grab my lone duffel bag. I rarely travel so light, but I don’t have even a book or a backpack. Fresh underwear and jeans are about all that’s packed. I follow Max. There is no need to knock. My stomach starts to cramp as we head up the three steps to the front door and Max casually opens it. Comfortable. At ease. He’s thinking it’s a good thing he found me and brought me here. I grip the nylon straps of my bag tighter and step behind Max before entering the house.
Where Natalie should be. Natalie, who has not seen me since… I can’t even stand to picture it. Not now. Not while I feel like hurling. I can’t think about all I have to fix. Or how she might react. I have to be glad, for once, that we’re surrounded by virtual strangers, who are more than strangers and possibly mean more to her now, so maybe she won’t throw me out. Maybe I can somehow get a few minutes alone with her.
The living room has only an older woman and a young, blonde girl sitting in it. They both turn when we walk in. The house is one giant, open room so there’s no sneaking up on anyone. Here we are. I quickly take stock of the room and don’t find Natalie.
I’m guessing the attractive, fifty–ish woman before me is Natalie’s mom. She glances up from where she’s sitting on the couch with paperwork spread around her. The teen is laid out comfortably, watching the TV.
“Max?” The woman rises to her feet. She is wearing what look like work clothes and stockings on her legs. A pair of heels lie casually to the right of her. I can hear the question in her tone; she might as well just ask, who is the strange guy behind Max?
“Hey, Jessie. You won’t believe who I ran into coming home from school!”
Jessie? Natalie’s mother has a name. I put my best, most pleasant smile on.
Jessie blinks in response. “Ah, who? I don’t have any more long-lost children.”
I beam a full smile at them, and Max laughs out loud. She sighs and shakes her head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m thinking, however, you must be Sam.”
There is no strange tone to her voice. Is she shocked by my presence? Does she think terrible things about me? Do I represent no more to her than a cheating asshole? But I see only pleasant curiosity in her tone and facial expression.
“Uh, yes. I am Sam.” I wince. I hate saying that. It usually comes out before I can stop it. It reminds me too much of Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and Ham book. Been teased about that more than once.
The teen perks up on the couch at the sound of my voice and notices me. She was almost catatonic to my presence before. Her eyes grow larger and she swings her feet to the ground while smoothing her blonde hair back.
Jessie puts her hand out. “I’m Jessie. I’m sure you figured that out already.” She has a warm, pleasant tone that is also kind and genuine. I can hear her uncertainty at the situation, but I appreciate her realness and the humor she interjects. I am surprised at the woman Natalie’s mom turns out to be.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Hendricks.” I assume she has the same last name as Christina. I hope so otherwise it will be obvious I have not spoken to Natalie. It would be pretty unbelievable to almost anyone that a woman could meet her biological mother after twenty–eight years and not bother to call her husband and talk about it. Or analyze and dissect it. Or rant, rave, cry or express something about it. But the crazy part is, I ponder as I shake Jessie Hendricks’s hand, I’m not sure that Natalie would have called me to talk about it. Or asked me to help her cope. Or help her figure it out. More people enter the room, and Jessie turns as I do. There is another teen and a man.
They stop and check me out. “This is Natalie’s husband, Sam,” Jessie says quickly to catch them up. My hasty introduction to Will and Melissa leaves me thinking they are all very nice and pleasant and interested. As far as first impressions go? This is a good one.
Still, Jessie abandoned her firstborn. What could make a woman do that and then go on and raise an entire family that, at first glance, appears so nice, mannerly and even pretty? But as I often observe, appearances are crap. They are no more than a cover. A pretty manhole cover over a sewer pit. Open it up and the stink and crap might burn your nose as well as your eyes.
I slide my duffel to the floor, hoping my action will trigger one of them to say where Natalie is. I need our first meeting to be in private. I need a moment to try to get her to talk to me. I fear she won’t hold back in front of these strangers, and I am growing desperate for any chance to talk to her.
Something. Anything. We have to start somewhere before we can go anywhere.
“Natalie is coming in any moment; she—”
But Jessie doesn’t finish her sentence since Natalie is suddenly at the sliding door, opening it and entering. I know by the relaxed position of her shoulders that she hasn’t seen me yet. I stare at her. My heart swells. The sight of her punches me in the gut. I want to fall to my knees and scoop her up. Kiss her. Hug her. Beg for her forgiveness. I want to do something, anything to get her to hear me.
Her gaze is on the rest of the family, scattered around the living room. I am off to her left, near the front door and out of her line of vision, until I move shifting my feet, and t
hat slight movement alerts her to my presence.
Her gaze lands on me. Time stops. Everyone else disappears. It’s us. Only us, Sam and Natalie, staring with shock, anger, hurt and devastation at each other. We are both speaking volumes with our eyes. As her brown eyes slightly enlarge, I glimpse the emotions that fill them. She usually has iron control of her emotions and facial expressions, but for a second, a split, half second, I see the naked hurt, betrayal, horror, anger, rage, and… love. I see it all in that moment just before she blinks and regains her composure. Now, it’s gone. The honesty is gone. She shuts her mind down along with her expression and her emotions. She’s about to go numb. She’ll deal, however, but only because of the strangers surrounding us, witnessing our interaction.
“Sam? How? Why are you here?” she barely whispers. I nod and watch her glance around. I don’t miss the vulnerability in her gaze. She is unsure of these people, and me… but at least she has history with me.
“Max found me in town, wandering around lost, and he gave me a ride. Lucky break,” I say, keeping my tone casual and a half smile on my face for everyone else’s benefit. My eyes, however, are locked on Natalie. I stare as deeply into her gaze as I can, trying to pour my feelings inside her and let her know how I feel. Hear me, feel me, see me, sense me, Natalie. I’m ready to beg her, Forgive me. I want her to yell and reprimand me. Do anything except look at me with those hollow–eyed eyes as if I were a terminal cancer she once vanquished, and now returned to ruin her remission.
“Wow. You’re her husband?”
I glance off to the left at the older teen’s comment. She’s staring at me, her eyes big with appreciation. Natalie glances at her too and finally rolls her eyes. “Yes, he’s wow. Been hearing that his whole life too; you’re not the first.”
Somehow, hearing the teen’s infatuation with me breaks the ice. I can hear Natalie’s exasperation mixed with patient tolerance of the teen. She usually rolls her eyes with visible amusement at any other woman’s tacit appreciation of my appearance. I have good genes. I’ve been told often enough to get that. But the one thing about Natalie? She never allowed me to get away with anything by using it. For some reason, young and old women alike invariably fall for my particular brand of flirting. Natalie says it’s because of my too pretty looks. Natalie usually just laughs it off.
The family. These strangers. The Hendrickses and Max, are all laughing. They find her funny and probably consider the two of us amusing and cute. People often enjoy listening to our banter. We used to be better at it. Rooted in fun, our sarcasm and humor became more like a source of hot foreplay for us.
There is a semblance of comfort I hear in Natalie’s voice as she speaks to these strangers. I don’t hear any loathing. Is she giving them a chance? It doesn’t ring right to me, or is what I picture from Natalie. Not for the woman who so wronged her. But here she is. And they seem to like her being there.
“I’m sure you’re anxious to put your stuff up with Natalie’s. Please, don’t let us stop you.” That comes from Jessie again. She seems pretty attuned to odd situations. I nod gratefully at her. She probably guesses any couple in this situation would want to have a few moments alone, to touch base, or hug and kiss, or just to speak freely about the awkward, massive impact of finding Natalie staying at the same house with her biological mother and sisters.
“Thank you; that is most appreciated.” I lean down to heave my things over my shoulder. I intend to be an ass and force Natalie to deal with me. I hope since we’re here, she’ll comply with my wishes, if only out of duress. I clearly see she hasn’t told them anything about me, or what I did, or where we are relationship–wise. Oddly enough, these total strangers just might be my only chance to find a way to save my marriage. Otherwise, I will eventually receive divorce papers in the mail. No kidding. If I can’t convince her to hear me out now, I think that’s exactly what she will do and without ever again seeing me.
Being trapped here together, under these unique circumstances, could mean I might manage to persuade her to talk to me just once. Without that pressure, however, I don’t think she would.
Natalie turns from me. I see her grabbing the door handle, but missing it in her haste. She is visibly shaken. I’ve upset her and made her lose her composure. My heart squeezes in pain to know that I’m the source of her unhappy reaction. But it doesn’t hurt enough to change my plan.
She finally grasps the handle and slides the door open. I follow her and shut it. Just like that, we’re alone at last. Silence fills the space before she glances up at me. Her face is still impassive as her newfound family can still observe us. “You low–down, pissant son of a bitch! I have no idea how you found me, and the gall it takes for you to come here… like this and corner me? This is low, even for you.” She speaks in a low, simmering tone. Her teeth are locked together and her jaw seems hard as stone.
“I know.”
She whips around and walks away from me. I follow her across the deck, and down the stairs before crossing about two hundred feet of lawn. We’re heading toward a wood–framed structure that I’m guessing has a mother–in–law apartment over it. Up Natalie goes, stomping on the stairs before nearly jerking the door off its hinges.
She doesn’t turn towards me as I enter, so I lower my bag and gently shut the door. She leans her hands on the small counter in the kitchen. She is hunched over, and breathing hard; I can see the rapid rise and fall of her back as she breathes. She stays silent for several minutes, until finally, her head starts shaking. She doesn’t turn towards me, but says, “How can you do this to me? Haven’t you done enough?”
I want to withdraw immediately and disappear. I start to cower because she’s right, and I have no way to fix what I’ve done. I’ve never been in the wrong like this before. I don’t even know how to begin. But I think of Dustin. He said I had to “start somewhere.” I can’t do anything unless I start. I’m here now, and I’m doing this to try and keep our relationship alive before she ends everything.
“Because I was wrong. Because I’m sorry and because I love you… We have to talk. We…”
Her face whips around and I see the tears streaking her cheeks. “No. Actually, we never have to talk again. Get out, Sam. I don’t know how you possibly managed to find me or got here, but, typical Sam Ford, luck always seems to go with you. You manage to accomplish the impossible. But not this time. Not this time; you can’t fix it because there is nothing to fix. We are broken. Over. Done.”
“We haven’t even started yet. We haven’t even discussed it. We aren’t done. My God, Natalie...”
Her entire body straightens as she draws in a deep breath. “You were… I can’t even think about it. I saw you! I relive it every moment I close my eyes, and revisit it every morning! Started? It’s already finished me, Sam. Just get out. Now. Forever. I don’t ever want to see you.” Her voice and tone are audibly destroyed. She leans on the table and breathes deeply again. I squeeze my fingers into fists, trying to restrain the urge to touch her. I can’t let her go either.
Natalie
I can’t breathe right. Used air is stuck in my chest. I lean on the table again, trying to force it out of my mouth, but it keeps catching in my throat. It feels like something is holding it back. My peripheral vision perceives the world closing in around me. Am I having a panic attack? Never before have I had one, until now. My heart is palpitating in my chest way too fast. Because Sam is right behind me. I shake my head and lean all my weight towards the table. I can’t believe this is happening. I was simply returning to the house full of strangers and there was Sam. I never pictured that. It never occurred to me he’d figure out where I was. It’s incredible in some ways that he’s here. He’s talking to me. He’s apologizing. He says he loves me. And he found me somehow.
I close my eyes, trying to stop the tears. “Please, Sam. Just leave. I can’t do this. I can’t do this here, not with these strangers.”
“No. I can’t. I just can’t leave things how they are. I
know what you’ll do if I don’t use this chance to talk to you. You’ll run away from here now, just because I showed up, and keep running from me, from us and from them. You’ll send me divorce papers at some point and erroneously think that’s it. Done. Forever. But it’s not! We’re not done yet. If nothing else, we have to talk. We have to do this.”
He’s right. So what? So what if he’s right about the suddenly compelling urge growing inside me that says Go! Leave. We’re done here. So what if Sam knows me so well? It doesn’t change what he did. Or what we no longer share.
“Ask me, Natalie. Ask me why I did it. Yell and scream and rage at me! Demand to know how I could do it. Please, just say something. We have to start somewhere.” His tone is quiet, as he pleads behind me. He’s watching me. He’s calm. He sounds tortured. I have to squeeze my eyes shut because he sounds so normal to me. He sounds like the man I once loved and chose to marry. He sounds like my friend again.
“Why?” I scream, injecting the frustration and anguish into that one word. I suddenly scream again out of nowhere. “Why you did it? What the hell do you think I care about why? No explanation can change my knowing that you did it. It doesn’t matter to me why. It only matters that you did! And I witnessed it for myself. There is nowhere for us to go from there.”
“I didn’t set out to do it. I never once set out to cheat on you.”
His tone is so calm. I want to turn and gouge out his eyes with my fingernails. I feel like grasping both of his eye sockets and digging his lying, cheating eyes right out of his skull. My arms start to shake as the anger overcomes me. Now it is rage. The adrenaline races through me and its power, combined with how much I want to hurt him, scares me.
Leanne Davis - Natalie (Daughters Series #2) Page 13