After the Rain

by Karen White

  Smiling to herself, she rested her forehead on her drawn-up knees. Things never really changed, and journeys never took you someplace new. The road had a way of circling back behind you, leaving you not changed but certainly wiser.

  She wondered if her mother had ever sat on this very porch and wished on faraway stars in this section of sky above Walton, Georgia, and the thought brought her comfort, like seeing an old friend after a long separation.

  “Thanks, Mom,” she whispered, and the words carried up to the stars that never changed but watched as the world spun beneath them, turning night into day, summer into fall, and a woman’s wary heart to one filled with hope.

  CHAPTER 21

  The door to Lucinda’s Lingerie swung open, bringing with it cold air, the scent of burning leaves, and Cassie Parker wearing an infant carrier strapped across her chest. Small pink-booted feet stuck out of the leg holes of the carrier, and their kicking was accompanied by a loud mewling sound.

  Suzanne, in the midst of folding yet another stack of red silk slips, looked up in surprise. “Hi, Cassie. I’ve been meaning—”

  “I know. I figured I’d beat you to it. I wanted you to see the baby before she graduated from high school.”

  “I’m sorry. Really. It’s just . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m here now.” She dropped her purse to the floor and began to fumble with unhooking the carrier. “Could you give me a hand here? You need to be an octopus to manage this thing.”

  Suzanne came around the counter and stood in front of Cassie, not knowing exactly what she could do.

  “Take the baby under the arms and lift her out.”

  Feeling nervous, Suzanne did as she was told and gently lifted the baby into her arms. “Oh,” she said, not really knowing why but completely surprised by the warmth of the small bundle in her arms. “She’s so tiny.”

  Cassie raised her eyebrows. “She’s a whole two pounds heavier than when you last saw her.”

  “Wow. What a porker. She looks different in her street clothes.”

  Cassie reached over and took off the pink knit cap the baby wore, then looked at Suzanne as if she’d just unveiled a masterpiece. “What do you think?”

  Suzanne fumbled with the baby in her arms until she held her in a cradling position and could look at the tiny face. Bright blue eyes were framed with dark lashes against pink-and-white skin, a peach fuzz of white-blond hair covering the round head. The baby cooed and stuck a tiny fist into her rosebud mouth and began to suck loudly.

  “She’s perfection.” Suzanne smiled down at the baby, inhaling deeply of that unique baby scent that made seemingly normal people go weak at the knees and suddenly speak gibberish.

  Cassie smiled, looking pleased. “I think so, but I’m her mother. It’s nice of you to say.”

  Suzanne pulled the baby up to her shoulder to snuggle her better. “I’m not just saying that. She really is.”

  “We’re calling her Susie. Harriet seemed like a big name for such a little girl. I hope you don’t object.”

  “No. Of course not. I . . . I think it’s pretty neat.”

  “Good.” Cassie frowned. “We need to talk.”

  “I don’t think . . .”

  “I remember what you said in the car, before my water broke. You said you loved Joe.”

  Suzanne felt her face heat and looked down at the fuzz-topped head of the baby. “I do. But I don’t think that has anything to do with us needing to talk.”

  “Yeah, it does. Because Joe’s like a brother to me. And I have a strong suspicion that he feels the same way about you.”

  Suzanne tried to keep her voice calm. “Then can’t we just let it be? This is between me and Joe.”

  Cassie slid off her jacket and sat down on the plush couch situated outside the dressing room and indicated for Suzanne to join her. “Actually, it’s not. Sorry.” She forced a smile. “You know, before Susie was born, I was prepared to just let you run your course with Joe, then leave. But things are different now.”

  A gnaw of worry settled at the back of Suzanne’s neck. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not that I like you any better—I’ve never had a problem with that. And it’s not even that you helped deliver my baby, although I’ll always be grateful.” She looked down at the baby as if trying to compose herself. “It’s more because you love Joe—and how hard it was for you to take that risk. And to be willing to walk away from it for his sake. You’ve given me a well-deserved lesson in unselfishness.”

  “You don’t really know me. . . .”

  “Yeah, I do. I’m a quick study.” Cassie took a deep breath. “So, what are you going to do now? It’s only a matter of time before Anthony finds you, you know.”

  The baby began to fret, and Suzanne patted her gently on the back as Cassie dug in the diaper bag for a bottle. She took off the lid and handed the bottle to Suzanne, along with a burp cloth. “It’s breast milk. I’m trying to get her used to the bottle, though, so Sam can feed her, too.”

  Suzanne looked at the bottle for a moment, then moved the fretting baby into position. She gave the baby the bottle and settled back against the couch, amazed at how easy it seemed. Her eyes met Cassie’s. “I’m not . . . I haven’t decided to do anything yet. But I can’t tell Joe. I don’t want him to know—ever.”

  “Know what? That you were engaged to the wrong guy?” She grimaced. “It’s happened before, you know. Joe and I could tell you that.”

  Suzanne shook her head. “No. Not that.”

  Cassie put her hand on her arm. “Then what? Look, you’ve got to tell somebody sometime. It’s not going to go away just because you keep it to yourself.”

  Suzanne focused on the baby in her arms, listening to the quiet slurpings she made as she drank the formula. “You don’t understand. You, and Joe, and everybody else here—you’re all good and decent people. I’m not. I did things that I’m ashamed of. Things that if you knew, you . . . you wouldn’t want to know me. And so would Joe. I’d rather leave than have you all find out what kind of person I really am.”

  Cassie’s voice was soft. “But I do know. So does Joe. That’s what kind of person you are. That’s all that matters.”

  Suzanne shook her head. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew the truth.”

  The baby began to whimper, and Cassie reached for her, then put Susie on her shoulder and began to pat her back. “What truth, Suzanne? What are you afraid to let us know?”

  Suzanne stood, not able to face this woman whose opinion of her suddenly seemed to matter so much. She faced the window, staring out at the square with the soldier atop his horse. “That I had the morals of a prostitute? I pretty much sold myself to the highest bidder. I saw a man with money who offered to take care of me, and I hopped into his bed so fast it would have made your head spin. And even after, when he started to hurt me, I’d threaten to leave and he’d give me an expensive gift. What did I do? I accepted them all—all of them. And then I’d sleep with him again. Until the next time he’d hit me, and it would start all over again.” She turned around to face Cassie. “There. Now you know what kind of person I really am.”

  She expected to find revulsion in the other woman’s eyes, but all she saw was sympathy. Cassie’s eyes met hers. “My opinion hasn’t changed. I see a woman who was lonely and desperate and needed somebody to love her. You did the best you could with what you were given. Nobody could fault you for that.”

  “I do. And that’s not all. I . . . I’ve made mistakes since I’ve come here.” She stopped herself before she mentioned Maddie’s name, remembering the photograph negative she’d thrown away. No one could ever know the truth.

  A soft burp escaped from the baby, and Cassie cradled her again to feed her the rest of the bottle. “There’s something here that you’re not getting, Suzanne. You’re not alone anymore. If Anthony showed up in Walton tomorrow, do you think we’d all desert you? First, the Ladies’ Bridge Club would stuff him with lemon meringue pi
e and buttermilk biscuits until he couldn’t run, and then we’d have Bitsy give him a big hairdo before sending him off for a weekend of fishing with Stinky Harden. He wouldn’t know what hit him. He’d want out of here so fast that he’d forget all about bothering you again.”

  Suzanne couldn’t help smiling at the mental picture conjured by Cassie’s words. “There’s still the matter of me facing jail time. And Joe running for reelection. In one fell swoop I could turn everybody against me and stick them with a mayor who’d like to turn the town into an industrial wasteland. Even I’d have a hard time sticking with me.”

  Cassie took the empty bottle out of the baby’s mouth. “It wouldn’t matter if you grew horns. Joe would stand behind you. We all would. But it would go a lot easier for you if you’d come clean first.” She stood. “Come help me put the baby back in her carrier. Sam’s waiting for us at the clinic.”

  Suzanne came and held the baby up while Cassie positioned the little feet in the leg holes at the bottom and placed the pink cap on Susie’s head. Then she turned to Suzanne.

  “Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do. But you can’t hide from your past forever. One day it will come sneaking up behind you and hit you upside the head. Believe me—I speak from experience.” She zipped up the carrier and Suzanne helped her with her coat. “But we’re a lot more forgiving than you give us credit for. And I doubt that leaving is really what you want to do.”

  Suzanne turned away, not sure what to say. There were no easy answers to anything anymore. Then she remembered Cassie’s gold charms. “Wait. Before you go—I have your necklace.”

  Cassie waited while Suzanne went to her backpack behind the counter and pulled out the cotton pouch with Cassie’s necklace. “It’s all put together again.”

  Cassie took the bag and held it. “If it were only that easy.” She turned to go, her hand on the doorknob. “You should tell Joe. He would help you.”

  Suzanne shook her head. “I can’t. Helping me would really screw up his life. And he’d do it anyway.”

  “Yeah, but not as screwed up as he’d be if you left town. You know, you must not think a lot of him if you believe he’d love you any less once he knows the truth.”

  “He’s never said he loved me.”

  “You’re taking the easy way out. He doesn’t have to.” Cassie opened the door.

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “No. That’s your job.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “He’ll find out eventually. But not from me.”

  The cold air from the open door filled Suzanne with desperation. “Maybe Anthony will never find me here. Maybe I could stay indefinitely, and nobody would ever have to know.”

  “Never say never.”

  The baby began to cry, and Suzanne reached over to stroke her cheek, smiling into the little face. Susie quieted, finding her fist and sucking loudly.

  Cassie smiled down at her daughter. “I don’t care what people say about you and kids. I think you’re a natural.”

  Suzanne was about to respond when Sugar Newcomb, all six feet of her, approached the shop. Suzanne retreated as Sugar gushed over the baby before following Suzanne into the shop.

  “I’ve come to get a Christmas gift for my husband.”

  “We don’t sell men’s underclothes, Mrs. Newcomb. Have you tried Harold’s Men’s Shoppe?”

  Sugar winked. “Trust me. This is for Hal. I’ve come to see if you have a red silk slip in a size eighteen.” She walked past Suzanne toward the new arrival of red silk lingerie.

  Suzanne kept the mental images at bay as she turned to the red stack she’d just finished folding. She felt as if she were in a holding pattern, unsure of where she would land, but hoping for a soft place to fall. It was the most she’d allowed herself to hope for a long time. She didn’t have to do anything right now. She wasn’t so naive as to believe that staying in Walton could be anything permanent. As long as Anthony deSalvo was part of her past, the past would always be lurking, right behind her shoulder.

  Maddie sat in her fifth-period American history class, her foot wobbling anxiously as Mr. Dorgan drummed on endlessly about manifest destiny and the acquisition of Texas. She kept glancing at the huge metal clock that hung over his head, the minute hand dragging slowly over the small black marks.

  The mail would have been delivered by now, and it would be sitting in the mailbox, undisturbed, the most important letter of her lifetime stuck inside. She glanced back at the clock. Only one minute had passed since she’d last looked at it.

  Something hit her in the side of the head and fell onto the top of her desk. It was a rolled-up ball of paper, and she knew it had come from her best friend, Clarissa White. Clarissa had been ordered to sit on the exact opposite end of the class from Maddie in every class they shared together. It seemed the teachers didn’t appreciate their need to communicate in loud whispers through the boring lectures.

  She glanced up to make sure Mr. Dorgan hadn’t noticed before unfolding the note. What’s up with you? Your wiggling like you need to go pee. Maddie noticed that the you’re was missing a contraction, but spelling and grammar had never been Clarissa’s strongest subjects. Boys and gossip were.

  Maddie looked at her friend and widened her eyes, hoping Clarissa would know that she was being completely oblivious of the important things in Maddie’s life. Like that letter from Lifetime magazine that was now sitting in her mailbox at home, unopened.

  Finally, she raised her hand and tried to make her voice sound as pathetic as possible. “I don’t feel very good. May I be excused to go to the nurse’s office?”

  Mr. Dorgan narrowed his eyes behind thick glasses and stroked his beard, which Maddie suspected he grew only to make him look older than his twenty-four years. “What’s wrong?”

  She looked down in her lap, trying to look embarrassed. “It’s female problems.”

  “We’ll see you Monday.”

  Without looking up again, Maddie grabbed her books and headed out the door. She waited for Mr. Dorgan to peek his head out of the classroom to make sure she was headed in the direction of the nurse’s office. Then she took a turn down a hallway and sprinted toward the exit, ducking under the window of the door of her dad’s science classroom.

  She ran all the way home, ignoring the waves of passersby and the stitch in her side. She dumped her books on the sidewalk in front of her house and stared at the closed mailbox while she caught her breath.

  Slowly she reached up and opened the small door. Peering inside, she saw a small stack of several magazines, two letter-sized envelopes, and one large manila clasp envelope. Her heart seemed to throb so loudly that she thought if she looked at her chest she could see it move.

  With a shaking hand, she reached in and grabbed the mail, leaving her books on the ground as she walked to the front steps of her house and sat down. She tossed the envelopes aside with the issues of Field and Stream and Time. Only the larger envelope was left in her lap. Printed in the top left corner was the name and logo for Lifetime magazine.

  She held it for a long moment before ripping it open, feeling stupid for thinking she held her future in her hands, but feeling it anyway. Then she tore at the envelope, and a letter fell out and she quickly opened it to read. And then she felt as if somebody had punched her in the stomach, taking all the air from her lungs. She stared at the words on the page, the black letters floating like dead fish in a polluted creek.

  Second place. Okay. She’d won second place. She could almost hear her dad saying that second place was still an accomplishment considering it was a national contest. Then her gaze moved to the picture below the text. It was the picture of the winning entry and the winner’s name, and they kept swimming in and out of focus. She found that she couldn’t breathe, that she was gasping for breath, and she was okay with that. Because she wanted to die.

  Feeling almost numb, she pulled out the preview copy of the magazine with the winning entry plastered on the front.
She tried to cry but couldn’t. There was a ball of anger, hurt, and disappointment wound so tightly and stuffed into her chest that nothing would come out.

  She looked back down at the cover of the magazine. Plastered across the front was the picture of Suzanne with Maddie’s father’s profile on the edge of the picture. Maddie remembered taking the photograph at Sarah Frances’s birthday party, but this was the first time she’d seen it. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she remembered the cut edge of her film, and Suzanne saying it had been a picture of a camera strap and she’d thrown it away.

  Then why was Charlie Harden’s name printed below the picture, and beside his name the words “Grand Prize Winner”? It was her picture. How had Charlie won with her picture?

  And then she remembered showing Suzanne the picture of Cassie and Sarah Frances, and Suzanne saying that it was perfect, that it was a winner. A second-place winner, Maddie reminded herself.

  She shoved the magazine and letter back into the envelope, unwilling to let anybody see her hurt and humiliation. She let herself into the empty house and ran up to her room before tossing the envelope under her bed and burying her face in the flowered pillow.

  It was a long time before the tears came, and when they did, they shook her entire body, leaving her drained and empty when she was finished.

  And then the rage came. Hot, angry waves of it, renewing her energy and giving her purpose to get out of the bed. She sat on the edge of her ruffled bedspread for a long time, long enough to think and plan. And when the anger had completely obliterated all traces of hurt, she was ready. She rose, wrote a note to her dad saying that she was spending the night with Clarissa, then left the house.

  First, she’d deal with Charlie, since that would be the easy part. She’d leave Suzanne for last. Mostly because she wasn’t sure what she would do. And second, because she knew that whatever she would do or say to Suzanne could never hurt Suzanne as much as Maddie’s own hurt was eating her alive.