“Abigail. Please. It’s been a hard day. Let’s both just take some time to calm down, and then we’ll talk. All right? You don’t have to make any decisions today.”
“You’ve already made your decisions, and you sure didn’t take time to think them through. Please leave my room.”
“Honey . . .”
“Get out!”
She glares at me, hands on hips, vibrating with hurt and anger.
I do as she asks, pausing in the hallway to say, “Don’t forget I love you.”
She closes the door in my face.
Chapter Thirty-One
October 5, 2019
Dear Munchkin,
It’s just you and me in the house now. Abigail spent the week in a motel, and today she moved the rest of her stuff into an apartment. It’s a formal protest against the way I’m living my life, her version of a peace march or whatever. She said she’ll talk to me when I break off all contact with Lance.
I feel . . . gutted. Defeated. I wanted so much to fix things between us, but I can’t do that by sacrificing you. She’s grown up and gets to make choices. You didn’t get a choice in any of this, so you’re just going to have to deal with the choices I make for you.
And then probably hate me for them later.
Is that inevitable? Val’s son doesn’t seem to resent any of the choices she made, but then Val is Val. I miss her. Today, with the house so empty, still so sad about Abigail moving out, I miss the theater people. Today I even miss the knitting group and Earlene.
Town is a long way away and winter is coming. The maple in the yard is crimson and leaves are starting to fall. Soon there will be snow and driving anywhere will be dicey. I love this house, but the idea of taking care of it by myself . . . all of the maintenance that a house needs . . . is terrifying.
Lance has stopped in every day, and I know he’ll help with things, but whatever this is between us is tentative and not permanent. Am I brave enough for this? I guess I’d better be. Steve and Felicity are all moved into the old house and there’s no going back.
Would I undo this for a chance at the old life?
Still no.
November 10, 2019
Dear Munchkin,
Abigail still holds resolute. She dutifully calls to check in, once a week on Sunday mornings, to make sure I’m alive and taking care of my health. Have I seen the doctor? Done the recommended screenings? Am I ready to talk to another adoptive couple? Am I through with Lance?
I haven’t seen her since the day she left. She hasn’t told me where her apartment is.
Somehow I have to fix this, if not for me, then for you.
You need to know your sister. She needs to know you.
On the bright side, at least she’s living her own life right now.
God help me, I think maybe I’m going to need to go to church.
It feels like years since I’ve been here, rather than just a few months. The church looks smaller, a little shabby. It’s time for a new coat of paint. The parking lot needs to be repaved. But the grounds have been beautifully mowed, and there’s a new sign out front, one of those LED things with a cute slogan that Thomas would have hated and that seems like a finger pointing at me: If God seems far away, guess who moved? You can come back anytime.
I’m not coming back, just visiting, but everybody will rejoice over the sinner returned, and I’ll have to let them, keeping the truth that this is a one-time event to myself. There might be a different church in my future, but there is way too much heartache and hypocrisy tied up in this one for me. I’m here because this is the one place where I know I can find Abigail, aside from interrupting her at work. If I corner her, she’ll have to talk to me.
I park in the lot, then sit in my car and second-guess this decision, cringing at the thought of the stares and whispers that will follow in the wake of my obviously pregnant belly. Maybe I should just call Felicity to ask for Abigail’s new address. Or hire a private investigator.
Too late. Annie pulls in to the space beside me, smiling and waving. With a sigh of resignation, I turn off the ignition, pocket my keys, and get out of the car.
Annie hugs me, then steps back to look me over. “Well, look at you and your baby bump.”
“Um, thanks?”
She hugs me again and laughs. “You look great. Hey, think of it this way. You and your baby daddy bought poor Marjorie some slack. She got her divorce, got married, and moved out of town in peace while everybody talked about you.”
I have always liked Annie, partly because she didn’t bore me, but the gossip jars me, even though there’s no malice in it.
“Come on,” she says, starting for the door. “The others will be excited to see you.”
I trail along behind her. When I imagined this all in my head, I came in late and lurked in the back. In my imaginary plan, everybody was so entranced by the sermon, they didn’t turn around, didn’t make trips to the bathroom or slip outside for a forbidden smoke. I latched on to Abigail when she walked out after the sermon and insisted on talking.
Now, dragged along by Annie, I see how utterly improbable that whole scenario was. Annie is going to triumphantly present me to the entire congregation, as if she’d gone out into the highways and byways and rescued me from my life of sin.
What happens is worse.
We walk through the front door and run, literally, into Abigail, who has her phone to her ear and isn’t paying attention to where she is going. “Oh,” she says, eyes widening with surprise. She drops her phone into her purse and stares at me. “Mom? Thank God. I prayed for this moment.”
She flings her arms around my neck.
This is bad. She mistakes me as the prodigal mother, come to her senses, which was not what I had in mind at all. She doesn’t give me a chance to clarify. A worship team is gathering on the platform at the front of the sanctuary, signaling that the service is about to begin.
“Come on, I already have a seat saved and we can make room for you.” Abigail twines her cool fingers around mine, and I follow her up the center aisle, almost to the front row. I can feel all of the eyes on my back, and the only reason I can’t hear the whispers is because the band has started in on a praise song. The guitars, keyboard, and drums drown out everything.
Abigail pauses by the third row from the front. This is our pew, the place we always sat when Thomas was preaching, but today a young man occupies the seat at the end. There’s an Abigail-size space on the other side of him, and I realize with a rush of embarrassment that this is where she expects me to sit. There isn’t room for me, certainly not for both of us, and I already feel conspicuous without either trying to crowd into a spot where I don’t fit or lumbering back up the aisle again, this time looking at all of the faces that are looking at me.
The young man politely gets up to let me in. The family on the other side of the empty space sees the dilemma and all crowd farther down the pew. There’s nothing for it but to walk in and sit down, feeling like one of those people who come into the movie theater late, talking on a cell phone and balancing three buckets of popcorn while everyone else is trying to watch the movie.
Abigail and her friend are able to cram in beside me, the three of us wedged like sardines in a can. Immediately I need to pee. Good luck with that, I tell my bladder. We are stuck here for the duration. The music team is good, and under other circumstances, I would enjoy this part of the service, but I am anything but relaxed and receptive. Abigail is so happy that I am here. She’ll be thanking God for my change of heart, and then I’ll have to tell her the truth—that coming to church has everything to do with her and nothing to do with God—and she’ll be angry and disappointed and hurt all over again.
Memories crowd and jostle me almost as much as Abigail and the sharp-elbowed woman on the other side of me. Thomas preaching his interpretation of the word of God while I sat here, obediently, my entire job to look pious and make sure Abigail behaved. Church services were long and stressful. Inwardly, I
was seething in resentment.
Today, despite my resistance and anxiety, the music gets under my skin, pulls me in. I realize I’m singing, Abigail’s alto harmonizing with my soprano, and it’s the music that carries a new truth right into my shivering soul.
I’m mad at God for what Thomas did.
As if to emphasize this point, Pastor Steve gets up to speak. There’s no hellfire and brimstone, no judgment, no oration. He just talks, simply and from his heart, about loving each other, sprinkling in stories of a God who would have been a stranger to Thomas. A kind God, a loving God, one with a sense of humor. He ends with a benediction:
“The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make His face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you; the Lord give you peace.”
I blink back tears, knocked completely off-balance by the thought that I’m unjustly blaming God for things that might not be His fault. But that’s a thing I’ll need to deal with later. Right now, I need to navigate walking down the aisle, finding the bathroom, and having a chat with Abigail.
One bonus to sitting up at the front is we get to walk out first. The downside is that everybody watches us, hands reaching out to shake mine as I walk. So many familiar faces, but a lot of new ones, too.
When we make it to the foyer, the young man stays right by Abigail’s side, as if they’re connected by strings. He’s wearing jeans and a casual button-up shirt open at his throat, no tie. His hair is long enough to graze his collar. He looks easy, open, comfortable in his own skin, and my uptight daughter smiles up at him with an expression I’ve never seen on her face before.
“Josh, this is my mom.”
“I can totally see the resemblance.” He smiles at me, wide and genuine, and holds out his hand. His handshake is warm, firm, his eyes clear and steady.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” Abigail says. “God does answer prayers.”
This is my chance to tell her why I’m really here, to un-answer her prayers with the truth. I hesitate, searching for the right words, and settle on a more pressing problem as a means of escape. “I really need to use the restroom. It was lovely to meet you, Josh. You’ll wait for me, Abigail? Maybe I could take you out for lunch.”
“We’d love that,” she says, which was not what I had in mind at all. I don’t really think Abigail will want Josh to be present for the conversation we need to have.
I encounter Kimber and Earlene, heads together, discussing some issue or other. Needing the restroom is a great excuse for keeping our exchange short, and after hugs all around, I extricate myself without being dragged into their conversation.
Most of the congregation has already cleared by the time I take care of business and give myself a pep talk in the mirror. Abigail and Josh are waiting just inside the front doors. His head is inclined toward her, and it’s clear he hangs on every word she is saying. Her expression is animated, and she’s so engaged with him, she doesn’t notice my approach until I’m right beside her.
My throat tightens at the sight of the two of them together, a complex emotion washing over me. This is what I want for her, I remind myself. To be happy. To have a good life, not to be taking care of me. But loss is right there, side by side with the joy, protesting that if she’s in love, maybe she’ll leave me for good, releasing the duty without us ever finding another and better form of connection.
“How about I buy lunch?” Josh says, beaming a smile at both me and Abigail. “Since today is special. Where shall we go?”
Pastor Steve strides over at that moment, Felicity at his side. She hugs me, and then Steve puts his arm around me and gives my shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Welcome back! I knew you’d find your way, given time.”
My Elizabeth self shakes off the dust and rises to the occasion with a practiced smile. “It’s so good to be here. I enjoyed your sermon. And I like the changes to the music.”
He grins. “So glad to hear that. We’ve lost a few of the older members.”
“But so many new people coming in!” Felicity glows with enthusiasm. “Mrs. L., maybe you could come back to the knitting circle. We have new members and it’s so much more open. You could make something for your own baby.”
Abigail’s lips tighten, but she holds her tongue.
I look at the four of them, and a new sort of responsibility settles on my shoulders. They all want to celebrate because they believe I’m transforming my life and will be coming back to church regularly. And as much as I would love to let them keep believing that, to have their celebration and be joyful, I need to be true to the newly emerging Liz.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my eyes seeking Abigail’s and pleading for understanding. “I won’t be coming to the circle, Felicity. I’m only here today because I need to talk to Abigail, and I knew I’d find her here. So if all of you could excuse us for a few minutes, we need to talk.”
An awkward silence falls. Feet shuffle. Felicity leans into Steve for support.
And I pray, silently, for my own sort of miracle. Please open Abigail’s heart to me. Show me what to say, how to fix this.
It’s not my day for miracles. Color rises to Abigail’s cheeks at the same time as her lips thin and her chin comes up. She’s hurt and disappointed and angry, but doesn’t want to make a scene.
“Well,” Pastor Steve says, his people skills rising to the surface. “We should let the two of you talk, then. It was good to see you, Mrs. L. And you are always welcome.”
Felicity hugs me again, just as warmly as the first time, and the two of them walk away hand in hand.
“You want me to stay?” Josh asks Abigail.
She ignores him, all of her energy focused on me. “So nothing is changed, then? That man is still living with you?”
“He’s not living with me. He has never been living with me.”
“But the two of you are planning to raise a baby. And you’re not even remotely sorry about any of this, are you?”
I turn both hands palm up and hold them out to her, empty of any explanation that she is going to accept. “I didn’t get pregnant on purpose, Abigail. I want to make things right with you, but it’s too late to take that back. What can I do?”
“Give me my mother back.”
I let my hands drift back to my sides. “I’ll always be your mother. But I can’t be who you want me to be.”
Tears well up in her eyes. “I have to go,” she says, her voice breaking. “Don’t do this again.”
“Abigail, please . . .”
But she is already marching away, head bent, arms wrapped around her chest. I’ve never seen her like this, and it breaks me wide open, tears of my own pouring down my face.
Josh looks stricken, glancing from me to Abigail’s retreating back. He touches my shoulder lightly, as if wanting to offer comfort, then turns without a word and trots after Abigail, slipping an arm around her waist. To my surprise, she doesn’t pull away, and the two of them walk together and get into a car that I don’t recognize, Josh in the driver’s seat.
I wait until the car is out of sight before walking out to my own.
“See what you’ve done?” Thomas whispers as I wipe my eyes and turn the key in the ignition. “You want to blame me for her unhappiness, but really it’s all you. You’re the one who could fix it, but you’re too selfish, caught up in the temptations of the flesh.”
“Just shut up!” I say out loud.
I’m sick to death of him hanging out in my head.
As much as I’ve grown and changed, despite the fact that I’m carrying Lance’s baby and have bought my own house and make my own decisions, still, Thomas crawls into bed beside me at night and follows me through the house in the daytime, criticizing and commenting. Despite all of my efforts to shake him, he clings to me, bits of Thomas interwoven with bits of Liz.
He’s still at the center of everything, spilling toxins into my life so that I’m always in cleanup mode.
I don’t want his poison to infect my unborn child.
> Turning left instead of right, I head for the cemetery instead of toward home. I’ve been back only twice since the funeral, assuaging my guilt by knowing Abigail takes flowers on a regular basis. I’m not even sure why I’m going there now, other than a vague notion that I need to stand by his grave in order to somehow break the hold he has over me. If this were one of my fantasy novels, there would be a magic word to break a spell, but I know life doesn’t work that way.
When I park, I look around for other visitors, grateful that I seem to be alone. The last thing I need is to trigger a new round of gossip. Even so, when I reach his grave, I stand there feeling stupid and awkward. He’s not here. His body is decomposing. His soul is wherever souls go. And the only memories tied to this place are of shock and exhaustion and the first guilty glimmers of freedom to come.
It feels stupid to talk to him, overly theatrical. He’s not going to hear me and certainly not going to answer. But maybe this little ritual isn’t for him at all. It’s purely for me. So I clear my throat and say what I’ve come to say.
“You need to let go of me.” My voice is loud in the silence, and I crane my neck to be sure no other mourners are listening. “You had all of me, everything I am, for over half my life.”
“No. I never did. There were always parts of you I couldn’t get to.”
The words are so clear, I scan my surroundings again, half expecting to see a Thomas-shaped ghost standing behind me. I feel the hairs rising on the back of my neck.
It’s true. I hid Liz from him, but I kept her alive. There were the journals I wrote in the mornings while he was still asleep. The bits of poetry, the scenes of plays. The books I read. The thoughts I hid away.
“Always the actress,” Thomas says. “Always playing a role. I knew it, but I couldn’t break you of it. Eve, the temptress, living in my house. And in my heart.”
“I’m not acting anymore. And I want you to leave me alone.”
“I did love you, Elizabeth.”
“Not me,” I whisper. “It wasn’t ever me you loved. Only what I chose for you to see.”
A Borrowed Life Page 26