Paying Forward (The Lone Pine Series)

by Lynn Kinnaman

  “Goodnight Amy.”

  No answer. She hoped Amy would be over it by morning.

  She headed to bed with her book.

  She’d dozed off when Mike woke her with a kiss.

  “How’s my sleeping beauty?”

  Yawning, she said, “I’m pooped. Peter had a great time at the festival. Amy didn’t come even though she’d promised him she would. Sometimes I feel like we’ve lost her.”

  “Kids today,” he snorted. “What’s the younger generation coming to?”

  She laughed. “You sound like a grumpy old codger.”

  “Maybe I am. What would that make you? A codgess?”

  She play-punched his arm. “Maybe the disgruntled wife of a codger.”

  He stretched out on the bed next to her. “Are you disgruntled?”

  “No. It just seems like so many things aren’t going the way I expected. For instance, I never thought Amy would become so distant.”

  He kissed her again, this time on the nose.

  And waited.

  Mike was excellent at waiting, a technique that gave room for the truth to come tumbling out.

  “And I have it easy compared to some of my friends,” she said. “I think Natalie’s thinking of divorce.”

  He was quiet. Another talent of his. Mike knew when to listen, and when he spoke, it was a thoughtful response.

  The two couples had been good friends for a few years, a time when they did everything together, it seemed. Then they grew apart, and Holly had hoped the closeness would come back. She remained good friends with Natalie, but Brone had changed.

  “She can’t take it anymore. She thinks the twins pushed him over the edge. Well, that, and not finding work.”

  Mike nodded. “It’s hard for a guy to feel useless.”

  She met his gaze. “Children can complicate things, too. Especially if they aren’t part of your plan.”

  “The best laid plans of mice and men of’t go astray,” he quoted.

  She smiled. “I forget you were an English major. Shakespeare?”

  He shook his head. “Robert Burns. From a poem written after he turned up the nest of a field mouse with his plough.”

  It’s fragile, isn’t it? Our illusion of safety and security.” She shivered and he drew her close.

  “Do you ever regret the choices we made?”

  She snuggled against him. “No. Do you?”

  “There were some rough times,” he said. “I didn’t know if we were going to make it. There was a period I didn’t even know if I wanted to.”

  Sometimes, she thought, honesty was overrated.

  “Wow. You never told me that. You would have given up on us?”

  He leaned on his elbow and studied her face. She felt naked and transparent. As much as she loved Mike, the feeling disturbed her. She met his eyes but it was like looking into the sun. She had to look away.

  “Holly, honestly. Tell me it didn’t cross your mind.”

  “Divorce?” she said. The word tasted like rotten fruit in her mouth. “I guess I thought about it.” She’d done more than think about it, she’d started researching lawyers.

  “Why didn’t you pursue it? You had good reason.”

  Mentioning the affair still hurt, even after all these years. They had never really talked about it. She glanced at his face and saw regret and sorrow there.

  She shrugged. “I guess I really didn’t want to be divorced.” Truth was, she couldn’t imagine life without Mike. He had been part of her life for as long as she could remember. He had been her best friend, her passion, her future. If he left, she feared she wouldn’t have the desire to go on.

  “I was selfish. I didn’t want to lose you.” She met his eyes again, this time locking his gaze. “I’m lucky, I guess, that you didn’t push it.”

  This time he looked away and didn’t speak for a moment.

  “It was a mistake.” He said. “The financial problems, the lawsuit, the bankruptcy. I felt worthless. What I saw in your eyes was disappointment and disgust.”

  She began to protest, but he stopped her.

  “I knew I’d failed you. I didn’t hold up my part of the bargain. And when it got tough, I left you to deal with the fallout. You had every right to be angry with me.”

  “And she made you feel special again.” She said. She understood how it must have been for him. She hated that he’d acted on it, though.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “For a little while, it was like I was the hero again. The way I used to be for you. It felt good.”

  Even better than the sex, she realized. Even more than the physical relationship, Mike wanted the emotional validation that he was still worthwhile.

  She’d been angry, there was no denying it. She’d responded with her typical approach. Efficiently, she assessed the problems they were facing with the business and the money, devised a plan and went after it like a bulldog with a bone. Determined to save the day, she cut Mike out, convinced he’d already blown his options.

  Sure, they survived the disaster, but it almost cost her the one thing that mattered most.

  “I’m so glad you didn’t just walk away,” she said, tears in her eyes.

  “I’m glad you let me stay.” He pulled her close and kissed her gently.

  They surrendered to the moment, losing themselves in each other.

  CAROLE

  Carole had taken her mother back to her apartment early. Her excuse, a splitting headache, was true but her mother accused her of just wanting to get rid of her, and she couldn’t argue the point.

  She stretched out on the couch, turned on the the stereo and listened to her favorite playlist with the sound low.

  Her mother had used her trademarked fake charm on everyone, but most were on to her now and sympathies were with Carole. It was a refreshing change from her childhood, where she’d been cast as the problem, unable to get along with such a “sweet” woman.

  If they only knew what was said about them behind their backs, they would have had a different opinion.

  She picked up the book, Will I Ever Be Good Enough?, written by a woman therapist who counseled daughters of narcissistic mothers and was one herself. Finding it had been providential. She was at her wit’s end. She wanted to understand the impossible.

  Instead, she was learning how fortunate she and Leah had been to survive a true narcissistic mother.

  Marie knew something was wrong with her. She had always been too foxy to go to doctors for a diagnosis, instead she became a nurse. Carole speculated her motivation was to try to figure out just why she was so dysfunctional. What she learned must have scared her into major denial, because her conduct reflected a woman convinced she was fine and it was the rest of the world that was the problem.

  Her mother heaped the majority of the abuse on Carole. The author explained how one child was often the target, while another would be designated as the good one. Afraid to face the truth for years, Carole had rejected both the idea her mother was mentally ill and the word “abuse” as it applied to her.

  It felt shameful and degrading.

  She hadn’t been beaten, like some abused children she knew. Her mother had slapped her around - that’s what they called it in those days “slapping around” - but hadn’t everyone been treated that way? Except Leah. But Carole had chalked that up to the fact that she was bad while Leah wasn’t.

  What’s WRONG with you? The refrain of her life. As a child she took the question to heart, searching her actions for clues so she could tell her mother what, indeed, was wrong with her.

  The book’s author, a psychotherapist, explained how narcissists project onto others their own fears and shortcomings, and Carole realized the question mother had really been asking all these years was directed at herself “what’s wrong with ME?”

  Although she got little insight into how to survive a narcissistic mother on a daily basis, the understanding went a long way to begin her healing process.

  Maybe there was no way to
mitigate the interactions, just manage them. She would practice getting out of the hurt circle and stop allowing herself to be easy prey for her mother’s emotional blood lust. She would keep reading, and learning, and getting strong.

  Feeling her headache pain ease in response to the medicine, she got up, switched off the lights and took herself to bed.

  MALLORY

  The neat pile of money sat next to the stacks of coins on the small table in my alcove.

  Almost $700. Seven hundred dollars!

  There had been two $50’s tucked among the lesser bills. Surprise!

  What was wrong with those people, just letting it lie around for anyone to take?

  Paying Forward Fund, the sign had said. They must be doing pretty well if they could afford to pay so much forward. They must be successful. It almost made the guilt go away.

  Almost.

  I tried to shake off my lingering pangs of conscience.

  Someday I’d be able to give back, too. I wasn’t a criminal, I had plans, and goals. Despite the way my life had been, my future would be different. Other people succeeded and I would too.

  Of course, none of them did it by stealing.

  Stealing.

  Yeah, I guess it was stealing.

  Technically.

  Okay, it was stealing any way you looked at it.

  It didn’t feel good. Taking stuff didn’t fit the image I had of myself.

  Maybe I should have thought more about it before I acted. Now, if I wanted to change my mind, it was a little late. I couldn’t return it without running the risk of being seen.

  Yet I had this growing feeling that I couldn’t keep it.

  I was well and truly stuck.

  I needed another opinion. I flipped open my prepaid cell phone and punched in the numbers.

  “Amy? It’s me. I have a problem.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  NATALIE

  When she woke up, she checked the guest bedroom where Brone had been sleeping for the past week and a half. The door was open and the room empty. The bed was in disarray and it smelled like stale beer. She began to move forward, to gather the blankets and sheets for the wash, then stopped. She turned around and left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

  Even though it was a legal holiday, President’s Day, she should spend a hour or so working. The insurance company where she worked was flexible and they weren’t too concerned about hours spent in the office, except for mandated meetings, which suited her fine.

  She spent much of her time visiting clients, following up on leads and meeting new people. She kept her numbers up, and they left her alone.

  It was a good arrangement, because when she was in the office, people wanted to chit-chat and too many times the conversation wandered into personal areas. Her coworkers knew Brone was “between jobs” and they wanted to help, but their questions made it harder.

  How were the interviews going? Why didn’t they come to the Christmas party?

  Ugh.

  Natalie called the lawyer’s office and got voicemail. She decided not to leave a message. She’d take it as a sign to hold off for now. The idea of being a two-time loser didn’t sit well. She had bad judgement in choosing men.

  She’d consider and reconsider and maybe a miracle would happen. In the meantime, she’d see if she could find extra stuff around the house to sell on eBay.

  “Breakfast!” She called the boys and heard them stampede down the hall.

  “I want waffles!”

  “Hot dogs!”

  “Hot dogs?” she said in mock horror. “No hot dogs for breakfast.”

  Happy to see her laughing, they both started chanting in unison. “Hot dogs for breakfast! Hot dogs for breakfast!”

  Her eyes prickled with tears. They were so precious. So innocent. Could she really do that to them? Another divorce?

  She fixed the waffles, then shooed them outside to play while she did laundry and put her thoughts in order. When her phone rang, she snatched it up and tried to avoid disappointment in her voice when she saw it wasn’t Brone.

  “Hi Holly.”

  “Hi. Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “You picked up the Pay It Forward money yesterday, didn’t you? I went to get it and it was already gone. I figured you must have gotten it. Have you counted it yet? How much did we collect?”

  The Pay It Forward Fund. She was chairperson this year. She remembered picking up the basket, but she must have set it down somewhere.

  “Uh, well…” What could she say? It had been her responsibility. “I thought I did but I don’t have it.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I think I put it down somewhere. Maybe in the office.”

  “Okay. If it’s in the office, at least we know where it is,” Holly said. “We can get it later. I’m curious to see how much people gave this year.”

  Except she didn’t think it was in the office. She didn’t have any idea where it went, but she did pick it up from the table. At least, she thought she did. Or maybe she didn’t.

  “I’m not really sure. I feel terrible. People gave from their hearts and that money was supposed to be for someone who needed it.”

  Holly was unruffled. “Don’t sweat it. It’s probably in the office. If not, someone picked it up for us. I’m sure it’ll turn up. Maybe it was taken by someone who actually DID need it.”

  Natalie liked Holly but sometimes she could be so nonchalant about important things like money. Of course, she had money. And a good husband with a job.

  “But that’s wrong. We decide who gets it. No one had the right to steal it.” She heard her voice, it sounded shrill. Did she care? She was so tired of how unfair life was.

  “Okay, Natalie, let’s take it a step at a time. We don’t know that anyone did steal it, so don’t get upset. The more I think about it, the more I think one of the FebFest workers picked it up. They’ll let one of us on the committee know. It’ll be fine.”

  Sure, Natalie thought. Because that’s how life works. Maybe in Holly’s world. “Okay. If you hear anything, let me know and I’ll do the same.”

  “Sounds good,” Holly said and rang off.

  Money. Everything always seemed to revolve around money. What was that saying? Loving money is the root of evil? She didn’t love money. She hated money. She hated that she needed it and didn’t have it. She hated that it meant so much to Brone. She hated that she had to think about it at all.

  Few people at the FebFest had enough extra money that they didn’t feel it when they donated, but they still did. And now some selfish thief ruined the whole experience.

  And might ruin her because it was on her watch.

  She put her face in her hands and let the tears flow.

  HOLLY

  After her conversation with Natalie, Holly was enjoying the brief time of morning quiet in her house. Mike had gone to work before sunup, driving to an out-of-town meeting. Peter, exhausted from the festival, was sleeping in, a rare occurrence. Amy, on the other hand, slept in as much as she could.

  Gazing out her back window, Holly watched the fat flakes of snow fall. They looked light and feathery, but that was deceiving, as she knew that they could add up to quite a bit of winter wonderland at this rate. The winter was forecast to be mild overall, however storms could still blow in and dump the white stuff. Skiers loved that about their area.

  The snow covered everything, hiding the flaws and softening the ugly angles. Creating a world where nothing was as it seemed.

  She thought about Natalie and the anger in her voice. Times were tough for her. Holly didn’t know how they were making it on Nat’s income alone. And to have a husband you couldn’t trust or count on? Worse than money problems.

  Sometimes she felt guilty because, aside from having normal teenage issues, things were going well for her.

  You make your life, Mike was fond of saying. You can’t control the circumstances, but you can control yo
ur response, your attitude, and that’s what makes the difference.

  “I’m hungry.”

  She jumped, almost spilling her coffee.

  “Morning Peter! I didn’t hear you get up.”

  His trip down the stairs had been stealth, foiling her early warning system.

  “Cereal or pancakes?”

  “Pancakes!” His enthusiasm tickled her. “With faces!”

  “You got it, bud. Go wake up your sister and tell her I’m fixing pancakes,” she said.

  Peter frowned. “I don’t want to.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s crabby.”

  “She’s crabby today?”

  He shook his head. “Last night.”

  “When last night?”

  “When I knocked on her door.”

  “When did you knock on her door?”

  “Last night!” Peter came around the island and opened the cupboard. “I’m hungry.”

  “Sit down and I’ll give you a banana while I make the pancakes.”

  “Okay.” He climbed on the stool where he could watch her.

  “So tell me about last night.”

  “It was dark. I heard noises. I was scared and when I went to Amy’s room she was crabby.” He shook his head and she saw tears welling up in his eyes.

  “Oh punkin’ I’m sorry, I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

  “She said ‘get out of my room and go to bed’,” his lip quivered. “She yelled at me.”

  Ugh. It didn’t happen often but she never liked it when Amy’s petulance affected her little brother. Caught between childhood and adulthood, teenagers managed to combine the worst of both worlds.

  She mixed the batter. “Then don’t worry about asking Amy if she wants pancakes. She might be tired and need sleep so she can get over being crabby. You stay here and help me make the pancakes.”

  He smiled and her heart tore a little. It’s so easy to crush those who love us, she thought.