“He’s my son,” I repeat. “Just let it lie.”
“Your son alone? How is that possible, exactly, that another man lets you name his son after someone else?”
“Ron protected my son and me. You haven’t heard this story?”
She shakes her head.
I let my eyes wither shut at the admission. How could I just blurt that out? I’ve spent thirty years hiding this secret with absolutely no issues. I come in here, and it’s as though I’m in a Catholic confessional, looking for absolution. “I’d appreciate it, Lindsay, if we could respect each other’s privacy. You don’t have to know everything. This isn’t about you. I’m sure you have secrets of your own that you’d just as soon keep to yourself.”
Haley walks toward me, giving me her best, tough-blond look—which is more comical than Lindsay’s. “Listen, this is hard on Lindsay, and I don’t want her hurt anymore. Where is your son?”
Their blue-eyed gazes would bore a hole in me if I stayed put, so I start to pace. “He’s my son.” I look up to see a well of tears in Lindsay’s eyes. “Only my son. I’ve given you more explanation than anyone else in my life has ever asked for, including my mother! He lives here in L.A. and he’s comfortable with the notion that his father isn’t in his life.” They both want more, but what am I supposed to say? Oh, back in the day…it was after the sixties, what can I say? Free love—and then, the harsh realization that there ain’t no such thing. “Ron Jr. just assumes his father and I did what was best for him. Which I did, so if you ever meet Ron Jr., I would appreciate it if you allowed him to—”
“You want me to lie for you?” Lindsay asks.
Already, I am stone-cold tired of how much work a conversation in this forsaken place is. No one takes you at your word; no one thinks anything about barging into your personal business. This is a town raised on tabloids, and it shows!
“No, let’s forget we had this conversation. You two run along and go about your business. I’ve probably upset your whole day. If you direct me to the desk, I’ll be out of your way.” She’s right, of course. Pixie thing that she is. She knows it’s wrong to lie for a stranger. She’s not stupid, but then I guess she thinks I have some kind of power over her, and she’s going to do her best to exert what she’s got. But asking a complete stranger to lie for me in the first five minutes I’ve met her—it’s just not like me, and I add one more reason I can’t stand the States. I am someone else here. Someone I don’t like at all. But there’s one thing I did right in my life and that’s Ron Jr. and he is worth every continuous battle. I’ll just have to make certain that Lindsay and Ron, Jr. never meet.
“The desk is gone.”
“Gone?”
“I gave it to an after-school club.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s on the south side.”
“You gave Ron’s desk to a southside after-school club?” Couldn’t she have just gone to Ikea and donated three hundred desks for the price of Ron’s? “It was an antique, wasn’t it? He had that desk before either of us.”
“It’s not for the after-school club. They are going to auction it off for cash.”
“Lindsay,” I say calmly. “I need to find that desk.”
“I’ll give you the number of the club when I get back. We’re shopping for a wedding gown today, and we’re in sort of a hurry. If you’d called and said you were coming…”
He found a way to control me beyond the grave. Somehow, I knew he would. “Did he ask you to give away the desk?”
“I didn’t have any use for it, so I got rid of it, Jane. It was my way of telling myself he wasn’t coming back, and it didn’t go with the decor he’d picked for his own office. Now, here you are looking for it. Why didn’t he tell me to keep it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he thought you’d respect it and keep it in his house?” I feel my heart pounding and try to remain cool, but the tension between the two of us fills me with angst. I try to take a few deep breaths and focus on the sound of my exhaling to find a centering place. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s my fault for being lost in the mountains so long.”
It’s hard to have pity for Lindsay. She can haul her size-zero frame out and find herself a new Ron. One who will support her very expensive shopping habits and lead her like a horse with reins. I’m haunted by the old Ron for the rest of my days. Him and his constant quest for me to forgive. “It will free you, Jane. You must do this!” he would say. I wouldn’t even be here if her dead husband—our dead husband—hadn’t had to be such a martyr. Why couldn’t he just let things be? I screwed up, yes, but I moved on. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do in life? Not wallow in the old cesspool that is your past?
Lindsay straightens up, and her hard expression melts into a smile. She’s suddenly insanely unruffled, which naturally makes me nervous.
“So you may as well make yourself comfortable. It sounds like there’s a lot of unfinished business to be done,” she coos. “I’ll find the receipt for the desk when I get back. Hopefully, they haven’t sold it yet, or Hamilton has a copy of what you need.”
Nice Lindsay is far more frightening than Threatening Lindsay, but this condo offers me the best hope of an escape route. I have access to the lawyer through the other blonde and access to Ron’s quest through the papers in the house—if she didn’t get rid of them all.
“His filing cabinet is in the guest room. You should be able to find it all there.” Her voice is wearing with fatigue.
“If you’ll just let me know where the sheets are, I’ll make up the bed myself and get started. You two go on about your business. I’ll be fine.” But that’s a lie. One mistake and it seems as though there is no end in sight. I can’t ever seem to get past it. Not even after thirty years of trying to bury it.
Lindsay blinks quickly but can’t stop a single tear that escapes down her cheek. She’s softer than the schemer I originally took her for, but this is why I fell for Ron in the first place—the mother in me wants to embrace her and tell her it will be all right. I’m a caretaker. Always did think I could fix whatever was broken. Had to get the house that needed the most work, the man who needed the most coddling. I’ve tried to shake this personality downfall, but it bobs to the surface continuously. It’s all that Catholic guilt.
“I don’t understand,” she squeaks. “Why didn’t Ron let me handle it? I was a good wife to him, Jane.”
Ron, how could you do this to me? You marry someone young enough to be your daughter and leave me to mother her? Life isn’t fair.
I rub her shoulder. “I know you were, Lindsay. Ron had only wonderful things to say about you. He worshipped you, really.”
“Why you? Why are you here?” A touch of the sharpness in her voice returns. “If he didn’t trust me, he could have found anyone to have done this. Hamilton could have done this.”
“I’m here for me. I left unfinished business the first time, and Ron wants me to finish it. He wasn’t a man to let sleeping dogs lie, and you know how he felt about his newfound religion. He wrote to me before his death, but you have to understand, I had no idea he was anywhere near the end. I just thought it was more nagging on his part to get me to come back here.”
“It wasn’t all that new. His religion,” she tells me. “What did Ron write to you? May I see it?”
I clutch the blue envelope from the manila packet and extend my arm to Lindsay. “I hope this answers some questions for you. Let’s just get through this, all right?”
She nods.
“If you read the letter, I think you’ll see where his loyalties were.” I wink at her and take the cat out of his cage. Haley retreats to the kitchen like I’ve just let loose a rattlesnake.
“Lindsay’s allergic to cats.”
“I thought it was you who was allergic to cats.”
“We’re both allergic.”
“Not liking them is not an allergy.”
“It’s not?” Haley asks.
The two of them make me
feel so old. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t go back to being worried about my image for all the gold in the Sierra Madre, but neither one of them is old enough to be nursing the wounds of a deceased husband. Naturally, Ron made sure Lindsay wouldn’t be burdened with the reality of a widow. He left all that red tape for me.
To have their bodies with my brain—I’d be unstoppable. But as they say, youth is wasted on the young. I’m an artist, a gypsy by nature. To be in civilization is bad enough, but to be in L.A. with my former life barreling down on me is like an Aztec sacrifice. Maybe it is time I faced the music. The thought flitters only briefly before I realize running is the only life I know. The faster I move, the happier I am.
I lift Kulkucan from the tile floor and cuddle my cheek into his fur. He purrs and for the moment, all is right in the world.
“Go ahead—you two were going out, weren’t you?” I ask.
They look to one another, clearly mistrusting my presence, but decide they’re more anxious to get away from me. “I’ll leave my cell phone number in case you need anything while we’re out.” Lindsay scribbles down her number, and Haley has to tug at her to get toward the door. They finally leave, and I collapse onto the couch with Kuku on my lap.
Once again, Ron’s left a giant mess for me to clean up. And this time, someone is bound to get hurt.
Chapter 3
Lindsay
Haley and I crawl into her car without a word. I feel numb, if that’s possible when you’ve just been bludgeoned by a painful reality. I look back at the complex, thinking that someone else is in my place—physically and emotionally. I feel betrayed by my husband, and he’s not here to reassure me, which makes me want to scream. I need reassurance. I want proof that my life with Ron was not a lie. That he did this because it was best for me.
I know Haley wants to soothe me, and she’s searching for words, but every time she opens her mouth, she snaps it shut again and keeps driving. And it’s just as well. What’s she going to say? I’m sure Ron meant nothing by avoiding the topic of a Ron Jr. Or that he put his ex-wife in charge of all his major investment assets. How serious could it be? Someone else bearing his name means nothing. Someone else closing out the rest of his assets—nothing. Nothing, I tell you.
My heart is in my throat, and I question the last ten years of my life. “Why on earth wouldn’t he have mentioned Ron Jr., Haley? I mean, even if it wasn’t his son. Especially if it wasn’t his son!”
“You’re worrying over nothing, Linds. Ron loved you. I suppose we all have our secrets.”
“Are we supposed to? Within marriage?”
“You’re asking me?”
“I have the letter.”
“What letter?”
“The one Jane is looking for in the desk. I have it. Obviously, I emptied his desk before I gave it away. I thought the letter to Ron Jr. meant Ron hoped that I was pregnant. I thought he was writing a letter to our unborn son, hoping I’d name him Ron Jr. Now I find out, the name was already taken. What if I’d been pregnant, Haley?”
“You weren’t. And the world would survive two Ron Jr.’s. I once knew a guy who named his five sons Oscar.”
I just stare at her. “And?”
“That’s it. Just a guy who named his five sons Oscar and without middle names. So I’m saying there could be two Ron Jrs.”
“But there aren’t!”
“Well, yeah. Unless you’ve got some DNA in a cryogenics lab somewhere.”
“Okay, I know you are trying to help me, but could you relent on the bad soap opera ideas?”
“Suit yourself.”
“I just realized that he left the Pacific Palisades house to Ron Jr. We’d discussed it, and I said I didn’t want the house, but I never thought he’d leave it to some stranger, bearing his name.”
“He must not have wanted to hurt you.”
“Well, obviously, I was going to find out, Haley. I mean, he left our house to the boy.”
“The boy? How old is he?”
“Haley! You’re not helping I don’t know how old he is!”
“I just meant that it’s not like he’s a small child. Couldn’t you tell that from the letter? I trust you opened it.”
“I opened it. I thought it was so sweet that Ron would write a letter to his future son.”
“Future. Past. What’s the difference? You didn’t want the house, and Ron got rid of it.”
“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”
“Probably for the best,” Haley says.
“I’m telling you, Ron just wouldn’t have abandoned his son. Even if it wasn’t his biological child, he was named after him, and I know Ron. He loved duty. Lived by it. Stonewall Brindle, you might have called him.”
“But you also knew he would have told you that he had a child named after him.”
“I know you didn’t just say that.”
“You’re telling me you kept nothing from Ron?”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Lindsay, we don’t have to go wedding dress shopping.” Haley announces in the sacrificial way that seems to come so easy to her. “You can’t possibly be in the mood, and I completely understand.”
“I’m always in the mood to shop!” I say brightly. “Especially with you. I consider it my civic duty. My ministry, if you will. You’ve only got six months before this wedding. That’s an unacceptable amount of time to plan, and I want to keep the rhinestones to a minimum.” The words come out as confident as ever, but they’re hollow. “I have to have something to do.”
“You seem really shaken. I’m not used to seeing you this way. You’re always the one who handles everything.”
We stop at a stoplight, and I stare at her. She has way more faith in me than I’m worthy of and I feel another rush of guilt. Whatever strength I pretended to have was nothing more than false bravado. When I first met her at our Trophy Wives Club’s Bible Study, she was like a female Clint Eastwood, bent on revenge, but that, too, was only false bravado. “Haley, I don’t handle everything. I never did.”
“Ron probably didn’t want to hurt you, or he would have told you the whole truth. You’ve been through so much in the last year. And now this. An ex-wife and a mystery son who is inheriting the house. That’s shocking by Hollywood’s standards.” Haley shakes her head. “It’s not like that wouldn’t rattle someone, no matter how faithful. One thing I’m certain of: Ron loved your life together and everything you both planned for the future. You didn’t have an easy marriage, Lindsay, but you had a good marriage. Ron having Jane back now doesn’t negate that. He had to have a reason for bringing her here.”
I nod.
“Maybe he thought you two would have something in common, Lindsay.”
“Maybe.”
“Let’s get a coffee before we get started. We’re in no hurry.” Haley pats my hand on the center console. I stare at my wedding ring, wondering when it’s appropriate to take it off. Is it ever appropriate, considering?
“I thought you said there was a sale on seconds? Everything will be gone if we’re late. People may have camped out.” I inform her.
Haley shrugs. “They probably did. No biggie. I’ll find something.”
The fact is, she will. Haley is charmed. If I went to find a wedding dress, there would be nothing but strapless, size-zeros in pink satin. But Haley? She’ll find the perfect designer gown in her size without any effort at all, and most likely, she’ll get it for half-off. If I could just get her to improve her taste, she’d be set. She pulls her Mini into a parking place right in front of the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. See? A parking place on the street in Bel Air. Charmed.
I, on the other hand…
“Haley, I really think we should head to the wedding shop,” I prompt. The last thing I want is any girl talk. I need time to process all of this. I need to read this letter.
“I’m not doing anything without caffeine. Without it, I might let you talk me into some simple sheath with no sparkle to i
t whatsoever and be a Glamour “do” and that scares the life out of me. If I want to sparkle like a pink party bulb on my big day, by golly, I’m going to. You’ll put me in something a Kennedy might wear. Oh no, we need to stop because I have to get me some power. I have to be able to stand firm against the natural-born stylist that is my best friend.”
“Haley, I want you to be married in what you want to be married in. I’m not going to try to talk you out of anything.” Even as I say it, I wonder if I can keep my opinions to myself. What a burden to be saddled with my mouth!
She flattens her smile. “Do I look like I’m a natural blonde? Born yesterday? You may have good intentions, but I know you.” She gets out of the car, and buttons up her white seersucker jacket (with red rhinestones on the lapels—I’m sorry to report they match her sandals.)
“Do you really need a jacket? It’s eighty degrees out.”
“The air-conditioning always gets me. Oh, but you’re right. It’s February. The air won’t be on too high.” She slinks out of the sleeves and tosses the short, springy blazer into the car. She straightens her shirt collar. Her rhinestone-studded shirt collar.
I drop my chin to my chest. “Just because you’re not married to Jay anymore, does that mean everything has to sparkle? You’re like a walking fishing lure. Restraint, Haley. A little restraint.”
“How else am I supposed to get noticed, standing next to your statuesque self?” she asks me.
“Good shoes?” I suggest. “And please. Don’t think I’m fooled by the compliment. You’re changing the subject.” I grin. If anyone can make me forget my circumstances, it’s good-natured Haley, under the constant sunbeam that brightens her path.
I grab a table while Haley stands in line for our order. We have a system. Whoever drives, pays. The passenger gets the table. It sounds strange, maybe slightly anal, but our choreography works for us. This is California, after all, and good espresso is a hard-won entity—even if there is a coffee shop on every corner. When you add in the ratio of espresso drinkers, it negates itself.
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