She Gets That from Me

by Robin Wells

  “Say yes!” she urges. “You’re headed to the French Quarter this afternoon anyway to drop off the bergères for the Franklin project at the upholsterer, right? And you two need some time to talk without Lily listening to every word.”

  She’s right. I text back that I’ll meet him.

  At twelve thirty, I step through the iron gate into the lushly planted brick courtyard of the restaurant. Zack is waiting for me just inside the door. We’re led through the quaint Creole cottage and seated by the window on Dauphine Street.

  “This is lovely,” I say.

  “I thought it would be quiet,” he says as we settle at the table.

  We make small talk and place our orders—the apple and blue cheese salad with grilled shrimp for me, a house salad and smoked duck for Zack. When the waiter leaves our table, Zack leans forward. “We never got a chance to really talk the other evening.”

  I nod. “Thanks for going with us back to Lily’s old home.”

  “Glad I could be there. I hope to be around to help with lots of things in the future.”

  My heart stutters. I decide to directly address the elephant in the room. “I was surprised to hear that you and Jessica are splitting up.”

  “Me, too. I knew that things weren’t great between us, but I didn’t know she wanted to call it quits.”

  “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He fingers the stem on his water glass for a moment. “Better than okay, actually. I told my sister on the phone last night that I feel like a terrible husband, because the truth is, I don’t feel all that bad.” He lifts the glass and takes a sip. “She said I probably need to talk to a therapist.”

  “Sarah can recommend someone.”

  “I may ask her for a name in a week or two. But right now, I’m just relieved I get to stay in New Orleans.”

  “Yeah?”

  He nods. “I tried to talk Jessica into staying here a while back, but she wouldn’t even consider it.”

  “I guess that’s understandable,” I say.

  “Yeah, I suppose. But that’s not why she’s divorcing me. I mean, I was still planning to move to Seattle. I’d told her I would, and I believe in keeping my word. My father always said your word is who you are.”

  “So what’s the reason for the divorce?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Is it Lily and the baby?”

  “It’s lots of things, but the bottom line is she doesn’t want to be married to me anymore.” He puts down the glass. “Anyway, now that we’re splitting and I’m staying, I’m making new arrangements. I have things lined out at work, and I notified the Seattle firm that I’m not moving. So the next order of business is you.”

  My heart thumps hard. “You mean Lily and the baby.”

  “Yes, and you.” He looks me in the eye. My pulse rate irrationally soars. “I know you didn’t sign up to have a father in the picture, but here I am. And, well, here I’m going to stay.” He leans forward. “I don’t want to impose on you, and I’m not saying I should see them every day, but I want to be as much a part of the children’s lives as you’ll let me be.”

  I don’t really know what to say, so I don’t say anything.

  “The other night you mentioned the possibility of me leasing Brooke’s house.” He pauses as the waiter brings us iced teas. “I went by the hospital and talked to Margaret about it this morning.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Wow. You didn’t waste any time.”

  “I don’t have a lot of time. The new owners take possession of my condo in three weeks.”

  “What did Margaret say?”

  “She loved the idea.” Zack smiles. “She’s more than happy to lease it to me, fully furnished, for nine months. After that, well, we’ll see.”

  “Wow,” I say, trying to process what this means.

  “This way I’ll just be two blocks away. With Margaret and Lily living with you and a baby on the way, you’re likely to need some help.”

  The concept thrills me. But wait—it shouldn’t, should it? All my internal alarm systems should be flashing red. This is not taking things slowly as Sarah advised! “I’m planning on hiring some help when the baby comes,” I tell him. “Brooke had a nanny who stayed with Lily while she was at work, and I plan to do the same thing. And Margaret will have a home nurse with her for much of the day, at least at first.”

  “Great. And I’ll be nearby for backup.”

  My expression must give away my worries.

  His brow furrows. “This was your suggestion, but you look kind of upset. Did you change your mind about it?”

  No. Yes! I don’t want to become too accustomed to you. “I, um, just don’t want Lily to become dependent on you,” I say, because it seems to cite Lily.

  “Why not? I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I’m staying in New Orleans, and I’ll be in her life from here on out. And the baby’s, too. I think this is a win-win situation.”

  For everyone but me. What if I get too attached to him, and he gets involved with someone else and leaves?

  Or, even worse—what if he gets involved with someone else, and doesn’t? My stomach sinks at the thought.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Quinn.” He places his hand over mine on the table. “I’m not going to abandon Lily or the baby.”

  I both love and hate that he gets me. It’s great to have someone who understands; it’s terrifying that it’s the man I’m falling for.

  Oh, God—am I falling for Zack?

  I force myself to smile. “You’re right. I’m probably being paranoid. If you’re going to be here, well, you might as well be nearby. But we need to talk to Lily and make sure she’s okay with you living in her old house.”

  “Sure.” He nods. “And while we’re on the subject of me helping out, I want to help you with expenses, too.”

  I balk at the idea. I don’t want him to have that kind of sway over me. “There’s no need. Brooke set up a generous monthly trust fund to pay for Lily’s care.”

  “Yes, but what about the baby? You said you’re planning to hire a nanny.”

  “I’ve budgeted for that,” I say. “I planned on being a single mother.”

  “And you still will be. That’s no reason for me not to help.”

  My feelings are too confused to sort through this issue at the moment. “Let’s talk about this later,” I say.

  “Okay. Sure. No rush.” He gives me a smile. “There’s one other matter I need to discuss with you, and then I’ll be done with serious topics.”

  I brace myself.

  “My sister warned me against being the good-time parent. She said Lily needs to do chores and errands and everyday boring things with me as well as fun stuff.”

  I smile. “I like the sound of your sister.”

  “Oh, you’ll love her. And she’ll love you, as well.”

  I feel a little thrill at the thought of getting to know his family. It’s Lily’s family, I tell myself. Lily’s, and the baby’s.

  “I volunteer once a month with a group that builds backyard vegetable gardens for low-income citizens,” he continues. “I was wondering if you’d both like to come help next Saturday.”

  Thank God—an easy decision! “Sure,” I say with a smile. “I don’t think this counts as a non-fun activity, though. Lily loves planting things.”

  “Just about anything can be fun if you do it with the right people.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ,” I say. “I don’t think a root canal could ever be fun. Or a colonoscopy.”

  He grins. “Have some experience with those, do you?”

  “No. Nor do I want any.”

  His dimple deepens. “Well, no worries. I don’t have either of those on the family agenda.”

  Family. He used the word family, as if that’s what
we are!

  I can’t help it. I beam at him, my heart so full it feels like it’s spilling over. We sit there, just smiling at each other, until the server brings our meals.

  As we eat, we talk about his work, my work, Lily, Saints football, what we’re reading, music, a new exhibit at the New Orleans Museum of Art, charitable projects we’re involved in, and movies. It turns out we have a lot in common. Our conversation is easy and fun and free-flowing. I feel lighter and happier than I’ve felt in months.

  “This is the last week of your first trimester, right?” Zack says as we finish our meals.

  I’m surprised he’s kept track. “That’s true.”

  “That’s a big milestone.” He picks up his iced tea glass and holds it out. “Here’s to you and our baby.”

  Our baby. The words make goose bumps rise on my arms. I grin like a moron and clink my glass against his. I feel giddy, as if I’ve drunk champagne instead of iced tea.

  As the plates are cleared, I excuse myself from the table and go to the ladies’ room so I can have a serious talk with myself.

  “Get a grip, girl,” I whisper to myself in the mirror as I wash my hands.

  Having Zack stay in New Orleans will undoubtedly be wonderful for Lily. It’ll be wonderful for the baby, and wonderful for Margaret.

  But what about me? I don’t want to get involved with a man who ticks off every item on my things-to-avoid-so-I-don’t-make-the-same-mistake-again list:

  Not ready for a relationship—check.

  On the rebound—check.

  Is someone I must continue to interact with if things don’t work out—check, check, and double check.

  It’s not wise for me to fall for Zack, not wise at all—and yet my heart already seems to have stepped off the ledge.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Margaret

  Tuesday, June 11

  QUINN HELPED ME move to the rehabilitation hospital yesterday. It was just a wheelchair ride away, but it’s in a whole separate building, so I got to go outside for the first time since my accident.

  Oh, how glorious to be outdoors! I swear, I was like a puppy hanging its head out of a car window. The sky overhead was blue, but clouds hung heavy in the west, and the air smelled like rain and possibilities. It was the first time I’d felt like anything good could happen in a while. Since Brooke’s death, I suppose.

  This new building is definitely a medical facility, but it feels a lot less like a hospital than the one I just left. Good heavens, but they work you like a field hand here! I’ve had all kinds of therapy and activities of daily living and who knows what else.

  It’s now four o’clock and I’m finally back in my room, sipping from an enormous water bottle, when Quinn walks in. She kisses me on the cheek and sits in a chair beside mine, smiling. “You look like you’ve been working out.”

  “Worked over is more like it.” I blot my upper lip with the end of the sweat towel looped around my neck. “I’m just getting back from cardiopulmonary therapy.”

  “What does that involve?”

  “Well, among other things, lifting weights.”

  “Sounds like a good way to build up your strength.”

  “I’m sure that’s true, but back in my day, weightlifting was strictly for men. A woman lifting barbells would have been considered unfeminine.” I take another sip of water. “My father used to say, ‘Men know women are the stronger sex, but they still don’t want a girl to beat them at arm wrestling.’”

  Quinn laughs. “Were you and your father close?”

  “Oh, yes. I trailed around after him like the scent of his Old Spice.” I can almost smell it as I remember him. “I helped out in his locksmith shop whenever I could. I learned the names of all his tools and handed them to him like a nurse handing scalpels to a surgeon.”

  Quinn smiles. “What was he like?”

  “He was kind,” I say. “He loved me and my little sister, and oh, he loved my mama. I thought he was going to die himself when Mama passed away of cancer.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I had just turned ten, and my sister was eight.” I feel my eyes grow moist. “She was in terrible pain at the end, but she was worried about us, not herself. One of the last things Mama told Papa was that she wanted him to marry again. She wanted Junie and me to have a mother. She said, ‘You can do a lot of things for them, but you can’t teach them to be ladies.’”

  “Did he remarry?”

  I nod. “About a year later. Mama Betsy was a widow with two girls of her own who were a little older than me.”

  “What was she like?”

  The years seem to roll back, like a window shade going up. Instead of pulling it down as I always have, I decide to look at the past straight on.

  “Mama Betsy was a pretty little thing with real nice manners,” I say, “but she didn’t like to deal with anything unpleasant. She favored her daughters, but Papa favored us, so things weren’t too bad. But then, when I was fourteen, Papa died; he just keeled over of a heart attack while installing the locks on the new bank.”

  “Oh, how terrible!” Quinn murmurs.

  I nod. “I thought the world had ended when Mama died, but it hadn’t, not really. When Papa was gone, though—well, that’s when the floor was yanked out from under us.

  “Mama Betsy didn’t know what to do about anything. Why, I had to make all the decisions about Papa’s burial. I called my aunt Kathy—she was Papa’s sister who lived in St. Louis, who’d stayed with me and Junie when Mama was sick—but she was in poor health, and couldn’t even come for the funeral.

  “It turned out Papa had left most of his assets, including the house, in a trust for Junie and me. Mama Betsy and the girls could continue to live there on the condition that she kept us and cared for us. Papa had arranged for her to receive a monthly allowance to pay for our care until we were of age, so we stayed where we were, but things were very different.

  “Without Papa there to stop them, her daughters started raiding Junie’s and my closet and taking our things. One day when everyone was out, I got Papa’s toolbox and a dead bolt, and I installed it on our bedroom door. Her girls tattled on me—told their mother I was ruining the house—but I said it was mine to ruin.

  “Well, that must have gotten Mama Betsy to thinking she’d best prepare for the future, because a few months later, she married an oilfield supervisor who had a teenage son. Oh, that boy was a hellion! He learned quick as the devil to leave Mama Betsy’s precious daughters alone, but oh, he’d harass Junie and me something fierce. He’d grab us and flip up our skirts—he was just indecent.

  “Mama Betsy did nothing about it and her husband, Mr. Earl, would just laugh. Half the time Mr. Earl wasn’t home anyway; he’d spend days at a time away at work. We kept our bedroom door locked when we weren’t in it and every night while we slept.

  “Good thing we did, too, because lo and behold, a few months later, Mama Betsy’s younger daughter turned up pregnant. I thought for sure the son was responsible—but the oldest girl, she piped up and said it was Mr. Earl. Said he’d been in her bed, too. Mama Betsy refused to believe her. Said she was a liar.”

  “Oh, no!” Quinn says.

  “The boy was sent to live with one of Mr. Earl’s relatives, and both girls were sent to Alabama to a home for wayward girls. A month after they were sent away, Mama Betsy was at a Wednesday night church meeting and Mr. Earl was supposed to be away overnight in the oil patch. I came home from the library, and I heard Junie screaming from the bathroom.

  “I ran in, and Mr. Earl had Junie on the floor, as naked as the day she was born. I broke a glass bottle of bubble bath over his head and knocked him out cold. I thought for a moment I might have killed him, but at the time, I didn’t even care.”

  “Oh, Miss Margaret!” Quinn’s eyes are full, and her hand covers her mouth.

&n
bsp; “I got there before he’d raped Junie, thank God, but she was a blubbering mess. He’d grabbed her out the tub, snatching her by her hair. A chunk of it lay on the floor.”

  I close my eyes, but I can still see it in my memory. I draw a steadying breath and continue. “I got Junie dressed—which wasn’t easy; her teeth were chattering and she was shaking like a leaf in a storm—and threw a few clothes in a bag. We went to a friend’s house. I told the mother what had happened and showed her Junie’s head and the bruises on her arm. She said come in, she’d doctor it up—but then her husband said they couldn’t get involved, that it wasn’t their business, that it was our family matter. When I explained that we didn’t have any real family, they let Junie and me stay the night, but we had to leave in the morning. Back then, I didn’t think of calling the police, and no one suggested it; it was just too shameful.”

  “That’s awful!” Quinn’s voice is low and horrified.

  “Yes, it was, but that’s how things were back then. The next day, I tried to phone my aunt Kathy again, and learned she’d died. So I went to the library and tried to look up a home for orphaned girls, thinking I’d find us a place to go. I needed the librarian’s help, so I made up a cockamamie story about researching a school paper, but Mrs. Clemmons saw right through me. Before I knew it, I’d blurted out the truth. She took us under her wing, bless her heart, and used her research skills to start looking into the situation.” She was the reason I later decided to become a librarian myself.

  Quinn takes my hand. I clutch it and continue talking. “She called up Mama’s old friends and acquaintances—that’s the advantage of a small town, where everyone knows everyone else—and asked if they knew anything about any of Mama’s out-of-town relatives. Someone remembered a male cousin from Baton Rouge who’d come to visit Mama towards the end. Mrs. Clemmons telephoned every man in Baton Rouge with Mama’s maiden name and finally found my uncle Ted. I didn’t remember ever meeting him, but he and his wife, Opal, agreed to take in Junie and me. ‘Blood looks after blood,’ he said.”

  I fall silent for a moment. “Junie and I lived with them until we went off to college. Uncle Ted gave me away at my wedding, and I cared for Aunt Opal in my home the last year of her life.”