Marrying Daisy Bellamy

by Susan Wiggs

  She turned down the bed and lay against the pillows to wait for Logan.

  “Mom.” Charlie’s voice slipped into her consciousness. “Hey, Mom, wake up.”

  Daisy startled awake, clutching the sheets against her décolletage and blinking at the morning light filtering through the window. “Hey, kiddo. What’s going down?” She glanced over her shoulder at Logan, who was still asleep. Her heart sank. She’d blown it. She had somehow managed to fall asleep while waiting for him to come to bed.

  “Nothing’s going down,” Charlie said. “Can we go to the lake today?”

  “Maybe. Church first,” she reminded him.

  “Rats.”

  “Hey, you like church.”

  “It’s boring. They make us color stuff like lilies and doves.”

  “It’s a special form of torture.”

  “And we have to sing songs.”

  “You like singing. You’re half Irish. You’re good at singing.”

  “Nuh-uh. You have to say that. You’re my mom.”

  “Which means I ought to know.”

  “Is Aunt Sonnet going to church?”

  “No, we’re taking her to the train station on the way.”

  “Rats,” he said again.

  “Now, scoot. Go fix yourself a bowl of cereal and we’ll be down in a bit.”

  “I’m turning on the TV,” he said. He knew she didn’t like him watching so much TV.

  “Brat,” she said. “I’ll be down really soon.”

  When he was gone, she turned to Logan and found him blinking himself awake. A beard stubble softened his jawline. He smiled at her with his eyes. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey yourself. Logan, I—”

  “Daisy, I’m sorry about last night.”

  “I was about to say the same thing.”

  “I said it first. I meant to snuggle in bed with Charlie when I went to check on him, and I completely fell asleep. Sorry.”

  Oh. So he didn’t even know she’d done the same exact thing. “Well, then,” she said. “Maybe during cartoons—”

  “Man, look at the time,” Logan said, heaving himself up and out of bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m meeting someone at the gym.”

  Now she was thoroughly bewildered. “It’s Sunday morning.”

  “Prime time at the gym.” He seemed a little sheepish. “I’m going to start working with a personal trainer.” He patted his sides. “Time to get rid of the love handles.”

  “Aww, Logan. Are you seriously choosing the gym over sex?”

  “I’m sick of myself. Having a desk job has its downside.” He headed into the bathroom.

  She got up and pulled her ratty, comfortable robe over the scandalous nightie. Suddenly the pearl necklace bothered her, and she took it off.

  Moving to the bathroom door, she said, “Just so you know, I still think you look amazing.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t think these extra pounds are amazing.”

  “More of you to love,” she pointed out. In high school and college, he’d been a star athlete, in peak form, handsome and fit. He did have a sweet tooth, though, and a hearty appetite that didn’t change, even after he settled into his career.

  “Don’t get too attached. The spare tire is going bye-bye.” He put on his gym clothes and grabbed his bag. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Blake shot in front of him and Logan went down. “Jesus Christ,” he snapped. “That damn dog’s always underfoot.”

  “She’s not a damn dog,” Charlie said, running into the foyer. “Are you, Blakey? Are you, girl?”

  “Right,” Logan said peevishly, and opened the door.

  “Hey,” said Daisy, “don’t let the dog—”

  Blake shot into the front yard.

  “Out,” she said, hurrying down the stairs.

  “Damn dog,” Logan repeated. “Get back in the house, you.”

  Blake spotted a squirrel across the street and took off in a blur of speed. A car came around the corner. The moments unfolded with the slow inevitability of a nightmare—the blare of a horn, the thump of brakes and the squeal of tires, the dog’s yelp of distress.

  “Blake,” Daisy screamed, her heart turning to ice.

  Charlie burst into hysterical tears.

  Logan rushed out into the street, Daisy at his heels. On the other side of the car, Logan bent down and straightened up, the dog tucked under his arm. “She’s okay,” he called.

  “Keep your dog out of the street, man,” the driver yelled, and continued on.

  Daisy took Blake and hugged her to her chest. “She’s fine, Charlie,” she said. “See?”

  Blake licked the little boy’s face. Charlie was gulping the air in panicked breaths. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. She’s just scared.” Daisy brought the dog back into the house and set her down. She couldn’t even look at Logan. It was an honest mistake, but terror lingered in a ball of ice in her stomach.

  “Sorry, buddy,” Logan said to Charlie. “Calm down, okay?”

  “You never liked her,” Charlie yelled. “You just pretend, but I know you never liked her.” He ran from the room, the dog at his heels.

  “I told you not to get a dog,” Logan snapped at Daisy, and left the house.

  Logan was late for church. He’d told Daisy he’d meet them there after the gym, but she hadn’t spotted him yet. She’d taken Sonnet to the station and then had gone on to church with Charlie, taking her place with the ever-expanding Bellamy clan. Heart of the Mountains Church had been attended by her grandmother Jane since Grandma was a girl, so it all felt very steeped in tradition.

  Although Logan had been raised Catholic, he usually attended church with Daisy and Charlie. Ten minutes into the service, he slid into the pew next to her, mouthing, “Sorry I’m late.”

  He looked flushed, his hair still damp from the shower. Tamping down the leftover anger from the Blake incident, she showed him the page they were on in the prayer book.

  Charlie fidgeted between them, but did an admirable job of squirming quietly. He gave his halfhearted attention to the reading, then quickly abandoned it. The small print was too challenging for a fledgling reader, anyway.

  He was behind in his reading, according to his teacher. Behind in his reading, in math, and he’d been acting out inappropriately. Daisy bit her lip, trying to give the problem up to the Lord. It bounced right back at her. The Lord was funny that way. He never gave anybody a free pass.

  She hadn’t brought up the latest teacher’s note with Logan yet. She hadn’t wanted to spoil their anniversary.

  Turned out they’d done a fine job spoiling it on their own.

  Snap out of it, she told herself, and put her heart into the Communion song, an old favorite—“Abide in My Heart.” As the song went on, she glanced around, suffused with gratitude to be surrounded by so many familiar, beloved family members, friends and neighbors.

  Yet deep in a secret place, she felt an unbidden but too-familiar twinge.

  She and Logan…something wasn’t quite right. The notion had been sneaking into her thoughts with increasing frequency, despite her efforts to crowd it out by staying busy and pretending the feeling didn’t exist. But this morning with the dog, and here in church, she couldn’t lie or hide from the truth.

  Looking at other couples she knew—Olivia and Connor, Jenny and Rourke were perfect examples—Daisy sensed they had something she and Logan lacked. In addition to the ease and comfort that came of familiarity, there was also the sizzle of chemistry. She tried hard to cultivate that chemistry with Logan, but again and again, her efforts fell flat. She wondered if he noticed.

  No. They’d known one another forever. They were parents to a beautiful little boy. They lived in a nice home and had everything to be grateful for.

  God, she prayed, let me be thankful for all the blessings in my life. Let me not want more. Let this be enough.

  Maybe, she thought, that was what love was supposed to be
—feeling content in the knowledge that what you had was enough. Except…sometimes that feeling of contentment eluded her, too.

  After the service, there was a gathering on the lawn behind the church, as usual. The day was brilliant and warm, summer’s final flare before the leaves began to turn.

  “How did your training go at the gym?” she asked.

  “I worked like a mule. Now I’m starving.” He grabbed a glazed donut from the refreshments table and wolfed it down.

  She bit her lip, saying nothing. Maybe the trainer would give him some tips about diet.

  “Hi, Grammy Jane.” Charlie sped over to his great-grandparents. “Dad’s taking me kayaking today, aren’t you, Dad?”

  “Sure, buddy,” said Logan.

  “That sounds like fun,” said Daisy’s grandmother.

  Daisy greeted her grandparents with a hug. Charles and Jane Bellamy had been married fifty-seven years and still seemed to adore each other. They’d surely had moments of conflict and doubt, but to be together that long had to mean they’d started with something special.

  She watched Logan return to the refreshments table. He helped himself to another doughnut and chatted with Daphne McDaniel, the receptionist at Daisy’s mom’s firm.

  “…setting a date for the family reunion, would that be all right?” her grandmother was asking.

  “I’m sorry,” said Daisy, shaking off her thoughts. “What was that, Grandma?”

  “The reunion. I need to know what days everyone is available so I can set the date.”

  “Oh, I see.” The tradition of an annual Bellamy family reunion, held at Camp Kioga, had sprung from sadness. Granddad’s long-lost brother George had returned to Avalon, and two estranged sides of the Bellamy family found each other again. Shortly afterward, George had died, leaving behind a few simple truths—life was too short to be lived by half measures. And if there was a chance to get together with family, the opportunity should be seized.

  “I’ll email you my dates,” Daisy said.

  “For heaven’s sake, don’t email your grandmother,” Jane scolded.

  “Yes, who does that?” Olivia asked, joining them. “Who emails her grandmother?”

  Daisy laughed. “I bet people in Seattle do. And Silicon Valley.”

  “Don’t get cheeky with me. Come for a visit, and I’ll take out my proper engagement calendar and we’ll pick a date. I wanted to check with you early because of your work schedule.”

  “Thanks, Grandma.” The wedding photography business wreaked havoc on her free time, eating up entire weekends. “I’m sure we’ll find a conflict-free weekend.”

  “Speaking of conflict…” Olivia patted Daisy’s shoulder and gestured at the playground.

  Charlie and another boy were yelling at each other, Charlie red-faced, his jaw jutting out. He gave the boy a shove, and the kid shoved back. Daisy hurried toward them, pulling Logan away from his conversation with Daphne.

  “Hey,” he said. “What the—”

  “It’s Charlie.”

  They reached the squabbling kids before the shoving escalated into blows. Logan bodily picked up Charlie and carried him away.

  “What the hell was that about?” Logan demanded.

  “He started it.” Charlie’s face was redder than ever.

  “Let’s go have a talk,” Daisy said.

  They found a spot under a shade tree. Horse chestnuts scattered the ground, encased in green, prickly pods. Charlie picked one up and flung it, hard.

  “Hey,” said Logan, “simmer down.”

  “What’s going on, Charlie?” Daisy asked.

  “He started it.”

  “That’s not what I saw,” Daisy said. “I saw the two of you yelling, and then you shoved him.”

  Charlie’s cheeks puffed out. “But he started it.”

  “Back up a little,” Logan suggested. “Who is he, and what did he start?”

  “Brandon Wilkes and he’s in my class at school.”

  Great, thought Daisy. Misha Wilkes’s kid. Misha was in charge of everything at the school—president of the PTA, chairman of the book fair, head of the Schools for Excellence committee, and probably a bunch of committees Daisy had never heard of. Misha Wilkes was exactly the kind of woman you didn’t want for an enemy.

  “And what did Brandon start with you?” Daisy asked.

  “He called me a retard,” Charlie blurted out. His chin trembled. Daisy could see his anger melt visibly into hurt.

  “That’s a completely inappropriate word,” she said. “We don’t even use that word in our family.”

  “Brandon said it about me.”

  “It’s just a stupid word.” Logan seemed completely confused by the situation. “Seriously, you can walk away from that sh—stuff.”

  “He said it a bunch of times,” Charlie reported. “He said I’m the dumbest one in class and I’m going to flunk out and I’ll have to go to a special school. He kept saying it and saying it.”

  Daisy’s heart sank. She thought about the notes from the teacher. Had there been fighting at school, too?

  “Well, it doesn’t matter how many times he said it,” Logan told Charlie. “You still have to ignore it and walk away.”

  “Then he would call me a chicken,” said Charlie.

  “They’re just words, buddy. You got to let them roll off you. If this was a soccer game, you’d get a penalty.”

  “So here’s the good news,” Daisy said before they strayed too far from the issue. “The good news is, I’m not giving you a time-out or putting you on restriction.”

  Charlie’s eyes widened. That was her typical response to many infractions.

  “But here’s the bad news,” she added. “It’s not bad, but you’re going to have to be a really big boy about it.”

  “What do you mean?” A scowl of suspicion creased his brow.

  “We’re going to go find Brandon right now so you can apologize and shake his hand.” She looked to Logan for concurrence. He raised his eyebrows.

  “No way,” said Charlie, his face flushing again. “I can’t.”

  “You can, and you will.”

  “No. He started it. I’m not sorry I pushed him. I should’ve punched him in the nose.” He jiggled from one foot to the other.

  “Tell you what,” Logan suggested. “This kid Brandon, he sounds like a real rat’s ass to me.”

  Charlie’s eyes widened with delight. “He is. He is a rat’s ass.”

  “Hey,” Daisy objected.

  “Anyway,” Logan went on, “there’s a way to deal with a kid like that. You go up to him and make a real nice apology and shake his hand, like your mom said. And then you’ll see. It’ll make him nuts, and the whole world will see he’s a total rat’s ass.”

  “I can’t,” Charlie said, though the protest sounded weaker now.

  “If you’re big enough to pick a fight, you’re big enough to end it. He’s over there with his mother.” Daisy took Charlie’s hand and held it firmly, towing him along. “Brandon,” she called. “Hey, Charlie has something he wants to say to you.”

  Brandon’s mother, Misha, turned to them. She was an older mom, with a successful career in advertising behind her. In her impeccable St. John’s suit and with every hair in place, she exuded class…and chilly disdain.

  “Go ahead,” Logan said, nudging him toward Brandon.

  Charlie stared at the ground. He mumbled something.

  “You need to say it again,” Daisy said, “and look him in the eye and speak up.”

  Charlie was trembling. His voice was quiet but clear as he stared at the other boy and said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you and pushed you for calling me a retard.”

  Okay, so not quite the generous apology she might have wanted, but the words “I’m sorry” had been said.

  Unprompted, Charlie stuck out his hand. Brandon, a boy with an angelic face and frosty blue eyes, took a step back. His mother nudged him forward. The boys’ hands joined for one brief shake, then separate
d as though they’d each touched a hot stove.

  “Fair enough,” said Logan. “Let’s go, Charlie. See you around, Mrs. Wilkes.”

  Daisy took note of Misha Wilkes’s stiff posture and expression of startled contempt. “Hmm, have a nice day,” she muttered, and followed Logan to the car.

  At home, she sent Charlie upstairs to change. In the meantime, she showed Logan the note from the teacher.

  “They want to schedule a meeting. It’s not just his progress. She says he’s aggressive and combative with other students. I guess we saw that after church this morning.”

  “That little shit provoked him,” Logan pointed out. “Calling him a retard? Seriously?”

  “I want Charlie to learn to walk away from things like that.” She sat down at the kitchen table as a wave of nausea came over her. “Oh, God.”

  “You all right?”

  “I’m fine. I had the weirdest flash of déjà vu.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My brother, Max,” she said. “He struggled all the way through grade school. He would fly into these rages, and nothing could get through to him. My parents hired tutors and psychologists galore. He never actually learned to read until he was around ten years old. Then he learned over the course of one summer.”

  “Something must’ve clicked for him, then.”

  She paused, thinking back across the years. “That was the summer our parents split up,” she said quietly.

  “Believe me, a kid can learn to read without breaking up his family,” Logan pointed out.

  “I’m not saying…” Her voice trailed off. “I suppose it had to do with stress. Anyway, back to Charlie. The library opens at noon today. Let’s take him to pick out some books, and—”

  “Sorry, I’ve got plans today,” Logan said. “League soccer.”

  “Oh.” She bit her tongue, torn between saying to hell with soccer and telling him to enjoy his game. “God, Logan. You always do this.”

  “Do what?”

  As if he didn’t know. “Find a reason to take off when there’s a problem.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

  “Then stick around and help me.”