Since You've Been Gone

by Allan, Christa

  He didn’t falter on that question. But anguish replaced the embarrassed guilt that reddened his face earlier. “I did talk to him. Wyatt said he had a small policy at work, nothing great, as we found out. We were going to talk when the two of you returned from your honeymoon.”

  At dinner that night I told my parents about the baby’s heartbeat, how it sounded like a herd of horses galloping on sand.

  “Scarlett, that’s exciting, isn’t it?” Dad reached across the table and squeezed her shoulder, almost knocking over his glass of tea.

  “Be careful. You could have spilled that all over us,” said my mother, moving her own glass closer to her plate. “Yes, it’s very nice to hear,” she said, with the enthusiasm of “Place your tray table in the upright position.”

  Remembering my grandmother’s words, I slapped my hand over the mouth of my inner teen, and with a voice that could melt frosting, I said, “Thanks.” I pushed my chair away from the table, then stopped. “Mom, I thought of you. How listening to this baby’s beating heart, I understood what it felt like for you to hear mine. And all those feelings I experienced, I hoped were the ones you did, too.”

  She turned the cup in her hands, watching her coffee slosh from side to side. The ice maker whirred, filling itself with water, the coffeemaker sputtered the end of its cycle, and my mother sighed and bit her lower lip.

  “Blessed. I felt blessed.” She looked at me, her eyes clear, and said, “And scared. Because I loved you so much from that moment, I was afraid I might never have the chance to hold you.”

  I’d emotionally braced myself for one of her caustic or dismissive responses. It took me a few seconds to recover from the shock of her being honest and vulnerable. I wanted to tell her that she had the chance to hold me now. To help me not be afraid.

  But I was afraid. Afraid that the judgmental mother lurked under the surface of the one who had just spoken.

  “I understand,” I said and kissed her on the forehead before I walked away.

  CHAPTER 32

  Not a happy start to my morning to be told by my grandmother—or as she said, “warned”—that she and her gray-haired posse planned a road trip to Gatlinburg, Pigeon Forge, and the Smoky Mountains, then a stop in Hot Springs, Arkansas, on the way home.

  “You’re leaving me? When did you decide to do this?”

  “I wasn’t going to take the trip because of your mother’s surgery, but Laura’s a go-getter, and all I do is get in the way. So when Beverly had to cancel at the last minute because she broke her ankle at Zumba, I figured I’d slip on in her place. You’ll be fine. Maybe you and your mother will be able to make some progress. Hope so, because I’ll be gone almost two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” Panic tiptoed in and started making itself at home in my stomach. “But I have that appointment. And then I’ll be going to Houston just a few weeks after you get back, and—”

  “Honey, you know I love you, but you need to find a friend your own age while you’re here. And I want to spend some time with friends my age, too. I’ve never been to Dollywood. It’s on my bucket list,” she said.

  You would deprive this woman of her bucket list?

  Sometimes my good conscience showed up at times I’d rather it stayed home.

  “What’s this on the calendar?” I pointed to the monitor where Dad had entered Golf w/ EG at ten o’clock, then blocked himself out for the day. “I have an appointment during lunch. How’s that going to work?”

  “It’s not. You didn’t tell me you needed to go somewhere. We have to talk about these things ahead of time. Can you reschedule this appointment? Is it something with the baby? I’ll cancel the game if I need to—”

  “No, it’s not life or death.” My grandmother and Mia were the only two people who knew about the PI appointment. I didn’t want to tell my parents, but I’d kept it such a secret from them, I’d forgotten to tell Dad I’d need time off. “I’ll call this morning and set up another time.”

  Clothes not only make the man, they tell you where he’s going. When my father walked in without his briefcase, wearing his Lake Hills Country Club polo shirt and khakis, I should have known this was not another day at the office for him. And that’s why you need a private investigator, Olivia, because your powers of observation suck.

  “Let me know when it is, and I’ll make sure I’m here.” He whistled on his way to his first cup of coffee.

  “You’re leaving early, plus you’re not coming back for the rest of the day? How am I supposed to answer all these questions? I don’t think you want me to call you when you’re teeing off or putting or whatever—”

  “Olivia, calm down,” he said, grinning as he stood waiting for the coffee to finish and practicing his swing with his invisible golf club. “You’ll be fine. Just take messages. If it’s something urgent, text me or call, and I’ll take care of it.” He shaded his eyes, hand on his forehead, and pretended to look down the fairway. “I haven’t been on the course in weeks.”

  “Wouldn’t have ever suspected . . .” I mumbled, still annoyed, but mostly with myself for having to reschedule. The first call was challenge enough, but having to make a second call? It’s your own fault. And when I climbed out of my ego for a minute, I saw his smile and how relaxed he seemed, and I realized this outing was the perfect mental health day for him. When I worked, as in my real job at Visual Strategies, we’d joke about our “too well to work” days instead of taking off for sick days.

  “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you”—he paused to sip his coffee—“I’m playing with Evan. Evan Gendusa.”

  “That’s, um, a surprise. I didn’t know he was in town.” I busied myself lining up the pens, candy, and business cards on the front counter. “Be sure and tell him hello for me,” I said, making an effort to sound friendly without suggesting eagerness. Which would be dumb, right, Olivia? Especially since (a) your almost husband just died, (b) you’re pregnant, and (c) he’s engaged.

  “You can tell him yourself. He’s coming here to pick me up,” he said and started walking to his office.

  “Whoa, Dad,” I called. “Stop right there. Ya think you could’ve mentioned that this morning when I was debating what to wear and if I should bother wearing makeup?”

  “You women,” he said and shook his head. The head shake that meant “You’re so silly to worry about that.”

  “No . . . it’s more like ‘you men.’ It’s not as if you haven’t been around when Mom and I have these meltdowns. Would you want to show up for an appointment with spinach between your teeth?” I sat behind my desk and opened the bottom drawer to pull my anorexic makeup bag out of my purse.

  “Come on, Livvy, you’ve known Evan since high school. I’m sure there were times when you might have shown up without looking like you were headed to a beauty pageant,” he said. “Let me know when he gets here, probably in a half hour or so. In the meantime, I’m going to see what I can accomplish before I leave.”

  “Sure. I’ll just be sitting here looking like, what is it that Ruthie says? ‘As ugly as homemade sin.’ No problem.”

  I was rummaging through my purse, not looking at the front door, but then the bell announced someone had arrived. “I’ll be with you in a minute . . .”

  “That might be fifty seconds too long.”

  I remembered the scent before I recognized his voice or saw his face. When Evan and I dated, I’d told Mia his cologne made me swoony. “It smells like expensive silk sheets and butter-soft leather with moments of musky oranges.” She’d told me she wasn’t surprised I felt dizzy if all that was going on in his cologne.

  I looked up, and there he stood.

  Not at all like I remembered him.

  Better.

  His brownish hair, once cut short, had grown to a respectable length. He was still thin, but now—at least from the waist up, which was all I could see—he had muscle definition. And the fact that I noticed all of this about him made me feel like a bipolar thirteen-year-old with crush issues and
an almost thirty-year-old with cheating issues.

  “‘Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world’ . . . Great to see you, Livvy,” he said. “Your dad mentioned you might be here.”

  “You, too. Well, not the ‘mentioned that you might be here.’ The ‘great to see you.’ That part.” Bravo, Olivia. The epitome of articulate.

  Now what? If I stood, I was too far along for him to think I had a sudden onset of bloating. He must already know I’m pregnant. Our parents were friends . . . and then this town . . . By now there might be a Sherpa or two in Nepal who hadn’t heard.

  If only he didn’t look like an improved version of himself.

  He’s engaged. My nude face and my baby bump didn’t matter now, so I stood.

  “By the way, congrats on your wedding . . . Your brother mentioned it to me before I moved to Houston. When are you going back to Baton Rouge?”

  To his credit, he maintained eye contact instead of resorting to an airport-security body-scan to check out my pregnancy. He opened his mouth to answer, but my father’s voice came out.

  “Hey, buddy. I thought I heard a familiar voice.” My dad welcomed Evan like a prodigal son. Rewarding him with a face-cracking smile, well-pumping handshake followed by the traditional, nonthreatening arms around shoulders, chests bumping, backslapping bro-man hug. “Good to see you. Real good.”

  “You too, George,” Evan said without a trace of awkwardness. Wyatt called my father Mr. Kavanaugh until . . . until he couldn’t anymore.

  “Evan here thinks he can beat me at my own game.”

  I might have found the warmth nestled in his voice touching when he talked to Evan, except that I’d never heard it in his conversations with the man I almost married.

  “It’s been a long time since he’s seen me on the golf course,” Evan said. “I think your father’s underestimating me.”

  Maybe I had, too.

  That longer-haired, well-built man still housed traces of the Evan from years ago. Shades of ego, assuming he’s not bound by social conventions and can dispense with “Mr.” when he speaks to my father. Even the way he filled a space. A magnet drawing everything to himself.

  On the way out, Evan turned around and said, “Olivia, let’s catch up another time, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said, waiting for him to close the door before I finished what I really wanted to say. You, your fiancée, pregnant me . . . we’ll ‘catch up’ because why? You want the details of my riveting life?

  One thing I knew for certain. I didn’t want the details of their charmed about-to-be-married-and-live-happily-ever-after lives.

  After they left, I called and rescheduled my appointment with the private investigator. Maybe I’d eventually find out what had destroyed my charmed about-to-be-married, happily-ever-after life.

  CHAPTER 33

  I closed the office early after doodling possible baby names for an hour, went home, and found Laura and my mother on the backyard deck.

  “Livvy, hey.” Laura waved as I walked out the back door. “Look at your mom. She’s breaking out of her training wheels.”

  Her walker had been pushed to the side, and she managed small steps using her cane and holding Laura’s elbow. Two lengths of duct tape, about two feet apart, were her starting and ending points. She stared at that tape as if looking at it harder might bring it closer. A step or so away from the finish line, her mouth twisted in pain, but she didn’t stop.

  Laura and I applauded when she reached the end, then Laura steered her to a chair. “I’m going inside to grab some iced tea. Too hot, and too early for wine.” She winked and disappeared through the door.

  I bent over and kissed Mom on the cheek. “Great job,” I said. “I’m proud of how hard you’re working.”

  My sincerity seemed to surprise her, because she looked at me and something close to a smile was happening on her lips.

  “Thanks. Laura’s been a godsend. We were so lucky to find her. Your dad was right; it’s easier for someone who isn’t family to push you. And she won’t let me whine.”

  Laura walked out with three glasses of iced tea on a tray. “Did I hear you say ‘wine’? It’s not five o’clock yet, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember.” My mother nodded, took a glass, and handed one to me. “The first day you were here, I wanted it for breakfast. By the afternoon, I wanted to break the bottle over your head.”

  “Charming, isn’t she?” Laura said and joined me on the glider. “I’m glad the boss let you off early. What’s the occasion?”

  “The occasion is a golf game, and I begged to close the office early before I fell asleep on the desk and drooled all over the calendar pad.”

  I asked my mother if she’d known Dad was playing with Evan this morning. “Isn’t his law practice in Baton Rouge? And I thought he was getting married soon.”

  “He mentioned the golf game to me yesterday,” she said and wiped her forehead with the napkin that had been around her tea glass. “Evan’s mother dropped by a few days ago.”

  “Lacey? She was the one who looked like she shopped in her daughter’s closet?” Laura looked at me and rolled her eyes.

  I coughed my giggle into my napkin, surprised my mother didn’t jump to her friend’s defense.

  Mom sipped her tea, sighed, and said, “I guess I have to admit wearing leggings with stilettos and a halter tunic wouldn’t be appropriate for women my age.” She shook her head. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but . . .” And then she proceeded to do exactly that.

  “Sorry I missed that fashion nightmare, but did she tell you anything about the wedding?”

  “No wedding in Evan’s future.” Laura made an X with her forefingers. “Oops, sorry, Mrs. K, guess you should’ve answered since I only know because I was eavesdropping.”

  “Lacey blathered her family’s business in front of both of us,” said my mother. “Anyway”—she paused and adjusted herself in the chair—“Evan’s not living in Baton Rouge. He’s moved back.”

  “He’s opening a law practice here?”

  “No. Lacey said Evan wasn’t happy practicing law. His fiancée broke off the engagement. She didn’t go into details about that, but I got the impression his fiancée thought Evan might not be able to support her lifestyle. She’s from one of those old-moneyed families. Debutante, queen of one of the New Orleans’ carnival balls.”

  “I must have zoned out or been in the bathroom when she told you why he moved back,” said Laura, turning to me. “Lacey is one of those people who would go through New York to get to California. Her stories should come with intermissions.”

  I’d met Evan’s mother, usually at my parents’ house or club events, but we rarely had much to say to each other. Our conversations usually took place in different time zones.

  “Evan’s always loved golf. When he was in college, he used to come back for the summers to teach clinics for kids. His father told him the club needed a golf pro because our pro was moving to Florida. Evan decided to apply, they gave him the job, and Lacey said he’s doing that until.”

  “Until what?” I almost couldn’t process so much un-Evan-like information. No Baton Rouge living. No wedding. No lawyering.

  My mother shrugged her shoulders. “Until . . . I don’t know. She didn’t say. I think she’s hoping this golf thing is temporary.”

  “Go figure. Funny how things turn out. You and Dad thought Wyatt working as a chef was borderline acceptable, but you were concerned that he didn’t have ambition. Now Evan, the man you thought would be the perfect match, seems to be not so perfect after all.”

  In retrospect, I should have allowed those musings to simmer in my brain before I tossed them out, all raw and unseasoned. My mother’s calm and open demeanor since I’d arrived had lulled me into thinking I could speak without editing first.

  Wrong.

  “Actually, your father and I admire Evan for having the courage to pursue what he loves. And it’s refreshing that he isn’t concerned about people�
��s perceptions. He’s willing to take a risk. Like your father did all those years ago when he left a comfortable position at another agency to start his own business.” She set her glass on the deck, grabbed her cane, and started to pull herself up.

  “Wait,” Laura demanded. “Let me get your walker.” She looked at me, mouthed, “What happened?” and retrieved the walker for my mother.

  “Mom, what are you doing?” I knew exactly, but I didn’t want to argue in front of Laura, more for her sake than either my mother’s or mine.

  “Olivia, it’s steamy outside, I’m tired, and I know Laura has to leave soon. She’s going to help me back to bed so I can rest before your father comes home.”

  “Okay, then,” I said in a way that meant it wasn’t okay. At all. Rather than tell me she’s upset with me or something I said, she’ll leave.

  Difficult to argue with a shadow.

  I stayed outside, letting my frustration wear itself out in the tranquilizing back-and-forth motion of the glider. Like when Lily was still new to the universe and had colic, and we’d rock and rock and rock until we rocked it all out. She’d be on my shoulder, and I’d crane my neck to look at her without waking her just to see that perfect O her lips formed when she surrendered to sleep.

  I might have fallen asleep myself because I didn’t remember Laura opening the door and coming to sit on the glider again.

  “She’s settled in her bedroom. I stacked a few magazines by her, left her cell phone on the nightstand, and made sure she took her meds. Maybe that’s why she was a little bit on edge,” said Laura.

  “Nice of you to say that, but I’m afraid I’m the edge she’s on.” I tapped my stomach. “Or maybe it’s the baby or both of us. Who knows?”

  “Explain that to me again. I’m catching the tail end of a big elephant here.”

  I gave Laura a condensed version of the past few months, without the details of the gifts and the private investigator. Her expressions morphed from sadness to confusion to anger and back again. “I’m sorry that you’re in the middle of this, but then again, I’m not. My mother’s a different person with you. Nicer. I’m hoping at least some of it stays after you’re not here,” I said.