Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers

by Bird, Peggy

  Annie heard the words echo in her own mind. If only I’d been a better wife, daughter, mother … “I think I understand that,” she said slowly.

  Beverly paused. “Yes, I think you do. And I’m sorry for that.”

  “Why should you be sorry?”

  Her aunt sighed and took a long sip of iced tea. She tented her long fingers, her rings gleaming in the sun streaming through the window. She looked outside, as if trying to gather strength from the natural beauty outside the window.

  “It’s a shame to bring such horror into this peaceful place,” Beverly said. She looked at Annie with her deep hazel eyes. “Remember I said that I felt like my dad was watching me, waiting for something?”

  Annie nodded.

  “The first time I got my period, my parents made a big deal of it. It was odd, because they’d never made a big deal of anything else in my life. When I was finished for the first time, they had a special supper — I think Mark stayed at a friend’s house to avoid it. My father said, ‘You’re a woman, now, Beverly.’”

  Annie felt like a stone dropped in her gut.

  Chapter 20

  “My mom gave me a gift after dinner,” Beverly continued. “A very pretty white nightgown. She had a strange expression on her face when she told me to go put it on and come out to show them.” Beverly’s voice tightened. “I could hear them arguing while I changed. It stopped when he slapped her. When I saw how the gown made me look, I really didn’t want to go out.”

  Beverly took a long drink. “It was sheer. I left my bra and panties on, but I still felt exposed. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this, much less my father. I heard him bellowing for me to come out. My mother came to the door, her cheek red and tears in her eyes. She took me by the hand and led me out.”

  “I think you know what came next,” she said to Annie. “My mother went to her bedroom and my father took me back to mine. He … he raped me.” Beverly’s voice choked.

  Annie’s mouth went dry. “How old were you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  It was the same age that Annie had been when she first got her period.

  The two women sat in silence.

  “You’d think I should be over it by now. It’s been forty years,” Beverly finally said. “But I don’t think you ever get over a betrayal that deep.” She drained her glass. The waiter, who’d been keeping an eye on them from a far doorway, immediately came to refill it.

  “He came to my bedroom a few times a month after that. It continued through my high school years. He threatened to kill my mother if I told anyone. I believed him and never told.”

  “How did you survive?”

  A small smile came to Beverly’s face. “When I was little, my mom had taken me to dance lessons. I loved ballet and jazz. She only paid for lessons for a couple of years and then said they were a waste of time. I stopped going, but I never forgot the feeling. I was in my own little world of music and movement.

  “When I was in high school, a new dance teacher came to town — someone who’d retired from a dance troop in Los Angeles. I saved from my lunch money, stole from my mother’s purse and my dad’s wallet. I figured they owed me. I talked my way into a scholarship and got my lessons. Claire, the teacher’s name was Claire, said I had talent and took me on as an assistant. She gave me private lessons and encouraged me to go to New York when I graduated.”

  “Did you ever tell Claire about … ”

  Beverly shook her head. “Not until I had to. Saying it aloud would make it real. When it was only in my mind, I could pretend it wasn’t really happening.”

  The waiter came to serve their meals. With unspoken agreement, the women changed topics. Beverly told Annie about her friend in San Jose. Annie gave Beverly an abbreviated picture of her life — college, marriage to Fred, and David’s birth. As the meal wound down, Annie realized she still had unanswered questions. How had her aunt escaped? How did she become a dancer in New York?

  The waiter cleared their plates and they ordered coffee. “It’s too bad you can’t stay and meet David,” Annie said.

  “Perhaps next time. Unfortunately, this is a busy time of year for dance instructors — spring recitals eat up a lot of time. And, since this is my first full year in Athens, I need to make it work.”

  “What made you move to Georgia?”

  “To answer that, I need to finish telling you my story. That’s why I took this trip. After my husband died, I felt a strong urge to reconnect with you. I guess I felt guilty for abandoning you all those years ago. I want to tell you my story in hopes that you’ll forgive me.”

  Annie felt Beverly’s gaze bore into her. It would be difficult to hide secrets from her aunt. And she wasn’t ready to talk about herself. “I don’t think there’s anything to forgive you for. But I do want to hear your story. What happened next? How did you get away to New York?” And what about the baby?

  “I learned to lie there doing imaginary jetés in my head until it was over.” Beverly’s breath caught. “The only time it didn’t work was the day I saw Mark watching. My dad had left the door slightly ajar. He was on top of me, grunting, when I heard the door squeak. I looked up and there was Mark, outside the bedroom, staring at me. I mouthed the words, ‘Help me.’ He didn’t move. Then I saw him smile. He just stood there and watched, smiling.”

  Beverly used the napkin to blot a tear that had slipped from her eye. She grasped Annie’s hand. “That’s why I felt it was important to come here and why I feel bad about staying away all those years. I worried that Mark would turn out to be like my dad.” She seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Did your father abuse you?”

  “No.”

  Beverly cocked her head and said, “I think we both know that’s not entirely true. I can see it in your eyes. I know this is tough. You’ve probably never admitted what happened to anyone, no matter how many therapists you’ve gone to. I felt ashamed for years. Like it was my fault somehow.”

  She took a deep breath. “But I learned that you need to say the words aloud to heal. You hardly know me, but maybe there’s someone you trust to tell the truth. Is there?”

  Annie steeled herself. “Nothing happened.”

  Beverly leaned back, her face sagging a little, the dancing sprite gone from her eyes. “I hope you change your mind someday.” She hesitated a moment. “In fact, if you need to tell my story so you can tell your own, you have my permission.”

  “Oh, okay.” Annie didn’t know if she’d tell the story to anyone. Maybe Elizabeth. Maybe not. “You still haven’t told me how you got to New York.”

  Beverly drank deeply from her coffee cup and stared out the window. Annie didn’t think she was seeing the riverside garden.

  “I came up pregnant. I couldn’t stand the thought of having my father’s bastard, but I couldn’t abort it either. I finally told Claire, my dance teacher. She helped me set up the appointment, pretended to be my parent, and signed the consent form, but when the time came, I couldn’t go through with it. No matter what someone else had done to me, I couldn’t take it out on the child.

  “The night after I graduated, I ran away. Claire gave me bus fare and the name of a contact in New York who helped me get a place, find a job, and start taking classes again. But the stress and activity must have been too much. One day after coming home from class, I started bleeding. I miscarried the baby.”

  Beverly’s eyes moistened. Idly, she wiped away the tear that trickled down her face. “The guy at the emergency room was a new doctor. He botched the D&C. I was never able to have another child.”

  It was Annie’s turn to reach across and hold her aunt’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  They sat quietly for a moment.

  “Enough,” Beverly said, waving at the waiter for a check. Annie looked around. The room had emptied while they were talking, but like many of the small restaurants in the county, the staff had let them be.

  They gathered their things and left the building.

  “Th
ere was a happy ending,” Beverly said as they reached her rental car. “I got to dance with Alvin Alley, one of the best troupes in the country. I met Jerry there. We fell in love and lived in New York until he died a few years ago from cancer. Athens was his hometown. We’d spent many summers there with his family — Jerry had three sisters and a dozen nieces and nephews. They adopted me as one of their own. It felt natural to move there when I retired.”

  She glanced at her watch. “I have to go, my flight leaves at four.” She took both of Annie’s hands in hers. “I felt it was important to see you and I’m glad I came. I hope my story can make a difference in your life. Tell someone what happened, Annie. It’s important. The truth has the power to change your whole life.”

  Beverly hugged her and stepped into her car. Annie waved as her aunt drove out of the parking lot.

  She’d never felt so alone.

  She numbly moved to the Prius. Put one foot in front of the other. That’s what she had to do. Keep everything in control, plan every action, don’t rely on anyone and it would all be okay — she wouldn’t be hurt. Annie felt her face soften and tears fill her eyes, but she couldn’t let go, not here in the parking lot.

  Maybe Beverly was right; it was time to face the truth. She’d lost her control over most of her life anyway — David, her job, even Fred wasn’t the same. Maybe it was time to face the fact that she never really had control in the first place. It was all an illusion.

  Annie sighed. She hadn’t really lied to Beverly. Her father hadn’t raped her. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t tried.

  • • •

  After dinner, Annie sat in the living room and stared at the phone in her hand. She hadn’t heard from Elizabeth in days, which was strange. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to tell her friend about Beverly’s revelations. Friendship won out.

  Elizabeth sounded distant when she answered.

  “What’s wrong? You sound awful.”

  “Do I? Must be allergies.”

  “C’mon Elizabeth, we’ve been friends too long.”

  In the end, they agreed to meet for dinner the following night while Fred was attending David’s soccer practice.

  Annie hung up the phone and sat quietly, mulling over Beverly’s story and thinking about her own. She’d never told the whole truth of her childhood or her father’s suicide to anyone, even her mother. Good therapists always knew she was hiding something, but she stopped going when they got too close.

  What difference could talking about it make? The memories made her feel ashamed and inadequate. If she told others the story, they’d know the truth — that her father had killed himself because of her. Maybe if she only told part of the story, they’d accept that and move on. She didn’t have to tell them the worst.

  • • •

  When Annie arrived at Elizabeth’s, her friend led her to the dining nook where brightly colored plates, linens, and fine crystal punctuated the dark wood. A crisp spring salad with baby greens and cherry tomatoes commanded the center of the table while an uncorked bottle of Thomas Fogarty Pinot noir waited for the meal to begin.

  “This is lovely!” Annie exclaimed. “You must have spent hours. What’s the occasion?”

  “I’m Italian,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “Italians don’t need an occasion for food.”

  She and Annie sat down and started eating, chatting about the events of their days like an old married couple avoiding a testy discussion. Finally, Elizabeth seemed to have had enough of the pretense. She poured herself a second glass of wine and announced, “I think Bobby and I are going to break up.”

  Annie was floored. “What? Why?”

  “I really don’t want to marry him and that’s all he wants.”

  “I’ve never understood why you don’t want to marry him.”

  “The truth is that I like living alone. I can make a mess if I want to and leave it for days. I can eat out of the freezer and leave the dishes in the sink. I don’t have to pick up someone else’s socks!”

  “Right,” Annie said and looked pointedly at the extravagant meal. “Somehow I find it hard to picture you living like a slob and eating out of the freezer.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Okay. I’d cook and clean anyway.” She thought for a moment. “I think it’s … I don’t know … Bobby’s a lot like Joe. He’s got big energy. I feel lost around him sometimes. I’m afraid if he was here all the time I’d forget who I was.

  “I feel like everyone’s always tried to mold me into the vision of what they thought I should be,” she continued. “First my parents, then Joe, and now Bobby. Did I tell you Bobby’s running for district supervisor?”

  Annie shook her head. She knew that Bobby had retired early from his lucrative financial planning job a few years earlier but hadn’t realized that he was interested in politics.

  “Well, he is. If we get married, he’ll want me by his side, campaigning as he climbs from office to office. I’ll have to give up my shop and wear Chanel suits and white pearls. And gloves … do campaign wives still wear gloves and pillbox hats?”

  Annie laughed.

  “I guess I am getting carried away,” Elizabeth said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But you do get the picture, don’t you? I like being a separate person. I’m still discovering who I am.”

  “And you don’t think you can do that being married?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “My mother catered to my dad’s needs. I see my sisters and my brother’s wives doing the same thing. When I was married to Joe, I took care of the kids and house. When I had free time, I spent it with him.”

  “I don’t think it has to be that way. I know lots of independent women at work who have husbands, kids, and career and still find time to take a spa vacation with their girlfriends.”

  “Sounds exhausting.”

  “They seem to manage.” Annie hesitated. “I have to ask something. Are you in love with Bobby?”

  “Of course I am. At least I think so. After five years together I ought to be.” Elizabeth looked across at her friend. “Shouldn’t I?”

  “I’m not sure ‘should’ and ‘love’ go together very well.”

  “Do you suppose I won’t marry him because I simply don’t love him? Have I been using him all these years? Maybe I should talk to someone.”

  Annie stood and fetched her purse. Pulling a small square out of her bag, she handed it to Elizabeth. “I have just the person.”

  Elizabeth glanced at the card. “Carol Eos, Life Coach.” She chuckled. “How’s that going for you?”

  “It’s going well, I think. There’s so much going on — the coaching, the body work, John, and now Beverly. I feel like the pieces of my life are churning in a kaleidoscope, but I haven’t turned it the right way to make a picture.”

  “I’m not sure I’d want go through all that confusion.” Elizabeth put Carol’s card on the sideboard. “Was your aunt helpful? What was she like?”

  “Very different from my dad. She’s tall and willowy — exactly what you think of when you think of a dancer. She feels so alive, and, I don’t know, ‘light,’ I guess. My dad always felt dark and angry.”

  “From everything you’ve told me, he was.”

  “It gets worse.” Annie took a deep breath. Elizabeth listened in obvious horror as she told her Beverly’s tale of sexual abuse.

  “And your dad stood there and watched your grandfather rape her?” Elizabeth looked utterly disgusted. “Did he — did he ever try anything with you?” Elizabeth watched her friend carefully.

  Annie shook her head. “No, nothing ever happened.” But even she could hear the false note in her voice as she said it.

  • • •

  John flipped through the Good Times as he stood by the cash register. There had to be something interesting to do on a Friday night. He wanted to make the night special for Annie. He heard footsteps and set the paper down to wait on a customer, but looked up to see Sunshine.

  “I thought
you might be interested in this.” She handed him a printed e-mail with the subject line: Ellis Paul, April 19th. “One of the times Annie was in here we got to talking about folk music. We like the same people. Rumor has it you’re taking her out tomorrow.”

  “What’s this?” John asked, gesturing with the paper.

  “It’s a house concert. Well, they used to be house concerts. Now they’re winery concerts.” She must have seen John’s total look of confusion. “You’ve never been to a house concert?”

  He shook his head.

  She sighed. “You really did live in the sticks. Singer-songwriters, like Ellis Paul, perform in houses across the country. The homeowner has a large room and a mailing list of people interested in hearing them. My friend, Jasper, has been doing them for years. I’ve seen some great people — Cozy Sheridan, Vance Gilbert, Dave Mallett … ”

  “Who are they?”

  “Musicians. Like the ones Annie likes to listen to.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway,” Sunshine continued. “Jasper also owns a winery by Swift Street. He switched the house concerts down there since it’s more convenient than his house in the mountains.”

  “Thanks for educating me, Sunshine. I feel less like a country hick now.” John smiled fondly at Sunshine. She was a good employee, and, in some ways, a good friend.

  “I’m trying to take care of you here. If you really want to impress Annie, this would do it!”

  John raised his eyebrows and waited for her to continue.

  “See, I signed up for my mom and me to go, but she wound up having emergency surgery and I need to take care of her. The concert’s sold out, but you could use my tickets. You could take Annie.” Sunshine emphasized the last word and smiled as if she’d given him a huge present.

  Which she had.

  “I hope your mother will be okay. Do you think she’d like him?”

  “My mother? It’s routine surgery and there shouldn’t be complications. And, yes, she likes Ellis Paul — but it’s Annie I was talking about. Ellis Paul is borderline famous. I can’t believe they can still snag him for a house concert. You’d make points — mega-points.”