I felt my breath catch in my throat, slammed the lid to the box, slid it back into its spot and ran out of the vault. “Thanks, Melissa,” I called, trying to rationalize in my mind what I had just seen.
“See you later, shug. Tell your momma and them I said hey.”
“Sure will.”
I walked out of the bank, my head lowered to avoid talking to anyone I passed on the way out. I felt like the bank was being held up at gunpoint and I was just standing there, watching a robber hold innocent people ransom, and not doing a thing about it.
I must have read it wrong, I kept reminding myself. I didn’t see what I thought I saw. Or maybe I just didn’t understand it. All of those questions I had had at the hospital flooded back to my mind, all at once.
With every step, I reasoned it out yet again. Mom’s blood type means she can’t be Lovey and D-daddy’s child. But she looks exactly like her sisters. There’s no way she’s adopted.
But there it was. In the box. Lovey had filled out a form. She had checked that she was the parent. And she was requesting that a change be made due to her daughter’s adoption. Her daughter’s adoption. I gasped and stopped dead in my tracks in the middle of the parking lot. And then I started walking again. D-daddy wasn’t my mother’s father at all. But there was no doubt that my mother and her sisters were the thickest blood you could imagine. So there was only one explanation. Lovey had cheated on him with another man and he, in his infinite mercy, had forgiven Lovey. He had taken her back and taken her love child as his own.
My phone rang, and I saw “Mom” flash across the screen. How could I be normal now, knowing full well that I was the bearer of a secret so massive? I wished so hard that I’d never opened that lockbox, that I’d never seen that birth certificate. But that’s the thing about a secret that haunts your dreams and fills those empty spaces in your mind. Once you know a thing so huge, you can never un-know it again.
Lovey
Uprooted
In her old age, my momma always used to say that the nursing home was practically like the country club. She was lying. I know now that it doesn’t matter who you are, where you’re from or what you say when you’re with your friends. When you get old, you do not think that the nursing home is practically the country club, and you most certainly do not want to have to live there no matter how short term your stay might be.
If you had ever told me that I would be pining for my tiny assisted living apartment, I wouldn’t have imagined it. But there I was, flipping through my datebook as if any of my plans were still relevant, confined to a double bed with itchy sheets, hoping that they could fit me in for two physical therapy sessions that day. I may have been in the kind of pain that one never forgets, but that didn’t matter. I had seen the other patients in their beds, the ones who had come here for therapy and never gotten out. That wouldn’t be me. I’d rather be dead than dependent.
I looked over at Dan, the snoring, open mouth, wishing that I could reach the cord to turn off the fluorescent box light shining on his sleeping face. And I remembered that what we want and what actually happens are often two different things. I rolled my eyes at the pair of pleather-covered avocado green chairs flanking a rather nice high-definition television. The cinder-block walls, while cold, had a fresh coat of white paint on them, whose smell did an adequate job of blocking out the nursing home stench, that of death, decay, old age and any number of bodily fluids.
Luella, whom you could just tell by her confidence and regal air was the backbone of her household and a pillar in her community, rushed in, her white nurse’s shoes squeaking on the faux-hardwood floor, which, I must admit, did an above-average job of imitating the real thing. “Miss Lynn,” she said, “you got to pick out you and Mr. Dan’s meals for the next few days so we can bring you what you like.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Luella.”
“Mmm hmm.” She pulled the chain over Dan’s head and turned to fluff the pillows behind my back. I watched her, in awe of the grace, agility and speed in such a stout package.
“Miss Lynn, you want me to take you to the bathroom before I get on down the hall?”
This was perhaps the greatest indignity. But I could feel in my bones that I was mere days away from transferring my own body weight to my walker and shuffling to the bathroom right beside me on my own.
I nodded. “Unfortunately.”
Luella laughed like we were old friends swapping stories about cute things our grandkids had done. “Miss Lynn, it ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. We all got to go, and we all do it the same way.”
I nodded, supposing that was true. “Luella, when I get back to assisted living, will you come be one of Dan’s nurses on your off hours? I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.”
Luella smiled, her shiny teeth, all in a straight row like so many soldiers, making me wonder if she had good genes or even better dentures. “I sure would, Miss Lynn. My grandbaby’s trying to get through college, and I could use the extra money to help him out.”
I placed my good leg on the floor and groaned a bit as the bad one woke and hollered at me for disturbing its peace. It wasn’t that still pain that I was used to feeling in my old age, not a dull ache or a heartbeat throbbing. It was a rushing, circular pain, like runners around a track, active and ever changing so that getting used to it was an impossibility.
“You controlling your pain, Miss Lynn?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s controlling me,” I said. “Tell me something else to keep my mind off of it.”
“Well, my daughter’s pregnant again.”
I tried to smile through my grimace and said, “Congratulations.”
“Not really. My husband Ray and I cain’t understand that girl. This will be her fourth baby by two different fathers, and she ain’t thought about marrying a one of them. She’s a good girl, but it’s like she missed that chapter of the Book or something.”
Sally crossed my mind. My sweet, beautiful adulteress Sally. I had no doubt that she would keel over like a sailboat in a strong wind if she knew I knew. But mommas always know. I had spent so many sleepless nights worrying about her actions, wondering what I could have done differently as her mother. But at the end of the day, it was like I said to Luella, “We can have them in Sunday school every week and in that front row where the preacher’s sneezing on them. But we can’t control our children any more than we can control that last breath.”
As if on cue, Sally stepped through the door, saying sunnily, “Hi there, Luella.” Then she added, “I can take Momma to the bathroom. I’m sure you have tons to do.”
Luella nodded. “I’ll come check on you in a bit, Miss Lynn. And don’t you worry. When you get back across the street, I’ll come look after Mr. Dan.” She winked at me. “I can tell already you won’t be needing any looking after.”
I looked at Sally, her eyes flashing. And it occurred to me that, though I didn’t agree with her choice, though I wondered how someone so sensitive could wound the people around her so fatally, she was undeniably happy. Maybe it was that she never had to reach that point in life where loving someone becomes mundane. Because, the entire time they were together, the man she loved was always a secret, always a thrill. Like the rush Katie Jo used to get from sticking a bottle of fingernail polish in her purse, my Sally must have been addicted to that feeling of first-time, brand-new, might-slip-through-your-fingers love.
But the thing that no one ever tells you about being in love is that, for every percentage that person makes you feel what you expect—that deeply rooted, grounded security—they have double that power to make you feel uprooted, wandering and totally lost. I had felt it, and I didn’t have to ask my son-in-law Doug to know that he had felt it too.
But, of course, I didn’t say any of that. All I said was, “I am so glad to see you, my darling girl.”
And that’s the thing about your children. No
matter what they do or how much you disapprove or how much you wish you could change their actions, you love them madly all the same. At the end of the day, that’s the only choice that truly matters.
Annabelle
Genetic Mutation
You can be the sunshine or you can be the cloud. And, if you can possibly choose, the sunshine always wins more friends. Without fail, even when the going got really tough, Lovey was the sunshine. Mad at her as I was, old habits die hard. I might not have agreed with her choices, but her voice was still the one in my head, guiding me, ironically, to the right thing. So, before I walked into work that morning, I channeled my inner Lovey, put on my best sunshine face and crossed my fingers that I could make it through the day sans emotional breakdown.
“I can’t wait to tell you what we’re doing this morning!”
Father Rob was so excited that I momentarily forgot about the fact that my husband was having an affair with my only friend in town. My Lovey was not anywhere near the person I thought she was. She was still laid up in a nursing home recovering from her broken hip, so I couldn’t even have a conversation with her about it. And, to top it all off, I was pregnant. That was a lot of things to forget.
D-daddy was, predictably, back to his mute, sleeping-twenty-hours-a-day self after the exertion of coming back a bit during the emergency, surgery and hospital stay. I was facing so many personal crises that I was that poor, frightened deer in headlights. I knew I needed to run, but both of the directions that had previously been so safe were blinding and terrifying.
“I can’t wait to hear,” I said, but Rob already knew me too well to accept my fake enthusiasm.
He cocked his head. “What’s wrong?”
I raised my eyebrows. “How much time you got?”
He grinned even wider, and it was almost as if he was having to control himself from jumping up and down. “I have two hours because we’re going to go see Lovey!”
I shook my head vehemently. “I just got back from Raleigh, and, furthermore, I’m not sure I can deal with her right now.”
I have to admit that I felt a little guilty when his face fell. “Can’t deal with Lovey? Is she not the same since her surgery?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, it’s not uncommon for older people to be very cranky for a couple of weeks while the brain is recovering from the trauma of being put to sleep.” He paused. “Hey, have you had any surgery lately?”
I didn’t want to, but I smiled the tiniest smile. “I am not old, mister.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “All I know is that the Holy Spirit commands me to Lovey’s bedside today, so I must go. Should you choose to accompany me, there will be snacks and a box set of all of James Taylor’s hits.”
I couldn’t remember if I had told him how much I loved James Taylor, but, when you got right down to it, pretty much everyone with functioning ears loved James Taylor. His voice had such a soothing yet masculine quality, kind of like drinking champagne while lying on an animal skin by a crackling fire. I shrugged. “What can I say? You had me at snacks.”
For how terrible I was feeling, it was hard to believe that I lost myself in that drive, in the Bugles and Reese’s cups, the “Up on the Roof” and, of course, “Carolina in My Mind.”
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.
“You may.”
“Do you drink?”
He shrugged and looked at me. “Sure. I mean, I’m not staggering around the bar or anything, but a couple of beers or a glass of wine with a good meal.”
“So why is it that some Christians don’t drink? I mean, Jesus turned the water into wine, people.”
Rob laughed. “Do you want to talk about what’s really bothering you?”
He was so good at reading people—especially me. I sighed. “My D-daddy isn’t my D-daddy.”
His face turned somber, and he reached to pat my arm supportively. “Oh, Annie, this must have been so difficult for you. For his body to be here, but his mind, the thing you loved about him most . . .”
He was so sincere that I felt terrible when I couldn’t control the laugh escaping from my throat.
Rob looked puzzled.
I shook my head. “No, no. You’re right. It sucks so bad that he’s living like this, but, to be honest, I came to terms with that a long time ago. His mind has been gone for years, and there isn’t a thing I can do to change that. So I have chosen to love him for who he is now, accept the good days and the bad and move on.” I inhaled deeply. “I mean literally, biologically, my D-daddy isn’t my D-daddy, and, so far worse than that, he isn’t my mom’s dad.”
Though I had promised to keep it buried tightly inside without so much as an “X” to mark the spot, I could hear the whole story rushing out of my mouth like an overzealous bride into the Kleinfeld sale. I had lived with all of these terrible secrets for days and had no one to turn to. I certainly couldn’t confide in Lovey or Mom when I was so confused about them, and I was making excuses to scarcely even look at Ben much less tell him about the sordid past I had possibly discovered.
“Now wait just a minute,” Rob interjected. “So what you’re saying is that Lovey had an affair and that affair became your mom and no one else knows?”
“All I’m saying is that Mom’s blood type couldn’t possibly have originated from two A positive people, and she seemed pretty darn shocked about the whole thing. I found some paperwork Lovey filled out for the adoption of my mom. And I can’t think of another possible explanation.”
“Maybe she was adopted and they didn’t want to tell her.”
I pursed my lips and shook my head. “She looks exactly, to a T, like her other four sisters. There’s no way they aren’t related.”
Rob turned down the radio and said, “Let’s not jump to conclusions. I mean, remember that black baby that was born to two white parents a few years ago and they determined that it was some sort of bizarre genetic mutation?”
“Yeah,” I said out of the side of my mouth, “a genetic mutation that that mother paid a whole lot of people to create.”
Rob laughed, and, as comfortable as I was with him in that moment, I decided to finally ask him a question that had always crossed my mind. “Don’t be mad when I say this.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t question my faith because you know that I know that I couldn’t tie my shoes without Jesus.”
“I know.” He grinned at me.
“But what if, I mean, seriously, what if Mary was just an unbelievably impressive liar? I mean, what if she was so convincing and convicted about the Immaculate Conception thing that everyone just believed her, and our entire faith is based around a beautiful teenaged girl who didn’t want the whole town thinking she was a slut.”
Now that I was pregnant myself, I felt very close to Mary. And we were kind of in the same boat when we got pregnant. We could be as excited as we wanted, but the popular opinion wasn’t going to be so good. Father Rob paused for a minute and then burst out laughing. I could tell he was just trying to appease me when he said, “You know there, Ann, you make a good point. But I tell you what. Even if Mary is just the best liar in history, I’m going to love her anyway. Because she gave the world the greatest gift it has ever known.” He cleared his throat and took his eyes off the road for a beat too long as he said, “Same with Lovey.”
I looked him in the eye, and it was a moment that will linger in my memory forever. Because, in that instant, I knew that no one would ever see me as clearly as Priest Charming.
• • •
Some things in life are better left unsaid. And I’m pretty good at figuring out which things those are. But the blood-typing incident was generally all I could think about. It was a trick my mind was playing, obsessing over my mother’s DNA, when, in reality, I should have been obsessing about my husband’s infidelity and how o
n earth I was going to attempt to raise a baby on my own.
I had told Rob to go back to Salisbury after our visit with Lovey. I would get my mom to bring me back in a few days. It was a great excuse to stay away from Ben. But I underestimated how oddly alone I would feel watching Rob pull out of the driveway.
I wasn’t ready yet. Not to face Ben, not to admit that I had been wrong, not to disgrace my family, and, most of all, not to consider what being a single mother was going to be like. So I stuffed the pain away, hid it under my pseudo-detective skills and bandaged it up by finally responding to Holden’s messages.
How’s Lovey? he had texted me while I was sitting in the nursing home that day, trying to seem normal and nice while Rob was joking with Lovey and D-daddy and being generally adorable. I was about to burst wide open to say something to Lovey. But it was pretty clear that, though there would probably never be a perfect moment, this one was about as far from right as you could get.
She’s doing as well as a person who just broke her hip can be, I typed back, rapid fire, I’m sure shocking the daylights out of him after months of no response. Then, in what was an extremely calculated move, I added, I’m in Raleigh visiting her now.
Any chance I could buy you a cup of coffee?????
In spite of myself, I smiled. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic. Flowers, candy, candlelight, poetry, anniversaries, long walks on the beach, chick flicks. I love it all. It is my one greatest downfall. And, though Holden couldn’t get my blood pressure up quite like Ben, he was a master of the romantic gesture. He could whisk you off to Paris at a moment’s notice in a limo filled with champagne and flowers, and organize a surprise party so grand you couldn’t imagine how you didn’t know. It was a very tempting quality for someone seduced by romance.
Lies and Other Acts of Love Page 20