His mouth fell open. “Oh my God. How is she?”
All this sympathy was coming far too late. “She’s dead, Vernon.” Then she got up, walked to the bedroom, and locked the door behind her.
She ignored his banging on the door as she crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep.
I know she lives around here somewhere,” Joyce said as she gripped the steering wheel and peered through the car’s windows into the dark streets.
Lauren released a long sigh of exhaustion. Why did her mother feel compelled to drag her along on this Vernon-hunting expedition? Julian was off at Fort Benning, and right about now, Lauren wished that she was alongside her brother, serving on a secret mission or something. Anything would be better than this mission her mother had her on.
I’m never going to do this, Lauren vowed as her mother drove at least ten miles an hour below the speed limit, studying the front of every single house. I’m never going to let a man make me so crazy that I’m acting like this.
It had been months of this madness. Her mother alternated between being so depressed that she couldn’t get out of bed, and getting out of bed and doing this craziness. Right now was the ultimate in craziness.
Her mother dropped one hand from the steering wheel and glared down at a handheld contraption that looked like a compass. “The tracking device says he’s here.” She peered out of the window at the row of apartments. “But I don’t know which one.”
Lauren did everything that she could to keep her lips pressed together rather than letting her mouth open wide. Tracking device? Had her mother really resorted to using a tracking device?
“There is his car!” her mother exclaimed as if she’d just discovered the cure for cancer. She tossed the device onto the console and pointed toward Vernon’s Cadillac.
Her mother pulled into the space behind her father’s car and threw her vehicle into park. Before Lauren could even get herself together, Joyce swung open the door, jumped out, and stomped up the sidewalk with the energy of that Energizer Bunny on TV.
“I’m going in here and beat this trick down,” Joyce grumbled.
Trick? Beat down? Who was this woman and what had happened to the real Joyce Robinson?
There was just one problem; Lauren watched her mother stomp toward the wrong apartment. The way her father’s car was parked, Lauren knew why her mother was marching to the apartment on the left. The only thing—Miss Callie’s apartment was the one on the right.
“Mama, don’t,” Lauren called out after her after she finally scooted from the car. “Let’s just go home, please?”
“No, I’m sick and tired of this!” her mother cried. “He has stripped me of everything and he’s still cheating!”
Even as Lauren tried to catch up to her mother, she was torn. Should she just let her mother go to the wrong house? With the way her mother was behaving—talking about beating down tricks—she was sure that her mother would be banging and screaming on that door in just a few seconds. What would happen then? Just last week, there was a story on the news about a woman being shot dead in a scenario just like this. The woman had confronted the wrong person and ended up with a bullet right between her eyes. What if that happened to her mother?
The memory of the news report made Lauren shout, “Mama, no!”
“Get back in the car.” Her mother’s volume matched Lauren’s.
When her mother was less than three feet from the door, Lauren pressed her lips together and then spit out the words, “That’s not her house.”
Joyce’s hand was already in the air, ready to bang on the door, when she spun around, her head turning like she was that girl in The Exorcist.
“How do you know that?”
Even from where she stood, she could see that her mother’s lips hardly moved. Lauren stood frozen, the moonlight casting a hollow glow on her mother’s face. Now she really did look like she was in the middle of some horror movie, and Lauren felt like she was in one, too.
Her mother turned all the way around and took several slow steps toward her. “How do you know that?” she repeated, her voice rising about four octaves.
Lauren’s trembling was her only reply.
“Have you been here before?” her mother said.
“I-I . . .” Lauren couldn’t help it. The tears began to fall.
Joyce was right in her face when she shouted, “Answer me!”
“Y-Yes,” she mumbled, not being able to look into her mother’s eyes. “I—” Before she could finish, her mother reached back and slapped her. “You’ve come over here with him and you don’t tell me? My own child? You betray me like this?”
Lauren sobbed. The tears wouldn’t stop. And the rage from her mother would only get worse. Lauren just knew her mother was about to haul off and hit her again when she heard her father’s voice.
“Joyce. What in the hell are you doing?”
Joyce spun around to see her father standing there in a T-shirt and lounging pants. The sight of him wearing the lounging clothes he normally wore at home must’ve infuriated her because she momentarily forgot about Lauren.
“What am I doing?” she screamed. “You’re the one laid up here with some tramp.”
The person in the apartment next to Miss Callie’s opened her door and peeped out. A neighbor on the other side stared from her patio. Miss Callie stood on her front porch, her arms folded across her chest in a defiant pose.
Lauren knew her father was humiliated. “Go home, Joyce.”
She looked up the walkway at Callie. “Is that her?” Joyce didn’t give anyone time to answer as she started stomping up the walkway. Miss Callie turned and bolted inside, slamming the door behind her. “Oh, no!” Joyce screamed. “Don’t run, tramp!” she shouted toward the door. “You’re woman enough to be sleeping with my husband, come out here and face me!”
Forget her father being humiliated. This deranged madwoman acting like someone from one of those hood movies made Lauren sick to her stomach.
“Joyce, stop it. You’re making a fool of yourself.” Her father struggled to grab Joyce from the back. Of course she went ballistic at his mere touch.
“It can’t be any worse than the fool you’ve made of me.” She clawed at his face.
“Just stop it,” he said, grabbing her arms and trying to pin them down.
As Joyce screamed, the elderly woman in the apartment across from them said, “I called the police.”
“Ma’am, we have it under control,” her father replied.
“Don’t look like you got it under control,” the woman called out. “The police are on their way.”
Vernon released Joyce and she slumped to the ground. “Did you hear that?” he said. “Police. I’m not doing this.” He reached in his pocket, grabbed his car keys, and headed toward the car. Joyce managed to pull herself up and follow him.
“Get back here. We’re not done!” she yelled.
“I’m not doing this with you, Joyce,” he said, speed-walking to his car.
Lauren held on to the edge of the porch, weeping as she watched the scene unfold. Her father got in the car and screeched out of the driveway without ever even acknowledging Lauren.
Joyce sat on the ground sobbing and moaning uncontrollably. More people had come outside and were staring. Lauren couldn’t take it anymore.
“Come on, Mama,” Lauren said, trying to help her mother off the ground. Her mother cried, but allowed Lauren to guide her back to the car. As Lauren put her in the driver’s seat and closed the door, she looked over her shoulder and saw Miss Callie peering out of the living room window.
As a siren wailed in the background, Lauren scurried to the passenger’s side. She never wanted to choose sides, but Miss Callie would have to understand that if she was forced to, no matter what they’d been through, Lauren would always choose her mother.
Lauren sat on her bed, feeling nearly catatonic. She knew she shouldn’t have allowed Miss Callie to do all those things for her. The last four hours
had been brutal. Her parents had fought every moment since they returned home. Now her mother had left—to clear her head.
“You okay, baby girl?” her father said, entering her room.
“Yeah,” she replied to her father, even though she wasn’t.
“I’m sorry you have to deal with such adult stuff.”
There were so many things that Lauren could say in this moment, but there was just one question she had. She’d been trying to muster up the nerve for weeks to ask her father this and now, finally, she found the nerve because she just had to know. “Daddy, why don’t you just leave?”
His eyes filled with sadness. “I’ve asked myself that many times, sweetie.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt your mother. No matter what you or anyone thinks, I love her very much. But your mother has some ways. And one of those ways is she hangs on to stuff. She’s vindictive, and if I leave . . .” He paused as if a million thoughts galloped through his mind in that moment. “The thought of never seeing you again tears me apart.”
“My friend Josie’s parents are divorced and she sees her father all the time.”
“I’m sure Josie’s mother wants to maintain that relationship,” he pointed out. “Unfortunately, your mother has grown very bitter and I know that she’d do everything she could to keep you from me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she moved halfway across the country just so I wouldn’t see you.”
“What?” Lauren said, the thought horrifying her, just like it had when he’d said these same words all those years ago.
“Your mother and I have our issues, but we’re old-school. Couples go through their problems and no matter who else comes in my life, your mother will always be my number one.”
That was a hard concept for Lauren to understand. And now that she was sixteen, she understood a lot. One thing she knew was that she would never be someone’s number one. She would only be his only one.
“Well, I’ll be going away to college soon. So, are you gonna leave her then?”
He gave her one of those inscrutable parent looks. “Your mother is sick right now. The doctors said she’s suffering from postpartum depression because of the baby.”
Lauren side-eyed her father. Yeah, she was sure her mother was sad about the baby, but that wasn’t the only reason. Didn’t her father get that?
Maybe she could explain it a little. Maybe she could help her father to see. “Daddy, I, just, I don’t know. Mom is so sad. Maybe you can just be with only her. Maybe that would make her feel better.”
His response was instant. “I love only her.”
“Not love,” Lauren said. “I mean be with. As in let all the other women go. Because if you love only Mom, then . . .” Lauren didn’t know where she found the strength to say these words to her father, but she was just like her mother—tired of the madness.
Vernon gave her a long sigh. “Humans weren’t created to be monogamous, sweetie. You’ll understand that when you get grown.”
“So, you’d be okay if Mommy had boyfriends?”
The look of sheer horror that swept across his face answered her question.
“It’s different for men and women, baby,” he said, hedging. “That’s not your mother’s nature. Look, I know you feel bad, and I hate that you’re in the middle of this.”
Lauren remembered how her mother’s head had spun around, then the slap. “I’m sorry I told her about Miss Callie’s house. But she was going to the wrong house and I was scared of what might have happened if she started knocking on the wrong door.”
He reached out and patted her shoulder. “I understand. Neither one of us should’ve ever placed you in this position. Just know that I don’t blame you for tonight and I love you with everything inside me.”
His words made tears sting behind her eyes. “Mom isn’t speaking to me.”
“She’ll come around. She’s just upset right now.”
Upset was an understatement. Her mother had cried all the way home from Miss Callie’s house, wailing so hard that Lauren was sure she’d end up sick. Wailing about how Lauren had betrayed her.
Vernon gave his daughter a hug before he stepped back and said, “Let’s both make a pact to make Mommy feel better. I’ll do better, and you say whatever you need to say to make her feel better.”
Lauren pulled back, not wanting to wade into any more lies. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” her father began slowly, “she’s going to have a lot of questions for you. Like she’ll ask is Miss Callie the only one? How many times you were over there.”
Her father was way too late with this advice. Her mother had already pummeled her with dozens of questions, none of which Lauren answered as she hid behind her own tears. She did get out one promise to her mother, though. She promised not to keep any more secrets from her. But that had seemed to provide little solace to Joyce.
“So you want me to lie to her?”
“No.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe Lauren had said that. “This will be the last secret. And you have to keep this one because you see how much she’s hurt now. Telling her anything more will only make it worse for her. And I don’t want that for your mother.”
Lauren didn’t say a word to her father; she just turned around and walked out of the room. How could he ask her to do this after what happened tonight? He had to know just how tired she was of keeping these secrets.
Julian had been right. Now she, too, couldn’t wait to get out of this house and away from both of them.
Another day, another fight. That’s all Joyce and Vernon ever did.
Joyce knew that she should’ve left him a long time ago. But where was she supposed to go? Especially now that her parents were gone. Yes, they’d had life insurance policies, but those had barely paid for their burials and were certainly not enough for Joyce to live comfortably on.
Besides, Vernon had ruined her life. She wasn’t about to leave now and allow him to enjoy a footloose and fancy-free bachelor life; not after everything he’d done to make her suffer.
And then, there was this other thing. A fact that she had a difficult time admitting to herself, but true nonetheless. Joyce still loved Vernon Robinson. More now than she ever did. That thought made her even angrier.
The roller coaster that had become her marriage was literally driving her crazy. Especially since Vernon wasn’t even trying very hard to hide his indiscretions now.
Like tonight. Joyce glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was after one in the morning. There was no lie that she would believe, no work dinner that ever lasted this long.
She blew her nose into another tissue, then tossed it into the pile that was growing on the side table. This was it. She’d cried her last tear. It was as if not even her tears believed her as they continued to fall.
She sat waiting, trying hard to wipe away her tears, but only adding more tissues to the pile. Finally, at about 2 a.m., she heard the key in the door and a second later, Vernon strolled in.
He had just closed the door behind him when he saw her sitting in the dimly lit room. He held up his hand. “Don’t start, please.”
Joyce shrugged. “There’s nothing to say, Vernon. I’m tired of—”
The doorbell rang, stopping her words, freezing them both. They exchanged glances and before Vernon could turn back to the door, Joyce hopped up, scurried across the room, and swung the door open before her husband could take a single step.
“May I help you?” Joyce asked the woman who stood on the step. A hot mess—that was the first thought that came to Joyce’s mind. That was the only way to describe this woman whose mascara was so smeared her eyes now looked like a raccoon’s.
“I’m Callie,” she said, with a bit of an attitude, as if Joyce was supposed to know who she was.
Joyce’s eyes narrowed and with all the rage that had been building inside her for years, she growled, “What are you doing on my doorstep?”
She’d spoken as if she had courage, but now, with her arms
folded across her chest, she shifted from one foot to the other.
“I want to speak with Vernon.”
Behind her Joyce heard, “Callie, I know you’re not coming to my house.” Now he was the one who sounded like he had an attitude.
“I told you if you left I was coming over here.”
Vernon tried to step around Joyce, but she turned and pushed him back. “Oh, no!” Joyce said, pushing him back with a pointed elbow. To Callie she said, “Come on in.” She made a grand gesture, sweeping her hand through the air. “You want to show up here to talk to my husband, then let’s talk.”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Callie said, pushing past both of them.
As Callie walked into the living room, Vernon hissed, “I cannot believe you brought this to my home.”
Callie stopped, spun, and faced him. She stared him down, showing no signs of any kind of fear. “Let you tell it, your home is at my place. And I am sick and tired of playing second fiddle while you continue to lie to me and tell me you’re leaving her and the only reason you’re here is because she’s sick.”
Joyce’s wide eyes turned to her husband. “Really?” she said, not bothering to hide the shock from her voice. When Joyce turned back to Callie, Callie’s eyes were moving up and down, studying Vernon’s wife as if Callie were some kind of nurse.
Then Callie said, “She doesn’t look sick to me.”
“It’s because I’m not,” Joyce replied. “The only thing that was happening was that I was a bit depressed. My parents died, my baby died.” Instinctively, her hand covered her stomach. “I had a right to be sad.”
Callie’s eyes were on Joyce’s hand. Her hand that still rested on her stomach. When she looked up at Joyce, she swallowed, looking as if someone had slammed a sledgehammer into her own stomach. “You were pregnant?” Her words were soft.
“Callie!” he said.
“Vernon!” Callie said.
And then it was bedlam. Three voices. Screaming. Back and forth. Words rising in the air, but not one understood. It kept going and going until . . .
“Daddy, will you guys please stop fighting?” Lauren screamed louder than all of them.
The Perfect Mistress Page 7