by Jenna Brooks
Catharine Allen had paid, and dearly. Max thought how she, herself, had blamed her mother…
Because it was safer?
No, it’s more than that. She wasn’t convinced that was the entirety of it. For some reason, Max also felt that her mother had let her down.
Understanding it now, after a long night of reliving her childhood–knowing why her mother couldn’t leave–erased her misguided feeling of being betrayed; at the same time, remorse gripped her, and she felt a momentary sense of self-hatred before she remembered something else Jo had said: “These guys get away with what they do because no one holds them responsible. Not just for what they do, but for what happens to the lives around them.”
The horrible beating her mother took that day happened after doing something that any mother and daughter would do together. The insanity that erupted from the everyday things–it was crippling. In the end, it had crippled her love for her mother. She rarely thought about her; when she did, it was as if she blunted any emotional connection to her.
No, that isn’t exactly true.
She felt contempt for her mother’s weakness–which in a sudden flash of understanding, she realized she related to the entirety of being female.
Is that the legacy, then? That I hate myself?
She wondered what that contempt for the mother became in a male child, as she thought about the pain Jo was enduring because of Matt and John.
She felt again, as if it had happened yesterday, the despair of giving her daughter away. That, and being so betrayed by Brett, had been the final nails in her coffin when it came to her ability to form enduring connections with people. I just felt done, she had told Jo. She realized now that she felt pretty much “done” when she was twelve years old.
She cringed inside as she remembered some of the things she had said to her mother over the years. Watching Jo enduring the same cruelty from Matt and John, the same contempt that Max had harbored toward her own mother, was something beyond painful. It was devastating.
“Max?”
“Oh!” Her head snapped up, and she turned to the doorway where Jo was standing.
“Why are you crying?”
“Dave? Gotta get going.” Sam was trying to get her myriad of new items to fit into her duffel bag. “Ty, you all set?”
She went to the door of the bedroom, peering up and down the hallway. Dave was outside Tyler’s door, holding his hand out to her. “Car’s loaded up. Got your last bag?”
“On the bed.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I miss you already.”
“Friday night.” She leaned into him, sighing as she snuggled into his arms. “I’ve been kind of changing my mind.”
He pulled back, looking down at her sharply. “About what?”
She frowned, confused by his response, then smiled up at him as she realized. “Oh, no, not about us. About going to Strafford.” Arms still around him, she rubbed his back. “I’m sorry. I should be careful right now.”
He pulled her close again, giving her a lingering kiss, moaning as she pulled away. “I’ve been thinking about asking you to change your mind, but I think–just for now–it’s probably a good idea for you to stay away from Car-boy.” He smiled. “And I think you could use a break from everything for a while.”
“I am kind of looking forward to it. And I miss the girls.” She held up her hand, gazing lovingly at the ring. “Lots to tell them.”
“You’ll get a doctor up there?”
She nodded. “Promise. I’ll call this week for a checkup.”
“Give me the contact info, so I can sign on for the expenses.”
She felt her throat closing, and she ducked her head against him so he wouldn’t see the tears starting again. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“I can’t believe this didn’t blow us apart.”
He chuckled, tightening his hold a bit. “I’m no saint, babe. Don’t put me on a pedestal. My first impulse was to find a way to dispose of the guy permanently.”
With that, she cried harder, her grip on him almost desperate.
“Sammy…Hey…” He pulled away, staring down at her, his hands on her shoulders as she wept helplessly. She tried to move away from him, but he held her there. “Talk to me.”
“I’m just sorry. I’m so sorry…” She gulped, choking on her tears. “I always mess everything up…”
“Samantha, don’t…”
“How can you accept this? How can you take it all on like it’s your responsibility?”
He led her back into the master bedroom, taking her bag off of the bed before he sat, pulling her onto his lap. “Do you honestly think I could resent an innocent baby?”
She looked mournfully into his eyes, already knowing the answer. “No. I know you couldn’t.”
He sighed, gently rubbing her back, trying to lessen the impact of what he was about to ask her. “Could you?”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but he was looking right into her eyes. His expression was kind, but knowing.
She finally had to look away, hating herself. He was right. There was a part of her that regretted the baby. The timing, the inconvenience of the timing–the baby was in the way now as she stood on the precipice of, finally, happiness. “I was about to get it right, you know?” It was the best she could manage.
“I know.” He pushed her hair from her face, wiping at her tears with his fingertips. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, though.” He dried his hand on his jeans, considering it. “You know, babe, I can’t do anything more than be here for you for this part of it. This is one of the reasons I think it’s good that you’re going to go see the girls for a while. You have to come to your own resolution here, and I think they can help you with that, certainly more than I can. But when you consider the fact that just a few weeks ago, you would have hidden how you really felt, I know you’re going to work this out just fine.” He kissed her hand. “And you know I’m right behind you.”
She sniffed. “You really mean that?”
“Absolutely. On the other hand, you could always stay here…Nah.” He smiled. “I know you want to be with them right now.”
Especially with a stomach that’s going to be growing. “I have made one decision, one that I want you to trust me on.”
He nodded, waiting.
“We can never tell Jack. Or my mother.”
He was surprised. “I thought we were going to talk about that later.”
“It’s not for my protection, Dave. I’m not doing it this way to take care of myself. It’s for the baby–and for Tyler.”
He shifted nervously. “What happened in that house with him?” Something occurred to him then. “Are you going to the lake just to hide the pregnancy?”
She wanted to lie, but stopped herself. “For a while. Until things calm down.” She straightened her shoulders, meeting his eyes directly. “I’ll tell you everything next weekend. Okay? For now, we need to get going.”
Max didn’t try to cover the fact that she was crying. “I’ve been sitting here thinking.”
Jo frowned, concerned. “Did you go to bed last night?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you come and get me? I could’ve at least been here with you.”
“You–we–had a pretty emotional night last night. If you were going to be able to sleep, then I wanted you to do that.”
Jo took the chair across from her. “What’s going on with you?”
“Tell you what.” She wasn’t ready yet. “Let’s hit that diner near Lettie’s. We can talk over breakfast.”
“Sure. You’re okay though?”
“I will be.”
Jo didn’t look convinced as they went back into the kitchen. “Let’s move it. Sammy will be here by noon.”
“I really can’t wait to see her.” She stretched, yawning loudly. “I should’ve gotten some sleep. We’ll be up late tonight.”
They slid into a booth at the diner an hour later.
Max looked around for a menu, finding it behind the tabletop jukebox. “Okay, so the name of this place is ‘Marcia’s Roadside Eatery’?”
Jo glanced at her own menu. “It would appear so.”
“Is it worrisome, that they couldn’t put a sign out front?”
“Probably.”
A very tall, heavy, balding man in a faded “Live Free or Die” T-shirt appeared, balancing a coffeepot and two mugs. He seemed to have a naturally forlorn look. “Welcome to Marcia’s,” he grumbled, filling the mugs before he put them on the table. In a weary monotone, he said, “Your waitress is gonna be over very shortly. Enjoy your meals.”
Max took a napkin from the silver dispenser beside the jukebox, then a few more, and mopped up the coffee he had spilled. She grinned at Jo–who, with some amusement, was watching him lumber away.
“Small-town New Hampshire. Gotta love it,” Max smiled.
Jo checked the music selection. “Oooh, it’s all country.” She stretched her body out in the booth, straightening her back to make it easier to access the pocket of her jeans. “Okay, I have two quarters. That’s six songs.”
“Anything upbeat.”
“Okay.”
The music had a tinny, static-like sound to it that seemed perfectly appropriate for the diner. The women stared at each other, breaking into laughter.
“Yeah, those things are, like, thirty years old. Can’t believe they still work.” The waitress, with a fading “Tina” on her smiley-face name tag, had arrived with a plate of mini-blueberry muffins and butter. “Here you go.” She pulled a pad and pen from the apron that was far too small for her girth, cracking her neck as she stretched it out wearily. “What’s for breakfast, ladies?”
“The basics. Bacon, eggs, white toast,” Jo said. “Got O.J.?”
“You bet. How many eggs?”
“Three. Over-easy.”
“We got blueberry cakes today. Blueberry everything. Gabe over there,” she jabbed her pen toward the cashier’s stand where Gabe stood, still forlorn, “ordered too much.” Doodling something on her notepad, she mumbled, “Guy don’t know business from a hole in the ground.” She looked back up at them then. “So, we need to get rid of the blueberries. Homemade blue topping on those cakes, by the way.”
“Bet Marcia was mad about that,” Max said, playfully serious.
Tina gave her an odd look, then jerked her head toward Gabe again. “That’s ‘Marcia’, over there,” she said. “Gabe got the diner in the divorce, and didn’t want to pay to change the license with the state.”
Max nodded. “Makes sense.”
Jo raised her eyebrows in an expression that said, Really? “Sure, Tina. I’ll have the pancakes, too.”
Pleased with herself, Tina turned to Max.
“Just make an exact copy of what she ordered.”
“Got it. Be ready in a few minutes.”
“Thanks.” As she walked away, Jo thought that her elastic-waist, tan polyester slacks were just…Depressing. She could picture the woman struggling to finish her day on feet that ached, wondering what had happened to her life, dragging herself home to nothing worth coming home to. Cracking a beer, counting her money, readying herself for another day of begging two-dollar tips.
That was me.
Max slid a penny across the table, their old ritual from the restaurant: they would slip a penny to each other, especially during a busy time when one of them seemed to be lost inside her own head.
Jo grinned and took the penny. “This life seems years removed already.”
“I know.”
Sliding the penny back to her, Jo asked, “So why were you crying?”
Max shifted and tucked her leg under her, leaning her head against the back of the booth. “I was thinking about my mother.”
Jo settled in, listening closely. “And?”
“I want to know more about children who grow up in an abuser’s home. That alienation syndrome…”
“PAS, they call it.”
“Yeah. I thought it was whacked, kind of, when you told me about it. Like, this can’t be–I mean, I get it now, what happens to a battered mother in the eyes of her children.” She thought about it for a moment. “What these bastards can do to any woman, really, in front of anyone she cares about.”
She was talking very rapidly now. “But the idea that there’s an entire court process, that it works to keep women stuck, that there’s this entire industry that’s fashioned for people to get rich from tinkering with…Good grief, these are life-and-death issues…” She sighed, running her hands through her hair. “It’s just insanity, that’s all.”
“So what about your mom?”
“It got me to wondering, what if she had tried to leave? You said this ‘syndrome’ didn’t happen in the courts back then.”
“It slithered into the system about 15 years ago.”
“And that’s why you had to take Keith back, had to spend another chunk of your life that way?”
Jo nodded.
“Yet, my mom was trapped anyway, just by my father’s reputation, you know? No one would have believed her. Everyone thought he was perfect. The way he talked to her, about her…You know, I was thinking about it all night. Sometimes he would do this thing where he would visibly cringe when she came near him, make a real show of it, like she would hurt him somehow. And she had never even slammed a door, let alone raised a hand to him. But it left an impression, ‘cause he only did that in front of people who knew her. And in front of me. It was like some kind of a silent slander or something.”
“That’s one tactic, absolutely.”
“It trapped her. No one was going to help her, and I think she knew that. And me…” she swallowed hard, “I turned on her, too.” She looked at Jo nervously. “Hard to admit, but I did. I mean, I lived there, I saw what he did, and if I turned on her…? That had to make her completely hopeless.”
She paused then, as the unexpected insight into Jo’s situation became clear.
She gathered her thoughts and went on. “And now, I’m wondering what happened to her after they–he–kicked me out. See,” she leaned forward, “I just lumped them together in my head. He kicked me out. She cried, she begged him not to, she begged me to stay–which I couldn’t, of course–but I never again thought of her reaction that day. Not until now.”
“You thinking that you want to find out what happened to her?”
“Yeah.”
“How many years has it been?”
“Too many. I did call, twice over the years. Last time was on her sixty-fifth birthday. Dad answered both times I called…” Her voice drifted off, and she met Jo’s knowing gaze. “He told me she didn’t ever want to hear from me again.”
Jo raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
“She never even knew that I called.” It was a simple declaration, from a knowledge that she realized had always been there.
Jo’s hand came over hers. “Probably not.”
Max ducked her head, then turned to look out the window. “You were right. Mothers don’t throw their kids under the bus, like the way he always portrayed her. I fell for it. Everyone did.” She picked up her cup, still staring out the window as she took a sip. “What a life she had. You know, when I was little I would listen to him screaming, and I’d picture a hero on a white horse, coming in and taking us away. He never let her live. He buried her alive. And people wonder, ‘why doesn’t she just leave?’” She looked back to Jo then, and her eyes flared. “Hell, I wondered that.”
“So now you’ll segue way into self-blame, and once you come out of that, you’ll actually put the blame where it belongs. And you need to do that, Max. So make it fast.”
“I don’t know if it can be done fast.”
“Sure it can. The one thing your father can’t control is the truth–that belongs to you. So hang on to it. The quicker you get real about who’s to blame, the quicker you’ll go call your mom.”
“Is it common to lose so many memories? I
don’t know how I didn’t think of this stuff for so many years.”
“It is. I’ve seen it over and over again.” She patted her hand.
The waitress was approaching, several plates balanced in her hands and on her forearms. “Here ya go, girls.” She deftly served the meals, grimacing in pain as she bent. She glanced at them apologetically. “Glad we close at two. My back’s out again.”
“We know the drill.” Max took the last platter from her.
“You in the business?”
“Until very recently.”
Tina sighed. “You got out? Stay out of it, then. Go do something else. It’s not worth it.” She dropped their tab face-down on the table. “Just holler if you need anything else. Good enough?”
“You bet.”
They watched her shuffle away. “I’ll leave her a good tip,” Jo murmured.
“Do that.” Max was spooning blueberry topping onto her pancakes. “Mom’s birthday is June twenty-sixth.”
“Going to call her?”
Max nodded, her eyes widening with surprise as she took a bite. “Oh my gosh, Bim, try these pancakes. They’re fabulous.”
They spoke little as they ate, both of them more hungry than they had realized. As they downed the last of the coffee, which Jo commented was surprisingly good, Tina returned with the pot. “Fresh coffee. You up for it?”
“Not me.”
“Me neither.” As Tina turned to leave the table, Jo said, “Hold on.” She pulled a fifty dollar bill from her wallet, handing it over with the check. “All set.”
Tina stood looking at her, not comprehending. “Hon, that’s a fifty.”
“Thanks. You have a good day.”
“Wow. You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, then…” She fanned herself with the money. “I’d like to stay here and grovel in gratitude, but I’ll just say thanks and go to the kitchen to brag. Fair enough?”
They laughed. “Yes.” Jo waved her off. “See you soon.”