She Woke Up Married

by Suzanne Macpherson

  He’d been in the most loving of families his whole life. He missed them right now, badly. He looked at the kitchen clock. It was 6 A.M., 4 A.M. on Aitutaki Island. He’d have to wait till ten or eleven to catch them at a decent morning hour.

  If he could take Paris there, let her see what his family was like, that would be such a gift. That, and the white sand beaches, the lapping waves, the palm trees in the warm wind. He would just have to make that happen sometime soon.

  Right now, he had a very pressing engagement to get ready for. Turner finished his coffee, rinsed out the cup, and put it in the “Whirlpool” dishwasher. He was headed for a hot shower, a suit, and a meeting with St. Mary’s parish priest. But first he’d stop at the hospital. He had left things badly with Paris.

  Turner wondered if Paris was capable of rising above her old demons. He had to be prepared for the worst. But while he had her, he was going to do battle with everything he had in him. He looked out the window at the bright sun. The desert was famous for cleansing the spirit. He must have faith that Paris was in his keeping for a reason.

  “Wow, you’ve got your regular reverend duds on.” Paris sat up slightly, surprised to see Turner so early, and with his collar and a suit. He looked very…preacherlike, but very sexy too, which she was sure must be a sin on her part to even think. Maybe. She forgot what the rules were. She tried to sound light with him. As if she weren’t devastated by what had occurred between them last night. She wondered if her levity was working.

  “You look very tired.”

  “I can’t sleep in hospitals. Nurses slapping those white shoes on the floor all night, intercoms, it just gives me the creepies,” Paris lied. She could have slept if her mind would have shut up for a minute. It hadn’t left her alone at all last night. It had gone from one worry to the next in quick order, and she had felt completely powerless to stop it. Particularly when she hadn’t been able to numb herself with a sleeping pill or a glass of wine or a martini, the way she’d been doing for the last ten years.

  Turner brought a chair up close to the side of the bed. “Has the doctor been in yet?”

  “Yes. He poked around and mumbled and said something about keeping an eye on me for another day. You didn’t miss much. He said he’d be back after lunch.”

  “I have an appointment at ten, but I’ll come back after that. I want to talk to him.”

  “Hey, we’re doing fine. You don’t need to watch me watch soap operas and eat Jell-O.” Paris gave him a weak smile and pulled up the blankets.

  Turner looked surprised. She could hardly blame him. Her voice didn’t have its usual acid bite. Her words probably sounded reasonable, for pity’s sake. That was a shock, she was sure. But she’d spent the whole night thinking about Turner, and what a raw deal he’d gotten, marrying her, and how horrible she’d been over the last five months. At least she could make the next part of this time less difficult for him.

  “I brought you some things. Here’s a nightgown and some other stuff.” Turner pulled out Paris’s small bag and unzipped the top. “And here.” He handed her one of her bears. Actually it turned out to be one of her favorites.

  “Wow. Alice Vanderbear. Thanks.”

  Turner planted the bear next to Paris and smiled at her. “I figured you might want a few things from home.”

  Home, Paris thought. Did she have one? Even her place in New York was sort of the condo of the year. She’d sublet it without much thought or emotion. Paris stared at the bear. She didn’t have much emotion about things or places, or even people. She was either mad as a hatter or numb. She hugged the bear and felt like she was going to cry. But she didn’t.

  She looked up to see Turner looking at her. His deep brown eyes held a well of feelings, she could see that. But things had shifted between them, and it made her ache with emotion.

  “I’ve got something for you. I picked this up this morning and got it activated.” He handed her a tiny purple box.

  She opened it up. It was a pager.

  “So if you need me, just push this button, and it will page me.”

  “Thank you, Turner.” She meant that. She knew it was all about the babies, but maybe it should be. She didn’t exactly deserve any consideration from him, considering her terrible treatment of him.

  “Sorry it wasn’t a diamond bracelet, I’m a bit short of jewelry money these days. But it is purple, and kind of shiny.”

  “This is much better than jewelry. Which reminds me, I have insurance.”

  “I just gave them mine so they’d let you in the place. We’ve sort of skipped over some of the business parts of being married. I’ll get some paperwork together and we’ll talk about it.”

  Turner Pruitt was being business-like with her. She tried not to cry. A sharp pain crossed her temple. She reached up and touched her head until it passed.

  “Also we’ll need to talk about money. But that can wait till you are feeling better.”

  “What about money?”

  “Well, I’m going to shift some funds out of a trust account I have, and I’ve been thinking I’ll need to buy a house. There’s just not enough room for everyone….” Turner dropped his thought. “And we’ll have to be a bit more careful with our grocery bills and that sort of thing for a while so I can pull in some extra to pad the down payment. The trust only goes so far.”

  Paris couldn’t believe what an idiot she’d been, eating Twinkies and watching soaps for months, not even offering up funds for her own keep. Well, she had paid for all the expensive linens and any shopping channel moments she’d had, and what, a few take-out dinners? She’d been the worst guest imaginable. She was the worst wife imaginable.

  “I’ll buy you a house.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I can’t let you do that. I’m not a kept man, Paris. I can manage.” Turner looked very stern.

  Here he was, doing weddings, gathering collection plates at late-night services, paying the food and shelter for three women. What a sweetheart, trying so hard. He’d done a pretty good job so far, and she’d been a completely selfish pig. Paris was seeing herself in a new light today, thanks to Sarah, and it was not pretty.

  “This isn’t 1959, Turner. I can damn well buy a house for the two children I’m accidentally bringing into the world. It’s the least I can do. Were you going to ask me for child support? I doubt it. You could use a few lessons from me about being less giving, Turner.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “So maybe I have a lot to make up for, and maybe I’m going to have a bunch of guilt, and this will make it feel better.”

  “I have to tell you, my male ego is just not handling this well.”

  “So what? Are you man enough to take a gift from a woman?”

  “I’m not sure I am.”

  “Let’s change the subject. Where were you thinking about living?”

  “Some sort of neighborhood situation that would be nice for the kids. Playground, that sort of thing. I’ll have to research the best schools,” Turner said.

  “Don’t send them to St. Mary’s, Turner,” she said softly.

  “I wasn’t planning on it.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go now, Paris, but we’ll talk more about all of this later.” Turner got up and pushed the chair back quickly. It scraped against the linoleum floor.

  “I’ll be here,” Paris said. She tried to sound brave.

  “I’ll be back about one. Page me if you need me.”

  She held up the purple beeper and smiled. “Beep beep.”

  Turner all but bolted out the door. Paris smiled to herself. A house. It felt so good that she decided buying that house was a must-do.

  She reached the phone without any trouble and called information. She didn’t even know the number for Turner’s apartment, and she wanted to talk to Millie. Millie would just love this. Millie had been so straight up with her. She owed her a big apology.

  17

  If We N
ever Meet Again

  Turner surveyed the wall of fine leather-bound books in Father Gibbs’s office. A large antique-looking globe stood on a wood-and-brass stand in one corner of the room. A beautiful illumination of Mary hung on the Spanish stucco wall. It looked to be from the Byzantine era. The frame was ornately carved and overlayed in gold.

  As he’d entered the school, escorted by Father Gibbs’s secretary, his senses had been filled with the familiar scents and colors of St. Mary’s. As he’d walked in he’d been surrounded with the aroma of candles burning in the sanctuary, the sounds of students not so quietly going from class to class, the bells, and the bustle of nuns moving down the tiled hallways. Some places just stayed exactly as they always were, and visiting was like stepping back in time.

  Actually, much had changed. The nuns had modern habits now that looked more like street clothes. The students were still in uniform, but he’d seen some wild hair go by.

  Turner shifted in his chair as he heard footsteps.

  “Turner Pruitt. I am so happy to see you again.” The priest entered the room.

  “Father Gibbs, you look wonderful.” Turner stood and shook the priest’s hand. He meant that, too. Father Gibbs looked only slightly older than he had fifteen years ago. He had on the same clothes Turner always remembered him in—black slacks, black shirt with a clergy collar, his sleeves rolled up, ready to pitch in and work at whatever needed doing.

  “I gave up coffee, booze, cigarettes, sugar, and anything else fun, plus I started taking a daily walk about ten years ago. I take handfuls of vitamins, and we put a universal machine in the school gym, so I go up there and work out three times a week. It was a big sacrifice for me, a basically indulgent old man. But I figured, hey, I’m asking everyone else to give up this or that, I should try it myself just in case it actually works. That’s a little Catholic humor there.”

  Turner didn’t remember Father Gibbs being this relaxed back in the old days. He laughed and sat down across from him in the heavy Spanish-style wooden chair. Father Gibbs took up the chair next to him instead of sitting behind the large desk.

  “Boy, these things are hard as a rock. I’ll have to have these reupholstered. A little stuffing helps our old bones ache less.”

  “I’m with you there. I remember sitting in them, waiting for you to deliver a lecture. They’re even harder when you’re young, Father. So, Father Gibbs, how did you manage to keep this assignment? I know the church usually relocates people every ten years or so,” Turner asked.

  “When it was my time to go I guess the nuns and the students made such a big uproar you could hear it all the way to Rome. I was given special dispensation to stay. I am a very lucky man.”

  “St. Mary’s is lucky to have you, Father.”

  “I hear great things about your work with the chapel, Turner. I’ve kept track of you. I hear your night services are very well attended. God needs people like you out there, my friend. It’s just a shame we didn’t snag you for the priesthood.”

  “Sorry about that, Father, my parents were Free Methodists, you know. They just chose St. Mary’s for its educational reputation and the fact I could board here for my senior year and be close to my aunt.”

  “You’re forgiven.” Father Gibbs slapped his knees and laughed. “Are your parents still in the Cook Islands?”

  “They are. It’s their home. I miss them terribly. I called there today, as a matter of fact. They sounded wonderful.”

  “And what’s this you mentioned in your call about you marrying Patricia Jamison? Or I guess the terror of St. Mary’s is now the famous Paris James. Poor little thing. I’m sure your parents were very surprised.”

  “I’d written them about it before, but I had news to tell today. We are expecting twins. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

  “My my, twins, is it? Congratulations, Turner. I was most interested to recieve your call, and I spent a great deal of time looking for the records for you. Of course you realize these are private records. But for the life of me I can’t think of why I shouldn’t give them to you after what you’ve told me.”

  Father Gibbs looked at Turner with true compassion. “She was a live-in student here, no adoption took place, so there’s no legal issues. It’s purely a matter of whether we feel it is in the best interest of the person involved,” he said.

  Father Gibbs got up and went to his desk. He poured a glass of water out of a large pitcher. “Can I get you a glass of water?”

  “I’d like that.” Turner felt very anxious to delve into the file he saw sitting on Father Gibbs’s desk, marked with Paris’s former name. “I think in this case, it is in Paris’s best interest, Father. As I said, she is convinced that she will repeat the same patterns. I’ve tried to get her to see reason, and so has her doctor, but she is shut in a tower of fear and pain. I think the only way out is for her to face the real facts of what occurred when she was a child.”

  “I see your logic there. Many times a child’s view has shadows lurking in it, and because they had no one to discuss it with, or weren’t able to put it into words, the shadows just stay in place and grow into monsters until they drag them out into the light as an adult. It’s a painful process, you know.” Father Gibbs handed Turner a cut-crystal glass full of water.

  “I know. I’ll be there with her.”

  Father Gibbs seemed to be considering his position on the matter. Turner hoped he wouldn’t change his mind. The priest took a long drink of water, then set the glass down next to the pitcher. “And Patricia has not expressed an interest in these records herself?” He sat back down behind his desk this time.

  “No, unfortunately. Everything that reminds her of her past she seems to run from. But now my children’s future is at stake. I will do whatever it takes to try and heal this situation. They need their mother, Father.”

  “I see your point,” Father Gibbs replied. He picked up the file and opened it. “This is only going to take you so far, though. You’ll have to get some medical records, and that will be much harder. The mother was originally in South Vista hospital, which was a division of the main hospital in Henderson. She was only there for a short time—two months. Then they transferred her to Harmond. Harmond is a state facility. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mrs. Jamison was still in Harmond when the husband died. Patricia was made a ward of the state at that point. St. Mary’s became her legal guardian, and she came to board full time. She had already been attending school here for the previous two years, so it was a natural transition and, we felt, in her best interest, since there were no living relatives.”

  Father Gibbs looked up. “We tried very hard to give her love and guidance. Many of the notes in the file were made by Sister Claudia. She took a special interest in Patricia.”

  Turner was confused by what Father Gibbs had just said, about the order of things, but he heard the hint of concern in Father Gibbs’s voice and focused on that for the moment. “I have no doubt that St. Mary’s did their very best, Father. Patricia’s problems center around her mother and father as far as I can see.”

  “Such a tragic story. We heard from the mother a year after her release from Harmond. Here is a copy of the letter she wrote, and the legal form in which she relinquished all parental rights. She vanished after that. By that time we’d decided not to try and find adoptive parents for Patricia, since she was already fifteen. Those things sometimes go so badly, and Patricia was a difficult child.”

  “What did you say? The mother was released from Harmond? I’m confused. Did she die after that?”

  “No, she didn’t die. As far as we know she was still living when Patricia graduated. We checked the state records for her current address to update our files. Of course that was fifteen years ago. She could have died since then.” Father Gibbs fingered through the thick file and pulled out one piece of paper. “This lists her in Mill City.”

  “In Nevada?” Turner felt a rush of shock hit him. Co
uld Paris’s mother still be alive? “Why didn’t she come for Paris?”

  “Here is a copy of her letter. I remember it. She said Patricia would be better off not knowing. That Patricia had suffered enough pain from her parents, and that St. Mary’s had been a good home for her child. Seems like the mother and the daughter do have something in common.”

  “Why does Paris think her mother is dead?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but I’m guessing Sister Claudia might have decided it was kinder to tell her that rather than tell Patricia her mother chose never to see her again.”

  Father Gibbs took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

  “The money from her father’s life insurance came to Patricia when she turned eighteen, and, if you remember, she left for New York the day after graduation.”

  “Is Sister Claudia still here?” Turner asked.

  “No, I’m afraid not. You know Patricia has been very generous with St. Mary’s over the years. We have been very grateful for her donations.”

  “Paris donated money to St. Mary’s?”

  “Yes, quite a sizable amount.”

  Turner still could not believe what he had heard. He took a drink from the glass he was holding and set it down on the coaster protecting the small table beside him.

  “And you never told Patricia yourself that her mother was still living?”

  “Believe it or not, the subject never came up between us. I’m sorry to say I left the more emotional matters to Sister Claudia. When I was with Patricia we talked about her future plans, her grades, that sort of thing. She seemed so determined to put the past behind her.”

  “I understand.” Turner ran his hand over his chin. “Thank you, Father. I’m assuming I can borrow this file?”

  “You may keep this. These are all photocopies, except for the letter. I’m giving you the original. I’m entrusting this to you for Patricia. To help her bring the shadows into the light.” Father Gibbs handed the manila folder to Turner.