Before long, Sandra reached the part of the diary in which Marie described the sexual abuse between her and Jack, and she had to stop reading. It was described vividly, in childish terms. It appeared to be constant, nightly, each time Marie visited. Sandra wondered where Pam was when night after night Jack came to Marie’s bed? Unless Marie was lying.
Also during this time, Marie stopped eating. Sandra let out a sob; who were these people that they didn’t put two and two together? If her daughter had a life-threatening condition and was journaling about it, she’d know. She’d search her room to discover what she could about her child’s life. Was Nelda that ignorant? It made Sandra think twice about having her care for the children, even in a supervisory way.
And Pam, too. Did she even want her around? Anxiety crept up in her throat when she realized she was already looking for ways to benefit financially from having Pam in her life, but at what cost? Closing the diary, she got out of bed and put it away with the rest of Marie’s life.
Chapter 15
Monday morning, Tom got off his mother’s couch and gathered his belongings up to go back home. He’d talked to Sandra on Sunday, and they both decided it would be better not to get too cozy until they were sure of what they were dealing with. Virginia was furious, telling him he was wasting his time. But it only made him more determined to do what was right. He believed he loved Sandra, and if the baby was Brent Smith’s, it was the result of rape, not of an affair. He needed to stay by her side and raise both children as his own, if he could.
Tossing and turning all night, so sorry he’d acted the way he had, he’d practically forced Sandra to tell Pam the baby was Brent’s son. Now the whole family knew, and it was yet another secret, this one for a different generation. He thought of the other new grandson, Marcus. If Tom left Sandra, he was certain baby Brent would always be in competition with his cousin. The prince and the bastard. It was horrible enough to contemplate that Tom was more determined than ever to protect the little guy from the Smith family. If he was his son.
Walking home, he keyed in Sandra’s number. “I’m on my way,” he said when she answered. “Shall we drive in together?”
“Okay,” she said, nervous.
“I have so much to say to you, I don’t know where to start.”
“Well, just get here, and we can talk.” They hung up after saying good-bye.
Sandra was leery about anything Tom might say, afraid he couldn’t be trusted. She’d decided she’d be fine if they split up, setting up a fantasy life in her mind that included drivers, nannies and houses at the beach. If baby Brent was Tom’s child, the life of abundance would disappear. But if he was really Brent’s, that life could be reality, but one Tom wouldn’t allow if they were to stay together. She was weighing wealth against a nuclear family life with a father and a mother and two kids in Brooklyn. What did she really want?
~ ~ ~
Across the river in Greenwich Village, Natalie Borg was making breakfast for Ted, who sat at the counter, reading the paper. They’d hardly spoken to each other since leaving Pam Smith’s house. Finally talking about their sexual encounter revealed what Ted had feared: Natalie read more into it than was there. He was nothing but regretful about it. Although sexually, it felt good, being on top of her was like trying to lie across a beach ball, and to make matters worse, she smelled. He felt awful, wanting so much to love her the way she wanted him to, but it was never going to happen. In hindsight, he felt like she used him, forcing herself on him. But because he was a gentleman, he’d allow her to blame him for it.
“Look, I guess I need to move out today,” he said, putting the paper down.
She was flipping over an egg for her own breakfast. Turning the heat off under the pan, she turned to him. “You’re right,” she answered, surprisingly. “We ruined everything by sleeping together. Now I don’t feel like I can go back.”
Ted didn’t think they needed to rehash everything, but didn’t want to be insensitive to her. He folded the paper and stood up. “I’ll go pack up.”
“Where will you go?”
“Ashton’s,” Ted answered. “I need to decide what to do about it anyway, and if I’m going to list it, I should do it now. But I might decide to stay up there. It’s a haul to come to my office, but I got used to the amenities uptown.”
The tiny kitchen was just one step from the hallway, and he turned with one foot out of the room when he heard a crash and felt a few hot drops on the back of his neck.
Jumping up and flattening himself against the wall, he yelled at her. “What the hell was that?”
She was standing rigid in front of the stove, her curly salt-and-pepper hair standing out from her head like a helmet of steel wool, her eyes glistening, skin bright red. “Don’t bother packing,” she said. “I’ll do it for you. You’d better leave now. Get out!”
“I don’t want you going through my belongings,” Ted said.
“Get out!” she screamed. “I’ll call the police if you don’t leave this second. Get your shoes on and get the hell out of my house, you creepy son of a bitch!”
Ted backed along the wall. “Can I get my wallet?”
“You have sixty seconds to grab what you want and get out before I call the police.” Natalie was shaking. She felt her bowels ready to release, but it was just gas. The idea that the bastard would drive her almost to shit her pants struck her as such a tragedy that she started to wail. “Ten, nine, eight,” she counted down, crying.
He was stumbling over his own feet, trying to get his shoes on, juggling his briefcase and his computer bag. The door was tricky to open on its best days, but he finally succeeded in getting out. She must have vaulted over to it because it slammed shut, hitting him in the back. He noticed the door across the hallway open, with an eyeball looking out at him.
“You okay, sahib?” It was Mr. Acar, owner of a Turkish coffee house in the Village.
“Yes, I think so,” Ted answered, wiping hot egg yolk off the back of his neck with his hand.
“Your woman is a wild tiger,” he said, giggling.
“She’s not my woman,” Ted said, indignant. “We just live together.”
“You fuck a woman, she’s your woman,” he said.
Ted, embarrassed, saluted him and walked down to the stairwell. “You dummy,” he murmured under his breath. “Why’d you screw up a good thing?” He tried to remember what he’d taken over to Natalie’s, and it was mostly clothes. His books and important things were in the office or in storage. If she decided to throw everything away, he’d be okay with it, the price of freedom.
As he struggled down the steps with his arms full of stuff, he thought of Jeff Babcock. Hopefully, his phone number was in his wallet and not on Natalie’s guest room dresser.
~ ~ ~
Sunday evening, Lisa found the courage to ask Gladys to go home with Ed. “I love having you here, I really do,” she said. “But I want to start up a routine with the children, and I’m afraid if you stay, I’ll push Megan’s care off on you and won’t try to take care of the two of them by myself.”
She’d tell Dan later that Gladys seemed crushed.
“It could’ve had something to do with the altercation she had with me Sunday morning. I’m sorry I made it worse,” he said. “I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.”
“It’s fine,” she replied. “I thought I’d want her help. But I want my own routine. And I want my husband happy.”
After Dan left for work Monday morning, Lisa made sure to feed Megan a substantial breakfast since it appeared Dan felt she was starving her. After she nursed Marcus and put Megan with her toys, she put her feet up and had a cup of coffee. Then she picked up her phone and dialed Cara Ellison’s number. Her voice mail picked up.
“Hi, Cara, this is Lisa Chua. We haven’t met yet, but I wanted to thank you for your well wishes. Dan told me I’d interrupted your meet-up with my text message. We had a house full with my mother and former mother-in-law and two grandmothers. It
was a zoo! Anyway, I hope you’ll come by soon to see our little doll. Bye now.” And with a satisfied smile, she ended the call. Now the woman would know Dan wasn’t sneaking around Lisa’s back, that he had a legitimate reason for leaving the house on Saturday afternoon, and that Lisa wasn’t threatened by her. Not much.
Cara Ellison was in bed, listening to the message Lisa left while Dan showered. She sounded so young on the recording; what was Dan thinking? Not wanting to remind him of what he was leaving at home, she quickly erased it. Not intending to meet Lisa or the little doll, Cara wasn’t sure yet what she was doing with Dan. He has a two-day-old baby. He’d waited until he was forty-six to finally get married. Is ruining someone’s marriage worth having a little ego stroking? Why do I still need the attention of an unavailable man to make me feel better about myself? He wasn’t willing to make a commitment to me years ago, and then I found out he was seeing someone old enough to be my mother, almost.
Pulling the sheets back, she got out of bed. Standing in front of the mirror to examine her body, she was in good shape but no match for a twenty-four-year-old. When he showed up on her doorstep so early that morning, her first thought was, Could I darken my bedroom enough? He let it slip in a phone conversation last night after Lisa had gone to sleep that her stomach was already flat.
“Why are you telling me this?” Cara asked.
“It’s just conversation,” he replied.
“Well, stop it, or don’t call me again,” she answered. “I’m not your sounding board when you’re lonely or bored, got it? As a matter of fact, unless you have something to offer me, don’t call me again.”
They’d hung up, and then that morning she heard a knock on her door while she was making coffee. Looking out the window, she saw his car.
“I’ve got something to offer you,” he’d said. And later, when he pushed into her, he said, “There, is that enough? Can I call you again?”
Sex with Dan was amazing. He was affectionate and gentle but wild, grabbing her ass with both hands. He’d ruined sex for her with anyone else. It had taken three years to get over him, and now she’d let him back in.
“What the hell did you do that for?” she asked her reflection. Quickly putting her dressing gown on, she’d shower again after he left. Sitting at the counter drinking coffee when he came back down, she tried to be cool and kind, when she felt used and stupid. It was difficult, but she pulled it off.
“Well, thanks for stopping by,” she said.
“Thanks for having me,” Dan said and then, putting his foot in his mouth, “Six weeks won’t seem so long now.”
Cara didn’t get it at first. “Six weeks for what?” And slowly it sank in. His discomfort, fidgeting like he was looking for something in his pockets spoke volumes when he didn’t answer her.
“Oh, I see. You mean you have to wait to have sex with your wife for six weeks. Get out, Dan. Get out and don’t come back, or I’m going to tell your wife. I might tell her anyway.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, scrambling.
But she was up, pushing him to the door, furious. He looked back as she slammed the door on him.
“You asshole!” she screamed through the closed door. And then she did something he’d never expect of her. She even shocked herself. Running back up the stairs to her bedroom, she got her phone off the nightstand. Although she’d erased the text message, the contact number from Lisa Chua was still there. She pressed on the telephone icon, and the phone began to ring. When the voice mail picked up, she hung up. Leaving a message wasn’t smart; there’d be plenty of opportunities to call back. Pacing, she decided the best revenge against the jerk was to befriend Lisa. She’d get up in his face as often as she could and make him sweat a little.
Pleased with her plan, she got back in the shower for the second time and prepared to start the day over.
Chapter 16
Pam still liked Mondays. The first real day of the week, she had the chance to make restitution for the stupid things she did the week before. She woke up just in time to see the sunrise, trying not to think about what it was like to watch it with Jack. Not everything had to have a connection to Jack.
The pink light peeked over the tops of the drapes, thrilling her, so she sprang out of bed to see. The sky was magenta and bright orange from the horizon, stretching over her house. It was the most amazing display of color; she wished she knew how to paint so she could immortalize it. Then, excitedly, she remembered her phone. Forgetting to check her appearance in the mirror as she did every morning, Pam grabbed her phone and ran out to the dunes in back of her house. One of the last things Brent had done for his mother was to teach her how to use her phone to take pictures. She pressed through the menu until she got to the camera and aimed it at the sky, pressing the photo button. So pleased with the results, she didn’t realize someone was observing her as she looked at the picture until she heard her name being called.
“Mrs. Smith?”
Pam looked up, forgetting that she’d run outside with her pajamas and no makeup on. He was the handsome, white-haired fellow she’d seen on the beach the day before.
“Yes?” she answered, a little concerned. She stepped forward, away from the unlocked door. If he meant to do her harm, he’d have to do it in broad daylight, not push her back into her house.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, stepping over to the wooden walkway. “I’m Jason Bridges. Jeff Babcock is my brother-in-law. My former brother-in-law. But we’re still close friends. He’s been meaning to introduce us, but we’re never here at the same time.”
Pam remembered the state she was in and put her hands up to her face. “Oh my, you’ll have to excuse me; I ran out without even combing my hair! Wait right here, and I’ll be back in five minutes.” She ran back to the house, remembering to lock the inside veranda door just in case the guy was a murderer.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” she sang as she ran to the bathroom. “Oh no!” She looked in the mirror at her cockeyed ponytail and pale face. Grabbing her toothbrush, she brushed her teeth and then washed her face. If he waits, he’s interested. If he leaves, he’s not. She didn’t put on full war paint, just powder, lipstick, and some eyeliner. Her hair was hopeless, so she neatened up the ponytail and put a straw hat on. She picked gauze pants and shirt, her favored outfit for the beach on days she was home alone. In less than five, she was back outside, tying her straw hat under her chin, seeing that he was waiting patiently for her.
Outstretching her hand, she smiled at him. “Jason, Jeff mentioned to me that he had someone he wanted me to meet. I’d just rolled out of bed and wanted to get a picture of this beautiful sunrise. I never come out in public looking like that, so the one time in my life I do, well, you get the picture.” She was so embarrassed that she yammered on and on about her appearance, and he was so kind, listening and smiling at her.
“I am so sorry that I thought I could interrupt you at seven in the morning! You looked lovely for having just gotten out of bed,” he said.
Pam started laughing, completely at ease. “Whew! That was close, then! What if you thought I looked terrible?” she said, teasing. “Would you like to walk the beach with me?”
“Of course,” he answered. “That sounds perfect.”
She needed coffee but wasn’t keen on inviting him inside just yet. What if he’d dropped Jeff’s name just to get inside the house? She realized she was acting like a paranoid old woman. If they had anything left to talk about after they walked, she’d invite him in for coffee.
“I usually start walking north,” she said.
“North it is,” Jason answered. They walked for miles north, talking about how they spent their time.
“We better turn around,” Pam said when she noticed how far they’d gone. “We can’t get beyond the causeway without taking our life in our hands.”
They headed south, walking in silence for a while.
“I’ve talked the whole time,” Jason said, embarras
sed. “Tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know? I’ve lived a rather boring life.”
“Well, I know you’ve lived here for a long time. I actually came to one of your Memorial Day parties with Jeff right after my wife died.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry about your wife,” Pam replied.
“Thank you. She’d been sick for a while, so it was a bittersweet time. I don’t want to say it was a blessing when she died, but she’d suffered for a while. I think the most difficult thing for her was that she had unfinished projects that meant a lot to her.”
“How long ago did she die?”
“It’s been almost six years,” Jason answered.
Hearing about his wife made Pam sick. She was shocked at her response, too. What was it about the woman’s story that affected her so intensely? “What was her name?” she choked out.
“Emily. Gosh, I haven’t talked about her in such a long time, it feels strange. I buried it; do you know what I mean?”
“Yes, unfortunately, I do,” she replied.
They walked in silence for a while. Pam felt so depressed and sad. If she died tomorrow, Lisa would be the only thing she’d care about leaving behind. Emily Bridges had so much to do that she didn’t want to die without finishing.
“Do you have children?” she asked.
“Yes, four. Two of each. They’re grown and gone with families of their own,” he answered gently. “Have I upset you?”
“Yes,” she answered honestly. “But probably not for the reasons you’re thinking. I’m upset because your wife had such an interesting, full life that she didn’t want to leave it unfinished. That both intrigues me and devastates me.”
In Memoriam: Pam of Babylon Book #7 Page 13