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Single in Suburbia

Page 26

by Wendy Wax


  He laughed and it was then that she knew she had to tell him. Because she loved him and wanted him to love her. But the real her, not the cleaned and sanitized version.

  It hit her then like the proverbial ton of bricks, though it had, in fact, taken her nearly thirty years to figure it out. Her mother had not been a failure; she’d been a strong woman like Amanda, who had done what was necessary to take care of her child. There was no shame in that. Brooke would not be ashamed any longer. Not of her mother or herself.

  She looked Hap in the eye and it was as if someone turned on a water tap: the truth simply began to pour out. “I wasn’t bluffing, Hap. I’m an expert with a mop and a broom. I come from a long line of cleaning women.”

  She told him everything then. About how far and how hard she’d run. How difficult it had been to offer to help Amanda. Because she had been so afraid of this very thing.

  “But I can’t be silent anymore,” she said when she’d run out of words. “I love you. More than anything. And I hope to Hell you’ll still love me now that you know where I came from.”

  She stared into his eyes, willing him to understand.

  “Wow.” Hap shook his head as if to clear it. “I just can’t seem to take it all in.” He sank down on the side of the bed and considered her carefully. But the smile of love and acceptance she was waiting for didn’t come.

  “How am I supposed to know which parts of you are real and which aren’t?” he asked finally.

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Hap. Really, I will. But you already know my deepest darkest secret. My mother is a maid. And so was my grandmother.” She was trying for a light tone but couldn’t quite pull it off as her panic rose. “It’s not exactly a criminal offense, is it? I mean I’ve always treated it as if it was, but it isn’t, right?”

  Why was he sitting so still, his face so devoid of expression when she was dying for him to smile and take her in his arms and tell her it didn’t matter?

  “And are you and your mother actually…estranged?” Hap asked. His tone, like his voice, was frighteningly neutral. “Or is that just part of the fairy tale too?”

  “Not formally. I just don’t see her too often.” She dropped her gaze. “And I didn’t think you’d want to be obligated to have a relationship with her.”

  “Even though she’s your mother.”

  It sounded so wrong the way he said it. As if she’d been trying to do anything but save him from embarrassment. “Well, she’s uneducated. And quite young—she was only sixteen when she had me. And she, um, drinks too much.” Her heart was thudding painfully in her chest. She wanted to scoop up all the words she’d poured out and stuff them back inside her. Anything to have Hap back, instead of this unemotional stranger.

  “But she’s your mother and you didn’t trust me to know her.” This, too, was delivered in a calm, measured tone, but she could hear the undercurrent of accusation all too clearly.

  Her head snapped up. “It wasn’t like that. It was…” Her voice trailed off.

  “It sounds exactly like that to me, Brooke. You say you love me, but you don’t have enough faith in my love for you to believe I could accept your less-than-idyllic background?”

  “No, I…”

  He stood and moved toward the closet. “I already had one marriage to a woman who didn’t trust me. I believe I mentioned that to you when we met.” When had Hap Mackenzie become such a king of understatement? Each simple pronouncement carried the weight of a shout. Or maybe that was just her guilty conscience?

  “There is no element in marriage more important than trust. At least not to me.”

  “Oh, Hap, I…”

  “I’ve got to run Tyler to his mother’s now. And I think I might stay over at the club for a bit, to sort of think things out.” He pulled out his overnighter and stuffed some clothing into it while she watched, speechless. Then he opened the door and prepared to walk through it. “I do love you, Brooke. At least, I’ve always believed I do. But I’m not too sure how we get past this. Maybe we both need to give it a little time and thought.”

  Then he was gone, taking Tyler with him. And Brooke was left in the perfect house with the picket fence all alone.

  On Sunday morning a shot of the three musketeers—taken as they entered the detention center, before they’d had a chance to remove their disguises—ran on page one of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

  Brooke stared at the hairy mole on her face, which was impossible to miss given its position just above the front page fold.

  The caption carried their full names along with their cleaning aliases. The headline screamed,

  DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES DON DISGUISES

  AND CLEAN UNSUSPECTING FRIENDS’

  HOMES!

  The cancellations came fast and furious. Candace thought afterward that the clients called not out of courtesy but because they were afraid if they didn’t, the three of them might actually show up. Susie was still claiming to anyone who would listen that they had stolen from her, even though they’d been arrested for disturbing the peace—as had Susie—and not for theft.

  There were only two clients who hadn’t canceled so far; Candace’s neighbor, Sylvia Hardaway, who had informed Candace that “I don’t care whether she’s French or Albanian. She does a damn fine job and she thinks I have style.” And Hunter James, who Amanda figured was still out of town and hadn’t yet heard the sordid news. And who, she said pointedly, had apparently gone somewhere on earth where they didn’t have phones.

  So all three of them laid low that week, dealing as best they could with the specters that had risen to haunt them. The vacuummobile sat in Candace’s garage, its shiny yellow paint dimming under a light layer of dust.

  To add insult to injury, Candace had absolutely no appetite but still seemed to be putting on weight. And Dan didn’t call, though she’d fallen into the habit of sitting by the phone wishing that he would. Nor were there invitations to lunch or to functions. Her phone remained accusingly silent.

  Toward the end of the week, her mother reappeared. Hannah’s brown eyes were determined and her mouth was set in a grim line. Two trips to the hinterlands in one week had to be some sort of record, but this time Candace was too uncomfortable and too miserable to comment.

  “What’s wrong with you?” her mother asked. “You look awful.”

  “Thank you.” It didn’t help that she knew her mother was right.

  “You can’t just lie around like your world is coming to an end. You need to get out there, start dating, hold up your head.”

  Only she couldn’t and didn’t want to. And it seemed like her life was, in fact, over. For once nothing her mother said made any difference. Candace felt thick and mule-like; the more her mother talked, the more obstinate she felt.

  Hannah walked over to stand next to the couch Candace was lying on and peered down at her. “I’m going to call Dr. Epstein and make you an appointment.”

  “I’m not sick. I’m just tired.” And unhappy. And lonely.

  “Well, I won’t have it.” Hannah all but stamped her size six foot. “No daughter of mine is going to moon over some silly Irishman like he was the catch of the century.”

  Her mother wouldn’t have it? Candace thought she must have misunderstood. After all she’d given up, her mother expected to control her mood as well?

  Then Candace woke up. She still felt queasy and uncomfortable, but the flash of anger buoyed her. She sat up on the couch and looked at her mother.

  “You won’t have it?” she asked.

  They both froze in shock at Candace’s incredulous tone. This time Candace recovered first. “You think you can decide what I feel and for how long?” She stood and stepped up to her mother. Even in her bare feet, she towered over her. “You told me it was you or him and I did what I’ve always done, I chose you. But that’s not enough for you, is it? You have to control every little thing, every thought, every action.” Her rage began to grow. In the span of a few minutes, it
dwarfed them both. She was tired of doing what her mother told her. Tired to death of living the life her mother thought she should live.

  Dan Donovan was right. She was way too old for this shit. “You know,” Candace finally said, “I’m not sure how we got this way.” She lowered her voice and took a step away. “But I don’t think it’s good for either of us. You’ve got too much power. And I’ve got too little. It’s time for things to be more balanced.”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” Hannah tried to maintain her imperious tone, but Candace could tell that she was shaken. Never once in forty-two years had she spoken to her mother this way.

  “Well, you don’t really have to understand all the details,” Candace pointed out more calmly. “What matters is I’m ready to live my own life and make my own choices. And if that happens to include an Irishman with a fair to middlin’ amount of ambition, so be it.”

  “Candace, darling, you can’t be serious. Why…”

  But Candace was already taking her mother’s arm and escorting her toward the front door. “But I am, Mother. I’m as serious as a heart attack.”

  They were in the foyer. Candace opened the door and motioned her mother through it. “Thank you so much for stopping by. I’m really feeling much better now.” Happily this was the truth. “But in the future if you want to visit, I’d really appreciate it if you’d call ahead and make sure that it’s convenient.”

  There was a gasp of indignation and a “Well, I never!” And then Hannah Bloom swept out the front door and down the flagstone walk.

  Wishing that Dan had been there to see her kick tush, Candace watched her mother leave.

  Brooke sat in her perfect house trying to enjoy the perfect silence. But all it felt was empty without Hap in it. She walked through the rooms, all neatly arranged and oppressively tidy. She never thought she’d say it, but she even missed Tyler.

  She talked with Amanda and Candace every day, but other than her daily workout, she was completely alone. She had no idea what she could do to convince Hap of her love and trust in him. If he expected her to bring her mother to meet him or, worse yet, take him to the double-wide she’d once called home, he’d be waiting for a lifetime.

  But there must be some way to introduce him to the real her without frightening him too much.

  In the bedroom she found herself on her knees next to the bed, feeling around underneath it. When her fingers felt metal, she grasped on to the handle and pulled out her steamer trunk; the one she’d taken with her to college. It was old and banged up, but it had been her first personal possession and at the time that her mother had bought it for her, it had been shiny and new, symbolic of all that lay ahead of her and all that she couldn’t wait to leave behind.

  She opened it now, and looked through the things inside smiling over some of the sillier mementos, shaking her head over others and wondering what had made them seem important enough to keep. The ticket for her first university football game, her cafeteria pass, all four of her University of Georgia yearbooks.

  Underneath all that was a cigar box that she’d gotten when she was five. It had always been the repository of her most prized possessions; there hadn’t been many and they’d easily fit.

  As she removed the rumpled reminders and the bent-cornered pictures, she had an idea. Her heart beating with hope for the first time since Hap had left, she spread them out on the coverlet and began arranging the photos in order, from the shot of her as a wailing baby in her teenage mother’s arms to the auburn-haired college girl clad in cap and gown. There weren’t a lot of photos—hers had not been a picture-snapping, vacation-taking life—but still they told a story. Going to their wedding album, she pulled out her favorite shots from both the simple ceremony and their honeymoon in St. Barts.

  Later that day she went out and purchased a grainy leather photo album in which she arranged the story of her life.

  Then she picked up the phone and punched in her husband’s cell phone number.

  Rob came over the night before Amanda’s parents left. His excuse was to drop something off for the kids, but not even Meghan and Wyatt were fooled. He stayed to have dinner with them, a meal that almost captured the sense of family they’d once had, and then asked to speak to Amanda alone when her mother and the children began to clear the dishes.

  They went out on the back deck, completely aware that the eyes of the family were glued on them. Amanda walked to the railing and turned her back on the house. Rob came to stand beside her. Together they stared out over the trees of the wooded backyard.

  “I imagine you have some idea of what I’d like to talk about.” Rob wiped his hands on the sides of his pants and cleared his throat, and she realized just how nervous he was.

  Her own palms turned sweaty and her pulse kicked up a notch, but she just cocked her head in his direction and waited for him to speak.

  “I, uh, have some good news,” he said. “It looks like the position with the real estate developer is a done deal. I’m going to have a base salary, plus a lot of growth potential. It’ll take a while, but I’ll have a chance to get back on my feet.”

  “That’s great, Rob.” She felt a burst of relief as she realized that some of the financial pressure would lessen. Between what Rob would be able to pay and what her parents insisted on loaning her, she’d still need to work but she would no longer be facing imminent eviction.

  “Yeah. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that I won’t be driving a garbage truck like Anne Justiss suggested.” He smiled, but it was forced.

  She studied her husband, knowing what was coming next, wondering why she didn’t feel more excitement at the prospect. “So, um, I was wondering if you’d have me back. Maybe let me move in and see if we can start over again.”

  She waited for her heart to swell with happiness, or her feet to break into a little happy dance, but the request didn’t even generate a sigh of relief.

  Her mind said she should be happy that her husband wanted to come back to her. Her bruised and bloodied heart wanted to know why.

  “What’s happened to Tiffany?” she asked.

  Rob shifted uncomfortably beside her. His gaze was locked on a scraggly fir tree. “She’s gone,” he said.

  Now there was an interesting bit of news.

  “Gone out of town?” she asked. “Gone on a trip? Gone from your life?”

  “Yes.” He turned and tried to look her in the eye, but he sort of caught a part of her shoulder and the edge of her earlobe. “All of those things.”

  She did not, she realized, really want to know this. But she felt compelled to ask. “And if she hadn’t left you, would you still want to come home?”

  She held her breath while she waited for his response. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “Yes. I screwed up and I dragged you all through my mess, but I’m sorry and I want to come back.”

  He spoke without hesitation, finally meeting her eye, his voice ringing with conviction. But Tiffany’s defection rankled. How would she ever know whether what he was saying was true? And if she did take him back, how would she know that there wouldn’t be another Tiffany?

  She felt like she was getting a really great price on a used car—a car she wasn’t even sure was right for her anymore.

  She looked more closely at the man who was still technically her husband. What she saw was a man who had left her for another woman; a man who’d been able to walk away from his children because his panicked libido was stronger than his paternal commitment. She saw the officer of the court who had cheated his clients out of money and never really been forced to pay.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, puzzled. “I thought you’d be excited about getting back together.”

  “Yeah,” she said, feeling almost as puzzled as he sounded. “So did I.”

  Meghan would be thrilled if Rob came home and so would Wyatt. If for no other reason, she should be saying yes right now. She opened her mouth to speak, but sh
e couldn’t make the words come out.

  He’d trampled on their love and treated them as if they didn’t matter. And now that Tiffany had left him, she was supposed to quiver with joy and welcome him back into the fold.

  She took a step back as the realization struck her.

  She might be able to interface with Rob Sheridan on a surface level, but she could never really trust him again. Her well of love for him had been sucked dry.

  “I know it would make Meghan and Wyatt happy,” she said as she struggled to come to grips with her decision.

  His face lit up and he took a step closer.

  She surprised them both when she put a hand out to stop him. “But that’s not reason enough for us to be together.”

  They studied each other in the falling twilight. This day had reached its end. Tomorrow would be brand new. “You’ll still be their father, Rob, whatever house you live in. And I hope you’ll be a good one.” She looked him deep in the eye. “But…”

  “Amanda,” he said, interrupting, “you can’t seriously mean to say no.” It was clear he couldn’t fathom that she would choose to be alone rather than with him. She was kind of blown away by that fact too.

  “I expect I should be grateful for the offer,” she said at last as the day faded all the way to black. “But I think I’m going to have to pass.”

  chapter 29

  T he idea of driving to a distant ballpark on Sunday and sitting in the stands while everyone talked about her was about as appealing to Amanda as double root canals. Rob had the kids and was taking them to the game, but she’d be bringing them home with her. Still, she was more than reluctant to expose herself to public scrutiny. She couldn’t figure out why Brooke and Candace appeared so eager to get there.

  “Remind me why we’re going to this game today?” she asked.

 

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