Double Wedding Ring

by Peg Sutherland

  Even the absence of Betsy’s carping did little to ease Susan’s mind, however. Betsy moved briskly from room to room, never pausing long if anyone else was around, speaking only when necessary. Susan’s heart hurt for her mother, even as she hurt for her own losses.

  On the day that Tag left town, Susan’s fear grew from an insidious whisper into a screaming monster consuming every empty corner of her mind.

  “Where are you going?” she had asked, despite her resolution not to pry.

  “I have some business,” he’d said, and that was all.

  She’d listened to him roar off on his motorcycle in the early hours of the morning. She lay in bed and closed her eyes and tried to feel the wind in her hair, on her cheeks, tugging at her sleeves, the way he must be feeling it. She tried to feel the graceful dip and curve of the machine as it took every bend in the road, a fluid sensation that Tag had tried to describe. She tried to see the open road leading anywhere, everywhere.

  When she opened her eyes, she was still trapped in the house, her room, her chair.

  “My body,” she whispered to herself.

  She told herself that if Tag needed time to himself to pursue the active interests he couldn’t share with her, she shouldn’t begrudge him that time. But jealousy and fear won out over her generous nature, and she spent most of the day steeped in self-pity.

  Tag was back two days later, in time for Malorie’s birthday. He and Sam and Susan and Cody spent the afternoon decorating, planning to surprise Malorie when she came in from work. Betsy baked a cake without being asked, but excused herself from the festivities when Tag exclaimed, “Coconut cake! My favorite! I don’t know when I’ve had a coconut cake. Thanks, Betsy.”

  Her only acknowledgment was a curt nod.

  But Susan and Tag were determined that Betsy wouldn’t put a damper on Malorie’s twenty-second birthday. A crepe-paper garland and metallic confetti and pink-and-white-striped candles transformed the bare dining room. They invited Rose McKenzie, Addy Mayfield and Maxine Hammond. When those three brought their broods, the house was suddenly full of children and laughter and Susan thought there was no way to avoid having fun.

  When Malorie walked in the front door, they all jumped out of the dining room and shouted “Surprise!”

  “I always wanted to do that,” Susan told Tag as they watched the cake being cut at the kitchen table.

  “Then, I’m glad we did it.”

  “Me, too.”

  After the cake, the children ran out into the yard to play, the older children charged with keeping a watchful eye on the younger ones. A few presents were opened and everyone sat around talking and making jokes. Susan thought she’d never felt anything so happy, so friendly. So normal.

  “I remember when you were born,” Susan said, happy in the memory.

  “Oh, tell us,” Addy said wistfully. “I love new baby stories.”

  Malorie smiled. “I wasn’t eager to get here, was I?”

  “No. Thirty-four hours in labor.” Her daughter’s smile spoke of shared memories, filling Susan with a quiet joy. She supposed she had told the story before and was glad for yet another sign that she and Malorie had been close. It had been different since the accident, but she hoped they would be close again. “I threatened to send you back, but they told me it was too late.”

  Rose groaned. “And I thought Jake took forever. Thirteen hours sounds like a breeze compared to thirty-four.”

  “Of course, I expected it to be difficult,” Susan said. “Mother told me it would be, the whole nine months.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Sam directed a private smile of his own at Malorie, then said to Susan, “No wonder you waited twenty years to try again. How tough was Cody’s birth?”

  Malorie said, “She doesn’t remember that one yet. Do you, Mother?”

  “Yes, I—” Susan stopped, because suddenly it was true. She stared at her daughter and watched the color drain from Malorie’s cheeks. “Yes, I remember. It was even harder.”

  Because watching her daughter give birth had been far more difficult than going through it herself.

  Malorie looked away. Susan leaned over and took her daughter’s hand. It was cold.

  * * *

  SUSAN LAY IN THE DARK that night and waited for Malorie to come, as she always did, after putting Cody to bed. Her daughter came at last and stood by the door.

  “Come here,” Susan said, and reached out for her daughter.

  Malorie didn’t move. Her voice was laced with anguish. “You remember.”

  “Some of it. What happened? Why are we doing this?”

  “Do we have to talk about it?”

  “Please. I need to understand. He’s your baby, not mine. Why are we pretending?”

  “We thought— It seemed like the right thing. For him. For me, too. That’s what...that’s what everybody said.”

  “Buddy said that?” Susan wished she could see her daughter’s face, but the soft light from her bedside lamp didn’t carry as far as the door. All she could see was shadows. “Is it what I wanted? What you wanted?”

  “Dad went along with it,” Malorie said. “We just... I was only nineteen. And...I don’t know. We just did it. Okay?”

  “Were you in love with someone?”

  “Mother, don’t. Please don’t.”

  “But—”

  “I’m going up to bed now, Mother. Please, let’s just let it be now. I’m trying to...to start over. Please?”

  Susan thought of the secret smiles Sam and Malorie had shared that afternoon and knew what her daughter was asking. Don’t let her past come back to haunt her now, just when the future looked so bright. How could she explain that she had learned the hard way how the past would forever haunt the future as long as it was based on lies?

  She sighed. “I understand. I love you, Malorie.”

  Malorie ran over to the bed, grabbed her mother for an intense hug. In the golden light, Susan saw tears glistening on her daughter’s eyelashes. Malorie ran out of the room before Susan could think of words of comfort.

  * * *

  MALORIE HAD AGREED to the date with Sam before her mother remembered the truth. Otherwise she might not have said yes.

  But she wanted it so badly. She hadn’t dated in more than three years and she ached to live normally. So she prayed Susan would say nothing and went on with her plans, eager to pretend her life wasn’t littered with landmines waiting to explode.

  Still, she was glad there was no hint of romance about the date Sam had suggested. They would be alone in a canoe on Lake Mabila, but there would be no candlelight or starlight or champagne. Bundled in jeans and sweaters and heavy socks, with a canoe strapped to Sam’s van, they set out on Saturday morning. Sam had even coerced his uncle into opening the store in Malorie’s place.

  The December dawn broke as clear and cold as an icicle. Peeking through the towering pines, the sky was as blue as Sam’s eyes. White clouds billowed upward and sunshine gradually warmed their cheeks and glinted off the water. Alone on the lake at midmorning, they stopped rowing. Malorie thought the morning fit the mood she wanted to have, if not her actual mood. Looking up, the sky went on forever; looking down, the water was bottomless.

  Looking at Sam, the possibilities were infinite.

  “You’re strong,” Sam said, taking her oar and stacking it with his against the side of the small boat. He poured two cups of hot chocolate from a thermos jug, handed one to her and sat back to sip and stare.

  Laughing, Malorie bent one elbow and made a fist. “There’s muscle under there somewhere.”

  His eyes grew serious. “And courage. More than I gave you credit for. I hope someday you’ll tell me where all that strength came from.”

  Malorie pretended to rearrange her hair, which hadn’t budged since she secured it beneath a knit cap three hours earlier. “Does it have to come from somewhere?”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. “We aren’t born with courage. We earn
it from walking through the fire. It’s waiting for us on the other end.”

  In her heart, Malorie knew she didn’t have the kind of courage he was talking about. “What fire did you walk through?”

  “Growing up without a father, I guess.” He looked around at their magnificent surroundings, as Malorie had done minutes earlier. “Although, seeing what I see in my work every day, I think I haven’t seen much fire in my life. Not yet. Maybe I’m lucky. Maybe I get to learn a lot secondhand from the people I work with.”

  “Maybe that’s what happened to me,” Malorie said. “Going through this with Mother, maybe that’s changed me.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” He looked at her speculatively. “Maybe that’s part of it.”

  Malorie didn’t want to leave the conversation where it was. The day was too beautiful, too perfect, to worry about where that discussion might take them if she left it to follow its own course. She sought a diversionary tactic.

  “Why do you stay in Sweetbranch? Do you think about leaving?”

  “I used to think about leaving. All the time. Then I went away to school and I realized I couldn’t wait to get back.”

  “Why?”

  He put his hands behind his head and stared up as if the answers were in the treetops. “I think I hated being someplace where I had no connection. I grew up worrying that my family was going to be yanked out from under me any minute, and suddenly, after I moved to Birmingham, I was right. It was yanked.”

  He smiled at her. “Then, when I got back to Sweetbranch, I realized how much family I had. You know, in the Dairee Dreme I’d been going to all my life and the church I’d hated getting dressed for on Sunday mornings and the dinky little stadium where we watched high school football. It was all there. Nobody was going to take that away.”

  In the short time she’d been in Sweetbranch, Malorie knew the feeling. But she also knew it wasn’t hers to keep.

  Sam sat forward, passed her oar back. “I knew it was the kind of place I wanted to raise a son.”

  Their eyes met over the handle of her oar. A knot of fear sprang up in Malorie’s chest. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  As they continued navigating the lake, Malorie found herself thinking about raising a son in Sweetbranch. Her fear ricocheted around those visions.

  That Saturday was the first of many dates. Dates to movies and dates for cherries jubilee milkshakes at the Dairee Dreme and even dinner at Sam’s little farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Malorie loved the little house. White frame, with cheery green shutters, it was cozy and tidy and surrounded by the quiet of the countryside.

  She thought about raising a son here, too. She even thought about unearthing a lot of the feelings she’d fought so hard to bury almost three years earlier when she found herself abandoned and feeling disgraced.

  When Sam kissed her, she found nothing to taint the purity of their passion. In his arms, she felt whole and cleansed and ready to give again. The fear was slipping away, and Malorie let it go gladly.

  Best of all, Sam always knew when it was wise to stop. Malorie was grateful and wanted to tell him so, but didn’t know how. Then he did that for her, as well.

  “I just don’t want to go too far,” he said. “I hope you don’t think this is too old-fashioned, but...I’d like us to be committed first.”

  Emotion clogged Malorie’s throat. “I don’t think that’s old-fashioned.”

  “Maybe more than committed. I think I’d like to wait until... Well, I think it’s best for a couple to wait until they’re married.”

  Her fear came roaring back. And with it, a heavy load of guilt. How could she ever tell him the truth?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SUSAN HELD HER BREATH as the ski lift began to rise. She clutched Tag’s hand—how many times had she done that today?—and tried to look in every direction at once. She’d done that more than once today, too.

  “Scared?” Tag asked as the ground grew farther away and the sky came closer.

  Susan shook her head. “Excited.”

  Tag laughed and put an arm around her shoulder. “Good.”

  Reluctant when Tag had suggested an overnight outing, Susan had given in only when Sam and Malorie ganged up on her and urged her to go along. Whatever objection she came up with, they had a ready answer.

  So they loaded up Susan and Malorie’s new van, despite Betsy’s white-lipped disapproval, and took off for the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee.

  Tag had promised it would be beautiful this time of year, and he’d been right. The little towns along the way were alive with bundled-up, red-cheeked people going about their holiday shopping. The mountaintops were lightly dusted with snow, and towering pines brushed a sky so bright it almost hurt Susan’s eyes. She gloried in the drive through the national forest, as thrilled as someone who’d never before seen such natural wonders.

  The road out of the mountains dropped them right onto the main thoroughfare of picturesque Gatlinburg. Although Susan remained apprehensive as they parked and Tag unloaded her chair, she tried to focus on the row of quaint shops sitting at the foot of the mountains. She felt the nip of cool mountain air on her cheeks.

  Soon she began to realize there was nothing she couldn’t do with Tag’s strong arms to back up her own determination. They had shopped, loading up Susan’s lap with holiday gifts for everyone. They had eaten lunch at a chalet-style restaurant nestled at the foot of a mountain. While warming up over hot chocolate, Susan had spotted the tourists taking the ski lift to the top. And when Tag saw the wistful look in her eyes, he was determined that they, too, would take the lift to the top.

  Far below her now, Susan could see her wheelchair sitting on the deck. She’d thought the effort to get from chair to lift would be too tough, might embarrass everyone, but no one seemed to begrudge the extra effort. Least of all Tag. His face shone with the same excitement she felt as they inched their way to the top of the mountain. She couldn’t help but notice he was barely looking at the spectacular scenery.

  “You really don’t mind,” she said, without realizing she’d said it aloud.

  “Mind what?”

  “That things are...harder. With me around, I mean.”

  The pleasure in his eyes softened to tenderness. “Why in the world should I mind? Do you know how different the whole world looks to me with you at my side?”

  She nodded, because she knew it felt that way to her. Her life with Buddy had been good, but the contrast between that life and the way she felt with Tag was the difference between Willow Creek and the Atlantic Ocean. Willow Creek was quiet and pleasant, a perfectly good place to spend the day. But the Atlantic filled your senses and sent your emotions soaring and never let you forget for a moment what a blessing it was to be alive.

  Someday, Susan hoped, she would be able to find the words for all those feelings so she could tell Tag. She was determined that day would come, just as the day would come when she could walk at Tag’s side.

  “It won’t always be this way.” The simple promise was all she knew to offer him.

  He looked at her, his dark eyes solemn, then kissed first the corner of one eye, then the other.

  “It doesn’t matter if it is,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be perfect for my life to feel perfect.”

  How many times had he said something similar these past weeks? But Susan didn’t even try to believe it. She would be perfect again. And then they could get on with their lives.

  “You’ll see,” she said, pressing her lips to his cheek. If she tried really, really hard, she thought, maybe that could be her Christmas present to Tag.

  And to herself.

  * * *

  DOWNTOWN ATLANTA fascinated Cody, and his enthusiasm fascinated Malorie. The little boy wanted to greet the bedraggled Santas ringing their bells on street corners. He wanted to ride one of the noisy, smelly city buses, although he covered his ears and squinted every time one passed. He wanted to explore the street construction and t
he sidewalk hot dog vendors and every single window of every single store, as well as the dark alleys leading off the street between the department stores.

  “We aren’t here to explore,” Malorie said, grateful when Sam finally picked the boy up to carry him the rest of the way. “We’re here to buy Christmas presents for everybody. Won’t that be fun, too?”

  She and Sam exchanged a wry grin when Cody’s only reply was to look wistfully over Sam’s shoulder at the battered orange cones barricading a storm drain worksite.

  “Trust me,” Malorie said as they approached the revolving doors at one of the department stores. “You’re going to love the T-O-Y department.”

  Cody looked back at her and said, “T-O-Y. Toy.”

  She groaned. Sam tugged on the bill of the toddler’s cap. “Something tells me you’ve been sitting on your mama’s lap while she works on the computer.”

  Cody grinned widely and nodded.

  Bursting with pride, Malorie paused at the perfume counter just inside the door of the department store, pretending interest in the displays so she could compose herself. She’d spent so little time with Cody the first two years of his life that at times like this her love for him seemed to grow by leaps and bounds. He was smart and funny, and just looking at him made her heart glad.

  And sad, for all that was lost.

  But seeing him with Sam was hardest of all, she thought as she pretended to sniff at the samples on the glass countertop. Seeing the son she couldn’t acknowledge in the arms of the man who wanted to make a future with her, that was a bitter pill to swallow. She hadn’t realized how tough it would be to see the two of them together when she’d agreed to a shopping trip.

  “Wanna see toys,” Cody said, tugging on her sleeve.

  Drawing a long, silent breath, Malorie looked up into their faces, expectant and happy and flushed from the cold.

  “Okay,” she said, kissing Cody’s chubby knuckles. “Toys it is.”

  They spent longer than they should have in the toy department, but both Sam and Malorie took as much delight in watching Cody as the boy took in petting stuffed dinosaurs and setting toy trains in motion. All three of them were reluctant to leave, but Cody finally agreed without a fuss when Malorie promised another toy department in another store later in the day.