by Gail Cleare
A storm of rage broke across his face. “And how are you going to survive,” Thomas sneered, “with no education, no job, and a brat to support? You don’t think Wellesley will let you bring a baby to college with you next fall, do you?”
“Well, not exactly, but…”
Thomas stood up and paced. “You won’t be bringing it here to this house, either. And those fancy friends of yours, do you think they’ll want to come around when it looks like you’re hiding a basketball under your shirt?” He shot her a nasty grin. “Have you thought about what those girls will be whispering behind their hands?”
Bridget froze, an expression of horror on her face. She burst into tears again.
“Thomas, stop it immediately.” Power swelled up from deep inside Mary and made her voice strong. “I want you to leave this house now, and don’t come back until you’re ready to behave like a patient, loving father. If that means never, then so be it.”
He stood up, stumbling, his face red and ugly. “You can’t do that, Mary. This is my house, my home. I say what happens here.” His fists clenched and eyes squinted, he kicked the coffee table, knocking it over and spilling all the magazines and half-filled cups onto the floor.
“The days of wives and children being considered chattel in this country are long gone, Thomas Reilly.” Mary was calm and strong, in command. “You take your temper and march it right out the door. We don’t need your drama here. If you don’t go, I’ll call for help. Everyone in town will find out about it before the day is done.” She picked up the telephone and poised her finger over the buttons. “What will it be?”
He swept out of the room like a tornado, sucking all the air out with him.
Mary took Bridget in her arms, and they rocked.
“I don’t know what to do, Mom. Don’t even know what my choices are.”
“It’s okay, honey. We’ll find out.”
“I don’t think I can… abort. It just doesn’t feel right to me. And what if something went wrong?” Bridget began to weep again, silently this time.
“I’m glad you said that, sweetie. I don’t feel comfortable with that idea either. Want to hear a suggestion?”
Bridget blotted her face with a tissue and nodded, waiting.
“What if we go talk to Father Benedict? He’ll know what the Church might be able to do to help.” Mary stroked her daughter’s hair, soothing her with love.
“But how could that help? Won’t he just be mad at me for, you know… sinning?”
Mary smiled. “He’ll probably tell you to make your confession, but he won’t be mad. The church has always helped take care of mothers like you, and the babies. Catholic Charities helps with adoptions too. Let’s find out what they offer, okay?”
Bridget nodded, reaching for her mother again to wrap her arms around Mary’s waist.
“Guess Daddy’s right,” she said, her voice muffled as her face pressed again Mary’s chest. “I really messed things up. Such an idiot.”
“Honey, you’re not the first eighteen-year-old to find herself in this predicament, and you won’t be the last.”
“Mom, I got an A in biology. You’d think I would have the brains not to get swept away by some supposed romance without thinking first.”
“Love is love, Bridget. It’s a powerful force.”
Bridget looked up at her mother curiously. “Was it like that for you when you met Daddy?”
“In a way, yes.” Mary thought about the night Thomas proposed, when they were both so happy. Then she thought of the long days without him afterwards. “Let’s just say I know what you’re talking about.”
“Guess Daddy’s right about something else too. I can’t raise a baby and go to college next fall. I’ll lose my scholarship and can forget about ever graduating from a top school. It would be community college or nothing. I’d probably end up waiting tables for the rest of my life.”
“Bridget, you’re an amazing, talented young woman. I believe you can do whatever you want to with your life. No matter what.”
“Really, Mom?”
Mary heard the gratitude and hope in Bridget’s voice. “For sure, honey. Now, what do you say we dry our eyes and go stop by the parish hall? I think Father B. will be just getting finished with his confirmation classes about now.”
“Okay, Mom. I love you.”
“Me too, sweet pea. Me too.”
While Bridget went to wash her face and brush her hair, Mary sat and remembered. She tried to control her anger toward Thomas, but every time she pressed it down inside her, it bubbled back up again. He was totally inflexible, so unbending with his strict rules and rigid values that he couldn’t see the harm he did to his family and to himself. She didn’t have a chance to recognize that trait when they first got together—everything had happened so fast. And now, to be honest, she regretted not taking more time to get to know the man.
She had her two beautiful girls and a lovely home, but still, she was forced to deal with his bullying every day. Thomas wasn’t physically abusive, but he sure was a bossy grouch—nothing like what she’d expected from knowing him before the war. He wasn’t fun anymore. The charismatic man who had entertained everyone popped out from time to time in public, but at home, he was tense and defensive. Some nights when she finally lay her head down on the pillow, Mary wondered whether she would have the energy to pick it up again in the morning.
And now this new trouble. He would drive their daughter away or damage her self-esteem forever if Mary didn’t stop him.
Mary cradled her head in her hands.
Then Bridget came back into the room, and Mary lifted her head and smiled, sending a brilliant beam of love straight from the heart. All her spirit was focused on lifting her daughter up above the insecurity that Thomas’s words had created. She hoped it would be enough but knew it was probably too late.
Chapter 8
Bridget ~ 2014
Bridget got Nell’s message late that evening in the car on the way home from the fundraiser. Relieved to learn that things seemed to be under control, she decided to return her sister’s call first thing in the morning. She leaned back in her seat and squeezed the armrests with clawed hands as Eric whipped along the Capital Beltway, weaving in and out of lanes. They might get home two or three minutes sooner but no more than that.
That isn’t why he does it. He likes the danger and doesn’t care if I’m uncomfortable.
She hated the daredevil part of his personality. It had attracted her at first, along with his commanding physical strength, which made her feel protected and secure even while she squirmed from being so firmly under his thumb. She looked at Eric’s hand on the mahogany gearshift and pictured it fisted in the back of her hair as he positioned her mouth where he wanted it. A shiver trickled through her, and she sighed.
When Eric had first shown an interest in her, she was so anxious to please that she changed her hair, clothes, music, diet, hobbies, reading, ideas, politics, work schedule, and even her address, all to accommodate him. But just like her two previous husbands, after a while he disdained her for giving in so easily. That night at the banquet, she’d watched him exchange meaningful glances with a female colleague, and when they both disappeared at the same time, Bridget guessed what was probably going on in the men’s bathroom. She had been there herself a few years back.
Good marriages don’t happen to bad people. What did I expect?
If only she could go back in time and choose a different path… but it was too late, and her destiny was sealed. She was doomed to have her heart broken again and again. It was what she deserved.
Finding it more and more difficult to hide her vulnerability, she had begun a delicate dance with Eric, spinning and dodging to protect herself. Never one to pass up an opportunity to take advantage of weakness, he had shifted the dynamic be
tween them so that she obeyed him without question rather than risk another fight.
“The girls are still up,” Bridget said as they pulled into the driveway. The house was ablaze with lights, and music throbbed, way too loud.
“Lucky the neighbors didn’t call security.” She looked up at Heather’s windows on the second floor, where dancing forms could be glimpsed through the sheer curtains.
“I’ll take care of it.” Eric parked his black Porsche next to the Mercedes. “You go on ahead and warm up the bed.”
“Okay.” She turned her face toward him with a smile.
He bent closer, taking her into his arms and slipping one hand into the low décolletage of her dress to squeeze her breast as they kissed. Then Eric reached across her to flip the door handle and let her out of the car, the lazy gentleman’s gesture. She forgave him that because when it came to more important things, he wasn’t lazy at all. And he wasn’t much of a gentleman, either.
Bridget always fell for the bad boys. But that could change. Maybe there was something to be said for the kind of marriage her sister had, with a few modifications of course—more sex, more excitement, and a lot less housework.
As she climbed the stairs to the second floor, she wondered what her parents’ marriage had really been like. Mom had money from her career as a nurse and a modest inheritance from Grandma. Financially, she’d been relatively independent. She’d gone off antiquing with her girlfriends now and then and always came home on Sunday night with penny candy for the girls and something special for Daddy. But Mom always gave in if she and Daddy disagreed. He’d raise his voice and get that look on his face, and the discussion would be over.
Bridget went into her closet and kicked off her strappy heels, dutifully putting them into their special box. She unzipped her dress and stepped out of it, slipping it onto a padded hanger. Sitting down at her dressing table in her slip, she started to remove her makeup.
Daddy was incredibly strict and controlling, but he never hit us. That was a huge point in his favor.
Bridget’s hand went to the spot on her cheek, hidden under the expert makeup, which still hurt when she pressed. Yes, it was time to make a move. It was a shame about the sex, but nothing else was working for her anymore. Best to get out before things got any worse.
Chapter 9
Nell ~ 2014
Nell opened her window shade to see a rose-and-gold dawn painting the sky over the lake. The water looked smooth, a shining mirror that reflected the circle of pine trees that rimmed the shore, a puddle of pink cupped inside the green lip. Winston put his paws up on the windowsill next to her.
“Need to go out?”
He licked her face.
“Okay.” She laughed as he kissed her. “I guess we’re up.”
She pulled on a terrycloth robe over her pajamas, followed Winston downstairs, and let him out into the backyard, then made herself some coffee. Bringing it out to the back porch, she sat on the steps.
A flock of tiny goldfinches swooped down from the trees to visit the bird feeder that hung from a wrought-iron shepherd’s crook in the perennial border. At some point during the night, it had rained. Fat, shiny drops of water fell from the branches when the birds landed or took flight. It was perfect and beautiful, a storybook moment, and she was beginning to understand why her mother had been so drawn to this place. Perhaps Nell could even relate to wanting to keep it all to herself, a private sanctuary.
There was magic in Mary Reilly’s garden, a place filled with fragrant blossoms, shifting light, and the flutter of feathers. A mockingbird sang a long chain of intricate variations, notes tumbling through the air, each phrase repeated three times. Nell closed her eyes and felt the hot sun on her face. She inhaled the delicious air.
It wouldn’t be bad to have her own place, where she could escape by herself from time to time with no obligations. The cottage was so peaceful. The usual tension in the back of her neck was somehow… lighter.
Why hadn’t she ever gotten away for a few days before? She knew the answer: because of feeling guilty for wanting to escape. This journey had been justified since it was an emergency. The absence of shame made the air taste even sweeter.
Mom must have experienced tons of guilt, Nell thought. Was the reward worth the emotional cost?
Nell realized that she hadn’t told anyone yet about Mom’s secret life. Not David, not Bridget. It gave her an exciting sense of power to realize that at the moment, nobody even knew where she was staying. For the moment, the cottage was her private haven. She sighed and stretched out her legs in the grass, which was full of sparkles from the rain.
She closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the sun, and her husband’s face shimmered in her thoughts. David didn’t mean to be so demanding. He was respectful, wise, collaborative—the perfect family man. Unlike Mom, Nell had no good reason to crave an escape. The idea was ridiculous. Yet there she was, enjoying her time at the cottage alone even though Mom was terribly sick and David was scrambling to keep up with everything at home.
Back in New Jersey, her personal space consisted of a little nook in the kitchen where she kept her laptop. If she wanted to be alone to write in her journal, she had to lock herself in the bathroom. It was hard not to be jealous, but while David had a man cave, a home office, and a constant supply of food and clean clothes, he still had to endure the insane stress of the ultra-competitive corporate world. She honestly wasn’t sure which was worse, her job or his. Life swept them all along as one day led to the next in a fast-forward blur. Nell’s plans and dreams for her life were melting into mist like last night’s rain on the maple leaves.
Nell called Winston back inside and went upstairs to dress in jeans, a white shirt, and sneakers. The small diamond studs and the plain platinum wedding band with its matching square-cut diamond were the only jewelry she ever wore. The next day, she would go for her usual morning run, but at the moment she wanted to see Mom as soon as possible.
Preparing for a long day at the hospital, Nell rummaged in the kitchen until she found a shopping bag and tossed everything that might be useful inside it. Granola bars, apples, bottled water, and magazines. Then she remembered what the doctor had suggested and went back upstairs to get the book she had seen in the back bedroom. Maybe Mom would enjoy taking up the story where she’d left off.
Finding the book on the nightstand, Nell noticed that it wore a clear plastic wrapper and a sticker saying it belonged to the local public library. A bookmark was sticking up out of the pages. Flipping to the inside back cover, she found the due date, which was a few days away. Making a mental note to get it renewed, she put the book in the bag with the other things.
Winston watched her with a worried expression.
“Can’t leave you here alone all day, can I? Well, come on, then. Let’s find out if your other parent is at home. We’ll see what Mom’s spooky neighbor does when I ask him if he was lurking outside last night.”
In the broad light of day, Nell felt secure enough to pull the tiger’s tail. She led Winston out the back door and across the yard, taking the path through the woods.
As she approached Jake’s farmhouse, she heard a thudding noise. Coming around the big maple tree, she saw he was engrossed in splitting firewood, his back turned to her. He flung the axe high over his head, waited for it to begin to fall, and then pulled it down hard and fast, letting gravity add to the power of each stroke. His broad shoulders bunched when the axe went up, and the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid flannel shirt revealed those muscular forearms, the big hands firmly gripping the axe handle. He looked young and fit, moving in a rhythmic routine. Now his Red Sox cap was blue, and he wore it turned backwards.
Impressed by the skill and brute strength it must take to hit the wood hard enough to split it neatly in half, Nell hesitated on the edge of the yard to watch. She hoped his aim was good
. That vicious falling blade could easily take off a toe or two if it fell in the wrong place.
A man that strong could be dangerous, she thought, and a trickle of last night’s fear ran through her. Best to stay out of the way and not be too provoking.
Winston raced across the grass, yipping with joy. He circled the pile of freshly split wood to jump on his friend, tail wagging frantically. Throwing down the axe, the man knelt to greet the dog, who licked his face and squeaked with excitement.
Nell continued into the yard but stopped in her tracks when she realized with a flash of confusion that the face under the baseball cap was not Jake’s. Though he undeniably resembled Mom’s neighbor, this man looked to be just a few years older than Bridget and was a total stranger.
“Um… hi. G-Good morning,” Nell stammered as Winston ran back to her and the man looked up, breaking into a dazzling smile when he spotted her. Their eyes connected, and she felt her heart speed up for a moment.
“Hey, you must be Nell, right?” he said, his big hand engulfing hers in a warm grasp. He stepped toward her. “Dad told me you were here. I’m Adam Bascomb.”
He had thick brown hair with a sprinkle of gray at the temples and the same sky-blue eyes as his father. Like his father, he towered over her, at least six foot three. If you pinned a mustache on him, he’d look exactly like the early photos of Jake in the den.
With one big difference: Adam’s old jeans and flannel work shirt were spotless and carefully mended. His shirt was tucked in, and his leather steel-toed boots looked new. His hair was neatly trimmed, and he had shaved.
“It’s good to meet you.” Nell smiled back at him. Well, he was certainly friendlier than his father. A lot less scary too. Her hand was still in his, and they both seemed to be fine with that. Then Nell remembered she had a husband and kids and took a quick step backward.