The Newport Ladies Book Club: Daisy

by Kilpack, Josi S.

  “Do you think she’ll forgive me?” I asked once the lump in my throat had gone away and I’d reminded myself all over again of who I really was. Not Super Mom—just Daisy, who was trying to keep up for eight more months until she could check “Raise second daughter to adulthood” off her to-do list.

  I reflected on my relationship with December. We’d had our moments when she was the teenager making me crazy, though she was never as stormy as Stormy was, but once she left home, we’d become pretty good friends. We talked on the phone a few times a week, and I felt like I was a part of her life in such a way that she didn’t ask more than I could give, which meant I couldn’t fail her. I loved that feeling.

  December had her degree in secondary education and had taught junior high English in Ohio for the last three years. She hadn’t renewed her teaching contract this fall, though, because she and her husband, Lance, were expecting their own child in just a few months. December was going to stay home and be a full-time mom. She was excited about becoming a mom. I’d never had that. Having my children had been seasons of anxiety in my life, despite the thrill it was to hold them and realize they were a part of me. I was so glad December was going to have what I didn’t: a solid marriage and the ability to choose the kind of mother she would be instead of being forced into it.

  “She’ll forgive you,” Paul said, and for a brief moment I thought he was talking about December. Then I realized he meant Stormy. “And while perhaps saying it the way it came out wasn’t the most politically correct way to make the point, I don’t think it hurts for her to know it’s hard for other people when she screws up. She needs to be accountable.”

  “Yeah,” I said, but I agreed only a little bit. I’d hurt her, and I hated knowing that. Her accountability didn’t take away my own. Stormy’s cat, Munchkin, was curled up on the chair across from us and paused in her cleaning to stare me down. I felt the censure from her too.

  “Give her a few days,” Paul said, standing up and grabbing my hands to pull me up with him. “And then things will be back to normal.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me, long and deep. “In the meantime,” he said, giving me a devilish smile. “We’ve got the house to ourselves. Whatever will we do with ourselves?”

  Chapter 9

  “What do you mean she wants to stay?” I said into the phone Saturday afternoon. I’d been reading the Kingsolver novel but wasn’t even halfway through it yet. It was a long book and now lay next to me on the couch, completely forgotten in the wake of Jared’s phone call.

  “Look, she’s embarrassed by what happened at school and with everything you said the other night. She wants to try to make a fresh start out here.”

  I was stunned by this turn of events. Truly and completely stunned. “Jared,” I said, my voice calm only because I was still reeling from shock. “Transferring high schools is a big deal, especially in the middle of the semester of her senior year.”

  “I know, Daisy,” he said, sounding as though he really understood that the decision was a big one. But he couldn’t understand. If he did, he wouldn’t be making this choice. “If she stays here, she can find a new place for herself, and she could still try out for the school play at Beckman. I talked to the school about it yesterday. Auditions are next week. It would be a great way for her to start meeting people right off the bat.”

  I closed my eyes, repeating my new mantra in my head—calmly, calmly, calmly—and raised my free hand to my eyes. I hadn’t felt well all week—like my stomach knew that things weren’t the way they should be—and I was feeling worse than ever right now, but I was trying really hard to ignore my physical issues and stay grounded. “I don’t know that running away from this is the right solution, Jared. And I feel like Stormy and I need to fix what’s between us or it’ll fester.” It was unusual for me to trust him with this much information; it made me feel vulnerable.

  “That’s the other part of this. She was really hurt by what you said, and she said that even before all of this happened that she’d felt like she’s in the way over there.”

  That sliced through me like a razor, but it also cut my defensiveness off at the knees. “If I could take it back, I would.”

  I half expected him to rub it in, but he took the high road, and when he spoke his voice was sympathetic. “What’s important now is that we do what’s best for Stormy. I’d love to have her here. We haven’t had the one-on-one time either of us would like, and maybe that’s part of this whole thing too. I’m certainly willing to take my share of the responsibility.” He paused, then added, “It’s what she wants, D.”

  D. He used to call me that all the time, and I didn’t like the warm reaction I felt to the nickname right now. “Okay,” I heard myself say. How could I make her come back if she didn’t want to? Obviously she and Jared had already planned it out. I’d been swimming against the current to even attempt putting up a fight. “But I need to talk to her. Can I come over, bring her some of her things?”

  “Actually, we thought we’d come out this afternoon and pack her and Munchkin up. I’m sure you and Stormy can talk things out then. How about that?”

  “Okay,” I said again, broken by all of this. I wondered about Jared’s girlfriend and how she might factor in to the situation, but I knew it would be inappropriate for me to ask. I had no power anymore; I’d shattered it when I’d dared say those things about my daughter out loud. Even if she hadn’t been there to hear them, they were mean, and as much as I wanted to take them back, words weren’t retractable.

  “Good deal,” Jared said.

  I’d been trying hard to find something in his tone or approach to take offense to, to hold against him and use as a step to put myself higher, but not a single thing had invited my cynicism. In fact, I could turn things around and see myself reacting to the situation much worse than he was. I appreciated him handling this the way he was, even if I didn’t like the result.

  We finished the call, and I sat there, trying to figure out how I felt. Was I sad? Embarrassed? . . . Relieved? I clenched my eyes shut, berating myself for being so selfish. I tried to read again, but the realization that my little girl wasn’t coming home made me feel raw inside. Paul was spending the day with his brother, so the house was empty. I walked to the doorway of Stormy’s room and tried to be rational as I looked at the space she was leaving behind and attempted to tell myself this was okay.

  I packed up some boxes and bags, and when Paul came home, I gave him the details, and he assured me that everything would be okay. Stormy and Jared came around five o’clock. Paul and Jared set about loading up the car, while Stormy and I sat on the back porch and I tried to redeem myself. I’d made some lemonade and sipped it while trying to have a very awkward conversation. Stormy was polite and respectful, but closed off. I apologized and explained how tired I was and how overwhelmed I’d felt to be called in to the school for something so out of character for her.

  “You’ve been such a good kid, Stormy,” I explained. “And I’m so proud of you for all you’ve done. It undid me to face something like that, but I should never have said what I said, and I’m so sorry.”

  Stormy looked up from her lemonade, and I was surprised to see that her mouth was tight and her eyes narrowed. An apology wasn’t supposed to get that kind of reaction. “You never asked me if I did it.”

  I blinked and felt a sharpness in my chest. “I saw the papers, and Mr. Keets said you had claimed I’d helped you with your homework to get the grades, but I hadn’t.”

  “I have study hall this term, and I used it to study specifically for that class. I knew I couldn’t be in the school play if I didn’t get my grades up; it was a big deal when they made that policy last year. It took me a while to get into the class, but then I realized that history is really like a whole bunch of stories—like a novel—and systems—like math. I did good on those assignments because I’d studied, Mom, and I said you helped me because I could tell they didn’t believe I could have done it myself. T
hey think I’m stupid.”

  “But he said he’d sent a note home a week before. Why didn’t you give it to me when you knew they suspected you?”

  “’Cause they were wrong,” she said loudly. “I didn’t even know those other kids outside of class, and I thought they would figure out I didn’t do it.”

  I was horrified, and yet I hesitated to believe her. Mr. Keets had said all the answers were the same on all the students paper. “I—uh—did you tell them all of this?”

  “Yeah,” Stormy said, standing up from the patio chair and glaring at me. She took the last swig of her lemonade and put the glass down on the wrought-iron table between us. “They didn’t believe me either.”

  She walked past me into the house, and I stared straight ahead. No way had that just happened. I finally pulled myself back together and hurried into the house. I didn’t see Stormy right away, but Jared caught my eye as he carried a box of Stormy’s clothes out to the car. He knew. I could see it in his face. He knew that I’d not only said those terrible things about my daughter, but I had, without question, believed she had cheated. I let my eyes fall closed and wanted to die.

  “I think this is the last of it,” Paul said, carrying an armful of clothes he’d grabbed from the closet. Jared had already disappeared outside with the box he’d been carrying. I hurried to Stormy’s room, now stripped down to nothing but furniture, bedding, and a few unwanted odds and ends.

  She must be in the car. I hurried outside; Stormy was in the front seat, listening to her iPod while petting Munchkin, who was curled up in her lap. I knocked on the window, and she looked up but then looked back out the windshield. I opened the door, and she pulled out one earbud, exaggerating her aggravation at having her music interrupted.

  “I’m so sorry, Storm,” I said. “I know that’s not enough, but I am so, so sorry. I love you, so much, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you. I know I did, and I’m sorry. I feel awful.”

  “Love you too, Mom,” she said, her voice chipper as though we hadn’t just had a conversation I would never forget. There was even a glimmer of satisfaction in Stormy’s eyes. “See ya.” She pulled the door shut as Jared opened the driver’s side door.

  He smiled a good-bye. Paul came down the sidewalk and stood behind me. He didn’t usually like to display affection when Jared was around, but he must have sensed the fragmentation that was taking place inside me because he put his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder as Jared started the engine. I was frozen as my baby girl drove away with her father. What had I done?

  “It won’t be so bad,” Paul said into my ear, “having me all to yourself, will it?”

  I couldn’t answer; I couldn’t say anything at all for fear I would admit to him what had happened and he’d lose all respect for me. I also couldn’t agree with him. Yes, I wanted time with him, but not at the expense of my daughter, and I suddenly felt as though I’d traded one for the other. Was I so desperate to be free of my role as a mother that I’d unconsciously pushed Stormy away? Would she ever forgive me for this? Would I ever forgive myself?

  Chapter 10

  The guilt became overwhelming as I realized how easy it was to fall into a new routine that didn’t involve Stormy. I slept in until seven every morning. Paul and I had coffee and toast together before I left for work. In the evenings, we watched what we wanted to on TV, or went out to eat, or drove down to the beach. My pants got looser as the knot in my stomach kept me from wanting to eat much. Who knew that not having kids around could be such an effective weight-loss plan? Paul was invited to speak at an IT convention in Philadelphia in January, and I asked for the days off of work so I could join him. Just like that.

  December called from her OB appointment a few days before Halloween and let me listen to the sound of my grandson’s heartbeat. I cried and made plans to visit her in Ohio the first part of February, which was when she was due, so that I could help her out. Again, it was so easy to make the arrangements since it was only my schedule I had to consider.

  I told December what had happened with Stormy, but she already knew. The girls were pretty close despite being ten years apart in age. Though she commiserated with me for bumbling the incident, she was also a teacher and knew what a serious problem cheating was. She consoled me by saying she wished more parents were willing to consider the possibility that their child might be guilty rather than becoming instantly defensive.

  “For every kid falsely accused, there are fifteen guilty ones screaming their innocence.” She also relayed how nice it was that Stormy had the chance to build a relationship with her dad.

  I tried not to take that as another personal failure, as I’d never pushed December’s dad to stay in touch with her, and he hadn’t. Had that created a hole in her life?

  I changed the subject, and she followed. We ended up laughing over how often December found herself running for the bathroom now that she was six months pregnant, and how she and Lance were still arguing over names for their son. She was fighting for the name Tennyson—her favorite British poet—while Lance wanted something more traditional, Matthew or Samuel.

  Whenever I came across Stormy’s things in the house, I put them on her bed, waiting for her to start coming around and letting us repair the chasm between us. She didn’t visit, though. Instead, she tried out for her new high school’s play—Phantom of the Opera—and got a part as a ballet dancer, which she was really excited about. She’d met a couple of girls she hung out with now and then. I called her every day, but she only answered a couple of times a week, and our conversations were short and superficial. Still, overall, the change seemed to be as positive as Jared had assured me it would be.

  By the time my anniversary trip weekend with Paul came around—Halloween weekend—it almost seemed superfluous to go anywhere. We had so much time together these days that it seemed silly to spend the extra money to go to Mexico like Paul had planned. But it was all reserved, so we went. Paul went parasailing while I soaked up the sun and noted that while my waistline was shrinking—I had officially fit into my size ten swimsuit—I was falling out of the top. I sure didn’t remember that being a problem the last time I’d worn it, although Paul didn’t seem to mind.

  I’d always loved Mexico, but I couldn’t tolerate the molé—which was my favorite. It sent me running to the bathroom to throw up as soon as we got back from the restaurant, and then kept me up half the night with heartburn. Nothing I ate sat well after that, so I settled on rice and tortillas for the rest of the trip. Paul gave me a new handbag as an anniversary gift, a beautiful red leather case that would fit my laptop and most of the contents of my purse. I gave him a battery-powered GPS unit he could use while hunting or hiking. Computer nerd Monday through Friday, outdoorsman on the weekends, was a pretty good description of the man I’d married.

  I tried to get comfortable with this new life, the first time in more than two and a half decades that there wasn’t a little person demanding to be taken care of, but my freedoms felt like failures somehow.

  As the first Saturday in November approached—the date of my second book group—I found myself more and more excited to go. I had finished The Poisonwood Bible and while I didn’t necessarily like the story—it was a very sad commentary about the effect one person’s choices can have on everyone else’s—I loved the writing and looked forward to discussing it. I barely knew the other women in the group, so it wasn’t that I was excited to see them. Then I realized, with even more regret, that as much as I enjoyed being with Paul, I was looking forward to spending an evening with someone else. With women. He was wonderful, but I needed some texture. Book group offered something that had nothing to do with the rest of my life, and I was excited to take a break.

  You really are a horrible person, Daisy, I thought.

  Chapter 11

  There were already two cars at Ruby’s when I arrived at book group. I’d been fifteen minutes early last time, and I wished I’d gotten my act together quicke
r this time as well. I took a minute to adjust my makeup and return Paul’s text about what time I expected to be home.

  Ruby must have been waiting right by the door because she opened it almost before the doorbell chime had stopped reverberating.

  “Oh, Daisy, honey,” Ruby said, spreading her arms and wrapping me up in a wonderful hug. Once released, she immediately turned toward the living room and I followed. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said over her shoulder. She wore a plum-colored suit with a jacket long enough that it flowed behind her like a cape. I’d love the same thing in a nice eggshell. For my part, I was in jeans and a new pink top I’d bought while shopping by myself last week. The thought made me miss Stormy’s fashion advice—I wasn’t convinced the color was a good shade for me.

  “I’m glad I could make it. Things have been a little crazy.”

  I took a seat and said hello to the group. Shannon and Athena weren’t there, but I was greeted by Livvy and Paige and met a new member, Ilana. She was quiet, but the rest of us moved seamlessly into basic small talk. I heard a little more about Paige’s job at the dental office. I hadn’t known many Mormons, but I’d heard plenty about them. Yet she looked so normal. I wondered why she didn’t move back to Utah—where she’d said she’d grown up—now that her marriage was over, but the more she talked and laughed the more I recognized a familiar streak of independence. Mormon or not, she wanted to figure out this new life of hers by herself. I cheered her on in my mind.

  Livvy was more at ease this time too. She still looked thrown together and seemed the least comfortable out of everyone there—well, maybe not Ilana, but this was her first meeting so it made sense that she’d hold back—but I was glad Livvy was making time for book group. From the things she’d said about her husband and children, I suspected she didn’t do many things for herself. As we chatted, I was anxious about them asking about Stormy. In the month since I’d introduced myself, so much had changed, and I didn’t want to tell anyone about what had happened, but I didn’t want to lie either. Luckily, the topic never came my way. Perhaps because I kept the other ladies talking about themselves instead.