The Newport Ladies Book Club: Daisy

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The Newport Ladies Book Club: Daisy Page 18

by Kilpack, Josi S.


  Paul continued to be a phantom. He worked at the office most of the time, and in the evenings he watched basketball, went to his brother’s house, or read a book. The living room had become his domain. By silent support of his secession, I spent a lot of time in Stormy’s room, waiting for him to come to me. Which he never did. Sometimes he cooked, and whenever he did, he made me a plate, for which I thanked him. I took it as a sign that we were still a team, sort of, but we didn’t eat together, and I missed him terribly despite him being within a dozen feet most of the time.

  On December 23, “Christmas Adam,” as we called it, Paul came home to tell me he was going hunting with Charlie over Christmas Day.

  I stared at him until he met my eyes. “It’s been two weeks,” I said. “We can’t dance around this forever.”

  He was putting new batteries in the GPS I’d given him for our anniversary, so he looked at that while he talked—or didn’t talk, as it were.

  “I’d rather have an answer than keep doing this, Paul. It’s killing me to be ignored by someone I care about so much.” I hated how vulnerable I felt saying that out loud.

  He kept fiddling with the equipment until I put a hand over it. He stared at my hand for a few beats before looking me in the eye. He still didn’t say anything, so I did. “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. But I can’t live like this. It’s killing me.”

  We stared at one another for a full twenty seconds. “You don’t need to leave,” he said, and I felt a spark of hope sputter from the ashes in my chest. “I already am.”

  The ashes sent up a plume of dust. “What?”

  “I’ve talked to Charlie. After the hunting trip, I’m going to stay with him for a while. I need some space.”

  “Space? That’s all you’ve had for the last two weeks. It’s time to face this head-on and make a decision.”

  He lifted his chin and looked at me with a challenge in his blue eyes, which suddenly seemed so icy, so cold. “You don’t want me to make a decision right now, Daisy, I promise you that.”

  “Oh?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest. “Maybe I do. I can’t live this way.”

  Red splotches formed on his neck, something I’d never seen before, but then I’d never seen Paul get angry, and now anger was peeling off him in waves, crashing into me.

  “This is not what I wanted,” he said. “I didn’t sign up for it.” His voice was rising, the timbre deepening at the same time.

  “Neither did I,” I said. “But we made vows to one another, we promised to weather the storms together. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  “We had plans. And this changes everything.”

  “I know that,” I shot back. “But it doesn’t have to destroy everything. Think of Mason and Stormy and all they’ve brought into our lives. This”—I put my hands on my belly—“is a child, one we created, and while I can sympathize with the shock and even the disappointment of everything it changes, it’s here, Paul. It’s a part of us.”

  “I love Mason,” Paul said. “But she picks and chooses when to see me, and she comes only if I buy her something or take her somewhere. I’m not in her life—I have no power in her life—but I worry about the choices she makes and I feel ultimately responsible for her. She tied me to a woman I wish I’d never met, and I take very little satisfaction in being a father to her. Parenting was not what I thought it would be, Daisy, and I’ve always been grateful I only had one. I have been counting the days until Stormy got out of here, and since she’s left, it’s finally felt like I’m free to live the life I want to live. I thought you felt that way too.”

  I’d never heard him say anything like this before. It took me a moment to recover and continue the dialogue. “I admit I’ve enjoyed the freedom too.” I was far too raw to lie about it. “But I also miss her, and a hundred times a day, I find myself going over the mistakes I made with her.”

  “Another kid isn’t going to repair that,” Paul said.

  Another zinger I hadn’t seen coming, but I stood my ground. “I know that,” I said sharply. “But it’s a part of us, and worth us trying to do better than we’ve done before.” I was still shaken by what he’d said about Mason. Was he really so burdened by his daughter? Is that why he didn’t fight for her to visit more often?

  “I don’t want it,” he finally said, blunt and razor sharp at the same time. He continued to stare me down. Then he looked down at my stomach. “There are places that don’t care how long it’s been.”

  “No!” I said boldly. “I’m having this baby, Paul. That’s not up for discussion. The only question is whether you’ll raise it with me.”

  “And I told you that if you’re forcing a decision from me today, my answer is no. I don’t want to be a father again.”

  “What about being a husband?” I said, holding back the tears as his words twisted inside me like shrapnel. “What about me?”

  “You’re telling me that if I stay, you’re forcing a child on me. I’m telling you I don’t want it. Why is your choice more important than mine?”

  “I’m not going to force this child on you, Paul. It wouldn’t be fair to either one of you.” My head was tingling. “But it’s still my choice to keep this baby. I’d rather do whatever we can to raise it together than do it by myself.”

  I wanted to say more about his level of commitment, about him walking away and leaving this child fatherless. I wanted to beat him with my disappointment and share the agony I felt at his refusal to amend his future. But I didn’t. I was frozen and couldn’t utter another word, feeling the emotion I was holding back pressing against the dam. I couldn’t hold it back much longer.

  He remained silent. After a few seconds, he gathered up his things and disappeared into the bedroom.

  As my tears overflowed, I put a shaky hand over my mouth and ran into Stormy’s room, slamming the door. I sat on the bed, waiting for my heart to explode, but then realized, when the sobs didn’t come, when Paul didn’t come, that I had been watching my marriage crumble for weeks. Though his words cut and bruised me horribly, they weren’t as big a surprise as I’d have imagined them to be an hour ago. He’d been pushing me away ever since I’d told him. He hadn’t talked to me, he hadn’t asked how I was feeling or if I was going to the doctor. He’d simply retreated into himself. Maybe he was leaving right now, but he’d abandoned me two weeks ago.

  I finally cried, but it wasn’t the wracking, heart-wrenching sobs I’d expected, but a drizzly mourning of what I thought our marriage was. I had been wrong all along. Paul didn’t want me as much as he wanted a specific kind of future. As soon as I threatened that future, I was a liability rather than an asset. I wondered what he’d have done if I’d been in a car accident, or been offered a promotion that required a move away from his comfort zone. Would he have supported me in either of those things, both of which would also have worked against his plan? It burned to realize I could be so wrong about the man I’d fallen in love with. Again.

  At some point I fell asleep on Stormy’s bed. When I woke up, it was dark. The house was still. It was over. It was done. And while it was heartbreaking, at least I knew where I stood. I got up from the bed and considered my future, a huge, blank canvas waiting for my first few brushstrokes to begin a new image, to guide a new scene. I glanced at the clock radio on Stormy’s dresser.

  It was 1:13 on Christmas Eve.

  Merry Christmas.

  Chapter 37

  The next morning consisted of vacuuming, organizing some cupboards, and some yard work I’d been putting off. It was hard to believe it was Christmas Eve until I turned on the TV for company and was assaulted by bells and ho-ho-hos.

  I turned it off and wondered what Stormy was doing for the holiday. Before I’d told her about the baby, we’d talked about her coming over, but I hadn’t talked to her since then, and Jared’s family would be getting together too. Did I really expect her to choose me, who she was angry with, or to be surrounded by her cousins and grandparents? Should I call
her and ask?

  Maybe I should call Jared. I entertained that thought for about two seconds. What would he say? Would I have to tell him about Paul? I couldn’t ignore the fact that, for the third time in my life, a baby was pushing the man I loved away from me. Why? Why me? What was I doing wrong that I couldn’t make this work? I had to shake off those thoughts. I was seeing this through, and understanding wasn’t the most important thing right now. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself.

  When I ran out of distractions and felt anxiety creeping in, I thought of Paige. I hadn’t talked to her much since she’d given me Dr. Cortez’s number, and I worried I had been in too much of a fog to really thank her properly—I sensed she was being cautious with me as well since I’d been such a mess. I was pretty sure she wasn’t working today, so I called her cell phone.

  “Hi, Daisy,” she said when she answered. I could tell from the whooshing background noise that she was driving, but I didn’t hear the boys.

  “Hey,” I said. I updated her on the appointment I’d made with Dr. Cortez and thanked her again for the referral. My mother pointing out how ungracious I had been in the past spurred me to make sure I was very clear on my gratitude.

  “I’m glad everything’s working out,” Paige said. “You’ll like Dr. Cortez. He’s a really great doctor.”

  “Good,” I said, trying not to remember that Amy had said the same thing about Dr. Christiansen. “So what are you doing for the holidays, driving back to Utah?”

  “No,” Paige said, and I noted the flatness in her voice. A controlled kind of flat. “The office opens back up on Tuesday. I’m on my way back from Vegas.”

  “Vegas?” I was confused.

  “I met Doug halfway between his place and mine. He’s taking the boys for Christmas.”

  “Ohh,” I said, everything lining up. “Are you okay?”

  She was quiet long enough that I knew she was trying to keep herself reined in. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said.

  “Uh-huh,” I said. She didn’t take the bait, and I expounded. “What time do you think you’ll be home?”

  “Probably around six—why?”

  “Do you have plans?”

  “Does drowning in a tub of pralines and cream count?”

  “Totally counts,” I said with a chuckle. My idea was set.

  “Then I have plans.”

  I wondered how much it took out of her to try to make a joke when her heart was breaking. Actually, I thought I already knew the cost. I’d done it before. Many times. I was doing it now.

  “You drive safe, okay?” I said.

  “I will,” she said with a sigh. “Let me know how your appointment goes next week.”

  We ended the call, and I looked at the clock. Plenty of time to brighten someone else’s day—funny how that brightened mine, too.

  At 5:40, I pulled into Paige’s apartment complex. She wasn’t there yet, so I listened to NPR and waited. It was almost 6:15 before she pulled in. She must have recognized my car because she stepped out while looking at me.

  With my belly growing, it was harder to pull myself out of the car than it used to be, but I smiled once I stood. “I brought Chinese,” I said, not adding that we’d probably need to reheat it. We met on the sidewalk outside the doors to her complex.

  She held up a plastic bag. “I worried I wouldn’t have enough ice cream so I stocked up. Sorry I’m late.”

  I shrugged. “I hear pralines and cream goes really well with Schezwan chicken.”

  Paige smiled, but I could see she was feeling a little battered. “Thanks for coming.”

  “I’ve been a single mom most of my life.” Whoa, what a weird thing to say. It was true though, which was even weirder. “But this is the first holiday I’ve spent without at least one of my kids.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Paige commiserated as she opened the door.

  “Stormy didn’t even come to get her presents,” I admitted as we walked inside. “What happened in Vegas?”

  Paige’s eyes filled with tears. “It was awful,” she said, her voice squeaking. She wrapped her arms across her chest, the bag of ice cream banging against her hip as she entered the building while I held the door. “Nathan was bawling when Doug left with him. I cried for the first fifty miles. Cursed for the next ten. I can’t believe a judge felt like it was okay for a three-year-old to be taken away from his mother for so long. This summer Doug plans to take him for eight weeks. I’m going to petition the courts to wait until he’s older. He can’t leave me for two months. He’s so little.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  She looked up at me. “Want to know what’s really pathetic?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I wore sweats and a baseball cap when I left this morning.” She was currently dressed in very flattering straight-leg jeans, a gauzy teal top over a white T-shirt, and cute little silver ballet flats. “I stopped at In-N-Out to change my clothes and do my hair and makeup before we met up,” she said, waving to her makeup-free face, which she’d obviously cried off many miles ago. But her hair looked great, smooth and sleek. “Why did I do that, Daisy? What was I trying to prove?”

  “That you’re okay,” I said.

  “But I am so not okay,” she said, tears overflowing as we stepped out of the elevator. She didn’t even try to wipe them away; she just dug her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door to her apartment. We went inside and she hung up her purse before staring at the rug in her entryway. “This is all so wrong. It’s Christmas.”

  She was preaching to the choir, which meant I had nothing to offer other than commiseration. “It really stinks.”

  “Like a dead skunk—which I passed about thirty miles ago.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Paul left. I don’t know when or if he’s coming home.”

  “I’m sorry, Daisy,” she said, finally wiping at her eyes.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to shrug it off. “Kind of a dead-skunk holiday for me, too.”

  I shook my head—I wasn’t trying to turn the attention to my own problems. “The point is that we’re both on our own for the holiday. I thought maybe we could watch It’s a Wonderful Life. It’s playing on two different cable stations, I think.”

  “Ugh,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not up for that.”

  “What about Scrooged?” I said from behind her as we headed toward the kitchen—that ice cream needed to get in the freezer. “It’s the best irreverent Christmas movie out there, next to 8 Crazy Nights, but that’s actually about Chanukah.”

  Paige gave me a small smile over her shoulder as she pulled open the freezer and put the ice cream—bag and all—inside. “I don’t think I could handle The Muppets Christmas Carol right now.”

  “How about something like Jurassic Park?” I asked, following her into the living room and kicking off my shoes—I swear my feet were already swelling. “You can stream in Netflix, right?”

  Her smile got a little wider. “Now that sounds perfect.”

  Chapter 38

  On Christmas day, Paige came to my house—not as many toys to make her frown or Christmas decorations to remind her of what she was missing. We had a Lord of the Rings movie marathon—extended versions—and used the break between movie one and movie two to make brownies.

  Her ex called halfway through the second movie, and I paused the action while she talked to her boys. She was such a tender, nurturing mother, and I tried not to compare my style to hers too much. I’d never been very good at the soft and squishy parts of motherhood. Maybe because I had been so young when I started, or because I had to keep a roof over our heads. But Paige was doing that too. I had always looked forward to a weekend without the girls, and while I’d never been alone for a holiday before, I’d wished I was more than once—it was so much work trying to keep them sufficiently entertained.

  “Man, I miss them,” Paige said.

  I hadn’t realized she’d finished the call, or that I was on the brink of tears as regret wa
shed over me.

  “Has she called?” Paige asked, seeing right through me.

  I shook my head while swallowing the lump in my throat, embarrassed to be so transparent even though I appreciated that we could understand one another. “It’s okay, though,” I said, letting out a breath and pulling myself back together. “Now let’s watch Aragorn kick the snot out of those Uruk-hai.”

  After the second movie ended, we decided to throw together some pasta, and in the process we started talking about the Christian symbolism in the movies. I was impressed with things she found that I hadn’t seen, but I called a few she hadn’t considered such as the way Saruman tempted Gandolph to use his powers to support Sauron just as Satan tempted Christ, and how Aragorn makes the sign of the cross over Boromir as he’s dying.

  “Huh. Didn’t catch that one either,” Paige said. “You really do know your Christianity.”

  I shrugged but felt pride instead of frustration with my religious background. On my way home from Paige’s last night, I’d passed a Catholic church all lit up for midnight Mass. I hadn’t stopped but part of me had wanted to. Maybe next year.

  “So do you,” I said, taking my plate of fettuccine to the table. “I didn’t realize Mormons were Christian until we met.”

  “Yeah, lots of people don’t think we’re Christian. I don’t really know why—the name of our church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

  “I didn’t know why either,” I said, twirling some fettuccine onto my fork.

  “So you were raised religious?” Paige asked, and I could hear the careful nature of her comment. I remembered the defensive position she’d had to take during the first book group and wondered if she got that a lot.

  “I was raised Catholic,” I said. “Very Catholic.”

  “You’re not practicing anymore?”

  “No,” I said, trying not to feel uncomfortable, but I did. When was the last time I’d discussed religion with anyone? “I had some negative experiences.”

 

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