The Newport Ladies Book Club: Daisy

by Kilpack, Josi S.

  I didn’t like that I was looking up at him due to my reclined position. It was so tempting to smile, to compliment him on something, and let this opportunity pass, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.

  “What’s going on in your head, Paul?” I asked. “I’m trying to read you, but I’m not making heads or tails of it.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” He tipped the beer and took a long swig. “I’m an open book.”

  I could feel all the niggling worries I’d had begin to funnel down, lining themselves up like dominos. “You never apologized for leaving.” My statement was inviting an apology, but he didn’t take the bait. He took another drink, and I went on. “And you haven’t said a word about the moving boxes. Should we unpack, or are we doing a trial run here?”

  He looked toward the TV; I watched him carefully. He hung back, keeping the distance, not wanting to get too close.

  “Why did you come back, Paul?” I tried to prepare myself for an answer I might not be ready for.

  “Because Paige said you were having problems. I was worried about you.”

  “Were you worried about the baby?”

  Another swig of beer. No words.

  “Paul,” I said, trying to stay calm even though I could feel a black hole opening up in my chest. “Were you worried about the baby?”

  He took a deep breath. “I want you to be okay,” he said, almost as though he were surrendering. “I want our life back.”

  “Our life without a baby in it,” I summarized. The implosion began, and the hazy shapes that had shifted back and forth in my mind began to take on a sharper focus. A painful one. “You came back because if I lost the baby, like last time, we could still have the life we’d planned out before this happened.”

  “I’m going to bed,” he said, pushing away from the door frame and turning toward the bedroom. A minute later the bedroom door closed, and I stared at the wall while mentally scattering the dried petals of hope I’d cultivated and grown since he’d walked back through that door.

  I thought back to The Help, to the line that had stood out to me so strongly. Maybe everything was working out the way it should.

  Not with a happy ending, but the way it was supposed to happen.

  The thought cut deeply, and yet the pain I expected to feel at the discovery didn’t hurt the way I imagined it would. Is a happy ending worth it if it’s not right? Is a happy ending always the best ending?

  It wasn’t that Paul wasn’t the man I’d married, I suddenly realized, but he wasn’t the man I could raise a child with. He had come back for me, which in its way was sweet and affirming of how much he loved me, but it wasn’t enough. Not anymore. I was now a package deal, and by rejecting this baby, he’d rejected us both.

  Chapter 45

  “Partial bed rest is still a restriction,” Dr. Cortez said to me the following Wednesday after finishing the ultrasound and verifying that the baby was okay. “The placenta is rising, and that’s good, but you still have a partial eclipse, and that carries a big risk. You need to spend eighty percent of your day sitting or lying down. No lifting. No going into the office. No intercourse. No stress.”

  I grunted. No stress? What a joke.

  “I have good people around me,” I said with a sincere smile. “And I don’t want to take any risks.” Livvy had driven me to the doctor’s office when she realized I was planning to go alone, and she was in the waiting room.

  “Any cramping, bleeding, or pain, you call my office, okay?”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “Do you want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

  My breath caught in my throat. I nodded, and he smiled widely while shutting the chart. “A boy.”

  A boy, I repeated in my head. “I’ve never done boys.”

  “Life is full of new horizons,” he said, standing up and putting out a hand to help pull me up. “Congratulations.”

  I walked to the waiting room, and Livvy looked up at me expectantly.

  “My sentence has been commuted,” I said, treasuring the knowledge that I was having a son for a moment before I said it out loud. I should tell December first, I decided. She’d been last for everything else. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of is good,” Livvy said, standing up. I’d updated her about the situation with Paul on the drive over and about the new apartment I’d found across the street from Stormy and Jared. So far, I’d done everything online, but Jared was going to bring me the contract to sign tomorrow. Paul was still staying in the house, but I’d returned to Stormy’s room until I could get moved into my new place, which, I hoped, would be next week.

  Paul and I were cordial, but distant. I cried myself to sleep at night, and he seemed to be feeling sorry for himself. The gap between us widened a little more each day, like watching someone slowly die of an illness without a cure. He was there, but he was gone. It broke my heart, and yet I took solace from . . . something. Maybe from Ruby continuing on despite the loss of her husband. Maybe from Athena making difficult decisions about her father’s care. Maybe from Livvy keeping a smile while I knew she was waging a battle all her own. And maybe from Paige, who didn’t have the life she’d worked for but was raising her boys and trying to figure out a new future.

  “My kids can help with the move,” Livvy said as she buckled her seat belt, reminding me to blink back the tears that had started to rise.

  “I feel horrible having so many people help me,” I said, truly meaning it. “I have a moving company I can call.”

  “We’ll come over anyway, just in case. It’s good for us to help each other,” Livvy said. “And it’s good for you to be helped too—it’s what connects people. Service and compassion.”

  Livvy’s words reflected my own discovery of the price of my independence, and at that moment, I dropped the wall of not asking for help. What was I so afraid of? The fact was that the last few months had been a crash course on humility. For all my perfect planning and hard work, there were still mountains left for me to climb, but I had faith—that word resonated in my head—that the vistas I would bask in would be worth the journey. It was a journey I had never taken alone, but for some reason I’d wanted to believe it had been a solitary trip. I reached over and gave Livvy’s arm a squeeze. “Thank you.”

  She smiled in a way that affirmed she felt good helping me. Allowing her to do so was a positive thing in her life. Go figure. “You’re welcome.”

  We drove in silence for a minute, and I thought about the last few months and the changes that had taken place in my life. There was no denying that the women I’d met through book group had made a difference in my life; something I certainly hadn’t expected when I’d decided to go that Saturday night last October. I thought about the books we’d read and how each one of them had impacted me. The Poisonwood Bible had been full of such incredible insights. My Name Is Asher Lev had led me to reflect on my relationship with both my childhood religion and my current belief system. It also helped me see my parents a little differently. I could now see that they truly believed what they lived. It worked for them, and, lucky for me, I didn’t have to be cut off because I didn’t choose it for myself. Silas Marner had been overwhelming on so many levels. Of all the books we’d read, that one had made the biggest impact on me, as it seemed to parallel my current challenges and led me to some rich discoveries. And The Help showcased the way every woman had something hard in her life, but a different kind of hard.

  I glanced at Livvy and the thoughtful expression on her face. I sensed a kind of anxiousness coming from her, that things were changing in her life. I didn’t know what they were, exactly, but I had no doubt they were good changes. I wanted to be there for those changes; I wanted to do my part to help her just as she’d done her part in helping me. I wondered what she would think of The Help. Would it impact her the way it had me?

  “I’ve already read The Help if you want to borrow Paige’s copy,” I offered.

  “Next month’s book?” Livvy asked.
r />   I nodded. “Have you read it?”

  “No,” she said. “In fact I didn’t finish Silas Marner before the meeting. I meant to, but I . . . lost it. But then after you guys were all so touched by the story, I found a copy at the library. It really had some good messages.”

  “It did,” I agreed. “Did it ruin the story for us to have discussed it before you finished?”

  “Not at all,” Livvy said. “Just the opposite—I knew what to look for. I’ve always believed it’s the choices we make in our lives that define who we really are at our core, and I felt like the book emphasized that. I can see that I’ve made a lot of good choices in my life, but I’ve made some mistakes—actually, I’ve made the same few mistakes over and over again, and I’m going to do better now.”

  I knew there was more to her story, but I sensed she didn’t want to tell it right now. I was okay with that.

  There are public demons and there are private ones, and sometimes, like in my situation, they get turned around on us; Livvy was entitled to her privacy. And, honestly, the details didn’t really matter. I’d seen her change over the months, and that was enough for me. I realized there was something I needed to say to Livvy, and I took a deep breath.

  “I think you’re a wonderful person, Livvy,” I said. “And I misjudged you.”

  She looked over at me, a little startled by what I’d said. I hurried to clarify. “The first week we met, I saw you as . . . less than you are. I didn’t see past my own fears and stereotyping to get a sense of who you really are. I’m ashamed of myself for having done that because I can’t imagine how I would have dealt with all of this if you weren’t so . . . you.”

  “So me?” Livvy said with a nervous laugh. “That’s not always a good thing.”

  “Well, it’s been good for me,” I said, leaning back against the seat, glad that I’d been able to say what I needed to tell her. “I want to be the kind of mom who loves her family, Livvy, who wants to take care of them, and who takes pride in what she’s done. I haven’t really been that kind of mom. My goals and priorities have been mixed up, but I have another chance.” I looked at my belly and thought of Stormy and December and little Tennyson.

  What would I name this one? Christian, maybe, after my dad, and as a reminder that I didn’t need to turn my back on everything to be myself. The thought made me smile.

  “Second chances are priceless,” Livvy said in a soft voice.

  “Yes, they are,” I agreed.

  I’ll get it right this time, I said to myself and to whoever else might be listening.

  You’re not alone, a voice said, and I felt a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. I glanced at Livvy and thought about the other book group ladies, about my daughters, my mother, and even Jared, of all people. For all my insistence on doing everything myself and proving that I was capable, I really couldn’t do it by myself, at least not well, and I didn’t have to. That was a big discovery.

  “I’m feeling like ice cream,” Livvy said as she slowed down at a light. She looked over at me and lifted her eyebrows. “What does the pregnant lady think? Drive-through on the way home?”

  I laughed. “The pregnant lady thinks that’s a great idea.” I put my hands on my belly. “We both do.”

  Rolo Cookies

  ½ cup butter

  ½ cup shortening

  1 cup white sugar

  1 cup brown sugar

  2 teaspoons vanilla

  2 eggs

  2½ cups flour

  ¾ cup cocoa

  ½ teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  approximately 48 Rolo candies, unwrapped*

  Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In a large mixing bowl, cream butter, shortening, and sugars until smooth. Add vanilla and eggs. Mix until smooth. Add flour, cocoa, salt, and baking soda. Mix until combined.

  Using approximately a tablespoon of dough, wrap the dough around a Rolo, covering the candy completely. Repeat until all Rolos are used. Place Rolo-wrapped dough balls on baking sheet, 2 inches apart.

  Bake for 6 to 8 minutes, or until tops of cookies are just beginning to set. Do not overbake; the caramel will harden when cookie cools if you do. Let cookies cool on pan for at least 3 minutes before removing them to a cooling rack. Wait until cookies are completely cooled before eating; otherwise, the caramel might burn you. Store cookies in an airtight container with a piece of bread to keep cookies soft.

  Makes 48 cookies.

  *Also works with bite-sized Snickers bars instead of Rolo candies.

  Paige: Coming September 2012

  The Newport Ladies Book Club: Paige

  By Annette Lyon

  Chapter 1

  I sat on a padded bench on one side of the chapel with my boys. The building felt like home in some ways. There was the typical Visitors Welcome sign outside. Inside, the walls had paintings I’d seen in other chapels. I could guess with relative accuracy where the Primary room was, where to find the Relief Society room, the tithing slips, and even the restrooms.

  But this wasn’t home. The congregation—my new ward—was filled with strange faces.

  During the opening hymn, I watched the woman conducting. I scanned the bishopric up front, the priests—and what looked like one of their leaders—at the sacrament table. A few rows ahead of me, I spotted a couple who looked close to my age. His arm rested on her shoulders; her head rested on it. Suddenly, she lifted her head, and he leaned over as if to hear what she had to say, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she kissed his cheek and smiled, adjusted their little girl’s position on her lap, then rested her head on his arm again.

  My singing voice caught in my throat, and I looked away. Not another sound came out as I stared at the floor and struggled to rein in my emotions. Six months ago, Doug and I had looked just like that.

  I hadn’t known about Carol yet, although, in hindsight, the signs had been there. I’d simply excused them all away. When Carol’s husband had been convicted of embezzlement, she’d been left alone and desperate for work. We’d hired her part time to help in the office at Doug’s dental practice.

  I’d taught her how to bill insurance companies and how to order supplies through our vendors. And Doug. He’d shown a level of compassion I was proud of—at the time.

  Later I noticed the cell phone bills with calls and texts to a number I didn’t recognize. A trip to a dental convention that cost twice as much as usual, with the explanation that Ben, the colleague Doug usually traveled and shared costs with, had brought his wife, so Doug roomed alone.

  He hadn’t been alone.

  I touched a finger to one eye and then the other, bringing away moisture that I wiped on my black skirt. I lifted my chin and breathed in and out. Did anyone in this crowd have similar secrets? Were any other women under the same illusion I had been, carrying on as if their lives were the Mormon ideal, not knowing that a storm was about to break and tear everything apart?

  And how would they accept me into the fold?

  One reason I’d fled to California was to escape the people Doug and I knew in Utah, all the people who didn’t know the details of Doug’s affair and our divorce. Many of them had known me since grade school and the two of us since college. Some took sides. Others stared in silence. Some judged.

  As if I didn’t already judge myself. The divorce might have been final, but I could still hardly believe it. What did I do wrong? What could I have done to prevent my husband from straying? Wasn’t I a good enough wife?

  Doug had hired a shark of an attorney, leaving me without a whole lot besides Doug’s crusty old car from high school, custody—besides some holidays and weeks during the summer—and a little child support, which wouldn’t kick in for a couple of months.

  Where was Doug right this minute? Was he at church today, pretending to be Mr. Righteous? He might be sitting in a new chapel too—in Colorado, where he’d moved with Carol. His arm might be over her shoulders. She might be reaching up to kiss his cheek. Smelling his cologn
e—the scent I’d known and recognized as mine for years. The thoughts sent a physical pain into my chest and made my eyes burn. I swallowed hard in a vain attempt to get rid of both. Sometimes, especially at church, I avoided thinking her name, mostly because Carol had become a swear word to me. And I did use the name that way, more often than I cared to admit.

  I’d originally felt sorry for this woman. I’d helped her. I’d held her as she’d cried about her husband’s betrayal. The irony made my stomach turn.

  The meeting ended, and I gathered the crayons and coloring pages the boys had been playing with. As I took three-year-old Nate’s chubby little hand, I prayed he’d go to a strange Nursery without a fight. Shawn, who was approaching his seventh birthday, followed behind. Several people smiled as we passed. I tried smiling back, but it was hard. Ever since the divorce, I’d pulled into myself. Going into public—even doing my hair and makeup—was hard. Now I was surrounded by strangers, people called “brother” and “sister.” People I was expected to socialize with. I felt anything but social right then, and the idea of ever viewing these strangers as anything like family seemed about as likely as a fairy godmother showing up to fix my problems.

  Soon I’d have to introduce myself. I wasn’t sure I could do that, even though I’d practiced a basic statement in front of the mirror. Nothing sounded right. How could I introduce myself when I didn’t even know who I was anymore? I was a new ex-wife. I was a failure—an angry one.

  Every time I thought of the affair, I blamed it on either me or on Carol. Somehow, never on Doug. Blaming him made sense to my brain, but I couldn’t do it in my heart, even though deep down I knew hearts never made any sense.