Home to Chicory Lane (9781426796074)

by Raney, Deborah;

  He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The fan in the corner droned and squeaked, and the refrigerator kicked on, humming in a key that just might drive him up the wall.

  He punched his pillow and flipped it over to the cool side.

  I’m going to be a father.

  He’d spoken the words aloud to his image in the bathroom mirror while getting ready for bed tonight. It had looked like a stranger staring back at him. He hadn’t dared to face this day in his imagination. How could he face it in reality?

  Landyn kicked off the sheets and rolled over on her belly. Her favorite way to sleep. How much longer would she be able to do that?

  Looking back, he’d known something was different when they were making love. Her figure had . . . changed. Filled out in all the right places. But he’d never imagined the reason. And now it caused a cold sweat to break out on his forehead and palms. He crawled out of bed—again—and went into the bathroom. Splashing cold water on his face, he tried to pray.

  It struck him that he might pray Landyn would lose the baby. But that thought struck true terror in his heart. What kind of a man prayed that kind of prayer? I didn’t mean that, Lord. Forgive me. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to the baby now. Or, God forbid, if anything happened to Landyn.

  He went back out to where she slept and watched her, wondering again how she could sleep so soundly, when their world was utter chaos. He went to the easel and turned on a floor lamp, illuminating the large watercolor he’d been working on. He’d been happy with it when he left the studio. Now it looked like something a kindergartner had slopped together. In a flash of frustration he ripped the heavy paper off the pad and wadded it up, making a noise like a thunderstorm.

  “Chase?” Landyn sat up in the bed, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”

  He looked at the clock. Four thirty in the morning. “Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.” He reached to switch off the lamp.

  “Are you okay?” She pulled the sheet around her shoulders.

  “I’m—no. I’m not okay.” His heart hammered in his chest. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. I don’t know what I was thinking getting us into this mess.”

  “Chase, don’t—”

  “I’m going out for a while.” He hurled the giant paper wad into the corner and crossed the room in two long strides. He scooped up his jeans and flannel shirt and dressed quickly, not looking at her. “I’ll be back in a little while. Go back to sleep.”

  “Don’t go, Chase. It’s the middle of the night. You’re upset.” She started to get out of bed.

  “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.”

  He turned his back on her, unlocked the door, and opened it. “Go back to sleep,” he said again.

  He didn’t wait to see if she’d try to stop him.

  * * *

  It was after eight and Chase still wasn’t back. He’d been gone almost four hours. Landyn peered out the window, but from this fourth floor vantage point, it was still too dark to make out faces. And every person on the street seemed to walk with the hunched over posture she imagined Chase would have.

  He’d taken the news of her pregnancy even harder than she’d expected. And now he’d been gone too long—far longer than he’d implied. She couldn’t imagine him doing anything . . . stupid. But then, he’d been pretty upset.

  His phone was lying on the windowsill, so there was no reaching him that way. As far as she knew, he didn’t have any friends in Bed-Stuy except his agent—who probably didn’t even live in the neighborhood himself—and she doubted Chase would go there this early in the morning anyway.

  She turned away from the window and went to make coffee. There was no decaf in the apartment, so the baby would just have to understand. She needed coffee. She got it brewing and went back to the window to watch for Chase. She’d give him until nine o’clock and then—

  Then what? She knew better than to go looking for him. With their track record lately, the minute she got on the elevator to go down, he’d no doubt be coming up the other one. But she didn’t think she could sit up here doing nothing much longer.

  She eyed the refrigerator. She should probably eat something for the baby’s sake. Especially if she was going to tank up on coffee. She found some bread that wasn’t moldy and popped two slices in the toaster. Dry toast had been a staple in weeks past, but thankfully, the morning sickness had lessened over the past few days.

  She really needed to make an appointment with a doctor to make sure everything was going as it should. But that could wait till they were back in Missouri and she could see Dr. Gregory in Langhorne. He’d delivered all of mom’s babies except Corinne, and all of Corinne’s babies. She wasn’t sure how long her insurance was good beyond her quitting date. She’d barely gotten off her three-month probationary period to start her insurance. But they’d need to find a way to keep health insurance at least until the baby came. One more thing to worry about.

  She buttered the toast and took her plate to the window to watch again. She picked up Chase’s phone and tried to turn it on. Nothing. Apparently the battery was dead. No wonder he hadn’t taken it with him. She found his charger in his backpack, which he hadn’t taken either. Surely if he’d intended to be out this long he would have taken both.

  She plugged in the phone and waited.

  At nine o’clock, fighting images of Chase bleeding in some alley or lying dead under a subway train, she called home.

  Her dad answered the phone. “Landyn! How’s my girl? Everything good there?”

  “Hey Dad, and . . . no. Things are not so good.” Hearing his voice only encouraged her tears. “Chase went out early this morning and—he hasn’t come back yet.”

  “Went out? Where to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He’s not answering his phone?”

  “He didn’t take his phone. Or his backpack.”

  “And you don’t know where he was going?”

  “Just . . . for a walk. I—I told him about the baby, Dad. He didn’t take it very well.”

  “Oh, honey . . . I’m sorry. Was he angry . . . at you? Or just—”

  “Not at me, I don’t think. He’s just worried how we’ll handle a baby on top of everything else. He doesn’t think he’ll be a good dad . . . since he never really had a dad.”

  “I can understand that. But he’ll figure it out.”

  “That’s what I told him, but I just think it’s too much with everything else we have going on. I’ve never seen him like this, Dad. I’m worried.”

  “How long did you say he’s been gone?”

  She glanced at the clock. “He left here about four thirty.” A splash on the windows made her look out again. “Great. It’s starting to rain now and—”

  “He’s been gone since four thirty this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a long time.” Worry was thick in her dad’s voice. “But . . . He probably just needs some time to think, honey. Work things out in his mind. Let’s give it another half hour or so. If he’s not back by then, give me a call and we’ll figure out what’s next. Mom and I will be praying. You know we will.”

  “I know. Thanks, Dad. I’m sorry about all this. I’m so sorry.” Her voice broke. She didn’t want to cry. Not on the phone. She hated when people cried on the phone with her. There was nothing you could do, nothing to say that would bring comfort.

  But her dad seemed not to notice. Or pretended not to. “Nothing to be sorry about, honey. I’m glad you called so we can be praying. Just—” He hesitated. Then started again. “Listen, Landyn. Don’t you go looking for him, okay? That won’t help anything. And we need to be able to get hold of you.”

  “I have my cell phone. I’ll take it if I have to go out.”

  “I think it would really be best if you just stay put. Give Chase some time . . . as much time as he needs. Besides, you don’t want to be gone when he comes back. He’ll need you there. I’m not tryin
g to tell you what to do. Just . . . making a suggestion.”

  She put a smile in her voice. “Okay. I’ll take it under advisement.”

  That made him laugh, which turned her smile genuine.

  “Bye, Daddy.”

  “Bye, sweetheart. You keep me posted.”

  “I will.”

  She’d no sooner hung up when a quiet knock came on the door. Chase must have forgotten his keys. Thank you, Lord, for a swift answer to prayer.

  She hurried to open the door, but took a swift step back when it wasn’t Chase standing there, but a stranger in a trench coat and fedora.

  He looked over her shoulder into the apartment. “Is Chase here?”

  She pushed the door forward a few inches, ready to close and lock it if she needed to. “Um . . . He went out for a minute. He should be back any minute. May I tell him who’s asking?”

  “Sorry”—he extended a hand—“I’m Miles Roberts, Chase’s rep.”

  “Oh! Of course. I’m Landyn . . . Chase’s wife.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. All good, of course.”

  She wondered, but didn’t argue. “Could I give Chase a message?”

  “I’m really sorry to bother you so early on a Sunday morning, but I’ve been trying to call Chase, and he wasn’t picking up.”

  “Oh. He . . . forgot to charge his phone. Sorry.”

  “I wanted to let him know I’ll have a commission check for him tomorrow—probably won’t get them cut till afternoon, but anytime after three or so it should be there.”

  “Oh . . . that’s great. We could use the money.” She wished she hadn’t said that, but then, an art rep was no doubt accustomed to that kind of response—the whole starving artist thing . . .

  “That’s what Chase said.” Miles smiled. A genuine smile that helped dispel her first impression of him as a smarmy con man. “I may be able to get another one for him by the end of the week, too. Or early the following week. He said you guys might be making another trip back to Missouri?”

  “He said that?” She was surprised Chase had told his art rep that, knowing how strongly Miles felt about Chase living in Bed-Stuy. Even Manhattan hadn’t been close enough for the rep, to hear Chase tell it. “We may go back for a while—a few weeks,” she added quickly, then worried she’d said too much. She didn’t know what Chase had told Miles Roberts.

  He frowned. “Well, don’t stay away too long. That husband of yours is on a roll.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s got a lot of talent, and he’s doing very well with it.”

  “That’s . . . great. That’s great,” she said again, trying to pump conviction into her voice. She didn’t know whether to take the art rep seriously or if he was just giving her a hard sell, trying to use her to keep Chase in New York. Chase had sure never made it sound like he was doing so well.

  “In fact, we’re not far from being able to raise the prices on his work. He’s got a bright future if things keep going the way they are.”

  “Does . . . Chase know that?”

  Roberts looked puzzled. “That he has a bright future?”

  “No . . . I mean, does he know you’re going to be able to raise the prices on his paintings?”

  “I’m sure I’ve mentioned it. Maybe he didn’t want to say anything until we knew for sure. But after his last show in the gallery here, I’m pretty confident.”

  “Well, that’s good news. I’ll tell Chase to give you a call. I appreciate you stopping by.” She felt like she should invite him in and ask him to wait, but she had no clue when Chase would be home. For a minute, she was tempted to tell Miles that Chase was “missing.” But she didn’t want him to think her husband was irresponsible or in trouble of some kind. Especially after he’d sung Chase’s praises.

  The agent tipped his hat to her. “Nice to meet you, Landyn. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

  She gave a noncommittal nod and closed the door after him.

  Was Miles Roberts on the up and up about how well Chase was doing? Why hadn’t Chase said anything? Had he been lying to her about how broke they were? And if he hadn’t, then where was all the money he was supposedly making?

  24

  Landyn literally had her hand on the phone to call the police when she heard keys in the lock.

  She hit End on her phone and went to the door, half afraid it wouldn’t be Chase there. Half afraid it would.

  The door creaked open and he stepped inside, looking five shades of sheepish.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick, Chase!” She didn’t dare let herself go to him, for fear she’d pummel him.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door.

  “You didn’t just worry me. You scared me to death. I thought you were dead, Chase.”

  He walked toward her, and she saw that he looked like death warmed over. His hair was matted to his scalp as if he’d just run a marathon, and his complexion was sallow around dull eyes. She wondered for a minute if he’d been drinking—or worse.

  But when he spoke again, his voice was clear, his words even. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I . . . lost track of time.” He regarded her as if to determine whether it was safe to get within arm’s reach of her.

  She took a step back so he wouldn’t be tempted. “You lost track of time? Are you kidding me? You’ve been gone for six hours and you expect me to believe you just lost track of time?”

  “I had—a lot of things to work through. I was just walking. And sitting in the park. I really am sorry.” He touched her arm, still tentative.

  She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t reciprocate either.

  “Landyn, can we talk for a little bit? Please?”

  “I think we’d better talk. Miles was here.” She studied his expression, watching for some sort of clue in his face.

  “Miles, my rep?”

  She nodded. “He said he’ll have a check for you any time after three tomorrow.”

  “Really? That’s great.”

  “He said you’re really doing well with the gallery. That he’ll probably be able to raise your prices soon.”

  “He told you that?”

  “He did.”

  He grunted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “He said you have a lot of talent.”

  Chase only shrugged.

  “Babe, has he told you this? Why didn’t you tell me all that?”

  “Would it have made any difference?”

  “Well, sure it would!”

  His eyes narrowed. “So you believe in me when someone else says I’m worth trusting? Is that it?” His tone grew taut. “I don’t want you to believe in me because someone else says I’m worth believing in. Worth trusting. I want you to trust me because . . . because you believe I’m trustworthy.”

  “Chase, I do believe in you.”

  He shook his head. “No. You don’t. You treat me like I can’t be trusted with anything breakable.” He pierced her with his eyes. “Don’t think I don’t know that I married out of my league. But I’m trying here, Landyn. Can you see that?”

  “That’s ridiculous, Chase. I don’t know what ‘league’ you’re talking about, but please don’t ever say that again. And I do believe in you.”

  “If you believed in me, you wouldn’t have questioned my judgment about taking this apartment. About trying to make it with my art. You would have supported me. If you believed in me—”

  “That’s not true. And what does that even mean—believe in you?”

  “I made a decision—granted, a major decision—but I made it because I felt like God was leading me to do so. I didn’t make it lightly. I prayed about it. I truly did, Landyn. I asked Miles to excuse me, and after I couldn’t get hold of you, I prayed. I could show you the exact awning I stood under outside of Miles’s building. I asked God to stop me if I was making a mistake. I prayed, Landyn. Hard.
”

  “You never told me that.” She thought it might have made a difference. But there was too much water under that bridge now.

  “I did tell you, Landyn. You just didn’t want to hear it. But it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And I had to make a snap judgment. You never believed I heard from God. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I just made it all up. You have a different idea of what ‘success’ is. You think it’s all about money and being ‘someone’ but it’s more than that, Landyn. Don’t you think God wants us to do what we enjoy? What He’s gifted us to do?”

  “Sure, babe . . . Sure He does. But sometimes if you can’t do what you enjoy, you just have to suck it up and learn to enjoy what you do.”

  “Please . . . Let’s don’t hash this all out again.”

  She held up a hand. “I know. We might have to . . . agree to disagree on this one. I don’t know what else to say. It all happened too fast, and I didn’t have a chance to even pray about it before it was done. That still doesn’t seem fair. But it’s done now, Chase. We can’t go back and undo it, so can we just—go on from here?”

  “I don’t know . . . Can we? Are you willing? To go on with me?” He looked down, scuffing his toe on the dingy carpet.

  “I—”

  “And not just because you’re pregnant and you have no choice.”

  She eyed him through a thicket of bewilderment. “Is that what you think? That I only came back to you because I’m pregnant?”

  He shrugged. “What am I supposed to think?”

  She couldn’t help it—she laughed. And went to sit on the futon beside where he stood. “Oh, babe. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the baby. I didn’t want you coming back to me because you felt obligated.”

  “I never left you, Landyn. Don’t you get that? You never lost me.”

  “I know.” A lump clogged her throat. “I realize that now. I’m so sorry, babe.”

  “Come here . . .” He pulled her up beside him.

  She went willingly, resting her head on his shoulder, pressing her fingertips on the upper point of the knotted cross inked on his collarbone like a touchstone, remembering what that cross meant for Chase. Praying that God would remind him again. And at the same time, remind her.