The horrific events of earlier almost seemed like a bad dream. They were all safe now. Best to focus on that and not replay the death of a young woman. He turned around to watch Mary. She was methodical, careful even in the way she shredded lettuce, not haphazard but in even chunks. Her movements in the shop and here in his kitchen were precise and succinct, never a wasted moment.
Lance had inwardly flinched when Mary had described Mel as delusional. How was he any better than Mel? He was living under the premise that he would somehow win Mary over. Would he? So far, the evidence pointed to a no as fat as the moon. He saw the way she looked at special ops guy. Like she wanted to eat him for dinner. Not quite as excited as she’d been about a peanut butter sandwich earlier, but close.
Rafael. Even his name sounded badass. Lance was not badass. He was nice.
He went inside. She greeted him with a smile. Steaks sizzled on the stove. The salad was on the table, as were two wine glasses. One with red wine, the other with seltzer.
“Smells great,” he said.
At the stovetop, she held a spatula in midair. “What’s wrong? Your face is cloudy.”
“Cloudy?”
“My mom used to say that. You know, like something’s bothering you.”
He considered telling her the truth for half a second. Not a good idea.
She came over to him, concern in her eyes. “Seriously, are you feeling unwell? It was an awful day.”
He nodded. “Not unwell. Just kind of undone.”
Mary placed her hands on his upper arms. “It’s understandable. What can I do? Would you like me to make you a drink? Something strong?”
He inhaled her scent, his gaze on her birthmark.
She covered it with her hand but smiled up at him. “Don’t look at it.”
“I think it looks like a question mark,” he said. “Curious, like you.”
Her eyes softened. Smoke rose from the pan on the stove.
She yelped and ran to it. “Now they’re well done. Darn.”
“I like well done.”
She lifted the steaks from the pan and turned off the burner. “You do not. I know you like them medium.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll like them because you made them.”
“You’ll lie straight to my face?
“Maybe.”
“Ooh.” Her hand flew to her stomach. “Baby loves to kick me in the ribs.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Just a little. I love it.” She gestured toward the table with her chin. “Go sit while I make you a drink. What would you like?”
“Do you know how to make drinks?”
“I have a small repertoire. My dad likes Manhattans and Gin Martinis. So, I know how to make those. And pour wine.”
“I’ll take a Manhattan.”
She moved around the kitchen, mixing the drink before joining him at the table.
“You’re looking remarkably good,” he said. Her color and glow had returned the past few days.
“It helps that the nausea is gone. I’m starving now.” She set the drink in front of him, then grabbed the plate with the steaks.
He took a sip of his drink. “Delicious. Thank you.”
She sat next to him at the table, placing her hand on her stomach. “I wish I could enjoy being pregnant without feeling so nervous all the time.”
“Me too.”
“This will be my last baby, after all.”
“You don’t know that. You’re still young.”
“This is my last baby.” She put salad in both their bowls. “Tell me what happened today.”
He cut his salad into smaller pieces, buying time. Did he want to tell her? Or would it just upset her?
“You can tell me. I’ll be fine. I’m strong.” She cut into her steak. “Dammit, well done.”
He cut into his steak. Blood seeped onto the plate. The images from earlier flashed before his eyes. Mel’s head wound had gushed blood. So much blood. Nausea overwhelmed him. He pushed back from the table but stayed in his chair.
“Lance?”
“Not feeling great all of the sudden,” he said.
She pushed the drink toward him. “Have some of this.”
He did so, then hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Would he ever get those images out of his head?
She reached over to him and squeezed his wrist. “It’s over now. Everyone’s fine.”
“Except for Mel. She was so disturbed. I know what she did was wrong, but she’s someone’s daughter.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way. I was only thinking of our friends and that precious baby and how scared I was. But you’re right.” She touched the side of his face with her fingertips. “I love your heart.”
What about the rest of me? Could you ever love all of me?
He let the strong drink run down the back of his throat. “I’m sorry. Please, eat. I know you’re starving. The baby needs some iron.”
“True.”
They ate without further discussion, the clank of knives and forks the only sound. He took several bites of the salad and steak but pushed the rest around on his plate. His mind whirled and jumped from one thought to another.
When their meals were finished, he cleaned the dishes and then joined her in front of the fire. He tucked a blanket around her and sat closer to her than he usually did. The fire threw shadows around the room.
“Are you sure you want to hear about what happened?” he asked.
She nodded.
He told her the details, ending with the police shooting Mel. “The guy was a hell of a shot. She had a baby in her arms.”
“Poor Kyle,” she said. “And you—you were in danger. If I’d known, I would have been beside myself.”
“When she had the gun pointed at my head, I wasn’t thinking about her,” he said. “I was thinking about you and our baby. It’s the first time in my life that my death would affect someone else. You guys need me.”
“That’s true. We do.” She spoke softly, looking at the fire. “But your death would affect a lot of people. I don’t think you realize how loved you are.”
He shrugged.
“For the first time, it occurred to me how awful it would be without you.”
“If I die, you’ll be taken care of.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the money,” she said.
He watched her, looking for evidence of her meaning.
“It’s hard to imagine my life now, without you in it,” she said.
“I can’t imagine my life without you either.” He drew closer, lifting her chin with his fingers.
Chapter Twelve
Mary
* * *
IN EARLY APRIL, Mary waited on the examination table for Doctor Freddie to come in for their appointment. Lance sat in the guest chair, his foot shaking as fast as Freckles’ tail often did. He got up and went to the window, then came back to the chair.
“Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
He jerked at the sound of her voice. “I’m sorry. I’m jumpy as hell.”
“I’ve felt her or him moving around a bunch today. I’m sure everything’s fine.” She gazed up at the ceiling.
“You’re remarkably calm today,” he said as he came to stand at her side.
“I’m excited to find out the gender.”
They’d decided, after a few discussions, to find out. There were enough variables in their future that knowing the sex seemed like a legitimate thing to do.
Doctor Freddie came in then. She set her laptop aside and gave them a warm smile. “Shall we take a look and see if we have a Jane or a John?”
They both nodded. Mary glanced at Lance. He bounced on his toes like a kid before Christmas.
Doctor Freddie spread gel over Mary’s stomach. Doctor Freddie pulled the monitor closer to them and placed the transducer on her bump. He knew what to expect after spending way too long on the internet. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Lance held his breath. The
baby looked like a baby. A head and limbs were obvious.
The doctor measured the baby. “Perfect growth for this stage.” She pointed to a small white dot in between the baby’s legs. “And that right there is a little girl. You’re having a daughter.”
“A little girl?” Lance asked. “Are you sure? I thought for sure it was a boy.”
Mary looked up at him. She had an image of him with a little girl sitting on his lap, worshipping his every word. He would be good with a daughter.
“I wanted a girl,” Lance said. “But I didn’t want to tell you in case it was a boy.”
“I just want a healthy baby,” Mary said. A fat, healthy baby like Mollie Blue.
“Every indication says you’re going to get your wish,” Doctor Freddie said. “Try not to worry so much. I know it’s hard, but the more relaxed you are, the better for the baby.”
Afterward, Lance suggested lunch and a little shopping if she wasn’t too tired. She agreed. “I’m starving,” she said.
They found a French café around the corner from the hospital. She ordered a grilled veggie and cheese sandwich. Nothing had ever tasted as good.
“Good?”
“The best sandwich ever,” she said.
“Great. Eat up.” Lance said with an approving glance at her half-eaten sandwich.
“It’s nice to be past the queasiness.” Her diet of crackers and water had not helped her skinniness. She felt like a bag of bones with a watermelon attached. So much for looking luscious like Violet. Even Maggie had filled out slightly. Not Olive Oyl. She took another bite of her sandwich. “I might need one of these for the ride home.”
“Now you’re talking.”
After lunch, she bought a few maternity dresses for warm weather and light cotton leggings and blouses. Lance suggested they look at some things for the baby. “It’s time to order furniture, don’t you think?” he asked.
She’d been afraid to jinx it before now, but he was right. They could relax and enjoy the journey. Plus, she couldn’t disappoint him by saying no. A few blocks up from the café, they found a baby store. “It looks expensive,” she said.
“I don’t care. I’m buying whatever you want for our daughter.” He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and grabbed her hands. “We’re having a daughter. A baby girl.”
“I had a feeling.”
He sobered. “Is it okay? Does it make you sad, thinking of Meme?”
Oh, Lance. She loved how he asked about her, said her name, didn’t dismiss her feelings. Most people just pretended like Meme had never existed. Even her dad.
“I’ll always be sad about Meme,” she said. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not excited about this little girl.” She patted her stomach. “Who’s doing flipflops, by the way. She liked that sandwich.”
They spent a leisurely hour looking at furniture for the nursery and chose several items, including a crib and changing table. Lance insisted on buying a teddy bear and a soft pink blanket. She couldn’t help but remember how the little dresser in her old home had been stuffed with clothes for Meme. Her mother had started buying them the moment she’d found out Mary was pregnant.
As they walked to the car with their packages, Lance took her hand. “You all right?”
“Yes. Just remembering.”
He tightened his grip on her hand. At some point their little girl would have two nurseries. That thought made her knees weaken. I don’t want her to have two homes. I don’t want two homes. I want to be with Lance.
No you don’t. You’re safer this way. Alone.
As if she knew her thoughts, the baby kicked, hard, just below her left rib cage. “Give me your hand.” She placed it on her stomach, hoping the little garbanzo bean would do it again. Thump. There it was. “Did you feel that?”
His eyes glittered like they had during the ultrasound. “I sure did.” He shook his head. “There’s a baby in there.”
“Our baby.”
“No matter what, I’m going to be here for you both. Don’t ever doubt it.”
I want to be with Lance.
She could not do it. No, the risk was too great. Stay with the plan.
On the way home from the city, the sun shone brightly. Wildflowers in purples and yellows and pinks dotted the hillsides. Mary closed her eyes, drowsy in the comfortable car with the sun streaming in through the windows. When they reached the highest peak on the highway, she asked Lance if he minded pulling over. She wanted to look at the view. He did so without hesitation, parking in one of the empty spots. Today, they had the lookout all to themselves. Too early in the year for tourists. They walked to the edge where a barrier kept people from falling over the cliff. A breeze rustled Lance’s hair and brought the scent of the sea. A barge crossed the water, moving slowly. Further out, a ship seemed anchored in place.
She breathed in the air and looked out as far as she could. When she was a child she thought she could see Japan from the Oregon coast. Back then, she’d tried to imagine the little children across the world. Were they like her? Did they peer across the ocean and wonder if there was anyone on the other side? She’d been lonely then. An only child without many friends, other than the characters in the books she’d read. She’d wanted a playmate. A friend, like Lance.
She moved closer and rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you when you go.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You will, eventually.”
“Not far.”
“We have to start making plans for our divorce,” she said. “I should figure out where I’m going to live.”
“We’ll figure it out later. Not now. Right now, my job’s to take care of you.”
“What about custody? How will we arrange it?”
He turned to look at her. “We’ll do whatever’s best for our girl. You can have the house if it comes down to that.”
“Lance, no.”
“I can buy something else if I have to.”
She sighed, suddenly tired. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
When Mary was a child, she loved the library, with its cool, clean floors and stacks of books. It was the best place for a shy, skinny girl with buck teeth. Back then, her mother worked in her father’s oral surgery office, so Mary was alone in the afternoons after school. When she was old enough, she caught the city bus to her neighborhood library. She was to wait for her mother there, doing homework or reading, which was just fine with Mary. For hours, she would read in the chair by the window, unnoticed by staff or patrons. She was the invisible type. Invisible was preferable to the alternative. Some might be lonely, but not Mary. The books were fine company. Staying unnoticed during school years was a blessing. Just ask any bullied kid and they’d tell you that straight away.
She was reminded of the charm of invisibility when she was summoned to her father’s house by his new wife. Mary wanted to politely decline the invitation for coffee, but she knew it was inevitable. Flora was part of her family now. Her father loved Flora. He appeared happier than he’d been since her mother’s death. She wished she could be happy for him.
With a purple scarf in her curly salt and pepper hair and dressed in a long tunic over leggings, Flora looked casual yet stylish when she welcomed Mary inside the cottage. The scent of cinnamon permeated the room.
“Come in, come in. Can I get you tea?” Flora asked as she led her into the cozy kitchen.
She declined and commented on the delicious scent.
“My famous coffee cake,” Flora said.
Famous?
As if she’d heard her question, Flora clarified. “Famous to my boys anyway.”
“Your boys?”
“Brody and Lance.”
Right. She thought of them as her children, having helped raise them during her years of employment with the Mullens. “I was there the moment they brought home both the boys. Brody was a monster, even back then. Huge head and those eyes that stared right through a
person. He grew into his head later, of course. Lance, on the other hand, was the most precious baby you’ve ever seen. Affectionate and even-tempered. If he detected sadness or loneliness, he offered a hug. Even to strangers on the street.” She pointed to a box on the coffee table. “I pulled out some photographs of Lance when he was small. There were more of Brody, being the first, but I found some good ones of Lance too.”
Mary sat on the couch and picked up the stack of photos. The first was of a naked, toothless, and plump baby laughing into the camera. “He was so fat.”
“Yes, he was a chubby little guy back then,” Flora said from the kitchen.
The second photo was of Lance as a toddler. Wearing red pajamas, he sat by the Christmas tree with wrapping paper piled high around him.
Flora set two pieces of cake on the table. “That was the year he asked for a toy cash register.” She chuckled. “He was always interested in money.”
“How funny.” Mary smiled, imagining Lance punching the keys and pretending to take money.
“We thought so at the time,” Flora said. “Looking back, it makes perfect sense. He used to love going to the grocery store with me. When he was a little older, he learned about coupons. He’d cut them all out of the Sunday paper and we’d shop on Mondays. He got the biggest kick out of getting things on discount. It was a riot.”
Flora picked up another from the stack. “This is him in high school running cross country.”
In the photo, Lance ran along a trail, his young body lithe and lean. “I didn’t know he ran cross country,” Mary said. He often ran in the mornings. She admired his discipline.
“Did you play any sports?” Flora asked.
“No, I was the bookish kind. P.E. was my worst class.”
“When I was young, women weren’t allowed to play sports. I would’ve loved to. Instead, I got pregnant and was sent away to live with the nuns.” Flora set the photograph down on the table and looked out the window. “I was so in love with your father back then.”
Tainted Page 17