by Kay Stockham
“Because I love you.” She swallowed, the lump in her throat making it difficult. “Mama, look at me.” She tightened her grip when her mother tried harder to yank the container away, but after years of self-abuse she was too weak. “Mama, please—look at me. What are you doing? Right now, think about it, what are you doing? Why are you so desperate to get this box? What does it mean to you?”
“Be quiet and give me—”
“You’ll come outside for your drugs, but you won’t come outside to be with me? You won’t fight for the family? For us? What are you doing?”
Her mother’s face revealed the naked truth. Her fear and dawning awareness. She fell to her knees, her bid for the box over even though she still held on to it. She started to sob and like a child seeking comfort, slid her arms around Marley and held tight, the box between them a sad, sorry replacement for the baby that should’ve been.
“I’m sorry. Oh, Marley, I failed you.”
Marley set the box aside, out of reach, and hugged her mother close. “It wasn’t your fault. I got pregnant, but you…You raised me the best you could. You taught me so much, but I was the one who didn’t listen.” Marley framed her mother’s face with her hands, forcing her to look at her. “No one should have judged you because of me, and I’m sorry you felt the need to escape by—by taking the pills.”
Fresh tears filled her mother’s gaze and trickled over her wrinkled cheeks. “Oh, Marley, it wasn’t—it wasn’t that. People talked, yes, but I—I understood. People do that sort of thing.”
She stared at her, confused. If not that, what? “Then why? Mama, why are you taking them?”
Her mother remained silent, seemed to go inside herself.
“Mama, whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. Please, tell me, please. I can’t help you unless you try to help yourself. Talk to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Her mother shook from head to toe, her head moving back and forth like a robot. “It’s…it’s…I took them because of what was wrong with me.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
She lowered her lashes, her expression one of utter shame. “I take them to try to be better.”
“Better how? Mama, it wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was. Marley…I thought horrible things. Mean, shameful things about the baby because I saw you getting bigger and…I didn’t want it. I didn’t want you to have to live with the reminder of that man and how he’d treated you. I knew the problems you’d face trying to raise it alone and I thought you would be better off if it didn’t exist. Oh, Marley, don’t you see? I might as well have pushed you down those steps myself.”
Marley tried to set aside her shock and get inside her mother’s head. Realized that to do so, she had to think from within a depressive state, one of sadness and upset and anxiety. Fear. “So when I lost the baby, you believed it happened because you thought about it? Mama.”
A ragged wail tore from her mother’s mouth before she clamped a hand over her lips. She nodded, crying, her head low. “I didn’t want it and I sat there in that chair by your hospital bed thinking it might be best if something happened to it. Then the doctor came in and told you. Marley, you screamed. You screamed, and I felt it all the way to my soul. You wanted that baby because you loved her and didn’t want to lose her. And there I’d sat thinking those horrible things. I did that, it was my fault.”
Depression can last years. With medication, it was manageable but still people suffered and her mother had gone from not taking any medicine at all to overdosing on it. So many things made sense. “It’s not your fault.”
“You’re wrong. It is. What kind of person thinks those things? How could I feel that way about my own grandchild? Marley, I couldn’t…I couldn’t look at you and not remember the pain I caused you, and my guilt…I just wanted to get better.”
Marley wrapped her arms around her mother and held her, surrounded by weeds and leaves, the cloudy December sky rolling over their heads. She’d known perfectly well how badly she’d embarrassed the family by coming home pregnant and unwed. And as upsetting as it was to know her mother’s darkest thoughts, how could she blame her for not wanting the baby when she hadn’t wanted her? Not in the beginning.
“I didn’t want the baby, either.” The words came out slow, painfully honest. “If you’re to blame for what happened, Mama, then so am I, because I didn’t want her, either, not at first.” She closed her eyes and tried to remember the amazement she’d felt that long-ago day. “Then I felt her move. I loved her with all my heart because I knew she had spunk.”
Her comment earned a tearful laugh from her mother. “She would’ve been like you.” Her mother’s shoulders began to quake with renewed tears.
“I wanted so badly to be a good mother. To be like you, Mama. I wanted to make everything okay since I’d screwed up the beginning of her life, but just when I realized how very much I loved her…she was gone.”
Her mother raised her head, her gaze bleak.
“Mama, I slipped on the steps. That’s all. And if she—if my baby girl was meant to be with us right now, she would be. I believe that. I believe that with all my heart, don’t you?”
More tears appeared.
Marley smoothed a hand over her mother’s hair, remembering when she was little and how the feel of her mother’s hands stroking her hair made her feel so safe. “Mama, there is no doubt in my mind that if I’d had the baby and she were alive today, you’d be in there with her showing her how to make cookies or reading a story, doing whatever you could so that she didn’t feel neglected by her father. You’re too good of a person to have treated her any differently.”
“I’d like to hope so but—”
“No buts,” she stated firmly. “No buts. It’s not in you to be mean. You are not to blame, Mama. You were more willing to hurt yourself taking all those pills than to risk hurting your family again. But that has to stop. Mama, I need you. I need you so bad right now because there’s so much going on, but I need you awake with a clear head a-and able to hear me so that you can help me.”
Her mother’s lips parted. “Marley. Honey, what is it? What’s wrong?”
That was the mother she knew. In her mother’s eyes Marley finally saw the love that had been buried beneath a mountain of guilt and shame for far too many years.
She shook her head and forced a smile. It was too soon to tell her mother everything about Beau and Jack. And considering how the truth had become known…Maybe one day she’d tell her the story, but not now. If Jack came back, if things worked out, she’d introduce her mother to Jack, no one else.
“I just need you. I’ve tried to be patient and give you time, and I’m sorry if it seems selfish, but I need you so please, please, let me help you. You don’t need the pills, you don’t need to feel guilty.”
“Oh, Marley. I’m okay, it’s just—”
“You’re not okay. You’ve taken them too long, grown too dependent. But together we can do anything, and you can stop taking them. We’ll go to a doctor and see about what to do next. We’ll take it slow, a day at a time. An hour at a time if we have to.” Marley laughed softly, and indicated the weeds where they sat. “We’ll pull them all, we’ll decorate the house for Christmas, every room, the outside, too. You used to love white lights on the shrubs. We’ll do it together. I’ll be here for you every step, but you have to decide—right now—which is more important to you—the pills, or your family? Mama, you have to decide because if I…if I fall in love with someone and we have a baby, I want her to know you and to love you the way I love you. But you can’t be like you are now.”
Tears flowing, her mother didn’t move. She kept her head down, but Marley saw her gaze shift to the box sitting so near.
“We all want to feel good, and after everything that happened…But you don’t need that stuff. Not all of it. Not anymore. Because we’re okay now. Right?”
Hope warre
d with fear. Her mother swallowed. “You forgive me?”
“Yes. Yes. Mama, please, I just want you to come back to me.”
“Your father, oh, your father won’t understand. I—I hid them. He doesn’t know about—about all of them. He doesn’t know.”
He did. He had to, but her father hadn’t known how to fix the problem, so he’d ignored it, hoped she’d get better on her own. “He loves you. He didn’t want you to hurt anymore. We’ll do this together, all of us. The way a family should. But you have to be the one to decide.”
Silence. Her mother inhaled deeply. Wiped her face and lowered her head, shed more tears as her lips moved silently. Then…then she smiled. “Yes. With God’s help and yours, I can do this.”
JACK ROLLED OVER onto his back and stared up at the ceiling of the dingy motel room. The walls shook as a train sped by mere feet away from the back of the building, but the rumble of the tracks was strangely comforting. At least now he could remember why.
The little house he’d shared with Joe and Pop had been a few acres from the tracks, but the sounds of the big locomotives could be heard. Normal no matter what time of the day or night.
He turned again, rolling off the bed to his feet. The bathroom mirror was clean but spotted with age, the caulk around the sink yellowed. He washed his face in the cold tap water, then glared at the reflection staring back.
His gut tightened with regret-filled nausea. When he’d left Taylorsville, he’d vowed never to go back and he’d kept the promise. And even though he’d picked up the phone countless times throughout the years and dialed, he’d hung up before it could ring through.
After meeting Beau he’d finally gotten the courage to call. Dialing the number had been hard, but harder still was the sound of the recorded voice stating that the number was no longer in service. Pop wouldn’t have left Taylorsville while Joe was still in prison. If he was still alive, he’d changed the number deliberately, making it impossible for the son who’d run away to call home.
Because it wasn’t home.
Ted Brody had defended Joe with every breath in his body. He wouldn’t listen to the proof, denied what was being said by the townspeople and didn’t care what was happening with Jack because Joe was always foremost in his mind. He’d tried to pass it off as sibling jealousy, but it was way more than that. It was the energy that went into Joe’s case, Joe’s problems, Joe’s life—when he needed his father, too.
He swore and stripped off his underwear, turning on the tap and getting in the shower, all the while trying to forget the last shower he’d taken with Marley. The way she’d looked at him, the smile on her face.
Barry could’ve saved them all a lot of heartache if he’d only told the truth. Maybe he hadn’t known right away, but when he’d figured it out he should’ve—
He hit the shower stall with his fist, then leaned his head against it and let the spray rain over him. He’d actually begun to think of the little house in South Ridge as home.
But now more than ever he realized he didn’t have one.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I’VE ASKED HER to marry me, you know.”
Marley glanced up from the dish she scrubbed in her mother’s sink and focused on Clay’s not-quite-happy expression.
Her mother, father and Dr. Myners were in the dining room going over counseling options. The next few weeks would be hell, but Dr. Myners was confident that her mother would be off all except the most necessary medications by the New Year.
The Christmas frenzy would be over in a matter of days and afterward, Marley would have nearly two months to spend helping her mother rebuild her life. As terrifying as it was, she couldn’t wait. Until then, her father had taken a leave of absence to stay with her mother.
“Hello? No response?”
She blinked. “What did Angel say?”
“Angel says she’ll marry again when hell freezes over.”
She laughed, cutting it short when she spied his expression. “Sorry.”
“I don’t get it. We fight, but what else is new. I actually think she uses it as a form of foreplay.”
“That qualifies as too much information.”
“And physically—”
“Way too much information,” she murmured pointedly, cutting him off.
Clay inhaled and wrapped both hands around the back of his neck. “I’m just saying I don’t get it.”
He was asking advice from her? She was the one who’d fallen for the wrong guy. Again.
“Maybe she needs time to adjust. To find out who she is as a person. She’s just taken charge of a new business and is getting things off the ground. You can’t blame her for wanting space.”
Clay leaned his hips against the countertop and frowned at her. “Kind of like Jack?”
She didn’t want to talk about Jack. She didn’t want to think about Jack. If she did, she’d break down and it had been a hard enough day as it was. Wondering where he was, if he was okay. If he’d come back.
“He’s gotta be freaked out, you know? He wakes up and thinks he’s Beau, begins to figure things out. Then—wham—he gets hit all over again.” Clay shifted, his hand falling on her shoulder. “I’m just saying that if you think Angel needs time, the same applies to Jack. I feel sorry for the guy. Especially for being so nasty to him—seeing as how now I know he wasn’t the jerk who—well, you know.”
That she did.
“Look, I’ll come by here again later tonight. There’s something I’ve got to do.”
“Going to go see Angel?”
Clay opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. “No. I said I’d back off some and I will. I’m heading into work for a while. Something’s bugging me and I can’t stop thinking about it so I’m going to go check it out.” He dropped a kiss on her head. “Quit worrying. He’ll come back.”
Maybe. But if he did, would Jack want to build a relationship with her after everything that happened? What man wanted to always feel like a stand-in for someone else?
JACK DROVE BACK into South Ridge in the early hours of Wednesday morning. He’d stayed at the cheap motel the whole time he’d been gone. Bought pizza and sandwiches from a fast-food place nearby and went over everything in his head until his cash ran out and he had to make a decision. The bottom line became clear after the anger wore off.
Barry had done for him what a father should’ve done, and for that he had to be grateful.
After learning the truth about Beau’s death, Barry had to have died a little more inside every time he’d called him Beau. But instead of being bitter, Barry had kept up the charade and put his mental and physical health first. Something his own father hadn’t done because the man had focused on Joe to the exclusion of everything else.
But knowing how much it would hurt Barry to look at him and remember what he’d lost…He had to go back, just long enough to let Barry know how grateful he was and tell him he appreciated Barry being the father he’d needed. Then he’d leave.
Without seeing Marley? Pain sliced into him at the thought, but it couldn’t be helped.
Jack turned onto the highway and headed toward the little house. Marley didn’t want to see him. Why would she? She had to be feeling used, angry. She believed he’d tricked her, seduced her in order to play some kind of twisted game. He hated that she’d consider him capable of that, but why wouldn’t she? The past they’d had together was no more—a good thing in itself—but with it gone, they had…
A clean slate.
He stilled. Would she see it that way? Would Marley ever be able to look at him and see a future, not a reminder of the past and the pain Beau had caused?
Anger filled him. He cared for Marley way more than a passing fling. Her smile, her softness. That wild-looking hair. Marley could be cynical and contrary, but she was also sweet and kind and beautiful. She’d never be boring. And he liked the idea of always knowing how she felt by simply looking into her expressive face. She’d tell him straight up what she liked, hate
d, wanted, and not leave him guessing. Honesty was such a turn-on, and he loved that.
Jack thumped his hand against the steering wheel. He didn’t love her. He could like her all he wanted, but it wouldn’t change anything. There weren’t going to be any Christmas miracles for him because whatever Marley had felt for him, she’d felt it thinking he was Beau. He might have been able to forget his past, but no way could he allow himself to forget that.
He pulled into the driveway of the little rental, but Barry’s truck was gone. Inside, he turned on the lights and looked around, remembering when boredom had him hating the ugly wallpaper. Now it felt like home. Jack turned to go when he spotted something atop the kitchen table. A note?
Don’t leave without saying goodbye—that’s an order.
It was signed “Pop.”
He gathered up the envelope of pictures under the note and carried them with him into the living room. Sitting in Barry’s favorite recliner, he looked through the photos of him and Beau together, smiling, remembering. Mourning his cocky but loyal friend. Barry was right. Beau had been figuring things out in Iraq, had grown up while facing the reality of war.
Half an hour later the sun broke over the horizon as Jack pulled onto the road leading to the housing development. He knew Barry would already be at work, determined to do whatever it took to take his mind off the present predicament and problems.
Barry must have heard him drive up because he came out of the house, his face pale, circles under his eyes. Jack stared at the older man, trying to guard against the pain.
Straightening his shoulders, Barry pulled something from his back pocket and headed toward him. “Thank God you’re back. Are you okay?” He tugged Jack into his arms and pounded him on the back.
When Barry let go, Jack stepped back and leaned against the truck for support. Saying what he had to say wasn’t going to be easy, neither was leaving. He indicated Beau’s truck. “Thanks for not calling the cops on me for borrowing this.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you.”