Empty Arms: A Novel (30 page)

“Believe me, Mom, divorce is the last thing I want. If there was any way I could save my marriage I would. I even told Paul I’d adopt a baby with him, but he said he doesn’t think I’d be able to focus on our family unless I get closure with Emily.”

“He wants you to find her?”

“Yes. But don’t worry, I told him it’s out of the question.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I know you don’t want me digging up the past, and I respect that.”

“You do? Since when?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it and look at things from your point of view. I must have caused you and Daddy so much pain and embarrassment when I got pregnant.”

“It was a difficult time,” she concedes.

“I know. And I’ve been so mad at you for making me give her up for adoption, but I’ve come to realize that I couldn’t have given her the life she deserved.”

“You were only sixteen. You were still in high school.”

“I know. It took me a long time to realize it, but you were right to choose adoption. And I understand why you want me to leave the past alone.”

“But what about Paul?”

“I guess it’s better to be divorced than to have an illegitimate child, right?”

Her silence makes me grin; this is killing her. I can just picture her squirming in her seat on the other end of the phone. For her, this news is like a flesh-eating virus that will gnaw at her for weeks. If she knows something about Emily, this is my shot at finding out what it is. Now I’ve just got to let it sit and fester.

“Mom, I have to go. I’ve got another call coming through. It’s probably my divorce attorney,” I lie before she can say anything more.

I hang up with a devious grin. That was way more satisfying than tying her up and threatening to cut off her fingers.

Mom calls the following week and again the week after that, but she doesn’t mention Emily. She asks how I’m doing and treads lightly on the topic of Paul. She’s like a circling shark, so I keep throwing out bait.

“He stopped paying the mortgage,” I lie, “and I can’t afford this place on my own. A few more weeks and the bank will probably foreclose on us. I just can’t stand the thought of the neighbors watching me get kicked out of my home. When that happens, I guess I’ll have to come home and live with you.” I can practically hear the cogs churning in her head. If I move home, everyone will know my marriage has fallen apart and she will feel like the disgrace of the church.

Her calls continue to come with regularity, but she remains unbreakable despite my threat to move home. Finally, in October, the crack I’ve been waiting for appears in the form of a message on my answering machine. “Catharine, it’s Mom. I’ve been thinking about some things, and I want to talk to you. Call me.”

My mood is soaring when I dial her number. “Mom, it’s me. I just got your message. What did you want to talk about?” I wait for her to feign concern about my marriage.

“I was thinking about the Pearson kids the other day.”

“Tommy and Maddie Rae? What about them?”

“Well, it’s going to be their first Thanksgiving without their mother, and they’ll probably come up to Angel Falls to visit the cemetery, so I was thinking of inviting them over here so they have a nice meal.”

“That’s a nice idea, you should.”

“Will you be able to join us?”

“Sure. Now what did you want to talk to me about?”

“That was it.”

My mood dives to the ground like a kite. This is going to be harder than I thought.

I
DRIVE OUT TO
A
NGEL
F
ALLS
the day before Thanksgiving and go to the grocery store with Mom to help her stock the kitchen. I’m hoisting an eighteen-pound turkey into our shopping cart when I hear my name. I turn around to find myself face to face with the grown-up version of my former best friend. Angela yanks me into a hug and stands with her hands on her hips looking as sensational as ever in a knee-length brown dress that shows off her figure. Her face lights up. “How are you?” she asks pleasantly, as if she wasn’t the one who spread vicious rumors about my pregnancy and ruined my senior year of high school.

Mom shoots me a nervous glance that begs me not to tell her the truth.

“I’m great, Angela. How are you?”

“Couldn’t be better.” She launches into a twenty-minute story about her successful lawyer husband and their wonderful life in Boston. We nod and smile, listening politely as she talks about exotic travel and charity benefits.

Mom breathes a sigh relief when she finally continues on her way.

“Boy, those conversations will be weird once my divorce is final,” I say.

She frowns and I can see my threats are getting to her. Hopefully, I’ll manage to crack her by the end of our weekend together.

W
E WAKE UP EARLY
on Thanksgiving morning, and I wash and season the turkey while she fixes the green bean casserole and homemade applesauce.

Just after two, the doorbell dings over the trill of the beater whipping potatoes into a fluffy, lumpless mash. I turn it off and race to the front door, eager to see my old babysitting charges. On the front porch I find a tall, handsome man in a black pea coat and dark gray slacks. If you count his spiky blonde hair, he’s probably just over six feet tall, a giant compared to the little boy I remember.

I push open the storm door. “Tommy Pearson?”

His face lights up just like it used to whenever he’d hear the ice cream truck turn onto his street. He scoops me into a big hug. “How’s my favorite babysitter?”

His arms are strong and he lifts me off my feet and spins me around. When he sets me down, I step back and take in his sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and big feet. “Look at you. You’re all grown up. You know, part of me expected to open the door and find a little boy with a sword standing here.”

He grins. “You know my mom would’ve killed me if I brought my sword to Thanksgiving dinner.”

A wistful smile passes between us. “I was so sorry to hear about her passing.”

“Thanks,” he says, though I can see the pain is still fresh.

“Come on in. Let me take your coat.”

He steps into the foyer and passes me his coat.

“Hi, Mrs. White,” he says, leaning down and giving Mom a hug.

The fact that he still calls her Mrs. White, even though he’s twenty-seven, warms my heart.

“Thank you so much for inviting me to spend Thanksgiving with you.”

“No problem, dear. Where’s your sister? I thought you’d come together.”

“We were planning to, but she went into labor yesterday afternoon.”

“I thought she wasn’t due until closer to Christmas.” Mom says.

He nods. “Me too. But I guess my little niece or nephew is coming early.”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupt. “The last time I saw your little sister, she was in diapers. Now she’s having a baby of her own?”

He nods. “Can you believe it?”

I drop into the chair. “Where has the time gone?”

“I hope you don’t mind, I gave my brother in-law your number and asked him to call once the baby’s born.”

“Of course,” Mom says as she flips on the beater and returns to the mashed potatoes.

T
HE STOVE TIMER BUZZES
and a blast of heat escapes when Mom opens the oven door. She inspects the turkey. “Dinner’s on,” she sings and I smile to myself because I can’t remember the last time either of us was this happy.

“Let me help you with that,” Tommy says, taking the oven mitts and lifting the heavy roasting pan out of the oven.

“Do you want to do the honors?” Mom asks, passing him the carving knife.

“Now that’s the Tommy I remember.”

He turns to me with a smile and holds the blade over his head.

As I fill my plate with mashed potatoes, green beans, and cranberry sauce, I smile at the memory of the little boy I used to babysit for. “Do you have any memories of me babysitting you?” I ask after we say Grace.

“Sure,” he says with a broad grin. “Lots.”

“Like what?”

“You taught me how to catch fireflies. Remember? You stole a jar from my mom’s pantry and poked holes in the lid so they could breathe. We ran around the yard chasing the yellow lights and putting them in the jar. Then we went dragon hunting in the woods and used it as our lantern.”

“I forgot all about that.” As I chew, my mind takes me back to those days. “Do you remember building snow people?”

“Actually, I remember you building snow people and me stabbing them to pieces.”

We laugh and out of the corner of my eye I see a grin pass across Mom’s face. I know she’s pleased because she was right again. Babysitting for Tommy and Maddie Rae was exactly what I needed after losing Emily.

“Your sister probably doesn’t remember me. She was just a baby.”

He shrugs. “I’ll have to ask her.”

“I was there for her first word, you know.”

“Really?”

I nod. “She was sitting on my lap looking through a picture book, and I was pointing out animals trying to get her to talk. And then your mom walked through the door and Maddie Rae pointed to her and said, ‘Mama.’”

“That’s so cool that you remember that.”

I nod, remembering how the two-syllable word had simultaneously brightened Mrs. Pearson’s face and knocked the wind out of me. That was the moment I realized that I’d never hear my own daughter’s first word.

The three of us clear our plates and Mom serves apple pie a la mode for dessert.

“Mmm,” Tommy moans as he takes a bite. “This tastes just like the way my mom used to make it.”

Mom grins. “Well, it should. It’s her recipe.”

A reminiscent smile passes over his face, and he takes another bite. “I miss her so much. Sometimes I pick up the phone and start dialing her number before I remember that she’s not going to answer.”

The admission unnerves me, and a tear stings at my eye. I blink it away before anyone notices. “She was an amazing woman.”

“And a dear friend,” Mom adds.

“And the best mother anyone could ask for,” Tommy says.

“To Margaret,” Mom says raising her glass of water.

Tommy and I exchange smiles. “To Margaret.”

I
’M UP TO MY ELBOWS
in dishwater when the telephone rings. Mom sets down the plastic container she was filling with leftover turkey and answers it.

“Tommy, it’s for you.”

I spin around and watch as he takes the call.

He covers the mouthpiece. “It’s a girl,” he beams.

Mom grabs my hand and we smile and laugh.

“Tell them congratulations,” I say, and he conveys the sentiment to the proud new father.

“They send their thanks.”

“What did they name her?” Mom asks.

“Margaret,” he says. “For our mother.”

E
VEN THOUGH
M
OM
didn’t give up any information about Emily at Thanksgiving, I feel genuinely happy when I return to work on Monday. It was so good to see Tommy, and I’m happy for Maddie Rae and her new family. On top of that, there are three new babies in the nursery. Andrew Bryce Goodman is snoring in his bed, with cloth fists curled by his mouth, oblivious to Caitlin Taylor Green’s chitter chatter and Hannah Paige Sunday’s fussing. “Welcome to the world, ladies and gentleman. I’m so glad you’re here.”