A Change of Heart (8 page)

Her heart aching and feeling like a fool, Annabeth replaced the receiver and walked away.
 
She was so silly to get all worked up over predictions made by a pre-teen psychic.
 
Suddenly craving a treat, she walked into Ed and Betty's Bakery, her favorite spot to think since she was a girl, a blueberry muffin or brownie in front of her as she sat at one of the three small tables.

When no one came to greet her, Annabeth stepped behind the counter and into the doorway, looking beyond it into the kitchen.
 
Betty stood close to Ed, whispering something into his ear, while he smiled and reached his arm around her back, his hand, covered in flour and bits of dough, stuck outward in order to avoid dirtying her dress.
 
One of her hands rested lightly against his side and the other tenderly stroked Ed's cheek.
 
What had been a whisper turned into a slow soft kiss, not on his lips but on his neck. Annabeth began backing away slowly, her eyes still on the couple in front of her.
 
It was only a few steps back to the front of the store and then a few more outside to the street, where her car lay parked a block away.

What had Betty been whispering to Ed, Annabeth wondered as she passed all the places she had seen before.
 
She quivered a bit in thinking of it, of Betty and Ed, two ordinary people, long married and obviously well suited.
 
She got in her car, and after a couple of sputters, the engine turned over and she was able to drive it toward home, another new sound beneath the hood, something she thought of as a clanking noise, but it was not loud enough to distract her from her thoughts.

The summer heat raged outside, but her house was cool.
 
R.J. had insisted on air conditioning and they had installed a central unit long ago.
 
It was a relief to be inside, to be able to relax in the coolness, to remove her sweat dampened clothes and to toss them into the hamper in her closet.
 
She would shower, wrap up in a robe and watch some terrible rerun on television.
 
Annabeth undressed, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror on her closet door.
 
She stood back then looking at her reflection.

There was a middle aged woman in the mirror, someone she had suddenly turned into while her attention was focused elsewhere.
 
No longer was there a girl with long hair, or a firm body.
 
Now there was a rounded woman, not too tall, yet not short, since her teens too heavy, in fact heavier than she realized.
 
"Oh my," she sighed, turning one way and then the other.
 
"I'm so fat."
 
Her breasts were large, and although they did not sag, at least not at some angles, they were far from the perky movie star breasts one saw in magazines and films.
 
Her thighs and buttocks were dimpled, her belly round and soft, and striped like corrugated board with stretch marks.
 
She touched her waist, sighing.
 
Annabeth turned this way and that, surveying herself from every angle, sighing often.
 
She reached closer toward the mirror then, noting the slight crow's feet at her eyes, the downward lines forming at the sides of her mouth, more laugh lines than signs of aging, yet still unappealing to her. She touched her cheek, stretching the skin back toward her ears, giving herself an imaginary face lift.
 
She noted the slight puffiness of her face, swelling that would disappear should she lose a few pounds.
 
She shook her head then, saying, "No wonder he left.
 
I look God-awful."
 
Her heart ached, the way it would if someone she loved had died, but under the surface was a tiny thought, almost too vague for her to capture quite clearly.
 
R.J. looked no better than she did and she would never have left him.

Soon she stood under the shower, the water warm and comforting.
 
Her youth was gone, and that wasn't so terrible. She had done with her life what she had always envisioned.
 
The only problem was that she had no clue about what to envision next.
 
She was supposed to be with her husband; they were supposed to grow old together, be grandparents together.
 
Now what?

Annabeth sighed, thinking of Ed, his arms around Betty.
 
Her own husband was the only man ever to have touched her, the only man who'd ever held her in his arms.
 
She closed her eyes, remembering R.J. and his winning smile the night they met.
 
She thought of the nights she'd spent in his arms, so many they were beyond recalling, and some were just as tender as the moment she'd witnessed.
 
And now he was spending nights with….
 
Her eyes opened, and she turned off the water, stepping out of the tub and reaching for one of her large pink towels.

She had been downstairs for just a few moments when Annabeth heard a key turning in the lock.
 
Her heart skipped for an instant.
 
Could it be R.J.?
 
It was Laurel, looking like a grown woman, which amazingly was what she was.
 
Annabeth held her daughter in a long hug, then said, "How wonderful to have you home!"

"I'm not home, I'm here to drag you back to New Orleans.
 
I need help with my apartment--and Sally'll feed the cat.
 
It's already decided!"

"Oh?"
 
Annabeth smiled at her daughter.
 
She had always been this bossy but now it didn't look out of place.
 
She was no longer the pipsqueak looking up at Annabeth and saying in a scratchy voice, "You think you know more than me?"

"That new place I told you about--I signed the lease today.
 
And I need you to come back with me and help me paint it.
 
I want to do the kitchen cabinets like you did these.
 
And there are other places where you could paint some of your sweet little motifs."

"You can draw and paint a lot better than I can.
 
You don't need me."

"Mom, what you paint is you and it's completely unique.
 
I'm a display artist, not a painter and besides, I thought we'd paint the walls too--you know--with rollers.
 
You have to come and help me and I'll pay you!"

Annabeth laughed.
 
"How much?"

"I'll treat you to a shopping spree.
 
A new dress, whatever you want.
 
You could get something really pretty for Sally's party."

New Orleans was such a big city, so scary and huge, so filled with crime and well-meaning people warning you to guard your purse.
 
Annabeth had visited only once when Laurel first moved there.
 
It was funny in a way, because she had wanted to go there herself, when she was young, to go to art school, but it was Laurel who had actually done it, not Annabeth.
 
She had stayed at home in Gull's Perch, had made a life as a wife and mother.
 
Now that life was in serious jeopardy.
 
Could it be that this was her chance, a chance to pick up loose threads of her life, to reweave a little and see what she might have been?
 
Could it be that there would be a life for her in New Orleans, with Laurel?

"All right, sweetie, I'd love to come home with you.
 
Let me just call your dad and tell him where I'll be."
 
Annabeth reached for the phone then thought better of it.
 
Why bother?

"Where is he?"

Annabeth wanted to confide in someone, but she didn't want her daughter to be hurt, so she said only, "Oh, somewhere else," but it was obvious by Laurel's face that she read the situation only too clearly.
 

Laurel's eyes turned hard and she said, "Another one of his messes.
 
Remember that time he told my teacher he was a pilot?
 
Probably the only teacher conference he ever managed to attend.
 
And then the whole class went to the air base and I had to stand there while Dad's boss straightened the teacher out.
 
Jesus.
 
And of course that was a day he didn't even show up to work.
 
And the softball league he was going to form?
 
Supposedly getting the money for the uniforms and no show again."

"I know.
 
Just that your dad sometimes goes overboard wishing things were true.
 
He means well, really.
 
He loved going to those games--and felt sad each time he did because Hugh ended up coaching you girls.
 
He'd never hurt you on purpose."

"Oh yeah, right.
 
Like when he refused to pay for my braces and you had to sew hems and do mending, and I had that paper route and we got up at dawn to deliver them.
 
I got my braces--same week he got what--a thousand bucks worth of gym equipment he never even used."

Annabeth had heard these complaints forever, and she was used to her role as a mediator, although the last thing she felt like doing at the moment was praising her husband.
 
How tempting it was to agree, to say yes, he is a jerk, but Annabeth couldn't let herself think that or say it.
 
He was her husband and despite everything, she loved him still, and in her heart there were more good feelings about him than bad.
 
She knew that it was sometimes hard for people to understand R.J..
 
He had too much spirit.
 
"Oh hon, you're so hard on him.
 
Try to say something good about him.
 
You can think of good things about your dad, can't you?"
 
Annabeth waited for Laurel to answer and she thought of the good things about her husband.
 
He was exciting and full of plans.
 
He loved to dream.
 
He was….

"Sure I can.
 
He can really hold his liquor." Laurel continued, "And he can speak fluently with both his feet in his mouth."
 
Laurel's eyes narrowed as she thought of more things to say about her father, but instead she asked, "So what are you going to do now Mom?"

Annabeth swallowed hard.
 
The question she'd been asking herself since this whole mess began sounded so much worse when posed by her daughter.
 
She shook her head.
 
"I don't know.
 
I expected we'd travel, you know be grandparents."

Laurel patted her mother's shoulder, "You know Mom, you need to get in touch.
 
Nobody can be a career wife any more.
 
It's not a safe occupation.
 
The guy walks and you lose your love, your life, your job."

The terror that was mounting increased.
 
She could lose everything she'd built over a lifetime; it would all be over and there would be nothing left.
 
Her life would be like an empty cup, all drunk up and gone.
 
And where would she be in all this?
 
Just a ghost, a shadow, a former somebody.

Laurel's voice was calm.
 
"You need something of your own.
 
I'm not saying don't be married.
 
That'd be silly.
 
Just that we all need something of our own."

"Yes, I guess.
 
Something of my own…."
 
What could that be?
 
Annabeth wished that she could ask her daughter, but how could Laurel tell her that?
 
The something of her own that she'd always counted on was taking care of everyone else.
 
What other option did she want or have?
 
Annabeth didn't know, but she hoped that she would discover something in New Orleans.

It was a long, beautiful drive along the glistening Gulf of Mexico, through wooded lands of vibrant green, and then Annabeth was being led through Laurel's new apartment.
 
"It's big.
 
So spacious.
 
So bright," she commented.
 
Laurel had rented the second floor of an elegant old townhouse that was typical of many buildings in that area.
 
There were charmingly ornate iron gates out front, and upstairs was a large verandah that was bordered with the traditional New Orleans wrought iron balustrades.

"I told you," said Laurel.
 
"See, look at these old cabinets in the kitchen.
 
I want you to turn them into a beautiful garden scene with greens and pinks and some blue."

"I don't know," said Annabeth, flooded with doubt.
 
"You have a landlord.
 
What if he doesn't like it, or worse, gets angry at you?
 
Maybe we should just lacquer them plain white."

"I live here and it's going to be the way I want it."
 
Laurel was so strong, so definite and Annabeth regarded her with pride.
 
Nobody would walk all over Laurel.
 
They wouldn't dare!
 
Annabeth had never told anyone off, had never fought for anything, and she couldn't imagine having to, but she knew that Laurel could do so without blinking.
 
It was satisfying to be the mother of such a strong and successful person.
 
Something she had done must have been right.
 
It couldn't all be just a reaction against R.J..