Hush Little Baby (12 page)
We talk about everything and nothing. Jeffrey has strong opinions and enjoys a good debate. Tonight he talks about the upcoming presidential campaign and what strategy the beleaguered Republicans should employ to have a shot. I mostly listen, but being a staunch Republican, defend my side as best I can. I’m outmatched because I’m not nearly as well read, and halfway through our steak, I admit defeat and surrender.
The air stills with the pause in our banter, and even the music slows. He sets down his knife and puts his hand on mine. I should pull it away, but it’s warm and familiar and at this moment, the last thing I want to do is what I should.
“Jill.”
I raise my eyes to his.
“What happened?” There’s so much pain in the question that my heart aches. The time we spent together was insanely intense. When I returned from New Beginnings, I was so lost and broken. At first Jeffrey was a client, then a friend, then for a brief wonderful time, he was more—gentle, kind, funny, fun—my lover, my confidant, my love. I fell into the relationship like a gasping fish thrown back into the sea—desperate, needy, every free moment spent in his arms.
Gordon didn’t know. My father’s stroke was my excuse for why I continued to stay at my parents. I told him I needed to help my mom, to take care of things at the house for them, help with my dad. Though, the truth was, I couldn’t bear to be around my parents. The damage I’d caused was too much to bear. Seeing my dad struggling for life, knowing I was responsible, shattered me each time I saw him. Jeffrey became my rock, my escape, my crutch, and so much more.
Jeffrey was just as hungry. A bachelor of forty-two sounds glamorous, but for Jeffrey it was just old—for twenty years he’d been searching for a deeper connection and he thought he’d finally found it with me. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. I thought I wanted that, too. We made promises. Declared our love. Then I left.
My eyes turn to my half-eaten meal, and I shake my head. “I can’t explain other than I just needed to go back.”
His fingers wrap around my hand. They’re warm and so gentle I almost want to cry with relief that I’m not completely ruined, that I can still trust a man’s touch.
I pull my hand away.
“Jeffrey, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Those have to be the seven most dreaded words in the human language.”
I nod, and with great difficulty, tell him about yesterday and today. I tell him everything, including the entire list Gordon maligned me with this morning, certain that when I’m done, any love Jeffrey thought he had for me will be annihilated.
When I finish, he’s looking at me hard, his eyes fierce.
“He can’t do this,” he says.
And suddenly I’m scared.
Even in the dark, the heat in Jeffrey’s face shows and his pulse pounds in his neck, testosterone and caveman instinct coursing through him.
I take his hand, which is now a fist. “Jeffrey, look at me.” He’s looking at the door as though he wants to bolt through it and straight to Gordon to confront him in a duel. “Don’t get involved. I know you want to, but this is my problem and I’m dealing with it. Connor is helping me, and we’ll figure it out. You need to promise me you’ll stay out of it.”
His eyes are stone. He has no intention of staying out of it. Like Connor, Jeffrey believes me, but he doesn’t truly understand. He thinks he can fix this in a civilized manner, talk to Gordon or report him. Jeffrey is a civilized man.
My lips on his interrupt his thoughts. “Please,” I say as I pull away, “promise me you’ll let me handle it.”
He draws me into another kiss, his hand wrapping around my neck and pulling me into him, his tongue filling my mouth as his hungry lips strain to be gentle. He tastes of wine and caramel carrots, and I fall into the moment, forgetting yesterday and tomorrow, escaping into the easy love I remember and miss.
* * *
Outside Connor’s condo, Jeffrey slides his arms inside my coat, and the heat of his palms soaks through the thin cloth of my shirt and into my skin.
“You going to be okay?” he asks.
I nod.
His kiss is long and hungry, and I consider inviting him up to the condo with me, but something stops me. Even in the dark, away from my home and my family, I feel like Gordon’s watching. Jeffrey pulls away, taking the warmth with him.
“I’m here if you need me,” he says.
And I believe him.
I
watch Jeffrey’s taillights fade and wonder if it’s possible, if second chances for happiness really exist—a husband who loves me, who I trust and feel safe with.
As I wait for the elevator, I think how different my life would have been had I met Jeffrey first, how different I would have been.
But then there wouldn’t be Drew or Addie, so I banish the thought and alter it to a wish for tomorrow instead of yesterday. I pray for a future as blessed as tonight, but which includes my children. And for a moment, I believe the wish has a chance.
I walk into the condo to find Connor and Pete cuddled on the couch watching a movie. I smile at their reconciliation and Connor’s happiness.
“Jinks,” he says, stopping me before I’ve made it past them.
He sits up, disengaging himself from Pete’s arm.
“I spoke with my divorce lawyer friend and sent him a copy of the crap Gordon sent over, and it might not be as bad as it seems. Family court’s pretty forgiving of past mistakes. Keep your nose clean, and you’re gonna be fine.”
I hug him so long and hard, Pete interrupts, “Can I have him back now?”
I practically dance to my room. Before the door closes, my phone buzzes. I smile at the thought of Jeffrey calling to say another good night, then cringe as caller ID reveals it’s my mom.
“Where are you?” she snaps.
“Why?”
“Because Gordon said you were going to pick the kids up at ten and now it’s eleven.”
My mind spins. It’s Thursday; Gordon’s working again. He must have asked my mom to watch them and told her I’d get them. I’m confused, but overwhelmed with relief. There’s a rush in my bloodstream, the swift realization that things might not turn out as dismal as I believed.
“I’ll be right there,” I answer.
“An apology might be nice.”
I’m sorry
, I think, but don’t give her the satisfaction of saying it out loud. The apology isn’t for her anyway. It’s to my kids. How did I let it get to this point? How did I allow this to happen? No more mistakes—how hard can that be?
* * *
Before I climb from the car to retrieve my family, my phone buzzes.
How is it possible I miss you this much this soon? Jeffrey.
My heart smiles as I skip toward my mom, who stands, arms folded, in the doorway.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“What are you so happy about?” She whirls back into the house, and I follow her.
Addie’s curled on the couch, her chipped pink toenails peeking out beneath the chenille throw that’s draped over her, her mouth gaped open and drooling—in such a deep sleep, I envy her. Drew dully watches the blinking television across from him. His eyes slide to where I am, then settle back to a catatonic stare on the cartoon.
My heart swells so quickly at the sight of them, I’m certain it will explode.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” Drew says back, and I read too much into the tone—anger, disappointment, fear.
How many more chances will he give me to get it right? He’s eight and already I’ve let him down more times than I can count.
He stands sleepily and stumbles over to me. I kneel down, and he falls into my arms, his head nestling into the curve of my shoulder. I inhale his boy scent and kiss his soft neck.
At least one more chance, he’s giving me at least one more shot to get it right.
“Come on, big guy, let’s get you and your sister to bed.”
He nods and picks up the bag that holds their belongings while I pick up Addie. Her thumb moves to her mouth, and I wonder briefly when she started sucking her thumb again, and whether the recent upheaval caused the regression.
I strap them into their seats and debate where to drive. With no other option, I drive toward our home. A block from the house, flashing lights appear in my rearview mirror. I pull to the curb and watch in the side mirror as the officer approaches.
“License and registration.”
I recognize him. He was at the Orange County law enforcement gala that honored Gordon and others for their heroic acts over the last decade. Gordon received special commendation for pulling a family to safety during the Laguna Beach floods. There’s a three-inch scar on his shoulder, a remnant of the gash he received when a piece of debris sliced him as he carried a six-year-old from a floating truck to higher ground.
The officer’s name is Craig or something. I look at the brass plate above his pocket. G. Lackey. Gregg. His name is Gregg, and his date was Laura. She complimented my dress; I complimented her shoes.
“Hi, Gregg,” I say.
“License and registration,” he repeats, and the glimmer of hope I had is snuffed out as I recognize instantly in his posture, the set of his jaw, and the twitch in his cheek, the setup.
I reach for the documents.
“Have you been drinking?” My heart fills with dread.
The thought of my name in the local police blotter along with the urinating drunks and purse snatchers swirls in my overfull brain.
“Mommy.”
My head jerks to Addie in the backseat. I forgot they were there, and suddenly, what started as humility turns to panic.
Child endangerment.
The words tick like a bomb not allowing for any other thought.
My head shakes back and forth, and I begin to see red. How is it I continue to underestimate my husband?
He knew I had a client dinner. He knew I’d be drinking.
“He told you to pull me over,” I say, the documents between me and the officer, my hand not willing to release.
“Ma’am, I need you to step from the car.”
I hold tight and wait for his eyes to find mine. “Don’t do this,” I say. “It’s not right.”
“Neither is trying to take a man’s kids.” And he pulls the paper from my hands.
I
blew a .085—officially, legally drunk—and because the kids were with me, the charges include child endangerment.
“Supervised visits,” Connor says. We’re in his office, and he’s relaying his friend’s opinion of the most I can hope for based on my latest debacle. “I’m sorry,” he says. He looks almost as bad as I feel. He didn’t fully believe me when I first told him what Gordon was capable of, but he’s beginning to. Last night, when he bailed me out, he found out Gregg Lackey is Claudia’s cousin. Not that it makes a hill of beans of difference. I was driving, and I was legally drunk.
“Supervised visits, what does that mean?” I ask.
“It means your history combined with what happened last night gives Gordon a strong case for sole custody. And chances are, if you want to visit them, the visits will need to be supervised by an approved provider.”
“Like a babysitter?” I’m mortified beyond words and numb with disbelief. “He set me up,” I mutter lamely. I’m a fool, an utter fool.
He nods, his expression a mixture of anger and defeat. “Looks like he’s been setting you up for a while. We could try and fight,” he offers.
“Based on what, my word?”
“Based on the truth and because you can’t let him have Addie and Drew.”
My head nods in agreement as I argue against him. “Good morning, Your Honor, I’d like you to award me custody of my kids and issue a restraining order against my hero husband, because although there’s not a shred of evidence to prove it, he’s violent and insane. Oh, and by the way, the mountain of evidence he’s compiled against me and my deficiencies as a mother, and my criminal record, I’d appreciate it if you could just ignore that.”
I’m crying now, sobbing actually, and Connor’s arm is around me, and tears leak from his eyes as well. “I’m sorry,” he says.
And I know he is.
* * *
I return to my office, close my door, and put my head on my desk. Last night, when I was arrested, Drew was terrified. It’s the second time in less than a year he tried to save me.
As I was being led to the cruiser, Drew managed to get himself out of the car. He ran toward us and kicked and punched at the officer. Gregg held out his hand to fend him off, and Drew stumbled. I whirled to put myself between them and fell to my knees as Drew righted himself and charged again, this time throwing his arms around my neck.
“It’ll be okay,” I said.
“Don’t go.”
“I have to, but I’ll be back. I’m not going to leave you.” Even as I said the words, I knew they were a lie. “Daddy’s on his way. He’s coming to take you and Addie home.”
With incredible courage, my boy let go and watched as I was led away.
I lift my head and stare at the picture of my family on my desk until the phone interrupts.
“Why would I want to renew the policy early?” I say to the insurance rep on the other side of the line.
“I asked your husband the same question when he called today, but he was very insistent, said he wanted to extend the policy for another year.”
My mind spins. Gordon’s up to something, but I’m unable to solve the riddle.
The agent continues, “I’m calling because I didn’t realize when I was talking to your husband that you’re forty now. Before the policy can be renewed, you need a physical.”
The puzzle snaps into place, and I wish I were still confused. Gordon’s the beneficiary. If I die, his money problems will be solved. Nausea rises like a fist in my throat.
He’s hedging his bet in case I’m pregnant. He needs to extend the policy in the event he needs to wait before I can die.
He’s going to kill me.
* * *
My first thought is to flee.
My second is such reprehension for my cowardice it’s impossible to breathe. A good person’s first thoughts would have been of Drew and Addie.
I drive to the minimart, then back to work.
In the restroom, I crouch on the toilet and wait.
The test is glaringly negative—not a partial, not a maybe, a very clear, red minus sign.
