Marrying Daisy Bellamy (29 page)

As a child, had she noticed the sadness in her parents?
Not consciously, no. She'd focused like a camera lens on the happier moments and maybe her brother had done the same. But both of them had ended up as collateral damage—she with her reckless behavior and Max with his school troubles.

Now she turned her fastest portrait lens on her dad as he and his wife, Nina, participated in a fierce match of bocce balls on the lawn, their opponents her uncle Philip and his second wife, Laura. Both her dad and his brother were blissfully remarried. Neither got it right until the second time around.

Feeling weirdly guilty about her own thoughts, she returned to the banquet area, capturing a shot of little Zoe carefully mounding whipped cream onto a serving of berry cobbler. In the background was Logan, chatting up Max as they both helped themselves to seconds.

“I like a man with a hearty appetite,” said a voice behind her.

“Grandma.” Daisy set aside the camera and gave her a hug.

“It's a glorious day, isn't it? Perfect weather for the reunion. Come sit with me. I need to get off my feet for a few minutes.” They retreated to a pair of luxurious club chairs in the deserted reception area. “Now,” said her grandmother, “tell me what's troubling you.”

Daisy gave a short laugh. “Direct as ever.”

“Dearie, when you're my age, you learn to get to the point.”

“Why do you think something's troubling me?”

“I know that look.”

“What look?”

“The one you were wearing just now, when you were taking a picture of your husband.”

Daisy drew a deep breath, reminding herself that
Grandma was safe to talk to. She was one of the most beloved and trusted people in Daisy's life. “Logan and I are in a weird place.”

“Darling, marriage is a weird place, make no mistake. Sometimes I wonder why it was ever invented.”

“Grandma!”

“So speak. Tell me about this metaphorical weird place.”

“Logan and I…it's not working out the way we'd envisioned. And don't get me wrong, I didn't romanticize things or expect the impossible.”

“There's your first mistake. Sometimes the only way to get through the rough patches is to over-romanticize and expect the moon. You have to take each other's most annoying traits and turn them into virtues. I recall spending the whole of 1967 pretending to love the hippie beard your grandfather grew.”

Daisy laughed, trying to picture her buttoned-down granddad with a beard. Then she shook her head and laughter gave way to a painful hiccup of tears. “I'm afraid…all the pretending in the world only magnifies the fact that we're pretending. This past year, I kept thinking things would get better. We acted as if everything was fine, but it keeps getting harder and more strained.” She swallowed past the thick despair in her throat. “A few months ago, both of us were thinking that getting married might have been a huge mistake. We were moving toward a really difficult conversation—about splitting up. Then Julian came home, and…it didn't seem right.”

“You didn't want to dump your husband just because your ex-fiancé showed up,” her grandmother said bluntly.

“That's part of it,” Daisy admitted. “Only part. I'm so scared of repeating my parents' mistakes.”

“Daisy, what do you want to do?”

“I want to be madly, passionately in love with my husband.” Willfully she drove away a flash of fantasy that had nothing to do with Logan. “I want him to feel that way about me. But I'm beginning to wonder if that's possible with
any
one.”

Her grandmother's eyes grew misty as she gazed out across Willow Lake. Daisy had the sense that Grandma was reliving something in the distant past. “Oh, yes,” her grandmother said quietly. “It most certainly is.”

“I ask myself that every day. I started asking long before Julian returned. And I have a feeling Logan's been asking himself the same thing. Neither of us has a satisfactory answer.”

“Nor do I.”

“I'm working on it. I really am.”

Jane hesitated, then turned her pale eyes back to Daisy. “Sometimes we don't get what we want no matter how hard we try. Dear, listen to me. I'm not perfect but I've learned a thing or two in my time. Most important of all, listen to your heart. What is your heart telling you?”

Daisy bit her lip. “That I'm a terrible person because I got married for the wrong reasons, and now Charlie is feeling the effect. And that…Julian never really left my heart, even when he was presumed dead.” She said the last on a broken note of pain. “I
am
terrible.”

“You're not. You're human and flawed, and beating yourself up over it will get you nowhere.” Grandma took her hand. “I wish I were as wise as I am old, but unfortunately, I'm human, too. I can only tell you this—live your life and be happy. That's all you can do.”

D
aisy allowed Charlie and Blake both to spend the reunion weekend at Camp Kioga, in one of the vintage bunkhouses with an assortment of cousins. She pictured them staying up until all hours, giggling and telling ghost stories, sneaking to the kitchen for a midnight feast. Like all kids, Charlie was happiest when he was unplugged and in the fresh outdoors. She knew he'd come home grubby and exhausted but filled with memories.

She pulled up to the house, parked and got out. Twilight was coming on, gilding the neighborhood with a soft glow. It really was a lovely house; people commented on it all the time. Logan had been fixing it up for years. She still remembered the day she'd driven up in time to see him slide off the roof. The memory would always make her cringe in fear for him. People were so fragile. He'd survived the fall, though, and now the house was their home.

She'd done her share of work, getting every room just so and turning the garden into a riot of flowers. And yes, the white picket fence was a cliché, but it looked perfect
there at the front boundary of the lawn. Soon, the sugar maples would be turning, and the colors would change. She could already smell the autumn coming, when the wind shifted just so.

As she gathered her things from the car, the neighbors, Bart and Sally Jericho, drove up and waved. They didn't linger to visit. Daisy had nurtured high hopes that they'd become friends, but since Bart had witnessed Logan's scene at the country club, there was a distinct chill that hadn't existed before.

Shouldering her big straw tote bag and camera bag, she headed inside. The house was too quiet, and an indistinct smell hung in the air. For some reason, the atmosphere depressed her. It depressed her to see the walls and baseboards and furniture she'd labored over in a vain attempt to find the joy in her life with Logan. Staying busy was no substitute for true happiness.

She turned on the radio for a little background noise. The thud of a car door alerted her that Logan was home. He came inside, his attention glued to the screen of his iPhone.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

“How'd you like the reunion?” she asked.

“It was fine. Good to catch up with all your folks. Charlie seemed pretty happy with it all.”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “It's still pretty early. Want to see what's playing at the Palace?”

“No, thanks. I've got some stuff to do on my computer. Then I thought I'd turn in early.”

“All right. Logan—”

“Daisy—”

They both spoke at once, interrupting each other.
“You first,” she said. Every muscle in her body felt tense, as though bracing for a blow.

“I'm sorry as hell about the slip,” said Logan. “And today, too. I wasn't in the best of moods.”

“Don't worry about it. I'm glad you're back in the program. And I owe you an apology, too. I stopped remembering how hard sobriety is for you because you make it look so easy. I breezed out of here and went along to work. I wish—”

“Daisy. We need to talk.”

No good conversation had ever started with those four words:
We need to talk
.

In the ensuing pause, she was tempted to do the old-Daisy thing, jump in and reassure them both that everything was fine, just fine. She always avoided upsetting him, not wanting him to ever have a reason to take a drink. Now she knew that was not her job. Only he could keep himself sober.

She sensed they were on the verge of having the most honest conversation they'd ever had. A cold lump formed in her throat. “Tell me what you're thinking,” she said.

He grabbed a cream soda from the fridge and offered it to her. She shook her head, so he opened it and took a slug. “I'm thinking it's time to face facts.”

“Facts about…us?” she asked, her voice wavering.

He set aside the soda bottle. “Neither one of us is doing anything wrong. We're not bad people.”

“Did anyone say we were?”

“No, just listen, okay? We made a mistake. I made a mistake.”

“About us, you mean.” She felt light-headed, slightly nauseous.

He nodded. “All along, for years, I've thought you were the love of my life, but it was your life I loved.”

Understanding glimmered in Daisy, giving way to a deep sense of defeat. “My life,” she said, “was not exactly a huge party.”

“I know, but I wanted to be part of it because you had this great kid who happened to be mine, and a great family that totally accepted me, and all of that was incredibly attractive to me. So much so that I carried a torch for you, and when you were practically destroyed by the report of Julian's death, I was there for you. When we first got married, I felt like I'd won something—the girl, the kid, the life. It didn't quite cover up the fact that you and I…hell. We made a great kid together, but we don't make a great couple.”

She stood frozen on the spot, almost forgetting to breathe. She'd wanted honesty; now he was bludgeoning her with it. He was saying things she herself had thought, yet she'd buried them so deep, she never voiced them. But now she felt the painful truth of it. She and Logan shared a deep regard for one another, they both adored their son, but the marriage wasn't right, and every day it got harder to pretend. Julian's return had not caused this situation, but it was forcing them to face it.

Logan gestured around the kitchen, the café curtains perfectly aligned, the furniture painstakingly arranged. “We've been completely focused on making a family for Charlie, not making a life with each other.”

She dropped her head, stared at the warm oak floor. “I hate the idea that we failed.”

“Then let's not fail. You're the mother of my child and I'll always love that about you. What I've figured out, what we both know, is that being his parents will
always be a bond between us, but it's not a strong enough foundation to build a life on.”

“Oh, Logan.” She couldn't say any more past the lump in her throat.

“Charlie knows it, too. Maybe not specifically but he knows something's not right, and it's not good for him. We're seeing that in his behavior at school. It's not good for any of us.”

“Do you think there's a chance we could fix this?”

“There's always a chance. But what if we spend the next twenty or forty or fifty years trying, and it never works for us?” he asked.

She squirmed inwardly, not wanting to think about the answer. When it came to marriage, how long was long enough? “I hate that this is happening,” she said, hugging her midsection against a pain she couldn't escape. “How did we get here?”

“One thing I can finally admit—it's not because of Julian's resurrection and the way it shook everything up. We were already in trouble.”

“Yes,” she shakily admitted.

“I thought you needed me.”

“I did. I do—”

“You need—I don't know. I didn't see this coming, back when we got together. I saw somebody I made Charlie with, and it seemed like the right thing to do. Maybe it was, back then. But it didn't last. We went into this for the wrong reasons, and it's not working. You know that, Daisy. You
know
.”

Tears tracked down her cheeks. “So now what?” she asked in a heavy whisper.

“Now we both get real. It'd be good to come up with some kind a plan before Charlie gets home.” A
plan
. “You're breaking up with me?”

He poured out the bottle of cream soda into the sink, then turned back to her. “Daisy-Bell. We're breaking up with each other.”

 

The divorce was horrible, as divorces always had to be, even when both parties agreed to part ways. They told Charlie together, and he cried, and Daisy and Logan cried and said all the right things—they both loved him, they would always be a family, they would make their new life work, somehow. Eventually, Charlie came to a quiet acceptance. Daisy took him and Blake to live at the Inn at Willow Lake in the boathouse on the property. In the shadow of her father's quiet worry, she dedicated herself to helping Charlie heal.

When she went to tell Julian, it was with a sense of defeat, not joy. “I need time,” she said. “I have to focus on Charlie. And…I'm not ready to talk about this.”

“I understand,” he told her, but she wasn't sure he did. How did a man who had been imprisoned and tortured empathize with someone like her? He took her hands in his. It was the first time they'd touched since his return, and she almost cried from the sweetness of it.

“I have to go away for a while,” he said.

She took her hands from his. “Away…where?” No, she thought. The air force couldn't take him from her again. Then she reminded herself that she didn't have him.

“It's got a fancy name—the Haven Behavioral War Heroes Hospital. They treat military personnel with combat stress injuries and PTSD.”

Her throat tightened with fear. His recovery had been so swift, and he looked like the picture of health. But inside, he was still bleeding somewhere from secret wounds. She'd been an idiot to assume he'd simply pick
up his life where he'd left off. There were some things, she thought, that even love couldn't fix.

“Oh, Julian. Of course you have to go.” She slipped her hands into his again.

“Doctor's orders.”

“Yes.”

“But, Daisy—do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

He flashed her the special smile that used to melt her heart. It still did. “Wait for me.”

“As long as it takes,” she said softly. She didn't know what else to say. They were both so damaged by all that had happened. She prayed that once they both healed, they could find their way back to one another.

 

The days melted into weeks and then months. Daisy found a place of her own, needing to break away from her father and stepmother, because it was too tempting to ease back into dependence on them. She felt in her bones that splitting up with Logan was the right thing to do, yet guilt and sadness still haunted her. Daily phone calls from Julian offered a splash of hope. Still, she knew she had to find a away to be on her own before she could even think of being with someone else—even Julian.

“There's something so…defeating about this,” Daisy told Sonnet, who came up one weekend to help her move. “It's like, I made this giant mistake and—”

“Whoa, hold it right there.” Sonnet set down a basket of clothes she'd brought into the new house. Daisy had found a rental cottage on the lake, with a dog run and a small dock. It was sweet, but didn't feel like home. She didn't know what home was anymore.

Sonnet turned to her. “You made the best choice
you could under the circumstances and it was not a mistake.”

“But Charlie—”

“Is going to be all right. He still has a mom and dad who love him. He feels secure and he knows life is good. That's all a kid needs. Believe me, I know.”

Daisy paused, regarding Sonnet—her stepsister, her best friend—with a wave of gratitude. She was a veritable poster girl for growing up with a single parent. “You do know. I'm sorry, here I am fretting about my situation, and you've actually lived it, and you're spectacular.” It was true. Sonnet's parents—her mother, Nina, and her father, an ambitious, African-American West Point cadet, had never been together. Yet Sonnet had managed to grow up happy and healthy. As an adult, she'd made a successful, remarkable life for herself.

“Just know you and Charlie are going to be fine,” Sonnet told her.

“Sometimes I can totally believe it. Other times, I wonder what the hell I'm doing with my life.”

“The good news is, you don't have to think about any of that right now. Just settle into your new house, take a deep breath, and take your time.”

“Listen to you, going all wise woman on us,” said Zach, backing into the house with a hand truck stacked with boxes.

“You got any better advice?” Sonnet asked. “Because if you do, we might forgive you for eavesdropping.”

“I wasn't eavesdropping,” he said. “I was listening to the conversation openly.”

“How is that different from eavesdropping?”

Their bickering made Daisy smile. She knew—she'd always known—what was beneath it.

“Where's Charlie?” asked Zach.

“With his dad. I'll go pick him up tomorrow.”

“How's that going?” asked Sonnet.

“I was a single mom until he was five. This is not so different, except that Charlie's older and he asks more questions.”

She didn't let herself speculate on the impact of this transition on her son. It was too easy to focus on the process, and the kid had an uncanny radar for tension.

The family therapist they were now seeing cautioned her to relax, be honest and forgive both Logan and herself.

Alongside Sonnet and Zach, she worked steadily, organizing the house. Blake seemed happy enough to sniff and explore every corner of the place. Every so often, Daisy would pause to look out at the lake, its surface ruffled by a stiff breeze, a bank of brooding clouds pushing in from the west. There was something calming about this view, even in turbulent weather. Willow Lake had always been a special place to her. Its vastness, the arc of trees along the shore, the quality of the light glancing off the surface, took her away somewhere, to a place of clarity and simplicity.

For whole moments at a time, if she was lucky.

A brief whir and the sputter of an engine signaled the arrival of the mail. Blake gave a woof, but obeyed when Daisy commanded the dog to stay on the porch while she hiked up the driveway to the mailbox and brought in the stack of letters and catalogs. It was the usual detritus—catalogs filled with things she didn't need, solicitations from credit cards to spend money she didn't have, a thank you note from a grateful bride: “Thank you for capturing the happiness Matt and I will enjoy for the rest of our lives.”