Never Again Good-Bye (8 page)

W
es was proud of himself. He had managed to drive home without running into any cars, without driving off an embankment, without slamming into any brick walls. He had not self-destructed.

He walked into his empty house and dropped his keys on the telephone table. He still had an hour before Amy got home from school. One hour to fall apart and put himself back together again.

His bedroom was dark, and he went in and sat on the bed—Patrice’s side—and gazed at the eight-by-ten picture of her he kept on the nightstand. He clutched his arms across his stomach and doubled over as the agony deep in his soul bubbled to the surface. Wilting, he lay on the bed on her pillow. “Patrice,” he cried, as tears squeezed out of his eyes.

His voice made the darkness darker, the loneliness lonelier. He grabbed the pillow from under the bedspread and clutched it against his chest. “I miss you,” he whispered as he wept.

He didn’t cry for long. His tears reached deep inside and tore great chunks from what was left of his heart. When he was spent he lay on his back still clutching the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

What would he do when Amy was with Laney? He couldn’t bear to come home to this empty house, to sleep without checking on her at night, and to wake without her early-morning smiles and her childish demands for things she knew he wouldn’t let her have for breakfast. The loneliness would kill him. Yet there was nothing he could do.

Was it his destiny to love only for a while and never learn to say good-bye?

L
aney sat in the frilly bedroom she had decorated for Amy and looked at the pink and white dust ruffle beneath the soft pink comforter, at the subdued wallpaper, and at the French Provincial furniture that had been delivered the day before. Would Amy like what she had done to this room? she wondered. Would she see the love that had gone into it? Would she feel the warmth that Laney knew she could give her?

She pulled her feet up on the bed and folded her arms over her knees. Her daughter. Her baby. Was life finally making itself up to her, or was she setting herself up for a fall?

No, she thought. There was no room for fear. She would look ahead to the talks they would have in this room, to the questions she would answer, and to the love they would exchange. She deserved that love. She closed her eyes and tried to picture Amy’s exuberant smile and that long winter gown that transformed her from tomboy to princess.

Mommy, who was the first boy you ever liked?

There was a boy named Georgie who sat next to me in the second grade
.

Did he pull your hair?

Every chance he got. And he wrote on me and threw dirt at me at recess and tied my shoelaces together … It was true love
.

Mommy, why didn’t you ever get married?

Laney opened her eyes to the empty room. “Because there was too much unfinished business, too many ties, too many questions,” she whispered. “Because I could never move on with my life as long as I’d left you behind.”

Her heart ached with the pain that had presided in her soul for so long. It would work, she told herself. It would work for all of them. Even Wes. Laney would make it work.

She closed her eyes and imagined the little girl tucked into the bed, smiling up at her. “I’ll try to make it easy for you,” she whispered to the absent child. “And for your daddy.”

Quiet was all the response she got, leaving her with a cool, empty feeling that she expected to be temporary. When she had summoned all her strength, she pulled off of the bed and went to the telephone in the den. He’d be waiting for her call, she thought. Waiting fearfully, miserably for her to tell him when she wanted to take Amy. If only he could see how right this was, she thought, he would be happy.

The phone rang four times before a quiet, masculine voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hi,” she said simply.

Silence.

“I thought we should talk about our schedule,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she went on, going through the speech she had rehearsed over and over in her mind. “If it’s all right, I’d like to have her this weekend, and then I was thinking that I could keep her after school until you get home, so she doesn’t have to stay with the baby-sitter. When school’s out I could keep her during the day, and you could have her at night. That way, her life wouldn’t be disrupted. When she’s more used to me, we could alternate weekends and maybe work up to a night or two a week.”

“And if it’s not all right?”

She heard the anger vibrating in his voice. “Wes, it won’t be ideal for either of us. It’ll be hard for me to let her go at the end of the day.”

“The sacrifices you’re willing to make,” he said sarcastically.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to go on. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I want to pick her up at ten o’clock. I’ll bring her back Sunday.”

No answer.

“Look at the bright side,” she offered. “You can date without getting a baby-sitter. You could go out tomorrow and—”

“I don’t exactly feel like celebrating,” he said.

She gave a limp sigh. “No, I don’t suppose you do.” An idea occurred to her, and her eyes found new life. “You could come over here for dinner tomorrow night. Make sure that everything’s going well. It might make you feel better. Amy too. I think it’s important for her to see us as friends.”

“She knows we’re not friends,” he said.

“Still,” she tried again, “we could try.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

“Ten o’clock, then?”

“You’re running this show.”

She brought a shaky hand to her forehead. Why did he insist on making this so difficult? “All right. I’ll see you both then.”

The click told her he had hung up. She set the phone in its cradle and tried not to feel the anguish, the misery he was feeling. She tried to erase the image of haunted green eyes from her mind, tried to forget the defeated slump of his broad shoulders as he’d stormed out of the court building that afternoon. Friendship between them seemed impossible, and that was a shame because they needed each other tonight.

But tonight would be over soon enough, she thought finally. And tomorrow she would have Amy.

Chapter Seven

W
hen he answered the door the following morning, Wes’s eyes were tired and red and filled with an undisguised contempt Laney feared she would always see there. His brown hair was tousled, as if he hadn’t yet thought to brush it, and his shirttail hung out over his jeans. Without greeting her, he stepped back and let her into the quiet house.

Laney smoothed her French braid with a trembling hand and stepped inside. Amy sat on the couch, staring down at her hands clasped in her lap like a little girl about to be taken to reform school for having done nothing wrong.

“Hi, Amy,” she said cautiously.

Amy didn’t answer.

Laney turned back to Wes. “Please,” she mouthed, pleading for him to act civil, “for Amy’s sake.”

Wes took a deep breath and looked at his daughter. He wet his lips, as if he were about to speak, but nothing came out. After another visual entreaty from Laney, he sat down beside Amy.

“Your hair looks nice,” he told Laney in a poor attempt at sounding friendly. “Maybe you can do that to Amy’s hair. I’m not too good with things like that.”

“Of course I can do hers,” Laney said.

When Amy didn’t respond, Laney returned her troubled eyes to Wes. Even through his dislike she saw his vulnerability, his plea for her to tread lightly, and the silent repetition of his wish of weeks ago:
I hope you’re a decent person
. She reached out and touched his arm to reassure him. Amazingly he didn’t pull away, and he didn’t tense up. And for a fleeting moment Laney thought she would rather do anything in the world than hurt him.

“Will …” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat and tried again. “Will you be coming for supper?”

Amy looked up at that, her big eyes pleading.

“Yes, I’ll come,” he said finally. Then, forcing a smile, he said, “I never miss a good home-cooked meal.”

Laney arranged her smile so that Amy wouldn’t see the turmoil within her. “Amy, did you pack your bathing suit?”

The child shook her head negatively.

“She doesn’t have one,” Wes said. “She’s outgrown last year’s, and we haven’t gotten her another one.”

“No problem,” Laney said. “We’ll go shopping and buy you one. I’ve always wanted to take you shopping.”

Amy shrugged indifferently.

“Well, we’d better get going,” Laney said. “Your dad probably has a lot of things to do.”

“Yeah,” he said miserably.

Amy stood up and got her small overnight case, then followed Laney to the front door. Wes walked behind them and opened the door. Amy headed for the car before Laney was out of the house.

Laney turned back to Wes, his arm propped on the doorjamb as he stared wistfully after Amy, his eyes wide and misty.

“You should get some sleep,” Laney told him quietly. “She’ll be fine.”

His throat convulsed, and he nodded.

“Supper’s at six,” she added.

He couldn’t answer. Somehow, Laney understood why. Turning, she followed her daughter to the car, hoping that things would take a turn for the better.

But they didn’t. The shopping spree proved to be disastrous. Amy, who still refused to speak to her, showed no preference for anything and even declined to try on a swimming suit. Taking a guess at her size, Laney took a chance and bought one anyway.

Before they left the mall, which was busy with chattering Saturday shoppers, Laney led Amy to Baskin-Robbins for ice cream. But Amy found nothing to interest her. Even McDonald’s had no appeal to the child, so Laney finally gave up and took Amy home.

The room would do it, she thought. When Amy saw that bedroom she would flip. It was every little girl’s dream, and it had been custom decorated just for Amy. But when she led Amy through the big house and to her room, Amy didn’t bat an eye.

“It was the way I wanted my room to look when I was little,” Laney said. “I thought you would like it too.”

Nothing.

“Well … you can get used to it later. What do you say we have sandwiches out by the pool?”

With a weary lift of her shoulders, Amy indicated she didn’t care.

The sandwiches went untouched, and though Laney had convinced Amy to put on her new swimming suit, which proved to be a little tight, she couldn’t get Amy to even stick her foot in the water. Finally giving up trying to pretend that they were getting along well, Laney pulled a chair up to face Amy. Amy seemed preoccupied with the hedges surrounding the yard.

“Amy, I know this is hard for you. Finding out I’m your mother and—”

“My mother died,” the girl interrupted.

Laney paused. A warm breeze flitted through Amy’s hair, and a strand reached across her lips. Laney reached out to push it back, but Amy recoiled from her touch. Laney’s hand hovered in the air between them, and she told herself not to cry. Amy wasn’t trying to hurt her. She was just trying to protect herself the best way she knew how. Controlling the ache of tears behind her eyes, Laney tried again. “I know how you feel. Believe it or not, I do. I lost my mom when I was nine. And things were never the same after that.”

She got no reaction, but she went on. “Amy, I’m not trying to take the place of your mother or your father. It’s just that I love you, too, and I want to know you. I want to be your friend.”

“What time is it?” Amy asked coldly.

Failure, Laney thought. She was failing at the only thing that was important to her. Laney made herself breathe. “It’s about four-thirty. Why?”

“I wish my daddy was here.”

Laney accepted the child’s verbal blow without letting the pain show on her face. “He isn’t coming until six. But we could go ahead and start supper. I was going to make hamburgers and French fries. If you want, you can make the patties.”

“No, thank you,” Amy whispered.

A lump the size of her heart rose in Laney’s throat, not to be swallowed down. “All right.” She cleared her throat, but her voice still vibrated. “Let’s go inside, then, and you can change back into your clothes and watch TV while I cook. I’ve been taping
Sesame Street
for the last few days. We could put the tape in.”

“I’m too big for
Sesame Street
,” Amy said indignantly.

The last remnants of Laney’s confidence dissolved. “We’ll find something else, then.”

Quietly she led Amy back into the house and flipped around for something on the television. When she drew no response from Amy, she withdrew to the kitchen.

She collapsed against the refrigerator as tears rolled down her cheeks. It’s wrong, she thought miserably. All wrong. She had ruined everything! Laney ground her fist against her mouth to muffle her sobs. It wasn’t working. Amy hated her. What was she going to do?

Methodically, she started to make the patties, pounding them into circles. She didn’t even know if Amy
liked
hamburgers. When she’d planned it she’d been certain that every child liked them. But Amy’s reaction had been so … indifferent.

Slapping a patty onto the wax paper, she wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. Amy’s reaction to
everything
had been that way. Especially to her. Laney knew they couldn’t go on this way. But today Amy was stronger than she was.

She had originally intended to cook the hamburgers on the grill, but that was when she’d planned for Amy to be enjoying herself in the pool. Fool of fools, she had even had visions of the three of them tossing a Frisbee while the smell of grilled burgers wafted across the yard. Now she set out a frying pan and dropped the patties in. When they and the French fries were under control, she went back to the den.

Amy was wiping her eyes, as if her tears were a weakness she needed desperately to hide. With a tiny sniffle, she turned her face away from Laney.

It was no use, Laney told herself. All the child wanted was to go home. Maybe sending her home would finally mean doing something right. Maybe they could try again tomorrow.

Stooping down in front of her, Laney set her hands on her daughter’s knees. “Amy, I’m not going to make you stay here tonight if you don’t want to. When your dad comes, you can go home with him if you want.”

Amy wiped her eyes with the heels of her hand. “OK,” she whispered.

OK, Laney thought. The least hostile word Amy had uttered all day. She had finally given Amy something she wanted.

Pulling herself together, she went back to the kitchen. The fries were popping, the burgers were sizzling, but Laney only stared at them. There was no need to slice tomatoes, wash lettuce, or chop onions. She had the dismal feeling that none of it would be eaten.

The doorbell rang, and she looked at her watch. It was a quarter to six, but she knew it was Wes, who had probably counted the minutes until he could see his daughter and make sure she was all right. If only she could open the door and let him see Amy giggling and playing, dragging him to her room to show him how beautiful it was, coaxing him into taking a swim. Instead, she would have to let him see that he’d been right all along.

Before Laney made it to the door, Amy had let her father in and had thrown her arms around his neck. She was clinging to him as if she couldn’t bear the thought of him letting her go. His eyes met Laney’s with alarm at the desperate embrace, but she had no reassurance to offer him.

“Daddy, can we go home?”

“Well, honey—”

“It’s OK,” Laney cut in, her lips trembling. “I told her that she could leave when you got here. She hasn’t eaten all day, and she’s hardly said anything …” Her voice trailed off, and she turned her face away. “I have supper ready, but if she doesn’t want to—”

“I want to go home,” Amy whispered.

Wes gave Laney a look that was half apology, half thanks. “She didn’t sleep very well last night,” he offered.

“None of us did,” Laney said.

“No.” Wes noted the red rims of Laney’s eyes for the first time. He had been trying to see her as some shrew who manipulated life to make it suit her. What he saw now was a broken woman trying desperately to hold herself together until he left, the way he had done for her this morning. Love was a miserable thing, he thought suddenly. Their love for a child was destroying them, little by little. And it was destroying Amy.

Laney handed him Amy’s overnight case, and tears brimmed in her eyes. “We’ll try again, maybe tomorrow, huh, Amy?” she asked in a quivering voice.

Amy just buried her face in her father’s neck.

Wes backed out of the doorway. “We’ll talk after I get her settled down,” he promised. “I’ll call and we’ll talk.”
There has to be a better way
, his eyes said.

“I’ll be here,” she managed to say.

And as she watched him carry Amy to the car, she thought how ironic her last remark had been. Where else on earth would she go? She had no one except that little girl who had shattered her dreams in one day.

But as devastated as she was, Laney was still determined to make things work out. She was not going to say good-bye to her daughter again.

H
ow were they all going to get through this? Wes asked himself later that night. Amy had cried her heart out all the way home, and she had collapsed in exhaustion before she’d even had a chance to eat.

It was just like a year ago when Patrice had died. He had been beside himself with his own grief, and yet his worry for Amy had forced him to keep it all in check. Why couldn’t he keep her from hurting? Why couldn’t he shelter her from more pain? What kind of father was he?

And what kind of woman was Laney? Couldn’t she see what this was doing to Amy? How could she honestly suggest that they try again the next day?

He had promised to call. But what in the world would he say? Tomorrow was too soon. Next year was too soon. Never was too soon.

He sat on the couch and leaned his throbbing head back. The moment his eyes closed he was haunted with the image of a beautiful young woman with hair the color of raven’s wings and hurting black eyes that begged for a chance. Life had been rough on her. But it had been rough on him too.

There were two kinds of people in this world, he had decided when Patrice first learned about her cancer. The ones who pranced through with hangnails and shallow dreams and the ones, like him, who dragged themselves through—praying for endurance, while sometimes wishing that they weren’t strong enough to endure. Maybe then God would stop testing his faith.

What could he do? Run away? That in itself was a form of survival. But if he did that, uprooted Amy from the only home she’d ever known, wasn’t he, in effect, doing the same thing that he had cursed Laney for? Wouldn’t he be acting selfishly, cruelly? Wouldn’t it instill a further sense of insecurity in his daughter?

And what would it do to Laney?

“I don’t care what it does to her,” he mumbled aloud. She was his last consideration. And yet …

The doorbell rang, and Wes looked at the front door grudgingly. So she couldn’t wait for the phone call, he thought. She had to badger him some more in person.

His temper rose like mercury in a thermometer. Maybe it was time he spelled it out to her once and for all, he thought. Maybe he should explain exactly how she was destroying his and his daughter’s lives. Maybe he could convince her that forcing Amy to acknowledge her could be psychologically devastating.