The Debra Dilemma (The Lone Stars Book 4) (11 page)

She glanced down at the flip-flops, yet another remnant of her former floozy life. These days, she made it a point to never wear old memory triggers in public, but now she was beginning to understand that some sparkle was okay. She was starting to change on the inside, so maybe repressing her sparkly side wasn’t all that important. Maybe it wasn’t how she looked that mattered so much as how she
felt
. She was no longer the woman who would sleep with anyone who showed the slightest bit of attention; instead, she was learning to love all the parts that made up Debra Covington—even the not so pretty parts, like her self-doubt and her ears that stuck out. Neither would have been her choice, but at least she had pretty feet. Not everyone could say that.

She was coming to realize that rhinestone flip-flops weren’t the first drink of vodka, a downward spiral that would derail her twelve-step program of betterment. Nope, they were just sparkly flip-flops.

She pushed the down button and the doors rolled open. She touched the rhinestone barrettes in her hair. They weren’t going to turn her back into the monster she’d made herself into just because she’d bought them back when she was a floozy. It was so clear to her now…things didn’t make or break her, if was her self-esteem that caused her downfall.

Hiding behind her mom jeans and boring shirts was still hiding. She glanced down. Okay, so these were boyfriend cut jeans, but everyone knew that boyfriend jeans were just mom jeans with holes in them.

Come to think of it, what was so wrong with mom jeans anyway? She was a mom and it was time she embraced it. She pulled at the hem of her boring white T-shirt. Her version of mom needed some spice…some glitter…some Debra.

She rattled the charm bracelet that CoCo had given her. It was so big that it dangled down into her palm. Wearing the bracelet with pride wasn’t her problem, but she needed to put her own spin on it. She unhooked the clasp, bent over, and wrapped it around her right ankle. It just fit so she closed the clasp. Now, the charm bracelet was different and a little daring—and very Debra.

She wiggled her foot and felt the charms bounce against her ankle. She liked it there and she was beginning to like the part of herself that had the guts to put it there. She’d hated herself for so long that it felt wonderful to try hating on someone else for a change.

Not that she really hated Warren…well, not too much, at least now that she knew for sure he hadn’t known about AJ. Somehow that made it better. He’d been honestly shocked, and the fact that he was grief-stricken somehow lessened her grief. That didn’t make things right, but it did make them better. She didn’t know if there would ever be anything between her and Warren, but at least, the hatred—a decade old hatred—seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Now AJ’s father knew about him, and her friends knew about him—now her son finally existed, because people other than Debra knew about him. Maybe it was a small thing and made no difference in the grand scheme of the universe, but it made a big difference to her.

She would no longer run from AJ’s memory, she would embrace it. There were people to talk to about her baby, people who understood her loss and didn’t think it was her fault.

What if…just for tonight, she gave herself a little break? Just for tonight, she’d skip the blame game, silence her own mental abuser who always waggled his index finger and called her bad, and just enjoy the evening. Didn’t everyone deserve a vacation? Well her inner critic was overdue. Really, giving him the night off was only fair. He’d been at work in her head for as long as she could remember.

That was it. Tonight, she was just Debra Covington, mother of AJ Covington, counselor for Safe Place, and all around good person. Her shoulders practically squared themselves and for the first time in a long time, she held her head high.

The elevator door rolled open, revealing the lobby.

Emit, the concierge and doorman, smiled and nodded, “Good afternoon, Ms. Covington, you look lovely.”

His warm smile was gracious and honest and contagious.

She felt lovely and smiled back at him. “Emit, isn’t it time you called me Debra?”

Ms. Covington was the old her, now she was just Debra…or maybe Debbie. No, she was definitely Debra. That’s what fit. That’s what felt right.

“All right, then. Debra, you look lovely. Have a wonderful evening.” He nodded as he opened the heavy front door.

“Thank you, I intend to.” She walked out into the sunshine and spotted Grace in a silver Lincoln Navigator. She waved to her new friend and pointed to her white Ford Escape.

Thirty minutes later, she pulled up to the Robbins’ house and parked in the driveway. Her good mood and bravado were waning, but she needed to face the people she’d wronged. This couldn’t be any harder than facing Grace, Summer, and Laney. She put a hand over her nervous stomach.

Everything was going to be all right. Everything was going to be all right. She recited the affirmation over and over in her head. Maybe she should click her heels together three times for good measure.

Something Dr. Ben had once said after he’d fallen on a slick sidewalk and hurt his knee drifted into her head, “If the worst thing that happens to me today is this, then I’m doing pretty good.”

He’d been right. If the worst thing that happened to her today was facing down men that she’d wronged, then she was doing pretty good…er…well. When she put things in perspective, it was amazing how little petty grievances became—well—little and petty. She’d been through hell, she could handle a couple of football players.

“Let me get those.” Debra raced over to Grace and took four of the canvas grocery bags she was about to loop over her shoulder, and looped them over her own shoulders. After balancing the bags, she picked up a plastic gallon of milk in each hand.

“Thanks for the help. It’s strange, the boys always seem to disappear when it’s time to unload the groceries.” Grace picked up the remaining bags and looped them over her forearms. With her elbow, she clicked the garage door button and the heavy door rolled down. Again with the elbow, she opened the door into the house.

“You have some mad elbow skills. How do you manage to use it as another hand?” Debra was impressed.

“It’s a mom thing. It comes with the ability to talk on the phone while cooking dinner, helping with homework and holding a baby on your hip—all at the same time. Motherhood is all about multitasking. I’ll show you.” Grace hefted her bundle of bags onto the kitchen island.

Debra followed her lead and placed her bags and milk on the counter next to the island. See eyed the real garland draped on the top of the kitchen cabinets. Paper snowflake cut-outs, probably done by the kids, hung from varying lengths of red ribbons above the kitchen table. The room smelled fantastic and she was willing to admit that these Christmas decorations were lovely. Ben had been hounding her about decorations for Safe Place. Maybe she’d pick up some red ribbons and have the kids and even the adults at Safe Place make some ornaments. It would be nice.

“I’d forgotten how big this kitchen is.” Debra clamped a hand over her mouth. It was best not to remind her new friend that she’d spent a lot of time here and slept with her husband.

Instead of the anger Debra was bracing for, Grace burst out laughing. “I’d forgotten that you have carnal knowledge of my husband.”

“I’m so sorry about that.” Debra bit her top lip. “Do you want me to go?”

This was it. Grace was going to throw her out and then call Summer and Sweet Louise and then no one would want her around.

“No, but.…” She was laughing so hard that tears ran down her face, “I’m sorry, I just keep thinking that it would have been nice if you’d mentioned that Chord snored before I had to find out all on my own.” She shook her head. “I know it’s wrong, but it’s hilarious. I keep picturing you the night we met and you handing me a list of all Chord’s issues as you stomped out.” She held her hand up. “Sorry.”

This was it? Grace wasn’t going to banish her? Like she’d told Debra the other day, she’d forgiven her. It was that simple. Grace had forgiven her. She’d moved on, so why couldn’t Debra? Unconditional forgiveness and friendship…so this is what it felt like. She’d never really had it before and it was hard to accept, but she’d promised herself a night of no self-criticism so she was going to take Grace at face value.

“I never stuck around long enough to fall asleep.” Debra couldn’t help but laugh, too. Now that she thought about it, it was funny. “I was more of a ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of girl.”

It felt so odd to be standing in a kitchen she knew so well and discussing meaningless sex she’d had with another woman’s husband. True, it had been before Chord was her husband, but still. The more she laughed, the funnier it became.

“Oh my God, I don’t know why I’m laughing; it just seems so funny. I feel like we should compare notes. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it.” Grace wiped the tears from her face. “I’m going to stop now, really I am.”

“What’s so funny?” Chord walked into the kitchen holding a chubby cherub-faced baby boy.

Grace looked at Debra and they started laughing again.

“Luke, buddy, I think we’ve stumbled onto some female bonding ritual that no doubt we won’t understand and probably don’t want to know the details. It starts in middle school when they go the bathroom in large groups. Apparently, it doesn’t get any better when they’re older.” He shook his head. “I hate to do this to you buddy, but I’ve got a conference call in like two minutes and I’m going to have to leave you with the crazy females. Just remember to blow them a kiss every now and then and they’ll be putty in your hands.” He held up his hand for a high five and the eleven-month old grinned and high fived him.

“Here.” Chord handed baby Luke to Debra. “Gotta go.”

And that was that. Not a second of weirdness. She’d been forgiven and accepted as a family friend. Chord didn’t think it was strange in the least to hand her his youngest child as he practically ran out of the room.

Debra sniffed the air. Something stunk. She leaned down and sniffed Luke. He smelled like four-day-old sewage. “I think Mr. Luke has stinky pants.”

Grace held her arms out. “I’ll go change him.”

Debra settled him on her hip. “I’ll do it. I change stinky pants at work all the time.”

She kissed his cap of soft brown hair. “Point me in the direction of his room.”

“Upstairs, first door on your right.” Grace called as she put the milk in the fridge. “Really you don’t have to. I can change him.”

“No problem. Luke and I are bonding.” She hugged him tighter to her and Luke laid his head on her shoulder. The weight of a baby felt good on her shoulder. Someone down the line had called a snuggling baby “mommy crack” and it was. It really was. As his warm body pressed against hers, it soothed the deepest, darkest part of her heart. She’d never known how much she’d wanted to be a part of a family until she’d laughed with Grace—who felt like a sister, held the hand of a bossy, adorable three-year-old—who felt like a niece, and changed the diaper of a stinky baby boy—who felt like a nephew. Sweet Louise, Grace, and Summer had given her so much more than friendship, they’d given her their families as well. She felt like the luckiest lady in the world.

This time, Warren brought the binoculars. In his car across the street from Safe Place, he was keeping a close eye on everything. He wasn’t spying on Debra; he was making sure she was safe. Or so he told himself. He realized that to an innocent bystander, it might look like, oh, stalking, but it wasn’t. He told himself that it absolutely wasn’t.

He glanced at the clock on the dash. It was ten minutes past midnight and he was on Debra patrol. Her job wasn’t safe, and he couldn’t take it if something happened to her. He hadn’t been there to protect her during her pregnancy or to help her through the grief after, but by God, he was here now and he was staying put.

He wiggled in his seat. Three giant hot chocolates from Starbucks—he couldn’t remember what Starbucks named those enormous hot chocolates…Trente? Vente? It really didn’t matter, because pretty soon he was going to have to use the bathroom. Protection detail was more complicated than he’d originally thought. He looked around the little slice of rundown suburbia surrounding Safe Place. There wasn’t a gas station or fast food restaurant anywhere. Short of finding a bush in someone’s front yard or peeing his pants, he was going to have to abandon his post soon.

But then who would protect Debra?

He owed her this…and so much more.

They’d had a son and she named him after both of his grandfathers. She had loved Warren enough to name their child after the two men he’d loved so much. Did feelings that deep ever die?

He hoped not. His feelings for her were stronger than ever, especially after watching her with Julia this afternoon. He’d seen a side of Debra that he thought was gone forever.

He shook his head.

Losing her newborn son and then enduring that loss alone? He couldn’t imagine how tough it had been for her. And that was on him. He’d thought he was doing the right thing for her, but in the end he’d hurt her terribly. The past was always clearer through the lens of the present. He should have stayed. He could have held his baby boy.

What had AJ looked like? Did she have a picture of him?

Probably not.

Why would she have taken a picture of her dead baby? Mementos commemorated good times, not the horrible ones. Still, it would have been nice to have met his son if only for a second. Maybe he’d had Debra’s cute little button nose or her long, elegant fingers? Or maybe he looked like a tiny, wrinkly old man. Didn’t all babies look like tiny, wrinkly old men?

He smiled to himself. He remembered holding his little sister Leah only hours after she’d been born. She’d been a soft, squishy, howling ball of perfection. That day his father had made him promise that he would always protect his little sister. And he did—right up until the day she died of Leukemia at the age of nine. Warren had been the one who spent nights with her in the hospital. Warren was the one who oversaw her medications. And Warren was the one holding her hand when the light went out of her eyes and she faded away. His father—the family’s protector—had left for good when Leah was three and Warren was ten. His mother—poor, weak Leslie—had barely been able to take care of herself, much less two kids. It had been up to Warren to keep food on the table and pay the bills. Even now he still paid his mother’s bills. She’d retired to Boca, but since she rarely worked while he was a child, he never figured out what she’d retired from. She still smoked a pack a day and watched soap operas all day long. Her address had changed, but her life was exactly the same. Christmas was next week and he’d call her on Christmas morning just like he did every year.