The Four Seasons (35 page)

“How do you do.” Anne Marie held out her hand and tried not to stare at her birth mother's face.

Jillian looked at the outstretched hand with longing. Her child's hand. She'd never touched her baby. They wouldn't let her. She stared at the hand, feeling as though the leather straps were still holding her to the table. Anne Marie's smile slipped and she began to retract her hand. Jilly reached out quickly to grasp it. She felt an instant connection and had to force herself to let go. Her body, so well trained for grace, was choppy and stiff. She was desperately trying to act normal so Anne Marie wouldn't think that she was some weird, overanxious mother. How could Anne Marie know what it meant for her to just touch her daughter's hand?

“I hope I'm not late,” Anne Marie said. She seemed a little nervous, smoothing the dress over her belly, looking at her shoes. “It was hard getting out of the house. Lauren wanted to come.”

Jillian licked her lips but couldn't speak. She could only stare, grateful the sunglasses masked her eyes. “I've only just arrived. It's a lovely place. Very French.”

“Well, you should know,” she replied, seemingly relieved. Her eyes looked everywhere but at Jillian.

“Are you nervous?” Jilly asked kindly.

“Yes,” Anne Marie replied while color bloomed in her cheeks. “I suppose I am.”

“I am, too.”

“Are you ready for your table?” the maître d' asked.

“Are we?” Jilly asked.

Anne Marie straightened her shoulders and gave her a long, steady, surmising look. There was no question that this was not a child but a woman, a mother, a force within herself. “Oh,
yes,” she said, then turned and took the lead with elegance and composure that did not go unnoticed by Jillian.

They were seated at a small round table for two covered in thick damask linen and brightly colored, Provence-style china. Jilly was pleased they were seated closely and would not be compelled to strain to hear each other's comments in a room already loud with chatting. Jilly removed her sunglasses and sat down. When she looked again at her daughter's face, she sucked in her breath and felt she might faint with shock. It couldn't be…

It was faint, delicate and not so visible when she was smiling. But when Anne Marie's face was still, as it was now while she read the menu, Jilly could very clearly see the unmistakable cleft in her chin.

Dennis's child
.

Jilly's heart froze in her chest and her hands rigidly clenched the menu.
Anne Marie was Dennis's child
.

She felt the blood draining from her face as her breath came quickly. Jilly reached out for the glass of water, forcing her stiff hands to grasp the chilled glass and bring it to her lips. She thought of Birdie in the hotel. Of Hannah. She recalled Dennis's words,
She might look like me
, and shivered. God help her, her worst fear was realized. How was she going to handle this?

“The poached salmon is good,” Anne Marie suggested, looking up from her menu.

Jilly cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Wonderful. Good. I'll have that,” she replied, closing the menu. She was grateful for the interruption when the waiter approached with a basket of bread and a plate of butter. When he laid these on the table, he looked at them expectantly.

They both ordered poached salmon with Hollandaise sauce. Jilly ordered a glass of chardonnay. Anne Marie ordered iced tea. As he scurried off, Jillian told herself that she'd deal with
this issue later. If she thought about the repercussions now she'd go mad. She owed it to Anne Marie, and to herself, to make this first private step as mother and child.

They struggled through halted sentences and stiff smiles while they waited for their food. When their dishes came at last, however, Jilly poked at her food and tried to lessen the tension by asking Anne Marie all about her daughter, Lauren, and her husband, Kyle. Anne Marie's eyes glowed and she visibly relaxed as she talked about those she obviously doted on.

Kyle worked at the local paper mill. Money was tight now, especially with the new baby coming, but they got along well enough. They lived in a small house in De Pere that they loved and were busy decorating. She talked at length about the vegetable garden they were starting that spring. Lauren was a dickens. She loved to laugh and was excited about having a new baby brother or sister. Jilly listened with wonder that her child had, in fact, turned out so well and was so
happy
.

When it was her turn Jilly spoke about the old Victorian house in which they'd grown up and what her sisters and parents were like, careful to speak in generalities. Jilly deliberately skipped over her past. She wanted them to start their relationship focused on the positives.

“I'd like to meet your sisters,” Anne Marie said, opening the door to a possible reunion. “My aunts.”

“They're all here, of course,” she replied, eager to grasp this offering. “They'd love nothing more than to meet you, too. They hoped you'd feel this way, but we didn't want to all meet you at once. The Four Seasons can be a lot to handle.”

“The Four Seasons?”

Jilly smiled. “That's what my father always called us when we were growing up. He lumped us all into one group. Lord, we were so embarrassed. Whenever we walked into a room
together he'd call out, “Here come the Four Seasons.” Looking back, though, I believe it gave us a strong sense of identity. It bonded us.”

“But you said your sister just died?”

“Yes, she did. Merry, the youngest. She died earlier this month of lung complications.”

“Then, how are there still four Seasons?”

“Ah, I see what you mean. My sister's daughter is here, too. Hannah. Your cousin. She's been officially inducted as the fourth Season.”

“Well,” Anne Marie said, looking at her plate, “that doesn't leave room for me, does it?” She said it as a joke, but once the words were out, they both recognized the hidden hurt at being the outcast.

“It's just an expression.”

Anne Marie's cheery countenance shifted and Jilly braced herself, sensing that they were going to enter the murky territory they had avoided on the phone.

“Why did you give me up for adoption?”

The question had the power to bring her shoulders back. She looked around the room and pressed her knees tightly together under the table. Suddenly she felt choked. She brought a shaky hand up to cover her eyes and prayed she wouldn't break down. The old feelings of loss and desperation ripped through her as fresh and as powerful as they had so long before.

“You don't have to talk about this if you don't want to. I was only curious.”

“I never gave you up,” she managed to say, raising her eyes. Anne Marie's face was pale, revealing a smattering of freckles, so much like her own. Dabbing her eyes with the thick cotton napkin, Jilly managed to collect herself. “I surrendered you.
That's the term used today and it's more accurate. You don't just give up your own baby.”

Anne Marie leaned forward. “But why? My mother told me you were too young. Is that true?”

Jilly took a deep breath and nodded. “I was sixteen when I got pregnant. Seventeen when I had you. Just a senior in high school. A young senior.”

“Then you weren't married to my father.”

“No, of course not.” Dennis's face flashed in her mind. “We were just children ourselves. It was so different back then. I wish you could understand. When a girl got pregnant, she was sent away. No questions asked. Being pregnant out of wedlock was a scandal. It was a stigma for the whole family. Being so young, the option of keeping you was never presented to me. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, everyone told me it was the best thing for the baby to be given to a family who wanted a child, that it was wrong of me, even selfish, to want to keep my baby.”

“But why didn't you ever search for me? I used to wonder why you didn't at least try and find me.”

“Oh, Anne Marie…” Her throat constricted.

“Don't misunderstand. I love my family. My mom and dad, they've been wonderful and I wouldn't change anything. They
are
my family.” Her eyes shone now in defiance. “But sometimes, when I hear someone talk about how Lauren's eyes are like Grandma Marie's or how my cousin has Uncle Bob's laugh, I always feel a little left out, wondering where I got my nose, or where my laugh came from.”

“You can look at me and get a lot of your answers,” Jilly said thickly, deeply moved. She glanced at the cleft, then as quickly moved away. “But your laugh is like your aunt Rose's. High and like bells. It's music to my ears. And your red hair—” She
shrugged in the French manner. “This is the Season trademark. When you see red hair, then you know it's from us.”

Anne Marie smiled, the light returning to her eyes. “Lauren has red hair.”

“Does she?” Jilly was extraordinarily pleased and her chest swelled. “There you have it. Genetics will out.”

In the aftermath of that tense exchange they both reached for their coffees and sipped, needing a moment to regroup. Jilly studied her daughter's face. Her eyes seemed larger and her alabaster skin literally shone. At that moment, Jilly recognized the face of the infant that they'd held up in the hospital delivery room. When she saw her baby, even for that brief, fleeting moment, the mother in her saw
something
—in the eyes, in the features—that imprinted itself into her memory.

“I see so many things in you, Anne Marie,” she said softly, tilting her head as she continued her perusal. “The way you move your head a certain way, the breathiness of your voice, the manner in which you hold your shoulders back when you walk. They say there are blood ties in every family and I believe it. I'd like to tell you everything there is to know about me and my family—your family. Not to detract from the family that you already have, but to add to it.”

“I'd like that,” she said, tears flooding those impossibly luminous eyes and making them even bluer.

The bill came and it seemed a good point to end their lunch. They'd forged past the initial awkwardness well enough, yet the strain was beginning to show. Anne Marie looked at her watch and gasped with alarm.

“Oh, my God, look at the time. It's almost three o'clock. My mother is going to kill me. She has a bridge game and Lauren will be upset that I've been gone so long.”

“I'd like to meet your mother. I don't want her to ever feel
that I'm coming here to compete with her in any way. I'm just grateful to have found you, to have met you, and I hope to meet my granddaughter.” It was a shameless begging for an invitation, but Jilly didn't care.

“When would you want to meet her?”

“As soon as possible.”

Anne Marie seemed pleased rather than worried. “How about tomorrow? You're staying at the Embassy Suites, right? Well, there is a wonderful garden restaurant there that has a great brunch. Should we meet there, say, ten o'clock? I'll bring Kyle and Lauren. My mother, too. I think she's even more anxious to meet you. And please, would your sisters come?”

“You couldn't keep them away.”

Jilly quickly settled the bill. Then, because she knew Anne Marie was in a hurry, declined a ride home and hailed a cab.

As she settled herself in the back seat and slipped her dark sunglasses over her eyes, Jilly felt shell-shocked and tired beyond thinking. Maybe after she lay down a while, perhaps when her muscles relaxed and her brain cleared, she could think again of that cleft in Anne Marie's chin and how that one sweet little dimple might be the bomb that exploded her family apart.

J
ILLY RETURNED TO HER ROOM
, drew the curtains and collapsed on the bed. She lay staring at the ceiling, her mind stumbling over one immutable truth that she could no longer deny. Dennis Connor was her child's father.

Oh, the bitter irony of it. When she got pregnant she didn't know for certain who the father was and told herself it didn't matter since she wasn't going to get married or keep the baby. The father would simply slip into anonymity. Then years later, when the news came that Birdie was dating, then married, Dennis, she was stunned, unable to believe that fate could pull such a jest. Cruel fate! Even the possibility that Dennis could be the father had suddenly became another unsavory, dirty little secret. Then again, when she'd agreed to go on this search for Spring, she'd told herself Dennis couldn't possibly be the father. There had only been that one time with him. But God wasn't giving her a single break.

She sat up in the bed, untwisting the sheets that were corded around her legs like a snake. Raking back her hair, she took
deep, cleansing breaths, clearing her head. “No more lies,” she said, feeling the conviction deepen. That's what had gotten her into this problem in the first place. Yet she couldn't let Birdie walk into that restaurant tomorrow morning and be slapped with the truth. Birdie would take one look at Anne Marie and figure it out just like she had. If the tables were turned, she'd want to know the truth from Birdie herself.

She could hear her heart pounding in her ears and feel the blood draining from her veins. She imagined this was what it felt like to face a firing squad. She reached out, picked up the phone from the night table and dialed Birdie's room.

“Hello?”

“Birdie?”

“Oh, hi, Jilly. How's your headache?”

“Better, thanks.”

“Good. Ready for dinner, then? Rose and I were just trying to pick out a restaurant.”

“Birdie, listen, can we meet for drinks first? Just you and me? I'd like to talk to you. We could go to the lounge downstairs.”

There was a pause. “Sure. I'll meet you there in say, ten minutes.”

 

Jilly found a secluded table between a potted palm and the brick wall, ordered two glasses of white wine, then waited. The minutes passed in agonizing slowness as she tried to rehearse what she would say to Birdie. But nothing sounded right and she realized with dread that no matter what words she chose, they were going to hurt.

She heard the bell of the elevator and looked up to see Birdie step out and walk into the lounge. Jilly licked her lips and waved. Birdie's brows rose when she spotted her and a smile lit her face as she waved back.

“You look awfully serious,” Birdie said, leaning forward for a quick kiss on the cheek. She looked at Jilly, her face clouded with concern. “Is there something you didn't tell us about Anne Marie?”

She waited until Birdie settled in her chair. “In a way. There's something I need to clear up with you.”

Birdie leaned back in her chair. “I'm all ears.”

Birdie was in high spirits. The thought that she was about to dash them brought a pain so raw in Jilly's heart that it hurt to breathe. There was no easy way to say this, so she decided just to begin with the truth.

“We've spent so many years apart, Birdie,” she began, cushioning the blow. “I treasure the closeness we've found on this trip.”

“I do, too.”

“I don't want to lose it. That's why I've got to tell you something.” Across the table Birdie's eyes intensified and her smile stiffened. The tsunami was coming and she saw it. Jilly's throat constricted. “Do you remember when we were at the motel and we talked about how you had a crush on Dennis?”

Birdie's face sharpened and she leaned forward slightly. “Yes?”

“You asked me if Dennis was the father of my baby.”

The color drained from Birdie's face.

“I told you then that he wasn't, but that wasn't entirely true.”

“He either is or he isn't.” Her voice was low and cold. “Which is it?”

“I saw Anne Marie today. Birdie—” she clenched her hands tight “—she has a cleft chin.”

Birdie sat motionless, absorbing the shock. All the spirit and joy was devastated by the wave of horror.

“You lied to me!” she cried out, her eyes bright with fury. “I asked you and you told me he wasn't the father. How could you? You lied!”

“I know I did and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I wanted to tell you the truth but what was I supposed to do? You were lying in bed after just having had a miscarriage. How could I have told you then?”

Birdie covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth, shaking her head.

“It was wrong of me, I know that now. That's why I'm telling you. So you know the truth from me. But you have to know I lied to protect you, not hurt you.” Jilly reached out to touch her, but Birdie recoiled as though her hand burned.

“I knew it!” she shouted to Jilly.

Jilly drew back, too taken by surprise to do anything but stare back at her fury. The people at the neighboring table looked their way with disapproving glances.

Birdie frowned at them, then leaned forward, lowering her voice to a strained whisper. “I always knew there was something between you but I wouldn't allow myself to believe it. Whenever you two were together I could feel the tension.”

“What are you talking about?” Jilly cried, not understanding. “I hardly ever returned home. How many times could there have been?”

“I should've trusted my instincts.”

“Birdie, there's nothing going on between Dennis and me.”

“He's the father of your baby!”

“He doesn't even know he's the father.
I
didn't know until I saw Anne Marie!”

Birdie looked dumbfounded. She sat back in her chair and said, her face contorted with disgust, “That's great. Just great. And all this time we thought you were being so brave, so noble, keeping the father's name a secret. Now you're basically telling me you were a slut.”

“You unfeeling bitch!” she cried out, shoving Birdie on the shoulder.

Birdie's eyes flashed with shock and fury and she shoved Jilly right back. “You slut!”

The couple at the next table tsked loudly and in a fluster rose with their drinks to find another spot.

Birdie and Jilly turned their heads to watch them pass, then stared at each other, shoulders hunched, eyes glaring and breathing heavily. Then their faces slackened and, for a moment, neither of them knew what to do or say.

“My God, what's happening to us?” Birdie said, slumping back in her chair and covering her eyes.

Jilly glanced around the intensely quiet lounge to see people staring at them with blank expressions. One woman sniffed disapprovingly, but the rest shifted back in their seats and turned their heads again. Gradually, conversation picked up in the lounge.

“Can I get you something?” a waiter asked. He'd quickly moved forward after the outburst.

“No. Thank you.” Jilly's eyes were averted and she sat straighter in her chair. When he didn't move she lifted her chin and said in a clipped tone, “No, thank you.”

“Okay. Just let me know if you do,” he said in an over-cheery voice, ducking out.

Tapping her fingers on the table, she looked at Birdie, who sat slump-shouldered far back in her seat, looking down at her hands. Jilly leaned forward, weary and shaken, and rested her elbows on the table.

“I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Birdie didn't say anything or move a muscle.

“What was I supposed to do?” she asked plaintively. “Not tell you? Let you walk in there tomorrow and figure it out for yourself like I did? I couldn't let that happen.”

Birdie only closed her eyes.

“Or even if you didn't figure it out tomorrow, should I have kept this a secret? Dying inside every day wondering when you'd figure it out. I'd have to go away again. There's no way I could let Anne Marie become a part of my life, the family's life, for fear the truth would come out. And it would, Birdie. It always does. We'd just be trading one secret for another. Is that what we want? I'm trapped in this lie, too! Tell me, Birdie, what should I have done?”

“I don't know.”

“I had to tell you. I should've told you years ago when we were kids.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Birdie said with a bitter laugh. “Then I never would've gotten mixed up with Dennis.”

“Then you never would have had Hannah.”

Birdie's face dropped and she looked lost. “I feel cheated. Lied to. Betrayed.”

“How did we betray
you
?”

“You have a child. You and him. Together!” she blurted out, her face red with anguish.

Jilly stared at her sister, catching sight of the source of Birdie's pain. “This isn't about the child, really, is it?” she said slowly. “What's eating at you is that Dennis and I had sex. It's the old jealousy. You think we've shared some intimacy.”

“And that's not betrayal?”

“No! He wasn't your husband. Get that through your head. Birdie, you weren't even in the picture then. How could we betray you? I had sex with a teenage boy named Dennis Connor when I was sixteen. Once, Birdie. Only once. Dennis wasn't the love of my life and I sure wasn't the love of his. He was just some boy I liked and let. Not your husband. Not even your boyfriend. Just some boy. There's nothing between us. Get over it!”

“I can't.” She tossed her napkin on the table and rose to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you.”

“You think you can just walk away from this?” Jilly called out after her. “I've tried that and it doesn't work. I'm your sister. You might never talk to me again. You can divorce your husband. But you can't just walk away. The truth always has a way of catching up with you.”

Birdie didn't turn around. She just kept on walking.