The Ninth Step (31 page)

“I know. I can’t have it both ways.”

“I still think you’re better off, tootsie.”

#

Isabelle Grace Saunders was born on January 15
^th
. Charlie brought Livie to the hospital early that morning and Livie’s mother met them and helped Livie through her labor. Afterward, her mother and Charlie left her half-napping with Isabelle in her arms and when she woke, Joe was there, holding a huge bouquet of creamy yellow daffodils mixed with blue forget-me-nots, the speckle-throated bells of pink foxgloves. “How beautiful,” she said.

He came to the bedside. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered looking down at Isabelle. He seemed almost dazed in his astonishment; he seemed in awe. Livie was touched; she felt a fizz of delight like bubbles breaking just under her skin.

Joe touched a tentative finger to Isabelle’s cheek and when she smiled, a surprised grin broke across his face. “Did you see that?”

“They say it’s only reflex.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Me either.”

They watched Isabelle sleep.

“I’m so relieved,” Joe said after a moment.

“Why?”

“I was scared she’d look like me, but she’s so pretty. She’s the image of you.”

Livie smiled. “Do you need a vase for those?”

Joe produced one. “The nurse loaned it to me.” He went into the bathroom. Livie heard the water running. She thought what a good man he was, so kind and generous in spirit that he simply received whatever part of herself Livie wanted to share. He accepted that she could only offer him her friendship now and a possibility that her affection might deepen over time. Or it might not.

But whatever happened between them, nothing would ever change the fact that he was Isabelle’s father. Livie thought how grateful she was that it was Joe . . . when she thought of all those other men, who it could have been . . . but no. No. That was history now.

“I don’t know the meaning of any of these flowers,” Joe said coming back into the room.

“Spring, new life,” Livie answered because the true meanings weren’t so poetic. Daffodils symbolized chivalry and forget-me-nots true love and that wasn’t so bad, but the poor foxgloves, that she absolutely adored, were saddled with the unflattering definition of insincerity.

“The lady who sold me these said moss was the symbol for maternal love, but I couldn’t see bringing you moss.” He set the vase near the window. Livie pronounced his arrangement gorgeous. Then Kat came, tiptoeing into the room with Zachary. Stella scooted from behind her and peered over the bed rail. Her eyes saucered. “She’s so little. Littler than Zack when he was born, don’t you think, Mommy?”

Livie and Kat agreed that was true.

Soon Charlie and their mother returned. Tim came early from work. The room was full. Livie was overwhelmed. She felt a little like the queen with her admiring court.

When Isabelle woke, Kat helped Stella into the rocking chair and settled the baby in her arms. Stella made silly singsong noises and then raised her gaze. “Auntie Livie, whenever you want me to baby-sit?--I won’t charge very much, you know, ‘cause we’re family.”

Livie laughed. “Your Grammie said it would take a village.”

“The Village of Saunders,” Tim said. He divided a glance between Charlie and Joe. “You realize we’re in deep trouble.”

“How so?” Joe asked.

“We’re outnumbered. It’s five of them to four of us.”

“Did you hear that Isabelle?” Stella whispered. “Girls rule.”

#

It was an early evening in May; the light in her bedroom was translucent. As clear as water. She was watching Isabelle sleep, taking in the sweet details: the way her mouth pursed into a rosebud and then relaxed, the way she held one tiny dimpled fist tucked beneath her chin. The window behind Livie was open allowing a breeze to stir the organdy curtains. At first when she heard it, that covert click as if someone had quietly closed a car door, she wasn’t sure. And then all at once she was. That sound, she’d heard it before on a night a little over a year ago now.

She’d gone to her window then, certain she’d been dreaming, but not this time. No.

Livie hastened into the front hall and out the front door onto the porch. Under her bare feet, the boards were still warm, the air retained a shimmery luminescence. It limned the line of Cotton’s shoulders, the narrower length of his torso, the stretch of his legs. It marked his stride that carried him away from her.

The small bouquet lay on the swing. Livie scooped it up. Violets. His first gift of flowers to her had been violets. For faithfulness and love. He hadn’t known that until she’d taught him. But he’d mixed in something else this time. Sprigs of rosemary.

For remembrance.

Livie went to the edge of the porch and he must have sensed her presence because he turned, smiling his one-cornered smile.

He lifted his hand, a half wave.

She said his name. “Cotton. . . .”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Barbara Taylor Sissel is a freelance writer, book reviewer, and editor, and the author of the suspense novel
The Last Innocent Hour
.  A one-time editor for a small regional press, Barbara has written extensively for the public relations field. An avid gardener, she is currently working with numerous clients on a variety of projects and writing a new novel. She has two sons and lives in The Woodlands, Texas. For more information on past and forthcoming books, you can visit her website at
www.barbarataylorsissel.com
   

READING GROUP GUIDE

The Ninth Step
by Barbara Taylor Sissel

1.                 Knowing what Cotton did that drove him to abandon Livie and leave the state of Texas, do you think he had the right to come back and to ask for her forgiveness?

2.                 Livie is heartbroken and confused after Cotton’s desertion. Do you feel her behavior with other men in the aftermath of Cotton’s departure is understandable? Do you feel she deserves forgiveness?

3.                 It appears as if Cotton’s mother started drinking to cope with her abandonment by her family in the wake of a scandal. How did her drinking influence Cotton’s childhood? In your opinion, was it her behavior that caused him to have a drinking problem, too, or is addiction genetic?

4.                 Gus was protective of her daughters, Livie and Kat, on the one hand, but she was quite liberal morally, on the other, in the ways she exposed her girls to the men with whom she became involved. In what ways were her daughters effected? What do you think of Gus as a mother? How does she compare to Delia, Cotton’s mother, as a parent?

5.                 Scott moved away leaving Cotton to deal with their mother’s issues. Was Scott right to do this, to basically save himself? When Cotton shows up on Scott’s doorstep in Seattle, should Scott have tried harder to help after Cotton confessed what he’d done? Scott could have reported Cotton to the police. Should he have? What would you do if a sibling came to you with a similar story?

6.                 Livie wants to believe she has rebuilt her life and moved on yet she maintains a relationship with Delia even though Delia is bitter and rude. What does this indicate about Livie? Is it that down deep, she can’t release the past? Or is she acting out of true concern and compassion for Delia and the difficulties Delia has faced?

7.                 Cotton’s plan to confess to the Latimers goes awry when Wes Latimer mistakes him for a contractor. At that point Cotton conceives the idea to make restitution for his crime against the family by remodeling Nikki’s garage studio and then disappearing from their lives without receiving payment for his work. Would that have absolved him? Would it have been a better outcome for the Latimers if Cotton had carried through with that idea and they had never learned of his crime?

8.                 Sometimes when a terrible wrong is committed it seems as if forgiveness is impossible. It feels too much like saying that what happened is okay when it surely isn’t and might never be again. What does forgiveness mean to you? Has there ever been a situation where you were reluctant to grant forgiveness? Do you think there are certain acts that are unforgivable? Would you forgive Cotton?

9.                 Near the end of the story, Cotton promises Nikki he won’t ever drink and drive again. Did you believe him? Outside of AA meetings, he never really admits he’s an alcoholic. Do you think it’s necessary to an addict’s recovery that they announce their addiction to others beyond the confines of their respective 12-step program? Do you think Cotton was given a long enough sentence for his crime? Did he pay, as well, in other ways?

10.            In the end, it’s unclear whom Livie might choose to spend her life with, Cotton or Joe, or whether she will remain unattached to either man. She seems to relish her newfound strength and independence. Do you think that her experience will make her a better mother? A more cautious mother? In your opinion, are single moms more cautious as a rule? Does she have what it takes to be a single mom?

If you enjoyed

The Ninth Step

you’ll love

The Volunteer

coming in September.

See Barbara’s website for details.

www.barbarataylorsissel.com

An excerpt, Chapter 1, follows.

1

Tuesday, September 14, 1999 - 33 days remain

Sophia doesn’t register the sound when the truck pulls into her driveway. She doesn’t hear the sharp click of the truck’s door when the man makes his exit or the approaching scrape of his steps that slow and then stop at the foot of the stairs. She isn’t aware that he’s watching her. She’s on the small landing above him, outside her office. She came out when her mother called, when the conversation grew heated, needing fresh air, a remedy, knowing there isn’t any. Not in this situation. She holds the cordless receiver a little away from her ear in a vain attempt to soften the complaint in her mother’s voice.

“I won’t have it, Sophia,” her mother declares for at least the fifth time. “You had no right to take my car keys. I will not have you treating me like an incompetent teenager.”

“Believe me, Mother, I’m not too thrilled about it either.” Sophia could laugh, it is such an understatement. “But the State of Texas has left us no choice. They’ve taken your driver’s license.”

“They’re a bunch of fools! I told you that accident wasn’t my fault. The policeman who gave me the ticket was a smart aleck. He wouldn’t listen.”

“Oh, Mother.” Sophia isn’t sure who she’s sorrier for. The only way she and Esther have managed to stay civil to one another is by keeping their distance. Now they will have to be involved almost daily. Sophia is disturbed by the prospect; she resents that it is all on her shoulders now and she’s unhappy with herself, that she can’t summon a more generous spirit. Loosening her gaze, she lets it wander over the backyard toward the lake. She will walk down there, she thinks, when her mother is finished with her tirade. She will take a glass of iced tea and sit at the end of the rickety dock and listen to the water slide against the shore.

The man at the foot of the stairs shifts his feet. Above him Sophia registers the sound, but subliminally, the way you might divine a tiny foreshock, the one that in the moment seems  random, but that is actually part of a larger pattern, an announcement of the greater explosion yet to come.   

“Frances wants to make peach cobbler,” Esther’s voice needles Sophia’s ear, “but she can’t because we haven’t any peaches. And we need a new birdfeeder. The old one’s lost its perch. I could drive us to get these things, but no, you took the car keys all because of a little fender bender. Everyone has them, Sophia.”

“What is she saying, Sister?” Frances speaks in the background.

“Just make a list, Mother,” Sophia says. “I’ll shop on Satur--”

“No.” Esther is adamant.

Sophia closes her eyes. She isn’t young herself anymore. How much of this can she do? Without losing her temper, her sanity? But now there is a discreet cough behind her and she turns and sees him, the man at the foot of the stairs.

“Someone’s here, Mother. I have to go.”

The man says her name: “Dr. Beckman? Sophia Beckman?”

She clicks off the cordless and in the moment before she answers, along with a dart of annoyance, she has an unreasoning urge to run. Perhaps it is something in the man’s voice that unsettles her. The impulse is gone before she can decide.

“I hope I didn’t scare you.” The man smiles.

She doesn’t.

“I’m Cort Capshaw,” he says.

Sophia sets the phone on the small bench beside her office door and looks beyond him to what she assumes is his white pickup truck parked in her driveway. When she looks back, his gaze seems intense. The line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders is very determined, but not in a way that makes her feel threatened, only more impatient. He’s selling something. He’s going to have some take-no-prisoners spiel. “Can I help you?” she asks. He’s younger than she is but older than her daughter, Sophia decides. Carolyn is twenty-six. He’s nearer forty. Medium height, solidly built, cropped sandy-hair. There’s a quality of stillness to his presence that she could admire, but she won’t. She’s not buying regardless.