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“Enough for tonight,” I said. “Time for bed.”
“We’re supposed to say our prayers now,” Taylor informed me. “Before you tuck us in.”
“Oh,” I said. “Right. Of course.” Nothing would have made me admit to them that I wasn’t familiar with this particular bedtime ritual. Dave Hanrahan had nursed a lifelong contempt for anything that smacked of religion, a result of his uptight Catholic upbringing. Dad had attended Our Lady of All Saints School until eighth grade, and the nuns had traumatized him for life. So there’d been no praying in our house. But I’m an obliging soul, and I’ve learned to fake it if I have to. When in Rome, and all that jazz. I could handle a little praying. It might even do me some good.
Taking a cue from the girls, I knelt beside Sadie’s bed, my stepdaughters beside me in their flannel jammies, their oversized Piggy feet stuck out behind them. Hands folded, I closed my eyes and tried to look pious. In unison, they spoke the words of the prayer:
“Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
If I should die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
“Amen,” Taylor said.
“Amen,” Sadie echoed. Her eyes popped open and she exclaimed, “Oops! I forgot!” Bowing her head again, she added, “God bless Daddy, and Grandma, and Uncle Riley, and Mommy up in heaven. And—” She opened her eyes, glanced at me, and smiled. “And Julie,” she finished. “Amen.”
A tiny crack appeared in my heart. Maybe winning over Tom’s daughters wouldn’t be so hard after all. They were such precious little girls, and so very needy. And they seemed to genuinely like me.
I pulled back the covers. Sadie scrambled beneath them, and I tucked them up tight under her chin. She lay there beneath the blankets, a dreamy smile on her face, and said, “Are you my mommy now?”
Time stood still. While my heart beat in the silence, I glanced across the empty space between beds to Taylor, who seemed to be holding her breath, awaiting my response.
I lay a hand atop Sadie’s head, felt the cool, soft tickle of baby-fine hair between my fingertips. “Your mom,” I said, “will always be your mom.”
Sadie yawned. “Even though she’s not here any more?”
“Even though. I would never try to take her place. How about for now, we’ll just say we’re friends, and leave it at that? Okay?”
She gave me a sleepy nod and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow. I stood and crossed the room to Taylor, who lay beneath her own covers. Tucking the snow-white bedspread tightly around her, I said, “All set?”
She nodded. I reached out to touch her cheek, then hesitated. I didn’t want to rush things with her. Instead, I simply said, “Good night.”
As I turned to go, she said, “Don’t get too used to being here.”
I paused, not sure I’d heard her correctly. Turning, I said, “Excuse me?”
Her eyes, so like Tom’s, held none of his warmth. Instead, they were glacial. “I said you shouldn’t get too used to being here. Grandma says you won’t last any longer than any of the others.”
I told myself she was just a little girl. Only seven years old. There was no real malice in her words; she was just repeating what she’d heard. But when I thought about the hostility on her face, I wasn’t so sure. Children were capable of cruelty, and Taylor was an intelligent child. She knew she’d upset me. That had been her intention. I’d seen the satisfaction in her eyes before she reached out and turned off the bedside lamp, leaving me to find my way in complete darkness.
I could almost forgive her for her animosity. After all, she was just a child, and she’d suffered an irreparable loss. I could still remember how I’d felt when my mother left us. The fear, the guilt, the knife-edged sense of betrayal. The years spent wondering if it was something I’d done that had driven her away. It had taken me a very long time to get over it—as much as anyone gets over that kind of loss—and I’d sworn that no matter what happened in my life, I’d never, ever do that to a child.
Taylor’s mother hadn’t run away like mine had, but Tom’s daughter had to be feeling some of the same emotions that I’d felt. Death was the ultimate betrayal. And for a girl to lose her mother at such a young age—a mother whose absence would be keenly felt at all life’s most poignant and significant junctures—the loss was immeasurable.
We all grieve in different ways. I’d walked in Taylor’s shoes, and I couldn’t fault her for how she’d chosen to grieve her terrible loss.
But Tom was right. This was some welcome I’d gotten. Wondering just who were these “others” that Taylor had referred to, I headed downstairs to find my husband and demand some answers.
I heard them arguing as soon as I reached the ground floor. They weren’t exactly trying to be quiet. “She can’t stay,” Jeannette said. “You know that as well as I do.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind.” My husband sounded agitated. Furious.
“You don’t know anything about her. For all you know, she could be a gold digger. I cringed when I heard that pathetic story she told about her impoverished childhood. What if she married you for your money?”
Heat raced up my face. Normally, I was adamantly opposed to eavesdropping. But, damn it, this was me they were talking about. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged me away. I crept a little closer to the kitchen door and pressed myself against the dark paneling of the hallway.
“That’s ridiculous,” Tom said.
“You’re a doctor, Tom. She probably took one look at you and decided you were her meal ticket.”
Wearily, my husband said, “I make a decent living, Mother, but I’m hardly in a league with the neurosurgeons of the world. I’m a small-town baby doctor.”
“The perception’s still there that doctor equals money. I just can’t imagine what you were thinking. What happens when she finds out—”
“Finds out what? That I’ve been eaten up by loneliness ever since Elizabeth died? I can’t believe you’d begrudge me a little happiness. Julie’s amazing, Mom, and you’d see that if you gave her half a chance.”
“What about your girls? They need you, Tom. How can you justify stealing what little free time you have away from them to give it to some stranger?”
“They need a mother!”
Sounding hurt, she said, “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past two years?”
Tom’s voice softened. “I know what you’ve been doing,” he said, “and I truly appreciate all you’ve done for us. But it’s not the same thing. The girls need stability, an intact family.”
“It’s not going to work. You know it as well as I do. It’s not too late to have this marriage annulled. I’m begging you to end it before it gets messy. Send her back where she came from and move on with your life.”
Indignation had me holding my breath. Send her back where she came from. What did this woman think I was, a FedEx package?
Tom’s voice again: “She has a name, Mom. It’s Julie.”
“Fine. Send Julie back where she came from, back to L.A., to her hippy-dippy life and her fond memories of her wastrel of a father.”
In a deadly quiet voice, Tom said, “I’m only going to say this once, Mother, so you’d better listen. I don’t give a damn whether or not you like her, but Julie is my wife and, by God, you’ll treat her with respect. If I hear one more negative word about her—”
A sound behind me tore my attention away from the sparring in the kitchen. Riley stood at the foot of the stairs, water dripping off his yellow slicker. I’d been so caught up in the drama being played out in the next room that I hadn’t even heard him come in the front door. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, or how much he’d overheard. Our eyes met, but neither of us said a word.
“Forget it,” Tom said in disgust. “This discussion is over.”
“Where are you going?” his mother demanded.
“Out. I need to cool off before I say something I’ll regret.”
“For God’s sake, Tom, don’t be an idiot. There’s a hurricane going on out there.”
“And it’s a welcome reprieve from what’s going on in here!”
A door slammed, and a moment later, I heard a car engine start up. My gaze still locked with Riley’s, I saw something there that I didn’t want to see, something that looked remarkably like pity. Without saying a word, I stalked past him to the staircase and fled upstairs.
I closed the bedroom door and slumped against it, my chest heaving with suppressed fury. The luggage standing neatly by the foot of the bed seemed to mock me, and I wondered if I should even bother to unpack. To his credit, Tom—who’d vowed to cherish me until death—had stood up to his mother for me. How long would he be able to stand up to her before she wore him down? I was crazy about my new husband, but if this was the direction my marriage was headed, how long would it be before I decided I’d made a colossal mistake?
I lifted my overnight bag to the bed, unzipped it, and pulled out my pajamas. Stomping into the bathroom, I tossed the pj’s on the toilet seat, started up the shower, and began to strip.
I came to an abrupt halt when I caught sight of my reflection in the eight-foot-long bathroom mirror. I looked like the Wild Woman of Borneo, my cheeks flushed with fury, my eyes wide and wild. Even my hair seemed to be in on the act, standing electrified, as though I’d stuck my finger into a light socket.
How dare she call me a gold digger? The woman didn’t even know me. And she’d already tried to turn Tom’s daughters against me. What kind of monster would poison a child’s mind like that?
I had half a mind to march back downstairs and tell the woman exactly what was what. I’d never been one to mince words or to retreat from a fight. If there was one thing I’d learned firsthand from my dad, it was that quitters never win. Dave Hanrahan had been the poster child for how not to live your life. He’d allowed a run of bad luck, a few lousy decisions, and the hazy comfort of alcohol to destroy his future. Because I’d been witness to his slow and painful deterioration, I’d vowed that I would never let life defeat me the way Dad had. No matter what, I stood up for myself and for what I believed in. And I never, ever backed down.
But, damn it, the woman was Tom’s mother.
And I was the woman who wore Tom’s wedding ring.
Scooping my hair back from my face with both hands, I let out a ragged breath. None of this was his fault. I couldn’t blame Tom because his mother was a monster. He already knew that. He’d been living with the woman for nearly forty years. That was punishment enough for a lifetime. How could I justify giving him the added burden of lunatic behavior?
So I didn’t go back downstairs. For tonight, I’d let it go. Today had been stressful for everyone. Maybe tomorrow, in the clear light of day, things would look different. Maybe tomorrow, after things settled down, Jeannette would see the error of her ways.
But as I stood in the shower, steaming hot water pounding down on my shoulders, I wasn’t at all sure it would happen. Tom’s mother seemed so unyielding that I wondered if there was more going on here than I was privy to. Was there some deep, dark secret that Tom hadn’t bothered to tell me? Was it possible that Jeannette’s train had simply run off the tracks? There’d been something in that look Tom and his brother exchanged at the airport, something about their mother that remained unspoken but understood by both of them. I couldn’t help wondering if a woman so determined to deprive her son of happiness might be a little unbalanced. Would a sane, rational woman attempt to poison the minds of her grandchildren because she didn’t want their father remarrying? No matter how I looked at it, there was no rational explanation for her behavior.
One thing I did know as I stepped from the shower and toweled my hair dry: I’d never felt so alone in my life. Not even after my baby died and the world became a barren, empty place. This was far worse. The world after Angel’s death had been indifferent to my pain; I’d experienced none of the malevolence, none of the deliberate and focused hatred, that I felt here in this house.
I was wrapped in my fluffy white chenille robe, yanking a brush through my wet hair, when Tom came back. He closed the bedroom door quietly behind him. Brush in hand, I paused between strokes. Our eyes met: his uncertain, mine accusing. “Hi,” he said.
“I heard you,” I said bluntly. “In the kitchen. Arguing.”
He grimaced. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
“Jules,” he said, “I’m so sorry.”
“That makes two of us. I don’t understand, Tom. Make me understand.”
“I don’t know what to say. My mother’s overprotective. She’s always been that way.”
Overprotective? Was that what he called it? If so, we might as well be speaking different languages. “I can think of a few other adjectives that fit even better,” I said. “How about mean? Spiteful? Vicious? Just for starters.”
“I don’t have a response for you, Jules, because you’re right.” He raked slender, pale fingers through his dark hair. “I knew things would be a little awkward. I knew she wouldn’t be happy about our marriage. But I never thought she’d be insulting to you.”
“She called me a gold digger! And my father a wastrel!”
“And if you were paying attention, you know that I stood up for you.”
“Yes. You did. And I’m grateful. But if this is the way she’s going to treat me, I’m not sure how long I can refrain from giving her a large piece of my mind.”
“Aw, honey.” He took a step toward me. “She’ll adjust. Just give her a little time.”
“That’s not everything, Tom. There’s more.” I told him what Taylor had said to me, the terrible things his mother had taught her, and he winced as if in pain.
“Christ, Mom,” he muttered, rubbing his face with his hands. “What the hell are you thinking?”
I hated to see him this way. Hated even worse knowing I was the one who’d put that look on his face. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t want to tell you, but I thought you should know.”
“I swear to God, Jules, I had no idea I was bringing you into this kind of nightmare. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away. It would kill me, but I wouldn’t blame you.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I take my marriage vows seriously. For better or for worse, remember? I’ll do whatever it takes to win her over. If that doesn’t work, then I’ll just have to learn to live with her. Somehow.” The picture that painted in my mind was bleak enough that I had to shove it aside.
“I’m not sure it could get much worse. This isn’t fair to you. It’s unacceptable. If Mom keeps this up, she’ll have to live somewhere else.”
Aghast, I said, “You can’t throw her out, Tom. She’s your mother.”
“And you’re my wife! There’s another vow you should remember: forsaking all others. Yes, she’s my mother. But you’re my family now. You and the girls. If she’s determined to come between us—” he scowled “—or between you and my daughters, I won’t allow it.”
I wasn’t sure if I felt better or worse. It was a comfort to know that Tom was solidly in my corner. On the other hand, I didn’t want to be responsible for the dissolution of his family. Wishing I could avoid asking, but knowing I couldn’t, I said, “Tom? What did your mother mean when she told Taylor I wouldn’t last any longer than any of the others?”
My husband rolled his eyes. “All those others,” he said. “All the screaming, swooning hordes of women I’ve dated since Elizabeth died.”
This was one thing we hadn’t talked about, not in detail. His sexual history. Mine. We’d been too busy falling for each other to get around to the topic of our collective romantic past. At first, we hadn’t thought much about it. Once we were married, it didn’t seem to matter.
But now, suddenly, it did. “Have there been screaming, swooning hordes?” I asked.
“Come on, Jules. Do I look like Jon Bon Jovi to you?”
In my book, he looked far better than Jon. Which was saying a lot. But he was deliberately missing the point. “I’m serious, Tom. How many were there?”
He crossed the room to me and took my hand. “Elizabeth’s been dead for two years.” He tucked a strand of wet hair behind my ear. “I haven’t lived like a monk. I’ve dated a few women. None of them stuck around. None of them stuck around because I wasn’t serious about any of them. I swear, Jules, you’re the only one who ever screamed or swooned.”
Coyly, I said, “I don’t seem to recall any swooning.”
He leaned over me and buried his nose in my hair. “You smell so good. What’s that scent you’re wearing?”
“Strawberry. It’s my shampoo.”
“Don’t ever stop using it.” His chin brushed my temple, his five o’clock shadow grazing my skin. His breath warm on my ear, he crooned softly: “Julie, Julie, Julie, do you love me?”
“Stop,” I said weakly. It was a private joke between us, that hokey old Bobby Sherman song. “Please stop.”
“You know you love it. So tell me, Jules, is the honeymoon over yet?”
I toyed with a strand of his hair and said, “Not quite yet.”
“Then why are we wasting time? Hand over your weapon.”
I gaped at him stupidly until he pried the hairbrush I’d been brandishing from my fingers. “You could do a lot of harm with that thing,” he said, “depending on where you’re aiming it.”
“Ouch.”
