скачать книгу бесплатно
Jesse shook his head. “No thanks. I’m not thirsty.” He rubbed his palms over the thighs of his jeans. Then, hooking his thumbs on his pockets, he looked around the house with a solemn curiosity. “Nice place,” he mumbled.
Following his gaze, Julie saw her home through his eyes—a bright, spacious two-story with expansive windows, thick carpets, an Italian marble fireplace and classic country French decor accented by lush, live plants and her own original oil paintings. Julie felt a rush of pride, recalling how hard she and Michael had worked to afford such an impressive home for themselves and Katie. But the feeling was followed by a prick of guilt. Jesse Dawson had never been able to live in such a house.
“Thank you.” Julie tightened the sash on her robe, sighed audibly and wondered what she and the boy could find to talk about now. “Are you still in school?” she inquired.
He lowered his gaze, jutting out his lower lip. “No, I quit last year.”
“You didn’t graduate?”
“Naw. I was a junior.”
“Really? But you had only one more year.” She knew she was prying, but it was for Katie’s sake. “Why didn’t you stay in school?”
Jesse shrugged “I had to work, bring in some dough.”
“You couldn’t wait until you finished your senior year?”
“Nope. We needed the money. Grams is too old to work. My brother, Scout, is too young”
“What do you do?” Julie asked, “I mean, where do you work?” What she really meant was, Who in their right mind would hire a high school dropout?
Jesse flashed a crooked grin. “I fix cars. I work at a little repair shop a couple of blocks from here. That’s where I met Katie. She brought her car in for a tune-up.”
Oh, no, a grease monkey! Julie murmured a vague reply but silently chalked up one more reason she wished Michael hadn’t given Katie a car on her sixteenth birthday. He was always spoiling her, showering her with everything her heart desired. She was his beautiful little princess who could do no wrong Why couldn’t he see that he was spoiling her, giving her too much too soon? Why did Julie always have to be the “bad guy,” pulling back the reins on Katie’s freedom?
“I’m ready!” It was Katie’s voice. She came striding down the stairs toward the foyer in a sleeveless denim top with a short plaid skirt. “Is this better, Mom?” she asked, twirling in a breezy pirouette that showed off her willowy body and long, shapely legs.
“The outfit is fine,” said Julie begrudgingly, “but I didn’t give you permission to spend the entire evening out with—with Jesse. We’ll have dinner first—”
“But it’s church, Mom. Pastor Russell is always telling us to invite people to church.”
“I don’t think he had dating in mind, Katie.”
“Please, Mom! We’ll get something to eat at a fast-food place and then go directly to church.”
Julie wanted to say no, but then she would have to contend with an angry, insufferable daughter all evening. And besides, Katie and the boy wouldn’t be alone; they’d be spending the evening with the youth group.
But another realization cast the deciding vote in Katie’s favor. Julie would need her privacy tonight, of all nights! Somehow she had to find the courage to face Michael and confront him about this mystery woman who wrote him on blue, perfumed stationery about a secret tryst, and signed it, “Love, Beth.”
Seeing the pout forming again on Katie’s lips, Julie said at last, “Go on, Katie. You and Jesse go get something to eat and go to church. But I want you home right after the meeting, you hear?”
“Thanks, Mom! You’re the greatest!”
But as the door slammed shut, Julie wondered if the few hours Katie was gone would give her enough time with Michael. What dark, ugly truths might she unearth with her probing? Had she already lost her happy home and just hadn’t realized it? Equally disturbing, what would her daughter find when she returned home tonight? Would Katie find her parents at war with each other, their marriage in shambles?
Chapter Three (#ulink_e5f8b68b-e327-5995-b8f5-24bb8303d93d)
Michael phoned shortly after Katie left the house with Jesse. Julie was in the kitchen warming up a can of chicken noodle soup. She hated the stuff, except when she was sick. Grabbing the wall phone before its second ring, she spattered hot broth on her hand and uttered an exclamation of pain and frustration. But into the mouthpiece she delivered a surprisingly controlled and pleasant “Hello.”
When she realized it was Michael, her heart started pounding in a way it hadn’t since they were dating. Her reaction startled her. It was as if their relationship had already undergone a profound change since their parting this morning, all because of a note she had found from someone named Beth.
“Listen, Jewel, I’m glad you’re home already. I’m going to be tied up tonight, so don’t hold dinner, okay?”
Michael sounded distracted, harried, almost the detached, self-conscious tone people reserved for answering machines. “I’ll get home as soon as I can.”
“What is it?” she asked thickly. “A client?”
“Yeah,” he said without missing a beat. “We’re closing a deal and you know the mountains of paperwork involved. It’s a headache, but what can I say?”
“’We’?” Julie repeated. “You said ‘we’re closing a deal’?” Usually Michael would just say, I’m closing a deal.
“You know how it goes, Julie,” Michael replied. “Another Realtor brought in a client for a house our office listed. We do this all the time and share the commission, you know that”
“Yes, of course,” Julie conceded, feeling a trifle foolish. “Do you want me to keep something warm on the stove for you?” The rest of a can of soup? she thought bitterly.
“No, that’s not necessary, hon. I’ll grab a bite somewhere.” His tone softened into the gentle, tender baritone that had made her heart do flipflops all those years ago. “How’s Katie?”
“She went with a friend to youth group.” No sense in telling him yet about the long-haired boy with the ring in his ear.
“By the way, sweetheart, you sound awful. Looks like that cold you were fighting got a real foothold.”
“Yeah, it did. I stayed home from work today and played couch potato.”
“Good You can’t be too careful with all the weird viruses going around these days. Better doctor yourself with that smelly stuff and get to bed early. Don’t wait up for me, okay? Just take care of yourself, and I promise I’ll try not to wake you when I come in.”
“You think you’ll be that late?” Julie asked, feeling suddenly close to tears. She was always a sucker for Michael’s sweet talk. He could charm fuzz off a fly. Why did he have to use those concerned, heart-melting tones when she was all set to be infuriated with him?
“Are you okay, Jewel?” he asked. “You sound…funny—and I’m not talking about the cold now. Is something wrong?”
“What could be wrong?” she murmured without conviction. “I guess it’s just—misery loves company, you know?”
“Look, I’ll try to make a short evening of it, but I can’t promise anything.”
“Michael?” she ventured. “I was just wondering—who’s the other Realtor you’re working with?—on this deal, I mean.”
“Nobody you’d know, sweetheart.”
“Humor me, Michael. I’m curious. Which office is he from?”
“She’s with Consolidated Realtors in Huntington Beach. They’re in the book. Now I’ve really got to go, hon.”
“What’s her name, Michael?”
“Who?”
“The Realtor. In case I need to reach you.”
“Are you feeling that bad, Jewel?”
“No, it’s just—I assume you’re meeting at her office, so I’d like to know who she is.”
“Yeah, sure. Fine.” Michael sounded annoyed. “Her name is Beth. Beth Chamberlin.”
Julie felt as if someone had walloped her in the pit of her stomach. For an instant she couldn’t catch her breath. She held the receiver away from her ear, but she could still hear Michael saying, “Did you hear me, Jewel? Julie, are you there?”
“Yes, Michael,” she murmured, her voice catching. “I’m sorry. I’m feeling worse. I’ve got to go.”
“Listen, take care of yourself, sweetheart,” he said again, as if she were the only woman on his mind or in his heart. “I’ll see you soon. Sleep tight.”
Without another word she dropped the receiver back into its cradle, stumbled into the living room and curled up on the sofa. She felt stunned, baffled, wounded, betrayed. Beth was more than a name in a note. She was real, a real person, someone who was meeting with Michael this very evening. “Michael, sorry about last night. How about tonight? My place. Love, Beth.” That wasn’t the note of a colleague planning the closure of a deal; it was a woman planning an intimate tryst with a man she loved.
“What kind of a fool do you think I am, Michael?” Julie rubbed her temples. Her dull headache was quickly turning into throbbing, viselike pain. No matter how she played it, the two scenarios didn’t jibe—Michael’s business deal, Beth’s intimate note. “Am I reading too much into this?” she asked aloud. “Or, God forbid, is Michael having an affair with some bimbo named Beth?”
The thought of Michael cheating on her left her feeling incredibly helpless and vulnerable, like someone sitting in the path of an oncoming truck. She wanted desperately to get out of the way before the careering vehicle struck, but she was powerless; her life was about to be shattered, and she couldn’t fathom a way to avoid the impact.
Julie stood and paced the floor for several minutes, her mind replaying Michael’s words over and over. Was there a clue she’d missed? No, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing she could get a grip on. Except Beth’s note. But try as she might, she was only going in circles, retracing the same confusing details until nothing made sense.
She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. She considered going straight up to bed, as Michael had suggested. It was tempting to let slumber obliterate her pain, her questions, her confusion. Why not? She would go upstairs, swathe her throat with that greasy, pungent stuff Michael hated and tie one of his large handkerchiefs around her neck, the way her mother had always done with her father’s handkerchiefs when she was a child.
Michael always teased her about her mother’s homemade remedies, but he wasn’t above trying them himself when he felt bad enough. And right now, more than anything in the world, Julie needed a touch of her mother’s tender, loving care, even if it was only in the form of an old handkerchief smelling of camphor and menthol.
But hold on; wait a minute! What was she thinking? She didn’t want Michael coming home from a date with some gorgeous blonde—for surely she would be gorgeous and surely she would be blonde—and finding his wife sleeping in her scuzzy flannels with a smelly hanky tied around her neck. No matter how lousy she felt, she would go upstairs, take a bubble bath, wash her hair, douse herself with Michael’s favorite perfume and maybe even put on a touch of makeup. She would slip into her most provocative negligee, and, by George, she would be awake when Michael arrived home, no matter how late it was’
Minutes later, as she lay in her oval tub up to her neck in warm water brimming with sweet-smelling, opalescent bubbles, she allowed her body to unwind while her mind traced the rocky, bittersweet history of her marriage.
She had lived for seventeen years with the knowledge that Michael had married her because she was pregnant with his child. Some women chose to abort their unwanted babies, but not Julie. She’d never considered it for a minute; all right, maybe half a minute. But she knew instinctively that this baby—Michael’s baby—was a treasure God had given her, and she would do whatever it took to nurture and protect it.
“I always wanted kids someday,” Michael conceded when she told him about the baby. “Maybe not this way and not this soon, but, hey, we’ll make the best of it. If it’s my kid, I want to give him a good home—with two parents who love him.” He managed a resigned smile. “So what do you say, Julie? We could drive to Las Vegas this weekend, tie the knot and be back in time for classes on Monday morning.”
Julie agreed, relieved that the revelation of her pregnancy had gone so smoothly and that Michael had taken it so well. They would be married and their child would have a normal home. Wasn’t that what she wanted?
And yet somewhere deep inside she felt a keen sense of disappointment—it was irrational, she knew—but it was there just the same. She and Michael had lost something precious, something they were just on the verge of finding. They had skipped some vital, foundational step in the larger scheme of things. Their relationship was no longer about the two of them and how they felt about each other; it was about what kind of parents they would be to their unborn child.
Julie hadn’t realized until years later, perhaps not even fully until now, how much she had missed the romance and thrill of a traditional courtship. Instead of bringing her roses and whispering words of adoration in her ear, Michael had brought her ads for cribs and layettes and talked about the house they would buy and the nursery they would decorate. She had never been quite sure whether Michael was more in love with her or with the baby she was carrying. And the question that plagued her most of all: would he have loved her enough to marry her if there hadn’t been a baby?
That question had haunted her all the years of her marriage, and, God help her, it still haunted her. Every time she watched Michael and Katie playing Rook or Monopoly or tennis together or laughing and joking in the easy, comfortable way they had with each other, she couldn’t help thinking, He loves her more than me. He married me so that he could have her in his life.
And now those old, nagging suspicions seemed to be confirmed. Michael had found another woman—Beth, whoever she was; some conniving witch named Beth. Maybe she would become the love of his life that Julie had never quite managed to be, for she had always felt a certain reticence with Michael, a reservation about giving herself too wholeheartedly to a man who didn’t love her enough.
It was a fear—primal, unarticulated—submerged somewhere at the deepest level of her subconscious: this fear of giving herself unreservedly to a man who didn’t want her. She had learned the lesson early, at her father’s knee. The childhood memories had dimmed in her mind to hazy, shadowed images, like fine stationery that has yellowed with time, flimsy as butterfly wings, the ink faded to pale, indecipherable scrolls.
But, for Julie, the memories still stung. Somewhere inside, at a core that could no longer be touched, she still recognized herself—a boisterous, exuberant youngster running with girlish glee to her daddy, expecting him to swing her up in his arms and tell her he loved her. But her father had been too busy to give her a hug, too preoccupied with his own problems to play with her or read her a story, too closemouthed to tell her he loved her. Throughout her childhood, his stock-in-trade answer was, “Can’t you see I’m busy, Julie? Go see your mother.”
“He loves you, baby,” her mother always assured her. “He just has a hard time showing it.” Her mother always had an excuse for her father’s lack of affection and attention. “You know how he’s been since he lost his job…you know how hard he has to work to put food on the table…you know he doesn’t say much, Julie—that’s just his nature…you can’t change him, Julie. He’s not a demonstrative man, but that doesn’t mean the feelings aren’t there.”
“Who were you kidding, Mama—you or me?” said Julie as she pulled the plug on her bath water. The bubbles were gone now, the water tepid, and she was still sneezing. “You were always making excuses for Daddy, but I stopped believing them a long time ago.”
She felt the bitter irony as she wrapped herself in a thick, velvety towel. Growing up, she had dreamed of marrying a man who would give her the kind of boundless, unconditional love she had never received from her father. But the inauspicious circumstances of her relationship with Michael had ruined that possibility. She would always feel that he had married her out of a sense of duty—not because she was the one great love of his life.
And now there was this new complication: Beth.
Julie dusted herself with her most expensive body powder and slipped into a soft, clingy negligee. She took another decongestant and put on enough makeup to brighten her brown eyes and bring out the roses in her cheeks. She was running a brush through her saffron curls when she heard the door open downstairs. Her heart quickened. Michael—he’s home already!
Then she heard Katie’s voice calling up the stairs, “Mom, I’m home’ Where are you?”
“Up here,” Julie called back, pulling on her long, silk robe, stifling her disappointment.
Katie took the stairs two at a time and came sashaying into the bedroom looking disquietingly blissful. Her hair was mussed, her face glowed, and her glossy, cranberry red lipstick was gone—telltale signs that she and her new boyfriend of the moment had been necking. Or what did they call it these days? Making out? Macking? Playing tonsil hockey?
“Did Jesse enjoy the youth group?” Julie inquired.
“Yeah, he thought they were cool.”
“Sounds like you think Jesse is pretty cool,” noted Julie.
“He is He’s totally hot, Mom.”
Julie shivered, but it wasn’t a chill from her bath; it was prompted by the expression of rapture on her daughter’s face. I know that look, Julie thought. She’s in too deep. She’s heading for trouble and doesn’t even know it “I hope you’re not getting serious about this boy,” she said, weighing her words. “You’ve just met him.”
“What if I am?”
“You hardly even know him.”
“That’s not true, Mom.” Katie twisted a strand of her long, burnished hair. “I’ve known Jesse since eighth grade. And we’ve been hanging out together for weeks now. He’s so rad.”
“Then how come you never brought him home to meet your dad and me?”
Katie shrugged. “I figured you wouldn’t like him.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t. Tell me.”
“He’s not exactly the college preppie-type of guy you want me to date.”
Julie inhaled deeply. If she wasn’t careful, this discussion would deteriorate into a bitter clash of wills. “Katie, college isn’t the issue here. Your friend Jesse told me he’s not even planning to graduate from high school. What kind of future—?”
“Mom, why can’t I just have fun today and let the future take care of itself?”
These were Julie’s own words from so many years ago, smacking her in the face. “Because life doesn’t work that way.”
Katie folded her slender arms defensively. “I’m a teenager, Mom. I’m not ready to get all serious and gloomy about life like you and Dad.”
“Is that how you see us?”
“Isn’t it? You’re always working. You never have any fun. I don’t even think you guys like each other anymore.”
