Accidental Happiness (21 page)

20

Gina

I
could hear Lane coming to her door. When she opened it, she looked like the postoperative photo of a patient in a medical textbook. Her lower cheek and jaw had swelled on the left side; added to that was a face with no makeup and an expression chiseled from obvious abuse.

“What happened?” I stood in the doorway and stared while Georgie, oblivious to Lane’s transformation, went in to find the bowl of food that stayed, waiting for her in the kitchen.

“Dentist,” Lane said. Her temporary speech impediment added at least one
s
too many to the word. “I’m better.” She spoke in fragments. “Medicine. Had to wait to take it. Driving. Okay now.” She added the last part as if I’d protested.

“Can I get you anything?” I went to the kitchen and started in on the breakfast dishes that had been left in the sink. At the very least, Reese could clean up after herself and Angel.

“Don’t need anything now,” she managed. “Maybe a different dentist.”

I looked over at her. She was already back on the couch, lying down.
Headline News
ran without sound on the television.

I liked working in Lane’s kitchen with its full-sized appliances, ample sink and storage. No matter what I attempted with the boat’s galley, it always felt like E-Z Bake cooking. After I finished up, I went in and sat down in the chair beside the couch. Lane stared at the TV. She looked pretty loopy.

“Is Reese around?” I asked, trying to sound casual. With all Lane had been through at the dentist, I didn’t want to end up spilling out my miseries about Ben and the necklace. “I need to talk with her.”

“She and Angel . . . off somewhere . . . don’t know . . .” Her eyes were closing. Sleep could only do her good. I took the blue quilted throw from the back of the couch and put it over her.

It felt strange to be in Lane’s house with her asleep on the couch. The talking heads on the television mouthed words that were certainly irrelevant when laid against the events in my life. That narrow perspective lacked vision, but I didn’t care. I had to reclaim my own life before I worried about the world.

But how much of my life had been my own, even when Ben was alive? Loving him, it seemed, meant accepting his energy, the natural forces that moved with him. He wasn’t to blame, never imposed his choices or his desires. But they were nearly impossible to deny. If Ben wanted us to sail, if he wanted us to volunteer at the burn ward of the hospital, or eat Italian food. Whatever he desired—regardless of how profound or trivial—carried the momentum of his enthusiasm.

The only thing I’d ever denied him was children, and he’d gone to work on that again, but with a greater intensity than ever before. It wasn’t fair. Even now, months after his departure, I could still muster the indignation, the overwhelming frustration. He’d known the ground rules when we got married. It had been a deal-breaker at the time of the proposal.

“You don’t want kids?” he’d asked when we began serious talks about our future. “Not ever?”

“No.” I remember how my heart raced, how I’d fought to keep my voice steady as the discussion progressed. We’d gone out for seven months and I felt consumed by everything I felt for him. He’d mentioned marriage. The only barrier to cross before I agreed was “the talk.”

“You’re not even out of your twenties.” He laughed. “How can you
know
that you don’t want kids?”

So I’d told him. He knew that my younger sister had died, but he didn’t know the story of how she lived. I remember we sat at a window seat, in the bar of a restaurant on the intracoastal waterway. The drawbridge lifted as a tall-masted sailboat motored through. And I watched it move, taking its time, unbothered by all the cars backed up on the road. The boat needed passage; all others could wait. I needed for him to understand that I wouldn’t change my mind about children. So I took great care to be deliberate, to be clear.

“Elise used to hide in the basket of dirty laundry,” I told him. “For some reason this made my mother angry. Normally, she might scold us about things, but she rarely raised her voice. But when Elise popped her head out of all those dirty towels and sheets and underwear, my mother would startle, and then she would yell. Not crazy yelling or anything, but for my mother, a remarkable display.” I’d watch Elise drink it in, that rare spectacle of emotion from my mother. Even though it was all negative, Elise’s eyes would look so excited, almost happy. “No matter how many times it happened, it played out the same. Elise lived for it. That sparking moment of attention.”

Ben shook his head slightly as I explained this. I knew he didn’t understand what that had to do with children,
our
children.

“I understood my mother’s feelings,” I told him. “My empathy went to
her.
And on some level, I knew I should step in and give Elise something, make up for that huge gap between what she wanted and what she got from my parents. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give her that. And I hated that about myself, even as a kid. So it was this cycle that went around and around from the time I remember until the day Elise died.”

“You were twelve years old, Gina,” Ben said. “It wasn’t your job.”

“It could have been.”

“You’re not a cold person,” he insisted. “You’re not incapable of love. Just the opposite. Look at us.”

“That’s entirely different,” I said. “You get to choose that the way I am is enough. You get to understand where the rest of it comes from. You already like yourself, Ben. You don’t need my eyes on you to determine who you are. A child can’t do any of those things. I can’t guarantee that there is anything maternal inside me. My mother didn’t have it. She still doesn’t. It’s a chance I can’t take. Too much is at stake with a child involved.”

“The idea that you understand what Elise needed means you aren’t your mother. I love you, Gina,” he said. “I think with time . . .”

“We can’t go into it with that in mind. If we’re wrong, it’s too damaging. I’ve seen it. I’m telling you this now because I don’t want you to feel in the future that I’ve deceived you about it in any way.”

“With or without children, I’ll accept whatever choices you need to make.”

Part of it was my fault. Even I knew he didn’t quite believe it. He didn’t know how firmly my choice had been made. But I wanted to marry him. God, how I wanted to marry him. He’d given his word, and I knew without question that I would hold him to it. Both of us essentially looked the other way, away from the issue, so that we could have what we wanted at that moment: each other.

But my resolve was strong. I never wanted to feel the way I imagined my mother felt, bound to emotions she couldn’t generate. I never wanted to make a child the victim of that nature. I took my mother’s maternal restraint for granted when I was young, even began to empathize with it when my sister grew. I saw the damage as it occurred, and instead of bonding with her, the way siblings do, I gave Elise another obstacle to overcome: me.

As Elise’s sister, I shared what I saw to be my mother’s conflict, her guilt, at not having the resources to meet the younger girl’s needs—although, as I got older, I was never sure how much my mother really struggled with these things. But even at twelve I understood that if you gave in to an enormous need like the one my sister had—the way some mothers do, the way a mother should—it can make you disappear.

“I’ll accept this, if it is what you really need,” Ben had said again, as if to convince himself. “I want to be with
you.
That’s the only thing I know for sure.”

From time to time Ben would bring it up, as if testing the waters to see if the temperature had changed. But he never pushed, never questioned my resolve, not until those last few months of our marriage. Over those weeks, his arguments to have children gained increasing, surprising momentum. An awful urgency. This remained the greatest strain on our time together.

Lane slept. Her swollen mouth and gums generated loud breathing noises that I found strangely comforting. I thought of Ben again, of how I’d gone to such lengths to be honest with him. How could he have kept so much from me?

I don’t know when the idea occurred to me to go looking around in Reese’s stuff. I don’t know
if
it even occurred to me. But the door was open to the guest room just off the den, and from where I sat I could see Reese’s duffel by the bed.

If Lane had opened her eyes, she could have seen what I was doing. I’d gone through Benjamin’s things looking for answers, found almost more than I could accept. But I’d only ventured halfway. The rest of the answers lay with Reese—the ones she would tell me, and the ones I could find.

I had my arguments ready if Lane saw me.
She lied to me about Ben and the fact that he knew Angel. She somehow got Ben to lie to me too. I deserve to find some truth in all of this. I deserve to know.
But Lane didn’t open her eyes. The dentist must have given her horse tranquilizers.

There, in Reese’s duffel, I didn’t find any answers about Ben. But I did find something else. The mysterious package. I assumed it was the one Charlie had mentioned. Inside the opened FedEx box were all manner of pills, at least four different bottles. I touched the flap of the package, searched the invoice slip for some indication of what I’d found. The pharmaceutical names meant nothing to me, looked like gibberish, in fact. But I did recognize one thing on the label of each bottle. My own name. A tremble went through me when I saw it, familiar and clear again, on the “Ship To” section of the invoice.
GINA MELROSE.
The package had been sent to me. The pills prescribed to
me.

My cell phone began to ring and I felt caught, startled by some shrill alarm. I folded the invoice and put it in the pocket of my jeans. Hell, it had my fucking name on it. Let her explain that one if she noticed it was gone.

21

Reese

“L
et me catch my breath.” The incline slanted steadily up the hill. Nothing crazy, but Reese wasn’t at her best in terms of stamina. Things would get better; she had to tell herself they would.

Angel waited. She must have been uncomfortable, her arm all trussed up in that heavy sling. But she didn’t complain. Her patience never cracked, not for a moment. Reese felt proud of the way her daughter had handled everything over the last months, especially over the last days.

“You’re terrific,” Reese told her. “You know that?”

Angel offered a slight smile. She looked away, snapped a twig off a low branch, and twirled it between her fingers, the teardrop-shaped leaves spinning in the hot breeze. Reese could feel the salty moisture in the air. When she inhaled, she could taste it. A good place for Ben, she decided. A place where salt, sand, and tidal mud mingled without losing the essence of what they were.

“Let’s go.” Reese started up the hill again, enjoyed a small surge of strength, and felt almost grateful. “Where’s Benjamin?” she asked when they reached the top, as if he might be sitting on a bench, waiting for them. But Angel had already moved ahead, showing her the way.

Before Reese reached the grave, Angel sat down beside the small, temporary marker that said
MELROSE
. At the foot of the plot, Ben’s full name, his dates of birth and death, had been carved on a footstone that lay flat. Grass had already taken root around the edges, and she couldn’t help but notice how quickly people’s space on earth could be claimed once they were gone.

“He said he wanted me to visit, to stay with him some, as soon as he could find the right time to talk to Gina about it. He said I could have two special places, one with you and one at his house.” Angel recounted Ben’s promise with no apparent purpose but the simple telling. She didn’t sound angry or sad. Reese wondered what her daughter really felt about Ben’s presence in her life—and then his absence. Angel had seen him three times—total. But she’d taken him to her heart right away, trusted him. Then again, how could you know Ben and not fall for him?

“I don’t think Gina would have let me come,” she said in a voice that sounded older than God.

“Did Ben say that to you?” There it was again, Reese thought. The selfish, silly notion that Gina would have blown it, that she might have driven him away. What did it matter, after everything that had happened to Ben? And why did she want it to be that way, even now? Gina had been nothing but supportive since that awful first night.

“No,” Angel answered, sitting on the ground, close to where Ben’s head would lie beneath the soil. “Ben said that Gina was really nice. That I’d like her and he was sure she’d like me. But I don’t think she does like me.”

“Ben was really good at getting people to agree to his plans,” Reese said. “If he’d had more time . . .”

“I don’t think so,” Angel said. Her lower lip had turned downward in a child’s instinctive show of sadness. She didn’t try to stop it, didn’t seem self-conscious at all. Reese figured she could learn a lot from Angel’s pure acceptance of her emotions. “I wanted him to be my daddy.”

“I know, baby.” Reese felt the need to hold her, but sensed that Angel needed space to let all her words out, into the open air. “It’s what we all wanted.”

Angel drew a star in a small patch of sandy dirt where grass had not taken root. She picked up a stick and skewered the middle of the star, leaving the stick planted upright in the dirt.

“He told me it could happen soon,” Angel said. “But then we had to go to the mountains. I don’t think he knew how to find us there.”

The last sentence came out hard, firm—an accusation, of sorts. The questions were there—had been there for weeks—in Angel’s eyes, but she didn’t voice them. She had never second-guessed Reese’s decisions about their lives. She might someday. Reese had thought of this, feared her choices wouldn’t hold up in the long run.

She wondered how much Angel had guessed about their flight to the mountains. The truth was, she’d panicked, taken off with no plans in place. Ben had said he wanted to get help for her—that it had to be that way. She remembered all too well the “help” he’d gotten the first time when they were married. He was wrong. She didn’t need that. People hovering, watching every move. Her problems didn’t make her a child.
Help
meant one thing to Ben: taking charge. What if he’d decided she couldn’t handle looking after Angel anymore? Then there was Gina to worry about on top of everything else.

He never let anything go once he’d made up his mind. So she’d left him again before it came to that, this time taking Angel with her on purpose. But Angel had already gotten so attached. Maybe if she’d explained more to him . . . But she couldn’t go back and change anything. And she certainly couldn’t take any responsibility for what happened to Ben. It simply happened. And if she hadn’t left for those months, it’s just as likely that Angel might have even been in the car with him when—

Reese’s thoughts slammed to a halt. Not even in her meandering “what ifs” could she let her mind go there. A world without Ben was a terrible place, but a world without Angel . . . No. Not that.

“You know what?” Angel sounded like a kid again. She often went back and forth from her baby voice to an eerie maturity. Reese understood this, tried to keep up, to go with whatever the child offered.

“What, baby?”

“Even with Ben gone . . .” Tears came bright into her eyes. “Since I knew he wanted to be my daddy, it’s like I have one, even though he’s not exactly here.”

Reese nodded; words thick in her throat wouldn’t find their sound. She moved over beside Angel and held her. Long minutes passed. Through the trees beyond the church, Reese could see the water, and it calmed her somehow.

“That’s exactly right,” she said when she could finally speak. “You don’t lose someone when they really love you. Ben would tell you that too.”

Reese couldn’t help but think of the irony. Ben was supposed to be her safety net for Angel. Now, it seemed, they were both flying high with nothing beneath them but a long drop to solid ground.

A man stood by the car when they got back down the hill. He wore blue jeans with a dress shirt open at the collar. He reminded Reese of an older version of the guys she’d known in college, guys who hit senior year and began to think about finding a job. Suddenly long hair was short. Ratty polo shirts gave way to dress shirts, the buttoned-down and laundered variety.

“Is this your car?” he asked. Something about him, his manner, seemed inviting, implied easy talk. His voice was Southern coastal, deep vowels with full round tones.

“Yes, it is. Is there a problem with parking here?” She glanced around the gravel lot beside the church. Hers was one of three cars in the lot, with nothing but open space around them.

“No.” He smiled. “I just used to have an old Plymouth kind of like this. I was wondering who it belonged to, that’s all. I’m Andrew Hanes, the preacher here at Mt. Sinai.”

Okay. That was a surprise. She would have pegged him as anything but a country preacher.

“Reese Melrose.” She extended her hand. “This is my daughter, Angel.”

“Beautiful name.” He looked at Angel. Reese liked the way his voice stayed the same when he talked to the child. He didn’t address her like a simpleton, the way a lot of adults tended to do. “How’d you hurt your arm?”

“I had an accident.” Angel mimicked Reese’s response, didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, I hope it heals up soon,” he said. “That sling’s got to be pretty uncomfortable in this heat.”

“It’s not that bad,” Angel told him, polite but reserved. Angel’s stock-in-trade. Angel could act a little warmer, Reese thought. She wasn’t big on preachers, but this Reverend Hanes seemed okay.

“You know somebody up at the cemetery?” he asked, turning his attention to Reese.

“A relative. Died a couple of months ago, but I just found out.”

“Oh, I remember. Benjamin Melrose.”

He looked again at Angel, at her arm. Probably pieced it together, what had happened. The shooting had been all over the papers. But he didn’t say anything.

“That’s right,” she told him, hoping the inquiry would end there.

“So then, you’re related to Gina?” he asked. “Through Benjamin,” he added. The question took her off guard, but when she thought about it, she remembered Gina saying she’d been coming on Sundays to the church. This guy would have preached at Ben’s funeral.

“I guess that’s right,” Reese said. “Gina and I are just getting to know each other.”

Preacher Hanes glanced up the hill, as if to acknowledge the dead relative. “Well, I’m sorry about everything that happened,” he said. “I didn’t know him, but from all I hear, he was a good man.”

“Yes, he was.” Reese nodded, felt oddly compelled to say more. The man’s easy tone of conversation, his open face—these things made her feel better somehow. Better than she’d felt in days. The word “charisma” came to mind, but his manner seemed anything but contrived.

“So,” she asked, “what do preachers do when they’re not . . . preaching? Seems like a pretty cushy job except for having to get up early every Sunday.”

Angel must have sensed a full-blown conversation coming on. She took off toward a playground set up behind the church.

“Oh, you’d be surprised at how busy we stay. Hospital visits, counseling, and that all-consuming prayer thing. Prayer. That alone is a full-time job.” He smiled.

Irreverent. She liked that in a reverend. Well, as much as she liked anything in that breed of human. To her surprise, she felt strangely compelled to talk with this Preacher Hanes.

“What kind of counseling do you do?” She was biding time, trying to keep him in front of her. What the hell was she thinking?

“Marriage. Grief. Life. Everyone has a problem or two. For people who go to church, preachers are usually the first stop. After us, they go for the hired guns.”

“Therapists.”

“Yep.”

God, he was cute. She glanced at Angel on the playground. Figured she had ten, fifteen minutes before her daughter got restless and started asking to go.

“So, are you any good at it? The counseling thing.”

“I do my best. Most of the time it just helps for people to talk things through. Hearing it out loud, people find answers right there in front of them.”

Two seagulls passed overhead, their high, arching call sounding even as they moved out of sight. Reese tried to think of what to say. The preacher stood, gave her ample time to respond, to hold up her end of the chatter, but she couldn’t seem to speak. Still, he didn’t seem bothered by the silence. That was unusual for a man, for anyone, really. Reese found that most people couldn’t abide quiet air. Finally, he glanced up the hill toward the cemetery. “Were you close to Mr. Melrose?”

“Yes,” she answered him. “But we were closer a long time ago.”

He probably thought she was a cousin, some relative who’d played with Ben when they were children together.

“Well, if you find that you need to talk, if there’s anything troubling you—”

“No, I don’t think so.” She realized that she’d cut him off. “I wasn’t asking for me. About what you do with people. I just don’t know any preachers, and I was curious, that’s all.” The man was a stranger, regardless of how easy he was to talk to.

Part of her thought it would feel good. All the worries of the last few months pressed so tight inside her. What if she just opened up a little, let just enough out to ease the strain? Weren’t preachers bound to some ethical code of secrecy? They couldn’t go telling everything they heard or they’d get run out of town.

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

“A couple of years.” His eyes, large and brown, kept a line of sight, directed toward her face, her eyes. “It’s starting to feel like home.”

Home. That concept had been a fluid one for most of her life, all of Angel’s. She wondered what it would be like to claim a place as a real home.

“Are you okay?” Andrew Hanes was asking. She must have lost herself for a minute.

“I don’t know. It’s been a rough few months,” she said. “I was just thinking that talking wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

She thought of that last day in Boone. The frantic need to run, to get Angel someplace new and safe. Not to mention her own problems. The same things she’d been feeling for months and months before all that happened with Angel. Only afterward, when she’d gotten so frightened, she felt the volume turned up to full-blast. She had to keep Angel safe.

“I suppose I could use a sounding board,” she said. “Someone to listen.”

She looked over at Angel again. The girl used her legs to carry herself higher and higher, holding on to one side of the swing with her good hand, hooking her elbow tight around the other. It had to hurt, the pressure of the swing on those torn muscles. Watching her made Reese feel anxious. She knew she should call out, tell her to stop before she hurt herself again. But Angel looked so happy. The swing set seemed sturdy enough, a nice wooden construction. It looked new, with monkey bars attached, along with a small slide. Reese wondered if Preacher Charming had put it together himself. Shirt off. Sweating in the Charleston heat. That would have been something to watch.