Accidental Happiness (28 page)

“I know what it is,” he gently interrupted. “You think that had something to do with refusing to be some child bride to an evangelical minister? Reese, I can tell you right now, the two would have nothing to do with—”

“Wait,” she said. “Just listen. The disease. It comes and goes, but when it’s bad . . . Well, it starts to feel exactly the way I felt when that dirtbag preacher put his hand on my head. It’s more isolated. A hand that won’t pick something up, or my leg buckling, not letting me walk without grabbing something. When Angel was real little, sometimes, I couldn’t even pick her up.

“Sometimes, it gets so bad I have to use a cane, and that makes it hard to find work. At least, any work that someone would hire me to do. And every time it gets bad, I remember being on that church platform. Losing myself and being carried off without a muscle I could move to stop it. And then I get scared. I’m afraid the day is coming when that happens again. When this disease takes more than a few fingers or leg muscles at a time. If it takes everything . . . Andrew, I’ve got a daughter. I guess I just wonder if there’s something I could do . . . should do . . . to make things right.”

He sat, watching her. He looked as helpless as she felt every time she thought of the worst that could happen.

“I went into the hospital, not too long ago,” she continued when he didn’t say anything. “And when I did, something terrible almost happened to Angel. That’s why I came here, hoping that Ben could help. I’m working on the answers to everything, but I have to get so much settled. I feel like I’m running out of time.”

More cars lined up in the parking lot. People holding their Bibles stepped out onto the dusty gravel, ruined their polished shoes before setting one foot inside the church. They looked over at Reese and Preacher Andrew. Reese realized that she didn’t want to make him look bad anymore. She didn’t want to punish him because he had joined the same club as that maniac evangelist all those years ago. In spite of his screwing around on his wife—which suddenly, Reese couldn’t imagine—Andrew wasn’t the same species as that horrible man. He was decent. Some things in the world you just had to believe, and everything about him told Reese that Andrew Hanes was a good man.

“I want to talk more about all this,” he said, making note of the gathering crowd. “I’ll be honest with you. I feel a little over my head. But I think I can help, and one thing I know for sure—and you
have
to understand this—what happened back then and whatever problems you’re having now . . . They don’t have anything to do with each other. If anyone’s going to burn in hell, it’s going to be that television fucker and not—” He stopped himself, took a breath. His face had become flushed. “I’m sorry. Sometimes the Marine in me gets the best of the preacher. But I’m working on it. It just makes me so mad. You’re not to blame, Reese.”

She wanted to believe that. Sometimes she did.
He
believed it. That seemed like enough peace of mind to last a little while. But eventually her doubts would return. The idea that some divine plan she had rejected years ago set off a terrible chain of events in the world, or at least in her world. The momentary paralysis at that awful revival had been a preview. Part of her even felt she deserved whatever she got.

“Thanks for listening,” she said, standing up. As she stood, her balance faltered before she got her footing. She felt the weakness in her leg, the wild twitch of muscle over bone that she couldn’t will away.

Andrew saw it. “Do your people here know, at least about the illness? Is there someone who can help? What about Gina? You’ve got to be able to call on family—”

“We’re not really family,” she said.

He shook his head, as if he didn’t understand.

“I was married to Ben a long time ago. That’s our only connection. I’m not exactly a beloved cousin—hers or his.”

“I see.” He had no more directives about family.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to make this into your problem. Any of it. Don’t worry. It helped just to talk about it,” she said as she made her way toward her car. “It’s been stuck in my head with nowhere to go for a long time.”

“We should talk more,” he called out.

Reese recognized the tone, the expression. He wanted to rescue her. It had been a long time since someone strong enough to do that had come along. Ben might have been the last one. Maybe she’d let him try. For the moment, just feeling a little bit better seemed to be enough.

“Enjoy your Kumbayah chanting, or whatever it is you do in there,” she said as she reached her car. “And pray for me if you want to,” she called over her shoulder. “It couldn’t hurt.”

The men and women going into the meeting stared as she got into her car. She glanced across the street and saw Diane Hanes standing in the doorway of her house. She had little intention, Reese surmised, of joining her husband.

She headed back toward the highway; as the Plymouth reached the stop sign for the main road, a familiar car went by. Gina, in her Volvo, didn’t see Reese waiting to make the turn. Reese pulled out, trailing the car back toward the marina. She thought of what Andrew had said about Gina. Thinking they were related. If that was true at all, what an odd mixed-up family they’d become in just three days’ time.

Reese turned on the radio, soft rock drivel that might help her relax. Then she lit her last cigarette of the day. She had let her story out, and the world hadn’t cracked open underneath her. That was something, at least. The absence of the tightness, of the effort it took to hold the memory fast inside her brain, seemed to free her, leave space for optimism. She’d ride that small current of hope all the way back to her daughter; take it as a sign that maybe Lane had decided to say yes. Hearing that would put the greatest of her fears to rest.

28

Gina

I
hung streamers up over the framed seascape on the wall in the den. As I decorated, I felt Angel watching me. She had lived in the cottage for over a week, but she still walked around and touched everything as if she wasn’t quite sure it was real, if it would still be there when she got up every morning. With her birthday decorations nearly in place, Angel looked around as if the house had become Disneyland. She started toward the kitchen, then turned abruptly, ran back to her room.

“What are you doing?” Reese called out to her.

“I’m changing clothes.”

It was her third change of outfit since I’d arrived less than an hour before. In spite of her injured arm, she’d gotten good at dressing herself, and doing just about anything else she wanted. She still wore the sling, but had perfect use of her hand. Reese said that by the time school started in a little less than a week, she’d have her shoulder taped but wouldn’t need any other support.

“I’m almost done,” Angel called out to no one in particular.

Even with the new things Lane had bought her, I wasn’t sure she had many more fashion options to try.

She’d decided to have her party at the cottage, not to go to the pond as planned. A blessing all in all, since Reese was having more problems with her leg. The boat ride over would have been difficult, I suspected.

“Where should we put these?” Derek walked in with Charlie. Each of them had a couple of presents.

“Over on the coffee table,” Lane directed.

I felt sorry for Reese. She’d missed one day of work already. Not a good thing to happen in your second week of employment. She sat on the couch and let Lane do her party thing. I assumed Lane had talked with her about all the arrangements.

“You want a drink or something?” I asked her.

“I’m fine,” she said. She looked at me as if taking mental notes of some sort.

“You sure?” I felt uncomfortable, under scrutiny for no reason I could fathom. Maybe she was just wondering why I’d become so nice after our painful bout of honesty on Lane’s porch the week before. She had to figure something was up, but when I looked at her, I couldn’t see anything but her struggle. She appeared different to me in light of her illness.

“Well, I brought beer for the grown-ups. Bourbon if that won’t do the trick,” I said, “and about ten different kinds of soft drinks for Angel to pick from. She’s going to be sugar-polluted for a week. Plus, I bought junk food with enough preservatives to kill small animals in a laboratory. We’re talking Twinkies, Cheetos, the works.”

“Really, I’m fine.” She smiled, looked subdued, almost sad. “Thanks for bringing all that stuff. I can’t believe I sprained my foot like that. Terrible timing.”

That was her story. She turned her ankle. And she hadn’t been lifting anything with her right hand, which she hadn’t attempted to explain. I tried to call up some indignation about being kept in the dark, essentially lied to—again. But any anger I felt became dwarfed by sympathy. I’d kept my discovery of the credit card to myself, the fact that I knew what she’d done. The card had found its way back in my wallet, and it wasn’t as if she’d gone out and bought new shoes or something. Jesus, the woman needed medicine, and without insurance . . . I’d seen my credit card bill. How did people live with those kinds of expenses?

“Well, if you change your mind, just speak up,” I told her.

Charlie sat down beside her, and she gave him a more genuine grin. Apparently, they were together, or at least, according to marina gossip, had been
together
in enough unusual locations around the place to assume they were some sort of couple. She seemed happier with him beside her than she’d been since I got to the cottage.

“Gina,” Lane called out from the kitchen. “Your cell phone is ringing.”

“Okay.” I got up, did the mad dash to get it out of my purse before the voice mail kicked in.

“Hello?”

Mom’s voice greeted me on the other end. “Hope I’m not catching you in the middle of anything,” she said.

She made the usual chitchat for a few minutes. Nothing was ever direct with my mother. But she eventually got around to the reason for the call.

“Your father has a meeting in Charleston next week, honey. I thought I might tag along. We’ll have dinners on both nights—you’re welcome to join us, of course—but I thought at the very least we could have a nice long lunch. I’ve been concerned about you.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said. “But sure, I’d love to have lunch.”

She gave the details. She was staying at Charleston Place, had picked a four-star restaurant just down the street. Easy enough to remember. Fancy hotel. Ridiculously priced dining. Tuesday.

“That’ll be great, Mom.”

After I hung up, I stood in the kitchen, thinking about Lane, Derek, and Maxine, even Reese and Angel, in a strange, dysfunctional way. How did they come to feel like family—a few of them in little more than a week’s time—when my own mother struck me as an acquaintance? At best, a family friend.

“Could you give me a quick hand here, Gina?” Lane was standing on a chair, attaching a piñata to a hook she had screwed into the popcorn composite ceiling. I hoped it wouldn’t bother Maxine. Holes in the ceiling. I felt oddly accountable for the cottage. A gesture that I’d meant to be ceremonial had become, to my surprise, a genuine responsibility. “Hold the bat up and let’s guess how low I need to make it for Angel to reach.”

Birthday balloons filled with helium had been tied to every chair. Also Lane’s idea. I looked at her, had never seen her so thrilled with herself before. She’d been called into service earlier in the morning when Reese had tried and failed to decorate the place herself.

“You need a grandchild, woman,” I said. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Reese was just so upset, hurting herself like that. I told her not to worry. That she and Angel temporarily had a matched set of injuries. Truth is, I enjoy doing this.”

Lane didn’t know about Reese’s condition. I didn’t know how much to say. Reese had kept it to herself for a reason, I guessed. I’d only talked to Derek and Maxine, and even that seemed like trading in gossip. But Maxine had known something about it already, and Derek, well . . . Talking with Derek seemed more like thinking out loud. Strange, how naturally he had become part of my life—as if he’d been there all along and I hadn’t quite noticed it. It was too early in our relationship to worry about the
issues,
my issues, that would eventually come up if we stayed together. I decided to enjoy the golden window, the time when talking about kids would have been premature. Absurd even.

“Angel doesn’t know what to do with herself,” I said to Lane as the girl yelled out to ask her mom where the pink scrunchie had gone.

“From the way she talks,” Lane said, “I’m not sure she’s ever had a real party. Even that thing with the clown she told us about was just her and her mom at a performance. She needs friends of her own, but that won’t happen until school starts. In the meantime . . .” She put confetti in a large glass bowl, then mixed in Hershey’s Kisses. “Well, it’s up to us to make it festive for her.” She put the bowl in the center of the table. Paper birthday place settings were already set up all around, and the cake—Cinderella Barbie complete with full-frosting couture—kept a place of honor on the counter.

I turned around, only to find Angel standing behind me. I wondered how much she overheard.

“Hi,” I said.

She looked past me—through me, really—over toward Lane, and waited—eager but silent—for the older woman to notice her.

“You look nice,” I said quietly, but she only put her finger to her lips for me to be quiet. This was Lane’s moment, and if I wanted to be an extra in the scene, I’d have to keep my lips shut. Angel hadn’t warmed back up to me. But after all she’d been through with her mother’s problems, I’d become willing to offer her some slack.

With her good hand, the child pulled at the waistband of her knit skirt, straightened it. It had multicolor stripes that circled her little body. A bright pink T-shirt picked up the shade of one of the bands. On her shoulder a sticker, announcing the size of the matched set, had escaped her notice, so I reached over and pulled it off for her.

“Thanks,” she said, still looking the other way.

The outfit must have been one of her new ensembles from Lane. They’d gone to Gap Kids in downtown Charleston a couple of days before, made a day of it with lunch and a horse-and-buggy ride.

“Look at it as an early present,” Lane had explained when Reese protested the extravagance. “An outing and some clothes. Let me do this, okay?”

Reese had agreed. It occurred to me that the protest had only been for show in the first place, but I wasn’t nearly as judgmental as I would have been a few days before.

Still trying to catch Lane’s eye, Angel had lost her smile, had begun to look anxious. I coughed, an obvious, look-this-way fake sound, and Lane glanced over and grinned.

“Come here!” she said to the child. “Don’t you look beautiful?”

Angel ran to her and hugged her.

“Were you saving this for the last minute?” Lane asked. “Trying to throw me off with all those other clothes?”

“No,” Angel said. “I just couldn’t decide. I thought I might ought to keep this one for sometime when I wouldn’t spill on it. But I really wanted to wear it and—”

“It’s your birthday, sweetheart.” Lane gave her another squeeze. “There’s nothing you can spill that I can’t get out in the laundry, okay?”

“Okay.” Angel became a different child when she smiled. I had to catch this on the fly because she rarely offered spontaneous cheer when I was around.

But I couldn’t look at Angel anymore without thinking of Ben, of what he so desperately wanted from me. He wanted the green light to tell me about her. To share her with me. I’d never given it, and even if I wanted to share it with him now—something I’d yet to sort out—the opportunity had passed. Something had been lost between Ben and me in those weeks before his death. Something I couldn’t name until Reese laid it all out for me. Even knowing didn’t make the answers clear, and if there was blame for any of it, I didn’t know where to pin it.

“Well, let’s get this party started.” Derek stood up, threw his hands up as if to say,
Anybody with me?

“There’s still someone else coming,” Reese said.

“Who’s that?” Lane asked.

“I invited Andrew Hanes and his wife,” she said. “He’s been a big help since we moved. Helping me figure out how everything works at the house. She brought over a casserole the other night.”

A still, soundless moment took hold of the room. Derek was the first to speak. “Well, let me get some music on, at least.” He flipped through a selection of CDs that had been collected at the cottage over the years. “How about Bob Marley? I’ve always liked whimsy with my revolution.”

“Great,” Reese answered, and in a moment Bob Marley’s cheerful diatribes against oppression broke the awkward spell.

When Reese stood up from the couch, I saw her put her working hand on the back of a chair to steady herself. As she made her way to the kitchen, the effort that it took for her to walk became evident. I’d seen her two days before and there’d been no hint of such a decline. I took a step toward her, wondering how to offer help without making her feel pathetic, but Derek solved the problem, looping his arm around her waist, a gesture that appeared both flirtatious and natural.

“We’re jammin’ . . .”
he sang, half carrying her in the pretense of a singsong walk.

He glanced over my way and I realized my eyes were tearing up. His look reminded me to be careful, his anthem of the past week. He remained wary when it came to Reese. He liked her well enough, but that was a far cry from trusting her. I blinked my eyes, felt the wetness on my lids, my lashes. Nothing a good deep breath couldn’t keep in check. But I realized that Derek was right. My sympathy for Reese had completely clouded the fact that she had played me. Played Ben. I needed to stay careful, or at the very least, aware.

The anticipated Reverend Hanes was a no-show, so we gave up and went ahead with the cake. A doll confection, as promised, it looked too beautiful to taste like anything but cardboard; but Lane had made it from scratch, so there was hope. She’d gone out and bought a mold along with various how-to books.

“She’s really pretty,” Angel said, her eyes wide, staring at the creation as the candles burned down.

“Blow them out, Angel,” Reese urged. Georgie had camped out underneath the table in anticipation of crumbs.

Within minutes Cinderella Barbie’s voluminous ballgown looked more like the tattered rags of her pre–Fairy Godmother days. Halfway into second helpings, the good reverend made his appearance.

“Sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” he said, the ordinary words elevated by his slow, sermon-rich voice. “Diane wasn’t feeling well and I kept hoping she’d perk up, but . . .” He let the explanation trail off. He had a present in his hand, a book-sized package that looked suspiciously like a Bible. Nothing against the Good Book, but I’d gotten Bibles for presents occasionally when I was a kid and it had never ceased to inspire disappointment. Too bad she’d already opened the others. You always wanted the last one to be special, somehow.