Acts of Contrition (10 page)

“You act like
we’re
scarce,” Sal says. “But we’re here every day.”

“Kids are different,” I say. “A mother’s love for her children, it’s like…” I struggle to finish my sentence because the words I feel are bigger than the letters that could comprise them. “It’s precious. Like it
is
scarce. You’re right.”

“You’re silly,” Sally says.

“I know,” I say, and stop myself from telling her what it’s like to be a mom: walking along a cliff of worry, breathing even though you’re holding your breath.

“Happy birthday, ten-year-old,” I say. “You really are my special gift, Sal. God really was smiling on me and Daddy the night you were born.”

“Tell me the story,” she says, snuggling her body around her pillows.

I can tell from the tone of her voice that she’s asking for my sake, not hers. Sal knows how much I love traditions, stories. She’s indulging me tonight. She’s outgrown my nostalgia, but she knows that I haven’t.

“I thought you’d never come out,” I say. “I’d been at the hospital for an entire day and a half, when all of a sudden I started to feel different, like there was all of this weight pressing down on me. I told Daddy, ‘I think it’s time,’ and Nana and Pop, and Grandma and Grandpa, and all of your aunts, filed out of the room, hollering, ‘Good luck! We love you!’ Then you started to come out, and when Daddy saw your little face he started to cry like I’ve never seen him cry before. ‘She’s beautiful!’ he yelled, and then the nurse held up a little mirror for me to see you. I propped myself up on my elbows and saw your little head and the mat of copper hair swirled against your scalp and I thought, ‘Oh my, she’s got her daddy’s hair,’ and it was the happiest sight I had ever seen in my whole life because I wanted you to look like your daddy. I wanted you to be a daddy’s girl because I knew
how much Dad would love being your daddy. As much as I loved you and wanted you, I had already carried you for nine months. It only seemed fair that Daddy should get something, too. Then you slithered your way out of me—”

“Ooooh, yuck!” Sally squeals.

“The nurses got you cleaned up, put you on my chest, and when I looked at your face for the first time I thought that I’d never catch my breath again.”

“Because I was so adorable.”

“You were adorable,” I agree, “but you didn’t look like I expected. I thought you would look like Dad, because I had seen your hair first, but you didn’t, really. You were your own person from the start. And I guess it was just the awesomeness of it, of you being
you,
not me, not Dad. It hit me so hard in my chest that this whole being-a-mother business was a lot more than I thought. And when that thought settled, I just stared at you, and Sally, I’m
serious,
there were no words to describe what it was like to hold you that first time. I just remember thinking, there is no WAY that there is another mother out there who loves her daughter as much as I love my new daughter. That’s how I felt. Like my love was the fiercest, the biggest, best love in the world. I felt sorry for every other kid in the world, like ‘Oh, poor things,’ because there was no way that their mothers loved them like I loved you.”

“Until you saw Dad’s love,” Sally says, filling in the words for me, having memorized this story throughout her life.

“That’s right,” I say. “Until I saw how Daddy loved you. He cradled you and rocked you, and the grandmas and the aunts had to beg him for a turn to hold you. That first night I was so tired, I fell fast asleep. When I woke up I saw Dad on the sofa
holding you, tears streaming down his face, singing some song he made up.”

“ ‘Sally, my girl, best in the world,’ ” Sally sings.

“Yep.” I nod my head. “That’s how it went.”

I kiss Sal and tuck her blankets tightly around her, and walk out of her room singing, “ ‘Sally, my girl, best in the world.’ ”

Once in bed, I open my book and stare at the pages, but think of Landon James. There were four years in between the time I met Landon for my first and second time. Following his stint as a summer associate, he went back to Chicago to finish his last year of law school. That year, in a weak moment, I wrote him a letter, asking him what he had been up to, telling him how I had left the law firm and was finishing school. It was juvenile on my part to think that a rising star like Landon would have an interest in an undergrad office clerk like me. He never responded to my letter and years passed by, but still I never forgot him. All I needed to do was to close my eyes and imagine our first night at Old Ebbitt Grill, and like that, I could feel his hands pushing up my thighs, the brush of his lips against mine, his fingers finding flesh under my blouse as he kissed me good night. I could see perfectly well how his face changed when he’d told me about his friend who had committed suicide, and more than anything, I could call up the determination in his voice as he spoke of the future.

I was twenty-three years old and in law school when I had lunch with David Kaye, an old lawyer buddy of mine from my days at Becker, Fox & Zuckerman.

“Looking good, Russo,” David said. “A little stressed, a little sleep-deprived. Exactly how a first-year law student should look.”

“Not like you,” I said. “Living the life of Riley. Is that how it is once you’re a partner? Easy street.” I signaled to David’s wardrobe: worn khakis and a rumpled, untucked polo.

“Hey, I did some work today,” he said. “I just didn’t have any client meetings.”

“You did some work? What does that mean, you bossed around a bunch of overworked associates?”

David laughed, then changed the subject to my love life. “Seeing anyone?”

“Like I have time to date,” I said, reaching for the basket of warm rolls and thinking about a disastrous date I’d gone on just a few weeks ago with a slick litigator who talked about himself for two hours straight.

“How sad,” David joked. “No time for love.”

“I barely have time to study and eat.” My mind flipped to my refrigerator, which maybe held a Tupperware container of leftover ziti from Mom and a lone Sam Adams. I considered pocketing a few of the rolls and squares of butter for later.

“In that case, never mind,” he said, reaching for a roll himself.

“In what case?”

“I had someone I thought I might introduce you to,” he said. “But if you’re too busy…”

“I didn’t say I was too busy,” I said. “Who’s the guy?”

“A nice guy,” David said. “New to town, just took a position with Myers & Jones.”

“How do you know him?”

“Met him years ago, when he was a summer associate at Becker.”

“How many years ago?” I asked. “Do I know him?”

He thought for a minute. “It was probably four years ago,” he said. “Were you still at the firm then?”

“I was,” I said, and because he was talking about “the summer of Landon,” I had to carefully steady my breath so as not to hyperventilate.

“Then maybe you know him.”

“What’s his
name
?” I said, tapping my finger on the table.

“Landon.”

“Landon…seriously?”

“Landon James.”

I nodded, attempted to take a bite of roll, but the dough seemed to expand in my throat.

“Seeing that your face just turned a lovely shade of plum, I’ll take it that you do know Landon James.”

“I met him,” I said. “We spent some time together. Four years is a long time ago. I barely remember him.”

“So what do you think? Should I set it up?”

“Set it up, don’t set it up,” I said. “Whatever.”

“If you’re not sure…,” David said, appraising me carefully.

“Set it up,” I said. “Just set it up, okay?”

A week later, I was scheduled to meet Landon James for drinks. The same Landon James who had taken me fishing, who had leaned into me and stared into my eyes and said that he was falling hard. The same Landon James who drove me to the top of a scenic mountain, and then kicked me off the cliff.

I spent an hour the night before planning what I would wear, trying to achieve a just-came-from-school appearance while still looking attractive. The last thing I wanted was for Landon to think that I primped for hours getting ready for him. It was humiliating enough to recall that I had written him a letter like a lovesick schoolgirl. I called my sister Angela, the most fashionable
of the four of us sisters, for advice, and she suggested my black pencil skirt with high-heeled leather boots and a clingy cardigan.

“Just in case I want to turn a trick later in the night?” I joked, smiling through the phone lines at my sister, who had a special fondness for tight, black leather.

I spotted Landon and David sitting at an outdoor table on the patio of Morton’s, a popular lawyer hangout. I hung back, taking him in. He looked the same: bold, towering, Superman. His broad shoulders in his expensive suit, his floppy yet perfectly behaved hair, his killer smile that brought me to my knees.
Turn around,
my mind blared.
Leave while you can.
Somehow I knew that seeing Landon again would be no different than taking a hit of heroin. I’d want more. He’d be stingy with it. The pain of withdrawal would be bugs crawling under my skin.

Yet I fluffed my hair, sucked in my stomach, puffed out my chest, and sashayed over, sliding in next to David.

“Mary!” David cheered. “Great to see you. This is Landon James.”

I held out my hand, and as he and I shook, the junk hit my bloodstream like the strike of a match. I would like him too much, I would fall too hard, I would lay out my heart, and whether or not Landon would protect it was anyone’s guess.

“Well, well, Mary Margaret Russo,” Landon said. “Are you old enough to order a beer now?”

“Way past the age of majority,” I said, feeling myself blush.

“Are you sure?” Smiling the smile I’d been seeing in my mind for four years. “Because I could order for you.”

“Feel free,” I said. “I like being waited on.”

Landon and I locked eyes, and my cheeks pulled into an uncontrollable smile. He was even more gorgeous than I remembered:
brown, wavy hair, steel-blue eyes, perfectly square jaw. I was sorry I hadn’t taken Angela’s advice of downing a shot of tequila on my way in.

“Seems like we’re all old friends here.” David was grinning. “And as much as I’d like to bear witness to this wonderful reunion, the wife and children are expecting me.”

I cocked an eyebrow at David, daring him to tell me that he was truly headed home, not just next door to another bar.

For the next hour, Landon filled me in on his new position at Myers & Jones; how he’d graduated three years ago and had been working as an assistant US district attorney in the Eastern Division of Chicago, prosecuting everything from tax fraud, embezzlement, bank robbery, sale and possession of narcotics and firearms. He was now ready to put in a number of years with a high-profile corporate firm.

“It’s a ten-year plan,” he explained. “By the time I’m thirty-five, I’d like to have some firm footing in the Republican Party.”

“You want to be a
politician
?” I asked. “How’d I miss that?”

“I’ve always wanted to serve,” he said. “I’ve had a Reagan obsession my entire life.”

“Serve in what capacity?” I asked, still baffled.

“If everything goes according to plan, I’ll have won a Virginia state senate seat within the next few years. From there, who knows? Maybe attorney general? Maybe the governor? Maybe Congress.”

“Wow, and to think that my goals are to be employed with my student loans paid off in ten years.”

We talked easily for the next three hours. At some point we ordered dinner. And wine with dinner. Then after-dinner drinks. We ended up on the floor of my apartment, sitting across from each other, our knees bumping. Landon leaned into me,
wrapped his arms around my back, and pulled me toward him. We kissed long, luxurious kisses.

“Are you sure you want to be a politician?” I asked, my mouth brushing against his.

“Are you sure you want to be a lawyer?” he asked, kissing me more.

“No,” I said, and then burst out laughing. But it was true—being a lawyer was my fallback plan. I kept it to myself around my hard-charging female friends, but what I really wanted was to be a wife and a mom. What I really wanted was a house to call my own, bedrooms bursting with children, dinners around the same table every night. But I certainly wasn’t going to tell Landon James that, or any guy, for that matter. “I’m just kidding,” I said. “I really like law school, and I’m sure being a lawyer will be great.”

“What now?” Landon asked, leaning in, kissing me again.

“You should go,” I finally said. “I can drive you home.”

“I was a Boy Scout, remember?” he said. “I’ll find my way.”

“Last time you tried to find your way home, you must have gotten lost. I didn’t see you for four years.”

“That’s not going to happen again.”

“How can I be so sure?” I said, leaning in and kissing him.

“Because when I want something, I go after it. And right now I want to see you in your Girl Scout uniform. And I’m not going to rest until I do.”

“Maybe I’ll even put my hair up in a bun,” I said, gently biting his lower lip.

After he left, I lay on my back on the floor where we had just kissed and called Angie. “He’s perfect,” I said.