California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (29 page)

Beverly’s eyes moistened. Idly, she wiped away the tear that trickled down her face. “The guy at the emergency room was a new doctor. He botched the D&C. I was never able to have another child.”

It was Annie’s turn to reach across and hold her aunt’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

“Enough,” Beverly said, waving at the waiter for a check. Annie looked around. The room had emptied while they were talking, but like many of the small restaurants in the county, the staff had let them be.

They gathered their things and left the building.

“There was a happy ending,” Beverly said as they reached her rental car. “I got to dance with Alvin Alley, one of the best troupes in the country. I met Jerry there. We fell in love and lived in New York until he died a few years ago from cancer. Athens was his hometown. We’d spent many summers there with his family — Jerry had three sisters and a dozen nieces and nephews. They adopted me as one of their own. It felt natural to move there when I retired.”

She glanced at her watch. “I have to go, my flight leaves at four.” She took both of Annie’s hands in hers. “I felt it was important to see you and I’m glad I came. I hope my story can make a difference in your life. Tell someone what happened, Annie. It’s important. The truth has the power to change your whole life.”

Beverly hugged her and stepped into her car. Annie waved as her aunt drove out of the parking lot.

She’d never felt so alone.

She numbly moved to the Prius. Put one foot in front of the other. That’s what she had to do. Keep everything in control, plan every action, don’t rely on anyone and it would all be okay — she wouldn’t be hurt. Annie felt her face soften and tears fill her eyes, but she couldn’t let go, not here in the parking lot.

Maybe Beverly was right; it was time to face the truth. She’d lost her control over most of her life anyway — David, her job, even Fred wasn’t the same. Maybe it was time to face the fact that she never really had control in the first place. It was all an illusion.

Annie sighed. She hadn’t really lied to Beverly. Her father hadn’t raped her. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t tried.

• • •

After dinner, Annie sat in the living room and stared at the phone in her hand. She hadn’t heard from Elizabeth in days, which was strange. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to tell her friend about Beverly’s revelations. Friendship won out.

Elizabeth sounded distant when she answered.

“What’s wrong? You sound awful.”

“Do I? Must be allergies.”

“C’mon Elizabeth, we’ve been friends too long.”

In the end, they agreed to meet for dinner the following night while Fred was attending David’s soccer practice.

Annie hung up the phone and sat quietly, mulling over Beverly’s story and thinking about her own. She’d never told the whole truth of her childhood or her father’s suicide to anyone, even her mother. Good therapists always knew she was hiding something, but she stopped going when they got too close.

What difference could talking about it make? The memories made her feel ashamed and inadequate. If she told others the story, they’d know the truth — that her father had killed himself because of her. Maybe if she only told part of the story, they’d accept that and move on. She didn’t have to tell them the worst.

• • •

When Annie arrived at Elizabeth’s, her friend led her to the dining nook where brightly colored plates, linens, and fine crystal punctuated the dark wood. A crisp spring salad with baby greens and cherry tomatoes commanded the center of the table while an uncorked bottle of Thomas Fogarty Pinot noir waited for the meal to begin.

“This is lovely!” Annie exclaimed. “You must have spent hours. What’s the occasion?”

“I’m Italian,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “Italians don’t need an occasion for food.”

She and Annie sat down and started eating, chatting about the events of their days like an old married couple avoiding a testy discussion. Finally, Elizabeth seemed to have had enough of the pretense. She poured herself a second glass of wine and announced, “I think Bobby and I are going to break up.”

Annie was floored. “What? Why?”

“I really don’t want to marry him and that’s all he wants.”

“I’ve never understood why you don’t want to marry him.”

“The truth is that I like living alone. I can make a mess if I want to and leave it for days. I can eat out of the freezer and leave the dishes in the sink. I don’t have to pick up someone else’s socks!”

“Right,” Annie said and looked pointedly at the extravagant meal. “Somehow I find it hard to picture you living like a slob and eating out of the freezer.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Okay. I’d cook and clean anyway.” She thought for a moment. “I think it’s … I don’t know … Bobby’s a lot like Joe. He’s got big energy. I feel lost around him sometimes. I’m afraid if he was here all the time I’d forget who I was.

“I feel like everyone’s always tried to mold me into the vision of what they thought I should be,” she continued. “First my parents, then Joe, and now Bobby. Did I tell you Bobby’s running for district supervisor?”

Annie shook her head. She knew that Bobby had retired early from his lucrative financial planning job a few years earlier but hadn’t realized that he was interested in politics.

“Well, he is. If we get married, he’ll want me by his side, campaigning as he climbs from office to office. I’ll have to give up my shop and wear Chanel suits and white pearls. And gloves … do campaign wives still wear gloves and pillbox hats?”

Annie laughed.

“I guess I am getting carried away,” Elizabeth said.

“Uh-huh.”

“But you do get the picture, don’t you? I like being a separate person. I’m still discovering who I am.”

“And you don’t think you can do that being married?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “My mother catered to my dad’s needs. I see my sisters and my brother’s wives doing the same thing. When I was married to Joe, I took care of the kids and house. When I had free time, I spent it with him.”

“I don’t think it has to be that way. I know lots of independent women at work who have husbands, kids, and career and still find time to take a spa vacation with their girlfriends.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“They seem to manage.” Annie hesitated. “I have to ask something. Are you in love with Bobby?”

“Of course I am. At least I think so. After five years together I ought to be.” Elizabeth looked across at her friend. “Shouldn’t I?”

“I’m not sure ‘should’ and ‘love’ go together very well.”

“Do you suppose I won’t marry him because I simply don’t love him? Have I been using him all these years? Maybe I should talk to someone.”

Annie stood and fetched her purse. Pulling a small square out of her bag, she handed it to Elizabeth. “I have just the person.”

Elizabeth glanced at the card. “Carol Eos, Life Coach.” She chuckled. “How’s that going for you?”

“It’s going well, I think. There’s so much going on — the coaching, the body work, John, and now Beverly. I feel like the pieces of my life are churning in a kaleidoscope, but I haven’t turned it the right way to make a picture.”

“I’m not sure I’d want go through all that confusion.” Elizabeth put Carol’s card on the sideboard. “Was your aunt helpful? What was she like?”

“Very different from my dad. She’s tall and willowy — exactly what you think of when you think of a dancer. She feels so alive, and, I don’t know, ‘light,’ I guess. My dad always felt dark and angry.”

“From everything you’ve told me, he was.”

“It gets worse.” Annie took a deep breath. Elizabeth listened in obvious horror as she told her Beverly’s tale of sexual abuse.

“And your dad stood there and watched your grandfather rape her?” Elizabeth looked utterly disgusted. “Did he — did he ever try anything with you?” Elizabeth watched her friend carefully.

Annie shook her head. “No, nothing ever happened.” But even she could hear the false note in her voice as she said it.

• • •

John flipped through the
Good Times
as he stood by the cash register. There had to be something interesting to do on a Friday night. He wanted to make the night special for Annie. He heard footsteps and set the paper down to wait on a customer, but looked up to see Sunshine.

“I thought you might be interested in this.” She handed him a printed e-mail with the subject line:
Ellis Paul, April 19th.
“One of the times Annie was in here we got to talking about folk music. We like the same people. Rumor has it you’re taking her out tomorrow.”

“What’s this?” John asked, gesturing with the paper.

“It’s a house concert. Well, they used to be house concerts. Now they’re winery concerts.” She must have seen John’s total look of confusion. “You’ve never been to a house concert?”

He shook his head.

She sighed. “You really did live in the sticks. Singer-songwriters, like Ellis Paul, perform in houses across the country. The homeowner has a large room and a mailing list of people interested in hearing them. My friend, Jasper, has been doing them for years. I’ve seen some great people — Cozy Sheridan, Vance Gilbert, Dave Mallett … ”

“Who are they?”

“Musicians. Like the ones Annie likes to listen to.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” Sunshine continued. “Jasper also owns a winery by Swift Street. He switched the house concerts down there since it’s more convenient than his house in the mountains.”

“Thanks for educating me, Sunshine. I feel less like a country hick now.” John smiled fondly at Sunshine. She was a good employee, and, in some ways, a good friend.

“I’m trying to take care of you here. If you really want to impress Annie, this would do it!”

John raised his eyebrows and waited for her to continue.

“See, I signed up for my mom and me to go, but she wound up having emergency surgery and I need to take care of her. The concert’s sold out, but you could use my tickets. You could take Annie.” Sunshine emphasized the last word and smiled as if she’d given him a huge present.

Which she had.

“I hope your mother will be okay. Do you think she’d like him?”

“My mother? It’s routine surgery and there shouldn’t be complications. And, yes, she likes Ellis Paul — but it’s Annie I was talking about. Ellis Paul is borderline famous. I can’t believe they can still snag him for a house concert. You’d make points — mega-points.”

“Thanks, Sunshine. You’re a life saver.”

“Remember that the next time you’re handing out bonuses,” she said. “Tell Jasper you’re taking my seats. Enjoy!”

John couldn’t wait for the lunchtime employee to come back to take over the register. He wanted call Annie right away.

• • •

Annie paced the living room as she waited for two o’clock, the time of her appointed call with Carol. She’d managed to avoid the story with Elizabeth, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t be as easy with the coach.

The conversation started off casually enough with comments on the weather of the respective coasts. But Carol never spent too much time in idle talk. “Are you ready to dig deeper?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“From what you’ve told me, you’ve spent much of your life trying to appease the men in your life, keeping them calm so you’d stay safe. That’s understandable given your father’s suicide and Fred’s alcoholism. But I can’t help thinking there’s something more, something you’re afraid to tell anyone. Am I right?”

“I met my aunt this week.”

“And … ”

Annie told her Beverly’s story, hoping the horror of the tale would deflect any further questions about her own life.

“Your aunt certainly had a rough time of it. Did she say why she told you that story?”

“She wanted to explain why she’d never met me before.”

“Anything else?” The coach probed further.

“Not really.”

“Nice try, Annie, but if this is going to work for you, if you’re really going to change your life, you need to admit the truth.”

“Funny,” Annie said. “Aunt Bev said something similar.”

The silence lingered. There really wasn’t going to be any way out of this.

“Right after I had my first period, my parents had their worst fight ever,” Annie began. “I locked myself in my room, but I could hear shouting and the sound of breaking glass. My father kept yelling, ‘It’s my right! It’s the only thing girls are good for! She’s got to be taught her place.’ Eventually he left the house … I could hear the door slam. I waited a while and then came out of the room.”

Annie had always kept the horror at bay by sticking to the facts. She took a deep breath. “Mom was in the kitchen. Her eye was swollen and her lip was bleeding.”

As Carol kept quiet, Annie began to shudder. The shudders turned into sobs.

“It was so horrible. It was my fault she looked like that. She … she was protecting me.”

Carol waited until her sobs diminished. “Tell me the rest,” she said.

“Mom said I had to be careful,” Annie whispered. “She could barely talk. She said never be alone with my father. Always keep my door locked. I remember her looking at me … she was very fierce … she said, ‘If he tries anything, you tell me.’ I promised her. She told me to go back to my room. I did. We never talked about it again.”

“What did your dad do?”

“He came home later that night and tried my door. He banged on it for a while, demanding to be let in. I … I was afraid he might push it down, but he went away. I locked my door every night. And I listened to my mother. I never went anywhere with him alone. If he was home and my mom wasn’t, I went to a friend’s house.”

Annie paused. “He tried every night for a long time. Then it was only once in a while — I think he was trying to catch me unaware.” Her breath caught. “Eventually, he gave up and left me alone.”
Until he died.

Annie heard Carol’s intake of air over the phone. “So you escaped the rape that your aunt experienced. But you didn’t really escape. You know that, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t know. Exhausted, I think. Drained.”