My One and Only (23 page)

“But…when will you come back, M—Linda?”

“M…Linda?” she asked, and her voice was cruel. “Well, I’ve been here for thirteen years and nine months. I guess I’ll come back if and when I want to.”

Ten girls had been invited over to our house this afternoon. Mom and I spent half of yesterday getting ready for that party before abandoning our efforts to prepare for our glamorous night in Boston. We were supposed to be going to the beach, then come back and have virgin margaritas. We’d dipped strawberries in chocolate, a whole tray of them.

She yanked open another drawer and began tossing clothes in, her movements sharp and angry.

“Can I come with you?” I asked, and I hardly recognized my voice, it was so small and scared.

Only then did she spare me a glance. “Not this time,” she said, looking away. “Not this time.”

Half an hour later, she was gone.

N
ICK LET ME DRIVE
. It took three hours and fifteen minutes to get to the exit for downtown Aberdeen, and by then, my hands were stiff, sweaty and clenched around the wheel.

Back when we were dating, I had told Nick a very sketchy version of my mother’s desertion, kept a blasé and cool attitude about it, sort of the “Ah, well, shit happens” take on the event. But I’d told him in the dark, in the middle of the night, and when I was done, I made him promise never to bring it up, a promise he honored.

Today, though, on the ride to Aberdeen this day, he got the full version. He let me tell the whole story without interrupting once, and when I was finished, he’d simply taken my hand and held it.

And now we were here.

According to the report Dirk Kilpatrick, P.I., had given me, my mother had worked in Aberdeen for the past three years as a waitress at a place called Flopsy’s, home of the best milkshakes in the Midwest. The navigational system directed us to the restaurant, which turned out to be a rather cool-looking retro diner, chrome on the outside, a sign with
Flopsy’s!
in big green letters, an ice-cream cone outlined in neon jutting into the air.

Was she in there? My gorge rose at the thought, but my outward movements were smooth and controlled. I continued past Flopsy’s and pulled over onto a side street about half a block away, turned off the engine and just sat for a minute. The day was cool and cloudy, but I was sweating like a racehorse nonetheless. Pretty.

“Harper,” Nick said, turning to face me. “What exactly do you hope is going to happen here?” It was the first time he’d spoken in some time.

I took a deep breath. “Well,” I said, and my voice was strange, “I guess I just want to see her again. Ask her why she left and never…you know. Came back. Or wrote. Well, she did write. Those four postcards.”

Nick nodded. “Do you know what you want to say?”

“I guess just…‘Hi, Mom.’ Do you think I should say that? Or ‘Hi, Linda’? Or maybe something else?”

He shook his head. “You say whatever you want to, honey. Spit in her face if you want. Kick her in the shins.” He gave a smile that didn’t quite make it.

I nodded, but the truth was, my heart was kicking so fast and hard in my chest it felt as if I’d swallowed an enraged mule. When she’d first left, I’d spent night after night twisting in the chilly arms of insomnia, wondering what I’d done to ruin everything. Why hadn’t I been different? Or better? Or sweeter? Why hadn’t I seen her unhappiness and stopped it? Why was I so stupid? Later, I could see—intellectually, anyway—that it wasn’t my fault…I was just a kid, just thirteen years old. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but that knowledge seemed to float above my heart, whereas blame sliced effortlessly right to the center.

I had pictured our reunion thousands of times. When I was still young, I’d imagined the joy, the
bliss
on her face as she saw me, whereupon she’d explain everything—she was a Mafia princess, you see, and she’d had to testify against her family. Or she was a CIA agent, and staying with us would’ve endangered our very lives, but now it was safe, and we could be together again. As the years passed, the fantasy changed—she’d be the one to track me down (it was probably no coincidence that I’d stayed on Martha’s Vineyard). She’d be full of remorse and grief that so many years had passed without me, and she’d tell me what a huge mistake she’d made, that she’d thought of me every day, never stopped loving me, I was the one and only thing in her life that mattered.

And then, in recent years, I’d imagine learning that she was dead, and how I’d react to the phone call that told me the news. How broken I’d be at all that would never happen now. I guess that’s what made me ask Dirk to track her down.

Now that the moment was finally upon me, I wasn’t sure what to do.

Nick squeezed my hand. “I’m coming with you,” he said.

“That’d be great,” I whispered. “What about Coco?” I asked, suddenly panicked. “What if they don’t let dogs in?”

“Why don’t we just leave her in the car?” he suggested. “She’ll be fine. We’ll leave the windows open a few inches. It won’t get too hot.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’ll come back and check on her if you want.”

“Okay. Thanks, Nick.”

He gave me a little smile. “You ready?”

“Not really,” I said, but I opened the door anyway. My legs felt made of water, and Nick took my hand in his as we walked down the street, toward my past, toward my answers, toward
her.

We came to the crosswalk. Right over there, across the street, my mother might be inside. Would she look different? What if she wasn’t scheduled for today? What if she’d quit? I swallowed.

“You sure about this, honey?” Nick asked.

I looked at him. “Yes. Yep. I’m sure.”

And then we crossed the street, and Nick opened the first set of doors into the restaurant foyer. I froze. “I don’t see her,” I said.

“Want to go in anyway?” he asked. I nodded, and he opened the second set of doors. A cash register. Green-and-white décor. A counter with stools. Booths.

There she was.

My mother.

Nick must’ve seen the resemblance, too, because I heard his quick inhalation. His hand found mine once more.

She wore black pants and a lime-green shirt. Her hair, once the same shade as mine, was redder now, and cut in a wedge style. She wore peach lipstick. White Keds. She was fifty-five years old, but she looked younger. She was still beautiful, and it was so
strange
, looking at her, seeing myself in twenty more years, I felt a flash of gratitude that I’d age well, and then a flood of longing so hard and fast my knees almost buckled and I couldn’t breathe.

“Welcome to Flopsy’s!” cried a voice, causing me to jump. “Can I help you?”

I turned to see a girl of about sixteen or so, her hair French-braided tightly back from her face.

“Table for two,” Nick said.

“Right this way!” she chirped, grabbing two menus.

My heart rolled and flopped in my chest as the girl led us to a table by the windows. She was so close now, but she was turning away, had she seen me, was she leaving?—no!—but it was okay, she wasn’t leaving, she was just talking to the cook.

“Two coffees,” Nick said.

“Your server will be right over,” the teenager said, practically skipping away.

“Harper,” Nick said in a low voice. “Harper, are you okay?” He reached across the table and took both my hands in his. “Honey?”

“I’m really glad you’re here,” I whispered.

And then the kitchen doors swung open, and my mother came over and took out her pad, groped in her apron for a pen. “Hello there,” she said, and her voice! My God, I hadn’t heard that voice in so long! It was still the same, and my heart flooded with love and hope.

“Hi,” I breathed. I drank in every detail…her still perfect makeup, her eyebrows, waxed thinner than they used to be, that mole on her cheek…I’d forgotten that mole! How could I have forgotten that mole?

“Can I get you folks a drink to start? We have the best milkshakes in the Midwest!”

Then she looked at me, right at me, and I waited for it—the shock, the recognition, the tears, the explanation, the utter and complete joy. The same love I felt right now.

“Or maybe just some coffee?” she said.

She was looking at me, but her expression remained the same. Pleasant. Querying. She glanced at Nick and smiled. “Anything to drink, folks?”

“Coffee will be fine,” someone answered. Oh. It was me.

“Coming up!” she said merrily. “We’ve got a tuna melt special today, and save room for some blueberry pie, because it just came out of the oven. Back in a sec!”

And then she was gone.

“Christ,” Nick breathed.

I didn’t say anything. My heart slowed and calmed…and seemed to freeze. Maybe it had stopped completely. But no, it was still pumping away. Right. I was fine. It didn’t matter. Then, realizing I hadn’t blinked in some time, I closed my eyes for a second.

“Oh, honey,” Nick said gently.

“Bye, Carrie, you have a great day, okay?” my mother called to someone. She came back to our table with two mugs, set them down and poured our coffee. “You folks decided what you want?” she asked.

Did she really not recognize me? But I was her baby…her only child. I was her little girl. And damn it to hell, I looked exactly like her.

“I’ll have the tuna melt,” I said, and my voice was normal.

“Same,” Nick said.

“Fries or cole slaw?” she asked. I
hated
cole slaw. I hated it. Didn’t she remember that?

“Fries for us both,” Nick answered.

“Coming up!” she said, scooping our menus from the table. She strode away, stopped to chat with someone at the counter, then disappeared into the kitchen once more.

“Harper, say something to her,” Nick said. He got out of his seat, slid around to my side and put his arm around me. “Tell her who you are! I can’t believe she doesn’t know.”

My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “No, it’s okay. If she doesn’t want…uh…” My brain was having trouble operating. “I think we should go,” I whispered.

“Honey, you deserve something from that woman,” he said fiercely. “Do you want me to say something? Tell her who you are?”

“No!” I hissed. “No, Nick! Let’s just get out of here, okay? Please, Nick? Take me somewhere else, please. Please.”

He hesitated, then nodded and reached for his wallet.

“No. Let me.” I yanked my purse open, grabbed my wallet and took out a hundred dollar bill, tucked it under the sugar bowl. “Let’s go.”

It didn’t feel like walking…it was more like floating, slowly. Would she stop me? Call my name? Grab my arm and pull me into her arms, kiss me, crying, apologizing?

Nope. Nope to all of the above. Nick opened the door for me, and I went outside.

If my mother even noticed, she didn’t say a word.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I
DIDN’T SEE THE
street as we walked back, but here we were, right by the car. Nick opened the passenger door, and I got in, clipped the seat belt. My mind seemed to be an empty white space, and yet I noted everything. Clouds to the west. A yellow Mini Cooper, just like mine back home. Cool. Nick was doing something on his phone. Coco’s little nose against my chin, because apparently I was holding her. I kissed her silky head, felt her sweet little body, strong and fragile both. When we got back to the Vineyard, this dog was getting whatever she wanted. An hour of tennis-ball chasing on the beach. An evening of belly rubbing. Filet mignon for dinner, and lots of it.

“You sure you want to leave?” Nick said, looking at me.

I stared straight ahead. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” He started the car, and off we went. A few minutes later, we pulled up in front of a large brick building. The Ward Hotel. Seemed nice. Nick went to the front desk and asked for a room. There was some discussion about Coco. Nick opened his wallet and took out some bills. The discussion ended.

I’d seen my mother today.

This huge swell of…
something
…rose up inside me like a gushing oil well at the bottom of a once-pristine ocean. Oh…crotch. I wasn’t going to…I couldn’t…I wasn’t the wailing type, was I? No. Of course not. I took a breath and tried to squash it, that dark and hungry thing, and I managed, shoving it down with all the strength I had.

Nick was back, our bags in tow. “All set?” I asked, and he gave me an odd look and said we were, then took my hand and walked to the elevator. Ding. Perfect. No waiting.

I tried to blank out any thought and focus on the wall-paper, the buttons, Coco. We got to our floor, walked down the hall. Patterned carpeting. Very pleasant.

Nick opened the door to the room. We went in. Huh. Nice. Nicer than I expected. Coco began sniffing the corners for werewolves, then, satisfied there were none, jumped into the middle of the bed.

Nick turned to me and opened his mouth.

“Stop. Wait,” I said, taking a step back. My face scrunched up, that dark thing surged again, and my hands went up defensively. “I need to say something.”

It was a little hard to breathe, suddenly. My lungs felt empty and tight. My mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Nick,” I said, and my voice was low and harsh. “Everything you said about me…being stunted and heartless…it’s true. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Nick, for everything I did back then. I thought I could be…normal, I guess, but I guess…I mean, when you look at what I come from…I’m just like her.”

My throat was so tight I could hardly breathe. “She didn’t even recognize me, Nick,” I whispered. “I’m her only child, and she didn’t recognize me. Or even worse, she did. My mom…my…I’m so sorry, Nick. I’m so sorry.”

Then Nick’s arms went around me and he held me hard against him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, and that kindness, it just broke me. Something was wrong with me, I was choking and my eyes were hot and wet and my chest was jerking up and down and these strange noises were coming out of my mouth. I mean, there was crying, and then there was…
this
, and even as one part of my brain was pretty damn disgusted, the rest of me couldn’t get it under control. Holy testicle Tuesday, I don’t know how he could stand it, these caterwauling, elk-like sounds that ratcheted out of me, my clawlike grip on the back of his shirt, my sloppy face buried against his neck.

Then he bent a little and lifted me, carried me to the bed and put me down. I curled onto my side, fetal position, how ironic. This crying was bloody
awful
, sobs splintering out of me, they
hurt
, and there didn’t appear to be a thing I could do about it.

Nick took off my shoes, then lay down next to me and gathered me against him, tucking my head against his shoulder, stroking my hair. He reached over to the night table and handed me a box of tissues, then kissed my head and held me close as I cried, and cried, and kept crying. There was just one word in my heart, one horrible, cruel, cheating, primal word.

Mommy.

For so, so long, I thought my mother would come back for me. I was her best friend, her little doll, her daughter. As the years passed, my hope scabbed over, and I learned that people hurt each other all the time, that even if you scrape your heart on the rough brick of their indifference, the skin grows back, so to speak. Shit happens, you get over it.

That’s what I thought until today, when I remembered how much I had loved her, how I’d yearned for her, how I’d prayed for her to come back. How even today, I had hoped to win back my mother’s love.

It wasn’t going to happen.

She didn’t know me. Or even worse, she did.

I didn’t know there were this many tears in a human body. Nick kept passing me tissues and kissing my hair, and Coco curled up against my back, whining—she’d never heard me bawl like this, God knows—and still I cried.

But apparently, the thing about crying is that you can’t keep it up forever. Dehydration sets in, whatever. Eventually, my gulping sobs became squeaks, and the torrent of tears became a patter, then a trickle. My breathing went from gulping to jerky to shaky…and finally, I was quiet.

Then Nick moved so he could see my face and looked at me with his gypsy eyes, the dark, dark brown framed by those thick lashes. “You’re nothing like her,” he said. “Nothing like that.”

Well, shit. So much for no more tears. More tears slipped out. “But I am, Nick,” I said, my voice frayed from crying. “I broke your heart, I divorced you, I never came back. I’m exactly the same.”

“No. You’re not. You’re not, honey.”

“How am I any different, Nick? Because I think I should probably throw myself under a train if that’s the kind of person I am.”

Nick smoothed his thumbs under my eyes, pushing away the tears. “You loved me, Harper. You did, I know that. And sure, you’re a tangled mess, aren’t we all, and yes, you did divorce me, but Harper, you loved me.” He kissed my forehead. “Whereas that woman saw you only as an extension of herself, and the very first day you out-shone her, she ditched you. After what I just saw, I don’t think she’s capable of loving anyone.”

I swallowed noisily. “I don’t know that I am, either,” I admitted in a whisper.

“Well, I do know, and you are. So don’t argue with me, woman,” he said, his eyes smiling. “You love Willa, right?” I nodded. “And your father, and BeverLee. I bet you have friends and coworkers you love, and I bet they love you, too.”

I swallowed noisily and closed my eyes. “Nick, if I were in your shoes, I’d just drop me off at the nearest convenience store and lay down some rubber.”

“Well, it’s a thought.”

My eyes opened. Nick was smiling. “I know you,” he repeated. “You’re nothing like her.” Then his voice dropped to a whisper. “And look at you now. You’re still here with me. You could be home now, but you’re with me.”

My eyes filled yet again. “Run, Nick.”

“I can’t. Harper, you’re emotionally autistic, it’s true, but I love you.”

My jerky breathing returned. “Don’t pity me, for God’s sake, Nick.”

“I don’t pity you. I have sympathy for you, having had that selfish bitch for a mother, but I don’t pity you. And I do love you.”

“Shush, Nick. I can’t—”

“Harper, I love you.”

“I just think—”

“You’re the love of my life. I’ve loved you since the day we met, I never stopped, I can’t help myself, you’re like crystal meth or something, though that’s probably not the most flattering comparison, but there it is, I love you, Harper. Even if you are a pain in the—”

There was really only one way to shut him up, and so I did. I kissed him, just pressed my mouth against his, then pulled back and looked at him.

His eyes were so gentle, and the smallest smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I see my evil plan is working,” he whispered, and I kissed him again, for real this time, not just to shut him up, and the second my lips touched his, a swell of feeling seemed to lift me off the bed. He was still so familiar after all these years, his mouth perfect on mine, hungry and gentle at the same time, and I’d missed him, missed this, could not believe that somehow we’d let this get away, this desperate, wonderful feeling that being with Nick was—forgive the melodrama—my destiny. The only man I’d ever really and truly loved. My first love, my one and only. I knew it now, and the truth was, I’d known it always.

He held me harder, his hand sliding through my hair, turning my head for more access to my mouth, kissing me fiercely, practically crushing me against him. His tongue brushed mine, and I clutched him tighter. Mine. He was mine, and I was his, and that’s all there was to it. “I love you,” he said again, and then we were kissing again, and it was just essential, this kissing, this being together, him and me, Nick and Harper, together again, at last. At last.

Nick pulled back with difficulty, kissed me again, then stopped. “I have to…I can’t…” He closed his eyes for a second before looking at me once more. “I can’t do this to you. Not now, not when you’re upset.”

“Do what?” I asked, running my finger along his neck. He was so beautiful, his face flushed, his eyes heavy-lidded.

He was breathing hard. “Make love to you.”

“You can’t?”

“No.”

“I think you should.” I pressed a kiss to his neck, tasted him, earning a shudder.

“Stop. Damn it. Harper, stop. It would be wrong. I’d be, uh, taking advantage of you.”

That made me smile. “I’m thirty-four years old.” I pulled his shirt out of his jeans.

“Well, I still shouldn’t. It’s not fair. You’re, uh, vulnerable.” God, his skin was beautiful. “Harper, honey—”

I rolled off the bed. “I’m taking my clothes off now, Nick Lowery,” I said, pulling my shirt over my head. Oh, goody, pretty bra, light blue with a little lace. Nick swallowed, and his eyes looked very dark. “You can do what you want, but I plan on lying naked here next to you, and I will not keep my hands to myself.”

I unbuttoned my skirt and let it float to the floor.

“Okay, you win,” he blurted, and with that, he leaped off the bed and practically tackled me, and that was the thing. No matter what, no matter when, we could always make each other laugh. Even when we were mad, or sad, or horny. When he undid the clasp of my bra, when his mouth found that spot on my collarbone, when his fingers laced with mine, the laughter faded, though, and something even sweeter took its place.

Nothing had ever felt as right as this. When I felt his hot skin against mine, the delicious weight of him on top of me, his mouth, his hands, I understood once again what making love really meant.