Queen of Broken Hearts (32 page)

Somewhere under a pile of black satin—I figure the makings of a witch's costume—come squeals of delight, and after a lot of rustling, two masked faces appear. “Oh, no,” I cry in mock horror. “Monsters live in this house! I thought I'd come to the Jordans'.”

Abbie, a ghoulish rubber mask over her head, gets so tickled that she tangles herself up in the black satin and falls down, which causes her to squeal even louder. Pulling herself to her feet, she cries, “I'm a mean monster. You'd better run!”

Zach has managed to get his mask so twisted that he's peering out of one eye socket, and his mouth is where the other eye socket is cut out. “Me a mean monster, too,” he says, holding his chubby arms over his head.

“No, Zach,” says Abbie. “
I'm
the mean monster, not you. You're a baby monster. Baby monsters don't know they're supposed to be mean.”

“I see two mean monsters,” I say, ever the appeaser. “And I'm so scared that I'm running away before they catch me.” Pretending to run, I kick off my clogs and scamper around the room, staying just out of reach of Abbie as she chases me, making weird noises I can only assume are her version of monster growls. Zach toddles after her, but when I allow Abbie to catch me and I pretend to scream in terror, he throws off his mask and grabs me around the legs.

“It's not really monsters, Grams.” His face is troubled when he looks up at me. “It's just me, Zach.”

I pick him up and kiss his reddened cheeks noisily, causing him to giggle and kick his feet high. The back door opens with a bang, and Austin comes in. It's still strange to see him in a suit and tie, and I manage a little wave, hard to do with Zach's arms so tight around my neck that I'm about to choke. As usual, Abbie leaves me to run into her daddy's arms. Austin hugs her briefly but is scowling so darkly, I figure he's had a difficult day.

I haven't seen Austin since the night of Dory and Son's anniversary party, and when I called Haley the next day, she explained their fight. The sitter couldn't come until time for the party, so Austin, who'd been speaking at a meeting in Orange Beach, assured Haley that he'd be home in time to stay with the kids so she could go to the renewal ceremony. When he was late and she couldn't reach him on his cell, she'd gotten worried. Then he strolled in, nonchalant and unrepentant that she missed the ceremony, and they'd had a big row. She admitted that he'd refused to dance with her, saying she'd had too much to drink. They'd made up the next day, and all was well. Austin had just been tired and grumpy that night, Haley insisted.

“Hi, Clare,” Austin says, an edge to his voice. “Where's Haley?”

“Don't know,” I reply with a shrug. “I just got here and was playing with the kids.”

“Mommy's in the attic, getting down the Halloween stuff,” Abbie says, tugging on her daddy's arm. “I'm gonna be a monster on Halloween, Daddy. But I won't scare you, I promise.”

When I release Zach, he runs to his daddy, but Austin barely hugs his son. Instead, he looks around the room in disgust. Their cottage, though cozy and charming, is small, with an open floor plan sectioned off into living areas: the kitchen in the back, a sitting area in the front, and the dining area to the side, centered under a bay window. “Oh, great!” he says. “Mommy's in the attic pulling down more of this mess, like we don't have enough already.”

“Mommy's making Halloween stuff for us and her class, too,” Abbie tells him solemnly.

As if on cue, Haley comes into the room, arms laden with sacks and baskets overflowing with even more Halloween material. Spotting me first, she cries, “Mom! I didn't hear you come in.” Reaching around the sacks and baskets, I give her a hug and kiss, and then she spots Austin. “Oh, good, Austin—glad you're home early. You can help me get down the rest of the stuff from the attic.”

Austin rolls his eyes. “Bullshit. I'm not bringing down anything else. You've got enough for every kindergartener in Baldwin County already.”

“Mommy!” Abbie cries, gray eyes wide with shock. “Daddy said a bad word. Does he have to pay a quarter, too?”

“Bu-shit, bu-shit, bu-shit,” Zach babbles as he claps his hands.

“Rough day at work, sweetie?” Haley says sarcastically, eyeing Austin balefully as she sets down the sacks and baskets, kicking aside a place for them.

“Tell you what, Haley.” Austin's voice is still stretched tight as a drum. “I'll go to the attic and look for the tablecloth, but I'm not bringing down any more Halloween junk.”

“Oh, God,” Haley moans. “Not
that
again. I told you, the tablecloth's disappeared.”

“And I told you, that better not be true,” he replies coolly.

She turns to me. “We're having Austin's staff over Saturday night for dinner, and he wants to use the tablecloth his grandmother gave us for a wedding gift.” Glancing at Abbie, she lowers her voice and adds, “I can't find the g-d thing, and he's having a fit.”

“Oh, no, it's better than that, Clare,” Austin says. “First of all, my grandmother made it. It's hand-embroidered. And second, we've never used it. The reason? Haley doesn't want to iron it.”

“Oh, bull. I tried to iron it,” Haley protests. “It's covered with embroidered flowers—I mean, it's beautiful; don't get me wrong—but the flowers puckered, and it looked worse ironed than it did wrinkled. That's why I haven't used it. So I packed it away, but I can't remember where.”

“Oh, sweetie, I have a tablecloth you can use,” the appeaser says with a bright smile. “If I can find it. I never use tablecloths anymore.”

“See?” Haley points a finger at Austin triumphantly. “Told you nobody expects us to use a tablecloth. Everyone uses place mats nowadays, even the Martha Stewart clone Wanda Webb.”

“And I told you that we're having an elegant dinner for my staff if I have to do it myself. We're using our china, our silver, and my grandmother's tablecloth. Do … you … understand … me?” Austin enunciates each word in a loud, exaggerated manner, as though talking to a deaf child.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Zach and Abbie are watching their parents arguing as though at a tennis match, their heads turning from one to the other. My heart sinks, and I'm at a loss as to what to do. A cardinal rule of mothers of adult children: Avoid interfering in your kids' lives if at all possible. I'm itching to pick up something and clobber Austin with it, and I eye a papier-mâché witch's broom wistfully.

“And I told you,” Haley says, her voice shaking with anger, “that I can't find the tablecloth, Austin! And even if I could, I couldn't iron it to suit you.”

His jaw tightens as he spits out, “You can't find it, and you can't iron it. You can't do anything, can you, Haley? Not a goddamn thing.”

“Dod-damn,” Zach chirps, dancing. “Dod-damn 'tupid Mommy.”

“Now see what you've done,” Haley yells, grabbing for Zach. Her sudden motion causes Zach to cry out in surprise, and Austin throws his hands high.

“What
I've
done?
Me?
You scared him to death, yelling like that.”

Interfering parent or no, I can't let this go on, and I step between them, holding up my hands like a referee with a whistle. “Whoa, both of you. Stop this and listen to me, okay?”

But Austin shakes his head, his eyes cold. “No, Clare. I'm tired and I'm hungry and I don't want to hear any more. I'm taking the kids to Mickey D's for supper.” He throws Haley a look, then jerks his head to Abbie. “Get your jacket and your brother's, and let's go get a Happy Meal.”

“Goody—a Happy Meal!” Zach echoes as he bounces up and down, and I can't help but wonder if his parents appreciate the irony.

Abbie and Zach run to the back door, where their backpacks and windbreakers were tossed as they came in from school. As they struggle to get their jackets on, Haley turns to Austin, pleading. “I don't want you taking them out for junk food again tonight. I'm going to fix dinner if you'll just give me time.”

“Yeah, right,” he says, looking around. “It'll take you an hour just to put all this crap away. I'm hungry now.” Eyes narrowed, he gestures toward the kitchen. “Besides, what are you cooking? I don't see anything.”

Haley crosses to the fridge and flings open the freezer. “I have chicken strips in here,” she says, pulling out a package, “which can be thawed in the microwave in no time. I was planning on doing that dish the kids like so much, the one with the cheese and broccoli.”

With a smirk, Austin says, “I assume you have broccoli? And cheese?”

“I have cheese …” Haley mutters, then her face brightens. “Instead of going to McDonald's, run to the grocery and get—”

“No!” Austin shouts, and Haley cringes. “You know how crowded it is at this time of day and how I hate to go. Can't you
ever
plan anything ahead of time?”

“Don't yell, Daddy,” Abbie says from the back door, hands on her hips. “That's very rude.”

“Dod-damn Daddy,” Zach chimes in helpfully.

Austin rubs his face, then looks at his kids. “Hey, guys, I'm sorry for yelling. Daddy's just tired and hungry, okay? And Zach, don't say that, buddy. It's not a nice word, and Daddy didn't mean to say it.”

I can't stand it anymore, interference be damned, so I say with false cheerfulness, “Look, why don't
I
run to the store? Won't take but a second.” Throwing Haley a look, I add, “It'll give you time to put away this stuff, then I'll help you fix supper. How does that sound?”

“Would you, Mom?” Haley says, her relief obvious. “That'd be great.”

The following day, I leave a message on Haley's cell phone and insist that she stop by my office right after school. Abbie is in preschool this year, and Zach is at St. John's day care. When Haley has faculty meetings or one of her mental-health breaks with Jasmine, she drops off Abbie at day care for an extra hour, so I tell her to call the day care center and make the arrangements as soon as she hangs up. Reluctantly, she gives in. She knows what I want to talk about, and she doesn't want to hear it.

“I know you'll take Austin's side, Mom,” Haley says glumly as she sits next to me on the sofa in my office.

“It's not a matter of taking sides,” I protest, “but if it were, I'll always be on yours, honey. Drink your tea. You'll hurt Etta's feelings if you don't. And tell me this: How long were you going to let things go before telling me how bad things have gotten with you and Austin? I was appalled yesterday.”

She shrugs. “I've tried to tell you, but you wouldn't believe me.”

“That's not fair, nor is it true. All you'd said was that Austin's feeling pressured by his job, and he's tired and cranky a lot. It's gone way beyond that. And you hadn't told me he was taking it out on you, either.”

Looking up, Haley's eyes brighten. “You saw it, too! I hope you'll tell him not to do that. You need to tell him—”

I stop her. “Whoa.
You
need to tell him, honey, not his mother-in-law. You must be very clear that you will not tolerate his belittling you, especially in front of the children.”

“He'll listen to you, but he never listens to me. Besides, I'm afraid to tell him.”

“Afraid?” I lean toward her in alarm. “Hayden Jordan, you'd better tell me the truth. Has Austin ever done anything—”

She shakes her head before I can finish. “God, no, Mom. Jesus! Austin's not one of those guys.”

I study her, narrow-eyed. “No pushing, shoving, things like that? Sometimes it starts out that way, and the next thing you know, it's a slap or a punch.”

“Not Austin. You know him well enough to know that.”

“So I thought, but I've been surprised before. What I'm really concerned about, and what I'm beginning to see, is verbal abuse. Is that what you're afraid of, what he'll say to you if you stand up for yourself?”

She shrugs, but I can tell she's uncomfortable. “Not exactly. Guess I'm afraid that he won't love me anymore.”

“Oh, honey.” I take her hand and give it a shake. “We talked about that before you married him, remember?” At the time Haley told me she thought she loved Austin more than he loved her. Even though I figured it was premarital jitters, I talked to her about neediness and what an unattractive quality it was, with the potential to damage any relationship. Her response disturbed me then and still does. “I see what you're saying,” she said, “but you were the opposite with Daddy. If you needed him, he never knew it because you were so independent, and that hurt your relationship just as bad. So who can say which is worse?”

“Listen to me,” I say now, squeezing her hand until she relents and meets my eye. “You can't
make
anyone love you, Haley. Just like you can't command respect. Respect and love both have to be freely given. Or maybe I should say, respect you must earn, but love comes with no strings attached. But you have to think enough of yourself to demand equal footing in a relationship. Promise me you'll talk to Austin about the way he treats you when he's stressed out, okay? And if things don't get better, I will push for marriage counseling, so be warned.” When she groans, I laugh lightly. “Sorry, honey. Occupational hazard.”