Queen of Broken Hearts (38 page)

She nods despondently. “Yeah. He'll do that; don't worry. I had a panicky moment of thinking he and his parents would try and take my kids, that the whole thing had been a trick. Then I thought, Get real, Haley. His folks love them, but they're both too uptight to have little kids around all the time. You should see Austin's mom following Zach and wiping up after him. Ha! No way they'd keep them more than a few days.”

“I wasn't thinking of them keeping the kids,” I admit. “I wondered what you'll tell Zach and Abbie when they get home and their daddy's not here.”

Haley closes her eyes and rests her head against the back of the sofa. “Austin said he'd tell Abbie before bringing them home. Zach is too little to understand. But get this—here's what Austin told me that he planned on telling Abbie: He's going to be away for a few days because he's helping a friend out, staying at his place and taking care of it while the friend is out of town. When I called him a chickenshit, he said if I didn't like it, I could tell Abbie myself.”

A rage sweeps over me that frightens me with its intensity, and I fight for control. I cannot lose it. One of us has to stay together. After several deep breaths, I say, “Regardless of what he tells her, Abbie's not going to handle it well, her daddy not being here.”

Haley is quiet for a long time, then she says, “You know, Mom, because of the way I was raised—before you and Daddy found me—all I wanted was for my kids to have a good, safe home. I thought by marrying someone like Austin, I was making sure of that, and they'd never be from a broken home. I wouldn't have done this to them for all the money in the world.”

“Of course you wouldn't. None of us would.”

“But I did, don't you see?
I'm
the one to blame, not Austin. You have trouble admitting it, but he's right. I should have done more to hold on to him, to be the kind of wife he wanted me to be. If only I'd paid him more attention, or showed him how much I love him, or whatever. Anything but this.”

“I don't want to hear you say anything like that again, you hear me? It's utter nonsense. All of this started when Austin got promoted to a big job with a lot more responsibility than he'd ever had, and it was too much pressure. He dealt with his stress in an unhealthy manner. Sweetheart, I've seen hundreds of couples in trouble, and my guess is, Austin will be back home. Wait until he doesn't see his kids for a week or two. One thing about him, he's devoted to the children. He thinks he can get by with telling Abbie that lie, but she's not stupid. He'll have to tell her the truth. And when he does, let me tell you something. Abbie and Zach? He might tell them he's leaving you, but he'll be leaving them, too. Once he has to face that reality, he'll most likely come to his senses.”

Haley grips my hands in both of hers, and her face brightens. “Do you really think so?”

“I think there's a real good possibility. Now I want you to get some things and come home with me. No way I'm leaving you alone tonight. Best thing you can do is stay with me this weekend. We'll watch videos and eat popcorn and chocolate ice cream, then on New Year's Eve, we'll buy a bottle of champagne and drink the whole thing by ourselves.”

“But you're going to a party with Rye. I'm not messing up your weekend.”

“You're not, believe me. Rye has a hundred women he can take instead.”

She shakes her head. “No. I should stay here in case Austin comes back.”

I stand up and take her hands, pulling her to her feet. “Don't be ridiculous. He'll call you if he has a change of heart. No argument. You're coming home with me, and I'll bring you back Monday.”

Haley is listless as I help get her things together. As bad as she's been today, one thing I know in spite of the optimism I'm showing for her benefit: It's only going to get worse. If Austin has truly left for good, it will get much worse before it gets better.

In spite of my years of experience in such matters, I'm taken by surprise when Austin executes the separation from his family with a precision that makes my blood run cold. Haley told me that when he brought the children home from Huntsville the first Monday of the new year, he was like a robot, with jerky movements and blank, unblinking eyes. He told Abbie he'd be gone for a few days, then he waited until she and Zach were asleep before leaving the house. That had been bad enough; although Haley was spared the ghastly scene of the kids watching their father walk out the door, Austin had broken down and reached out for her as he started to leave. But when she'd moved toward him, he'd fled, weeping as he slammed the door in her face. Haley had decided to be waiting alone when he returned with the kids, although it appeared I'd have to hog-tie Jasmine to keep her away. I convinced her that after Austin left, she should show up with a pizza and a half-gallon of chocolate-marshmallow ice cream. I wonder if Austin realizes he's a marked man. If he survives Jasmine's fury, it will be all the proof I need that miracles still occur.

Jasmine's not the only one out to get Austin. When I called Zoe Catherine to tell her, she reacted pretty much as I expected. I had to hold the phone away from my ear as she yelled into the receiver, describing which of Austin's privates she'd cut off once she found out where he's hiding—or, as she put it, which rock he's crawled under. But after she's vented her rage, she starts showing up unexpectedly at Haley's house, and I'm reminded of those grief-shrouded days after Mack and I lost our baby, when Zoe ministered to us in her own unique way. When I took Haley home on Monday, we found that her grandmother had come into the house, straightened up and done the laundry, and left a bowl of boiled shrimp in the fridge and a platter of cookies for the kids. The next day Zoe asked Haley and the kids to spend the night at the Landing because she had some baby birds she needed Abbie and Zach's help with. In many ways, Zoe Catherine is better with Haley than I am during these first awful days after Austin's departure. I go by the book, advising and trying to apply the best methods of coping I can find. Zoe's actions, on the other hand, are spontaneous and from the heart. All the psychology books in the world don't measure up to her comforting presence.

Once school starts back, I honor Haley's wishes by leaving her alone for a few days until she can get the kids back into a routine, always hard after the holidays but especially now, with their daddy gone. As I'd predicted, Abbie didn't buy Austin's story, and Haley couldn't lie to her. Instead, she told her that they would be separated for a while so they could think about how much they'd been fighting and how to stop it. I worried more about Abbie's reaction than I let on to Haley. When I asked if Abbie had cried, Haley said no, she'd done nothing. She'd gone so quiet that Haley called Austin and made him reassure her. Evidently he had, Haley told me; Abbie hadn't asked about her daddy since. Haley saw that as a good sign, but I knew better.

Although staying away right now is one of the most difficult things I've ever done, I agree with and respect what Haley's doing. Rather than having someone there as a buffer for the kids each day when they return from school, she's determined for the three of them to establish a daily routine, stating firmly that children feel more secure with a schedule. Although an indifferent housekeeper, Haley is a well-grounded mother, with her degree in early-childhood education as a foundation. I worry more about her than I do the children. That worry will come, though, I know; one thing for sure, it will come.

When I visit the kids for the first time since Austin left, Abbie is sitting on the floor, cutting out snowmen from white construction paper, and Zach is lying beside her on a giant panda-bear pillow that Rye gave him for Christmas, his thumb in his mouth. Haley sits at the kitchen table, putting smiley or frowny faces on a stack of kindergarten papers she's grading. The cluttered room is as chaotic with toys and school supplies as ever, and my first thought is, At least they can enjoy the mess without Austin's disapproval. After their squeals of greeting and wet, sloppy kisses, I sit cross-legged on the floor beside Abbie, exclaiming over the snowmen with their yarn caps and mufflers and black button eyes.

“Look, Grams,” Abbie cries, digging through the stack until she finds one and pulls it out. “Mommy said for me to make snowmen to decorate her classroom, but I made snowwomen instead.”

“Let's hear it for sisterhood,” Haley murmurs without looking up from her papers.

I smile when Abbie holds up a skinny one with yellow yarn hair. “Snow Mommy!” she announces, then giggles when she shows me a tall one with cotton balls pasted on top of its head. “And this one is Gramma Zoe. Snow Zoe—hey, that rhymes.” A large round one with black loops for hair is Snow Jasmine.

I put my hands over my eyes. “Uh-oh. Is Snow Grams pretty or ugly?”

“Pretty!” Zach cries, almost knocking me over when he jumps up and grabs me around the neck. “I love my grams the bestest.”

“Not better than Mommy! You'll hurt Mommy's feelings.” Abbie wags her finger at him sternly, and Haley hoots.

“Your granddaughter sure has a strong inner parent,” she remarks to me.

“Hmm … I have noticed that tendency.” I reach out to tousle Abbie's white-blond hair once Zach releases his death grip on my neck and settles in my lap instead. “That means she'll be a good mother one of these days. Right, Abbie-kins?”

“Right. But when I get to be a mommy,
my
husband is not gonna leave me and make me cry,” Abbie states solemnly.

I cut my eyes to Haley. “I walked right into that one, didn't I?”

“I'll be so nice to my husband that he won't leave me,” Abbie continues, oblivious. “Daddy said sometimes big people can't get along, so they live in different houses. But that doesn't mean he doesn't love Mommy anymore. Is that true, Grams?”

Before I can come up with my best therapy-based reply, Zach socks the panda-bear pillow with a chubby fist and cries, “Daddy made Mommy cry. I'm gonna hit Daddy.” He pounds the poor panda bear until Abbie jerks it away from him.

“No, Zach! That's
bad.
Only bad kids hit things. Right, Mommy?”

“Bad Daddy! I hate Daddy,” Zach yells, socking the poor panda in spite of Abbie's efforts to push him away, and Abbie screeches, “Mommeee! Zach's talking ugly about Daddy, and you said you weren't going to allow that.”

“Welcome to the wonderful world of Disney.” Haley sighs, putting aside the stack of papers and rubbing her face wearily.

The following Saturday morning, I blink in surprise when I open the front door and find Zoe Catherine. It's a dazzling cold day in early January, the air tart and crisp as a winesap apple, and I've dressed warmly in old sweatpants and a sweatshirt the White Rings gave me for Christmas that says
THE NUMBER ONE CAUSE OF DIVORCE IS MARRIAGE
. Zoe is bundled up in her army fatigues and a chamois-colored hunting jacket, with a brown knit cap pulled low over her ears and her white braid flopped over her shoulder. Her face is high with color, and her black eyes are snapping. “C'mon,” she says, with no other greeting. “You gotta see this.”

Over her shoulder, I see she's left her pickup running, the door flung open. “Can it wait? I just put a pot of lentil chili on the stove.” I don't add that I'm inviting Lex for supper because we haven't gotten together since long before the holidays, both of us being so busy.

“Turn it off and get your jacket.”

I know Zoe well enough to know there's no use arguing with her, so I do as she commands. Without another word, she turns the truck around and heads back toward the Landing. Even though I glance her way curiously, she doesn't tell me where we're going. It makes no sense; if it's a new bird at the Landing, why didn't she just call me to come out? It's hard to read her mood, exactly: She appears to be seething with anger. Which makes no sense. There's never any mistaking Zoe's anger; she rants and raves and squawks and yells with total abandon but never seethes quietly. Something is bundled at my feet: another of her care packages for the kids. This one appears to be brownies in plastic wrap on a sack of pecans. It looks as though she was heading toward Haley's but stopped to get me instead.

“Some of those pee-cans are yours, if you want them,” she says, noticing me eyeing the sack. “Left over from that old tree behind my cabin. Ha—everything out there is old, even my damn trees.”

“Of course I want them. I must've been a squirrel in another life, much as I love pecans.”

“Speaking of nuts, look at this, would you?”

With a squeal of tires, Zoe turns off the road and slams to a stop. I stare in surprise, uncomprehending. We're at Cooter's roadside produce stand, a place that could only belong to Cooter Poulette. Matter of fact, it looks just like him. It's a rambling, unpainted shack with dirt floors and crudely constructed bins for the produce. In the summer, the bins overflow with local tomatoes, corn, string beans, peas, cantaloupes, and watermelon, but in the winter months, usually the only thing in them are oranges, tangerines, and grapefruit. Any season, Cooter sells boiled peanuts, which he cooks and sacks himself. For a while he carried duck eggs from the Landing, which were quite popular, but he and Zoe had a falling-out over them, so they're no longer available. All Zoe told me was that Cooter hurt the mama duck's feelings and she refused to lay eggs for him anymore. “I tried to tell the old fool not to mess with Hillary Clinton,” Zoe snorted.