Reunion in October (The Calendar Girls Book 2) (30 page)

“Sylvia.”

I looked up as my father-in-law’s disapproving tone entered the conversation. I had assumed he’d be hanging out with his cronies at the golf course. It never occurred to me that he might actually be lurking in the house. But there he stood, in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, anger radiating off him in waves.

“You’ve said enough,” he told his wife.

My mother-in-law clamped her jaw so tight, the strain showed in her cheeks.

Turning to his father, Roy growled, “Take her back to Florida, Dad. Thanks for coming, but you should probably leave now.”

As he strode from the room, I called after him, “Roy? Where are you going?”

“To talk to Melissa. Maybe I can undo the damage my mother wrought.” He disappeared up the stairs, leaving me in the iciest area of the house.

From opposite corners, my in-laws held a staring contest—with me as their sole focus. After years of working as a 911 operator, I’d learned to stay strong and steady under pressure, but in this case, I folded faster than a cardboard box in the middle of a cyclone. My gaze whipped around the room, landing nowhere and everywhere. No one spoke. Time didn’t move. The three of us remained suspended, silent, accusers and accused facing off without a two-way mirror to provide a safe barrier.

To my shame, I broke first. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, eyes downcast, staring at my clasped hands in my lap. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

No one replied, and I squirmed. How was it possible that even after all these years, my in-laws could make me feel lower than worm sludge—and just as useful? On the heels of that thought, though, a stronger realization struck me. For the first time since he’d told them that I was pregnant and he planned to marry me, my husband had stood up for me against his parents. An explosion of fireworks burst inside me. I now had no doubt. He might not say it often, he might never say it again, but Roy loved me.

I never cared what my mother said about you. In my eyes, you were always perfect
.

Nothing my mother-in-law said against me would ever change how he felt.

In the Handler household, the air didn’t stir. No general barked a command to a foot soldier. Yet, the power had shifted. I sat up tall and straight, my gaze level with hers. I said nothing. All too soon, my scrutiny wore her down. The dragon lady lost her fire and shrank before my eyes. I had to sit on my hands to keep myself from fist-pumping.

Finally, my father-in-law cleared his throat. “I guess we should start packing.”

I didn’t agree or disagree, and my lack of response obviously bothered my mother-in-law. She shifted her weight, and her feet shuffled on the carpet.

“No,” she said at last. “My son is right. I owe Emily an apology. I’m sorry.”

Really? I tried to gauge her sincerity, but that implacable mask of disapproval fell over her face. I couldn’t tell if she directed her frown toward herself or me. Regardless, I wanted to show some grace with my victory.

The statement, “No problem,” never before used in a conversation with her, stuck in my throat. If I owned up to the truth, I’d admit that after all the insults, the backhanded compliments, the open hostility, her two words of contrition didn’t cut it by a long shot. Then again, twenty years’ experience told me not to expect much more. I wound up saying, “Thank you, Mrs. Handler.”

“You can call me Sylvia,” she said. “Or Mom, if you like.”

No way. Never.

To my vast relief, Roy descended the staircase and reentered the fray. “Everything okay down here?”

I forced a placid smile. “Everything’s great. How about up there?”

He didn’t even try to hide his anxiety. “Not so great. She won’t even open her door for me. I think it might be time to call in the reinforcements.”

Face off against my daughter or continue to face off against my in-laws? No contest. Tossing aside the afghan, I got to my feet. “Let me take a crack at Mellie. I was a teenage girl once myself.”

On the outside, I might have looked confident and ready to fight the good fight, but on the inside, anxiety wreaked havoc with my nerves. In nature’s hormonal way of pushing them out of the nest, teenagers always looked for any excuse to dislike their parents. Melissa was a daddy’s girl, and I’d bet good money that learning I’d planned to abandon him—not to mention her and her siblings—sent her into an emotional tailspin. Since the blame for her anguish lay with me and no one else, the explanation would have to come from me and no one else.

I rapped twice on her closed bedroom door and offered a tentative, “Mellie? Can I come in?”

She mumbled, “Whatever,” which, in teen-speak, communicated such phrases as, “Leave me alone,” “I’m hurting,” and “I wish I was six years old again, when everything made sense.”

I chose to translate Mellie’s answer to phrase number two and opened the door. My daughter had curled into a question mark on her bed, her knees to her chest, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. “Okay if we talk?”

She shrugged.

Perching on the edge of the mattress, I mentally flipped through opening gambits, in search of the right way to broach the subject.

Before I found the words, she opened the conversation. “Were you really going to leave us?”

Wow. Right for the jugular. “No. I thought about it. But when I came home today, I was ready to tell your dad that I love him, that I love you all, and I don’t ever want us to be apart. He came home, prepared to tell me the same thing.” I was pretty pleased with my condensed version, which gave the pertinent highlights without going into details that would point fingers of blame at anyone.

Too bad Melissa didn’t accept my brief explanation. “But you were thinking about it?” she demanded, her tone accusatory.

Was it too late to go back to the stand-off downstairs with my in-laws? Yes, of course it was. Besides, my daughter was hurting and needed me. I’m a firm believer in telling the truth to my kids—in age appropriate terms—even when the truth isn’t pretty. “Yes,” I admitted.

She nodded, and a single tear escaped her eye to trail down her cheek. “Is it because of me?”

My heart cracked. “God, no, Mellie! Why on earth would you think that?”

“Grandma always says how you two would’ve been better off if you didn’t get married at all. Then she complains that you married too young. I know why.” She cocked her head, her lips twisted. “I’ve been able to count to nine for a long time, Mom. I know you and Dad had to get married because of me.”

Thanks so much, Mrs. Handler
.
Way to diminish Roy, me, and Melissa in one careless statement
. I shook my head. “Wrong. Your dad and I didn’t exactly grow up in Puritan times, sweetheart. We didn’t have to get married because I was pregnant with you. We
chose
to get married because of you and because we loved each other. We still do. You, your brothers, and sister are the absolute best gifts life has given your father and me. We would never give you up. No matter what your grandma thinks.”

“Then why did you think about leaving us?”

“What happened between your dad and me happens to a lot of couples who’ve been together for a long time. We forgot why we fell in love in the first place. Some couples forget for so long, they wind up quitting.”

“Chloe Gallagher’s parents are splitting up after the holidays.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But your father and I want to fight hard to put our family back together.”

“So you’re not going to change your mind and leave us tomorrow? Or next week?”

“No. And neither is Daddy. We love each other, and we love you. When you love someone that much, you don’t walk away. You fight for them. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” I kissed her forehead. “Do your homework. God knows what Daddy’s planning for dinner, but he’ll definitely need all the help he can get.”

I rose and headed toward the door when Mellie’s voice stopped me. “Mom?”

I turned to look at her. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad you came home.”

“Me, too.” I floated downstairs on a perfect pink cloud of happiness.

Chapter 21

Francesca

Imagine my surprise two days later when I headed up to Michael’s semi-private room after my shift and found him, looking hale and hearty—with Liz Harvey, laughing at his bedside.

“He called me!” she said before I could comment. “As soon as he came to.”

“That’s great,” I replied with a smile. And it was. Really. I was happy for both of them. Love definitely filled the air. In fact, the sparks flying in this room could short-circuit the electricity on the entire floor. “Michael, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Looks like you have everything you need...”

Boy, did that come out wrong. Then again, when I checked out the glow on their faces, I reconsidered. Liz continually stared moon-eyed at him, and his cheeks filled with healthy color, such a tremendous contrast to the pasty pallor he’d worn since coming into the E.R. the other night. Clearly, they had each other. Who needed more? They definitely didn’t need me, the third wheel.

I began to creep out of the room, but Michael’s voice called me back. “Hey, Francesca?”

I stopped, looking over my shoulder at the beaming couple. “Hmm?”

His expression grew solemn. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For trying to turn your world upside-down. I mean, I’m not sorry I came back to Snug Harbor because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have found Liz here.” He lifted their clasped hands from the mattress. “But I am sorry I didn’t realize that what you and I had was over—if it ever really existed. I see now how much this place means to you. You belong here.”

Any animosity I might have still harbored sailed off into the sunset. “Thanks,” I said.

“You’re welcome. And for the record, I hope you and Josh are very happy together.”

Josh’s name seared my heart, but I forced a nonchalant smile. “I’ll...” I cleared my throat. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

“Tell him he better make sure he takes good care of you, or he’ll have to deal with me. You deserve the best, Frannie.”

I stiffened.
Frannie
. That was Josh’s nickname for me. Michael had never called me anything but Francesca. I regrouped with lightning speed. Pointing my index finger, pistol-like, I winked and replied, “Back atcha, Mikey-boy. Good luck, guys. Be happy.” I strode from the room before the tears stinging my eyes could leak out. As soon as I reached the elevator bank, I slammed the down button with my palm. The pain of impact gave me an excuse to cry.

Outside the hospital, the somber gray morning matched my mood. I’d lingered in the E.R. long past my shift so that I could drop in on Michael during visiting hours. I don’t know what I had expected: an opportunity for us to come to a peaceful conclusion, maybe. Liz Harvey, giggling and glowing at his side, never entered my mind.

I slid into my car and stared at my tired eyes in the rearview mirror. You’re jealous, my conscience chided me.

“Yeah,” I told my reflection as I started the engine, “I am.” But not because Michael didn’t want me anymore. I envied Michael for finding Liz. I envied Nia for her romance with that vineyard owner, Aidan Coffield. I envied her sister, Paige, for finally falling in love with Sam Dillon. I envied my brother and his wife, and I envied the old couple from The Moorings who’d mixed up the lube and nitroglycerine paste last year.

There seemed to be a somebody for everyone. Except me.

I drove home, wondering why traffic was so heavy for eleven in the morning until it hit me. Today was the Saturday before Halloween. My stomach flipped. The Candoleros would have their annual party tonight. The party Josh didn’t invite me to. Would he be bringing a date? Someone younger than me? More fun than me?

“Aaargh!” I shouted in the confines of my car. “Enough. You have a career you love, a home, your health, good friends, and soon you’ll have a dog. You have never needed any man to make you complete, and you don’t need one now!”

No, I didn’t need any man, but I
wanted
Josh Candolero, the one man who could make me smile.

Once I parked in my driveway, I pulled out my cell and dialed his number before I could reconsider my insanity. Again, his voicemail clicked on. “Hey, it’s Josh. I’m unavailable to take your call right now...”

I let the spiel play out, waited for the beep, and spoke. “Hey, Josh, it’s Frannie. I was kinda hoping we could talk. I...umm...” I took a deep breath, exhaled. “I miss you. I haven’t smiled since I last saw you. Call me back, if you want. If you don’t, I won’t bother you again. Promise.”

I disconnected and visualized slamming my forehead into the steering wheel until I lapsed into unconsciousness. Lame, lame, lame. That call was totally lame and desperate. Romantically speaking, I hadn’t evolved much from folded notes in junior high school lockers that said, “Do you like me? Check this box.”

I got out of the car and went inside, knowing he wouldn’t call me back. Why would he? I’d just become one of those clingy, obsessed psycho women. Game over. Disgusted with myself, I turned off the ringers on my house phones and my cell phone. To keep busy and prevent my mind from ruminating on my idiocy, I went straight to my treadmill and spent thirty minutes raising my heart rate. After a quick shower, I vacuumed, I did some laundry, and at last, at four o’clock in the afternoon, I darkened my room and crawled into bed.

Sometime in the middle of a REM phase in my sleep, Barry White started crooning to me. “We got it together, baby...”

Fabulous. Now I was dreaming about 1970s’ R&B singers. Wait. Barry White? I shook myself awake.
Smack my head ‘til I see stars
. This was no dream. Barry White
was
crooning to me. The music pumped from somewhere outside my house.

Tossing off the covers, I raced to the window and peeked through the darkening shades. White light, stronger than moonlight, streamed through the gap and onto my bed. What in the world...? Outside, dusk had fallen, painting everything in a gray shroud. A lone figure stood on a wooden platform erected in my backyard, surrounded by a ring of bright orange construction halogen lamps. A boom box at his feet blasted the Barry White concert. Even dismissing the hardhat and tool belt he wore, I knew. My heart galloped, and joy spread through me, warm and rousing. Josh.