Second Chance Love (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Less than five minutes after Chelsea left, Steve and Elizabeth knocked and entered. Their happy chatter about the flippable house fell silent as soon as they saw Margaret, who looked shaken. Steve met Gordon’s eyes. “What’s happened?”

“I think we’ll be all right,” Gordon answered. “That Chelsea Stanton girl came in and got Maggie riled up, but I got her out of here.”

'Maggie?' No one on earth has ever called Mother ‘Maggie.’”

Steve turned his attention to his mother. “What in the world did she want?”

In years past, Margaret would have begun managing the situation and its responses. Since her heart attack, Steve had seen her outlook shift from appearances—which have their basis in others' perceptions and opinions—to facts, which either are or are not, whether one likes or loathes them.
And that's why she no longer lives in the same world as Chelsea Stanton. And Chelsea realizes it, on some level
.

“She stopped by trying to act all sweet, but she just wanted to tattle on you, for what you said to her at the Autumn Wonderland.”

Steve felt a rush of sudden and terrible rage, the kind that sends fists through drywall. He mastered it for the moment.

“She came at me, but Gord just put her back where she belonged. She threatened you.”

“I don’t understand why she's being so hateful now,” Elizabeth said. “She's still rich. We're not. All we want is to be left alone, to be able to live our lives.”

“Well, she's always assumed that Steve would somehow eventually land in her web. Now, he's getting married—but not to her, even though he's had business reverses. In her twisted logic, I think, her unearned wealth should now guarantee she gets him, because without it he will fall out of the privileged class. To Chelsea, that's death. Now I believe that it's always been deeper, and that perhaps she has been waiting and scheming too long to accept defeat. I saw something in her eyes that scared me. Not for me, but for you two. I think she has her head set on doing something to hurt both of you.”

Steve sat down and rubbed his hand across his forehead. “I think I need to go talk to her. Make clear she needs to leave us all alone.”

“That's inadvisable,” Margaret said. ‘’Stay completely away from her, especially in any private setting. Talking to her right now will only stir her up. She needs professional help.”

Margaret reached her hand out to Gordon. “Besides, Gordon and I have something much more important to talk to you about. I know this will seem sudden, but given recent events, we don’t want to wait any longer. We’re getting married.”

"That's wonderful!" exclaimed Elizabeth, rushing forward to hug Margaret. “I’m so happy for you.” Steve saw untempered joy on his mother's face.
How many times has someone said such a thing to her by rote, not meaning it? Lizzie means it, and Mother feels it, and it takes her off guard. What the hell, I'm happy for her too
.

Gordon looked at Steve, who put out his hand and smiled. “That’s great news. Congratulations, Gordon and Mother. I know you two will be happy.” Gordon took Steve's hand, read his eyes and nodded. "Speaking of weddings, Mother, we've set the date for Christmas Eve. I wanted to ask if we could use the house for our own wedding. We’re not planning on inviting too many people.”

“I would love that. We’ve had so many nice occasions in that house. I’ll call Gladys and get her on it right now. It'll give her purpose. Why Christmas Eve, though?"

Elizabeth answered. “Because that will mark one year since we found each other. And thank you, Margaret. It's so kind of you to let us use it. I always thought it was the loveliest home I had ever seen. Have you two picked a date?”

Gordon cleared his throat, then said, “Well, our wedding is going to be really small. We were thinking of doing it right here next Saturday, with the two of you as our witnesses. Would you do that?”

“Of course we would,” Steve said, “but wouldn’t you rather wait until you get out of here?”

"No.” Margaret and Gordon exchanged a quick glance. “We’ve been talking with the doctors, and they’re not sure I’m going to be out of here by Christmas.”

Neither Steve nor Elizabeth liked the sound of that.

“Then we'd be glad to," said Elizabeth. "What can we do to help?"

“Nothing,” Margaret said. “I’m going to ask Gladys to come, but we want to keep this simple.”

"I don't think a tuxedo is much my style," Gordon deadpanned.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The bell above the door of
The Prints and the Pauper
jingled, announcing the arrival of Gail on her way to
Faded Memories
.

“…but I said, ‘Of course it’s cold out! It’s December. If you want sunshine and warm weather in December, you’ve got to move south. Not me, though. I like four seasons in my life. The cold just motivates you to move a little faster. Oh, hello! Coffee pot on?”

Elizabeth smiled. Without a word, she slipped to the break room, retrieved Gail’s snowman coffee cup, filled it up and brought it to her. Gail was still talking: “…it’s like I was just telling Jack, last night. I said, ‘A bird’s got to sing, and no one is going to—"

“Wait a minute,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Jack?” Who’s Jack?”

“You know. Jack, that I met at that Autumn Wonderland event. Jack Pierce. He’s the Director of the Museum of Modern Art.” She said it as she might have said 'a direct descendant of George Washington.'

“Hmmm,” Elizabeth said. “You’re having a pretty good run here lately, aren’t you? First you win the money on the TV show, now you’ve got a new man, and he's the Director of the Museum of Modern Art.” Elizabeth tried to put the same emphasis on the title, but fell short.

Gayle nodded. “Clean and Godly living, that’s what Mama always told me. Clean and Godly living and everything will turn out all right in the end. If it’s not all right, then it’s not the end.”

“And where were you, when you were having this discussion with Jack?”

“Dinner,” Gail said, primly. “He is a widower and a very nice man, but he isn't getting inside my apartment yet. Only time will tell.” Gail glanced at her watch. “Oh my stars and garters! Look at the time! Thanks for the java! Gotta run to the store!”

After the bell banged again, the store returned to quiet. Elizabeth sighed and set to the task at hand. Steve was picking her up at lunch to go get their marriage licenses, so she needed to find her birth certificate. When her mother had passed away two years earlier, all her remaining earthly possessions had fit into a single cardboard box. Elizabeth’s apartment was too tiny for any type of storage, so she had asked permission from Mr. Bartleby to store the box in the back room. That was the last place she had seen her birth certificate.

The storage room was bigger than her entire apartment, stacked floor to ceiling with dusty boxes of books. The prospect gave her pause. Elizabeth remembered a time when the back room had been organized or even empty. Then came e-books, and many small bookstores had gone out of business. Many people had sold their book collections to regain space in their homes. Mr. Bartleby had seen this as an opportunity to acquire more of what he loved, even though books were not selling as rapidly as he bought them. Like a hamster on an accelerating exercise wheel, the supply eventually overwhelmed Elizabeth's shelving and sales abilities. Now the storage room was chaos.

Nothing to be done about it but dig in. If I remember right, I left the box in the back left corner.
She started by clearing a path there. Ninety minutes later, coated in dust and having checked dozens of boxes, it still hadn't turned up. Just as she began to wonder if she'd have to postpone the license trip, she lifted a box of 1970s Harlequin romances. There it was, with MOM BELONGINGS magic-markered on the top and one side.
It never occurred to me that it might end up buried so deeply that I couldn't see the box
.

It was sad to see that the remnants of her mother’s life fit into so small a box, but at least she had found it. Elizabeth stood up, coughed, dusted herself off, and carried the box out to her work station in the store. When her mom had died, the pain had been too fresh for Elizabeth to rummage through the box. At this remove, she was interested in the entire contents.

Not surprisingly, much of them related to Elizabeth. In the very front was a manila envelope with her report cards for every year from kindergarten on. Behind that, another envelope with most of her school pictures. There were gaps in the 3
^rd
, 4
^th
, 6
^th
, and 8
^th
grade years because her mother hadn’t been able to afford the picture pack. Lifting out a few more envelopes of photos and records, Elizabeth found a tatty blue spiral notebook at the bottom. She flipped the cover open. In her mother's elegant, swirling handwriting, across the top of the first page, it read:
The Thoughts and Dreams of Annie Templeton.
Beneath that was a poem entitled
Longing.
The first line read:
Where do I turn, when there’s no one to turn to?

Like most people, Elizabeth had always thought of her mother in terms of the motherhood role. Elizabeth had never given much thought to Annie as a young girl with dreams, longings, and hopes of a fulfilling life. She set the notebook aside to read at home, then worked her way through the remaining documents and envelopes. Amongst these was her birth certificate. She was just about to put the box back in storage when an old envelope at the very back caught her eye. Annie's flowing hand had written
Legal Papers
with a thick magic marker.

Legal papers? What kind of legal papers could Mom have needed? We weren't rich enough to have a lot of business dealings
. Elizabeth slid out the stack of documents.

First, on top, paperwork from a bail bond company, related to one of her father's arrests.
Amazing she managed to scrape together enough collateral to bail him out
. Behind that was a form relating to a parole hearing for her father from 1980, then more legal forms from other bail bondsmen.

I should have known this would be what passes for legal papers in my family. On the next episode of Coleman Family Values...

She was just about to shove the whole thing back in the box when a yellowed envelope caught her eye. The return address read
Anderson, Jenkins and Grogan, Attorneys at Law
, and the envelope was addressed to Miss Annie Templeton. Elizabeth could still read the postmark: January 6
^th
, 1973.

I was born in September. When this arrived, I was an embryo. Why in the world would Mom be talking to attorneys while she was pregnant with me?

Elizabeth slipped the envelope contents out, summoning a bookseller's acquired skill of caution with old, long-stored paper. Once safely unfolded, the letter read:
Dear Ms. Templeton: We have been retained to facilitate an understanding regarding your current situation. Our client, who accepts no responsibility or liability for your medical situation, is nonetheless willing to settle this matter amicably…
”

Her breath caught in her throat. Elizabeth’s eyes swept the letter, but it did not name the client. What had looked like the second page turned out to be a contract copy, faint with age and barely legible, but the inked signatures at bottom were quite clear. On one side was her mother’s maiden name. On the other, 'Jefferson A. Stanton.'

Elizabeth, a woman not normally prone to unsteadiness, felt her vision swim. An overwhelming weakness and dizziness made her brace against the counter.
I do believe this is what it feels like to faint
, she thought, sitting down heavily in her chair. She put a hand to her head and waited for clarity to return. After a few moments, it did.

Jefferson Stanton. Chelsea Stanton’s father knew Mom? Really, really, knew Mom? That means that Chelsea is my half sister. That’s not possible. There’s no way that Mom could have kept something like that from me all my life. She wouldn’t.

“Max, call Steve.”

The speaker on her phone sounded one ring, two, then, “Hello, honey. I have big news—"

“Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure I can top it. Can you come to the bookstore right now?”

Something in her tone cut through his need to share. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said, then signed off.

Seven minutes later, Steve burst in the front door. Elizabeth stood behind the front counter, calm, with a smear of dirt across her forehead and a faraway expression on her face. “Lizzie? Are you okay? What’s happened?”

Elizabeth snapped out of her reverie. Without a word, she pushed the letter and contract across the counter at Steve. He glanced from Elizabeth’s face to the papers in his hand and back again, then fished in his jacket pocket for his reading glasses. His face froze. He looked at Elizabeth.

She nodded at the papers. “Keep reading. There’s more.”

He moved closer to the window, where the light was better. When he reached the bottom of the last page, he looked up. “Is this a contract between your mother and Jefferson Stanton?”

Elizabeth nodded.

Steve went around the counter and wrapped his arms around Elizabeth. She laid her head on his shoulder, but didn’t say a word. He held her tightly and whispered, “It’s okay. It’s all okay. I’m sorry you had to discover this, especially this way, but it’s okay. It’ll be all right. Everything will be all right.”

Elizabeth pulled away, anguish on her face.

“How the hell is it okay and all right? Do you realize that my whole world just changed? Chelsea Stanton is everything I dislike in this world. She’s a cruel, fake, stuck-up, heartless person, and she’s my sister! I’ve always wanted family, and now I have some—but the worst imaginable kind!”

Steve drew a deep breath, looking for the right words to comfort her. “Look, nothing’s really changed. No one knows about this but us.”

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed and color rose in her cheeks. “Oh, is that the answer? Everything is okay because no one else knows? What if it was your whole world that got turned upside down? What if you had found out that the man you thought was your father really wasn’t? Now, let’s say the man who really is your father was an evil man that impregnated women and then set his lawyers on them, not to mention that he got away with murder. Oh, and just for fun, let’s throw in the fact that you are now siblings with someone that wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire. Would everything be okay, really?”

“Lizzie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

She glared at him for a couple of seconds, then stepped back. “I know, I know. I’m just going to need some time to process all this.” She paused and looked out the shop window at the overcast skies. “Let’s just go get our license, so we can have that done.”

'Have that done?' We're getting married, not checking things off a shopping list. Eggs, check. Pound of hamburger, check. Marriage license, check.

Still. She’s right. Her whole life just got tossed and tumbled. Her mother, one of the few people she thought she could trust, lied to her. When you keep something important from someone you say you love, I call that a lie.

What are you, suffering amnesia? Your whole world just got knocked over and she supported you through everything. Now suck it up. You can get all annoyed later, in private.

“You’re right. Let’s go do that. But, Lizzie?” Steve took hold of her shoulders and turned her toward him. He waited for the faraway look to fade. “Lizzie, I’m here. I don’t have any answers, but I’m here.”

“I know you are.” She looked away.

In the privacy of his mind, Steve swore.