My One and Only

Page 43

He recoiled, dropping his putter or driver or whatever it was. “Don’t even speak the words! Oh, you evil blackmailer! Fine. Whatever you want.”
“Partner,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“I want to be partner, too.”
Theo sank into his chair. “Well, well. Would a raise suffice?”
I smiled, the first genuine smile in ages. “No.”
JUST BEFORE CAROL LEFT for the day, she popped into my office. “This came for you. Sorry. It was in with some other papers.” She handed me an envelope.
“Thanks,” I said, taking it absentmindedly while I clicked through my computer. “Have a good evening, Carol.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” She closed the door behind her.
I finished with my email, then took a look at what Carol had given me. Hand-addressed, care of the law firm. No return address.
The postmark was from South Dakota.
All the air suddenly seemed sucked from the room.
Slowly, slowly, my hands shaking impressively, I slid the letter opener under the envelope flap and cut it open. Unfolded the letter very carefully, smoothing it out. A one hundred dollar bill fell onto my lap. I took a deep breath, held it, then let it out and looked at the letter. The handwriting was round and loopy, and despite not having seen it for so long, I recognized it immediately.
Dear Harper,
Well, I’m not sure what to say. You really surprised me the other day. I did recognize you, since of course you always did look just like me. I wish you’d given me a little warning—I wasn’t ready for a big scene, know what I mean? It was a shock to see you—how can I be old enough to have a grown daughter? Anyway, I looked up your name on Google and found you out there, still on that godforsaken island. At any rate, looks like you turned out great! A lawyer. You were always smart, I guess.
I suppose you want to know why I left. First, let me say that I’m great! Life has been one wild ride for me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I never wanted to be tied down and really wasn’t cut out for motherhood or island life and all that. I toughed it out as long as I could, but in the end, I had to do what was right for me. I had a lot of plans back before you came along, and it didn’t seem fair that I had to stay stuck for the rest of my life. Sorry you got caught in the middle, but we had some good times, didn’t we?
Anyway, if you’re ever back this way, drop in and say hi. Just call first. By the way, I just didn’t feel right taking the money…I’m not the type who likes to be beholden, if you know what I mean. Buy yourself something nice and think of me when you wear it, okay? Take care.
Linda
I read the letter seven times. Each time, it became more repugnant.
Had to do what was right for me. Toughed it out. Wasn’t cut out for motherhood.
Holy testicle Tuesday.
Buy myself something nice and think of her? The woman who abandoned me, the woman who pretended not to recognize me after twenty-one years of being apart?
Looks like you turned out great.
“Actually, I’m quite a pathetic mess, Mom,” I said. My voice seemed overly loud in the quiet.
For a long time, I sat there in the lengthening shadows, the rain pattering against the windows like a thought wanting to be let in. And then something did creep into my consciousness, carefully, as if testing the waters to see if it was safe. Slowly, very slowly, a new possibility came into my mind.
I’d had enough.
My mother’s actions—her one action, really…leaving me—had been a choke chain on my heart…on my whole life…since I was thirteen years old. Enough.
Looks like you turned out great.
“You know what? Strike the previous comment, Ma,” I said. “You’re right. I am great, no thanks to you.”
Before I was even aware of moving, my raincoat was in my hand and I was running down the stairs, out into the small lot behind our building, into my little yellow car. I pulled out so fast the wheels flung gravel, but I didn’t care. Breaking every speed limit from Edgartown to Tisbury, I think I touched the brakes only when I veered into my father’s driveway. There it was—the house where I’d grown up, the place I’d avoided as much as possible my entire adult life since the second I left for college. I dashed out of the car and inside.
She was here. Looking older and worn out, no makeup today, which made her look oddly blank. She held a ciggie in one hand, and her hair was a couple of inches lower than her usual “closer to God” bouffant. When she saw me, she gave a tired smile.
“Here’s a sight for sore eyes,” she said. “How’s by you, Harper darlin’?”
“Hey, BeverLee,” I panted. The radio played some country-and-western ballad; static crackled the reception, but Bev didn’t seem to mind. She stubbed out her cigarette, knowing I hated her smoking.
“Have a seat, take a load off. Want something to eat?” She made a move to stand.
“No, no, don’t get up. I’m good,” I said, pulling out a chair. “Is Willa here?”
“Well now, she was, but she and your daddy are out in the woodshop, I think.”
Now that I was here, I wasn’t exactly sure what to say. I bit a cuticle, then put my hands in my lap.
“So how you been after seein’ Nick and all?”
I looked up sharply, getting a small smile in response. No one else had asked that question. “Um…I’m doing okay, Bev,” I said. “But I don’t…well, I’m not…How are you, Bev? How are you doing?”
“Well, now, I guess I’m doing all right.” She straightened the napkins in the holder, a hideous plastic molded thing depicting a royal flush, then looked back at me. “I heard you and Dennis split up, and I have to say, I was sorry to hear it. But I guess if y’all weren’t married after all this time, that said something. Your daddy and me, we only knew each other a week—Well. Maybe not the best example, since we’re partin’ ways and all.” She gave me a halfhearted smile and shrugged.
“Bev, about that. I have to tell you something,” I said. “I…” Well, crap. I had no idea what to say. I swallowed; Bev waited; the static crackled and rain hissed against the windows. Some familiar chords were discernible from the radio. “Sweet Home Alabama,” the famous Southern rock anthem.
“Oh, I just love this song,” Bev said, her eyes taking on a far-off look. “I got this cassette stuck in the tape player in my car, remember? This here was the only song that played all the way through.”
A memory drifted to the surface…me watching as Bev pulled into or out of the driveway, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s song like a soundtrack for her comings and goings.
“You never wanted to come with me if you could avoid it,” Bev said with a faint smile. “But there you’d be, standin’ at the window, makin’ damn sure I came back. Then you’d run off and hide in your room and stick your nose in a book and pretend you didn’t know I was home. Poor little mite. Always so afraid of someone leavin’ that you never let anyone get close.”
There it was, my emotional failings in a nutshell.
Enough. “Bev,” I said again. I reached out and gripped her hands in mine. “BeverLee, listen. I…” The lump in my throat choked off the words.
“What is it, sugarplum?” She tilted her head and frowned. “Oh, my Lord, are you crying?”
I just clutched her hand more tightly. BeverLee had loved me from the first day she saw me, a wretched, sullen teenager who viewed her as a joke. She thought I was brilliant, beautiful…she thought I was lovable. She thought I was the best, despite the fact that I’d done everything I could to keep her at arm’s length.
But twelve years ago, when I was a huddled mess on a kitchen floor in New York City, she was the one I called. And I’d known without a whisper of doubt that Bever-Lee Roberta Dupres McKnight Lupinski James would come through for me. And she had. Without hesitation, she’d driven five hours straight, through Massachusetts, Connecticut and New York, found her way to my apartment, taken me in her arms without one single question or recrimination and brought me home.
“BeverLee,” I whispered, because my throat was locked. “Bev…you’ve been more of a mother to me than my own mother ever was.” Her eyes widened. “You didn’t have to love me, and God knows I didn’t give you much to love, but you did. You’ve always been there for me, always taken care of me, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to see it. And I want you to know that even if you and Dad get a divorce…” I broke off and squeezed her hand harder. “I will always be your daughter.” Because this woman was my real mother. For twenty years now, she’d loved me despite myself, and that was what real mothers did. That was what unconditional love meant.
Bev’s mouth opened in shock. “Oh, baby,” she whispered. “Oh, my baby, I love you, too.”
Then we were hugging, Bev’s massive chest oddly comforting, the smell of Jhirmack Extra Hold and Virginia Slims the smell of home. She wept and stroked my hair, and I let her, and discovered that it felt pretty damn wonderful.
AN HOUR LATER, AFTER a cup of tea and a quart of tears, I hugged BeverLee once more. It was a little awkward, all this physical affection…but it was worth it. I could get used to it. I wanted to get used to it.
With a promise to call tomorrow, I went out the back to my father’s workshop, a place that smelled of wood and oiled power tools. He was talking to Willa in a low voice, arms folded, face serious. I felt a little pang of envy—Dad had always gotten on better with Willa. She was, of course, much more likable than yours truly, but still.
At the sight of his biological child, Dad broke off, and both of them looked at me.
“Can I have a word?” I asked.
“With me?” Dad asked.
“Um…actually, with both of you,” I said, taking a breath. “Okay. Um, Willa. Listen.” I bit my lip. “I’m not going to handle your divorce this time. In fact, uh, I don’t mean to sound too harsh here, but I can’t really bail you out on anything anymore. You’re twenty-seven, not seventeen. No more loans, no more credit cards. And I’ll just…shut up on the advice front, how’s that? You never take it anyway.”
“Well, I—” Willa began.
“Actually, one more bit of advice,” I interrupted. “Commit to something. Whether it’s Christopher or a job or a place or school…stick to it, Wills. You don’t want to end up just drifting around like milkweed seed, with a bunch of stupid relationships behind you and a whole lot of nothing in front of you. That’s what my mother did, and now she’s a waitress in South Dakota, with nothing and no one. You don’t want that, Willa. Trust me.”
There was a heavy silence. My father had frozen at the mention of my mother. Willa just looked at me for a long second. Then she smiled.
“Funny you should say that,” she said. “Chris and I are back together. He’s gonna work for Dad. So…we’re moving here.”
My mouth opened. “Really? What about the… Thumbie?”
She shrugged. “I called him that day…the day Nick showed up. He’s not going to give up on his inventing, but he sees the upside of regular work, too.”
“Oh. Well, that’s…great. Good for you, Willa.”
She raised a silky eyebrow. “Maybe I don’t need your advice quite as much as you think.”
I took a breath, then nodded. “Maybe not. Which is a really good thing, Willa. Sorry if I sounded like a pompous ass.”
“Why would today be any different?” she asked, mugging to our dad.
“Very funny. Cut me some slack,” I muttered. “I’ve had a rough week.”
With that, Willa bounded over and wrapped her arms around me. “So I hear. If you want to talk, I’m around.” She smooched my cheek. “Thanks for all the loans and advice and free divorces. I hope I’ll never need any again.”
“Ditto,” I said.
“Gotta run! Thanks, Dad!” Willa blew him a kiss, which he dutifully pretended to catch, and bounded out the door, leaving my father and me alone, twenty feet of wood and machinery between us, the smell of sawdust thick in the air. Rain pattered on the tin roof and the wind gusted outside.
“Crazy weather, huh?” I said, though it was nothing more than a typical rainstorm. “Yeah.”
The silence stretched between us. Now or never, Harper. “I saw Linda last week,” I said.
“So you said. How was that?”
“It wasn’t good, Dad. Not good.” I took a deep breath. “She pretended not to recognize me, and I let her.”
Dad looked at the floor and said nothing.
“Dad,” I said slowly, “listen. I—I always blamed you for not keeping Mom happy enough to stay, or not fighting to get her back when she left. And I hated that you married BeverLee and just stuck her in my life.”
Dad nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes still on the sawdust-covered floor.
“I want to thank you for that now.”
He looked up.
“My mother is obviously a self-centered, shallow, heartless person. And BeverLee is not.”
“No,” he said. The wind gusted, rattling a shop window.
“I’ve never asked you for much, have I, Dad?” I asked gently. “Never asked for money, went through college and law school on scholarships and student loans. Never lived with you after college, never asked for advice.”
“No,” he agreed. “You’ve never asked for a thing.” A flash of regret crossed his perpetually neutral face.