Читать книгу Finding Home - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 12

She wasn’t going to tell him.

As the weekend inched closer to reality, Stacey swore to herself that this time, she wasn’t going to tell Brad that their anniversary was coming up. Wasn’t going to spend her time dropping broad hints that even a cerebrally challenged person to whom English was a completely foreign language could pick up on. She’d done that once or twice before, but not this time. This time Brad was on his own when it came to remembering their anniversary.

She was still arguing with herself when Friday finally arrived, settled in and drifted into afternoon. The argument continued as she drove home that evening. She had a lot of time for it. MacArthur Boulevard had turned into a pricey parking lot with cars lodged nose to bumper.

A new element had entered her mental tug-of-war. The very real fear of disappointment. She’d given no hints, left no pictures of brides and grooms or wedding cakes. Left the ball entirely in Brad’s court.

Can you stand the disappointment when he doesn’t remember?

Given how preoccupied her husband seemed to be these days, there was more than a fifty-fifty chance that he would forget.

Fifty-fifty? Hell, she really was an optimist, wasn’t she? The odds were more like five to ninety-five. That he would forget. Because their anniversary no longer meant anything to him. It was just something that came and went, like Arbor Day. A date on the calendar, but not something of any great consequence—except maybe to a nurseryman here and there who wanted to move a few trees and used the day as leverage.

Who remembered Arbor Day, anyway?

That wasn’t fair, she argued, jockeying for position in the right-hand lane. Their anniversary meant something to Brad.

When he remembered.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, Stacey shook her head. It was catch-22 reasoning and she was going to wind up going in circles and getting a headache. A bigger one than the one she already had.

The opening in the right-hand lane disappeared. She resigned herself to remaining in her current lane. When the time came to turn off, she hoped she would be able to get over.

A song played on the radio, but it was only so much noise in the background. None of the words penetrated.

Kathy had called in this morning, saying that she and Ethan were taking off on a romantic weekend, thanks to her. A romantic weekend. She would have killed for a romantic weekend.

Why was it that she could give everyone else advice, see the way to solutions for other people, but when it came to her own life, everything became this horrible, tangled mess? It hadn’t always been that way. Once upon a time, everything had been crystal clear, spread out before her like the waters beneath a glass-bottom boat. It had come to her almost like an epiphany. She was going to marry Brad, have a couple of kids and be the best damn wife and mother ever created.

Unlike the women around her, she had no burning ambition to leave her mark on the world, to cure some dread disease, write the great American novel, have a rose named after her or break fresh, new ground. She wanted the old ground. She wanted home, hearth, husband, kids to love and to love her back. She’d never been ashamed or embarrassed by the fact that all her goals seemed so old-fashioned, so out of step with today’s modern woman. Her mother had wanted more for her, but to her, this was more. Brad, Julie and Jim had been everything she’d ever wanted.

But somewhere along the line, she hadn’t been allowed to enjoy being a wife and mother. Or rather, hadn’t been allowed to enjoy just that part in her life. Because there were mouths to feed and Brad’s loans to pay off, and they couldn’t get by on what he was earning as a resident. So she’d left the kids with her mother and went back to work for a little while.

A “little while” stretched out until it became her life. Until she could hardly remember when she wasn’t working. And when money was no longer of paramount importance—to everyone but Brad—she continued working because she liked the people, liked the contact. Liked having the patients talk to her, asking her for advice. She was, she supposed, a people person. A people person who liked helping others.

So why couldn’t she help herself? she silently demanded again as she narrowly managed to get her car over in time to make the turn onto University Drive. Why couldn’t she get the people she loved the most in the world to do what she needed them to do?

Her advice to Kathy had certainly gotten the desired results. And her assurances that Ethan really didn’t want a divorce turned out to be right on the money as well. Ethan had been feeling a little neglected. The romantic dinner had been exactly the right move on Kathy’s part.

Kathy had come into the office half an hour late the next morning, with a very goofy smile on her face and a dreamy look in her eyes. The latter remained in place all day and part of the next. And then she’d announced that they were going away together on a romantic weekend.

Her romantic weekend, Stacey thought with more than a little tinge of envy. A little romance, just a little romance, that was all she wanted. No grand gestures, no protestations of undying love shouted from the top of the Eiffel Tower. He could murmur it from the sewer if he wanted to. Just something to let her know that she still mattered in Brad’s world. That he didn’t take absolutely everything she did for granted. That he didn’t just notice her whenever she did something to irritate or displease him.

That sometimes he noticed her just to notice her.

Was that asking for too much?

Stacey blinked back the tears, calling herself an idiot. She was wasting time, feeling sorry for herself like this. Brad probably had something planned and she was going to feel like a fool for wallowing in self-pity like this.

The road opened up as she took the turn off. Stacey pressed down on the accelerator.

Ten more minutes found her home. In time to watch Jim pack the last of his belongings into the trunk of his car. Stacey suddenly realized that the loneliness that threatened to explode inside of her had only intensified.

Julie was already out on her own, living off campus in student housing that the UCLA Medical School helped subsidize. She didn’t want Jim to leave, too. Because that would leave her alone in the house. Alone, waiting for Brad to come home. And even when he would come home, somehow, having the kids gone would just make the growing separation between the two of them that much more prominent.

There was a time when she cherished being alone with Brad. But now, just thinking about that, thinking about coming face-to-face with the fact that they had nothing to say to each other, was filling her with a sense of dread.

Damn, where were all these negative feelings coming from?

She didn’t want to be one of those women who had to be medicated with three different colored pills just to face the day. She was made of stronger stuff than that. Stacey couldn’t shake the uneasiness. She tried denial. And didn’t get very far. Only as far as Jim’s car as she helped him carry a box of his things.

“You know, this isn’t really practical,” she told him, easing the box into the fold-down space he’d created in the rear of his vehicle. “You only have that part-time job of yours.” Dusting her hands off, she leaned against the side of the car. “How are you going to manage paying for everything?”

Jim gave her a mysterious look. “I can always sell my body.” And when he saw the horror on her face, he ran his hands up and down her arms, as if to reassure her. “I’m kidding, Mom. I’m kidding.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I’m a musician. I’m supposed to starve.”

She laughed shortly. “Said the boy who has never lived more than fifty feet away from a fully stocked refrigerator.”

He took offense instantly. “Man, Mom. I’m a man.”

“Sorry.” She held her hands up in mute surrender. “Said the man who has never lived more than fifty feet—”

“I get it, Mom, I get it,” he said sharply, cutting her off. He tried again, lowering his voice and doing his best to sound civil. “Look, maybe a little deprivation will be good for me. Make me appreciate you more.” As if to drive his point home, Jim paused and kissed the top of her head.

She could feel a lump rising in her throat, but she refused to give in to it. If she cried, Jim would just think she was trying to manipulate him, which she wasn’t. She just wanted him to stay. Wanted time to stop moving ahead. To at least freeze in place if it couldn’t go back and retrieve the better moments of her life.

Stacey forced a smile to her lips. “You might even get to appreciate your father.”

“I might,” he agreed, nodding his head slowly. “Right after they outfit penguins with ice skates so they can skate over hell.”

Stacey opened her mouth and then shut it again. She wasn’t going to get sucked into another argument. Not on her son’s last day at home.

She tried again. “So, am I allowed to know where my son’s going to be living?” When he said nothing in response, she added, “Or is it a state secret?”

He paused, leaning his lanky body against the side of the vehicle, his eyes on hers. His expression was completely sober. “It’s on a need-to-know basis.”

She gave him that look that had him confessing pilfering candy from the supermarket when he was six. It could still put him on the straight and narrow if he let it. “I need to know.”

He let go of the pretense and laughed. “Just kidding, Mom. I’m going to be in L.A. Pete Michaels’s roommate moved out—”

The address brought a chill to her mother’s heart. There were places in the middle of a war zone that were safer. “Are you sure he moved out and he’s not some chalk outline on the sidewalk?”

Jim frowned, his expression telling her to back off. “This is a safe area, Mom.”

“Nothing is safe these days.” But she knew that there was no arguing him out of it, unless it were strictly his idea. Sometimes she wished she were versed in post-hypnotic suggestions. “By the way, I had a microchip implanted behind your ear while you were sleeping. It’s a tracking device.” And then she laughed, banking down the urge to tousle his hair the way she used to. “Don’t worry, I’m not that neurotic.”

He looked at her knowingly. “We both know that if you could have, you would have. You’ve got to stop worrying, Mom.” Jim made little effort to hide his irritation.

“You show me where it says that in the Mom’s Handbook, and I will.” She sighed. “Sorry, it’s a package deal. You give birth and you worry. Can’t have one without the other.”

Jim’s mouth curved. “I thought Sinatra said that was love and marriage.”

“That, too,” she agreed. She walked him to the front of the car and watched as he got in behind the steering wheel. “So, no fooling around until after you’re married.”

His grin was nothing short of wicked. “Too late.”

Stacey sighed. “I was afraid of that.” He started the car. She fought the urge to pull him out and throw her arms around him. “You’ll be careful?”

He nodded. “I won’t play in traffic unless I absolutely have to.”

“And you’ll come for dinner?”

“How about I meet you for lunch every so often?” he countered.

She took what she could get. “Deal—but I’m not giving up on dinners.”

He grinned, pulling out of the driveway. “You wouldn’t be Mom if you did.”

Stacey stood and watched until there was nothing left of the car to see. And then she stood there a little longer.

The walk back into the house was a long one.