Читать книгу Life Happens - Sandra Steffen, Sandra Steffen - Страница 10

M ya moved only enough to force a deep breath.

All these years she’d wondered what her child looked like. Here she was, technically no longer a child. Her pale blond hair was shorter than Mya’s, even after today’s fiasco. Brown eyes cold with fury, she was the spitting image of Mya at that age, anger, belligerence, bitterness and all.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to faint.”

Still holding perfectly still, Mya said, “I’ve never fainted in my life.”

“Lucky you.”

Although she’d tried not to, sometimes Mya had imagined a mother-daughter reunion. Some of the scenarios had been tearful, others awkward. None had depicted a nineteen-year-old girl skinny enough to be blown away on the ocean wind, glaring at Mya with eyes as cold as stone.

Mya glanced at her watch. “It’s after midnight.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Happy birthday.”

Elle Fletcher clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t the emotion burning her eyes and throat. Other than the funky hairstyle and the whisker burn on her neck, the woman looked pretty normal. It was disturbing, how much the brown eyes reminded Elle of her own, right down to the tears brimming in them.

The hell with that! This woman wanted to cry, let her. Elle wasn’t about to do the same.

She’d been parked down the street long enough to see two women get in a four-by-four and drive away. Not long after, an older woman had climbed behind the wheel of a red boat on wheels and left, too. The man stayed the longest, which wasn’t saying a lot, but he’d finally cleared out, too.

That left her.

Her name was Mya Donahue. She was single and thirty-six, and she owned this house as well as a clothing store called Brynn’s over on Market Street. Some of the information had been in the file at the adoption agency. Most of it had required a little digging to uncover. The rest would have to come from Mya, herself, if Elle decided to continue. She didn’t want to. She wanted to turn tail and run as far away as she could get.

It was as if Mya knew. Her expression still and serious, she took a backward step, and opened the door farther.

If she’d voiced the invitation, Elle wouldn’t have taken it. As it was, she glanced over her shoulder, torn. The night was dark, the street empty except for her rusty Mazda.

She’d come this far. Might as well see if any of it had been worth it. Drawing herself up, she went in.

Not about to allow her relief to show when she closed the door against the damp and the cold, she glanced around the small room, taking in the eclectic mix of furniture and color. There was a throw over the back of the sofa, the usual magazines and junk mail on the end tables, a pair of shoes on the floor next to an assortment of feather toys. “You have a cat?”

“They’re my fiancé’s.”

Elle snorted, then went and got caught looking at the open bag of potato chips and a plate of cheese. Her guard back up where it belonged, she glared at Mya, silently challenging her to make something of it.

“Would you like to sit down?”

Elle shook her head. And the woman, her birth mother—Elle welcomed back her anger—seemed to accept that.

“What’s your name?”

“Eleanor. If you want me to answer, call me Elle.”

“Hello, Elle. You’re shivering.”

“That’s my problem. You gave up all rights to my problems when you signed on the dotted line, didn’t you?”

Mya’s smile held a touch of sadness. Glancing away, Elle felt a wretchedness of mind she hadn’t planned to feel. Her stomach growled. Gritting her teeth, she would be damned if she would be embarrassed about being hungry.

“Could I get you something?”

“What? You wanna brew some sweetened tea and maybe make some toast for me?”

“And have you throw it in my face? Is that what you want to do?”

Elle hadn’t expected that. It was almost as if Mya knew her, or worse, understood her. Impossible.

“I didn’t come here to eat.”

It must have taken a lot to refrain from asking why the hell she did come then. Elle stifled the thread of respect trying to worm past her defenses. Mya Donahue hadn’t earned any respect. She was nothing to Elle, or almost nothing.

As nonchalantly as possible, Elle glanced out the window toward the street where her car sat, undisturbed. “I have to go.” She could feel Mya watching her, could sense the questions she wanted to ask. “What?” Elle asked, and dammit, she couldn’t keep her lip from curling snidely.

Mya shook her head. “Do what you have to do, but you’re welcome to come back.”

Elle took flight before she did something embarrassing, like sink to the sofa and rest her head for a minute, or worse, blurt out the reason she was here. She ran to her car and unlocked it. Mya didn’t follow her or call to her. But she stood in the open door in the cold damp wind. The sight burned the backs of Elle’s eyes.

Nobody said this would be easy, but the fact that it was this hard still ticked her off. The anger was fuel, and she used it to get the hell out of there. She drove carefully, though, for it wasn’t anger that had brought her to Maine. She was pretty sure Mya had picked up on that fact. Pulling into a parking space in the cheapest motel she’d found, Elle swallowed hard. When she was certain it was safe, she leaned over the backseat, unfastened the safety belt, and took the best thing she’d ever done into her arms. Ten-month-old Kaylie sighed in her sleep, comfortable and secure.

Her daughter’s warmth and weight girded Elle’s resolve and renewed her courage to do what she had to do. It was possible that all the courage in the world wouldn’t be enough.

“Geez, Mya, long time no see.”

Mya gasped at Claire’s terminology. She didn’t remember the drive to her friend’s loft on the waterfront, but Claire had been waiting for her, so she must have called ahead. Vaguely, Mya recalled pulling on the clothes she’d worn all day. Even Claire might have been put off if Mya had shown up in her bathrobe.

Claire said no more until Mya came to a stop at the huge windows overlooking island-studded Casco Bay. “What’s happened?”

Mya wasn’t certain how to answer. She wasn’t certain of anything. Had she come here to confide in Claire? Or did she need to see the lights dotting the ocean, the tanker on the horizon and the scattering of islands between here and there?

“Mya?”

She answered without turning. “I had a visitor after everyone else left tonight.”

“Who?”

Again, Mya didn’t know how to reply. Finally, she said, “My daughter.”

Claire’s silence finally drew her around. Poor Claire. She’d been awakened from a deep sleep. Still groggy, she blinked owlishly. “Your daughter?”

“I had a baby, Claire.”

“So that’s your secret. I always suspected you had one. Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

She started in the middle, but she reached the beginning quickly, ending with Elle’s surprise visit tonight. “Nobody here knows about my past. Except my mother. And now you.”

Normally Claire wore contacts, but after being awakened tonight, she’d donned a pair of glasses. A few years ago, Suzette had laser surgery to correct her vision, but not Claire. It wasn’t because she hated hospitals, like Mya. Claire wasn’t taking any chances with complications. Claire O’Brien was one of those people who looked at four ounces of liquid in an eight-ounce glass and saw the potential water stain on the table.

“Have you told Jeffrey?”

Jeffrey? Obviously Claire wasn’t the only one who was dazed. “No.”

“Are you worried about how he’ll feel and what he’ll say?”

How could she be worried when she hadn’t given it any thought?

“Do you care what he thinks, Mya?”

Mya went from listless to ticked in under three seconds. Perhaps that had been Claire’s intention. “What do you think?”

“I think that if you’re going to marry him, you should tell him.”

That if brought Mya up short.

“What’s she like?” Claire asked, sinking into a nearby chair.

“She looks like me at that age, well, except for the piercings and tattoos.”

“Sounds like half my students. How old is she?”

“She’s nineteen today.” Mya watched Claire’s gaze go to her wild new hairstyle.

“What did she say?” There was nothing syrupy about Claire’s voice. Steady and level, it invited trust. It always had.

Mya shrugged as she rose, inexplicably drawn to the window again. Or perhaps not so inexplicably. Unlike many of the islands in Casco Bay, Keepers Island was too far away to be visible from the mainland from this vantage point. It was out there as surely as she was standing here.

She hadn’t set foot on the island in years, and yet she could picture it so clearly in her mind, the little harbor where the islanders docked their sailboats and skiffs and trawlers, the ice-cream shop and summerhouses near the beach, and the larger, weathered houses of the year-round residents farther inland, the square, brick school, and the sandy cove where she’d first made love.

Staring out across the bay, goose bumps rose on her arms. She had the strangest feeling someone was looking back at her. It was impossible, not to mention irrational. She got the hell away from that window just the same.

“Her name is Elle,” Mya said, clasping her hands tightly together. “Short for Eleanor.” It occurred to her that she didn’t know the girl’s last name.

“She didn’t tell you why she came or what she wanted?”

Mya scrubbed a hand over her face.

Claire said, “If you want me to stop playing twenty questions, just say the word. We can sit here quietly all night if you want.”

And Mya was glad she’d come here tonight. She’d needed a dose of Claire’s drollery and calm acceptance. “She stood in my living room a total of two minutes.” And every second was permanently etched on her mind. “I don’t think it’s a matter of her wanting something. More than likely, it’s something she needs.”

“Money?”

Mya thought about the threadbare jeans, the missing coat and the rumble of Elle’s stomach. “Something else. What remains to be seen.”

“Then you believe she’ll be back.”

Mya found herself staring toward the window again. “She’ll be back. I’d stake my life on it.”

It was an hour past closing time, and Elle hadn’t come.

Mya was disappointed, and when she was disappointed, she tended to get a little snippy. This time, the recipient had been a large-boned woman browsing through the rack of sale items. In her own words, she’d been “just looking.” Translated, that meant she was killing time. Mya wanted her to kill time someplace else so she could go home and see if Elle was waiting there. Short of throwing the customer out, Mya had done everything she could think of to get rid of her. Turning out the lights hadn’t been nice, but it had been effective. Finally, Mya locked the front door. Peering past the display in the window, she wouldn’t blame the woman if she never returned. But at least she’d gone.

Thanks to the City of Portland’s innovative revitalization plan, the waterfront district would be bustling with tourists in a few short months. Weekend traffic was always good, but at dusk on this Wednesday in mid-April, the brick-and-stone streets and sidewalks were practically empty. Only a handful of people strolled by. None of them had short blond hair, an obvious bad attitude and visible tattoos.

Elle wasn’t coming. Mya had been so sure she would.

She hung up a garment that had fallen, but walked past the stacks of sweaters that needed to be refolded. Her boutique was a long, narrow space squeezed between a bookstore and a glass-and-art studio. What Brynn’s lacked in square footage, it made up for in style. The walls were original brick, the hardwood floors worn smooth more than a century ago when this entire building had been used as a warehouse for the shipping industry.

Much of her summer merchandise had arrived this morning. Normally, Mya would have stayed late to catalog everything. Her mind would have been racing to decide how to best display the trendy skirts and summer sweaters and nautical jackets, the beaded pants and espadrilles, scarves and jewelry. Normally, she would have stayed until the wee hours of the morning, steaming away wrinkles and arranging everything on racks and shelves, in trunks and inside open drawers of antique armoires. Normally, she couldn’t wait to get started. Today, she left everything in the cartons in the middle of the floor, switched on the night-lights, set the alarm and left, locking the back door behind her.

The alley was protected from the ocean wind. Taking a deep breath of air still warm from the sun, Mya reached into her pocket for her car keys. And stopped in her tracks.

Elle was leaning against her car.

A thrill ran through Mya as the girl sauntered toward her. Holding her explosion of pleasure to a small smile, Mya noticed that Elle positioned herself so that her car remained in plain sight, causing Mya to wonder if she was living out of it. The bottoms of her jeans were frayed, her plain black T-shirt tight. She looked less defiant, less confrontational. Her gaze was no less assessing.

Mya proceeded with caution. “There’s an Italian bistro across the street, an English pub around the corner and oyster shacks and fabulous seafood places within walking distance in every direction.”

She swore Elle looked tempted.

“And there’s a little pizzeria past the next alley, and—”

“Pizza?”

“The best pizza in the universe.” Hearing a noise, Mya looked overhead for seagulls. Seeing none, she said, “Care to grab a deluxe with me?”

“I can’t.” Elle was easing away.

Mya wanted to call her back, to beg.

Over her shoulder, Elle said, “Maybe one of those restaurants needs a waitress.”

“Are you looking for a job?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I could use a clerk at Brynn’s.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Elle was a dozen feet from her car when Mya called, “Do you hear a baby crying?”

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Elle, wait.” Mya practically ran to the car, only to freeze all over again, for the cries were coming from a baby in the backseat.

For a moment Elle looked as if she’d just been caught doing something bad. But her attitude returned, shoring up her chin. “She’s mine.”

Suzette claimed the most powerful sentences contained just two words. She’s mine was proof enough for Mya. Since she didn’t trust herself to speak, all she could do was watch as Elle put the seat ahead and squeezed into the back. Seconds later, she eased out again, the baby in her arms.

“Surprise.”

Mya reeled, which was undoubtedly Elle’s intention.

The baby stopped trying to drag her bonnet over her head, and stared at Mya as if the hat problem was her fault. Mya hadn’t spent much time around babies, so she couldn’t say how old the child was. Her cheeks were round, her eyes blue. What Mya could see of her wispy hair was blond. She wore pink overalls and tennis shoes, one lace trailing. The little Harley-Davidson T-shirt seemed at odds with the delicate bonnet.

“She’s had an earache,” Elle said.

Later, Mya would marvel at how in tune Elle was with what Mya was thinking, but now she said the only thing that came into her mind. “She’s beautiful. I sensed you were hiding something.”

Elle made no comment, leaving Mya to wonder what else the girl was hiding.

“What’s her name?”

“Kaylie. She’s almost ten months old.”

Hearing her name, the baby looked up at her mother, who smiled at her. Instantly, Kaylie’s chubby little face spread into an adoring grin.

“Kaylie what?” Mya asked around the sudden lump in her throat.

“Kaylie Renee Fletcher. I was going to name her Harley, but in the end, I couldn’t. Couldn’t picture an old lady named Harley. I figure if she doesn’t like Kaylie when she’s thirty, she can shorten it to Kay.”

The “old” reference wasn’t lost on Mya. “And her middle name?”

“Renee was my mom’s name. It’s my middle name, too.”

Mya absorbed every last implication, from the quiet reverence in Elle’s voice, to her use of the past tense. “Where did you grow up?” she asked.

Elle’s eyes narrowed.

And Mya said, “Yours isn’t a Down Easterner’s accent.”

“My parents moved to Pennsylvania when I was about Kaylie’s age.” Suddenly, Elle didn’t seem to know where to look.

The girl inspired a curious urgency in Mya, a sense that time was spinning too fast. She wanted to ask her a hundred questions about where Elle had been and what kind of life she’d had, but she settled for asking only one. “Are you going to stay in Portland for a while?”

“I’m thinking about it. It’s not like we have anyplace better to be.”

“Kaylie could come with us to grab that pizza.”

“She already ate.” With that, Elle returned the baby to the car seat. Before she was through, she loosened the ribbon beneath Kaylie’s chin. Immediately, the baby stopped fussing and began the arduous task of trying to remove the bonnet.

Elle left without saying goodbye. After she drove away in her noisy little car, Mya got in her shiny, midsize model and drove away, too.

Time, she thought as she stopped at the light, was an amazing thing. Sometimes an hour seemed to last forever, and then one day you discovered that an entire lifetime has passed. Elle was young and still believed thirty was old. Mya had spent the last nineteen years trying not to remember how it felt to be that young.

Jeffrey was scribbling on a chart when Mya arrived at the hospital. He smiled when he saw her. It did little to relieve the knot in her stomach. Motioning to a small lounge, he held up five fingers. She knew from experience that although his intentions were good, he would be at least ten minutes, probably fifteen.

The staff lounge was deserted. Decorated in shades of purple and gray, the room was aesthetically pleasing enough, if one liked hospitals. They happened to terrify Mya.

Perhaps she should have waited for Jeffrey at his condo. Conveniently located a few blocks from the hospital, his place had high ceilings and tall windows that made the most of their southern exposure. For all the building’s wonderful character, the furnishings were early bachelor pad. She’d told him that nobody had a water bed anymore. With a shrug, he’d given her free rein to change the decor as soon as she moved in. Mya wanted them to live in her house after the wedding.

One hurdle at a time.

Claire was right. People who were engaged needed to be honest with each other. She had to tell Jeff about Elle.

She paced, leafed through a magazine, then paced again. Her mind wandered, and she found herself wondering where the labor and delivery rooms were in this hospital. They’d been on the second floor in the hospital up in Brunswick, where she’d—

The sound of laughter drew Mya around. The young nurse entering the lounge stopped laughing when she saw Mya.

“Tammy,” Jeffrey said behind her, “Would you mind using the other lounge?”

Although Tammy left, it was apparent to Mya that she did mind.

Jeffrey paused just inside the door, right after he smiled. And Mya wondered what he saw in her. He obviously had plenty of opportunities. Why her?

“Still trying to figure me out?” he asked. “I told you. Men are simple. Sex and supper pretty much covers our needs.”

“So you say. Do you realize I’ve never seen you angry?”

“Why would I be angry? You’re here. Life just got better.”

“You’re very smooth, Doctor.” When he grinned, she was reminded of the first time she’d seen him in this very hospital. The man looked good in scrubs, no doubt about that. She wished she melted at the sight of him.

Where had that come from? What was wrong with her? She was afraid she knew the answer.

“You want to see smooth?” he asked. “Come here.”

She remained where she was. “I have something to tell you.”

He went to her and kissed her. “It must be important to bring you here.”

“It is.”

“If you don’t want to keep my cats at your house, I can move them back to my place.”

“And here I was getting used to all the cat hair.”

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

“You always call me gorgeous when you’re trying to get me out of my blouse.”

“I like the way you think.”

She grasped his wrist when he reached for her top button.

“I’m teasing, Mya. What is it?”

“Perhaps we should sit down.”

He studied her in a manner that caused her to understand why he was so well liked and respected and appreciated in E.R. “In my experience,” he said, “there are three things a woman might say when she looks at a man the way you’re looking at me. One, she’s married. Two, she’s gay. And C, she was once a man.”

Mya couldn’t help smiling a little. “Prepare to add one more possibility.”

She’d suggested they be seated, yet he was the one who drew her to a vinyl sofa on the other side of the room. “Okay,” he said when he’d taken the adjacent chair. “What is it?”

She’d practiced her speech during the drive over. Unfortunately, there was no way to soften the bluntness of what she had to say. Forcing her gaze on his, she said, “I had a baby.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t flinch.

“When I was seventeen. I held her once, and then handed her to the social worker.” She kept her voice even, her memories locked up. “I never heard from her again.”

He continued to watch her closely.

“Until last night.”

“She called?” he asked.

“No. She came by.”

“So she looked you up. That’s common, isn’t it?” Jeffrey said. “They’re curious. Justifiably so.”

Mya fought an unholy desire to stomp on his foot. “Elle doesn’t strike me as the curious type.”

“Elle?”

“Eleanor. There’s more.” Mya tucked her short hair behind her ears. She missed her long hair, missed the weight of it and the warmth of it. More stable now, she said, “She has a ten-month-old baby girl named Kaylie. I know this must come as a shock.”

For what seemed like forever, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall behind her. Finally, Jeff spoke. “What’s shocking is that all these months I’ve been sleeping with a grandmother.”

Now, she did nudge him.

“Honey, the sounds you make when we’re making love give the word new meaning.”

She jumped to her feet. And as he had dozens of times before, he went to her and put his arms around her. “This doesn’t change the way I feel about you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He slid his hands down her back, drawing her against him. “You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re sexy as hell. Something that happened to you when you were a kid doesn’t change any of that.”

“It wasn’t something that happened to me. I wasn’t run over by an 18-wheeler or struck by lightning. It was something I did, a portion of my life I lived.”

“Potato, po-tah-to.”

“Now you sound like Claire.”

“That hurts. My parents want to meet you.”

She blinked. “They do?”

“I think you’d better find out what Eleanor’s after. She probably just wants to know her medical history, now that she has a kid of her own. No sense getting bent out of shape until we know what we’re dealing with, right?”

Bent out of shape?

For some reason, Mya couldn’t get comfortable in his arms. She couldn’t find that safe place, that warm sense of being home. He kissed a path along her neck. Normally, she responded to the sensation. Tonight, she wondered what he would look like bent out of shape and thoroughly ticked off. She reminded herself of the anger-management classes she’d taken, and the self-help books she’d read. Jeffrey was sane and rational, and this was how sane and rational people dealt with life’s issues. Sanely and rationally.

“Jeff.” She stepped out of his arms. “Someone could come in.”

He released a long sigh, but he followed her toward the door. “What are you going to do?”

Until that moment, she hadn’t a clue. Bending down for her purse and jacket, she said, “I’m going to pick up a pizza.” The statement was delivered in a tone of voice that encouraged him to go ahead and make something of it.

He didn’t, of course.

As she left the building, Mya wondered what Dr. Phil would say about the fact that she was disappointed. In the pit of her stomach she knew it wasn’t sane or rational.

Maybe she hadn’t come so far after all.