A Thread of Truth (13 page)

For a moment, everyone was quiet. Then Abigail spoke, with an uncharacteristically high and flute-like pitch to her voice.

“My! What a smell of sulphur!” she exclaimed and waved her hands, Glinda the Good banishing the lingering aroma of her wicked sister to the west.

That broke the tension.

“Well, that was interesting.” I chuckled. “Charlie, when you came through the door, it was like a scene from one of those old spaghetti Westerns, a shootout between the white hats and black, but with a bit of a twist. What's with the flowers? Were you planning on beating him over the head with them, then hog-tying him with a length of florist's wire?”

Charlie looked at the bedraggled bouquet and colored a bit. “They were for you, of course. You sounded upset and then you wouldn't tell me why. You said it was too complicated to explain over the phone.” He shifted his shoulders defensively.

“I thought maybe you were rethinking our relationship. So, as soon as you hung up, I grabbed a bunch of flowers from off one of the tables in the dining room and ran over here to talk you out of it.”

I came out from behind the counter and took the daisies from him. “Oh, Charlie, they're beautiful. Thank you. But, you didn't have to do that. I'm not rethinking anything. I'm afraid you're stuck with me, sweetie.” I rocked up on my toes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“I can live with that.”

“So, Franklin, what do we do now? More to the point, what do we think
he's
doing now?” I asked, tilting my head toward the door through which Hodge Edelman had just exited.

Franklin took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow, looking drained and a bit less formidable than he had just a minute before. “Right now? My guess is he's driving around, trying to find a phone booth with an intact set of yellow pages so he can get himself a lawyer. At least, that's what he'll be doing if he's got any brains at all.”

“A question that seems to be in some doubt,” added Charlie with a smirk.

Abigail moved closer to Franklin, slipping her arm through his. “Well, it won't do him any good whatever he does. The best lawyer in the county is already working on this case.” She looked up at Franklin, her face beaming confidence.

“Mmmm,” Franklin murmured noncommittally. “For Ivy's sake, I hope you're right.” He pulled on his nose and thought for a moment.

“As far as the next move,” he said wearily, “it's mine. There's enough time before the meeting. I'd better go upstairs and talk to Ivy.”

“B
ecause I said so, Bethany, that's why!” I shouted at my daughter.

I felt terrible for yelling, but at the moment I wasn't in the mood to explain my reasoning to her. There wasn't time.

Sniffing, Bethany shuffled back into the bedroom she shared with Bobby and started morosely tossing her stuffed animals into the open cardboard box that I'd left sitting on the floor for that purpose. Bobby laughed and started chucking his building blocks into the box, too, thinking it was some kind of game. Every time one of the blocks made it into the box he'd clap his chubby hands and yell, “Two points! Two points for me!” At least one of my children was happy.

I turned back to my own work, taking the clean clothes from the laundry basket, folding them, and piling them into the empty suitcase that was sitting on the dinette where we'd eaten all our meals for the last year and a half. I pulled a pair of my jeans out of the basket and held them up, trying to decide if I should bring them or not. It was amazing to realize how many possessions we'd accumulated since we'd moved to New Bern. Clearly, we wouldn't be able to take everything with us, but I wanted to make sure I left enough room for the things that really mattered. Something I simply refused to leave behind were the quilts; the two that Abigail had made for the kids and the one I'd made in Evelyn's class. However, the quilts were bulky and that meant less room for other things, like clothes.

I tossed the jeans onto the “leave behind” pile. They were pretty worn and, besides, it was more important to leave space for the kids' clothes than mine. I could get along with a couple of pairs of slacks, some tops, and a sweater or two—that and the sundress that Evelyn had helped me make. I pulled it out of the basket and folded it carefully and hugged it to my chest. It wasn't really practical to bring it along. I could only wear it for a few months a year and didn't have much cause for dressing up. I knew I should put it on the pile with the worn blue jeans and other discards, but I hesitated.

I didn't own a camera. I wanted one, but they were expensive. Every now and again I'd buy one of those disposable jobs at the drugstore and take pictures of Bethany and Bobby, but I couldn't afford to spend much on developing pictures. And none of the few photographs we did have included me; I was always behind the camera.

Once I loaded our few boxes and bags into the trunk, buckled the kids into their seats, turned on the ignition, and pulled out onto the highway, leaving New Bern, Connecticut, in my rearview mirror, I would have nothing to remind me of its curbed, orderly streets and peaceful town green, the charming antique homes with painted shutters, and the picket garden gates that swung wide to welcome visitors and, of course, the people.

But this, this dress with the profusion of violet and purple hydrangeas blooming on the rippling gathers of the skirt and the sage-colored piping that reminded me of late summer in Connecticut's quiet corner…

Every time I saw this beautiful dress, or stroked the smooth, fine-loomed cotton with my fingertips, it was like opening a photograph album in my mind. I might never have occasion to wear that dress again, but every time I saw it, I would remember Evelyn, and Abigail, and Margot, and all my friends at Cobbled Court Quilts. I would remember New Bern, the only place I ever lived that felt like home.

If there wasn't enough room in the suitcase for underwear, then that was just too bad. No way was I leaving my dress behind.

I laid the dress on top of the stack, closed and latched the lid of the suitcase, put it on the floor next to a big, black garbage bag loaded with sheets, pillows, and a set of towels, and went into my room to get the last two suitcases.

Belly-down and with my head and torso under the bed, I was dragging out the other suitcases when I heard the electronic beep of the intercom telling me that someone was standing outside the locked front door of the Stanton Center and had rung my apartment, wanting me to press the buzzer that would unlock the door.

When I heard the beep, I tried to scramble out from underneath the bed, yelling for Bethany to not touch anything, but the tail of my shirt got stuck on one of the metal supports of the bedframe. By the time I ran into the family room, Bethany had already pressed the door-release buzzer and was chirping happily into the intercom.

“Okay. See you in a minute!”

I was too late.

“Bethany! Didn't you hear me telling you not to touch the intercom? I've told you before! You're not supposed to open the door for anyone! Do you hear me? Not for anyone!”

Bethany tilted her head to one side and frowned. “But it wasn't anyone. It was Margot.”

I took a deep breath and let it out again slowly, relieved. Hodge wasn't ascending the steps to the door of our second-floor apartment, but I didn't want to see Margot, either. Things were hard enough as it was.

I looked around the family room and considered hiding the suitcases and bags in the closet, but there wasn't time. Margot was already knocking on the door.

“Bethany, go to your room. Decide what books you want to take. You can only bring five. And help Bobby pick out five for himself too, all right?”

“But I want to see Margot,” she whined.

I hissed through clenched teeth and pointed my finger in the direction of Bethany's room. “Go!”

She did, stomping her pink and gold tennis shoes and closing her bedroom door hard, not slamming it, but hard enough so I'd know she was mad at me.

Margot was knocking again, calling my name. I opened the door, but only partially, wedging my body in the open space so she wouldn't see the mess behind me, and casually raised my arm to rest against the doorjamb.

“Hi, Margot.”

“Hi.” She waited a moment, expecting me to invite her in.

“The zoning meeting was a mess. Witnesses against Abbie's proposal were lined up out the door. Everybody was interrupting everybody else, and the chairman was pounding the table, and then Dale Barrows came in carrying a petition signed by himself and everybody else who lives on Proctor Street. Franklin practically had to tie Abigail to her chair.”

Margot grinned. “You should have heard what she called Dale's last movie! Next thing you know, Dale started shouting that he's going to sue Abigail for libel. Small-town melodrama at its best.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“Anyway,” she continued, filling the silence, “it got to be too much for me, so I thought I'd drop by and see how you were doing. Can I come in?”

“Oh, not right now,” I said through the crack in the door. “I just put the kids to bed.”

Of course, that was the moment that Bobby decided to fling open the door of the bedroom and do a victory lap around the family room, chanting, “Two points! Two points! Two points for me!” then run back into his room and slam the door shut.

I looked at Margot—caught—and I dropped my arm down to my side.

Margot peered past me into the disarrayed room, taking in the pile of suitcases and bags, heaps of discarded clothing, and drawers left standing open.

“Oh, Ivy. Ivy, don't,” she said softly. Her voice dripped disappointment. I felt like I'd been caught trying to sneak out of a restaurant without paying the check. “Ivy, don't run away.”

I stepped back from the door, letting her pass.

“I'm not running away,” I said defensively, though of course that was exactly what I was doing. The enormity of the lie hung in the air. “I just…I can't stay here, Margot. Not right now. Once this whole thing is settled, the divorce and all, then we'll come back for good. To stay.”

It was a lie, yet another one, but I wanted it to be true. Surely that should count for something, shouldn't it?

Margot just looked at me with that open, accepting expression of hers, a forgiving gaze that made me feel just awful.

“Ivy, please don't do this. Not now, after you've worked so hard and have so much to lose. If you run this time, you'll never stop. It'll always be like this,” she said, spreading her arms wide to take in the disordered mess at our feet. “If you're not worried about yourself and what this will do to you, think about the children.”

“I am thinking about them!” I was exhausted. I sank into one of the dining chairs and dropped my head into my hands. “I am. But what else can I do? I don't have a choice. You must think I'm a terrible mother,” I whispered. “Maybe it's true. Maybe I am.”

She pulled up another chair and sat down next to me, dropping her hand onto my stooped shoulders and stroking my back the way I did Bethany's when she was upset about something.

“No! Don't say that! I know how much you love Bethany and Bobby. You'd do anything for them.”

“I do. I would. That's why I've got to leave now! You don't understand. If Hodge takes them away from me…”

“Ivy, that is not going to happen,” she said adamantly. “Franklin Spaulding is a wonderful lawyer, one of the best in the state. Today doesn't change anything. Your husband's arrival on the scene may have surprised you, but it didn't faze Franklin. He knew you'd have to face him eventually. That's why he's been working so hard with you these last few days, taking down your whole story and helping you build your case; because he knew this day would come. But, he's ready, Ivy.” She leaned over my bowed back, close to my ear, urging me to have confidence.

“Franklin knows every judge in the county and not one of them is going to listen to your story, hear what you've been through, and how hard you've worked to make a good home for the kids, and then decide to award custody of the children to a documented abuser instead of a wonderful, hard-working mother like you. You can't run, Ivy! Not now!”

I sat up, dry-eyed, and looked Margot in the face. “Margot, you don't know me. Not like you think you do. No one does. You—all of you; Evelyn, and Abigail, and Franklin, too—you've been so kind to me. But I haven't told you everything about me. It's not that I've lied. What I told Franklin was the truth, almost the truth, but there are things I left out.”

She sat up straighter and rested her hands in her lap, blank-faced, listening.

“I've done things…things I'm ashamed of. No one besides Hodge knows about them. It was a long time ago, and I've changed since then, but if people knew about my past, if a judge knew, he might think the kids would be better off with Hodge.

“I know Franklin is a good lawyer. If anyone could help me, I'm sure he could. But, Franklin doesn't know Hodge at all. He's…he's got this power, this way of making people believe whatever he says, you know? I just can't believe that a judge would believe my story over Hodge's. And if he doesn't…”

Margot tilted her head back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “You're being truthful with me, Ivy, so I won't lie to you. If you stand your ground and try to fight for your kids, it's possible that you'll lose them. I don't believe that will happen, but I suppose it's possible. Almost nothing in life comes with a guarantee. But, there is one thing I know for certain.”

She leaned toward me ever so slightly and spoke in a flat, factual voice, with none of the tenderness of tone I always associated with Margot. “If you run now, you'll never, ever be able to stop. And more than likely, Hodge will catch up to you someday. And when he does, when you're all alone in some strange town without friends to help you, you
will
lose the children. You can count on it. And there's something else. If you run now, you don't just risk losing your kids, you risk losing yourself.

“Don't you see? You've run away from Hodge and you think you're free, but all you've really done is exchange one kind of prison for another. The lies may have purchased you a temporary liberty, but in the end, only the truth will set you free!”

Her eyes were open wide as if to underscore her ability to see things as they were, but it wasn't that simple, not for me.

Margot had faith. I'd known that from the first day I'd met her. In the beginning, it had kind of creeped me out. The way she talked so easily and openly about God and her faith, occasionally quoting the Bible to underscore a point, seemed just plain weird to me at first. And she was so sweet. I was sure it had to be some kind of act. No one could be that nice and that happy all the time.

But as time went on, I realized she wasn't selling anything. And she wasn't happy all the time. Like anyone else, Margot had her good days and bad days. What was different about her, I finally figured out, was that she met every day with a kind of peace and assurance that I lacked. It was interesting.

I liked Margot, but she didn't understand what I was up against. How could she? It was obvious to me that we were from two different sides of the tracks and it didn't take much to guess which of us was born on the wrong side.

Margot was so sweet, so innocent. She didn't know how cruel the world could be. Probably she was born into a big, loving family with a nice house in the suburbs and a fenced yard, daughter of a stay-at-home mom and hardworking dad who spent his Saturdays happily pushing a lawn mower or his children on swings at the park. A family who ate dinner together every night and went to church together every Sunday, the kind of Ozzie-and-Harriet fairy tale family I'd wanted for myself and my children, the family that, so many years ago, I'd believed would be mine when I married Hodge.

Easy to believe in fairy tales if, like Margot, your whole life had been lived in one. Easy to talk about embracing the truth when doing so wouldn't dredge up the shame, guilt, and pain you'd spent your whole life trying to bury. Easy for Margot.

I pulled my hand away.

“Margot,” I said angrily. “This is none of your business. Just back off and let me handle this on my own, all right? Where do you get off coming over here and telling me what to do? You, with your perfect life and your blind faith,” I scoffed. “Listen, I'm happy for you, Margot. You believe, and that's great. Really. I don't want to take anything away from that, but you've got to accept that belief comes a little harder to those of us who
aren't
on God's list of favorite children! You don't know me. You never have. So I'll thank you to butt out of my life!”