Back to Life (16 page)

“I did.” I smile thinking back to when romance was fresh and new. “He used to charm all the girls, and I felt so lucky that he only had eyes for me. I’d sit in the passenger seat of that T-bird like I was queen of the Rose Parade.”

“So what happened? Did you marry him?”

I clear my throat. “No, I never married him. We had planned to marry when something horrible happened, and all of our dreams were shattered in one night. When you’re young, you don’t think about consequences.”

“That’s devastating. Is he…” She pauses for a moment. “Is he dead?”

“No, he’s very much alive. He’s here in California. A guest of the state, you might say.” My cell phone trills and I look to see it’s Davis on the line. “Davis?” My voice oozes desperation, but I don’t care. I just want to hear his voice. “Davis?” I say again. There’s no one on the line.

“It’s hard to get a signal in here. Why don’t you try going outside?”

I punch in a return call, but nothing happens. I walk a little far
ther until I see more bars on the phone and try the operator this time, and beg her to put the call through, telling her it’s an emergency.

“But you don’t have an international line, so that’s why the call isn’t going through. Give me the last four digits of your social security number.”

I do, and soon, the blessed ring takes place. “Davis. Davis, I am so sorry. I’m coming home, Davis.”

“Hola?”
The same woman answers the phone.

“¿Donde esta Señor Davis?”

“Si, no está aquí.”

“Where is he?” I ask again in English.

“Señor Davis no aquí.”

“¿Cuándo llegará él?
When will he be back?”

“Yo no sé.”

She doesn’t know, my foot. Davis never goes out unannounced. “This is
Señora
Dawson.
¿Quién es este?
Who are you?”

She clicks the line. I walk slowly back in the restaurant, fear barking at my heels.

“I’m going to lose them both, Bette. Both Davis and Ronnie. I feel it in my bones. My teeth are chattering like they did thirty years ago.”

“Your health isn’t good, and it’s cold outside. Things always seem worse when our health isn’t up to par. What can I do for you?” I look down at the table, and she’s ordered me a full meal, steaming and diabetic-friendly. “Eat something, Jane. You’ll feel better.”

I shake my head. “Ronnie is going to find out everything before I tell him. I need my son. I need Davis.” Hearing myself say that I need people is a surprise to even me, and Bette is probably right—I’m only hungry, feeling weak. I’ve spent my whole life believing I could live without anyone but my son, and he may be the one I
have to live without. “My son is probably head-over-heels for Lindsay by now.”

She laughs aloud, a sweet tinkling laugh, but still one that lets me know how ludicrous she thinks my premonition is. “Nonsense. Lindsay has enough on her plate without falling for her deceased husband’s son. Or whoever he is. You were telling me the story about his father. Sit down and eat. Lindsay has a good head on her shoulders, and she’s grown to care about you, Jane. Nothing is going to happen.”

“There’s a strange woman answering my phone at home. Davis isn’t there, but I just got a phone call from there. He
has
to be there.”

“He probably just went to the grocery store.”

“Then who is that woman?” My feelings are getting the best of me, and try as I might to suck in a deep breath and try to find some balance, I only feel like hyperventilating.

“Men don’t know how to operate on their own when women are gone. The first thing they usually do if their wife dies is sniff out someone new to help them manage. It hasn’t been for lack of offers that I haven’t married again,” she tells me. “It’s just there’s finally a man I want to care for the way he deserves. I’m sure Davis simply found a local woman to cook his meals or clean up after him. You should be thankful. Can you imagine what the house would look like when you got home if he didn’t?”

“I’ve never taken care of a man that way,” I admit, more for myself than Bette. I force a mouthful of chicken in, because evidently I have to get my strength back.

“Maybe it’s time you started.”

“Maybe,” I answer, but I’m doubtful. One doesn’t exactly start being June Cleaver at fifty-three.

“You seem to me a very intelligent woman, Jane.”

“Thank you?” Somehow it doesn’t quite seem like a compliment, but Bette isn’t one to give me a backhanded word either.

She continues, “Sometimes, intelligent women are their own worst enemies. What would it cost you to put yourself on the line for this Davis person? He seems like a safe bet. He’s hung around this long, hasn’t he?”

“Davis doesn’t need that. He’s a very independent thinker.”

She looks at me doubtfully. “I’ve found that sacrifice, when called for, is better for the one who gives of themselves. I’ll bet there isn’t a thing Davis wouldn’t do for you if you came forward.”

Now it’s me who looks doubtful. What has a woman like Bette had to sacrifice in her life? Did she have to give up the life she knew to run to a foreign country? Did she have to lie to her son about his father? I did what I had to do, and I’ll do it again before I let Ronnie give up the future Ron handed him. Clearly, we may have disagreed on how to raise Ron Jr., but I can’t deny Ron did love the boy he came to call
son
. After all these years, he didn’t forget him. He didn’t forget his responsibility to family. Perhaps I’ve been too harsh on Ron Brindle.

Lindsay

A
s I stare into the fire, my cheek resting on Ronnie’s shoulder, it dawns on me that the ties that bind us one to another are difficult to rationalize. Most notably, the unspoken connection that creates intimacy with someone you’ve only recently met. No wonder I’ve always appeared irrational and impulsive. Once you’ve felt this way, it seems ridiculous and unappreciative to pretend the moment was simply imagination.

I’ve heard this phenomenon romantically referred to as “love at first sight,” and pessimistically referred to as straightforward lust. By nature, I’m not given to lust. I don’t want to set myself up for failure, but I have always carried the ability to focus on the inner person, regardless of the exterior. Which is why I could love a man who looked like Jake, straight out of action hero Hollywood, and Ron, straight off a Hair Club for Men ad.

It’s why I was able to speak up harshly to Haley when I met her. I knew she needed some tough love, and our immediate intimacy has created the best friendship I’ve ever had—even within the confines of the Trophy Wives Club, where I had plenty of great friends already.

Haley was different.
I draw in a deep breath.
Ronnie is different.

Although Ronnie has a great exterior—lust-worthy by anyone’s standards—it’s his inner sensibilities that attract me. His ability to see the mansion as a means for his ministry shows his mind is not swayed by materialistic goals. As someone who is easily swayed by materialistic pursuits, I find that endearing and balancing. I am not blind, though, to all the reasons his goodness is for someone other than me. I will myself to sit up and pull away to the corner of the sofa. Without another word to each other, we get up, I lock the door, and we head to the car. Once inside, Ronnie suddenly speaks.

“Is something wrong, Lindsay?”

Yes!
I want to shout.
Just once, I want it to be convenient to fall in love. Is that too much to ask? There has to be some nice widower at church who needs a woman who knows how to call a caterer, plan a party, and lay out his suits for him before work. I need that man. Definitely not you.

My stomach flutters at the memory of being surrounded by Ronnie’s arms, followed by another immediate and healthy portion of guilt. No more guilt. I want to live life without a steady diet of guilt. Am I so desperate for attention that I have to throw myself at the one man I can’t have?

“We were caught up in the moment. The house was warm and inviting. We’re both lonely,” he says. “Nothing happened anyway.”

“Right. That house brings up a lot of emotions for me. You’re so right. That’s it!”

“I was caught up myself. It’s such a beautiful house. Yeah,” he
says looking out the window. “Just beautiful. A beautiful house.”

“Don’t forget,” I say with a forced laugh, “you did just break up with your girlfriend, so what’s a hug between friends? Plus, I’m feeling lonely and planning my best friend’s wedding shower. It was a natural reaction to snuggle. Nothing more.” Bringing it up again did not salve either one of us, and I tremble at my
faux pas
.

“Snuggle? You would call that a snuggle?”

“A hug. It was simply a hug.”

“I hug people all the time,” Ron states. “I hug my mother! Heck, I even hug my neighbor’s dog.”

“Well, if I still had a mother, I’d totally hug her too. See? Completely innocent.”

“Completely.”

I suck in a deep breath. “So why do I feel so blasted guilty? Nothing happened.”

“We’re not perfect.”

“So you’re saying it was a mistake. Well, I never claimed to be remotely close to perfect. My mistakes are laid bare for all who wish to account for them. At least I dropped my fiancé before YouTube came on the scene, that’s all I can say. Public isn’t nearly as bad as it could be. I’m blathering. I have nothing to be nervous about, so why am I blathering?”

“I don’t care to account for them,” he says. Then he turns his shoulders and faces me. “Your sins, I mean. Anymore than I wish to have mine reiterated to me if I’ve moved forward. Hopefully, we’ve learned and won’t make the same mistake twice. Growth. It’s all about growth. We’re growing. Tell me about dumping your fiancé; you’ll feel better about this.”

“Absolutely, you’re so right,” I agree. “Okay, so I was dating my high school boyfriend and that was nice and all. He was handsome,
and he opted not to go to college. He went straight to work for his father, a contractor. After I got out of college—”

“What college did you go to?”

“UCLA. I majored in Art History. It was a pretty useless major, but college was great.”

“You didn’t meet anyone at school?”

“I worked during school and was only there for classes, so there wasn’t much chance of that. I saw my boyfriend on the weekends, and that was that. Maybe I lacked motivation, but it was enough for me. I didn’t have the gumption to look for anything different, and you know, it was fine.”

“So tell me then, how did you meet my father?”

“Jake, that was my fiancé. He was working for Ron building this house, remember? I saw that chandelier in the dining room and I thought to myself, ‘Can you imagine what it’s like to eat your meal every night under something that fabulous? That would make me a really important person.’” I look to Ronnie, and his face is crinkled. I shrug. “I was young and naïve. I don’t think that now.”

“No, of course not.”

“So I dressed in what you might call provocative gear, for me anyway—nothing like what the girls wear nowadays—and I came to the front door one day when I knew Jake wouldn’t be there, to meet the owner.”

“You purposely came here to meet him because of the chandelier?”

“I see it differently now. I see that God was watching over me, and He gave me grace when I didn’t deserve it. Ron had just found the Lord, and he was eager to share what he’d learned with me. Jake’s family was all Christian, and I understood everything, but I didn’t have a real faith. Not really. Part of my falling in love with
him was falling in love with Jesus, and the Lord knew I needed him. When I read that story about Ruth laying at the feet of Boaz and taking the leftovers from the threshing floor, I thought to myself, ‘That’s me. That’s all I want, just what’s left.’ It seemed like a sign from above.” It seems to be working. My telling Ronnie about my old self is definitely separating him from the new self. Never underestimate the ability to repel people with truth.

“So you married him.”

“I think that he liked that I wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe he did know it was the house that kept me here at first, but that soon changed.”

“So what now, Lindsay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel the passion for life I once did. I used to love to help people with their financial planning. Ron taught me to do that with such skill that I don’t think I’d feel poor even if I made minimum wage. It’s a mind-set.” I point to my temple. “Though I must say, it’s hard to keep it when surrounded by all this. I get tempted. Naturally. I suppose that’s why Jesus asks us to flee from temptation.”

“Where are we?” Ronnie asks as we look out over the crashing surf.

“I don’t know. The car came here. It’s part of the trip, to see the ocean. Besides, it’s sunset at the beach now. We’ll follow it. I couldn’t resist the temptation. Ah, you see. I told you. I am easily tempted.”

He leans in toward me, and I shut off the car. I know the ocean is before me, but I can’t hear the thundering surf over my heartbeat. I stare at his chin and feel my eyelids slide shut. I drink in his warm scent and it sends my body emotions I know I can’t handle. My eyes fly open.

“So!” I say with an obnoxious clap of the hands. “A walk, maybe?”

He’s thinking what I am, that once this evening is over, we’ll have lost these moments forever and there’s a loneliness in my heart that can’t bear to say good-bye to this stolen time sooner than I need to.

“No. No walk.” He brings his cheek to mine, and I breathe in this deep peace that I know cannot last.

But my mouth betrays me. “So did we regret our snuggle? I mean, hug? Or didn’t we?” I ask him as I pull back. “I just want to be clear.”

“I believe we’re still debating the issue.”

“Let’s debate outside. On a walk along the pier.”

“It’s cold out there.”

“I won’t feel it.”

“Neither will I.”

We both get out of the car, and Ronnie comes around to shut my door, but he doesn’t get that far and I find myself in his arms. We lean against the car and my head falls into the crook of his neck. I can feel the sweetness of his breath upon my face and the strength of his devotion in his grip. Something about the way he holds me says he won’t ever let go, and though I am at a loss to explain this, my trust is vast and deep like the Pacific.

“How long until the wedding shower? I imagine I won’t see you much after that and the house is on the market.”

“Two weeks.” I force the whimper from my voice. It comes out strong and overly loud. “Then, you’ll be able to sell the house and this whole difficult incident will be over.”

“Is that what this is?” he croaks. “A difficult incident?”

“Ronnie.” I put my palm on his chest and step back. “I promised your mother. I promised her this very thing wouldn’t happen. She knew something.” I pull away from him.

“My mother knows me and she knows I have never looked at another woman like I did the first day I was allowed into your home. It’s not your beauty; it’s the spark that lies within you. I couldn’t begin to explain it, but I felt it being in the same room with you.”

“What if she’s right, Ron? Did you think of that? What if she does know you so well, and this is about your devotion to your father and not me?”

He grips my arms. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what I think. I know I want to be a good person. I want to prove my mother wrong and yet I keep ending up exactly where I shouldn’t be. That doesn’t make a good person, Ronnie!”

“Doesn’t it? You’re not seducing me, Lindsay. You’re not taking anything from me. You’re here for me, and I want to be here for you for as long as I’m able.”

I shake my head. “No, this is all happening too suddenly.”

He backs away. “I’ve got nothing but time, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Your mother doesn’t believe I’m a Christian, and why would she? I made one vow to her. One vow and I haven’t kept it.”

I feel Ronnie’s soft kisses on my cheek. “Ronnie, don’t.”

His firm lips are soon on my own, and I am swept away in the moment, lost in his closeness and desire. Part of me acknowledges it can only feel so good because it’s wrong.
It’s sin
, I remind myself.
Sin!
I push him away and wrap my arms around myself as I run to the pier, away from the temptation. The wind is ripping across the pier, and it’s sharp and brisk. But I’m thankful for its thunderous noise because warmth envelops me, and I want to get lost in my head and forget that this will all come to an end soon. Because I am Lindsay Brindle, and it is not my fortune to walk in such easy sentiment.

After I find my voice again, I walk back toward him. He meets me on the pier.

“Your mom says he did it on purpose, made probate for the house while everything else was in a trust. She said he did it on purpose to keep her here.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Your mother thinks I’m after your money. Maybe she thinks Ron orchestrated all this so that I might be taken care of.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Then why did he bring her back here, Ronnie? You know as well as I do that I could have handled this. Quickly and without the drama. He wanted you both here.” I know it has something to do with Ronnie’s real father, but does he?

“Maybe he was trying to keep me a secret. Did you ever think of that? He wanted to be your hero. Maybe he wanted to stay that way in your eyes and having a son you’ve known nothing about—well—”

The waves crash hard against the shore and slap up against the pier underneath us. Ronnie brings his arms around me and tightens them so that the roar of the wind is silent against the deep beating of his heart.

“Does any of it matter anyway? They lived their whole lives like this, with secrets and questions. Do you want to live the rest of your life like that? Because I don’t.”

“Oh no, I know what you’re getting at, and we’re not telling your mother this happened. Any of it. I’ll have the shower in two weeks, and we’ll put this all behind us.”

“And we’ll share a secret. Just like my parents did.”

I pull my head back and look into his eyes.

“He thought my mother was running away by living in Mexico. But she loved it there. She’s so much more at home there, I wish you could see her in her element. She’s so tense here. I think Ron just thought he knew my mother, but maybe he never did.”

I feel a tear fall knowing that it has something to do with Ronnie’s real father and will he be able to handle the loss when it comes? What will he think of my betrayal in this madness?

After a long, silent drive in my car, Ronnie and I pull up to my condo, and the lights are all off. Only the orange streetlights illuminate the front walk leading into the darkened hallway.

“I guess my mother is still out with your friend,” Ron says. “Diabetic. Can you believe she’d keep that from me? I was hoping to check on her before I trekked home.”

“I’ll take good care of her, Ronnie. Drive safely,” I say, patting him on the shoulder like a Labrador.

He lets out a haggard sigh, and we both know what it means. Our night of romance is over. We’re about to wake up from this fantasy we managed to create for ourselves tonight. This element of peace in our chaotic worlds.

As we get out of the car, Cherry’s porch light goes on, and I notice there’s a man in front of my stoop. Her curtains move as she sends my visitor a non-welcoming message.

“Who’s that?” Ronnie asks, putting his arms around me.

“I’m not sure. It looks like…” It looks like Ron, but of course, I don’t say that out loud.

“Stay here.”

I grab the back of his jacket and stay close. “I’m coming with you.”