Back to Life (7 page)

“You mean Kipling, Mom.” He shakes his head. “
This.
This is how a man should feel about a woman. This is what was missing.” He places a palm to his chest.

“No, this is the feeling that got your father into trouble. This is why Samson lost his strength!”

He studies me carefully. “You know a Bible story?”

“I know a lot of things. One does not get to be my age without learning a few tricks of the trade. A thinking man looks at all aspects of who he wants to spend his life with; he doesn’t let his hormones do the talking. Ron, she was married to your father. You don’t find that, I don’t know…unsavory?”

“There’s something about her,” he says staring at the circular staircase. “I can’t explain it.”

“There certainly is, and it got your father into trouble, thinking only with his…with his heart. Don’t repeat his mistakes.”
And definitely don’t repeat mine.
If I knew then what I know now, I definitely would have researched DNA before considering my child’s father.

He tears his gaze from her shadow. “I didn’t mean that, Mother. Not everything is hormonally related. Her secrets intrigue me, that’s all. If she married for money, why isn’t she taking as much of it as she can?”

“A good question, but one we’ll never have the answer to. It’s Lindsay’s business, and it doesn’t concern us.”

“I’d better get home.”

“That’s it? I thought you came to see me!”

“I was downtown for a computer class. I thought I’d stop by before I went home.”

With flowers. For Lindsay.
“Before you go, Ronnie, the lawyer’s asking if there’s any way you’ll keep the house.”

Ron laughs. “With what? My good looks?”

I look at my son’s tall, handsome appearance. “If anyone could…”

“Mom—”

He turns and opens the door, and a there’s a man on the small porch. His presence catches us both by surprise. He’s tall, not quite as tall as Ron, but he’s dark and handsome in that trademarked, rugged way. I can tell he’s for real, because his teeth aren’t the shade of Chiclet white of all actors. He looks us both over. “Is this Lindsay’s house?”

“This is Lindsay’s house,” I croak, my voice still hammered by Ronnie’s desire to know about his father’s wife.

“Is she here?”

“Who’s asking?” Ronnie says in a protective way that makes me bristle.

“Would you tell her Jake is here? I have business to discuss. It’s about her house in Pacific Palisades.”

My son starts to speak, and I talk over him. Definitely need to get the boy to Vegas and teach him a poker face. “I’ll run up and get her.” I kiss my son’s cheek and he flinches. “Bye, Ronnie.” I give him a gentle nudge out the door, but he stands firm.

“You better go get Lindsay, Mom. I’ll let myself out.” He crosses his arms and stares at Lindsay’s guest.

I have trouble catching my breath as I start for the stairs.
I did what I had to do,
I remind myself, but the accusing voices become louder, and I know that I can’t keep this lie up forever. At some point, I have to come clean with my son, but the fear of losing him always brings the clarity that made the lie tolerable in the first place.

Lindsay

T
ime flies when you’re having fun. Or so, the infamous “they” say. It apparently flies when you’re not having fun, as well, because the date of Haley’s wedding is suddenly sneaking up on me like one of the cats in the hallway.

I wanted to make everything perfect for her. To be the kind of matron of honor that left her nothing to worry about except enjoying her big day. Instead, I’ve turned into the flake who forgets to plan a wedding shower, who doesn’t go for the dress fitting on deadline.

Worse yet, when Haley asked about the details, I sort of stretched the truth. More precisely, I lied, but I didn’t want her to think I didn’t care, and I definitely didn’t want her to worry. I do care. I’ve just been too wrapped up in my own morbid life to be a good friend. That has to stop here and now.

I hear voices downstairs and force myself to focus on the task at hand. I’m sure Jane will say her good-byes expediently. She’s made herself quite at home, and I’ve grown accustomed to being a guest in my own condo. She moves about with such an air of confidence, one can’t help but get out of the way. With all this action, my neighbors must be worn out from all the curtain swinging. It’s like the curmudgeon Olympics.

There’s a soft rap at my bedroom door, and I open it to see a flash of black pass my feet.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Jane says, quietly ignoring the obvious furry intruder.

Yeah, um, can you get this cat out of here?
“The cat’s in here.”

“I’ll get him.” She watches him run and jump up on my bed and stretch his claws and pick at the bedspread, pulling up loops of threads before settling near the pillows. Jane acts as though I should be touched.

Yeah, um, the cat?

“You have someone to see you downstairs. He says his name is Jake, and he has to speak with you about the Pacific Palisades house. Is this something I should be concerned with? You know, in regards to the will?”

“Jake is here?”

“That’s what I just said,” Jane snaps.

“Is something the matter, Jane?”

She sighs. “No, nothing’s the matter. I’m just not interested in your love life, and I want to go home.”

“My love life?”

She shakes her head as she walks toward the stairs.

“No, wait a minute, Jane. I have no love life. I was married faithfully to Ron for ten years.” I shake my head. “That didn’t come out right. I was faithful to our marriage even if we didn’t live together.”

“Like I said, it really doesn’t interest me.”

What happened? We could go around like this for ages, but Jake is downstairs, and the thought sends flutters through my stomach. I’ve wanted this chance to tell him what happened—to explain myself—but reality sends shivers through my limbs. Jake never was a very forgiving man, and he probably views my sin as the unforgivable. At least that’s what I told myself years ago when he refused to acknowledge Ron or my apology.

Extreme’s
More than Words
tune fills the romantic void in my head and takes me back to a simpler time. Flashes of innocence flicker before my eyes. Dreamily, I realize Jake’s being here offers hope of forgiveness, and I’ve become a sucker for hope. I left this powerful emotion in the past with too much life in front of me.

“Tell him I’ll be right down,” I say to Jane’s back. I shut the door, trapping the stupid cat, who has made himself at home on my bed. I cross my arms and stare at it. “I’m not averse to seeing if cats can really survive a jump out of a two-story window, you know?”

He melts into my bedspread, thoroughly unscathed. I look into the mirror and recoil. Stress is not good for me. “I was meant for pampering. Like you, Kuku.” I look at the cat in the mirror.

When I speak, the cat doesn’t even open its eyes. This is my life—I’m not even interesting enough to lure a cat out of its nap. I pound Jane Iredale mineral foundation on and revel in what a miracle it is, taking away the day’s shine in an instant. I wish I’d invented it. My life would have been so different if I’d realized I could have made my own money. I swish some blush at the apples of my cheek, but I don’t like what I see. I look angry, and as if I tried too hard—hopeful for an invitation that will never come.

I stare into the mirror, pondering my options, then shimmy out of my slacks and throw on my home pants (read: sweats). I roll them up at the knees, wiggle into an oversized T-shirt and now I
look like I’m not repentant. Too casual. It says, “I don’t think you’re important, Jake, and I don’t regret a thing.” So I try again with jeans and a bright pink C&C Tee. I ignore the call for lipgloss and open the door with a heaving, cleansing breath. In with the new, out with the old.

I halt at the door. Jake is at the bottom of the stairs, parading back and forth. I back up to the wall and watch him for a moment. He is here. In my house. I lean back against the doorframe and pray for strength. Jake is the only person who knows I married Ron for money besides my mother. I’m certain there are plenty of people who assumed that I married for money, but they are the only two who know it for certain. I pray he doesn’t mention that fact in front of Jane, or I might find myself alone
and
out on the street.

As I glide down the stairs, thinking of each and every step, Jake’s eyes meet mine.
I know him.
In his soul, I know what he’s thinking, and his disappointment in me swallows any hope I had of this being a joyous reunion. I let him down, and he still can’t believe it. Just like I let my mother down, and I let Ron down, or Jane wouldn’t be here to finish his business. I am one, ginormous disappointment.

My body is drained of its humanity, and for the first time in a great while, I question my faith. Did I ever really have any? Maybe I’ve just been making myself feel worthy, hanging out with church folk. Could a Christian really do the things I’ve done and move forward? Zaccheus gave back four times what he stole, but how would that be translated for me? I stole someone’s heart and trust.

Could a real Christian abandon the man she loved for something as ordinary as money? I put so much stock in security, and there is no such thing. God can take it anytime He pleases; then you’re left with nothing—neither the love you’ve forsaken nor the mansion built on false expectations.

I’ve practiced this moment, but have nothing when I greet Jake
at the bottom of the stairs. Jane stands alongside him in the foyer. “Did you meet Jane?” I ask him.

He nods.

“I’ll just be going to bed. Did you want me to get the cat, Lindsay?”

“He’s fine. He’s sleeping on my bed.”

“That won’t be good for your allergies,” she says with raised brows.

“No, it won’t.”

“It was nice to meet you, Jake. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

It feels like an eternity before the door down the hallway closes with a quiet click.

“May I offer you some coffee?”

He chuckles. “Ten years and that’s what you have to offer me?”

I feel the temperature rise in the room. “I haven’t been shopping. Is there something else you want?” Why is my mouth being so rude? It’s not what I want to say at all. I close my eyes and ask God to speak the words of my heart.

“Am I boring you?” he asks.

“I’m trying to think, Jake. There’s so much I want to say to you, and I haven’t a clue where to start. Just let me think for a moment, will you?”

“Why don’t you start with why you married him? I figure I’ve waited long enough for that answer.”

I sigh. “You know why I married him. If you want to hear me say I married him for love, it’s not going to happen. I’m not going to lie or pretend. Everything you thought about me was right on the money. No pun intended. I married Ron for his money, and I left you because you had none. Happy?”

I hear a footstep and turn to see Jane tiptoeing up the stairs, most
likely to rescue Kuku from an early feline death. The look in her eyes makes me feel about an inch tall, and it feels like I can never recover from my sins so many years ago. As they both stand here judging me, I know they have every right to do so.

“Jane, I can explain—”

“You and Ron had yourselves a deal, it’s none of my business. It surprises me to hear you admit it so readily. Is this your next target?”

I ignore her dig. “Ron must not have trusted me completely. That’s why I assumed you were here. You can stay up on your perch, Jane.”

“He saw only what you showed him. That’s to your credit.” She starts down the hallway again and enters her room, obviously giving up on Kuku.

“Yes, I suppose it is to your credit.” Jake agrees. “You were an excellent actress. No one would have ever guessed. Least of all the fiancé, but they always are the last to know.”

“Jake, don’t look at me like that. I learned to love Ron. I did what I did. I paid for it. Trust me, I paid for it. I didn’t get my Cinderella ending, so you can gloat all you want. He was never cruel to me—only to himself.”

“You were cruel to yourself, Lindsay. I would have given you the world.”

“I deserved what I’d created. We had a good life together. We found Jesus together, and we learned to understand each other in the end. A marriage that starts off as a business arrangement doesn’t often get its happy ending, but Ron is happy now, and I’m done with the romantic notions of youth.” My faith couldn’t seem anymore shallow if it were a Hollywood princess on her sixteenth birthday.

Jake’s jaw is tight as he looks at the pictures on every table. “You
always were too hard on yourself, but I understood better than you think. I was living with my mom at twenty-five, and she washed my underwear. Maybe I wasn’t ready to offer you that kind of security. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t make me feel worse.”

“I only ever wanted you to be happy,” Jake says, bringing my chin up with his thumb. “I thought Ron made you happy. That was good enough for me.”

“He made me feel safe. I wanted to feel safe and protected.”

“You never had children,” Jake states.

“No.”

“You would have made a terrific mother. I always told my mother that you would have been an overachiever as a mother.”

“I would have made a terrible mother! Jake Evans, do you remember nothing of the past?”

“On the contrary. I remember everything.” His words make me dare to hope that he doesn’t remember only the bad about me. I find this important, because one day, I hope to truly forgive myself.

“Jake, sit down. I’m going to get this out before you tell me what you came here to tell me.”

He walks to the sofa and sits, crossing his foot onto his other knee. “I’m all ears.”

“I’ve thought about what I did to you every single day of my life. There’s not a morning that I wake up, and I don’t remember the look in your mother’s eyes when I told her I was marrying someone else. She wasn’t angry, Jake. She pitied me.”

“She’d been married a long time. She knew a bit about what it takes to make a marriage work. I can tell you her attitude has since changed. You won’t find much pity in her heart these days.”

I look away. This is where the rubber meets the road. This is where I get to prove that my commitment to God is a strong one,
and I need his forgiveness. “I’m truly sorry, Jake. And if there’s a way—any way at all—I can prove that what I did was about my weakness, not yours, just tell me.”

“I know you’re sorry. I never questioned that. I was sorry, too, believe it or not.”

“Stop being so nice. Tell me the truth. Tell me what it feels like to hear my hollow apology. Now!”

He hints at a grin, his dark, blue-green eyes dancing, as though they possessed a secret. “It feels good. I’ve waited a long time for those words. I thought I’d take more pleasure in them. I thought they might change something.”

“Change something? You sound disappointed.”

“I’m getting married in a month. I suppose for years, I wanted to hear you grovel.” He slaps his palms to his knees and stands. “Didn’t work. Doesn’t change a thing.”

“You’re getting married?” I finally register his words. “To a woman—”

“I haven’t become gay in the last decade, so yes, I’m marrying a woman.”

“I didn’t mean that. Naturally you’re getting married. I’m surprised you’re still single now.”

“Work’s been keeping me busy. I had to make it a point to settle down. I want children, and I’m not getting any younger. Work isn’t letting up. It’s got to be a decision.”

I hide behind a mask of indifference, but my jaw tightens. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy. Is there something you came here for? Besides to hear me grovel, I mean, and really, I’m sorry that didn’t bring you more pleasure. You deserved that much.”

“There is a reason I’m here.” He produces an envelope from his back pocket. Seeing a legal-sized envelope anymore strikes the fear
of God in me. “I came to give you this. This is my apology, my way of clearing the air.”

I rip it open. It’s a check for $12,532.

“What’s this?”

“It’s the money you sent. I’ve added interest.”

“Money I sent?” I feign innocence.

“I thought it was my mother for years. It came at the perfect time. I’d just finished Ron’s and your house and was starting my own contracting business. Oddly enough, it was the exact amount I needed, so I assumed my mother had donated to my cause, but I later found out otherwise. And I figured you’d absconded with it from an account Ron didn’t check carefully.”

“I worked for every cent of that money, selling suits at Nordstrom’s. Do you know how many dirty, old men I had to flirt with to scrape that together?”

Jake grins. “Well, thank you. I appreciated it. But I’m not a man who believes in debt, anonymous or otherwise. I kept it for a long time, because I thought it was the least Ron could do for me.” He walks to the door. “Now that I know it really was your money, I should have let this battle go a long time ago.”

“That’s it? That’s all you came for?”

“No. Lindsay. I came to kiss you good-bye.”

I step in front of him, closing my eyes. He presses hard, sterile lips to my forehead. I open my eyes, and what I lost in Jake makes me aware of how easily I could trash what matters in life. It’s hard to feel any kindness toward yourself when such a reality lands on your doorstep.