Secrets of You (13 page)

And then along came Jeremy. Charismatic, intelligent, first son of Victor and Teresa
Wickstam, who owned a machine shop that employed a quarter of the town. Jeremy’s mother and father had plans for their boy to take over one day, grow the business, and grow old in Endicotte.

Jeremy did not share their plan.

He and Arianna spent long hours exploring ways to leave Endicotte. They explored each other’s bodies, too, which led to the eventual grand escape. When Arianna learned she was pregnant, two months after high school graduation, one month before starting school at the community college, majoring in art education, her father threw her out of the house. Not just a rampaging “I’m furious and you need to leave,” but a “toss clothes and any belongings associated with his daughter” furious. Jeremy’s parents demanded a quick wedding and a quicker indoctrination into the machine shop business, with 6:00
a.m
. start times and fifteen-minute breaks.

Arianna picked her belongings off the front lawn and moved in with Jeremy’s parents who had opened their arms and their basement to their future daughter-in-law and their unborn grandbaby. Had it been wrong to tell him she loved him and was willing to make a go of it if he were? Apparently, that had not been what he’d wanted to hear because from the second those words left her lips, Jeremy avoided her, blaming his lack of interest on his parents’ constant references to marriage, children, and a 6:00
a.m
. factory start time with twelve-hour days. Whether it was the factory job or the profession of love, something propelled Jeremy into action, which involved Arianna’s family. If she could “borrow” a car and some cash, they could head out of town and eventually pay back their debt to her parents. They couldn’t take money or vehicles from Jeremy’s family because, as he told her, “You have to strike at the unsuspecting.”

Jeremy had it all figured out and Arianna believed him. There was nothing left for her in
Endicotte but disgrace and a family who had disowned her. Boosting the car was easy. Her father kept an extra set of keys in the garage on the hook beside his flat-head screwdriver. And the money? Edgar Sorensen didn’t believe in banks, which was why he stuffed a tackle box in the basement with eight thousand dollars.

The tricky part was waiting until everyone was out of the house. Nobody locked doors in
Endicotte and she snuck in on a Tuesday morning, hefted the tackle box into a grocery bag, and eased out of the house, all in the span of minutes. Stealing the car was the next night, after the family had all gone to sleep and the house was dark. The Impala had a low rumble, which made it quick and quiet to back out of the drive and away from Endicotte.

They drove all night and ended up on the outskirts of Cleveland when the Impala blew a radiator hose. Jeremy pulled the car to the side of the road, grabbed their duffel bags, and held
out a thumb. They hitchhiked to Chicago with plans to head west, where Jeremy would work construction and take up surfing. Arianna would take classes and wait tables. The plan fell apart when Arianna started bleeding and ended up in the emergency room where she miscarried. Though she hadn’t wanted the baby, when the doctor told her she lost it, she cried. Had she somehow done something to harm the child? Had her selfish actions created a stress that was too great for the baby to overcome? Or was this part of a bigger plan?

Her answer came mere hours later, when Jeremy stood at the bedside with an envelope in his hand. He handed it to her, said it was almost seven thousand dollars and would help her get a start. His words had made no sense but his expression had—he was leaving, heading west and he wasn’t taking her.

That was the last time she saw him, though years later she spotted an article about an American surfer in Australia and even before she saw the name, she recognized the boyish face beneath the blond beard as Jeremy’s.

***

Arianna parked in the street and headed up the sidewalk. The one bright spot that colored the drabness of the house were her mother’s roses. Blood red with glossy foliage, they burst with vibrancy on either side of the steps. Lorna Sorensen had taught Arianna the art of caring for roses—pruning, fertilizing, dusting for aphids, adding just the right mixtures to the soil.

She knocked on the screen door and waited. The drive had taken six hours and she’d spent the time torn between fear the town would gulp her up the second she drove into it and spit her out in a rage of hate, or ignore her as though she were dead. And then there was her mother. In all the years Arianna had been gone, why hadn’t her mother tried to contact her? Had her father demanded she make a choice between him and their daughter? And if so, had she chosen him?

Ash had expected her to open up and confess why she’d been so upset yesterday. How could he possibly understand? He hadn’t had a father who disowned him, a mother who remained silent, and a sibling who detested him. He had no idea.

When no one responded to her knock, she tried again.
Please don’t let them be out
. If she got back in her car without seeing her mother, Arianna knew she’d head away from the horrible memories and wouldn’t stop until she was back in Philly. Another two minutes and still no response. She turned and headed down the chipped cement steps.
I tried. I really tried
. Maybe it was better this way; maybe she should start out with a letter and build up to a face-to-face.

“Hello? May I help you?”

Arianna paused, slowing turning. She hadn’t heard her mother’s voice in thirteen years. “Hi, Mom.”

“Good Lord, is that really you?” The woman peering from the screen door was an older, faded version of Lorna Sorensen, wife, mother, three-time Miss Corn Festival Princess of
Endicotte.

“Hi, Mom.”
Arianna moved closer. She had not let herself think of this moment for two years—that was the last time her father returned a check she’d sent. It had been obvious from the scrawled
Void
on the check that he’d meant to negate more than just a check. He’d intended to eliminate any relationship with her—past or future.

Her mother eased down the steps as though she feared Arianna might bolt if there was a sudden movement. “Oh, baby, it’s been so long.” She held out her arms and Arianna fell into them. “I forgot how tall you were. Almost as tall as your—” She stopped before she said the word, but it hung between them.

Father. Almost as tall as your father
.

“Let’s go inside.” She cupped Arianna’s face with her work-worn hands and said, “It’s so good to have you home. Come on—” she held out a hand “—I just put a pot of coffee on and there’s beef stew in the fridge. I remember how you and Vanessa used to fight over the baby carrots.” She laughed and opened the screen door. “I never could make enough.”

“We used to count them out between us.” Arianna stepped inside and looked around. The living room was still crowded and covered in brown and gold plaid and cream, from the couch to the recliner. Her mother’s crocheted handiwork rested on the back of the couch, a gold and blue afghan that Arianna didn’t recognize. Magazines were scattered on the coffee table and poked from wooden racks. A 42-inch flat screen television was mounted on the far wall beside the oak shelf her father had made one summer. It was the shelf that drew her attention; it was covered with pictures of
her—
from baby, to christening, first grade, first prom, and the last, her senior picture. She traced the frame of the first-grade picture. She’d worn pigtails, a blue jumper, and a big smile—wide, trusting, happy.

“I always loved that picture.” Her mother placed a hand on Arianna’s shoulder, squeezed. “You had a new outfit and you couldn’t wait to have your picture taken.” Her voice fell. “I just put them up last week.” Pause. “I had them packed under the bed, but I pulled them out every month and went through them—” her voice wobbled “—for the last thirteen years.”

“Mom.” Arianna turned and clasped her mother’s hands. “Why didn’t you try to call me?” The pain spilled from her voice, slipped into her words.

Lorna sniffed and swiped a hand across her eyes. “Oh, but I wanted to. I even wrote you a few letters.” She shook her head, her blue eyes bright with tears. “I’ll never forgive myself for listening to your father. I should have stood up to him when he tossed you out like yesterday’s garbage.” She sniffed again.
“As though you weren’t the very heart of me. And him, too. He was such a proud man but he could only see black and white. He was so hurt when he found out you were pregnant. You were always his princess. And then—” she swiped at her eyes again “—when you and that Wickstam boy took off with our car and the money, well, that was another thing altogether.”

“I lost the baby.”

“I know. Jeremy’s mother told me.” Her lips quivered. “He reconciled with them. They visit him in Australia or wherever he is. I heard he has a baby, not sure if he’s married or not.”

“That’s good. I’m glad for him.”

“When your sister found the write-up about you in the Philadelphia newspaper, she couldn’t keep quiet about it; she just had to show your father. I think he was coming around, maybe working things out in his head. I know he missed you as much as I did. But when he saw what you’d told the reporter about your parents—” the pain in her eyes spread to her cheek, lips, jaw “—well, saying they’re dead when they’re not is a hard thing to get past.”

“I’m so sorry I hurt you and Daddy.”

She nodded. “I know you are, baby. It’s okay, you’re here. I can touch you.” She smoothed a hand over Arianna’s hair, stroked her cheek. “You are so beautiful.” Her lips pulled into a smile. “I knew you’d come, even when Vanessa insisted you wouldn’t.”

“She hates me, doesn’t she?”

“Vanessa hates herself. She blames everybody on her circumstances but the one person who can do anything about them—herself.”

“My leaving made it really hard on her. I can see how she blames me.”

Lorna raised an eyebrow. “Are you to blame for her taking up with that no-good Max Parker? Are you to blame that she got pregnant by him when he was engaged to Molly Spindler? I don’t think so. Or when she started following around the UPS driver, bringing him banana bread and chocolate chip cookies, and not finding out about his wife and twins until after she got pregnant by him? Vanessa is her own enemy and until she accepts that, things are not going to get better for her.”

“Still…she said Daddy wouldn’t let her leave town…”

Her mother actually snorted. “She didn’t want to leave, not when she thought she could be Queen of Sheba here in Endicotte and hook a man, too. You just don’t worry about Vanessa. I’ve heard enough of her complaining to last me another sixty years. And if she loses her job at the credit union, you’ll see how loud I’ll be screaming.” She shook her head. “That girl has a chip on her shoulder as big as a mountain, and until she gets rid of it, life’s going to be awful hard on her. Now let’s heat you up some of that stew.”

Arianna sat at the round kitchen table with the green-apple plastic cloth. Her chair had always been between her mother and father, with Vanessa directly across—easier to make faces at one another and giggle. They’d shared a lot of meals here, shared stories about the town, too. Edgar Sorensen didn’t believe in gossip so the telling of town secrets was limited to times when he was at work or in his garage, fiddling with his truck.

“Here you go, baby.” Lorna slid a bowl of beef stew in front of her. It had been a lot of years since Arianna had eaten comfort food like this. She usually chose heart-healthy, low carb, low-calorie fixes—but nothing tasted like Lorna Sorensen’s beef stew—then or now.

“This smells delicious. Thank you.”

Her mother sat beside her, propped a hand on her chin and watched as Arianna ate. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.” She sniffed, swiped a hand across her eyes, and murmured, “So much.”

Arianna set down her spoon and clasped her mother’s hand. “I’ve missed you, too. It’s been a long time.”

Lorna shook her head, blinked hard. “I should have fought your father on this, from the night he pitched his fit and tossed you out.” Her voice quavered. “Part of me was afraid he’d want to find you and bring you back. There was no future here for you.”

“I know how Dad could be. You tried.”

Her mother’s eyes grew brighter, more pained. “Did I? Did I really try or did I give in because that’s what I always did with your father?” She shook her head. “That’s something I have to live with for the rest of my life. I told myself I was setting you free and I could almost believe it.”

“I was so mixed up.
And so confused.” Her voice shook, threatened to split open. “I should never have lied about you and Dad. That I regret most.” What kind of person says her parents are dead? A horrible person, no doubt about it. Could she blame her father for not forgiving her?

Her mother squeezed her hand. “We can go on and on about what we did or didn’t do and the regret will eat us alive. I think that’s part of what did your father in, but he’d never admit he’d done wrong by you.” She sighed. “Was it necessary to return your checks with a big old bold
Void
scrawled on the front in red? And me, doing nothing about it, sitting quiet like a church mouse so as not to upset him or your sister, who by the way, took pleasure in your persecution.”

“Not surprising.” Vanessa had made it very obvious at the shop yesterday that she didn’t want her sister back in the family’s good graces.