Where is the Baby? (25 page)

‘I am the bearer of news which I don't think will be particularly sad from your viewpoint,' he told her now.

‘It's about Ivory, right?'

‘It is. She died the day before last. I'd have called you sooner but there was a lot that needed my immediate attention, including her cremation yesterday. There was no service, no ceremony of any sort. No one would've come. She'd alienated everyone she'd ever known.'

‘What happened?'

‘Heart failure. Just dropped down dead in the kitchen, right at the peak of one of her typical rants while I was having a piece of toast and some coffee and reading the morning paper. She liked to spend the night-time hours planning what she'd say. I'd become so good at blocking her out that it took me a moment or two to realize what'd happened.'

Tally's immediate thought was that one had to possess a heart in order to have it fail. But she kept that notion to herself, and said, ‘I'm sorry, Dad.'

‘To tell the truth, Tally, I'm not.'

‘Really?'

‘Really. My feelings for your mother began to change when she refused to attend your wedding. From that point on, I couldn't keep ignoring her self-centeredness and her terrible treatment of you. Our relationship was never the same from that point on. You were always a good girl, Tally. I was wrong to allow her to behave as she did, wrong not to take a stand.'

Very touched, Tally said, ‘I appreciate your saying that.'

‘It's the truth. I closed my eyes to her behavior out of habit. I should've been there in Nevada when you needed your family, regardless of your mother's horror at being the parent of a quote unquote murderer. I am deeply ashamed of my failings as a parent. To lose your husband and then . . . I knew you hadn't harmed your child . . . I should've ignored your mother's idiocy and your insistence that everyone stay away. You're my only child and I didn't take the initiative to support you when you were most in need. I never called your mother to task, ever, about anything. There were an awful lot of things I allowed to just slide by, unchallenged. I grant you I was weak but I was never heartless. I loved you; I was proud of you. I should've got on that plane with Warren, and been there for you.'

‘Thank you, Dad. That means a lot to me.' It meant so much that she felt suddenly shaky. ‘How are you managing now?' she asked tactfully, reeling from this remarkable blanket apology.

‘I'm relieved,' he declared. ‘I have a lot to do here but I was hoping you might be persuaded to come for a visit.'

‘I don't need persuading. I would love to see you, Dad.'

‘And I you. I'll be happy to put you up here at the Fairmont.'

‘You're not at the house?'

‘I can't
stand
that house. It was always horrible and it hasn't improved with time. I've stayed here two or three nights a week for years but I moved in bag and baggage the day your mother died. Of course she was convinced it was a “love nest.” That's what she was carrying on about when she died. Anyway, I plan to sell that atrocity of a house, flocked wallpaper and all.'

She laughed softly, thinking he sounded like Annalise. ‘You're full of surprises.'

‘I suppose I am,' he agreed. ‘I definitely feel liberated. So, will you come see me, Tally?'

‘Of course I will. I'll see about flights and let you know when to expect me.'

‘I hoped you'd agree,' he said, audibly pleased. ‘So I made a reservation for you on a flight out of Bradley this evening. Is that too much pressure?' he asked anxiously.

‘Not at all. I have a close friend who'll be happy to drive me to the airport. What time is the flight?'

He gave her the details; she made notes, then said, ‘I'll see you soon, Dad.'

‘Thank you, Tally. I'm so looking forward to seeing you.'

‘Me, too, very much.'

As expected, Hay offered at once to drive her to the airport. ‘Are you excited?' he asked.

‘Actually, I am. My father sounds like a changed man. Perhaps he'll come visit sometime soon and you'll get to meet him.'

‘I'd like that. I'm happy for you, Tally. I can tell this is a big moment for you.'

‘It really is. It feels like a gift – for both of us. To have lived for more than forty years with my mother, he deserves a special award. To have survived with his brains not scrambled deserves an even more special award.' She laughed. ‘Someday I'll tell you about my mother and how she ruled my father's life. But he sounded very chipper. I've never known him to sound that way. My grandmother said once that my mother held the keys to his psychosexual well-being.'

Hay now laughed. ‘Your
grandmother
said that?'

‘She did. She also said my dad was as set in his ways as a concrete patio.'

Hay chuckled appreciatively.

‘She was fabulous, Hay. My grandmother was beautiful and clever, and funny, incredibly intelligent. I still wish I could phone her up or visit her. So often she's in my dreams and I wake up feeling the loss all over again. I miss her deeply – always. She was my true family and she died too soon.'

Hay nodded. He knew how that could be.

At the gate, he put his hands on her shoulders and said, ‘Call me, okay? Let me know how things are going.'

‘I will,' she promised.

‘And let me know when you're coming back. I'll pick you up.'

‘I will,' she said again. ‘Use the house if you need a shower or just want to watch TV or sleep indoors. Feel free, Hay. Oh, and please give Faith a call, fill her in. She's welcome to use the house, too, if she wants to come up.'

‘Consider it done.'

Hay got to the airport early and spent forty-five minutes drinking coffee and reading a paperback novel one of the guests at The Farm had left behind. The coffee was terrible and so was the book. He kept checking the time, anxious to see Tally. It had been a long week, with a couple of brief calls from her. Without ever having discussed it, she knew how he felt, and the calls were for reassurance. She would come back; they would see each other again. He was not locked in a mental form of black box but was merely in a temporary holding pattern, entrapped only by dark imaginings that didn't want to quit.

Being separated from Tally for the first time had brought him a new, unexpected set of fears that also included Faith. After almost four years of knowing each other, all their prior constraints had been unlocked and they'd become comfortable sharing their thoughts. Together, they were safe.

They'd evolved into a family and then, suddenly, a week without both women nearby had shaken him. During the time Tally was away in San Francisco and Faith was putting in ever-increasing hours at school in New Haven, the fear of losing these women grew to unbearable proportions. He couldn't stop worrying. He kept telling himself to get a grip; reminding himself that no amount of fretting would alter the destined course of events. But he was suddenly incapable of riding along contentedly, confident Tally and Faith would return.

For years he'd been working diligently to repair the cracks and crevices in his psyche. He knew he was unlikely ever to complete the task but during the past few years he'd given less thought to life's darker possibilities. Only occasionally had he considered how he might feel if the components of this replacement family were to be lost to him. But just a week's separation had revealed him to be vulnerable in an entirely unexpected fashion. He had temporarily lost his hard-won ability to live in the moment. During the week-long separation he found himself silently pleading with fate to be kind to him because he didn't think he could make it without the women he loved. One week on his own and he was a mess.

He positioned himself at the gate twenty minutes before the plane was due to land, taking deep breaths to stay calm while snapshots of disasters clicked on and off in his head.
Stopstopstop!
He kept closing his eyes, trying to refresh the interior landscape, trying to smooth the surfaces. Then Tally appeared at the head of the gangway and his heart surged, while a helpless smile took hold of his face. Disaster averted; life would go on. She had come back.

With a big smile, she hurried toward him, a dapper older man following in her wake. Instantly, Hay realized it was her father and his smile dimmed slightly. But no matter. His fear dissolved as she opened her arms and hugged him close. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, inhaling her subtle fragrance as his heart racketed, a frantic tattoo. Then, keeping an arm around her, he extended a hand, saying, ‘Hello, sir. If you're not Tally's dad, I'm going to be very embarrassed.'

‘No need. You are not wrong. Tyler Paxton,' her father introduced himself, taking hold of Hay's hand. ‘I've been hearing a lot of good things about you, Hayward.'

The man had a direct clear-blue gaze, an affable manner, and a firm grip. Hay's frayed nerves began to settle. He'd worked himself into a state for no reason at all.

Tally thought her father looked remarkably youthful for a man of sixty-four. He seemed to have shed years daily since Ivory's death so that he looked like the younger brother of the man who'd met Tally at the airport in San Francisco. She couldn't help thinking how pleased Annalise would have been to know that her son hadn't been entirely taken over by his wife. In the aftermath of her death he was coming to life, displaying a sensitivity whose concealment during the years of his marriage had to have cost him dearly.

Annalise had believed her son was in sexual thrall to Ivory and at the outset – the younger man meeting the sexually sophisticated woman – that was undoubtedly true. But based on remarks her father had made in the course of the past week, it was evident that lust had long-since been supplanted by sufferance. It was Ivory's periodic but powerfully convincing threats to do away with herself should she ever lose him that had kept him tethered to her. ‘It was like belonging to a cult,' he said. ‘There's always the possibility that what the leaders threaten might happen actually will. The idea that I would be responsible for her death . . .' He shuddered. ‘I didn't have the guts to say, ‘Go ahead and do it.' Because I believed she would. I
knew
she would. She was that determined to have her way.

‘So I stayed with her but was no longer available to attend her “important” dinners. Lunches were out of the question due to business commitments. It drove her wild, but I found other things to do in the evenings – primarily grabbing a bite to eat somewhere, then taking in a movie, or dining with old friends. And then she started having all sorts of plastic surgery to keep herself young-looking, but she just managed to become grotesque, her face tight and flat like a trampoline, little scars tucked under her ears, in her hairline. She was seventy-three and dressing as if she were still in her twenties.'

Tally was surprised. She'd had no idea her mother was so much older than her father.

‘Now I've been freed,' he told Tally over dinner that first evening. ‘I feel as if I've had some kind of oxygen infusion and can take deep breaths.' He gazed at her for several seconds, then said, ‘I'm so very happy to see you. You're a gracious soul, to fly here at the drop of a hat and listen to my rantings when I've been so remiss as a parent.'

‘You're my father. There's nothing gracious about wanting to see you.'

‘Forgiving then,' he amended.

‘I never blamed you – for anything. I always believed Ivory wasn't quite right in the head, and I wondered why you put up with her.'

‘Exotic blackmail,' he said flatly. ‘But it's not too late for us to have a relationship, is it?'

‘I would like that very much.'

‘I will try to make up for lost time,' he promised, ‘and be a good father.'

The house was even more crowded than Tally remembered. She and her father went room by room, appending red stickers to the relatively few items he wished to keep. A removal company came the next day, collected the pieces and moved them into a storage facility. The house sold in three days, the new owners happily paying the full asking price (which was low by current market standards) and taking it as-is, all the furnishings included.

Tyler asked all about her new home and about Connecticut, and mentioned in passing that he'd always wanted to see the east. Tally at once invited him to travel back with her and stay for as long as he liked in one of the guest rooms.

During the flight home, she told him about her surrogate family: her replacement daughter Faith, the brilliant medical student, and about Hay, not quite sure how to define her relationship with him. ‘He's gentle and generous and damaged – all three of us are. When I don't see or speak to either or both of them for a few days, I feel the loss. We three grew very close, very quickly.' Her father nodded soberly. He understood.

‘I wonder often if it's the losses, the damage, that actually makes us human,' he said. ‘Forgive me for paraphrasing Tolstoy,' he elaborated, ‘but happy families are on the boring side. Unhappy families are difficult but with some sympathetic glue can be very –' he searched for a word, then said – ‘worthwhile.'

She could only gaze at him in wonderment for a long moment. She never would have imagined he was of such a reflective bent. They were going to have to start from scratch and really get to know each other – a very gratifying idea.

Faith got on the road early on the Sunday morning after Tally's return, excited by the prospect of meeting her father. To be reunited with a parent had always been Faith's fondest wish, and if it couldn't happen for her, she was happy that it happened for Tally. Throughout the drive upstate, she tried to imagine the man. She had a well-formed mental image of Ivory based on throwaway comments Tally had made about her, and Faith had tried but failed to form any image of the sort of man who would tolerate a woman who could be so cruel to her own child.