Nobody's Baby But Mine Part 18

Ethan nodded toward the table's centerpiece, a crystal vase holding an arrangement of lilies and dendrobium orchids. "Where'd you get the flowers, Mom? Since Joyce Belik closed her shop after Christmas, I haven't seen anything like that around here."

"I picked the arrangement up when I was in Asheville on Thursday. The lilies are getting a little limp, but I'm still enjoying them."

For the first time since they'd begun to eat, Jim addressed his wife directly. "Do you remember the way you used to decorate the table right after we got married?"

She was still for a moment. "It was so long ago I've forgotten."

"Well, I haven't." He turned toward his sons. "Your mother'd pick dandelions out of somebody's backyard, stick 'em in an old pickle jar, and show 'em off to me when I came in from cla.s.s like they were some exotic flower I'd never seen before. She'd get as excited about a jar full of dandelions as other women get about roses."

Jane wondered if Jim had intended to embarra.s.s his wife with this reminder of her humble roots, but if so, his strategy backfired. Lynn didn't seem at all embarra.s.sed, but his own voice had deepened with an emotion that surprised her. Maybe Jim Bonner wasn't as contemptuous of his wife's humble roots as he pretended to be.

"You used to get so annoyed with me," she said, "and I can't blame you. Imagine. Dandelions on the dinner table."

"It wasn't just flowers she used for centerpieces. I remember one time she scrubbed up a bunch of rocks she thought were pretty and set them in a bird's nest she found."

"You very rightly pointed out that a bird's nest on the kitchen table was disgusting and refused to eat until I threw it out."

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" He rubbed his fingers on the stem of his winegla.s.s and frowned. "It might have been unsanitary, but it sure was pretty."

"Really, Jim, it was no such thing." She smiled, cool, serene, unaffected by the currents of old emotions that seemed to have claimed her husband.

For the first time since they'd sat down, he met Lynn's eyes straight on. "You always liked pretty things."

"I still do."

"But now they have to have labels on them."

"And you enjoy those labels much more than you ever enjoyed dandelions or birds' nests."

Despite her promise to distance herself from the family, Jane couldn't bear the idea of witnessing any more unpleasantness.

"How did you manage in those first years after you were married? Cal said you had no money."

Cal and Ethan exchanged a glance that made Jane wonder if she'd stumbled on a forbidden topic. She realized her question was overly personal, but since she was supposed to be obnoxious, what difference did it make?

"Yeah, Dad, exactly how did you manage?" Ethan said.

Lynn dabbed at the corners of her lips with her napkin. "It's too depressing. Your father hated every minute of it, and I don't want his dinner spoiled."

"I didn't hate every minute of it." Jim seemed pensive as he leaned back in his chair. "We lived in this ugly two-room apartment in Chapel Hill that looked out over an alley where people'd throw rusted bedsprings and old couches. The place was hopeless, but your mother loved it. She tore pictures out of National Geographic National Geographics and hung them on the walls. We didn't have any curtains, just two window shades that had turned yellow, and she made tissue-paper flowers out of pink Kleenex to pin across the bottoms. Things like that. We were poor as church mice. I stocked grocery shelves when I wasn't in cla.s.s or studying, but she had the worst of it. Right up until the day Cal was born, she got up at four in the morning to work all day in a bakery. But no matter how tired she was, she'd still find time to pick those dandelions on her way home."

Lynn shrugged. "Believe me, working in that bakery wasn't nearly as difficult as the farm ch.o.r.es I'd been doing on Heartache Mountain."

"But you were pregnant," Jane pointed out, trying to imagine it.

"I was young and strong. In love." For the first time, Lynn looked slightly ruffled. "After Cal was born, we had medical bills on top of everything else, and since I couldn't work in the bakery and still take care of him, I began experimenting with cookie recipes."

"She'd start baking as soon as she'd given him his two o'clock feeding, work until four, then go back to sleep for an hour or so until he woke again. After she'd fed him, she'd wake me up for cla.s.s. Then she'd wrap everything up, load Cal into an old buggy she'd found in a junk shop, pack the cookies around him, and walk to campus where she'd sell them to the students, two cookies for twenty-five cents. She didn't have a license, so whenever the campus cops came around, she'd cover up everything but Cal's head with this big blanket."

She smiled at Cal. "Poor thing. I knew nothing about babies, and I nearly suffocated you in the summer."

Cal regarded her fondly. "I still don't like a lot of covers on me."

"The cops never caught on," Jim said. "All they saw was a sixteen-year-old mountain girl in a pair of worn-out jeans pushing a dilapidated buggy with a baby everybody figured was her little brother."

Ethan's expression grew thoughtful. "We always knew you had it tough, but you'd never tell us any of the details. How come?"

And why now? Jane wondered. Jane wondered.

Lynn rose. "It's an old and boring story. Poverty's only charming in retrospect. Help me clear the table for dessert, will you, Ethan?"

To Jane's disappointment, the conversation shifted to the much less interesting topic of football, and if Jim Bonner's troubled gaze kept straying back to his wife, no one else seemed to notice.

As boorish as his behavior had been that afternoon, Jane was no longer quite so eager to pa.s.s judgment. There was something sad lurking in the depths of his eyes that touched her. When it came to Cal's parents, she had the feeling that nothing was quite what it seemed.

For her, the most interesting moment came when Ethan asked Cal how his meetings were going, and she learned what her husband was doing with his time. Cal had been enlisted by the local high-school princ.i.p.al, an old cla.s.smate of his, to visit county businessmen and persuade them to get involved with a new vocational program for high-risk students. He also seemed to be giving Ethan a considerable amount of money to expand a drug program for county teens, but when she pressed for more details, he changed the subject.

The evening dragged on. When Jim asked her a question about her work, she patronized him with her explanation. Lynn issued an invitation to join her book group, but Jane said she had no time for ladies' social gatherings. When Ethan said he hoped he'd see her at Sunday services, she told him she wasn't a believer.

I'm sorry, G.o.d, but I'm doing the best I can here. These are nice people, and they don't need any more heartache.

It was finally time to go. Everyone was rigidly courteous, but she didn't miss Jim's frown as he said good-bye or the deep concern in Lynn's eyes as she hugged her son.

Cal waited until he'd pulled out of the driveway before he looked over at her. "Thanks, Jane."

She stared straight ahead. "I can't go through that again. Keep them away from me."

"I will."

"I mean it."

"I know that wasn't easy for you," he said softly.

"They're wonderful people. It was horrible."

He didn't speak again until they reached the edge of town. "I've been thinking. What say the two of us go out on a date sometime soon?"

Was this to be her reward for humiliating herself tonight? The fact that he'd chosen this particular time to extend his invitation made her waspish. "Do I have to wear a paper bag over my head in case somebody might see me?"

"Now why d'you have to go and get all sarcastic on me? I asked you out, and all you have to say is yes or no."

"When?"

"I don't know. How about next Wednesday night?"

"Where are we going?"

"Don't you worry about that. Just wear the tightest pair of jeans you've got and maybe one of those slinky halter tops."

"I can barely b.u.t.ton my tight jeans, and I don't have a slinky halter top. Even if I did, it's too cold."

"I imagine I can keep you pretty warm, and don't worry about b.u.t.tons." The deep timbre of s.e.xual promise she heard in his voice made her shiver. He glanced over, and she felt as if he were stroking her with his eyes. He couldn't have made his intentions any clearer. He wanted her, and he intended to have her.

But the question remained, was she ready for him? Life had always been serious business for her, and nothing could ever make her a casual sort of person. Could she deal with the pain that would await her in the future if she let down her guard with him?

Her head had begun to ache, and she turned to look out the window without answering him. She tried to distract herself from the sizzling undercurrents that vibrated between them by turning her thoughts to his parents, and as the Jeep pa.s.sed through the silent streets of Salvation, she began sorting through what she'd learned about them.

Lynn hadn't always been the reserved, sophisticated woman who had entertained so graciously tonight. But what about Jim? Jane wanted to dislike him, but all evening she'd caught glimpses of yearning in his eyes when he'd looked at his wife, and she couldn't seem to work up a good solid dislike for a man who had feelings like that.

What had happened to the two high school kids who had once been in love? she wondered.

Jim wandered into the kitchen and poured himself the last cup of decaf. Lynn stood at the sink with her back to him. She always had her back to him, he thought, although it didn't make much difference because, even when she faced him, she never let him see anything more than the polite mask she wore for everyone except their sons.

It was during her pregnancy with Gabe that Lynn had begun transforming herself into the perfect doctor's wife. He remembered how he'd welcomed her increasing reserve and the fact that she no longer publicly embarra.s.sed him with bad grammar and overexuberance. As the years pa.s.sed, he'd grown to believe that Lynn's transformation had prevented their marriage from turning into the disaster everyone had predicted. He'd even thought he was happy.

Then he'd lost his only grandson and a daughter-in-law he'd adored. Afterward, as he'd witnessed his middle son's bottomless grief and been helpless to cure it, something inside him seemed to have snapped. When Cal had phoned him with the news that he'd married, he'd finally begun to feel hopeful again. But then he'd met his new daughter-in-law. How could Cal have married that cold, supercilious b.i.t.c.h? Didn't he realize she was going to make him miserable?

He cradled the coffee mug in his hands and looked over at his wife's slim, straight back. Lynn was shaken to the core by Cal's marriage, and both of them were trying to come up with a reason why he'd chosen so badly. The physicist had a subtle s.e.x appeal that he'd seen right away, even if Lynn hadn't, but that didn't explain why Cal had married her. For years they'd both despaired over his preference for women who were too young and intellectually limited for him, but at least all of them had been sweet-natured.

He felt helpless to deal with Cal's problems, especially when he couldn't even deal with his own. The conversation at the dinner table had brought it all back to him, and now he felt the pa.s.sage of time ticking away so loudly he wanted to shove his hands over his ears because he couldn't go back to fix all the places where he'd made the wrong choices.

"Why haven't you ever said anything about that day I bought the cookies from you? All this time, and you've never said a word."

Her head came up at his question, and he waited for her to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about, but he should have realized that wouldn't be her way. "Goodness, Jim, that was thirty-six years ago."

"I remember it like it was yesterday."

It had been a beautiful April day during his freshman year at UNC, five months after Cal was born, and he'd been coming out of a chem lab with some of his new friends, all of them uppercla.s.smen. Now he didn't remember their names, but at the time he'd craved their acceptance, and when one of them had called out, "Hey, it's the cookie girl," he'd felt everything inside him turn cold.

Why did she have to be here now, where his new friends could see her? Anger and resentment turned to acid inside him. She was so d.a.m.ned hopeless. How could she embarra.s.s him like this?

As she'd brought the buggy with the wobbly wheels to a stop, she'd looked thin and ragged, barely more than a child, a raw mountain girl. He forgot everything he loved about her: her laughter, the way she'd come so eagerly into his arms, the little spit hearts she'd draw on his belly before she'd settled beneath him so sweet and giving he couldn't think of anything but burying himself inside her.

Now as he watched her come closer, every poisonous word his parents had said shrieked in his ears. She was no good. A Glide. She'd trapped him and ruined his life. If he ever expected to see a penny of their money, he had to divorce her. He deserved something better than a roach-infested apartment and a too-young mountain girl, even one so tender and joyous she made him weep with love for her.

Panic welled inside him as his new friends called out to her. "Hey, Cookie Girl, you got any peanut b.u.t.ter?"

"How much for two packs of chocolate chip?"

He wanted to run, but it was too late. His new friends were already examining the cookies she'd baked that morning while he slept. One of them leaned forward and tickled his son's belly. Another turned back to him.

"Hey, Jimbo, come on over here. You haven't tasted anything until you've tried this little girl's cookies."

Amber had looked up at him, laughter dancing in eyes as blue as a mountain sky. He could see her waiting for the moment he would tell them she was his wife, and he knew she was savoring the humor of the situation as she savored everything about their life together.

"Yeah, uh ... okay."

Her smile remained bright as he walked toward her. He remembered that her light brown hair had been pulled into a ponytail with a blue rubber band, and that she'd had a wet spot on the shoulder of his old plaid shirt where Cal must have drooled.

"I'll take the chocolate chip."

Her head tilted quizzically to the side-You goof, when are you gonna tell 'em?-but she continued to smile, continued to enjoy the joke.

"Chocolate chip," he repeated.

Her faith in his honor was infinite. She waited patiently. Smiled. He slipped his hand in his pocket and drew out a quarter.

Only then, when he held out the money, did she understand. He wasn't going to acknowledge her. It was as if someone had turned out a light inside her, extinguishing her laughter and joy, her faith in him. Hurt and bewilderment clouded her features. For a moment she only stared at him, but, finally, she reached into the buggy for the cookies and held them out with a trembling hand.

He tossed her the quarter, one of four she'd given him that morning before he'd left for cla.s.s. He tossed her the quarter as if she were nothing more than a street corner beggar, then he laughed at something one of the other guys said and turned away. He didn't look at her, just walked away while the cookies burned in his hand like pieces of silver.

It had happened more than three decades ago, but now his eyes were stinging. He set the coffee on the counter. "What I did was wrong. I've never forgotten it, never forgiven myself, and I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." She flicked on the faucet, putting a deliberate end to the subject. When she turned off the water, she said, "Why did Cal have to marry her? Why couldn't they just have lived together long enough for him to see what kind of woman she is?"

But he didn't want to talk about Cal and his cold wife. "You should have spit in my face."

"I just wish we'd met Jane ahead of time."

He hated her easy dismissal of his wrong, especially when he suspected she hadn't dismissed it at all. "I want you back, Lynn."

"Maybe we could have changed his mind."

"Stop it! I don't want to talk about them! I want to talk about us, and I want you back."

She finally turned, and she gazed at him out of blue, mountain sky eyes that revealed nothing. "I never left."

"The way you were. That's what I want."

"You are are in a mood tonight." in a mood tonight."

To his dismay, he could feel his throat closing up, but even so, he couldn't be silent. "I want it the way it was at the beginning. I want you silly and funny, imitating the landlady and teasing me for being too serious. I want dandelions back on the dinner table, and fatback and beans. I want you to start giggling so hard you wet your pants, and when I walk in the door, I want you to throw yourself at me like you used to."

Her forehead crinkled with concern. She walked over to him and rested her hand on his arm in the same comfort-place she'd been touching for nearly four decades. "I can't make you young again, Jim. And I can't give you back Jamie and Cherry and everything the way it used to be."

"I know that, dammit!" He shook her off, rejecting her pity and her suffocating, never-ending kindness. "This isn't about them. What happened has made me realize I don't like the way things are. I don't like the way you've changed."

"You've had a hard day. I'll give you a back rub."

As always, her sweetness made him feel guilty, unworthy, and mean. It was the meanness that had been driving him lately and telling him to push her so far, to hurt her so badly, that he'd destroy the icy reserve and find the girl he'd thrown away.

Maybe if he gave her some evidence that he wasn't as bad as he knew himself to be, she'd soften. "I've never screwed around on you."

"I'm glad to know that."

He couldn't let it go at that, giving her only the part of the truth he wanted her to see. "I had chances, but I never went all the way. Once I got myself right to the motel door-"

"I don't want to hear this."