Composing Amelia (37 page)

Having Marcus around so much made it worse. She longed for the connection they’d had before New Hope had sent him that letter. It was killing her not to open up to him, especially after he’d admitted how much he missed talking with her. And when he’d said he had a secret too—it had taken all her willpower not to capitulate just so she could hear it. She didn’t like the idea of him having a secret from her. But who was she to complain?

She still held to the belief that leaving was the right thing to do, but she still had so much to figure out, and she didn’t have space to think with him always there. She was afraid her doubts and thoughts of leaving would show up somehow on her face. And it was harder to think about leaving when she was surrounded by the scent of his cologne and distracted by his very presence. They hadn’t had sex the entire time she’d been depressed, but since coming home from the hospital the combination of a stabilized mood and the absence of intimacy for so long had her longing to make love to him, and he was more than willing to comply when she admitted her desire. But the act left her feeling tremendously guilty—how she could give him her body in bed, but not share her soul and deepest thoughts?

And as if it wasn’t already difficult enough to commit herself to leaving, Marcus’s blatant—and effective—attempts at expressing his support and love for her nearly did her in. He’d started going back to the church to work, but he would leave her little notes if she was still sleeping, or make her breakfast if she was awake and deliver it to her on the couch with a kiss. He catered to the silly cravings the pregnancy brought about, even anticipating them before they hit and coming home from work with a collection of random items that he predicted she’d want at two in the morning. Regardless of whether she did or not, she’d indulge him by eating them at one point or another, loath to hurt his feelings and secretly tickled that he put so much thought into something as weird as her changing tastes.

In an effort to contribute to their life again and to try to make up for her secrecy, she returned to teaching piano for Blue Note. Six students came to their apartment throughout the week for hour-long sessions, and while the money wasn’t much, it was better than nothing. The bigger payoff came in feeling like she was still able to be productive even though her brain was so defective. Her self-esteem had taken a major hit with the diagnosis, and even though teaching was one of the last things she wanted to do with her life, she was glad to know she could still do at least one thing to contribute to society and make a living.

One Wednesday morning at the end of June, she went out to the coffee shop on Main just to get out of the house for a while. Armed with a book and a wide-open afternoon, she claimed a beat-up armchair in the corner and made a halfhearted attempt to read. But the group of women gathered around a nearby table stole her attention and unwittingly cured Amelia’s indecision about her life.

“Guess who got eight solid hours of sleep last night?” said a woman with bright lipstick.

“Don’t rub it in,” said one with her hair in a messy ponytail. “I’d kill you out of jealousy, but I’m too tired.” She drank deeply from her coffee while the others laughed.

“Dave got eight hours,” added a woman in a too-tight shirt. “Maybe even nine. Slept right through Izzy’s screaming fit at two thirty. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Men have some weird ability to sleep through anything their children do at night,” said Ponytail. “They only respond to orders barked from a mother on the edge of insanity.”

“Well, of course—it’s
our
job to take care of the kids, remember?” said another woman. “Because they have to, you know, go sit at a desk for eight hours, and that’s
really
tiring.” More laughter as she rolled her eyes.

“The minute Greg walks in the door I tell him he’s on duty with the kids,” said Lipstick. “I’ve had it with them by the time he gets home. The whining—seriously, I feel like my ears are bleeding half the time.” The others were vocal in their commiseration.

Amelia had heard enough. This was the last thing she needed. Leaving her nearly finished drink on the window ledge near her chair, she fled from the coffee shop. Was
that
what it was like to be a mother? There was clear resentment and sarcasm in these women’s tones. It was what she’d always heard from her own mom, but she’d always assumed other people thought differently, that her mother’s venom had found its source in her craziness. But apparently it was a more common view than she’d thought.

Amelia didn’t want her life to become one giant gripe session. It would be hard enough to resist with the stupid bipolar thing hanging over her.

She drove to the library and waited for one of the public terminals to open up, then sat down to do some research. She’d had enough waffling. She was getting out of here.

When Amelia arrived home, the apartment was empty. A note on the kitchen counter told her Marcus had gone out for a run. She took advantage of the solitude to start writing out notes on her plan at the dining room table. She started with a list of necessities—travel back to LA, a place to stay, a job—then began to brainstorm options. Her research at the library had been scattered and aimless, driven more by the need to take some kind of step in the direction of leaving than by an attempt to find useful information. When her initial burst of energy diminished and her frantic hunger for a way out abated, she’d come home in order to give her mind time to digest everything she’d taken in. Now she set about plugging that information into her list and fleshing out the details. She had less than four months to get it all laid out; once the baby was born she’d have to start implementing.

Amelia’s thoughts were on Karis and whether she’d make a good wife for Marcus when her cell rang and startled her like a sudden crash of thunder. She jumped, the pen fumbling from her fingers, and grabbed it before another ring could jar her again. “Hello?”

“Hey, Ames, it’s me.”

Jill’s voice came as a surprise that knocked Amelia off balance. They hadn’t talked much since Amelia had moved, though Jill had certainly tried more than Amelia had to keep their friendship alive. “Oh—Jill, hey. How are you?”

“I’m pretty good now that it’s official: I’m a mom.”

Amelia gasped. “The baby? You had the baby?”

“This morning, yeah. Seven pounds, seven ounces, will one day answer to the name Bradley Michael.”

Amelia didn’t really want to hear about this—it made the impending birth of her own baby all too real. But she couldn’t get out of it now. She did her best to fake her enthusiasm. “Oh my goodness, Jill. That’s—that’s wonderful. Congratulations. How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right. I’m still not sure what was worse: labor or the first six months of the pregnancy when I couldn’t eat a blasted thing.”

Amelia winced. “Well, it’s all over now.”

“Yes it is. Thank the Lord. How are you feeling?”

“I’m … doing all right.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. I promise not to tell you any awful stories about giving birth. I know you’re not psyched about it in the first place. But honestly, once it’s over, you realize it wasn’t
that
bad.”

“Heh, thanks.”

“So you and Marcus have to plan a trip out here soon, before you can’t fly anymore. I want you to meet Brad. Plus, I miss you.”

“Aw, you’re sweet.” And then, to avoid more baby talk or the possibility that Jill would try to get all sentimental with her, Amelia took a chance and changed the subject. “But I’m moving back, so eventually I’ll be around all the time again.”

“You are? Oh wow—I didn’t think you ever actually would. Is Marcus coming back, too?”

“No—just me.”

“What about the baby?”

“Well, actually … I’m leaving the baby with Marcus.”

The pause before Jill answered made Amelia sweat. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Um, I feel like I’m missing something. How exactly are you going to work this?”

Amelia sat up straighter, gathering her courage to seal her new truth by speaking it aloud. “I’m leaving Marcus, Jill. I’m turning the baby over to him and coming back to LA.”

The silence on Jill’s end made panic start to percolate in her middle. She started talking to fill the space. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this,” she said, standing to pace. “Ever since my time in the hospital, I’ve struggled with the idea of staying here and trying to be this homemaker-slash-pastor’s wife. It’s not what I thought it would be, and I’m not the right girl for the job. Remember when we went out for sushi, back before Christmas, and you said you weren’t even sure I was a Christian?”

“Y-yeah—but remember, I—”

“No, Jill, you were right. I mean, I guess maybe I sort of was, but it was for all the wrong reasons, and lately I’ve realized I’m just not convinced about it all. Marcus can’t be married to a woman who doesn’t even share his beliefs. He’s a pastor, for crying out loud.” She wandered the apartment, afraid to stop talking, sensing Jill would read her the riot act when she got the chance. “When my mom disappeared, I was desperate for anything that would give me hope that I wouldn’t turn out like her. You and your faith were right there in my face, so I grabbed it when you offered it. But I would have grabbed anything. I didn’t think about it, I didn’t study it—you looked like you had it all together, the stuff you told me about God made enough sense, so I went for it. And then I made that ridiculous decision to transfer out of Juilliard, and I met Marcus.… Honestly, if I hadn’t met him I don’t know if I would have lasted this long as a Christian. But I can’t keep faking it. And it’s not fair to him if I stick around.”

“Amelia, you can’t just leave him with the baby.”

“Why not? He’s going to be a great dad, he’s got a ton of support here—”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean, you seem to think it’s going to be like handing over a—a box of books or something. ‘I’m moving but I don’t want to bring these; here, take all my paperback romances.’ This is your
baby,
Amelia. A living, breathing piece of yourself. Trust me, you have no idea how you’re going to feel about this child until you’ve given birth.”

“Jill, listen, I didn’t want this baby in the first place. I don’t want to be a mom. I’ve never wanted that.” She punched a pillow on the bed, frustrated that she had to justify herself and afraid that, when she laid it out like this, she’d find her reasoning too flimsy to follow through on. “I don’t want to look back on my life in twenty years and hate myself for getting stuck with a kid I don’t know how to raise, a husband who believes something I don’t, and for missing my chance to actually do something with my life and prove myself. But by then I’ll be so entrenched, I won’t be able to leave. I still have a chance if I do it now. Marcus will have a chance to find a wife he can depend on to be the Christian woman he thought I was when he married me, someone who knows what to do with a baby.”

She ran out of words and let herself sink to the bed. The line was quiet for a moment, then Jill said, “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I can’t believe you’re actually talking about walking out on your family.”

Amelia rubbed a hand over her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. She really wanted this conversation to end. “What’s better, Jill—to deny who I am and make all three of us suffer for it? Or to let them move on with their lives and find someone who makes sense in the life they want, and move on with mine and be who I really am?”

“You’re out of your mind, Amelia. Is your medication balanced?”

“Oh please—I’m bipolar, not delusional.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Amelia rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Look, pretend I never said anything, okay? Obviously I shouldn’t have brought it up. I shouldn’t have expected you to be supportive. I’m just excited about getting my life back on track, and I wanted to share it with someone, so I figured I’d tell my best friend. My mistake. Congrats on the baby; I’ll talk to you later.” She shut her phone and sucked in a deep breath, then let it out in a huff as she stood to return to her list in the dining room. Why did she go and complicate things like that? Now she’d have to worry about Jill telling Dane, and Dane telling—

“Marcus.”

He stood outside the bedroom, arms folded across his chest that heaved with measured breaths. She tried to think of something to say, but her mind was blank with horror. They stared at each other for what felt like hours, until Marcus finally broke the standoff.

“You’re leaving me?”

C
HAPTER 14

Marcus’s heart was pounding, and not just from his run. Amelia wrung her hands, started and stopped sentences before they made any sense, and finally pushed past him and said, “It’s for the best.”

He felt like he was in
The Twilight Zone.
Who was this woman? “It’s for the best? It’s for the
best?
How can there be a single iota of ‘best’ in walking out on your husband and child? My gosh, Amelia, who have you been talking to?”

“No one! You think someone talked me into this?”

“I don’t know what else to think—why else would my wife be talking like this?”

“Because your wife isn’t who you think she is!”