Sins of Innocence (37 page)

“You didn’t like your stepfather much, did you?”

Ginny laughed. “No. You could say that. It was weird, though. My mother did. But then,” she added, “there was a lot she didn’t know.”

P.J. got up and walked to the window. She looked out onto the driveway. It was starting to snow. “Let’s not talk about mothers,” she said.

“Oh, shit, that’s right. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going away to school. Chicago. I’m going back for commercial art. I think I’m pretty good at it. And I don’t care if I ever see my mother again.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, “well, that can change too.”

P.J. shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Ten days later, on December 18, P.J. rode to the hospital with Ginny. Ginny was doubled over in the backseat of the station wagon: She hadn’t told anyone she was having contractions until after her water broke.

“No sense getting there too soon,” she said.

But P.J. was annoyed. “Jesus, Ginny, do you want to have the baby in the car?”

“Why not?” she asked, then moaned. “Between you and me, I’d do just about anything to avoid the hospital. Hospitals scare the hell out of me.”

P.J. tried not to show her surprise.

P.J. sat with Pop and Miss Taylor in the waiting room. They were there less than an hour when the doctor appeared. “It’s a girl,” he said. “Mother and baby are doing fine. Mother used every foul word she knew and then some, I expect.” He smiled and raised his bushy eyebrows. “But she made it. They both made it.”

The ride back to Larchwood was quiet. Miss Taylor had stayed to be with Ginny when she awoke. P.J. knew she would be alone in the house tonight. As if reading her thoughts, Pop spoke.

“The missus and I will stay in Miss Taylor’s apartment tonight. We don’t want you to be alone. Good Lord, what if your time came in the middle of the night?”

P.J. smiled. “Thanks, Pop.” My time, she thought. My time, and the other girls won’t even know. Well, one of us had to be the last. P.J. shivered a little and felt the loneliness the empty house would bring. She hoped she wouldn’t have to wait too long.

Five days later Ginny came back from the hospital. Her stomach was still a little distended, but her miniskirt had returned, and she carried a foam-rubber doughnut.

“Do you believe this shit?” Ginny screeched, pointing to the doughnut. “Hemorrhoids! Me, who didn’t even get morning sickness. I end up with fucking hemorrhoids!” She wobbled upstairs to pack.

P.J. stayed in the living room, fixing the weary Christmas decorations. She noticed that the red satin Santa was missing. Miss Taylor must have packed it with Jess’s things.

An hour passed. Why hadn’t Ginny come down?

P.J. went into the kitchen. Mrs. Hines was fixing dinner.

“Not many tonight, Miss P.J. Just you and Miss Taylor.”

P.J. noticed the woman’s gruffness had eased. Tragedy, she thought, can change people.

“What about Ginny?”

“Oh, Ginny’s gone. Pop drove her to the train station about twenty minutes ago.”

P.J. was shocked. “You mean she left? She left without saying good-bye?”

Mrs. Hines shrugged. “She was an odd one, all right.”

P.J. went back to the living room. She couldn’t believe Ginny had disappeared so quickly, that Ginny didn’t even care enough to say good-bye. She had thought they’d broken through that wall around Ginny’s emotions. She thought of Mrs. Hines; she thought again of Ginny. Some people change, some people don’t.

She stared at the Christmas decorations. It was growing dark outside, and the light from the veranda cast a glow against the snow into the room. P.J. wondered if any of the girls could really change. Deep down inside, where it mattered.

She heard the front door open.

“P.J.?” It was Ginny’s voice.

“In the living room.”

Ginny walked in and brushed the snow from her jacket. “I–well, I realized I forgot to say good-bye.”

P.J. stood up and went to her. Ginny hugged her. “Good luck, P.J.”

“And to you.”

They held each other for a moment, then Ginny broke away. “Hey, man, I gotta get outta here. I’m going to miss my fucking train.”

P.J. laughed. “So long, friend,” she said.

Ginny waved and wobbled toward the door, her foam doughnut in hand. “Later!” she called back.

There had been no talk of staying in touch—none of the girls had mentioned it. It was as though they all knew they wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Some things, P.J. thought, are best forgotten. But she couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever have another friend.

On Christmas morning P.J. sat alone in the living room. She tried to read the paper, but it only reminded her of Susan: She wondered where she was, what she was doing. She thought about Jess. Would she be celebrating the holiday with her father? As for Ginny, P.J. smiled. There was nothing to worry about. Ginny would be fine, for what Ginny lacked in strength, she made up for with guts. Ginny was a survivor.

But maybe, P.J. thought, we are all survivors.

Then she thought about her father. She was almost glad she wasn’t home, sitting on the floor, opening gifts, trying to pretend nothing had changed, trying not to stare at his vacant easy chair. She wondered if there would ever
be another man she could trust as much as him. Or another man who would love her as much as he had.

Early in the afternoon P.J.’s mother called. “I just wanted to be sure you were all right,” she said. Her voice sounded flat, and P.J. suspected this wasn’t much more than a “duty” call. Be a good mother, do the right thing. Probably Reverend Blacksmith had prodded her into it.

“I’m okay, Mom,” P.J. answered. “I should be home soon.”

“Yes, well—” her mother continued quickly, as though she was afraid P.J. might say something she didn’t want to hear. “I suppose we need to talk about your plans. Have you made any?”

P.J. sighed. “I’d like to go to Chicago. To the Art Institute. They have a great program.”

“Good. That’s good.” The relief in her mother’s voice was unmistakable.

“I’ll be leaving the first week of January.”

“Good. That’s good,” her mother repeated. “Well, Merry Christmas.”

“Sure, Mom. Merry Christmas.”

P.J. hung up the phone and folded her hands across her stomach. She realized she wasn’t angry with her mother. She also realized that she and her mother would probably never be friends. Without her father to hold them together, they would go their separate ways. Her mother would hold on to her secret, and P.J. would hold on to her memories. It was then that P.J. knew she wasn’t just alone at Larchwood, but that now she was completely on her own.

Late that night P.J. went into labor. Her son was born the day after Christmas, at 8:59
A.M
.

Jess

When she arrived home from L.A., Charles was seated in the study, his long feet propped up on the edge of the desk, his arms folded across his chest. The lines on his face were frozen in anger.

“Where the hell have you been?” he barked.

Jess walked into the room and set down her bag. “Visiting a friend.”

He pulled his legs from the desk. His feet dropped to the floor with a thud. “For two fucking days?”

Jess pushed a flyaway tendril from her face. She was exhausted from the cross-country flight, and in no mood to put up with her husband.

“I told the children I’d be back today.”

“Chuck and Travis went to a soccer game last night. I didn’t find out you were gone until they got home.”

“If you were speaking to your daughter, she would have told you.”

He stood up, full height, and put his hands on his hips.
He’s assuming his stance
, Jess thought.
The one he uses for intimidation
. A flash came into her mind of him, standing that way in Maura’s bedroom. Trying to frighten his child. Trying to pull the ultimate power play. Jess wanted to kick him.

“So, are you going to bother to tell me where you were?”

“I told you. Visiting a friend. No one you know.”

“Male or female?”

“Oh, Charles, don’t be absurd. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, but cheating on my husband isn’t exactly my style.”

“And neither is leaving your husband and children overnight, with no indication of where you’ve gone.”

Jess sighed. “If you must know, I went to L.A. It was no big deal.”

“Los Angeles? You just hopped a plane at the drop of a hat and flew to L.A.? Are you nuts?”

“No. I told you. I went to see a friend.”

“You don’t know anyone in L.A.”

“She moved out there a few years ago.”

“Someone from the P.T.O.?”

“Charles, please. She’s an old friend. She needed my help,” Jess lied.

“For what? Did she need you to hem a dress for her?”

Jess didn’t answer.

“Pardon me if I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t want to argue, Charles. I’m tired.”

“Are you going to tell me this
friend
’s name?”

She shook her head, feeling her weariness envelop her. All Jess wanted to do was take a long, hot bath and think about nothing. The visit with Ginny had left her numb. “You don’t know her,” she said.

“Try me.”

She crossed the room and settled into an oversized chair, her tiny body swallowed by the thick cushions. If she was going to go through with this reunion—and now it looked as though she had given herself no choice—Jess knew she would have to tell Charles.

“Her name is Ginny,” she said quietly. “She was someone I knew at Larchwood Hall.”

“At
where
?”

“Larchwood Hall. The home for unwed mothers.”

“How quaint. Were you reminiscing about old times?”

“No, Charles. Actually,” she sucked in a small breath, “we’re planning a reunion.”

He pushed up the sleeves on his Vuarnet sweatshirt and walked back to the desk. He leaned on the edge, folded his arms in front of him, and clenched his fists.

“I suppose this has something to do with Maura.”

Jess shook her head. “Not really. The girls who were at Larchwood are planning to get together again, that’s all.” She was damned if he was going to drag Maura into this. He was being cold and cruel enough to her as it was.

“How coincidental this should occur right at this time.”

Jess cradled one of the loose pillows.
You son of a bitch
, she thought.
You selfish, arrogant son of a bitch
. “You might as well know the rest,” she blurted out. “I know you aren’t going to want to hear this, but we’re planning to meet the children we gave up for adoption.”

He picked up a crystal paperweight from the desk and hurled it across the room. It bounced off the stone fireplace and shattered onto the hearth. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “My entire family has lost its fucking mind.”

Jess squeezed the pillow. “It’s something I need to do, Charles. It’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

“You? It’s what you want? What about me? What about your family? First Maura. Now you. I come home from work one day, and suddenly the world is split apart. What’s really going on with you, Jess? Are you losing your mind?”