Taylor Lynne: The Women of Merryton - Book Two (2 page)

“I would really like to
stay and help. And I want the girls to get to know each other,” he said firmly.

That was the Easton I
knew—confident and self-assured.

I shook my head at him.
“I don’t … I’m not sure …” Why couldn’t I tell him to hit the road? I didn’t
want or need his help. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” I managed.

“We need to get used to
being around each other and in each other’s lives again,” he countered.

“I suppose, but I think
baby steps would be more appropriate, don’t you?”

“Taylor, please. I need
your help here.”

“What do you mean, you
need my help? When you called me, you said you wanted Ashley’s help for the
summer.”

He walked toward me and
stood across the island from me. “I need your help getting reacquainted with
our daughter, and in the process I was kind of hoping Ashley
and
you could
help with Emmy. She needs women like you in her life,” he said as to not be
overheard.

I leaned more toward him
so my voice wouldn’t carry. I wanted to raise my voice, but I held back. “You
have a lot of nerve asking me to help you with
your
daughter. The
daughter you fathered with the woman you left me for; the woman, I might add,
that kept you from my daughter.”

He leaned in now, too.
“If memory serves me correctly, I’m not the one who left.”

“If your memory is so
good then you’ll remember why I did.”

His demeanor softened. “Taylor,
please. I don’t want to argue with you.”

I didn’t want to either,
but we seemed to gravitate toward it whenever we were around each other in
private, or when we conversed on the phone. It was probably a good thing we
rarely had contact over the last fourteen years. And of course he didn’t want
to argue—how do you defend cheating on your wife? And the timing of it all? My
mother had recently died and we had just gone through a major move. I needed
him more than ever, but I always seemed to come in last. Then there was
Kathryn. He denied the affair over and over again, but the signs were all
there, so I left for the only support system I had left.

“You’ve been such a great
mother to Ashley. And Emmy, well … let’s just say she wasn’t as lucky as her
sister.”

I rubbed my temples. I
couldn’t believe I had lived here less than a day and I was already having
awkward conversations with my ex-husband. It only made me feel more like I had
made the second biggest mistake in my life. The biggest was agreeing the first
time to move back here while we were married right after Ashley was born.

It wasn’t the first time
over the years he’d told me what a great mom he thought I was, but honestly, I
felt it was undeserved. Ashley was just a great kid. I don’t know that I did
anything to contribute to that, other than loving her to pieces. And I felt bad
for Emmy, I did, but I wasn’t sure I should be the one to help him with her. I
could only imagine what her mother’s thoughts were on the subject.

I was about to tell
Easton that they should probably leave when Ashley and Emmy walked in. A rush
of pride swept over me as I looked at my girl holding her half-sister’s hand.
She was the most wonderful creature on this earth.

“Momma, I told Emmy they
could stay for lunch.”

Of course she had. I
looked at Easton and he looked pleased with both the invitation and at his
daughters being together. Emmy still looked timid. It pulled a little at my
heart, but I thought maybe she would warm up once she got to know us. Or at
least Ashley. I was going to stay uninvolved.

“Do you want me to order takeout?”
Easton offered. He grinned at me. “Or do you still not do takeout?”

It’s not that I never ate
out or ordered food, but I was very particular. It was kind of my job to be.
People paid me to make their lives better and healthier through nutrition
plans. I have a degree and a plaque that says so. I’m what they call a clinical
nutritionist. Soon enough, that degree plaque would be hanging in my new office
at Merryton General.

“I’ll make something,” I
grumbled.

It was a great time to
have company over for lunch. I mean, I hadn’t unpacked utensils, plates, or any
of the other things I needed to entertain, but what the heck. It was only my
ex-husband. I was at least grateful I had thought to add paper products and
plastic utensils to the grocery list I had sent Ashley with. I let the three of
them get to know one another while I made lunch. Easton offered to help, but I
declined again. I didn’t know why he couldn’t get the hint that I didn’t want
or need his help. I hadn’t in fourteen years. I had learned not to depend on
him to protect myself from a lot of disappointment.

But again, I wasn’t
thinking about it.

I prepared stuffed whole
wheat pitas with turkey, lettuce, and tomato, along with an assortment of
berries and chopped vegetables on the side. I arranged a plate for everyone and
got out some bottles of water and called it good. It wasn’t fancy, but it was
well-balanced. I walked over to the back door and called out that lunch was
ready. They were all sitting on a blanket in the backyard talking. It would be
where we would have to eat lunch, too, either that or the hardwood floors in
the house. The movers had still not shown up.

Easton was the only one
to come in. He surveyed the plates before he picked any up.

“Is something wrong?” I
asked.

He looked over to me. “No,
this looks great. I’m worried Emmy won’t like it. She’s not really used to this
kind of food.”

“What’s ‘this kind of
food’?”

“You know … the healthy
kind,” he said sheepishly.

“Aren’t you a doctor and
wasn’t your wife a nurse?”

“We didn’t do a lot of
home-cooked meals, okay?”

I had apparently hit a
nerve. I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, maybe she’ll surprise you, but if she
doesn’t like it, I’ll come up with something she does,” I offered. I don’t know
why I offered—it wasn’t my fault he’d fed his kid crap—but there was something
about Emmy.

“Thanks,” he said
politely.

He grabbed two plates. I
grabbed the other two and followed him outside. I couldn’t believe I was having
a picnic with my ex-husband and his daughter. I didn’t sign up for this when I
read the “How to Live Near Your Ex” brochure.

Emmy looked warily at the
food and me.

I smiled warmly at her. “Try
it, and if you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.” I said it as nice
as I could so she would know I was sincere and it was okay if she didn’t like
it.

She nodded her head yes,
but she didn’t look hopeful at all.

“One thing you need to
know about my momma, Emmy, is she’s a total health nut, but she can make
anything taste good.”

“Thanks for that, Ash.”

Easton laughed.

Ashley laughed at me, too,
but she turned toward her half-sister, grabbed her pita, and took out the
tomato and gave it back to Emmy. “Here, try this.”

Emmy with some
trepidation took a very small bite. I felt bad that we were all watching and
waiting for her reaction. She didn’t gag or spit it out, so I took it as a good
sign. I dug into my own food because I was more than hungry and I needed
something to do other than stare at my ex, who was staring at me.

I pretty much stayed silent
during the meal. I let Ashley and Easton dictate the conversation and catch up.
I also observed Emmy. I concluded her issue with “healthy” food was probably
partially due to texture. I supposed I could give Easton some suggestions on
how to help with that and how to introduce new foods to her.

All I knew was that I was
thrilled when the movers showed up. I needed the distraction. My ex-husband,
unfortunately, thought he needed to stay. I had to say I was surprised he took
a whole Thursday off to help. When we were married he wouldn’t have considered
it, but now it was really annoying. And it was annoying when the movers assumed
he was my husband. I set them straight right away. And it was annoying when he
insisted on helping me set up our beds and move the furniture to where I wanted
it. And it was really annoying when he decided to go and get dinner for
everyone and stayed and ate with us,
again
.

My saving grace was Emmy;
she fell asleep on my couch around nine. Easton finally decided it was time to
go home, but before he left, he asked to speak with me privately. I agreed, but
only because I wanted him to leave. We walked out to the front porch. I had
forgotten that it got cool here at night in June. Back home, it would still be
steamy. I wrapped my arms around myself.

“Do you want me to get
you a jacket?” Easton offered. I forgot how kind he could be.  

“No,” I responded,
probably too shortly. It had been a long day and I was ready for him to leave.

He responded by smiling. “I
guess offering you my arm would probably be out of the question then.”

I sighed and smiled without
meaning to. “What did you need to speak to me about?” I had to keep myself from
yawning.

“Have you seen your
father yet?”

I shook my head no. I had
been trying to forget about the other reason I agreed to come home. Frank Roberts
was the saddest excuse for a father that there ever was, but he was dying.
Easton told me the night he called and asked if Ashley could come and spend the
summer with him. I refused at first. I only had two summers left with her
before she left for college and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing one of
them. That’s when he suggested I come too. He told me the hospital was in need
of a good clinical nutritionist and I should consider applying and moving back.
I laughed at the suggestion. I mean, I hated this place and swore I would never
come back, but then … but then he told me Frank had been to see him. Easton
broke about a hundred privacy laws by telling me Frank was in stage four of cirrhosis
of the liver and he had given him a year to live, maybe eighteen months. Easton
told me if I was ever going to forgive Frank and move on, this would be my last
chance. And, of course, Ashley thought we should.

Easton looked at me with
concern in his brown eyes. He reached out and touched my cold arm. “I’ll go
with you, if you would like.”

I shook my head no. I
wasn’t going to depend on Easton for anything.

He dropped his hand and a
look of disappointment washed over his face. “I want to warn you. He looks
terrible and … I told him you were moving back.”

“Of course you did.”

“I’m sorry, Taylor, but I
thought he deserved to know.”

“Frank doesn’t deserve to
know anything about me.”

“People change, Taylor.”

I looked up at him with
tears in my eyes. “Yes, I know, and it’s not always for the better.”

I was exhausted from
moving most of the day, but I couldn’t sleep. Being back in Merryton was my
undoing. You see, from the outside I looked like I had my act together. I was
college educated with a good job. I raised the most amazing kid ever. I ate
right and worked out. I owned a house and drove a nice car. I pulled off normal
like no one’s business. It was how I avoided dealing with things I should have
dealt with.

I was determined to lead
a normal life because growing up all I knew was instability. I learned early on
how to hide my problems. I didn’t want anyone to know that my home life was
less than ideal, but as I grew older, I knew it was no secret, especially living
in this town where everyone knew everything about everyone. And hiding the
problem, or at least thinking I was, only made it worse. I became an enabler
along with my sweet mother. That was, until the night I couldn’t take it
anymore. I had begged my mother to leave Frank, but she said she loved him and
we were a family. It didn’t matter that he came home drunk every night and he
couldn’t hold down a job, or that he was emotionally and verbally abusive to my
mother, she still loved him. It didn’t matter to her until I had finally had
enough and intervened one night.

For all of Frank’s faults,
he had never once hit my mother or me. But that night in his drunken rage, he
tried to hit me as I did my best to protect my mother against his verbal
assault. My best wasn’t good enough. My mother took the brunt of my failure. It
wasn’t until then my mother took action. At fifteen I was sent to live with my
grandparents while she stayed. I begged and begged her to come too, but she
wouldn’t. She said Frank was sorry; he never wanted to hurt me or her. He loved
me. He promised he would go to rehab and AA and all of the other things he
always promised, but never did.

Grams and Harry did their
best to heal my wounds. They provided me with the stability I had craved. I
missed my mom, but I was happy not to have to deal with the never-ending
uncertainty. I didn’t have to worry anymore about getting woken up in the
middle of the night by the sound of fighting parents. I didn’t have to worry
about whether the utilities would be on when I woke up, because Grams and Harry
always paid their bills. There was always food on the table and clean clothes,
and new clothes even. I didn’t have to lie to my friends anymore about why they
couldn’t come over to my house or why I wouldn’t go to theirs. I didn’t have to
be embarrassed anymore.

In an attempt to overcome
and forget about my past, I became an over achiever. I was determined to never
have that life again. I was determined that if I ever had a family, it would be
perfect. I would be perfect. So I graduated early from high school and received
a scholarship to UAB. I achieved my goal of graduating at twenty-one and was
offered the internship of my choice at the University Hospital in Birmingham. It
was there I met Mr. Perfect. He was in his first year of clinical rotations. He
was everything I wanted in a husband: ambitious, intelligent, stable, handsome,
kind, and he loved me.

And I loved him. I loved
him so much I lost my head and we eloped. One minute I was sitting in a
laundromat parking lot with him waiting for his clothes to dry, and the next
minute I was at the courthouse saying, “I do.” We didn’t have rings; we didn’t
even dress up. We only wanted to be with each other and so we thought, why
should we wait? It broke my grams’ and my mom’s heart, for that I felt bad, but
I had never been happier. At the time, I foolishly thought everything would
stay perfect. In reality, I probably had no business getting married at twenty-one.

It didn’t take long for
me to learn that marriage was hard, but again, I was determined to be perfect.
Even if I wasn’t happy about certain aspects of our marriage, I pretended to
be. I didn’t want Easton to think any less of me. I wanted to have what I
didn’t have growing up, but that was exhausting. It was exhausting working two
jobs while Easton finished medical school and his residency. And it was
exhausting having a baby and being up with her all night with no help.

It was exhausting moving
back to my hometown. I should have told Easton no, but after we had been
married for a couple of years my mom had begged us to visit and Easton thought
we should. He thought I should face my demons, so we did. He fell in love with
Merryton. He had grown up in Chicago, so Merryton was like this magical land to
him. He knew that was where we needed to land eventually. Then we had Ashley,
and since both of his parents had passed away, he wanted Ashley to grow up
around my parents. I tried to explain to him why that wasn’t a good idea, but
by that time Frank had sobered up—at least temporarily—and Easton only saw a
remorseful man and a mother that wanted her daughter back.

I knew in my heart at the
time it wasn’t the right thing for our family, but Easton was convinced it was.
I should have been more honest with Easton. I should have opened up more to him
about my past, but I was afraid. I didn’t want to seem broken. So I pretended I
could handle it all. And the first year back, I pulled it off well even though
I missed Easton, who was putting in long hours getting his practice up and
running. I didn’t say anything when I should have. I let him put me last on his
list. I pretended to have everything under control. But then my mother died of
a heart attack.

It was like a dam burst.
I could no longer pretend I was perfect. I was devastated and I needed my
husband. And I was so, so tired. I was tired of being alone and tired of
pretending to be the patient wife. Looking back, it probably wasn’t fair to
Easton. I had given him the impression I was perfectly fine with being last on
his list. I became an enabler again, because I was afraid to be less than the
ideal wife. Finally the walls came crashing down and I needed Easton, but his
hours became longer and he started coming home smelling like a perfume that
wasn’t in my cabinet. I confronted him, and he denied having an affair. I felt
bad and decided I needed to be better, so I took dinner to him late one night
at his office only to find his car wasn’t the only one in the parking lot. It
was Kathryn’s car, and she smelled a lot like my husband.

The next day I packed up
my car and my toddler and we left. I cried all the way to Alabama. I ran back
to Grams and Harry. I ran away from the hurt and pain. I tried to pretend I was
once again perfect. After all, I had a little life depending on me and she deserved
perfection, or at least close to it.

Now I was back to the
place where it all began. Back to a dying father that I hadn’t spoken to in
years and an ex-husband that I’d never gotten over. I questioned my sanity, but
Easton had been right—I needed to get over my demons and the only way I could
was by facing them. My running days were over. In the meantime, though, I would
do what I always did. I would put on a brave front and act completely normal.

I woke up more tired than
when I had gone to sleep, but the unpacked boxes were calling, as was Ashley.
This was her first day acting as Emmy’s nanny. I kept trying to remind myself
this was a good thing. She should know her dad. It was my hope that if she
forged a good relationship with Easton that she would end up better than me.
That she would be able to have a healthy relationship with her future husband.
Several of the books I’d read trying to fix myself talked about how important
that father-daughter relationship was for a girl’s self-esteem, and how she
sees herself and deals with relationships.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t
blame my problems on my father. I am way too old for that nonsense, but growing
up the way I did had an effect. How could it not? In a lot of ways, it was
good. It gave me drive and compassion. It had also helped me when I counseled
with my patients about their food issues. I could relate to people in certain
circumstances when, for others, it would be un-relatable. In many ways, it made
me better and stronger, but it also sabotaged me. I had no idea how to make a
marriage work, even though I had a great example in Grams and Harry. I also had
no idea how to properly express my own wants and needs.

I only hoped I raised
Ashley to be better than me. I’d tried to teach her a better way and now I was trying
to give her what she should have had all along. Even though it might kill me.

“Momma,” Ashley called
from the family room.

“Yes, love?” I called
back.

“Do you know where the
box is with our board games?”

I decided against yelling
back and met her in the family room. “Did you want to play Scrabble this
morning, darlin’?”

“Very funny, Momma. No, I
thought I would bring some games to play with Emmy.”

I looked at the time.
“Love, you need to get going. Your dad doesn’t like to be late to work. I’ll
look for them later and you can bring Emmy over with you to get them. Does that
work?”

She smiled at me, walked
over, and kissed me on the cheek before she took off. My heart ached a bit. I was
used to having her be all mine. I wasn’t sure I wanted to share her, even if it
was with the one person I should be sharing her with.

I got ready and tried not
to think about him. Besides, I had plenty to keep me busy. I had ten days
before I started work and I wanted this house in order before I did so. I had
to look perfect.

I started with the
kitchen. I figured that was the most important room, especially since I was
picky about eating out. Easton had gotten food from the one place last night
that I liked to get dinner, Jessie Belle’s café. The food was as delicious as I
remembered and I couldn’t wait to see Jessie in person. Her mom ran the café
last time I lived here. With all that being said, my favorite place to eat was
still home, so the kitchen was getting top priority. Then it was my bedroom. It
was kind of my own personal retreat.

I would wait and do
Ashley’s room when she got home. I wasn’t sure what time that would be. Easton
had always worked long hours when we were married, but maybe now that he didn’t
have any nurses he was fraternizing with he would be home earlier. I knew I
needed to get over it, but I felt like I gave up so much to support him in his
dream. It was a terrible way to be paid back.

At around five that
evening Ashley arrived back home, but she had Emmy with her. Easton had a baby
to deliver and the girls were hungry. I was happy to oblige. I was ready for a
break from unpacking anyway.

“So, Emmy, tell me what
your favorite food is.”

Her answer was typical
for a nine year old. “Pizza,” she said barely above a whisper. She was still
wary around me. That’s okay, I was wary around her, too.

One place I wasn’t wary was
in the kitchen, and pizza was something I could do. I made sure to be sensitive
to the picky eater in our midst. I kept the sauce smooth and made a plain
cheese pizza for Emmy, along with one loaded with lots of veggies for Ash and me.
The girls played Jenga at the kitchen table while I made dinner. Emmy seemed
comfortable around Ashley, she even smiled, although with reservation. I
wondered why she was so melancholy for one so young. I reminded myself I
shouldn’t get involved, but I had a feeling that was going to be hard.

We enjoyed dinner
together and I think even Emmy liked the food. She ate three pieces of pizza.
Afterward we decided a movie night was in order since I was too tired to do
anything else. We let Emmy pick the movie. We had a variety of old Disney
princess movies from when Ashley was younger, but she didn’t even look at
those. She skipped straight to our Nicholas Sparks collection, which surprised
me. I wasn’t sure a nine year old should even know about Nicholas Sparks
movies. She chose
A Walk to Remember
, which was probably the tamest of
the lot, but still a tear jerker and not what I would call a little girl movie.

“Have you seen this movie
before?” I had to ask.

She nodded her head yes.

“Are you sure your dad
will be okay with it?” All I needed was a lecture from Easton.

Without speaking she
answered yes again, so we went with it. I hoped she was telling the truth, but
just in case, I fast forwarded through the first part with all the swearing.

The girls settled in on
the sectional while I went and made fruit kabobs. I splurged and drizzled dark
chocolate over them. I was hoping to entice Emmy. Of course, I wasn’t getting
involved, right? Again, there was something about her.

I deposited the goodies
on the coffee table and sat on the other side of Ashley, but for some reason I
couldn’t help but keep looking over at Emmy. I wanted to gauge her reaction, see
what interested her, and what made this quiet little girl tick. I reminded
myself I was staying out of it.

She kept swiping at her
hair, trying to keep it out of her face. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I got up,
grabbed a brush and an elastic band.

“Emmy, why don’t you come
and sit in front of me for a minute, darlin’?”

She looked hesitant, but
complied.

I gave her a big smile.
“I want to braid your hair. Is that okay?”

She nodded. It was
apparently her favorite mode of communication.

It had been forever since
I combed a little girl’s hair. I had missed it, so I kind of took my time as I
brushed out her knots, tangles, and smoothed out her long locks. I smiled over
to Ashley during the process. She rolled her eyes at me and smiled back. She
knew how much I missed her being a little girl. Emmy had a lot of hair like
Ashley, but it wasn’t as thick. I pulled it back and fishtail braided it.