The Life You've Imagined (23 page)

“Look, nobody’s perfect. It was a mistake, and it wasn’t just your mistake. He’s the one who should have been thinking of his wife, yeah? He didn’t have to come to the guest room that night; he could have waited to talk to you in the morning. And you said you did a terrible thing, but you saved a girl’s life. That’s not nothing.”

“No.”

She’s not at all mollified by that. She’s got a mental report card and has given herself an F in sexual morality.

“What are you going to do?”

She shrugs. “I’m not going to see him. I’m going to stay as far away as I can.”

“Chicago is pretty far.”

She tips her chin up and gazes up at the treetops. “Yes, it is.”

After a moment, it seems our talk is over and I start back to the car.

Anna stops me by saying, “I don’t know if I’m going back.”

“Ah.”

“I can’t give you, myself, anyone, a good answer for it. Beck told me the other day that if something feels hollow I shouldn’t keep doing it, just because I always have.”

“He’s right about that. Life’s too short, yeah? Like that quote Amy gave us.”

“But I did imagine life as an attorney. I’ve gotten everything I ever wanted.”

“And you don’t want it now?”

She scowls at the ground. “Stupid. I’m sure it’s just a phase. I mean, God, my student loans, all that work, those hours I put in at Miller Paulson? I’m just having a childish midlife crisis.”

“Yeah. But . . .”

“But every time I think of going back, I get this crushing weight on my chest.”

“So what’s the other plan?”

“I’ve gotta help my mom figure out something. I can do that best from here. I think I’ve got a plan that will work, at least for a while, until we can find her another job. I just can’t bear to think of her tossed out on the street with nothing and no job, having to stand there with her hat in her hand in line at some grim government office.”

“What about after you get her settled?”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “It’s the most curious thing. All my life I’ve known every single step I would take, and I’ve always done it. For the first time in my life I think of my future and it’s a blank.”

“Hmmm.” I know the blank feeling. But then, I’ve never known any different. “So, are you quitting for sure?”

“I can’t imagine that phone call, either, to my boss.” She laughs, but her face is clouded, her eyes narrow. “Maybe I’ll just stand here until I rot.”

“By the way, what happened to your car?”

“Oh, that. Shit. It’s at the Becker house. I lost my purse doing my lifeguard thing, and I took a cab rather than let Beck drive me home. I suppose I’d better find it.”

Anna starts back toward the Buick, barely picking up her feet, kicking up clods of dirt in the process. “Hey, if you need a place to stay, we’ll figure something out. A cot in my room or something, anything. You’ve gotta be safe, you know.” She cocks an eyebrow at me over the top of the car. “You’ve gotta watch your own back because no one else will do it for you.”

Chapter 33

Anna

I
t takes some time to drive back to town. Vacationers are out in abundance now, and traffic meanders along as if everyone’s got all the time in the world.

Cami insists I drop her off at the same corner where I picked her up, saying, “I’ll be fine, yeah?” She strolls down the street toward that house—can’t really call it a home, considering—with one hand in her pocket.

I don’t believe Cami for a second about her black eye. But I also know that you can’t make someone help herself. There was this attorney, back when I first started at Miller Paulson, who was really bright and quick on his feet.

He was also a drunk. He’d come in reeking of booze, probably still from the night before. Sometimes, we’d see him sober, and he’d be dazzling and brilliant and charming. He’d go out at lunch for a refresher. We sent him notes, letting him know we noticed. A few of us confronted him late one night in the office and he got so angry he threw a stapler.

Three weeks later he was gone, his cube empty and his desk cleaned out. No one had to ask what happened.

Shelby had been so angry with him, furious that her attempts to help him had been rebuffed. I shrugged and reminded myself that each person is responsible for his or her own actions.

You just can’t save people. You can spread out the safety net, but they have to jump into it.

I come through the Nee Nance’s propped-open front door, and I stop short.

Beck is at the counter, talking to my mother. My purse is between them.

Immediately, in my mind, we’re naked in the guest bed, and I can’t stop the hot flush sweeping over my face. He glances away from me, looking pink at the tops of his ears, and then meets my eyes, leaning on the counter with one hip. He’s trying so hard to look casual.

I don’t look at my mother. I don’t want to know what she makes of this.

“I’ve brought your purse,” Beck says. “And I drove your car. I’ll get a ride back from my dad later.”

“I can’t believe you’re thinking of my car now. I’d think you’d want to be with Madeline.”

My mother interjects, “For heaven’s sake, come in out of the doorway.”

I walk in all the way, careful not to stand too close.

Beck clears his throat. “Samantha is at the hospital now, getting ready to bring Maddie home. She, uh, she doesn’t want me around right now.”

Mom pats Beck’s arm. “She’s probably a mess. She’ll calm down later, I’m sure.” Mom turns to me. “Beck told me about last night.”

For a crazy half second I think she means the sex.

“Why didn’t you tell me you saved her life?”

“I didn’t want to talk about it. And I still don’t, actually.”

“I won’t press you, honey. I’m very proud, though.” At this, my mother comes around and hugs me hard. I fight not to push her off me.

“What’s to be proud of? I mean, who would do any different? And I was a lifeguard. Actually, I’m kicking myself for not noticing earlier.”

Beck croaks out, “You’re not the one who was supposed to notice.”

My mother releases me and gives him a kind smile. She should have had more children; she’s brimming over with kindness.

She says, “Why don’t you drive Beck home?”

I shoot him a look and try not to seem alarmed. He says, “No, really, it’s fine, my dad can take me home . . .”

“Well, you said he’d drive you later, but Anna can take you now. You should be at home as soon as possible to see your daughter. Even if your wife is upset now, your little girl will want to see you.”

Neither of us can dispute the simple logic in this. In fact, the way my mother has framed it, I’d be a cretin to refuse.

“Well, then,” I scoop up my purse. “Let’s get you home.”

I
can drive this route in my sleep. Everything here in Haven has clicked back into place. The cash register keys, where Mom keeps the register tape, all my old driving routes . . .

Sex with Beck.

I shake off the thought, trying not to look at him in my passenger seat.

I hope to God Samantha isn’t home when I drop him off. I am absolutely not coming in.

The drive is uncomfortably long. The Beckers live on the outskirts, where the properties are bigger, separated by acres of velvety lawn.

“So now what?” Beck says.

I keep my eyes on the road. “There is no ‘now what.’ Now you go back to living your life.”

“And you go back to Chicago?”

“Yes.”

This is a lie, or, at least, I don’t know if it’s true.

“I wish . . .” He pauses. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

I miss the turnoff. “Damn.” I check over my shoulder for traffic and turn into a driveway. “Beck, you know last night didn’t mean a thing. Nothing. We were together a hundred years ago when we were kids and fell into an old habit in a moment of stress.” I finally cut my eyes over to him before backing out onto the blacktop and shifting into drive. “Don’t get any romantic notions. I don’t love you.” I punch the accelerator a little too hard. “Not even close.”

He braces himself on the dash. “Bullshit. You didn’t change that much, Annie.”

“You don’t know me anymore.”

“I think I’m the only one who does know you, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“I know you’re lying about going to back to Chicago.”

I squeeze the steering wheel and drive a little faster.

“Anna?” he says. He reaches out to touch me and I slap his hand away. I refuse to speak to him for the rest of the drive.

W
hen I walk into the store, I see four guys wrestling a cot up the narrow stairs. Randy is among them, I see, and Mailman Al in his postal shorts.

My mom points at the men with her Diet Coke bottle. “We’ll put Sally in with me. I can squeeze the cot at the foot of my bed, T-shaped.”

“She should be in with me. We’re both the ones crashing your party.” As soon as I say it, I want to cringe.

“No. I want you to have your privacy. That’s your room, for however long we’ve got left in this place. It’s fine.”

“Where is she?”

“I’m about to go get her. I guess she’s really whooping it up there, annoying the hell out of the doctors. So, about the trailer. Can she save anything?”

I shake my head. “Not a thing.”

My mother sighs. “I don’t know how she’s going to take this. Normally she’d just laugh it off, you know how she is. But lately . . . Hasn’t she seemed a little . . . off to you?”

She has, but I don’t want to worry my mother. “Nah, not really. Want me to go get her?”

Muffled cursing comes from the stairwell, and the cot slides and rattles halfway down the steps.

“No, I’ll go. I’ll just run upstairs a minute and straighten up there first. Anyway, you’ve got some interesting reading material here.”

She points to the newspaper as she picks up her keys and comes around the counter, squeezing my arm as she goes.

The headline on the
Courier
’s front page reads: C
HILD
N
EARLY
D
ROWNS,
and another headline underneath in smaller type reads: D
EVELOPER’S
G
RANDDAUGHTER
S
AVED BY
F
AMILY
F
RIEND.

Chapter 34

Amy

T
he sunshine streams onto Paul’s back, creating shadows in the valleys of his muscles.

It makes me want to lick him.

But instead I turn away, hiding the thermometer with my hand and hoping the soft
beep beep
as it works doesn’t disturb him. I yank the thermometer out when it begins its rapid “I’m done” beeping and muffle it under the covers until it stops. I look at the temp and frown. It doesn’t make any sense at this point in my cycle. I didn’t drink hardly anything yesterday, and I wasn’t up so late . . .

Though I’m told stress can throw off a reading.

He turns over next to me, and I slam the thermometer in a drawer.

“Babe? What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“What nothing?” he says sleepily, tossing his arm across his face to block out the light. “Can’t you draw the shades in here?”

I like the light; it helps me bounce out of bed in the morning, early enough for a run. I stretch up and pull the blinds down, though. He grunts and rolls back over.

The party turned out okay after all, at least until poor Maddie . . . Tears prick at my eyelids again. God, I love that kid; always have since I first saw her and played My Little Ponies for an hour straight. I’ve always liked kids, but when I met Maddie, the penny dropped and my body said,
Yep, let’s have us some babies.

I had to wait a year until Paul proposed. And now, he might not marry me at all.

I snuggle close to his back and now I do lick him, a playful teasing on the back of his shoulder blade, his earlobe.

“Hmmm.” He sighs but doesn’t respond. So I run my tongue across the back of his neck, which I know drives him crazy.

“Babe, I’m really tired,” he says.

He’d watched a West Coast baseball game, drinking beer in front of the TV, while I paced by the phone and waited for word on Madeline.

I swallow down my irritated sigh. “I’m going for a run. Call my cell if you hear anything about Maddie.”

They told us she’s fine, but until I can see her, I won’t believe it for sure.

W
hen I see Ed this morning, I do a double-take. Once for seeing him out here the day after a holiday, and twice because he’s running. With actual running shoes.