The Perfect Mistress (11 page)

His eyes filled with sadness. “I've asked myself that many times, sweetie.” He shook his head. “I don't want to hurt your mother. No matter what you or anyone thinks, I love her very much. But your mother has some ways. And one of those ways is she hangs on to stuff. She's vindictive, and if I leave . . .” He paused as if a million thoughts galloped through his mind in that moment. “The thought of never seeing you again tears me apart.”

“My friend Josie's parents are divorced and she sees her father all the time.”

“I'm sure Josie's mother wants to maintain that relationship,” he pointed out. “Unfortunately, your mother has grown very bitter and I know that she'd do everything she could to keep you from me. I wouldn't be surprised if she moved halfway across the country just so I wouldn't see you.”

“What?” Lauren said, the thought horrifying her, just like it had when he'd said these same words all those years ago.

“Your mother and I have our issues, but we're old-school. Couples go through their problems and no matter who else comes in my life, your mother will always be my number one.”

That was a hard concept for Lauren to understand. And now that she was sixteen, she understood a lot. One thing she knew was that she would never be someone's number one. She would only be his only one.

“Well, I'll be going away to college soon. So, are you gonna leave her then?”

He gave her one of those inscrutable parent looks. “Your mother is sick right now. The doctors said she's suffering from postpartum depression because of the baby.”

Lauren side-eyed her father. Yeah, she was sure her mother was sad about the baby, but that wasn't the only reason. Didn't her father get that?

Maybe she could explain it a little. Maybe she could help her father to see. “Daddy, I, just, I don't know. Mom is so sad. Maybe you can just be with only her. Maybe that would make her feel better.”

His response was instant. “I love only her.”

“Not love,” Lauren said. “I mean be with. As in let all the other women go. Because if you love only Mom, then . . .”
Lauren didn't know where she found the strength to say these words to her father, but she was just like her mother—tired of the madness.

Vernon gave her a long sigh. “Humans weren't created to be monogamous, sweetie. You'll understand that when you get grown.”

“So, you'd be okay if Mommy had boyfriends?”

The
look of sheer horror that swept across his face answered her question.

“It's different for men and women, baby,” he said, hedging. “That's not your mother's nature. Look, I know you feel bad, and I hate that you're in the middle of this.”

Lauren remembered how her mother's head had spun around, then the slap. “I'm sorry I told her about Miss Callie's house. But she was going to the wrong house and I was scared of what might have happened if she started knocking on the wrong door.”

He reached out and patted her shoulder. “I understand. Neither one of us should've ever placed you in this position. Just know that I don't blame you for tonight and I love you with everything inside me.”

His words made tears sting behind her eyes. “Mom isn't speaking to me.”

“She'll come around. She's just upset right now.”

Upset was an understatement. Her mother had cried all the way home from Miss Callie's house, wailing so hard that Lauren was sure she'd end up sick. Wailing about how Lauren had betrayed her.

Vernon gave his daughter a hug before he stepped back and said, “Let's both make a pact to make Mommy feel better.
I'll do better, and you say whatever you need to say to make her feel better.”

Lauren pulled back, not wanting to wade into any more lies. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” her father began slowly, “she's going to have a lot of questions for you. Like she'll ask is Miss Callie the only one? How many times you were over there.”

Her father was way too late with this advice. Her mother had already pummeled her with dozens of questions, none of which Lauren answered as she hid behind her own tears. She did get out one promise to her mother, though. She promised not to keep any more secrets from her. But that had seemed to provide little solace to Joyce.

“So you want me to lie to her?”

“No.” He shook his head as if he couldn't believe Lauren had said that. “This will be the last secret. And you have to keep this one because you see how much she's hurt now. Telling her anything more will only make it worse for her. And I don't want that for your mother.”

Lauren didn't say a word to her father; she just turned around and walked out of the room. How could he ask her to do this after what happened tonight? He had to know just how tired she was of keeping these secrets.

Julian had been right. Now she, too, couldn't wait to get out of this house and away from both of them.

A
nother day, another fight. That's all Joyce and Vernon ever did.

Joyce knew that she should've left him a long time ago. But where was she supposed to go? Especially now that her parents were gone. Yes, they'd had life insurance policies, but those had barely paid for their burials and were certainly not enough for Joyce to live comfortably on.

Besides, Vernon had ruined her life. She wasn't about to leave now and allow him to enjoy a footloose and fancy-free bachelor life; not after everything he'd done to make her suffer.

And then, there was this other thing. A fact that she had a difficult time admitting to herself, but true nonetheless. Joyce still loved Vernon Robinson. More now than she ever did. That thought made her even angrier.

The roller coaster that had become her marriage was literally driving her crazy. Especially since Vernon wasn't even trying very hard to hide his indiscretions now.

Like tonight. Joyce glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was after one in the morning. There was no lie that she would believe, no work dinner that ever lasted this long.

She blew her nose into another tissue, then tossed it into
the pile that was growing on the side table. This was it. She'd cried her last tear. It was as if not even her tears believed her as they continued to fall.

She sat waiting, trying hard to wipe away her tears, but only adding more tissues to the pile. Finally, at about 2 a.m., she heard the key in the door and a second later, Vernon strolled in.

He had just closed the door behind him when he saw her sitting in the dimly lit room. He held up his hand. “Don't start, please.”

Joyce shrugged. “There's nothing to say, Vernon. I'm tired of—”

The doorbell rang, stopping her words, freezing them both. They exchanged glances and before Vernon could turn back to the door, Joyce hopped up, scurried across the room, and swung the door open before her husband could take a single step.

“May I help you?” Joyce asked the woman who stood on the step.
A hot mess
—that was the first thought that came to Joyce's mind. That was the only way to describe this woman whose mascara was so smeared her eyes now looked like a raccoon's.

“I'm Callie,” she said, with a bit of an attitude, as if Joyce was supposed to know who she was.

Joyce's eyes narrowed and with all the rage that had been building inside her for years, she growled, “What are you doing on my doorstep?”

She'd spoken as if she had courage, but now, with her arms folded across her chest, she shifted from one foot to the other.

“I want to speak with Vernon.”

Behind her Joyce heard, “Callie, I know you're not coming to my house.” Now he was the one who sounded like he had an attitude.

“I told you if you left I was coming over here.”

Vernon tried to step around Joyce, but she turned and pushed him back. “Oh, no!” Joyce said, pushing him back with a pointed elbow. To Callie she said, “Come on in.” She made a grand gesture, sweeping her hand through the air. “You want to show up here to talk to my husband, then let's talk.”

“Yeah, let's do that,” Callie said, pushing past both of them.

As Callie walked into the living room, Vernon hissed, “I cannot believe you brought this to my home.”

Callie stopped, spun, and faced him. She stared him down, showing no signs of any kind of fear. “Let you tell it, your home is at my place. And I am sick and tired of playing second fiddle while you continue to lie to me and tell me you're leaving her and the only reason you're here is because she's sick.”

Joyce's wide eyes turned to her husband. “Really?” she said, not bothering to hide the shock from her voice. When Joyce turned back to Callie, Callie's eyes were moving up and down, studying Vernon's wife as if Callie were some kind of nurse.

Then Callie said, “She doesn't look sick to me.”

“It's because I'm not,” Joyce replied. “The only thing that was happening was that I was a bit depressed. My parents died, my baby died.” Instinctively, her hand covered her stomach. “I had a right to be sad.”

Callie's eyes were on Joyce's hand. Her hand that still rested on her stomach. When she looked up at Joyce, she swallowed, looking as if someone had slammed a sledgehammer
into her own stomach. “You were pregnant?” Her words were soft.

“Callie!” he said.

“Vernon!” Callie said.

And then it was bedlam. Three voices. Screaming. Back and forth. Words rising in the air, but not one understood. It kept going and going until . . .

“Daddy, will you guys please stop fighting?” Lauren screamed louder than all of them.

The three adults stopped, turned, and together took in Lauren, who stood in the archway of the living room in flannel pajamas.

They all stared quietly for a few moments, though Joyce's thoughts were anything but quiet.
What kind of example am I setting for my daughter?

“Hey, baby.” Callie spoke first, managing to give Lauren a smile.

Joyce felt as if the ground had been snatched from beneath her feet. “Baby?” Joyce said.

Lauren glanced nervously at her father, and then at Joyce as if she didn't know whether she should speak.

“How much time have you spent with my child?” Joyce asked.

To Callie, Lauren was the trump card. The card that maybe she could play to get Joyce to finally leave. “Sweetie, your child and I have a bond that you'll never have with her. I'm the one she talks to when she's worried about her friends. I'm the one that helped her get ready for her first date; I'm the one who helped her find a dress for the homecoming dance. And oh, I'm the one she talked to about her first sexual encounter.”

Lauren's mouth fell open, and now Joyce was sure the ground had evaporated.

“I'm the one that has been a mother to her this past year,” Callie said as if she smelled Joyce's blood, “while you wallowed in depression or in whatever was wrong with you.”

Joyce looked at her daughter the same way she used to look at her husband when she was begging him to come clean. She needed Lauren to call this woman a liar, to say that what this woman was saying wasn't anywhere near the truth.

But Lauren didn't speak; Lauren couldn't speak.

“Callie, get the hell out of my house!” Vernon said, grabbing her arm.

“No!” She squirmed against his grasp. “You told me we would be together.”

But Joyce was no longer concerned about the woman who'd come to ruin her marriage. Her concern was only on the weapon that Callie had used to break her heart.

She stared at her daughter. Lauren had befriended this woman? She'd shared secrets with this woman? Joyce stood there and watched her daughter cry as Vernon and Callie did a wrestling dance toward the front door.

“How could you?” Joyce whispered to her child.

“Mama, I . . .”

“Him, I get. He's been a dog from day one. But you, my own flesh and blood. My child? You wanted to break my heart, too?”

“Mama, please . . .”

Hearing her words, Vernon turned back. Letting go of Callie, he said, “Don't blame her.” His eyes pleaded for Joyce to keep her at bay.

“Yeah, don't blame her,” Callie sneered, as if she were part of this family.

Vernon turned to her and this time without laying a hand on her, he just growled. “Get the hell out of my house.”

It was enough to make her recoil. She took several steps back. But then she stood up straight and squared her shoulders. “Fine. I'm leaving,” she said as if leaving were her idea. “But you better believe you haven't seen the end of me. I'll be damned if you toy with my heart and think it's okay.”

With a final sneer at Joyce and a good-bye smile to Lauren, Callie stormed out. In the void that her whirlwind left behind, Vernon spoke. “Let me explain.”

Before he could finish, Joyce jumped on him and clawed at his face. Lauren screamed. Every ounce worth of rage, all the years of pent-up anger, was unleashed on her husband that night. She didn't want to stop until he was dead. She wouldn't stop until she no longer felt anything inside.