Trouble Don’t Last Always (13 page)

Eleanor’s gaze was probing and direct. “Underneath all that rage and self-pity is the proud, determined man I raised. Help me; help him.”

“Does that mean you aren’t going to fire me even if he or Dr. Delacroix asks you to?”

“Do you think I’d have asked you to meet Harriet if I was considering that alternative?”

Lilly felt fear and relief at the same time. “No.”

Eleanor extended her hand. “Good. Then we’re in this together for the long haul, no matter what.”

Lilly stared at the brilliant colors surrounding her, the cloudless blue sky, and the colorful flowers and immediately thought of the black abyss Adam lived in. She lifted her hand. “No matter what.”

She was a fraud. Dr. Wakefield knew it; she knew it.

The folder in her lap, Lilly sat on the stone bench beneath the lacy canopy of a lantern tree. Dumb luck had allowed her to make some inroads with Dr. Wakefield, but if Harriet Parker was right, and Lilly had every reason to believe she was, a good amount of cunning and skill would be needed to effect a change in Dr. Wakefield. Two things Lilly didn’t have.

She was setting herself up for failure if she tried to do more than care for Dr. Wakefield’s basic needs. Why had she told Mrs. Wakefield she’d try?

Because you’re crazy,
she thought, then closed her eyes and leaned her head against the coarse bark of the tree trunk. If only it were that simple. She couldn’t forget the first time she saw Dr. Wakefield. Lost and lonely, defeated and defiant, and so very frightened.

She knew what it was to be lost and lonely, defeated and frightened. She was learning defiance. In some ways, Dr. Wakefield was her counterpart. Perhaps in helping him face his demons, she could learn to face hers.

Clutching the folder to her chest, she rose and went inside the house. There was a phone call she had to make.

Upstairs in her bedroom, Lilly stared at the white telephone on her night-stand. Fear almost consumed her.
Just make the call,
she ordered herself, but she made no move to do so. It wasn’t as if Myron could trace the call. She was in control of her life now, and it was time she started acting like it.

Without further hesitation, she snatched up the phone and dialed. The drawling voice on the other end answered on the third ring, “Good morning. The law office of Kenneth Powell. Can I help you?”

Lilly licked her dry lips. “This is Lilly Crawford. Mr. Powell asked me to call him this morning.”

“May I ask what this is in regard to, Mrs. Crawford?”

“To find out if my—my husband was served with divorce papers yet.”

“Please hold. I’ll see if Mr. Powell is available.”

Lilly mumbled, “Yes.” Eyes closed, she silently prayed,
Please let it be all right. Please le
—

“Mrs. Crawford.”

Her eyelids flew upward. “Yes.”

“Your husband was served the papers this morning.”

“Thank God.” Her trembling legs were unable to support her any longer. She sagged down on the bed.

“He also almost got himself arrested.”

“What?”

“According to the officer who served the papers, Mr. Crawford became confrontational toward him after reading you had cited mental cruelty in your petition,” Mr. Powell explained. “The only reason he wasn’t taken in was because he appeared so distraught to the officer. Your husband kept saying how he’d lost his mother and now the woman he loved.”

“He never loved me,” Lilly hissed, coming to her feet.

“He filed a missing persons report on you when you didn’t come home Thursday evening. Friday night, your church held an all-night prayer vigil for your safe return.”

Lilly was stunned, then realized she shouldn’t have been. Myron always seemed to beat her. No matter what she did, it was never good enough. “He won again.”

“This isn’t a popularity contest, Mrs. Crawford.”

“Yes, it is,” she said quietly. She didn’t try to explain to her lawyer that she’d been trying to get the people of Little Elm to respect her for as long as she could remember. For a while she had succeeded, but now ...

“He seems to think you ran off with a man.”

Lilly couldn’t think of an answer to that outrageous lie, so she said nothing. Myron was playing his role of the forsaken husband for all it was worth. She’d probably be stoned if she went back to Little Elm.

“Where are you calling from?” Mr. Powell asked in the lengthening silence.

She frowned. Was there a hint of distrust in his voice? “You believe him, don’t you?”

“You’re my client,” he answered.

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“According to the officer I spoke with a short while ago, there were tears in Mr. Crawford’s eyes when he came to the police station Thursday night. The officer understood how hard it was on him to be hit with the divorce papers while at work.”

Lilly sat on the bed again. The worst possible way for Myron to find out was on his job. It would be all over the plant in a matter of hours that she’d filed for divorce, but Myron would keep the reason to himself. To save face, he’d do everything in his power to tarnish her reputation. It wouldn’t matter that for the past six years there had not been one whisper of gossip about her, that she’d been a faithful member of the church, a faithful wife, a caring daughter-in-law.

Instead they’d remember who her mother was and, with Myron there to play the deserted, wronged husband, Lilly’s reputation would be irrevocably ruined.

She’d lost again. She’d never felt so alone in her entire life.

“I remember the bruise on your face the day you came to make an appointment.”

The statement caught her off guard and had her palming her left cheek. “You do?”

“Your husband has a volatile temper. It’s a matter of record after his near-confrontation with the officer who served the papers.”

Hope flittered through her. “Then…then you do believe me?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have taken your case. Are you in New Orleans?”

“I never made it,” she said. “My car broke down, but I got a job outside Shreveport.”

“Good. Give me the phone number. I’ll keep you posted on how things progress. Since there’s no community property, we’re probably looking at forty-five to sixty days.”

“I only want my freedom,” Lilly said, then gave him the phone number.

“I’ll be in touch.”

Lilly hung up the phone, trembling not with fear this time but with fury. Myron had destroyed her dreams; now he wanted to destroy the reputation she’d tried so hard to build. This time she’d fight. He’d taken the last thing from her.

Picking up the folder, she started reading through it again. She could do this for one simple reason. She had no choice.

Pick your battles.

Mother Crawford had always maintained that people who were smart chose when to walk and when and if they took a stand. Lilly could only hope that she had chosen the right time because, before another day came, she was going to clean Dr. Wakefield’s room.

“Where do you want your dining table?”

“What?” Adam asked, guarding the entrance to his room Tuesday afternoon.

“Your dining table,” Lilly explained. If they were going to normalize his routine as Mrs. Parker had suggested, he needed to eat at a table, and not on the bed or floor. “It’s about the height and width of a card table, except this one is inlaid and has scalloped sides. By the balcony would be nice so you can catch the breeze and hear the birds singing.”

Adam’s face turned mutinous. “I don’t want any more furniture in here.”

Lilly wasn’t surprised by his answer. She hadn’t expected him to like anything else getting in his way, but she had also thought of a way of getting around any objections. “Your mother sent it. I’m sure she’s going to ask about it when she calls tonight or tomorrow.”

“She’s going to call?”

“Wouldn’t you in her place? Where should I put it?”

Adam started to step back, then paused. Furrows raced across his forehead. “How heavy is the thing? Do you need to get Samuel?”

Surprised by his concern, Lilly blinked. “No. It’s not very heavy.”

“How heavy is not very?” he pressed.

“I’ve lifted grocery sacks that were heavier,” she told him truthfully. “Now where would you like for me to put it?”

“There’s an upholstered side chair by the door leading to the balcony.”

“Good choice.”

Placing the table in front of the chair, she left his room to get his tray. She set it on the table. “Roast turkey sandwich at twelve. Potato salad at six. Green salad at nine. Iced tea. I put your stereo control on the tray to your far left. The stereo is about forty-five degrees to the left of your table. Enjoy your lunch. Oh, yes, Odette said to leave room for dinner tonight. Chicken breasts stuffed with cornbread dressing.”

Adam closed the door. Carefully he made his way to the table, circled it, then sat down. Using his hands, he ran them across the sides of the table, then moved inward to find his napkin and flatware. He picked up his sandwich, bit, and chewed.

He was halfway through his meal before realizing his neck and back weren’t stiff from hunching over his plate and his butt didn’t hurt. He took another bite and leaned back in his chair without worrying about balancing the tray or spilling food. Maybe he’d call his mother tonight to tell her he appreciated her trusting him enough to go home and thank her for the table.

“I saw ants this morning in your room,” Lilly informed Dr. Wakefield the moment she picked up his dinner tray. She’d briefly spoken with Harriet by phone that morning, and the social worker had been very specific on being firm and consistent with Dr. Wakefield.

Folding his arms, Adam leisurely crossed his long legs at the ankles. He leaned back in his leather chair, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. Stuffed probably. For the first time he hadn’t stood guard over the door. He was probably too full to move after eating two huge stuffed chicken breasts, a tossed green salad, four corn-bread muffins, and a huge chunk of German chocolate cake.

“There are no ants in here.”

His smug assurance, sitting there all clean in clothes she had washed and ironed, his belly full, irritated her no end. She and Odette worked hard to fix his meals. Men!

Dishes rattled as she plopped the tray back on the table. Grabbing his hand, she drew it toward the floor.

Immediately he stiffened and tried to pull away. “What are you doing?”

“Proving I’m no liar.”

He snatched his hand away. “Are you crazy or just sadistic?”

“You may want to live in an ant-infested room and I might consider letting you if I didn’t have to come in here.”

“That’s what you’re paid to do,” he snapped. She aggravated him no end.

“I’m also paid to clean this room and it’s not getting done.” She tried a new tact. “First ants, then roaches. I remember when I was in elementary school and one crawled into Deloris’ ear when she was in bed sleep—”

“There are no roaches in here!” he shouted.

More accustomed to his loud outbursts, she didn’t move a muscle. “Yet.”

“Well, clean the damn room.” He waited for her to say something to aggravate him again, but nothing came. Neither had she gone out the door. He always knew when she came and went. The scent of roses trailed in her wake.

His head twisted to one side. “Say something. You’re still there. I hear you breathing.”

“You cursed me. I won’t have that anymore.”

“What?” She could easily give him a headache.

“You cursed me,” she repeated, her voice trembling.

The hurt tone got to him if nothing else did. “I did not curse you.”

The silence that came this time was longer; then he heard her footsteps and the opening of the door. “I haven’t dismissed you yet.”

The door banged shut. He was out of the chair before he knew it. He reached the door in seven steps instead of ten and jerked it open. “Come back here, Lilly.” Faintly he heard the thump of feet running down the stairs.

He took another step toward the sound, then caught himself. He became disoriented too easily to leave the room. What if he fell down the stairs and injured himself worse?

Frantically he turned, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. The rhythm only abated when he was inside his room again with the door closed. She could go to the moon for all he cared. Save him the trouble of firing her.

Taking his seat, he leaned back in his chair, found the controls, and switched on the stereo, listening to an aria from the opera
Madame Butterfly.
Unconsciously he also listened for the sound of his door opening.

Lilly got as far as the garden on the north side of the house. Adam’s room was on the south side. Her temper spent, she sat on a stone bench amid blooming azaleas and daffodils. She’d never been able to stay angry at people for long. That’s how Myron had gotten by with so much. He didn’t have to make excuses for his behavior; she made them for him.

She should have washed his favorite shirt. Should have fried the chicken crispier. Should have kept the house cleaner. She should have been better, smarter, prettier. Her best was never good enough. She’d bowed down without a word. She’d tried so hard not to be her mother’s daughter that she’d let him take her self-respect and grind it beneath his feet.

Holding her head up, she closed her eyes and let her face meet the sun. Taking a deep breath, she let the clean air clear her head. She’d started out trying to persuade Dr. Wakefield to let her clean his room and ended up doing what she had always wanted and never had the courage to do, stand up to Myron.

Her head hung between her shoulders. She’d snuck off like a thief from Myron. The words she wanted to hurl at him burned her throat like acid. She detested him for what he had done to her and herself for letting him do it. He’d stolen her dreams and she had silently let him. She’d stayed for Rafe and Mother Crawford, but she’d never had the courage to stand up to Myron. Instead, she had let him make her life a living hell.