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I pulled up in front of Salvatore’s Pizza and was immediately swept away by a wave of nostalgia. I had been there hundreds of times, and the familiarity was comforting. This was one of my favorite hangouts growing up. Kelsey and I would play arcade games and munch on pizza, laughing and talking without a care in the world. I longed for those days, sadly knowing I would never experience that kind of freedom again. The memories kept coming, playing like a movie in my head.
One chilly, crisp fall evening under the streetlight in front of Salvatore’s, Sam had mustered up the courage to hold my hand for the first time. He’d grabbed it, his fingers feeling so good locked with mine, and we had walked all the way home like that. I had been fourteen years old, but the memory was as fresh as if it happened yesterday. The stabbing pain in my heart as I remembered it was just as fresh, too. Time hadn’t dulled the intensity of the memory or the emotion.
I couldn’t bear to think of Sam, and I told myself to stop, but I didn’t know how to remove him from my mind. I hadn’t been able to extricate him living thousands of miles away in New York, so how could I possibly do it here? Woodridge and Sam were conjoined in my mind; it was impossible to separate the two.
Everything about this town reminded me of him and the intense, all-consuming love we shared. When I thought of things rationally, it seemed ridiculous that I was still hung up on a boy I’d loved when I was just fourteen. The problem was that nothing about Sam had ever been rational, and that was what I loved most about him.
When I was young, I couldn’t imagine my life without Sam in it, but circumstances forced me to do just that. Jonathan had been my lifeline, my parachute. He stopped me from hitting rock bottom. Did I love him? In a lot of ways I did, but I knew my love had conditions. For the entirety of my marriage, I’d tried to give my heart to Jonathan. He had everything else—my loyalty, my trust, and my friendship. Despite my best attempts, I’d known it was useless, and deep down I knew why. I couldn’t give my heart to my husband because it belonged to Samuel Mooney, and it had since I was a teenager. The thought of Sam was like a stabbing pain in my chest. When I allowed myself to think of him, I could barely breathe. I could picture him so clearly in my mind, and sometimes I allowed myself time to remember. I remembered how the brush of his hands on my skin made me feel like my feet weren’t touching the ground. I remembered the tingling sensation of his lips on mine, the heady rush when we snuck away together, our interlocked bodies hidden by the dune grass. With Sam, it was all passion all the time. We didn’t know how to come up for air. I barely recognized the girl I was when we’d been together.
Sam had been the only person who could make me forget myself. When I was with him, all the knots in my stomach disappeared and the anxiety that weighed me down ceased to exist. I’d felt free with him, and I ached to feel that way again. He was intricately interwoven into everything in this town, and the memories of him chased me down like a pack of wolves. Our breakup had left me devastated, especially when I had to live with the knowledge that it was my own fault. I could no longer blame Sam as I once had.
I walked inside Salvatore’s, and the smell of oregano, basil, and pizza dough wafted through the air. I approached the large counter to place my order, and waited only a second before Anthony Salvatore himself arrived. Mr. Salvatore had owned the place since I was a child, and I was surprised he was still around. I’d thought he was old when I was a teenager, but he looked exactly the same, and appeared to be in surprisingly good health.
“Hope West, is that you?” Mr. Salvatore squinted through his round glasses at me. His bushy eyebrows rose in surprise.
“It’s me, Mr. Salvatore. How are you?” I smiled widely at the old man.
“I never thought you’d come back. I’m sorry about your mother. I heard she was sick.”
“Thanks, Mr. Salvatore. That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re a good girl, Hope. You always were a good girl. You know, I read all your books. My wife scoops them right up as fast as you write them. When she’s done, I steal them from her. I know they’re love stories, and mostly for women, but I still like them. You’ve done well for yourself, girl.”
“I appreciate it, Mr. Salvatore.” I smiled at him, feeling happy for the first time since I had arrived. “I need to order some pizza.”
“The usual? Or have your taste buds changed in the last ten years?”
“The usual will be great. Nothing better than your Italian Supreme.”
He disappeared into the kitchen to prepare my order. I sat at the small table in front of the counter and waited, tracing my fingers over the graffiti carved into the wood. Years ago, Sam and I had carved our initials somewhere on this table. I searched, but couldn’t find them.
A few minutes later, Mr. Salvatore handed me the pizza box. I smiled and practically salivated at the aroma. I couldn’t wait to dig in. Tipping him generously, I got in the car and headed home. The prospect of sharing a meal and the remainder of the evening with my mother made me nervous, but I needed to get used to it. This would be the first of many uncomfortable days ahead.
I pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. I scanned the yard next door for the little girl I’d seen earlier, but she wasn’t there. I pictured her inside her warm, cozy, cheerful house. It was dark now, and she was probably snuggled up in front of the fireplace in her fuzzy pajamas, listening to her mother read her a book. I hoped her childhood was happier than mine; no little girl deserved the sad upbringing I’d received. I grabbed the pizza box and headed inside.
My mom was in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher and wiping down the already spotless countertops. She held firmly to the old adage that cleanliness was next to godliness. I imagined God himself would be hard-pressed to find anything wrong with my mother’s housekeeping skills. It was impossible to spot even a speck of dirt in her home.
Nothing was out of place here—besides me. I was the one thing she’d never been able to control; the one thing she simply couldn’t understand. I set the pizza box on the kitchen counter, and my mother stopped cleaning and glanced up at me. She greeted me with her permanent frown, as if my very existence was a disappointment to her.
“Mr. Salvatore says hello,” I began, attempting to break the ice.
“He’s a nice man. I haven’t been there in a long time. It seems silly to order food when I’m perfectly capable of making my own. Most folks these days are just too lazy to do any work themselves.” She looked pointedly at me, obviously insinuating that I was one of those lazy people.
“Well, sometimes it’s nice not to have to do the work. Should we eat in the kitchen?” I went to the cupboard and got down two plates and some silverware, ignoring her glare as I carried them to the large kitchen table.
“Yes, that will be fine.” She scowled.
The view of the ocean from the kitchen was fantastic. French doors opened from the dining area onto the back porch, and the beach was right there, beckoning you closer. I’d never fully appreciated the view until now, when I was trying so hard not to look at my mom.
I sat at one end of the table, and she sat at the other. The distance between us was more than just physical, and I had no idea how to bridge the gap. We were going to have to coexist for this arrangement to work. We could either continue to ignore each other, or have a screaming match and get it out in the open. I decided to jump into the current headfirst.
“So, were you planning to tell me you’re sick?” I still couldn’t quite bring myself to make eye contact with her.
“No. I wasn’t.” She didn’t elaborate, and when I glanced her way I saw that she was doing nothing but pushing the mushrooms around on her plate. No wonder she was skin and bones.
“You should have told me. It was hurtful to hear about it from Helen. You are my mother, after all. You should have told me yourself.” My voice was sharper than I intended it to be, but I seemed to have little control over my emotions.
I picked at the pizza in front of me as the knots in my stomach tightened. I probably should have just made small talk, but I couldn’t help myself. She always had that effect on me. No matter what I did, it was the wrong thing.
“Hope, my decision had nothing to do with you. It was about me and my own comfort. I don’t want or need your pity. You made it clear ten years ago that I mean very little to you.” My mom refused to meet my eyes.
I noticed that she hadn’t eaten a bite and my anger rose. That was so like her, to take my well-intentioned words and turn them against me. She was an expert at always making me feel like the bad guy.
“Well, Mom, perhaps if you weren’t so difficult, I would have been more inclined to stick around.” The words just fell out of my mouth. She managed to bring out the very worst in me. I wanted to lash out at her; I wanted to make her feel as badly as I did. I wasn’t good enough for her. No matter how hard I tried, I never had been.
“You always were an ungrateful girl. I can see you haven’t changed one bit.” Finally, she raised her eyes to meet mine. “Where’s that fancy husband of yours, anyway?”
“Jonathan and I are getting a divorce. I left him two weeks ago.” I had a hard time looking her in the eyes while I spoke the truth about my failed marriage, but I tried anyway.
“I can’t say I’m surprised. The two of you thought you were better than the rest of us—so high-and-mighty. Running off to New York together.” Her next words pierced my heart. “Why didn’t you have children? My guess is that neither of you could think beyond yourselves.”
The hits just kept on coming. My hands began to shake and I felt as if I might expel the small amount of pizza I’d already eaten. I thought about the baby I’d never have, and wondered how my mother could be so heartless. Losing my baby was the final nail in the coffin of my decimated life.
Three months ago I’d found out I was pregnant, and while I was shocked, I was also ecstatic. I’d never taken birth control, and after years of not conceiving, I assumed there was something wrong with me. My doctor assured me that I was perfectly healthy, but it still never happened. I came to the conclusion that I would never have children, and I accepted it.
So, when my doctor informed me that the sickness and missed period meant that I was pregnant, I couldn’t have been happier. Jonathan seemed happy, too. In typical Jonathan fashion, he came home the next afternoon with an embarrassingly expensive sapphire necklace, since September would be our baby’s birth month. Jonathan expressed his love with elaborate gifts, and even though they didn’t mean as much to me as they did to him, I’d learned through the years to graciously receive them. I’d dropped the necklace on his side of our bed the day I left New York for good. I’m sure he found it when he moved back in.
When I discovered the pregnancy, I had no idea he was having an affair. After I saw the note, written on a well-worn sheet of pink paper that reeked of cheap perfume by the woman who apparently gave him all the things I didn’t, I told Jonathan to leave and never come back. To make matters worse, the woman was one of his students. I’d been exchanged for a starry-eyed college girl who had a crush on her professor.
I’d known my marriage was over, but I still had my baby. I was more than capable of being a single parent if Jonathan wasn’t interested in having a family. But a few days later, the awful cramping and bleeding crushed the last of my dreams. My doctor said I’d miscarried, and it was more than likely a result of stress. It was just one more reason to blame Jonathan.
My mom stared at me expectantly, waiting for an answer to her question about why we hadn’t had children. I measured my words and tried to hide the wavering of my voice as I spoke. “I had a miscarriage recently, Mom, so it looks like you have nothing to worry about. Being a grandmother isn’t something you’ll have to endure anytime soon.”
My heart was being ripped in half, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing her words hurt me. I certainly didn’t expect sympathy from her, but I’d forgotten just how cruel she could be. I was on the verge of tears, but I was equally determined not to show weakness. I took a deep breath and willed myself to hold it together.
“Look, I know you aren’t happy about me being here. You’ve made that abundantly clear. News flash... this isn’t exactly a vacation for me, either. Like it or not, I’m your daughter, and it’s my duty to help you right now. That’s what I’m here to do. Nothing more, nothing less. You don’t have to like it. I don’t.” My brown eyes locked on to her blue ones, and for a moment, time stopped.
I could sense her internal struggle; I knew her pride was warring with her reality, and I felt a fleeting moment of sympathy for her. “Why don’t you make it easier on both of us and at least try to be civil, Mom?”
“I said before I don’t need you. I can take care of myself, just as I’ve done for as long as I can remember. Stay here if you want, Hope, but don’t expect me to ask for your help.” Without another word, she picked up her plate, scraped the uneaten pizza into the trash, and then rinsed the plate before placing it in the dishwasher. She exited the room without a glance in my direction, going into her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.
I sat at the table, completely alone, but a lot more relaxed now that she was gone. I ate my pizza, and then helped myself to a second slice. As I chewed, I mulled over the impossible situation in which I found myself. I wanted to leave, but my mom’s friend, Helen, was right; my obligation was here. My mom would need my help eventually, even if she didn’t want to admit it right now. Hopefully, in time, the house wouldn’t feel like such a war zone.
I finished eating, put the leftovers in the refrigerator, and made sure the kitchen was once again spotless before retreating to my bedroom. After changing into my pajamas, I climbed into my childhood bed. I couldn’t believe I was there. The last few weeks felt like a bad dream from which I desperately wanted to awaken. Unfortunately, this nightmare was my reality. I held out no hope that tomorrow would be any better.
