Annabelle

So Soon

Lovey always says that expectations ruin relationships. I had tried to apply that advice in my marriage with Ben, take things day by day, for what they are, and not place any unrealistic ideals on him. But, sitting there behind the steering wheel, blinking and blinking, I realized that, yes, I had a few expectations of my husband. And they weren’t all that unrealistic.

I bet you could count the number of women who have ever wished to see a dead body in the back of their husband’s car on one hand. I mean, it’s a pretty twisted lady who wants her husband to be a murderer. But, with a body, there can be an explanation. Maybe he was framed. Maybe someone planted the body in his car. I could picture myself, hair fluffed, running down the streets of some courtroom drama, the fearless, undaunted jail widow determined to prove her husband’s innocence.

Or maybe he was a murderer and landed in that cell rightfully. At least in that scenario there’s some sort of closure. Second-guessing your judgment, sure. Mourning the person you thought you knew, absolutely. But the truth is out there, and there’s no decision to make. He’s gone for fifty to life whether you decide to forgive him or not.

When your husband unzips his travel golf bag, though, and there’s a body in it, but, instead of a cold, blue-lipped remainder of someone who has wronged him, out steps a tiny, wedge-heeled, mid-thigh-length-dress-wearing vestige of your brand-new BFF, the situation is a little less black-and-white. I could feel my face scrunching in confusion only seconds before my eyes widened. I gasped, my hands glued to the steering wheel.

I wanted to think that maybe they were planning me a surprise party and didn’t want to give it away. I wanted to think that she had run by to borrow something or ask him a question or make plans for the weekend. But there’s only one scenario so dire that it necessitates your husband carrying your five-foot friend down the stairs in a golf bag. And it can only end in the confessional—or the graveyard. Either way, I can guarantee you Jesus ain’t pleased when you tell him what you’ve done.

My first instinct was to peel away from the curb and slam into them both. But I got my composure. No one wants her baby to be born in prison. As Laura Anne sat up, her legs still trapped in the zipped black bag, she laughed like she had just been crowned prom queen all over again. I snapped six or seven photos with my iPhone like I was going to have to prove this to the insurance company. Maybe it was that I was going to have to prove it to myself later on when I saw Ben again and couldn’t possibly imagine that a love so deep could actually have been so fleeting.

As I was about to turn the corner and confront them, watch them stutter and stumble like the last drunk leaving the bar, my phone rang. I tried to press “Decline,” inadvertently hit “Accept” and said, “Mom, this isn’t the best time. Could I call you later?”

“Lovey fell,” she said. I could feel the anxiety rising in my stomach.

“What do you mean she fell?”

“She was up on a ladder, and she fell. They don’t know if her hip broke and caused her to fall or if the fall made her hip break.”

I gasped. A hip break wasn’t good. My other grandfather had died of pneumonia after a hip break. My life with Lovey flashed through my mind. Sitting on the counter while she made me those fantastic, lumpy, chocolate milkshakes that were the only real antidote to a sweltering summer day. Lovey pacing the length of the fence during my most heated tennis matches like an anxious father outside the delivery room. Lovey bringing me a piping hot cup of coffee, a cold towel, two aspirin and an amused smirk the morning of my very first hangover. When I closed my eyes, I could see her laughing, that great, uninhibited laugh that took over her entire body. And I sped away from the stop sign toward Raleigh, toward Lovey.

“She’s going into surgery,” Mom said, and I could hear Lovey hollering in the background.

“Darling, now listen,” she said, “I am going to be fine. Don’t you dare get yourself all in a tizzy. The last thing I need is you flying down the highway trying to get to me.”

“Too late,” I said. “I’m already on the interstate.” That nausea rose to the surface, and I realized, finally, that it wasn’t just my anxiety. It was my child. Even though it should have made me feel more afraid of what I would do without Ben, incongruously, realizing that this child I had prayed for was right there made me feel like it was going to be all right.

But that didn’t change the fact that my eighty-seven-year-old Lovey was going under the knife. What if I didn’t make it in time? What if I didn’t get to say good-bye to one of the most important and influential women in my life?

“Annabelle, I’m serious. I don’t need you.”

“Well, Lovey,” I said, cringing at the thoughts that I had just kissed the same lips that Laura Anne had kissed, that I was pregnant with that man’s baby, “I just might need you.” I could feel the tears coming to my eyes as I said, “So you damn well better not die.”

“Oh, honey,” she said. “Don’t worry one bit about that. I talked with God this morning while I was lying there waiting for the ambulance, and He says it isn’t my time.”

I laughed through my tears. Lovey spent every Sunday in the front row of the Episcopal church, the same prayer book she’d gotten at her wedding on her lap. I wasn’t a bit worried about where she’d go when she went. I just wasn’t ready. Especially not now.

“Lovey, what on earth were you doing up on a ladder?”

“Why shouldn’t I be on a ladder?”

“Well, because you’re eighty-seven years old?”

“That’s offensive,” she snapped.

“It’s not offensive, Lovey; it’s true. You could so easily have met the same fate as Dr. Juvenal Urbino.”

The mere mention of the name was like a steamroller flattening me into the pavement. I was back in Waffle House, talking about Love in the Time of Cholera, back in Ben’s apartment, in his bed, basking in the glow of pure satisfaction and sticky, potent love.

She snickered. “Please. Of all the characters in that book, I think we all know I’m not him.” Then under her breath she said, “Damn fool up on that ladder trying to get a parrot.”

I turned my head to change lanes and realized that my pulse had slowed a bit. Talking to Lovey made me feel like she was going to be okay—and like, somehow, a ruined marriage and single motherhood wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to me. My breath caught in my throat and I faked a bad signal, knowing I couldn’t hold on a minute longer. The pipe burst and the devastation and humiliation all came flooding out in one big sob. Ben was the love of my life. My forever.

I had never expected forever to end so soon.

•   •   •

When it comes to family, if someone on the outside tries to criticize, they’d better watch out. But sisters? Well, they’re allowed to talk about each other just a little. So I smiled when I walked into the hospital waiting room and heard Martha saying, “Of course Lauren couldn’t possibly make it.”

As we all exchanged hellos, I was thankful that the tears staining my face could easily have been for my grandmother. “I mean, really,” Martha continued. “Like her wedding planning is so much more important than everyone else’s job. This is your mother for God’s sake.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “Let’s place bets on how much she’s going to help during the recovery and rehab process.”

Mom laughed. “Right. I’m not holding my breath on that one.”

Martha pushed her glasses back up her nose, and, looking down at the newspaper, said, “She had to have all those horrible transfusions during the last surgery. I think one of us should get some blood ready for her just in case.”

Sally shook her head. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of. Do you know how well blood is screened before it’s used for transfusions?”

Louise, uncharacteristically ruffled, looked up from her crossword puzzle. “It was screened well in 1984 too, but people still got AIDS because we didn’t know what it was yet.” She fiddled with the turquoise stud in her ear and said, “Well, I’m certainly not standing in line to do it. I think the blood is fine, and I always pass out when I give.”

Sally crossed her arms. “I have low iron. They won’t even let me give blood.”

Martha shrugged. “We all remember the Broughton High blood drive incident, right?”

Mom sighed and stood up. “I’ll give the blood, okay? It’s not that big of a deal.”

I linked my arm with hers and said, “I’ll go with you to talk to someone about that.”

It would have been as good a time as any to tell her. But the truth was so bad, so convoluted, so scary, that I couldn’t face it yet. In fact, I think I was in denial. I was captaining the ship, and I could see the water filling it, yet, somehow, I hadn’t faced that it was, in fact, going to capsize. Maybe it was the thrill of knowing that I was going to get to be a mother, or maybe it was that I have the tendency to try to be strong when everyone around me is crumbling. But I was something bordering on chipper that day.

Mom and I approached the nurse’s station, and Tammy, the head nurse on duty that day, smiled from behind the desk. I think we were her favorite patient family. “What can I do for you girls? Is that sweet daddy of yours still in there with your momma?”

Mom nodded. “Yup. And just as clear as a bell today.” She smiled. “Tammy, I was wondering if I could give some blood for Momma in case she has to have a transfusion.”

She bit her lip. “Well, you can. But it has to go through the same screening process as everybody else’s, so it’s unlikely that it would be ready in time to use for her surgery.”

Mom nodded. “Well, can I do it anyway so I don’t have to go back there and deal with those lunatics?”

Tammy laughed. “We can always use some good blood. What type are you, sweetie?”

“B, I’m pretty sure,” Mom said. “I try to give blood a couple of times a year.”

Tammy nodded. “Well, your mother is A positive, so she can’t take your blood anyway. Looks like you’re off the hook!”

Mom grimaced. “Daddy is A positive too, so maybe he could give for her? Martha is dead set that some family blood will be waiting in case of emergency.”

I laughed, and, before I could even think about the ramifications of what I was saying, I blurted out, “That’s impossible. If they’re both A positive, you can’t possibly be B.”

“What do you mean?”

Tammy waved her hand. “I’m sure there’s just some sort of mix-up. Maybe your daddy isn’t actually A, or you’re not actually B.”

Mom didn’t say anything, but you could see the slight change in the color of her face.

“How do you know what D-daddy’s blood type is anyway?” I asked.

Instead of answering, she put her finger up. “I’ll be right back.”

I followed her to the waiting room and watched, perplexed, as she snatched her wallet out of her pocketbook and rifled around while saying, “What blood type are you?” to her sisters.

“I’m A positive,” Louise practically sang. “I remember because, obviously, I’d never be anything less than an A plus.”

“A negative,” Martha said.

Sally rolled her eyes and tapped her pencil on the newspaper she was now holding, I assumed trying to fill in the answers Louise couldn’t on the crossword. “I’m O. The damn universal donor.” She sighed. “Please tell me you are too. Could you store some blood for me? I’m always nervous I won’t be able to get any when North Korea bombs us to smithereens.”

Mom pulled a card out of her wallet and said nothing, practically stomping back to the nurse’s station. “See,” she said to Tammy, thrusting her Red Cross blood donor card in her face. “B.”

Tammy nodded. “Well, people make mistakes all the time. It’s probably just a card that got printed wrong.”

But I think we all knew right then and there that the Red Cross didn’t make a lot of blood-typing mistakes. So we must have been wrong about D-daddy’s blood type. Mom walked back to the waiting room, in a bit of a huff. I could tell she was trying to look calm, but that was a bothersome discovery to say the least. I tried to think, sitting quietly by myself. Could my mom have been adopted? I looked from my mom to her sisters and back again. The four women in that room had different hair color and even different eye color, but that was it. They were the same height, the same body type, the same facial bone structure. They even, all four of them, had the exact same nose. There was no conceivable way that they weren’t blood. So that was that. She was just wrong about D-daddy’s blood type. I pulled out my phone and checked my e-mail. But, as I trashed one message after another, I couldn’t delete the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

•   •   •

Lovey always says that the clothes may make the man, but the jewelry makes the woman. And she certainly had enough to go around. When I woke up six mornings after arriving in Raleigh, completely nauseated, mostly from the pregnancy, partly from the fact that I had to go back to Salisbury and face the music, I was thinking about borrowing some of Lovey’s jewelry.

Ben was home, waiting, having no idea that I knew what he’d been up to. I should have been going over in my mind what I was going to say, what I was going to do. But I felt like my entire life was hanging by one thin spider silk. If he admitted the affair, it was going to break immediately. If he didn’t admit it, I would know that he was lying and be forced to make a decision, to tangle myself in the web. Either way, my marriage and my husband were irrevocably changed. So, instead of playing it out in my mind, I thought about jewelry.

I didn’t know what I would do yet. Would I leave? The idea of being without Ben, even after how devastated I was, seemed like a fish trying to breathe out of water. And there was the baby to think about. I put my hand to my stomach and immediately felt sad. Even if I stayed, this baby, which had been made out of so much love, would never get to experience the perfection of what Ben and I had had.

That was the night that we had decided was a great time for Laura Anne and Jack to throw the “welcome to town” party she had insisted on hosting for us. Of course, when I agreed, I had no idea that she and my husband were sleeping together. The offer would have seemed less sincere.

I should have canceled the party, but I wasn’t ready for Ben to think something was amiss yet. Not before I had made up my mind about how our future would look. And, if I was going to go down, I was going to go down looking good. I had had another one of Lovey’s cocktail dresses fitted for the occasion, that, thank the Lord, still fit, paired with Christian Louboutins that I had put on my credit card. And Lovey’s lockbox, a treasure trove of jewels that were too fabulous to even be seen in the light of day, was the only missing piece.

I couldn’t put my finger on what, but, in one way or another, I just knew that Lovey had been lying about my mom her entire life. But, in reality, I didn’t have any proof that my suspicions were valid. And I needed jewelry. I needed a piece so statement making that it said, I don’t care if you’re sleeping with my husband, you whore. I’m still better than you.

That was a pretty serious thing to say with a piece of jewelry. So I went to the nursing home room where Lovey was finally recuperating, and, after a few minutes of small talk said, “So, Lovey, how about letting your favorite granddaughter wear your David Webb elephant bracelet tonight?”

Lovey laughed a little longer than usual, which made me know that she was still on a bit of pain medication. “So that’s the one, huh?”

I winked at her. “Is there really anything else?”

I thought of the thick gold bracelet, the elephant’s trunk straight up in the air, creating a locking clasp, the diamond and jeweled head that was so shining and bright it seemed to have its own light source. It was probably the most expensive piece in Lovey’s collection. More than her massive diamonds or the huge emeralds that used to cascade down her ears and almost onto her shoulders. And it was the kind of piece that even the woman in the room who wants to pretend she doesn’t think you’re amazing absolutely must comment on.

So, sure, a bracelet wasn’t going to change the fact that I had to face—and, even worse—be nice to, a woman who had taken a sledgehammer to the glass-front armoire of my life. And it wasn’t going to change the fact that I was pregnant, and, for all intents and purposes, alone. But it would be something.

Lovey laughed again, “Sure, darling. Just be careful. It’s insured, but you and I both know it’s completely irreplaceable.”

She pointed to the laminate nightstand and said, “Just make sure you ask for Melissa. She knows how to get into everything.”

I grabbed Lovey’s keys, kissed her and D-daddy good-bye and thought again that there was no way that those two, the most faithful and loving people I’d ever known, were hiding something as huge as their daughter’s parentage. It had to have been some sort of mistake.

In the long, marble lobby of the bank, smelling of ink and fresh bills, I spotted Melissa right off behind her teller stand. She was short and broad and the kind of girl that you would have described as athletic or stocky. Her blunt haircut was just right for making her seem like she had cheekbones, and, no matter what, she was one of the nicest girls I knew. “Annabelle!”

She flew out from behind the long line of teller stands and embraced me in a hug, which felt good after the few days that I had had. And it made me miss my old life, where I was comfortable, where I had friends and acquaintances and knew everyone in the grocery store. That was a good thing because, no matter my feelings about it, I was going to have to move back to Raleigh if I left Ben. There was no way I could raise a baby on my own without my parents’ help. The thought of that was unutterably depressing. Melissa and I exchanged pleasantries, and I said, conspiratorially, “I’m here to borrow one of Lovey’s bracelets, and she said you were the one who knew how to get to all the good stuff.”

She laughed, grabbed her huge ring of keys and, entering the vault, passing over all of the small doors, made her way to a huge opening at the top. She stood on a small stepladder, put her key in first, then mine, and turned. I stood on my tiptoes to help her remove the massive drawer that contained many of Lovey’s prized possessions.

“I better get back out there,” she said. I could lock the box with only my key.

“Thanks,” I said, anxious to get digging in the gem mine of Lovey and D-daddy’s lockbox. Dozens of matching navy blue felt bags held triple and quadruple strands of pearls with diamond clasps, sapphire clasps, ruby clasps. Earrings of every shape and size, stone and cut, rings from every decade of D-daddy and Lovey’s life together, and bracelets so heavy your arm was more toned after wearing them.

I smiled as I removed the trinkets, hearing D-daddy say, “When you have this many girls, you have to have enough jewelry to leave behind. So you can’t have one fantastic bracelet, you have to have five.”

If that was true, then Lovey and D-daddy could have had a dozen girls, no problem.

I sifted through all of the jewelry but wasn’t able to find the precise piece I was looking for. I piled them all back up, locked the door, and sighed. As I did, I realized that I probably should have just picked another piece. But if it wasn’t in the lockbox, that meant the treasure was probably in Lovey’s jewelry box at home. I’d swing by there when I left.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Melissa asked.

I shrugged. “Lovey was going to let me borrow her bracelet to wear for this party I’m going to, but I don’t see it in the box.”

Melissa smacked her gum. “Well she has two, you know.”

“Ohhhh,” I said. “It must be the wrong one.”

She grabbed her massive key ring again and stepped into the vault, holding her hand out for Lovey’s keys. “This key is for the big one, but this key is for the little one.”

I nodded, searching my brain for some sort of memory, for some inkling that Lovey had told me about another box, had told me to look somewhere besides the usual place. I started to tell Melissa it was okay. I started to tell her not to worry about it. But, before I even had a chance, she had inserted Lovey’s key, was fitting her key inside too, and the small silver door swung open.

“Thanks, Melissa,” I said. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“Take your time, shug.”

I lifted the thin metal handle and slid the drawer out of its cubby slowly, putting one hand underneath to support its weight. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I reminded myself. I was simply going to look quickly for the bracelet, put the things back and leave. Plus, it wasn’t like I cared about rummaging through Lovey and D-daddy’s stock certificates and bearer bonds.

I set the drawer on the floor, opened the lid and was surprised and delighted to find that, perched right on top, was the prize I was hunting. I started to put the box away and leave when I realized that, far from boring paperwork, the drawer was filled with memorabilia from Lovey and D-daddy’s life together. Old passports, wedding pictures, train tickets, snapshots of my mom and my aunts. I pulled out each memento, so happy that I was able to see all of these beautiful things. I put my hand to my stomach and took a deep breath. No matter what I decided about Ben, it was all going to be okay. Because I had this amazing, close-knit family that would stand by me and support me and help me raise this child. It was a moment of total comfort.

In the bottom of the box, in a neat stack, were five, perfect birth certificates, in age order. Sally, Martha, Lauren, Louise, Jean. Underneath was a nondescript-looking white envelope, the edges yellowed with age. I opened it carefully to find another birth certificate with my mother’s name on it. I unfolded it, and, as I opened it, it seemed that another paper was stuck to it, almost glued. I rubbed the pages between my fingers, the way I would have a pair of fresh dollar bills. What I peeled from the back of the birth certificate was a carefully completed—in Lovey’s neat print—“Application for a Copy of a North Carolina Birth Certificate.” It was stamped “Copy.” I didn’t think much of it, figuring that Mom had gotten an extra birth certificate when she was married or traveling, and put it back in the box. As I folded the form, a checked box caught my eye. I didn’t even mean to read it; I didn’t mean to look.

But, there it was, unavoidable, on this form in Lovey’s own handwriting. Under “Your Relationship to the Person Whose Certificate Is Requested” the box was checked “Parent.” And under the column marked “Record Changes,” “Adoption” was checked.

I felt my breath catch in my throat, slammed the lid to the box, slid it back into its spot and ran out of the vault. “Thanks, Melissa,” I called, trying to rationalize in my mind what I had just seen.

“See you later, shug. Tell your momma and them I said hey.”

“Sure will.”

I walked out of the bank, my head lowered to avoid talking to anyone I passed on the way out. I felt like the bank was being held up at gunpoint and I was just standing there, watching a robber hold innocent people ransom, and not doing a thing about it.

I must have read it wrong, I kept reminding myself. I didn’t see what I thought I saw. Or maybe I just didn’t understand it. All of those questions I had had at the hospital flooded back to my mind, all at once.

With every step, I reasoned it out yet again. Mom’s blood type means she can’t be Lovey and D-daddy’s child. But she looks exactly like her sisters. There’s no way she’s adopted.

But there it was. In the box. Lovey had filled out a form. She had checked that she was the parent. And she was requesting that a change be made due to her daughter’s adoption. Her daughter’s adoption. I gasped and stopped dead in my tracks in the middle of the parking lot. And then I started walking again. D-daddy wasn’t my mother’s father at all. But there was no doubt that my mother and her sisters were the thickest blood you could imagine. So there was only one explanation. Lovey had cheated on him with another man and he, in his infinite mercy, had forgiven Lovey. He had taken her back and taken her love child as his own.

My phone rang, and I saw “Mom” flash across the screen. How could I be normal now, knowing full well that I was the bearer of a secret so massive? I wished so hard that I’d never opened that lockbox, that I’d never seen that birth certificate. But that’s the thing about a secret that haunts your dreams and fills those empty spaces in your mind. Once you know a thing so huge, you can never un-know it again.