Barbara Bradford - Everything To Gain

"No, not that, Mom, not that at all! I don't understand why Dad was always away when I was a child growing up. Or why we didn't go with him."

A small sigh escaped her. "Because he didn't really want us to go along on his digs, and anyway, as you got older you had to go to school. Here in the States. He insisted you were educated here, and so did I, to be truthful."

"So he went away on these extended trips for his work, and came back when he felt like it. How could you put up with that, Mom?"

"I loved him. And actually, Edward loved me, and he loved you, Mal, he really did. You were the apple of his eye. Look, I strove very hard to hold our marriage together, and for a very long time."

"You say he went off on his digs, and I understand. After all, that's his work. But there were other women when I was little, weren't there?"

"Eventually," she admitted.

I confided in her then. I told her about my memories of that Fourth of July weekend so long ago, when I had been a little girl of five; told her how that awful scene in the kitchen and their terrible quarrel had stayed with me all these years. Buried for so long because it was so painful and only recently resurrected, jolted into my consciousness four years ago.

She listened and made no comment when I finished.

My mother simply sat there silently, looking numb and far away, gazing past me into space.

At last she said, in a low, saddened voice, "A friend, I should say a so-called friend, told me Edward was having an affair with Mercedes Sorrell, the actress. I'm ashamed to admit that I believed her. I was young, vulnerable. Poor excuses. But anyway, I became accusatory, vile, really, and verbally abusive to your father. You remember that only too well, it seems. It was jealousy, of course. Later I discovered that it wasn't true. It had been a lie."

"But there were other women. Mom," I persisted. "You said that yourself."

"I suppose there were sometimes, when he was away on a dig for six months or longer. But it was me he loved."

"And that's why you stayed with him all those years?"

She nodded. "Anyway, your father fought hard against the separation, resisted it for a long time, Mal."

"He did?" I said, my eyes opening wider. I stared at her.

My mother stared back.

"Don't sound so surprised," she said after a second's pause. "And yes, he did resist the separation; what's more, he never wanted a divorce. Not only that, we continued to have a relationship for a long time after we separated."

"Do you mean sexual ?" I asked, pinning her with my eyes.

She nodded, looked suddenly slightly embarrassed.

"Mother, you didn't!"

"I'm afraid so. In fact, your father and I remained involved with each other, off and on, until I met David."

"Good God!"

"Mal, I still love your father, in a certain way. But I knew years ago that he and I could never be happily married."

"Why not? Obviously you continued to sleep with him for years after you split up. You could have fooled me; you always behaved as if he didn't exist."

"I know. A defense mechanism, I'm sure. Why couldn't I be happily married to him? Possibly because I don't want to be with a man who has to wander the earth. Endlessly."

"You could have wandered with him, after I'd grown up."

"It wouldn't have worked, not in the long run."

"But you did have a strong sexual bond-"

"We did. But sex doesn't necessarily make a successful marriage, Mallory. There are so many other factors involved. Your father and I couldn't have made it work, take my word for it."

"Oh, I do, Mom," I said, and I reached out and squeezed her hand. "I've wanted to say this for a long time. Mother, thanks for always being there for me. I know Dad never was."

"In his own way, he was, Mallory. Believe that."

"If you say so, I do, and I love him, Mom, and I love you too, and lately I've come to understand, that I'm quite separate from your marriage. What I mean is, I'm outside your personal relationship with him. What went on between you and Dad never had anything to do with me."

"That's right. It was just between us."

"When I look back on my childhood, I realize that we were a dysfunctional family…" My voice trailed away; I looked down at my plate, then at her.

My mother sat there waiting, as if she expected me to say more.

I shifted slightly in my chair, cleared my throat, then took a sip of iced tea. I felt slightly uncomfortable.

Eventually, I said, "I hope you don't mind me saying this, Mom."

"No, I guess not. Actually, if I'm honest, I have to admit it's the truth."

"We were a dysfunctional family, and let's face it, I did have an odd childhood. I think that's why I wanted to have the perfect family when I got married. I wanted to be the perfect wife to Andrew, the perfect mother to Jamie and Lissa. I wanted it all to be… to be… right …"

"It was, Mal, it really was. You were the best wife, the best mother."

I looked at her intently. "I did make them happy, didn't I, Mom?"

Her fingers tightened on mine, "Oh, yes, Mal, you did."

Connecticut, November 1992

It was a cold Saturday morning at the beginning of the month. The first snap of frost was in the air, after a mild October of Indian-summer weather. But nonetheless, it was a sparkling day, sunny, with a bright blue sky.

We were always busy at Indian Meadows on the weekends, but this glorious day had brought out more people than usual.

All of the shops were busy, and I was glad we had plenty of merchandise in stock. In the summer I had done a lot of heavy buying, anticipating brisk business over the holiday season. Thankfully, I had been right. If today was any kind of yardstick, then at Thanksgiving and Christmas we would be setting records.

I walked across from the Kilgram Chase Gallery to the café, and when I pushed open the door, I was startled. The place was already full, and it was only midmorning. I hovered in the doorway, looking for Eric. When I caught his eye, he hurried over.

"What a morning," he said. "We're busier than ever in here. Am I relieved we made that second parking lot down by the front gate. It's come in handy today." He grinned at me. "You were right, as usual."

"It didn't cost much, and I do believe we're here to stay, Eric."

"Have you ever had any doubts, Mal?"

I shook my head. "Have you heard from Sarah?"

"No. Why, is there a problem?"

"Probably not, but she hasn't arrived. When she phoned me from the city last night, she said she'd be leaving at six-thirty this morning, that way she'd miss the traffic and be here by nine." I checked my watch. "It's almost eleven."

"She may have been late leaving New York," he responded.

"Perhaps."

"Try not to worry, Mal."

I nodded. "I will. I'll be in the office if you need me," I said. I went out and walked over to the other red barn.

Ever since my family had been killed, I worried excessively if someone close to me was overdue. I just couldn't help it. And in any case, we lived in a dangerous world these days, one more dangerous than it had ever been, in my opinion. Carjacking was a common occurrence, guns had proliferated on the streets to such an extent it was mind-boggling, and the murder of innocent people had become the norm. Every time I picked up a newspaper or turned on the television there was some new horror that chilled me to the bone.

"Mal! Mal!"

I pivoted, saw Anna hurrying toward me.

"Can you spare me a few minutes?" she asked as she drew to a standstill.

"Sure, let's go into the office," I answered, pushing open the door to lead the way.

After we had shed our coats, we headed for the seating arrangement near the window. "Do you have some sort of problem, Anna?" I asked, sitting down on the sofa.