Barbara Delinsky: Not My Daughter

"Not true. I just don't want to be hurt."

"Me, neither, which is probably why I've never said the m-word before. Only this is ridiculous." His eyes softened. "Hell, Susie, I've always loved you."

Her heart tripped. They had never used the l-word either. Oh, she had said it to friends over the years, as in Rick is a love , or I just love Rick, but never aloud and face-to-face. "You loved me even when you were twenty-two?" she asked skeptically, because the declaration was too neat. One intimate summer; that was it. They had been young and unformed, certainly different from the adults they were today.

"Smitten," he said without blinking. "There was never a doubt. Do you not love me?"

She barely had to think. "Of course I love you."

"So what's the problem?"

Susan tried to think of one. Yes, love was a given, she realized. She and Rick got along too well for it not to be. Formalizing their relationship was something else. Somewhere around the time she left home, pregnant with Lily, she had crossed marriage off her list of dreams. She had her daughter; that was enough.

"See?" he argued. "You always push me away."

"No. You always leave."

"And you let me go, like I'm not worth keeping."

"Are you kidding?" she cried. "Why do you think I've never looked at anyone else? No one ever came close ."

"Okay," he said, amending the charge, "then you let me go like you're not worth keeping. Is that your father's legacy? That you aren't good enough to keep?"

Susan thought of recent weeks, when everything she had worked so hard to achieve had been questioned. Yes, this was what she brought from the past, and it haunted her still. She was a good educator. She was a good mother. But good enough? "I'm flawed."

He made a frustrated sound. "We're all flawed. So we can either be flawed separately or together. There's your choice."

"It's not that simple."

"It is. None of us is perfect. God knows I'm not, or I would have pushed this issue a long time ago."

She studied his handsome face. He had lost some of his tan to the New England winter, and his hair was longer than usual, but his eyes were as blue, his voice as rich. She couldn't imagine his not having shared that with people all over the world. Marriage meant giving it up.

"You wouldn't have," she said.

"You're right. Because I got a rush being in war zones or running alongside trucks bringing rice to the starving poor. My high was being recognized, adulated , which makes my point. I am totally flawed. So we make mistakes. So we're sometimes slow to see them. Slow doesn't mean never."

"But what if I can't be a good wife?"

"What if I can't be a good husband? C'mon, hon. We'll do our best."

She rubbed her forehead. "This is a big step."

He came closer. Framing her face with his hands, his mesmerizing blue eyes steady, he asked so gently that her heart melted, "What scares you most?"

"You," she whispered. "Me. Change. I'm used to controlling my life."

Slipping his fingers into her hair, he lifted her face and gave her one of those kisses that tasted of longing, the kind of kiss that made her mindless, the kind she remembered most when he was gone.

Clutching his wrists, she drew back. "Oh-ho, no. That will not work. This has to be a rational discussion."

"About control," he conceded. "Would it be so awful to share it?"

Terrifying , she thought. I'd be hurt .

Granted, Rick had never hurt her. What he promised, he gave. But then, she had never asked for much.

You let me go, he said, and he was right. Like you're not worth keeping, he said. Right again. But how does one get rid of old baggage?

She felt the loss of his warmth when he stepped back. "Lots to think about," he said and returned to his packing.

Susan couldn't think about much else, what with a houseful of friends who were happy to wait on Lily, cook dinner, and occupy Ellen. Once Rick left, she took refuge in his room. It always smelled woodsy when he was around. She breathed it in for a bit before reluctantly stripping the bed.

She had just unfolded fresh sheets when her mother appeared and went to the far side of the bed. Catching a fitted corner, Ellen stretched it over the mattress. "It's good of you to have me here." She smoothed the sheet with a hand.

"I wouldn't have you any other place."

"I'm displacing Rick."

Who wanted a bigger house. Who wanted marriage . "That's okay." Susan needed to think. She whipped the top sheet out over the bed. "How long will you and Big Rick stay?"

Ellen brought the sheet down on her side. "I can't speak for him. We're just friends who happen to share a granddaughter." Susan was thinking that Ellen was finally out from under her husband's thumb and could do whatever she wanted with any man, when Ellen added, "He can either drop me off in Oklahoma on his way back west. Or I can stay. I don't want to put you out."

"I invited you."

"I'll only stay as long as I can help."

Help? Susan eyed her blankly.

Ellen spoke quickly. "The doctor wants Lily off her feet for a few days, and you have to get back to work. And they want to keep checking on the baby, so Lily will have to go for tests. And once he's born he'll need extra care."

The implication was that she might stay awhile. Rick. And Ellen? And a baby? If change was an issue, this was a triple whammy, and that was totally apart from the history Susan had with her mother. Tension? Disapproval? Rejection? Did she want it? Need it?

"I could fly back and forth," Ellen said, sounding defensive. "I have the money."

"You hate flying."

"I can do it."

"You don't really want to."

"How do you know?" She softened. "Not that you need me here. You have Rick. You have friends."

"I need you here," Susan said. It was a knee-jerk reaction-but not. The only way to deal with old baggage was to open it up and sort through. How else to know what to keep and what to toss?

"There are hard feelings."

"I always wanted us to be closer."

"You must hate me for what I did," Ellen insisted, seeming determined to confront the issue.

"It was a long time ago," Susan said, not wanting the confrontation just then, but her mother wouldn't let it go.

"You can't have forgotten."

"Okay. I still try to understand the why of it."

"Aha. You do have hard feelings."

Pushed far enough, Susan cried, "How could I not? You threw me away. I was young and scared, and you banished me for something I didn't even know I'd done until it was too late. Do you think I planned to get pregnant? My daughter did plan her pregnancy, and when I found out, I was furious. So I did what you did. I shut her out. If I have hard feelings toward you right now, it's because you set a bad example."

Ellen seemed taken aback by the outburst.

Telling herself her mother had asked for it, Susan continued. "So how do you feel about Lily being pregnant?"

Ellen swallowed. "Not as bad as I'd have felt if your father were still alive." It was quite an admission. Susan was trying to process it, when her mother went on. "I'm sorry she's pregnant. I'm sorry about this scare with the baby. I'm sorry these things happen."

"But they do. And you need to be okay with it. Because, honestly, Mom, much as I want you to be part of my life, it won't work if you don't accept my daughter. I don't want history repeating itself."

"It can't. I wasn't a good mother. You are."

Of all the open sores, this one went deepest. Needing encouragement from the voice that mattered most, Susan asked, "What makes you say that?"

"I saw you with Lily back home. I see you with her here. There's a connection between you. You like each other."