Anna Adams - Marriage in Jeopardy

Josh opened his fingers on the steering wheel and then tightened them again to follow a slight curve. Usually too aware of consequences to act on impulse, he’d given in to his need to make Lydia happy. Coming home might have been an unforgiving mistake. He’d be stunned if he ended this so-called visit on speaking terms with his wife or his mother and father.

As he parked in a square of loose gravel, his mom slid through the mudroom door beside the kitchen.

He forced himself to smile. Surprise tilted her mouth. She waved. “Even I can tell she’s really glad to see me,” he said.

“What’d you think?” Lydia sounded mystified. As if love made everything right. Wouldn’t their marriage have been as shiny and new-feeling as the day they’d taken their vows if love was all it took? “Is your father home, too?”

“I don’t see the truck, but he might have parked in the barn.” His parents had converted it to a garage after the last of his grandfather’s cows had passed to their bovine reward. “Stay there. I’ll help you out.”

“Normally, I’d argue, but I feel a little dizzy.”

He climbed out and opened her door, searching her face. “Is that normal? Should we call that nurse?”

“I’m just tired.” Lydia wrapped her arm around his waist. “The drive felt longer than I expected.”

“I can carry you.”

She blushed, watching his mother. “No, you can’t, but if you don’t mind we’ll go slowly.”

“You made it,” Evelyn said. “I was starting to worry.”

Josh stared at his mother and at the house. To the right, the ground dipped, just barely, where they’d filled in the pool.

Lydia glanced at him. “Are we late, Evelyn?”

“I was impatient. I’ll get the door.” She opened it while they climbed the wooden steps. “You look dreadful, Lydia. I’m glad to have you, but I hope the trip wasn’t too strenuous.”

“I couldn’t wait.” Lydia hugged his mom. “Where’s Bart?”

“Right here.” He came around the old pine cupboard and hugged her tight. His smile over her shoulder reached Josh. “I was building a fire in the family room.”

“Lydia’s headed straight to bed,” Evelyn said in a take-no-prisoners tone. “We won’t be ready to eat for a while. You have time for a nap.” Evelyn tapped her husband’s chest. “Get the bags while Josh takes Lydia up.”

“Sounds good.”

“Thanks for having us,” Lydia said. “Josh will come right back to help you, Bart.” She tugged his arm. “You should thank them, too.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled. Josh guided Lydia through the dining room into the small hall that separated the unused “company” living room and the family room from the rest of the house.

“It’s too late for you to mediate,” Josh said. “Have you noticed how small this place is?”

“I should have considered you’d feel like the walls were trying to squeeze you.”

“Don’t worry.” They started up the staircase. “Whatever happens between my parents and me will come in its own time. I didn’t do this for them.”

“You don’t know you’re allowed to love them and be loyal to Clara’s memory, too.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“If I could have my mother and father back for even a minute, I’d find the right words to tell them what they mean to me. Think of what you’d say to Clara.”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

“If you’re not careful, you could find too late that you do still care for Evelyn and Bart.” No wonder she ate up his parents’ uncontrollable need to smother her with love. She stopped, so suddenly she seemed to rock. “The stairs are moving.”

“I’m right behind you.” Her hair brushed his chin. He wanted to bury his face in the pale strands and tell her to shut up about his mother and father. “Our family, Lydia—the one you and I will have—that matters to me most.”

She swallowed. Sick or nervous? He couldn’t be sure, but she battled on. “Evelyn and Bart are part of me because I can count on them.”

“Can’t you understand I tried to believe in them again and again? I gave up when Clara died.” At the landing, he moved around her to open his old bedroom door. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Wait.” She held on to the newel post. “I never thought of those times—when you believed in them and they let you down. You were just a child.” Her troubled gaze looked into his past.

“Stop, Lydia. I don’t want you picturing me as a helpless little boy. I don’t need pity.”

“I’ve been thinking… You turned your back on me because you learned how to hold a grudge against your parents. You know how to withhold love.”

“It’s completely different. They let my sister die—and she depended on me.”

“I let your son die—and I was his only protection.”

“How can you say that?”

She didn’t answer with words. Her eyes were red and full of tears.

“Don’t be crazy.” He pulled her close. She stiffened, but he held on. “I’m the one who should have seen what was happening. I’m as blind as my parents ever were. Twice now, someone I’ve loved has died because I wasn’t careful enough.”

“No.” She put her hands on his upper arms, but this time, when she pushed herself away, it was so she could look him in the eye. “You did everything for Clara, and I may be angry because Vivian Durance was your client’s wife, but you couldn’t know what she’d do unless she told you.” She looked at him with a plea for reassurance.

“Of course she didn’t tell me. She ranted and the bailiffs dragged her out of court. She didn’t even threaten me, much less you. I swear I didn’t know.”

“You don’t have to swear.” She braced her hands in the small of her back, sagging against the doorjamb. “I’m exhausted.”

She’d let him off the hook, but if they let it go, were they following the same habit that had nearly sunk their marriage? “Come on. A few more steps and you’re in bed.”

Usually, he had to force himself inside this room. Not this afternoon.

Over the years, he’d taken down most of the old posters. No more scantily clad women seducing from the walls. No cars he’d never own on a public defender’s salary. He’d had a thing for Dali when he was a teenager who’d believed human beings could create their own reality. Those posters remained, still in their cheap frames.

“Your mom changed the bedding.”

Gone was the thin spread that had barely covered his grandparents’ old double bed. His mother had replaced it with an ivory comforter, posh and inviting enough to make Lydia test its thickness.

“Want to change clothes?” he asked.

“Yes, please. These jeans are killing me.”

As if on cue, his father showed up, holding their bags. Josh took them. “Thanks, Dad.” He set Lydia’s on the bed and unzipped the clothing compartment. “What can I take out?”

“I’ll get it in a sec.” She grinned at his dad. “Thanks, Bart. How’s the fishing?”

“Good enough.” He hugged her again. Josh watched, bemused. That sort of spontaneity rarely happened here. “I’m pleased you came, and you know Evelyn and I are both so sorry about the baby.”

Lydia faltered. “Me, too, Bart. I’ve been so swallowed in grief I almost forgot he was your grandson, too.” She turned, hiding her face. “Excuse me.” She whipped the flap open on her bag and yanked out a pair of flannel pajama pants and a matching blue tank top. Without looking back, she left to change in the bathroom across the hall.

Josh stared at his father. Over Bart’s shoulder, Clara’s room was closed tight, decades of accusations and grief stuffed inside.

“I’m glad you found time to come, son.”