Heartbreak
heartbreak
Now what?
Blythe climbed the stairs and opened the door to her bedroom.
Miranda was curled up on the bed, her hands over her face, sobbing.
“Oh, honey,” Blythe said. “Grandmother will be all right.”
She pulled Miranda up and gathered her oldest daughter in her arms.
“It’s okay,” Blythe said soothingly.
Miranda twisted around to face Blythe.
“It’s not Grandmother! It’s me ! It’s not okay! It will never be okay!” Miranda’s face was wet and swollen from crying. Her mascara streaked down her face like black tears.
“What happened?” Blythe asked.
“Oh, Mommy! I saw Brooks kissing Serena! And they were totally kissing, slobber-kissing.”
Blythe almost couldn’t believe this. She’d seen Brooks a million times, always so crazy in love with Miranda. “Maybe Serena was kissing him and he went along with it?”
“I know what I saw, Mom! Brooks wasn’t just going along with it. He had his arms around her. She had her hands in his hair!”
“Where was this?” Blythe’s protective instincts began to stir.
“At Serena’s. We were just swimming and hanging out and I had my period and I went into the house and up to her bathroom and I had to search around for a tampon and I couldn’t find one and I stuck my head out the window to yell to Serena and I saw them. By the swimming pool. Then I knew why Serena wore her sexiest bathing suit today. And Mom, they were kissing.” Miranda collapsed in heart-wrenching sobs.
Blythe held her daughter close, as if sheltering her from a storm. “I’m so sorry. Maybe they were just…playing?”
“I know what I saw! They were totally into each other.”
As her daughter wept, a prehistoric maternal rage uncurled in Blythe’s deepest heart. Nothing hurt as much as her children being hurt. She wanted to transform into a yeti and stomp over Serena and terrorize her with an earth-shaking growl.
But she was civilized. She had to be rational.
“Do they know you saw them?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I didn’t know what to do! I just ran home. Oh, Mommy, it was so terrible! I thought Brooks loved me.”
“Maybe—” Blythe began.
Miranda interrupted, violently pulling herself from Blythe’s arms. “Brooks has to leave ! He can’t stay in this house one more minute! He’s a liar and a cheater and he doesn’t deserve to stay here. I’m going to pack his stuff and throw it out in the yard and tell him to take the next boat home! I never want to see him again! I’m never talking to Serena again!”
“Miranda, calm down. Listen to me. Brooks can’t leave. I told you both the other day that his mother asked if Brooks could stay here all summer because their housekeeper broke her leg and can’t be there for him. We can’t make him leave when he has no place to go.”
Miranda exploded, standing up and throwing her hands in the air. “Fine! Lovely! You’re choosing Brooks over your own daughter!”
“I’m not choosing Brooks over you. I would never do that. I wish I could throw our oldest, grungiest sleeping bag in our backyard and tell him that’s his bedroom now and he can go to Visitor Services to use the bathroom and he can buy his own food because he’s never eating with us again.”
Blythe’s anger made Miranda blink in surprise. She almost smiled as tears streaked her face. “That would be cool.”
“I know. But we can’t do that. I’m responsible for his safety. I can’t simply tell him to get out.”
Miranda paced the room. “Fine. But you don’t have to talk to him. You don’t have to be nice to him. You can tell him he’s no longer welcome at the club to sail or play tennis or eat. Plus—” Her eyes narrowed as she had a new thought. “You really have to move him out of the family room. We all need it to watch television. He has to go sleep in that little room at the end of the hall.”
Blythe had always thought of that little room at the end of the hall as a special place, a magic room. So small, with only one twin bed and one dresser and that half-moon window. It had been perfect for a little girl. But it wouldn’t be magic for a big philandering male. It wouldn’t even be comfortable.
“I see your point, Miranda, but Brooks is a big guy. He’ll feel claustrophobic in there.”
“Good! I hope he has nightmares!” With tears rolling down her flushed cheeks, Miranda laughed an insane, triumphant laugh like the wicked queen in Snow White. “Remember, Mom, how you said he couldn’t sleep on the same floor as our bedrooms because you were so worried we’d have sex? Now he has to be on this floor. But my bedroom door will be locked. And I’ll tell the sibs what he did and they’ll never speak to him again.” As she spoke, her lip quivered and she stood there, a beautiful young woman, shaking with grief and rage.
Blythe yearned to comfort her child, to make the bad thing go away, but she couldn’t. She had no choice but to let Miranda bear it. She wished that her pain, a mother’s pain, would ease Miranda’s, but she knew that wasn’t how it worked. Blythe remembered the brutal day she lived through after Aaden left for Ireland, and she remembered that it didn’t help at all that he had left for another country instead of another woman.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Blythe stood up. “I need to eat. Come downstairs with me now. I’ll make grilled cheese sandwiches.” Her grilled cheese sandwiches were a mouth orgy of cheddar and whole wheat fried slowly in butter that soaked into the bread as the cheese melted.
“I’m not hungry,” Miranda said.
Blythe started to insist that Miranda come eat. She hadn’t even told Miranda about Celeste and the hospital.
But Miranda needed her time, her space. “I’m going to my room for a while. I don’t want dinner tonight.”
“Just rest,” Blythe said.
Miranda left to go to her own room. Blythe looked at her bed, which she had made so neatly this morning. She always liked to return to her room after a busy day to find her smooth, unruffled bed waiting for her. Now it was in a swirl of sheets, summer quilt, and discarded wet tissues.
She wished she could smooth her daughter’s grief away as easily as she smoothed her quilt.
In the kitchen, Blythe fixed herself a drink, pouring vodka and tonic over piles of ice. She took a sip and held the cold glass to her neck, cooling her maternal rage.
She was shocked to see how late it was. Almost eight o’clock. She was too upset to cook dinner, and by now, the children had probably eaten at the snack bar.
She decided to make a large fruit bowl with chunks of watermelon, grapes, peaches and pears. Long ago she’d discovered that slicing food helped keep her thoughts focused on what she was doing, and good thing, too.
“That looks yummy, Mom,” Holly said.
Blythe jumped a little. “I’d forgotten you were in the family room, sweetie. Are you hungry?”
“I ate some cereal.”
“Let’s both have some fruit,” she told Holly.
While they were eating, Teddy and Daphne came home. They’d had dinner with friends but served themselves fruit and joined Blythe and Holly at the table. Everyone talked about poor Celeste, and the shock that Holly had had, seeing her beloved grandmother like that. Blythe called the hospital as she sat at the dinner table. Phones during meals were strictly verboten for all the family, but this was an extenuating circumstance. Blythe wasn’t sure she could pull together the energy to stand up.
“Celeste is doing well,” she told her children after talking to a nurse. “She’s sleeping now. Kate has gone home and the nurses don’t think we should visit Grandmother tonight. She needs to sleep.”
Daphne asked, “Where’s Miranda?”
“She’s sleeping, I think. She’s had a busy day.” Blythe took a moment to decide how much of Miranda’s heartbreak she should share. Not now, she thought. Not so soon, while it’s an open wound.
But she remembered what Miranda had suggested.
“I’ve decided that it’s too complicated to have Brooks sleep in the family room. We need to be able to watch television and he needs his privacy. Let’s take his stuff up to the funny little bedroom.”
Holly looked worried. “Is it okay if we touch his stuff?”
Blythe smiled. “Of course. He’s living here and touching our stuff all the time.”
“He’s not touching my stuff,” Teddy said, and for no reason at all, everyone laughed.
They went into the family room and each person chose a load of Brooks’s belongings. Teddy carried his duffel bag and backpack, both bulging with clothes. Daphne and Holly took his bedclothes and pillow up to the small room and dumped them in the middle of the small twin bed.
“Should we make his bed?” Holly asked.
“He’s a big boy. He can make his own,” Blythe decided. She worried a little about how much pleasure she felt at moving his stuff to the little room. He would probably be glad to have the privacy.
When they were through, Blythe invited the children to join her watching a new movie being streamed on television. They’d seen it before, and it was funny, perfect for tonight.
The kids pulled the plump ottomans over and all four of them huddled together on the sofa with their feet sticking out of the light cotton blanket they always used for watching television.
Blythe wished Miranda would come join them. She thought of going up to ask her but decided not to. Miranda’s sorrow wouldn’t let go of her so soon.
It was almost ten o’clock when Brooks came home. He stopped in the doorway of the family room, looking confused.
Blythe hit the pause button on the remote.
“Hi, Brooks!” Holly called. “We’ve put your stuff in the little room upstairs.”
If you don’t like it, Blythe wanted to say, go sleep at Serena’s. She should be ashamed of this petty revenge, but it wasn’t as if Miranda and Brooks were eight and Blythe could call Brooks’s parents.
“Yeah,” Holly added, grinning. “I guess Mom’s not so worried about you sneaking into Mir’s room.”
“Holly!” Daphne nudged her younger sister. “Don’t say that.”
Sitting in the middle of her huddle of children, Blythe felt a small, guilty joy at making Brooks feel left out. He was still a kid, really, and she didn’t want to be cruel. Well, she did want to be cruel, but not in front of her children.
“There’s fruit in the refrigerator,” she told Brooks.
“I’ve eaten,” Brooks said. “But thank you.”
“We’re watching Twisters, ” Holly informed him. “It’s super cool. You could have watched with us, but it’s almost over.”
“Thanks,” Brooks said. “I think I’ll go on up to bed.”
“Good night!” Blythe called, and Daphne, Teddy, and Holly called good night, too, and Brooks turned away from the happy little group and went up the stairs alone.
Whose shoulder could Brooks cry on? Blythe wondered. Now sympathy for the boy washed over her. He had no siblings. And no one in this house loved him.
—
After the movie, the kids went up to bed. Blythe’s phone pinged and her heart jumped.
Was the hospital calling about Celeste?
But it was Nick, and his voice erased the sadness of the day. She relaxed on the wicker swing on the back porch as they talked.
“How has your day been?” Nick asked.
“Well, Nick, I’d be laughing hysterically if I had any energy left.”
“What’s going on?”
“How much time do you have?”
“All the time in the world, for you.”
“Oh, damn,” Blythe said as she began to cry. The warmth in his voice undid her. So many people depended on Blythe. She was trying to remain strong…and she was strong. But how good it felt to have someone support her, simply take the time to be her friend.
She told him about her poor Holly, who had been with Celeste when she had a heart attack, and how she felt she’d spent this entire day trying to gather a flock of wild cards scattered in the storm of their fear—Celeste, Kate, Bob, Teri, Roland, and Holly—and then to come home to find Miranda brokenhearted. And Brooks, just another example of faithless men, and yet, also a boy.
Nick listened. He asked questions. How was Celeste? How was Miranda? How was Blythe?
“I’ve gone hoarse,” Blythe croaked. “You talk. Tell me about your day.”
He didn’t speak, and Blythe waited while he gathered his thoughts. She assumed he would tell her about a golf game, or fishing at Great Point, or taking Sandy and Hugh to dinner.
Nick said, “I missed you. That’s what happened today.”
His concern made her heart open. A sob rose in her throat. She reached for a tissue and wiped her tears. “I missed you, too, Nick. It’s so nice to hear your voice.”
“Would you like me to come over?”
“Oh, yes, but no, it’s too late. I have to go to bed. I’m exhausted and tomorrow will be crazy. But thank you.”
“I hope you’ll call if you need any help.”
“I will. I promise.”
She didn’t want to end the call, but she couldn’t prevent yawning so loudly and hard she thought her jaw would lock open.
“That was rude. I’m sorry.”
Nick laughed. “You are forgiven for being tired after the day you’ve had. Sleep tight.”
She held the phone close to her heart as she went up the stairs.
She quietly went down the hall, peeking in each child’s room.
Holly was asleep, cradling her favorite stuffed animal, Oscar. Teddy slept with his arms and legs flung out, all his covers on the floor as if he’d fought them and won. Daphne snored what the kids called “Daphne’s Signature Snore” as she lay flat on her back, her head in the center of the pillow, her covers pulled to her shoulders and everything as tidy as if she were a letter slid into an envelope.
And Miranda. Her tempestuous daughter lay on her stomach, her light sheet and cotton quilt swirled over the bed and her laptop sticking out from beneath her head.
Blythe quietly entered the room, gently eased the laptop away, and set it on the bedside table. Miranda, who slept operatically, rolled onto her back, emitting a long tremulous sigh. But she didn’t wake up, and Blythe decided not to try to untangle the covers because it might disturb her sleep. She didn’t need to check on Brooks. She knew he was fine.
She hoped he had nightmares.
Was she a terrible person to think that way?
Blythe returned to her room, tired, but happy. Her children were asleep. They were safe. Tomorrow was another day. She brushed her teeth and slid into bed, relaxing on her clean sheets and plump pillow. Sublime.
Someone was knocking on the front door.
Blythe’s heart lurched. No. It couldn’t be about Celeste.
But it was ten-thirty. Who would knock on their door at ten-thirty?
She pulled on her light robe and hurried down the stairs. Frightened and angry—the children might wake—she yanked the door open.
Aaden .
For a long moment, she couldn’t seem to focus. Was she caught in one of those very realistic dreams?
It really was Aaden. In his suit and tie, he looked very professional and very tired. His tie was tugged down, his white dress shirt was wrinkled, and he carried his suit jacket in his hand. His jaw was bristling with a day-old beard and his eyelids drooped.
“Aaden? What— I thought you were in Boston.”
“May I come in?” His voice was scratchy.
“Of course.” She held the door open.
He entered. His rumpled clothes smelled of Scotch. He started to embrace her but caught himself and stepped back.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Oh, Aaden, I’m exhausted and you look exhausted, too. Come in. I’ll make coffee.”
She led him to the kitchen, glad she’d pulled her robe over her T-shirt and boxer shorts.
“Here,” she indicated. “Sit. Are you hungry?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I do need coffee. How are you? How is your friend?”
“My friend?” She found a mug and poured the water in the Keurig. How sweet of him, and how right, to call Celeste her friend. It was much simpler than ex-mother-in-law, and it was true.
“She’s resting in the hospital. The prognosis is good. She’s in her seventies and in general good health.”
The Keurig rumbled and filled the mug. Blythe got out the milk and the sugar bowl. She didn’t have to ask him how he took his coffee. She set it in front of him and sat in a chair next to him. She folded her hands together on the table, to hide the fact that they were shaking.
She watched Aaden close his eyes as he took a long drink.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to Boston.” When he didn’t reply, she said, “Holly, my youngest daughter, was with Celeste when she had the heart attack and she was frightened. An ambulance came, and it was all a rush, and we were frightened for Celeste, and her daughter, Kate, took a while to get to the hospital…”
Aaden slipped his hand over hers. “I understand. You’re very close to your family. That’s one of the many things I admire about you.”
Blythe looked down at their hands. It was so oddly intimate to be sitting in the kitchen at night while the others slept.
She needed to say something. He’d come all this way, but her head was filled with fog.
“How did you manage to get here?” she asked. “I thought no planes flew after ten o’clock.”
“I chartered a private plane.” Aaden ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “I had to see you.”
She was shocked. “You flew private? That’s awfully expensive.” She knew she was avoiding serious conversation. “It’s so late, Aaden. I’m not sure I can even think straight.”
“I know, and for me it’s four in the morning, Irish time. Blythe, I knew I wouldn’t be able to settle until I saw you. I never expected to run into you this summer, and yes, I do know that you have a house on the island. Still, I wasn’t planning to see you. I wasn’t even hoping. But I did see you.”
“Aaden, wait.” She held up her hand.
He shook his head. “I need to say this. I came here tonight to say this. After so many years, you and I were thrown face-to-face together. That seems like fate to me. We are meant to be together.”
“Aaden—”
“I need you, Blythe. I’ve always needed you. I don’t want to live the rest of my life—and you and I have so many more years to live—I don’t want to live without you.”
He was so beautiful, his thick dark hair tumbled in every direction and his eyes still adorned with long dark lashes. His wrestler’s body had less bulk, but he still was heavy-boned, wide-shouldered, a bear of a man. He could fold her into his arms and keep her safe. She remembered being held in his arms.
“Aaden—”
As if he read her thoughts, Aaden said, “Do you remember the night when we were all at Mike’s house and we built a bonfire?”
Blythe shuddered. “I’ll never forget that night. The fire got out of control. It set a dead limb on a maple tree on fire and then sent the fence into flames. Mike called the fire department. Greta found the hose and aimed it at the fire.” She could remember it clearly. The speed and hiss of the fire, the sudden blaze, how they all cheered before realizing how fast the fire was spreading.
“And I picked you up and carried you out to the street, away from danger.”
“Yes. You lifted me in your arms as if I were made of feathers. You were so strong.”
“I’m still so strong. I still want to carry you in my arms.”
Blythe released her hand from his and gently stroked his cheek. “You were like a white knight, rescuing me. A schoolgirl’s fantasy come true.” She allowed herself a moment of surrender. The bristles on his jaw lightly scratched the sensitive palm of her hand, as his skin had grazed her face when they kissed so fervently for so long, in the steamy car Aaden had secluded on a stranger’s cul-de-sac. “My old high school friends still talk about it when we get together. They say it was the most romantic real thing they had ever seen.”
Aaden turned his face slightly and his full lips brushed her palm.
Blythe pulled her hand away.
“Aaden, I’m not a schoolgirl anymore. I’m a mother and I come with four very heavy and demanding children attached.” She was so overwrought that an image of Aaden carrying all five of them, three in his arms, two piggyback, with Miranda’s giraffe legs sticking out, made her laugh.
Irritation flared in Aaden’s eyes. Blythe remembered that look.
He quickly glanced away, and when he met her eyes again, he was smiling.
“I forgot to tell you who I met at the airport. Do you remember Jessica Langston? From high school?”
“Of course I remember Jessica.” Blythe crossed her arms over her chest. She knew this movement was defensive, and she didn’t care.
Jessica Langston was the beautiful girl who had shamelessly chased after Aaden in high school. She’d made it clear that she would do anything Aaden wanted to do. She was the cause of many arguments between Blythe and Aaden. Blythe had hated her.
“I was at the Dublin airport, waiting to board, and she walked by. She recognized me and stopped to say hello. She works in the travel business now. She’s divorced, with one son. She told me to let her know the next time I travel. She can get me some special deals.”
Blythe laughed. “I’ll bet she can.” She knew what he was trying to do. Once, if he’d mentioned Jessica, Blythe would have gone wild. Now, not even one small drop of jealousy stung her, and that made her sad.
“Aaden. I’m sorry, but I really need to get some sleep.”
He nodded. “I do, too. I have the key to Arnie’s, but I hate to wake him…”
Blythe stood up. “You can’t sleep here. We’ve got a full house.”
Aaden rose. He smiled down at her, his eyes teasing. “Not even the sofa?”
“Not even the sofa,” Blythe told him.
For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, or try to, but she walked away from him, down the hall to the front door.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.
“Good night, Aaden.” She shut the door.