Falling For Sarah (Sarah Series Book 3) Read online

  I spoke up. “Hobby? It’s my job, and I pretty much need it if Rose and I don’t want to live in a cardboard box.”

  Rose shot me a look. I patted her head. “I’m kidding, sweetie.”

  “Well, I’m sure Alex makes enough for you to stop if you’d like.” She paused. “You and Rose?” She glanced at June.

  “Yes, Alex is my neighbor. June is his daughter, and Rose is mine.”

  She stepped back, grazing the buttons on her jacket with her long, supple fingers. “I thought…I thought…Where is your husband?”

  Rose began to speak. I grabbed her close and hugged her mouth shut. I didn’t want to get into this here. Among the racks of clothes, with a woman I barely knew or even wanted to know. Because clearly she didn’t want to know me, or this wouldn’t be the first stop on her Denver trip. It would’ve been to find me. At my home.

  “I’m divorced.”

  She grabbed her gaping mouth. “I guess I—”

  “That’s okay.” I wanted to lighten up the mood. No need in getting all Jerry Springer here. I would rise above this. “We’re here picking out June a dress for homecoming.” I tugged on June’s bag she had a grip on. “It’s this weekend.”

  Pricilla’s eyes didn’t move from mine. “So it’s just you and Rose? Do you have a home? Surely you were kidding about the box.”

  “Yes, I was kidding about the box. But not about having to acquire one if I didn’t work. You see, I’ve never lived a privileged life. Never had a need for a passport. However, Dad managed to put me through college a few times. On his own.” Maybe not Jerry Springer, but a bit of Dr. Phil was breaking loose.

  She looked away. A button that would turn her off, I see. The truth. Hard and sobering, and obviously not what she was accustomed to.

  “Well, I do have to get going. I told Stephen I wouldn’t be long. He’s home waiting for me.”

  “Well, then you better get going, I guess.”

  Alex shot me a look. I didn’t care. She had ruined every dreamy illusion I had of a grandmother. A plump little old lady, always baking cookies, led out of town by a tyrant grandfather who wouldn’t let her rock babies and sing lullabies. This woman before me, clad in nylon pantyhose, square-toed heels and designer bag was Pricilla Morgan, grandmother fatale.

  She leaned over and squeezed Rose’s hand. “You take care, sweet child. You know you have a very important family name to live up to.”

  Again, I felt my brow scrunch. “Excuse me? Is there someone other than my mom who had that name?”

  Pricilla stood straight. “Rose Marie was my mother’s name. Stephen allowed me to give it to your mother on the condition I’d give him a son and he could be a junior. He knew how I felt about juniors. I simply hated it. It would be so difficult to keep them straight later in life. Then what if he became somewhat of a lower-earning person with bad credit? Stephen would be haunted all his life by that error in judgment. However, I agreed. And so Rose Marie lived on with your mother. And now it lives on with your daughter.”

  “So I have…you have a son?” Please, Lord, make him sensible, non-worldly, and easily reachable for a family gathering or two. Maybe we could get a family discount for therapy if he turned out to be that lower-earning chap.

  “No, it wasn’t to be. Rose was our only child.” She looked wistful for all of a few seconds. Then she readjusted her pocketbook and cleared her throat. “Well, it was so nice meeting you, Sarah. And you Alex, and June.” She looked at each of them.

  “You, too.”

  She turned on her heel and walked from us. She left the imprint of her fist in my gut. Alex’s stare kept me from crumbling. I grabbed hold of Rose’s hand and we walked toward the exit to go get some dinner. At the moment, my stomach was out of order. Along with my head. Years of thoughts and dreams had just been trampled and my body felt sorely bruised from the beating.

  Dinner was a complete blur. I mostly stared at my food, turned it over once or twice with my fork and listened to the muffled talk between Alex and the girls. He asked a few times whether I was okay. I remember nodding and the feeling of relief when we parted ways. I had met him in the city that evening, so June rode back home with him. It was just me and Rose in the car. She was tired and said very little on the way back. It gave my thoughts a chance to run wild inside my head. Now, alone in my car, I thought of nothing but my meeting of Pricilla Morgan. I don’t understand why it bothered me so. It wasn’t as if I lost anything. I never knew her but I guess somewhere in the depths of my childhood mind, I imagined somewhere in the world I had a grandmother who might be looking for me. Silly. I never really left my dad’s until I was eighteen, and he never moved away at all. Same house, same name. So what took her so long to come and find me? Would she have ever looked if I hadn’t showed up at Nordstrom’s, crossing her path?

  I began to pity cry quietly, looking in the rearview mirror to make sure Rose wasn’t paying attention. She was always so good at reading my expressions, and I didn’t want to explain them tonight. I was still navigating through them myself. I began self-assessing. The only thing that did was irritate me. I could find nothing rational for being upset. Dad had told me the skinny about what happened and why I had no extended family. The facts still remained they were no-good grandparents, so why did seeing her shock me so? Maybe I hoped he was lying, although I knew deep down my dad didn’t lie.

  I dialed Maggie’s number, hoping for something. Anything. An assessment where I could find a real a-ha moment and close the door to all this stupid pity. She’d know what to say to me.

  “Hello.”

  “Maggie? It’s me. Do you have a second? Are you busy? I really need to talk.”

  “Oh my gosh, you must have ESP. How fast can you get over here? You’re on your way back from the city, aren’t you? You haven’t gotten home yet, I hope. I’m getting Charlie dressed for bed or I’d come over to your house.”

  “Okay, I’ll swing by for a minute, but Rose is tired and I can’t stay long.”

  “I’ll put in a movie for her or something. Be careful. I’ll see ya in a few.”

  I took the shortcut through Nelson Circle to get there quicker. When we pulled into her driveway, I told Rose we’d only be a second. All I needed was a quick kick in the pants of what I knew was true but was too close to the situation to rationally see. Maggie was my only hope now to possibly get a wink of sleep tonight and not obsess over how totally screwed up my life was turning out to be.

  She met me at the door with wild eyes—something lurked behind the crazed look. Pulling me inside and telling Rose to go watch a movie with Charlie, Maggie began pacing the length of her kitchen floor…biting her fingertip. Okay, I was the one here who needed the help. What in the world was she doing wearing out the floor?

  She stopped abruptly in front of me and grabbed my arms tightly. Her boney fingers cut into my skin. “You are not going to believe this!”

  “What?”

  “There is no way you could guess in a million years!” She had laser focus on me.

  “Okay, what?”

  Her grip loosened and her eyes widened. “I slept with Michael.”

  I lost control of my jaw. My mind went blank. Her words echoed in my subconscious. Slept with Michael? When? “When?” I finally uttered.

  She took off pacing again. “Earlier. Tonight. Just awhile ago.”

  “What?” I looked at the clock on the stove. “It’s only 7:30, Maggie.”

  “Exactly. It literally just happened.” She ran to me again and pressed on my arm, stopping blood flow to my fingers this time. I saw she was even standing on her tippy-toes, getting extra leverage. “I’m freaking out, Sarah. Tell me I’m stupid. Please. Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me I’m an idiot.”

  “Where was Charlie?” Yes, odd question, but one that I needed explained. Certainly it wasn’t a true “sleep with” if it only took five minutes and the child was five feet away. That was a quickie at most. Sheer impulse. Booty call for the not-so-married people a
nymore, but still wanted that need met. Nothing to worry herself over. Unless it gave her mixed feelings.

  “He was with Mom. She took him to dinner so I could get some things done. Michael dropped by to see him. Unannounced, might I add. He does this all the time. Said he was here to see a friend and thought he’d drop by. When he realized Charlie wasn’t here, he asked to go upstairs and get a few things. He has yet to take all of his stuff.” She rolled her eyes and flung around, energy sprinting inside her like gazelles at a new watering hole.

  “You know what that means,” I interjected. “Leaving his things?”

  “Of course, but I’m trying not to self-assess. It gives me security to know his things are there and denial maybe for him to leave it. Who knows? Anyway, he goes upstairs to find a sweatshirt he swears he left. When he’s going through the closet, he finds the watch I gave him for our fourth wedding anniversary. The battery had gone dead and he never took it to get a new one put in. So he’s looking at it, right? And then he looks at me. Says something like, ‘Remember that night? We went to that cheesy restaurant and that song came on…’ and he went on and on about when he hears that song he thinks of me. Then wham!! He dropped the watch, pushed me against the folded sheets and devoured every inch of me. It was amazing.”

  The clouds in her eyes made it hard for her to probably remember I was still in the room.

  “So where is he now?” I foolishly looked around when I asked the question.

  “He’s gone.” It was a matter-of-fact kind of way of saying it. Like cavorting followed by screeching wheels was a norm in her life.

  “Um, without all the shameful details, how did it end? Good terms? Reconciliation terms? Don’t call me, I’ll call you?”

  She scrunched her face. “No. He sort of got up, put on his clothes, looked at me for a second, and said he should go.”

  “Huh? And what did you say?”

  “I think I said something like okay.”

  “And that’s it? You do the deed, he gains composure…his clothes, and says good-bye? With no other utterance of how this catapults you into a new realm of ‘it’s complicated’?”

  She gnawed on her other set of fingers, and paced like a racehorse. Her hair had all but slipped from the hairband that still held a handful. “That’s why I need you. I need you to assess this. Tell me what it means?”

  “How do you feel? I mean, you’re sort of dating Howard, aren’t you? Which makes this cheating on him, doesn’t it?”

  She quickly jumped in. “Not exactly. Howard and I are not exclusive. How could we be, Sarah? I’m married to Michael. He knows this. I tell him. He’s the one who pursues me.”

  “But I thought you liked him. Don’t you?”

  “Well, yes. He’s fun. He got my mind off Michael and what a degenerate mother I was for not working it out with my son’s father. I liked that aspect of Howard. He makes me feel like I’m someone different. I can escape the guilt of my failed marriage when I’m with Howard. He truly is an honorable man.”

  “And you like no other aspect of Howard? You make him sound like someone I could salute. He doesn’t give you goose bumps when you go out on dates? Your steps don’t become lighter knowing he’s coming over for a movie? Smiles don’t creep to your face when you think of him?”

  “What?” Her face became wrecked with wrinkles. “Goose bumps? Don’t you remember? I didn’t want to go away with him and made you have that stupid dinner? And thank the Lord I didn’t. I’d feel double bad right now. Meet Howard’s parents and then sleep with my husband! Oh my gosh. I’m a whore, aren’t I? This nice man, with the best intentions, likes me, likes me enough to introduce me to his mother, and I go and sleep with Michael? I’m an utter failure, Sarah!” She collapsed into a chair.

  She began to cry as she covered her face. I went to her and rubbed her back. Completely distracted from the reason I pulled into her driveway in the first place. A bad ogre of a grandmother paled in comparison to this freak show.

  “Maggie, you’re not a whore. Michael is easy for you. Comfortable. You know him like the back of your hand. He’s the only life you’ve ever really known. I’m sure a lot of you misses him more than hates him. He is familiar. Yes, you have Howard to go out with, to come over and watch TV, but Michael is more than that. He was your life for years. Something you’ve had to detach yourself from. And he waltzes in, reminisces about good times, gives you the eye, no doubt, and the deed is done. It was bound to happen. It’s a pattern. Don’t beat yourself up over a pattern.”

  “Yep, that about sums it up.” She continued to stare at the floor, a lobotomy look on her face.

  “So now what?”

  “I guess I call him later?” Her eyes were puppy-like.

  “Okay?”

  “And then what? Do I mention this?”

  “Did you like this? Did it mean anything to you? Was it a whim? A nice thing, but you don’t want to repeat it kind of thing? Or are you achy now with pangs of why can’t he stay the night?” Which at this point, I wasn’t sure why he fled the scene so quickly.

  She beat the armrest and jumped up. “I don’t know, Sarah! I honestly don’t know. Time has erased some of the things I remember right before we called it quits. The way he made me feel bad about myself, the arguments—they’re all faint scenes in my head. The hurt has healed. Sort of.”

  “That’s good.”

  “But how could I trust it wouldn’t happen again?” She smacked herself in the head. “What am I saying? He probably is driving home now, wondering what the score is of the football game that’s airing. I’m the last thing on his mind. He’s a guy. He scored, got lucky, and there’s no strings to him. I’m just a wham-bam, thank-you-ma’am.”

  “Well, don’t jump to conclusions. Michael loved you. This had to mean something to him.”

  “Okay, you’re right. I’ll sleep on it. I will reserve all my emotions and just digest it all.”

  “That’s wise.” I looked at the clock. It was almost eight. I needed to get Rose home and ready for bed. “I’ve got to get going. You sure you’re going to be all right?”

  “Yes, thanks for coming by.” She twisted her lips. “Wait a minute. Did you have something to tell me? Why did you call? Did everything go okay with Alex and June?”

  I didn’t want to add to her growing list of problems. “Yeah, yeah. Everything went fine.”

  “Okay, well, thanks again.”

  I extracted Rose from watching Toy Story with Charlie and proceeded home. I rode up to the stoplight of Fourth and Main. Lola’s Bakery light was still lit. I was really wanting a gallon of ice cream to cry my sorrows in to, but maybe I’d settle for a slice of lemon pound cake and a specialty coffee. Something with chai in it. Everything had a silver lining with chai. It would take all of sixty seconds to go inside, make the order, and sixty more seconds to have it completed. I’d park outside the door, watch Rose from the cash register, and I’d be home before I knew it. It’s the only thing I could think of that would get me through this depression I’d just been bombarded with. And now I had Maggie to add to it. I didn’t want to say anything to her, but Michael leaving five minutes after it was over wasn’t a good sign.

  “Rose, I’ll be only a minute. Stay buckled and I’ll bring you a cake pop.” Sue me, I wanted the lemon cake bad enough not to get a lecture from my daughter. Cake pops always worked.

  I jumped out, pushed the glass door, and breathed a sigh of relief there was no line. Of course there was no line; it was ten minutes till closing. Frankie was putting the chairs up on the tables that lined the front window.

  Betsy, Lola’s niece, came out from the back when she heard the bell on the door. Her bangs flopped in her eyes, the front of her apron was smeared with what looked like strawberry jelly, and her gait was slow.

  “Long day?”

  “You could say that. Been here since the noon rush. Aunt Lola had a doctor’s appointment and Kenzi left early because her son was sick.”

  See, and I t
hought I was having a bad day. Put me, her, and Maggie, quite possibly Kenzi at the same table, and we could each have our own pint of ice cream.

  “Sounds very tiring, Betsy. I hope you don’t have to stay long past closing.”

  “Frankie will help. It won’t take long. Now, what can I get you, Ms. Keller? You’re out late.”

  I was Betsy’s counselor her last year in high school. Sweet girl with no ambition other than to wait for Mrs. Tanenbaum to croak at the library so she could have her job. Books were Betsy’s passion. She was taking courses at a community college to become a librarian. I’ve seen Mrs. Tanenbaum walk laps around the track field. Betsy had time to kill.

  “Yep, late night. I’ll have a slice of lemon cake, a cake pop, and warm chai tea. Thank you, Betsy.”

  “Last slice, you’re lucky!” She peered in the case to see my little lemon baby sitting on the lace doily.

  “Well, that’s something I’m not usually. Ever feel like if you didn’t have bad luck, you’d have no luck at all, Betsy?”

  She did a small frown. “You had a bad day, too?”

  “Um, I’m going for a bad year.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” She grabbed a cup from underneath the counter. “It’ll take a minute for your tea.” She handed me my other purchases and I looked out to check on Rose.

  Before I turned back around to check on Betsy and that cup she was filling with goodness, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Carter and flinched. “Where did you come from?”

  He tilted his head in a villainous fashion. “I am everywhere, my dear Sarah.”

  I looked toward the back of the shop. I took from the brown hair it was Mitzy sitting in a booth waiting for him to return. They were one of the last two couples still there taking advantage of the quiet evening of the quaint shop and coffee aroma.

  “What’s up? I saw you come in.” He looked around. “Where’s Rose?”

  I fidgeted with my hair, twisting it behind my ear. “She’s in the car. Right there.” I pointed out the door.