If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(77)

“Let’s discuss that later. I’ve got more pressing things to address before Willa’s born.”

“Okay. I look forward to meeting you both. If Meggie were still alive, she would’ve been tickled to have had a baby girl to spoil.” And then, as if realizing the implications of what he’d said, he fell silent again. “May I ask . . . what kind of time is Lyle looking at?”

“I’m not sure. We haven’t gone to the cops yet. It’s complicated, especially with Lyle having fled the country. We’ve considered negotiating to get him to agree to return the money if we don’t press charges.”

“Sounds risky.”

“Yes.” My willingness to consider bending the law to suit my needs—or my mother’s needs—nagged. I’d never before believed in an “ends justifies the means” philosophy, but neither could I pretend that my innate sense of fairness was overly troubled by the alternative.

“If you need help, call me. Maybe I could finally make Lyle do the right thing.”

I tried to picture Lyle’s reaction to seeing his father and me, arm in arm, boarding his stupid yacht with the only deal that could keep him out of prison. How utterly magnificent it would be to wipe that smug look off his face, and to witness Ebba’s crestfallen expression when she learned she hadn’t won anything worth having. Better yet, I’d leave them reeling and penniless, the ultimate victory and justice. A delicious, vengeful giddiness bubbled inside.

“Thanks, but, again, I only called to tell you about Willa.”

“Will you keep in touch during the pregnancy?”

“Sure.” I gave my head a little shake at our surreal situation. “Listen, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got to run.”

“Okay. You take care.”

“You too.” I sat there with the phone in my hands, almost disbelieving what I’d done. He’d been thoughtful and kind and generous, which should make it easier on my mother when she found out.

I stood and surveyed Lyle’s things, which lay in garbage bags all around me. Time to take out the trash.

After I dropped Lyle’s belongings at the consignment store, I mulled the OIA over during the drive to my mother’s. The specter of public disgrace terrified me, as did the threat of mandatory visitation for Willa while Lyle remained in prison. But breaking the law wasn’t something I would’ve ever considered before my husband betrayed me, and I did not want him to fundamentally change who I was.

My life would be worse if, once I worked through my sorrow—and someday I would—I couldn’t recognize myself anymore. With each mile the answer became obvious. If only doing the right thing wouldn’t put me at serious odds with my mother for the first time in my life.

Once I pulled the car into the driveway, I sat in the front seat and stared at the place that, for better or worse, had molded me.

Being the middle child made me invisible for much of my childhood. Even when I’d proudly pedaled my tricycle on the driveway, Kevin would whiz past on his two-wheeler, drawing “attaboys” from my parents. After Erin was born, evenings entailed my mother helping Kev with his second-grade homework while my dad bathed Erin and read to her before putting her down. Each night I’d quietly played with my dolls and waited for someone to notice me, which typically occurred only after I’d gone out of my way to do something thoughtful for my parents.

For years, I’d told myself that doing good meant I was good. That doing better made me better. Yet looking back I can’t help but wonder if family dynamics, insecurities, and jealousies had warped me to the point where I no longer knew if I did things because I wanted to or because it was what pleased someone I loved. And if the latter, then what did that mean, and who was I, really? Was I someone with the courage to do what needed to be done when it wouldn’t please others—specifically my mother?

I wouldn’t find the answers sitting here, but talking to my mother shouldn’t be this hard.

Whatever happened next, I vowed my daughter wouldn’t need to “achieve” to get my attention. And she’d be able to talk to me about anything without punishment.

Those promises made me feel better about facing the firing squad inside. I grabbed my suitcases from the back seat, forced a smile, and went through the garage. My mother was on the phone, but her expression stopped me in my tracks.

Little mason jars covered the kitchen table, along with an open bag of sugar, some oils, and food dye. It stunned me that Erin involved our mother with Shakti Suds when she never let me help.

“Dodo, I’ll call you later. Amanda just showed up.” She nodded with the receiver in hand. “Yes, I’ll be sure to tell her, and I promise we’ll reschedule the baby shower when things settle down. Bye.” She hung up and sighed. “I told Dodo about the divorce before she heard about it from someone else. At least I won’t have to host her for three days now that we’ve canceled the baby shower. She sends her love.”

“Mm. That’s all she had to say?” I knew Aunt Dodo had opinions about me, Lyle, and divorce. Her judgmental nature had never annoyed me as much as it did Erin, probably because most of the time Aunt Dodo respected me and my choices.

“She wondered what was so irreconcilable that you couldn’t fix it. Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with my sister.” She set her hands on her hips. “Going somewhere?”