In a Book Club Far Away(69)

“Look, Ad. I lost my marriage. Not my fault, I know. I wasn’t the one who couldn’t keep it in my pants. But I learned from it, too. I learned that if you don’t hit the topic straight on, there’s so much room to avoid, and so much room to lie.”

Adelaide stuck a scalding spoonful in her mouth. If only you knew how right you are.

Regina continued. “You know what to do. It’s the same thing that helped way back when. Keep speaking to Matt, to your mom, to me or Sophie. In fact, do it now. I’ll try to keep the old lady away.” She gestured at the glass door with Sophie’s outline at the kitchen table.

“You did not just call her an old lady.”

Regina shrugged. “We’re all older now. Just calling it like it is.” And before she stood, she handed the phone to Adelaide. “Call your mother.”

Adelaide found her mother’s number in her recent-call list, pressed the call-back button, and put the phone against her ear.

“Adelaide.” Patricia Wilson’s enunciation of her name was its own tune. From it, Adelaide knew that while her mother was happy to hear from her, she was in a little bit of trouble.

“Hello, Mama.”

“I was worried. I left a lot of messages with you and with the hospital and—”

“I know, Mama, and I am sorry. It’s been a rough few days.”

Patricia sighed. It was breathy, the kind that said that she was frustrated. “But you’re okay now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was her standard answer to her mother: Yes, ma’am. Of course. I agree. All versions of agreements, of yeses, of her being all right. But as soon as Adelaide said it, she knew she was lying.

“Actually, I’m not fine, Mama.”

“Tell me, baby.”

“I wanna know how you did it. How you just grinned and bore the Army life. And how you made gravy out of grease.”

She was answered with silence, followed by a full-on cackle. Adelaide took the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. Yep, she was definitely talking to her mother.

It had been a while since she’d heard her mother’s laughter. “Are you… okay?”

“Oh, baby, if you feel like that’s what I did, I sure pulled the wool over your eyes. I did not always grin and bear it. And most days were greasy and just plain messy.”

“Really? It always felt… perfect. Like you had it together.”

“Looking isn’t always the same as being.”

“I know that.” Adelaide worried her lip. She and her mother had discussed the Army life often, and she’d heard everything, every story, every warning. Patricia had passed down all the rules, the etiquette.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” As usual, her mother heard right through her questions.

“I just find myself not wanting the things I used to want. And I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“These things you now want, are they productive? Are they good?”

“That’s the problem—I’m not sure what those things are yet, except that I want different. But what if they’re not what Matt wants? You know the Army, so many things are laid out in front of us, and its needs, my husband’s needs, come first.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, then her mother’s voice piped in, loud and angry. “Do you know the term I hate the most? The word dependent. It’s what they call us, the spouses, the children. We are associated with the sponsor, and all your life, you were linked to your father’s social security number as a dependent, and now to your husband’s. It really does give a skewed impression of where we rank, doesn’t it?”

Adelaide hummed an agreement.

“Of course we love your father and Matt and our lives. We also understand the mission. It’s not a question of love or appreciation, so I hear you, Adelaide. Sometimes we get lost in the sauce. Who we are, where we stand, whose career takes precedence. People assume that since we knew what we married, that we should simply accept. And sadly and wrongly, we believe what these people say at times.

“Well, it’s okay to wonder. It’s okay to try to figure it out. And you might be surprised at how well Matt might come along. Here’s what I like to think. We’re called dependents because the service member depends on us. Without us, how do they have that support, that extra bit of love? Without us, what is there to defend or fight for?”

Adelaide pressed her hands against her face, now wet with tears. “I miss you, Mama.”

“I know. I miss you, too. I regret not being there—”

Adelaide shook her head. “Daddy—”

“Your father, if able, would tell me he wished we were both there, too. That’s how much we care about you, and how proud we are. We’re proud of you and all of the choices you’ve made, and the choices you will make. Don’t you forget it.” In the background, the doorbell rang. “Sweetie, I have the visiting nurse here. I’ve got to go. But call me soon? Don’t wait so long next time.”

“Yes, Mama. I love you. And thank you.”

“Love you, baby girl. And tell my Genevieve I love her.”

Adelaide glanced up as Genevieve toddled to the sandbox. She stuck her fingers in the sand, scooped them up, and watched the grains cascade out of her fingers.