Die Before I Wake. Laurie Breton
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my new husband, but if this was the direction my marriage was headed, how long would it be before I decided I’d made a colossal mistake?
I lifted my overnight bag to the bed, unzipped it, and pulled out my pajamas. Stomping into the bathroom, I tossed the pj’s on the toilet seat, started up the shower, and began to strip.
I came to an abrupt halt when I caught sight of my reflection in the eight-foot-long bathroom mirror. I looked like the Wild Woman of Borneo, my cheeks flushed with fury, my eyes wide and wild. Even my hair seemed to be in on the act, standing electrified, as though I’d stuck my finger into a light socket.
How dare she call me a gold digger? The woman didn’t even know me. And she’d already tried to turn Tom’s daughters against me. What kind of monster would poison a child’s mind like that?
I had half a mind to march back downstairs and tell the woman exactly what was what. I’d never been one to mince words or to retreat from a fight. If there was one thing I’d learned firsthand from my dad, it was that quitters never win. Dave Hanrahan had been the poster child for how not to live your life. He’d allowed a run of bad luck, a few lousy decisions, and the hazy comfort of alcohol to destroy his future. Because I’d been witness to his slow and painful deterioration, I’d vowed that I would never let life defeat me the way Dad had. No matter what, I stood up for myself and for what I believed in. And I never, ever backed down.
But, damn it, the woman was Tom’s mother.
And I was the woman who wore Tom’s wedding ring.
Scooping my hair back from my face with both hands, I let out a ragged breath. None of this was his fault. I couldn’t blame Tom because his mother was a monster. He already knew that. He’d been living with the woman for nearly forty years. That was punishment enough for a lifetime. How could I justify giving him the added burden of lunatic behavior?
So I didn’t go back downstairs. For tonight, I’d let it go. Today had been stressful for everyone. Maybe tomorrow, in the clear light of day, things would look different. Maybe tomorrow, after things settled down, Jeannette would see the error of her ways.
But as I stood in the shower, steaming hot water pounding down on my shoulders, I wasn’t at all sure it would happen. Tom’s mother seemed so unyielding that I wondered if there was more going on here than I was privy to. Was there some deep, dark secret that Tom hadn’t bothered to tell me? Was it possible that Jeannette’s train had simply run off the tracks? There’d been something in that look Tom and his brother exchanged at the airport, something about their mother that remained unspoken but understood by both of them. I couldn’t help wondering if a woman so determined to deprive her son of happiness might be a little unbalanced. Would a sane, rational woman attempt to poison the minds of her grandchildren because she didn’t want their father remarrying? No matter how I looked at it, there was no rational explanation for her behavior.
One thing I did know as I stepped from the shower and toweled my hair dry: I’d never felt so alone in my life. Not even after my baby died and the world became a barren, empty place. This was far worse. The world after Angel’s death had been indifferent to my pain; I’d experienced none of the malevolence, none of the deliberate and focused hatred, that I felt here in this house.
I was wrapped in my fluffy white chenille robe, yanking a brush through my wet hair, when Tom came back. He closed the bedroom door quietly behind him. Brush in hand, I paused between strokes. Our eyes met: his uncertain, mine accusing. “Hi,” he said.
“I heard you,” I said bluntly. “In the kitchen. Arguing.”
He grimaced. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
“Jules,” he said, “I’m so sorry.”
“That makes two of us. I don’t understand, Tom. Make me understand.”
“I don’t know what to say. My mother’s overprotective. She’s always been that way.”
Overprotective? Was that what he called it? If so, we might as well be speaking different languages. “I can think of a few other adjectives that fit even better,” I said. “How about mean? Spiteful? Vicious? Just for starters.”
“I don’t have a response for you, Jules, because you’re right.” He raked slender, pale fingers through his dark hair. “I knew things would be a little awkward. I knew she wouldn’t be happy about our marriage. But I never thought she’d be insulting to you.”
“She called me a gold digger! And my father a wastrel!”
“And if you were paying attention, you know that I stood up for you.”
“Yes. You did. And I’m grateful. But if this is the way she’s going to treat me, I’m not sure how long I can refrain from giving her a large piece of my mind.”
“Aw, honey.” He took a step toward me. “She’ll adjust. Just give her a little time.”
“That’s not everything, Tom. There’s more.” I told him what Taylor had said to me, the terrible things his mother had taught her, and he winced as if in pain.
“Christ, Mom,” he muttered, rubbing his face with his hands. “What the hell are you thinking?”
I hated to see him this way. Hated even worse knowing I was the one who’d put that look on his face. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t want to tell you, but I thought you should know.”
“I swear to God, Jules, I had no idea I was bringing you into this kind of nightmare. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away. It would kill me, but I wouldn’t blame you.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I take my marriage vows seriously. For better or for worse, remember? I’ll do whatever it takes to win her over. If that doesn’t work, then I’ll just have to learn to live with her. Somehow.” The picture that painted in my mind was bleak enough that I had to shove it aside.
“I’m not sure it could get much worse. This isn’t fair to you. It’s unacceptable. If Mom keeps this up, she’ll have to live somewhere else.”
Aghast, I said, “You can’t throw her out, Tom. She’s your mother.”
“And you’re my wife! There’s another vow you should remember: forsaking all others. Yes, she’s my mother. But you’re my family now. You and the girls. If she’s determined to come between us—” he scowled “—or between you and my daughters, I won’t allow it.”
I wasn’t sure if I felt better or worse. It was a comfort to know that Tom was solidly in my corner. On the other hand, I didn’t want to be responsible for the dissolution of his family. Wishing I could avoid asking, but knowing I couldn’t, I said, “Tom? What did your mother mean when she told Taylor I wouldn’t last any longer than any of the others?”
My husband rolled his eyes. “All those others,” he said. “All the screaming, swooning hordes of women I’ve dated since Elizabeth died.”
This was one thing we hadn’t talked about, not in detail. His sexual history. Mine. We’d been too busy falling for each other to get around to the topic of our collective romantic past. At first, we hadn’t thought much about it. Once we were married, it didn’t seem to matter.
But now, suddenly, it did. “Have there been screaming, swooning hordes?” I asked.
“Come on, Jules. Do I look like Jon Bon Jovi to you?”
In my book, he looked far better than Jon. Which was saying a lot. But he was deliberately missing the point. “I’m serious, Tom. How many were there?”
He crossed the room to me and took my hand. “Elizabeth’s been dead for two years.” He tucked a strand of wet hair behind my ear. “I haven’t lived like a monk. I’ve dated a few women. None of them stuck around. None of them stuck around because I wasn’t serious about any of them. I swear, Jules, you’re the only one who ever screamed or swooned.”
Coyly,