Three For The Road. Shannon Waverly
Читать онлайн книгу.
that week, the moment when Charles had informed her of her true parentage replayed itself in her mind. Again she felt her initial shock, the confusion and numbing incredulity that had prevented his words from really registering for several minutes. It was sort of like watching the demolition of a high-rise building, she thought. Hearing the boom of the explosives, seeing the jolt through the structure—and then that strange moment when the building simply hangs in place, mortally wounded but still appearing sound, right before dropping story by story into a thundering cloud of devastation. That was how she felt every time she recalled the destruction of her world.
She wiped her eyes, but they filled again almost immediately. Oh, this had to stop. She couldn’t afford to dwell on her illegitimacy anymore or wallow in self-pity. Facing a solitary drive down the entire Eastern seaboard, she needed to be alert, defensive and tough, even though in all her life she’d never been any of those things. Growing up affluent in a quiet New England town, she’d never had to be.
But after several minutes of focusing on her trip, her sadness had been replaced by fear, fear of the journey, fear of the unknown. No, that wouldn’t do, either.
“How hard can it be, huh, Monet?” she asked the fat feline riding beside her. “People make this trip all the time—college kids on spring break, retired folks.” She blotted her eyes one last time and pocketed the tissue. “I have Triple A insurance, my route clearly mapped out, even the best campgrounds to stay in each night. I’ve got food, shelter, credit cards, everything I need. And,” she said with added emphasis, “it’s only three days.”
Morning sunshine warmed her left shoulder as she drove down the highway heading south. She relaxed into the warmth, flexing her stiff neck to one side and then the other. “Actually,” she said, addressing the cat again, “the drive isn’t hard at all. I-95 all the way until we reach Daytona. Just one long road. Amazing, isn’t it? Then at Daytona we’ll cut across Florida to a highway that runs down the gulf side of the state straight to Sarasota. The gentleman I talked to at Triple A told me that only New York and Washington might give us trouble, but if we avoid those cities during commuter hours, we’ll be okay. And once we reach Florida everything’s going to be more than okay. It’ll be great. I’ve got a job interview lined up already. My best friend’ll be there. The weather’ll be forever warm....”
The cat gave her a look that said he’d had enough bothersome conversation. He settled his chin on his paws, closed his yellow eyes and went to sleep.
Mary Elizabeth shrugged and turned on the radio, trying to find a classical station. When she had, she settled back.
But a few minutes later her mind had wandered again, away from the music to the countless school concerts Charles had sat through when she was a girl. He’d attended her plays and art exhibits, as well. But he’d usually grumbled beforehand, looked impatient during and been irritable after. At times she’d thought she was merely being overly sensitive, but now she knew better. Now a lot of Charles’s behavior made sense. So did his words. You’ve always been a burden, Mary Elizabeth. A burden. More than she’d ever suspected, apparently.
It must have been terribly difficult raising a child who was the taunting proof of his wife’s infidelity, a child he clearly didn’t want and had hoped Eliza would give up for adoption. And how maddening it must have been when that child, given every advantage, had continually failed to live up to the Drummond name.
Or maybe she had, she thought, but in his pain and resentment Charles had simply refused to acknowledge it.
Mary Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around the wheel. She wished she’d seen things in that light when she was younger. Instead, she’d spent her youth trying to win his approval and love, trying, always trying, but growing increasingly certain that in some mysterious way she was inferior and deserved to be treated differently from her brother and sister.
Damn! It shouldn’t have been that way. Her mother should have told her about her illegitimacy instead of keeping it a secret. It would have explained so much. Besides, it was her very identity her mother had withheld. And what if there was some unpleasant surprise lurking in her gene pool such as heart disease or diabetes? It was only right a person be told such a thing, or at least be given the opportunity to find out. The likelihood of that happening now was slim. Mrs. Pidgin had told her that after her biological father left the area, her mother had never heard from him again. No one knew where he was or if he was even still alive.
Mary Elizabeth came to with a start, realizing she’d done it again. She’d fallen into thinking about Charles and her illegitimacy when her mind ought to be on the road. With a determined effort she put them from her thoughts, reached for the radio and turned up the volume.
She stopped at a roadside rest area south of Boston shortly after noon to feed Monet, who thought he was human and insisted on three meals a day. Although anxiety had destroyed Mary Elizabeth’s appetite, she knew that for the baby’s sake she ought to eat, as well.
While she was putting together a lobster salad sandwich, she realized her stomach was knotted with a curious new tension. Her hands trembled with a nervousness she couldn’t quite define.
She was opening a cupboard to look for her copper tea kettle when the thought abruptly hit her: survival. That’s what this nervousness was about—preparing her first solitary meal, in the first home that could truly be called her own. It didn’t matter that she’d prepared innumerable meals before. This one cut through time and all common sense to feelings that were obscure and primitive. The need to survive. The fear that she wouldn’t, just as Charles had predicted.
Conscious of her every move, she found the kettle, set it on the propane stove and turned the knob. Ridiculously, her heart leapt when a flame appeared.
She considered going out to a picnic table with her food, but an eighteen-wheeler was parked nearby, and while the driver was probably just having his lunch, too, she felt it was wiser to stay inside.
She sat instead at the small kitchen table and cranked open the window to catch the fresh September breeze. Gazing outside at her unfamiliar surroundings, her stomach suddenly clenched again. She was alone now, truly disconnected from everything she knew, and she felt alone, felt disconnected.
But there was simply no way she could have stayed in Deerfield. Feeling alone and disconnected wasn’t nearly as bad as having to deal with Charles. Or with Roger, she thought. In a town as small as Deerfield, Roger would have found out about her pregnancy sooner or later.
Mary Elizabeth picked up her sandwich and took a small, tasteless bite. Charles was right; Roger was a decent person, and although he and Mary Elizabeth didn’t love each other, he’d want to marry her. He’d think it was the right thing to do.
It wasn’t. She’d never been more certain about anything in her life. It wasn’t her own happiness she was considering, although she’d always assumed she’d marry a man she was in love with. It was the child’s welfare that concerned her. Roger would feel trapped in a situation he hadn’t planned and didn’t need or want.
Of course she wouldn’t have to marry him, despite her father’s considerable influence on both her and Roger. But even single, Roger was sure to resent the child. Maybe not at first. At first he might ask for visitation rights, maybe even insist on paying child support, but eventually he would feel he’d been dealt an unfair hand, especially when he met a woman he wanted to marry. He’d resent having to explain this embarrassment from the past, this bastard. He’d resent having to justify the drain on his time and his wallet. The child would become an issue between them. His wife might even be jealous and ask him to stop seeing the child altogether.
No, Mary Elizabeth didn’t want any baby she brought into the world to grow up like that, resented and unwanted by its father—the way she’d been raised.
She regretted not being able to tell Roger she was pregnant. Fathers had their rights, and what she was doing to him was morally wrong and probably legally wrong, as well. But whatever guilt she felt was dwarfed by her conviction she was doing the right thing for the baby. And in the end, would it really matter whether Roger knew or not? She planned to