“Alan?” Jobeth whispered in fear. They could not lose their daughter. Jobeth had experienced many losses in her life. Even the death of a child, but the thought of losing her precious Mara-Joy was too much to bear.
They stood holding and comforting each other in the hallway.
“She is our daughter, Jobeth. Ours, not his. We are the ones who have been raising her--caring for her. He lost his chance to be her father years ago.” Alan squeezed Jobeth tight. “I’m not saying anything.” his face was blank of emotion.
“Tamara never wanted us to tell. She said so herself.”
Jobeth could tell Alan was trying to convince himself. “I won’t lose her. I won’t. Not even to Oliver.” Alan said, looking away from Jobeth’s eyes. Guilt was plaguing him. All he could hear in his mind were Oliver’s words about how he wanted to start a family with Tamara.
“I won’t lose her either. She’s ours,” Jobeth confirmed, taking some of the responsibility off of Alan’s shoulders.
Their decision was made. They held hands as they walked down the hall way to where Oliver sat waiting.
He stood up from the table, tall and dark, when they entered the room. Shawna continued to sit still, her eyes darting between Alan and Jobeth. Her nerves felt taut and she couldn’t help feeling frightened. She had made up her mind to keep quiet and listen to what Alan and Jobeth were going to say to Oliver. Shawna was the only other person besides Jobeth and Alan who knew Mara-Joy was Tamara’s birth daughter. She had a sneaking feeling that Oliver might be Mara-Joy’s father, remembering Tamara mentioning something about Oliver when Mara-Joy had been a baby.
“Alan? Jobeth? What do you know about Tamara?” Oliver demanded, sternly. They knew something. It showed in their odd behavior. Even Shawna seemed quiet and withdrawn when Tamara’s name was mentioned.
“Oliver,” Alan sat down. He scanned the cozy kitchen with its clean wooden counters and familiar warm smells. He could not bring himself to look at Oliver. “Tamara . . . There is no easy way to say this. She’s dead.”
“What?” Oliver choked in disbelief, clutching the table’s edge for support. He was unprepared to hear the words Alan had said. Many scenarios had played out in his head as to what happened to Tamara, but he never expected Tamara to be dead.
“It’s true, Oliver. I’m sorry,” Jobeth murmured, unable to face the stricken Oliver. A pinched noise escaped from the back of his throat.
“No,” he gagged, crumpling down into his seat.
Jobeth lowered her eyes, ashamed. The pain in Oliver’s face was unbearable.
“I am sorry,” Alan replied sorrowfully, remembering Tamara’s gray limp body, wrapped in a white sheet, her blood staining it red.
Oliver lowered his head and cried shamelessly. Shawna, overcome with grief for Oliver and the vivid memories of Tamara, began to silently cry too.
Jobeth turned away from the sight of Oliver’s bent head quivering in his arms.
Alan reached a hand under the table and squeezed Jobeth’s knee for support. They had to stick together in this.
She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Oliver would get over his pain of losing Tamara. They, on the other hand, would never get over losing Mara-Joy if they told Oliver the truth about the child Tamara left behind.
“What happened to her?” Oliver sobbed trying to compose himself.
Alan began to explain the grisly events that happened three years prior, omitting the fact that Tamara had a child.
Shawna sat silently listening, her eyes trained on her half-eaten food before her. She was unable to believe that Alan didn’t even mention the fact that Tamara had a child with her and that child was Mara-Joy.
Oliver listened, quietly crying, saddened by his loss.
“Excuse me,” Shawna whispered, standing up and leaving the room, her eyes avoiding the people around her.
Jobeth, frightened, looked toward Alan. He pointed his head in the direction of Shawna. With his eyes he told Jobeth to go to her. To silence her.
Jobeth stood up rather abruptly, excusing herself.
“Shawna still finds it hard to talk about Tamara. It was a very traumatic time for us all.”
“Of course, Jobeth, go to her,” Oliver sniffed, rubbing his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. Jobeth averted her eyes from Oliver. His eyes were red-rimmed and seemed to be bluer from the crying. He looked pathetic. If she looked at him too long, she would be consumed with guilt.
Quickly she went down the hall to Shawna’s room. She took a deep breath before entering the room unannounced. The young girl lay on her bed sobbing.
Her blonde hair fanned around her tear-streaked face. Jobeth sat down on her bed and began to fiddle with the multicolored quilted bedspread. It was similar to Joanna’s and Mara-Joy’s, except theirs were pink and white, whereas
Shawna’s was made of several soft colors that suited her complexion and style.
The two of them had made all the quilts together for the beds, just as they had done so many things together over the years.
“Shawna,” Jobeth began, unable to face the upset girl.
“Why are you and Alan lying to Oliver?” she buried her face deep into her pillow. Shawna loved Jobeth and Alan and would never want to upset them in any way. But the sight of Oliver’s devastated face was too much for her to bear. How could the two people in this world who had shown nothing but compassion for others stand by and let Oliver suffer?
“Shawna,” Jobeth placed a hand on her quivering back. “There are things that--”
“No, Jobeth,” Shawna interrupted, sitting up, her eyes brimming red with tears. The look on her face made Jobeth shrink back in shame. “Oliver is devastated. How can you both sit there and not tell him he has a daughter? A daughter from the woman he loves.”
“Stop it!”
Jobeth had never raised her voice to Shawna before and both were a little startled by the venom behind it. “She is my and Alan’s child. We are the only family she has ever known.” Jobeth stood up and began to pace the floor in the small, warm room, biting on her clenched fist.
“You are too young to understand. We really don’t know anything about Oliver--what kind of man he is.”
“That is not true, Jobeth, and you know it. I know Oliver is Mara-Joy’s father and he has a right to know he has a daughter.”
“He is not her father! Alan is and I am her mother.” Jobeth stood with her back to Shawna, who could not believe how cold Jobeth was being. “Tamara wanted it this way. It is what Tamara wanted,” Jobeth repeated, trying to persuade herself. “She didn’t want Oliver to have her.”
“She never expected Oliver to show up looking for her,” Shawna retorted.
Jobeth swiveled around and flared at Shawna. The young girl jerked back, afraid. Never had Jobeth looked at her that way.
Jobeth strained her neck, holding back her anger.
“Shawna,” she said calmly, devoid of emotion, “Alan and I have always been good to you. Have we not?” Her brows knitted together questioningly.
Shawna nodded apprehensively, unable to recognize the woman standing before her.
“We have never asked for anything in return for all we have done.”
“Yes, I know that, but--”
“No one will take Mara-Joy from me. Do you understand that?”
Shawna sat in disbelief, her mouth hanging open.
“We are what’s best for Mara-Joy. We are her family. You, Alan and I. We are all a family. We have all lost too much. Do you understand? I will not lose Mara-Joy.” Jobeth tried to soften her voice but failed. The tightness still clung to her throat. “What kind of life could he give my Mara-Joy?”
“All right, Jobeth. I understand,” Shawna mumbled barely able to speak. “I owe you everything. I won’t say a word to Oliver about his daughter.”
“My daughter!” Jobeth forced through clenched teeth, the veins popping angrily from her neck. “My daughter.” She turned abruptly and stormed out of the r
oom, closing the door behind her.
“Your daughter,” Shawna said, staring at the closed door, tears streaming down her face. “Your daughter, Jobeth.”
Chapter 18 —