“I had a great time with you. I wanted to let you know,” Mitchell said when Effie didn’t speak.
“Me, too.” She cradled the phone against her shoulder to pour the pasta into the water.
“So...we’ll talk later. Okay? Looking forward to it.”
“Me, too,” Effie repeated and let him disconnect the phone call first. She stared at the phone for a second or so. She hadn’t assigned him a special ringtone or added a picture to his contact information, so for the moment, Mitchell remained nothing but a string of numbers.
“Give him a chance,” she murmured to herself. “This is what you want.”
Something nice, something tame. Something normal. That was what she was looking for.
Wasn’t it?
Polly was so quiet at dinner that nothing Effie said got a smile out of her. Clearly, she was still bothered by what had happened with Meredith. So, after they’d polished off the mac-n-cheese and Polly had cleared the table, Effie sent her off to her room to do homework.
Then she picked up the phone.
“Hi, Dee?” Effie fell into the old nickname before thinking it was possible Delores didn’t go by it any longer. Then she decided she didn’t give a rat’s ass what the other woman preferred to be called. “This is Effie. Polly’s mother. Your daughter’s in Polly’s class.”
“I know who you are, Effie, of course.” Delores sounded bubbly, as if maybe she’d already started on the early evening cocktails. No wonder, since her husband had left her several years ago for not a younger woman, but an older one.
Maybe that was unkind.
“So listen, Dee, I’m going to cut straight to it. Keep your mouth shut about my daughter, your speculation about her father, and about Heath.” Effie drew in a breath as if she was dragging on a cigarette. “You know damn well he’s not my brother. And not that it’s any of your business, but he’s not Polly’s father. Get your own house in order before you start talking shit about mine.”
Dee sputtered. “What... I... Wait a minute. What?”
“My kid’s eleven years old. She should be worried about her science fair project and growing out of her favorite jeans too fast. Not any other bullshit you want to spread around.” Effie paused long enough to hear a snuffle from Dee through the phone. She smiled to be sure the other woman heard it in her voice. “She has a lot of people in her life who love her. She hasn’t suffered for the lack of knowing who donated the sperm that made her.”
“Oh.” Dee sounded confused. She’d never been the brightest shade of pink in the palette. “Oh, I didn’t know you had a sperm donor.”
Effie had in fact been knocked up the old-fashioned way and had been making a sarcastic comment, so now she sighed. “Dee, Jesus. It’s none of your business. Okay? Why would you tell your kid anything like that anyway? And as for my paintings, also none of your business. What difference does it make to you who buys them or supports them?”
Silence. Effie waited. Through the phone line she heard another snuffle.
“I’m sorry,” Dee said finally. “I didn’t tell Meredith any of those things. She must’ve overheard us talking.”
“Who was talking?”
“Friends, I guess.” Dee made a small, apologetic noise. “The subject came up at the last mommy meeting I had here. I guess she overheard us...”
It was far from the first time Effie had known herself to be the topic of conversation. For years after coming home she’d been approached by reporters and curiosity seekers wanting a piece of her story. After the debacle with the coming-home party, her dad had forbidden any of them from contacting her, but after he died, there’d been a few who managed to find her contact information. Some had been ballsy enough to approach her instead of just posting voyeuristic bullshit about her on that stupid fucking forum for sickos who liked to collect memorabilia from crime victims. Someone had even made a documentary. Effie had been offered money to participate, but she had refused.
To hear it now, though...her stomach twisted again. She wanted a drink, something strong. Instead, she forced herself to breathe.
“Why the hell are you gossiping about me anyway?”
Dee made another of those noises. “They asked me. Some moms from school, I guess they found out we went to school together, and when they heard about Andrews being up for parole...”
“Wait a minute. What? What the fuck?” Effie froze, her fingers cramping and curling around her phone.
“An alert came up, I guess, about how a convicted sex offender was possibly going to be living close by. I guess you know where the house is.”
Effie swallowed bitterness. “Yes.”
The same house. It had passed to Andrews’s children when he went to prison, and as far as she knew, they’d never sold it. Nobody had ever seemed to be living in it anyway, whenever she drove past, which was only on the rarest of secretive occasions. It had always been empty, the grass a little too long, merchandisers littering the driveway. At Halloween, no local kids egged it or strung toilet paper in the trees. The house had gained its own reputation.
Dee coughed. “Well. It’s only a couple blocks away from where I live now. If he gets out on parole, he’ll be living there. So, you know, they put out this petition to sign so that there wouldn’t be a pedophile living there.”
“I don’t think you can keep him from moving back into a house that he owns,” Effie whispered through her clenched jaw. “No matter what he did.”
Dee was very quiet then, only the sound of her breathing coming through the phone. “I didn’t tell anyone Heath was your brother, Effie. I told them that Andrews made you and Heath call him Daddy, that’s all. And that’s the truth, right? I didn’t make it up. I wasn’t lying! They asked me, and it’s not like any of them lived around here when it happened. They don’t remember the stories.”
“Oh, God. Well, aren’t they lucky they have you to catch them up.” Effie swallowed again, her throat closing. All those women in their yoga pants and matching hairstyles, matching smiles. She’d never quite fit in with them, and now they all knew about her...this, the worst thing. But that wasn’t what upset her the most. “Look, when it affects my kid, Dee, I get really pissed.”
“I’m sorry,” Dee said after a minute. “They’re really worried about him getting out and living so close. That’s all.”
“He’s not going to get out of prison.” Bill had told her so, enough times, and all she could do was believe it or live every moment of her life waiting in dread for it to happen.
“Well, there was something on the internet...”
“Rumors about it go around every few years when he’s up for parole, but he won’t get out. He was served with two consecutive life terms for kidnapping, indecency, cruelty to children and a bunch of other stuff. He’s not getting out, not ever.” Effie laughed, harsh and sour. “Tell all your biddy friends not to worry so fucking much. And tell your kid to back off my kid.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Dee said.
Effie took a slow breath. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
“Effie, if you want to come to our moms’ group...” The other woman trailed off.
Effie didn’t answer. The idea alarmed her. When Polly was younger and Effie had been struggling to get through school and working two jobs to make ends meet, she’d often eyed those put-together matchy-matchy moms in their playgroups with envy. Their fancy strollers and designer coffees. The way they all seemed to know how to keep their kids clean and dressed with what seemed like very little effort. There’d been days she swore finding two matching socks was a feat akin to Frodo’s journey to throw the ring into the volcano.
“So you can all talk shit about me to my face instead of behind my back? No, thanks.”
Dee sighed loudly. “I said I was sorry. They started to ask me questions. It’s not like any of
this stuff can’t be found out on the internet. I mean, Effie, you make your living off it. Do you really think people don’t talk about it?”
Effie knew her work’s value lay in her past. She knew her story was public knowledge. She rubbed at the spot between her eyes. “Look, just...be more careful, okay? And tell your kid to back off.”
“She’s upset because her dad left,” Dee said after a second. “I know she’s been a pain to some of the other kids lately. She feels left out. Maybe if you could ask Polly to be a little nicer to her, you know, include her in some things...”
“You want me to have my kid befriend yours?” Effie frowned, thinking of all the little stories Polly had told her about Meredith’s bullying tactics.
“She used to have a lot of friends, and now she’s the outcast. She thinks they’re making fun of her because of her dad leaving.”
“It’s because she spreads rumors and makes fun of other kids.”
Dee coughed. “Girls like Polly... If she was nice to Meredith, the other kids would like her, too.”
Effie rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure that’s how it works, to be honest. Polly’s not the one being nasty, you know.”
“I know.”
This conversation had not gone at all the way Effie had imagined it would. Consequently, her righteous outrage was fading in the face of Dee’s apologies and pleas on behalf of her lonely, socially alienated daughter. “I’ll talk to Polly.”
“I’ll talk to Meredith. And, Effie...if you don’t want to join the moms’ group, maybe you’d like to grab coffee one day? Catch up? I’m really sorry, I never meant for anything to be hurtful. It got blown out of context. It’s easy to forget there’s a real person on the other side of the gossip. Let me make it up to you.”
“Sure,” Effie said, to her own surprise. “That sounds great.”
Dee sounded pleased. “Great. I’ll call you next week.”
They disconnected and Effie tucked her phone into her pocket. She went into Polly’s room to wish her good-night, only to find her daughter already asleep. Another rush of love washed over Effie, so strong it made her want to cry.
It was only later as she was falling into sleep that Effie jerked awake with that feeling of falling. She’d forgotten to call Mitchell. She twisted in her sheets to look at the clock. Too late now. He really wasn’t the one she wanted to talk to anyway, but although she tapped in Heath’s number, she deleted it before the call could connect.
chapter ten
Serving her father coffee, Effie feels incredibly grown-up but far from mature. Not even with the small bump of her belly sticking out from the front of her maternity dress. It’s a horrendously ugly outfit and does nothing to hide the pregnancy she and her father have not yet discussed.
He takes the coffee and sets it on the table to look at her. “You don’t have to stay here, you know that? Your mother...”
“She made herself very clear.” Effie sips from a glass of ice water, the only thing she can stomach right now.
Her father sighs. “She’s sorry about that.”
“I’m sure she is.” Effie shakes her head. “But I’m fine here. Really.”
“If that boy wants to step up and take responsibility,” her father begins but stops when Effie holds up a hand.
“This isn’t Heath’s baby. I told Mom that. But Heath is willing to let me live here. It’s my best option. And it will be fine. Good. It’s going to be great.” As always since she came home, there’s an awkward silence in the space where once she’d have called him Dad. She can’t bring herself to do it anymore. It’s not Daddy, but even so, the name is soured for her. It’s not as if she can suddenly start calling him Pop or something like that. So Effie doesn’t call her father anything, and it’s obvious and uncomfortable, but neither of them ever mention it.
“I know you think so.” Her father frowns. “I understand.”
Effie sighs, sounding very much as he had only moments before. “You don’t.”
“I’d like to,” her father says.
This is never the sort of conversation a girl should ever have with her father. It involves trauma and awful things. Also sex, which wasn’t awful nor a trauma, despite the fact she ended up in this delicate condition when she ought to have known better.
Her father sighs again, looking so much older than he had even when Effie came back home, and she’d been shocked then at how much he’d aged in the three years she’d been gone. His smile reminds her of when she was younger and he’d take her on a Saturday to the hardware store to look at the tools. He’s the sort of father any girl would dream of, the kind who will get choked up when he dances with her at her wedding. Not that she’s planning a wedding anytime soon.
“The father. He’s not in the picture?”
Effie has not told the baby’s father that he’s the one who knocked her up. She hasn’t seen him since she found out. If he has by some reason heard about it, and he might’ve, because it’s a small town, he probably assumes, as her mother had, that the baby is Heath’s. And it should be, she thinks with a sudden, fierce twist of her mouth. This baby, the one she’s going to get to keep and not the one she lost, should be his.
She shakes her head. “No. He doesn’t know.”
“You could come home, Effie. We’ll take care of you.” Her father sounds sincere.
Effie believes him. But... “I’m almost nineteen. I’m in school, I’m working, and I’m having a baby. Living with Heath is helping me. We’re going to be all right. I don’t have to come home. I can’t.”
“Why not? Because of your mother? She’s just having a hard time with all of this. Honey, I know your mom likes to talk. But that’s all it is. She’ll come around. You know she will.”
“No, not because of her. Because I’m not a kid anymore.”
“You’re still our daughter. You’ll always be our little girl. Effie, your mom and I want to help you. That’s all.” Her father lifts the coffee mug as though he means to drink from it but puts it down without so much as a sip. He shakes his head. Sighs again.
Effie wants to make this easier for him, but she doesn’t know how. “This is the best thing for me.”
“To live in a crap-hole apartment, working and going to school, with a baby on the way? Living with a guy who can barely hold down a job of his own? I give him credit, don’t get me wrong, if the baby really isn’t his—”
“It’s not,” she says sharply. “And he knows that. So he does deserve the credit, and for more than just that. Heath works hard.”
“He’s been in and out of mental hospitals, Effie.”
“Once. That’s it.”
“Once is one too many.”
“Better than just going in and never coming out,” she snaps, not caring if she hurts her father’s feelings now. “Has he fucked up? Yes. We both have.”
“I understand. You went through something terrible together.”
“Yes,” Effie says quietly. “Together. And we’re going through this together, too.”
“Is he good to you?”
It’s not the question she expected, and she’s taken enough by surprise to nod. “Yes.”
Her father stands. “Well. I can’t promise you anything about your mother, but...I’ll try to give him a chance. I just want you to know you have choices. But if you need something, anything, you come to me, okay? I’m still your father, Effie, and I love you.”
“Love you, too, D-dad.” She stumbles on the word but gives her father a huge, long hug.
When he finally lets go to hold her at arm’s length, he looks her up and down. Her mother would have lectured, but her father smiles. He puts a hand on her belly.
“I bet it’s a girl,” he says. “And she’ll be beautiful, just like you.”
chapter eleven
Effie missed her father every day, but there were some times when the ache was worse. Tonight, crammed into the middle school auditorium with her mom on one side and Heath on the other, she missed her father very much. He’d have been there with flowers for Polly, even though she only had a part in the chorus. Front row. Clapping until his hands fell off. Effie wisely did not mention this thought to her mother, who was already supremely uncomfortable with the fact Heath had shown up late and, to her, unexpectedly.
“Stacey,” Heath said with a nod and a smile so genuine even Effie believed he wasn’t being sarcastic. In Effie’s ear, he said, “Parking was shit. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You got here before they started, that’s what counts.” Catching sight of her mother’s dour expression, Effie settled herself more firmly between them.
When he took her hand a few minutes into the show, she let him hold it for at least a minute before gently disentangling their fingers. She pretended it was so she could dig in her purse for a tissue, but she knew Heath wasn’t fooled. Dammit, though, he didn’t have to insist on trying to make them into a couple when they weren’t. It put Effie in a bad place, made her the bad guy, and he knew it.
Heath gave her a glance and a smile that Effie didn’t return. He rolled his eyes a little and turned his attention back to the stage. Three hours and one fifteen-minute intermission later, the show had ended and a bright-eyed Polly rushed to greet them in the school lobby.
“Everyone’s going to Buster’s for ice cream, Mom. Can I go?” Polly still wore the heavy eyeliner and blush from the play, and the sight of how she was going to look in a few years as a teenager sent a pang through Effie’s heart.
“I can take her,” Effie’s mother said. “I have some errands to run in the mall. I can shop while she eats with her friends, then pick her up and bring her home.”
Effie hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Her mother smiled and put an arm around Polly’s shoulders. “It’s no trouble at all.”