squeaking had stopped. Lisa strained to listen for voices but could only hear water running from somewhere in the house, probably one of them in the bathroom, freshening up.
The baby fell asleep, and Lisa put him back in his bassinet. She snuggled down in the bed, wide-awake. How much can you pack into one day? she thought. She just had a baby less than eighteen hours earlier. She’d entertained her husband’s family in the birthing room; his sisters, who were old enough to be her mother, stood at the foot of the bed, pointing at her vagina and yelling, “The head! We can see the head!”
Then her mother and what was left of her family showed up, and instead of the focus being where it should have been—on her son—she discovered that her brother was basically lying to her for weeks before he died. Sandra Benson would be the last person on earth she’d picture Brent being interested in having a relationship with. And now, she had his son. As much as Lisa didn’t want to believe that child was Brent’s, she couldn’t deny that he looked exactly like her brother.
Now, her main source of support was in the room below her, having just had sex. Gladys and sex in the same sentence grated on the nerves. She was the altar lady at church. She took the Sunday flower arrangements to the local nursing home every week so they wouldn’t go to waste. Gladys baked homemade biscuits for breakfast, washed Lisa’s bras by hand, curled Megan’s hair with pink sponge curlers from the 1970s. She didn’t lay on the couch in the den, naked, with Big Ed in between her open legs. It wasn’t possible.
Turning over in bed, Lisa could see Dan’s profile in the light from the streetlight outside the house. Dan. He said her text saved him from having to have a drink with a former beauty queen. What on earth was she thinking when she married him? The savior he’d started out being had chinks visible in his armor as the weeks passed, and she knew she was being punished for not only infidelity, but betraying her own mother. Because of it, she didn’t feel like she could go to Pam and complain about Dan. She certainly couldn’t complain about him to Gladys.
Going to the pub to meet Cara Ellison was so in Dan’s character, she wasn’t as angry as she should have been. But she wasn’t going to tolerate even a hint of shenanigans. Not after what her mother had gone through with her father. The concern that history was repeating itself frightened her. Right before she fell asleep, she made the promise to herself that she’d tighten up the reins of her marriage and take control or get out of it. There was no alternative. She was not going to end up like Pam.
Chapter 11
Pam fixed a light supper for Bernice and Annabelle. It was quiet in the house without Nelda, but Pam was glad she’d offered to go to Brooklyn with Sandra. The two children were Pam and Nelda’s flesh and blood; little Miranda needed more input from Marie’s relatives now that Tom was out of the picture. Pam always knew he and his mother, Virginia, were more involved with her care than Sandra was, so now they needed to step it up and lend a hand. She wasn’t even sure Miranda should stay with Sandra. It was a matter she’d discuss with Nelda as soon as she returned to the beach.
Puttering around her kitchen, her reflection in the windows looking out upon the ocean caught her eye, and she gasped. She wasn’t alone. Putting down a head of lettuce, she walked to the veranda door to see who was standing on the sand in her backyard. It was Sandra’s soon-to-be ex, Tom.
“Can I help you?” Pam shouted from the safety of the house.
He walked around the dune to the walkway leading to the veranda. “Sorry to scare you,” he said. “Is Sandra here?”
“No, Tom. We went into Smithtown to see my daughter, and she left for home from there instead of coming back to the beach. Why are you here?”
“I really came to see you, but then I was worried Sandra might be
The baby fell asleep, and Lisa put him back in his bassinet. She snuggled down in the bed, wide-awake. How much can you pack into one day? she thought. She just had a baby less than eighteen hours earlier. She’d entertained her husband’s family in the birthing room; his sisters, who were old enough to be her mother, stood at the foot of the bed, pointing at her vagina and yelling, “The head! We can see the head!”
Then her mother and what was left of her family showed up, and instead of the focus being where it should have been—on her son—she discovered that her brother was basically lying to her for weeks before he died. Sandra Benson would be the last person on earth she’d picture Brent being interested in having a relationship with. And now, she had his son. As much as Lisa didn’t want to believe that child was Brent’s, she couldn’t deny that he looked exactly like her brother.
Now, her main source of support was in the room below her, having just had sex. Gladys and sex in the same sentence grated on the nerves. She was the altar lady at church. She took the Sunday flower arrangements to the local nursing home every week so they wouldn’t go to waste. Gladys baked homemade biscuits for breakfast, washed Lisa’s bras by hand, curled Megan’s hair with pink sponge curlers from the 1970s. She didn’t lay on the couch in the den, naked, with Big Ed in between her open legs. It wasn’t possible.
Turning over in bed, Lisa could see Dan’s profile in the light from the streetlight outside the house. Dan. He said her text saved him from having to have a drink with a former beauty queen. What on earth was she thinking when she married him? The savior he’d started out being had chinks visible in his armor as the weeks passed, and she knew she was being punished for not only infidelity, but betraying her own mother. Because of it, she didn’t feel like she could go to Pam and complain about Dan. She certainly couldn’t complain about him to Gladys.
Going to the pub to meet Cara Ellison was so in Dan’s character, she wasn’t as angry as she should have been. But she wasn’t going to tolerate even a hint of shenanigans. Not after what her mother had gone through with her father. The concern that history was repeating itself frightened her. Right before she fell asleep, she made the promise to herself that she’d tighten up the reins of her marriage and take control or get out of it. There was no alternative. She was not going to end up like Pam.
Chapter 11
Pam fixed a light supper for Bernice and Annabelle. It was quiet in the house without Nelda, but Pam was glad she’d offered to go to Brooklyn with Sandra. The two children were Pam and Nelda’s flesh and blood; little Miranda needed more input from Marie’s relatives now that Tom was out of the picture. Pam always knew he and his mother, Virginia, were more involved with her care than Sandra was, so now they needed to step it up and lend a hand. She wasn’t even sure Miranda should stay with Sandra. It was a matter she’d discuss with Nelda as soon as she returned to the beach.
Puttering around her kitchen, her reflection in the windows looking out upon the ocean caught her eye, and she gasped. She wasn’t alone. Putting down a head of lettuce, she walked to the veranda door to see who was standing on the sand in her backyard. It was Sandra’s soon-to-be ex, Tom.
“Can I help you?” Pam shouted from the safety of the house.
He walked around the dune to the walkway leading to the veranda. “Sorry to scare you,” he said. “Is Sandra here?”
“No, Tom. We went into Smithtown to see my daughter, and she left for home from there instead of coming back to the beach. Why are you here?”
“I really came to see you, but then I was worried Sandra might be
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