Unsure of his trustworthiness, I told a half truth of the ilk he’d bemoaned, which made me feel worse. “Not yet.”
“Well, good. They aren’t always a blessing. And like I told that Deanna, Lyle should never be anybody’s father. Not unless he gets help.”
My ears suddenly felt boxed as I sat there breathless and glad for the chair beneath me. “Do Deanna and Lyle have children?”
Willa deserved to know if she had a half sibling, even if it wasn’t clear whether that would be good or bad news.
“No. She annulled the marriage before it got that far. I only know that much because he threatened me after he found out about our conversation. Then he left Michigan. Haven’t heard from him in a little more than three years.”
So Lyle had moved here immediately after that fight, found his new patsy—me—and started a new life. Bad enough he left me for Ebba, but now it seemed our entire relationship had been a lie, all the way back to those first “I love yous.” Fresh tears threatened at yet another loss. Did the fact that I wanted to believe he’d once loved me make me a head case? “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry about, girl? You haven’t done anything wrong other than maybe turn a blind eye.”
Turned a blind eye. Dragged my family into a web of lies. Given my baby a monster for a father. “I’m sorry I bothered you with my problems, but thanks for your time.”
“You sound like a nice girl. My best advice is to leave my son and find a good man.” His words sounded remarkably like something my own father might say to a woman in my situation. At least my father would never see how spectacularly I’d been snowed, and how the entire family was suffering for my mistake.
Lyle’s dad had been so forthcoming I almost mentioned my pregnancy, then decided to first have Stan verify what I’d been told and learn more about Mr. Foster.
The ball in my throat made swallowing a challenge. “Thank you.”
“Take care.” He hung up unceremoniously, as if we’d talked about the weather or his favorite book.
Meanwhile, my body was numb. I couldn’t connect all the lies to the truth of my life, or maybe it was the other way around—I couldn’t connect the truth with the lies of my life. In the jumble only one truth stood out. When you pour everything you have into a belief, letting it go is like killing a part of yourself, even when you know it’s the only way to survive. Somehow I had to perform a sort of lobotomy yet remain whole enough to mother my daughter.
My phone vibrated, dancing across the table. Erin. I waited for it to drop to voice mail, then, a minute later, learned that my mother had driven her car through the garage door.
I never swore, but—Fuck. This. Day.
“Think Mom’ll give Dr. Blount the same cold shoulder she’s giving us?” Erin bent to tie her bright-red Converse high-tops, unconcerned with whether others in the waiting room were listening.
“She’s never rude to strangers.” Frayed patience made me huff, but Erin took it in stride. I hadn’t yet told her about Lyle’s father, because I could manage only one crisis at a time. “Let’s be thankful Dr. Blount squeezed her in today.”
“How’d you get that kind of pull?” Erin stood and shook out her hands—a longtime restless habit.
“Her special-needs son was in my first-grade class two years ago. We got particularly close when a difficult student took to bullying Robbie on the playground.”
“Flippin’ bullies. Will there ever be a day when people stop demanding that others conform to their own expectations?” Before I could reply, she said, “Let’s go downstairs to that little café and grab something while we wait.”
“Sure.”
Once we reached the café, I hunted for a table while Erin searched for something satisfying.
She met me a few minutes later, having purchased seltzer and a chocolate chip muffin, and a milk for me. “Should we have told the doctor all of the circumstances Mom’s facing?”
“Today is only a baseline neurological and memory assessment. We mentioned extreme stress. The source can’t be as relevant as the fact that it exists, can it? Plus she was already upset. I didn’t want to embarrass her more.” Bit by bit, I shredded a paper napkin. “Let’s pray that it’s only our current situation that’s causing Mom’s absentmindedness. At least that can be fixed.”
Erin made a doubtful face before popping the tab on her can.
“What?”
She shrugged. “Grandpa had dementia . . . but even if Mom’s trouble is situational, there’s no guarantee that will resolve anytime soon, or ever. We both know Lyle could get away with it, especially if you don’t involve the authorities. Then she’ll be depressed and broke. She needs rainy-day money for another twenty to thirty years—”
“You think I don’t know that?” I snapped, suspecting a part of Erin was enjoying my fall from grace.
She set down what remained of her muffin. “Don’t bark at me because you don’t like the facts. We need to be realistic so we can figure stuff out. I can kick in some rent to help, but my living at home is not a long-term solution. And even with me there, accidents still happen.”
“Clearly.” I twisted the cap off the milk and swallowed a gulp while shifting the guilt from myself back to her.
Erin winced. “You think you can do better? Be my guest.”
“I’m sorry.” I set the milk down, ashamed and exhausted. I didn’t want to be at odds with Erin. I’d never wanted that, yet we’d never learned how to break that cycle. “I’m not myself today.”
Erin relaxed into her seat. “I thought you looked pasty. Maybe you should get checked out, too.”
“I’m fine.”
“But the baby . . .” Erin bit her lower lip, genuine concern in her eyes.
Trusting my sister had never been easy, but in a single year I’d lost my father and my husband, and was now facing the possibility of slowly losing my mother as well. Erin and I needed to become friends. If we’d managed that sooner, I might’ve trusted her instincts about Lyle from the beginning. Although it felt as if I were flinging myself in front of a bus, I pushed myself to try. “If I tell you something, will it stay between us?”
Erin tugged at her earlobe, grimacing. “The part of me that can’t imagine anything worse than what I already know doesn’t want to hear another word. But you obviously need someone to talk to, so hit me with it. I promise to keep it in the vault.”
“It turns out that Lyle not only lied to me about his childhood, but he was also married before.”
Erin’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t look shocked. “Did Stan find this out?”
I walked her through my conversation with Lyle’s father, stomach tight in anticipation of snarky comments and a series of eye rolls. She remained thoughtfully silent instead. I sat back, hands clasped together and resting on the table. “I expected an ‘I told you so.’ You always said Lyle was too good to be true.”
My sister wouldn’t meet my gaze. Seeing her acting uncomfortable in her own skin—something rarer than a pay phone—unnerved me.
“I’m not happy to have been right. I wish I would’ve . . . spoken up more.” Finally she met my gaze. “A narcissist. What does that really mean?”