Secrets She Left Behind. Diane ChamberlainЧитать онлайн книгу.
of them thought I was Jamie’s wife.
It fascinated me to feel Maggie melt into my arms when she heard her father speak. He had a hypnotic quality in his voice that soothed not only Maggie and myself but most of the other people in the chapel as well. With the influx of tourists, the fifty seats were nearly full each week. People stood one after another to say where they recently experienced God, but I rarely stood myself. I felt too raw with emotion in the chapel during the service. In just a couple of months’ time, I’d filled up with such a painful sort of joy that I knew if I tried to speak during the service, I would lose all control. God—Jamie’s God—was with me nearly every minute of every day by then. I had a purpose: I was able to hold a tiny life in my arms. I was able to help Jamie when he so clearly needed my help. Even at home, I caught myself smiling as I made dinner or pressed Steve’s uniform or cleaned the small house we rented. I had enough joy inside myself that the sorrow over Sam, over my loveless marriage, didn’t have a chance to come through.
A few months later, Jamie told me he thought Laurel needed a friend.
“She doesn’t have any friends with babies,” he said. “Not that you have a baby. But you’re so warm and nice and kind.” He looked away from me, as though he’d said more than he meant to. “She’s depressed. She’s not taking care of herself. You know. Grooming. Hygiene.”
“Maybe she needs more help than a friend can give her,” I suggested gently. The truth was, Laurel was unpleasant to be around, and I avoided her as much as possible. There was nothing of the starry-eyed young woman left in her.
Jamie sighed. “You’re probably right.” He sounded tired. “Her doctor thinks she needs that new Prozac medication, but neither of us likes the idea of her taking drugs. I think she just needs a girlfriend.”
He looked so lost. I would have done anything to bring a smile back to his face.
“I’ll visit her one day while you have Maggie,” I said. “Then maybe she and I can have a good talk.”
It had sounded possible when I said it, but I’d had no idea how bad things had gotten with Laurel. She was incapable of having a “good talk” with anyone.
I visited her under the guise of taking over a chicken-and-rice casserole. I found her lying under a thin blanket on the sofa watching a rerun of I Dream of Jeannie. The air in the cottage smelled stale in spite of all the windows being open.
“I brought you a casserole for dinner.” I headed for the kitchen after letting myself in through the unlocked door. “I’ll just put it in the fridge, okay? It should last you at least a couple of nights.”
“Where’s the baby?” Laurel asked.
I looked at her across the breakfast bar. “With Jamie. He’s doing some paperwork in the chapel office. I thought I’d just bring this over and say hi.”
Laurel actually wrinkled her nose as though visiting with me was the last thing she felt like doing.
Tough, I thought. Someone needed to get through to her. She was hurting her husband, not to mention her baby.
I sat down in the rocker near the sofa. “How are you?” I asked.
“Okay.” Laurel kept her gaze glued to the TV.
I leaned toward her. “Seriously, Laurel. How are you feeling?”
She sighed. “Tired.”
“Jamie said your doctor suggested Prozac.” I thought Jamie was wrong to discourage antidepressants.
“That’s none of your business,” Laurel said.
Was she right? Maybe. But I was taking care of her baby and that did make it my business in a way.
“I have a really good friend in Michigan who takes Prozac and it’s made a world of difference for her,” I said.
“I’m not depressed,” Laurel said. “I’m tired. You’d be tired, too, if you had to be up all night with a screaming baby.”
“You’re a nurse,” I said. “You must know depression can be a medical problem. Jamie said you don’t care about anything. Not even Maggie.” I worried I might be going too far. “You were excited about having a baby. I saw that when you announced your pregnancy in the chapel. I think it’s a definite sign of depression that you’re so…disinterested in her.”
Laurel looked at me. “I want you to leave,” she said.
I was blowing it, handling it all wrong. The last thing I wanted to do was make things worse for Jamie, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “You’re not being fair to Jamie,” I said. “It’s like he’s a single parent. He’s great with Maggie, but she’s not even going to know who you are.”
I turned at the creaking of the screen door. A young guy walked into the living room and it took me a second to remember that Jamie’s brother, Marcus, lived with them. The rebel, Jamie had called him. He looked harmless. Slender, tan and messy-haired, wearing a T-shirt and green bathing suit.
“You must be Marcus.” I stood up. “I’m Sara Weston.”
“The babysitter.” He’d been drinking, and it was not even noon. I could smell it on him.
“Right. I wanted to stop in to see Laurel.”
“She came over to tell me I’m a shitty mother and a shitty wife,” Laurel said.
“Laurel!” I was stunned. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry if I—”
“I told her to leave but she won’t,” Laurel said to Marcus.
I felt my cheeks blaze.
“If she wants you to go, you’d better go,” Marcus said.
“All right.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry,” I said, walking to the door. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
In the chapel office, Jamie looked up from his small, wooden desk.
“How’d it go?” he whispered so he wouldn’t wake Maggie, asleep in the cradle.
I was embarrassed when I started to cry. “I didn’t handle it well at all.” I sank into the only other chair in the office. “She kicked me out, and I don’t blame her.”
“Why? What happened?”
I told him about the conversation, grappling in my diaper bag—yes, I had come to think of the diaper bag as mine—for a tissue. I pressed it to my eyes.
“Sara.” Jamie’s chair was on wheels and he moved it closer to take both my hands in his. “It’s not your fault, all right? I set you up for failure. You worked such miracles for Maggie and me that I guess I hoped you could work them for Laurel, too.” He smoothed his thumbs over the back of my hands as he spoke. I curled my own hands involuntarily around his, gripping his fingers.
How do you stand it? I wanted to ask him. How do you stand her? I’d wanted to feel sympathy for Laurel because clearly the woman was ill. But my sympathy could reach only so far. Laurel had a live, beautiful child and she was doing nothing to mother her.
“I didn’t realize what you were coping with at home,” I said. “How bad it is.”
“I hope it’ll pass,” he said. “It’s just going to take more time than I thought.”
“Maybe she does need antidepressants,” I said.
“Maybe,” he acknowledged.
“What keeps you going?” I asked.
“Oh, Sara.” He smiled. “Silly question. I have so much to keep me going. The chapel, to begin with. And her.” He nodded toward Maggie in her cradle.