I was exhausted when I arrived home on Saturday. Even with the roomette, I’d barely been able to sleep on the train as I tried to think of how I would tell my mother my plans. There were no words to soften the blow. In each imagined scenario, I saw her hurt and her anger. I certainly wouldn’t tell her about the baby. I would simply have to find a way to make her understand that I was going to marry Henry Kraft no matter what she said.
I’d hoped she would be out, but as soon as I let myself in the front door, I heard water running in the kitchen and knew she was home. I left my suitcase by the stairs and walked into the room. She stood at the sink washing snap beans from our small victory garden. The sound of the running water must have masked my footsteps because she didn’t turn around and, for a moment, I simply observed her. She wore her blue floral housedress, a navy blue apron tied at her waist, and her silver-streaked black hair was in a bun at the nape of her neck. I loved her so much. She was my only family. She thought she knew what her future held—what both our futures held—and I was going to destroy her hopes and dreams.
“I’m home,” I said, walking into the room. I set my handbag on the table. “Can I help?”
She glanced up from her task at the sink and turned off the water above the colander. “Oh my,” she said, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “You look like you haven’t slept in days! How is your friend? Is she still very ill? I don’t believe you told me her name.”
I’d never told her the name of my imaginary friend, and I wasn’t about to make one up now. Now was the time for the truth. At least, for part of it.
“Mom,” I said, “can you sit for a moment? I have some news.”
She looked instantly worried. Her round brown eyes, so much like my own, were hooded with concern. Draping the dishtowel over the faucet, she came to sit kitty-corner from me at the table. “Are you all right, honey?” she asked. “You look so pale.”
“I’m fine.” I folded my hands in my lap. “But I wasn’t being honest about why I went away,” I said. “I didn’t have a sick friend. I went to see a man I met when I was in Washington with Gina a few months ago.” Her brow furrowed and I rushed on. “I’ve fallen in love with him and plan to marry him,” I said.
She stared at me in disbelief. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “Have you gone mad?”
I shook my head. “I know it seems crazy,” I said. “I just … I fell for him.”
She said nothing, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open as though she’d forgotten how to blink. How to swallow.
“I know it’s a shock,” I went on quickly. “And I’ve had a hard time figuring out what to do about it, but…” My voice faded away. I wasn’t sure what more to say.
“What about Vincent?” Her voice took on an hysterical edge when she said his name.
“I realized that Vincent is more like a brother to me than a—”
“What?” She slapped the table with her open palm. “Tell me you’re joking. You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“No, Mom. I’m very serious. I’m sorry. I know you—”
“What does this man do that makes him so special?” she said. “He’s better than a doctor?”
“It has nothing to do with his occupation.” My voice sounded far calmer than I felt.
“Vincent, who has loved you with all his heart since he was a boy?” she continued. “You’d give him up for someone you’ve known a couple of months?”
“I can’t help how I feel,” I said. “I’m very attracted to him. To this … new man.” At that moment, I thought of how I felt in Vincent’s arms. How I longed for him to kiss me. To touch me. I’d felt little of that with Henry. I doubted I ever would. “He’ll be a good provider,” I said, as though that was the thing I cared most about. “He owns a furniture company in North Carolina.”
“North Carolina! Is that where you’ve been the past few days?”
I nodded. “Yes. And I’ll have to move there, since that’s where his business—”
“You’ll leave me here all alone?” She pushed back her chair with an angry scrape as she got to her feet. “North Carolina!” she said again.
“I’m not leaving you.” I looked up at her. “I’ll always be your daughter and I’ll visit as often as I can. And you can visit me. You can meet Henry. I’m sure you’ll—”
“I won’t allow it!” she barked. “I will not allow you to throw away the boy you’ve always loved for this—” Her face suddenly paled and she grabbed the back of the chair she’d been sitting in. I stood up quickly, reaching for her arm, afraid she was about to pass out. That had happened a couple of times when her diabetes was out of control, but she drew away from me as if repelled by my touch. Her eyes were wide, her expression stricken. “You’re pregnant!” she said, the words exploding from her mouth.
I sucked in my breath. I would have to lie, but I waited a second too long before opening my mouth to answer her, and she raised her hands to her face in horror.
“That’s it, isn’t it? It was this man … this furniture man … Oh dear God in heaven!” She crossed herself and sank once more onto the chair. “What have you done!”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, sitting down again. I leaned across the table, reaching for her hand, but she drew it away as if repulsed by my touch. “I’m ashamed of myself,” I said. “It was terrible of me, I know, but it happened and I…” I shook my head, unsure what else to say.
“You are a horrible person, Tess DeMello.” Her nostrils flared and she looked at me as if I were a despicable stranger. She pressed her fists to her temples. “How could you let this happen?” she asked. “Your poor father!” She leaned across the corner of the table to slap my arm. “He’s looking down at you right now, so ashamed!” She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Dear Lord in heaven, what did I do wrong?”
“Mom.” I grabbed her hand, but she yanked it away from me. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “You’re a wonderful mother. I’m the one who—”
“How could you do this to Vincent? To me? To Mimi and Pop? How could you do it to yourself, you stupid, stupid girl!”
In all my life, I’d never heard her talk to me this way. I’d never heard her talk to anyone this way. I straightened my spine. “I’m going to marry Henry, Mother,” I said firmly. “I have to think about the baby now, and I want him or her to have a name and a future.”
“My daughter.” She rocked on the chair as though she hadn’t heard me. “I can’t believe my daughter would do something like this. You’ll go to hell. You know that don’t you?”
“Mother, I—”
“You belong with Vincent.” Her voice took on a pleading tone. “You always have. My sweet boy. My Vincent.” Tears spilled from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. I couldn’t bear that I was the cause of them. “What are you going to tell him?” she asked. “He left to do volunteer work, the biggest heart any man ever had, and you cheat on him like a whore.”
I began to cry myself, unable to keep up my resolute façade any longer, because she was right. Vincent was so good and I was going to hurt him terribly. “I know I made a mistake,” I said. “I’m trying to find a way to live with it. I’m going to write to Vincent and tell him I fell in love with someone else. Please don’t tell him about the baby, Mom.” I pleaded again, my hand on her arm. “Please. It would kill him.”
“It would kill you for him to know what a tramp you’ve become, isn’t that it?”
“No, I—”
“Don’t worry,” she said, picking up my hand from her arm and dropping it to the table as if it were a piece of rotten fruit. “I certainly won’t tell Vincent. How could I? How could I admit to him … to anyone … that my daughter is a tramp?” She shook her head, looking suddenly exhausted and far older than her forty-eight years. “Can’t you just go away to a home for unwed mothers?” she pleaded. “Maria Lucarelli’s girl did that. You could have the baby with the nuns. They’ll find it a home. We can ask Father Longo where you should go.” Her voice grew more hopeful with each sentence. “We’ll make up some reason you had to go away for a while. Vincent won’t need to know. You don’t have to marry this other man. You belong with Vincent. You know that, don’t you?”
I shook my head. “I’m not going to the nuns, Mom. I want this baby. It’s not as though I’m fifteen years old.”
She lowered her face into her hands and made a sound deep in her throat, a keening as if she were in mourning. “I don’t know you,” she wailed. “I don’t know the girl who could do something like this.” She lifted her tear-streaked face. “You need to leave my house,” she said, her voice determined. “Now. Today.”
“What? Mother, I just got home. I’m not going anywhere until I—”
“You’re a disgrace to me,” she said. “I want you gone. Out of this house. You’re so in love with this man? Go to him, then. Just go.” She stood up and walked over to the sink. She turned on the water again and began washing the beans.
“Mom?” I said, getting slowly to my feet. I hung back, suddenly afraid to approach her. “Mother?”
She didn’t respond. I knew she wouldn’t. She was finished with this conversation. I had the terrible feeling she was finished with me.
* * *
In my room, I struggled to write the letter to Vincent. I cried so hard as I wrote it that I could barely catch my breath. The letter had to be cut-and-dried. A little mean. I wanted to make him angry enough to forget me. I wouldn’t mail the letter until I was ready to leave for Hickory. The last thing I wanted was for him to rush home to try to change my mind.
Dearest Vincent,
This letter is so hard for me to write. I’m afraid I need to break off our engagement. I met someone else while you’ve been away and I fell deeply in love with him and plan to marry him. You worried that I seemed different when you were home for Christmas and you were right. I was struggling with my feelings as I tried to figure out what to do about loving two wonderful men. Now I’ve made my decision. I’m sure it seems terribly sudden to you and you’re probably worried about my sanity, but you needn’t be. I’m fine, just heartsick at the thought of hurting you as well as your dear parents and my mother, who is terribly disappointed in me. Please don’t try to find me. Instead, move on with your life. I know it will be splendid. You are a wonderful person, dear Vincent. I will always care about you, and I pray you quickly find someone worthy of you.
With love and admiration,
Tess
It was a letter full of lies and omissions, but it was the only way.