One Perfect Morning Page 17

  ‘We both know Dad can be pretty horrible to live with. And the day you can truly admit that is the day you’ll be free. It’s what you deserve, Mom.’

  My daughter had faith in me, so why didn’t I? Maybe it was time to tell her about the plan. Maybe it was time to be free after all.

  Chapter 27

  Mackenzie

  SATURDAY MORNING

  After my conversation with Aria last night, I couldn’t sleep. With Owen beside me snoring, all I could think about was what my marriage to this man was doing to my daughter. But would leaving him do worse?

  A girl needed her daddy. She needed him to build her confidence, instill courage in her, show her how a potential boyfriend should treat her, protect her, one day walk her down the aisle, and give her away to the right man, because he had spent his life showing her what the ‘right man’ should look like. A good, supportive father led the way for a girl to find her own happily ever after, whether with a good man or on her own.

  Taking Aria away from her daddy didn’t seem right, even if he wasn’t doing any of those things.

  Owen had always been hands-off when it came to the infant period. Changing poopy diapers? He’d run to the bathroom and dry-heave simply at the smell. Handling the feedings? To him, that’s what God gave women boobs for. The toddler years were an endless page of the same conditioning: women handle the kids; men handle the moneymaking. I had been fine with the arrangement, since motherhood suited me. In fact, it suited me so well that I wanted another, and maybe even another after that. But kids cost money, and one kid was plenty, according to Owen. One vasectomy later, the option for more kids was out of my control.

  It was almost eight o’clock when I couldn’t keep the morning sunlight from blinding me even through closed eyelids. I decided to get out of bed and make pancakes, a home-cooked breakfast that we didn’t have time for on weekdays. Within fifteen minutes I had dark roast coffee brewing and most of the ingredients mixed, until I realized I was one egg short.

  ‘Shoot,’ I mumbled under my breath as I searched the fridge again, just in case I hadn’t seen an extra egg hiding somewhere behind the milk.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Owen asked, sneaking up behind me and wrapping his arms around me, kissing my neck – the good side. I always loved when he did that while I cooked. I felt so safe in his arms in those moments, in ironic contrast to how unsafe I felt in his arms at other times.

  I loved how he inhaled me, holding me against him protectively as his heart drummed against my back. In these moments I soared.

  I turned to face him. ‘I’m an egg short. I’ll run next door to see if Miss Barbara has any.’

  He smirked. In the north adults didn’t precede a first name with Miss. That was a Southern thing – or thang – and he couldn’t let it slide.

  ‘No, don’t ask Miss Barbara. It makes us look like beggars. Just run to the store and buy a dozen.’

  ‘She won’t mind at all, Owen. It’s what friendly neighbors do. It’s not a big deal.’

  ‘Yes, it is a big deal because it makes us look irresponsible. You represent the family; you represent me, when you leave this house. I’ll not have you making a fool of our family by begging for eggs from our neighbors.’

  I was still in my pajamas. I hadn’t even enjoyed my first cup of coffee. There was no way I was going to get dressed to run out to the store for one damn egg.

  ‘Fine, I’ll go to the store wearing my pajamas. Would that suit you better?’

  ‘Mackenzie, I don’t find that funny, and you know it. Get dressed, get yourself presentable, and go shopping like a decent human being.’

  What he didn’t understand was that without my morning coffee, I didn’t feel like a decent human being. I didn’t want to pretend to be one either. I wanted to bolt over to Barbara’s, grab a single egg, run home, and lounge in my pajamas while I sipped my vanilla-flavored coffee and ate pancakes slathered in butter and syrup. But when it came to Owen, it wasn’t worth the battle because he always won the war.

  I headed to the bedroom to change, my anger festering. The echo of my parents’ warning twenty years ago still bounced around in my head year after year like a never-ending death knell.

  2000, GODWIN, NORTH CAROLINA

  My daddy was your typical small-town Southern daddy: overprotective and ever hopeful that I’d become a nun. Picture a man on his front porch chewing tobacco with a shotgun sitting on his lap – that was Daddy. No matter what breed of boy I paraded in front of him, they were never good enough for his little princess. Even when his princess was twenty years old.

  ‘Daddy, I swear on Grandpappy’s grave that Owen’s a good guy. You’ll see.’ I was anything but persuasive when it came to winning Daddy’s favor with a potential boyfriend.

  We had just finished eating Mamma’s baked ham and au gratin potatoes while Owen praised her cooking with every bite and Daddy smirked. Mamma sent me outside to talk to Daddy while she finished putting leftovers in Tupperware.

  The scent of lilac enfolded Daddy and I, sitting on the porch swing, sipping tea. They had flown me home for Easter break, inviting Owen to join me. I was surprised when he accepted the offer. As the swing squeaked back and forth, I felt nostalgic for the days when Daddy and I had done this daily. I’d tell him about school while he just listened.

  Daddy glanced at me and lifted a skeptical eyebrow. ‘He’s a damn Yankee. You know how I feel about them.’

  I shook my head. ‘You never change, do you?’

  ‘You’ll always be my little girl, Mackenzie. I can’t just turn off being protective of you. Especially from boys like Owen.’

  The trend started back in first grade when I invited Louis Douglas to come over one Saturday to find frogs to add to my terrarium. It was the least I could do after Louis had asked for my hand in marriage via crayoned note: Will you marry me? Circle yes or no. I emphatically circled yes in bright pink, my favorite color back then. Watching from my bedroom window, I remember how cute Louis looked galumphing down the dirt road to our house, wearing wading boots that swallowed him whole, and carrying a big plastic bucket and a fishing net on a telescoping pole. Daddy waylaid the poor boy, and in the course of his interrogation reduced him to tears.

  The next Monday I found Louis’s marriage proposal on my desk, ripped in half. He studiously avoided me from that day on while I pined away for his attention. Sure, it was just puppy love, but I never got over it. Or the fact that Daddy, even when I was at that tender age, was already steering my destiny.

  I stayed away from boys all the way through middle school until Jeb Miller, a fellow ninth-grader at Cape Fear High School, showed up on my front porch to pick me up for a date. When Daddy answered the door with a shotgun in hand, Jeb dropped the Whitman’s Sampler he’d bought for me at Walmart and ran for his life. Daddy ended up eating the assorted chocolates while I listened to his tirade about how I was too young to be dating.

  Word soon got around school that Mackenzie Kirkland had a crazy father who shot first and asked questions later. It would have done no good to explain to anyone that the shotgun wasn’t loaded, or that Daddy got some kind of perverse pleasure out of perpetuating the stereotype of the shotgun-totin’ Southern patriarch hell-bent on protecting his daughter’s chastity. Daddy was a proudly unreconstructed Southerner, a monument to bigotry and isolationism who always voted Republican, hated anybody who hailed from above the Mason-Dixon Line, and championed the myth of the Lost Cause. Like a lot of white Southern men, he had a chip on his shoulder because the South had lost the War of Northern Aggression – Daddy refused to call it the Civil War. He was secretly ashamed of that incontrovertible fact; it made him a little mean.

  But the shotgun was just a prop; he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He didn’t even go deer hunting with his buddies because he thought the creatures were so beautiful, and should decorate woods, not walls. (This was an opinion he had once shared with me in a tender, unguarded moment, and he’d sworn me to secrecy.)

  At scho
ol I became the object of ridicule, and not just because of the shotgun incident. Daddy wasn’t shy about broadcasting his often-outrageous opinions on religion and politics that his friends echoed, but other, more liberal-minded folks found ignorant and uncouth. Chief among his beliefs was the benighted notion that all boys, even ones from devoutly Christian families, were spawns of the devil. Preachers’ sons, he maintained, were the horniest boys of all. My family earned the reputation of being backward hillbillies, and all because my father was a throwback to a bygone era. I accepted my fate as The Undateable Mackenzie Kirkland and thought it was just a matter of time before Daddy fitted me with a chastity belt.

  By tenth grade my mamma intervened on my behalf. ‘Don’t forget that we were high school sweethearts,’ she reminded Daddy. ‘Let her have some fun for once.’

  It worked … until it didn’t.

  One brave soul, Darren Williams, accepted the challenge to ask me out and managed to pick me up for dinner at the local Waffle House unscathed. Promptly returning me home on time that evening, he scored enough points with Mamma and Daddy to keep me on the hook from tenth grade all the way through to senior year. Darren, figuring Daddy was always skulking in the shadows (which he was, pretty much) never got up the nerve to do anything more than kiss me a few times, and even then he kept his lips pursed tight and his eyes open, lest he find a shotgun in his face.

  The ‘romance’ fizzled when I decided to head north for college, my chastity intact, while Darren found work at a big poultry farm. Daddy complained vehemently about the decision, suggesting that I thought Southern colleges weren’t good enough for me. That wasn’t entirely true. Based on the brochures, I thought I could get a quality education at a college in the quaint Pennsylvania town of Beaver Falls. But I could not deny that I was anxious to get as far away from North Carolina – and Daddy – as possible. Daddy put his foot down, but luckily Mamma talked some sense into him.

  ‘Mac’s pretty, she’s smart, and she should be allowed to make her mark in the world,’ Mamma had told him in no uncertain terms. ‘Tying her down to this one-horse town is a death sentence. Don’t you want your daughter to have a better life than you and me’ve had?’ The truth stung, but Daddy listened. After all, his baby girl was going to be a doctor or lawyer or some other ‘highfalutin career woman.’ He meant that in a complimentary way, though it never quite sounded like it.

  The next semester off I went to good ol’ Beaver Falls, a stone’s throw from the big city of Pittsburgh, with its rolling mountains and three rivers and bustling nightlife of dance clubs and bar crawls. With Daddy no longer micromanaging my social life, I came out of my shell and thrived. I found out there was a big, wide world outside of Godwin where people liked me for who I was, Southern accent and quaint ways and all. I discovered that real friends – like Robin and Lily – regarded differences as virtues to be celebrated, not faults to be vilified.

  I rested my hand on Daddy’s. ‘Owen’s not like most guys at college. He wants to marry me.’

  ‘Marry you?’ Daddy grumbled. ‘Hell no, don’t you be talking about marriage already. You hardly know him.’

  Daddy wasn’t exactly wrong. I had only met Owen my freshman year. But he was athletic and good-looking and sure of himself, maybe a little cocky. All right, a lot cocky. It wasn’t every day a girl met someone intelligent, articulate, fun to talk to, and who could make me laugh. He projected the aura of a guy who knew what he wanted and how to get it. But I think the main attraction was the plain and simple fact he was the first young man who’d showed any interest in me since high school, and who wasn’t in danger of being chased off by Daddy. I was my own woman now, free to date anyone I chose.

  ‘Just give him a chance. He’s courteous, and he doesn’t curse. And he treats me good, Daddy.’

  I didn’t add that I suspected these traits were only pretensions to gentility. I started noticing the shift in the little things. Like how he delighted in mocking the way I talked, the way I dressed – privately, usually, but occasionally in front of our friends. He took great sport in dismissing all Southerners as inbred, barefoot infidels. When I described my upbringing in rural North Carolina, and mentioned Daddy’s well-meaning overprotectiveness, he said it only proved his point. It was easier to laugh along with him than to deny these hurtful charges. I thought back to all the suitors Daddy had ‘discouraged.’ I guess I was afraid Owen was the only one I’d ever get on the hook, and I wasn’t about to let him get away.

  ‘What kind of man don’t curse? It ain’t natural. Sounds like he’s hiding something.’

  Maybe Daddy was right, but I didn’t want to find out. Ignorance was bliss.

  Despite my enthusiasm, Mamma had seemed curiously lukewarm about Owen. When Owen started talking marriage, I was both excited and scared. Deep down I knew that if Daddy didn’t approve of my mate, the union might as well be cursed.

  The porch door swung open, and Mamma peeked out. ‘Owen’s waiting for you in the living room. And no more talk about politics.’

  Daddy, who could smell bullshit a mile off, was not impressed with how Owen agreed with everything he said. ‘Your boyfriend does have one talent, Mac. He can talk out of his ass and kiss somebody else’s at the same time.’

  Mamma hung by the door waiting for me. I could tell she wasn’t fond of being left alone with Owen. I stood up, kissing Daddy’s cheek before heading inside. ‘You’ll see, Daddy. Eventually he’ll grow on you.’

  ‘A boy shouldn’t have to grow on me, Mac,’ Daddy grumbled. ‘I can tell in my gut if a boy’s good enough for my daughter, and Owen ain’t. He’s already runnin’ your life. Uppity Yankee bastard thinks his shit don’t stink.’

  ‘Oh, Daddy,’ I said, ‘Owen is not running my life. No man can do that – my daddy taught me that.’

  ‘You don’t see it now, but you will,’ Daddy warned. ‘He’s made you give up your friends, quit your extraparticulars.’ I smiled but didn’t bother correcting him.

  ‘He’s right,’ Mamma chimed in. ‘He made you change your major … where’s it all end, Mac? You wanted to be a nurse, and now you’re studying communications.’

  ‘I decided I’m not cut out for medicine. I hate needles and get queasy at the sight of blood. That had nothing to do with Owen.’

  ‘Since you were a bitty little thang you talked about traveling and working with Doctors Without Borders,’ Mamma clucked. ‘You were so passionate about doing that, now suddenly you don’t want to? When did that dream die?’

  ‘It didn’t die; it just … changed. I’m not sure I’m cut out for travel, constantly living out of a suitcase. I’m thinking something more administrative might be a better fit … until we have kids. Then I’ll stay at home like you did with me, Mamma.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with staying home with the kids if that’s what you want,’ Daddy said. ‘I just don’t know if I can ever give that boy my blessing. I can’t trust him. Even your friends don’t seem keen on him, so your mamma tells me.’

  I glared at Mamma. ‘You just had to go and stir the pot, didn’t you?’ I accused her.

  ‘Don’t go gettin’ smart with me, young lady, or I’ll snatch you baldheaded,’ she said, using her favorite Southern threat to pull out all my hair. ‘I talk to Lily and Robin on the phone when I call and you ain’t home. It’s your fault for never pickin’ up. But I’ll tell you, Mac, they don’t have anything good to say about him.’

  ‘They’re just jealous because we don’t spend as much time together anymore. But it’s not my fault. I don’t have enough time to go around. The little free time I have left after studying I like to spend with Owen. He makes me happy.’

  ‘He’ll ruin you, that’s what he’ll do,’ Mamma warned. ‘Mark my words, Mackenzie Marie Kirkland. Owen Fischer will crush your dreams and control you until you’re a miserable shell. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes when it happened to your Aunt Carol. Don’t think it can’t happen to you too.’

  ‘Listen to your mamma,
Mackenzie, she’s talkin’ sense,’ said Daddy. ‘You don’t want to let nobody run your life.’

  I should have listened to the warning back then. I should have followed my heart, not my fear. But I didn’t see the difference between the two back then, because young love is blind. And when we’re blind, we follow the voice we trust, even when that voice isn’t trustworthy.

  It would be years before it dawned on me that in marrying Owen, I had in effect married a version of my father. A psychiatrist could have gotten rich off of dissecting that disturbing realization – if I’d had the money.

  Chapter 28

  Robin

  SATURDAY

  Saturday afternoons are my favorite time of the week, especially during that sliver of time when the house is unearthly still, hovering between two modes of chaos. It’s during this brief hour when Grant busies himself with mowing the yard or some other outdoor project, Ryan and Willow get caught in video game warfare, and Lucas and Collette are finally down for some synchronized napping. After squeezing in a couple hours of work for Lily, I was ready for me time – the only time of the week I get to myself. A glass of wine, my favorite Netflix binge, feet propped up on the sofa, and it’s all about me.

  I placed my wine glass next to a fresh bouquet of flowers Grant had bought me. Presumably guilt flowers for his online dating excursions that I hadn’t yet confronted him about but planned to soon. Tomorrow, in fact. He had accepted my alter ego’s invitation to meet for drinks at Boot Scooters, a bar he knew I’d never go to without him. I’d told Ryan it was a surprise date night I had planned and needed him to babysit. Grant had already lied through his teeth about meeting up with a friend for a beer. I’d even picked out my sexiest silk black dress to make sure it still fit – and I looked damn good in it, too.