Chapter Eleven
At five thirty, the garage door hummed above us. We could hear the door open and close, and other sounds that signaled both of his parents were home. Before long, the door at the top of the stairs opened, and two sets of footsteps descended the stairs.
Weston didn’t move, and neither did I. Peter and Veronica each sat in one of two recliners on each side of the coffee table. Peter rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, reminding me of the principal right before he told me the news.
“We heard,” Peter said, his voice low and calm.
Veronica leaned forward, pure sympathy in her eyes. “Peter and I have been discussing this since we heard, and when you’re ready, we’d like to offer you some legal advice. However, we’ve also spoken to Sam and Julianne Alderman, and they’re hoping to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”
“Like when?” I asked. I was lying against Weston and probably looked like an ill-mannered sloth, but I was emotionally and physically tapped.
“They live right around the corner from us,” Peter said. “They’re waiting at their home, now. They just want to make sure you’re okay. It doesn’t have to be tonight.”
A door slammed upstairs and footsteps stomped all over the kitchen. “Veronica?” A female voice called. She sounded desperate.
Peter ran up the stairs. A calm disagreement ensued, and then several people came down to Weston’s space, where no one was supposed to be bothering us. Weston and I both stood when we saw Sam and Julianne standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Peter was breathing hard. “Julianne, I don’t think this is a good idea,” he warned.
Julianne’s eyes were bright red. She began to walk over to me, but her husband stopped her.
“Julianne!”
Julianne held her hands in front of her chest. “I’m so sorry. I know you’ve had an upsetting day. I just . . . I’ve had one, too. An upsetting week, actually, and I . . .” a tear escaped her eye and fell down her cheek. “I heard that you didn’t have a lot of support at the school when you were told the news, and I . . . just needed to make sure that you’re okay. That’s all I wanted to do.”
I took a few steps until I was a couple of feet away from them: my parents. They were gawking at me like a precious gem. Sam held on to Julianne’s shoulders, and she nearly leaned forward.
She held out her hands, and then made them into fists, clearly fighting with what she wanted and what she should do. Her voice broke when she spoke. “Would it be okay if I . . . I would just like to hug you, if that’s okay. I don’t want to upset you.”
Everyone watched me for my response.
Almost too subtly for anyone to see, I nodded once, and Julianne reached for me, pulling me against her chest. Her body shook as she sobbed.
“Julianne, honey,” Sam begged. “Please don’t scare her.”
I looked up at him from her shoulder. “It’s okay. She can cry.”
Sam’s lips trembled, and he reached out, hesitant and nervous, and touched my shoulder. Tears streamed down his cheeks as well, and the corners of his mouth curled up as he watched his wife hold me while she cried.
An hour later, we were all upstairs, sitting at the table around a half-eaten cheese and cracker tray, an empty bottle of wine, and a two-liter bottle of Fanta Orange, minus two glasses poured. Peter and Veronica talked about their ski vacation, and how Peter’s skiing skills weren’t quite as advanced as he thought.
It felt good to laugh, to listen to Sam and Julianne talk, and to get to know them better. I couldn’t stop staring at them. Veronica was right; I did have Julianne’s eyes. And for the first time, I associated myself with beauty, because I always thought that Julianne Alderman was beautiful, inside and out. The bottom half of my face was from Sam. I had the same thin top lip with the M-shape in the center, and the full bottom lip. I also had his chin. I wondered if they thought the same things about me, or if anyone had ever thought these things about me.
Julianne reached across the table and held my hands. “You must think I’m a horrible mother, for not knowing. I’m a PA for goodness sake. But I told them, when they didn’t bring you back to me after your bath, that they had brought back the wrong baby. I knew, but they said I was just tired. Then they said it was the hormones. And through the years, other mothers said they had the same fears because of the stories you hear.”
“Julianne, I think it’s time we let Erin rest. She has school tomorrow.”
Julianne held her hand to her chest, fumbling with the buttons on her silk blouse; then she began to tremble. “I . . . I don’t know if she . . . do you want to . . .?”
“Why doesn’t she stay here for the night?” Veronica said. “After she calls Ms. Easter and lets her know where she is?”
“We don’t have a phone,” I said. “And she doesn’t really . . . I don’t think she’s expecting me.”
That seemed to upset Julianne.
“We have some of Whitney’s clothes still here. You’re welcome to them,” Veronica said.
“Do you want to stay here?” Julianne asked.
“I would appreciate that,” I said, feeling emotional again.
Sam stood and encouraged Julianne to stand with him. She clearly didn’t want to leave, but he encouraged her until she finally yielded, but not without giving me another hug.
When the door closed, Weston, Veronica, Peter, and I stood in the front room, looking at each other.
“Erin, you can stay in Whitney’s old room. This is a bit . . . unorthodox, but I think it’s in your best interest until Sam and Julianne and you decide where to go from here. From a legal standpoint, this is all a little fuzzy since you’re no longer a minor. Don’t worry. You’re Sam and Julianne’s daughter. Whatever you decide, they’re going to make sure you’re well taken care of. Weston, show her to her room. Let her rest. She’s had a long day.”
Weston nodded and led me up the stairs by the hand. Whitney’s room was on the opposite end of the hall from Weston’s. She had her own enormous bathroom, with a tub and shower and a linen cabinet that spanned from floor to ceiling, full of big, fluffy towels. Weston checked to make sure there was soap and shampoo.
“We can pick up anything else you need from Gina’s tomorrow, if you want.”
I dipped my head in agreement.
He led me back into the bedroom, and pulled back the comforter. “Clean sheets.” He opened the closet. “Clothes and lots of ’em.” He pulled open a dresser drawer. “Night gowns and pajama sets. Some of them silk, because Whitney’s a huge diva. Just leave your laundry in that hamper and Lila will launder them in the morning when she gets here. I’m pretty sure Whitney still has makeup and ponytail holders and stuff in the drawers by the sink.”
“She does,” Veronica said, breezing through the door. She handed me a new toothbrush, a full tube of toothpaste, and a brand new stick of deodorant. “Peter is always saying I overstock. You have won a twenty-year-long argument for me tonight, little miss.”
“I wish I could think of a way to say thank you. I’m sorry I …”
“Nonsense,” Veronica said, holding the knob while she hovered in the doorway. “We’re going to get this all worked out. You try to rest. See you in the morning. Wes?”
Weston leaned over and gave me a peck, and then followed his mother out. I walked into the spacious, sparkling white bathroom and undressed in front of the mirror. I took a long, hot shower, trying every brand name shampoo, conditioning treatment, and foaming face wash I could get my hands on. By the time I stepped out, I smelled like a salon, and my skin shone like the marble tile. I felt like Julia Roberts’s character in Pretty Woman.
I wrapped myself in one of the fluffy towels and combed out my hair, noticing how close it was to Julianne’s color. I found a nightgown and slipped it over my head, then climbed into the queen-sized bed. The springs didn’t squeak when I laid on it. I wasn’t even sure Whitney’s bed had springs. It felt like one big foam-filled cushion. I rested my head on the pillow, stretching my legs as far as they would go. They didn’t even come close to the end of the bed. My body sank down into the mattress, and the plush comforter cradled me in softness.
I turned on my side and leaned over, switching off the lamp. Before I could settle back under the blankets, the door opened, and Weston crept inside.
“Are you sleeping?” he whispered.
“No.”
He knelt beside the bed. “Are you comfortable?”
“More than I’ve ever been.”
“Do you need anything else before I hit the sack?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t know if I can sleep knowing you’re right down the hall.”
I smiled. “Try.”
He chuckled and leaned down, giving me a better kiss than he could when his mother was still around. He walked to the door and turned around. “You’re going to be okay. This is just one more thing we’ll get through together.”
“I know.” It should have been scarier, being eighteen and finding out that the woman who raised me wasn’t my mother. But at the moment, I felt like I had a small army in my corner.
~*~
The next morning when I walked into school, it was like I was walking into a different dimension. Everyone stared at me like before, but now it was out of curiosity. In first period, Brady glanced over at me a few times, but the disgust was gone from his eyes. Even the teachers looked at me differently. It was like I left the day before as one person, and came back as someone else.
No one, not even Brady, called me Easter. If they addressed me, they called me Erin. For the first time in nine years, no one said a single negative word to me or even shot me a dirty look. I still expected it, waiting for someone, anyone to taunt me, but it never happened; not once all day. The rest of the week went that way, too, and by Friday, the tension I felt every time I walked into a classroom was gone, and I no longer waited for someone to throw insults or wads of paper at me. My thoughts were consumed by Weston, and Sam and Julianne. They had come over every night that week for dinner, and were coming over for dinner again after I left work Saturday evening. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but this time it felt important.
On Saturday, Weston gave me a ride to work, and then drove across the street to warm up at the ball fields. He had a home game in a few hours that I wasn’t happy about missing, but thankfully the scoreboard was visible over the wall. I tied the apron strings behind my back, and walked to the front, greeting Frankie with a smile.
“I thought you had a closet full of designer clothes to choose from,” Frankie said.
“I don’t want to wear that stuff to work. I don’t want to ruin it.” Lila had been washing and drying one of my two pairs of jeans every evening before she left for the day so I could pack them in my book bag and change into them for work. A lot of Whitney’s clothes were very feminine and very expensive. Her shoes were a half size too big, but I didn’t complain. This was the first time I’d worn brand name anything, much less designer clothes, but at work, I wore my worn, secondhand jeans and shirts.
We were slow for a Saturday, and Frankie and I passed the time discussing her kids, but mostly we talked about my new living arrangements, and what my life was like now. She grinned at me a lot when I talked, and I know that she was happy for me, but there was a sadness in her eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher.
“Are you happy?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I think so. More than I have been before.”
Her eyes softened. “Good. Did you get the rest of your things from Gina?”
“We stopped by Gina’s on Tuesday. I wasn’t sure about just walking in, so I knocked. She didn’t answer, so I walked in.”
“Did you get everything you needed?”
I nodded. I didn’t mention to Frankie that Soul Asylum was playing loudly when I walked in, so I rushed through my room and the bathroom, grabbing anything I thought I’d need—my other pair of jeans, my toothbrush, a razor, the little bit of makeup that I owned, underwear, bras, and a sketch pad. I left behind everything else.
“What did Gina have to say to you? Anything?”
I looked over at the score board. The game had just started.
“Why don’t you go over there and watch him? We’re not busy.”
“I need the hours.”
Frankie winked. “No you don’t. You’re an Alderman now. They’re going to take care of you, Erin. You can finally be a teenager for once.”
I thought about that for a moment then smiled. Tossing my apron on the hook, I jogged across the street and walked into the stadium. I’d never been to a baseball game before. Not many people were sitting in the bleachers besides a handful of students and the families of the players.
“Erin!” Weston was standing on the other side of the fence in his uniform and ball cap, his shaggy brown hair sticking out the bottom. He slipped his fingers through the wires of the fence, beaming.
I approached the fence. “Frankie let me off to watch your game.”
“I’m going to have to step it up a notch then.” He winked and jogged back to the dugout.
I spent my Saturday afternoon sitting on the bleachers, baking in the direct sun. It felt glorious. Weston made it to third base once, and the next time hit a home run. He played first base and got three players on the opposite team out. Once he even caught the ball right as it careened off the bat. The popping sound the ball made when it hit Weston’s glove made my hand hurt, but he was all smiles, and they all ran in off the field.
When they got their things together and listened to the coach speak, Weston made his way up to the bleachers and gave me a peck, sitting next to me. It was the first time he’d kissed me in public, and I didn’t miss the stares it garnered.
“What?”
“People are looking at us.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to go back and help Frankie. It’ll get busy since the game is over.
Weston kissed me goodbye, and I walked across the street, bursting into the back door and tying on my apron with a big grin.
“Was it fun?” Frankie asked.
“It was amazing. They won! Weston was great.”
Frankie nodded, and we worked without a break until close. We cleaned up quickly, because I would have to hurry and change and make it downstairs by the time Sam and Julianne brought over dinner at seven. I encouraged Weston to hurry as soon as I climbed up into the truck, and the second Weston pulled into the garage, I let go of his hand and darted up the stairs.
Thirty minutes later, I emerged, showered, shaven, and lotioned. Weston was sitting on the top stair, waiting for me. He stood when I walked out of Whitney’s room. I smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, finally forcing a smile. He leaned down and kissed my cheek, and then we walked downstairs together. Peter and Veronica were setting the table while Sam and Julianne were uncovering dishes and setting them in the center.
Julianne and Sam’s eyes lit up when they saw me, and they both came over to give me a hug. We sat down to eat, and Weston and I chatted about our day. The adults asked us more specific questions about our assignments, and how we felt about certain school policies, which brought us to Weston’s art project. It could have been small talk, but Sam and Julianne seemed genuinely interested and hung on to my every word.
“I would love to see it sometime,” Julianne said.
“It’s up in my room.”
“The one you had framed?” Veronica said, a little surprised.
“Yeah,” Weston said.
“But you’d been working on that for months, hadn’t you?” his mother asked.
Weston looked over at me. “Yes.”
Recognition lit Veronica’s eyes, and she stifled a grin. She seemed to want to ask more, but didn’t. We were all stuck in this strange situation. Weston’s ex-girlfriend was Sam and Julianne’s faux-daughter, who also happened to be recently deceased. It was hard to know what appropriate conversation was.
“This is . . . uncomfortable,” I said.
Sam’s eyebrows pulled in. “It’s okay. This is such a rare circumstance, Erin. There’s just no room for judgment. We’re just happy that you’re happy. That’s all that matters to us.”
By the time we finished the chocolate cheesecake, Julianne seemed nervous. During a lull in conversation, Sam took Julianne’s hand, and her eyes glossed over.
“Erin,” Sam said. “Julianne and I have been talking quite a bit this week, and although we know everything has happened very fast for all of us, we want to ask you if you would come and live in our home . . . until you go to college, or until you want to live on your own. We just feel we have a lot of catching up to do, and we’d love it if we could do it as a family.”
My eyes danced between the both of them. They watched me with desperate hope in their eyes.
“You’ll have your own room,” Julianne said. “We’ve already gotten you a new bed, dresser, and linens. But we thought you might want to make it yours by choosing your own comforter and things, so I left a few catalogs on the bed,” Julianne said. She held up her hand. “Not that I’m assuming you’ll come to live with us. I just . . . didn’t want you to think we’d offer you Alder’s room. You’ll have your own room, your own clothes, and your own things.”
Sam leaned forward a bit and pushed up his glasses. “You don’t have to make a decision tonight. We just want you to know the offer is there. And we’re not doing anything at all this weekend, just in case you want to, you know, move in. But again, no pressure.”
“It’s okay. I think it’d be good,” I said.
“You do?” Julianne said, in shock.
I nodded.
Julianne clapped excitedly and they both stood, rushing around the table to hug me. Veronica and Peter congratulated us, and happy embraces were given all around, except for Weston.
I sat down, next to him. “Everything okay?” I asked.
“I’m just going to miss seeing you every day,” he said.
“Weston, honey, she’s right down the street!” Veronica said, laughing.
“I know,” he said, still unhappy.
“I promise we’ll be considerate of your time with her,” Julianne assured him.
That seemed to cheer Weston up a bit, and he took my hand in his.
Sam and Julianne returned to their seats.
“When?” I asked. “I don’t really have a lot to bring over.”
“Tomorrow?” Julianne asked.
“Tomorrow?” I echoed.
“Or not,” Sam sat, patting Julianne’s knee. “When you’re ready.”
“I guess tomorrow is as good a time as any. If you’re sure . . .”
Julianne didn’t hesitate. “We’re sure.”
“Okay, then,” I said with a small smile.
“Perfect!” Julianne said. “We’ll take care of everything. If there is something you need that we don’t have, you just let us know.”
“So … to tomorrow?” Sam said, holding up his nearly empty wineglass. The other adults in the room held up their glasses, and Weston and I held up our glasses of Cherry Coke.
“To tomorrow,” we all said in unison.