“Laurel wants to see her, Michael.” The warm eyes are still open, but I’m instantly terrified. Terrified of what happened last year, after Alex’s death; that it could happen again. “And you. She misses you.”
“No way. I can’t.”
“You must talk to her some time. She’s been afraid to push you, after…” She hesitates, staring away from me. She’s searching for a diplomatic phrase.
“After what she did to me?” I nearly shout. “That what you mean? Well, good, ’cause she should be afraid.” The rage swells up and I just can’t stop it. We’re talking about Ellen’s own child, after all, and no matter how much she loves me I can’t help feeling cornered. My first priorities always lie with Andrea, so of course Ellen’s are with Laurel. How can she possibly support me? “Ellen, I know she’s your daughter, but she was wrong.”
She steps close again, never taking her eyes off me. “Michael, I’m not choosing sides, dear,” she explains gently. “Just like I never chose between Laurel and Alex.”
“Yeah, well you wouldn’t, ’cause they were your children.” I’m on the outside here; I’m always on the outside when it comes to family, so why should this be any different?
“You are my son now. You can’t possibly doubt that?”
“I can’t forgive Laurel for what she did to me.”
“Well, you may not, but at some point, you will have to let her into Andrea’s life. At least in some way. Andrea needs her, too.”
“Why didn’t she come today? She could’ve seen her, that’s what we’d planned. I know it wasn’t some art dealer that she had to meet with back in Santa Fe.”
“She didn’t want to push you, Michael. Not today. You may find it hard to believe, but she doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“Should’ve thought about that a year ago.” My hand has closed around the tea glass in a death grip, and I don’t realize how badly I’m shaking until the ice cubes begin to rattle.
Ellen lowers herself into the chair beside me and covers my hand again. “You don’t need to be afraid of her. All she wants is a place in Andrea’s life.”
Anxiety knots its way through my stomach and I feel a wave of instant nausea. It’s not just Laurel I fear, that she’ll work her way into Andie’s life. What worries me most is the thought of her waltzing right in and doing what I can’t possibly accomplish—making a connection. And then, the unthinkable will happen: I’ll lose this one amazing person who binds me permanently to Alex Richardson and the life we once shared.
Laurel’s always waiting there, always has been, just off in the wings.
Ellen looks back at me. “Laurel doesn’t want to hurt her, Michael.”
“No, but she doesn’t give a damn if she hurts me.”
And to that, there is nothing Ellen Richardson can possibly say.
***
Sunday evening finds us back in L.A. again. The day began with early mass, which I politely declined, even though Ellen did her best to guilt me into attending.
“Michael, darling, God didn’t kill Alex,” she told me intensely.
“Never said He did,” I grunted, and she didn’t say another word. She’s been hounding me about my unresolved God issues for years, and she never gives up. I’ve always been her pet spiritual project, and now that Allie’s gone, I guess she’s stepping up the pressure on behalf of her grandbaby.
So they headed off together, me reclining on the old wicker porch chair with the newspaper, Andrea slipping her small, delicate hand into Ellen’s aged one as they began the walk downhill to Alex’s childhood church, St. Anthony’s. Watching them go, I couldn’t fight a tug of remorse. Alex always made sure our daughter got to church—was rigorously faithful about it, as a matter of fact, and I’m certain that he’d want it for her now. Plus, the eagerness in Andrea’s face told me everything: church binds her to her daddy in a permanent way. Which makes me wish all the painful history with my own father, an Episcopalian minister, wouldn’t prevent me from giving her that simple gift each Sunday. But as much as I love her, and as much as I still love Alex, it’s just one thing I can’t seem to do for either of them.