Taylor Lynne: The Women of Merryton - Book Two Read online

  “Momma, I told Emmy they could stay for lunch.”

  Of course she had. I looked at Easton and he looked pleased with both the invitation and at his daughters being together. Emmy still looked timid. It pulled a little at my heart, but I thought maybe she would warm up once she got to know us. Or at least Ashley. I was going to stay uninvolved.

  “Do you want me to order takeout?” Easton offered. He grinned at me. “Or do you still not do takeout?”

  It’s not that I never ate out or ordered food, but I was very particular. It was kind of my job to be. People paid me to make their lives better and healthier through nutrition plans. I have a degree and a plaque that says so. I’m what they call a clinical nutritionist. Soon enough, that degree plaque would be hanging in my new office at Merryton General.

  “I’ll make something,” I grumbled.

  It was a great time to have company over for lunch. I mean, I hadn’t unpacked utensils, plates, or any of the other things I needed to entertain, but what the heck. It was only my ex-husband. I was at least grateful I had thought to add paper products and plastic utensils to the grocery list I had sent Ashley with. I let the three of them get to know one another while I made lunch. Easton offered to help, but I declined again. I didn’t know why he couldn’t get the hint that I didn’t want or need his help. I hadn’t in fourteen years. I had learned not to depend on him to protect myself from a lot of disappointment.

  But again, I wasn’t thinking about it.

  I prepared stuffed whole wheat pitas with turkey, lettuce, and tomato, along with an assortment of berries and chopped vegetables on the side. I arranged a plate for everyone and got out some bottles of water and called it good. It wasn’t fancy, but it was well-balanced. I walked over to the back door and called out that lunch was ready. They were all sitting on a blanket in the backyard talking. It would be where we would have to eat lunch, too, either that or the hardwood floors in the house. The movers had still not shown up.

  Easton was the only one to come in. He surveyed the plates before he picked any up.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  He looked over to me. “No, this looks great. I’m worried Emmy won’t like it. She’s not really used to this kind of food.”

  “What’s ‘this kind of food’?”

  “You know … the healthy kind,” he said sheepishly.

  “Aren’t you a doctor and wasn’t your wife a nurse?”

  “We didn’t do a lot of home-cooked meals, okay?”

  I had apparently hit a nerve. I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, maybe she’ll surprise you, but if she doesn’t like it, I’ll come up with something she does,” I offered. I don’t know why I offered—it wasn’t my fault he’d fed his kid crap—but there was something about Emmy.

  “Thanks,” he said politely.

  He grabbed two plates. I grabbed the other two and followed him outside. I couldn’t believe I was having a picnic with my ex-husband and his daughter. I didn’t sign up for this when I read the “How to Live Near Your Ex” brochure.

  Emmy looked warily at the food and me.

  I smiled warmly at her. “Try it, and if you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.” I said it as nice as I could so she would know I was sincere and it was okay if she didn’t like it.

  She nodded her head yes, but she didn’t look hopeful at all.

  “One thing you need to know about my momma, Emmy, is she’s a total health nut, but she can make anything taste good.”

  “Thanks for that, Ash.”

  Easton laughed.

  Ashley laughed at me, too, but she turned toward her half-sister, grabbed her pita, and took out the tomato and gave it back to Emmy. “Here, try this.”

  Emmy with some trepidation took a very small bite. I felt bad that we were all watching and waiting for her reaction. She didn’t gag or spit it out, so I took it as a good sign. I dug into my own food because I was more than hungry and I needed something to do other than stare at my ex, who was staring at me.

  I pretty much stayed silent during the meal. I let Ashley and Easton dictate the conversation and catch up. I also observed Emmy. I concluded her issue with “healthy” food was probably partially due to texture. I supposed I could give Easton some suggestions on how to help with that and how to introduce new foods to her.

  All I knew was that I was thrilled when the movers showed up. I needed the distraction. My ex-husband, unfortunately, thought he needed to stay. I had to say I was surprised he took a whole Thursday off to help. When we were married he wouldn’t have considered it, but now it was really annoying. And it was annoying when the movers assumed he was my husband. I set them straight right away. And it was annoying when he insisted on helping me set up our beds and move the furniture to where I wanted it. And it was really annoying when he decided to go and get dinner for everyone and stayed and ate with us, again.

  My saving grace was Emmy; she fell asleep on my couch around nine. Easton finally decided it was time to go home, but before he left, he asked to speak with me privately. I agreed, but only because I wanted him to leave. We walked out to the front porch. I had forgotten that it got cool here at night in June. Back home, it would still be steamy. I wrapped my arms around myself.

  “Do you want me to get you a jacket?” Easton offered. I forgot how kind he could be.

  “No,” I responded, probably too shortly. It had been a long day and I was ready for him to leave.

  He responded by smiling. “I guess offering you my arm would probably be out of the question then.”

  I sighed and smiled without meaning to. “What did you need to speak to me about?” I had to keep myself from yawning.

  “Have you seen your father yet?”

  I shook my head no. I had been trying to forget about the other reason I agreed to come home. Frank Roberts was the saddest excuse for a father that there ever was, but he was dying. Easton told me the night he called and asked if Ashley could come and spend the summer with him. I refused at first. I only had two summers left with her before she left for college and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing one of them. That’s when he suggested I come too. He told me the hospital was in need of a good clinical nutritionist and I should consider applying and moving back. I laughed at the suggestion. I mean, I hated this place and swore I would never come back, but then … but then he told me Frank had been to see him. Easton broke about a hundred privacy laws by telling me Frank was in stage four of cirrhosis of the liver and he had given him a year to live, maybe eighteen months. Easton told me if I was ever going to forgive Frank and move on, this would be my last chance. And, of course, Ashley thought we should.

  Easton looked at me with concern in his brown eyes. He reached out and touched my cold arm. “I’ll go with you, if you would like.”

  I shook my head no. I wasn’t going to depend on Easton for anything.

  He dropped his hand and a look of disappointment washed over his face. “I want to warn you. He looks terrible and … I told him you were moving back.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “I’m sorry, Taylor, but I thought he deserved to know.”

  “Frank doesn’t deserve to know anything about me.”

  “People change, Taylor.”

  I looked up at him with tears in my eyes. “Yes, I know, and it’s not always for the better.”

  Chapter Two

  I was exhausted from moving most of the day, but I couldn’t sleep. Being back in Merryton was my undoing. You see, from the outside I looked like I had my act together. I was college educated with a good job. I raised the most amazing kid ever. I ate right and worked out. I owned a house and drove a nice car. I pulled off normal like no one’s business. It was how I avoided dealing with things I should have dealt with.

  I was determined to lead a normal life because growing up all I knew was instability. I learned early on how to hide my problems. I didn’t want anyone to know that my home life was less than ideal, but as I
grew older, I knew it was no secret, especially living in this town where everyone knew everything about everyone. And hiding the problem, or at least thinking I was, only made it worse. I became an enabler along with my sweet mother. That was, until the night I couldn’t take it anymore. I had begged my mother to leave Frank, but she said she loved him and we were a family. It didn’t matter that he came home drunk every night and he couldn’t hold down a job, or that he was emotionally and verbally abusive to my mother, she still loved him. It didn’t matter to her until I had finally had enough and intervened one night.

  For all of Frank’s faults, he had never once hit my mother or me. But that night in his drunken rage, he tried to hit me as I did my best to protect my mother against his verbal assault. My best wasn’t good enough. My mother took the brunt of my failure. It wasn’t until then my mother took action. At fifteen I was sent to live with my grandparents while she stayed. I begged and begged her to come too, but she wouldn’t. She said Frank was sorry; he never wanted to hurt me or her. He loved me. He promised he would go to rehab and AA and all of the other things he always promised, but never did.

  Grams and Harry did their best to heal my wounds. They provided me with the stability I had craved. I missed my mom, but I was happy not to have to deal with the never-ending uncertainty. I didn’t have to worry anymore about getting woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of fighting parents. I didn’t have to worry about whether the utilities would be on when I woke up, because Grams and Harry always paid their bills. There was always food on the table and clean clothes, and new clothes even. I didn’t have to lie to my friends anymore about why they couldn’t come over to my house or why I wouldn’t go to theirs. I didn’t have to be embarrassed anymore.

  In an attempt to overcome and forget about my past, I became an over achiever. I was determined to never have that life again. I was determined that if I ever had a family, it would be perfect. I would be perfect. So I graduated early from high school and received a scholarship to UAB. I achieved my goal of graduating at twenty-one and was offered the internship of my choice at the University Hospital in Birmingham. It was there I met Mr. Perfect. He was in his first year of clinical rotations. He was everything I wanted in a husband: ambitious, intelligent, stable, handsome, kind, and he loved me.

  And I loved him. I loved him so much I lost my head and we eloped. One minute I was sitting in a laundromat parking lot with him waiting for his clothes to dry, and the next minute I was at the courthouse saying, “I do.” We didn’t have rings; we didn’t even dress up. We only wanted to be with each other and so we thought, why should we wait? It broke my grams’ and my mom’s heart, for that I felt bad, but I had never been happier. At the time, I foolishly thought everything would stay perfect. In reality, I probably had no business getting married at twenty-one.

  It didn’t take long for me to learn that marriage was hard, but again, I was determined to be perfect. Even if I wasn’t happy about certain aspects of our marriage, I pretended to be. I didn’t want Easton to think any less of me. I wanted to have what I didn’t have growing up, but that was exhausting. It was exhausting working two jobs while Easton finished medical school and his residency. And it was exhausting having a baby and being up with her all night with no help.

  It was exhausting moving back to my hometown. I should have told Easton no, but after we had been married for a couple of years my mom had begged us to visit and Easton thought we should. He thought I should face my demons, so we did. He fell in love with Merryton. He had grown up in Chicago, so Merryton was like this magical land to him. He knew that was where we needed to land eventually. Then we had Ashley, and since both of his parents had passed away, he wanted Ashley to grow up around my parents. I tried to explain to him why that wasn’t a good idea, but by that time Frank had sobered up—at least temporarily—and Easton only saw a remorseful man and a mother that wanted her daughter back.

  I knew in my heart at the time it wasn’t the right thing for our family, but Easton was convinced it was. I should have been more honest with Easton. I should have opened up more to him about my past, but I was afraid. I didn’t want to seem broken. So I pretended I could handle it all. And the first year back, I pulled it off well even though I missed Easton, who was putting in long hours getting his practice up and running. I didn’t say anything when I should have. I let him put me last on his list. I pretended to have everything under control. But then my mother died of a heart attack.

  It was like a dam burst. I could no longer pretend I was perfect. I was devastated and I needed my husband. And I was so, so tired. I was tired of being alone and tired of pretending to be the patient wife. Looking back, it probably wasn’t fair to Easton. I had given him the impression I was perfectly fine with being last on his list. I became an enabler again, because I was afraid to be less than the ideal wife. Finally the walls came crashing down and I needed Easton, but his hours became longer and he started coming home smelling like a perfume that wasn’t in my cabinet. I confronted him, and he denied having an affair. I felt bad and decided I needed to be better, so I took dinner to him late one night at his office only to find his car wasn’t the only one in the parking lot. It was Kathryn’s car, and she smelled a lot like my husband.

  The next day I packed up my car and my toddler and we left. I cried all the way to Alabama. I ran back to Grams and Harry. I ran away from the hurt and pain. I tried to pretend I was once again perfect. After all, I had a little life depending on me and she deserved perfection, or at least close to it.

  Now I was back to the place where it all began. Back to a dying father that I hadn’t spoken to in years and an ex-husband that I’d never gotten over. I questioned my sanity, but Easton had been right—I needed to get over my demons and the only way I could was by facing them. My running days were over. In the meantime, though, I would do what I always did. I would put on a brave front and act completely normal.

  I woke up more tired than when I had gone to sleep, but the unpacked boxes were calling, as was Ashley. This was her first day acting as Emmy’s nanny. I kept trying to remind myself this was a good thing. She should know her dad. It was my hope that if she forged a good relationship with Easton that she would end up better than me. That she would be able to have a healthy relationship with her future husband. Several of the books I’d read trying to fix myself talked about how important that father-daughter relationship was for a girl’s self-esteem, and how she sees herself and deals with relationships.

  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame my problems on my father. I am way too old for that nonsense, but growing up the way I did had an effect. How could it not? In a lot of ways, it was good. It gave me drive and compassion. It had also helped me when I counseled with my patients about their food issues. I could relate to people in certain circumstances when, for others, it would be un-relatable. In many ways, it made me better and stronger, but it also sabotaged me. I had no idea how to make a marriage work, even though I had a great example in Grams and Harry. I also had no idea how to properly express my own wants and needs.

  I only hoped I raised Ashley to be better than me. I’d tried to teach her a better way and now I was trying to give her what she should have had all along. Even though it might kill me.

  “Momma,” Ashley called from the family room.

  “Yes, love?” I called back.

  “Do you know where the box is with our board games?”

  I decided against yelling back and met her in the family room. “Did you want to play Scrabble this morning, darlin’?”

  “Very funny, Momma. No, I thought I would bring some games to play with Emmy.”

  I looked at the time. “Love, you need to get going. Your dad doesn’t like to be late to work. I’ll look for them later and you can bring Emmy over with you to get them. Does that work?”

  She smiled at me, walked over, and kissed me on the cheek before she took off. My heart ached a bit. I was used to having her be all mine. I wasn’t s
ure I wanted to share her, even if it was with the one person I should be sharing her with.

  I got ready and tried not to think about him. Besides, I had plenty to keep me busy. I had ten days before I started work and I wanted this house in order before I did so. I had to look perfect.

  I started with the kitchen. I figured that was the most important room, especially since I was picky about eating out. Easton had gotten food from the one place last night that I liked to get dinner, Jessie Belle’s café. The food was as delicious as I remembered and I couldn’t wait to see Jessie in person. Her mom ran the café last time I lived here. With all that being said, my favorite place to eat was still home, so the kitchen was getting top priority. Then it was my bedroom. It was kind of my own personal retreat.

  I would wait and do Ashley’s room when she got home. I wasn’t sure what time that would be. Easton had always worked long hours when we were married, but maybe now that he didn’t have any nurses he was fraternizing with he would be home earlier. I knew I needed to get over it, but I felt like I gave up so much to support him in his dream. It was a terrible way to be paid back.

  At around five that evening Ashley arrived back home, but she had Emmy with her. Easton had a baby to deliver and the girls were hungry. I was happy to oblige. I was ready for a break from unpacking anyway.

  “So, Emmy, tell me what your favorite food is.”

  Her answer was typical for a nine year old. “Pizza,” she said barely above a whisper. She was still wary around me. That’s okay, I was wary around her, too.

  One place I wasn’t wary was in the kitchen, and pizza was something I could do. I made sure to be sensitive to the picky eater in our midst. I kept the sauce smooth and made a plain cheese pizza for Emmy, along with one loaded with lots of veggies for Ash and me. The girls played Jenga at the kitchen table while I made dinner. Emmy seemed comfortable around Ashley, she even smiled, although with reservation. I wondered why she was so melancholy for one so young. I reminded myself I shouldn’t get involved, but I had a feeling that was going to be hard.