Love Triangle: Three Sides to the Story Read online

  The sound of a car driving up outside made everyone silent. My mother had that mutinous expression on her face and Shauna was grinning in anticipation. George had promised to stop by today to check up on me and to bring me baby gifts from his family.

  Understandably, they were not too keen on befriending me, but they did acknowledge that I was carrying their family member. All my frustration from the past two months came back full force. I barely got to see the man I loved. He only called to check up on his baby. Today he was going to get the shock of his life, because he did not know that my mother had decided to come to Mandeville for the birth and he would actually be meeting her.

  “I’ll get it.” Shauna jumped up from the settee to answer the door. She had never seen George and was anticipating the meeting.

  “Wow,” Shauna said at the door. She held it open and stood in the same spot.

  “What is it?” I was craning my neck to see the door.

  “You are fine,” Shauna said breathlessly.

  George grinned.

  “Oh, puddle at your feet.” Shauna rolled her eyes. “No wonder the girl lost her head.”

  “You are Shauna,” George held out his free hand, he had a bag in the other.

  Shauna nodded. “You are George.”

  My mother cleared her throat from the living room and Shauna allowed George to come in.

  “Good evening.” He looked at me and I drew in my breath. Was it possible that I loved him a little more each time I saw him?

  “Hi,” I replied. I could not stop drinking him in.

  My mother cleared her throat again. George looked over at her, breaking his stare with mine or rather my mound of a belly.

  “Good evening Ma’am,” he said politely.

  "George, that is my mother, Ruth Paisley."

  “Hello, Mrs. Paisley.” George smiled and my mother held out a work-worn hand to him.

  “So we finally meet.” They shook hands, and he sat across from her putting the bag at his feet.

  “I come with gifts.” He turned to me, and my heart did that fluttery thing that it always did when he looked at me with his chocolate-brown eyes. “Since you did not want to know what sex the baby was I come bearing all different colours and things for male or female.”

  Shauna grinned and sat across from him. “Are you in agreement with the names Karen chose?” She asked George.

  George shrugged. “George Junior or Georgette. It’s fine with me.”

  “Will it cause a mix-up at your house though?” Shauna asked innocently. “You being George, when your wife calls you, your son will come or vice versa.”

  Ruth got up with her book, a pained look on her face. “I feel a headache coming on,” she said, heading for Karen’s room.

  Shauna grinned as she passed and looked back at George, who seemed unaffected by her question. “We could always call him Junior. Georgette would not be a problem.”

  Shauna got up lazily and headed for her room. “Let me leave you two ex-lovebirds to talk.”

  I was wondering how George’s wife felt about me. I never got the chance to ask George anything these days. He kept his conversation strictly about the baby. I wanted to know if she sent any of the clothes in the bag. If she did, I didn’t want them. All I wanted was George.

  I looked over at him. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head.

  Do you love me? I asked in my head.

  I could almost see him answering the same way he did about the drink, so I kept my mouth, feigned a flippancy I was far from feeling and rubbed my belly.

  “Your baby is active in here.” I smiled at him. “The kicking never stops.”

  He grinned and came over beside me. He put his hands on my belly and for the longest time, I did not breathe.

  “How are you coping?” He took his hands away and moved away from me slightly.

  “I am okay. Despite the fact that I hobble like a seal.”

  He touched my cheek and sighed. “So you are staying in Mandeville then?”

  “Yes, the hospital is here.”

  “I meant … never mind.” He took his hand away and put it on his legs. “When is Shauna getting married?”

  “Next week,” I answered thickly. I was going to miss her.

  “So you are staying on here then?”

  I nodded.

  “I will pay the rent.” He gave me a look that said I shouldn’t argue. “When Shauna leaves I will help you set up her room as a nursery of sorts.”

  I cleared my throat. “She’ll be leaving this Thursday.”

  “Then I’ll be here on Thursday.”

  “How does Marie feel about me and the baby?” I blurted out. The question had been hovering on the tip of my tongue.

  “How do you think?” George asked vaguely.

  “Does she hate my guts? Will she hate my child? I need to know,” I touched his hand, “I need to know not only for me but for my child.”

  “She’s dealing with it,” George sighed, “she was going to leave for America to avoid the situation, but decided against it. She’s now on vacation. She asks about you, if you are alright.”

  Oh hell, she was concerned. At that moment I hated myself slightly. I imagined her as a bitter woman with a knife drawn to slash me if she ever saw me. I tried to reconstruct an image of a woman who was hurting because of the actions I participated in and still found the time to ask if I was alright, and then I almost puked. I did not want her sympathy, and I almost wished I had never asked George about his wife.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  George

  The phone rang at two in the morning. I peered blearily at the number. The name Karen flashed on the screen. I jumped up and Marie stirred beside me.

  “Hello,” I whispered. My voice sounded raspy. I cleared my throat.

  “George, I am at the hospital,” Karen mumbled.

  Marie sat up beside me and turned on the lamp.

  “Are you having the baby?” I asked stupidly. I was uncomfortable with Marie behind me.

  “Yeeeees.” Karen hissed.

  “I’ll be right there.” I hung up the phone and turned to Marie. I felt uneasy. I had to go to the hospital. I knew she would understand that but the pain of knowing that I was about to be a father and she was not involved caused me to tremble slightly. Another human being who would depend on me was now more important than the logistics of our relationship.

  She touched my arm. “You should call your mother and father.”

  I nodded.

  “Does she have support at the hospital?”

  “Yes, her mother and her friend Shauna.”

  “Is the nursery finished?” Marie swallowed, she was trying her best. It was basic concern. This was no longer just them. A child was now involved.

  “I did that last week.” I had to get up. I looked around the room for something to pull on. Marie got up and found a pair of jeans and a green cable-knit sweater. She handed it to me.

  “Don’t forget to brush your teeth.” She went back under the sheets and stared at me silently as I pulled on my sweater.

  “It’s back way,” she grinned.

  I shrugged out of it and pulled it on the correct way.

  “First babies usually take a while.” She clutched the sheet tightly, and I knew she was hurting but was trying hard to be civil.

  That was what we had for the past month, civility. After she forgave me she said she would need time to forget. The forgetting part would not happen with evidence on its way.

  Your life is what you make it, my mother used to say. “I’ll call my parents on the way.” I headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth as Marie suggested.

  She was still lying in the same position, clutching the sheet when I came back, a look of fear in her eyes.

  “Marie … ”

  “Go,” she shooed me from the room, “your child should see you first thing, remember that’s what you said when the others were born.” Her e
yes were bright with tears.

  I left the room burdened down with guilt.

  I raced to the maternity ward of the hospital and was asked by a nurse if I wanted to be present during the birth. I hesitated. I was there for my other children, but this was different. I knew Karen was still in love with me. While working on the nursery at her home, I could feel emotions coming from her in spades. That had me guilty too. I was a walking guilt-machine.

  The nurse was looking at me and I realised that I had not answered.

  “Sure, I want to be at the birth.”

  She scrubbed my hands within an inch of its life, and then I put on protective gear.

  I was led into the room. Karen was panting and trying hard not to push.

  “Not yet,” said the mid-wife who was attending the birth.

  I went over to her side. She hung onto my hand and squeezed. I stood there for a long time silently offering my support, silently offering my prayers to God that this child would be healthy.

  Karen was in labour for five hours, then she squealed and pushed George Junior into the world. I held him before they took him to be cleaned up. I looked into his squalling face and I loved him. Despite the circumstances, I was happy that he was here.

  “Thank you,” I mouthed to a tired Karen.

  She smiled wearily and asked, “What time is it?”

  “Seven o’ clock,” the matron answered, “one of the quickest first births I have ever seen.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Marie

  The children were all in bed on top of and beside me. It was eight o’clock.

  No school for us.

  It was June first, the beginning of summer.

  I will never forget today. George had called earlier and said that he had a son. I had struggled to say congratulations so I only said, ‘Okay’. He was silent for a while then he said he had to go.

  Since then I have been thinking that I wanted to escape. His mother had called and I relayed the message.

  She sounded ecstatic. An even number, two boys and two girls she had crowed. Then she had tempered her enthusiasm and asked me if I was alright.

  What did she think, that I was made of stone? Of course I was not alright and I might never be alright for the rest of my life. I looked at my children. Neither George nor I had told them about this new development in their lives. Timothy woke up and glanced at me, “Mom, I am hungry.”

  “Me too,” Gabrielle mumbled, snuggling closer to me.

  I got up from the bed hurriedly. “Last one out has to spread the bed.”

  The three of them scrambled out and started bickering about who was last. I left them to it and went to the kitchen. My whole family was there; my mother and father, Winsome and Laura, my brother and his wife.

  Winsome was fixing fried plantains and scrambled eggs. Laura was frying sausages and my father was juicing oranges with the electronic juicer. My mother was directing the proceedings from the kitchen table. I surveyed the scene and smiled. The support group was here.

  “Thanks, guys,” I said, coming into the kitchen.

  They paused and looked at me and then continued working.

  “So who did George call first?” I asked to no one in particular.

  “Me.” My mother touched my hand as I sat beside her. “He said he didn’t want you without support at this time.”

  “How thoughtful,” I mumbled.

  “Is it a boy or a girl?” Winsome asked as she flipped over a plantain in the skillet.

  “A boy.”

  “He will need his father,” Laura said. Her long nails looked like they were on the verge of breaking as she tussled with the sausage tin. “Statistics show that boys who grow up with their father are more likely to know how to relate to and treat women when they grow older.”

  “Did you study this for one of your classes or read it in the newspaper?” Winsome asked sarcastically.

  “Grandma … Grandpa.” The kids marched into the kitchen, shouting.

  The blackness that was waiting to surround me did not get the chance to do so that morning.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Karen

  He was the sweetest baby ever born. She hung over him in the nursery and made sure that he was breathing. He was so still. A miniature George. She could already see the resemblance. He looked very much like his father, which means he would also resemble his older brother, Timothy.

  It was time she moved on in her heart, where George was concerned. Since her release from the hospital two months ago, she realised that she had to do two things. She had to let George go and she had to meet his wife.

  From her observations George was no longer interested in her as a potential mate, but he loved his son. It killed him inside to not share his child openly with his family and with his wife. She could tell because she knew him.

  She knew he was racked with guilt, and she knew she contributed to it, deliberately overplaying little things so that he could drop what he was doing and come to her. She was not feeling good about herself because of that, she felt like the villain of the piece. She was making him miserable because he did not choose her over his family. The same values that she loved in him, she hated when it was demonstrated toward a family he already had.

  She had to meet Marie. She had obsessed so much over the woman that she could not do it for one more day. Probably seeing her might help. Having a face for her fears, her insecurities. Hearing her talk might confirm that she wasn’t right for George, that there was some justification for being with him knowing that he was married.

  “Karen,” her mother stood behind her, “I thought I heard something.”

  “Just me being anxious.” Karen looked at her mother closely. Through all the upheaval of the last month, her family had stood by her. “Could you stay with Junior for me? I have to do something.”

  Her mother nodded, concern in her eyes.

  “I will tell you when I get back.”

  Karen dressed carefully in black pants that were a bit smugger than before she was pregnant and a green emerald blouse. She brushed out her long, curly hair and put on her signature scent. She looked lovely. Her olive complexion was glowing.

  She dialled the house number that she was forbidden to dial, except in cases of extreme emergencies. It was summer and Marie should be home.

  The phone rang and a childish voice answered, “Cameron’s residence. This is Rachel Cameron. How may I assist you?”

  Karen’s heart melted. It was the youngest brat on the line. She remembered her lack of interest in them before and shuddered. Now she also had a child, who might one day sit in the back seat of his father’s car and make fun of someone up front.

  “May I speak to Mrs. Cameron please?” Karen asked politely.

  “Mommmmeeeeeeeeee,” the little voice squeaked as it faded in the background.

  “Marie Cameron here,” a husky voice later said on the phone. She sounded like a disk jockey from a night-time programme.

  I had to breathe deeply and count slowly in my head. In all that time she did not get impatient. I knew she was on the phone because I could hear the background, she was absolutely still. No panicky hello, hello for this woman.

  “Er … Mrs. Cameron.” I sounded like an immature idiot.

  “You can call me Marie.” Her voice was warm. Oh hell. She didn’t even know who it was and she was telling me ‘You can call me Marie’.

  “Marie, I am Karen Paisley.” A little more confidence and I would be okay.

  “Hello, Karen.” Marie had a slight sound of weariness in her voice now. She sounded more human.

  “Can we meet somewhere? I would like to talk to you.”

  The pause seemed infinitesimal.

  “Where?” she finally asked.

  "Uh … " I had not thought of that. “Is Fran’s Oasis okay for you?” That was a sophisticated restaurant with almond trees outside and relative privacy. I had always pestered George to take me and he had always refused, saying there w
ere other places.

  “What time?” The weariness in her voice was gone.

  “In an hour?” I asked, already regretting my impetuous resolve to meet the wife.

  “Sure.” She hung up and I stared at the phone. What did I just do?

  I had forgotten that Fran’s Oasis only did bookings in advance. I felt like such and idiot when I saw the reservation desk. I had to call a cab to get there, enduring the traffic for a while. Now here I was, late for an appointment that I had instigated. The lady at the reservation desk looked at me as I stood uncertainly at the doorway.

  “Are you Karen Paisley?” She asked me, her tone slightly hostile.

  I nodded. Poor service. And how did she know my name?

  “Marie is waiting outside. Last table near the lake.”

  I looked out. The lake looked amazingly real even though I knew it was man-made. There were mini-waterfalls scattered around the property and almond trees shaded wrought-iron tables. At the lake end was a girl in a red spaghetti-strap top and blue jeans. Her hair was cut in one of those pageboy styles. She looked fresh and young. Can’t be Marie, she was supposed to be in her thirties and probably sad-looking. I looked at the other end and I did not see anyone else that could possibly be Marie. The girl from reservations came up behind me and pointed to the girl in the red top. "That’s Marie."

  “Oh, thanks.” I barely glanced at the girl and headed for Marie's table.

  She had light brown eyes and toffee-coloured skin. I drew up nearer to her and felt like a fool. All my dreams of her being an old hag were shattering at my feet. She was beautiful. She stood up when she saw me faltering and smiled slightly.

  She was of medium height and shapely. Her eyes were bright and seemed to dominate her face, giving her an almost innocent look. Physically, I had nothing on her, I realised. My breasts were larger, though I comforted myself as I grasped at straws. My mad assumption that one look at me and she would know that George deserved someone better was slowly turning to mush. Sophistication was rolling from her in waves.