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She must be losing her mind. Maybe it was hormonal.
“Maya?”
“Yes. I’m here. I’m just…well, I’m just not sure why you’re telling me this. What can I do about it?”
There was a long pause. “I just wanted you to be warned. It’ll hit the tabloids tomorrow, and the press will be stampeding into town in droves.”
“Well…then you’ll be able to tell your side of the story, won’t you?”
“I’m afraid my side of the story isn’t exactly going to help matters.”
She sighed. “This is liable to ruin your chances for the Senate, isn’t it, Caleb?”
“I don’t know. It might.”
“It will. If they go digging for dirt in my background, they won’t have to dig far, Caleb. My family is…rolling in it.” She licked her lips nervously.
“It’s not me I’m worried about here, Maya. It’s you, your family. I don’t want this upsetting you—you’re in no condition to—”
“Everything upsets me in this condition,” she said. “But I’m getting used to it.”
“I’m going to fix this, Maya. I’m going to find a way to make it all right again. I promise.”
“Don’t make promises, Caleb. I don’t like when they get broken.”
“I promise,” he said again. “Try to rest, Maya. I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”
“You will?”
“Yeah. I will.”
She pursed her lips, bit them to keep from making some remark about the last time he’d promised to be around in the morning, and whispered good-night. Then she hung up the phone and went up to bed. But she didn’t sleep for a very long time, and when she did, the dreams that plagued her were odd and frightening.
She wore white and walked into the church on a fine summer Sunday, with two gorgeous toddlers clinging to her hands. But she found the church doors blocked by a crowd of her neighbors, all of them pointing at her and whispering words that blended together. Trash. Sinner. Harlot. And then they aimed those fingers at her children, and the whispers grew louder. Bastards. Fatherless. Illegitimate. Bastards.
Beyond them all she saw Caleb, his suit impeccable, turning away and sneaking out the church’s back door.
She looked down at her pristine children, but they wore rags now, and their faces were coated in tear-streaked dirt. And her own white dress had turned to scarlet.
She sat up in bed with a gasp and a sharp pain in her middle. But then it eased, and she lay back again. “Just a dream,” she said. “This is the twenty-first century, for God’s sake. They don’t tar and feather fallen women anymore.”
Maybe not literally, a little voice inside her whispered. No, the ways of making people feel less than worthy were far more subtle these days. The whispered remarks, the constant slights. The invitations that didn’t arrive, and the distasteful looks of those who considered themselves better.
She’d grown up with all of those things. They had hurt her, because she’d been too smart a child to not be aware of them. She did not want her children to feel the sting of nasty people and their nasty attitudes.
And yet she didn’t know how she could prevent it.
CHAPTERELEVEN
The telephone rang at 7:00 a.m. Maya had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, but the sound woke her instantly, and even as she rolled over, covered her head and decided to ignore it, she heard her mother’s voice from downstairs as she answered the call. But when she spoke again, Vidalia’s tone made Maya’s eyes blink wider, and all thoughts of sleep vanished.
“Exactly where do you get the nerve to call my home and ask me something like that, mister? Don’t you dare call here again!” There was a bang, no doubt the sound of the phone being slammed back into its cradle.
Maya got up, tugged on her industrial-sized bathrobe and went into the hall barefoot. She was halfway down the stairs when the phone rang again. And by the time she got to the bottom her mother was slamming it down just like before.
“What is it, Mom? Who was that?”
Her mother looked at her as Maya crossed the living room. The angry look on her face immediately eased, and she replaced it with a false smile. “Nothing for you to worry about, hon. Just some kid playing pranks on us, is all.”
