Page 125 of Lone Star Longing
She hadn’t promised her mom she’d go or anything. She didn't want to make a promise she couldn't keep. But she parked her car in the surprisingly crowded lot and slipped into the back of the church, nodding to the people she knew, scanning the rows for her family.
A cowboy took one look at her, picked up his hat and jumped to his feet, indicating for her to take his seat, but she smiled and waved her thanks as she walked up the side aisle to the row where her mother sat.
The church smelled the same as it had when she was young, kind of musty and cloying, and her empty stomach rebelled a bit at that. She should have had some toast before she headed out, but she’d been running late.
Her mother cried out softly when she saw Lacey at the end of the row, and urged everyone to squeeze together to accommodate her. She settled in beside her brother-in-law just as the entrance hymn started.
She was surprised at how easily the motions of the service came to her after all this time, like muscle memory. Some things had changed, but not much.
About halfway through the service, she glanced around to see who was there. Poppy was, and Austin, surprisingly. Sofia sat with her family.
And Beck sat farther back with his mother. Apparently he had seen her before she saw him, because he lifted a hand and waved, though his brow was creased, probably because of the conversation at dinner last night. She lifted a shoulder, and turned her attention back to the ceremony.
“I’m so glad you joined us,” her mother said when they walked out of the church an hour later. “How do you feel?”
Lacey wasn't sure if the question was about her health or her reaction to the service. “I feel good. Shall we try to get a seat at the diner?” Sunday morning was bound to be busy with everyone wanting breakfast after church.
As expected, the line for a table was out the door. Lacey put their name on a list, grabbed a pack of crackers, and she and her family walked across the street to the park to wait the thirty minutes or so Ginny had predicted before a table opened up.
“Listen, I wanted to talk to you about last night,” her mother said, sitting at one of the tables with Lacey as the kids ran to play on the playground, again having it to themselves.
“What about last night?”
“I feel like there are some things I need you to know about when I left. Things I didn't want you to know then, things I didn't want anyone to know.”
“Mom,” Tanya said.
Joyce shook her head. “I owe Lacey this information. I need her to know that it was my fault I left. It was my fault because I couldn't deal with the isolation, with everyone knowing my business. All this wide-open space, and I was suffocating, relegated to being a mother and a wife and giving up my dreams.”
“Your dreams to what? Spend all your money in Houston?” Lacey shook her head. She didn't want this conversation to disrupt the peace she’d been feeling in church. “I just don't understand. You didn't move to Houston and become anything other than Andrew’s wife and a socialite.”
“Andrew has been very good to all of us, and I’m very good at being his wife, helping him move up in his career.”
“But was that your dream? I don't understand. Why would you marry a soldier if that was what you thought you wanted?”
“Because good soldier’s wives can help a soldier move up in his career, also. But out here in the middle of nowhere, Tony didn't have that same opportunity. I thought he would get transferred away, eventually, but when he was passed over that last time, because no one else wants to come to this place, I had to save myself.”
“I don't understand why you don't see how selfish that was.” Lacey’s stomach twinged again and she put her hand on the mound of it as if that could ease the pain.
“I know it was selfish. I admit that it was. But I was able to offer better opportunities for your brothers and sister because of it. Even your college was paid because of it.”
“But you said, “for better and for worse, for richer and for poorer,’ when you made your vows to Dad. Why couldn't you keep them?”
“I had to save myself, Lace. I would have killed myself if I had to stay. Then the four of you would have been motherless, and your father would have been alone anyway. I thought every day about how to do it. Every day. And every day I thought that I couldn't do it because one of you would find me.”
Tears sprang to Lacey’s eyes and she reached out a hand to touch her mother. “Mom. Oh my God. You had depression.”
Joyce’s gaze fell away, but when she looked back at Lacey, her expression was determined. “For a long time I thought it was just depression, you know, how you think about it as a passing thing, when you say you’re depressed about something in particular. But it never went away. Never. I just thought I had to get away, get you kids away, before you started feeling the same way. I couldn't make your father understand, and of course he couldn't do anything anyway because he wanted to be a career man, and I had to go.”
Lacey tightened her hand around her mother’s, her own heart aching at the pain Joyce had endured silently. “Why did you never tell me any of this before? Why did you let me believe you were just thinking of yourself?”
“Because I was.”
“But Mom, no, you weren’t.” Everything, everything fell away. Lacey wished she could have known this years ago, so they could have worked through it then. But learning it now, while hard, was liberating. Her mother had had no choice. She hadn’t left to be selfish. She had left because she didn't know any other way. “You were desperate and I completely understand that now. I always thought you were just bored. And now I can see, you know, I can see why you never wanted to come back here. And since nothing’s changed, it has to be just horrible to remember feeling that way. I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.” She pulled her mother into her arms. “I’m so sorry.”
They held onto each other for a few minutes, and Lacey could feel tension draining from her mother.
“Maybe I should go back to the hotel to freshen up before we go to breakfast,” Joyce said after a few minutes, drawing away and wiping at her eyes.
