“My mother couldn’t do it though. She couldn’t give me up for adoption like my grandmother intended. The day I was born, she snuck into my room, took me from the crib at what was essentially a halfway house, and left with me in the night. With no place to go and no money, the only option she had was to make her way back home.
“Apparently my grandfather rarely spoke to her, letting my grandmother rule the house as the matriarch she was. However, he was the one to open the door in the middle of the night when my mother knocked. And if it weren’t for him I don’t know what would have happened to me.” Although, it might have been better than what did happen to me.
When had both Alejandro and Ryan laid their hands on her? Alex was on her left, his palm gently grazing her thigh. And Ryan was on her right, fingers caressing her forearm. The touch was soothing. She found she liked it. Solidarity or something…
“So who raised you?” Ryan gave a little squeeze to her arm, prodding her to continue.
Gazing up at the blue sky filtering through the branches, she continued. “My grandfather fell in love with me on the spot. He snuck us into the house and somehow managed to keep me quiet through the night so my mother could sleep. At least that’s the way he used to tell the story. He passed away when I was eight.
“When my grandmother found out what he’d done that night, apparently they had a huge fight. I’m pretty sure I’m the one who lost in that battle of wills. Grandmother reluctantly agreed to let my mother move back home and keep me … for a price.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” Alejandro soothed. His palm never stopped rubbing Lindsey’s leg.
“Naturally my mother was in a bind. She could either leave with me and we’d have been homeless. A young unwed mother with no job. She could go back to the home and give me up. Or she could live under her mother’s thumb and abide by the new house rules.
“First and foremost, my mother had to attend and raise me in the church my grandmother attended. My mother had never been to church. She’d rebelled rather young and had declared herself an atheist.”
“Her mother hadn’t made her go to church when she was little?” Ryan asked.
Lindsey turned toward him and nearly had the breath knocked out of her. The look on his face was one of deep sorrow and concern. For her. For a little girl lost.
“My mother was in high school when Grandma started attending this particular church. She’d not been especially devout until then. Some close friend of hers from bridge club introduced her to Satan.” Lindsey couldn’t help chuckle sardonically. “Literally and figuratively.”
As if on cue, both men lay down alongside Lindsey, sandwiching her between them. Both propped on an elbow and stared into her face. She glanced from side to side and saw nothing but their understanding and acceptance.
Looking back at the rustling tree limbs made it easier to continue.
“Living under my grandmother’s thumb and abiding by her rules day after day was taxing on my mother. Needless to say, she wasn’t very good at it. She tried, for several years, but eventually she strayed. She started doing drugs, drinking heavily, staying out late, who knows what? I was just a little girl.
“It wasn’t the same for me because I never knew any different. Until I was much older, I just assumed my grandmother was in the right and my stupid mother was … well stupid. I couldn’t see the hell she lived through, at least not through her eyes.
“So, I became the good granddaughter, the replacement daughter for the one my grandmother so lovingly referred to as dead to her after she strayed one too many times from the straight and narrow and wasn’t allowed back in the house.
“That was about the time my grandfather died. He had a stroke—little wonder. And that left me alone with a domineering old woman who took me to her crazy church two nights a week and half the day on Sundays. Of course, I didn’t realize at the time the church wasn’t quite the same as any other church.
“Pastor Stone was the captain of a very tight ship. A bit barbaric. Every Sunday I sat through two hours of listening to him spew on and on about the role of women.” In a mocking sing-songy voice, Lindsey quoted the good minister: “Women and children are meant to be seen and not heard. A woman’s place is in the kitchen, tending her family. A man must rule his house with an iron fist. Blah, blah, blah.”
“God,” Ryan gasped. Lindsey didn’t look his way. She was holding back her tears. One look at either man’s heartrending face and she’d never be able to stop the deluge.
“Yeah, well, that’s not the worst part.” Lindsey took a fortifying deep breath and closed her eyes against the world, the sorrowful looks were incongruent against the backdrop of the gorgeous afternoon.