Or was it love? Lillian often wondered. Because her mother did have romantic feelings about Lillian’s father, at least in the beginning. Her mother often reminisced about picnics in the park, chocolates and flowers, and a marriage proposal on a sandy beach at sunset while foamy waves rolled in.
Lillian had no idea if any of that ever really happened, but she cherished those stories regardless, because they made her believe in a fairy-tale world where grown-ups were happy together. That belief carried her through the dark times when her parents were smashing things in the kitchen at night and Lillian was hiding under her bed, whispering soothing words to her baby doll. “Don’t be scared. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”
Later, after her father was long gone and Lillian began to date in high school, her mother advised her to avoid ham-fisted alpha males. “Marry someone soft,” she said. “The kind of man who wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
And so, after a number of years dating the types who fell into the “hard” category and liked to smash things （like Lillian’s face against a wall）， she met Freddie Bell on a vacation in Florida. Disney World of all places. After standing in line for an hour to ride the Space Mountain roller coaster with two friends, she had been relegated to sit alone in the seat behind them. At the last second, Freddie hopped in beside her.
“Looks like we’re a matched set of third wheels,” he said with a shy smile. He was handsome and adorably boyish, and it felt like fate, and heaven knew she was a sucker for the idea of destiny. Why? Maybe, deep down, she relished the notion of not taking responsibility for major decisions. It was easier sometimes to go with the flow and simply let fate carry you along. Then you couldn’t blame yourself when the river got angry and threw you up against a rock. It was simply your lot in life.
She and her friends spent the rest of the week in Disney World with Freddie and his group. A month later, she quit her waitressing job in Chicago and moved to Florida to be with him. She felt fortunate because he was gentle and endearing and he passed the all-important litmus test: he had slender hands that were made to hold a pencil, not punch a hole in a wall. He was creative—an intellectual who read books and wrote poetry. He’d even gone to college to study English.
Lillian was, to put it plainly, astounded by her good fortune. She had once heard that women often married carbon copies of their fathers, but she had vowed never to fall into that trap. After a few regrettable, abusive relationships in her teens and early twenties, she’d begun to dream about the polar opposite of her father. At long last, she had found it in Freddie.
Things moved quickly after that. She got pregnant （they thought they were being careful）， so they tied the knot before anyone found out about their inability to use birth control effectively. Sadly, however, a month after the wedding, Lillian lost the baby.
A terrible year of grief followed in which she blamed herself for not protecting her unborn child, and she considered it the worst failure of her life. At one point, she told Freddie that she would understand if he wanted to part ways and start over with someone else, since they’d only gotten married because of the baby.
Freddie gaped at her in shock. “Lil, don’t say that. I could never live without you.” His face went pale, and he nearly worked himself into a panic.
Then Lillian remembered that he had his own issues with loss because his mother had walked out on his family when he was five, and he had never truly gotten over being left behind.
Lillian realized her mistake in suggesting such a thing and took him into her arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I promise I won’t ever leave you.”
Her words reassured him, and over the next few years, she soldiered on, working the front desk at a local hotel, supporting them financially while Freddie pursued his lifelong dream of writing a bestselling novel.
But by 1986, Lillian couldn’t escape the old familiar longings. She had always wanted to be a mother, but she had pushed that dream away after her miscarriage. Perhaps now the deep cut in her heart had finally healed enough to allow her the courage to try again.
She brought it up with Freddie on their fourth wedding anniversary, when they sat on a blanket on a beach in Tallahassee, watching the waves roll in. “So what do you think?” she asked.
Freddie thought about it for a moment before responding. “I don’t know, Lil. It’s a pretty big step. A huge responsibility.”
“Kids usually are,” she replied.
“But don’t you think . . . I don’t know. I feel like I should finish my book first. We don’t even own a house.”