His muscles tensed, preparing for a blow. It would no doubt be low and dirty. “What’s happened, Hannah?”
“She and Ethan broke up.” Hannah took the pot of potatoes and put it beneath the faucet. “That’s not the worst of it.” She set the pot on the stove and turned it on. “She’s . . .” She hesitated, tense. Lifting her head, she looked at him. Her eyes flickered. “She’s quit school.” She turned away again before Douglas could get a feel for what else was going on. He knew there was more. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. He watched her gather the potato peelings and put them in the trash bin under the sink.
“Why’d they break up?”
“She didn’t want to talk about it. She’s pretty upset.” She turned on the tap to rinse her hands.
“Obviously,” he said dryly. “She’d hardly quit school and drive twenty-five-hundred miles over a minor tiff.” He gave a sardonic laugh. “Well, I guess we’re going to save ourselves thousands of dollars on a wedding.” He couldn’t believe he said it. Sarcasm, cutting deep and drawing blood.
Hannah turned her head and looked at him, eyes blazing. Slapping off the tap, she snatched up the towel. He’d seen that look before. It wasn’t annoyance. It was something deep and violent.
Anger pumped through him in immediate, conditioned response. Not for any particular reason but because of a multitude all tangled together in a mass of confusion, wrath, and frustration. “I’m going to take my things upstairs,” he said before she opened her mouth. He retrieved his briefcase and suitcase. He needed his hands full, or he was going to break something.
“I hope you won’t say something like that to Dynah.”
Douglas turned, furious. “What do you think? That I want to hurt my daughter worse than she’s been hurt?”
No. He just wanted to hurt her.
“She broke it off with him, Douglas. Not the other way around.”
“Then she must have had a good reason,” he said coldly. “Better she gets out of it now than marries him and finds out she’s made the biggest mistake of her life.” He saw her wince, felt it through his whole body, and knew what he’d done. He hadn’t meant it the way she took it, but there it was. Fallout from another war. With another man. He could say he loved her, but it wouldn’t help. Not right then. Maybe later, after she’d had time alone in the kitchen to lick old wounds.
Douglas didn’t want to stand and watch.
He moved upstairs quickly. Shouldering the upstairs bedroom door open, he slammed his briefcase on top of the dresser. Slinging his suitcase on the bed, he uttered a soft curse. It took him all of five minutes to unpack as he launched two suits into a chair for the cleaners, dumped underwear and socks into the laundry basket, and heaved the shaving case under the sink.
Cursing under his breath, he dragged a hand back through his hair. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have an adrenaline rush. Guns firing. Duck before you get your head blown off. He needed to cool off. Shrugging out of his suit coat, he headed into the bathroom.
Hannah heard the shower go on upstairs. She stood at the sink, staring into the small backyard, her eyes blurred with tears. She had known the minute he walked in the door that he was ready for a fight. She could see it in his eyes. Primed and loaded for battle. All he needed was a target, and she had always been a good one.
His trip must not have gone well. Maybe the meeting hadn’t accomplished all he’d hoped. Maybe the plane had been late. Maybe someone had been rude to him at the airport. Maybe traffic was bad on the way home. It could be any number of reasons, small or large.
What was she supposed to do? Wait for a good day to tell him what was going on?
Oh, God, how am I going to tell him the rest? I can’t face it, Lord. I can’t.
She was shaking, her stomach clenched in a knot. She had to get control, or he was going to know something was wrong. She prayed Dynah would sleep through the night. Douglas would be off to work by six thirty tomorrow morning, and she and Dynah would have the day to talk about options.
Options?
Abortion. That’s what she was going to have to talk about. What other way was there out of this terrible mess? Maybe Douglas didn’t have to know at all. Maybe she and Dynah would just handle the problem themselves and save a lot of heartache.
The telephone rang. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly, calming herself. “Hello?” God, don’t let it be someone from the church. I don’t want anyone knowing something’s wrong.
“Hannah.”
“Oh, Mom,” she sighed in relief. She sat down at the dinette table. “I’m glad you called.”
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“Dynah’s home. The wedding’s off. She’s quit school. A lot of things . . .” She rubbed her forehead. “Oh, Mom, we’re in such a mess.” If anyone in the world would understand, it was her mother. Over the past few years, since her father died, Hannah had learned more than she wanted to know about her mother’s capacity for understanding. She was beginning to understand how much a woman could survive. And hide.
“What’s Doug have to say about it?”
“Not much. He just got home from L.A. He’s upstairs taking a shower. I haven’t told you the half of it, Mom.” She shut her eyes, clutching the telephone like a lifeline. “Dynah was raped. In January. She’s pregnant.”
“Oh, Lord of mercy . . .”
“No mercy in it,” Hannah said brokenly. “I can’t tell Doug. Oh, God, Mom, I can’t tell him. He’ll go ballistic.” And it’d stir up the past again, bring it boiling to the surface. That terrified her almost more than Dynah’s situation. She’d have to live through it all again, like a terrible recurring nightmare. When would it end?
God, why won’t You forgive me?
“You can’t not tell him, honey. He’s going to know.”
“Maybe he doesn’t have to know.” Silence met that statement. “What else can we do, Mom?”
“You can slow down and think it over.”
“I am thinking. That’s all I’m doing. Thinking and thinking.”
“What does Dynah want to do?”
“I don’t know. She’s been asleep since she arrived yesterday afternoon. She was so tired. She looked sick when she got here. I’m worried about her.”
“And no wonder,” Evie Daniels said quietly. Though she was a state away, her only connection by telephone, she felt her daughter’s anguish as acutely as if it were her own. And wasn’t it? How could something so vile, so unthinkable, happen to her precious granddaughter? God, answer me that. Why Dynah?
We’ve got to fix this and fix it fast. “Would you like me to come down, honey?”
“Could you, Mom?” She needed an ally.
Evie hesitated, remembering why she had called Hannah in the first place. The last thing she wanted to do was add another burden to her daughter’s already-heavy load. “I have an appointment tomorrow morning. As soon as that’s finished, I’ll be on my way.”
Hannah could hear the urgency in her mother’s tone. Grants Pass, Oregon, was a long drive away from San Francisco. Eight hours at least. And Mom was not young. God, don’t let anything happen to my mother. Please. “Don’t rush. Stop over somewhere if you need to rest.”
“I’m always careful,” Evie said, smiling faintly. In the last few years, her daughter’s conversations with her had taken on a certain maternal tone. Roles were shifting. Well, she wasn’t ready to roll over and play dead yet. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, honey. Tell Dynah I love her very much.”
“I will, Mom.”
Evie heard the anguish in her daughter’s choked voice. “I love you, too, honey. Everything will work out.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
“Believe it. Hang on to it with both hands. And please, wait on any decisions. Promise me.”
“We’ll wait. I love you, Mom.” With a soft sigh of relief, Hannah laid the phone in the cradle. Her mother was coming. Thank God.
Evie heard the soft click
as her daughter hung up the telephone. She held her own receiver a moment longer before putting it gently back in the cradle. She sat for a long moment in her recliner, the television droning Entertainment Tonight. Standing, she crossed the room and punched the Power button. The room fell into silence. Sighing, she walked over to the cathedral windows and looked out over Applegate Valley. The view always gave her a sense of peace. Dusk had arrived, and a single star shone in the heavens. Soon it would be dark. Not like the dark of the city, where the streetlights and headlights and building lights obscured the brilliance. The heavens looked different in the country. More startling. Crisp. Clear. Closer.
In the beginning, those stars had made her feel small and alone when she and Frank had moved here eighteen years ago and built this A-frame house. It had been more Frank’s dream than her own. She would have preferred staying in East Bay Area, close to Hannah and Greg and their families. Frank had said it made no sense to try to live where their children and grandchildren lived. Young families—families just starting out—moved. And moved they had. Greg went to Texas fourteen years ago, then to Georgia, and most recently to Illinois. His three children were almost grown, and she hardly knew them. She and Frank would have had to be gypsies to keep up with them.
Only Hannah had sunk roots. In San Francisco.
Sodom and Gomorrah, Frank had called it. He had always preferred having Hannah and Douglas and Dynah come up to the pristine environment of the Applegate Valley rather than making the long drive south. His health had given ready excuse.
Frank, I miss you. I thought the ache would have diminished by now, but it hasn’t. Five years and I still cry for you.
She remembered the last week of his life in the Medford hospital. And their last conversation. He’d said he was sorry. He hadn’t needed to explain. She’d known immediately what he was talking about. It still hurt to think about it, to realize it had haunted him all those years, just as it had haunted her. She had never realized. Maybe if she had, they could have talked about it together. They might have been able to help one another climb the mountain of grief that had stood between them.
Oh, Lord, the ramifications of our sin. If we could but see beforehand. Or admit it afterward.
COME TO ME, ALL OF YOU WHO ARE WEARY AND CARRY HEAVY BURDENS, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.
I’ve turned to You a thousand times, Lord. Over and over again. And still it’s there, an ache deep inside me. What would I do without You, Lord? Still, I don’t understand. What I did all those years ago had nothing to do with Hannah. And yet she suffered. And now Dynah will suffer too. Oh, Lord God, it’s like a curse that runs down through the family, the sins of the mother visited upon her children. Why did it start, Lord? Oh, Jesus, how do we stop it?
The telephone rang. It was Gladys McGill, her neighbor, checking up on her. Shortly after Frank died, George McGill had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. She and Gladys had consoled one another. They took turns calling one another. She called Gladys in the morning; Gladys called her in the early evening.
“Did you tell Hannah about the doctor’s diagnosis?”
“It slipped my mind.”
“Slipped your mind! What do you mean, it slipped your mind?”
“Blame it on hardening of the arteries and senile dementia.”
“Evie Daniels, you know you have to make some decisions about chemotherapy.”
“I don’t have to be in a hurry.”
“The longer you wait—”
“Hannah has problems enough without me adding to them.”
“Hannah’s going to be mad as a wet hen when she finds out, and you know it! Remember how she felt when you and Frank kept his heart condition a secret?”
“I remember. I’m going down tomorrow afternoon. I promise, I’ll find a way to work it into a casual conversation.” Her words were met with a pause.
“Trouble?” Gladys said quietly.
“In spades.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Pray for us, would you, Glad?”
“Unceasingly. As I always do. How long will you be gone?”
Evie heard the wistfulness in her dear friend’s voice. “A week. Ten days. I’m not sure. I may be bringing Dynah back with me.” She didn’t say any more than that, and Gladys didn’t ask any questions. God bless her. “I’m worried about you, Glad.”
“Don’t be. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll call the Brigade to check up on you while I’m gone,” she said as lightly as possible. “The Brigade” was made up of Evie, Gladys, and three other women their age who had bonded together over the last years. All but one of their group were widows, hence their self-appointed name: The Widows’ Brigade. Evie knew Gladys could be forgetful about taking her heart medication, and she also knew the Brigade would watch her like hawks.
“Fine, but it’s probably not necessary. Florence called me yesterday. Talked for almost an hour. You forget how many lonely little old widow ladies are living up here in the woods. I couldn’t be left alone if I tried.”
Evie laughed.
“Call me when you get to San Francisco,” Gladys said in a commanding tone. “And drink lots of tea on the way so you won’t fall asleep at the wheel.”
“If I drink lots of tea, I’ll be making a lot of stops.”
“All the better. You should get out and stretch those arthritic old bones of yours.”
“Thanks for the advice, you old coot.”
Gladys laughed. “I love you. Be careful.”
“I love you, too. Lock your doors!”
Evie sighed. Sometimes I wonder about Your timing, Lord.
She decided her own bad news could wait.
Chapter 5
Dynah roused from a deep sleep and saw her father sitting on the edge of her bed. “Hi, princess,” he said, brushing the hair back from her forehead.
“Daddy . . .” She sat up and reached for him, needing to feel the solidness of him, the sense of security she’d always felt in his arms.
Douglas drew his daughter into his arms, holding her firmly against his heart. “I love you, baby,” he said, choked with emotion. How long since she’d reached for him like this? He’d like to use Ethan Goodson Turner as a punching bag. Either that or thank him for giving his daughter back to him.
“You aren’t disappointed in me, are you, Daddy?”
“Disappointed?” Douglas kissed the top of her head. “How could I be disappointed? There are other colleges and other young men smarter than Ethan Turner.”
Dynah shivered slightly. Shutting her eyes tightly, she breathed in the scent of her father. Old Spice, Colgate, and a crisply ironed business shirt and newly dry-cleaned suit. He was on his way to work. “Did Mom talk to you?” she said cautiously.
“Briefly. Last night when I got home.”
Dynah drew back slowly and looked at him, her heart thumping. He was smiling, at ease, his eyes filled with compassion.
“It’s not the end of the world, Dynah.”
She couldn’t speak.
“I know it feels that way right now, but things will look differently in a few weeks. Give it time.”
In a few weeks, she would be showing her pregnancy.
“Oh, Daddy . . .” She saw her mother standing in the open doorway. She was wearing her long bathrobe. Dynah could see the tension in her body and the swift shake of her head in warning.
“What’s the matter, honey?” Douglas said.
Dynah looked at her father and saw something in his eyes that held her silent. “Nothing.” She lowered her head. “It just hurts to trust someone and have them let you down.”
“I know, honey. Life hurts. We’ll talk about it tonight.”
Dynah looked up at her father as he rose. “Do you have to go?”
“I’ll make it a short day.” He touched her face lightly, bending down to kiss her cheek again. “You’ve still got me, princess. What do you say we go to dinner and take in a movie the way we used to? Just the two of us.”
As he headed for the door, Dynah snuggled down into her covers, drawing them up until they almost covered her head. She met her mother’s eyes briefly and turned away.
Hannah followed Douglas down the stairs. She hadn’t slept well the night before. She never did after they argued. Her throat ached as she watched him pick up his briefcase and keys. Pulling her bathrobe more tightly closed, she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling cold. “Douglas . . .”
His knuckles whitened on the handle of the briefcase. “Everything’ll be all right,” he said as though uttering the words aloud would make it so. “We’ll talk things over tonight.” He kissed her cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” More than he’d ever believe. Lord, why does it have to be this way?
“I’ll call you later.”
She stood in the family room and listened to the garage door open and close. Depressed, she started back upstairs. She wanted to go back to bed and never get up again. As she came abreast of Dynah’s door, she glanced in and saw her daughter sitting on the edge of her bed, a multicolored granny-square afghan wrapped around her shoulders. She glanced up, eyes bleak.
“You didn’t tell him, did you?”
Hannah paused in the doorway. She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. He was tired last night. I thought it’d be better to wait.” When Dynah said nothing, she went on, wanting to make amends, wanting her daughter to understand. But how could she when she didn’t know everything and Hannah couldn’t tell her? “Why don’t we both take long, hot showers and get dressed. I’ll fix waffles, and we’ll talk about it. How does that sound?”
Dynah was silent.
“We’ll work things out, honey.”
When Hannah came downstairs an hour later, Dynah was there waiting, dressed in gray leggings and a pale-blue tunic sweater, her long blonde hair woven into a loose French braid. She’d already made the coffee and was holding a half-empty cup before her.
The Atonement Child Page 14