Things Worth Remembering

by Jackina Stark

  I hoped he wasn’t just being nice until he could get the crazy girl out of his office. “He’s with it!” Paula said as we drove out of the parking lot that afternoon. “How cool would it be if we got those two openings?” she asked.

  The fact that we didn’t make it into the same sorority four years earlier flashed into my mind, but I didn’t mention it to Paula. No jinx thinking. I didn’t doubt we’d get jobs for the fall, but I wanted so much for us to get these jobs.

  Two days later, while eating cereal in our apartment before heading off to practice teach (a week left and counting), we got a call from Dr. Laswell’s ancient but efficient secretary. She was pleased to inform both of us that we had received board approval and asked if we could come by that afternoon to sign our contracts. We gave each other high fives and danced a boogie in the living room before we threw on our clothes and ran out the door, planning to meet back home at three-thirty for the forty-five-minute drive to sign on the blessed dotted line. Our future had arrived.

  And now, twenty-five years of that future have unfolded—a quarter of a century. They have been good years, but sitting here tonight, I’m acutely aware they could have been better. Wounds have marred my world, some of them self-inflicted. I have found those hardest to bear.

  I stand up, brush off the seat of my shorts, and walk back to the patio, back to those who might be waiting for me there.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Maisey

  “Kennedy, you look tired,” Marcus says when Mother returns to the patio.

  “You know, Marcus, I do believe I am.”

  Dad pushes back his chair and says, “Well, it’s late. I think we should all hit the hay.” He stands up and stretches. “What time are the girls coming tomorrow?”

  “Around ten. And, Dad, don’t fix a big breakfast.”

  “Fine. We’ll fend for ourselves in the morning. Marcus, you know where the cereal is.”

  “I do, sir.”

  Mother comes up behind Dad, slips her arms around his waist, and leans her head against his shoulder. Marcus is right; she does look tired.

  “Are you asleep?” Dad asks her.

  “Just about,” she says.

  They go inside then, saying they’ll see us in the morning. And just when I think we’ll have some time alone, Marcus decides we should turn in too.

  “You don’t want to watch a movie or something?” I ask.

  “It’s midnight, Maize. Let’s call it a night.”

  “I’m pretty wired,” I say. “Are you sure you don’t want to at least get in the hot tub before we go to bed?”

  “No way. I’m waterlogged already. And beat.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go, then, party pooper.”

  On the way to our rooms, he says how much he enjoyed my grandparents and how nice it was to meet Clay and Rebecca.

  “Your great-uncle is pretty impressive, isn’t he?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, working for the same district for forty years and becoming the superintendent of schools before he was forty— that’s something.”

  “Rebecca has run a homeless shelter for years. It’s a really hard job.”

  “I’m sure. You know, I don’t remember you ever mentioning them.”

  “Maybe not. We don’t see them all that much anymore.”

  “It sounds like they live close.”

  “A few miles from here.”

  “Any kids?”

  “Three. They were quite a bit younger than Dad.”

  Suddenly I am as anxious as Marcus and my parents to turn in. The family tree is not my favorite subject. I kiss Marcus good-night at the top of the stairs. “I cannot wait until Saturday night,” I say. “I want you with me tonight. I’m questioning my values.”

  He smiles sympathetically. “Four more nights, babe, and I’ll love you and hold you all night long.”

  “I don’t know if the Queen of Self-Control can wait.” I kiss him again.

  “You’ll be asleep in no time.”

  “No, you’ll be asleep in no time!” I kiss him one last time, a quick giving-up kiss, and drag myself to my room. “Good night,” I say before clicking the door shut behind me.

  I make it to bed in record time, but here I am, wide awake. I hate that. My mind won’t shut up. I wish we kept sleep aids in this house. Honestly, I’m getting some tomorrow.

  If he hadn’t been so tired, I could have told Marcus a lot of things he might have found interesting—like why Dr. Clayton Laswell disgusts me.

  But of course I wouldn’t go there.

  There are quite a few other things I haven’t told Marcus that wouldn’t make me sick to discuss. Have I ever completely explained to him that if you live in this county, it’s a big deal to be a Laswell? My great-grandfather once farmed thousands of acres around here. When he realized Grandpa and Clay didn’t want to farm, he sold off most of his land and gave a ton of his money to missions and charities. He called it feeding the hungry in a different way. I never met him, but I have loved him for that.

  Jackie has always said I’m more than lucky to be a Laswell. I think that had as much to do with Clay Laswell’s reputation and influence and infectious personality as my great-grandfather’s acres and money. It’s generally agreed that Clay is the very definition of leader. Everyone knows him. Or thinks they do. And based on what they know, everyone admires him. And he loves it, I’m sure.

  But he isn’t the only respected Laswell.

  One day a policeman stopped me for speeding, took one look at my driver’s license, and said, “Laswell, huh.” I thought good ol’ Uncle Clay might get me out of a ticket, but it turned out Dad did. “He’s a fine man, your dad,” the police officer said. “He’s taken good care of a lot of people around here, including my folks.”

  “He’s great,” I said, and I meant it.

  Maybe the officer could see that. Maybe that’s why he let me off with a warning. Jackie sat in the passenger seat, accumulating more data for her favorite assertion. She shook her head, stuck my insurance card back in the glove compartment, and said, “It’s a perk! How many times have I told you that being a Laswell is a stinking perk?”

  “Being a Laswell isn’t problem free,” I said.

  This, she ignored.

  “Do you think my folks will let me change my last name to Laswell?” she asked. “Really, it just makes sense.”

  “We’ll ask them,” I said.

  Dad was made a partner in a national accounting firm based in Indianapolis before he turned forty. I should tell Marcus that. Dad’s the impressive one, not his uncle. After Dad became a partner, he had more say about things, and the fall I started eighth grade, he began working from his office at home, only going in to the Indy office once or twice a week. That was so nice.

  What would I have done otherwise?

  Kendy

  Finished with my nightly routine, I walk into the bedroom and slip between the crisp white sheets. Luke marks his book and puts it on his bedside table.

  As he switches off his lamp, I get a look at the clock. “Oh my, it’s almost one!”

  “It’s late,” he says, “but it was a nice evening. I’m glad Clay and Rebecca stopped by. Dad and Mom enjoyed visiting with them.”

  “Everything went very well. I’m quite relieved.”

  I roll over and face the wall, and Luke snuggles up behind me. I love it when he does this. Nothing makes me feel better than lying here with his arm thrown across me, claiming me. I back farther into him so he’ll know how glad I am he’s there, and in response his arm draws me even closer to him. We do this on nights we don’t make love, and I can’t say which is more pleasurable.

  He is asleep before either of us has the energy to say anything else.

  Luke’s hand is warm in mine.

  I’ve been holding that hand a very long time now. We were married twenty-four years ago in June, only a few months after Clay introduced us.

  Each year Clay and Rebecca
hosted a series of Christmas parties or receptions for the schools in the district. The Friday night of the elementary party, they invited Luke. Luke was twenty-four and, having earned an MBA, just beginning his job with an accounting firm in Indianapolis.

  Clay invited his nephew for two primary reasons. One, his boys, fourteen and thirteen, were tired of smiling at hundreds of teachers and administrators but thought they might endure one more party if their hero, Luke, would come and play pool with them. Two, Clay wanted Luke to meet me. He said later that Luke had been too busy too long to nurture a serious relationship, but now that school and job hunting were behind him, he should have time to think of matters of the heart.

  I had come to the party with Paula and her fiancé, but somehow they disappeared while I was putting away my coat. I had just stepped into the beautifully decorated living room, about to join the two rowdy male sixth-grade teachers standing in the far corner of the room, laughing about something, when Clay called my name.

  “Kennedy,” he said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad to be here,” I said, giving him my aren’t-you-glad-you-hired-me smile.

  “I’ve sent my daughter to the basement to rescue my nephew. My sons think he is their personal property, but they’re going to have to share him a few minutes, because I intend for him to meet you.”

  I could hardly believe Dr. Laswell was taking time away from rooms full of guests to focus on me at all, much less to say such a thing. He wanted his nephew to meet me?

  And then the nephew appeared, as handsome as Clay Las-well, but younger—fourteen years younger, I later learned. It would be an understatement to say the introduction was awkward. I felt like everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing and saying to look at us. But when Luke Laswell shook my hand, it was warm and unaccountably comfortable, and I was happy I had worn the black velvet dress Paula coveted, and I was more than a little disappointed when two boys came up from the basement to drag Luke back to their lair.

  Later that evening, after I had been as outgoing and gracious as I could stand, I felt the need to escape the crowd, and I stepped into the study off the main hallway. I was drawn to the quiet of an empty room and the warmth of a four-log fire. I stood watching the flames, glad to be out of the fray momentarily, when I heard, “There you are.”

  I turned and saw Luke standing in the doorway.

  “You caught me,” I said.

  “I’ve interrupted your peace.”

  “Are you in need of peace? Come in. This room is lovely. I haven’t had the nerve to go down to the basement. I’ve wondered if it’s reserved for family, off limits to guests.”

  “As a matter of fact, several of your peers have made their way down there. That’s how I managed to make my getaway. The boys are beating their former sixth-grade teachers at pool.”

  “Well, now I know I’m not going down there.”

  It was clear that neither of us wanted to be anywhere but where we were. We sat on the sofa and began to really introduce ourselves. When people came to the doorway and peeked into the room, they saw us talking quietly but intently, and they invariably chose to go away. We were invariably glad.

  Before Luke was discovered by one of the boys and dragged away again and before I found my coat and thanked the Las-wells for a wonderful evening, Luke and I had made plans for the following night. We spent every weekend together after that, and he proposed to me the week of spring break, the middle of March.

  After dating six months, we were married in June, and after dating her boyfriend for three years, Paula married in August. “Who would have thought you’d be married before me?” Paula said when I showed her my engagement ring and told her the wedding date we had chosen.

  Mother was horrified, naturally. “Good grief, Kennedy!” she said. “You hardly know the man.”

  “You know what, Mother, that’s just not true. I know Luke very well. You should be thrilled I’m going to marry such a good man. One who can supplement my teaching habit, by the way.” And almost as ambitious as you, I could have added—but I didn’t know that yet.

  She turned around and walked into the other room that day, and I stood there wondering why I had expected anything different. It occurred to me that after so many years, she still thought “good man” was an oxymoron, at least on a personal level. She always seemed to get along with the male species at work.

  If I were fair, I’d have to admit Luke’s and my courtship was a bit of a whirlwind. But sometimes, and it is wonderful when it happens, things are very clear.

  Other times, of course, they are not.

  But by God’s grace, and to my mother’s utter amazement, Luke and I are still married.

  I squeeze my husband’s hand, and though I know very well he is sound asleep, he squeezes my hand in return.

  WEDNESDAY

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kendy

  I walk into the kitchen and find Marcus pouring Raisin Bran into a serving bowl—a serving bowl! The word chipper comes to mind while watching him happily fending for himself. I do believe we’re going to have another morning person in the family.

  “Have some cereal, Marcus,” I say with a smile.

  He looks up and smiles too. He has a gorgeous smile. “Good morning, Kennedy.”

  “It’s time you call me Kendy, Marcus. No one calls me Kennedy except Mother and my dentist.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “So,” I say, pointing at the cereal box, “is there any left for me?”

  He shakes it. “Plenty. And I saw another box in the pantry.”

  “Okay, then. I love Raisin Bran. I have since I was a little girl. This made breakfast a snap, which pleased my mother no end.”

  Marcus laughs.

  What does he know?

  Marcus chooses a chair at the round table by the windows instead of a barstool, and I come over and join him.

  “Luke says he’s going to mow before the pool party,” he says, nodding toward the outbuilding where Luke keeps the tractor. “I told him I’d come out and do the trimming if he trusts me with his weed eater.”

  Marcus looks as if that would be as exciting as exploring Mars. I have a constant urge to hug the boy. I tell him I’m glad he had the time to come here for the week, and he says his boss gave him two weeks off with pay as a wedding gift.

  “I should write him a thank-you note,” I say, sort of meaning it. Time to spend with the man who loves my daughter is invaluable to me.

  “So,” I ask, “do you like having so many siblings?” It rather fascinates me that he has four brothers, all with names beginning with M. I try to keep them straight.

  “I do,” he says.

  “And you’re the youngest, right?”

  “I’m the baby boy, five years behind the others,” he says. “I’ve been called the Caboose, the Afterthought, the Crowning Glory, and Oops. Mom says all the monikers are appropriate.”

  “I like Crowning Glory.”

  “Mom would appreciate that. Even though I was their little surprise, she and Dad plugged away at my formation until the day I left for college. They say they went into the house when I drove off, put their feet up, and said, ‘Whew! We’re done!’ ”

  “What was one of their important lessons?”

  “Frugality,” he says with no hesitation.

  The mother of the bride is comforted to hear it. “So,” I say, “Benjamin Franklin would have been proud to know your parents?”

  “He would have loved them. They did their best to teach my brothers and me financial responsibility. An allowance did not come without strings attached: They taught us to tithe ten percent, to consider giving an offering on top of that, and to save at least twenty percent, and then we could decide what we should do with the rest. I was unanimously voted the best saver of us all. The story goes that I still have all the money I put in my piggy bank before I started school.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “That’s the story.
But no one can find the bank to prove it. My theory is they made it up at some point and now believe it to be true.”

  “An embellishment gone awry,” I say.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, I’m sure your brothers will be delightful escorts for Maisey’s friends.” I get up and bring the carton of orange juice back to the table. “A big family sounds like fun,” I say.

  “It is.”

  “It also sounds boisterous.”

  “That’s for sure. And if five boys weren’t enough, we always had a dog or two—house dogs—and a cat that died just a few months ago at the impressive age of twenty-one.”

  I have to laugh. “I have absolutely no frame of reference for so much activity. Like Maisey, I was an only child, and to make matters worse, I lived in a condo, my only companion a goldfish incapable of making a ruckus.”

  “Did you like being an only child?”

  “It was okay.”

  He looks at me as though I should have more to say.

  “There really isn’t much to tell, but I’ll try to come up with a detail or two for you one of these days.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he says, jumping up, rinsing his bowl, and heading out in search of a weed eater.

  I put our bowls into the dishwasher, get the ground beef out of the refrigerator, and begin to make hamburger patties for the cookout, thinking about how differently Marcus and Maisey grew up.

  She, like I, grew up as an only child, though Jackie practically lived here during middle school and high school. Like Marcus, Jackie was one of five children, and her mother never seemed to mind loaning her out, at least to us. I did not want Maisey to be an only child. Oh, how I had wanted another! But my doctor was amazed I ever became pregnant at all, and even then, getting Maisey to term required spending most of the last three months of that pregnancy in bed. I’m blessed to have even one child, and I know it.