He missed her. He wondered what she was doing at that moment. Was Sylvia having fun? Part of him hoped his wife was having a wonderful time. She’d always loved The Londoners. In fact, when they were first married, Dave used to tease her about secretly being in love with the British group’s lead singer, Bobby. Sylvia would just grin, hum the refrain from their hit song, Can’t Get Enough, and snuggle against him. Last summer, she’d been so excited when he’d given her one of their CDs so she could listen to their music when she drove her car. Dave smiled, remembering how she’d laughed and hummed the familiar song then led him down the hall to their bedroom.
Confound it! What had gone wrong between the two of them?
Chapter Twenty-Six
"You’ve been a great crowd!" Bobby Marlette exclaimed at the conclusion of the band’s show. "I’m not sure I’d have come out on such a beastly night just to see these blokes." He gestured at his band members. "But we’re all mighty glad you did. Now, bundle up and be safe on the drive home."
Thundering applause filled the auditorium of the Traverse Bay Arena as the group took their final bow. Sylvia clapped as loudly as the rest of the audience as The Londoners exited from the stage. The British singers might be getting up in years, but they could still put on a dynamite show. Dave would have loved it. The group had performed all his favorite songs — their favorite songs: cheeky Tattoo Rosie, sultry City Heat, the driving bass of Can’t Get Enough. The music had run like the soundtrack of her marriage, accompanying mental images of her and Dave as they’d talked, laughed, shared their dreams and disappointments, and made sweet passionate love.
Oh, Dave. I wish you had come with me, she thought as she stood up and prepared to leave.
"What was that, cherie?"
Etienne’s question made her realize she’d spoken her thought out loud. Embarrassed, she shook her head and fumbled for her jacket. He reached over and took it from her, holding it gallantly so she could slip her arms into it.
"Eet was a good show, was eet not, cherie? You are not regretting your decision to come, are you?"
"Oh no, Etienne, The Londoners were wonderful, and this auditorium is absolutely beautiful."
"Very good." He nodded at her reply then tucked her arm through his and guided her toward the center aisle.
The rest of the group had made good progress toward the door; however, Etienne seemed in no hurry to join them. Every few feet, he stopped to let other audience members go ahead of them. Soon, he and Sylvia had fallen far behind their group. She fretted at the thought of keeping everyone waiting, but when she mentioned it to Etienne, he merely patted her arm.
"Do not worry. The bus, eet cannot leave without us. They will wait," he said as they traversed the long, carpeted hallway to the main lobby.
If his comment was meant to soothe her mind, it fell flat. Sylvia hated to keep people waiting. Dave would have known that, she thought and tried to hurry their pace. When they finally reached the rendezvous spot where most of their group waited, she saw Deanna and their bus driver, Carl, standing to one side of the lobby with their heads together.
"They don’t look very happy," Sylvia remarked. "I wonder what’s up." Tugging Etienne along, she hurried across the lobby to find out why everyone looked so grim.
"What is it? What’s happened?"
Deanna motioned for everyone to gather around her then delivered the bad news. "I’m sorry, people, but the snow really dumped on us while we were in the concert." She pointed toward the windows where the falling snow made it impossible to see more than a few feet away.
"Carl’s been listening to updates on the radio," she continued. "A big accident on US-31 south of here has the road blocked. The state police are warning everyone to stay off the roads except for emergencies."
"What does that mean?" one of the group, a man named Joe, voiced what the rest of them were thinking.
Deanna puffed out a breath. "It means we can’t head back home tonight. It just wouldn’t be safe."
"What will we do?"
"We can’t spend the night on the bus."
"Where will we stay?"
As questions bombarded her, Deanna held up her hand for silence. "We have things covered. Carl’s checked with the hotel desk here at the resort. They don’t have enough vacant rooms to accommodate us individually, but can if we double up. It will be cheaper that way, too. Okay?"
When that seemed agreeable, she continued. "Good. I’ll use our trip roster to pair you up. Listen for your names then go sign in at the desk. Sylvia, you’ll be with me."
Sylvia nodded. "Okay, I’ll get us registered while you assign the rest of the pairs."
****
"So we won’t be able to get home until sometime tomorrow," Sylvia apologized on the phone. In the mood her husband had been in lately, she’d dreaded Dave’s reaction to the news. He didn’t disappoint her.
"I told you it was positively crazy to travel up north in January."
"And you were right," she admitted in a soothing voice. Leaning against the headboard of the bed, she settled in to tell him about the show. "But, honey, the concert was—"
"Call me when you get in so I’ll know to pick you up," he interrupted then hung up before she could reply.
Sylvia sighed and pressed the end button on her cell phone. She set it down on the nightstand between the room’s two double beds.
"Trouble in paradise?" Deanna asked. She stood in the bathroom door, brushing her long auburn hair.
"He’s not too happy about the weather."
"None of us are. But I figure we need to just ‘go with the flow.’" She winked and made air quotes with her fingers. "You going to ‘flow on’ down to the bar and meet your Frenchman for a drink?"
"He's not my anything. And no, I am not meeting him anywhere."
"Why?" the younger woman puzzled. "Did you have a fight with him, too?"
"No, of course not. I’m just ready to call it a day. We were on the road early this morning."
"Better watch out, honey. Someone else might snag that hunk."
"Why would I worry about that? There’s nothing between Etienne and me. I'm a married woman."
"But your husband isn’t here. You know what they say, ‘While the cat’s away...’"
Sylvia shook her head. "Not interested."
"If you say so." Deanna dismissed the denial. She turned back to the mirror to fluff her hair then glanced over at Sylvia. "If you're sure you’re not interested... maybe I'll make a play for Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Sexy."
"Be my guest. I’m going to just curl up in this cozy bed and see what’s on TV."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"Fine. Call me when you get near town so I’ll know when to pick you up."
Dave set down the phone. He’d forced himself to hang up before he made a jerk of himself and begged Sylvie not to do anything that would jeopardize their marriage. The last couple of months had strained their relationship so much he was certain one more tug would cause it to break like an overstretched rubber band.
Then what would he do?
Syl and the kids had been his whole life. Everything he’d become or accomplished had been for them. She owned his heart from almost the moment they’d met in high school. God blessed him by sending Sylvia his way again years later. For the last twenty-six years, he had been the luckiest man in the world to be Sylvia’s husband.
Had those years together been a sham? Had Sylvia been biding her time until someone richer, younger, better looking came along?
A few months ago, if someone had hinted at such a notion, Dave would have laughed out loud. He loved Sylvia, and she loved him. Sure, they’d had occasional spats — what married couple hadn’t? — but they had built a good life together, a life based on love, respect, and trust. They enjoyed spending time together and doing things together.
Except lately. Now, Sylvie was off doing things with other people. Other men!
Because you were too stubborn to go with her, his conscience remin
ded him.
Dave brushed aside the thought, knowing it was true but not wanting to dwell on what he might have done to their relationship. He trusted her. He really did. Sylvia was too honorable to be unfaithful to him. Still, his stubbornness had damaged their marriage, and he wasn’t sure how to fix it. He couldn’t abandon his values, but he also knew he couldn’t bear to lose Sylvia either.
Instead, he went into his office, intending to drown himself in work. If Sylvia wasn’t coming home until morning, he would stay so busy he wouldn’t have time to think. He settled in his desk chair, intending to turn on his PC, but stopped at the sight of his mother’s fancy, lace-trimmed journal sitting on the corner of the desk where he’d put it that afternoon.
He picked up the heavy book and studied the well-worn cover. Should he read it? He certainly had enough time, and Muriel had told him it was important. He shrugged. Maybe a walk down Memory Lane would occupy his mind and keep him from fretting about Sylvia. It was either that or get rip-roaring drunk.
Choosing the journal, he carried it into the den, switched on the pole lamp beside his recliner then made himself comfortable. The satin closure on the book was brittle with age and beginning to shred. Dave carefully untied the bow, trying not to do any further damage to the ribbon. He opened the book then squinted at the tiny, flowing script covering the pages. Time to get new glasses, he thought. He dug a pair of readers from the pocket of his armchair caddy, put them on, and began on the first page.
The first entry was dated May 1, 1943. Two years before Mure was born, he thought. He recalled hearing that his parents had met about then. He focused on the words.
Today is May Day. I’m excited about going to the May Day Dance. Daddy wouldn’t let me buy a new dress. He said it was a frivolous waste. Of course, Mom wouldn’t contradict him. She told me I’d just have to wear one of my old gowns. Instead, I borrowed one from my friend Suzy Willis. It’s so pretty with a full, white georgette skirt and a red bodice with a lovely sweetheart neckline. Suzy only wore it once — for her older sister’s wedding — and it doesn’t fit her anymore, so she’s letting me wear it for the dance. Mom said the dress would really be more suitable for Valentine’s Day than a May Day dance, but I don’t care. I love it! It makes me feel so beautiful. I just know something wonderful is going to happen tonight.
The next entry was written the following day and was filled with more girlie talk about what her friends wore to the dance and how the hall was decorated. Dave almost skipped it until he spotted his father’s name at the bottom of the page.
I met the most wonderful boy at the dance — a man really, since he’s nearly five years older than me. His name is William Miller, and he goes to Michigan State with the Alt boys. He and his parents moved here from England just before the war broke out, so Liam — that's what his friends call him — has an absolutely dreamy accent. He said he’d noticed me as soon as I walked into the dance, because red is his favorite color. We talked and danced almost the whole night, and he said he’d call on me later this week and maybe we can go get a soda. I’ll have to see if I can borrow my friend Mary’s red cardigan. Oh, I just knew this dress was magical.
Dave smiled. His mother sounded almost like Lynne had when she was a teenager. He remembered driving his daughter and her friends to dances and listening to them squeal and giggle over the all the cute boys they’d danced with.
He flipped through the pages, reading random passages and seeing how his parents’ relationship had continued and progressed. Over the next eighteen months, they’d moved from a few stolen kisses to descriptions of steamier encounters that made him feel uncomfortably like a Peeping Tom. He skipped past most of those then stopped at an entry dated two years later and decorated with doodles of lovers’ hearts.
I am so excited. Liam is picking me up in a little while to go out to eat. He said to wear his favorite red dress, because he's taking me somewhere special. He's going to ask me to marry him. I just know he is. And I'm going to say yes. I'm going to be his wife, and I'm going to love him, and we will have the very best life. I am not going to worry about what Father will say. He won't approve, I know it, because Liam doesn't have a good job. He does, really, but teaching elementary school is not a career that's going to make a lot of money. But Liam says he doesn’t care, because he’ll have the summers off and lots of holidays. So I don't care what Father thinks. Liam and I are going to be so happy together. I'll be a good wife, prudent enough to put away a few dollars each week. But we won’t worry about every single penny we spend or about how many coats of wax I put on the dining room table. And I have a surprise for Liam. We're going to have a baby next spring. I'll tell him tonight. I can hardly wait.
So Grandfather Beaumont didn't approve of his dad. Dave snorted. That was no surprise. Grandfather hadn’t approved of much of anything. Dave imagined his grandfather had nearly burst a blood vessel when he’d found out his daughter was pregnant months before her wedding. Still, none of this explained why Muriel felt it was so necessary to read the journal.
Dave turned the page and read the next day’s entry.
I was right. Liam asked me to marry him after dinner last night. Of course, I said yes. He bought me the loveliest engagement ring, although he said the stone is way too small and promised to replace it with a larger one by our five-year anniversary. I told him the ring is absolutely perfect just the way it is... and it is! I’ve never owned a ring before — not even a class ring from my high school. Father says jewelry is a frivolous waste. I used my own money from babysitting jobs to buy the few pairs of earrings I have.
Liam is as excited as I am about the baby; however, unlike me — I want to shout it from the roof I’m so happy — he wants to keep it a secret. He knows his parents will be elated but is worried about how mine will react. To be honest, I’m worried about that, too. Daddy can be so hateful sometimes and say such hurtful things. However, we’re both of age, so I’ve agreed to meet him this afternoon when he finishes teaching, and we’ll go to the courthouse to get our marriage license. We plan to slip away early on Friday and get married by a Justice of the Peace. Liam will make all the arrangements. He says I’m not to worry about a thing. My goodness, what will I wear?
Dave smiled. His mother’s excitement filled the page. She reminded him of Sylvia, who’d also blossomed despite her confining home life. He wished they could have met. He knew they would have loved one another. He wished so many things. With a sigh for what might have been, he turned the page and continued reading.
His father had been right to worry. Grandpa Beaumont had been livid when he discovered his only child had eloped. He stopped just short of disowning her. Surprisingly, his grandmother’s main concern seemed to be where they planned to live. She offered to come over and help clean.
Several pages later, water spots blurred the ink, and Dave realized his mother must have been crying as she’d written the entry. He began reading to see what had upset her.
What a horrible night. We invited Mom and Dad to dinner since I’m beginning to show, so we needed to tell them about the baby. I was so excited. I cleaned all day then cooked a special dinner — beef roast with potatoes and carrots — and I made Dad’s favorite coconut layer cake for dessert. I thought he’d be pleased to see I’d made everything from scratch. Instead, he complained about how much the roast must have cost. He said I should have made a meatloaf! I could tell Liam wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but he held his tongue.
After I served dessert, we told them our happy news. I thought they’d be happy to have a grandchild on the way. Instead, Daddy ranted and yelled. He accused us of being reckless and irresponsible for "having a baby when you can barely afford a mortgage payment." That’s so unfair. We pay our bills and even manage to put aside a tidy amount each month. Mother’s reaction was worse in its own way. I started to cry when all she had to say to us was "Babies are messy and cause too much work. Please don’t expect me to come over here to clean up after them."
>
That did it as far as Liam was concerned. He got their coats and calmly asked them to leave our house, but I could tell he was furious. I was proud of him for standing up to Father and being protective of me. But I do love Father, despite his temper, and I worry how this will affect our relationship.
After that, most of the entries related every day scenes: family celebrations, visits from Liam’s family, outings with their friends. There were two entries when Muriel was born. The first was the joyous raving of a new mother; the other a somewhat sad account of her parents’ refusal to visit and meet their granddaughter.
Three years later, she wrote:
Our family is so perfect. We have a little girl and a little boy now. Liam is a good father and a good provider. Last week, we had an agent come to the house and talk to us about life insurance. We took out policies so the house will be paid for and the children provided for if anything should happen to us. I really don’t like to think about such things, but Liam insisted. He’s always so practical and concerned about all of us. He’s right of course, and I’m so lucky to have him in my life.
Dave frowned. His mother’s words completely contradicted the impression his grandfather had painted. According to her, his father hadn’t been an impractical spendthrift at all. In fact, it sounded like he’d planned ahead and cared deeply for his family’s future.
Dave turned the pages and soon found the first entry about himself:
I can’t believe it. After eight years, I’m expecting again. Liam will be so excited. He always said he wanted a houseful of children, and now we’ll have three. I wonder if this one will be a boy or a girl? Will the baby be as serious as our little Muriel or be a cut-up like Billy? Oh, I can’t wait to tell Liam. He’ll be over the moon with happiness. So am I!
The Calico Heart Page 12