“It’s our marriage that’s dead, Greg, and you’d better start accepting it, just like you’d better start accepting the fact that your father is gay—”
“And you already have a boyfriend.”
I jumped to my feet. “What if I do? You need to get your head on straight. You’re blaming your father for being homosexual and you’re blaming me for being heterosexual. And you’re blaming us both for being who we are, for not being what you want us to be. That’s something we can’t fix, Greg,” I added, my voice softening. “Not even for you.”
He sank down in a chair and hung his head. His hands dangled limp between his knees. I felt a pang of sympathy for him then. “Your father is better, Greg. I’m not sure what that means, but I do know he’s not immortal. He may recover completely and he may not, but either way you can’t count on tomorrow to make your peace with him. Think about that. And while you’re thinking about it, remember that he’s the same man who changed your diapers and taught you baseball and wiped your nose when it needed it. He hasn’t changed. He’s not perfect. Neither of us is. We never were.”
Greg still refused to look at me. “Is that it?”
Was that it? Was there anything more I needed to say? I closed my eyes and opened them again. “That’s it.”
* * * * *
When he was gone, I almost called Jules and cancelled dinner. I felt I’d gone ten rounds with a rabid Doberman. But in the end, I held to my plan.
At seven sharp the doorbell rang. He filled the doorway. The warmth I had missed when he went all frosty on me was coming off him in waves.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he responded with a smile. “Do I smell spaghetti?”
I laughed, swinging the door wide. “It’s lasagna. I knew this was all about my cooking.”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Hardly,” he said as his lips came down on mine.
After dinner, we sat in the living room, cuddled together on the sofa, Josie settled at our feet. There was no awkwardness. I fit just right tucked up against him. I knew I would sleep with this man, but I knew it wouldn’t be tonight. Tonight and a few more tonights were for getting to know one another, for exploring our differences and similarities, and for anticipating things to come. That didn’t prevent us from trying out any number of different preludes.
“If it were cooler, we could light a fire.”
“I have my own little fire going,” he said, and showed me.
I rested my head on his shoulder so I could avoid the heat in his eyes while we caught our breath.
“I like the new décor,” he said, trailing a finger down the side of my face.
I shivered in pleasure. “More appropriate for a single woman, don’t you think?”
“Much more appropriate,” he agreed. “Is the upstairs more—appropriate, too?”
I toyed with his hair, sighing contentedly. “You’ll probably find out firsthand some day in the future.”
He thought about that while he shifted me in his arms so that my back rested against his chest. I could hear the smile in his voice. “I can live with that. I’m a patient man.” He kissed my hair.
“Not too patient, I hope.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
My father lived another two months, if you could call it living. During those months, Greg went back to California. I didn’t know if he’d had any contact with his father. Diane and I resumed our occasional lunches, but we determinedly avoided the subject foremost on both our minds. My mother continued to spend much of each day at Bradford Manor.
And Jules and I became lovers.
It happened simply. We were in the yard one evening playing with Josie. We’d thrown the ball for her until our arms ached. When we didn't have another throw left in us, Josie took the game up herself, tossing the ball in the air and catching it before it hit the ground. When that got old, she started pushing it around on the grass with her nose.
I got tickled first. Then Jules started chuckling. Before long, we were both rolling around in the grass laughing at Josie's antics. And then we weren't.
Jules reached over and touched my face. Then he rolled over to me on the soft green grass. When he took me in his arms, it seemed natural and right. His lips did things to mine, brought up feelings that I hadn't imagined possible. When he stopped, searching my eyes for permission, I moved even closer and took the lead.
An hour later, we lay in my bed, spent and sated. "Are you okay with this?" he asked.
I could only laugh.
From that night, shyness was replaced with deep affection, the kind that had the potential to grow into something more.
What had seemed such an impossibility only a few months before was now natural. Our lovemaking showed me what had been missing with Darren, that heat that swept through us like a flash fire. There were times when the touch of his hand or the lift of an eyebrow would ignite it. Jules was not only a thoughtful lover, but a highly knowledgeable one. He put all those anatomy classes to work, and he found me a willing proving ground. Whoever thinks lovemaking at age fifty uninspiring probably hasn’t experienced it—at least with someone like Jules. Some might think that a fire that hot would burn itself out quickly, but I didn’t think so. I had a lot of years to make up for.
If Mother had been less preoccupied with my father’s decline, I’m sure she would not only have seen what was going on, but would have organized a celebratory parade. After all, Jules had been her first pick for me, as I was sure she’d tell me eventually; but my father took all her time and attention now. She was with him at the end. I had been by earlier, briefly, to see him. He had seemed no better or worse that day than the day before, or the week before that. There was no dramatic finale, only a whisper as the last of life slipped from him. Nor was there any frantic attempt to resuscitate him. He had made it clear that he wanted to be allowed to go when the time was right.
Jules brought me the news. One look at his face and words were unnecessary.
* * * * *
There is no way to prepare for the death of a loved one. Knowing the end is near doesn’t ease the shock or the sense of irretrievable loss, and it doesn’t lessen one whit the pain of hearing all those well-meaning people tell you that “he lived a full life,” or “he’s at peace now.” Both true, of course, but who cares? Tell that to the wife who will never again see his face smile or the daughter who will never again feel his hand on her shoulder.
They did. Tell us that. Jules didn’t. He put his arms around me and said, “I’m sorry, Lou. It’s so hard to bear.”
It was hard, even with my mother taking on so much of the planning. I came very close to losing it when I realized that someday it would be her we were burying and I wouldn’t have my father to help me. Selfish, I know.
I called Jana and told her, and she offered to call Greg. I agreed. Next I called Darren but got Russ. Apparently they had stopped all pretenses and were living together.
“He’s at physical therapy, Lou. Do you want me to tell him or do you want to call back?”
“He’s not driving yet?” It was frightening how quickly and completely he’d slipped from my life.
“He’s not walking yet. Oh, a few steps here and there. They expect a full recovery eventually, but it will take time.”
“Then—yes. I guess. Tell him the viewing is tonight, and the funeral is at three tomorrow. I’ll understand if he can’t make it,” I lied.
“He’ll be there,” Russ assured me. “He loved your dad. Uh—”
“What?
“I’ll—uh—have to bring him. Unless you want Jana to pick him up. But I can bring him. If that’s okay.”
I thought of the whispers and sidelong glances, the possible scenes, and dismissed them all from my mind. I simply could not deal with it, and it wasn’t fair to ask Jana merely to spare myself embarrassment I’d have to face eventually. “Of course it’s okay, Russ.”
Diane called to tell me that Greg wouldn’t make the viewin
g because of the time changes and flight availability. “He’ll be at the funeral, Mrs. Graham,” she assured me. “He said to tell you he was sorry.”
I thought he could have called himself to tell me that, but I didn’t say that to Diane. Not her fault. Again.
The less said about the viewing, the better. I understand that a funeral is a necessary rite of passage, the wrapping up of a life, closure for those who loved the deceased; but a viewing is a hideous, barbaric custom. I listened to the canned music in the background and the hushed whispers of “Doesn’t he look natural?” until my jaw ached from gritting my teeth. My father did not look natural, nor did he look like he was asleep. He looked pale, with unnaturally rosy cheeks, like an emaciated wax doll, a phony representation of the father I had loved so long and well. His essence was gone. The spirit that had been Donald Halloran was gone. It hurt seeing him there and knowing that he wasn’t there. I can’t understand how anyone can take comfort from a viewing. I only knew that my stomach—and my heart—were caught in a vice every time I caught sight of him in the coffin at the end of the long, dim room.
I didn’t recognize half the people there. My mother seemed to know most of them, so I assumed they were in the right room. Jules stood between Mother and me, giving off strength like a cologne. I breathed deeply of it, and leaned against him more than once.
Jana and Bob, without the children, thank God, were there. I didn’t want this to be Bobbie and Aaron’s last memory of their grandfather. Bob came over several times to see if mother or I needed anything.
Jana surprised me, as she did so often these days. She kissed my mother on the cheek, and then she took my hands and pulled me away from the little family clique.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her eyes searching my face.
I only teared up a little. “Pretty all right.”
She continued to examine me. Then she said, “I’m so sorry, mom. About grandpa and—well, everything. You’ve had to deal with too much lately.”
“No more than you.”
“Yes, more than me. You’ve had to deal with dad and grandpa, and with Greg and me. I’m—well, I love you.”
A tear got by me, and I swiped it away. “That’s all that matters to me, honey. Thank you.”
When Darren and Russ arrived, she kissed them each on the cheek. Perhaps she was coming to terms with the situation after all. Darren’s accident had no doubt accelerated it.
After Russ pushed the wheelchair up to us, he moved back out of the group, almost behind a palm. I noticed Roger, who had arrived earlier, give him a long stare. Then he glanced at Darren and then me. The compassionate look he shot my way almost brought me to my knees.
Even though Russ had warned me that Darren wasn’t walking, I wasn’t prepared to see him in a wheelchair. He looked vulnerable. And older. He also looked uncomfortable with the gazes of others on him, and I didn’t think it was due to the wheelchair. Darren had a long way to go before he would be able to accept himself. He and Russ faced a hard road. At least they had each other. I glanced over at Jules, who had walked over to refill his coffee cup. I couldn’t begrudge them that.
Jules caught my eye and moved up when they arrived to rest his hand lightly on my shoulder. There was nothing overtly possessive in the gesture, but it was glaringly intimate. I would have smiled if circumstances had been different. Darren took in the significance of the gesture in an instant. A shadow passed across his face, and then he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Resignation, I thought, rather than acceptance. I could understand, having been there so recently.
Finally the seemingly endless evening was over. Jules drove my mother and me to her house, where we held our own very private wake with a couple of bottles of fine champagne. Mother turned on the air conditioner and lit a fire. We each had wonderful stories to relate that celebrated Donald Halloran’s life. There was more laughter than tears, and it helped wash away the bitter aftertaste of the viewing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The next morning dawned gray, but the sun broke through the clouds before noon. At one, Jules, Mother and I headed for the church. The funeral wasn’t until three, but they wanted the family there early. I still hadn’t heard from Greg. I had no way of knowing if he was even in town.
The casket, mercifully closed, was at the front of the church surrounded by a sea of flowers. Soft organ music floated overhead, something classical and heart-rending.
My mother looked lovely and serene and, if she was playing a part, she deserved an Oscar. I admired her.
Jana and Bob arrived with the kids. Jana hugged all three of us. Did she know Jules was my lover? She gave no sign either way. We stood around the vestibule, waiting.
Darren and Russ were the next to arrive. Darren appeared to be in some physical as well as emotional pain. His face was marked with tension and strain. Still, he made an effort to be nice to Jules. I was grateful. Darren gave me his ‘can I talk to you’ signal, just a kind of look. Funny how those old married signals still work even when the marriage doesn’t.
I stepped away from the group, and Darren rolled his chair over to me. Very softly, he said, “It may be the wrong time to ask you, Lou, but…" His eyes went to Jules, then back. “Are you happy?”
I felt a surge of love for this man who had been my husband for so many years. I nodded. Smiled. “Yes. I am.”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. That’s all right then.”
We stood there for another moment before we moved back to the group.
When Diane and Greg arrived, I felt a real moment of fear. I think we all did. Diane was as stunning in black as she was in every other color, and Greg almost as pretty in his dark, carefully tailored suit.
They stopped at the door when they saw us clustered. I could see Greg take a small step back as he took in the groupings: Jules and me, Darren and Russ. His gaze swept over us, to the casket resting on its pedestal at the front of the church, then came back to rest on Darren.
He swallowed hard before taking a tentative step forward, then another, all the while studying Darren’s face. When he drew close enough, Darren reached out his hand. Greg hesitated, but he took it. Darren pulled Greg down and said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
I don’t know if the others heard him or if it was just me because I was listening so intently. Or maybe I read his lips. Or maybe I imagined it. I saw Greg’s face contort in pain. He turned away, and then back when he’d regained control. They didn’t fall into one another’s arms as I wanted them to—maybe that only happened in movies—but Diane and Greg walked behind Darren and Russ to the front of the church.
Dad hadn’t wanted a lot of fuss, and he would have hated all the money “wasted” on the flowers that surrounded his coffin. He had always, however, loved the cozy chapel tucked into a corner of his Lutheran church, with its arched windows and golden oak pews. Candles glowed on every available surface. The room was filled with warmth that had nothing to do with the weather.
We took our seats before other people began arriving. Mother sat on one side of me, Jules on the other. Then Russ and Darren, who insisted he didn’t need his wheelchair and very nearly fell while pulling himself into the pew. On the other side of my mother were Jana and Bob with the kids, then Greg and Diane. I knew that somewhere behind me were Sam and Jeff and, I imagined, Gideon Klee among my father’s many friends and admirers.
It wasn’t a long service. The cemetery was a short drive away. With very little more ceremony, my father was laid to rest.
We had decided to forego the traditional after-funeral festivities, so we said goodbye to everyone at the graveside. Before I knew it, everyone but Mother, Jules and I were gone.
We dropped mom off at her insistence that she needed some time alone. She had buried her husband. Now she had to bury her ghosts.
On the way home, I realized that my son had flown across the continent and attended his grandfather’s funeral, all without saying a word to me. Somehow that was as sad as anything
else that had happened that day.
When I arrived home, I sent Jules back to the church to collect the flowers. He would take them to Grady Hospital, where someone would decide who needed them the most. He had volunteered for the job, and like Mother, I was grateful for the time alone.
Time alone with Josie. The day had warmed to almost eighty degrees. I changed out of my funeral black and into jeans and a tee shirt before taking Josie out back. The clouds were making an attempt at a comeback and the humidity had risen, but it was still too cool for it to be much of a problem.
I tossed the ball a few times, but Josie seemed to sense that my heart wasn’t in it. After the third throw, she ignored the ball and came to stretch out at my feet. I sat on the grass and buried my fingers in her thick coat as images of the day played through my mind.
I would never have heard the doorbell if Josie hadn’t alerted me. I followed her inside, not wanting to see anyone but knowing I had to answer it.
Greg, still dressed in his suit, stood on the porch. His expression was solemn, guarded. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” I stepped back.
I led the way into the living room, sitting again in what was once Darren’s chair. Josie kept herself between me and Greg. Because she sensed hostile intentions?
Greg was oblivious to Josie’s distrust. He sat on the edge of his chair, clearly ill at ease. I waited. There was no way I was going to begin this conversation.
“I came to say goodbye,” he began, and my heart sank. I don’t know what I had expected. Not necessarily an apology, but at least something about his grandfather.
“I’m headed back to California. I’ve used all my vacation, so it might be a while before I get back.”
I nodded.
“I talked to dad,” he went on. “I didn’t—he says I didn’t—" He cleared his throat. “He said he stepped backwards and fell off the scaffolding after I was gone. He wasn’t paying attention,” he finished, not sounding relieved. Maybe because Darren wasn’t paying attention because of a fight with his son?
An Irreconcilable Difference Page 25