Till Death

by William X. Kienzle

  After a period of silent commingled thoughts, she raised her face to his. He kissed her lightly on the lips. She took his hand and placed it on her breast.

  He was startled—but he did not pull away. Rather, he fondled her. Finally he whispered, “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been more!”

  Each of them had had only one previous partner. But this was better than anything they could have tasted or imagined.

  Meanwhile, in their home on Detroit’s east side, Rick and Dora Casserly had just finished dinner.

  Rick had said little since returning from work. He had not even complimented Dora on the gourmet meal she had prepared. It was par for the course for Dora. Ordinarily, Rick would have commented. Tonight, no.

  Like most gourmet cooks, Dora had used most of the pots, pans, and cookware in the cabinets. Cleaning up, then, was a chore.

  Rick looked up from reading the paper. He studied Dora as she cleaned. Her back was to him. Again he found himself comparing her with Lil. Dora had her own attractive features. Even though the two were both relatively young, it was like comparing apples and oranges. One thing he had to say for Dora: She kept trying until, generally, she got what she wanted.

  She started the dishwasher for what would be the first of three full cycles. It would take that many to wash all the utensils, dishes, and flatware.

  She stepped into the dining ell and sat across from him. That was a sign she wanted to talk. He recognized it and put the newspaper down to give her his full attention.

  “Rick,” she began, “we haven’t entertained very much.”

  “Give us time. We’re just getting started. My contacts at work haven’t reached the stage of socializing. It’ll come. You have to be patient. And you seem to have pretty much moved away from your former colleagues at the magazine.”

  “That’s a good place for us to begin.” She folded the dish towel carefully and laid it on the table. “We have a tendency to dance around the most painful part of our past. Take the gang at the magazine, for instance. Lately they haven’t taken my calls or returned them. They’ve frozen me out. And I resent it!”

  He hesitated to respond. He was sure her former coworkers had learned how she had treated Jerry Anderson and they were put out because of it. But he knew from previous conversations that Dora refused to accept responsibility for dumping Jerry.

  In an effort at conciliation, he said, “Maybe there’s a simple explanation for that. You’re used to working with these people Monday through Friday, week after week. I suppose most of your contact at the magazine was work-related. It was constant contact, but most of it had to do with work. They all had an after-hours life that you weren’t a part of. I mean, they went home after work just like you did.

  “What you’re missing, Dora, is the life on the job that you’re no longer sharing with them.”

  “No!” she said with bitterness. “It’s Jerry’s fault. He’s bad-mouthing me. They’ve got to work with him and they’re taking his side about what happened.

  “It’s not that he got nothing out of this whole thing,” she continued. “He got Lil—for all the good that’ll do him. Probably she could have gotten you if she hadn’t been so hesitant about going after you. I knew you were the prize catch aeons ago. I went after you. That was the difference.”

  This, too, was water under the bridge. Dora couldn’t or wouldn’t admit that the only reason she and Rick were together was because she was pregnant. Without that condition, he and Lil would still be sharing life on his terms.

  The fact that Lil didn’t “get” Rick, in terms of a formal marriage, was his doing, not Lil’s. She would have loved legitimacy. He wouldn’t hear of it.

  The reason Rick was no longer a functioning priest was because Dora had found the one chink that would force him to leave. Lil, on the other hand, had respected his wish to remain in the active ministry.

  Rick and Dora had discussed this many, many times. She had blind spots that conveniently resisted remedy.

  “Then,” Dora went on, “there’s Tom and Peggy Becker. They are—or were—maybe the best friends you ever had. Where are they now? Okay, so Tom got you your job. Is that the end of it? You got together with them regularly before this happened. So, what about Tom—and especially Peggy. Once again, she doesn’t return my calls. We have so much in common, Peggy and I. Neither of us is in the workplace. We’re homemakers, essentially. What could those two possibly have against me?”

  She knows, Rick thought. He had never met anyone who denied reality more often or more tenaciously than Dora. Peggy came to her own negative opinion of their former friendship when Rick announced his intention of leaving the priesthood and marrying Dora. The man Peggy had grown to admire exposed his feet of clay. Later, when she discovered the real reason Rick had taken this drastic step, she was doubly furious with him. Not only now for leaving the ministry but also for getting a woman pregnant. On top of everything else, Peggy was disgusted with Dora for bringing all this about. Peggy was of the school that believes that not only does the woman always pay but that the woman should always pay.

  Things had become dicey for Tom Becker too. While he was furious with Dora for—in his view—robbing Rick of what he most dearly loved, his friendship with Rick remained as strong as ever. However, he was on tenterhooks with his wife over the matter.

  Until recently Tom had needed to keep his wife from knowing about Lil. Now, in addition, he needed to hide the fact that his rapport with Rick was as firm as ever.

  “Anyway,” Dora was steaming toward her conclusion, “I thought that we ought to try to get everybody together. A party. Just to see if getting all of us together in person couldn’t make peace all around.”

  Bizarre! It was the only word to describe what Rick felt about Dora’s solution. To postpone a response to her proposal until something adequate could be formulated, he asked what he thought was a logical question. “What about the priests who, to one degree or another, had a part in this? Koesler and Tully and Morgan?”

  “They come later,” she answered brightly. “First we patch everything up with the people most directly and personally involved. We don’t have to worry about the priests; I know their friendship is steadfast.”

  Silence.

  “So,” she prompted, “what about it? What do you think?”

  More silence.

  Then, suddenly the figurative lightbulb lit. “You know, it might just work,” he said.

  Dora’s countenance brightened. She’d expected a heavy measure of opposition. “Good!” she exclaimed. “We should do it soon—the sooner the better.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “And aboard Tom’s boat!”

  Her countenance fell immediately. “Boat! On the water? No, no, no! You know how I’m afraid of the water! No!”

  “Yes, I know your fear …” His tone was supportive. “That’s one of the main reasons we should have the reunion on the boat.”

  “No! I couldn’t!”

  “Yes you could. If you want this as much as you seem to.”

  “Why?” She asked in a near-whine. She did want this reconciliation badly, indeed. She was weakening perceptibly.

  “Because everyone knows—or will know before we get on board—about your fear of the water. If you are willing to be fearless and come aboard, the others will have to be impressed with your sincerity. It will be a grand bargaining chip to convince them to take a step closer to reunite themselves. Don’t you see …?”

  Again silence. “Well …” Her voice trailed off.

  “That’s not all,” he enthused. “Once we get aboard, it’s going to be very difficult to give up on our effort easily. I mean, they’re scarcely going to jump overboard and swim to shore. We’ll have them in the best possible position to work this all out.”

  More silence. Then, “But it’s October …” Dora was now pleading. “Nobody takes a boat out in October.” She sounded close to tears.

  “You’d be surprised. There are lots
of times in October when conditions are perfect for boating. And Tom Becker is famous for going into dry dock later than just about anybody.”

  Now his eyes were almost boring into hers. “If you really want this, Dora”—his voice was steely—”you’ll do it my way.”

  Silence, this time for several moments. Rick’s argument made sense. There was no rejoinder but her unreasoning fear. And she really did want this matter settled. There were ways of carrying such things off. She had never been on Tom’s boat. But she’d seen pictures of the boat and Tom and Peggy and Rick on it. There was ample space below deck to stay and not get frightened or sick. “All right,” she barely whispered. “I’ll try it.”

  “You’ve got to be more positive than that.”

  “Okay I’ll do it. When do you think would be a good time?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  She paled. “So soon?”

  “Strike while the iron’s hot. Tomorrow is Saturday. Everybody will be off work. Besides, we’re getting some Indian summer. It should be ideal for the weekend. I’ll get on the horn right now.”

  He got up and headed for the den to make the necessary calls. Dora was left alone to fight off second guesses that were blooming everywhere. Actually, she was being quite successful.

  Rick’s first call was to the Beckers. Fortunately Tom answered; Rick was certain that no way would Peggy be moved to take part in this.

  Yes, the boat was in the marina. Yes, it was unscheduled both tomorrow and Sunday. As for Peggy, Tom hoped that time would change things. Absolutely nothing else stood a chance of working. Peggy had a lot of forgiving to do. That was a large order and her sensibilities, not to mention her moral judgments, were delicate. But Tom would come and together he and Rick would pilot the boat.

  After hanging up, Tom checked maps and forecasts. Tomorrow’s weather would, as Rick had said, be just about perfect. If anything, too perfect. It would be hot and humid. So hot and humid that there was a chance of scattered squalls and thunderstorms. But only a chance—at this point, a 40 percent chance. Not threatening enough to keep them off the water.

  So far, three would be going aboard; there were two more to contact.

  Once again, Rick thought himself lucky: Jerry answered the phone. Chances were better trying to convince Jerry than Lil.

  Neither Jerry nor Lil considered themselves friends of Rick’s. But neither were they embattled enemies. The couple’s animus was directed toward Dora. Especially was this true of Lil.

  Rick explained the enterprise to Jerry.

  “Boy, I don’t know,” Jerry responded. “I don’t much care either way. About the only positive thing I can think of is it would be nice to be out on the lake. Lil is going to be a different case altogether. This isn’t going to be easy. Tell you what, I’ll talk it over with Lil and get back to you.”

  “Tonight, okay? This is supposed to go off tomorrow. And if you two don’t sign on, the ship isn’t going to sail.”

  “Tonight,” Jerry affirmed.

  It was an hour and a half later when the phone rang. Rick took it in the den.

  On the other end of the line was Lil. Rick’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice. The last time she had spoken to him was the evening he told her of Dora’s pregnancy.

  “We’ll be there, to fill in the bottom line,” she said, coming straight to the point. “It wasn’t an easy decision. Our agreement to accept your invitation is a tribute to Jerry’s power of persuasion. It was a particularly rough decision for me. I’ve had a hard time putting you two—especially you, Rick—out of my mind. But we’ve pretty well done it … I guess I should say we almost did it. This invitation to get back together again sort of took us by surprise and stirred up old memories. I don’t hold too much hope that we can accomplish what you propose. But we’ll give it a try. See you tomorrow.”

  It had been a running monologue. Rick had no chance to get a word in edgewise. He had achieved what he and Dora proposed, but with Lil’s reluctant and negative attitude, it seemed a rather hollow victory.

  It didn’t make him feel at all good to hear Lil say that she had tried to and had almost succeeded in wiping him from her memory.

  Twenty-three

  It was a few minutes before noon on Saturday.

  Tom Becker had been doing odd jobs around his boat. This probably would be the final outing of the season. For October, the skies scarcely could have been more promising. Yet there was an outside chance of inclement weather.

  The water temperature was 74 degrees E The temperature on land was between 90 and 100 in the sun. October readings were not normally this high. It just reinforced Michiganians’ boast or complaint that if you don’t care for the immediate weather, just wait a few minutes; it’ll change. That’s Michigan.

  The Casserlys, picnic basket in hand, arrived exactly at noon. Rick had planned on arriving much earlier, but Dora took extra time what with makeup and indecision about her outfit. The effort proved worthwhile: She looked quite attractive in white short shorts and a Ralph Lauren halter. All the curves were in the right places; her pregnancy didn’t show at all.

  While nowhere close to being tipsy, she’d had a couple of drinks before leaving home. She knew she shouldn’t be drinking, but she needed alcoholic courage to carry this through. Now she was somewhat further reassured by the condition of the Beckers’ boat. It gleamed like a polished diamond. She knew it was in perfect running condition; Rick had assured her of that.

  Tom and Rick hailed each other. Tom’s greeting of Dora was considerably more reserved. That might be attributed to the fact that they were only casual acquaintances—but also Tom bore a grudge for what Dora had done to his friend.

  Rick tried to assist Dora into the boat but she was aboard before he could take her arm. God bless a couple of drinks, he thought. He went to join Tom at the wheel.

  “Well,” Tom said, “what do you think?”

  Rick looked about him. “It’s a little chancy, huh?”

  “A little. It could go either way. It stays like this and you couldn’t find a better spot for a cooling cruise. Or, it could get a bit dicey. How bad do you want this get-together?”

  Rick didn’t have to reflect. “It’s almost a miracle that I got you and Jerry and Lil to agree to come today. I think the element of surprise had a lot to do with it. If we call this off, I’m not sure we could do it again. But … on the other hand …” Rick left the thought unfinished.

  The two men looked down the dock. Jerry and Lil had arrived. Lil was carrying a picnic basket—two. Both Lil and Dora had brought food. Rick hoped this wouldn’t prove divisive. He was an expert on both women as cooks. And while Lil was more than adequate in the kitchen, she could not hold Dora’s spatula.

  The four greeted each other and Jerry and Lil went to join Dora in the aft stateroom. From what conversation Tom and Rick could overhear, everyone seemed to be behaving in a mannerly fashion.

  Rick turned to Tom. “Well, what do you think?”

  “This is your party and your call. I’ll go along with whatever you say.”

  Rick clenched his jaw, then said, “Okay. We’re never going to get a better chance to patch things up. Let’s go.”

  “Right. But before we cast off, I’d like a little prayer.”

  Rick was surprised. Tom was the sort who made his entire life a prayer and didn’t need anything for special occasions. But Rick offered a short prayer for a safe journey and added a request for peace among friends.

  No one said much during the early stages of the cruise. Lake St. Clair was so calm it was like glass. Tom was at the wheel. The others sat in the aft cockpit and soaked up the sun.

  From time to time one or another of the group would visit the refrigerator for a snack, a soft drink, or a brew. Dora was particularly pleased that she was keeping a lid on her pathological fear of the water. She kept sipping beer. It couldn’t hurt.

  The conversation was stilted and forced. Rick, more than the others, wanted to patch t
hings up. Dora wanted the same, but on her terms. Rick knew if this effort were to be successful there would have to be a healthy amount of compromise.

  One of the drawbacks to meaningful sharing of thought was that they were seated above decks outside. They had to almost yell to be heard above the engine thrust. Finally Rick invited them into the main salon where there was plenty of room and it was quiet enough that they could speak in normal tones and be heard.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I called you together,” Rick began. It was an ancient comic opener. But in this gathering it got at best some patronizing smiles. “Look,” Rick continued, “once upon a time we were all friends—and not so long ago at that. We—Dora and I—thought that if we could all get together, maybe we could talk it out.”

  There was a measure of hostility in the silence that greeted Rick’s invitation.

  “I know I’m the Judas goat in this, and I resent it!” Dora said forcefully.

  Jerry shrugged. “You’re the one who got pregnant.”

  Dora glared at him. “You could have been the father, you know! Does Lillian know that?”

  “Lillian knows that,” Lil responded. “We’ve talked about that. We’ve been over that.”

  “Well, anyway,” Dora returned, “I didn’t get pregnant all by myself. Why do you hate me and not Rick?”

  “We don’t hate you, Dora,” Jerry said. “We just don’t like you very much. We could get along very nicely without you. The world could get along without you.”

  “Now, just a minute …” Rick said.

  Tom was at the helm. He could hear snatches of the conversation going on below. When they spoke in anger he could hear the tone. But he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, only that they were angry.

  He was seated in a shadowed area and the breeze should be cooling him. But he was perspiring freely. Something about the weather disturbed him. It was too calm. It was the atmosphere—something about the atmosphere. Left to his own better judgment he would have turned toward shore. But Rick wanted this meeting to succeed. From what Tom was hearing this group had a long way to go before it found the peace for which Rick had prayed.