Emily followed him to the porch. "Hey," she shouted as he climbed into his car. "What about clothes?"
He raised his hands in surrender, "I'll buy new ones."
Emily wrapped the sweater around her shoulders and watched her brother speed down the street. “Slow down,” she shouted after him.
The cold gripped her and she went back into the house, poured a cup of coffee, and sat on a cushion in front of the fire.
The flames leaped, crackled and hissed, warming the room. Emily leaned against the sofa and closed her eyes.
In Emily’s memories, she was eighteen again—the last time she saw her father. All the years before that, she avoided the man as much as she could. As she matured, Kurt insisted she stay at a friend's house when their dad returned home from one of his sales trips.
He was a sales agent for a large insurance company which kept him away for months at a time. A blessing in disguise. If it wasn't for that, she and Kurt couldn't have survived the abuse.
For most of their childhood, they had lived with their parents in Dennis Port, Cape Cod. She remembered when her father came home from his trips, terror walked in with him. Recurring dreams of brutal beatings, tears, and pain haunted her.
Emily wrapped her arms tightly across her chest as if to protect herself whenever she relived those awful memories. "You're useless," her father would shout at Kurt. "You're a piece of trash to be thrown away with last night's garbage. You're nothing. You'll never amount to anything. You’re a piece of shit,” he’d shout over and over, as he beat Kurt repeatedly with anything in his grasp.
She flinched, covering her ears as she remembered the scathing sound of those beatings. That night, that terrible last night, Emily and Kurt vowed secrecy to one another.
She had returned home from her girlfriend’s earlier than usual and was just about to cross the street, when her father’s car barreled away from their house. The car brushed her side, and just before she hit the tarmac, their eyes met.
Hatred poured from his demonic eyes and she knew something terrible had happened. She cried as she stumbled, and then ran to the house. Once there she faced an open door and a living room in shambles. Her mother sat on the floor with Kurt cradled in her arms. She rocked back and forth while she sang Daddy’s going to buy you a Mockingbird, Kurt’s favorite lullaby.
Blood dripped from her mouth, and finger marks reddened her throat. Her eyes, glassy and staring, had begun to swell shut. She looked like a boxer after the last round.
Emily dropped to her knees. "Mom," she whispered. “Mom, let me rock Kurt for a little while."
Her mother looked at her bewildered. "Who are you?” she asked flatly as she continued to rock faster and faster. "Kurt fell down and hurt himself," she said, as she tugged at her dress and pressed her hair into place. "Where's my purse?" she whimpered, "I need my lipstick."
Emily gently pulled her brother from her mother’s lap and laid him on the floor. She smelled a sweet acrid smoky odor even before she saw the gun.
"Oh God, Kurt. What has he done to you?" she cried.
Kurt didn't respond, nor did he move. He was covered in blood, and she couldn’t determine if the blood came from the beating or from a gunshot wound. She settled her unresisting mother on the sofa and dialed 911.
Emily knelt by Kurt and smoothed his hair back from his gashed and battered face. She desperately wanted to touch him and hold him, but was afraid she might hurt him.
She loathed her father for what he had done, but she despised her mother even more. Why would Mom have allowed this vile man to abuse us time and time again?
Neither she nor Kurt ever saw their father again, which was just as well. She shuddered every time she thought of her father.
Their world changed after that night. Kurt almost died from his beating and needed extensive medical, physical and mental rehabilitation. She also needed counseling for the guilt she carried during Kurt's years of bearing the brunt of their father's abuse.
Their father tried to press charges against Kurt for attempted murder, but the jury didn’t see it his way. He was sentenced and went to prison for child abuse. Their mother never recuperated from that night. She was institutionalized and died there ten years later. Emily and Kurt saw her often before her death. During their visits, they learned to understand that she was as much a victim as they had been. Before they closed the house on the Cape, they found bank books and stock certificates in their names. In her way, she did watch out for them.
Years later, as they struggled to put their lives back on track, Kurt confided to Em that when he pulled the trigger that night, he swore he'd never have children—never be put in the position of doing what their father had done to them.
CHAPTER TWO
Andrea propped her head against the pillow and waited for the other passengers to board. She tried to gather her thoughts when a passenger stepped on her foot as she tried to slide by her to the window seat.
The woman stepped back. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry. Excuse me, please! I need to get in there," she motioned with her head.
Andrea looked up to see a plump older woman carting a swollen Gucci carry-on.
She stood and stepped into the aisle to allow the woman to get to her seat. Oh no, I don't need her right now, she thought.
While Andrea waited for the passenger to get to her seat and settle in, she glimpsed the back of a man a few rows back who had wide shoulders and sun-bleached hair. For an instant, he looked like the same person she'd seen earlier at Emily's house. That's crazy. It couldn't be. She turned and looked up the aisle once again, but he disappeared in the wave of high-back seats.
Once the woman settled in, Andrea sat down then closed her eyes. Leave it to Jason to choose a place almost three thousand miles away for this rendezvous. Well, at least, it forces me to take a vacation. She smirked at the thought.
When Jason called two weeks ago his first words were, "It's been four months, Andrea." They’d separated three times during the past year, and always, she let him move back. But this was the last time. It was over.
The months had flown by and she was content without him. Her career was on track, having sold four of her paintings, and the rest shipped to Arthur's in New York for his exhibit.
She remembered Jason’s conceit. He was sure his absence would bring her loneliness and she’d want him back. But, little did he know, his charisma had disappeared along with her dependency on him and this weekend was payback. He’d humiliated her once too often.
Andrea fidgeted in the seat. Her face mirrored her unpleasant thoughts. When she glanced at the older woman, soft hazel eyes gazed back at her.
"Are you all right, dear?" the woman asked.
"Yes, thank you." Andrea stared at her a moment and thought the woman looked vaguely familiar.
"Is the seat between us occupied?" the woman asked, gesturing broadly with her right arm.
"I don't think so."
"Great. I'd like to get some of these things off my lap," and before the last word was spoken, she dumped everything onto the middle seat.
What a unique character, Andrea thought.
"Hi, I'm Grayson." Her hand shot over the not‑so‑empty seat and pumped Andrea's with surprising strength.
"Andrea," she whispered. Her surprised look greeted Grayson's, as each stared at the other in disbelief. "Grayson, Aunt Grayson? It is you?”
“I can’t believe it.” Grayson held her hand over her heart. “How many years have . . .?”
Andrea reached across the seat and took Grayson's hand in hers. "Seventeen!"
"Has it been that long since your Mom and Dad died?" she whispered.
"Yes, it has." Andrea nodded.
“The four of us were inseparable you know."
"I know. You always took vacations together and played bridge at our house."
"Indeed we did. Do you still have that wonderful house?"
"No.” Andrea paused. “I just couldn't bear to live there any longer. A lovely fam
ily with three small children bought it."
"Did you keep all the furniture?"
"Of course. I couldn’t leave all those memories behind. Aunt Grayson, do you remember the burled inlaid mahogany game table?"
"Do I ever remember?" She exploded with laughter and tears spilled from her eyes. "Your Mom and I used signals to beat your Dad and Uncle Charles in cards. They always accused us of cheating, but they could never catch us."
Grayson's infectious laughter encouraged Andrea to join in. Both sat back and relished the moment. Grayson began to cough and patted her chest as if the motion would make the cough go away.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm just fine, dear. I haven't laughed like this in such a long time." She dabbed the corner of her eyes and smoothed out her skirt. "We had so much fun. Your parents were great friends." Grayson reached over and touched Andrea. She smiled a smile that reached clear from her heart.
“Aunt Grayson, do you still have your practice?"
"Oh no. When Uncle Charles was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I went into a deep depression. Can you imagine a despondent psychiatrist? Well, after Charles passed on, I realized that I had never dealt with the loss of your parents either.” Grayson fiddled with a book that she had pulled out from her carryon.
“The trauma of your parents’ accident and my Charles did me in. I couldn't cope. How could I help my patients when I couldn't help myself? My patients deserved a doctor who was in total control, and I wasn't that person. A young doctor, Doctor Mendoza, had moved to Taos, New Mexico and I went to him for help. I took a sabbatical for a year, and after that year, I semi-retired. Doctor Mendoza worked with me and eventually took over the practice.” Grayson sat forward in her seat. “He helped me a great deal and I knew he'd be good for my patients. In fact, he still calls me for advice. Can you believe that?" She dropped her eyes and inhaled deeply, as if it were her last breath.
"Oh, Grayson, I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch with you. You've been through so much. I was wrapped up in my own grief and I never took the time to consider anyone else. How selfish of me. You don't know how many times I tried to return your calls and answer your letters, but I couldn't. Then, your letters and calls stopped coming. It was kind of a relief. You know?"
Grayson nodded in agreement. "I know, and it's okay, dear. I felt the same way after Charles died. Now we both know life goes on." She looked fondly at Andrea. “It’s so good to see you again.”
The scratchy sound of the intercom broke up their conversation. “Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain,” he announced. “The plane is being de-iced and there will be a slight delay.” Moans and groans from the passengers filled the plane. Andrea and Grayson smiled and sat back, ready to enjoy the extra time they'd have together.
"Aunt Grayson, what brought you to upstate New York this time of year?"
"Do you remember the property we had on Saratoga Lake?"
"Yes," she smiled. "Mom and Dad brought me there every August for the season."
"They surely did," Grayson nodded. "Saratoga buzzed during that time. When you were a toddler, your Mom hired a nanny to take care of you, and the four of us would go off to the racetrack and lose our shirts. When you grew older, you came with us. They were wonderful summers," she said, reminiscing.
Andrea leaned closer to Grayson. “I recall—I was nine, maybe ten, when you purchased the summer house. You taught me to swim in Saratoga Lake. You also made my first bet at the race track."
"It's remarkable you remember. Your Mom would have killed me if she'd known," she smiled.
"I recall a lot about that race track, especially the flowers. They were everywhere. Magnificent beds of red and white roses lined the entrances into the grandstands. Some of them were as large as china teacups. Huge terra cotta pots filled with showy red geraniums hung from the club house verandas. You and my Mom always wore the most beautiful straw hats and silk dresses. If I closed my eyes right now, I could hear the swish of the silk as the two of you scurried back and forth from the betting windows to the dining table.
“I also remember Aunt Hattie's Restaurant,” said Andrea. “It was down on that narrow side street around the corner from the Adelphi Hotel.”
Grayson nodded. “We'd wait in line for hours.”
“My dad would say in his Clark Gable drawl,” she imitated, ‘Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn how long we have to wait. Aunt Hattie makes the best damn fried chicken in the whole wide world’, and he was right. I've never tasted the likes of it again."
"You recollect that! Did you know the only time we won on a race was when you chose the horse? Your Dad and Uncle Charles would sit for hours with handicap sheets, studying the odds. You'd choose the horse by its color or by the length of its tail.” Grayson blinked, her eyes and mouth smiled. "Now, getting back to your question. I had to come to Saratoga to sign over the deed to the cottage. Truthfully, I needed to take one final look."
"Are you sorry you sold the property?"
"No, not really. I have the property in Taos, New Mexico, and that's where Uncle Charles and I spent most of our time, especially his last year."
"How long are you staying in Vail?"
“Honestly, I don't know. A friend of mine from New York has a condo in Vail. We planned to meet in Saratoga, but when I called her, she said she was leaving New York earlier than expected. She invited me to Vail. So, I thought, why not?"
Andrea patted Grayson’s hand. "They say there is no such thing as coincidence. This was meant to be.”
"I know. If my friend didn’t change her mind, I wouldn't be on this plane," Grayson said.
"Then you’re not sure when you’re leaving for Taos?"
"Possibly in a couple of days. I shouldn’t stay much longer. I think I’m going to sell the Taos property. I can’t make up my mind as what to do. Uncle Charles loved that place," she smiled.
"I have wonderful paintings that Mom and Dad purchased when they went to visit you. Those paintings inspired me to become an artist."
"Oh, how delightful. Please come visit if I keep the estate. It's about twenty-five acres of beauty, with a wide stream that runs along the property. It also has six large out-buildings encircling a beautiful lake. When our friends from Manhattan came to visit, we’d use the buildings as guest cottages."
"I'd love to visit and do some painting. Most of my work has been of upstate New York. I seem to capture the Catskills the best."
"Isn't that something?" Grayson said, as she squeezed Andrea's arm. "Rita and Andrew loved the Catskills. Especially the charming town of Windham.”
"I know. My memories of that area are like a film rolling on, and as long as I keep these pictures in focus, I'm able to express them on canvas.” Andrea blinked away the tears that welled in her eyes. “When I go to the mountains, I drive by the Inn where we vacationed, but I haven’t stayed there since they passed away. That area is wonderful, no matter what the season."
"Is the Inn still there?" Grayson asked, pressing her fingers to her temples, as she tried to remember the name. "I can't believe it," Grayson sighed and shook her head. "Uncle Charles and I also stayed there. The Wyndemere. That's it.
“There were many summers when the four of us drove from the Catskills to Saratoga. We always stopped at this one restaurant in downtown Albany. Oh, what's the name of that place?" she hesitated, as her mind flipped through her memory file. "I got it, Jack's. Jack’s Oyster House on State Street."
"You have some memory, Grayson. My friend, Emily and I had dinner there just the other night."
Grayson closed her eyes as tears rolled down her still-beautiful face. "Oh how young we were, we two: Sizzling girls in those glorious summers!"
"Oh, Grayson, I didn't mean to make you sad."
"No dear, these are tears of joy. You know, it's a miracle we met today," she sniffled and dabbed at her eyes.
"Grayson." Andrea paused a moment, hesitant about saying her next thought. "The real reason I never kept in t
ouch . . . ."
Grayson searched Andrea's face. "What is it, dear?"
"Well, you know you looked so much like my Mom. At times, I couldn't bear to think of you, let alone talk with you or see you." She tried to avoid eye contact, even after all those years.
"Don't fret over it. Everyone who met us for the first time thought Rita and I were sisters, and besides, it's a wonderful compliment," Grayson said happily. "From here on, it will be as if no years have passed between us. I'll be here for you whenever you need me." She reached over and patted Andrea's hand.
Andrea took Grayson's hand in her own and felt a wonderful sense of being home. A blush of pleasure rose to her cheeks. She moved Grayson's things to the aisle seat then settled in next to her. "You know, God timed our meeting perfectly." Andrea smiled and held on to her old friend tightly.
The engines roared. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain announced. “We will be taking off in a few minutes.” The passengers sighed with relief as the flight attendants walked up and down the aisle tightening seat belts and securing trays.
When the attendant approached their aisle, she said. “The carryon must be stowed under the seat or in the overhead compartment.”
Andrea nodded and gathered Grayson’s belonging and tucked them under the seat in front of them.
“Thank you, dear.” Grayson patted Andrea's hand once again to make sure she wasn't dreaming. "I think I'll listen to some music, dear." She placed the earphones to her ears. "I don't like the take off and the landing. The music seems to help."
Andrea smiled, "Just close your eyes and relax."
CHAPTER THREE
The plane lifted off and Andrea glanced at her Rolex. We’ll arrive in Denver about 4:00 P.M. Jason had told her he’d have a limo waiting. Great, she thought, I’ll have enough time to settle into my room, shower and dress for the dinner meeting with him
She looked up. A lock of golden hair fell across her eyes. She wished she hadn't agreed to this meeting. But, if she hadn't, she never would have met Grayson. Andrea looked over at her and realized Grayson was a link in her life that must be welded back together forever. A feeling of warmth engulfed her. She took a sketch pad from her briefcase and sketched this remarkable lady sitting beside her.
Of Body And Soul Page 2