The Christmas Clock and A Song For My Mother: A Kat Martin Duo

by Kat Martin

  did.”

  “Maybe you should talk to him. Appears to me the two of you have left a lot unsaid.”

  Syl looked down the aisle where Joe’s tall figure had disappeared. Doris was right. There was a whole lot left unsaid and she would have to say it soon. She wondered what would happen when she

  did.

  Joe walked out of King’s and got into his red ’68 Mustang. It had been a rusty pile of junk when he’d bought it the year he’d come back to town. Since then, he’d put in new black leather seats, replaced the engine and the quarter panels, souped it up, and added chrome wheels. When it came to cars, he was still a kid at heart and that probably wouldn’t change.

  Besides, he had an old pickup parked at the shop to use when they needed to haul stuff. Joe fired up the powerful engine and threw the car into reverse. He hit the gas a little harder than he meant to and shot out of his parking space in the supermarket lot.

  He’d known she was in town. Charlie had heard the news down at the cafe and thought he’d want to know. Sooner or later, he was bound to run into her.

  He just didn’t think he’d get mad.

  After three years in prison, he thought he was over that kind of reaction. But the instant he had spotted her standing in the grocery aisle, he had wanted to ... to what?

  It wasn’t Syl’s fault he’d started drinking and carousing and wound up in jail. So she’d broken their engagement. It happened to guys all the time.

  But Joe had never thought it would happen to him, not with Syl. And once he had lost her, he just couldn’t pull himself together. He had started hanging out in the bars, drinking and getting into fist-fights. He had dropped out in his third year of college and given up the football scholarship he had won to the University of Michigan, and his friends had stopped calling. He took up with a bunch of rowdies he wouldn’t have given the time of day before Syl left town.

  Joe pulled the car up in front of the repair shop and turned off the engine.

  Damn, she was still beautiful. He had imagined her older, with little wrinkles around her mouth and that hard, used look some city women got. At twenty-eight, Syl Winters could have starred in a movie. Well, at least any movie Joe might want to see.

  Her skin was as smooth as he remembered, her hair the color of honey, a little darker now, maybe, but that short, glossy cap of curls was as fetching as ever. Her eyes were that same pretty sea green and she still had freckles on her nose. And a knockout figure.

  He felt a sexual stirring he hadn’t expected and clenched his jaw, refusing to allow his thoughts to slide in that direction. But he couldn’t help remembering that night by the lake just two weeks before their wedding. He’d made love to Syl Winters and though he had been with other women over the years, he had never truly made love to any other woman since.

  Not that he hadn’t tried.

  For nearly a year, he had dated Diane Ellison, a local kindergarten teacher, but in the end, both of them realized it wasn’t going to work. After they had ended the relationship on a fairly cordial note, Joe had come to the conclusion that unless something drastically changed, he was never going to get married.

  His expectations were just too high. Worse yet, they were based on a woman who had never really existed. Still, they were stuck in his head and he couldn’t seem to shake them loose. Sweetness and generosity, kindness and good nature, a sense of humor, and a deep, abiding love that would last until they were both old and gray and beyond.

  He sighed as he climbed out of the Mustang and headed for the back door into the shop. Syl was back, the woman who had broken his heart, and now that she was here, he realized he still felt the pull of attraction he had felt for her the first time he had seen her that autumn day on the Dreyerville College campus.

  The weather had been perfect, though the leaves had begun to turn, and in her bright yellow sweater, she was as pretty as the day. He’d asked her out and she had agreed and they were together nearly every day after that. They were so well matched, like two pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly together. Whenever he was about to lose patience over a class assignment, she could soothe him with a word or a touch. When she began worrying too much about an upcoming exam, his solid, practical advice often helped melt her fears away. They had been so compatible. Or at least it had seemed that way.

  Not that they didn’t argue. Syl had a temper and so did he, and both of them felt free to speak their mind.

  Which was why it was so hard to understand what had happened, why in the end, everything he had believed about Sylvia Winters had been wrong. She wasn’t sweet and generous and loving. She was flighty and artificial. The love she had professed to feel for him was a lie of the very worst sort.

  Joe thought of her standing in the aisle at the grocery store and felt a fresh rush of anger. For the first time in the last four years, he wished he had never come back to Dreyerville.

  “Have you seen him yet?” Mary Webster sat next to Syl on the sofa in her apartment. It was hot outside, the air thick and heavy. Both of them were drinking Diet Coke.

  “I ran into him at the grocery store last night after work.”

  Mary sat forward, eyes wide. “Good lord, what happened?”

  “He hates me, that’s what happened. He was polite but I could feel the anger pouring out of him in waves.”

  “You broke his heart, Syl. It’s hard to get over something like that.” Mary was taller and more slender than Syl, with dark hair and hazel eyes. Until she got married to Denny Webster six years ago and had two kids, Mary had always been shy.

  “He blames me for the years he spent in prison—and I don’t blame him. If I’d been honest, maybe he never would have wound up in there.”

  “You thought you were doing him a favor. You were trying to keep him from ruining his life.”

  Syl let out a bitter laugh. “And look what a great job I did.” She picked up her icy glass but didn't take a sip. “It took me a while—years, in fact—but eventually, I realized not telling Joe the truth was as much of a betrayal as the awful lies I told. The choice I made was exactly the wrong one.”

  Mary drank a little of her soda. “At the time, we thought you were doing what was right. I think we both believed you were going to die, Syl.”

  “I know.”

  “You've been cancer-free for six years. You've come back to where you belong. You've got to tell him, Syl.”

  She glanced away. “I know. I should have done it years ago but I...”

  “But you what?”

  “I thought he had probably moved on with his life and it was better to let the past just stay in the past.

  Mary sighed. “I guess it's always better to deal with something than ignore it.” She fiddled with the frost on the side of her glass. “What do you think he'll do when you tell him?”

  Syl shook her head. “I have no idea. What I don't think he'll do is forgive me. I think he'll go right on hating me just like he does now.”

  “But surely if—”

  “I lied to him, Mary. I betrayed his trust. I'm probably the reason Joe never got married. He probably believes all women are like me, that a man doesn't dare trust one. If he does, she'll lie to him and break his heart.”

  Mary set her glass down on the table. “You're both adults now. Whatever happens, you owe it to yourself as much as Joe.”

  Syl sighed. “I'm still trying to work up my courage.”

  Mary got up from the sofa, walked over to Sylvia's, phone and picked it up. “Well, there's no time like the present.”

  “I don't even know his number.”

  “It's Saturday. Sometimes they keep the shop open till noon. Maybe he's there.”

  Syl shook her head. “I can't. Not yet. Soon, though. I promise.”

  “Don't wait too long.”

  “I've waited eight years, Mary. That's already way too long.”

  5

  Summer was slipping away; Doris had offered to take Teddy to get what he needed for school but Lotti
e couldn't remember if they had already gone shopping or not. Her memory was fading every day.

  Lottie was frightened.

  Terrified.

  At least she was when she remembered.

  She glanced up from her musings to discover she was standing on the sidewalk in front of Tremont's Antiques. She was by herself, so Teddy must be working at his afternoon job. She remembered she had wanted to get out of the house and had decided to go for a walk. She didn't remember the trip downtown but she was sure she could find her way home.

  She turned to look in the window and saw the old hand-painted, gingerbread Victorian shelf clock. The clock never failed to remind her of her mother and the years when she was a little girl. No matter what thoughts slipped away from her, the clock always seemed to center her, to carry her back to a warm time in her past and bring her a kind of peace.

  She stared at the clock, watched the little brass pendulum swinging back and forth. A horn honked in the street, startling her for a moment, and she turned away from the window.

  Lottie frowned. She was standing on Main Street in the middle of the afternoon. She had no idea how she had gotten there or why she might have come.

  A little trickle of fear slipped through her. She told herself not to be frightened. She knew the way home.

  Making her way to the corner, she turned and headed in that direction. She wondered if Teddy was home by now, knew that if he was, Doris would keep an eye on him until she got back.

  Lottie wondered how much longer she could keep her grandson from figuring out that something was seriously wrong with her.

  Doris spotted Lottie making her way up the front porch steps to her house. For the longest time, the older woman just stood there looking confused. Doris realized the door must be locked and Teddy wasn't home yet to unlock the door. She set her paintbrush next to the little ceramic pitcher she was painting, took off her apron, and hurried out the door.

  “I can't seem to find my key,” Lottie said as Doris walked up.

  “Here, give me your purse.” Doris dug the key out of a little zippered compartment and handed it to her friend.

  It broke her heart to see how fast Lottie's condition was deteriorating. And it worried her. Good Lord, what was going to happen to Teddy? A couple of times, the thought had occurred to her that she and Floyd might be able to take him but Floyd was past sixty, hardly the age to become a father again and Doris had never had children. She had no idea what to do with a boy Teddy's age. It wouldn't be fair to any of them.

  Lottie went into the house and Doris returned to her painting. With Floyd busy out in his shop for most of the day, the house seemed so quiet. She thought again of Teddy but shuddered to think of the disruption a boy his age would cause. As much as she wished she could help, she simply wasn't up to it.

  She heard the faint buzz of Floyd's saw and remembered when they were first married, how the two of them had worked together down at the cleaners. They had loved each other back then, perhaps not in the way two teenagers would, not with all the passion and turmoil, but they were best friends and they enjoyed each other's company. She wondered what had happened to make it end.

  For an instant, she thought of taking him a glass of tea. Floyd liked it with lots of ice and plenty of sugar. It could get pretty hot in the shop, even with the window air conditioner running. But he would be busy sawing and nailing, building his little wooden birdhouses, and he probably wouldn't even notice she was there. She'd end up just setting the glass down and leaving.

  With a sigh, she picked up her paintbrush and fixed her attention on the little ceramic pitcher. She had a nice spot for it on one of the shelves over by the window. Of course, Floyd wouldn't notice.

  Doris told herself she didn't care.

  It was Saturday afternoon, the end of the first week of September. The time had come. She couldn't put it off any longer.

  Today, Syl was going to tell Joe.

  Dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved yellow top, she checked her appearance in the mirror, fluffed her tawny hair a little, and added some lipstick. Taking a long, deep breath, she headed for her car. Mary had told her Joe lived in a little house a few blocks away from his shop. In the phone book, he was listed at 225 Jefferson Street. Mary said he usually walked to work but he probably wouldn't be working on Saturday afternoon.

  Syl had considered calling him, trying to set a time, but she was afraid if she phoned, he wouldn't agree to see her. Instead, she was taking the chance she would catch him off guard and he would let her in.

  She found the house, which was built in the 1930s or 1940s like most of the houses downtown, and pulled up to the curb in front. The yard had been recently mowed and the shrubs all neatly trimmed. She wasn't sure he would have been so meticulous in his younger days, but then, this was a different Joe from the one she had known.

  She walked up beneath the covered porch and rapped lightly on the screen door. She could hear movement inside the house, so she knew someone was home. A few minutes later, Joe pulled open the door and looked out through the screen.

  He saw her but he didn't say a word.

  “I was hoping you would be here,” she said. “I came by to ... to talk to you.”

  Through the screen, his blue eyes looked icy cold. “Eight years and now you want to talk.”

  “I know you're angry. You have every right to be. But as you said, it's been eight years.”

  “Yeah, and now you're back.”

  “I made a mistake, Joe. I did everything wrong and now I just want it all out in the open.”

  She could see the tension in his shoulders, knew he was working to hold on to his control. “You made a mistake?” he asked. “That's how you see it? You just made a simple mistake? Lady, you have a helluva lot of nerve coming here. Get off my porch and leave me alone.”

  He started to close the door in her face.

  “Wait! I just... give me fifteen minutes, Joe. I just need fifteen minutes. We're both living in Dreyerville. It'll be easier for both of us if you know the truth. Hear me out and then I'll leave and I won't ever bother you again.”

  He scoffed. “You want me to know the truth? I don't think you'd recognize the truth if it jumped up and bit you.” But he swung open the screen door and she collected her courage and walked past him into the house.

  It was as neat as the yard, a man's house with a dark brown vinyl sofa and chair and inexpensive oak tables. There was a bookcase filled with books against one wall and a small TV on a stand next to a magazine rack. A Newsweek sat on top. Joe had always been interested in current events.

  “Have a seat,” he said then kind of threw himself into the overstuffed brown vinyl chair.

  Syl sat down stiffly, trying not to wither under Joe's murderous regard, knowing she deserved every one of his disdainful glances.

  “So what is it you came here to tell me?” he pressed as if the sooner it was over, the sooner she could be gone.

  She took a deep breath and tried to keep her hands from shaking, told herself she could do this. “I lied about everything. Not one word of what I told you was true.”

  “Big surprise.” He stood up, a large man and tall, his stance a little threatening. “Now get out.”

  Syl held her ground. She was only going to say this once. She didn't have the courage to leave and come back again. “I was sick. That's the reason I left. Two days after we ... after that night at the lake, I found out I had cervical cancer.”

  Joe sank slowly back down in his chair.

  “They told me I would have to have surgery. Chicago had some of the best doctors for that sort of thing and my Aunt Bess lived there. Afterward, I had to have chemotherapy. There was a long period of recovery. At the time, I wasn't sure I would ... survive.”

  Joe said nothing.

  “I didn't. . . didn't want to put you through that, Joe.”

  “For God's sake, Syl.” When he sat forward on the edge of the chair, his usually dark complexion looked a little pale.


  “I decided to lie to you, tell you I didn't... that I didn't love you. I made everything up. I thought it was better that way.”

  “Let me get this straight. You said you didn't love me. You lied about that?”

  “I was crazy in love with you, Joe. That's why I had to go away.”

  He seemed to be fighting to make sense of what she was saying. “Are you ... are you all right now?”

  “I've been more than six years cancer free.”

  Joe's jaw hardened. The anger he felt seemed to eat through his control, and he shot up out of his chair. “Damn you! Damn you, Syl, for what you did! How the hell could you do it? How could you just walk away?”

  She started crying. She had promised herself she wouldn't but this was Joe and she had loved him so much, and when she looked at him, she couldn't seem to help herself. “I'm sorry, Joe. If... if I had known what would happen…”

  “If you'd known I'd end up in prison, you would have been honest with me? You would have let me help you? Can you really believe it was easier for me to lose you than to be with you when you needed me most?”

  She swallowed past the thick lump in her throat. “I thought you would finish college. I thought you would find someone else to love— someone who would live a long life and be there with you when you were both old and gray. I thought you would find someone who could give you children. I knew how much you wanted a family.”

  “We both wanted children. We were going to have a houseful of kids—that's what we said.”

  “I'm ... I'm sterile, Joe.”

  His throat moved up and down. For a moment, he looked away. On a shaky breath, he turned back to her. “All those years ... all those years I hated you. Now I look at you and I feel... dammit, Syl, I don't know what I feel.”

  “I never meant to hurt you the way I did.”

  “What about you, Syl? Did you hurt, too, or was it just me?”

  “I thought I was dying. When I lost you, I did die a little. I died inside, Joe. It took me years to make a life for myself.”

  “But you did and now you've come back. I wish you'd stayed in Chicago.”