The Passions of Chelsea Kane

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Does your father know yet?”

  Her stomach jangled. She wondered if the baby felt her nerves, and she moved her hand over it in a soothing way. “Not yet.”

  “When are you going to tell him?”

  Her voice was smaller, which was exactly how she felt when she thought about Kevin. “I don’t know.” She was an adult. She was a mother-to-be. She was a strong, independent woman. “I have a problem when it comes to my father. I don’t know why. I deal with other people so easily.”

  After a brief pause Judd said, “He’s your father. The ground rules are different.”

  He had put it well, she thought. “I think about him a lot. He’s in his new place now. I call a couple of times a week. He usually isn’t home, so I leave messages on his machine. I sometimes wonder what would happen if I had a real emergency. I think he’s written me off.”

  “If he’d done that, he wouldn’t be so upset about your being here.”

  She smiled sadly. “I used to tell myself that. It was reassuring. But so much time has passed now without any meaningful communication that the reassurance just isn’t there. When does the upset fade? When does the communication start again? What will it take to break the ice? Something tragic?”

  Judd took a deep breath and winced. “Maybe.” He returned his arm to his eyes. “Dad was all in favor of my going off to school. He wanted me to do more in life than he had. My thing was basketball, so he was right there with me at the school gym every Saturday morning shooting baskets. I got my scholarship and went off to college, and then when college was done, suddenly he wanted me back home. I didn’t know why. Here I had my degree and was qualified to do all the things that would get me ahead in life, and he wanted me home. We argued about it, and about Janine. He hated Janine. And she hated him.”

  Somewhere between the school gym and college, Chelsea had left the leather chair and come to sit beside him on the bed.

  “How could she hate him? He seems so sweet. Or is that his illness?”

  “No. He was always sweet. But he used to have a spirited side, and that spirited side hated Janine. He talked like she was evil incarnate.”

  “Were you married to her then?”

  “Engaged. Dad said not to rush. ‘Good things come to those who wait.’ It was his favorite saying.” Beneath his arm, his mouth grew resigned. “Dad saw my mother in Janine.”

  “Did they look alike.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Do I look like your mother?”

  He shifted his arm. His voice wearied. “Not particularly. But you’re beautiful and you’re stylish, and my mother was all that. So was Janine. Dad also knew she was a city girl, and my mother was one, so there was trouble right there. Feelings came back to him that he must have repressed. He had raised me without saying a single unkind word about my mother, but suddenly he was full of them, and it wasn’t that I was naive where Emma was concerned. Notchers gossip. I knew she deserted Dad.” That was said with sadness. “God only knows, I felt the sting of being without her growing up. But I didn’t see where that applied to me when I was twenty-two and feeling high on myself. As I saw it, I was on my way to doing exactly what Dad had always wanted me to do, and if he suddenly changed his mind, that was his problem.” His voice fell prey to an even deeper sadness. “It wasn’t until later that I realized he was terrified of being alone.”

  “Was that why you came back?”

  “No. I came back because he got sick and had no one to take care of him. And because my marriage stank. And because I was frustrated with my job. And because I missed playing basketball with guys who could laugh even when they lost.”

  “Was Leo pleased you were home?”

  “Yeah. By that time he didn’t remember the arguments we’d had. He knew I’d been away, but since Janine wasn’t with me, it was like she never existed.”

  Not knowing when he’d be as talkative again, Chelsea pushed on. “What went wrong with the marriage?”

  “It burned itself out. Dad was right about Janine. She wasn’t in it for the long haul, any more than my mother had been.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “Passionately but briefly.”

  Which, on a physical basis, described Chelsea’s own affair with him, she realized. She wondered whether it had to be that way with Judd. He had a capacity for caring; what he did for his father attested to it, as did the way he related to men at the quarry. But he hadn’t had the best of luck with women.

  He lifted his arm. “I could use aspirin.”

  She found some in the bathroom and returned with a glass of water. When he’d swallowed them she said, “I’ll see what’s for dinner.”

  “Gretchen will make something.”

  “I can make something.”

  “I pay Gretchen to cook.”

  “You pay her to watch Leo. Let me cook.”

  “I’ve tasted your cooking.”

  “That was breakfast. Breakfast isn’t my best meal. You’ve never tasted my dinner. I’ll be back,” she said, and left feeling more directed than she had in months—incredible, given all she’d done in that time, but true nonetheless.

  SHE SPENT A FORTUNE ON FOOD AT FARR’S AND, AFTER THAT, at the bakery. She went slightly overboard, she knew, but was feeling too benevolent to care. A good part of what she bought was for Wendell’s family.

  Cutters Corner was out past the hospital, fifteen minutes and a world away from the center of town. The roads here were pitted, the homes little more than shacks in need of paint and repair. Most had front porches, but they were a far cry from front porches in town. Some sported frayed beach chairs, others were crudely enclosed for added living space, still others sagged with age. Shrubbery was little more than brush that was wild and hardy enough to survive in front yards cluttered with junk cars, worn tires, rusted bicycles, and scattered toys. Where grass managed to grow, it had turned to hay in the summer’s heat and had never revived.

  Still, there was something lived in and loved about the place. Whereas Chelsea could drive through finer streets in town and pass homes with freshly painted rockers on their porches, expensive mountain bikes in their driveways, gracefully symmetrical clotheslines and neatly stacked wood in their yards, those streets were often empty. Here, there were people. Young children darted through the clutter in the yards, while their mothers took down wash from makeshift lines that ran from a hook on the house to a tree. Some of those mothers looked too young to have children. Others looked too old. Still others were pregnant again.

  Whether because she, too, was pregnant, or because the odds were strong that one or both of her biological parents came from the Corner, Chelsea felt a connection with the place. She could face George Jamieson or Emery Farr or Oliver Plum without batting an eyelash, but her palms were damp when she pulled up at Wendell’s address.

  Chelsea guessed the girl who answered her knock to be no more than ten. She was a pretty girl, clean and simply dressed. Looking out curiously from behind each of her legs were two younger children, both dark and tousle-haired, looking incredibly alike.

  “Hi. I’m Chelsea Kane. Is your mom here?”

  The girl shook her head. Her eyes were large and as dark as her hair. She looked frightened. “She’s at the hospital. My daddy was hurt.”

  “I know,” Chelsea said gently, though she hadn’t thought the children would be left alone. “That’s why I’m here.”

  The girl’s eyes grew larger. “Is he gonna die?”

  “Oh, no. He’ll be just fine. But I thought that since your mother will be busy taking care of him, you could use some extra food in the house.” She glanced at the handle of the screen door. “May I come in?”

  “What’s in the bags?” asked one of the little ones.

  “Good stuff,” Chelsea said, “like roasted chicken and lasagna and fruit.”

  “That’s not good stuff,” declared the second little one.

  “And cupcakes,” Chelsea went on, “and half-moons
and gingerbread boys and cookies with pumpkin faces.”

  “Pum’kins?” asked the first little one with interest.

  “Pumpkin cookies,” the older girl put in.

  The second little one was tempted enough by that to leave the shelter of her sister’s leg and push open the screen. Chelsea caught it with an elbow and slipped inside. She easily found her way to the kitchen, but the table was covered with the remains of lunch, so she put the bags on a chair. Reaching inside one, she came up with three pumpkin cookies. The two little girls took them instantly, but the older one shook her head.

  Chelsea looked around. She could understand why the table hadn’t been cleared. The sink was already filled with dishes.

  Putting a gentle hand on the older girl’s shoulder, she said, “Your mom will be tired when she gets home. How about you and I do some cleaning here, so she won’t have to worry about doing it herself.” Laying her blazer over the back of a chair, Chelsea pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and went to the sink.

  The girl remained behind. It wasn’t until the dish drainer was filled that she took a dish towel and began to dry what had been washed.

  “How old are your sisters?” Chelsea asked.

  “Four.”

  “Are they twins?”

  “Yes.”

  “It must be fun to always have someone to play with.”

  “I guess.”

  She didn’t look either enthused or comfortable. Chelsea wasn’t sure what to say to make her relax, so she tried, “What’s your name?”

  “Caroline.”

  “And your sisters?”

  “Charlotte and Claire.”

  “Charlotte. That’s a big name for a little girl.”

  “Charlie.”

  Chelsea smiled. Charlie was better. She glanced back at the little girls. They were standing beside the chair with the grocery bags and had chocolate rings around their mouths. They had gotten into the cupcakes. “Hey, you two. That’s all for now.”

  “I wanna moon,” one said.

  “I wananother pum’kin,” said her twin.

  “You have to help clean up first,” Chelsea said. “I need you to bring me all the dishes from the table so that I can wash them. Can you do that? Very carefully? One at a time?” She figured that would keep them busy for a while.

  When she had finished doing the dishes, she wiped down the counters and, fully expecting another mess, opened the refrigerator. It wasn’t too bad, largely because there wasn’t much food inside.

  She neatened what was there, wiped up the worst of the spills, then unloaded her purchases, and all the while the twins were beside her with a steady stream of talk while Caroline stayed off to the side.

  “What’s this?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I don’t like ham.”

  “Claire dirtied your jacket.”

  “I did not.”

  “I’m gonna to be a mouse for Halloween.”

  “Mommy has pants like those.”

  “Can I have ‘nother cookie?”

  For lack of a better approach, Chelsea treated Caroline like the grown-up in the house. “There’s orange juice and fruit punch,” she instructed softly. “The chicken is already cooked. You can either eat it cold, or heat it a little. I’ve brought pita bread and wheat bread, so there’s plenty for sandwiches. Here, let’s wash this fruit. It’ll be good if you get hungry later. Do you like strawberries?”

  The girl nodded somberly.

  “Good. Why don’t you find a bowl. I’ll hull them.”

  Caroline stood on her tiptoes, took a chipped bowl from a cabinet, passed it to Chelsea, then retreated.

  “I don’t like strawberries,” one of the twins complained.

  “What’s these?” asked the other, emerging from the grocery bag with a miniature cheese wheel in either hand.

  “Look inside the bag, Caroline,” Chelsea said. “There are several boxes of crackers. In a pinch, if you’re starved and your mom hasn’t come home yet, you can put the cheese on the crackers—“

  “They’ll be fed proper,” came a voice from the door.

  Chelsea turned to face a large woman, to whom the twins instantly bounced.

  “She brought cupcakes—“

  “An’ pum’kins—“

  “And half-moons—“

  “And ham.”

  “I hate ham.”

  Chelsea wiped her hands and offered one. “I’m Chelsea Kane.”

  “I know,” said the woman. She was wearing jeans and a jacket and had her thin, straight hair drawn into a high ponytail. By bending over the twins, she was able to ignore Chelsea’s hand.

  “That’s Glady Beamis,” Caroline said in a quiet voice from the far end of the counter.

  Chelsea shot her a grateful smile. To Glady she said, “Do you live nearby?”

  The woman straightened. “Next door.”

  “Ahhh. Good. Well, I just wanted to make sure there was plenty of food in the house.”

  “We’d have made sure there was.”

  “I’m sure you would have. I guess I just wanted to do something to help.”

  Glady looked at Chelsea’s stomach. “That Judd’s?”

  Chelsea wasn’t showing any more than she had that morning, and the wind wasn’t blowing here in the house, which meant that the men had already talked. She sighed. “No. I conceived before I came here. The baby’s due at the end of January.” The baby was actually due at the beginning of February, but her case against Judd being the father was more convincing this way.

  “January’s a bad month to have a baby up here. There’s nothing but snow and ice.”

  Chelsea chuckled. “It’s a little late to be telling me that.”

  The twins started in again, each holding one of Glady’s hands.

  “I like snow.”

  “ ‘Specially making angels.”

  “ ‘Specially making snowballs.”

  “When was I born, Glady?”

  “My ear hurts.”

  “When’s supper?”

  “When’s Mommy coming back?”

  “Has anyone heard from her?” Chelsea asked.

  “He’s in surgery. They’re trying to fix the leg.”

  “Ahh. Good.” Trying to fix the leg was a sight better than cutting it off.

  “MaryJo didn’t know when she’d be back. I’m taking the girls to my house for dinner and the night.”

  The twins liked that idea.

  “I need my blankie,” one said, and disappeared in a flash.

  The other was fast on her heels, shrieking, “Grover!”

  “Need anything, Caro?” Glady asked.

  Chelsea suddenly found the older girl standing closer to her.

  “Can I stay here a little longer?” she asked timidly. “It’ll be easier for Mommy if things are clean.”

  Chelsea immediately picked up on her offer, saying to Glady, “She’s been showing me where things go. We’ll just be a few minutes more. I’ll walk her over when we’re done.”

  Glady looked none too sure that that was the best idea.

  “It isn’t far,” Caroline said, still timidly but making her wishes known nonetheless.

  After another minute Glady shrugged. “Guess there’s no harm. Don’t be long. We’re having pizza.” Calling for the twins, she turned and left.

  While Caroline put away the remaining groceries, Chelsea finished slicing the strawberries. In time Caroline reached for a pumpkin cookie and took a small bite. In nearly as small a voice, she asked, “Are you really having a baby?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “In January?”

  “Round or about then.”

  Caroline took another nibble of the cookie. Then she looked up and said with unexpected poise, “Don’t listen to Glady. She’s wrong about January. I was born in January. It isn’t a bad month at all.”

  Chelsea smiled at the child’s sweetness. She touched her long dark ha
ir, then gave her a hug. Had it not been for the dinner she still wanted to make, she would have taken the girl home with her.

  But Judd was waiting. He didn’t know it. But he was.

  CHELSEA MADE STIR-FRY CHICKEN WITH RICE, WHICH WAS THE best she could do in the least amount of time. She cooked for four—Judd, Leo, Sarah, who had taken over for Gretchen, and her. She could see that Judd was in pain. His skin was pasty, and he moved stiffly. He had barely finished half of what was on his plate when he mumbled, “Gotta lie down,” excused himself from the table, and left the room.

  Chelsea started after him, but Sarah caught her arm. “Let him be for a bit. It’s hard for him to feel weak when someone’s around to watch.” A door clicked shut. “He’s in the bathroom. He’ll be fine.”

  Chelsea wasn’t so sure, but she sat back at the table. Like Gretchen, Sarah was closer in age to Leo than to Judd, which meant that she had probably known Judd most of his life. She was right about strong men having trouble feeling weak. Judd would be that way.

  “He’s a good man,” Sarah said.

  “I know.”

  “That his baby?”

  Chelsea looked at Leo, but he was playing with Buck’s whiskers. “No. It’s not.”

  “Do you wish it was?” Sarah asked.

  For a minute Chelsea felt a swelling in her throat. She forced a breath through and shot a helpless look at the ceiling. Judd’s baby. Oh, yes. The thought of it was new, but not at all bothersome. There shouldn’t be any reason why she would want Judd’s baby. But the thought of it, oh, yes, the thought lingered.

  “It might have been nice,” she whispered, and lowered her head.

  “You love him?”

  Love him? She barely knew him. But there was the thing about wanting to be near him all the time, feeling safe with him, desiring him. Love him? “I don’t know.”

  “He needs a special kind of woman, Judd does,” Sarah said in a soft, gentle way that wasn’t offensive. It occurred to Chelsea that Sarah was that kind of woman, just as Gretchen had been. She should have known Judd would hire only the kindest for Leo. “He needs a woman who’ll give him lots and lots of love. It doesn’t matter where it is—here or somewhere else—but he needs someone to be with him and only with him.”