"He never pushed me around," she said, pulling out of Hetty's arms. "He was always so understanding. He sympathized with me that my job was so demanding, and he always apologized when he asked me to entertain.
"When I found out I was pregnant, he was really supportive. He was the one who insisted I resign instead of taking maternity leave. And after...after Calvin was born, he suggested I stay at home and be a full-time mom."
Raising one eyebrow, Hetty said, "I'll bet he didn't stop expecting you to entertain, though."
"Well, of course not. It was an important part of his job. His clients expected him to entertain them."
"And you believed it was your job too?"
"Yes." When her cousin made a face, she snapped, "Well, it was, whatever you think." A high keen from above caught her attention. Not fifty yards away a hawk swooped down upon an unsuspecting rodent. "Ohh, look!"
They watched in silence until the hawk bore its victim aloft. They resumed walking, speaking of scenery and weather and family gossip.
They were passing the Guest House when Hetty said, "Why are you so upset about my inviting Frank?"
"I'm not." She kicked a stone and it went clattering across the road.
"You could have fooled me." Hetty said nothing for a few steps. "Do you feel like a failure because you and Walter split? Do you want him back?"
Did she? The divorce had been her idea, but Walter hadn't objected when she broached the subject. He'd agreed to a no-fault decree and had been more than fair about the division of their assets. Not that there were all that many. The house had sold for a bit more than the outstanding mortgage, and she hadn't wanted the Mercedes. Walter had kept most of the furniture--where on earth would she have put the Chinese rugs and the marble-topped commode, and all the other expensive and imported items he had insisted they buy. So now she had a nice stock portfolio and a three-year-old car that was paid for, instead of a house full of furniture.
"No," she decided. "No, I don't want him back. It's like..." Annie fluttered her hands helplessly. "We're like two strangers. I look at him and wonder how I could have ever loved him. How we could have made lo-- had sex together." A small shiver of revulsion made its way up her spine. "Besides, I don't think he'd have me back. Not in a hundred years."
She fought the lump in her throat, but failed to prevent a slight tremble in her voice. "I don't know what I saw in him. Not now. I've tried to remember how I felt, and all I can think is that I must have been out of my mind. He's not the sort of man who appeals to me. So why did he?"
"I've always wondered that myself. Look, someone's coming."
The big car, a make Annie didn't recognize except that it looked expensive, pulled a rooster tail of dust behind it as it approached. Others had seen it too. She and Hetty joined a small crowd standing on the Big House's front porch as it finally came to a halt between Annie's Neon and the Cadillac belonging to Uncle John and Aunt Joss.
"Who on earth?" Annie heard her mother say behind her.
The driver door opened. A tall woman who could have been her mother's twin--her mother's evil twin Annie fancied, on second glance--got out and stood beside the car. "What are you all staring at?" she demanded. "I told Mother I'd be here if I could."
"Oh my goodness!" Thea said, just loud enough for those on the porch to hear. "It's Frances."
Before anyone could say more, the other door opened and a tall girl emerged. She glared at everyone.
"Oh, yes, it is indeed Frances," Uncle Ward muttered. He didn't sound happy.
Gran emerged from the front door while they were all still immobile. "Hello, Frances. I'm glad you could make it, although I would have preferred you'd let me know you were definitely coming."
Annie couldn't help but stare. This was her fabled Aunt Frances, the family black sheep? This elegant woman in clothes more suited to Rodeo Drive than an Idaho ranch.
"Who's the girl?" Hetty said in her ear.
"I've no idea."
"I often don't know from one day to the next what my schedule will be. As it happened, I was in Sun Valley, and found that I could make time to join you." Turning her back, she reached into the back seat and pulled out a small case. "Our luggage is in the trunk. Please have someone take it to our rooms."
"There are no servants here. And since I didn't expect you, I didn't allocate you a room. You'll have to sleep on the sofa in the study. Both of you."
Annie had never heard Gran sound quite so...so acid. She stepped back from the porch rail, dodging behind Uncle Ward.
Hetty followed. "Let's get lost. This is a battle I don't want to be in the middle of."
They slipped inside and went through the house and out the back door. "Do you know something I don't?" Annie said.
"No, not really," Hetty replied. "But I could smell a fight brewing. The tension was so thick you could slice it."
"It was, wasn't it? I've always wondered about Aunt Frances. Haven't you?"
"You mean why she never came to family Gatherings? I asked Gran once, and all she would say was that it was Frances's choice. She got all tight-lipped and pissy when she said it, though, so I know there are some hard feelings."
"There must be. Nobody acted glad to see her. I wonder if the girl is her assistant." The sight of her bunk reminded Annie how early she'd arisen. She yawned. "I'm for a nap. Can you wake me in time for dinner?"
"Sure. I'm going to find a patch of shade and finish my book."
Curled up on her bunk, Annie found sleep elusive. She forced herself to lie still and pretend to sleep, even though she was alone, a condition she found entirely comfortable. She'd had enough of family togetherness for the day.
Except for tonight's command appearance. No one was allowed to miss dinner at a Gathering without a good excuse. Like fire, flood or nearly fatal accident.
Chapter Six
"You look perfectly content."
Hetty looked up from her book and smiled. "I am. Sloth and indolence is good, once in a while. I don't think I'd want a steady diet of it, though."
"Join you?" When she scooted over, Ward sat beside her on the rustic bench. He stretched his long legs out and leaned his head back, eyes closed. "You missed the fun."
"I'd rather hear about family spats second hand, thank you very much. I get enough of them with my folks."
"Uh-huh. I did hear you were planning on raising their hackles this week."
She saw the gleam of his eyes, nearly hidden under lowered lids. "Are you here to talk me out of it?"
"Not at all. In fact, it may be high time you stopped lying to your mother."
"Damn it, Ward, I do not lie to her. I just don't tell her everything."
"Well, you're the best judge of that. We can only hope for the best."
Hetty closed her book and slipped it into her tote. Was she doing the right thing, bringing Frank here? "I had this crazy idea that if Frank could meet my folks here, where he could see that the rest of the family is sober and respectable, he wouldn't think so badly of Joss."
"He doesn't know?"
She sighed but didn't answer.
"Was that wise? He may be expecting June Cleaver." At her raised eyebrow, he said, "I guess you couldn't very well tell him your mother's a drunk. Not if he's never met any of your family."
"Yeah, exactly."
They sat in thoughtful silence until the raucous cry of a magpie intruded. Without looking at Ward, Hetty said, "Who is the girl with Frances? She looks familiar."
"Serhilda? I don't know." Before she could speak, he said, "Mother chased me out, along with everyone else. I guess she figured they didn't need an audience while they sorted things out."
"I hope she's not what she looks like."
"A hooker? Probably not. I have a hunch her getup was carefully calculated for its shock value." He stood, but didn't leave. Instead he stared into the distance. "Hetty, be nice to her, even if it hurts. Help me keep things civilized this week."
She couldn't remember ever hearing War
d sound so...uncertain. "I can't imagine why I'd spend much time with her, but if the occasion arises, I'll be nice."
"And friendly?"
"Yes, Uncle Ward, I will be friendly."
He tousled her hair just as he had when she was ten. She hated it just as much as she had then.
"That's all I can ask," he said, and left her alone.
* * * *
The usual deafening confusion reigned once the family assembled for dinner. Annie tucked herself into the corner of the dining room nearest the kitchen, next to Uncle Ben and Aunt Louisa, hoping to be able to escape unobtrusively once dessert had been served. They talked international politics all through dinner. No, that wasn't right. her uncle and aunt talked politics. Annie listened and nodded occasionally, trying to ignore the laughter all around her. Everyone seemed so happy. Did she envy them?
"Hey! Listen up, everybody!" Hetty, holding a plate in each hand, was standing on a bench at the middle table, amidst the younger kids. They were giggling hilariously.
"We have seen the development of a new art form tonight."
Catcalls and applause answered her.
Despite her determination not to join the fun, Annie felt a smile twitch her lips.
Hetty affected a pout. "All great artists are unappreciated at first."
Boos.
"Now I want you all to inspect this creation, by none other than Joseph Armstrong, Esquire." Hetty tilted one of the plates she was holding, rotating her hand so everyone could see its colorful contents. All Annie saw was a bright blob of the Jell-O that was dessert. Orange, strawberry, and lime, intermingled.
"Here, we have a strong, organic creation," Hetty said, "fluid and kinetic, exhibiting nature's unity." She tilted the plate still more and a bit of strawberry slid off, landing on Joey's head. He yelled when Kristi rubbed it in.
Annie swallowed a bubble of laughter. Jennifer, Joey's mother, appeared about to erupt.
"And this one," Hetty said, waving the other plate around, "is derivative of Mondrian. Strong lines and disciplined, geometric spaces." The Jell-O was cut into neat rectangles of each color.
Hetty waited until the noise receded. "It shows..."
"Gimme back my plate!" Tommy pretended to bite Hetty's ankle. She nearly lost her balance.
"...a rigid but mature mind. A well developed sense of..." The plate slipped from her hand as Hetty tried to escape Tommy's clutch. Plate and Jell-O somersaulted in the air, miraculously remaining together. Kristi made a surprising catch, but her efforts dislodged the Jell-O. Most of it lit on Tommy.
"Great catch!" someone called.
Annie watched with something like envy. Once she would have been in the middle of the horseplay, happily slinging Jell-O alongside Hetty.
Hetty looked down at the boy, still pretending to gnaw on her ankle. She "Good grief! Jackson Pollock."
Tommy swiped a blob of lime from his shoulder and smeared it across Hetty's bare foot, just as Owen flipped a spoonful of mixed flavors across the table at Joey.
Jennifer shrieked again and pandemonium broke loose. Jell-O, dinner rolls, and wadded-up napkins flew every which way.
Intelligent adults retreated to the end of the room and watched with varying expressions. John and Joss looked disapproving, Jennifer horrified, and Frances bored. The rest were cheering one or another of the combatants. Annie stood behind Gran and wondered when she had become a grown-up.
Ward called a truce when someone--Annie suspected Norman, but couldn't be sure--tossed a full cup of grape Kool-Aid in Kristi's face.
After the floor was mopped and the kids--along with Hetty and Kristi--were sent to the showers, the nightly Bridge game began at one end of a table. Annie sat and watched for a while. Not long, though, for Joss, John, Ward and her father took the game very seriously. Although she had been a rabid player in college, she had trouble following the terse bidding and rapid play.
Several invitations to cribbage came her way but she refused them all. Her mind felt stiff and unused. Even her teenaged cousins were likely to skunk her. And the last thing she needed was to get involved in Trivial Pursuit at another table. She found silence and solitude on the cookshack steps where she could stare into the darkness and be alone with her dark thoughts.
The door behind her opened. "Oh!"
She didn't recognize the voice, so there was only one person it could be. "I'm trying to decide whether that's a satellite up there, or just a jet."
"Who cares?" Serhilda--what kind of cruel parent would name a child Serhilda?--stepped past her and stomped off toward the Grove. Soon she disappeared in the dark.
Not terribly disappointed, Annie leaned back and propped herself on her elbows. Moving lights marked the few vehicles traveling the highway. She looked beyond, to where a few scattered lights marked the old ranch headquarters at Harriman State Park.
The far-off, faintly gleaming river reminded her of her encounter with the fly fisherman. Did she want to take him up on his offer, to learn to fly fish? If it could do for her even half of what he promised--bring her inner peace and forgetfulness--perhaps it would be worth the effort.
Besides, she wanted to see him again. He was so comfortable to be with, so undemanding. His warm, compassionate eyes had made her want to sink into their depths and find ... What would she find? What did she want to find? A tiny flare blossomed in her belly as she visualized his broad shoulders and strong, stocky legs. A dangerously attractive man, she decided, examining her thoughts, recognizing faint stirrings of desire.
"No!" she whispered in the darkness. "No, I can't!" She wasn't ready to come alive again. Not that way. Desire, and all the attendant emotions, were too strong, too demanding. They hurt too much.
"What won't you do?" Uncle Ward said from behind her.
Annie took a deep breath, patted the concrete step beside her, and said, "Nothing, Uncle Ward. Just random thoughts." She gave him a smile, and felt her lower lip quiver.
Ward Blankenship was nobody's fool. He must have seen the tears on her lower lashes, but ignored them. "I came to see if you want to take my hand in the Bridge game. I'm too restless to sit still."
"I don't think so. I can't remember the point counts or the bidding conventions. And you know how impatient Aunt Joss gets with poor players."
"Then let's go for a walk. Work off some of that big dinner." He stood and extended a hand to her. "Come on, Annie, we haven't had a chance to visit."
Annie reluctantly let him pull her to her feet. He was her favorite uncle. Perhaps, if he told her about his latest construction project, she would forget for a while. Walking with him would get her away from the noise and confusion of the family. How could they be so happy in a world full of misery and sorrow?
They strolled down the gravel road toward the ranch headquarters. A nearly full moon sat just above the horizon, lighting up the landscape, casting long black shadows. As the sounds of laughter and conversation faded behind them, Ward finally spoke.
"You know, Annie, your mother and mine are right. You've got to stop grieving."
"Don't... don't you lecture me too, Uncle Ward. Please!"
"I'm not going to. I'm going to say this once, then leave you alone." He put his hands on her shoulders, gave her a small shake.
"When you were little, I never saw such an independent, stubborn kid. You insisted on doing everything Peter and Al did. 'Me, too!' was your favorite phrase. You were never belligerent about it, but you always managed to go your own way, do what you wanted to do. Thea used to worry about you, but Gib and I kept telling her that your instincts were good and you'd come to no harm." He paused, to tap his pipe out against his thigh.
"While other teenagers were giving their parents hell, you were single-mindedly getting straight A's, never worrying your parents, staying out of trouble."
He poked the stem of his pipe at her and Annie retreated. "Then you met that idiot, Walter, and you changed. You changed from independent, stubborn, and self-reliant into a helpless, clinging vin
e who never had a thought that Walter didn't approve of. You were the prefect corporate wife."
Remembering all the times she'd retreated into a quiet corner at a cocktail party, her insecurity about menu planning and table décor for dinner parties, her lack of assurance... "Oh, no I wasn't. I really wasn't."
"You faked it well, then. When I visited you in Portland a couple of years ago, I couldn't see a trace of the old Annie. Just Mrs. Walter Abbott, helpmeet."
Ward bent to snap off a bit of sagebrush, crushed it between his fingers. Annie smelled its pungent aroma.
"Mother said Walter wasn't much help to you when you lost your boy. I guess he was pretty devastated himself, but it's a shame you couldn't have comforted each other. Of course, a egocentric bastard like him wasn't likely to think of anyone's needs but his own. Is that why you left him?"
"Mostly," she admitted. She wasn't sure herself of all the reasons. Just that after they'd buried Calvin, there hadn't been anything between her and Walter. No affection, no sympathy, nothing.
"What worries me, though, is that you're turning into a vegetable. Thea says you're working on an assembly line. Doing what? Putting together pickup canopies. Now that's a real intellectual challenge for a woman with a degree in microbiology. Why did you leave the DEQ anyhow?"
"I was pregnant. Walter wanted me to--"
"I thought so. Damn him! And you, too, for letting him turn you into a weak, clinging vine. What happened to the 'can do' kid I used to be so proud of? Where did she go?"
Annie shook her head, unable to answer.
"I think she's still in there somewhere, Annie, and I want you to look for her. Get a job that challenges you. Go back to school. Do something that will pull you out of this cycle of gloom and misery. But don't waste your life like this. Come back, Annie. Come back to us. We love you."
"And I love you," she cried. "All of you. But it hurts so much!"
"Of course it does. It always will, but eventually you'll grow a scab over the pain so that you can live with it. But not until you make an effort to let Calvin go." He shook her again, harder this time. "He's dead, Annie. He's gone, and none of your grief and anguish will bring him back. All it can do is kill you, inside."
A Strange Little Band Page 7