by Nancy Moser
Ken offered her a nod. “Thank you, madam.” He stood. “Ready for some dessert?”
“Surely you jest?”
“It’s just spumoni ice cream.”
“Maybe later.”
He started to clear away the dishes but she put a hand on his, stopping him. “Leave those. Just sit. Talk to me.”
“I have been talking to you.”
She shook her head. “You’ve been talking at me. Talk to me, Ken. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
He sniggered. “Oh, you don’t want to go there.”
“But I do.”
He sat down, both nervous at the prospect of talking at levels deeper than small talk and eager to do just that. He’d had so many thoughts pop in and out the past week. Where could he begin?
“You look wistful,” she said, studying him.
It was a trait he’d never anticipated. “I guess I am. A bit. I have regrets.”
He expected her to raise her eyebrows and mock him. Instead she said, “So do I.”
He pounced on her confession. “What do you regret?”
She shook her head. “You go first. You’re the one who’s wistful.”
He might as well get to the big one first. “I regret leaving you and Philip.”
“I regret letting you leave.”
“Really?”
“We had some good moments amid the traumatic times.”
He nodded. “We let the bad times take over.”
She pushed her plate toward the center of the table, giving herself room to lean forward. “What else do you regret?”
Can I make you a list? “Actually, I regret not being a great golfer.”
Ronnie seemed surprised. “You were very good.” She pointed to the display case. “You won a lot of trophies.”
Why did they mean so little right now? “I was a good golfer, but I could have been better.”
“Everyone can say that, no matter what their profession, for who ever reaches their full potential?”
Then it hit him like a golf club to the gut. “Actually, I think I did reach my potential. I was the best golfer I could be. But the truth is, that wasn’t near great.”
“You tried hard.”
It sounded as pathetic as it was. “Maybe that’s what makes it so hard. I tried and tried, but the real talent just wasn’t there.”
“Don’t say that. You were very talented.”
He bolted from his chair. “Don’t placate me, Ronnie. Don’t try to make me feel good. I’m having a revelation here.”
Ronnie’s shocked look changed into a smile. “Sorry. You have the floor.”
Ken felt like a fool. Yet Ronnie had witnessed fool before. He took their plates to the kitchen, talking on the way. “The girl we just convicted of murder? That Patti McCoy?”
“I bet you’re glad that’s over.”
He was, but didn’t want to get side-tracked. “When she was on the stand she said something almost profound. She said, ‘I am who I am. I don’t pretend to be anything more.’”
“Sounds like a wise girl.”
He set the plates in the sink and returned to his seat. “She does, doesn’t she? Without a degree, breeding, or any grand life experiences. Yet in some ways she has her head together more than I do.”
“You’re sounding like a bit of a snob, Ken.”
“I am a snob, though sometimes I don’t mean to be. The point is, Patti knows who she is and isn’t pretending to be anyone else.” He put a hand to his chest. “I’ve been pretending my whole life, pretending to be somebody important and talented and special.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
He took her hand. “Ronnie. Please. Just listen.”
She squeezed his hand.
Suddenly Ken realized he had nothing more to say. “I’m done.”
“No, you’re not.”
Yes, he was. He withdrew his hand. He didn’t know what he was saying anyway. It was all a bunch of claptrap.
She took his hand back. “Hey. Look at me.”
He did.
“Just be yourself. Ken.”
“But I don’t know who Ken is.”
“Be a good man. Not a golfer, not a father, not a husband, not a one-night stand. What is Ken going to do with his life?”
“I have no idea.” Then he did have an idea, one that had been brewing all day. “Let’s get back together, Ronnie. Let’s give it another try.”
She looked as though he’d asked her to jump off a cliff.
“It’s not that far-fetched,” he said.
When she found her voice, she said, “We’re not the same people we were.”
He nodded vigorously. “I know. That’s what makes it good. I want to change. I want to be better. I want to be that good man you think I can be.”
She touched his cheek and he could smell her White Shoulders perfume. “Ken, I can’t.”
He pressed her hand against his cheek, not willing to let it go. “Don’t say no. Not yet. Think about it.” He thought of something else. “It will be good for Philip to see us together.”
Ronnie pulled her hand away. “Philip is a grown man. He’s not dependent on his parents being married in order to have us in his life.” She took a fresh breath. “I can’t be your lover, Ken. I can’t be your wife. But I will be your friend. Till death do us part.”
“That’s not enough,” he said. “What about all the changes I’m about to make? Doesn’t that count for something?”
“You talk about being somebody. Fine. You are somebody. Right now. You are Philip’s father.”
“No, I’m not. I’m a terrible father. I wasn’t there when he needed me.”
“So fathering stops at age eighteen, or twenty-one? Be a good father now. That’s a somebody Philip and I both need. A somebody you need.”
“I don’t know what I need.”
“Sure you do. You need change. So do it. For us, but also for you.”
“I’ve been doing for me all my life. That is what’s got me so messed up.”
“There you’re wrong. You haven’t been doing for you, you’ve been doing for everyone else by being consumed with what other people think. With appearances. With attaining that ‘somebody’ status.” She found her purse and headed toward the door. “I’m glad you’re on the road to finding the true Ken. But in the end, this journey is your own, dear man. Do you like Ken Doolittle? Are you proud of that man? Will you feel at ease standing before our Maker one-on-one?”
Now she was scaring him. “This isn’t about dying; it’s about living.”
“Living is all about dying. Living so we know where we’ll go after we die. Being accountable. Making concessions and confessions. Surrendering every aspect of ourselves to the One who’s bigger than each of us. Even bigger than you.”
He didn’t know what to say.
Ronnie kissed his cheek. “Think about it.”
***
“May I help you?”
Ken sat back against his pillows and cleared his throat. “I want to order the Montreux watch.”
“Number 38567?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Name please?”
Ken gave the info without thinking.
“Thank you, sir. You should receive your watch in two weeks. May I help you with anything else?”
“No, that’s it.”
He hung up. There. That felt good. After all, a man couldn’t have too many watches to keep track of time passing. Of a life passing him by. He shut off the TV. And the light. And his conscience.
ELEVEN
Here on earth you will have
many trials and sorrows.
But take heart, because I have overcome the world.
JOHN 16:33
An evening without Sig. A night. A morning.
A lifetime.
Deidre heard a key in the front door.
Nelly jumped up from the kitchen table and ran to answer it. “Maybe it’s Daddy! Maybe they le
t him go.”
Deidre and Karla followed, and were greeted by a surprised and embarrassed Agnes, their cleaning lady.
“Oh. Mrs. Kelly. I’m sorry. You’re not usually home on Wednesday mornings so I’m used to using the key.”
“It’s fine. Come in.”
Agnes came inside, lugging a handled tub of cleaning supplies. She closed the door with care, as if she didn’t want to make a sound. Awkwardly, she looked at the three females before her. “I’m so sorry,” she finally said. “When I heard on the news that Dr. Kelly had turned himself in for killing—”
“That’s on the news?”
Agnes pointed toward the front door. “I heard it on the radio in my car. I almost turned around and went home, but then I thought a clean house might be just what you need right now, so I came anyway.” With a final nod she added, “Dr. Kelly didn’t really do it, did he?”
The phone rang, saving Deidre from having to answer. She escaped into the kitchen. “Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. Kelly?”
“Yes.”
“This is Wallace Jones from the Daily News and we were wondering if you would answer—”
She hung up. Her hand shook.
Karla was by her side, “Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Me neither,” Nelly said.
“Me neither,” Karla said.
Deidre knew they needed to be alone. “Another day, Agnes?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Kelly. Just call.”
Nelly attached herself to her mother’s waist. “Everybody knows. Everybody.”
“I’m afraid so, sweetie.”
“I can’t go to school ever again.”
Deidre had let Nelly stay home yesterday, and again today, fearing the town would be awash in Sig’s story. She wished she could tell Nelly everything would be all right, assure her that true friends would remain her friends, but there was no assurance.
Karla stroked her hair. “Your daddy made a mistake, but he’s owning up to it. That proves he’s an honorable man. You should be very proud of him for that.”
Nelly nodded, but it was half-hearted.
Deidre put her hand under her daughter’s chin and offered her a wistful smile. “We’ll make it through, like we did before, after your father died.”
Nelly hesitated a moment, her eyes searching her mother’s. Finally she said, “This isn’t the same as that.”
No, it’s not.
Karla took over. “Eventually things will go on as they were.”
“But Daddy won’t be here.”
Deidre answered, “You’re right. Daddy won’t be here for a while. But he’ll be back.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.” She pulled Nelly under her arm and rested her chin against her head. “We have to be strong for him. And proud of him for stepping forward. Not many people would do that.”
“I don’t want to be strong.” Nelly’s words were without power.
“I’ll help you and Nana will help you. We’ll all help each other.” Deidre felt a nudge to add one more helper to the list. She should tell Nelly that God would help them. And yet old habits were hard to break. It would be awkward to mention God when Deidre hadn’t mentioned him in years. Nelly might look at her and think, Who do you think you are, talking about God stuff?
In spite of her doubts and fears, the words spilled out. “God will help us get through this too, sweetie.”
Nelly didn’t make a face. She didn’t bolt from the room. She surprised Deidre by nodding.
After which Karla smiled and put an arm around them both.
***
Deidre didn’t want to be there.
Yet how could she not be at the courthouse? Besides, Nelly had insisted on accompanying her with a determination Deidre had rarely seen. “I have to see Daddy.” Karla came too. They were a united front.
And so the three of them sat in the row nearest the defendant’s chair—the chair where just two days previous Patti McCoy had sat to receive her false conviction.
But now, everything would be made right.
Actually, not at all, but it was the only way.
Nelly tugged at Deidre’s sleeve and whispered, “There he is!” She moved to the edge of her chair as if holding herself back from leaping into her father’s arms.
Sig immediately saw them and offered a weak wave and smile. He was led to his seat, where he reached back and took Nelly’s outstretched hand for a brief moment before an officer stopped the contact. Sig gave Deidre her own special smile. It was pensive and full of entreaty. Forgive me. Forgive me.
She could do nothing but smile back. The process was in motion. There was nothing anyone could do to stop it. You can’t unring a bell, withdraw a confession, or...a lot of things.
The judge came in and everyone stood. Once settled he looked at Sig, then at the prosecutor’s table, and said, “The court is satisfied with the signed confession of Sigmund T. Kelly and hereby sentences him to ten years for first-degree manslaughter.”
Deidre heard a gasp and only after the fact realized it was her own.
Just that fast, the judge dismissed the court. They allowed Sig to hug his wife and daughter.
And it was done.
***
Deidre was glad to have Sig’s lawyer, Tim Gothenburg, at her side as she was led out of the courthouse. And doubly glad that Karla had taken Nelly out a side entrance. “Mrs. Kelly!” shouted a reporter.
Others rushed over.
Tim gave Deidre a slight nod. It was time to give the statement they’d carefully prepared. He set it up. “Mrs. Kelly will not answer any questions, but she does have a statement.”
She was on. Deidre had gotten up early that morning to memorize it. “I am obviously very saddened by this turn of events but also very proud. My husband is an honorable man, who in a moment of instinctive emotion defended an attack on his life’s work, the Kelly Pediatric Foundation. A man died, and we grieve that tragic fact. And as all actions have consequences, my husband has come forward to accept his. We regret any pain and suffering this has—”
“But, Mrs. Kelly, you were on the jury. You helped convict Patti McCoy of your husband’s crime. Did you know he was guilty?”
“Did you somehow rig it in order to be on that jury?”
“Why didn’t your husband come forward sooner?”
“Why didn’t he stop Patti’s trial?”
She had no answer for them that wouldn’t elicit a dozen more questions. As for her own crime, she was not being held responsible for any wrongdoing for being on the jury when her husband was guilty of the crime because technically, she’d been coerced by Sig to pursue it. The court knew that much, but not that she knew Brett. She was not being held responsible because Sig had made it a part of his plea bargain to the court. He’d agreed to take the rap for everything as long as his wife was left alone.
The reporters’ questions continued and one broke through the chaos: “Mrs. Kelly, did your husband and you conspire in all this?”
A surge of panic swept through her. She looked at Tim, seeking guidance. But before he could say anything, she said, “No comment” and hurried away.
No comment. No comment. The words of the guilty.
***
Nelly sat on the family room couch, nestled under Karla’s arm. The TV was off. The TV was the enemy.
Deidre stood at the edge of the room, uncertain what to do next.
“Well,” Karla said. “That was unpleasant.”
“It was horrible seeing Daddy led away. What do we do now, Mom?”
She had no idea. If allowed, she would have yelled to the room, “It’s not fair! I’ve had two husbands and lost two husbands! Two good men gone!”
Then suddenly, she knew where she needed to be.
If it might help her, what about Karla and Nelly?
It was worth a shot. Nothing positive could come out of sitting around, brooding.
“Get your coats on,” she sai
d.
“Why?”
“Just come.”
***
Deidre wasn’t a cemetery kind of person. She found them creepy and negative. But today, the cemetery was exactly what she needed. And as she walked along the grass-lined path under the canopy of trees, hand in hand with her daughter and mother-in-law, she was surprised to find calm accompanying her.
After confessing her guilt to God, and with the promise that someday she might have the chance to confess to Sig, she had one more person to tell.
She reached her destination.
“Oh, dear,” Karla said. “The flowers I brought last visit are gone.”
Deidre didn’t mention that she’d been negligent in ever bringing flowers. Nelly had asked to go to the grave that first Memorial Day after Don died, but Deidre had said no. A cemetery wasn’t a proper place for a little child.
How about an older child?
She would see.
Deidre moved to the headstone and traced her husband’s name: Donald Henry Polland. The feel of the cold carving against her fingers was nothing like her husband. Don had been soft and warm, without sharp edges.
My opposite.
They sat on a bench nearby and Deidre accepted the chill and hardness of the stone as appropriate to the cold, hard woman she’d become.
Yet she hadn’t always been that way. When Don was alive she’d let his warmth rub off on her. But with his exit, she’d lost more than his presence. She’d lost his example, his encouragement, and the way he had of making her want to be better.
But I’ve had other things to worry about beyond character. I’ve had to survive.
Baloney. Although it was true, and though times had been hard, that didn’t give her the right to relinquish her character. Her attributes. Or the good person she’d almost become under Don’s influence.
She drew in a deep breath and let out the words, “I forgot.”
“Forgot what, Deidre?” It was Karla.
Deidre started. She wasn’t sure why she’d said the words. What did they mean?
With her mental query, she received an answer. You forgot who you were and became someone else.
That was the key, the start of her downfall. For as she’d left Dee-Dee Polland behind and taken up the part of Deidre Kelly, she hadn’t added to the Dee-Dee that Don had helped her become; she’d abandoned her. She’d thrown out the baby with the bathwater, let go of the good she’d achieved, virtually negating all the trials and struggles and victories that had begun the job of fine-tuning the woman who was Dee-Dee. She’d shut Dee-Dee in a closet, locked it, and started over as someone new.