by Nancy Moser
But that someone new didn’t have any roots. By shunning everything from her old life, Deidre Kelly had been born an orphan from any life. She’d had no inheritance, birth right, or heritage. She’d become a woman without a past, with no source, baseline, or bedrock. It was as if Sig had plucked her and Nelly from the air, placed them in his lovely home, and said, “Begin.”
She hadn’t known how to begin, or where she was going.
She still wasn’t certain.
Karla had told her not to race ahead without getting direction and to stop thinking she knew best. The image Karla had created of walking ahead of God, not looking back because she knew he wouldn’t approve . . .
I didn’t want God to stop me. I didn’t want anyone to stop me.
As if to punctuate her statement a sparrow lit on Don’s headstone, bobbed its head a few times, then flew away.
The truth was, without Don to coax the good out of Dee-Dee, without him nudging her to rise to her potential, she’d rushed ahead with little thought to others or what was truly best. She’d rushed through the trappings of living a life, but she hadn’t really lived. She hadn’t grown or prospered.
And in spite of the temptation to blame Sig and his busy career that often left her fending alone, she couldn’t. Was she totally dependent? Didn’t she have a brain, a personality, a will of her own? Wasn’t she responsible for her own destiny— sink or swim?
“What should we do now?” Nelly asked.
Karla took her hand. “Care for a prayer?”
“That sounds perfect,” Deidre said. And she meant it. For what could it hurt?
The three females held hands and bowed their heads. Karla did the talking for them. It was a prayer of contrition, asking for forgiveness and wisdom and discernment. It was a prayer for Sig, for Patti, for the three of them. Karla created a prayer cover over them all, tucking them in with a spiritual warmth that seemed to make everything stable and possible.
“And finally, God, help us see a plan in all this. Help us do what we’re supposed to do. Help us never feel alone. Because we’re not alone. We have each other and we have you. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” Nelly said.
“Amen,” Deidre said. She let go of their hands. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be here alone for a bit. I have some things to share with Don.” She gave Karla a knowing look.
Karla put her arm around Nelly’s shoulders. “Let’s go find the oldest headstone.”
Deidre waited until they were out of earshot. Then she began, “Don, there’s something you need to know. Something I need to confess.”
***
Deidre was done. Her confession to Don was complete and she felt better for it. She stood up from the bench and looked for Karla and Nelly. They were across the cemetery, headed toward the car. Nelly shuffled through fallen leaves under a canopy of red, gold, and orange. Except for the tombstones, it was a lovely sight.
Deidre did not return to the path but meandered toward the car by walking among the graves. Halfway there, she came around a grove of trees and spotted another mourner sitting beside a headstone. Although the cemetery had been empty before, someone else had joined them, visiting someone they loved.
Deidre didn’t wish to intrude, so she took a sharp right to give her privacy.
“Hey!”
Deidre stopped. Had the woman called to her? She backtracked tentatively.
Then she saw who it was.
Patti McCoy.
Patti had been sitting on the grass but now stood. She wore khaki pants and a pink blouse that was too big.
If only I could pretend I didn’t see her.
It was too late for that.
Patti brushed off her knees. “Weren’t you on the jury?”
Although Deidre could never imagine herself running through a cemetery, the thought passed through her mind. “Yes. I’m so sorry about all that happened.”
Patti shook her head once. “It’s more than that. You’re more than that. You’re the wife of the man who killed my Brett. Are you Debbie?”
“Deidre.” She let her correction stand as her affirmation. She had no idea what to say. The word sorry seemed absurd.
Patti held her arms across her chest as if she were cold. “I don’t understand any of this. I mean, why did your husband kill Brett and how did you get on the jury and why didn’t you say something?” She repeated her first sentence. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry Sig ... I’m sorry I didn’t...” Deidre shrugged and immediately wished she could take the gesture back.
Patti stood silent a moment, as if studying her. Then she said, “Your husband is a good man.”
Deidre felt her jaw drop. If she had written a hundred lines for Patti to say, this would not have been one of them. “Yes, he is.”
“I talked to him yesterday. When he was in jail.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “I had to thank him. For coming forward. For getting me out.”
But he killed the man you loved.
Patti looked down at the grave, and for the first time Deidre noticed whose it was: Brett Matthew Lerner.
She took a step back. The need to flee intensified. She couldn’t breathe.
“I miss him,” Patti said, gazing at the grave.
Suddenly a stream of words spilled out, as if a dam had broken. “How can you be so kind? Brett is dead because of—”
Patti got down on her knees again, adjusting the blooms in the pot of gold mums on the grave. “I know. And I am mad, sad, frustrated. Confused.” She looked up at Deidre. “But what good does it do? I was mad at being arrested for something I didn’t do, mad at losing the baby, mad at being convicted.” She shook her head slowly. “It ate me up. That first night after the conviction, I prayed a ton. I don’t even remember what I prayed for, but it was the only thing that made me feel better. As if somehow things would work out. And then they did. The next day your husband came forward.”
Deidre didn’t know what to say.
“I forgive him, you know. I forgive everyone. Even myself for being dumb enough to believe Brett’s promises. I don’t know how that would have worked out if he was still around, but…” She sighed.
“I’m sorry, Patti. For all of it.”
“It’s all anybody can be. Sorry.”
They stayed there a moment, the innocent woman kneeling on the grave and the guilty one standing nearby.
Then the latter walked away and did not look back.
EPILOGUE
He gave his life to free us from
every kind of sin, to cleanse us,
and to make us his very own people,
totally committed to doing good deeds.
TITUS 2:14
Bobby leaned low, eyeballing the carving on the dresser leg. The point of the leaf was a little off. A little too wide. He positioned his chisel and sliced off an infinitesimal amount. But just enough.
Becky burst through the door of the shop, bringing with her a gust of winter wind. She quickly closed the door behind her. “Brrrrr! It’s going to snow. I can feel it.” On her hip sat their youngest, three-year-old Tally.
Bobby blew away the remnants of his chiseling and felt the edge. A little sandpaper would take care of its roughness. “What’s up, you two?”
Becky pulled two pieces of paper from the pocket of her jacket. “Two more orders. A rocker and a hutch.”
Bobby left his work behind. Sure enough, there were two more orders. One going to Vermont and the other to New Mexico. “If someone had told me I would be making furniture for people across the country…”
“I told you.”
“Someone besides you.”
She let Tally down in order to put her hands on her hips. “Isn’t my word good enough for you?”
“I stand corrected.” He kissed her, then Tally, who immediately sat down in the sawdust and started to play with the leftover pieces of wood. Sawdust was a p
art of their lives now—in the shop and even in the house.
Bobby looked back to the orders in hand. “I’m not sure I have time to do these, Beck, what with the orders I got from people wanting things by Christmas.”
“These people aren’t asking for Christmas. They’ll wait. People wait for quality.”
“You’re going to give me a big head.”
“Nonsense. Besides, you’ll have lots of time to fill the new orders.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’ll quit driving a cab.”
It was his last outside job. He’d quit the theater concessions job a month after the trial when orders from his website had started to trickle in. But to give up his last stable employment was like cutting a safety line.
She slipped her hand through his arm, pulling him close to her side. “Come on, Bobby. Why do you find your success so hard to believe?”
“Because it’s success. And it’s me.”
Becky extended her hand to their daughter. “Come on, Tally-girl. Want to help me butter the bread for lunch?”
At the mention of food, the scraps of wood were forgotten. Becky brushed off her daughter’s backside and legs. “Lunch will be ready in a half hour.”
This time when Becky left, the cold air that snuck in didn’t affect Bobby. Her warmth lingered. As did her faith.
And his.
He picked up the chisel and got back to work.
***
“And who will give three hundred for this putter used by Tom Watson in the U.S. Open?” The auctioneer pointed to one bidder, then another, as the price rose.
Ken stood at the back of the ballroom and squeezed Ronnie’s hand. “We’re getting good prices,” he whispered.
“It’s good stuff. Thanks to you,” she whispered back.
And it was true. Ken may not have been a big shot on the golf circuit, but he knew the big shots and was good at cajoling them into donating some of their golf items for charity auctions, like this one to benefit pediatric AIDS patients.
Philip popped his head in the door leading to the hall and motioned them over. It had been wonderful working with his son the past few years. And Ronnie. Although Ronnie stuck to her declaration that she couldn’t be romantically involved with him anymore, she had held true to being his best friend.
As for the other women who’d always come and gone in Ken’s life, somehow working for an AIDS charity while living a risky lifestyle didn’t go together. At age fifty-eight he’d learned to behave himself. Besides, Philip had introduced him to a real nice woman at his church. Ken was taking it slow regarding that—and everything else.
They walked into the corridor and saw that Philip was practically glowing. “Bill just came back to tell me we’ve already passed the fifty-thousand mark.”
Ken was stunned. Although he knew the auction was going well, he’d had no idea it had taken in so much. He looked down at the list of items up for bid. “We’re only two-thirds through.”
“I know. Isn’t it cool?” Philip flashed his boyish smile.
Someone came out of the auditorium and called to them. “Ken! One of your trophies just went for two hundred.”
A laugh escaped. “I am truly stunned.”
“Don’t be,” Ronnie said. “You were somebody.” She bumped her shoulder into his. “You are somebody.”
Philip ran off to resume his auction duties, calling back to them. “We’ll have to celebrate. I’ll buy.”
It was Ronnie’s turn to laugh. “Will wonders never cease?”
Apparently not. Thank God.
***
Although she kept her face neutral, inside Abigail was screaming, If I have to hear one more chubby old man sing “If I Were a Rich Man,” badly, I’m going to strangle myself with a prayer shawl.
The latest auditioner finished. “Thank you, Mr. Montrose. We’ll let you know.” Let you know you didn’t make it.
Jessica, Abigail’s assistant, handed her the next audition sheet, then called out a name. “Jack Crawford.”
A burly man sauntered onto the stage. Abigail blinked. He looked familiar. Then she put the face and name with a place. “Hello. Aren’t you Jack from the trial, three years ago?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, holding some music as a shield in front of him. “It’s me.”
“I didn’t know you could sing.”
“Actually, that is yet to be determined.”
She nodded and waved a hand. “Go ahead. Show me what you’ve got.”
He raised his music, adjusted his reading glasses, and began to sing.
Well.
No one was more surprised than Abigail—except maybe Jack himself. Uncharacteristically, she didn’t cut him off before he was through.
Jessica leaned toward her and whispered, “He’s good.”
Indeed he was.
And he wasn’t the only acquaintance Abigail had heard sing today. Margaret Timmons—the woman to whom Abigail had given her part in Annie—tried out for the part of Golde. Margaret had a good chance of being cast.
As did Jack.
He finished his song and released a huge sigh of relief. Blustery, cocky Jack the mechanic with the greasy fingernails, was no longer Mr. Confidence.
But he should be. Abigail sat forward in her chair. “Very good, Jack. You surprised me.”
“I surprised me too. I’m surprised I’m even here. But when we were on the jury together, you got me thinking about the theater again. I used to do this stuff, eons ago. It took me a while to get up my nerve to try again, but here I am.”
“Good for you,” she said. “We’ll be contacting you about call-backs.”
“Thanks.”
As he left the stage, Abigail put a big nine—out of ten— on his sheet.
Jessica glanced at it. “Do we have a Tevye?” she asked.
“Could be.”
It was nice playing a part on this side of the stage. Very satisfying.
“Next!”
***
“He’s coming!”
Deidre and Karla got out of their car. Fifteen-year-old Nelly rushed to the prison gate. Sig walked toward them with a small bag of belongings tucked under his arm.
Nelly waved. “Dad!”
His face lit up and he waved back.
Karla moved around to Deidre’s side. “You can wave too, you know.”
“I’m too nervous to wave. Three years, Karla. It’s been three years.”
Karla slipped her hand around Deidre’s elbow. “You’ll be fine. You’ll both be fine.”
Deidre didn’t have time to agree or argue, for at that moment Sig came through the gate that led from imprisonment to freedom.
Nelly ran into his arms. He picked her off the ground and swung her around. “My dear, dear girl.”
Nelly was crying. “We’ve missed you, Dad. We’ve missed you so much.”
He kissed both her cheeks, drinking her in with his eyes. “And I you.”
Then it was Deidre’s turn. She didn’t run into Sig’s arms, nor he into hers. They stood a few feet apart and looked at each other.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he said.
Karla threw her hands into the air. “Hi? You can do better than that.”
They hugged awkwardly. Sig was skinnier than before. Less substantial. Less strong.
Deidre hoped the last wasn’t true. Because getting out of prison early for good behavior was the easy part. Facing the people in town, dealing with a reduced lifestyle of a smaller house, economical cars, and no money for international travel would certainly be difficult. And there was no foundation work. Perhaps that was the hardest of all.
The Kelly Pediatric Foundation had wisely changed its name to the Helping Hands Pediatric Foundation. The other doctors on staff were continuing the good work Sig had started, without him.
“I’m okay with that,” Sig had told her more than once. “I didn’t give them much choice. The work must continue. It’s larger th
an one man.”
Admirable and gracious words.
Sincere words. For Deidre believed him. It was only her own disappointment that tinged his benevolence. She missed the foundation and being the wife of its founder. And though she’d often complained about the fund-raising and social events, she missed those too.
“Shall we go home?” Sig said.
“Shotgun!” Nelly said.
Sig took Deidre’s hand and kissed it. He spoke to Nelly, but his eyes were on his wife. “Not this time. I’d like my wife in the seat beside me, as it should be.”
With her nerves still raging, Deidre took her proper place.
***
The Kelly family enjoyed an amazing dinner that had taken the women three days to prepare. The kitchen in their much-smaller house was minimal, so they’d suffered a lot of bumping into each other, but they’d gotten it done. And now they were full beyond the point of comfort.
Dinner accomplished, Karla and Nelly made themselves scarce in their bedrooms upstairs, leaving Sig and Deidre alone in the family room.
“Want some more tea?” Deidre asked.
Sig patted the couch beside him. “I want you here beside me. As close as possible.”
Deidre hesitated, and it wasn’t because she didn’t long for his presence or his touch. She sat beside him, and he put his arm around her and cuddled close. “Mmm,” he said. “Human contact. You don’t realize how much it’s possible to miss a hug.”
Deidre closed her eyes and tried to enjoy the moment and relax in his arms. She tried to let happiness loose.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
He gently pushed her away in order to see her face. “Tell me.”
There was something about his eyes that told her he truly wanted to know. But that didn’t dispel her hesitancy.
He glanced about the room. “Do you mind the smaller house that much?”
“It’s plenty big.”
“Do you mind the idea of me being just a regular doctor? Starting a practice from scratch?”