“Not him.”
ON RARE OCCASIONS I find Angelique dressed in her work clothes. In tight denim jeans, she looks sexy as ever, and the tails of a white oxford cloth shirt tied under her bust reveal a flat torso a woman of any age would envy.
Evidently she has been rearranging paintings in her studio all morning. She lifts a large portrait and angles it toward the light from the clerestory window. “Remember this one?”
In oils, she captured the colorful image of a young woman by a wooden gate, with a country lane behind her and a floral meadow across the slatted fence. The breeze billows her long blonde hair and the coral ribbons of the straw hat she holds at her side.
“How could I forget?”
“You haven’t changed much at all.”
“Aren’t we sentimental today?” I zigzag my way through several easels until I stand next to her. “How old was I when you painted that?”
“Eighteen, maybe? Had to be before you married Jack.”
“Everything has changed since then.” I turn away from the canvas. “I can’t look that far back now.”
“It might be a good idea to take a short walk down memory lane.” She waves me to the chair under the skylight where her models, including myself, usually sit. “Colton is upstairs, sound asleep.” She settles sideways on the settee cushions and wraps one leg underneath, while spreading her arms across the back. She might be Queen Sheba awaiting a royal visit from Solomon. “You know I’ve always claimed you as the daughter I never had.”
“So you’re going to tell me something I need to work on?” Has anyone loved me for as long as Angelique? One by one, the others who truly cared for me–Grandma Mason, Mrs. Gussmann, Clyde Farraday–all disappeared from my young life.
“I hate how much you suffered during the past year, but I thought maybe time would work its magic and things would get better.”
“They’re getting worse lately, especially for Colton.”
“He seems to be one frightened boy.”
I cock my head to one side, as if I didn’t hear correctly. “What is he afraid of?”
“Something you might do.”
“Did he tell you that?”
She shakes her head.
I jump to my feet and stride toward the window. “I’m his mother. I’m not scary.”
“We both know from experience the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Please hear me out.” Angelique follows me, takes me by the arm, and leads me to sit again. “How did you react when your father moved to the ranch?”
When Nate made decisions that altered my life, I learned the hard way I had to fight.
I couldn’t concentrate on my studies for all the squealing in the hallway of the Tri Delt house. One of my sorority sisters just surprised us with news of her engagement, and the celebration launched at our Monday night meeting showed no signs of abating. By tradition, the president kept the secret until she passed a candle around our circle and the lucky girl blew it out.
Two weeks until midterms, and I had a bear for a chemistry professor. So far, she liked me well enough, and I intended to ace the exam and maintain my ‘A’ average this whole sophomore year. But hydrocarbons weren’t nearly as exciting as two-carat solitaires, and I’d rather have joined the fun.
As I stretched for perhaps the fifth time, I decided the UT Academic Center would make a better place to study. If I sat away from the entrance, I’d avoid any distractions, especially Jack. His study habits were almost non-existent, and I refused to let him disrupt mine with his fraternity party spirit. He could wait until Saturday night to try to get me in the mood for a keg social prior to the football game.
Before I had a chance to pile up my books and notes, my phone rang. My father was calling about Thanksgiving, to let me know where we’d been invited this time. Since my mother died four years ago, we hadn’t spent a single holiday at home. Quite often, the Cromwells graciously included us, except for last November when we traveled to London. Not a roasted turkey to be found in the whole damp country.
“What’s up, Daddy?”
“I thought you’d like to know,” he began. “I’ve bought a ranch.”
“Really.” I couldn’t get enthusiastic about remote acres devoted to the tending and feeding of livestock. Besides, my father bought and sold properties all the time, and I’d never paid much attention. “Where?”
“West Texas, mostly in Pecos County. Between Fort Stockton and Alpine.”
“Sounds like it’s near nowhere.”
“It seemed to be a good idea.” He mentioned mineral rights, productivity estimates, and an airstrip.
Good for whom, I wondered. “Well, I hope you enjoy it.” I yawned.
“That’s why I’m calling.”
“Good grief, are you going to suggest we spend Thanksgiving there? Why can’t we just stay home this year? We can order all our meals catered.” My father and I were still learning to get along without Mrs. Gussmann, who retired last summer after knee surgery. From climbing too many stairs, she claimed.
He cleared his throat. “I’m going out there in a few days and I have a lot of business to keep me busy for a while.”
“How long?”
He didn’t give me a direct answer, and my patience slipped away. “I’ll just stay home. Mason’s Crossing is barely awake these days, but if I get bored, I’ll find something else to do.” If I visited friends in San Antonio or Austin, he wouldn’t even be concerned.
“We have to make other arrangements. You’ll like the ranch.”
He didn’t sound angry, but I matched the frosty edge in his tone. “You can’t force me to come out to Fort Pecos, or wherever your new ranch is.” I clamped my jaw, hoping he heard stubbornness in my voice. “I won’t go.”
“You can’t stay in Mason’s Crossing.”
“Why not? I’m almost twenty.” If I sounded ungrateful, I didn’t care. Responsibility for myself made me that way. “It’s a big house, but I can manage.”
“I sold the house.”
The floor might as well have collapsed. I clutched at the wall to keep from tumbling and slipping down what felt like a rocky ledge.
My father was a demon, tearing my life apart piece by piece, year after year. I waited until my voice returned, determined not to submit to his control the way my mother did. He tried to convince me the realtor’s offer was too good to pass up, but I wasn’t listening.
“You go to the ranch by yourself.” I clenched my teeth. “I’ll make my own arrangements.” Without waiting for his reply, I hung up. I tasted bile in my throat, but I tamped it down and picked up the phone again. I dialed Jack’s number. “Hey, is that offer still good?”
He wanted to know which one.
“Come pick me up and I’ll tell you.”
Always ready for distraction, Jack agreed to drive over immediately.
I would say yes and tell him I want three carats, not two. My dorm room seemed sweltering and cramped, barely space for one, not two. My stomach heaved, and I vomited that evening’s meal of King Ranch Chicken Casserole into the trashcan.
I stare at Angelique. “How could he leave me at college with nothing to come home to? Where did he think girls in my sorority went during school holidays?”
“Probably to the Riviera or somewhere else in Europe.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “He had no experience with females that age, except your mother. And we both know how that turned out.”
“My point exactly.”
“He didn’t act very fatherly, did he?” She coughs and struggles to regain her voice. “But the important point is how your relationship with him changed.”
“Nothing changed. He never loved me.”
“Maybe not the way you needed, but he tried. And failed. Because of his mistakes, you cut him out of your life completely.” Angelique enumerates the other people I axed, starting with my husband. “For you, who can possibly measure up?”
I protest that my sense of loyalty isn’t on a par with
others. If people, even family members, demonstrate they lack faithfulness, then I have a hard time seeing them as worthy.
“Now bring Colton into the picture,” she says. “He keeps messing up.”
“I wish I knew why his accidents are getting more serious.”
“Can you see how he might be frightened you will shut him out?”
I shake my head. “He’s my son.”
“And Nate’s your father.” She lights a cigarette. “If you can see it through Colton’s eyes, it’s not that complicated. What’s to stop you from treating him the same way?”
As I argue that my son knows I love him, my tongue feels thick, and I can’t seem to swallow.
She leans forward and chops her palm with the edge of her other hand, ignoring the ashes that fall to the floor. “You’ve perfected the art of disconnection. Colton needs to be reassured of your capacity to love, no matter what. Show him you can reconcile with your father. Call Nate and talk to him.”
Angelique’s paintings grow watery as tears prick the edges of my eyelids. I blink several times and gaze at the high ceiling. After a moment, I look at her. “No.”
“But Sally, detachment isn’t–”
“It’s impossible.”
“What’s impossible?” says a voice behind us.
We both stand up quickly and turn toward the door. Leaning against the doorway, Colton munches a croissant, wearing his clothes from yesterday, not a care in the world. Angelique and I exchange frowns that mean uh-oh, but he gives no indication he overheard us.
I face him. “Please thank Angelique for her hospitality and let’s get ready to go visit Officer Avery. We need to be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Impossible.” He shoves the second half of the croissant into his mouth and saunters down the hallway toward the kitchen.
I clench my jaw and stare at Angelique for a few seconds. “I’m going to my car. Will you send Colton out as soon as you can?”
God help me, she’s right. I have already begun to disconnect from my son, and not even my mother can stop me.
Fifteen minutes dissolves into twenty, then twenty-five. After we leave Angelique’s, I refuse to speed, even though Mike can’t issue tickets from behind his desk at the station.
Once we arrive, Colton maintains his cool behavior. How have I spawned such an actor? He apologizes without prompting and shows no reaction when Mike imposes a probationary period.
Last night, I would have sworn Mike warmed up to my lapse of decorum, but now he seems distant, his words curt. He excuses himself to answer the phone. After he returns to the conference table, I inflict an indifferent smile on him, but he doesn’t look at me.
He pulls out a pocket calendar. “That was Nate. At my request, he’s agreed to return to Mason’s Crossing for an informal, er . . . chat. Are you available tomorrow afternoon? Two o’clock.”
My body freezes. “My father’s coming here?”
Mike huffs and rolls his eyes. “You want me to take another look at Jack’s suicide, don’t you?”
I glance at Colton and something in me rallies. Damned if I will let my father’s presence keep me from finding out the truth about my husband’s death. My son deserves to know, and so do I. “Fine. I’ll be here tomorrow at two o’clock.”
“We’re meeting at the hospital instead. Big Jack seems to be feeling well enough to answer a few questions.”
I clutch the edge of the table. “The hospital?”
Colton fidgets and hiccoughs, his cool demeanor stripped away. “You can’t make me go back there.”
I feel like a tennis ball in a madcap match. “You’ll stay with Angelique. She needs help moving boxes.” I point to the exit. “Please wait for me outside.”
After the door clicks shut behind Colton, I frown at Mike. “Have you lost your mind? Being in the same room with my father could give Big Jack a heart attack.”
“I talked to him already. For what it’s worth, Big Jack appears ready to clear the air.” He scratches his chin. “What will seeing your father after all these years do to you?”
I stand up, unable to tell if Mike’s expression conveys genuine concern. He isn’t the type to tease. “Don’t trouble yourself. I can handle it.”
“One more thing.” He clears his throat. “I also invited Brett Kennedy to attend our little gathering.”
“The more, the merrier. See you tomorrow.” I turn to leave before Mike figures out what a brave liar I’ve suddenly become.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I wake up tired. Sleep eluded me throughout the night, except I remember waking from strange dreams: basketball hoops, ocean liners, campfires, department stores. Freud would have a field day.
After a breakfast of coffee and half a piece of dry toast, I head out the back door to my greenhouse. The cool morning air sends shivers up my arms, and I hurry inside where it is warm.
My stomach won’t stop churning, no matter how many times I pinch the begonias or inspect the geraniums. Pacing back and forth doesn’t help.
The calm I always count on from working in my greenhouse won’t come. I can’t settle down.
In perfect detail, I recall the last day I saw my father, almost fifteen years ago. Bright sun, high clouds, light breeze for that January afternoon in 1961. We drove to church together, he in his tuxedo and I in my wedding gown. Not much conversation, as usual.
I could only guess why the custom originated, but in our family, the father of the bride always escorted her from home to the church. Maybe it was a preventive measure in case the bride bolted from the groom and his relatives. If we carried on such a heritage, there was probably more than one good reason for it.
Daddy’s new Lincoln crowded the space in Angelique’s driveway. In the sunlight, the elongated four-door sedan gleamed shiny black, just like the one President and Mrs. Kennedy rode in.
It was his fault we had to break with tradition. Angelique’s house had been my home base ever since I accepted Jack’s proposal. Except for the fact I’d rather have been planning my debutante ball, she and I had a terrific time over the last three months, choosing gowns, color schemes, invitations, menus, flowers, and musicians. She knew more about throwing a grand reception than anyone else in Mason’s Crossing.
As punishment, I spent as much money as I could, but Nate never raised an objection. He paid every invoice covering the ceremony and the party at the country club, without a word of criticism. The bride’s cake alone cost over five hundred dollars because Angelique insisted on a fourth tier, topped off by a pair of hand-carved sugarcoated doves. By the day before the wedding, the thought of lovebirds made me want to puke.
Angelique said he probably had no idea how much a wedding should cost, and I thought he felt relieved he had no part of the decisions. The chances we would have taken his suggestions were non-existent anyway. I hoped he felt really guilty.
Trying not to squirm, I sat carefully in the front seat, with my cosmetic bag in the space between us. The antique ivory Alençon lace on my dress, ordered from Maison d’Orleans in Paris, wouldn’t show any wrinkles, but I didn’t want the delicate seed pearls to snag on the upholstery. I slipped off my matching peau de soie pumps and wiggled my toes. I wasn’t used to wearing stockings and had bought a girdle to hold them up.
After starting the engine, he fiddled with the radio dial. “I think you should have waited.”
“For what?”
“Until you graduate. There’s no reason to get married now.”
I reached over and flicked off the radio. “The wedding cake was iced this morning, and my dress was altered several weeks ago. Don’t you think your suggestion comes a little late?”
“I mean, why didn’t you wait to see if you could find . . .?” He steered the car out of the driveway. “It’s only the middle of your second year in college. What’s your big hurry?”
How did he have the nerve to ask me that? “I need some place to go during Christmas and spring break, other than Europe or the beach
. I’m too young to sign a lease for an apartment.”
“I would have rented you an apartment if you’d asked me.” He shrugged. “Or you could come out to the ranch.”
I all but snorted and wanted to ask why I should live under the same roof with him ever again. “What about next summer? Where should I go then?” I popped down the visor and opened the mirror. A fancy little light came on, and I checked my lipstick. “What would I do at the ranch the whole three months?”
“Laze around. Catch up on your rest. You’ve been studying too hard.”
How would he know? “Thanks, but you’ll have to come up with a better reason than that.” If my sarcasm pained him, I didn’t care. I didn’t tell him about my plans to attend summer school.
We arrived at the side entrance to Hillside Methodist Church, a classic red brick colonial in the center of town. Great-Grandfather Mason had donated the land and his son later paid for the heating and air conditioning systems, but it was Aunt Mary who saw to my baptism and kept the family in regular attendance. She made sure all our significant events were observed in the shadow of the church’s wings. The ones I remembered best were the funerals.
I opened the car door and lifted the edge of my skirt. “I’ll meet you in the narthex just before the ceremony begins.”
He nodded and drove the Lincoln around to the front of the church to park in the nearly empty street. I stare at the baby blue stretch limousine reserved for the bride and groom, hoping Jack and his mother didn’t follow up on their idea to rent him a tuxedo to match. Twice I told them black only, and even wrote it down for him.
I climbed the limestone steps to the second-floor bride’s dressing room, where my dozen bridesmaids had smuggled a cooler with six iced bottles of Taittinger. All Tri Delt sorority sisters, they cheered when I came through the door and handed me a glass of champagne.
Angelique helped the hairdresser attach my veil. “I’m glad you didn’t go with the one covering your face,” she said. “It’s not like Jack needs to be kept in suspense.”
“He should know by now what he’s getting for a wife.” I had already fussed at Jack for getting sunburned while playing golf at the groom’s party on Thursday. Didn’t he realize how unpredictable Texas weather could be?
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