by Mary Campisi
***
Alex rolled over, wondering what time it was. Five? Six? The last time she looked at the clock it was three-thirty and Nick had just—her whole body throbbed with the thought—turned her onto her stomach, spread her legs, and slipped inside. She’d been asleep, or half asleep, until his hardness invaded every pore in her body.
She was exhausted, sore… sticky… Nick. They’d made love three times, each different, equally explosive, totally possessive. The first had been filled with a clinging neediness, a fear that the moment would slip from their grasp if they didn’t take their fill from each other, drink, hard, fast, greedy. The second was a leisurely exploration of touch and sensation, a promise of heightened pleasure and hidden passion. And the third, the three-thirty wake-up call, well, that was a new familiarity based on desire and need, pure and elemental.
Last night, no, it had started long before last night, Nick had stripped away her layers of cool reserve, the self-possessed attitude that had taken Uncle Walter and Aunt Helen years to teach. There’s no room for blatant displays of affection, Aunt Helen had told her over and over. Base emotions are crass and unsophisticated. Remember that, Alex, always remember that. Had she remembered too well, believed too much, lived too much of the disjointed, separate-bedroom relationship her aunt and uncle shared? Was that why her earlier relationships with men had failed? Why no man had been interested enough to push past the aloofness, the distancing, why they gave up long before they got to her, the real Alex Chamberlain, crouched in a corner like a lost child, hidden somewhere beneath advanced education and impervious etiquette? Even Eric, when he was her husband, had not tried hard enough, with enough courage, determination, or sincerity to elicit any response stronger than tepid acquiescence.
But Nick Androvich had gotten to her, through sheer will, expectation, and honesty. She’d seen the truth on his face—he’d wanted her, Alex Chamberlain, the woman, not Alex Chamberlain, the socialite, vice president of Development at WEC Management, the magna cum laude graduate of Wharton, the niece of Walter Chamberlain, the heir to her uncle’s vast wealth. Nick had wanted none of that, he wasn’t even aware any of it existed.
Alex let out a slow breath. He’d made love to her and yet, he knew almost nothing about her. Her stomach clenched, twisted. What would he say if he found out she was planning to buy him out, flatten his house, his mother’s, his sister’s? What would he say then? Would he forgive her, would he listen, even try to understand why she’d done it? Could she convince him that life in the suburbs, even in the city, really did have a lot to offer him and the people of Restalline? Or would he turn away, shun her, just when she might have found the one person who could make her feel something real? Would he hate her?
Alex’s heart was pounding so hard she never heard the footsteps coming toward her. It wasn’t until an unfamiliar voice shot into the semidarkness that she realized someone was in the same room, a man, and it wasn’t Nick.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Goldilocks.”
Her eyes flew open and she saw the shadowy cast of a man standing beside the bed, dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.
“Michael.” Instinct told her this was Michael Androvich, Nick’s brother. He was taller and broader than Nick, with wide shoulders and muscled forearms. She pulled the sheet closer to her body, aware of her nakedness. Where was Nick?
“So you’ve heard about me?” He let out a hollow laugh that bounced off the walls. “I’m sure Nick had some interesting things to say.”
The animosity in his voice was hard to miss. “Actually,” Alex said, “he didn’t seem to want to talk about you.”
He laughed again. “That’s called diplomacy.”
“He isn’t here.”
“Obviously.” He pulled up a chair, sat down. “No man with half a pulse would leave his bed with a beautiful woman in it unless he had no choice.” He rubbed his jaw. “Nick’s probably doing his doctor thing, you know, the patient comes first bullshit.”
“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” she said. Leave. She wanted him to leave.
Michael touched the brim of his cap. “Appreciate it. Alex, isn’t it?” He crossed his broad arms over his chest. “I’ve heard all about you, Alex. Everybody has. The whole town’s talking. Some say you’re one of those smart sophisticates from the city, who’s come to write about the plight of the poor common folk.”
“That’s not exactly—”
“Others say you like small towns, and you’re traveling around, trying to promote them to your city publishers.” He paused. “And then there’s a few that say you’ve got a whole different agenda, one that nobody’s even thought about.”
Alex tried to remain calm, keep her voice even. “And you, Michael? What do you say?”
He leaned forward, placed his big hands on his knees. “Me? I say I don’t care what in the hell you came to Restalline for, but don’t screw with my brother.”
“I don’t know what—”
“Save it, okay? I’ve seen the way he watches you, like you’re all he can see. Shit, everybody saw him practically deep throat you at the wedding yesterday. That’s not Nick. He’s never out of control, but you’ve done something to him.” His tone was whisper soft, in total opposition to the menacing words coming out of his mouth. “Nick and I don’t see eye to eye on too much these days, but he’s still my brother and I’ll be damned if some short skirt is going to waltz into town and screw him over.” His laugh was crude and raw. “You can screw him all you want but you better not screw with him, you got that Goldilocks? I don’t know what your game is, but I’ll be watching you and I’m not the gentleman Nick is. I’m a street fighter.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. “Don’t mess with him, and I won’t mess with you, you got that Goldilocks?”
She nodded once, unable to find the words to respond.
“Good.” He stood up, tossed something on the bed. “You dropped these.” Then he turned and left.
Alex didn’t move until she heard the sound of an engine outside. When she was sure he was gone, she looked down at the objects Michael had thrown onto the bed. Three shiny condom packets, ripped down the middle lay on Nick’s pillow. You can screw him all you want but you better not screw with him, you got that Goldilocks? … I’ll be watching you… I’ll be watching you…
She flung back the covers and raced to the bathroom crouching in front of the porcelain toilet. Her stomach heaved and roiled, Michael’s warning twisting her insides...I’ll be watching you…
***
Alex almost drove right past the woman sitting on the bench next to Stop-n-Go. Actually, she had driven past her, but the idea of a gray-haired woman in a floppy white hat sitting on a beaten up bench in her Sunday best on a Wednesday afternoon, clutching a white purse with white-gloved fingers, was so out of place that it made her do a double take. It was the second take that made her gasp and turn the car around.
What was Ruth Kraziak doing on the edge of town dressed like she was going to church? It was the middle of the week and St. Stanislas was five blocks away. Alex parked the car, got out.
“Mrs. Kraziak?” she called, walking up to the older woman. “Ruth?”
Ruth Kraziak blinked, turned toward Alex. “Oh. Hello.” She tilted her head and the hat flopped to one side. “You’re the young lady Norman introduced me to the other day.”
“Yes. I’m Alex.”
Her thin lips pulled into a frown. “Alex. That’s a boy’s name.”
“It’s short for Alexandra.”
“Alexandra.” The name rolled off her lips. “Alexandra.”
“May I sit down?”
Ruth Kraziak lifted a white-gloved hand, arced it in the air. “Sit down, Alexandra.”
Alex slid onto the bench, folded her hands in her lap. Did Norman know his wife was sitting on a bench in front of Stop-n-Go?
“I hope she makes it today,” Ruth said, consulting the small gold watch on her left wrist.
“Who?”
A hint of a smile crossed her lips. “Caroline.”
Caroline “How did you get here, Mrs. Kraziak?”
“I drove, how else would I get here?”
“I guess it would be kind of far to walk from where you live.” Hadn’t Norman told her she wasn’t supposed to be driving? Yes, Alex remembered the scene in his office the first time she met Ruth, because she’d felt sorry for her, embarrassed even. And hadn’t Ruth acknowledged what he said, blamed it on some medicine she was taking?
“Indeed.” Ruth slouched a little against the back of the bench. “Though I tried once or twice. Norman knows I come here every Wednesday. I’ve told him I want to be here when she gets off that bus but he keeps misplacing the extra set of keys.” She leaned forward, whispered, “I think he may be getting a little… forgetful. You know”—she touched her hat—“light upstairs.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know.” She’d bet Norman had no idea Ruth was here.
She nodded. “He’s a very proud man. I would never say anything; it would only make him feel worse. How do you tell a person you’ve been married to for forty-five years that his mind is out of focus?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Neither do I. But yesterday, when he was at work, I searched every drawer in the house, even the silverware ones, and found the extra keys.” Her plain brown eyes lit up. “They were in the bathroom, behind the Right Guard deodorant and Dr. Scholl’s foot powder.”
“Does Norman know—” She stopped, tried again. “Are you here by yourself?”
“No. You’re here, aren’t you, Alexandra?” She reached over, patted Alex’s hand. “I do hope Caroline comes today. I’d like you to meet her. Ah”—she smiled—“she’s a mother’s delight.”
“Why do you think she’ll come today?” Or any day?
The older woman pointed to the Greyhound sign on the edge of the Stop-n-Go building. “See that sign? Nick couldn’t bring her. She has to come by bus.”
“I see.”
“Have you met Nick, her husband? He’s the doctor in town, takes care of most of the people who live here.”
Alex’s chest tightened, her throat clogged up. She fought for air, tried to overcome the dizzying sensation closing in on her. “I…” She forced the words out, “I’ve met him.”
“He’s wonderful. Isn’t he wonderful, Alexandra? Imagine such a kind, caring person being married to my daughter.” Her voice turned soft, melodic. “It was a storybook romance, those two, since high school. Love at first sight. From the day they met, they’ve never looked at another person—it’s always been Caroline and Nick. Isn’t that wonderful, especially in our world today, when everybody’s switching partners, hopping in and out of bed faster than grasshoppers?”
Alex thought she was going to be sick. She felt like an invader, a mistress, the other woman.
“Look, Alex, down there.” Ruth pointed to the bus. “It’s coming. Oh, I do hope she’s on it.”
They waited in silence as the bus pulled up to the stop, its gears shifting and grinding, exhaust fumes filling the air. When the bus door opened, six people filed out, three white-haired women carrying shopping bags, one hunched-over balding man with a newspaper, and two teenage girls with backpacks slung over their shoulders. The bus driver got out and went into the store.
Ruth swallowed, look confused, “I thought she’d be on this bus.”
“It doesn’t look like she is.” She’s not coming home, Ruth. Ever. Alex would never say the words, they’d be too cruel, too painful, too hopeless, and Ruth needed something to hold on to. Maybe that hope, distorted and unreal as it was, got her through the day, pushed her to get up in the morning, breathe in, breathe out.
“Maybe”— she twisted her gloved hands in her lap—“maybe she fell asleep, maybe she’s still on the bus.”
No, Ruth, she’s not on the bus. “Would you like me to check?”
Hope lit her eyes. “Would you?”
Alex gripped Ruth Kraziak’s fingers, squeezed through the cotton fabric of her gloves. “I’ll be right back.” She made her way to the bus, hesitated the briefest of seconds, then climbed the steps to the tiny platform next to the bus driver’s seat. A handful of people remained on the bus—a teenage boy and girl, brother and sister probably, with earphones in their ears, staring straight ahead, a large middle-aged woman, head thrust back against the headrest, snoring, and way in the back, a twenty-something man with wire-rimmed glasses reading the newspaper.
Alex turned around and headed down the steps. “I’m sorry, Ruth, she’s not there.”
The older woman’s lower lip trembled. “I thought today… maybe today…”
Alex sat down next to Ruth. The Greyhound bus driver came out of the Stop-n-Go carrying a bottle of water and a bag of potato chips. She waited until he pulled away from the curb, heading for Pittsburgh, before she said, “Do you want to go now?”
Ruth shook her head. “No.” Her voice was small, fractured.
“Okay, I’ll just sit with you a while, if that’s okay with you.” How long had she been doing this, coming here waiting for her daughter to step off the Greyhound bus? How old was Justin? Almost eight. Had Ruth been coming here for eight years? Hadn’t anyone tried to help her? Norman? Nick?
Seconds passed, then minutes, then a half hour, then three quarters of an hour and still they sat, silent, waiting; for what Alex had no idea, but the thought of this poor woman alone on this splintered park bench was too pathetic for her to consider, so she didn’t, she just sat. Crazy thoughts rumbled through Alex’s head, images of a woman, shadowed and indistinct, waiting for her, calling her name, missing her. And a man, reaching, reaching, swinging her into his arms, holding her tight.
The screech of tires yanked her from her disturbing thoughts. A black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb and Norman Kraziak half fell out in his rush to get to them.
“Ruth! I was worried to death something happened to you.” His gaze flew over Alex, rested on his wife. “I just stopped home to get my glasses, and you were gone…”
“I thought she’d be here today.” It was the softest of whispers.
Norman ran both hands over his face, drew in a deep breath, touched his wife’s shoulder. “Come on, Ruth. It’s time to go home.”
Alex followed them in Ruth’s car, stayed while Norman placed his wife’s floppy white hat on the dresser and removed her shoes and gloves with the gentlest of care. Ruth Kraziak sat on the edge of the bed, half frozen, as though his ministrations were performed on someone else, not her. Alex watched as Norman eased his wife’s head back onto the pillow and pulled the cream comforter around her small body. He didn’t cry until they were downstairs, in the kitchen, drinking the iced tea Alex found in the fridge.
“I can’t… I can’t…” He buried his head in his hands. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
She stared at his shoulders heaving up and down, wanting to comfort him, to help, yet not knowing how. Such honest emotion had always been a stranger in her family, unwelcome, forbidden. It exposed too much, left open wounds, raw edges that couldn’t be covered with makeup or fancy words. Avoidance. That was the tactic.
“Has she been going there since…the accident?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Every July, the whole month if she can.” His voice cracked. “That’s the month… the month… it happened. Caroline sent her a letter and told her she’d be coming home on the Greyhound bus just as soon as the baby could travel. Nick couldn’t come.” He lifted his head and his eyes were red, swollen. “The bus only comes to Restalline on Wednesdays.”
“Norman”— she laid a hand on his forearm—“have you ever considered getting help for Ruth?”
“That’s all Nick used to say to me, ‘Get help, get help.’ How? How do you get a person help when they don’t want it?” He blew out a long breath, scratched his head. “He finally convinced her to take this pill that relaxes her, makes her less jump
y.”
“That’s good.” She hated the look on his face, tortured, helpless.
“I know I should make her go talk to somebody,” his voice was small, barely audible, “but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m afraid, Alex, afraid of what they’ll say. What if they took her away, put her in a home? I… I can’t let them do that to her.”
“What about you, Norman?”
”Me? I don’t care about me, just Ruth and Justin. And Nick, of course. He’s been like a son to me.”
“Did you ever think about getting out of here, taking her away, maybe to a place where every inch of space didn’t remind her of Caroline?”
“Hundreds of times. Even picked a spot in Arizona. Tempe.”
“Then why don’t you go? Take Ruth, start over. Try. She might still end up needing professional help, but at least you’d have tried.”
“It’s not that easy, Alex. I’ve got the businesses… I’ve got to do right by Justin…” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Who’d want to buy two businesses out in the middle of nowhere?”
She’d been so immersed in Norman’s grief, so torn by the sight of Ruth in her floppy white hat sitting on the bench waiting for a daughter who would never come, that she’d thought of nothing but helping the Kraziak’s ease their pain. When she’d suggested leaving Restalline, there’d been no ulterior motive, no subterfuge; she’d wanted only to help them in the truest sense of the word.
But now, Norman had confessed a deep longing to get away, somehow. Alex could help, she knew how, she had the power. It would all be so easy now.
But what of the rest of them? The town, the people, the Androvich family? They would hate her, all of them, when they found out, especially Nick. He would hate her most of all.