by Mary Campisi
“I know.” He turned the paperweight over in his hand, once, twice, three times.
“Then you should also know that somewhere along the way, I changed my mind about… about everything.” She toyed with her watch. “I’ve been doing this for seven years, Norman, and this is the first time the town got to me… the first time I really saw the people, their way of life…”
“And Nick.”
She swallowed, forced herself to keep her voice even. “And Nick.”
“I’m selling the companies, Alex. I spoke with your lawyer”—he set the paperweight on the desk, pushed it away—“he’s getting everything in order.”
“Norman, you can’t do this.” She leaned forward, gripped the edge of his desk. “Think of the town, it’ll be destroyed. If they get you to sell out, it’ll only be a matter of time before Androvich Lumber is forced out, too.”
“They?” He lifted a brow. “I thought you were ‘they’.”
Heat crawled up her neck. “I was, but not anymore. I quit.”
“I see.”
“Norman, please, I feel responsible, I’m the one who put the idea in your head. I gave them the information they needed to make you an offer.” She swallowed, held his gaze. “I told them if they offered you three times market value that you’d most likely take it, that you wanted to get out.”
“You told them the truth.”
“But I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have given them that power. I picked Restalline, I told them how wonderful it was here, the land, the trees, the lake. It was me,” Alex said, pointing at herself. “It’s on my head and… and I have to make it right.”
“For Nick?”
“For Nick, for Justin, for you, for everyone.”
“I like you, Alex,” he said, his thick fingers toying with the paperweight again. The golden rocker moved, back and forth, under his index finger. “And I’d like to help, but I’m tired. I was thinking that maybe if Ruth were in a different location, maybe in Arizona or somewhere, she’d do better.”
“She needs help, Norman. That’s the only way she’ll get better.”
He shrugged. “She takes her medicine and I take care of her. Maybe if we go where there aren’t so many memories…”
“And what about Justin? You’re just going to leave him?”
“He’s part of the reason I’m doing this. Don’t you see?” His eyes grew bright. “They’ve promised me three times market value and it’s all for Justin.”
“It’s only money, Norman, a child doesn’t understand that.” How well she knew. “He needs grandparents right now more than he needs money. And he needs to feel safe. He lost his mother when he was a baby, he shouldn’t have to lose his grandparents and his town, too. Do you really want to take away everything that’s familiar to him? Restalline is all Justin’s ever known. And what about you and Ruth? You’ll move away and just leave him?” Panic gripped her. She knew about being left behind. How could Norman even consider such a thing?
“Justin will adjust, children always do. And Ruth and I will visit and he can visit us, too.”
She shook her head. “He’ll never forgive you if you do this.”
“The lawyer promised to name the resort after Caroline.” A faint smile played over his lips. “What do you think of that? A town named after my baby girl.”
“Norman, listen to me. Caroline’s dead. You can’t bring her back no matter how much you stare at her portrait or how many promises they make you.” Her voice dipped, smoothed out to a low plea. “But Justin’s alive. The town is alive. Everyone needs you. Please, please reconsider.”
He looked at her, through her, his eyes glistening, his words earnest, reverent. “They told me they’ll rename the lake after her, too. Isn’t that wonderful, Alex? Sapphire Lake, the most beautiful body of water in the area is going to be renamed Lake Caroline… for the most beautiful woman in this world… and the next.”
***
There were no words to describe the despair clinging to Alex as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. She’d gone to Norman’s, spoken with her heart, tried to reason with him, and still, still he’d vowed to sell Restalline Millworks and NK Manufacturing.
So this was what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the firing squad, blindfolded and waiting for the first bullet. That was the only one that mattered. The spray of shrapnel that followed would be no more than an inconsequential barrage. It was the first bullet that set the mark, tore into the captive, made him realize there was no way out. That’s what Alex’s conversation with Norman had felt like—a bullet fired straight at her heart.
She’d thought she could convince him to change his mind, consider his grandson, his wife, his responsibility to his town. But Norman couldn’t see past Eric’s promise to name the resort and the lake after Caroline. Alex had tried to tell him that even if the resort carried his daughter’s name, it wouldn’t matter, guests wouldn’t know or care who Caroline was. The only people who cared aside from Norman and his family, were the people of Restalline. They would remember with fondness, with sympathy, with heavy hearts. But Norman hadn’t heard her words, none of them. He was selling his businesses and Caroline was getting a resort and a lake named after her.
Alex slipped the key in the lock, turned the knob. By tomorrow the whole town would know of her duplicity… they’d hate her, all of them… Justin, Stella, Gracie, Edna… They wouldn’t care that she’d tried to fix things, make them right. She’d failed. They would never forgive her for what she’d done, Alex doubted she’d ever forgive herself.
She couldn’t stay here but she had nowhere to go. Arlington wasn’t her home, not now, not anymore. Maybe she’d pack up her car and just start driving, look for another town… another Restalline…
She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she almost didn’t notice the light in the living room… or the circle of women sitting there.
“It’s about time.” Stella Androvich rose, walked toward her. “We thought you’d never get home.” Her words were soft, gentle, there was a faint smile on her weathered face.
Alex backed up, felt the hard edge of the stove digging into her back. In the other room she saw Gracie with Rudy Jr., sitting in the rocker, Edna on the pink couch, Tracy perched nearby. And Elise Pentani, on a stool in the corner. They were all staring at her, waiting. Why were they here? They didn’t know yet, did they? No, they couldn’t. If they did, they wouldn’t be here, Stella wouldn’t be smiling.
“I…” Alex didn’t know what to say, where to begin. I’ve betrayed you, all of you. Forgive me, forgive me.
Stella reached out, touched Alex’s arm. “It’s okay.”
Alex shook her head. “No, no it’s not.” It came out in a low tortured moan. “You… you don’t know…” her words fizzled, died.
“We do know,” Stella said, taking a step forward and holding out her arms. “We know everything.”
There was a second’s hesitation, then Alex crumbled into Stella’s arms, sobbing with grief and remorse. “I… I… sorry… so sorry.”
“Shhhhh.” Stella stroked her hair, held her close. “It’ll be okay.”
Alex didn’t know how long they stood there, with her clutching the woman who’d become like a mother to her, or exactly how they made it to the couch, or when Tracy stuffed a handful of Kleenex in her hand and smiled at her through wet eyes and said, “Hey, Alex.”
“We’ve heard some other versions of what’s happened,” Stella said, “but we’d like to hear yours.”
The whole story poured out then, beginning with Alex’s intrigue over the specs on a little town in Restalline, Pennsylvania, and ending with her meeting at Norman Kraziak’s house tonight.
“Damn it, Alex, why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were friends.” This from Gracie, who sat across the room, one foot pushing off on the rocker, her mouth stretched in a straight line.
“We were… we are,” Alex said. “But I couldn’t tell you. I… I didn’t understand it al
l myself, and once I did, I thought I could just go back to my uncle and tell him it wouldn’t work, that Restalline wouldn’t be a good location to build on.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I never dreamed he’d take on the project himself. I… I’m so sorry, Gracie.”
Gracie stared at her, said nothing. There was hurt in her eyes, hurt and betrayal.
“I wish you would’ve talked to us, but we probably wouldn’t have listened.” Edna Lubovich reached for her hand, squeezed it. “I know Chuck wouldn’t have.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Oh, no, not my Chuck. He would have called you ten kinds of a traitor, made you leave.”
“But you fell in love with the town, didn’t you, Alex?” Tracy sat beside her mother, sounding so much older than she had a few weeks ago. “And the people. The way you talked to me, like you really cared. That wasn’t fake, I know it wasn’t. I don’t care how or why you came to Restalline, what matters to me is that you came and you cared, cared about us.”
“You became one of us,” Stella said.
“And you fell in love with one of ours,” Gracie whispered.
“And he fell in love with you.” Elise Pentani spoke. She’d said nothing since Alex arrived, but now the power of her words filled the room.
“No,” Alex shook her head. “He… he doesn’t love me… he… can’t even look at me.”
“Time. Time heals all.” Stella put her arm around Alex, pulled her close. “You’ll see.”
***
In the whole town of Restalline, Michael Androvich was the last person Alex would have called on to help her. She’d only seen him a handful of times, only spoken with him once, when he’d come to Nick’s and found her in his bed and given her a warning that she’d better not hurt his brother. Well, she’d done that, and quite openly, not only hurt him, but in his eyes, made a fool of him, too. But Stella had insisted, as had the rest of the women last night, that Michael might just be the only person, as odd as it sounded, to get Nick to listen, get him to help Alex in her attempt to thwart her uncle.
After hours of talking, two pots of coffee and a pot of chamomile tea, they’d decided on a plan to “save” the town. It could be done, Stella insisted, with stick-to-it drive, prayer, and a little luck. Alex knew her uncle and Eric would launch an all-out campaign on the townspeople, try to win them over, force Nick and Androvich Lumber out. They’d plan a forum, call a town meeting, but if Nick were there, backing her, she could get the people to listen to the other side, make them see that fancy words and vague promises didn’t build dreams or raise families or foster goodwill in communities. Maybe she could make them understand what she had not—that small towns have an intangible value and it’s the people caring about, and for, one another that make the difference, instills the hope, creates the faith, builds the trust for the future.
But she needed Nick’s help. The people wouldn’t listen to her without his backing. And why should they? She’d lied to them once already, taken their trust and abused it. They would only expect her to do the same a second time. It was senseless to even try to approach Nick. He wouldn’t talk to her, wouldn’t trust her enough to help her even if it helped the town. Unless someone he did trust convinced him.
That someone was Michael. Stella insisted that for all of their differences, for all of Michael’s sullenness, his short temper, and escapades, and for all of Nick’s critical demeanor toward his younger brother, they were still close. Michael could make him listen.
Alex headed down the grassy path behind Michael’s house. There was a large shed a few hundred feet from the two-story log cabin. He was in there, she could tell by the loud humming sound coming from the shed that reminded her of some type of saw. No one had ever mentioned he had an interest in making or repairing anything. Her curiosity drove her to peek in the window of the shed, see what Michael Androvich did in his off-hours besides carouse around and drink beer.
He was bent over some type of machine, wearing goggles, his muscles bulging under a dark T-shirt as he steadied a long instrument against a block of wood that turned around on the machine. Alex watched, mesmerized, as the wood hollowed out in the middle and took the shape of a bowl. After a few more minutes, he cut the power and the bowl stopped spinning. He lifted it off of the machine, held it up.
“Nice. Very nice, Michael.” An old man with a long white-and-gray beard moved into Alex’s line of vision. He was shorter than Michael by two or three inches, solid, still well-muscled. When he turned his head, Alex bit the inside of her cheek. There was a scar slashing half of his face, a pocket of skin where his left eye should be, stretched and pulled to just below the left nostril.
Uncle Frank.
Michael turned his head, just a fraction; spotted her staring at them through the window. His expression turned mean, dark. “Get the hell out of here!” he yelled at her.
The older man, Uncle Frank, turned, looked at her with his good eye. Alex held his gaze, unable to look away.
“I’ll get rid of her,” Michael said.
Uncle Frank stopped him. “No. Bring her here.”
Alex turned away from the window, worked her way to the door.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hello, Michael, nice to see you, too.”
“Cut the bullshit. Why are you spying on us?”
“I wasn’t spying. I needed to talk to you.”
“Talk? To me? Haven’t you done enough damage in this town already? They should’ve booted you out of here last night.”
“I…” Why did he make her so uneasy? Maybe because he did nothing to hide his contempt for her. “I need your help.”
That made him laugh. “You need my help?” He laughed again, stopped abruptly. “I’ll give you my help, Alex Chamberlain, vice president of WEC Management. Leave town now and I won’t let them drag you out by your hair.”
“Michael.” It was Uncle Frank. “Forgive my nephew, Alexandra. He forgets his manners.”
Alex tried to focus on his good eye, a piercing brown-black, tried not to look at the jagged ugly flesh that stretched over the left half of his face. “You must be Uncle Frank.”
He smiled. “I am. Come.” He held out his hand, she took it and followed him into the shed. There were two chairs tucked in the corner of the room. “Sit.”
“She shouldn’t be here.” Michael followed them inside, his longish hair plastered to his neck and the sides of his face.
“It’s all right, Michael. I’ve been looking forward to meeting Alexandra.” He turned to her, patted her hand. “Stella has told me much about you. Thank you for coming to my birthday party.”
“You’re welcome,” she managed, wondering if he ever attended any of his parties.
“I understand”—he drew in a deep breath and stroked his beard—“that you are having a difficulty, a problem—”
“She’s a liar and she got caught.” It was Michael, staring at her, with eyes so like his brother’s… eyes filled with hate…
“This is true?”
Alex dropped her head, nodded. “I thought I was doing the right thing, just doing my job, what I’d been trained to do, but it was wrong, all wrong and when I tried to fix it,” her voice dipped to a whisper, “it was too late.”
“Hmm.”
“And my uncle”—she shrugged—“he wouldn’t let me fix it. He insisted we go through with it, but I couldn’t, so I left.”
“Left? What did you leave, Alexandra?”
His voice was so soft, his words so soothing, that her shoulders started to shake, the last remains of her resolve to crumble. “I left my job and… and my uncle. I left them both. He wouldn’t understand, didn’t want to… he only cared about… about getting this place. That’s all he’s ever cared about…the winning…not me. He’s never cared about me… not unless I brought him a prize… or became the prize.”
“Now what will you do?” Uncle Frank asked. “Where will you go?”
“I don’t know where I’ll go yet, but
I know I have to make things right before I leave.” She lifted her head, sought out Michael. “That’s why I came here, Michael. I need your help. I… I need you to talk to him.”
“You lied to the whole town.” He glared at her. “Why should anybody care about what you have to say? You’re a liar and you lied to my brother… probably about everything.”
He meant her relationship with Nick, her love for him…”No.” She shook her head. “Not everything.”
“Michael, listen to yourself. Think of what you are saying. Have we not lied to the whole town these past years? Have we not deceived our friends, even our family?”
“No, Uncle Frank. That’s different.”
“Is it?” The old man stroked his full beard, held his nephew’s gaze. “I don’t think so. We did what we thought was right, me to protect a tradition, and you, well, you to protect an old man’s pride.”
“But—”
“Did you know, Alex, that I once made bowls and boxes carved from the most beautiful wood in Pennsylvania? Cherry, oak, red maple. And did you know that men traveled from all over the country, trying to get me to sell my things, but I refused? Nothing was for sale. They could only be given as gifts.”
“I’ve seen your work. It’s magnificent.”
“And did you also know that since the accident that took half my face off, I have not been able to make one box or bowl?”
“Uncle Frank—”
“But Stella told me—”
“Yes, she did. Stella still believes I make all of these beautiful things. But I don’t. It’s all a lie, no different than yours, maybe worse.” He patted her hand. “Michael, he’s the one.”
“Michael?” She wouldn’t have thought him capable of creating a bowl made of Popsicle sticks let alone such fine wood.
“He makes the bowls, the boxes, I only observe. So, you see, a lie. Michael lets people think he runs around, acts like a hoodlum, when much of the time, he’s right here, in this shed with me, working.”
“But why?” This addressed to Michael.