Can't Forget Him

by West, Cara

  "Maybe someday—" Megan chose her words judiciously "— you'll be able to be open with the people who matter."

  "My children, you mean?" Betty gave a short laugh, but Megan caught a glimpse of pure dread.

  "They're probably more enlightened than you think," Megan said.

  "Not when it comes to their own mother. They don't really see me as a whole person, capable of having certain kinds of feelings. They don't understand that life with Ken drained those feelings out of me."

  "I don't think they have the faintest idea who you are."

  Betty smiled wistfully. "Children often don't." Her tone sharpened. "I'm sure that's true of Nate. Sandra believes he blames her for the divorce. She feels guilty about it."

  When Megan didn't respond, Betty went on fiercely. "I wish he could understand her the way I've come to."

  So, mild-mannered Betty had a combative side. Megan was interested to note that Betty was as protective of Sandra as Sandra was of her.

  ''You're seeing Nate, aren't you?" Betty studied Megan speculatively. "You're more than friends."

  "Yes." Megan wondered what she was leading to.

  "Do you think... ? If he knew... how would he feel—?"

  "I have no idea." Megan spoke honestly. "But I've told him about the artist I've discovered, and he wants to see your work. I'll bring him to Sandra's house, if she'll invite us."

  "Oh, my." Consternation crossed Betty's features.

  "Don't panic. I thought you wanted to bring them together."

  "Yes, I guess I do. But does it have to be around my paintings?"

  "I promise Nate will make a sympathetic audience."

  For the first time since Megan had met her, Betty grinned ironically. "Yes, but does he have any talent for judging art?"

  Megan chuckled. "Outside of instinctive good taste, not that I can tell. He just knows what he likes."

  "You, I imagine."

  "Sometimes I wonder."

  When Betty looked intrigued by that, Megan waved a disclaiming hand.

  "Don't mind me. I'm just frustrated. The man is acting like a perfect gentleman."

  Something about the way she said it made Betty laugh wholeheartedly.

  With another person, Megan might have taken offense, but she found Betty's display of spontaneity delightful. For the first time she saw Betty as beautiful, despite the baggy clothes and lack of makeup.

  "No wonder you're upset," Betty managed when her laughter wound down to a chuckle. "If his photos are any indication, he gives Redford a run for his money."

  "Oh, yes," Megan sighed. "He's that good-looking."

  "I'd like to paint him." Betty stared into space. "There's a complex ambivalence beneath the mask of beauty. I'd like to get through the guard to what's underneath. He's like Sandra in that respect, don't you think?''

  Megan stared at Betty with renewed wonder. "You can tell all this just from his pictures?"

  Betty looked at her oddly. "Yes. Can't you see it?"

  "Everyone tells him he's just like his father. You're the first person to see a resemblance to Sandra."

  "I met Warren Kittridge once." Betty pondered the memory. "I guess he's like Nate, at least superficially. But I suspect Warren's much more comfortable with his charm."

  Megan could only shake her head in bemusement. "You're probably right. One of these days I wish you would paint Nate."

  "Only if you'll accept the portrait as a present." An impish expression appeared on Betty's face. "And if you'll let me paint you, as well."

  "Oh, no," Megan cried, jumping up from her chair. "You see too much. I'd be scared of what you'd uncover."

  Betty rose and cupped Megan's face with both hands, studying it intently.

  Megan could almost feel the artist taking over, and she silently submitted to the examination.

  After a while Betty smiled and patted her cheek, almost as if she were Megan's own mother. "There's no need for you to be frightened. You're impetuous, I'll grant, and it could get you in trouble. There's also a touch of arrogance, but that's part of your youth."

  "Is that all you see?" Megan asked, swallowing hard.

  "Oh, no, my dear, that's the very least of you. You're filled with beauty. Beauty and desire and fortitude and love."

  THEY TOOK one final tour of the first two floors, discussing which paintings might be grouped together and which would look the best in each of the seven public spaces.

  Shortly afterward, they left for Sandra's house. At first Megan didn't notice the other traffic, but when a truck driven by a man kept appearing in her rearview mirror, she began to grow alarmed.

  She turned a corner. The truck followed. At the very next intersection she turned again, and again she was tailed.

  Pulling up in a convenience-store parking lot, she watched the man drive slowly by. Megan's heart began to race as she wiped damp palms on her jeans.

  "What's wrong?" Betty glanced over at her curiously.

  "Do you know a dark-haired man with a navy blue truck?"

  "Oh, no." Betty turned to peer out the back window, her breathing suddenly labored.

  "Who is it? Do you know?"

  "Ken. I've noticed him following me when I go to the grocery store. I've even caught glimpses of him when I take a bus or a taxi. He seems to want to know everywhere I go."

  Megan caught another glimpse of the driver. "There he is again. He must have turned around down the street."

  "Yes, it is him." Betty swung back around, her expression haunted. "He's also been sending me letters. He doesn't sign his name, but I know who they're from."

  "How horrible for you. Have you and Sandra—?"

  "I don't want Sandra to know," Betty cut in vehemently.

  "But she has to."

  Betty shook her head in denial.

  "Betty, I want us to go inside and call the police."

  "No! No, you can't." Betty caught Megan's arm as she went to open the car door.

  Megan was insistent. "The police should know. They can do something to stop him. Trailing you around like this is stalking."

  "You don't understand. He's threatened to tell the children if I make any trouble. Please, believe me, we can't involve the police." Betty was near tears.

  "Okay, okay." Megan let go of the door handle reluctantly. "We won't call them just yet. But we have to tell Sandra. If she's not home when we get there, we'll call her."

  "She's already done so much for me, Megan. I hate for her to have to deal with this ugliness. As soon as the divorce is final, I know he'll leave me alone."

  "You can't be sure of that."

  Betty's expression remained adamant.

  "And I don't believe Sandra would want you to go through this alone," Megan pointed out.

  "Ken hasn't actually threatened to hurt me—except when I first left."

  "What did he say then?"

  "Oh, the usual things. Wild things we both knew he couldn't back up. That I'd end up on the street without him to support me. That I didn't know how to take care of myself. That I'd come crawling back. That I'd never get away from him."

  "Is this what the letters say?"

  "Not exactly. They talk about Sandra and me. He's started calling her names. I didn't want her to see the filth..." Betty's voice cracked and words seemed to fail her. Her body crumbled as she huddled in the passenger seat.

  Cursing the man who would use such tactics, Megan backed her car into the street and drove as fast as she could to Sandra's.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Sandra's car in the drive. Pulling up behind it, she bundled Betty into the house.

  "What's the matter? What's wrong?" Sandra asked as soon as she saw them. Taking Betty by the shoulders, she led her to the couch.

  "Betty," Megan said, "do you feel like talking, or do you want me to explain?"

  "Explain what?" Sandra asked.

  When it looked as if Betty might need another minute, Megan began the explanation. "Ken followed us when we left the g
allery. Apparently this isn't the first time he's done so."

  She went to the window and peered out from behind the curtain. The navy blue truck was back again, parked across the street. "Damn! He must have decided this was where we were headed. I still think we should call the police."

  "No," Betty cried, reaching for Sandra.

  "Don't worry," Sandra squeezed Betty's hand reassuringly. "We're not calling anyone." Standing behind the couch, Sandra's gaze met Megan's.

  "This is nothing new," Sandra explained grimly. "He's been following both of us for close to a month."

  Betty gasped and stared up at her housemate. "He has? I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I didn't want to worry you unnecessarily." Sandra came around the couch and sat beside Betty. "Are the letters you've been getting from him?"

  Betty nodded mutely.

  "What does he say in them?"

  Bowing her head, Betty stared at her lap.

  "You don't have to tell me. I can guess. He's been writing letters to me at my office. And about a month ago, he came to my office in person."

  Now Betty stared at her friend. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I didn't want to cause you any more pain."

  "Why did he come?"

  Sandra's lips tightened mutinously.

  "What did he say? You must tell me."

  After a long moment, Sandra's shoulders slumped in defeat. "He wanted me to turn you out of my house. He swore you'd concocted the stories about him. First he tried to make you sound crazy. Then he thought he could bribe me by sending business my way."

  Betty put shaking fingers to her lips.

  Her anguish seemed to trigger Sandra's. "I couldn't stand to hear him lie about you. I'm afraid I said some things I regret. Not because they weren't true, but because they... they were too revealing. That day he accused me of wrecking his home. In his letters he's said much worse."

  "Oh, Sandra, this is the last thing I wanted. It's not fair that Ken is harassing you. I should move out now. Today."

  "I won't let you," Sandra vowed. "You'd just be doing what he wants, don't you see?"

  "Sandra's right." Megan came forward, feeling this was her cue to reenter the discussion.

  For the first time, Sandra seemed to realize how much she'd revealed.

  She stared at Megan with an expression that was half defiant, half apologetic.

  "Betty and I... talked..." Megan began haltingly.

  "It's okay. She knows." Betty took hold of Sandra's arm.

  "And I don't believe either of you should allow Ken to intimidate you," Megan said. "I think you both ought to talk to Betty's lawyer."

  "We mustn't do anything to provoke Ken," Betty said. "Because, you see, it's the escalation that worries me. If he's following us during the daytime, that means he's not working. Maybe he was fired. He'd blame me for that."

  "But he can't continue to hassle you without paying a price. The new stalking laws might cover what's happening. I think you should turn all the letters over to the police, or at least to your lawyer to see what he thinks can be done about them."

  "But my lawyer doesn't know..."

  "Anything you tell him is privileged information."

  "But don't you see," Betty said, "we're just not ready..."

  Sandra hugged her briefly before turning to Megan. "I've been ignoring Ken Willard. We will go on ignoring him until the divorce is final. I feel that's the best way to handle the situation."

  Megan shook her head, unwilling to agree. "Don't you see, Sandra, he considers Betty his property. He won't lose her without putting up a fight. The closer the divorce comes the more he'll harass you. When's the court date?"

  "In two more weeks," Betty said. "I haven't asked for a thing. He can have the property and money. All I want is out."

  "And all he wants is to keep you." Megan caught Sandra's eye and spoke directly to her. "He feels you're the one who's taken her away. I don't have to read any letters to figure that out."

  Sandra's expression closed, reminding Megan of the old days. "This is our problem," she said stiffly. "We'll manage. There's no reason to drag you into it."

  Megan realized there was nothing more to say. She turned to go, but Betty called her back.

  "Megan, tell her what else we talked about. I want her to hear it from you."

  "You mean about your work?"

  "Yes."

  Megan explained her plans for the opening.

  The obstinance on Sandra's face was replaced by trepidation. "Are you sure this is for the best?"

  "How do you mean?"

  "Well ... Ken and all." Sandra shrugged.

  Megan sat across from the two women.

  "That's one of the reasons I said what I did earlier. If you let a man like Ken bully you, he won't ever stop. You're not going to let him destroy Betty's future, are you?"

  "Never," Sandra said, her hands balling into fists.

  "Then I'm involved, too. Together we must be sure that doesn't happen."

  "Agreed." Sandra bit out the single word.

  "The opening is scheduled after the divorce is final," Megan said. "One important thing is that Ken have no claim on Betty's paintings."

  Betty grimaced. "He's never liked any of my canvases."

  "Good. Tomorrow, you must get hold of your lawyer. In return for not accepting any money or property, the divorce decree must stipulate that your paintings are your own."

  "We can certainly take care of that." Sandra got to her feet, almost as if she wanted to handle it immediately.

  Megan turned to Betty. "And for the time being, no one must know I'm showing you."

  "You mean my children, don't you?"

  "Yes," Megan said.

  "But what about Nate?" Betty asked.

  "What about Nate?" Sandra queried, appearing lost at the shift of subject.

  "He can be trusted," Megan assured Betty.

  "Well, of course he can be." Sandra's indignation overcame her puzzlement.

  Megan and Betty shared a grin, and Megan slipped in her request. "I want him to meet Betty and see her paintings. I've told him how talented she is. So, may I bring him over sometime soon?"

  Sandra took a step back. "Are you sure that's wise?" She suddenly seemed more vulnerable than Megan had ever seen her.

  "I'm positive he'll be a sympathetic audience," Megan said.

  "It... it has been a while since he's been to the house." Sandra stared out the window before straightening her shoulders.

  "You must come for dinner sometime," she said to Megan with a touch of bravado. "I'm not much of a cook, but I can always call a caterer."

  Betty stood and stepped in front of Sandra, winking. "She's no cook at all. But my stroganoff is great."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MEGAN KNEW it couldn't be put off any longer. Leaving her suitcases by the door, she went into the family room where her father was reclining in his usual lounger. A Cowboys' football game flickered on the TV screen, but Andrew didn't seem to be registering the action.

  He did notice her entrance and mustered a smile.

  "What?" Megan joked. "No cheers for Dallas? No scurrilous remarks about the referees' lineage?"

  Andrew shrugged. "This game hasn't been very interesting."

  "I didn't think that mattered."

  Nothing mattered any more...

  The thought echoed in her head and spurred her to action. "Dad, I'm moving out today."

  That got his attention. He sat up and braced himself. "What? Without warning us?"

  "I know it's sudden, but you did know I'd be going as soon as the other place was ready. I couldn't tell you earlier because I wasn't sure when that would be. Besides, I knew you'd be unhappy and try to dissuade me."

  "Yes, but still—"

  "I really think it's for the best."

  "Have you told your mother?"

  Megan shook her head. "I wanted to speak to you first. I—I needed to explain to you one of the reasons I'm leavi
ng." She paused and took a deep breath, gathering her courage. What had to be said she had to say now. "Dad, I don't think I can stay here and watch you wait around to die."

  Andrew gasped and his face reddened.

  Megan had the feeling he wasn't sure how to respond. She caught a flash of hostility, but also a hint of shame.

  At last he asked austerely, "Is that all you have to say tome?"

  "Oh, Dad, please try to understand. I'm not judging you." Overcome by her temerity, Megan crouched down at his feet, put her head in his lap and grasped his hands tightly the way she used to when she was a little girl. "You have every right to be angry. I know I'm butting in where I'm not wanted. But, Dad, please, hear what I'm saying. Death shouldn't be so frightening that you die of fright."

  She could feel her words slam into his body.

  "I know that you mourn the loss of the man you were," she said. "That you're angry with yourself and wonder if you can be of use to anybody."

  Andrew loosened her grip to take hold of her chin, raising her face so he could see it. "How do you know all that?" he asked intently.

  "Well, I know what it feels like to almost die," she said. "We share that at least."

  "We share much more, daughter." His austerity had melted, and love for her was written on his face. "I'm not angry with you. I know you care."

  "We all care," she cried. "Surely you believe that."

  "I do. That's why I hate being a burden."

  "You'll only be a burden if you give up hope."

  "It... it's not the dying so much," he explained haltingly. "It's living with uncertainty. There's nothing like a heart attack to remind you of your body's unreliability." He accompanied his observation with a rueful smile.

  "Don't you realize by now that security is a snare and a delusion?"

  "Is that what the ferry accident taught you?"

  "The memory is always with me. It helps me to be grateful for every single day. You could have died on the operating table. You were given another chance."

  "What if I die tomorrow?"

  "I'd say don't squander today."

  "Ah, Megan, how did you get so wise so fast?"