“Of course. I told Rachel all about your mother and her dimple, and how everyone thinks ‘Celtic Warrior’ when they see her,” Jane laughed, “I mean, she gets that a lot, right?”
Rachel shushed them again and as she continued drawing, she remarked, “She’s very happy. She loves you for all that you’ve done for her. She’s so proud of you. She’s beaming.”
“That’s nice. What did I do that’s made her so happy, so I’ll be sure to follow through when the time comes.”
“You gave her her heart’s desire.”
“Grandchildren. It’s gotta be grandchildren. Good to know I have it in me,” Mark said, not for an instant believing that Rachel could see anything about his future. He glanced at Jane and smiled.
“I’m seeing another very different woman,” Rachel continued. “Young. Good Lord, she’s larger than life. Dark. Her hair is long and black, and her face is a ghastly white. She’s pointing at you, accusing you. She’s leaning over her stove, but she’s not cooking anything. Now she’s in the center of a beautiful room. People are watching her. We’re watching her. We can’t take our eyes off of her … ” Suddenly, Rachel gasped, “Look out!” and ducked her head.
Jane and Abby started and gave each other surprised looks — they’d never seen Rachel so involved in a reading before. With them, her readings were always sort of wishy washy and vague. This reading was more detailed and a little weird.
“What happened?” Mark asked.
“Sorry. Nothing, really. The dark-haired woman struck a fist, and when she opened her fist, a black bird flew out of it. It surprised me, that’s all,” Rachel said. “Like that Luis Bunuel film, where a guy opens his hand, and ants are crawling in it.”
Mark looked from Abby to Jane, an eyebrow cocked.
“The dark woman, looks kind of like Morticia from the Addam’s Family,” Rachel continued, “only not cuddly like Morticia. She’s angry and surreal. She’s mad at you, Mark. Victoria … or … Valencia … no … it’s Veronica.”
“Okay, then, let’s everybody calm down.” Mark jittered more to himself than the others. “Rachel, now you’re scaring me. You read about Veronica in the tabloids, yah?” he asked.
Rachel looked up at Mark as the darkness in her eyes lifted, and her pupils returned to normal. She looked at her drawing and folded the paper in half. “Sorry, Mark. Tabloids are Abby’s weakness.” Rachel shivered. “Veronica makes quite an impression.”
“No, it’s okay, I know she’s pissed. One thing’s for sure, you’re the real deal,” Mark said, shifting the conversation.
“Do you care to discuss Veronica troubles with us girls?” Abby cheerfully chimed in.
“Hmm, not this time, thanks,” he said, glancing at Jane.
Mark helped set the table, and they all chatted casually. Rachel herself became more cheerily animated than usual, as if she more than anyone wanted to put the psychic episode behind her. Jane brought the stew to the table. They all ate and drank liberally and were very congenial in their conversation.
Mark enjoyed Jane’s friends as if he were among the sisters of his girlfriend. He didn’t cast it in those words, but there was a definitely pleasant familial feeling and comfort in being accepted in their company. He hadn’t had much exposure to women as friends, just the odd wife of a business friend, like Phoebe. And he was surprised that he’d enjoyed himself so much. For the first time, he understood the power of female friendship freely offered, and he found himself really hoping that they liked him.
Chapter Fourteen
Jane saw Mark to the door and they said good night. He thanked her for dinner. After their passion on the trail ride, he seemed a little distant, withdrawn. Instead of a kiss, he gave her a brief, rather official hug and said that he’d call her. Jane, disillusioned so many times over the promised call from a man that never came, decided she would not hold her breath. She had just about made up her mind that she would give her all to building something with Mark, and he was suddenly remote. As she closed the door behind Mark, she sagged against it, momentarily drained. She went back to the kitchen and picked up the drawing Rachel had folded. In her hands, she held a drawing of a little girl, sleeping in tall grass.
“Rachel, what do make of this?” she was curious to know.
“You tell me, Jane,” she replied. “It was hard to get anything straight. I was inundated with feelings — starting by the way, with very strong make-out images. Oh, yah, I had no idea you were such a nature girl.” she said laughing.
“Aieee,” Jane cringed, “That’s mortifying.”
“Hey, girl’s gotta get her kicks somehow.” Rachel pointed to the picture she’d drawn, “It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but why? What does this mean?”
“It came from Mark — it’s a picture he had of you in his head,” Rachel proposed, and Abby agreed, “Why don’t you tell us how things went this afternoon, and maybe we can help you figure it out.”
“Well,” Jane began, “First of all, I really think I’ve misjudged Mark in my head. I’ve been assuming he just wants casual sex, and that he’s selfish and spoiled, and a chauvinist. (Jeez, I’ve got issues). But on the trail ride today, he was so incredibly nice. He was so real, you know? He was honest and forthcoming, like he really wanted me to know who he is. I felt so connected to him.” Jane shook her head and recounted all the things they’d talked about and how she’d shared with him a memory about when she was little and her brothers left her sleeping in a deer depression — just as in Rachel’s drawing — and that she’d told him about her father dying not long after that when she was ten, and how she didn’t want to make a big deal about it. And then she told them about their kissing (again) and how she wanted so badly to let caution fly, but was later relieved that she’d been prevented by Jack’s getting loose.
“Ach,” Jane exhaled, “but it’s not sex that bothers me — that I’m good with — well, as good as a formally catechized Catholic girl can be. It’s what happens after — the letdown. You know how when you dream and forget the dream, but during the day something happens or somebody says something, and suddenly the dream rushes back? The instant I saw the drawing, I remembered how when I was a kid, after my father died … oh, you can’t imagine how it felt. He was everything to me. I think I’ve always been so afraid to love that hard again. And now here’s Mark, and there’s me,” she gestured diffidently to the picture Rachel had drawn. “It’s scary to want someone that much.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, kiddo,” Abby consoled her, “I think sometimes men come along to show us what’s going on inside. In that sense, Mark is your knight in shiny bright armor. He’s bringing you this insight about yourself — right, Rachel?”
“Absolutely,” Rachel soothed. “You’re not that little girl anymore, sweetie. It’s time to start a new story of you. What do you tell your riding students when they’re afraid?”
“I tell them not to be, because they’re conquering their fear by being on the horse,” she said. “I’ve always had to be so strong. I had to swallow my feelings as a kid. My mother was on lockdown. I was a mess, she was a mess, the whole situation was a mess. There just wasn’t anywhere to turn.”
“There you go, Jane,” Abby consoled, “it’s time to let the old wound air out and heal. It’s like you fell off the horse, and you have to get back on. Or make your peace with who you are. Accept yourself and the limitations that only you impose.”
“I’m just so tired of being taken on a test drive, hired for a job on probation, tried out for the minors. I’m thirty-five years old. I ain’t gettin’ any younger,” Jane sighed. “It would just hurt so bad if I let myself love Mark only to find I’d made another howling mistake.”
“Whatever it is, sweetie, you’re already in it. Stop trying to control everything and give him a chance. Look, if he’s a jerk, you’ll live — you
know you will, you have before. And if he’s not a jerk, well, that’d be pretty cool, wouldn’t it? You know the river flows, you don’t have to push it,” Rachel advised.
Jane inhaled suddenly and sighed. “Just when I think I’m over all of my issues, the riverbed gets stirred up, and the waters are murky all over again.”
Jane had been staring off in the distance, when Rachel intruded, “What are you thinking, sweetie?”
“About my mother,” Jane sighed. “She loves me, I know that. But it isn’t a warm mother/daughter thing. I missed out on that. I’m pissed that she couldn’t do any more than she did, and I feel guilty because I couldn’t either. I adored my father, but the daddy/daughter thing died with him. When I first read Shakespeare, I was actually jealous of Hamlet — at least he got to chitchat with his father, even if he was a ghost.”
Jane thought of the Henry James story that Mark had remembered. Truly, it was a great mistake, the greatest of all, to avoid living for fear of pain.
• • •
After Mark left Jane’s, he was exhausted. It had been a long day out of doors that had begun with a hangover, and he was drained. He went to the library, checked email, and collapsed into the chair by the fireplace. Phillips was checking the downstairs before retiring, and Mark asked him if he’d have a drink with him.
As he handed Phillips a Scotch, he said, “Phillips, you’ve known me since I was a kid. You’re one of the few people in this world whose opinion really matters to me.”
“Oh well, you’ve always been a brat, Mark, if that helps,” Phillips laughed as he sipped his drink, “but,” knowing the quality of Mark’s Scotch, “a generous one.” And then seeing Mark’s serious expression, he said, “What’s going on? Why so serious?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that I feel as though I’ve lived so selfishly. I’ve never had to conquer anything. I’ve never had to struggle … I’ve never committed to anyone, not really.” Looking at Phillips, he said, “I envy you. Did you know that? You, Mary, and the kids. You’ve really got it all. I think I’m seeing that more clearly than I ever did before.”
Phillips tossed back his Scotch and set his glass down. He had envied Mark’s freedom, privileges, and entitlements often during the years he’d been in service with the Hannons. Oh, they were good people, to be sure, and Mark was almost like a little brother. “You’re a decent enough chap, Mark. You could have turned out a real prick, if you were selfish. But you’re not. You know that.”
Switching a gear, Mark asked, “What do you think of Jane?”
“Jane? She’s great. But you should be careful, Mark. No offense, but you’ve tended to trifle with women, and Mary will rip your heart out if you hurt Jane. They’re getting pretty tight.”
“Going carefully is the problem,” Mark sighed. “I want to go slow. But every time I’m with her, slow goes out the window.”
“Mary and I had the same problem,” Phillips laughed, “and look at us. Oh, sex is exciting, especially in the beginning. But, if you want to have something real, Mark, you’ve got to decide and then stick to that decision, no matter what. And when you do … when you have that kind of love … it makes a man out of you,” Phillips smiled and rose. “Okay, speaking of being a man, we’ve bonded enough. I need to get home to my wife.”
When Mark was alone again, he thought about what Phillips had said. Mark considered the last twenty years of his life and suddenly felt hollow. We are not stuck with what fate gives us. We make ourselves by choosing. He raised his glass in silent toast, “to Phillips” and coiffed it.
Chapter Fifteen
The entire county was abuzz with the Dragon’s Ball just a few days away. Hannon parties were always exceptional. The Hannon property was so vast that the “locals” consisted of several village centers in Oldwick, Tewkesbury, Peapack-Gladstone, Far Hills, Bedminster, and Bernardsville of all economic strata. The area of Bedminster in particular, where unimaginably wealthy people had lived for generations — the lockjaws, as they were known even among themselves, but especially to those who merely earned money — anticipated the event with particular eagerness.
Jane was just letting the two-year-old colts out after their training session, which consisted of round penning them and getting them to look at her, then reverse directions by turning in toward her. With each little training session, these colts had built up their ability to communicate with Jane and to accept her leadership. Mac had been showing her how to handle them properly. “It’s better to train them together at first. Then, cut one away and work him while they’re both in the pen. That’s the first stage in separating them from each other. Next week, you’ll work them one at a time, with the buddy tied outside the pen, and the week after, you’ll increase the distance more, until you finally have them weaned off each other. Do it slow like that, and they won’t get traumatized.” Mac knew how horses think, and his advice was indispensable.
She was just turning them out to the field when she saw Nora and Robert driving down the gravel road to the stable. She couldn’t have been more eager to see them than if they had been her own parents. Sometimes she secretly and guiltily pretended Nora and Robert were her parents.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hannon! How good to see you both again,” she said smiling radiantly.
“Robert, do you hear this insolent girl? Whatever happened to ‘Nora’ and ‘Robert’ and hugs all around?” Nora said, as she kissed Jane warmly and told her, “I’ve missed you, Jane, and this place,” she said, surveying the immediate grounds. “Is everything going well?”
“Yes, but what brings you back? I thought you were up to your eyeballs sorting out the new farm,” said Jane.
“The party of course!” Robert asserted. “We got the invitation to the Dragon’s Ball and wanted to get here just a bit early.”
“Robert, let’s find that son of ours and have him help with the bags. Phillips too. Oh, I’ve missed this place, Jane,” she chattered, linking arms with her. “There will never be another Hannon farm like this one. This was the first. Can you come to the house for lunch? Have you eaten?”
“I’m always hungry. The farm has me stoking at least 3,000 calories a day — I’d be a blimp if it wasn’t for the work!”
“Well, let’s go in and eat then. Phillips is expecting us — I called him last night. But I wanted to surprise Mark.”
As they entered the house, Jane commented, “You must have missed Mark — that’s the real reason you came back.”
Robert heartily rejoined, “Hell, no! We came back for the party. Nora can’t resist a costume ball,” and then demurred, “But I refuse to dress up.”
Nora flung Robert a glance and said, “Robert, we’ll find you some suitably masculine costume, don’t worry, dear.” And to Jane she said, “Of course we missed Mark, dear. Has he been behaving himself?”
Jane could not help but color and said awkwardly, “Perfectly, er, I hope you’ll like the decorations, Nora. Tonight we’ll light the place up — the decorators just finished yesterday. It’s like Halloween fairy land at night.”
“Oh, I can’t wait. Halloween and Christmas are my favorite holidays. By the way, Mark told us last week that he’d arranged for a psychic through your circle of friends. I’m looking forward to meeting her. Mark said she’s got just the right eerie quality.”
“Yes, she’s definitely got the gift, Nora. Did Mark tell you she had a vision of you? She has seen you brimming with happiness,” Jane was delighted to report.
“Well then. She must be good and completely authentic.” As they entered the house, Mark met them at the door, hugged his mother, shook hands with his father, and smiled warmly at Jane. Holding his mother at arm’s length he asked, “Has Jane filled you in on all the details about the party? She’s the idea person on this one, Mom.”
“So long as there’s plenty of food and drink, I daresay everyone wi
ll be happy,” Nora chimed in.
“Especially drink,” Robert added. “You cannot have a good party without free flowing wine.”
“Oh, Robert,” Nora scolded, “you’ll have Jane thinking we’re a bunch of alcoholics,” and linking arms with Jane, “by the way, I have a 64-year-old bottle of McAllan I’ve been saving, Jane — do you like Scotch?”
“Me? Scotch? I might be in danger of public singing and dancing, so I better limit myself to one,” Jane laughed.
“Oh, I don’t know, Jane,” Mark offered, “I think seeing you out of control would be very interesting.”
• • •
Robert had been wanting to replace the p-traps in their bathroom sinks for some time. And after lunch, he knew Nora would be busy making phone calls and catching up on her correspondence and decided it would be the perfect time. He didn’t have to fix p-traps or tinker with the car for that matter. But he liked fixing and tinkering and getting his hands dirty, even though Nora hated him to.
He spread his towel on the floor. He thought of using Nora’s as well for extra cushioning, but after more than forty years of marriage, he could hear the hoop and holler that would cause, “Oh Rob! Not my good organic cotton bath towels!” You’d think they were woven from unicorn fur, he mused. He said a quick prayer that God would bless Nora and keep her out of the bathroom until he was finished. He’d clean everything up and wash the towel himself. Nora would never know.
As he mused pleasantly about a job to do, Robert switched from being on his knees to sitting cross legged, reaching under the sink with the pipe wrench to loosen the collar bolts on the old p-trap. He’d do Nora’s first, since hers was running slowest. That’s what had signaled him to look at the p-traps in the first place. She’s got a mess a hair, he thought gratefully that his wife’s hair and looks had generally held up well, and a great figure still. Oh, she’s got a sag or two, but who doesn’t at our age? he thought, pulling the newspaper nearby so he could dump the trap onto it if he needed to. Robert assured Nora, who hated messes, that a professional plumber would make more of a mess than he would. For some reason, unaccountable to him, Nora could tolerate a stranger’s mess better than she could his. I’ll never understand Nora completely, he thought. Robert was determined to be as careful as he knew Nora would have liked had she been standing over his shoulder. And thank God, she ain’t.
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