Worse Than Being Alone

by Patricia M. Clark

  “Don’t be mean, Billy,” she said. “I’m just really excited.”

  “I’m not trying to be mean,” Billy said, laughing as he braked to a stop at the end of the road.

  Filtered sunshine through the huge oaks and maples cast light on different parts of the recently mowed lot. The September cool down had provided them with temperatures in the upper 70s. A wonderful day, Billy thought, as they climbed out of his red Accord. The architect’s empty silver SUV was parked nearby and they could see him near the end of the cliff overlooking the water. Billy decided not to waste any more time arguing today. Time to stop being negative and make this thing work.

  “What a perfect day,” Billy said as he took Marian’s hand and they began walking toward the architect.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Nestled in an area of the South City of St. Louis known as the Hill, restaurants named Gino’s, Fratelli’s, Zia’s, Cunetto’s etc. had been built in the middle of blocks upon blocks of unimpressive ‘50s rowhouses. These restaurants provided some of the best Italian food in the country. I always had a hard time picking any one place as my favorite so I had a list of 10 to 15 top candidates. I was on my way to Charlie Gitto’s, a favorite I hadn’t been to in a while, to meet a man.

  I once again had tapped into eLove.com in order to try to meet someone. If this experience was as bad as the last one, I would be finished with Internet based relationships. Paul Stone described himself as widowed, 43, and looking for friendship first. That seemed to be a frequent tag line for men when they described what they were looking for in any potential relationship. I guess that was meant to reassure the women who frequented the site.

  When I spotted the valet parking sign at Charlie Gitto’s, I decided to splurge and take advantage of the convenience. If our dinner went south, I could stay in the front while the valet retrieved my car instead of walking the dark streets with Paul Stone. It seemed like the most sensible thing to do.

  The valet handed me a ticket, grabbed my keys, and sped off down the street. I entered the dimly lit foyer and approached the hostess, who informed me Mr. Stone hadn’t arrived yet. There were several small seating areas so I headed for the closest one and took a seat.

  I had just settled in my seat when a tall man dressed in Dockers, a pale blue shirt, and a brown sport coat entered the restaurant. He talked to the hostess, who pointed at me. Paul Stone walked in my direction and I stood to greet him. He was tall and well built with blond hair and dark eyes. The lighting was too dim to make out much else. We shook hands and mumbled greetings as the hostess approached.

  “Right this way,” she said cheerfully as she led us through the noisy room to a booth in the back. It was the perfect place for quiet conversation. She gave us menus and walked away. Buried in my purse, my cell phone emitted the familiar jingle indicating a call, but I decided to ignore it.

  “Well, hi Paul, I’m Kitty. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too,” he said as a dazzling smile appeared on his face. In this light I could see his eyes were a dark chocolate color. He seemed like the nice outdoorsy type with pink cheeks and muscles gleaned from hard work rather than pumping iron at the gym.

  “This seems so awkward,” I said. “I guess there really isn’t any other way.”

  “No, I don’t think there is,” he said. “Meeting on neutral ground is the best way to start.”

  “I agree. At least you can tell if the other person has two heads or something like that. Have you met a lot of women through the site?”

  “About half a dozen,” he said as the waiter arrived, took drink orders, recited the specials, and left.

  “You said in your e-mails you’re a nurse,” he said.

  “That’s right, I worked in hospitals for the first 20 years. I don’t do hands on anymore. A friend and I started a private agency. We do case management and we also have a separate part of the business that involves investigating workers’ comp fraud.”

  “That sounds interesting,” he said. “Have you thought about investigating other things? You know, more of an all-around private investigation firm.”

  “Actually, we’ve been kind of kicking that around. I’m willing to expand our services, but I’m not really fond of the idea of doing any kind of divorce work.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to do that, either,” he said as the waiter arrived with drinks and took entrée orders. We ordered a Capresi salad and the Asiago cheese pasta special.

  “Do you eat here a lot?” he asked as we sipped our Merlot. I heard my cell phone again and continued to resist the urge to find out the identity of the caller.

  “Every couple of months. I love the Hill. There are so many good restaurants. So, Paul you said you were in land management?”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s just a fancy word for a farmer,” he said. “It really is a business though. I have over 2000 acres and 50 employees.”

  “In South County?”

  “I never said South County,” he said somewhat defensively. “I just said south. My farm is down around Perryville.”

  “Oh, OK.”

  “Look, I might as well tell you all of it,” he said as the waiter arrived with the salads and my freak detector started shouting warnings.

  “Thank you,” he said to the waiter, who departed immediately.

  “Look, you and I have a lot in common,” he said. “We read the same books. I think we like the same things. The truth is I lost my wife last year just like I said. The part I left out is that I have five kids. My oldest is 10 and my youngest is 2. I have baggage as they say. Not many women are interested in an instant family.”

  “Wow, you do have some baggage. Look Paul, this may surprise you but living on a farm in the boonies actually scares me more than the idea of five kids. I’m a city girl. At least I’ve figured that much out. I can’t do Little House on the Prairie again.”

  “The kids really don’t scare you?” he asked as the waiter picked up the empty salad plates, placed the steaming platters of pasta in front of us and retreated.

  “I’m one of 10 kids. I think big families are great. I didn’t marry the right guy, so it didn’t seem fair to bring a lot kids into a bad relationship. As I said in one of my e-mails, I have a son. What you really need is someone who loves the country.”

  “It’s easier said than done,” he said. “My wife and I both had degrees in Agriculture. We were a perfect match. I’ve tried to meet women down around where I live but I haven’t had any luck. That’s why I got on the Net. To broaden my horizons.”

  “Paul, you seem like a really nice guy, but I could never live down there. You need to be careful on the Internet. There are some really creepy people out there.”

  “I know,” he admitted. “I’ve run into a few. The last woman I met was into that Goth look. Black everything. Can you imagine how that would play at the VFW Hall in Perryville?”

  “Look, couldn’t we still be friends? Why don’t we keep e-mailing? Maybe you could bring your kids up some weekend and we could take them to the zoo or the Magic House.”

  “I’d like that,” he said. “It’s a shame you don’t like the country.”

  “I have this conversation with my best friend and her husband all the time. I’ll ask them if they know any single women. They live in Hillsboro.”

  I heard the musical tones of my cell phone for the third time. “I hope you don’t think I’m hopelessly rude, but I’m going to check my cell phone.”

  I pulled the phone out of my bag and slid the arrow across the screen. I could see that all three phone calls had been from Ethan.

  “What is it?” Paul asked.

  “It’s my son,” I said as I pressed the voicemail icon. I listened to the message and pressed delete.

  “Is everything OK?” Paul asked.

  “I’m not sure. He’s at the Sidecar Saloon and he sounds like he might be drunk.”

  “What did he say?” he asked.

  “Somethin
g about being up here and crashing at my place tonight. There was a lot of background noise. I think I need to go over there and make sure he’s OK.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?” he asked.

  “No, I’m sure it would be better if I went alone.”

  “Don’t even think about trying to pay half,” Paul said as I stood up and reached into my purse.

  Paul stood up and I hugged him, hoping we could be friends as I went out the front door and gave my ticket to the valet.

  Traffic was light as I drove to the popular bar in West County, thinking about Ethan and worrying he might follow in his father’s footsteps. I had to drive around the parking lot several times to find a spot. The bar was crowded with noise coming at me from every direction. Train paraphernalia literally covered the room and hung from every possible spot. Booths that looked like small versions of railroad cars lined the far walls. The tin ceiling amplified the music blaring from the speakers.

  I pressed forward, trying to spot Ethan in the throng. I felt like I was going in circles because it wasn’t until my second pass around the room that I saw him. He was sitting with a group in the very back of the bar, holding a glass of dark liquid and laughing with his friends. He seemed surprised and then smiled and waved when he spotted me. The others laughed at some inside joke I couldn’t hear as Ethan left the booth and came over to greet me.

  “Hey, Mom,” he said. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here. I came up on the spur of the moment and thought I’d spend the night with you.”

  I searched Ethan’s eyes for some sign of alcohol impairment, but all I could see were the same guileless azure eyes I had loved since he was born. But these eyes no longer belonged to a child. The person standing before me smiling at me was a man. When did that happen? Broad shouldered like his father, he had my eyes and smile. We had been so close when he was little, but by the time he was 16, he had no use for any of the adults in his life.

  “Oh, you thought I was drunk,” he said.

  “Is there somewhere a little quieter we could talk?”

  “Sure, there are some tables outside,” he said as he took my hand and led the way to a small enclosed patio outside the bar. We headed for an empty table and sat down.

  “I’m so sorry, Ethan,” I blurted out. “I did think you were drunk. I couldn’t hear your message very well and I jumped to the wrong conclusion. You know, standing in there watching you I realized you’re not my little boy anymore. You’re a man. I came because sometimes I get scared for you. I just wanted you to know that whatever happens I’ll be here for you this time.”

  “I was the designated driver on this day trip,” he said. “They decided to spend the night so that’s why I called you. I also wanted to talk to you about some things. Do you remember when you first came back from Alaska?”

  “Yeah, I remember. I could barely get you to talk to me. I didn’t really blame you.”

  “You told me you figured a lot of things out while you were up there,” he said. “Well, I was figuring some things out, too. All my life I blamed you for Dad’s drinking, as if somehow you weren’t a good enough wife, or if you had only done this or that, he would have stopped. I think that’s why I was so mean to you. When you left, I didn’t have anyone to blame anymore. I just knew I could fix him. I thought I was so smart. I thought I could make him stop drinking. I tried everything I could think of. I failed miserably.”

  “I love you, Ethan.”

  “I love you, too, Mom,” he said. “I guess I’m finally growing up. Maybe it’s some kind of cosmic joke, but I’ve come to the conclusion you’re leaving for a while was the best thing for both of us.”

  “Wow, I wish I could let myself off the hook that easily.”

  “Come on, Mom,” he said. “I wasn’t 3. I was 17 and I probably wouldn’t have gone with you anyway. I don’t blame you for leaving because after a year and a half of going it alone, I couldn’t wait to go away to college.”

  “I know. It’s so hard when you finally realize what a thankless and impossible task it is to try to keep your dad sober. It’s even harder not to blame yourself and feel guilty. Just realize that every day, James gets up and makes the same bad choice. He’s the only one who can change that.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Roni weaved through the early morning traffic on her way to the rehabilitation center where Brad Henry currently resided. Multiple positive reports from Brad’s doctors, nurses, and therapists led Roni to believe that Brad had totally embraced their rehab plan. Roni hoped that was true. She was on her way to see Brad about scheduling a time for a home visit to complete modifications that would be necessary after his discharge. Wider doorways to accommodate a wheelchair, chair lifts for second floor or lower level access, and roll in showers were often necessary after an injury like the one Brad had sustained.

  Part of the reason Brad’s rehab seemed to be going so well was the overwhelming support of his family. Families either seemed to be part of the solution or part of the problem. Roni thought about the Barton brothers and how their family had been torn apart by sibling rivalry and greed. Though Jay whined about his perception that he was treated differently, he didn’t deny Glenn’s accusations. He also didn’t try to pin all the blame on Marian.

  Roni could just imagine Marian’s version of the whole affair. She was certainly clever enough to make herself look like a victim. Roni wondered if anything she had learned so far was enough to take to Billy. No one from Marian’s past had offered a single positive comment about her, not even her own brother, but Billy was very loyal and hadn’t been married that long. Bringing up a lot of old baggage during the honeymoon phase might invite a backlash.

  Roni wondered what actions constituted a bridge too far in terms of a family. Jay seemed to believe he might be able to use a trick to get some dialogue started with his brother, Glenn. Given Jay’s level of dishonesty and chicanery, Roni wasn’t convinced Glenn would welcome the overture. Applying those principles to her own situation, Roni wondered if her father would view her investigation as intolerable interference or a forgivable lapse in judgment.

  Still, the need to finish what she started was Roni’s current mantra. Nothing she had learned so far screamed stop. On the contrary, all the information added to her suspicions. There were more relatives of dead husbands to interview as well as one lone survivor besides Billy. Roni couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say.

  The indoor pool was located on the lower level of the rehab facility. Roni pulled into a parking place and checked her watch. Brad should be just about finished with his pool therapy at this hour. A strong odor of chlorine assaulted Roni as she walked down the hallway toward the pool. The automatic door swished open and as usual, the pool deck was crowded. Brad Henry was already finished with therapy, sitting in a wheelchair and talking with David Weller and a physical therapist.

  “Well, if it isn’t our very own rehab Nazi,” David said as Brad laughed.

  “Don’t say that, David,” Brad said. “That would be insulting to Nazis.”

  “Go ahead and yuk it up you guys,” Roni said, pretending to be offended. “Be good or I’ll refer you to a new therapist I found who isn’t nearly as cute as Carla here. She looks a lot like Sister Jean, a nun I had in grade school. Same beefy physique, same hairy chin, and same disdain for slackers.”

  “I think I’ll bow out of this conversation,” Carla said. “How’s it going, Roni?”

  “Good, how are my boys doing?” she asked.

  “If I can get them to stop talking long enough to do their therapy,” Carla said. “They’re doing very well.”

  “You’re not supposed to rat us out,” David said.

  “I’m outta here,” Carla said as she laughed and walked away.

  “So, how’s it really going?” Roni asked, looking at David first and then at Brad.

  “Really, it’s going well,” Brad said. “Once I got past my anger that David was an asshole and you were never going
to give me a moments peace until I went to therapy, things just seemed to fall into place.”

  “Wow,” Roni said. “David, I think we’ve met our match.”

  “Yeah, but you’ll be rid of him eventually,” David said. “He’s going to be working for me, so I’ll still have to put up with him.”

  “Not if he keeps calling you an asshole,” Roni said.

  “Point taken,” Brad said. “When I saw how hard David works when he comes in, it kind of shamed me into getting with the program. Carla said I could come three days a week after I get discharged, too. I’m not going to lie to you. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I still go to sleep every night praying I’ll wake up in the morning the way I used to be. At least I’m starting to see that I’ll still have a life.”

  “Well, keep in mind everyone has good days and bad days,” Roni said. “You just have more lemons than most people. I checked on your wheelchair. It’s supposed to be here next week. I also wanted to schedule a home visit with you and Jennifer to do some home modifications.”

  “Maybe David could join us?” Brad asked.

  “Sure, he might have some ideas I hadn’t thought of,” Roni said.

  “I’d be glad to come,” David said. “Roni, why don’t you tell the insurance company I’ll do the modifications at cost. Then we’ll be sure they are done right.”

  “That sounds good,” Roni said. “Brad, why don’t you talk to Jennifer and get back to me about a time that works.”

  “Fine, she’s coming this afternoon,” Brad said. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Roni, can I talk to you about something for a minute?” David asked.

  “Sure, why don’t we go out in the hall?” Roni asked as she walked to and through the automatic door with David following.

  A cool breeze hit them as they reached the hall and closed the door leading to the pool.

  “Wow, it’s really kind of stifling in there,” Roni said.

  “Yeah, it is,” David said. “I was curious about what you’ve found out about your dad’s wife.”