“Could you come here, please?”
He walked into her room and stopped. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her robe half-pulled around her. Her face was pale and her coppery hair uncombed, tumbling around her drawn face. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her less than perfectly groomed. He couldn’t speak.
She looked at him, her wide blue eyes sunken and sad. “Ken, have you seen Richard?”
He shook his head. “No, not since he left rehab.” He anticipated her next question. “I don’t know where he’s living.”
“Oh.” She seemed to shrivel, and a surge of pity washed over him.
“I guess I could find out. Pete Randall must know where he lives.”
She straightened and smiled a little, some hope and color returning to her face. “Would you, Ken? I mean, if you see Pete?”
“Of course.”
She straightened, pushed her hair back, and smiled at him. “Will you get my chair for me?”
“Sure.” He pushed the chair to her bedside and held it while she maneuvered herself into it. “Let me help you.”
“No, thanks, but I have to do it myself.”
“I know, but you seem tired this morning.”
“I’ll be fine.” She straightened her robe around her. “Wait just a minute for me, will you?”
He stood still, waiting while she went into her dressing room, looking unseeing at the bed, at his father’s equally disturbed one across the room. He had forgotten about Pete Randall, didn’t know why he had thought of him now. I could look him up. I have nothing against Rich, really.”
When Jewel came back into the bedroom her hair was arranged as usual, her face lightly made up, and she looked bright and cheerful again. He smiled at the transformation. “Let’s go to breakfast.”
She put her hand lightly on his arm. “Ken, if you do see him . . .”
He wondered if she meant Pete or Rich. “Sure.”
Her smile warmed him and he pushed her through the living room thinking, I wish somebody cared for me like that.
Jim came in behind them. “Abducting my best girl? Up early aren’t you, Jewel?”
“It’s such a beautiful morning, Jim, I shanghaied Ken as he came down stairs.”
Jim put his hand on Ken’s arm. “I have a special job for you. I got a call from Ned Burroughs last night and I want you to go to Plymouth today.”
“Okay. Big deal?”
“Could be. Come on. Vi’s all ready and waiting breakfast.”
~ ~ ~
Later, when he was headed north on I-93, Ken thought about Rich again, admitting to himself that he missed him. They had been friends, better friends perhaps than if they had been brothers. They understood each other and Ken knew the causes of Rich’s frustrations, why he had not come back. Sometimes he wished he had Rich’s courage. He had never been able to stand up to his father and voice an opinion that was different from his. Rich had never had that problem, although he had always tended to be respectful about it.
Ken remembered the day he had met Rich. Jim told him he was going to marry Jewel Summers and he had been horrified. Vi was all the mother he needed, but he hadn’t dared say so. He had met Rich prepared to hate him. He recalled his stepbrother as a skinny boy with light brown hair that fell curling over his forehead. He had looked Ken up and down several times and said loudly, “So, you’re Kendall Weston.”
“That’s right. And who are you?”
“Richard Phillip Summers, that’s who. We’re coming here to live pretty soon.”
“Well, I’m thrilled.”
“You’d better be.”
“Come on. I’ll show you around.”
It had been very important to Ken to impress Rich, but Rich was not visibly or vocally impressed with the big house. He laughed at the antiques, Jim’s pride and joy, derided the huge fireplace as a “barbecue pit,” called the spacious rooms “closets.” They finally came to the backyard where there was a small building Ken had laboriously constructed several years before. Ken had said magnanimously, “You can have this. I built it when I was a kid.”
Rich had looked at it scornfully. “Hah. I wouldn’t own a dump like that.”
“Dump!” He grabbed Rich’s shirt and shook him. “Take that back!”
“I won’t and you’d better let go of me.”
“Why should I?”
“You’ll be sorry.”
“And what do you think you can do about it, little boy?”
Ken was not used to fighting, but Rich apparently was. Ken couldn’t hold his own and went down under the smaller boy’s pounding. Rich asked, “Give up?”
“Never!”
Ken’s nose was bleeding and they were both covered with dirt. Rich had him down again. “Say uncle.”
“No.” He got a better grip on Rich’s arms, pushed him off onto the ground, and sat astride him. “Now you say uncle.”
“You can’t make me.”
“Yes, I can.”
Ken was too heavy for Rich to dislodge. “Admit our house is better than yours and I’m better than you are.”
“No.”
Jim had come then, angrier than Ken had ever seen him. He couldn’t speak then and sent Ken to his room. When he’d demanded an explanation, Ken didn’t have one.
“At your age, I’d expect you to treat company better than that.”
Ken was tongue-tied when he was yelled at, and said nothing.
“Stay in the house until I tell you can go out,” Jim said.
It was three days before Ken found courage enough to go to him and say he was sorry.
“I’m not the one you need to tell that to.”
“I mean I’m sorry I made you mad, not what I did to Richard.” He had hurried on, “Did you ever think he might have started it? I didn’t want to fight with him.”
“That doesn’t make any difference.”
“Why? Why does it have to be my fault? Can’t I be right just once?”
And therein, Ken reflected, is Rich’s problem. He was apparently used to being right and, like Jim, had the courage of his convictions. But, he knew now, at that first meeting, Rich had been as scared as he was. He hadn’t wanted to change families, either.
I wonder if he’s scared now, doesn’t know what he’ll do, who he can ask. He certainly won’t come to us. Dad saw to that.
But now, he reminded himself, I have a job to do for him, a deal to close for the Weston Construction Company, and is there really anything else I would rather be doing?
He knew there wasn’t. He had the place in the company he had earned. He knew, in spite of a twinge of envy at Rich’s freedoms, I am Jim Weston’s son, vice-president of a thriving and growing company, and it’s not a bad place to be, and not a bad life.
Except for Wendy.
10.
Rich called Pete Randall on a Thursday night in the middle of June. He had debated a long time and finally given in to his need. If he hadn’t seen Pete, he might have been able to forget, to move on. But old friends are the best friends and sometimes Tex’s eternal good nature was a dreadful bore.
Pete sounded genuinely pleased to hear from him. “A party?” he repeated. “When and where?”
“Not a real party. Just you and Julie, and Gina, and I need a girl for my roommate Tex, Terence Dana. He was my roommate in rehab. Maybe you met him there.”
“Don’t think so.”
“Ask your sister Susan maybe?”
“I can ask her. She doesn’t have a steady at the moment. At your place?”
“Yeah. I know it’s small, but it’s too quiet around here sometimes and I’d like to liven it up a little.”
Pete hesitated a moment. “How’ve been, Rich? I mean, your leg and
all?
“I can get around.” He recognized genuine concern in Pete’s hesitant voice. Memories of other, better days, were choking him. “And you?”
“Same as always.”
The unmentionable subject was hanging between them and Rich made himself ask, “And how’s the team this year?”
He could feel Pete’s relief through the phone. “Pretty good. We could use a good catcher.”
“Thanks. Really though?”
“We’re holding our own. Not many teams left for us to play around here and we’re looking for a new league.” He hesitated another minute. “We could use a good catching coach, Rich.”
“I couldn’t. Not yet. It’s too soon.” It will never be long enough. I can’t go back.
“I know, but I thought I’d ask, let you know we’d like you back in any capacity. Saturday night at eight?”
Rich brought his mind back to the party. “Yeah. And you’ll ask Susie?”
“I’ll see you then. And I’ll bring another girl if Sue can’t came. Julie has lots of friends.”
“Thanks.” He put the receiver down. There was nothing to do now but go to bed. Tex was goodness-knows-where and Gina was working. Damn that second shift.
Rich lay in his bed, a trying to ignore the dull ache in his knee, unable to fall asleep, and thought about Pete and Julie Harris, the sensible practical girl that Pete was going to marry someday. It had been “someday” for several years, but she didn’t seem to be worried, or in any hurry. She had long ago accepted Pete for what he was and believed in the “someday.” She was quiet, pleasant, and would not add any great excitement to the party, but she would not be a wet blanket, either. And I do want to see Pete.
~ ~ ~
Gina was skeptical about the whole affair. “These friends of yours? I don’t know them.”
“Pete Randall is my best friend, the man I played ball with, ever since high school. Julie Harris is his fiancée, has been for quite a while. She’s a nice girl. Susan is Pete’s younger sister. I’ve known her a long time.”
“How well?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean you’re looking for another girl and this party is just an excuse.”
“Gina, please.”
“Isn’t that right?”
Rich knew she was right, but did not intend to admit it. Susan Randall, as nice as she might be, was certainly not what he wanted. “Which brings up another question, you and Tex.”
“Me and Tex?” Her protest did not sound genuine.
“Yes, you and Tex. I have eyes, you know.”
“You must have been wearing blinders on them.” She didn’t look directly at him.
“I’m not blind, Gina. I know you’re bored with me and what I can’t do. Tex is a live wire like you. It was inevitable.”
She glared at him. “If that’s the way you feel . . .”
“That’s not the way I feel, Gina. It’s just the way things are. I’ll never be any different.”
She raised her eyebrows. “This should be quite a party. I want to get a good look at this Susan Randall of yours.”
“She isn’t mine.”
“So you said, but Tex doesn’t know her, either.”
“And how would you know that?”
She ignored the question. “Yes, sir, Dickie, this should be real interesting.”
“Come on, Gina.”
She perched on the arm of his chair. “Sure. We’ll call a truce—until Saturday.”
He put his hand on her knee. “You can be aggravating, but I like you.”
“I like you, too. Shall I get you a beer?”
He knew he was drinking way too much beer, but it served a need. And he had a lot of unmet needs. “Sure, why not?”
She brought the opened bottle and handed it to him. “Maybe that will improve your mood.”
He didn’t reply.
11.
On Friday night, the seventeenth of June, Jim Weston quit work early. He told Ken to see that everything was taken care of for the night and went home. He was tired, and it wasn’t just the long, drawn-out bickering with Ned Burroughs. Ken had taken care of all of the preliminary work and all Jim had to do was go up to Plymouth tomorrow and sign the papers, have a couple of drinks with Burroughs and come home.
No, Ken was capable enough, a big help in this project, no problem there. The trouble right now was Jewel. Jewel and Rich. Damn that boy! Why couldn’t he have just come home? Why didn’t he think of his mother?
The trouble with Rich was that he was so damnably like Phil. Jewel knew it and encouraged it. Phil was a devil-may-care, go-and-be-damned sort of man, and so was Rich. No one is right but him. And that plant he sent her! He was glad, for Jewel’s sake that he had, but now she was definitely in Rich’s corner, rooting for him all the way.
Someday he’ll be back. He has to. A boy just can’t make it in his condition. I’ll wait until then, and then . . . He didn’t know exactly what he would say to him then. He had thought of several things but none of them were just right. A lot depends on circumstances, of course, and Jewel.
It was because of her that he had quit work early today. He didn’t like to be gone overnight, even with Ken around to look after things. He had tried to talk Burroughs into meeting at a different time, but the client is always right, and Jim really wanted this contract. Jewel would understand, wouldn’t complain, would know that he wouldn’t drive home after having several drinks at goodness knows what hour.
And Burroughs had insisted on his coming, not Ken.
“He’s a good man,” Burroughs had said, “a real credit to you and the company, but I’ve got too much tied up in this to talk to the second banana. I want to meet the man responsible. Come on up on Saturday, look over the lodge we’ve got, bring the wife, too.”
Jewel, of course, would not go. She didn’t like to be out in public, had not yet adjusted to the pitying glances, and she preferred to stay completely away from his work, anyway. He had agreed to go on Saturday afternoon, which meant he wouldn’t be home until Sunday morning. And I’ll spend tonight with her, doing something special.
He found Jewel in the dining room arranging flowers for the dinner table. She was pale, and thin, so very thin. She’s suffered so much and now she must suffer in spirit as well as well as body. It’s too much for her.
She smiled brightly at him “You’re home early, aren’t you? Something wrong?”
“Just couldn’t wait any longer to see your lovely face.” He bent and kissed her. “How are you?”
“Flattered. But really?”
“I’m tired and Burroughs insists that I come up tomorrow. You know I don’t like to leave you at night.”
“You worry too much. Ken’s here, and Vi, and Archie isn’t any trouble.”
“I know.” He spun a chair around and sat beside her. “I worry about you.”
She smiled at him and closed her slim fingers around his big hand. “I’m grateful too, Jim. Tell me about this deal. Is it a big one? Something special?”
“It sure is. He’s going to build a new motor lodge, as he calls it. High Meadow, up in the Notches.”
“The White Mountains? What does that have to do with you? You don’t operate that far north or build motels.” She grinned impishly at him. “Or have you started a new business?”
He shook his head, smiling at her light mood. “It’s the latest thing, way back out of sight of the Interstate. He wants better’n half a mile of new road, has to have it before he can start building. And there’ll be a couple of big swimming pools, and since it’s a fair way up a hillside he’s even toying with the idea of a ski slope. A little one, just for guests, practice slope, he calls it. Attract families with kids.”
“Who’s
doing the building? I mean the general contractor?”
“That’s the hitch. He wants Perkins and Wrightson, but they won’t sign anything final until the road’s in, only an option. That’s another reason he wants me to come up tomorrow. His present lodge there in Plymouth is very much like the new one he wants to build up state. He wants me to look it over. I’ve already seen the new site and it’s impressive. Great scenery.”
“And you need this job very much?”
He laughed shortly. “I don’t need it, sweetheart, in the sense we’ll starve if I don’t get it. But it would be a feather in my cap, sort of. And I figure to give it to Ken. Make it his first big job on his own. I’ll be there, of course, to advise . . .”
She squeezed his arm. “Ken’s been itching to do something like that.”
He looked at her and realized her thoughts were elsewhere. He sighed. “I would have done the same for Rich.”
“Would you?’
“Of course.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
There was no condemnation in her voice; she was simply inquiring. He decided it was time to bring the whole subject out into the open. “I did everything in my power to help Rich. He went to the school he wanted, studied what he wanted, picked his own friends, and played his own games. I never interfered.” He waited a moment for her to answer. When she didn’t, he demanded, “Did I?”
“No, Jim, you didn’t interfere. Richard did as he chose.” She sighed, sat back in her chair, and looked up at him. “But you didn’t encourage him, either. And you tried your best to talk him into doing what you wanted him to do. Had he been like Ken, he would have given in to you, in spite of what he really wanted.”
“You mean Ken wants something different?”
She shook her head. “Ken and Richard are entirely different and you tried to make them the same. It didn’t work. It couldn’t work. And now he’s gone.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know what really happened the night of the accident, Jim. No one ever told me.” She looked directly at him and he found it hard to meet her eyes. “Whatever it was you said to him, you hurt him terribly.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Jim, why can’t he come back?”
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