“Partly. That’s a good reason and I would have moved next month anyway.” He kept his eyes on the mug he was holding tightly with both hands. “You know that I was adopted after my mother married Dad.”
“I guess I knew that. I never thought about it.”
“Neither did I until a little while ago. I was only about two. Dad’s the only father I’ve ever known. I barely remember my mother.” Ken looked up and met Rich’s eyes. “I always assumed my natural father had died. That’s what Dad told me, or anyway let me believe.”
“And he hadn’t?”
“Not until a few weeks ago.” Ken drew in a long, shuddering breath and expelled it. “He left me a house and some money and some other things.” Ken hesitated. “Including a note telling me some of the things Dad never mentioned. When I asked him about it, he said he and my mother didn’t want to upset me.”
Rich said slowly, concentrating on his coffee cup, “And now you’ve fought about it.”
“That and the way he’s been acting about this High Meadow project, the job he gave to me to do on my own, he said. Several things went wrong, like things always do, nothing unusual, but he’s blaming me.”
“And why are you telling me all this? I can’t help you get back in his good graces, seeing that I’m not there, either.” Rich waited a moment. There’s a lot more to all this than Ken’s telling me. “Has all of this affected your wedding?”
“No. Sue and her mother have all that under control. And you and Laura are still going to be there with us?”
“Of course.” He paused. Seeing Ken’s obvious distress was painful. Too painful. Too much like his own. “And you’ve moved into this new house of yours? I’d say that was convenient. A nice wedding present.”
“Yeah.” Ken hesitated a long minute then said slowly, painfully, “But I also quit the company. Just as soon as High Meadow is done. As soon as the paperwork is complete, I’m gone.”
Rich tried to hide his dismay. Ken can’t do that. He’s as much the Weston Construction Company as Jim is. It’s his life, his future, always has been. He’s never wanted anything else. He doesn’t know anything else. “Ken, you can’t just quit. What else can you do? Go to work for one of his competitors?”
“Hardly.” Ken’s voice was ragged with a catch in it, sounding close to unshed tears.
Rich leaned forward, put on hand on Ken’s wrist. “Think about it, Ken. Really think about it. Was he really any different than he’s always been? Isn’t that just his way?”
Ken shrugged.
“Do you know what this will do to him? You’re half of the company. Maybe more.” He wondered for a moment why he cared what happened to the company, but he knew he did, and as much for Jim’s sake as for Ken’s. That was my life, too, for a long time. And it is Ken’s.
Ken didn’t answer, didn’t look at him.
“You do care, don’t you? About the company?”
Ken raised his eyes, but didn’t meet Rich’s squarely. “I don’t see you coming back. Why should I be any different?”
“You’re his son. I’m not. I never was, really.”
“And neither am I.”
“How can you forget all those years?”
“How can you?”
Rich picked up his coffee cup with both hands to stop the sudden trembling. “I have other memories of a different father. But, no, I can’t forget what Jim did. The good or the bad. And there were good times.” He didn’t want to think about those, but he had to think about his mother.
Ken didn’t answer.
“So, give him a little while to cool off and then go back. Like you’ve always done. Why is this any different?”
“And you?”
“For me there is no going back.” Jim closed too many doors.
Ken pushed aside his half-empty coffee cup, slid out of the booth, and stood a moment beside the table, staring at it. “I think you’re wrong, Rich. You could come back for Mother’s sake. But I wanted you to know what happened. Before you stop in to see her again. Before the wedding.”
“Jim will be there, won’t he? At the wedding?”
“As far as I know.”
“Thanks for telling me. I guess.” How am I going to deal with this? What can I do for him? He can’t just quit. Rich pushed aside the thought that he had done just that. “Take it easy, Ken, and do think about it some more. It isn’t too late. And I’ll stop around to see Mother.”
“She needs you, Rich.”
He knew that, and that he should go oftener, but there was always the chance he’d see Jim, and he couldn’t face him. Not yet. He watched Ken walk away, finished his bagel, picked up the check, and followed him.
Rich stopped outside the diner door as a panel truck pulled in beside him. The name on the door was Summers and Smith, and it made him smile, remembering. The driver climbed out and came toward him. He was a tall, thin, man of middle age, his light brown hair showing a few gray streaks: Sandringham Smith, his father’s former partner and best friend.
“Hi, Mr. Smith,” Rich said.
Smith peered at him through unremembered dark rimmed glasses. “Rich. You look more like Phil every time I see you. How you been?” He held out his hand.
Rich shook the offered hand. “Fine.” He looked at the truck beside them. “How come it’s still Summers and Smith? Mother sold the company to you years ago.”
Smith looked at the truck as if seeing it for the first time. It was fairly new with bright green lettering. “Habit, I guess.” He looked at Rich again. “I hear you left Weston. How come?”
“Who told you?”
“I’ve been doing some work for Ken. The men talk.”
Rich tried to laugh but did not succeed. “I thought I’d try it on my own for a while.”
“That’s not the way I heard it.”
“That’s the way I’m telling it.”
Smith put his hand lightly on Rich’s arm. “I know Jim Weston pretty well, and I know you.” He paused then looked back at the truck. “If you need a job, it could be Summers and Smith all over again.”
“Thanks, Sandy, but . . .”
He smiled slightly and laughed softly. “I know. Your father’s place. And it’s not your line of work. Just keep it in mind, Rich. I’m here to help.”
“I will, and thanks.”
“If I was you, I’d go back to teaching school just as soon as I could, but I guess that’s your business and I don’t know all the facts, but I’ll be around if you ever need me. Just give me a call.”
“Sure. And thanks.”
He watched Smith go into the diner and then walked to his own car remembering the times spent with his father and Smith, riding along in the logging truck. The memories left a warm feeling, but it was an offer he could not accept. There was too much attached to it that he didn’t want to deal with. He had left all of that behind.
Or had he? He’d have to think about what Ken had done. It was too much to grasp right now. I’ll talk to Laura. See what she says.
~ ~ ~
The phone was ringing as Rich walked into his kitchen.
“Where were you?” Laura asked. “I was getting worried. I thought you were coming over for supper.”
“Out with a sexy blonde. Is something wrong?”
“No. Dad wants you to play cards. He says you’re the first decent partner he’s had in years and he’s not going to let you go.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour. I need a shower.”
“And bring the blonde. I want to meet my competition.”
“You have none,” he said seriously. “Blonde or otherwise. Ken asked me to meet him after work. Said he needed to talk.”
“What happened? Is something wrong?”
He heard her con
cern. “Very wrong. I’ll tell you when I get there.”
A good supper, an evening of playing cribbage with Laura’s father, a quiet and friendly atmosphere—all of that should make it easier to sort out his feelings.
But, what am I going to do now?
45.
Laura wished Rich a good day, kissed him, and saw him off to work on Tuesday morning, and then returned to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. She needed to consider again what she had decided she must do, for Rich’s sake. Knowing that he would not approve, she had not told him what she intended for this morning.
In January, Rich would return to Valley High School to teach Physical Education. Whether he would, or could, coach the baseball team was not yet decided and he was hesitating. There was still too much pain, both in his knee and in his mind. Time will take care of that. I can push him toward teaching, I can’t with the coaching. He has to decide that for himself. I can only encourage him and support whatever he decides to do.
She had been pushing him, and sometimes she thought he resented it, although he had said little. With his return to teaching accepted and signed, she had said yes, she would marry him in June, after school had closed. If it worked out well and he was offered a new contract for next fall, they would look for a house closer to the school. In the meantime, she could only hope for the best and that he continued to heal, mentally as well as physically.
But she had said no, she would not move in with him, enjoyable as last night had been. Her father and brother still needed her and arrangements for them after her marriage had to be worked out. She had agreed to be here this afternoon when Rich got home from work. I will have to tell him what I did, if this works out, or not. Laura tried to think in the positive. It had to work. She didn’t see any alternative.
She decided to have a second cranberry muffin, to prolong the leaving for a few more minutes, and put it in the microwave. As she sat down again, the light reflected from her new ring. She smiled at it, remembering the day last week when she and Rich has chosen it—a flat setting of three modest diamonds in white gold, with etched wedding rings for both of them. I’ve promised to marry him. That gives me a few rights and responsibilities. It’s my future, too, and he deserves to be happy. If he isn’t, I won’t be, either.
She watched the light dancing from the stones as she turned her hand admiring it. I’m going to promise to love, honor, and cherish him, to stand beside him no matter what comes along. For better or worse. Why not try to make it better now? At least try since he seems to be unable to do so?
She wanted to get this encounter over with early. In a few weeks her father would announce the engagement and Rich’s parents needed to know about it before they saw it in the paper. If Rich should ask why she had done it, she would argue that it was simply the courteous thing to do. This morning she would find Jim Weston and tell him. And maybe tell him a little more than he wants to hear. She really wanted to meet Rich’s mother but didn’t know how to go about doing that.
She buttered her muffin and refilled her coffee cup, still debating the wisdom of her decision. How would Rich react when she told him? With the cold anger she had occasionally glimpsed? And I have to tell him. Well, just wait and see what happens.
This afternoon she had the final fitting of her dress for Sue’s wedding. Their Aunt Lillian, an accomplished seamstress, was making Sue’s gown of lace and white velvet to her demanding specifications, but Laura, Julie, and Sue’s cousin Betsy had chosen their pale green dresses at a bridal shop, a style that would mostly conceal Julie’s obvious condition.
Rich had several times expressed his reluctance to be part of the wedding, even for Ken’s sake. He knew his parents would be there and as the best man he would be expected to take part in the ceremonies at the reception.
“I’m not the ceremony kind,” he said. “And I don’t want to cause any trouble. Ken doesn’t need any more of that.”
Rich had repeated his conversation with Ken and her heart ached for him. For both of them. I have to try to make it better for Rich, to heal some of these wounds.
She finished her muffin and the last of her coffee, put the cup and plate in the dishwasher, and strengthened her resolve. There’s no point in waiting any longer. I have to do this.
She found the construction company address in the phone directory yellow pages and considered calling first but decided surprise was the better tactic. Catching Jim Weston off guard might give her a better clue as to his mental state. She took a deep breath, picked up her purse, and left.
~ ~ ~
The offices of the Weston Construction Company were located on the outskirts of the city, a neat Cape-style house in an attractively landscaped area set back from the street. Behind the building was a chain link fence and beyond that she could see several trucks and pieces of machinery she could not identify. The front door was flanked by sidelights with a wide window on either side. Patches of lawn and shrubbery surrounded several mature trees. They’ve been here for years, but I knew that.
She parked in the space marked VISITORS, collected her thoughts as best she could, and went inside. The lobby was bright and cheerful with two leather chairs and a round table near one of the front windows and a coffee machine behind them. The attractive woman at the desk was probably in her forties, her short dark hair showing a few wisps of gray along the temple. She looked up as Laura entered and smiled pleasantly. “May I help you, Miss?”
Rich had mentioned the office manager, Anita Fontaine, several times and said she had been there “Probably forever. Jim couldn’t function without her.”
“I’d like to see Jim Weston, please,” Laura said, trying not to sound hesitant.
Anita glanced down at a calendar on her desk. “He’s busy at the moment. May I ask the reason?”
Laura took a deep breath and said as steadily as she could, “I’m Laura Boutelle and I’m engaged to marry Richard Summers.” She saw the surprised shock on Anita’s face, quickly hidden, and then replaced with a delighted smile. Rich has one friend here.
Anita got up quickly, spinning her chair around and pushing it back. “Just a moment, please.” She pulled open a door on the other side of the room, looked inside, and said, “Mr. Weston, you have a visitor.”
Laura heard a mumbled response and Anita said firmly, “Yes, very important.” She turned and beckoned to Laura, beaming at her. “He’ll see you.”
Laura paused in the doorway. The man at the paper strewn scarred desk on the opposite side of the room was big with broad shoulders, his thinning once reddish hair mostly gray. He looked up at her questioning and she was struck by the sadness on his face, the puffiness under his pale blue eyes, and felt a surge of pity for him.
“Come in.” He motioned toward a seat. “Sit down. What can I do for you?”
She put her purse on the chair but didn’t sit. She said as calmly as she could, hiding her nervousness, “My name is Laura Boutelle and I’m engaged to Rich Summers. I thought you should know.”
Weston ran his hand over his face, hiding his eyes. “But he didn’t think so?” His voice was heavy.
“He didn’t say and I didn’t tell him I was coming.”
He expelled a long breath, straightened his shoulders, and looked up at her with a wan smile. “Please sit down . . . Laura?” He looked at her more closely. “Didn’t I see you at Ken and Sue’s engagement party?”
“You did. I’m Sue’s cousin.”
He appeared to be unable to continue, so she said, keeping her voice light, “I knew Rich in high school. We got together again when he showed up in the emergency room with a bruise on his head, when he fell at his apartment.” She paused but he didn’t say anything. “I’m a nurse.”
He kept his gaze on a spot beyond Laura’s shoulder. “I heard something about that. Is he okay now?”
“It
was a minor injury.” Didn’t Ken tell him anything?
“And his knee?”
“It’s improving slowly.”
He still didn’t look directly at her, leaving Laura uncomfortable, feeling unwelcome. She could think of nothing else to say.
After a moment, he asked, “When is the wedding?”
“Not until June, when school is out. Rich is going back to his former teaching position in January. To find out if he can teach again.”
She noted the change in Jim’s expression, an easing of tension as if he had been holding his breath and had reached a decision. He scraped his chair back as he stood up awkwardly. “Will you come with me to see his mother? She’ll want to meet you.”
It was what she had hoped for and she relaxed her own stiff stance. “I would like that very much. I’ll follow you there, Mr. Weston.”
He paused in the outer office. “We’re going home, Anita. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Take care of everything.”
“Of course.” She flashed Laura a broad and welcoming smile. “Take all the time you need.”
~ ~ ~
Laura parked in the circular driveway of the big two-story white Federal-style house with its wide pillared entry and stared at it for a moment in awe. She had long admired such houses and wondered what they looked like inside. And now maybe I’ll learn a little of what Rich won’t talk about. What it is he won’t come back to.
Jim opened her car door for her. She slid out and followed him slowly up the shallow half-circular granite steps. She paused at the top to turn and admire the lawns and flowerbeds while he unlocked the door. This is so beautiful.
He held the door open. “If you’ll come in . . .”
The slate-floored foyer was paneled in some kind of light wood. A gracious stairway curved away in front of her and a closed carved door was on her right. But he led her to the left, into a spacious pale blue dining room with dark wood furnishings and an old-fashioned prism chandelier above a long table. A glass bowl of pink and white roses was in the center of it on a lace runner. There were antique furnishings everywhere—ladder back chairs by the dining table, a curved-front sideboard with a silver tea service, an end table by an upholstered side chair. She followed silently, totally awed, through another door onto a sun porch.
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