With This Ring

by Patricia Kay

  She smiled, remembering her first day back at school. She had been dreading it. Firsts were difficult, and facing her co-workers, seeing their sympathy and curiosity, was sure to reopen many wounds.

  But it hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd imagined. And that was because of the kids. They were so glad to see her. Amy knew, because her principal had told her, that the children had been informed of the cause of Amy's long absence. They didn't know about the baby, of course. Only Amy's family and Lark and Justin knew about the baby. But it was touchingly evident that the news of Sam's death had made an impact. The children were on their best behavior that day, and almost all of them brought her some sort of welcome back gift.

  The gifts and the unspoken sympathy of the children brought tears to Amy's eyes more than once. One student, in particular, affected Amy more than any other. The girl, a fourth grader named Michelle, had been battling leukemia for several years. She was in remission right now, but her prognosis was iffy. She was a bright, articulate child with more than average artistic talent, and she was a favorite of Amy's.

  Michelle waited until after school that first day, and once the others were gone from the classroom, she came forward and gravely presented Amy with a beautifully-wrapped, leather-bound volume of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poems. "Oh," Amy said. "Michelle! What a wonderful gift. Thank you."

  "You're welcome, Miss Carpenter." The girl's dark eyes shone softly. "I-I missed you while you were gone."

  Amy swallowed against the lump in her throat. "I missed you, too," she said and knew it was true.

  "You've been sad, haven't you?"

  Amy nodded.

  Michelle reached over to touch Amy's hand. "Don't be sad," she whispered. "My dad says when good people die they go to a better place where they never feel pain or any bad things. M-maybe when you feel sad, you could remember that."

  Amy had managed to smile at the child. "Thank you," she murmured. "I won't forget."

  She also wouldn't forget the little girl's courage and generosity. There she was, facing her own death on a daily basis, living with pain and fear and the prospect of not ever making it to her adult years, and she was comforting Amy.

  After that, things got easier. Each day, Amy thought less and less of her problems and more and more about the children and theirs. She spent long hours at night planning lessons, pouring over books of art projects to find ones she thought would particularly interest and stimulate the childrens' creativity.

  And now, here it was, nearly eight weeks later, and she was once again facing a difficult first. But when tomorrow was past, there would be no more firsts. They would all be behind her, and maybe, just maybe, she would start looking forward to the future.

  * * *

  Again, getting through a milestone turned out to be easier than Amy had anticipated. But that was because of Justin. Obviously, he had been thinking about the date, too, because he called her early that morning—while she was getting ready for school.

  "Hey," he said.

  "Hey, yourself. What are you doing calling me so early?" She was proud of herself. She actually sounded happy.

  "I wanted to be sure to catch you before you left for school," he said. "I was hoping you'd go to dinner with me tonight."

  "Justin, that's sweet of you, and I appreciate it, but you don't have to babysit me. I'll be okay."

  "I know you'll be okay. That's not why I asked you. I asked you because I want to be with you. You know that."

  Amy fiddled with the telephone cord. "Well, when you put it that way . . . okay. Great. I accept, but only if we go dutch."

  "We're not going dutch. I'm inviting you to be my guest, and my guests don't pay for their meals," he said.

  He took her to Pappasito's, and Amy knew the choice of the noisy Mexican restaurant was a carefully chosen one. His understanding and thoughtfulness touched her deeply. There were so many people there, talking, laughing, eating, and drinking, that she couldn't possibly feel sad.

  Justin plied her with margaritas and kept urging her to eat more, and by the time the evening was over, Amy felt replete and amazingly at peace. When he brought her home, he kissed her cheek and said, "Sleep well."

  "Thank you, Justin. I will."

  And miraculously, she did.

  Even the holidays were not as difficult as they might have been, with their reminders of the agony of the previous year. Amy allowed herself to be persuaded to go with her parents to Steamboat Springs over Thanksgiving, where Alan's sister Marian and her daughter Hannah joined them.

  The change of scenery, the skiing, the company of her cousin, who Amy had always wished to know better—all served to keep her mind and body occupied and away from any sad thoughts.

  Christmas, too, turned out to be far more pleasant than Amy feared. Her parents held their annual Christmas Eve open house, which was lovely, as always. They invited half a dozen friends-—including Lark—to join the family for Christmas dinner. They were overly generous with Christmas gifts for Amy, but Amy understood their motives and appreciated the kindness and love behind the Mizrahi sweater set, the Mikimoto pearls and the St. John knit dress. And if, when she fingered the soft wool of the sweater, she thought fleetingly that, if things had been different, she might have been fingering a receiving blanket, she managed to banish the emotions quickly.

  Christmas night, Justin came over, and he and Lark and Amy spent the evening in her apartment playing Monopoly and drinking eggnog and listening to Christmas music on the radio.

  And anytime Amy started to think about Sam and what this Christmas might have been like if he'd lived and they'd gotten married and had their baby, either Lark or Justin seemed to instinctively know which way her thoughts were turning, and they'd say something silly or ask her a question so she'd have to respond, and the bad moment would pass. At midnight, when by unspoken agreement they both rose to leave, Amy hugged each in turn and whispered her thanks.

  Later, after she'd turned out the tree lights and cleaned up the kitchen and gotten ready for bed, she walked out into the moonlit living room and stood in front of the unfinished portrait of Sam.

  She kissed the tips of her fingers, then placed them against his mouth. And then she picked up the canvas, carried it over to the cupboard where she stored her art supplies, and placed it inside.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The day after Christmas, Lark slept late. At eleven, in the middle of her third cup of coffee, she got a phone call from Justin.

  "Last night was fun, wasn't it?" he said after they'd disposed of the hellos.

  Lark smiled. "Yes, it was."

  "And I thought Amy did really well, considering."

  "Me, too. I think she's finally starting to mend."

  After a little more chitchat, Justin said, "Do you have plans for New Year's Eve?"

  For one moment, Lark thought he was asking her out on a date, and her heart took a crazy hop. "Well, um, my mother always has an open house/cocktail party kind of thing. It's a tradition with her, and I'm expected to be there. But I don't usually stay long."

  "Well, my brother always has a party and it's usually a lot of fun. I thought, if you didn't have plans, maybe you'd like to come. I plan to ask Amy, and I thought she'd be more likely to say yes if you were coming, too."

  Amy. Of course. Lark should have known.

  "That's a good idea, Justin," she said evenly, swallowing her disappointment. "It'll be good for her to ease back into seeing other people besides us."

  "Great. I'm taking her to lunch tomorrow, and I'll ask her then."

  After they'd hung up, Lark stared at the phone for a long moment. Her reaction when she'd thought Justin was going to ask her out disturbed her. When had this happened? When had he become more to her than just a friend?

  Lark, old girl, this is trouble. It's obvious to anyone with eyes how he feels about Amy . . .

  "Oh, fuck," she muttered. Of all the stupid things to do, she'd gone and fallen for a guy who didn't know she was alive.
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  Giving way to the temper she normally succeeded in controlling, she kicked at her couch, forgetting she was barefoot.

  "Ouch! Goddammit!" She hobbled to the front of couch and sat down.

  She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

  * * *

  Lark talked Amy into going to her mother's open house with her, and then on to Steven Malone's party. The two friends arrived at the lavish, pseudo-Spanish, Memorial-area home of Isabel Markham DeWitt Reiner Cardosa at eight, and there were already a dozen or more cars parked in the driveway and along the meandering street that paralleled Buffalo Bayou.

  "Oh, God," Lark moaned. "I detest this."

  Amy gave her a sympathetic smile. "I know. That's why I let you talk me into coming . . . to give you moral support." Lord knows, Lark had given her enough support over the past year.

  "Lark, darling, there you are!" Isabel said, rushing to greet them. She wrapped thin, tanned, gym-toned arms around her daughter's neck and they exchanged air-kisses. "And Amy, poor love, I'm so glad to see you."

  Amy suffered through Isabel's hug and her gushing concern. Lark's mother was hard to take because most of the time you couldn't be sure if her interest was real or faked, although Amy usually gave her the benefit of the doubt. She looked beautiful tonight. Her wheat colored hair and blue eyes were perfectly complemented by her topaz satin cocktail dress and diamond teardrop earrings.

  "Come. I don't believe you've ever met Armand," Isabel said, referring to her most current husband.

  Armand Cardosa was at least fifteen years younger than his wife, who was pushing sixty. He might even be twenty years younger, Amy thought as she studied him. Slickly handsome with brilliant dark eyes, he reminded Amy of the kind of dark, smoldering actors found in silent movies.

  "So young, so innocent," he murmured, "so beautiful." He raised Amy's hand to his lips and kissed it, letting his lips linger a tad too long.

  Lark bit back a grin as she saw how her mother's eyes hardened and how she slipped her arm possessively through her husband's arm.

  "Let's let the youngsters amuse themselves with people their own age," she purred.

  Armand took the not-so-subtle rebuke well, letting his wife lead him off and Amy and Lark were left to their own devices.

  "C'mon, let's hit the buffet table," Lark said. "That's one thing about Mommy dearest's parties—you sure can't fault the food."

  "Lead the way," Amy said.

  Lark had certainly been right about the food, Amy thought as she selected stuffed mushrooms, fried calimari, and grilled shrimp.

  "How much longer do you think Armand will last?" Lark said, spearing several slices of rare roast beef and adding it to the other items on her plate. "I mean, he's now making eyes at other women in front of my mother. Can you imagine what he does when she's not around?"

  Amy shrugged. "Some men are just like that. You know, they flirt, but they don't mean anything by it."

  Lark snorted. "Yeah, sure."

  A few minutes later, after they'd found a place to sit and eat, Lark said, "What is wrong with women like my mother? Why does she always have to have a man? Does she have so little sense of self-worth that she feels she has no value unless she's got a lap dog?"

  "Not everyone is as sure of themselves as you are, Lark."

  "Me? I'm as full of self-doubts as anyone. It's just that I . . . " She broke off. "Aw, hell, forget it. My mother is my mother, and she's never going to change. I don't know why I let her get to me."

  And even though they started talking about something else, Amy continued to think about Lark's question. Later, as they were driving to Steven Malone's house, Amy said, "Lark?"

  "Hmm?" Lark flipped on her right turn signal in preparation for exiting the Katy Freeway.

  "You know, that thing you said about your mother needing a man to feel complete?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Well, in some ways, I understand. I . . . without Sam, I feel . . . disconnected . . . as if part of me is gone. I-I know I'm not explaining it very well."

  "The two situations are not the same, Amy."

  Amy nodded.

  "I mean, my mother goes from man to man. She cannot be alone. You were alone for a long time. You weren't willing to settle for just any man, like my mother is."

  "You're terribly hard on her, Lark."

  "Yeah, maybe."

  By now they'd reached Briar Forest Drive and the entrance to Stonehenge, an upscale west side complex of patio homes and townhomes. It only took a few minutes to find Steven's house. Lark had to park the Amigo a few doors down, and the two women walked slowly back to the festively decorated house.

  The door was opened by a fresh-faced girl of about nineteen. "Hi," she said. "I'm Katie."

  Amy smiled. She should have known. Katie had the Malone eyes. "Hi. I'm Amy Carpenter. And this is Lark DeWitt."

  Katie's smile faded, and her big eyes got bigger. "Amy! Oh, I'm so glad to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you. I've been wanting to tell you . . . I'm so sorry about Sam. We all loved him so much."

  Her sweetness touched Amy. She could see why Sam had liked her so much. "Thank you."

  Belatedly, Katy turned to Lark. "And Lark . . . hi. I'm glad y'all could make it. I'll go get Justin."

  But Justin had already seen them and was headed in their direction. "Hey," he said. "You made it."

  His smile included them both, but Lark couldn't help but notice how his eyes lingered on Amy.

  "C'mon," he said, "I'll introduce you to everybody."

  For the next twenty minutes, they met dozens of Malones and their friends. Lark liked all of Justin's siblings, but his mother and Katie were her favorites, she decided some time later. All in all, they were one terrific family, though. She wondered what it would have been like to grow up the way they had—surrounded by brothers and sisters, all of whom seemed to really like one another—and with a mother you could count on to be there when you needed her. Lark had always had to count on herself.

  She thought about her earlier conversation with Amy. How Amy, in saying that Lark didn't have self-doubts, was really suggesting that Lark was strong enough that she didn't need to lean on other people. Maybe that was true. Okay, it was true, but the reason Lark was strong was that she'd had to be. And maybe, once in awhile, she'd like to lean on someone else.

  She sipped at a glass of Chardonnay and watched as Justin, with a protective hand at Amy's waist, introduced her to a late-comer.

  Something painful squeezed at Lark's heart. Someone would always want to take care of Amy.

  "Are you having a good time?"

  Lark nearly spilled her drink.

  "Oh, I'm sorry," Claire Malone said, "I startled you."

  Lark gave a forced chuckle. "No, it's my fault. I was daydreaming."

  Claire nodded, her gaze moving to Justin and Amy, then back to Lark. "Amy seems to be doing better."

  "Yes, I think she is." Lark still felt a bit rattled. Claire was altogether too astute.

  "Justin tells me she's gone back to work this year."

  "Yes."

  "That's good. There's nothing like work to keep the mind occupied. I know after Sean died, my job kept me sane. Of course, I had all the kids, too." Then she laughed. "But half the time they drove me insane."

  Lark chuckled. "I can imagine. That must have been hard. Raising all those kids alone."

  "It was, but when I look back now, I realize I was awfully lucky. I had Sean for fourteen years, and he gave me five wonderful children." Her gaze returned to Amy. "She only had Sam a few months, and she lost her child."

  "Yes." Guilt nudged at Lark, because for a moment there, watching Justin and Amy, she'd felt the long, green arm of envy.

  They fell silent. The party noises surrounded them: people talking and laughing, Eric Clapton and his band coming from the C.D. player, dishes clinking from the kitchen.

  "Justin's in love with her," Claire said.

  Lark was proud of herself. She didn't flinc
h. She didn't jerk. And she didn't allow any inner emotion to color her voice. "Yes, I can see that."

  "I wonder if she can."

  Lark shrugged. "I don't know. She's never said anything." And Lark had certainly never encouraged the subject. Today, she had finally realized why. "I think, though, for the past year, she's been so wrapped up in her own emotions, it's been hard for her to see anyone else's."

  "I'm afraid he'll get hurt."

  "It's possible."

  Claire sighed. "Well, there's nothing much I can do about it if he does. I learned a long time ago that as much as I love my children, I can't protect them from hard knocks."

  Lark nodded.

  "And no one can help who they fall in love with, either."

  How true, Lark thought. How sadly true. Suddenly, she wished she hadn't come tonight. It was too hard to be there. Too hard to see Justin's wonderful family and talk to his terrific mother and see, so plainly, just exactly what it was she might have had if circumstances had been different.

  She wondered if there was any way she could leave. She thought about it for a few minutes, then decided, why not? She would tell Amy she had cramps. It wouldn't be much of a lie, because Lark figured she'd have them tomorrow. Yes, that's what she'd do. If Amy wanted to stay at the party, Justin would probably jump at the chance to see her home.

  Once Claire had drifted away, Lark moved in Amy's direction.

  * * *

  Justin said he would be happy to take Amy home.

  "But Lark, it's not even midnight yet," Amy said.

  "I know." Lark looked at Justin. "Do you mind, Justin? This is girl talk."

  He grinned, then leaned over to kiss Lark's cheek. "I'm going. Happy New Year, Lark."

  "Happy New Year, Justin."

  Amy watched, thinking how at one time she'd fantasized about maybe getting Lark and Justin together. But that was another lifetime ago. Before Justin told you he was in love with you. The thought disturbed Amy. Normally she managed to keep that knowledge at a distance. She wondered if Justin still felt that way. Since that day in May, he had been true to his word and not brought up the subject again. Tonight, for some reason, this disturbed her, too.