How happy Claire had been on that day. How perfect her life had seemed. Just like one of those television families from her childhood in the fifties and sixties. Like the Cleavers or the Stones. It hadn’t seemed possible that anything could go wrong. Not ever.
But, of course, things hadn’t been perfect. Six weeks after her son’s birth, she’d learned she would never have another child, and before Mike’s third birthday, her parents had been killed in an automobile accident, the driver of the other car drunk behind the wheel. As for her brother, Harold had gone to college back East the same year as their parents’ deaths and never returned to Idaho. She hadn’t seen him in over eight years, although she wrote to him semiregularly and he called her a few times a year.
She was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of aloneness. She felt abandoned, cut adrift by those she’d depended upon most. She longed to be able to hug her mother and ask for advice. Lisa Conway would have known how to fix what was wrong with Claire’s marriage. Her parents had been married over twenty-five years, and her dad had never been unhappy or discontent in all those years. She was positive he hadn’t.
She thought of Dave again, of his dark moods, of his frowns and his tempers. She’d tried to convince herself that nothing was amiss, that it was all related to stress from long hours at work and that it had nothing to do with their home life. But in her more honest moments, she knew better. Not even their lovemaking last night could have made everything all right.
With those heavy thoughts on her mind, Claire made her way up the sidewalk and let herself in the back door.
She paused on the threshold, staring at the signs of this morning’s hasty departure. Breakfast dishes stained with dried egg yolks were stacked in the sink. A skillet with bacon grease turned white and solid in its center sat on the old electric stove. Bread crumbs surrounded the toaster. Chunks of dry dog food were strewn in front of the washer and dryer. Dave had kicked the dog’s dish this morning as he was leaving, spilling the contents, but he hadn’t bothered to clean up the mess he’d made.
He never did pick up after himself, Claire thought with a spark of irritation. He always left everything to her. Sometimes she felt more like his maid than like his wife.
She was immediately ashamed. This was what she wanted, what she’d always wanted, to be a wife and mother and homemaker. She wouldn’t even work those three mornings a week in Jack Moncur’s office if she and Dave didn’t need the money to see them through the leaner times that came with the construction business.
The phone on the kitchen wall rang. Claire closed the door behind her and crossed the room to answer it. “Hello.”
“Good. I caught you at home.”
“Dave?” She couldn’t hide her surprise. He rarely called her in the middle of the day.
“Listen, I’ve got a lead on a big remodel job up above Idaho City. I mean big. It could see us all the way through summer, maybe even to next Christmas if we’re lucky. But if I want to get the job, I’ve got to go up there today. Right now. I don’t know who all I’m going to have to see or how long it’ll take me to drive up and back. I hear there’s still some snow on the roads. It’ll probably be well after midnight before I get home. I just didn’t want you to worry if I was late.”
“I appreciate that, Dave, but couldn’t you —”
“I’ve gotta run. I don’t want to miss out on this. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”
The line went dead.
Sara didn’t know if she was more nervous about opening night or seeing Dave again. Combined, they seemed overwhelming.
While she waited for his arrival, she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, picking out all of her flaws. She didn’t have much of a figure. Small breasts. Narrow hips. Long but too-thin legs. She didn’t like her dark-red hair; it was much more fashionable to be blond. Her eyes were probably her best feature, but if a guy—if Dave—was close enough to see them, he was close enough to see the smattering of pale freckles that spilled across her cheeks and the bridge of her too-long nose.
“How many times are you going to change outfits?” Patti asked as she entered the bedroom.
Sara met her roommate’s gaze in the mirror. “Until I get it right.” She turned around. “What do you think of this?” She held out her arms, then pirouetted, awaiting judgment.
She wore a short-sleeve knit top, the same light-green color as her eyes. Her skirt, hitting her at midthigh, was a darker forest green. Black pantyhose encased her long legs. She’d always thought the outfit flattering, but tonight …
“I think I’d kill to look like you.”
Sara turned back to the mirror. “I don’t know. Maybe I should try —”
“Don’t even think about it.” Her friend stepped in front of the closet and threw herself against the door in an I’m-willing-to-die-for-it gesture.
Before Sara could react, the doorbell announced Dave’s arrival.
Patti grinned in triumph. “Besides, you don’t have time. He’s here.”
The butterflies in Sara’s stomach went into full flight. She glanced once more at her reflection, then went to open the door for him.
“Hi.” Dave smiled that heart-stopping smile of his the moment their eyes met.
“Hi.”
His gaze moved down the length of her, unhurried, filled with appreciation for what he saw before him. It returned at the same leisurely pace. His perusal seemed more intimate than a physical caress would have been.
“You look beautiful,” he said at long last.
She was glad she hadn’t changed again. “So do you.”
He chuckled as he stepped toward her, drawing her to him. “I’m beautiful, huh?” He kissed her until she was weak in the knees.
It was the sound of applause — reminding them that they weren’t alone — that ended the kiss. Sara knew she was flushed as she stepped out of his embrace and turned toward her roommate.
Patti lifted an eyebrow, then looked at Dave. “You treat her good, Mr. Porter.”
“Patti!”
“I mean it,” her friend continued, unfazed by Sara’s embarrassed protest. “You be careful with her, or you’ll answer to me.”
“I promise I’ll be careful, Miss Cooper.” He sounded just as serious as Patti did.
Mortified, Sara hurried into her bedroom where she grabbed her purse, jacket, and bag of personal items that she would need at the theater. She returned quickly, not wanting to leave Dave alone with her roommate any longer than necessary. “I’m ready,” she announced as she stepped to his side.
“Break a leg, Sara.” There was a note of apology in Patti’s voice.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, not yet ready to forgive. She took hold of Dave’s arm and urged him out of the apartment.
“Patti’s a good friend to you,” he said as they descended the steps.
Reluctantly, “Yes, she is.”
He squeezed her arm against his side. “She just doesn’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” She spoke the words in a whisper.
Dave stopped on the sidewalk, pulling her to a halt with him. Taking hold of her upper arms, he turned her to face him.
She met his gaze. “You wouldn’t ever hurt me.” Louder this time.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I just know you wouldn’t.”
There was a trace of sadness in his smile. “You are very young, Miss Jennings.”
“I’m not too young to know what I want or what I believe.”
“Sara —”
She placed an index finger over his lips. “Shh. There’s no point in arguing with me. Now get me over to the theater. I don’t want to be late for my first lead performance.”
SEVEN
Mike didn’t get a chance to ask his mom about camp. The “right time” he’d told John he was waiting for never came.
That night Mike and his mom went out for burgers, then to a movie. It was something they o
ften did together, just the two of them. He liked the movie Back to the Future a lot, but he didn’t think his mom did. She didn’t laugh. Not even once during the whole show.
That night, the light seemed to go out of her. Despite her best efforts not to let him see what she was feeling, Mike wasn’t fooled. He knew his dad had done something to hurt her.
That was the night he started to hate him.
Lying in his bed after they got home, Mike stared up at the ceiling in his dark room and wished his dad wouldn’t ever come home. Not if he was going to make Mom look so sad. Not if he wasn’t gonna treat her right. He didn’t mind so much for himself; he was used to doing things without a dad around. His dad didn’t ever spend much time with him. Not the way John’s dad did. Mr. Kreizenbeck coached softball in the spring, led their scout troop, and taught sixth-grade Sunday school. He was involved in everything his kids did. And he was always doing nice things for Mrs. Kreizenbeck too.
It wasn’t fair, Mike’s mom not getting treated like that. Somehow, he knew, he had to make that up to her.
The play was a blazing triumph; Sara received a standing ovation. But it was Dave’s praise that made her feel truly a success. All through the late supper they shared, he told her how amazing she was, how beautiful she was, how sexy she was. By the time they returned to her darkened apartment, she’d started to believe him.
“I suppose I shouldn’t come in,” Dave whispered as they stood on the threshold. “Don’t want to wake up Patti.”
“She’s not here. She went to Pocatello this weekend. That’s where her folks live.”
“You mean we have the place to ourselves?”
Her pulse quickened. “Yes.”
“Then, Miss Jennings, I think I should kiss you. Thoroughly.”
His mouth covered hers, and her mind went blank. She was vaguely aware of the sound of the closing door, but she didn’t know how they ended up across the room and on the sofa. Just that suddenly she was lying across his lap as he continued to smother her with earthshaking kisses.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice, sounding far too much like her mother’s, warned her that she was venturing out of her depth, that she was treading in dangerous waters. But she didn’t want to listen to her conscience or to her mother. She wanted to make Dave Porter love her. She’d already fallen hard for him.
It had to be fate, their meeting. They were meant for each other. So why wait?
“I’ve never known anyone like you,” he whispered in her ear. “No woman’s ever made me feel this way before.”
He thought she was a woman. Wouldn’t he see her as a mere girl if she denied him what he so obviously wanted? They belonged together. Waiting wouldn’t change that.
“Sara?”
“Yes.”
It was more than a response to her name. It was a decision. It was inevitable that they become lovers, and now was surely the time.
Claire leaned her forehead against the cool glass of her bedroom window. Please, God. No.
She knew. Deep in her heart, she knew he was with someone else tonight. And she wanted to die. Dave was her life. She’d loved him since she was fifteen. If he stopped loving her …
Should she confront him? Or was it better to ignore it? Last time …
It was like a knife piercing her heart. Yes, there had been a last time. She might as well admit it. It wasn’t just suspicion. It was fact. Dave had carried on an affair before.
But he hadn’t left Claire. She had to remember that. Whatever the cause of his dalliance, he hadn’t wanted to end his marriage. He loved his wife and son. Deep down, he had to love them. He would always love them.
O God … She looked up at the heavens. If You exist, don’t let it be true.
She turned her back to the window and sank to the floor. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She felt so alone. So utterly and completely alone.
Why was this happening to her? Hadn’t she been a good wife to Dave? Hadn’t her concern always been for his needs, for his happiness? What had she done to deserve his betrayal?
She struck the floor with her fists as a moan issued from her throat. “What do I do now?”
If there was a God, He didn’t answer her. There was only the silence of the bedroom, the emptiness of her heart, the despair of a life crumbling around her.
Sara felt Dave sliding away from her and stirred in her sleep. “Mmm,” she mumbled. “Where are you going?”
“It’s time I left for home.”
Opening her eyes, she made out his form. He was sitting up on the side of the bed. She reached out and touched his back with her fingertips.
“You should have told me this was your first time, Sara.” There was a hint of accusation in his voice.
“I didn’t think it would matter. Did it?”
Without answering, he rose from the bed and started to dress.
Even though she couldn’t see him clearly in the dark bedroom, Sara blushed and glanced away, embarrassed. Now that the sweeping passion was over, now that she was fully awake, she experienced her first wave of guilt and shame. She pulled the sheet up to cover her nakedness.
But what should she feel guilty about? They were two consenting, single adults. They weren’t harming anyone. She refused to accept the guilt. She refused to be ashamed. These were the eighties, after all. The days of puritan morals were long since past, killed in the sexual revolution of her parents’ youth.
“I love you,” she whispered, unable to keep the words to herself any longer. Then she waited to hear him repeat the words to her.
He didn’t.
She fought tears. “Dave.”
Dressed now, he put one knee on the bed and leaned over her. “It’s okay, Sara. I’m not angry. I just don’t want us to get carried away or do anything rash.”
Sara should have realized what a ludicrous thing that was for him to say, given they’d gone to bed on their first date. But recognizing it would be to accept her culpability. She wasn’t prepared for that.
“I understand,” she managed to say around the lump in her throat.
He kissed her forehead, kissed the tip of her nose, kissed her on the lips. “You said Patti’s out of town for the rest of the weekend. Why don’t I come by tomorrow evening?”
“I can’t. Not tomorrow.” Her fingers tightened on the sheet she was holding over her breasts. “My parents are coming to Boise to see the play.”
“Oh, yeah. That.”
He sounded as if he’d forgotten the play completely, as if he’d never seen her in it.
He kissed her again, then stood. “Don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”
“You’ll call me?” She couldn’t disguise the desperation she felt.
“I’ll call you.” He walked across the room, pausing in the doorway. “Sara?”
“Yes?”
“You’d better get on the pill. We don’t want any unpleasant surprises.”
It was only common sense. So why did she feel another surge of shame? At least it meant he was coming back, that he wanted to continue to see her.
“You’ll take care of that on Monday?” he asked. “You’ll get a prescription?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Good.” He disappeared into the hall.
A moment later, she heard a faint squeak as the front door opened.
“Good night, Sara,” he called softly.
The door closed before she could reply.
EIGHT
Old habits die hard.
Claire didn’t confront Dave about her suspicions. Not on that first night when he didn’t come home until two in the morning and not on any of the similar occasions in the weeks that followed. It was easier to slip back into pretending her life and marriage were everything they were supposed to be.
Dave told her he didn’t get the job north of Idaho City, but he had plenty of other reasons for staying out late or being away on weekends. And she let his explanations fall between them, unchallenged.
/> April became May.
May rushed toward June.
Although it seemed impossible, Mike was set to graduate from elementary school in two more weeks. There were times Claire couldn’t even recall the cute toddler he’d been. Judging by the high-water position of his trouser cuffs, he’d sprouted another two inches since Christmas. His voice had started to crack in midsentence, announcing his headlong plunge into adolescence and then manhood.
How did a mother prepare herself for that?
But what truly disturbed her was the constant tension and bickering between Mike and his dad. It didn’t seem to matter whatone of them said, it irritated the other, and before she knew it, they were yelling at the top of their lungs. The fights usually ended with Mike being sent to his room and Dave storming out of the house.
On this Sunday morning, it was about to happen again.
As usual, Mike was getting ready to go to church with the Kreizenbecks. Dave made a crack about holier-than-thou people and all the garbage they were putting into his son’s head. Mike told him that wasn’t true. The Kreizenbecks were nice, real nice, and he liked going to church with them and learning about God.
“And it’s not garbage,” he ended emphatically.
“It’s for sissies, boy. A crutch for idiots.”
“It is not.”
“Sissy.”
“I’m not a sissy!”
“Dave, please —” Claire began.
“Is that so?” he continued, ignoring her. “You are if I say you are. I shouldn’t let you go with that Kreizenbeck jerk. I don’t like the guy. I don’t trust him, and I don’t want you turning out like him.”
“At least Mr. Kreizenbeck knows how to be nice to Mrs. Kreizenbeck and his kids. It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice to Mom once in a while.”
Claire leaned over to pour Dave another cup of coffee, cutting off his view of their son and hoping it would stop the snowballing argument. It didn’t work.
The Forgiving Hour Page 5