She made pasta and salad that night for the three of them, and ice cream sundaes, and Jamie helped her make them. He put the whipped cream on, and the nuts, and the maraschino cherries.
“Just like in a restaurant,” Jamie announced, proud of himself, as he served them.
“Have you and Mom started training for the Olympics yet?” Peter asked with interest as he demolished the sundae.
“We start tomorrow,” their mother answered.
“What events are you entering this year?” Peter talked to him now like a father, more than just an older brother. He had picked up the slack wherever possible, and had even finished the year with fairly respectable grades, in spite of everything that had happened. And in the fall, he’d be a senior. Liz was planning to visit colleges with him in September. Mostly up and down the West Coast. He didn’t want to go far from home now, although before his father had died he’d been talking about Princeton and Yale and Harvard. But now he was looking toward UCLA, and Berkeley, and Stanford.
“I’m going to do the running long jump, and the hundred yard dash … and the sack race,” Jamie said proudly. “I was going to do the egg toss again, but Mom says I’m too old now.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll bet you win another ribbon,” Peter said with a warm smile, as Liz watched them both with a look of pleasure. They were both good boys, and she was glad they were at home with her. She enjoyed their company, and she could concentrate on them with the girls gone.
“Mom thinks I’ll win first prize this time,” Jamie said, but he didn’t look convinced. He still wasn’t sure how adept his mother would be as a trainer. He was used to practicing with his father.
“I’ll bet you do too,” Peter said, helping himself to more ice cream, and giving some to his little brother.
“I don’t mind winning last place,” Jamie said matter-of-factly, “just so I get a ribbon.”
“Thanks for your faith in me as a trainer.” Liz smiled at her youngest son, and started clearing the dishes, and then she told him to get ready for bed. Jamie was starting day camp in the morning.
And the next day when she drove him there on the way to work, she looked at Jamie proudly and leaned over to give him a kiss. “I love you, kiddo. Have fun. I’ll be home at six, and we’ll start practicing for the Olympics.”
He nodded and blew her a kiss as he got out of the car, and she headed for the office. It was a warm, sunny day in Marin, though she could see fog stretched across the bridge, and she knew it was probably cool in San Francisco. It was a pretty summer day, and she thought of Jack suddenly, with a quick knife stab in the heart. She still had them sometimes, when she thought of him, or saw something they had both loved or done together. But she felt better again by the time she got to the office. But no matter what she did, or how busy she was, she still missed him.
“Any messages?” she asked Jean as she walked in, and Jean handed her seven little slips of paper. Two were from new clients she had just met the week before, two were from attorneys she had referred cases to, two were from people she didn’t know, and one was from her mother.
She returned all her business calls, and then called her mother.
“Did the girls get off to camp all right?”
“Perfectly. I took them down yesterday, Jamie started day camp this morning, and Peter is working.”
“What about you, Liz? What are you doing about getting on with your life?”
“This is my life, Mom. I’m taking care of my kids, and working.” What else did she expect her to do now?
“That’s not enough for a woman your age. You’re forty-one years old, you’re still young, but not young enough to be wasting time. You should be dating.” Oh, for God’s sake. It was the last thing on her mind. She was still wearing her wedding band, and similar inquiries by friends had been rebuffed promptly. She had no interest whatsoever in dating. In her heart, she still felt married to Jack, and felt as though she always would be.
“It’s only been six months, Mom. Besides, I’m too busy.”
“Some people are remarried by then. Six months is a long time.”
“So is nineteen years. What’s new with you? Are you dating?”
“I’m too old for that,” her mother snapped at her, although they both knew she wasn’t. “You know what I’m saying.” Sell the house. Close the office. Find a husband. Her mother had lots of good advice to give her, or so she thought, as did everyone else Liz knew. Everyone had some kind of advice to give her, and she wasn’t buying. “When are you going to take a vacation?”
“In August. I’m taking the kids to Tahoe.”
“Good. You need it.”
“Thank you. I’d better get to work. I’ve got a lot to do this morning.” She wanted to get off the phone before her mother got on her case about something else. There was always something.
“Have you put away Jack’s things yet?”
Christ. It was hopeless. “No, I haven’t. I don’t need the space.”
“You need the healing, Liz, and you know it.”
“So how come Daddy’s coats are still in your downstairs closet?”
“That’s different. I have nowhere else to store them.” Store them for whom? And for what? They both knew it was no different.
“I’m not ready to put them away, Mom.” And maybe I never will be, she acknowledged to herself in silence. She didn’t want him out of her life or her head or her heart, or her closets. She wasn’t ready to say good-bye yet.
“You’re not going to get better till you do that.”
“I am better. Much better. I’ve got to go now.”
“You just don’t want to hear it, but you know I’m right.” Who says so? Who says I have to put his things away? She felt the familiar knife-stab of pain again that she had already felt once that morning. Her mother was definitely not helping.
“I’ll call you this weekend,” she promised her mother.
“Don’t work too hard, Liz. I still think you should close the office.”
“I may have to if you don’t let me get to work, Mom.”
“All right, all right. I’ll talk to you on Sunday.”
After she hung up, Liz sat staring out the window, thinking of Jack, and what her mother had said, but it was just too painful to let go and do the things her mother had suggested. It was comforting to still see his clothes hanging in his closet. Sometimes she’d let herself touch a sleeve wistfully, or sniff the cologne that still lingered on his collars. She had finally put his shaving gear away, and thrown away his toothbrush. But she couldn’t bring herself to do more than that. The rest of it was all there, and she liked it. And one day, when she didn’t like it anymore, she would do something about it. But hopefully, not for a long time. She wasn’t ready, and she knew it.
“Are you okay?” Jean had walked into the room and saw her staring out the window with a look of sorrow. But Liz stirred quickly when she heard her, and looked at her with a wistful smile.
“My mother. She always has some piece of advice to give me.”
“Mothers are like that. You have court this afternoon, I assume you remember.”
“I do. Though I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.” She had maintained their practice exactly as it had been. She was still taking all the same cases that Jack would have approved of, and wanted to fight. She was still using the same criteria for accepting them, and referring the same ones that Jack wouldn’t have wanted. She was doing it for him, and still respecting the guidelines he had set for them, but there were times when she questioned what she was doing. There was so much about family law that she didn’t like, so many of the battles that seemed unimportant to her. And dealing with people who hated each other, were so willing to hit below the belt and hurt each other, and constantly cause each other trouble and pain, was beginning to depress her, and Jean knew that. Liz’s heart wasn’t in it the way it had been when Jack was alive. They had been great as a team, but on her own, she just didn’t have the fire
she’d once had anymore. She wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but the constant irritations of dealing with divorce had begun to bore her.
But no one would have guessed that when she walked into court that afternoon. As usual, she was well prepared, totally organized, and fought valiantly for her client, and easily won the motion. It was a trivial point, but she handled it to perfection, and the judge thanked her for her rapid disposal of a relatively small matter that the opposing counsel was frivolously trying to turn into a major issue.
It was nearly five o’clock when she got back to the office, answered a few more calls, and gathered up her things. She wanted to be home by five-thirty for Jamie.
“Are you leaving?” Jean walked in with a stack of papers for her that had just been delivered from another attorney’s office. The material was part of the discovery in a new divorce case, and came from a well-known firm in the city.
“I have to get home to train with Jamie. He’s going to be in the Special Olympics again this year.”
“That’s nice, Liz,” Jean said smiling. She was carrying on all of Jack’s traditions, holding high the standard of his memory, for her clients, herself, and her children. It was obvious she didn’t want anything to change, and so far, it hadn’t. Every minute piece of her life was still in exactly the same place it had been before she lost her husband. She didn’t even sit at his desk now, or use his office, although she had always liked his better. She had simply closed his door, and rarely went into his office anymore, and there was no one else to use it. It was as though she still expected him to come back one day, and sit there. At first, Jean had thought it was eerie, but by now she was used to it. They only went in there from time to time, to get some papers. But most of their active files were now in Liz’s office.
“See you tomorrow,” Liz said, as she hurried out the door. And when she got home, Jamie was waiting for her. She ran into the house, changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, and running shoes, and five minutes later, she was back outside again, and going over the running long jump with Jamie. The first time he tried it, his performance was pretty unimpressive, and he knew it.
“I can’t do it.” He looked defeated before he started, and as though he wanted to give up, but she wouldn’t let him.
“Yes, you can. Watch me.” She showed him, and tried to do it slowly so he could see it. He was more visual than auditory and he did a little better the next time. “Try it again,” she encouraged him, and after a while Carole came out to them with a glass of Gatorade and a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
“How’s it going?” she asked cheerfully, and Jamie shook his head, looking mournful.
“Not good. I’m not going to win a ribbon.”
“Yes, you are,” Liz said firmly. She wanted him to win, because she knew how much it meant to him, and he had always won one when he trained with his father. After he ate two cookies and drank half the Gatorade, she told him to try it again, and this time he did better. And she reminded him of the Special Olympics oath “Let me win, but if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt.”
They continued practicing for a while, and then she had him do a dash across the yard and timed him. He was better at the dash than the long jump, he always had been. Running was his strong suit, he was faster than most of the kids he ran against, and better able to focus on what he was doing. Despite his handicaps, he had a surprising amount of concentration, and he had even finally learned to read that winter, and he was very proud of it. He read everything he could get his hands on. Cereal boxes, mustard labels, milk cartons, storybooks, flyers that people stuck under her windshield, even letters that Liz left on the kitchen table. At ten, he loved the fact that he could read now.
At seven o’clock, Liz suggested they call it a day, but he wanted to keep working at it for a while, and she finally talked him into going inside at seven-thirty.
“We still have a month to train, sweetheart. We don’t have to do it all in one night.”
“Dad always said I had to do it till I couldn’t stand up anymore. I can still stand up,” he said simply and she smiled at him.
“I think we should quit for the night while you’re still standing. We can do it again tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he finally conceded. He had worked hard and he was exhausted, and when they walked back into the kitchen, Carole had dinner ready for them. It was roast chicken and mashed potatoes, with glazed carrots, one of Jamie’s favorite dinners. And a hot apple pie fresh out of the oven.
“Yum!” he said with a look of delight, and he gobbled up everything on his plate while he chatted about the Olympics with his mother. He was genuinely excited about it.
He took a bath and went to bed right after dinner. He had to get up early for day camp, and she had some work to do. She took her briefcase upstairs and kissed him good night, and then set her briefcase down in her bedroom, and walked into her closet. They had a big walk-in closet that Jack had built for them. She used one side, and Jack’s clothes hung on the other. And remembering what her mother had said on the phone that morning, she found herself looking at his things again, with more longing than she had in a while. It felt like everyone was trying to take them from her, and she wasn’t ready to give them up, or forget him.
She found herself running a hand over his jackets again, and she held one of them to her face and smelled it. It still smelled of him. She wondered if his clothes always would, or if eventually the scent of him would fade away. She couldn’t bear the thought of it, and she felt her eyes fill with tears as she buried her face in one of his jackets. She didn’t hear Peter come in, and she jumped when she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder, turned and saw him.
“You shouldn’t do that, Mom,” he said softly, watching her, with tears in his own eyes.
“Why not?” She was crying then, and he reached out and held her in his arms. He was not only her son, but her friend now. At seventeen, he had grown into manhood instantly when he lost his father. “I still miss him so much,” she confessed to him, and he nodded.
“I know. But doing this doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t help. It just makes it worse. I used to come in here too, and do the same thing, but it made me so sad I stopped. Maybe you should pack up his stuff. If you want, I’ll help you,” Peter offered.
“Grandma said I should too … I just don’t want to,” Liz said sadly.
“Then don’t. Do it when you’re ready.”
“What if I never am?”
“You will be. You’ll know when.” He held her for a long moment, and then she slowly pulled away and smiled up at him. The moment of sheer agony had passed, and she felt better as she looked at her son. He was a good boy, and she loved him more than she could tell him, just as she loved all her kids.
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. Thanks for being there for me, and for all the others.” He nodded, and they walked back into her room again, as she glanced at her briefcase. For once, she just didn’t feel like working. Doing what she had just done, trying to hold on to Jack, by clinging to his clothes, and smelling his cologne on them, always made her feel worse after the initial indulgence. The positive aspects only lasted for a few seconds. But she only missed him more afterwards. It was what Peter had discovered, and why he had stopped doing the same thing, just as he had told her.
“Why don’t you give yourself a breather tonight, just take a hot bath, or go to a movie or something,” he said wisely.
“I’ve got work to do.”
“You always have work to do. It’ll wait. If Dad were here, he’d take you out. Even he didn’t work every night the way you do now.”
“No, but he worked at home a lot. More than I did then.”
“You can’t be you and him, Mom. All you can be is you. It’s too much to do both parts.”
“When did you get so wise?” She smiled at him as he stood in the doorway, but they both knew the answer to that. Peter had grown up about six mon
ths before, on Christmas morning. He had had to do it very quickly, to help her and his siblings. There was no choice now. Even the girls had grown up a lot in the last six months, and despite her awkward age, Megan was always offering to help her. Liz knew she was going to miss her while she was at camp, but they deserved to get away and have a good time. They all did.
Peter went to his own room then, and in her room, Liz sat down on her bed and spread out her papers. She was still working long after Peter had gone to bed. She always worked late now. She hated to go to bed, or to try and sleep. It was always a battle to fight the memories out of her head. The nights were a lot harder than the days, and had been from the beginning.
But by two she was finally asleep, and by seven, she was up and running. She dropped Jamie off at camp again, went to work, sifted through her caseload, dictated letters to Jean, made a dozen phone calls, and at five-thirty she was back in the backyard, timing Jamie’s dashes. In its own way, it was a pleasant treadmill. Kids, work, kids, work, sleep, and then the same routine all over again. For the moment, it was all she had, and all she wanted.
By the time camp was over for the girls, Jamie had picked up a lot of speed on his dashes, and improved his distance on the running long jump. They had even practiced the sack race, with a burlap bag she had gotten at the feed store. He was gaining in confidence as well as speed. And he made up in effort and goodwill what he lacked in coordination.
But Jamie was even more excited about seeing his sisters when they came home than he was about the Special Olympics. And they were thrilled to see him. Jamie was special to all of them. And the day before camp ended for the girls, Liz took Jamie and a friend to Marine World. He loved getting splashed by the dolphins and the whales. He was absolutely soaked by the time they left and got in the car to drive home. Liz had to wrap him in towels so he didn’t catch cold, and he was ecstatic about the day.
The Special Olympics were scheduled for the following weekend. Liz trained every night with him, and all morning the day before the event. And when his sisters watched him, they applauded and cheered. He was better than he had ever been, and the night before he could hardly sleep he was so excited. He slept in Liz’s bed that night, as he still did fairly often. She never complained about it, or discouraged him, because selfishly she loved it too, and it gave them both comfort.
The House On Hope Street Page 8