Pulling Home (That Second Chance)

by Campisi, Mary

  He nodded, as his world crumbled and burned beneath her stare. “I did what I thought best under the circumstances. Coming forward would damage not only lives, but institutions. People believed in me. I represented something and I couldn’t send them floundering into nothingness.”

  “So you sold us out instead.”

  “I convinced myself I had to sacrifice one for the good of many, that I had to put godly pleasures above earthly pleasures. I lived in hell all those years, watching your mother spend time with men who weren’t fit to touch her hand let alone any other part of her, and knowing I was the cause of it. I swore a vow of celibacy the day she left and I never broke it. She gave me my first African violet,” he said, caressing a fragile snowy bloom. “Violets and Valentine, she said. Our secret.” He snapped the rest of the violet leaves from their base and crushed them into the desk mat. “When she took her life, she took mine with her.”

  Audra threw him a look of disgust. “She was sixteen. You let the town call her a whore until she became one.”

  He buried his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

  The chair scraped as the daughter he’d never acknowledged stood. “Whatever happened to sacrificing all to save one? Did you conveniently forget that sermon? You can pray for forgiveness every night, but you and your self-sacrificing cowardice are responsible for my mother’s death.”

  Seconds later the front door slammed, leaving August alone with his manacled African violets and one last prayer. “God forgive me, please God forgive me.”

  ***

  At 3:10 p.m., Pastor August Richot, head of Our Savior Lutheran Church, pillar of Holly Springs, beloved husband of the late Isabelle, devoted father of Grant and Leslie, died in a fiery crash when his 2004 LeSabre veered off the road on Jacobs City hill and tumbled sixty feet below. The town had not suffered such a grievous loss since the death of firefighter, Jeff Malone ten years before. Father Benedict, who had been elevated in his parishioner’s eyes and at their tables since his Audra Valentine sermon, gave the eulogy. Good friends, fellow parishioners, if ever there be a man who walked this side of God, it was August Richot.

  “He was a saint,” Marion whispered as the service closed. “A true saint.”

  “Never had an unkind word to say about anybody,” Joyce added. “How that man cared for an ailing wife and never even cast a sideways glance at another woman, well that’s just pure God-like.”

  Alice agreed. “He loved his wife and his church.”

  “Some of the men in this town could follow his example,” Tilly muttered, filing out after the rest of the coffee klatch.

  Joyce made the sign of the cross. “Amen to that.”

  Jack waited in the back of the church, while Leslie spoke with another cluster of her father’s followers. The man had more worshippers than Elvis, but then he’d never judged, never refused, and never scorned, no matter social standing or bank account balance.

  While most of the town had turned out to pay their respects, Audra was noticeably absent, at least to Jack. Grant would notice, too and offer superfluous excuses, as if he knew. If anyone else commented, they’d say the pastor’s death followed too closely on the heels of her husband’s to expect attendance. They would be partially correct but there was another reason she’d chosen to no show. He just wished he knew what it was.

  Jack glanced at Leslie who looked stunning in black with the veil of her little hat partially covering her eyes. Later, she’d disrobe to reveal more black—black thong, black bra, black garter. Since her father’s death two days ago, she’d gotten on a jag about having a baby or at least saying she wanted one. Jack found it hard to believe since she didn’t like sharing him with anyone let alone a twenty-four hour, lifetime commitment.

  “Jack, are you stopping by the house later?” Grant edged up beside him carrying a gigantic white African violet.

  “Depends on what Leslie wants to do.”

  Grant nodded, his perfect hair lacquered into place. “I was thinking of inviting Audra over but if you’re going to be there, maybe I’ll just take her to my place.”

  It was the way he said it that pinched Jack’s last nerve. “Why does my being there matter?”

  Grant threw him an ultra-white smile that could pass for movie star quality. “Come on, Jack. The two of you could barely make it through your brother’s funeral. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon, even though I am one, to realize the woman can’t stand you.”

  “You don’t say?” What would he think if he knew they’d shared a bed and a child? He bet that information would wipe the smile off that Robert Redford face.

  Grant tucked his bum hand against his side and studied his three useless fingers. “When Jennifer died, I gave up on a normal life with a wife and kids. I didn’t want it without her. I never thought I’d meet anyone to fill the void she’d left and frankly, I didn’t want to.” His expression softened along with his words. “And then I met Audra. She’s incredible.”

  Now Jack really wanted to punch his pretty face. “She’s my brother’s widow.”

  “I understand, truly I do, but time passes and wounds heal. Trust me, I know.”

  Jack wanted to end this conversation. Now. “Okay, so time passes and wounds heal. What of it? It doesn’t mean a person ever forgets.” I should know.

  “I’d never want her to forget. I just want her to open up to having a man in her life. Eventually, she will.” Those damnable blue eyes turned bluer. “When that happens, I want to be that man.”

  ***

  He was really dead. Doris wanted to attend the funeral but Cy Gilcrest got such a bug up his butt every time she showed up on the premises, he might make a scene and the family certainly didn’t need that.

  Damn, you August what the hell happened? They said heart attack or aneurysm. Good Lord, it better have been one of those because if it was your damn lead foot that caused the crash, so help me God, I’ll wish you to hell and back for leaving us on this earth without you.

  What’s the world coming to when the Lord snatches a person like you and leaves a miserable body like me to rot away one puff at a time? Does He think I have anything worthwhile to contribute to man and society? Ha. I’m no good and everybody knows it, too. I couldn’t council a turnip.

  I’m going to miss our talks. You were the only one who actually listened to me and never judged, even though you knew the truth about me while others merely guessed. You held fast to your preacher vows. Did you know you were the one who kept me going all this time? I would have popped a bottle of valium years ago if you hadn’t been there to listen to my tales of sin and misadventure. I’ve got nobody now. Unless you count Bessie but she’s not good at discussing anything except her stage 2 diabetes and her grandchildren.

  Audra Valentine’s been visiting me. She reminds me of Corrine but stronger, more self-assured. But who knows how Corrine would have turned out if she hadn’t gotten knocked up. I wish you’d helped Audra with her father’s identity. Couldn’t you have taken off that damnable collar for two seconds and slipped her a name? I tried to help her see Corrine wasn’t who they said she was, but I don’t know if she believed me.

  It doesn’t matter now. Good-bye, dear friend. I’ll see you soon.

  Doris placed six valium in her mouth and swished them down with a Coke. Then she turned off the oxygen tank and lit her last cigarette.

  Chapter 30

  “Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?”—Audra Wheyton

  She’d agreed to meet him at the park. Cross-town traffic and one last visit to Kara made her ten minutes late which did not improve his mood if mood could be gauged by long-stepped pacing and hand gesturing. The movements snagged her heart and pierced the buried memories. He’s marrying another woman in three months. He looked up just then and saw her. Damn you, for making me realize I’ll never be over you.

  “You’re late.”

  “Bad habit.” She stepped over a small railing and joined him at a chipped and peeling picnic t
able along the perimeter of the park. Good thinking. In plain view. Opposite sides of the table.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said, folding his hands on the table.

  She chose flippant to hide her nerves. “How could I not come? It’s not every day a woman accuses her fiancé of wanting his sister-in-law.”

  “Leslie didn’t mean what she said.”

  Audra forced a smile. “Really? What did she mean then and why would she wait until there was a packed waiting room to announce it?” Leslie’s outburst spread through the hospital faster than a Code Blue alert. One minute Audra and Jack were talking about Kara and her prognosis, and the next, Leslie pounced on them with accusations and white-lipped anger. Yes, it was embarrassing, yes, it was humiliating, but it was intriguing as well. Especially since Jack had stood by and said nothing.

  “She’s been under a lot of stress.”

  “So have I, but I haven’t accused anyone of, what were her exact words? ‘Wanting to hump his sister-in-law?’”

  Jack’s expression clouded. “She’s not as strong as you. She’s not handling her father’s death well.”

  Correction—my father, too. Oh, how she wanted to smear that man’s name all over Holly Springs, but respect for Doris O’Brien stopped her. The woman had looked to August Richot for peace and forgiveness, vowing he was the only one who never judged her. She died believing the pastor’s kindness was all she had and with his death, her chances dried up, too. The coroner ruled Doris’s death accidental, but Audra knew better.

  “...and then there’s Kara.”

  “What about Kara?”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked away. “Leslie’s still adjusting to the fact that I’m Kara’s father. That whole episode was backlash.”

  “Right.”

  He shrugged. “It’s something she’s going to have to deal with, I mean, we’ll have to deal with.”

  “Being Kara’s father is not something to be dealt with, and if you can’t—”

  “Don’t get all prickly on me. Kara’s an amazing girl.” His eyes lightened to a silver haze. “I spent so many years avoiding her because she reminded me of you, that I never really looked at her. Do you know she’s got my fingers? And my cowlick?” He pointed to a flip of dark hair at the crown of his head. “And I think she’s got my math capabilities, and my incredibly poor handwriting.”

  “How’s Leslie going to like hearing you dissect your daughter’s qualities and compare them to your own?”

  “She’ll get used to it. She’ll have to.”

  “She’s got three months.”

  “Everything’s moving so fast I can’t get a handle on it.”

  “So, slow it down.” She hesitated then jumped in with, “Or don’t you want to marry her?”

  His perfect silver gaze stripped her. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  He lifted a hand, paused in mid-air and let it drop to his side. “I really do want to get to know Kara and be part of her life, some part at least. But it’s not fair to demand you stay if you’re miserable.” Those damnable eyes again, trying to see through her. “Are you miserable?”

  How can I see you every day and not be miserable? I’d rather be two thousand miles away. She buried her feelings and managed, “What are you saying?”

  “You and Kara can go back to San Diego. I won’t try to keep you here. Maybe we can alternate holidays and she can visit during the summer. I might even be able to convince my parents to make a trip west. Would that work for you?”

  “What about Leslie?”

  “I’ll take care of her.”

  “Sure. Just one more thing.” Don’t say it! “Doris O’Brien was a lot smarter than people thought.” Stop now! But she couldn’t. Nothing could keep her from uttering the truth that had tortured her mother and desecrated the Valentine name. “She set me on the track toward my real father. I know who he is. In a million years you’ll never guess who’s responsible for turning my mother into a woman who slept around and depended on pills and booze to get her from day to night. Do you want to know who really killed my mother?” The next words burst from her in a purge of freedom. “You knew him well. Everyone did. It was August Richot.”

  ***

  Events flashed through Jack’s mind like a film on fast forward. August Richot saying grace over Sunday dinner, preaching his sermons, tinkering with those damn African violets he loved so much. The man devoted his life ministering to others and never once exhibited a hint of indiscretion, certainly nothing as monumental as fathering Corrine Valentine’s child. What would Leslie say if she knew Audra were her half sister?

  Damn, what a mess. He’d left the park shortly after Audra and driven around the city before burying himself in a little Mexican restaurant where he drank tequila and beer until the bartender told him to go home and make up with his wife. Everyone always thought problems had to do with a woman and they were usually right. But what if the problem was not with the one who was going to be the wife and that was the problem? It didn’t take his third tequila to realize his plan to marry Leslie and thus effectively cut off all feeling for Audra had failed.

  He wanted Audra. The wanting would never stop. If he were honest for a half second, he’d admit he wanted a life with her and their daughter. He couldn’t marry Leslie when he loved Audra. Christ, he loved Audra. Jack spat out half his drink as the truth permeated his alcohol-saturated brain. The thought of splitting his heart open before the woman who’d crushed it nine years ago made him queasy but he had to tell her. Jack finished his tequila and pulled two twenties from his pocket. He had one stop to make before he confronted Audra and spoke the words he’d been holding inside since the first time they made love.

  ***

  “Leslie? What the hell are you doing?” Jack flicked on the lights and stared at her half naked body sprawled on his bed.

  “Waiting for you, baby.” She rolled onto her belly and threw back her head in classic Penthouse form. “We’re going to have an incredible night.” She fingered a nipple through the filmy pink teddy and ran her tongue over her upper lip. “I know how you like to—”

  “Stop.” He moved to an amber musk candle on the dresser and blew it out. Then he proceeded to the next, until he’d extinguished all six.

  “I almost bought cinnamon but the woman said amber musk was an orgasm enhancer.” She giggled. “Now who could resist that?”

  “Leslie.”

  She ignored him. “Would you like a massage?” She reached for his leg. He stepped back.

  “We need to talk.”

  Leslie gripped the edge of the comforter and let out a long breath. “I had a much more pleasurable way to spend the night than talking, though we would be using our mouths.”

  “We can’t.” And then he added, “I can’t.”

  “Jack, please.”

  “I can’t marry you. You deserve a man who can give you more than I can.”

  She sat up and inched toward the edge of the bed, apparently no longer interested in seductive poses or sultry glances. “I’ll take what you’re offering. Whatever you can give me, I’ll take. Just don’t leave me.” Her voice cracked with misery and despair. “Please, don’t leave me.”

  “I never should have given you the ring. You deserve better.”

  “It’s her isn’t it? It’s that damn Audra Valentine.”

  He didn’t deny it. “I’m sorry.”

  Leslie lunged from the bed and grabbed his arm. “Let’s have a baby. Two or three if you want. I’ll give you a boy.”

  Jack placed his hand on her shoulder and willed her to understand. “A child isn’t going to fix things,” he said gently.

  “I’ll cut my hair, dye it if you want. I’ll even get light brown contacts. Anything.” Her nails dug into his flesh. “I’ll do anything for you.”

  “Leslie—”

  She thrust her arms around his neck and buried her head against his chest. “You can’t
leave me.” She burrowed further into his chest. “Please, don’t leave me.”

  Several moments passed before Jack disengaged her hands and with great gentleness, lifted her head from his chest and stepped back—away from her—away from them. “I’ll stay at the hospital tonight while you gather your things. It will be easier that way.”

  ***

  ...easier that way ...so sorry… Leslie didn’t know when the words stopped and Jack left. She’d shut down somewhere between his first apology and her fifth plea for him to stay. Losing Jack was as sudden and painful as losing Christian. She sank onto the king size bed she and Jack had once shared. It was all gone—the dreams, the plans, the hopes.

  She bent her head and let the tears fall. Why couldn’t she ever be good enough? Why did Audra Valentine always have to be better? Leslie had bartered self respect and a vow to be anything and anybody he wanted, and still, he’d refused. No one wanted her. No one at all.

  She crawled to the edge of the bed and opened the nightstand drawer. She spotted the bottle of sleeping pills and snatched it up. Pharmaceuticals were such wonderful little helpers. She popped three in her mouth and reached for the glass of wine she’d poured earlier. Wine and pills were a lovely combination. She swallowed two more pills, sipped more wine. Chardonnay complemented the pills quite nicely. Leslie finished off the glass and poured another. Then she dumped the rest of the pills on the bed and placed them one by one in her mouth.

  Chapter 31

  “He has a right to know.”—Peter Andellieu

  Peter Andellieu delivered Christian’s briefcase to Jack with an insistence that he review the contents before he spoke to Audra again. There are important documents inside, he’d said. Life altering. Nothing in the stack of bank statements or insurance papers appeared life altering but Jack would plow on, because the sooner he got through it, the sooner he could see Audra and tell her the truth he’d been hiding from for too many years.

  He rubbed his eyes as exhaustion blurred the papers on his desk. He couldn’t stop thinking about the call he received from Grant ninety minutes after he left Leslie. Pumping herself with sleeping pills? For someone who loved life and loved saving lives, how could she try to take her own? Or had the whole thing been a ploy to get him to change his mind about their break up? Why would a person bent on doing herself in, call her brother and tell him what she’d ingested, how many, and when? The answer was simple, even to Grant. She wouldn’t. Once she stabilized, Grant planned to transfer her to Syracuse State Mental institution where she’d undergo a complete psychiatric evaluation and most likely, extensive therapy.