How strange it felt to be comforted by this tall, lean son of hers. Like the first time she went to Susan’s apartment for dinner and didn’t have to do the cooking, acted like a real visitor. Sure your kids grew up, that’s what they are supposed to do … At that thought another came screaming from some corner of her mind. Brian will never grow up. He will always be eleven, a boy who loves to fish and climb mountains and read and ask questions. She rolled her lips together, fighting the onslaught. But one sniff and she was a goner. How could she have any tears left after that last deluge?
“What happened?” Kevin stared at her in total confusion.
“I … I thought of Brian and how he will never grow up, and it’s just not fair.” She slammed the heels of her fists against the wall. “God, I cannot do this!”
Kevin grabbed her pounding fists. “Mom, Mom, take it easy. You’re going to hurt yourself. Here, pound on me.”
She slumped against him, held up by his strong arms, when all she wanted was to curl into a puddle and melt away.
“Have you been like this all day?”
She shook her head. “No, I slept since you and Susan left yesterday afternoon.” Or at least I think I was sleeping. Perhaps unconscious. But anything is better than this. I’m bleeding to death from this gaping crater in my heart, and no one can see it but me.
Kevin pushed her gently down on a chair. “You are going to drink a cup of coffee and eat a piece of pizza.”
She shook her head. “I can’t eat pizza. How about a glass of milk and a piece of toast? No, wait. Tea. That’s what I want: tea and toast. That might stay down.”
“You’ve had the heaves?”
Again she shook her head. “No, just feels like it.” Besides, if you’ve not eaten, you have nothing to throw up.
Kevin put the teakettle on, popped a slice of bread in the toaster, and lifted a piece of pizza from the box. “Do you mind if I eat?”
“Not at all.” Katheryn dutifully ate her toast and sipped her tea, the fluid making the tasteless bread slide down more easily. She felt like she would choke if she tried it dry.
The phone rang, and again he went to answer it.
Please, not Mother, please.
“Can I tell her who is calling?” He clamped the phone to his shoulder and turned. “Someone named Mellie. Will you take it?”
Katheryn nodded and held out her hand. The long cord she’d so carefully measured to make sure she could do anything in the kitchen while still on the phone stood her in good stead right now. She wasn’t sure yet if her legs would hold her up.
“Hi, Mellie. Sorry I didn’t get right back to you. Kevin came and is taking care of me.”
“You sound more like yourself. I’m glad. Have you … you heard anything?”
“No.” Short, sharp and to the point.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“Jenn came to visit us. She said she has to go back to New York for a couple of shoots she’d contracted for.”
“Yeah, life goes on. How’s the little sweetie?”
“Still responding to that transfusion. It helps for a time.”
“And Mr. Johnson?”
“Says he will be home later this week. That’s pretty soon, isn’t it?”
“He didn’t have a bad one.”
“You know, those insurance papers?”
Do I ever. “Yes.”
“I called the agent listed, and he said they are all in order. But I need a death certificate to st-start the claim.”
Katheryn fought the tears she could feel at the sound of Mellie’s sniffing. At least you know. As if that were any help.
“Thanks for helping me.”
“You are most welcome. I’ll call you soon, and if you hear anything from the cancer center, you call me immediately. I can be in the car to come get you within minutes.”
“I … I was afraid you didn’t really mean that.”
“Mellie, I never say anything I don’t mean. Give Lissa a hug for me, and I’ll see you soon.”
Kevin took the receiver from her hand and hung it up. “You did good, Mom. That poor little kid, so sick and no daddy.” He choked on the d word.
“Dad would say you’re the man of the family now.” Katheryn could barely get the words out, then swallowed and took another drink of her now lukewarm tea. Iced tea was good, hot tea was good, but this—blah.
Kevin finished off another slice of pizza. “You think you’re strong enough for Grandma now?”
“I guess so.” She tipped her head back. Lord God, giver of small favors, grant me this one, an easy conversation with my mother. She took the receiver and propped it on her shoulder, lifting her mug for another cup of tea.
That night Lucky shared her bed, still in the guest room.
MAY 27, 1980
I hate to have you leave again.” Clare hugged her daughter one final time.
“I’ll be back before you miss me.”
“Half an hour?”
Jenn turned to her father. “You be careful up in those woods.”
“Lot safer than where you are going.”
“I know, Dad. And I agree. When I get back we’ll have to go looking for a truck for me, okay?”
“I’ll keep an eye out.”
Jenn smiled to herself. Little did he know that when she came back, they were both getting new trucks. And there wouldn’t be any monthly payments either. She’d be willing to bet a year’s livelihood that her father had never had a brand-new-off-the-lot-zero-mileage truck in his entire life.
As she drove along the winding roads, she kept the speed down to keep from stirring up the ash. Sunday, at least, the rain had kept it on the ground in the form of slick mud.
The closer she got to Longview, the greater the butterfly acrobatics in her belly. What if he never showed up? Well, that would certainly tell her a message. What if he showed up with the same chip on his shoulder from the other night? She’d dealt with hardheaded men in her life, starting out with him. She was an adult now. They should be able to talk this out. Should. Right.
She’d been practicing what she needed to tell him. Mainly, that she was coming back and she hoped—ah, the hope of every woman in love with an alcoholic—that he’d give up the booze for her. Voluntarily. After all, perhaps he wasn’t an alcoholic—yet. Just a man who drank too much too often. Ah, Jenn, don’t kid yourself. You’re fighting and losing the battle here, and the only one who can change it is Frank with the help of God. And no matter what the songs said, the love of a good woman wouldn’t cut it.
She pulled into the parking lot ten minutes early and drove past the cars lined up like pigs at a trough. Barney’s served the best barbequed ribs in Southwest Washington. Or maybe further afield. And booze.
She parked and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. Why hadn’t she chosen someplace without a bar? As if any of the good restaurants in the area didn’t have a bar.
You can’t make the choices for him. Remember that, you dimwit. Her self was growing impatient with herself.
She stepped from the truck, straightened black silk slacks, adjusted the black leather belt that nipped in the waist of a black silk turtleneck. Should she take the black suede jacket with her or not? She glanced at the sky, overcast like all the nights lately, as if Mount St. Helens needed to hide behind clouds. She slipped the long, fine leather strap of a Gucci minibag over her shoulder and folded the jacket over her arm. It might be cool when she came out. She needed to be at the airport by ten. Most likely she’d get there early.
She knew she looked good. The appreciative glances of two men coming out assured her of that. Would Frank notice?
She told the maître d’ her name; she’d called ahead for reservations. “Frank McKenzie will be meeting me.” I sure to heaven hope so.
“He’s already seated.” One worry off her mind.
“Thank you.”
Jennifer Elizabeth Stockton, you are not thirteen any longer, so cut the dry mo
uth and put your best word forward. “Hi, Frank. I didn’t think I was late.” She slid into the booth, folding her jacket on the seat.
“You remind me of a puma, black and sleek, all pure grace and …”
He’s been drinking.
“Thanks for the compliment.” You look like you haven’t slept in three days. “And for coming.” Get it out quick.
“My lady commanded and I obeyed.”
“My lady? Come now, you were ready to strangle me two days ago.”
“Yes, well, it’s not nice to drop bombs on your friends.”
“I was planning on telling you.”
“Would you care for something to drink?” the waiter stopped at their table, tablet in hand.
“I’d like iced tea, extra lemon, please.”
“Sheriff?”
“Coke, please. I need my wits about me to spar with the lady here.”
Besides, you’ve already had a snootful. Unable to look at Frank, Jenn watched the waiter walk away. But she didn’t smell booze on him. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps … Do not get your hopes up, girl.
“So, how was your day, things settle down any on I-5?”
“Did you hear what happened this morning?”
“No. What?”
“Have you been watching the news?”
“Anything to do with the mountain and not a lot else.”
“Well, you know how bad the ash is?”
She nodded, deciding not to tell him she’d driven to Tacoma on Sunday. Oil on troubled waters and all that.
“We’ve given out tickets, posted with flashing signs, everything, but those stupid drivers just get in a hurry. Can’t seem to slow down to a safe speed. So the truckers took over.”
“The truckers?” She caught the glint of laughter in his bloodshot eyes.
“Using their CBs to communicate, they set out three across and drove the slow speed, so no one could get around them. They spaced themselves out about seven miles, which gave the ash time to settle in between. Whoever came up with that idea deserves a medal. No one would ’fess up, but it sure took care of the ash and traffic problem.”
Jenn shook her head. “Ingenious. You ought to put them on the payroll. Hmm.”
The waiter set down their drinks. “Are you ready to order?”
“Sorry, I haven’t even looked at the menu.” Jenn picked hers up. “You know what you’re having?”
“Ribs.”
“Good, me too. Baked potato, salad with blue cheese on the side. And extra sauce, extra hot.”
“Make that two.”
“Thank you.” The waiter collected their menus and left.
Jenn resisted the urge to study her fingernails, but she knew they were cut short, as always, with a coat of clear polish. Once she’d resigned from the front side of the camera, she’d worn her fingernails the way she liked them. In fact, she’d worn her life the way she liked it, until the last few years. She could feel Frank staring at her, so she raised her gaze to lock with his. Another urge, to reach out and stroke a tender finger down the side of his face, ease away the lines and … Stop it right now, Jenn. He reads body language like you read a book.
He leaned forward, and now she could smell it. She’d been right. He’d had at least one. For courage? Or for need?
“I was planning on telling you.”
“Telling me what?”
His eyes slitted just enough to let her know he was deliberately keeping a cap on his anger. She wasn’t bad at reading body language herself, especially when it came to him.
“To tell you I have to go back to New York, but …”
“Here you go, folks.” The waiter set their salads in front of them, whipped a tall pepper mill tucked in the waistband of his apron behind his back, and held it poised above her salad. “Pepper?”
She nodded, as did Frank. “Thank you.”
“Look, can we postpone this discussion until after we eat? I haven’t had a decent meal since dinner at your mother’s, and I’m really hungry.”
Jenn nodded. “Of course.” Her salad looked much more appetizing now.
“Remember when …” Frank started the ball rolling, and she passed it back like any decent soccer player. Memories carried them through the salads and the main course, all the while, Jenn was wishing they could talk about now. But a cheerful dinner companion was worth the wait, and she had always enjoyed Frank’s stories. One time they’d even talked about putting a book together. He’d do the stories and she’d take the pictures, a historical about the land they loved.
Jenn shoved her plate slightly forward and used the warm wet cloth provided to make sure she wasn’t wearing any of the sauce. “You remember that idea we had about collecting the old stories around the mountain?”
“Sure, haven’t thought about that in ages.”
“I’ve been thinking about it, for when I come back.”
“Come back?”
“You didn’t give me a chance to tell you the other night. I have to go back to New York because I have three contracts to fill. Should take about three weeks, and I have to close up my apartment.”
“You’re coming back here.”
“Yes.”
“I hear a ‘but’ in your voice.”
She tongued her teeth on the left side, wishing she were anywhere but right here, right now. This man knew her too well.
She gave a small nod. “I gave up drugs and booze.”
“Congratulations.” His eyes did that narrowing trick again. “So?”
“So, in order to stay clean and sober, I know that I cannot be around others who drink, at least for a time—until I get stronger, you know?”
“And you’re saying …” He leaned back, his shoulders rigid, one finger tapping the shiny table.
“I’m saying that for my own salvation I …”
“No, you’re saying that my drinking is causing …”
Jenn grabbed her courage by the neck and hauled it up in front of her. “I’m saying that your drinking is wrecking your life, and no matter how much I love you, I can have no part of it.” She heard herself use the l word but hoped it slid right by him.
“Is that love as in friendship, or …?”
She met his gaze. “I don’t know, Frank, and right now I’m afraid to find out.” She tried to keep her gaze steady and not look away first. But could she control the size of her pupils? Most likely not, since she could feel her heart kicking up a notch.
“So, you’re saying if I keep drinking, you won’t come back?”
“No. I’m coming back, but I can’t stand by and see you destroy your life.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, she slowly shook her head. “I just can’t.”
“But it’s my life.”
“Yes.”
“And what I drink is my choice. I’m not hurting anyone but me, and I don’t see that I’m hurting myself. I know I tie one on once in a while, but, lady”—he leaned forward, menace making her swallow—“no one tells me what to do.”
“I wasn’t telling you, Frank. I was pleading. And trying to explain myself.”
“Funny, it didn’t sound that way to me.”
“I’m sorry.” Jenn picked up her coat and, standing, slung her purse over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Frank.”
Walking out of that room was the hardest thing she ever did. Especially when she heard him call, “Waiter.” She knew what he was doing. Ordering another drink.
“God, save him. I sure can’t.”
She replayed the scene in her mind fifty times between Portland and New York. And never could make it come out right.
When the flight attendant offered her a drink, she almost accepted. After all, what did it matter? She could always go home and drink along with Frank. And when she couldn’t sleep, she had sleeping pills in her carry-on. But again, the fear of one more kept her not only awake but more sober than she’d ever been in her life.
Watching dreams die had that effect on one.
MAY 27, 1980
Mrs. Sedor, have you chosen a funeral home yet?” Telemarketers sounded more personal than the voice on the phone.
“No, I …” Panic attacked like a starving lioness with cubs, ripping her throat, clamping her heart, and shredding the edges of her vision.
“Mrs. Sedor. Mrs. Sedor, is there someone there with you?”
“No, I …” Her breath came in gasps.
“Are you all right?” The calm voice upped a degree in insistence.
Take a deep breath. Easy, you can do this. The voice comforted, held, and encouraged her. The voice, a voice, deep, melodious, and constant like the song of the sea. There now, very good, another breath, hang on to me, I will hold you up, see with my strong right hand I will hold you.
She took another breath, this one actually going down into her lungs. The lioness backed off, and Mellie could hear.
“I am all right now.” She spoke each word cautiously, as if carelessness would bring back the attacker. “Please, continue.”
“Whew, you scared me there for a minute.”
“Me too. I’m sorry for—”
“No, don’t be sorry. You have had a great shock, and today I compound it. Forgive me for being abrupt.”
The gentleness was nearly Mellie’s undoing. Tears slipped down her cheeks. “Please tell me what to do. I … I mean, my husband … Harv took care of everything.” She sniffed and reached for a tissue. “But now I must, and I know my Father—my heavenly Father—will get me through. He promised.”
There was a pause on the line, then a sniff and the sound of a nose being blown. “Thank you for the reminder.”
“You are welcome. Now, what is the next step?”
“You need to call a funeral home. You might ask your pastor whom he suggests. Then you tell us, and we will ship your husband’s remains to where you decide. All of this will be taken care of thanks to A-1 Logging.”
Mellie thought back to the man who had called on her at the hospital. They were indeed doing what he had said they would.
“Then you need to discuss with them or with your pastor how you want the rest of the arrangements handled.”
“I see.”
They finished the conversation with the woman giving Mellie a phone number to call and then she hung up.
The Way of Women Page 26