Breaking the Ties That Bind

by Gwynne Forster

  He parked a short walk from the Howell Building. “We’re close by, so you won’t have to rush.” He had reserved a table, and as soon as they sat down, the waiter brought them lobster bisque.

  “Oh my gosh, Sam. I’m crazy about this. I’ve been promising myself to learn how to make it. It’s delicious.”

  Midway through the second course, Sam said, “I’m having a hard time waiting to find out what upset you since we spoke last night.”

  She stopped eating. “Brace yourself.” After taking a deep breath, she told him about Ginny’s latest trick.

  He didn’t speak until he’d finished eating. “What’s her address?”

  “No. You don’t want to get involved with her.”

  “I am involved with her. She’s trashing your life. Give me her address.” She shook her head. “All right. Don’t. I can get it in five minutes.”

  She shook her head as if rejecting the inevitable. “Last I heard, she was in jail. But since I refused to press charges, she may have been released by now.”

  “She deserves permanent residence there. Are you airing the Holmes interview tonight?”

  “Yes, at eight-thirty. Goodness, I forgot to tell Papa, and I’m not sure I’ll have time.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll call him when I leave you.”

  He had asked her to slow down, but even though he wasn’t touching her, she was seeping deeper and deeper into him. She was so vulnerable, and he had a deep-seated feeling that she needed him.

  “Have you told your father about this morning’s happenings?”

  “No. I try not to mention such things to him when he’s working. I’ll tell him when he picks me up tonight.”

  They finished the meal, and he walked outside with Kendra, kissed her cheek, and watched her go into the Howell Building. He had the feeling of one suspended over a precipice. As much as he cared for Kendra, he could not allow himself to become involved with a woman who would do what her mother did that morning. And to have such a woman as the grandmother of his children was unthinkable. He walked toward his car, passed a Starbucks, turned back, and walked in. After ordering a cup of coffee, he found Bert Richards’s card and telephoned him.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you, sir. This is Sam Hayes.”

  “How are you, Sam? Good to hear from you. What’s up?”

  “Kendra wants you to be sure and tune in on her program tonight at eight-thirty. She forgot to tell you that she’ll be broadcasting her interview with Clarissa Holmes and playing Holmes’s recordings. She asked me to phone you.”

  “Thank you. I wouldn’t have missed that for anything.”

  “She did a great job. I hope I’ll see you soon.”

  “Same here.”

  Sam threw the remainder of the coffee into the wastebasket and walked back to his car. He realized that he’d parked in front of a florist and, without giving it much thought, he went inside, bought a dozen long-stemmed red roses, and had them sent to Kendra. On the note, he wrote, “Thinking of you. Sam.” I don’t know why I did that, but I did, and I feel good about it. He was not confused about his feelings for Kendra; far from it. His problem was what he’d do about them.

  At his father’s suggestion, he ate supper with Jethro and Edwina, after which they sat in Jethro’s living room sipping liqueurs and espresso coffee while they waited to hear Kendra’s program. At eight-thirty, Clarissa’s sultry voice began the soulful words of “Sophisticated Lady” and immediately faded into the background.

  “Hey, all you Holmes fans, this is KT. Tonight is Clarissa Holmes night, and for the next two hours, we’re going to celebrate her in her own words and her own music.”

  “This interview sounds as if it’s live,” Edwina said.

  “What kind of recorder did she use?”

  He didn’t miss his dad’s knowing look. “Probably the best small recorder available. She said Sam gave it to her.”

  “I’ll have to ask her to let me see it.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Jethro said. “I’ll ask Sam about it.”

  It looked to him as if Edwina and his father were living together, but until his dad told him, he wouldn’t mention it. He closed his eyes and let the smooth tones of “When a Woman Loves a Man” flow over him. Listening to the famous singer express the meaning of that song got to him. He opened his eyes to see Jethro and Edwina locked in a torrid kiss and wished there was some way that he could give them the privacy that they needed. He doubted that they knew he was in the room.

  At the end of the program, he was more than ready to leave them. He wanted to see Kendra, but her father would meet her when she left work, and he had no role to play. But whose fault was that? He went home, not merely disgruntled, but irritated at himself. Yet, he knew that where Kendra was concerned, he’d done the right thing. They were headed for a relationship in which sex was the end-all and be-all, and he’d realized—barely in time—that he wanted more with her. Something on the periphery of his conscience told him that he was ready to build a family, but he had two good reasons not to build it with her. And at least two good reasons that favored her, his niggling conscience reminded him.

  He headed home. Maybe what he needed was a dog. He laughed at himself. No dog could substitute for the way her breasts felt against his chest the last time he held her close.

  Clifton Howell flung open the studio door, his hand outstretched. “Kendra, you hit a home run. It was off the chain. The phones are ringing constantly. Do you have her address? I want to drop her a note, thank her, and tell her she has a home at WAMA Radio and WAMTV. You’re a wonderful interviewer. I can see you a few years down the road with your own TV show.” He sat down. “I can’t tell you how proud of you I am. And for WAMA to pull off a tour de force like that . . .” He beamed. “Let ’em eat humble pie.”

  Kendra left the radio station feeling as if she walked on clouds. Howell had as much as told her he’d eventually shift her to his television station, but she didn’t want to be an overly made-up pretty face asking inane questions of the latest popular celebrities; she wanted to collect and report the news.

  Her father parked as she walked out of the building. “Hi, Papa. Did you hear it?”

  “I did, and it was great. You are a wonderful interviewer. You made that woman respond to you as if you were her best friend. I wish I could have seen that on TV. Your boss had to be pleased with it.”

  “He was, and he came in and told me so.”

  She waited until he parked in front of the building in which she lived. “Papa, I have something to tell you.” From his silence, she knew that he was preparing himself for the worst. She told him of her mother’s attempt to steal her pocketbook. “I think she’s losing her mind. Why won’t she work a steady job?”

  “She’s done some awful things, but I would have thought that was beneath her. I’d like to know why she’s so desperate. She’s too self-centered to take care of a man . . . but, well, you never know. Is she in jail?”

  “I don’t know. I refused to press charges.”

  “When you finish school, get a job in New York or someplace where she can’t find you. It’s bad enough that you can’t depend on her and that you don’t have a mother–daughter relationship, but for you to have her as an enemy is horrible, and it’s painful for me to watch.”

  “I’m tough, Papa, and I can thank her behavior for that. She isn’t going to drag me down. I won’t let her.” She hugged her father and went inside.

  The doorman stopped her. “How are you, Ms. Richards? I have something here for you.” He handed her a vase of red roses wrapped in clear cellophane. She thanked the doorman, and when she got into her apartment, she unwrapped the flowers, thinking that Clifton Howell had gone overboard.

  She opened the little envelope and read: “Thinking of you, Sam.”

  Kendra sat down. Holding the crystal vase in her lap, she leaned her head against the back of a chair and let the tears cascade down the sides of her face. She had needed so
meone, and he was there for her. It was twenty minutes after twelve, but she had to talk with him. She went to her bedroom, put the roses on her night table, sat on the bed, and dialed Sam’s number.

  “Hello, Kendra. I’m glad you called. Your show was great. I listened at my dad’s house along with him and Edwina.”

  “Thank you, Sam. Your verdict is important to me, but I’m calling because these beautiful roses and the sentiments on your card are what I needed tonight. Thank you.”

  “Did your father hear your show?”

  “Yes, he did, and he enjoyed it. Well, I just wanted you to know that what I got from you tonight lifted me up at a time when I needed that.”

  “Say, wait a minute. After the success of your show, you should have been happy. Oh, no. What happened to you this morning finally set in. Baby, do you want me to come over there?”

  “I won’t lie and say no, but if anything ever happens between you and me, Sam, I want it to happen naturally. But knowing that you would come to me this time of night is one more reason why you’re dear to me. Good night.”

  “You’re dear to me, too. Good night, sweetheart.”

  She hung up feeling better. He may have slowed things down, but he cared for her and wasn’t loath to express it. She made up her mind to seek psychiatric help for Ginny, but she didn’t want any direct contact with her, so she would probably need the assistance of local authorities. She made a note to speak to a psychiatric social worker. There was no point in allowing her mother to destroy herself.

  When Kendra entered Professor Hormel’s class the following morning, he called to her. “Ms. Richards, may I see you after class?”

  “Yes, sir.” She took her seat and tried to focus on the lecture, but her mind insisted upon trying to guess what Professor Spam—the students’ nickname for him—wanted. At the end of class, she stopped at his desk.

  “We’ve read the papers of our nine best students, and I don’t see anybody catching you. We’ve taken Egypt off the list of countries for the winner to visit and added Kenya and The Gambia. This is confidential.”

  “Thank you, sir. I wouldn’t dare mention it. Is Florence, Italy, still on the list?”

  “Italy is on the list. The winner can choose where to go in a particular country.”

  “If I win, would you have a suggestion?”

  “You’ll find plenty to write about in each of these countries, but no country compares to Italy for variety. I could write books on the experience of just eating in Italy. Do your research and choose well.”

  She dashed into the ladies’ room and nearly knocked over an obviously pregnant student. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?” she asked the woman.

  “Fine except that I keep tripping over my shoe strings.”

  Kendra looked down at the untied shoes. “Can’t you tie them?”

  “I’ve tried everything but a robot. Maybe I’d better take out the strings.”

  “I’ll tie them for you,” Kendra said, put her bookbag and pocketbook on the floor, and tied the woman’s shoes. “Won’t the baby’s father do that for you?”

  “He can’t stand responsibility, so I sent him packing. I’m in this by myself, and I’m dealing with it.”

  “Good girl. If you’re right here tomorrow morning at nine, I’ll be glad to tie them for you.”

  “You’re an angel. I’ll be here. Thanks.”

  Kendra waved her on, but suddenly she remembered Natalie, her coworker at La Belle Époque who feared that she might be pregnant by a man who had lied to her about his marital status. During her lunch period, she telephoned Natalie at home, got no answer, and left a message. She had been so caught up in her rapidly changing world that she’d forgotten her former coworker who had encouraged her and been a friend to her on several occasions.

  “It’s a lesson, and I won’t forget it,” she said to herself.

  With about half an hour at her disposal, Kendra went up to Founders Library on the main campus, and began her search for information about the kind of caregiver who could help her mother. She didn’t expect to succeed overnight, but she had to begin, because each one of Ginny’s escapades seemed more desperate and more outrageous than the last.

  She didn’t mention her search to her father when he picked her up from work that night, but she might have if he hadn’t brought up the matter of Thanksgiving Day dinner. “I got a phone call from Sam’s father. He said he and Sam always have Thanksgiving dinner together, but that he’s sure Sam intends to have dinner with you and that you’d want to have dinner with me, so we should all go to his house. He asked if I had allergies or if there was something I didn’t like, which was real thoughtful of him. I told him I hated brains, kidneys, liver, or anything from the inside of a pig. That drew a big laugh from him. He sounded like he wants you and Sam to make it permanent.”

  “He’s a man who scrutinizes a thing until he practically singes it, makes up his mind, and doesn’t waver thereafter. I like him a lot.”

  “That’s because he likes you.”

  “Did you tell him you’d go?”

  “Of course I did. That means you and I will entertain at Christmas.”

  “He’s involved with a very nice lady. I’m anxious to see how it works out.”

  “If the way you described him a minute ago is accurate, it will work out. Any more nonsense from Ginny?”

  “No, sir, and when I don’t hear anything from her, I begin to get nervous.”

  “If you like, I can take you to school mornings. If she sees me, she won’t tarry. Does she know what you’re studying?”

  “Not unless she followed me to the communication school. If she doesn’t lay off, I’ll have to get a restraining order, Papa. But you and I both know she would ignore it. I don’t want to be the reason my mother goes to jail.”

  “You wouldn’t be the reason; she’d be there because of her attitude and behavior.”

  “I know you’re right, but all the same . . .” She reached over and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Papa, and thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. If you need me to take you to school, call.”

  Ginny dragged herself out of bed, went to the kitchen, and checked her refrigerator. With what she had in her freezer and in the pantry, she could eat for the rest of the week. After that, she’d have to beg Phil to take appointments for her. She hated having to pamper women who weren’t as good as she was and accepting the measly tips they offered. With Angela’s husband’s car parked in front of her building every day for a miserable little five hundred dollars, what else could she do? She couldn’t leave the building as long as he sat there. But she’d find a way. If necessary, she’d leave by the back alley.

  She’d lied to Asa and told him that she had a viral flu, but she’d noticed that the bastard hadn’t been there to check. He hadn’t sent her any flowers, either. She used her cell phone to call Phil.

  “This is Ginny. I’m just getting over that awful flu. Damned thing nearly took me out of here, but I’m fine now. Haven’t had a fever in four days. Could you put me down for some appointments?”

  “You’re good at what you do, Ginny, that is, when anybody can get you to work. I’m putting you down for Tuesday to Saturday every week. The holidays are coming up, and that’s when we make the money. The first day you don’t show up here, that’s the day I’m putting an ad in the paper for your replacement. You could make over a thousand a week if you’d get off your lazy ass and work. I’ll see you Tuesday or not at all.”

  “I’ll see you Tuesday, Phil.” A thousand a week! He thought that was money? She kicked the ladder-back kitchen chair halfway across the dining room. “I’m not standing on my feet forty hours every week for nobody.” She made a pot of quick grits, steamed a hotdog, put some butter on the grits, poured boiling water over instant coffee, and ate her breakfast. As she was putting the dishes in the dishwasher, she remembered. And recoiled. Her postponed hearing had been rescheduled for the day before, and she had forgotten it.

/>   She phoned the court clerk. “I’ve been in bed sick, and I just remembered it.”

  “If you’re smart, you’ll get here before the cops go to your house to get you, and they could be on their way.”

  She looked out the window, didn’t see Angela’s husband’s car, brushed her teeth, dashed into her clothes, powdered her face, put on some lipstick, and headed for the elevator. She put on her dark glasses, took the elevator to the basement, and left by the back alley.

  “You’re a lucky woman, Mrs. Hunter. In another minute, I would have signed this warrant for your arrest,” a court officer said when she walked in.

  Chapter Ten

  Sam walked out of his classroom that afternoon feeling out of sorts. He’d made it to the university in spite of the second late-autumn blizzard of the year, a weather pattern with which Washington was unfamiliar and for which it was unprepared. His normal trip to work took him from fifteen to twenty minutes by car, but after more than an hour of trudging through the wind and snow, and standing on corners trying to thumb a ride, he’d entered his classroom practically frozen. His hands were so cold that he was unable to write. But with eleven of his twenty-three students present, he was glad he’d made the trip.

  “Do you have an hour to spare, Professor Hayes?” a colleague, James Enders, called to him.

  He stopped and waited until the man was walking along with him. “What’s up, Jim? If it’s important, I can take the time.”

  “You live in my direction. What do you say we stop at Rooter’s or someplace like that, get a cup of coffee, or a beer and a sandwich or something? I’ve got a problem with one of my students, and I think she has a class under you. I’d suggest the faculty lounge, but, considering this weather, I want to get as close to home as possible before the rush hour begins.”

  “If it’s convenient for you. I didn’t drive.”

  “I drove my four-wheel-drive jeep,” Enders said, “so this snow won’t be a problem.”