The Bracelet (Everlasting Love)

by Karen Rose Smith

  After a long silence, he finally answered. “Not a lot. I just told Gary and Boyd I didn’t want to talk about it and they were okay with that. One day when I was alone in the parking lot, Dave Valenti asked me how I liked having a dad who was a murderer. When I threatened to deck him, he backed down.”

  “I just wish none of it had happened—the article…Dad’s heart attack,” Kat said. “I wish we could just go back to the way we were before.”

  “You can never go back.”

  After a long moment, Kat opened his door. “See you tomorrow.”

  As Kat exited Sean’s room, he closed his eyes, trying to forget about anything that might keep him awake.

  Laura ran into the bagel shop Saturday afternoon attempting not to think or feel. Brady hadn’t slept in their bed last night. When she’d checked the den this morning, it had been empty. A note on the refrigerator told her he’d gone for a walk. If she’d waited longer for him…

  The truth was, she’d fallen deeper into hurt that had accumulated hour by hour as she’d waited for Brady to come to bed. This morning, tired and becoming angry as well as hurt, she’d left for Blossoms knowing he wouldn’t talk to her until he was ready.

  Maybe she didn’t want to hear more of the resentment he’d kept inside. Maybe he was planning a divorce. Maybe loving him for all these years had been a mistake.

  Was her life a mistake? Had she attempted to “fix” Brady when he’d returned from the army? Or had she mistakenly believed their love would be strong enough to cement them for life? She hadn’t thought about much else as she worked at Blossoms this morning, mixing up orders, finally retreating to the workroom to arrange flowers.

  She heard his words again and each one stabbed her as it had last night: Your forgiveness has been a weight I can’t escape.

  There were two lines in the bagel shop, five customers in each. Most of the tables were full. The Saturday lunch crowd streamed in. As she quickly determined which line to join, she took a good look at the customers in each and spotted Dr. Gregano. She almost hadn’t recognized him in the red polo shirt and navy slacks.

  Should she say hello?

  He probably didn’t want to be bothered during his free time by patients or their families.

  He finished paying his bill and turned to head toward the only empty table, a bagel sandwich and cup in hand. When he spotted her, he instantly recognized her.

  Smiling, he nodded. “Mrs. Malone! Are you getting lunch?”

  “Just a bagel, and a dozen to take out.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he motioned to the table for two that had just been vacated. “If you need a seat, you’re welcome to join me.”

  Her heart beat a little faster as she looked into his eyes. She remembered how kind he’d been the night of Brady’s surgery. She could use a little kindness right now. “Thanks. You’ll probably be finished before I get my order.”

  “I drink at least two cups of coffee. This afternoon, I’m not rushing anywhere for a change unless I get beeped.”

  The line moved fairly fast, and when she carried her cheese bagel, bag and bottle of water to Dr. Gregano’s table, he’d just finished his sandwich.

  “That’s lunch?” His tone was teasing.

  “I’m not really hungry, but I can’t go all day without eating.”

  “I’ll say you can’t. In fact, you’ve lost some weight.”

  Surprised he’d noticed, she said, “About five pounds. Life has been hectic.”

  “And stressful?”

  In his eyes, she found that kindness again as well as compassion. Her throat tightened and tears were much too close to the surface.

  “Mrs. Malone…”

  “It’s Laura,” she managed to say.

  “Laura. You know, don’t you, that recovery from bypass surgery can be as stressful for the caretaker as for the patient?”

  Breathing deeply, she admitted, “Especially if the patient doesn’t want to be taken care of.”

  “You went to the cardiac workshop for family members and watched the video?”

  She nodded.

  “Then you heard how traumatic the experience is for the patient. The list of problems to deal with is long. The surgery was a shock to your husband’s body—a violation, if you will. And not only for his heart. Muscles were disturbed. His sternum was cracked.”

  “When he first got home, he was rubbing his neck and shoulders a lot, but, Dr. Gregano—”

  “It’s Dominic.”

  She could almost settle into the comfort of his smile. He understood what both she and Brady were dealing with, and to her surprise, his first name came easily to her lips. “Dominic, the physical repercussions are just the tip of the iceberg. He seems to be reviewing his whole life.”

  “That’s not unusual, either. Neither is depression. Remember, he faced death.”

  “He’s done that before,” she confided softly.

  “The service?” Dominic guessed.

  “Yes.”

  Dawning flared in the physician’s eyes. “He’s the Brady Malone in the newspaper article!” He gave a low whistle. “So that’s the family complication you mentioned.”

  “Yes. Reporters were at our door, on the phone and even at the hospital.” She was admitting a confidence she should probably keep to herself, but she felt so raw today that his empathy was a balm.

  “Sometimes my newspapers collect for a week and I don’t have a chance to read them until I have a day off.”

  Not giving in to the inclination to confide more, she followed the change of subject. “Do you get many days off?”

  “I’m on rotation with two other cardiologists. Once in a while I have a weekend to call my own. What about you? Do you work outside the home?”

  She smiled at his politically correct phrasing. “I have a flower shop—Blossoms.”

  “I’ve seen the ads.” He pointed to her untouched bagel. “I’ve asked you too many questions and you’re not eating. I’m going to get that second cup of coffee. You have your lunch—such as it is.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied jokingly as if there weren’t an age difference between them, as if they were two friends meeting for coffee, as if—

  She observed Dominic Gregano as he went to the sidebar of coffee carafes and filled his cup. He was an attractive man. She hadn’t looked at a man—at least, not in a man-woman way—since she’d met Brady. No effort had been required to keep her heart and mind on her husband. No effort at all.

  So why was it that today she was noticing the clean cut of the doctor’s hair, the straightness of his nose, the darker silver rim around his gray eyes? Because she was hurt? Because she felt alone? Because Brady was pulling away and she didn’t know what to do about it?

  She finished half her bagel.

  Dominic returned to their table and seated himself across from her again.

  The noise in the shop was reaching a crescendo. Two teenagers shouted to a friend across the room and chatter rose a notch.

  Dominic gestured outside. “If you’d like to talk more, why don’t we take a walk. We can’t hear ourselves think in here.”

  Tempted. She was so tempted. But did she really need a shoulder to lean on? That was what she’d be doing. Did she need a distraction that could make her feel better for the moment but in the long run cause havoc?

  Maybe she was crazy. That wasn’t interest in her that she saw in Dominic Gregano’s eyes, was it?

  “It’s only a walk, Laura. I enjoy your company and you deserve a break from caretaking.”

  If she deserved a break, she’d better take it with her kids or Pat or Jack’s wife, Angie. It would be dangerous to take it with this man. Every moral fiber in her body told her that.

  “Thanks, but I really can’t. My son has a baseball game. I have errands to run first and I don’t want to be late. I appreciate you…talking to me.”

  “Anytime,” Dominic said as if he meant it.

  With a smile, she picked up her bag of bag
els, said goodbye to the doctor and left the shop without looking back. She could feel his gaze on her, but she realized she had no response to it. He was a nice, kind, attractive man. But her husband was waiting for her at home and he was the one she wanted to be with.

  Even if he doesn’t want to be with you?

  That was a question she had to find the answer to…because the answer could change her life.

  Chapter 11

  The sun was dropping onto the horizon as Brady watched Laura turn the steering wheel and veer into the parking lot at the baseball field. She’d been silent during the drive and he knew why. He’d seen the hurt in her eyes last night and he’d hated the fact that he’d caused it. He never should have been honest with her. He never should have acknowledged his resentment. Even he hadn’t realized it was there to that extent.

  “There might be a crowd,” she said and he understood she was attempting to keep some kind of line of communication open between them.

  He obliged. “We’re early enough. We’ll get seats.”

  Just that interchange made the strain between them even worse. It was almost painful being here with her tonight. They couldn’t seem to talk anymore without a difference of opinion. Because they were both stressed by his heart attack, surgery and nightmares? Because if he reached out for her, if he even attempted having sex, he was afraid he’d have another heart attack?

  Only time and strengthening and healing would help. Even if he could do the stairs, that wasn’t sex. How would he know for sure that he’d waited long enough?

  After climbing out of the van, they walked through the gravel parking lot to the baseball field. He noticed other families exiting their cars and SUVs, heading that way, too. The top seats of the bleachers always filled up first.

  “Second row okay?” Laura asked him.

  “The second row is fine,” he answered her. She’d chosen it so he wouldn’t have to climb higher. He was ready to try to climb to any height to feel like himself again.

  His gaze on Laura, he realized she looked almost young tonight with her hair tied back in a ponytail, a baseball cap sporting the name of Sean’s team shadowing her face. The jeans she wore fit her way too well. Her running shoes were almost new, and they weren’t the ones she used in the garden. No one would ever guess she was fifty-eight.

  They stepped over the first bleacher, then plopped down close to each other, their hips rubbing, their elbows brushing. Brady caught the scent of Laura’s perfume. It had teased his nose in the car. Or maybe it was the lotion she wore. She didn’t make any move to slide away from him, and suddenly he felt he could use some space. He shifted, putting a couple of inches between them.

  He should apologize for what he’d said last night. On the other hand, should he apologize for the truth? How in the hell had his marriage gotten so complicated after thirty-three years?

  “That’s him,” he heard someone murmur a few rows behind him. “That’s the man who did those awful things when he was in the army.”

  He could feel Laura stiffen beside him.

  Maybe she was afraid he’d get into a fight and defend his honor. Have another heart attack. He should have put more thought into attending the game. But he’d been distracted. His conversation with Carl from this afternoon was still running through his head. Still, he’d needed to get out…needed to support Sean. Yet he should have realized people didn’t keep their opinions to themselves.

  There was a hum of voices and he caught his name being mentioned. He caught words like “Bronze Star,” “deplorable,” “Vietnam should have never happened.”

  Then one of his neighbors, Jim Stavros, who had a son a grade behind Sean, sank onto the bench beside Brady. He was a huge man, barrel-chested, with a beer belly that hung over his belt. But he was always genial, and now he clapped Brady on the back. “Good for you, coming out here like this. You guys who were over there were heroes. Don’t you listen to what anyone else says.”

  In spite of the hurt between them, in spite of what he’d said to Laura, he felt her arm lodge against his, felt the support that had always emanated from her.

  He gave Jim a short nod. It was supposed to be a thank-you. Then he waited for the game to start, his gaze on his son, who was standing on the sidelines near the fence with his friends. At least Sean couldn’t hear. At least his mind was on the game.

  Brady stared straight ahead, hoping Sean’s team would run away with the score, hopeful the game would be a short one. Then he could congratulate his son for winning instead of dwelling on the spectators’ comments.

  “Your dad has guts,” Boyd said to Sean before the game started.

  Sean thumped his bat on the ground and cut a glance toward the bleachers where his mom and dad were sitting. For his dad’s sake, he wished he hadn’t come.

  “Don’t pay any attention to Corey Mason and his father,” Gary directed him. “They’re a bunch of assholes.”

  When Sean’s mom and dad had walked to the bleachers, Corey’s father had pointed to Sean’s dad and muttered something like, “I can’t believe he’s showing his face.”

  Sean didn’t know how his dad was doing it, pretending people weren’t pointing him out, pretending not to hear the whispers. Dave Valenti hadn’t been the only one to razz him at school. Corey had gotten in Sean’s face about the article, too. Since Mason was a lot bigger than Sean, Sean had threatened to reveal how Corey had bought an essay off the Internet to send in with his college application. That had shut him up.

  “Just pretend that ball is Corey’s head when it comes toward you,” Boyd decided.

  Boyd and Gary were Sean’s best friends. They’d all been assigned to the same homeroom as freshmen, taken the same English class together. They were good friends and understood things about him he didn’t like to explain.

  When Sean had entered high school, he’d known he’d have to work harder than most of the other kids. His mind didn’t focus the same way. Sometimes words and lines got jumbled when he was reading, and it took him a lot longer to do his homework than it took Gary or Boyd. They accepted that…and him. As well as the reality that he was good at sports, not to mention the drawing he kept under wraps. No way was he going to let his other classmates find out he liked to sketch in his spare time. They’d think he was artsy-fartsy or something. Boyd and Gary didn’t make anything of it…didn’t even kid him about it.

  “I got some weed this afternoon,” Gary told Sean now. “We can get wasted at my place after the game.”

  Gary’s parents weren’t around much. His dad was always going on business trips and his mom did her own thing. There was a housekeeper, and Gary often said he saw her more than he saw his parents. He was flippant about the arrangement and acted as if it didn’t matter. Sean knew that routine. He himself acted as if lots of things didn’t matter.

  But tonight…

  “I’d better go home after the game. I don’t want my dad to feel as if I’ve deserted him or something.” Sean still felt guilty his parents had been arguing about him when his dad had his heart attack. If he got a few hits tonight, he could make his dad proud. How he wished he could make his dad proud.

  What would happen if he told his parents he didn’t want to go to a private college in western Pennsylvania? That he’d rather go to Scranton to a school where he could do a two-year program in graphic design. They’d be disappointed if he did that. But it wouldn’t be the first time. He’d disappointed them, especially his dad, since he’d been adopted.

  His dad hadn’t been around much when he was really little. For some reason Sean had felt that was his fault. School had been a nightmare. He’d felt stupid, as the other kids seemed to learn so much faster than he had. He simply couldn’t grasp spelling. He still mixed up letters and saw them differently from everyone else. His mom had started helping him after his report card in first grade…after a conference with his teacher. When he was in second grade, things got even worse. There had been talk about holding him back and an educational psyc
hologist had tested him. That was when they’d found out he was dyslexic. Tutoring had begun in the summer. In third grade he’d started catching up.

  Near Halloween that year he remembered one night in particular. His mom, following strategies his tutor had set out, had been helping him with spelling. After supper, they’d sat at the kitchen table with cutout pictures for each of his spelling words with a tape recorder so he could sound out the words, then play them back. They’d gone over his list while Kat strung beads and buttons.

  When his dad had come in, he’d told Kat how pretty the necklace was she was making. Then he’d asked Sean, “Ready for your spelling test?”

  “Yes, sir.” Sean had wished he could look at the list and remember how to spell every word on it.

  His dad had picked up the cutout of a truck. “Can you spell truck for me?” He’d caught Sean off guard. His dad had looked so expectant, so sure Sean could do what he’d asked.

  Sean had known he could spell the word. He’d done it for his mother earlier. But suddenly the letters and sounds had gotten all mixed up in his head. He’d spelled it t-r-u-k. He’d forgotten the c.

  His dad seemed embarrassed for him. He’d patted Sean’s shoulder and said, “We’ll try it again later. I know you’ll do well on your test this week.”

  But Sean had felt his dad’s words had just been words, that he really didn’t mean them. Kat often told him he misread their dad. But he didn’t misread the disappointment his dad was feeling. His mom loved him no matter what, but his father…Sean never felt good enough when he was around his father, even when he tried his hardest to please him.

  At an early age, Sean had seen pictures in the family album of a baby boy, of a proud expression on his dad’s face when he looked down at the infant, of the family his mom and dad and that baby had been when someone had taken their picture in front of the Christmas tree. He’d known then that he could never measure up, just as he knew it now.