The Bracelet (Everlasting Love)

by Karen Rose Smith

The coach’s whistle broke into Sean’s reverie and the three of them headed for the bench. Boyd bumped Sean’s elbow. “How about a party tomorrow night?”

  Sean thought about more whispers, more rumors, more jibes.

  “It’s at Valerie Johanssen’s house. She goes to Red Lion High School. You probably wouldn’t even know anybody there except Gary and me.”

  “I can just crash it?”

  “You won’t be crashing. Girls always want more guys around. You’re going to be graduating. You’ve got to celebrate.”

  Gary added, “We’re going to do a lot of celebrating. I invited Kent and James to the cabin the Friday of Memorial Day weekend. We can stay overnight and play music as loud as we want.”

  Maybe the parties were just what Sean needed. Maybe he should just go all out. He didn’t have to worry about his grades now, not with graduation coming up fast.

  “Okay. Maybe it is time to start celebrating.”

  After brushing her teeth, Laura ran water in the navy porcelain sink as she stared into the mirror, not knowing the woman she’d become. There were tiny lines around her lips now, at the corners of her eyes, and one in the middle of her forehead.

  Attending Sean’s game and being with Brady had been hard. Even harder when she’d heard the whispers and seen the stares. Brady had acted as if they’d just rolled off his back. She knew better. He’d been silent as they’d driven home.

  After she turned off the brass spigot, she picked up her brush and ran it through her hair in long, swift strokes. What if Brady didn’t sleep with her again tonight? She was still so hurt by what he’d said. I can never do enough, say enough or be enough for you.

  Maybe her hurt had tempted her to flirt with Dr. Gregano. Why had she considered going on that walk with him? Considered getting to know him better?

  Tears came to her eyes as she thought about longings she’d only ever had for Brady. For a few moments this afternoon after her lunch with Dominic, she’d wondered what his arms would feel like around her, what his lips would feel like on hers. She’d pictured the kiss.

  Perhaps that was because she saw her life as an attractive woman nearing an end. Perhaps it was because Brady didn’t reach for her anymore at night. Because she felt alone even when she was with her husband. She was reminded of a country song about it being easier to be alone with no one around than to be alone with someone only a short distance away. How true!

  There had been stretches in her life with Brady when she’d been ecstatically happy—those three months before he went to basic training after his therapy session into the early years of their marriage. Through her pregnancy and the three months they’d had with Jason, her life couldn’t have been more perfect. Sometimes she hadn’t known where she’d left off and Brady had begun. Even through her miscarriages, when disappointment could have torn them apart but didn’t, she’d known he loved her. She’d known he wanted her. She’d known they were soul mates. But ever since Jason’s death, Brady had put a wall up between them, a wall he sometimes lowered but a wall nonetheless. It had been high and thick and wide for a while now. Oh, they pretended it wasn’t there. They acted happily married at his business functions, during social interaction with other couples. But even when they made love—only fleetingly could she recapture what they’d once been.

  Where had all the feelings gone? Their marriage felt as if it was built on sand instead of rock, as if the wrong word, the wrong gesture, could cause irreparable harm. Could she ever forget what Brady had said to her? Even if it had been said out of frustration…because of his surgery…because he was reexamining his life and didn’t like what he saw.

  Today she’d realized why men and women had affairs. When doubt crept in, when love was just a word, when affection wasn’t part of what a couple was, when vows didn’t mean very much at all, commitment became a chain wrapped around the heart. Sometimes she just wanted a release from everything that had happened and everything they’d been and everything they were now.

  What was happening to her? Was she getting tired of fighting battles she couldn’t win? Was she just plain weary of struggling to make a connection with Brady that hadn’t been there for a long time? Was she angry at him for the distance he always placed between him and Sean? Did she resent the way he cared about their daughter but couldn’t seem to love their son?

  She hadn’t closed the door to the bathroom, and suddenly Brady pushed it open. He was wearing pajamas—black-and-red plaid. He’d worn them ever since he’d come home from the hospital.

  Before his surgery, he’d slept naked.

  In spite of all the questions she’d just asked herself, in spite of the turmoil from today and the past few weeks, in spite of what he’d said, when she looked at Brady her heart fluttered. With his weight loss, he was as lean now as he’d been in his thirties. He’d always had terrifically broad shoulders. Some men as they aged appeared to shrink—their shoulders stooped, their backsides vanished and they grew old in spirit as well as in their bodies. But Brady…

  Brady had always possessed a bigger-than-life stature. He’d always walked with confidence and held his head high. As she stood there in the bathroom with him, remembering how he’d walked away from the bleachers tonight, how he’d shaken Sean’s hand after his team won and ignored comments and whispers, she felt such a longing to be wrapped in his arms. She wanted to hear him say that their marriage was strong enough to handle anything.

  His blue gaze took in every aspect of her fuchsia chemise gown. The silkiness of it showed off curves she still had. The thin fabric couldn’t hide her nipples beading hard under it. The snap and sizzle that reverberated between them wasn’t just in her imagination, was it? Yet maybe she’d deluded herself about their whole marriage. She had to find out.

  “Why don’t you sleep in the nude anymore?” she asked softly, her voice trembling.

  His voice was low, husky, as if he, too, could feel the sexual awareness between them. “My chest scars are ugly.”

  In a few steps, she was right there in front of him, needing so much from him she couldn’t put any of it into words. That wasn’t like her, not to have the words. Her hair swung against her cheek as her hands went to the buttons on his pajama shirt. One by one she began unfastening them. If they could only touch each other again…

  His large hands caught hers and stilled them. “Don’t.”

  “I want to see,” she whispered. “I want to see how it’s healed.”

  He remained silent as she undid the last button and then separated the plackets. The scar was nasty and it reminded her of the trauma his body had been through. Putting her lips to it, she gently kissed it.

  She heard Brady suck in a breath. His hands went to her shoulders and he set her away. When she looked down, she saw his erection pressing against the fly of his pajama bottoms.

  “Not yet,” he muttered.

  “I don’t care about having sex, Brady. Just hold me.” She hated asking. She felt less somehow because he didn’t love her enough to take her into his arms simply because he had missed her, too. Was she still desirable to him? She felt as vulnerable as she had when she was twenty and hadn’t been sure about his feelings.

  Brady wrapped his arms around her then and hugged her. Yet it wasn’t a full-body hug. It wasn’t a hold-on-tight hug. It was a stay-removed-as-best-he-could hug.

  “I’m sorry about what happened at the game,” he said. “I suppose I shouldn’t have gone.”

  When she leaned back, his eyes were full of regret. As always, she wanted to wipe it away. “I felt bad for you, but I was proud of the way you handled the situation, too.”

  “I didn’t handle anything. I pretended it didn’t matter. Do you think Sean and Kat have been affected at school by the article appearing in the paper?”

  “Neither of them has said anything.”

  “That doesn’t mean they haven’t gotten flak.”

  “They both have good friends who will stand by them.”

  Brady droppe
d his arms, though she hadn’t had nearly enough of being close to him. She was so needy tonight. That was what had almost gotten her into trouble with Dominic—the neediness.

  Suddenly Brady said, “I called Carl Miller this afternoon.”

  She hadn’t heard that name in years. About thirty-four years. He was the soldier who’d been with Brady when—

  “Why did you call him?”

  Brady leaned against the counter, his hands on the edge, his knuckles almost white. “I figured he was the source for the reporter. He was.”

  “Why did he talk to the paper?”

  “The reporter phoned and pretended to know what had happened and Carl let the story spill out.”

  “Pretended to know?”

  “Yeah. Carl didn’t realize until he started talking that the reporter didn’t know as much as he seemed to. I got the feeling Carl was unburdening himself. He’d never told anybody about it.”

  “Not even his wife?” Carl had been older than Brady, married before he went into the service.

  “No. They divorced years ago, about a year after he got out of the army. He had nightmares and flashbacks, too, and she couldn’t deal with them.”

  Silence bounced around in the bathroom. Laura had dealt with it, she’d thought. Back then aftereffects of the war had been called post Vietnam syndrome. Now the term was post-traumatic stress disorder. It was the same diagnosis psychiatrists often gave to rape victims, abused children, anyone who’d experienced something traumatic that affected the rest of their lives. Labeling it only named the devil…didn’t exorcize it.

  “Did Carl ever remarry?”

  “No. And he never had kids.”

  Laura wondered that if, after his return home, Carl Miller, like Brady, had never again felt worthy enough to experience happiness. Success wasn’t the same as happiness. Although Brady was a successful man in so many ways, she didn’t believe he was happy. Her heart still ached because of what he’d said last night. She still didn’t understand how her forgiveness had been a burden to him. Was it a burden because his experience in Vietnam had made him feel unworthy to love anyone…to let anyone love him?

  Brady motioned to the sink and the lotion Laura smoothed on every night. “I’ll let you finish.”

  “We can use the bathroom together,” she suggested, wanting that intimacy at least.

  “I’m going to get a shower and loosen up my neck muscles. I don’t want to steam everything up while you’re in here.”

  She could offer to give him a massage, but he’d refuse. He must have seen how deep-down sad she was feeling, because he said, “Soon I’ll be doing those two flights of steps as if I were a teenager again. Then we’ll try having sex.”

  If he thought sex would fix everything, he was wrong. But then, he was more adept at separating his emotions from his actions. She just couldn’t do that.

  Ignoring the lotion on the counter, she managed to say, “Go ahead and get your shower. I’m finished.”

  Then she went into their magnificently furnished bedroom, with its canopy bed, cream damask drapes and plush champagne carpeting. She turned down the silky navy-and-tan spread and crawled between the sheets, not missing sex…but missing her husband.

  Chapter 12

  As Brady emerged from the trail through the woods behind his house Sunday morning, he realized he wasn’t absolutely worn out. He was getting better…getting stronger. Some days he still felt he was staring death in the face in an entirely different way than he had in Nam. There his death would likely have been sudden, with no time to think about. At fifty-nine with a heart condition, death would come in degrees.

  Would this operation he’d had give him twenty more years? Could he push it to thirty? Could he really change his eating habits, exercise habits, his whole damn lifestyle? He’d been wrestling with that question for weeks. The bottom line was he was facing the end of his life. How did he want to live the rest of his days? The way he’d lived them up till now?

  Last night in the bathroom with Laura…

  He hated the tension, the awkwardness, the I-don’t-know-what-to-do-next feeling that always seemed to be there now. He hated seeing the worry in her eyes. Most of all he hated seeing the disappointment. Why couldn’t she realize he had to be one hundred per cent before he made love to her again? She’d say his ego was getting in their way, but he knew, in the deepest layer of his soul, more than his ego was getting in the way.

  As he crossed the yard and approached the patio outside the dining room, he spotted his son, sitting on the corner of the glider, some kind of tablet in his hand. As Brady got closer, Sean flipped the tablet shut.

  “Are Kat and your mom back from church yet?” Brady asked.

  “Nope. I waited until they left to check the refrigerator. We have eggs, bacon and pancakes for brunch for Mother’s Day.”

  “Mother’s Day!” Brady swore.

  His son looked up at him, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

  “I forgot about Mother’s Day.” He swore again, his mind clicking into gear, running possibilities but missing some, grasping others. “I need you to drive me someplace.”

  “Now? Nothing’s open. It’s Sunday morning.”

  “Wal-Mart’s open.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m not. Grab your car keys. Did you get Mom a present?”

  “Kat and I went together. We bought it yesterday.”

  Mother’s Day brunch was a tradition. Brady made the pancakes and kept an eye on the bacon, while Sean scrambled eggs and Kat set the table. Then they gave Laura their presents. How could he have forgotten a day that was so important to her, always had been, always would be?

  Obviously seeing Brady’s discomfiture, Sean said, “Give yourself a break, Dad. You’ve had a lot going on. No wonder you forgot.” In place of the resentment or rebelliousness he usually heard in Sean’s tone, this time there was understanding.

  “Must have been the anesthesia,” Brady muttered. “Do you mind taking me to Wal-Mart?” He asked this time, instead of ordering.

  “No, I don’t mind. But what are you going to get there?”

  “Your mother keeps saying she’d like a digital camera similar to the one we got you for Christmas. Do you have pictures on yours—of you and Kat?”

  “Maybe. Aunt Pat snapped a whole bunch at Easter.”

  “Can you bring your CD to the den? I’ll go through the photos and print one out. We can find a frame for that at Wal-Mart, too. I’ll write Kat a note and slip it under her door, telling her she should keep your mother occupied until we get back.”

  A half hour later, Brady and Sean were in the camera section at Wal-Mart, in the thick of early-morning shoppers. Almost as familiar with electronics as Brady, Sean picked up a camera with features he liked. “You have to get her six pixels.”

  “I know. Maybe I should buy a combination video-still camera.”

  “If you buy one too complicated, she won’t use it.”

  His son was right about that.

  In that moment of complete agreement between them, Brady recalled his last shopping trip with Sean. His son had been twelve and Laura had suggested they go Christmas shopping. But they’d both come home frustrated and in a bad mood. Sean hadn’t wanted to go. He’d preferred spending Saturday with his friends. He’d argued with Brady over anything he suggested for Kat, Laura, Pat or for his uncles and their wives. He’d simply not cared. He hadn’t wanted to be with his father. Brady knew his inattention during Sean’s early years had caused that.

  From the time Sean had been tested for his learning disability, teachers and tutors had emphasized how important praise was to him. His parents should build his self-confidence. They needed to point out his intelligence and his gifts and work with his learning capabilities the way they were, not as Laura and Brady wanted them to be. Brady hadn’t really understood how Sean could conceptualize data until his son had taken geometry. He had grasped the subject surprisingly easily. Spacial conc
epts were different from words and Sean had felt more at home with triangles and trapezoids, lines and circles, than with letters of the alphabet. But by then, Sean hadn’t wanted Brady to help with homework or his input. If Sean needed help, he turned to friends, or a tutor who worked with him when he got stuck. When Sean was small, Brady had taken only the most perfunctory responsibility for him. By the time Sean was ten, he was pushing his father away.

  After that Christmas-shopping trip, Brady had commented to Laura that maybe when Sean matured, they’d find common ground. But Laura had suggested his problem with Sean was deeper than that because Brady held back who he was with his son.

  Now Brady wondered if he didn’t hold back who he was with everyone. Then again, maybe he didn’t hold back. Maybe he’d lost part of himself and it was still back in that jungle. A man couldn’t give what he no longer had.

  “Dad, I really think this is the one.” Sean pointed to a Kodak.

  Brady looked at his son, really looked at him for the first time in a long time. He wanted to ask Sean if he hated him for all the things he should have done as a father and hadn’t. He wanted to ask Sean if he despised him because of the things he’d read in that article. He needed to ask Sean if his son could ever respect him again.

  But they were standing in Wal-Mart, a department clerk was headed their way and Brady couldn’t ask those questions here.

  Sometimes questions were better left unasked and unanswered. He should just be grateful that at this moment in time, he and Sean had found a little common ground.

  After tugging a stepstool from a corner of her walk-in closet, Laura set it at the far end where her dressier garments hung. When she and Kat had returned home from church, Kat had found a note in her room.

  Peeking out her door, Kat had called to Laura, “Sean and Dad ran an errand. They probably had to get eggs so we can make your brunch. They’ll be back any time. Why don’t you change. I’ll call you when we’re ready.”

  Laura wondered why both Brady and Sean had gone for eggs. That was unusual. But she was glad they had. Even if they talked sports the whole time, at least they’d be talking.