The Risk of Loving

by Jane Peart

  Coryn knew one of her father’s old friends, Glenn Ackerman, was actively working on a grassroots organization to support her father for the assembly seat. She was sure her father had not yet given an official okay. Was he going ahead with this? Even now that he knew her mother’s diagnosis? Coryn looked questioningly at him. He was looking at his wife, his frown deepening. What was he thinking? Was some part of him still in denial? Didn’t he see the things Clare did? Hadn’t he noticed the slippage? Clare was not quite so careful about her grooming, got her colors mixed up and sometimes did not have her usual carefully coordinated look. Then there were non sequiturs, the sentences that broke off in the middle, the random remarks that went nowhere, the tendency to stare off into space.

  Tension gripped Coryn, tightening her stomach muscles. Her father seemed to have been totally unaware of what had happened at the banquet a week ago. Was he the only one who had not noticed Clare’s shaky exit, her lack of balance? Mark had certainly noticed. There had been something in the look he had given her that made Coryn certain he knew…at least knew something was wrong.

  Her mother’s soft voice interjected itself into Coryn’s uneasy thoughts. “I think I’ll go up, if you two will excuse me. There’s an old movie on TV, Portrait of Jenny—I loved it when I saw it as a teenager. I think I’ll just curl up in bed and watch it.”

  “You don’t want to wait and see Mark Emery?” Neil said.

  “He just wants to talk politics with you, dear.” She smiled at her husband. She got up, leaned over and kissed him, patted Coryn on the cheek as she passed her and floated out of the room.

  The phone rang again and automatically her father picked it up. He was soon involved in a conversation. Coryn wondered if she should stay or not. Was her mother right? Was it just politics Mark wanted to discuss? Or was he coming for the interview he said he wanted? If so, she wondered why he hadn’t arranged a meeting at her father’s office.

  Her father was still on the phone when the front doorbell chimed. Coryn would have to answer it. She rose from her chair and started walking toward the hall. Ranger, who had been drowsing in front of the fireplace, got stiffly to his feet and followed her.

  Conscious of her inner nervousness, Coryn told herself, Don’t be silly. Mark was coming to see her father, not her. She opened the door.

  “Good evening, Coryn.”

  “Come in. My father’s on the phone but he should be off in a few minutes.”

  Ranger wagged his tail and Mark bent to smooth the dog’s head. “Hiyah, fella.” He looked at Coryn. “Great dog.”

  “Yes, he is,” she said. “Here, let me take your coat.”

  They went into the living room. Her father, having completed his conversation, joined them. He came forward, extending his hand to Mark. “Good to see you,” he said heartily. “Can I offer you some coffee?”

  “No, thank you, sir. This isn’t a social visit exactly.” Mark stood rubbing his hands together as if to warm them.

  “An interview, then?”

  “Not that, either—” Mark hesitated, as if uncertain how to proceed. He glanced at Coryn. For help? she wondered. “Maybe I should leave,” she said.

  “Not at all,” Mark said. “I think you should stay. Hear what I’ve come to say to your father.”

  Suddenly the atmosphere in the room changed. This was something important. Something that couldn’t be put off. Something they each needed to hear.

  Coryn sat down on the edge of the sofa. Her father indicated Mark take one of the armchairs, and Neil sat down in the other. Mark leaned forward, clasped his hands in front of him.

  Coryn had a good view of his face and as the moment lengthened before he began to speak, she had a chance to study it. She had seen it often at close range. It was a good face, an intelligent one of character and strength. She had seen how mobile it was. In it she had seen a number of expressionstender and loving, as with Ginny, alert and intense when talking about something he believed in or cared deeply about. She had seen it briefly touched with sadness when he spoke of Shari, or alive with humor when he was amused.

  “Mr. Dodge, I may be way out of line coming to you with this,” Mark began. “I’ve given it a lot of thought and in the end, I had to. As a reporter in the community, I’ve watched you from a distance. I’ve also enjoyed the hospitality of your home and the company of your daughter. I don’t think of myself as a close friend, but I do feel a responsibility to tell you what is being widely circulated and give you the option of addressing it.”

  “Well, go ahead, man. Whatever it is, say it.”

  “Of course, it is common knowledge you are seriously considering running for state office. You have plenty of support. But, much as I hate to say it, politics isn’t lawn tennis, it’s hardball. Anyone as visible and successful as you in any town has collected a few enemies as well as friends. I’m afraid your opponent is one of these, and his cronies are very adept at smear tactics and dirty tricks. Most politically ambitious people don’t fully realize-some not until they’re deep into it-that the family of the candidate is the easy target.”

  “What do you mean?” Neil demanded.

  “I’m afraid there are some unfortunate rumors being circulated about-” Mark swallowed as if it was hard for him to speak “-about your wife, about Mrs. Dodge.”

  “What?” Coryn’s father jumped up, anger reddening his face.

  “Nothing about her character, sir. Anyone who knows her knows what a lovely-”

  “Never mind. What are the rumors? What are people saying?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. But they’re saying she has a drinking problem, that she’s an alcoholic.”

  Coryn’s father muttered something under his breath. His hands clenched into fists. He paced the length of the living room and back two or three times before spinning around and facing Mark. “It’s a lie. You know there isn’t a shred of truth in it.” He pounded one fist into his open palm. “She hardly ever has a sip of anything. Isn’t that right, Coryn? Have you ever seen your mother even finish a glass of wine, for that matter? How dare they spread such a malicious falsehood!”

  “I understand how you feel, Mr. Dodge. Some people will see it for what it is-an unscrupulous political tactic. But a lie told often enough begins to have a life of its own. One thing leads to another, something added here and there, and before you can stop it, it’s too late. It’s become a fact.”

  Coryn felt like someone struck by lightning. Mrs. Wilson’s remarks at the dry cleaners. The scene at the Highland Inn banquet flashed back into Coryn’s mind. How many people had witnessed it? If they had already heard the rumor, that incident was the evidence they needed to confirm suspicion.

  “Mr. Dodge, your political enemies will not only use this to discredit Mrs. Dodge and to weaken your position. Some people will do anything, use anyone, to gain power. Family values is the name of the game right now. If they can insinuate any kind of dysfunction, addiction. Anything to win, they will.” He paused. “I thought you ought to know. Then you can decide how to handle it.”

  Her father was chalk-white. The veins in his forehead stood out. His mouth was pressed into a tight, straight line. Coryn did not think she had ever seen her father so upset. He fought his anger silently. It was a battle he was waging against his own ambition, the evil intent of others to wound and injure someone he loved.

  Coryn held her breath, observing the inner struggle. Gradually, she saw a change come over her father’s face. The tense lines relaxed. His eyes refocused on Mark. In a quiet voice, he said, “I appreciate very much your coming here with this. It took courage to do so. Thank you.” He waited a few minutes then asked, “What do you suggest?”

  Mark seemed a little taken aback by that. “I hardly could advise you on that, Mr. Dodge, unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless I knew how much you wanted to run. How much it meant to you.”

  “Nothing means as much to me as my family.” His voice was steady.


  “And you have given consideration to what kind of strain a political campaign puts on the family?”

  “Maybe not enough. It’s been an exciting idea. Running, that is. I’ve succeeded at anything I’ve set my mind on doing. I could always count on Clare to—” He stopped abruptly. “She hasn’t been well lately but…” He halted, glanced at Coryn.

  “Dad,” she remonstrated gently, reminding him of what Dr. Iverson had cautioned them both against. “Alzheimer’s is a slow, progressive disease, but don’t fool yourself, it doesn’t get any better—it irrevocably goes its course.”

  Her father’s whole body tensed dramatically. Coryn understood what this breach of family privacy cost him. Then he turned back to Mark. “The truth is, Clare is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. That may account for some of the rumors. She is sometimes…not herself. There are symptoms. We may have grown used to them, but someone seeing her…unsteadiness, at times her confusion, her slurred speech, might think…” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be good, wouldn’t be fair to expose her to the limelight, the scrutiny of people. I guess I hadn’t really thought this through.”

  His shoulders slumped. He sat back down.

  “May I make a suggestion?” Mark ventured.

  “Yes, sure. What is it?”

  “I think if I were you…whatever your decision is…whether to run or not, I would make a public statement. Come right out with it. Tell people of Clare’s illness. Just what it is, how it affects its victims. I’m sure there is hardly a family in this state who hasn’t had someone, a parent, a relative, a spouse, afflicted with Alzheimer’s. If you decide to run, your declaration would totally defeat any weapon the opponent had thought to use against you. If you decide not to, it would be a reasonable excuse to the people who wanted to support you. In either case, going public would gain you only sympathy and respect.”

  A thoughtful silence followed. Mark got to his feet.

  Coryn’s father stood, too, held out his hand, clasped Mark’s. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Not at all, sir. I am very fond of Mrs. Dodge. She has been gracious to me and my daughter. I hope things turn out for the best for all of you.” Mark hesitated a moment, then said, “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

  Her father did not move. It was almost as if he couldn’t.

  Mark glanced at Coryn. Their gazes held a moment, then Mark said, “Would you see me to the door?”

  Startled, Coryn felt jerked like a puppet, knowing she should have simply done that without being asked. “Of course.” Together they walked to the front door.

  “I want you to know how sorry I am,” Mark said.

  Her mind still on “pause,” Coryn stared at him. Sorry? Sorry for what? For her mom? For not calling her in all these week? She did not know what to say to that. “Thank you very much” was all she could manage.

  “I wish I could do something to help.”

  “You have. I think you said exactly what my father needed to hear. He’s been in denial. Maybe we both have.”

  Mark stood there for another moment as though he wanted to say something else. Then apparently he decided there was nothing he could say. “Well, good night then.” He opened the door, then hand on the knob, turned. “If there is anything I can do. Anything at all…”

  Her throat felt swollen. She could hardly get out the words. “Thanks, it’s very kind of you.”

  “Coryn…”

  He spoke her name softly. She felt tears stinging at the back of her eyes. She wished he would go before she flung herself into his arms, sobbing.

  The moment of uncertainty hovered, then Mark said, “Good night.” This time he left.

  She closed the front door and went slowly back into the living room. Her father was slumped in the armchair, one hand covered his eyes.

  “Dad, I think Mark’s right, don’t you?” she asked gently.

  “I know he’s right. I don’t know how I couldn’t have seen it myself.” He shook his head slowly. “Your poor mother. I’ve probably added to her problem. Couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Or maybe I just didn’t want to see. Mark Emery’s right. I’ll get a statement out tomorrow. I’ll have him help me write it.”

  He paused, then, “He’s a fine man. Not many people would have the guts to come right out and tell you something like this. I admire him a great deal.” He pulled himself to his feet. “I think I’ll go up now, see how Clare’s doing.”

  He stood for a minute looking down at his daughter, then reached out and laid one hand on her head. “Thanks, honey, for sticking around We’ll get through this—whatever it is—together.” He sighed heavily then left the room.

  Coryn felt drained. Limp. Unable to move. The fire had dwindled to a mass of glowing coals. When she was a youngster, she had tried to find pictures there, imagining all sort of shapes and forms. Tonight it was only Mark’s face she saw. In it she had seen compassion, understanding, empathy. Her father, not known to be particularly discerning, had seen something fine in Mark, too.

  Mark was a rare human being. A man who could be trusted, a man who could be loved without risk of betrayal.

  Coryn wasn’t sure how long she remained in the living room alone. Her thoughts were jumbled, flitting from one thing to another. There was so much to think about. Some time later, Coryn banked the fire, went upstairs. The door to her parents’ bedroom was slightly ajar as she passed it on her way to her own. She heard the low murmur of voices and glanced in. She saw her mother, in a pink satin nightgown and robe, sitting on the side of the bed. Her head was turned toward the TV set so that only her profile was visible. Her hair was down and fell away from her slender neck onto her shoulders, making her look touchingly young.

  Her father was on his knees beside her taking off her slippers. His hand was holding her delicate instep almost in a caress. Coryn drew in her breath. The scene was intimate, one of devotion that found no task too menial or ordinary to do for the beloved.

  Coryn felt almost embarrassed at inadvertently seeing such a tender scene. Yet she was moved deeply by it. It was as if it had been given her as a gift. To witness the love her father was showing.

  In that moment, Coryn realized her father would not run for office and she realized the sacrifice he was making. Putting aside his own ambitions, his own plans, his own goals—that this was what true marriage was all about. It was what had held her parents together all these years. Their vows taken so long ago, neither knowing what might lie ahead, what they might be called upon to do. Those promises to each other had perhaps been spoken without any real understanding, but they were now being met with courage and faith.

  Coryn felt her heart twist with love and admiration for these two she loved so dearly. She moved quietly by, seeking the refuge of her own room. What she had glimpsed was truth. The truth of a long, enduring love that met whatever challenges lay upon the path they had chosen to walk together.

  Would she ever know such a love, or be able to give it? That kind of love was the key that opened a heart to pour out whatever was required. That was the kind of love she wanted, longed for, but that had so far eluded her.

  March

  Chapter Eighteen

  Coryn’s alarm clock buzzed persistently. Without opening her eyes, she reached out and shut it off. She lay there for a minute wondering why she had set it. Then slowly, like touching an aching tooth with her tongue, she remembered.

  She dragged herself out of bed. She stumbled toward the bathroom to dash her face with water, brush her teeth, twist her hair up into a bun, secure it with an elastic ribbon. Dressing quickly in a sweater, pants, she tiptoed downstairs and out to her car.

  It was still dark outside as Coryn drove to the community pool. She’d started going swimming every day, a therapy she’d discovered worked for her. She discovered the early morning gave her time before the rest of the day’s duties faced her. She had taken on more and more of the jobs her mother used to handle so easily, so efficiently. It seemed to Coryn her mother w
as going steadily downhill. It frightened her, and swimming seemed to lessen the tension she felt.

  She also used the time to pray. For strength, for courage, for whatever the next months held. In the last several weeks she had turned to prayer more than ever before in her life. They were not the quick, desperate prayers or the careless ones she had often prayed. These were different. She had felt more tuned in than ever before. They were a kind of listening prayer. Seeking strength, guidance. For the first time in her life she knew she had to be there for her parents the way they had always been there for her. It was a new role, one she hadn’t expected, one she did not feel prepared for. The word help prayerfully said was often on her lips and in her mind and heart as she went through the day.

  She parked her car, slung the bag containing her bathing suit, thongs, towel and toilette articles over her shoulder and went inside the pool building. At once the combined smells of chlorine, wet tile, canvas and plastic prickled her nostrils. She showed her pass card to be punched, got her locker key and went into the dressing room.

  Earlier swimmers were already showering, using the hair dryers, chatting with one another. Coryn moved right to a locker, opened it, stowed her bag, started undressing. All around her women friends were discussing their weight, their diets, their husbands and children. She nodded to a few whom she recognized as regulars, but spoke to no one. The whole point of this self-prescribed therapy was her anonymity. She didn’t want to speak to anyone or have anyone speak to her. She’d heard sharing burdens was helpful. She’d always heard that But right now she knew that the only way she could bear this awful thing that was happening was not to talk about it. As if not talking about it made it not real.