Which, of course, Jimmy Joe was well aware of. So he just chuckled and wrapped her up once more in his arms and said, “Tell you what-it’s early yet. Instead of goin’ off half-cocked, why don’t we just wait a bit and see what happens?”
Charly walked slowly down the hospital corridor, following signs and arrows that would lead her back to the CICU waiting room. She was feeling numb, maybe a little giddy, and thinking about ironies. Thinking that the corridors, signs and arrows all looked familiar to her, like some kind of Twilight Zone episode where no matter what she did, she kept ending up back in the same place.
Except that this wasn’t a TV fantasy or a nightmare she could expect to wake up from eventually. This was real. The fact was, twenty years ago she had walked down these same corridors after giving birth to a son. She’d walked out the front door that day and stepped onto a Greyhound bus and never looked back. Now here she was twenty years later, back where she’d started from, and the man she’d tried so hard to run away from all those years was the one who’d brought her here. How was this possible? It was as if she’d spent her whole life believing she was really getting someplace, only to find that all the time she’d been wandering in a circle.
Circle of life. Birth…to death.
“You get a hold of her?” Troy was at her side, holding a foam cup full of coffee in one hand and a large soft drink cup with water in it in the other.
She nodded, and was conscious of an enormous sense of relief as she took the coffee he held out to her, as if she’d just been given a pillow to lean back on. “They’d just gotten back from lunch, and were about to head out to do some more shopping.” She smiled thinly. “I was lucky to catch them-Bella’s a world-class shopper.”
She gestured toward the cup of water he still held in his hand. “That for Bubba?”
“Yeah, I think I’m gonna go see if I can find a better place to park. I tied him to the door handle so he can lie underneath the truck for shade, but I think I saw a place just down the hill where I can pull in close to some trees. Besides-” his grin flashed briefly “-it’s farther away from here in case he decides to cut loose and start howlin’.” He touched her arm and lowered his voice. “You gonna be okay here?” His eyes were dark and solicitous.
He has such incredible eyes.
The impropriety of the thought startled her. She nodded, her throat tightening with guilt, and said, “Sure.”
“Okay, then. Be right back.”
He turned, almost bumping into Dobrina, who was coming from the nurses’ station. “Any news?” Charly asked without much hope as she and Troy moved from the doorway of the waiting room to let her pass.
Dobrina shook her head while giving Troy a measuring look. Then she drew herself up to her full height, which was considerable, and thrust out her hand. “I’m Dobrina,” she announced before Charly had a chance to make the introductions. “And you’d be…?”
Charly couldn’t help but be amused by the way Troy practically snapped to attention. Dobrina had that effect on people. “Troy Starr, ma’am. Charly’s friend.”
“The one she called on to get her out of jail.”
Thus relegated to the position of mannerless child, Charly rolled her eyes and threw up her hands, while Troy said humbly, “Yes, ma’am.”
Dobrina was giving him what Charly had always called her supermom look-the one she’d swear could see straight through a person, or at least down to what was deep inside. Apparently in Troy’s case she approved of what she saw, although he probably wouldn’t have guessed that from her expression, which reminded Charly of an old-fashioned schoolteacher about to smack somebody with her ruler. But Charly had always been able to tell when Aunt Dobie was melting-something about the way her eyes turned a soft gold, with fine little wrinkles underneath.
A warm wave of memory soaked through the numbness inside her to settle around her heart, and she had to look away.
“Humph,” said Dobrina, still looking at Troy down the length of her nose as if he were a truant schoolboy and the apple he was offering her had a worm in it. “Where you from?”
“I’m from Georgia, ma’am. U.S. Navy, recently retired.”
“Georgia.” She gave a dubious sniff. “Retired, you say? Look pretty young to be retired, to me. What you plannin’ to do with the rest of your life?”
Troy rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, ma’am, I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”
“Well, you best get to figuring.” Dobrina leaned forward and tapped him on the chest. “You got to do something worthwhile with your life.”
Troy gave Charly a look of appeal. She knew how he felt, but could only offer him a shrug of sympathy. When it came to Aunt Dobie, it was every man, woman or child for him- or herself.
A moment later, though, inspiration came to his rescue. Holding up the cup full of water, he said, “Yes, ma‘am. Uh, would you excuse me? Gotta go tend to my dog. Nice meetin’ you.” And he fled, visibly perspiring.
“Seems like a nice young man,” said Dobrina with a judicious sniff, looking after him.
“A regular Boy Scout,” Charly murmured, frowning as she watched Troy’s classically masculine, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped form turn a corner far down the corridor and disappear from view, her thoughts so far removed from anything remotely Boy Scout-ish she considered it a wonder Dobrina’s God didn’t smite her on the spot.
She was experiencing two very different but equally perplexing emotions. First there was the old flip-flop feeling in her chest, the unmistakable symptom of sexual attraction, and the stomach-churning guilt that went along with that. Her father had just had a heart attack, for God’s sake-this was no time to be falling wildly, head over heels in lust!
But it was the second feeling she found most worrisome, even frightening. Certainly the most difficult to understand. For twenty years she’d existed, rising and falling, succeeding and failing, pretty much on her own resources, dependent on no one. So why was it only now she should feel this sense of weakness, disorientation and fear, as if she were blind and her trusted guide dog had just walked off and left her in the middle of a catwalk with no handrails?
Realizing that Dobrina was giving her one of her looks, she shrugged and added, “I haven’t known him very long.” And she thought, My God, what an understatement. I only met him yesterday. How can that be?
“Well, we may just as well sit,” Dobrina said abruptly, giving Charly’s elbow a squeeze as she marched past her into the waiting room.
Charly managed a nod but stayed where she was for the moment. She was feeling too shaky and jangled to sit. She sipped bitter, lukewarm coffee and listened to the distant beeping of monitors, the muted murmur of voices, the ringing of telephones, and tried to make sense of the chaos into which her life had so unexpectedly descended.
It seemed impossible. When she’d woken up in the dark of yesterday morning she’d been a successful Los Angeles attorney, about to fly to Georgia to participate in her best friend’s wedding. How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said softly. “I never meant for this to happen.” Then she looked over at Dobrina, and saw that the woman’s eyes were closed and her hands were clasped together on top of the big black handbag that was resting on her knees. She was rocking herself slightly and her lips were moving. It was with a small jolt of shame that Charly realized she must be praying.
But after only a moment Dobrina’s eyes opened and she said gently, “Of course you didn’t, child.”
Charly moved slowly toward her, arms crisscrossing her waist, still clutching the cup of cold coffee as if it were a talisman protecting her against harm. “I went back for my purse.” Her teeth were chattering. She clamped them together and gave a painful laugh. “After all that, you know what? I forgot it again.”
Dobrina was sitting ramrod straight, staring straight ahead at nothing. Her head dipped twice and she said in a soft, faraway voice, as if she were talking t
o herself, “I know…I know. I’m sorry for doing that. This is my fault…my fault. I should never have interfered.”
Charly waged a silent war with her own anger and lost. She went to sit in the chair next to Dobrina, reached over and put her hand over the other woman’s clasped hands and gave them a squeeze.
“You know what?” she said tightly. “It’s not either one of our faults. It’s his fault.” She jerked her head toward the waiting-room door.
Dobrina came to herself with a little gasp, pulled a hand free and gave Charly’s a slap. “Don’t you go sayin’ that, now. I won’t have you to talk that way. I won’t.”
“Oh, God.” Charly put her head back and closed her eyes. After a moment she said tiredly, “You always do that-make excuses for him. Take his side…protect him. Why is that? You, of all people. You know what he’s like.”
“Oh, I expect I know him better than anybody does.” Charly heard the sigh of an exhalation, then unexpectedly a chuckle. “I know he’s a stubborn old fool.”
“And yet you’ve stayed with him all these years.”
For a moment there was silence. Then in a soft, musing tone that made her sound like someone else, someone much younger, Dobrina said, “I almost left him once.”
“Really?” Charly sat up and opened her eyes. “When was that?”
“Oh, yes-yes, I did.” Dobrina was nodding, still looking straight ahead, looking into the past now. “Oh, that was when you left, child. But then he brought the boy home. He needed me then. So what could I do? I stayed.”
He brought the boy home. Charly felt as if she’d been struck in the chest. “The boy-” she had to stop for air “-you mean, my son. He brought…him home? You mean…you raised my son? You did?”
“I did.” Dobrina dipped her head, then drew herself up proudly. “I raised him, just like I raised you.” She reached for Charly’s ice-cold hand and gripped it hard. “He’s a good boy-a good boy.”
Charly’s face felt like a mask. She fought desperately to keep the mask intact-she had to. Behind it there was complete devastation. “Tell me about him,” she whispered. “Please. Tell me, where is he? What is he doing?”
“Why, he’s just finishin’ up his sophomore year at Ol’ Miss,” said Dobrina, beaming, as eager to share her child’s accomplishments as any proud parent. “Premed-oh, he’s so bright, that boy. He’s aimin’ to be a doctor, you know.”
Charly’s laugh was high and musical, one note away from a sob. “His father always wanted to be a doctor.”
“He should be home now,” Dobrina went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “They just finished with finals last week. But he wanted to go off with some friends of his, you know, went down to New Orleans to celebrate.” Suddenly she was rocking herself again, her eyes looking lost and her voice gone rusty. “I called and left word for him to come right home.”
Charly couldn’t breathe. She pressed a hand against the ache in her heart and whispered, “He’s coming here?”
Dobrina didn’t seem to hear her. She was mumbling, “Oh, sweet Jesus, I don’t know what he’s gonna do when he hears. I just don’t know…”
“He and my father-” The words came out much sharper than Charly intended. She swallowed hard and finished in a mumble, “Are they…close?”
Dobrina’s face lit up. “Oh my, yes. He’s the apple of your daddy’s eye, that boy. Oh, yes, they’re close. Real close. Just like a father and son.”
Father and son. But what about me? I was his daughter! She clutched at another breath, pulling it into herself like a security blanket, and asked with desperate brightness, “What’s his name?” She’d named him Colin Stewart, after his father. “Did you…did he keep…?”
Dobrina was nodding. “It’s Colin on his birth certificate, but he’s called Cutter. Cutter Phelps.” Of course, Dobrina pronounced it the Alabama way: Cuddah.
“Cutter…” Charly repeated it in a daze. She was once more, in spite of all her efforts, on the verge of tears. “I just wanted to see him,” she whispered, “That’s all-not even to let him know it was me, you know? Just…see him. I told him-my father-I was going to no matter what he said. That’s what upset him so badly. Was it so much to ask? Does he hate me that much?”
“Oh, child,” Dobrina said, her own voice cracking. “He doesn’t hate you.”
“Yes, he does!” Charly knew she sounded like a hurt little girl and was powerless to stop herself. “He’s never forgiven me for what happened. I don’t think he ever will.”
Dobrina slowly rose to her feet, clutching her pocketbook. Charly could see now that she was trembling.
“Look,” she said in a rush, her own voice shaking, “I know it was all my fault-getting pregnant, and…what happened to Colin. I know I shamed him. But what happened to Colin…he was my friend, dammit! I know he was a Stewart, but I lost someone I loved But he’s never forgiven me, even after all these years. I thought-”
Dobrina whirled on her then, suddenly and magnificently angry. “Oh, you stubborn, stubborn child. You’re just as bad as he is! Can’t see the truth, even when it’s right in front of your face.” Charly’s mouth opened, ready with her defense, but the older woman threw out a hand and silenced her with a gesture. “It’s not your havin’ a baby or that poor boy’s death your father can’t forgive you for-it nevah was. Don’t you know that? It’s your leavin’ he can’t get over. The fact that you left, and you nevah came back. Like to killed him when you did that. I thought it would. If it hadn’t a’ been for the boy…”
Charly rose slowly, shaken to her core. “Why did he do it, Aunt Dobie?” she asked in a breaking child’s voice. “Why did he bring him back? He was so adamant about my giving up my baby. And then, after it’s too late, he goes and does…what he did? I don’t understand.”
Dobrina gazed at her for a long moment, her eyes darkening slowly to the blackness of inexpressible sorrow. “Don’t you see, child? He was hopin’ and prayin’ it wasn’t too late. All he evah wanted was what was best for you. You were his little girl, his only child, and all he could see was how havin’ that baby was goin’ to ruin your future. He thought he was doin’ the best thing. Then, after the boy was born, and you were gone, he saw what he’d done was wrong. He went and got the boy and brought him home, and then he waited…”
Charly could barely bring herself to whisper it. “Waited?”
Tears glistened on Dobrina’s proud, tragic face. “For you, child. He waited, all those years, for you to come home.”
Chapter 9
September 3, 1977
Dear Diary,
School starts tomorrow-oh, joy. I can’t believe summer vacation is over already. So much has happened-which of course you know about. I still can’t believe I’m writing to a book like it was a real person. Although I guess I’m sort of getting used to it.
Anyway, I’m not really sorry to be going back to school. It’s going to be such a bitchin’ year-can you believe I’m a junior? Kelly Grace and I are both sorry now that we didn’t try out for cheerleaders last spring when we had the chance-I know we would have made it, you should see some of those cheerleaders!-since we are both dating football players. We’ve become quite the foursome, K.G. and Bobby, Richie and I. Colin says we could probably still make the flag twirlers. No offense, Colin, but being a member of the marching-band auxiliary isn’t quite the same as being a cheerleader, if you know what I mean! Oh, well. I know we are going to have a lot of fun this year anyway.
Thought for the Day: I just hope I’m not coming down with the flu or something. I’ve been feeling kind of sick lately. Wouldn’t that be the pits!
Thunderheads were starting to build in earnest over the mountains by the time Troy got Bubba settled in a nice shady spot with his water dish and a rawhide bone to gnaw on. A breeze had sprung up, which he thought might mean the unsettled weather was about to move on through. He hoped it would cool things off; it was hard enough, having a dog to take care of, without worrying about the heat. He was beginnin
g to regret the impulse that had made him invite Bubba along for company, although it had seemed like a good idea at the time, when he’d thought all he was doing was making a short foray to the mountains of Alabama to bail somebody out of jail. Little had he known.
He left Bubba looking forlorn but resigned and started back up the slope to the hospital. He was feeling a mite put-upon, if the truth were told. And to make matters worse, feeling guilty for that. He hadn’t been raised to keep score when it came to helping people out, but on the other hand, he didn’t much care for being treated like a handy crutch, either, something without either thoughts or feelings that could be easily ignored when it wasn’t needed.
But as soon as he spotted Charly pacing up and down on the walkway in front of the emergency entrance, he felt a familiar hitch in his breathing and a knot of desire forming in his belly. And he thought that actually, having to haul a dog around with him for a few days wasn’t that big an inconvenience.
She’d taken off the suit jacket. The silky black thing she’d been wearing under it-which, if you asked him, looked too much like a slip to be called a blouse-left most of her chest and shoulders and every inch of her arms bare. Except for the dusky place where the seat belt had bruised her, her skin looked flawless. And unfashionably pale, especially in contrast with her hair, which was coming loose from the slicked-back hairdo to slash across her neck and cheekbones like black-ink commas. It surprised him some that he found that so attractive, considering he’d been raised in a sun-belt culture where anybody without a tan was considered to be either too poor to afford one, or sickly. He thought maybe it was Mirabella who’d started him thinking otherwise, with her redhead’s coloring and skin you could almost see through. Funny, he thought, how a person’s tastes and opinions could change almost overnight.
She’d managed to find herself another cigarette. She glared at him as he approached, daring him to say something about the fact that she was smoking. She looked wired and tense, like a caged cat, he thought, with her ears laid back and her tail twitching, just waiting for someone to lash out at.
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