“It makes her so sick she can’t face it. She said it affected her the same way four years ago.”
“I remember,” Caroline said. She’d come down whenever she could to help with Lanie’s care and had experienced Lanie’s reaction to the chemo firsthand several times. It had never failed that after a treatment, driving home, they’d have to stop three times for Lanie to be sick on the side of the road. Her precious aunt, who had always been strong and vibrant, had been so humiliated, despite Caroline’s reassurances.
“She says it’s not how long she lives now but how well,” Martha said. “It happens with most folks in the late stages. The side effects aren’t worth whatever number of weeks or days they might get from taking it. What difference can it make if you’re too sick to do much other than pray to die?”
Caroline willed away the tears that threatened. Lanie didn’t want or need her grief.
“Lanie told me you’re looking for her brother.”
“Yes, but I haven’t had much luck so far.” She kept Martha’s gaze.
How long? How much more time does Lanie have now that she’s stopped the chemo? The question hung in the air between them.
“Well, if you can find him at all, the sooner the better. Want me to dish that up for you?” Martha nodded at the ice cream.
“No,” Caroline said. “You go. Get out of here and do something fun, something to relax. I’ll stay. I was thinking of taking Lanie to Mom’s for dinner, if she’s up for it.”
Martha looked doubtful, and while she did leave, Caroline thought she wouldn’t stay gone long. She went out to the sunporch, where Lanie was reclined on a pink-flowered chaise longue, a ruffled throw over her knees. Catching sight of Caroline, she smiled. “There you are, my darling girl.”
Caroline’s heart shifted hard in her chest. It had only been a matter of days since she’d last seen Lanie, but she looked so much more diminished. Her cheek, when Caroline bent to kiss her, was dry, her flesh like tissue paper. Caroline stifled an urge to lift her aunt into her arms and cradle her like a child. Don’t go. The plea rose in her mind.
Straightening, Caroline kept Lanie’s hand and her gaze. “You stopped the chemo.”
“Yes. Don’t lecture, okay? I can’t stand the thought of living out my last days feeling as sick as a horse.”
Last days . . . Caroline’s mind flinched from the words. “Are you comfortable now?” she asked, and it was an act of will that her voice didn’t break. “What about pain?”
“I’m fine, honey. Did you bring our ice cream?” Her eyes twinkled, full of the mischief Caroline always remembered.
She laughed. “Yes, coming right up.” She was back within minutes, and handing Lanie her dish, she grinned. “Do you remember Dad’s thirty-ninth birthday, when you made him wear that dress?”
“The baggy, old-lady dress we found at Goodwill.”
“And the big white beads.”
“We made him put them on before we’d let him eat his cake—”
“While that Jerry Lee Lewis song was playing, ‘Thirty-Nine and Holding.’” Caroline and Lanie were both struggling to contain themselves now.
“He did a reverse strip.”
“He was pretty good,” Caroline said.
“Yes, he was,” Lanie said, sobering. She set down her bowl.
“I’ve made you sad,” Caroline said, annoyed at herself.
“No. I’m worried about you, that you’ve taken on the search for your dad on my behalf when you’ve got your own issues with Rob and your company.”
Caroline shifted her gaze.
“Remember when you were a little girl, I would ask you what was wrong, and you’d say, ‘Nothing’?”
Caroline smiled. “You’d say, ‘All right, then, I have all the time in the world. I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me.’”
“I don’t have all the time in the world anymore, my darling.”
No, don’t say that. You can beat this. I’ll help you . . . Even as the implorations rattled through her mind, she was frightened and grieved by their uselessness. The salt of her tears burned her eyes, but Lanie didn’t need her fear or her sorrow. “Rob confided in Mom.”
“Really? I didn’t know they were close that way.”
“They aren’t. I think he’s desperate. I’m not answering his calls. It’s making him crazy, but I don’t know what to say to him.” Caroline picked at her thumbnail. “I had to tell Nina what he’s done.”
“Oh no. Oh, honey, that must have been hard. How did she take it?”
“She’s angry at him, but he’s her dad, so . . . you know. She’s scared of what could happen.”
“Well, I am too.”
“It’s possible nothing will—unless I blow the whistle.”
“Will you?”
“Ah.” The sound, a near groan, was carved from Caroline’s frustration. “I wish I knew what was right. There are the employees to think about, their families, all the consequences to them if we lose the company, go bankrupt, go out of business—go to jail.”
“There’s your marriage,” Lanie said gently.
“That too,” Caroline admitted. “I could say, ‘What marriage?’” she added after a pause.
It wasn’t Lanie’s way to question, and she didn’t, and Caroline didn’t know whether to go on, to burden her aunt with her confusion about Rob, the turmoil of her feelings. “I don’t know if I can stay with him,” she said finally. “It’s not just the stuff with New Wheaton.”
“What do you mean, honey?”
“I don’t know exactly. It’s as if having it out in the open is forcing me to confront issues I’ve been avoiding.” Caroline looked at her aunt. “I keep thinking if I’d been more aware, if Rob and I had been in better communication, this couldn’t have happened. But somewhere along the line we lost touch with each other—if we ever were really in touch.”
“You were so young and unsure of your feelings for him when you married. It worried me.”
“I know. I think about that now. I could have come home, had Nina here. Between us—you, me, and Mom—we would have made a family for her. But I couldn’t see it then. I feel like all these years I’ve been blind, taken the easy way, ignored all the signs. Now I don’t have that luxury. I have to do something.”
“You’re strong, honey, and so is Nina, and while I hate that you’re going through this, you know sometimes it’s the hardest things we face in our lives that lead us to our greatest joys.”
“Oh, Auntie Lanie—” Caroline stopped, not trusting her voice. Who would remind her about the joy when her aunt was gone? If she asked, Lanie would say she had only to look inside her own heart or outside at the flowers and trees and birds. She had only to listen for it in the wind.
“Have you thought of speaking to a lawyer yourself?” Lanie asked. “I think you need to talk to someone who can sort out what’s best for you.”
She was considering doing that, Caroline answered, and after a moment she said, “Nina thinks we’d be better off if Rob disappeared.”
“Well, that’s no solution, is it?”
“That’s what I told her.” She met Lanie’s glance, and Caroline knew they were both thinking of her dad.
“I can’t imagine there is anything much worse than not knowing what’s become of someone you love.”
“Well, we should talk about that,” Caroline said, and immediately, Lanie straightened as if energized by Caroline’s suggestion, the tenor of her voice.
“You spoke to Coach Kelly,” she said.
“I did,” Caroline said, and she went on, recounting the details of her conversations with Coach Kelly, Jace, and Tricia.
“Hoff wouldn’t have gone along with bribing those boys,” Lanie said when Caroline finished. “He was so upset with SMU in 1986 when he heard how they’d paid players. Remember how he’d shout at the television every time he saw anyone from the athletic department being interviewed on the news?”
“Not really. We weren’t seein
g that much of each other by then.” Still, Caroline was gratified hearing Lanie’s defense of her dad, that there was actual evidence backing her conviction that he couldn’t have been involved with such a scam. “Tricia talked about it—even Coach Kelly and Jace said how much Dad changed after he fell. I feel so bad now that I didn’t go to see him.”
“He didn’t want us there, Caro. He outright forbade me to come. Your mom and I talked about you going, but we both thought it would be too much for you to deal with by yourself even if Hoff had been open to the idea, which he wasn’t. He was unreasonable. I’ve never understood his reaction, and once he finally came back to Texas, he wouldn’t hear a word about it.”
“I never saw him once after he came back. I feel horrible about it now, but at the time I was still busy holding on to my grudge.”
“You were terribly upset when he remarried, and when you got older, you were angry for how awful he was to your mom.”
“I was such a daddy’s girl—I didn’t want to see how badly he betrayed her. I remember blaming her for their breakup, even myself, never him—”
“When you came to me asking for the truth—oh, you must have been fifteen, sixteen—I wanted to lie and say your dad wasn’t the cheat your mother had told you he was. We argued about it, Hoff and I, for all the good it did.”
Caroline sighed and traced her eyebrows with her fingertips. “I keep thinking how much my situation with Rob is the same. He’s just cheated in a different way. I feel blindsided, like Mom must have felt.” A beat. “If a stranger had cheated either of us in a similar manner, we’d call the police.”
“It’s different, though, when it’s family. Harder to know what the right thing is.”
“It hurts more. You don’t expect this kind of treatment from someone who’s supposed to love you.”
“No,” Lanie agreed.
“Sometimes I think it would be so much easier if I could just forget I have a dad, but the truth is I want to find him as much as you do. I want to make my peace too.” The realization struck Caroline as she spoke, that it wasn’t only for Lanie’s sake that she wished to find her father. She had her own demons that needed to be laid to rest.
“I’ve always wished I could have done more to help you back then. When you chose to go to college in Iowa over staying close by, here in Texas, it broke my heart. I imagined you wanted to put space between you and your mom, but you know, no matter what, she loved you.”
“Mom was only part of it.” Steve was the rest—most of it. Caroline uncrossed and recrossed her ankles. She wouldn’t say it. The thought of him, her desire to talk about him, wasn’t only shameful; it was pointless. “Mom and I had our rough spots. I understood her by then, but it was still hard dealing with her depression and her moodiness. I don’t think going away was necessarily the right thing, though. All I did was worry.”
“She’s much better now in the last several years.”
“Yes. Things are better between us.” Their relationship wasn’t perfect; it wasn’t nearly as warm and close as Caroline’s relationship with Lanie, but she had accepted that it was likely as close as it would ever be.
A small silence lingered.
Lanie broke it. “I’ve always thought there was a bit more to it—your choosing to go to college in Iowa.” Her look was canny, assessing. It was the sort of look that made Caroline feel her aunt could see way too much of her soul.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, although she knew perfectly well.
“There was a boy you were serious about the summer after you graduated high school. I imagined you would change your mind and stay—for him if for no one else. I’ve always wondered what happened between you.”
“Steve Wayman.” Caroline gave his name mechanically, closing her mind against the pleasure it gave her.
“You ran into him, didn’t you, last fall when you came down?” Caroline glanced at her aunt, and Lanie looked back, unblinking, purposeful. “You mentioned him.”
“I did? Really?” Caroline didn’t remember talking about Steve to Lanie, but then she remembered so little of that night. Actually that entire visit was a blur, her very own Lost Weekend. “What did I say?”
“You talked about how nice he still is.” The mischievous light was back in Lanie’s eyes. “You might have also said his belly is still flat and that he’s still good looking too. That was about it, but then it was the morning after. You were a bit—you know.” She twirled her finger beside her ear.
As delighted as she was that Lanie felt well enough to tease her, Caroline rued the reason for it. “Did I tell you he’s a sheriff in Madrone County? I almost called him from Omaha. I thought maybe he could help us. I know when you filed Dad’s missing person report in 1990, the police didn’t do anything.”
“They likely tossed the paperwork before I cleared the exit door,” Lanie said dryly.
“Maybe knowing a cop would make a difference—although after the way I behaved, I’m not sure I have the nerve to make the call.” The irony wasn’t lost on her that she’d had plenty of nerve last fall, blurting out her personal business to him as if they weren’t virtual strangers. She imagined in seeing her home he’d been fulfilling his obligation both as a lawman and as a gentleman. There was no telling what he really thought of her.
“You have so much on your plate right now, Caro.” Her aunt spoke gently. “You don’t need this too. I think I should contact the private investigator I hired back when Hoff first went missing and let you finish up helping your mom move so you can go home—”
“No!” Caroline straightened. “I want to find Dad as much as you do. The way things were left between us—”
“Oh, honey, I know. I can’t think Hoff would have wanted this. He was devoted to you children, both you and Harris. He wanted you to be friends. I know you may not want to hear it, but the fact that he loved that boy doesn’t diminish his love for you.”
“I was jealous. It was stupid. I can’t believe I felt that way. You know how much it’s always bothered me that Mom acts jealous of how close you and I are. It’s not as if love is finite.”
Lanie twitched a corner of the throw. “The trouble between Hoff and me—” She hesitated. “We had an argument—did I ever tell you?”
“Yes, but not why.”
“He called one day in August of 1989. This would have been after he got out of rehab and came back from Wichita. He wanted me to bring you to Wyatt without telling you we were going. He thought if he could get you there, you’d see Harris the way he did. You’d become friends. When I refused, he hung up on me.”
“Really. I didn’t know . . . that’s . . .” Caroline paused, feeling swamped anew with regret. Why had she been so stubborn? How might it have eased everyone’s life if she’d only given the Fentons a chance?
“That was the last time we spoke,” Lanie said. “Sometimes I wish I’d done what he asked, but back then I felt strongly that forcing you would have been a mistake. I didn’t think too much of it when I didn’t hear from him after that. I assumed he was still angry at me, and honestly, I was like you by then—I just didn’t care. I thought he’d get back in touch whenever he got over it.”
“Well, maybe he never did. It makes me feel terrible now—”
“No, honey. There’s no blame in any of this. I did what I could to track him down. I called Julia sometime in January when I didn’t hear from him over the holidays. She said your dad had left her and Harris, had just packed his stuff and gone sometime before Thanksgiving. She didn’t mention Tricia by name, but she did say she thought he had a girlfriend and that he’d probably gone to live with her. I could tell she was upset, that talking about it was painful. I was so angry at Hoff. Ah—” Lanie stopped. “I know this is hard for you, hearing this about your dad.”
“It’s no easier for you. No matter how we wish he was different—” It was futile, as useless as trying to cure Lanie of her cancer, Caroline thought.
“To a certain degree he’s
created this situation. If we don’t know where he is and can’t find him—well, I let it go, you know, after I spoke to Julia. I was disgusted. The years went by—I love Hoff, but sometimes he makes it difficult . . .” Lanie looked away, her mouth crimped, her jaw trembling a bit.
Caroline’s own throat narrowed. She patted her aunt’s hand.
“Julia said what a good man he was.”
“After the way he left her? That’s surprising.”
“But he is a good man in so many ways. It’s his single flaw, his Achilles’ heel, his inability to be faithful.”
“Where did Dad and Julia meet anyway?” Caroline asked. If she had ever known, she didn’t remember, and suddenly she was hungry for details.
“At the high school in Wyatt, during football season. Julia was a guidance counselor. Maybe she still is.”
“Dad was there, recruiting?”
“Uh-huh. He didn’t usually travel to the smaller schools, but one of the players—a running back, maybe? I don’t remember, but the boy was breaking records at the time.”
“Did you go to the wedding?”
“No. He didn’t tell me about it. It happened very quickly after they met, and she was a good deal younger. He probably thought I’d disapprove.”
“Would you have?”
“We lost our parents so young, Hoff and I.” Lanie went on as if she hadn’t heard Caroline. “We raised each other. It was hard for me to stop. Even though I’m younger, Hoff always said I was a mother hen, cluck, cluck, cluck.”
Caroline laughed outright, and when Lanie joined her, it was as if a light had come on in a room full of darkness. But they sobered quickly.
“I would so love to see him once more”—Lanie’s voice tremored again—“to put matters between us to rest.”
Caroline took her aunt’s hand, and the fragility of it, the sense that the very flesh was melting from her aunt’s bones, cracked her heart in half.
“When Julia and I spoke all those years ago, she said if she heard from Hoff again, she’d let me know.”
Caroline met Lanie’s gaze. “Have you thought of calling her?”
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