Authors: Debbie Macomber
I was going to save this as a surprise, but I can’t wait. If the baby’s a girl, I’m naming her after you. Jill Marie. (Buck insists we can’t name a child one thing and call him or her another, so Jill it is!)
I saw your parents at Mass last Sunday, and your mom told me how busy you are. She looked good as always, elegant in her hat and white gloves. Your dad looked wonderful, too. He surprised me. He squatted down so he was eye-level with the kids in order to talk to them. He’s going to make a wonderful grandfather once you decide to marry and have your own children.
I know you find a lot of satisfaction in your work, but don’t get so involved that you forget
about everything else. Take time for yourself, too. Write when you can. Love, Lesley and all
***
a
Pine Ridge Herald
a
March 12, 1974
OBITUARY COLUMN
Patrick Francis Eileen, who died of Murphy, 56, owner cancer in 1964 and of Murphy’s Texaco his son, Nicholas Full Service Station, Murphy, who was died on Monday, killed in Vietnam in March 11, 1974 of a September of 1968. heart attack. His son, Patrick Murphy was James Murphy of an active member of Pine Ridge, and one St. Catherine’s Cathbrother, Matthew, in olic Church and the Dallas, Texas, sur-Veterans of Foreign vive him. Mr. Mur-Wars. Burial Mass is phy is preceded in scheduled for Thursdeath by his wife, day at noon.
***
BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENT
CHRISTOPHER JAMES KNOWLES
BORN MAY 8, 1974
9 LBS, 3 OZ.
21”
HAPPY PARENTS:
LESLEY AND BUCK KNOWLES
BROTHER TO
DAVID, LINDY AND DOUG
June 12, 1974
Happy 8th anniversary to my beautiful, wonderful and forgiving wife! I’m sorry I forgot, but I have a lot on my mind lately. Don’t be mad, all right?
Buck
***
June 13th
Buck,
The carnations are lovely, but it’s too little too late. The least you could’ve done was let me know you didn’t plan on coming home after work. I’m glad you’re attending your meetings, but you should’ve told me. I went to a lot of trouble to make our anniversary dinner special and then sat up for hours waiting for you. I had a horrible night.
Lesley
***
Sweetheart,
How many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry? Next time you plan on cooking a fancy dinner, you might let
me
know. Okay, you’ve made your point. I’ve never seen you this angry over something so petty. Let me make it up to you, okay? I’ll do anything. Tell Lindy I appreciate her making my lunches for me, but I’d rather you did it. Yesterday she packed me two licorice sticks, a plum and a carrot. I work too hard to survive on that. Come on, baby, be reasonable.
Buck
Lesley’s Diary
June 26, 1974
It’s been ages since I wrote. My last entry was early in 1973 and here it is halfway through 1974. Four children are demanding, and I have so little time to myself these days. (They’re occupied for the moment watching
Little House on the Prairie.
I’m grateful we could finally afford to have the television repaired.)
I guess I feel the need to write because of my disastrous anniversary. Buck claims he forgot all about it, but I’m never completely sure if he’s telling the truth. It’s difficult to admit that even to myself. With all the lies he’s told me over the years, I’d be a fool to believe his lame excuses the way I did when we were first married. Time has taught me to question everything he says.
When Jillian and I were teenagers, we sometimes stayed up all night reading books aloud to each another. In the wee hours of the morning, when we were so tired it was hard to keep our eyes open, we’d talk about what our lives would be like ten or twenty years into the future. The scenes we created in our minds have nothing in common with what has come to be. We both saw ourselves married with children, as well as maintaining our own careers. I was a nurse with two perfect children and a husband who adored me.
Jillian is the attorney she used to say she’d be. She learned a lot when she volunteered at NOW and has taken her experience to a NY law firm that’s prestigious enough to do her father proud.
She’s a polished professional, shining like a gemstone, a brilliant attorney—sharp, quick, relentless. She’s told me about a few of her cases and I almost feel sorry for the defendants. On rare occasions as a teenager, I saw that ruthless, angry side of Jillian. These days, that part of her is all the world sees. But beneath her hard-edged determination, she remains the friend I remember from my childhood. My best friend in the whole world.
Losing Nick changed her. It’s almost as if she’s shut herself off from love. Yet when she’s with the children and me, the old Jillian quickly resurfaces and she’s once again the girl she used to be. How I wish she’d marry and have children of her own. In my heart I know that’s what Nick would want for her, too. I’ve tried to talk to her about it, but she closes up so tight there’s no reaching her.
My own dreams of attending college vanished when I learned I was pregnant with Davey. I love my children and I wouldn’t change anything. My life with Buck is the hand fate dealt me and I’m determined to make the best of it. That, however, doesn’t make me blind to my husband’s faults. He can be wonderful one day, and the next he’ll treat me with thoughtless cruelty. Our anniversary is a prime example of that. Although Buck claims he’s attending AA meetings most evenings, I’m pretty sure he’s elsewhere, at least some of the time. But I refuse to be the kind of wife who follows her husband around, trying to catch him in a lie. And yet I won’t bury my head in the sand again, either. Finding the balance isn’t easy.
I suspect one of the reasons I’m writing all this down has to do with something I saw on television. Or rather, someone. The other night, Buck was gone as usual and I was hurrying to get dinner on the table when a news bulletin flashed across the screen. It had to do with Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberation Army. I nearly dropped the pan of tuna casserole. Not at the newsflash about Patty Hearst, but at the man reporting it.
Cole Greenberg.
He was the Naval officer I met on the beach in Hawaii back in 1967. I’ve never forgotten him, and although it’s probably wrong of me, I’ve always regretted not giving him my address. In all likelihood, he won’t even remember me. Three hours out of a lifetime was all we shared. When Cole’s face came on the screen, I could hardly stop myself from telling the children that I knew him and he was my friend. I didn’t, of course, and it’s not really true—but it could have been. And I wish it was....
I wonder if he’s married and if he’s happy. For my own peace of mind, I pray he is. I remember I marveled at how smart he was and how much we had in common. He was so easy to talk to, and he said the same thing about me. He was at the top of his class, the one everyone called a “brain.” He told me he’d never dated much and I could see he was telling the truth. He said that one day he wanted to report the news on television and now it’s happening. I was so excited to see him, so pleased that the things he’d talked about have come to pass.
The only real boyfriend I ever had was Buck and I married him. I so want Cole Greenberg to be happy and married and successful, which he appears to be. I feel a bit silly writing this but the last two nights I’ve dreamed of Cole. The dreams have been wonderful. We’re on the beach again, talking about the war in Vietnam and the books we’ve read. It’s as though I was single and the two of us were falling in love.
This must stop. It has to; I can’t allow myself to indulge in this kind of escape. It’s too dangerous to my mental health and to my marriage. My reality is that I’m married to Buck, and we have four beautiful children.
***
August 10, 1974
Dear Jillian,
This letter is long overdue, but I want you to know how much I appreciated you flying home for my dad’s funeral. It would’ve been a lot rougher on me if you hadn’t been there. Thank you for helping me with everything, like choosing the coffin and arranging the wake.
I didn’t expect Dad to die this young, but he was never the same after we learned about Nick. None of us were. Losing the service station was another blow. He hated his job driving a milk truck. He said it paid the bills, but it was as though there wasn’t any joy left in him any more.
The doctors said his heart attack was brought on by years of cigarette smoking and I’m sure that had something to do with it. But you and I both know the real cause. Vietnam. It killed my father the same way it took my brother.
Nick’s been dead nearly six years now and I still miss him. Sometimes I think about telling him something, and it hits me that I can’t, my brother is dead. And then I feel a shock and this sadness that sucker punches me. I can tell it’s going to be like that with my dad, too. I’m really gonna miss him.
I gotta tell you, it’s a weird feeling being an orphan. First my mom, but I barely remember her, then Nick, and now Dad. If it hadn’t been for you and Angie, I would’ve stood alone in the family pew at the funeral Mass. You’re like a sister to me, Jillian, and I want you to know how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for me over the years. Both you and your parents have been like family to me. I think your father’s done a lot of things in the last six years to help my dad and me. He’s never admitted anything, but I’m sure of it, and I believe it’s his way of letting us know that if he had to do it over again, he wouldn’t have been so critical of Nick. Deep down, I’ve always had that feeling. We ran into each other recently and he made a point of saying hello. I appreciated that. I appreciate you, too.
There’s something else you should know. I was going through a bunch of Dad’s business papers and came across two loans he’d taken out when the energy crunch first hit. Your father co-signed on those loans. It looks like Dad paid off all his financial obligations when he sold the service station to the plant lady. If he didn’t, I’ll make sure everything is square with the bank and your dad.
I know you’ve had your differences with your father, but Judge Lawton is a good guy. It was because of him that I got my first job with D & D Construction. I asked Judge Lawton about it once, but he denied he had anything to do with me being hired. I know better, though.
I’m glad you were finally able to meet Angie. She felt bad about being away over the holidays, because I talk about you so much. She sure is pretty, isn’t she? We started dating last summer and I’m pretty sure we’re going to get married. What do you think? You liked her, didn’t you?
She graduated from college this summer and wants to be a teacher. Angie and I’ve been talking about a lot of things. She’s encouraging me to give community college a try. Since Mr. D made me a foreman, I’ve discovered how much I enjoy working with blueprints. Someday I might think about all of that. Kind of an exciting idea, isn’t it?
Thanks again, Jillian, for everything.
Your “adopted” brother,
Jim Murphy
P.S. Isn’t it something about Nixon resigning as President? When they got rid of Agnew, Dad told me Nixon was next and he was right. Who will it be now? The Pope?
***
JILLIAN LAWTON
September 18, 1974
Dear Mom and Dad,
Thank you for the radar range, which I’m using and enjoying. I don’t know how I lived this long without one. If only I could find a way to make popcorn in it, I’d really be in heaven.
But the gift isn’t the only reason I’m writing to thank you. I recently realized how much I have to be grateful for. Loving parents, good friends, an exciting new job and much, much more.
Dad, I want to thank you for your patience with me, especially in the late sixties. It’s taken me four years, but I want to apologize for the letter I wrote you after the shootings at Kent State. You received the brunt of my pain and anger, and I thank you for loving me through those turbulent years. Mom always claimed you and I have the same personality and that’s the reason we sometimes clash. It’s taken me this long to recognize how right she is. Where those words once made me cringe, now they make me so very proud. It’s an honor to have my name mentioned in connection with you. I want to be a good attorney, the same way you were. You’ve been a wonderful role model for me, and I’m proud to be your daughter.
Much love,
Jillian
P.S. By the way, I’d love it if you and Mom could fly east next month. There’s a revival of Gypsy starring Angela Lansbury on Broadway. Let me know as soon as you can and I’ll order tickets.
***
JILLIAN LAWTON
October 20, 1974
Dearest Lesley,
It’s a lovely Sunday afternoon and I’m indulging myself by being completely and utterly lazy. Mom and Dad were in New York last week, and it was great to see them. I spent as much time with them as my schedule would allow. My law firm is one of the largest in the city and the long hours are unbelievable. But that’s how it goes, and I have to pull my share. I’m making incredible money; now all I need is time to spend it!
Everything went exceptionally well with my parents until Mom mentioned Nick. She thinks I’ve buried myself in work because I’m still dealing with my grief. This was her subtle way of letting me know she’d like me to get married, I guess. Frankly, I don’t have time for a man in my life, which I suppose is Mom’s point.
Nevertheless, I’ve given our conversation some thought. The problem is, I haven’t met a man who makes me feel the way Nick did. I don’t know if it’s even possible to find that level of love and communication with anyone else. I’m over the tears, and the grief is no longer so brutal. Sometimes I’ll remember something Nick said or did and I catch myself smiling.
I told my mother I haven’t ruled out marriage, which I know pleased her. I’m not sure, though. The thing is, I just can’t imagine loving anyone with the same intensity I loved Nick—and still do.
Thanks for the pictures of the children. Christopher’s so cute I just might forgive him for not being a girl. I did a double-take when I saw the one of Lindy. Lesley, she looks so much like you! It’s hard to believe she’s almost seven. Davey’s quite the little gentleman, isn’t he? He looks so grown-up in his suit and tie. Little Doug stole my heart, holding on to his blankie with one hand and sucking his thumb with the other. I suppose it’s only natural that he wanted his blankie back after Christopher was born.