Disguised Blessing (20 page)

C
ATHERINE SPOTTED
B
RIAN FROM ACROSS THE HOS
-pital’s parking garage as she pulled up the ramp. He waited until she found an empty spot and then came over. The first thing she noticed when he was close enough for her to get a good look was a thin line of moisture on his eyelashes.

“What’s wrong?” She’d promised Lynda she would stop by to visit Ray while her daughter was at camp and wanted to give her a report when she called that night. “Has something happened to Ray?”

“She won’t let him stay with us.”

“Who?”

“Ray’s aunt. She said he has to live in Kansas with her. I tried talking to her, and so did Ray, but she won’t listen. She says she owes it to her sister to take care of Ray, but I don’t believe that’s the reason.”

“Ray knows that you wanted him to stay here with you? Lynda said you weren’t going to tell him
until your father had everything worked out.”

“He got everything worked out—everything but Ray’s aunt. She’s been a real witch about it. There’s no way he wants to go with her. He doesn’t even know her. You should have seen how he reacted when I told him my mom and dad said he could stay with us. It was the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”

“Then I don’t understand why she—”

“My dad said it’s because she thinks Ray has money coming that no one has told her about and that we’re trying to steal it from him.”

Catherine’s heart sank. She’d known people like Ray’s aunt, and the more you tried to convince them that no one wanted their money, the more convinced they became that they had something worth stealing. “Money from where? Did she say?”

“She was rattling off a whole bunch of stuff. Life insurance, fire insurance on the house, she even said something about a story she heard that crime victims could collect money if they caught the person who hurt them.”

“Is she here now?”

“Yeah—she’s in Ray’s room packing his stuff. They’re flying out in a couple of hours.”

So soon. Lynda would be devastated she hadn’t been here to say good-bye. Catherine felt the shoulder strap on her purse start to slip and impatiently hiked it back in place. “Do you think it would do any good if I talked to her?”

“I don’t know how it could get any worse.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “Ray begged me to help him…” He looked at Catherine. There were
fresh tears in his eyes. “I never should have started this. I only made things worse.”

She opened her arms and he moved into them. Catherine held him until they heard a car coming up the ramp and he released her to wipe his eyes.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “Probably nothing if she’s as intractable with me as she was with you, but it’s worth a try.”

“Would you mind letting me tell Lynda about this?” he asked. “She doesn’t even know Ray’s leaving.”

“She’s supposed to call me tonight around dinner. I’ll tell her that I met you at the hospital and that you’re anxious to talk to her. But you have to promise me you’ll have her call me back before she goes to bed. I want to know that she’s all right.”

“Thanks—I appreciate you letting me do this.”

She thought about his thanking her for something so easy to give, and about everything he’d done for Lynda, and how if she told him thank you every day for the rest of her life she would never be able to say it enough. “You’re welcome, Brian.”

They said good-bye and Catherine left the relative comfort of the shaded garage to walk the short distance to the hospital in the intense, ugly sunlight. Some of their summer days were blessed with a crisp blue sky that boasted an occasional cloud. The majority were like this, as if the sky had been washed in a cheap bleach, not blue, but not white, either. And hot. Breath-stealing, dizzy, mirage-on-the-pavement hot.

The door swung open and a cool rush of air
escaped to be instantly absorbed and forever lost. The thin sheen of moisture on the back of Catherine’s neck amplified the effect of the air-conditioning, and for a second she was almost cold.

The woman at the desk looked up and smiled. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here. How is Lynda doing?”

“She’s at camp having a wonderful time.”

“All the kids do. It’s a great program. The firefighters really go all out for them while they’re there.”

Catherine pressed the elevator button and the door opened immediately. “Thank you for asking about her.” Before words like that would have been automatic and meaningless. Now she’d learned to appreciate people who showed interest, even if only peripherally.

The door to Ray’s room stood open and his aunt’s voice was the first thing Catherine heard when she came around the corner. High-pitched and nasal, it put Catherine on edge and lured her into snap judgments about its owner.

“Excuse me,” she said from the doorway.

The woman turned. The face didn’t match the voice. Catherine couldn’t believe this woman, pinched and coarse, with unshaped eyebrows and hooded eyes, was a blood relative of Ray’s. Only then did she realize she had no idea what Ray had looked like before being burned. The image she had in her mind had nothing to do with the way he looked now, but came from what he’d said and felt and expressed since she’d known him. She pictured
the old Ray with tender, expressive eyes and a quick, mischievous smile, his skin smooth, hair thick and dark.

“Yes?” the woman asked, more suspicious than curious.

“Hi, I’m Catherine Miller.” She held out her hand. “Lynda Miller’s mother.” She offered Ray a quick smile.

The woman gave her a blank stare. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Lynda’s a friend of mine,” Ray said defensively.

Catherine’s hope died an inglorious death. She’d believed adherence to social graces would provide a common ground for conversation. “I’m so glad I had this chance to meet you. I had no idea Ray was leaving today and I know Lynda will be devastated that she didn’t get a chance to say good-bye. They’ve become such good friends. She’s really going to miss him.”

“Look, Mrs. Miller—”

“Please, it’s Catherine.”

“If you’re here to try to get me to let Ray stay, you’re wasting your time. I already told that Winslow boy the same thing I told his father. Ray is family and we take care of our own.” She reached for her purse and tucked it under her arm. “You people out here seem to have a real problem hearing what you’re told.” She looked at Ray. “I’m going to see about those papers I have to sign. I want you ready to leave when I get back.”

“I’m sorry,” Ray said.

Catherine sat on the bed next to him when his
aunt was gone. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t do a very good job of pouring oil on troubled water.”

“She didn’t give you a chance.” He was still weeks away from being fitted for his pressure garments and was encased in protective bandages for the trip. He looked like a half-finished mummy and was sure to bring long, curious stares he wasn’t prepared to handle.

“Brian’s dad hasn’t given up, you know.”

“He’ll never get her to change her mind.”

“Don’t count him out too soon. The Winslows are known for their stubbornness. I’m sure he plans to make direct, frontal attacks every time you come back to Sacramento for surgery and follow-up.”

“But I’m not coming back. The Texas Shriner Hospital in Houston is closer, so I’ll be going there from now on.”

The news left her reeling. Brian and Lynda would be heartbroken. She had to give them something, even if it was only hope. “Do you think she’ll let you come for a visit? What about over Christmas break?”

“I don’t know. I doubt it. Not the way she feels now, at least.”

Catherine reached for his hand, curling her fingers into his gauze-covered palm. She tried to imagine him on a football field, his hand clutching a football, his skill at throwing so accurate that there were college recruiters sent to watch him his junior year. “When do you turn eighteen?”

Curiosity in his eyes at the peculiar question, he stared at her. “In May.”

“Then we’ll see you in May for sure. Once you’re eighteen, she loses control.”

“I don’t know if I can last that long,” he said softly.

The words sent a cold chill through her, raising goosebumps on her arms. “Of course you can.” He needed something more concrete than words to hold onto. To a seventeen-year-old, May was a lifetime away. “How about this—if your aunt won’t let you come to see us for Christmas, we’ll come to see you. All of us.” Finally, she saw a spark of hope. “And Easter, too. May is right around the corner. We’ll all be wearing birthday banners and carrying balloons when you step off the plane.”

She felt a little squeamish making promises for Brian’s father, but if he changed his mind, she would figure something out, even if it meant Ray moved in with them. “I’m going to use a cliché on you, but only because it’s true and it works. Keep reminding yourself that all you need to do is take this one day at a time. Don’t count the months or weeks ahead. If you have to count the hours and days, look at the ones you’ve put behind you.”

“I’ll try.”

She gently squeezed his hand. “Can you use the phone by yourself yet?”

“They set up a special one here that I get to take with me.”

“Then call me when you need to talk. If you need something and I can’t get it, I’ll find someone who can.”

The aunt came back. “Ray,
please.
The plane leaves in two hours.”

“I can’t get dressed by myself,” he finally, painfully admitted.

She had enough sensitivity to blush. “No one told me.”

All you had to do was look,
Catherine felt like shouting. “I’ll get the nurse to help him.” If she could do nothing else, she could give him this last dignity.

She stood without letting go of Brian’s hand and looked down into his eyes. “You will get through this,” she said softly, desperately seeking a way to give him the willpower he would need to get through what was ahead. “And you will come back to us.”

His eyes filled with tears that spilled onto his cheeks. “Thank you.”

Twice that morning she’d been thanked for giving hope that wasn’t hers to give. She had no real control over what would happen, only words that lost their meaning in the harshness of day-to-day reality. She wiped his tears the way she imagined his mother might have and leaned down to kiss the corner of his eye, the one part of his face where the skin and feeling had survived intact, the one place where she knew for sure that he could feel her touch.

Catherine headed for Fair Oaks Boulevard when she left the hospital, thinking foolishly that she could distract herself with shopping. She’d gone to the hospital to fulfill her promise to Lynda, nothing
more. Until today she’d stood in the wings while the drama of Ray’s fate played itself out on a stage not her own. Now she was one of the players, but without a script to follow or anyone to direct.

First she went to Pavilions, a small upscale shopping center with exclusive high-end shops and restaurants. The center had been a favorite haunt for years, a place she came to buy presents when the wrapping counted as much as the gift inside. She perused the wine at David Berkely’s, looking for something from Randle’s Roost, wondering if Rick had ever come there for a sandwich from the deli, whether he liked the bitter Italian olives she always bought to take home with her, and if he ever drank sherry. Was he a meat-and-potatoes man, or could he be content with an occasional meal of champagne and crackers and cheese and fruit by the fireplace?

Had he ever shopped at Pavilions or did he simply drive by, believing it held nothing of interest to him? Did it make a difference?

She wandered to the florist and then Williams-Sonoma to see what was new in their kitchenware. She left with a nutmeg grinder, unable to remember the last time she’d used nutmeg in a recipe, but caught up in the idea of fresh nutmeg in pumpkin pie.

At Ann Taylor she tried on a dress, decided it made her look slimmer than she’d felt in a long time, and had it at the counter before she bothered to look at the price. Her behavior had been automatic. Now it struck her that the casual fall dress
could pay for a round-trip ticket for Lynda to visit Ray in Kansas.

She returned the dress to the rack, to her surprise feeling neither deprived nor constrained.

She left the shopping center and on impulse stopped in to see her friends Cary and Joe at the Duck Stamp. Cary was one of those people who saw spring flowers in a raging winter storm. She brought an unbridled enthusiasm to the art shop that made her customers feel as welcome when they came just to browse as they did when they came to buy.

Cary was home with a cold.

She visited with Joe for several minutes and then left. As she got in the car, she remembered that he had contacts in the secondary art market. The week before when she’d called her broker to sell another block of stocks, he’d suggested she hold off until the market rebounded from the current low, or she’d lose almost a third of her initial investment. His manner and tone made it clear he assumed she wanted the money for something frivolous. Her pride stood in the way of telling him the truth.

Catherine returned to the gallery and told Joe that she’d been thinking about selling some of her signed and numbered prints and asked how she should go about doing it. He looked up their value, told her what she could reasonably expect someone to pay, and warned her that it could take months to years for a sale to come through. She gave him her all-too-familiar, I-wasn’t-really-serious smile, asked
him to give her best to Cary, and told him she’d be in touch when she made up her mind about the prints.

Disheartened, she headed for Tower Books to see what she could find on writing résumés.

L
YNDA KNEW
. O
R AT LEAST SHE GUESSED THE OUT
-come without knowing the details. Either she’d picked up something in the tone of Catherine’s voice or had figured it out by her unwillingness to give details about her visit with Ray. Whatever tipped her off, she was angry and then contrite, demanding details and then saying she was willing to hear them from Brian.

Catherine refused to let her go until she’d received a promise that Lynda would call her back that night before she went to bed. She even made her set a time. Ten o’clock. No matter what was going on, no matter who she had to coerce, either the call came or Catherine would show up at camp in the middle of the night.

She wouldn’t, of course—having her mother show up at camp was a sure way to draw attention to herself, something Lynda didn’t want. But Catherine was fairly sure Lynda didn’t recognize the threat as bluff.

She looked at her watch. It was only five. She would go out of her mind if she sat around the house five more hours waiting for the phone to ring.

Needing some of the mothering she wanted to give Lynda, Catherine grabbed her purse, got in the car, and headed for her own mother’s house.

Phyllis wasn’t home.

Catherine considered going to see a half dozen friends she’d neglected that summer, but wasn’t up to explaining the chain of events that had put her on the road looking for company when the rest of the world was concentrating on dinner. She still had another month at the club before her membership expired, but the prospect of running into Tom ranked a rung below being in a plane with engine failure.

Instead she drove aimlessly, sticking to the back roads to avoid commuter traffic, turning her air conditioner to high, and the radio to a conservative talk show that never failed to make her rethink her belief in the basic goodness of her fellow man. Not even a woman on a tirade about her right to kill any animal that crossed her property line, no matter what the State Fish and Game said, was enough to distract her for long. She switched to public radio. Organ music by Bach. Hardly something to lift her spirits.

She came to an intersection and glanced at the road signs. She was on Laird Road. Rick lived on Laird Road. Coincidence or subconscious need? She knew if she tried to analyze her behavior, she would reach a conclusion that made her turn left or right,
any direction to take her away from yet another complication in her life. Instead, giving in to need instead of intellect, something she’d sworn she would not do again, she went straight and sought something, anything that would lead her to him.

A half mile later, she spotted his truck. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a car coming up behind her, fast. She could either drive by or turn into his driveway. Gut instinct told her if she passed, she would not turn around. It would seem too planned that way, too calculated.

Again, she glanced in her rearview mirror. The car was closing in. She had to make up her mind and do it quickly. If only he’d asked her there, even casually. Just a hint, a simple comment that she should stop by sometime. She had no business being there.

She turned.

Rick stopped pulling weeds in his vegetable garden when Blue lifted his head and cocked his ear toward the front of the house. For Blue to expend that much energy with the temperature still in the hundreds, it had to be serious. Someone had pulled into the driveway.

Rick put the hoe aside, lifted his cap, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was expecting a package from UPS, but they usually made their deliveries to his area in the morning. He waited several seconds to see if it was someone using the driveway to turn around or someone who would come close enough to rouse Blue to a sitting position.

Blue skipped sitting and actually stood, his tail wagging with a surprising show of enthusiasm considering his previous lethargy.

“Must be someone special,” Rick said, giving the dog’s ear a scratch as he passed on his way to the side of the house. Blue followed on his heels.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said under his breath when he saw the Lincoln Navigator pulling to a stop. Blue sidled up beside him, plopped down on his foot, leaned against his leg, and let out a soft whine. “The snowball made it through hell.”

She hadn’t spotted him yet when she started walking toward the house, and Rick had a chance to observe her unnoticed. She looked as she always did: impossibly beautiful. She was the kind of woman who could wear the linen suits his sister favored and have them wrinkle just enough to look fashionable instead of as if she’d slept in them. Rick glanced down at his bare chest and dirt-encrusted jeans with the holes in the knees. He’d pass on being able to leap tall buildings with a single bound if he could just manage to hop in a shower, put on clean clothes, and meet her at the door before she had to ring it a second time.

She saw him. The look on her face was somewhere between surprise and dismay. When she threw a quick smile in the mix, Rick didn’t know what to think.

“You’re busy.” She stopped and made a nervous gesture with her hand. “I should have called before I came.”

“How did you know where to find me?” It was
something to say while he tried to think of something better. Something short of telling her his heart was beating so loudly he had to concentrate to hear her voice, or that he’d imagined her there so many times he was having trouble convincing himself it had finally happened.

“The day you took me to the car rental you told me you lived on Laird Road.”

“I’m surprised you remembered. That was months ago.” Now he was really reaching. While clever dialogue might be beyond him at the moment, he could at least get her out of the sun. He wiggled his foot free of Blue’s rear end. “I made some iced tea this afternoon. Would you like to come in and have a glass?”

“You’re not even going to ask why I’m here?”

“I figure you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

She started toward the door he indicated. “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

“Then we’re even. I’ve never known anyone like you, either.”

She laughed. “You must run with an interesting group. I’m the most ordinary person I know.”

Rick reached around her to open the front door. He took a moment to brush the dirt off his jeans, step out of his boots, and point at Blue. “Shake,” he commanded.

Blue dutifully shook himself, bits of leaf and grass flying into the air. “Again,” Rick said. Blue patiently obeyed. “Okay.” Rick stood aside and let Blue come in the house. He stopped in front of Catherine and looked up at her.

“Hi there.” She leaned down to scratch his head. “Don’t tell her I told you, but my daughter thinks you’re really special.”

“The feeling’s mutual. Blue fell in love the first day she came over.” He crossed the room. “How do you take your tea?”

“Straight.”

“I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”

Catherine took the opportunity to look around the room when he left. His house was nothing like she’d expected. Operating from a prejudice she hadn’t known she possessed, she’d taken his description of the half-burned house he’d purchased eight years ago and turned it into a very ordinary dwelling with tasteful but ordinary furnishings. Not only hadn’t she imagined what she now saw, she never could have imagined it. What Rick had done with his house made everything about hers appear pedestrian. The sterile look she’d inherited from Jack’s favorite decorator, the one he’d left her to live in after the divorce settlement, was cold and pretentious compared to this.

The floor and molding and doors were made from a honey-colored wood she didn’t recognize even after a childhood spent in her father’s woodworking shop. The finish had been applied as painstakingly as the crown molding had been fitted. Built-in bookshelves flanked a floor-to-ceiling fireplace, the wood hand-rubbed to a deep shine.

The end tables and matching coffee table showed the same degree of craftsmanship and care. Only the sofa and chair appeared commercially made. They
were covered in a forest green and burgundy fabric, comfort colors that invited tucking up feet or sprawling with book in hand.

Rick returned, a glass in each hand, wearing a smile and a clean T-shirt. Putting the shirt on brought attention to the fact that he hadn’t been wearing one when she drove up. She’d known he was in shape—that much was evident when he was wearing clothes. Where her imagination had let her down was in how hard and lean and strong he really was. She would not forget now. The image of him standing bare-chested in the early evening light would be a familiar one from then on, both waking and sleeping.

He handed her a glass. “Now, as glad as I am to see you, I know you must have had something on your mind to wind up here. I said I wouldn’t ask, but why don’t we get it out of the way?”

“It’s Lynda.” She took a drink. “I’m worried about how she’s going to react to Ray’s leaving today.”

“Ray’s gone?”

“There was some mix-up and his aunt thought she was supposed to come today instead of next week. Ray’s doctor reviewed his chart, wrote a bunch of instructions to the doctor who’s going to be taking care of him in Kansas, and said he could go.”

“How did Ray take the news?”

“He was crushed. I think he was hoping for a last-minute miracle that would let him stay with Brian.”

“Wasn’t the plan not to tell him about staying here until it was set?” He led Catherine to the sofa and then sat on the raised fireplace hearth facing her. “I can see I’ve got some catching up to do.”

She filled him in with everything she knew.

“I’m afraid you’re right to be concerned about Lynda. She made Ray her responsibility and she’s going to feel as if she let him down.”

“She’s been doing so well until now.”

Rick didn’t comment.

His silence disconcerted her. At the very least, she’d expected an affirming nod. She tried again. “After listening to the other parents, I expected her to fight wearing her pressure garments. But she’s never even complained about them—not that they’re uncomfortable, or hot, or anything. She’s accepted them as if they were cutting-edge style.”

“She’s hiding,” Rick said gently. “It’s the way some of the kids react. It’s perfectly normal, but can bring some real headaches down the line when it comes time for her to stop wearing them.”

“What do you mean, ‘hiding’?”

“From her scars. As long as she’s wearing her pressure garments, no one can see what’s under them. She has a ready-made excuse for not going swimming, or dressing down for gym, or doing anything that would expose her to curious, hurtful stares.”

The answer was so obvious. How had she missed it? She’d seen and believed what she wanted to see and believe. Somehow, Catherine had convinced herself that because Lynda came from a loving,
extended family, enjoyed a standard of living that only ten percent of the population attained, and was bright and beautiful and popular, of course she would be different, would react differently, would accept her scarred back intellectually as well as emotionally and move on with her life.

How could she have been so stupid? So ego-driven? So blind to reality?

“I’m scared, Rick,” she admitted as the impact of the door he’d opened hit her. “If you’re right, and I have no reason to believe you aren’t, then she’s holding in a lot of other stuff, too. She accepted Jack’s marriage as a matter of course. I thought it was because she’d been through so much herself that she’d learned to put other things in perspective.”

“He’ll always be her father. She must have felt something about losing a part of him to another woman, even if it was a part that wasn’t hers to lose.”

“That’s what I expected, what I looked for. But she actually seemed happy for him. And when I told her she was going to have a little sister or brother in a few months, I thought she was excited.”

“Maybe she was. Maybe we’re wrong and she really is happy for him and—” He paused. “Sorry, I can’t remember her name.”

“Adriana.”

“Adriana has to know how important Lynda is to Jack. She probably went out of her way to make her feel comfortable.”

“I hope so. I can only take one crisis at a time.”

“Why don’t I call the camp and ask Rachel how she’s doing?”

“Can you do it without Lynda finding out?”

“Rachel won’t say anything if I ask her not to.”

“Then yes, please. I really need to know that she’s all right.”

“You want to come with me or wait here? The phone’s in the kitchen.”

“With.” She followed him down a short hall, rounded a doorway, and stopped cold, as if she’d run into a glass wall. She stared, unbelieving, questioning a reality she could see and touch and feel.

Rick’s kitchen was the one she had created in her mind when she and Jack had decided to design their own home. From the countertops to the practical gourmet stove—a stove so ugly only someone who loved to cook could appreciate its true beauty—to the built-in refrigerator and tile floor, everything was as she’d imagined it. What she’d wound up with was Jack and the architect’s idea of a show-place kitchen, one that sacrificed function for form.

She innately knew where everything was stored in this kitchen, she could find the plates and glasses and pots and pans with her eyes closed. The only thing that threw her was a double row of drawers beside the stove, each a little over a foot wide and less than eight inches tall. Her curiosity aroused, it was everything she could do not to open them and look inside.

“Rachel, it’s Rick. Lynda Miller got some bad news this evening and I was wondering how she’s doing.” He listened for several seconds. “Is she okay now?” He glanced at Catherine, his expression neutral. “Uh-huh…yeah, that’s my take on it, too.”

The kitchen forgotten, Catherine concentrated on Rick’s conversation, filling the silences with frightening scenarios, knowing it was foolish but unable to stop.

“You have any problem with us taking a drive up there tonight?” He gave Catherine a questioning look. She nodded. “Good. We’ll see you in a couple of hours, then. Do me a favor, don’t tell Lynda we’re coming.”

He hung up. “Give me a couple of minutes to shower and we can leave.”