Journey, The (17 page)

Shelly frowned.

"I know you want me to tell you what to do with Scott," Michelle continued, "but I don't think that's my role. That's a decision you have to make."

Shelly nodded. She appreciated Michelle's candor and appreciated that she could have this discussion with an adult, but she still wondered why her friend held back. Everyone had an opinion about Scott Richardson and no one was shy about expressing it. Deciding that this part of the conversation had run its course, she changed the subject.

"Another reason I came here today was to thank you for writing that reference letter. I think it will help. I think it will help a lot."

"Have you heard anything from Yale?"

"I got a letter last week telling me that they had received all of my application materials. Now comes the waiting."

"You have a four-point grade point average and decent SAT scores, Shelly. You also have an activities resume longer than a ticker tape. They'll take you."

"I hope you're right. But even if they overlook my math scores, I still have to find a way to pay for college. Yale costs nine thousand dollars a year. There's no way I could afford to go without a scholarship, a big scholarship."

"Be patient. Any school that wants you is going to find a way to pay your bills."

Shelly smiled. She now had a new reason to reach the Ivy League. She did not want to disappoint the woman who had assumed such an important role in her life. She glanced at her Mickey Mouse watch and took a sip of tea before looking back at her host.

"I should go. My mom is making manicotti tonight, my favorite dish. I don't think she'd like it if I were late for dinner."

Michelle chuckled.

"You're right. She wouldn't. Give her my best. She's a good woman, Shelly. No matter what your differences, never forget that. We all need our mothers."

"I know."

Shelly got up and retrieved her coat, draped over another chair. As she slipped her arms through the sleeves, she watched Michelle retreat to a short dresser by her bed. She pulled a small box from the top drawer and returned to the table.

"Before you go, I want to give you this," Michelle said. "It's your Christmas present. I was going to give it to you tomorrow but, since you're leaving, now will do."

Shelly took the package from Michelle and slowly peeled off the green paper wrapping. When she finished, she removed the top of the box and saw her gift. It was a sterling silver necklace and pendant. The pendant was an ornate but functional eight-point compass.

She gasped.

"This is beautiful."

Shelly held the gift up to the light and inspected it closely. She put the chain around her neck and then lifted the pendant again. She smiled at the sight. But when she looked at her friend and saw her serious expression, she removed the necklace and offered it back.

"I can't take this. This is way too much. I don't deserve it."

Michelle smiled warmly.

"It doesn't matter how much it cost. You do deserve it. You are a very special young woman, Shelly. You are intelligent, kind, and beautiful. Despite what you may think, you have a lot going for you, an awful lot. All you need, in my opinion, is a little direction."

Michelle put a hand on Shelly's shoulder.

"Maybe this compass will show you the way."

CHAPTER 30: MICHELLE

Monday, December 24, 1979

Even under a blanket of snow, the land on the Land estate, which took up nearly an acre atop the North Hill on Crestview Lane, was impressive. In the front yard, terraced rockwork shared space with trimmed shrubs and miniature conifers. In the back, apple and pear trees encircled elevated planters and a large garden that produced tomatoes, peppers, corn, and zucchini in the summer.

Michelle assessed the backyard through a large picture window as she curled up in an alcove with a mug of hot cocoa. Even at five o'clock, long after the solstice sun had dropped below the western horizon, she could see enough of the yard to imagine its possibilities.

"There you are," Karen Land said as she entered a richly decorated chamber her father called his den. Younger sister Susan trailed closely behind. "We've been looking for you."

"You have?"

"Oh, yeah," Susan said as she made a big show of locking the door.

The young women pulled up seats near the alcove and stared at the houseguest they had met for the first time an hour earlier. Karen sat in an upholstered rocking chair that had once belonged to her grandmother. Susan got comfy in a swivel office chair that she had retrieved from a desk and had pushed across the room.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you girls were up to something," Michelle said.

"We are," Karen said with a grin. "That's why we sent Dad to the grocery store with an irresponsibly long shopping list. We'd like to talk to you."

Michelle repositioned her frame on two alcove cushions and looked at Robert Land's offspring. With chestnut hair and dreamy brown eyes, Karen resembled her father. With lighter, longer hair and a pleasant round face, Susan looked a lot like her mother, or at least the woman pictured in a framed photograph that hung above Robert's desk.

"Should I be alarmed at what you have to say?"

"Not at all," Karen said. "Unless you are afraid of a little daughterly scrutiny."

Michelle smiled.

"What would you like to know?"

"Let's start with the basics," Karen said. Her eyes turned mischievous. "Who are you and what are your sinister intentions with our father?"

Susan giggled.

Michelle laughed to herself as she thought of the other woman in the room. Linda Land must have been quite a mother to manage these firecrackers. She took a moment to consider Karen's question before looking at both sisters and delivering an off-the-wall reply.

"I'm a time traveler, of course. I've come to your fair city from a not-so-distant time and place to kidnap your father, make him my slave, and perhaps put him to work in my vegetable garden. But other than that, I come in peace."

Michelle smiled at Karen, 22, and Susan, 20. The girls did not smile back.

"Try again," Karen said with folded arms.

"I thought that was a good answer. I suppose you want the boring truth."

"The truth is never boring," Susan said.

Michelle gave that point to the college girl. There was nothing boring about entering an old house in 2010 and walking out in 1979. But she decided that this was yet another time when the truth, the complete and literal truth, could go on an extended vacation.

"OK. The truth it is."

The girls smiled smugly.

"I'm sure your father told you that I'm the new attendance secretary at the high school. That's how we met," Michelle said. She sighed and spoke slowly and thoughtfully. "He probably also told you that I lost my husband in June. Scott died in a climbing accident."

The smiles disappeared.

"It was rough at first. I had been married twenty-four years. Life with Scott was all I had ever known, at least as an adult. For several weeks I was completely lost. I had no children, no assets, and no family nearby, so I decided to start over and find myself again in a small town, a town where I could meet people easily and perhaps make a difference in their lives."

"I'm so sorry," Karen said. "I feel stupid now. I hadn't heard about your husband."

Susan didn't add a comment. She didn't have to. She was already wiping a tear.

"I don't mention him often," Michelle said. "I don't want people to think of me first and foremost as a widow, an object of sympathy. I want them to think of me as a kind and thoughtful person who would like to be their friend. That's what attracted me to your father – besides his dashing good looks, of course. He is a kind and thoughtful man, a man who shares many of my values and interests."

"He's an incredible man. He's an incredible father. But he hasn't known a lot of happiness in the past few years," Karen said. "That's why we are so protective of him. We want the best for him. But that's no excuse for our little stunt. I'm really sorry."

"Me too," Susan said.

"There's no need to apologize. You two have made my day. If I had daughters I'd want them to have just as much spunk and attitude. I'd want them to look out for me too."

The smiles returned.

"Dad is very fond of you," Karen said. "He talks about you constantly on the phone. I guess that's why we felt the need to check you out."

"Rest assured that I mean him no harm. I am very fond of him as well."

Michelle pondered the understatement as she took stock of the past eight weeks, or the period she had officially dated the senior math instructor at Unionville High School. She and Robert had spent nearly every evening together, whether dining out, attending the theater, grading math papers, or rooting for the Cowboys at varsity basketball and wrestling events.

They had also spent a lot of time together at work, where Michelle regularly advised him on students and athletes who faced difficulties outside the classroom and might need extra attention inside. She had the ability to spot problems and he had the authority to fix them. In only a few weeks, they had become a remarkable team.

But even though their relationship had become increasingly close and affectionate, it had not crossed from the classroom to the bedroom. Robert had put down that marker early. He was an old-fashioned gentleman who believed that sex was best saved for marriage and that rushing a romance was the surest way to destroy it.

"What else would you girls like to know? I'm sure you have more questions, and I don't mind answering them. It's the least I can do for you."

"There is one thing I'd like to know," Susan said.

"Yes?"

"Has he told you much about our mother?"

"No. He hasn't. I suspect it's a painful subject, particularly for a very private man."

"It is, but it's a pretty important subject, at least in this house. I had hoped he would have told you more about what he went through, what we all went through."

"I can imagine how hard it was."

"I don't think so, Michelle. I don't. My mother battled cancer for ten years, half my life," Susan said. "I can barely remember what she was like before she got sick. I remember only that she used to be the strong one in our family, our rock. When she got sick, Dad became our rock. He did a good job too. But it took a toll. I watched him age really fast. I heard him cry at times when my mother was in the hospital, when he thought no one else was around. There must have been two or three years when I didn't even see him smile."

Michelle's heart sank as she watched Susan wrestle with the past. Karen looked on with watery eyes. In a matter of minutes, the upbeat, fun-loving sisters had become sorrowful stewards of their mother's memory and their father's emotional well-being.

"I think what Susan is trying to say is that my father is still very vulnerable. You are literally the first woman he has dated since my mother died, the first woman he's even shown interest in," Karen said.

"I understand."

"You should also know that even though he seems like someone who could handle himself well in any relationship, he doesn't bring a lot of experience to the table."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"My father was married to my mother for twenty-five years. Before that, he dated her in college. Before that, he dated her in high school."

"I'm still not sure I follow."

"You are only the second person my father has dated since the eleventh grade," Karen said. "That's two people in thirty-three years. Can you honestly relate to that?"

The question brought a sad, wistful smile to Michelle's face.

"I can, Karen. I can," she said. "Strangely enough, I can."

CHAPTER 31: MICHELLE

Monday, December 24, 1979

The fireplace in the dark living room sent mixed messages to Santa. With Christmas figurines, lights, and holly spread across a wide mantle and four stockings hanging down the sides, its brick exterior was downright inviting. But with three logs blazing behind a sturdy black screen, its interior was not. Michelle laughed at the pros and cons for St. Nick as she settled into a leather sofa facing the fire and thought of this and other Christmases. She thought of how she would have celebrated the holiday at different times in her life.

As a young child, she would be at home or with her grandparents in Unionville or Vancouver. She would be in her pajamas, probably new pink pajamas, looking for opportunities to sneak a peek at gifts under the tree or catch a fat man in a red suit sliding down the chimney. She would be blissfully happy with her life and the people around her. Life would be good.

As a high school senior, she would be in Portland, at Freddie's, with her family, probably watching
It's a Wonderful Life
or
A Christmas Carol
, the black-and-white classic with Alastair Sim. She could picture Shelly doing that now. She would have her mind on Scott and Nick and maybe even Brian, not to mention Yale, financial aid, and her future. She would spend the last holiday break of her adolescence taking stock of her life and deciding how to proceed through a seemingly endless series of troubling intersections.

As a married woman in her thirties and forties, she would be at Scott's side, either at their estate or at a house ten blocks away. A Christmas in Bellevue would be a Christmas with her siblings. Freddie, Eddie, and Angela had never needed an excuse to visit their millionaire sister, even if it meant dealing with icy freeways and flight delays. A Christmas in Unionville would be a Christmas with her in-laws. Michelle would spend the morning preparing meals with her delightful mother-in-law and the rest of the day avoiding her dreadful sister-in-law.

She would not, however, be preparing meals or avoiding anyone at her childhood home. Christmases at Tenth and Monroe had come to an end in 1995, when Evelyn Preston had died of a stroke.

Michelle remembered how difficult that year had been. She had lost not only her mother but also a friend. Evelyn had mellowed in her empty nest and had come to appreciate her youngest child in ways no one saw coming. She had become a regular visitor, a frequent caller, and a generous giver. Michelle would never forget her thirtieth birthday, when Evelyn had surprised her with two tickets to Italy. She kept her tears in check as she fondly remembered a trip she still considered the highlight of her life.