The Forgiving Hour (8 page)

But what should she feel guilty about? They were two consenting, single adults. They weren’t harming anyone. She refused to accept the guilt. She refused to be ashamed. These were the eighties, after all. The days of puritan morals were long since past, killed in the sexual revolution of her parents’ youth.

“I love you,” she whispered, unable to keep the words to herself any longer. Then she waited to hear him repeat the words to her.

He didn’t.

She fought tears. “Dave.”

Dressed now, he put one knee on the bed and leaned over her. “It’s okay, Sara. I’m not angry. I just don’t want us to get carried away or do anything rash.”

Sara should have realized what a ludicrous thing that was for him to say, given they’d gone to bed on their first date. But recognizing it would be to accept her culpability. She wasn’t prepared for that.

“I understand,” she managed to say around the lump in her throat.

He kissed her forehead, kissed the tip of her nose, kissed her on the lips. “You said Patti’s out of town for the rest of the weekend. Why don’t I come by tomorrow evening?”

“I can’t. Not tomorrow.” Her fingers tightened on the sheet she was holding over her breasts. “My parents are coming to Boise to see the play.”

“Oh, yeah. That.”

He sounded as if he’d forgotten the play completely, as if he’d never seen her in it.

He kissed her again, then stood. “Don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”

“You’ll call me?” She couldn’t disguise the desperation she felt.

“I’ll call you.” He walked across the room, pausing in the doorway. “Sara?”

“Yes?”

“You’d better get on the pill. We don’t want any unpleasant surprises.”

It was only common sense. So why did she feel another surge of shame? At least it meant he was coming back, that he wanted to continue to see her.

“You’ll take care of that on Monday?” he asked. “You’ll get a prescription?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Good.” He disappeared into the hall.

A moment later, she heard a faint squeak as the front door opened.

“Good night, Sara,” he called softly.

The door closed before she could reply.

EIGHT

Old habits die hard.

Claire didn’t confront Dave about her suspicions. Not on that first night when he didn’t come home until two in the morning and not on any of the similar occasions in the weeks that followed. It was easier to slip back into pretending her life and marriage were everything they were supposed to be.

Dave told her he didn’t get the job north of Idaho City, but he had plenty of other reasons for staying out late or being away on weekends. And she let his explanations fall between them, unchallenged.

April became May.

May rushed toward June.

Although it seemed impossible, Mike was set to graduate from elementary school in two more weeks. There were times Claire couldn’t even recall the cute toddler he’d been. Judging by the high-water position of his trouser cuffs, he’d sprouted another two inches since Christmas. His voice had started to crack in midsentence, announcing his headlong plunge into adolescence and then manhood.

How did a mother prepare herself for that?

But what truly disturbed her was the constant tension and bickering between Mike and his dad. It didn’t seem to matter whatone of them said, it irritated the other, and before she knew it, they were yelling at the top of their lungs. The fights usually ended with Mike being sent to his room and Dave storming out of the house.

On this Sunday morning, it was about to happen again.

As usual, Mike was getting ready to go to church with the Kreizenbecks. Dave made a crack about holier-than-thou people and all the garbage they were putting into his son’s head. Mike told him that wasn’t true. The Kreizenbecks were nice, real nice, and he liked going to church with them and learning about God.

“And it’s
not
garbage,” he ended emphatically.

“It’s for sissies, boy. A crutch for idiots.”

“It is not.”

“Sissy.”

“I’m
not
a sissy!”

“Dave, please —” Claire began.

“Is that so?” he continued, ignoring her. “You are if I say you are. I shouldn’t let you go with that Kreizenbeck jerk. I don’t like the guy. I don’t trust him, and I don’t want you turning out like him.”

“At least Mr. Kreizenbeck knows how to be nice to Mrs. Kreizenbeck and his kids. It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice to Mom once in a while.”

Claire leaned over to pour Dave another cup of coffee, cutting off his view of their son and hoping it would stop the snowballing argument. It didn’t work.

Dave stood and stepped around her, his body rigid, his voice level rising. “Don’t you talk back to me, Mikey Porter. You hear me?”

“Don’t
you
call me Mikey,” the boy shouted in reply. “I hate it.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want.” He grabbed his son by the shoulders and gave him a rough shake. “Now, you apologize to me for mouthing off like that.”

Instead of obeying, Mike thrust out his chin and leanedforward, fists clenched at his sides. “I
won’t.
I’m
not
sorry. You’re always making Mom cry. Why do you have to do that? How come you can’t be nice to her? She’s the best mom in the world.”

Dave shoved Mike away from him, then spun toward Claire. “You’ve made a mama’s boy out of him.”

“That’s not fair,” she protested. “I haven’t —”

He muttered a curse, then stormed past her. The back door opened … and slammed closed. Less than a minute later, the truck roared to life and pulled out of the driveway.

An oppressive silence filled the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to make him mad at you. I just —”

“It isn’t your fault, honey.” She sank onto a chair with a sigh, fighting the threat of tears. She was tired of crying.

“He
is
mean to you, and I hate him for it.”

“Oh, Mike …”

“It’s true. He’s grouchy all the time, and he makes you cry, and he never does anything with us. And I don’t care that he doesn’t. Who wants to be with him? Not me.”

She wondered what she could say to change his mind about his father. Maybe Dave was right. Maybe this
was
her fault. She’d let their son see her unhappiness, let him feel her tension. She’d let him see her tears. She should have sheltered him from it. He was only twelve years old. He couldn’t begin to understand the complexities of a marriage, the ups and downs, the ebb and flow of life that affected every couple.

“Your dad’s just going through a difficult time.” The excuse tasted like sawdust on her tongue.

“But he shouldn’t take it out on you.”

How simple life was for the young. Things were either black or white, right or wrong.

Mike stepped forward and put his arms around her, as if he were the adult and she the child. “Don’t feel bad. I’m here.”

It took all her internal fortitude not to crumble at his brave words.

A horn honked, announcing the arrival of the Kreizenbeck family. “There’s your ride.”

“Why don’t you come with us, Mom? You’d like church.”

“Not today. Another time maybe.”

“I should stay with you.”

“No.” She put on a smile. “You go on. I have a lot to get done this morning.” She gave him a hug. “And don’t you worry about your dad and me. When he gets home, we’ll talk it all out and things will be fine. Just like it used to be. I promise. You’ll see.”

His blue eyes — so like his dad’s and yet so different — called her a liar.

Another beep of the horn broke the silence between them.

Claire gave him a gentle shove. “Hurry up now, or you’ll make everyone late.”

Sara was both surprised and delighted to see Dave when she opened the door. She hadn’t expected him until Monday night.

He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, looking moody and charming at the same time. “Hi.”

As usual, her pulse quickened at the sound of his voice. “Hi.”

“I’m going for a drive in the mountains. Up to Lowman. Maybe as far as Stanley. Care to come along?”

“I’d love to.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

It became quickly apparent, as Dave drove his truck up Highway 21, that he hadn’t invited Sara along for the scintillating conversation. She tried more than once to introduce a topic of interest to him, failing miserably each time. Mostly, he grunted and frowned in response, his expression growing darker with each passing mile.

It frightened her, seeing him this way

Many things frightened her. She was afraid her parents would learn that she’d become physically intimate with a man outside of marriage. She was afraid Dave didn’t love her, despite all the times she’d told herself he must or he wouldn’t keep coming to see her. She was afraid he would tire of her because she was young and made so many mistakes. She was afraid because he refused to talk about himself beyond the very basics. She was afraid when he didn’t come to see her, and she was afraid, when he did, that he only came for sex. She longed for him to call her sometimes, just to talk, just to say he missed her. He never did. He hadn’t even given her his phone number; when she looked for it in the telephone directory, she’d discovered it was unlisted.

Just yesterday, Patti had said, “Say what you want, Sara. I don’t trust him. There’s just something—”

Sara hadn’t let her friend finish. She didn’t want to hear anything negative about Dave. She had to believe in his love for her, in their future together. If she didn’t, if she let doubts creep in, if …

“How’d you like to go to Portland with me for a couple of days?” he asked, breaking into her agitated thoughts.

“Portland?”

“Yeah, there’s some business opportunities over there I want to look into.”

“Are you thinking of moving?” Alarm tightened her gut.

“Maybe.” For a fleeting moment he met her gaze, then looked back at the winding road. “Think about it. We could have a couple nights in a nice hotel, just the two of us.” He grinned, and it was clear what he was imagining. “No roommates. No phone calls. No interruptions.”

Is that the only reason you want me along, Dave?

She couldn’t speak the question aloud. To do so would be to admit her secret doubts.

“How about it?”

“I’ve got a job lined up for the summer,” she answered at last, “but it doesn’t start until the fifth of June. I suppose I could go before that. Just for a couple of days.”

“That’s my girl.” He placed his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “It’ll be good for us both. I don’t know about you, but I could sure use a little vacation. I’ll bet you could too.”

His girl. He’d called her his girl. Surely that meant her doubts were baseless, that he cared, that he loved her as much as she loved him — even if he didn’t say so.

She smiled, her heart lifting. Of course that was what it meant. She had nothing to fear. Nothing at all.

Claire wandered through the house, feeling listless, aimless, and empty. She wanted to do something to take her mind off Dave and her suspicions, but nothing she tried worked. A woman’s instinct told her he’d gone to see his lover after his fight with their son.

She paused at the living room window and stared through the glass at the front yard. Sunlight filtered through lacy branches of the curly willow tree, causing a crisscross pattern of shadows to flutter over the lawn. At each of the front corners of the yard were huge lilac bushes. A warm spell in March had caused them to bloom early in the season. Now the purple blossoms were gone, and all that was left was green. She wished she could still cut a fresh bouquet and fill the house with their scent.

She remembered the spring she’d planted the lilacs. They’d been hardly more than twigs. Mike, a toddler at the time, had sat nearby, wiggling his toes in the grass and laughing as the green blades tickled the bottoms of his feet.

That was the same day Dave had brought home the new truck. New to them anyway. Claire had baked a cake to celebrate that milestone in their lives. Success and prosperity had seemed just around the corner. How perfect her little world had been. How inviolable.