The Forgiving Hour (19 page)

When Claire had purchased the quaint, older house a year ago, there wasn’t a single flower in sight. It had taken many hours of work, last summer and fall and this spring, but now the backyard was a blaze of glorious color — irises and azaleas, potentilla and dianthus. A stone bench was set in the shade of a large oak tree, near the fountain that Dakota had helped her create from granite hauled out of the Boise mountains. And in the center of this flowering oasis was the sundial that had belonged to Claire’s grandmother.

Ada Conway had taught Claire the joy to be found in gardening. And it was here, working on her hands and knees, digging beneath the sun-warmed surface to the cool, dark soil below, that Claire found her greatest source of peace. She probably never would have discovered it without her grandmother’s help.

Pausing in her weeding, Claire sat back on her heels and looked toward the sundial. She wished Grandmother Ada had lived long enough for Dakota to have known her. Her grandmother hadn’t been a beautiful woman. She hadn’t been educated or wealthy. But she’d had a great deal of wisdom and common sense, and she’d dispensed advice to her grandchildren in life lessons that were easily understood.

It had been her grandmother whom Claire had told first about being pregnant with Dave’s baby. An August afternoon, the sun harsh, the air still. Grandmother Ada had taken her into the garden where bees buzzed around flower blossoms; a fountain, much like the one Claire had now, had gurgled and splashed, bringing an illusion of coolness with its sound, and the sundial that had come with the Conways from Ireland had registered the passing of time. The old woman hadn’t scolded Claire or condemned her. She had merely listened as Claire spilled out her heart, all the while holding her granddaughter’s hand and offering silent comfort.

After a very long while, Ada had said, “Every foot is slow on an unknown path, my dear. Just face the sun and turn your back on the storm. It will all turn out right in the end.”

“I wish you were here now,” Claire whispered as she rose from the ground.

She placed her fingers against the small of her back and arched backward, stretching out the kinks. Then she walked toward the sundial. Judging by the shadow, it was shortly after noon.

“You could have told me how to accept things the way they are.” She touched the face of the clock. “I’m so lonely, Grandma. I know some of it’s my own fault, but I just can’t seem to change it.”

The screen door squeaked, then Dakota’s voice called, “Mom?”

Surprised, she turned toward the porch. She hadn’t thought he would come to see her so soon. Certainly, she’d expected it to be longer than twenty-four hours. Then again, it didn’t surprise her. Dakota was always considerate of others. He’d probably been worrying about her. The realization caused her to smile.

One look at his face as he came down the steps disabused her of such sentimental thoughts. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t hide it from her.

She yanked off her soil-covered gloves. “Dakota?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“What is it?” She reached out, touched his arm.

“Can we sit down first?”

“Of course.” She turned and led the way to a stone bench. After they were both seated, she said, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I got a call this morning, and I’m not quite sure how to tell you about it.”

“A call?” Her heart was racing, her mind assailed by multiple possibilities. “From whom?”

Dakota stared her directly in the eyes. “From my father’s wife.”

That was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

“He died on Thursday.”

Dave’s dead?

For a moment, she felt nothing. No reaction whatsoever. Then a flood of old memories washed over her, reminding her of what she should feel.

Good! I’m glad you’re dead. I’d dance on your grave if I could. I hope there’s a hell so you can be in it.

Her son must have seen what she was thinking and feeling. She sighed as he glanced away. “I’m going to the funeral in Salt Lake.”

“You’re
what?
“ She was on her feet in an instant, looking down at him in horror.

Dakota stood too. “I’m driving down to Salt Lake for the funeral.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not sure I can explain why, Mom. I just know I have to go. I prayed about it, and I know God wants me to go.”

“Spare me your religious drivel.”

He reached to touch her again. “Mom —

“Don’t!” She stepped quickly out of reach. She was so angry she couldn’t think straight.

Dakota lowered his hands to his sides. “Mom, I’ve done my best to keep my promise to you. I avoid talking about my father. And I’ll go on keeping my word as long as you want me to. But this is the
right
thing to do, and I’ve got to do it. No matter what he did in the past, he
was
my father and I’m going to his funeral. But I couldn’t go to Salt Lake without telling you first.”

Sarcastically, “Thanks a lot.”

“John’s going with me. We’ll be using his dad’s car. It won’t use as much gas as mine would.”

Claire remained silent. She wanted to tell him she would never forgive him if he did this, but something kept her silent. Perhaps, even in this moment of hurt and rage, she knew she would be sorry if she hurled such words at him.

“We’re leaving in another hour. I’ve got to get back to my place so I’ll be ready when John gets there.”

She still said nothing.

His eyes were filled with sadness as he said, “I love you.”

Don’t do this. How can you do this to me?

He answered as if he’d heard her, repeating what he’d said a moment before. “No matter what else he did, he was still my father.” He turned away. “I hope someday you’ll understand.”

“I’ll never understand,” she whispered. “Never.”

Claire sat in the dark in her favorite wingback chair. It was three in the morning. For hours — for an eternity—she’d been reliving those horrible moments, days, weeks of that odious spring and summer when her world collapsed. She stared into the darkness of the room, unable to move, unable to escape. The memories and the emotions were strong, as if no time at all had passed.

She could still hear Dave’s distinctive laughter rising above the din of conversations and video games. She could still see the young girl with short, dark-red hair leaning toward him across the table. She could still smell the pizzas baking in the huge ovens.

So he had married her, his mistress, and they had lived in Salt Lake City. Did they have children? Had he become a loving father to another woman’s babies when he’d been incapable of the same with Claire’s son, with his firstborn?

Cold fingers of dread wrapped themselves around her heart and squeezed. What if Dakota liked her, this woman who had stolen Claire’s husband, her hopes, her dreams? She knew he would forgive that harlot for what she’d done, just as he’d forgiven Dave. All for the sake of his precious Christianity.

“No,” she whispered. “You can’t. You can’t do it.”

She didn’t cry. She was too dead inside to cry, her tears held captive within an unforgiving heart.

TWENTY

Oriana Simpson, an attractive woman in her midforties, leaned back in her desk chair, her elbows on the armrests, her hands steepled in front of her chest. “Have you considered returning to college?”

Sara shrugged, then shook her head. “Can’t afford it.”

“I’ll be honest with you, Sara. You’re never going to move beyond your current position with this firm without at least an associate’s degree.”

What could she say to that? It was true. She’d been passed over for promotions plenty of times.

Twenty-seven and already trapped in a dead-end job.

“You’re being wasted where you are. You know it and I know it.” Her boss leaned forward, a small frown knitting her brows. “You’re too bright for the work you’re doing. Underutilized. I’m well aware of the real work you’re capable of. You’re a whiz with computers, and I’ve seen the way you brainstorm your way through a problem. You could go far at Richards and Clemmons, but our policy is strict. You
must
have a degree.”

“I’d love to, but going back to college just isn’t possible for me right now.”

Sara looked out the huge glass windows that lined Oriana’s spacious office. Amazing, she thought, how long the effects of a person’s mistakes last. If not for her affair with Dave, she would have stayed in Boise, graduated from BSU, had a real career by this time.

“It just isn’t possible,” she repeated with a shake of her head. “I haven’t the money.”

“Actually, Sara, if money is the only reason, there is a way. The firm has a rather generous continuing-education program that will pay the majority of fees if an employee maintains good grades. If you are willing to take classes at night, in your free time …” She let the sentence drift into silence, unfinished.

“Really?”

“Really.” Oriana jerked open a drawer in the credenza behind her desk and withdrew a large envelope. Swiveling back around, she held it toward Sara. “Take this home and read through it. Then come meet with me tomorrow and let’s see what we can do.”

“I will.” Sara smiled as she rose, feeling both bewildered and excited. This wasn’t what she’d expected to happen at her annual performance review. She’d thought she would get a pat on the head and a moderate salary increase, as usual.

College? Could she really go back? All she’d wanted to do eight years ago was perform. But since then she’d discovered there were other things to challenge and interest her besides acting. A degree would open up a realm of new possibilities.

It would take sacrifice. Going to school and maintaining a full-time job wouldn’t be easy. And what about Vince? When would she see him if she was working in the daytime, going to school at night, and studying on the weekend? How did one maintain and nurture a relationship if one didn’t spend time on it?

But an education, a college degree, a chance to move ahead. How could Vince not want her to have those things if he cared about her?

These questions were still roiling in her head as she drove home after work.

It wasn’t until she pulled into her apartment complex parking lot that she remembered something she’d heard on television the previous morning. She’d been surfing channels, looking for a show to watch, when she’d stumbled across a TV evangelist. She’d paused no more than a few moments before changing the channel again, and yet she remembered the man’s words distinctly.

“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and instruction.”

She trembled inwardly.

Is this what You have in mind for me? Is it going back to school instead of marrying and having a family? How do I know for sure? How do I know You’re even up there and listening? And if You are, how do I know when You’re speaking to me or when it’s just me doing the talking?

The fear of the Lord … The beginning of knowledge …

A surge of excitement caused her to smile. She wanted this. And for some inexplicable reason, she believed God wanted it for her too.

Dakota wasn’t sure what he felt as he stared at his father’s casket above the open grave. A little removed from the situation, he supposed. As if it weren’t quite real. He didn’t know the man who was being eulogized by his friends. The father Dakota remembered had been someone different.

A breeze rustled through the trees behind him. Before him lay the majestic Wasatch Range.

Odd, the things that came to mind when one looked upon a parent’s grave. Things never considered before. When Dave Porter was the same age that Dakota was now, he’d had a wife and a four-year-old son to support. He’d had a mortgage and a truck payment and a host of other bills. He’d been forced to give up college, to get married, and to go to work. What must that have been like for him?

Dakota’s mom had always tried to gloss over that she’d been a pregnant bride, but Dakota had figured it out long ago. Had Dave blamed Claire for getting pregnant? Had he resented his son for being born?

He wondered how different their lives might have been if his dad had stuck around. Might there have been a chance that father and son could have learned to really love each other? It was only in retrospect that he realized how very much he’d wanted his dad’s love, both before and after he’d gone away.