The Forgiving Hour (4 page)

“Come on, Sara,” Eli wheedled. The closest to her in age, he’d been the one she confided in most often during her girlhood. “Tell us about him.”

Glancing up, she met her mother’s watchful gaze. Kristina would know if she tried to bluff her way through. Her mother had always known when any of the Jennings kids told a lie. It was a sixth sense with her.

Sara released a sigh, feeling like a punctured tire with the air rushing out. Then she looked around the table. “Okay, I’ve met someone. I think he’s nice and I think he’s cute, but I don’t know much about him yet.”
Nothing at all, actually.
“We’ve never beenout on a date. I hope we will soon.”
Friday night. I’ll see him Friday night.
“Now, that’s all I’m going to say about him. Nothing may come of this, you know, so don’t get yourselves all in a lather.”

“Don’t you think you oughta let one of us have a look-see?” Josh leaned forward in anticipation. “I’d be happy to check him out. What’s his name?”

Sara laughed. “Not a chance, Bro. You couldn’t drag his name out of me. Not even if you torture me with bamboo shoots and hot irons. My lips are sealed.”

The three brothers started talking at once, the decibel level rising steadily as they listed all of their sister’s former boyfriends, then detailed the reasons those boys hadn’t been good enough for Sara, along with a few reasons why she couldn’t find the right fellow. The teasing seemed to go on interminably.

But it only took a few softly spoken words from their mother to bring it to an end. “That’s enough, all of you.” Kristina waited for silence, then said, “Your supper’s getting cold. Sara, I want to see you eat all that stew. I don’t care if those boys over in Boise do like their girls thin. You eat.”

“Yes, Mom.”

With their mother’s gaze moving from Sara to each son in turn, she added, “Go ahead, all of you.”

FOUR

The Porter home on Garden Street was a small, older house, not much different from the neighboring houses that lined the street. It wasn’t large or fancy, but Claire loved it. She’d spent years decorating it from pennies pinched from her grocery budget, trying always to make it special, a place where everyone felt comfortable and welcome.

This night, with four couples around the dining room table and laughter punctuating the air, Claire felt aglow with success.

Alana leaned toward her. “That was an incredible meal. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You know I love entertaining. And I wanted to do something special for you and Jack.”

“I’ve never known anyone who thrived on being ‘the little woman’ the way you do.”

Claire knew her friend didn’t mean for her words to be insulting, nor did she take them as such. She
did
thrive on it. She’d never had any aspirations to have a career. She’d always been content to be a wife and a mom and a homemaker. Nothing more and nothing less. No apologies to the liberated superwomen of her generation.

She looked toward the opposite end of the table, her gaze settling on her husband.

She remembered the first time she’d seen Dave as if it hadbeen yesterday. September. The month of warm days and cool nights. The first day of school, her sophomore year at Borah High, between second-and third-period classes. He was a senior, the star pitcher of the varsity baseball team. He’d come striding down the crowded hallway, a head taller than most of the other boys. Tall and gorgeous with a killer, self-confident smile. She couldn’t help but notice him. All the girls would have died for a chance to go out with him. But he’d picked Claire.

She still sometimes wondered why.

They’d dated all that year, two kids desperately in love. Then, the following September, Dave had left for the University of Idaho in Moscow, and Claire had despaired of losing him to someone else, to someone prettier and older, to someone who wasn’t “stuck in the morals of the past,” as he put it.

When he’d come home the summer between his freshman and sophomore years, Claire had given in to her fear of losing him and to his constant pressure to “let me love you completely.” Shortly afterward, she’d started taking the pill, but it was already too late. Before he left for school in September, she’d had to tell him she was pregnant.

It hadn’t been the ideal way to start a marriage, she thought now. Dave had been forced to leave college in order to support his bride and the baby who arrived seven months after the hastily arranged wedding. But they’d made it work, and in another five months they would celebrate their thirteenth wedding anniversary.

“You know” —Alana’s voice intruded on Claire’s private thoughts —“you still look at him the way you did when you were fifteen.”

Claire smiled as she watched Dave lean toward Jack’s cousin, Ty Boston, the two men deep in conversation, probably about one sport or another. “I love him just as much as I ever did. More, really.” She turned toward her friend. “I’m terribly happy, you know.”

Alana nodded. “I know.”

“But you didn’t always think I would be, did you?” It was a rhetorical question. Claire’s best friend had made it clear, back in high school, how she felt about Dave.

He’s going to break your heart one of these days, Claire Conway. You just wait and see. He’s too full of himself. He wants to be the star. Especially when it comes to girls.

“I’m glad I was wrong,” Alana whispered.

“Me too.”

“I hope you’re always this happy.”

“We will be.”

The clinking of a dinner knife against a wine goblet drew everyone’s attention toward Jack Moncur. He stood, glass in hand.

“I’d like to thank all of you for coming tonight to help us celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary.” He patted his trim abdomen. “Especially Claire for preparing that fantastic meal. And, of course, Dave for opening his home to us.” He turned his eyes on his wife. “Most of all, I want to thank Alana for loving me and putting up with me while I learned how to be a husband. You all know it couldn’t have been easy for her. Honey, you’re the best.” He lifted his glass. “To you, my darling. I love you.”

They all took sips from their glasses.

Claire glanced down the length of the table. Her gaze met Dave’s.

She expected him to smile that special secret smile, a smile that would say
I love you too. I think you’re the best. Thanks for loving me and putting up with me.
But he didn’t smile. Instead, his gaze shifted abruptly back to Jack.

He couldn’t have meant to make her feel rejected. Dave had simply wanted to see what gift Jack was presenting to Alana at that very moment. That’s all. Claire knew he loved her. He would never hurt her intentionally.

Nonetheless, the evening had lost some of its luster.

Sara loved the smell of spring on the farm. The pungent scent of freshly turned soil warmed by the sun. Flowering trees in bloom. Even the smell of cow manure wasn’t bad when mingled with that of alfalfa hay.

As dusk settled over the earth, Sara stood in the corral with her quarter horse gelding, Rusty. She and Rusty had taken a few barrel-racing championships during her high school years. Last year, they’d come in second at the Snake River Stampede.

“You miss it, fella?” She stroked the white blaze on the sorrel’s face.

As if understanding the question, Rusty snorted and bobbed his head.

Sara chuckled. “I’ll bet. You’re getting fat and lazy, standing around, waiting for me. If you weren’t so ornery, maybe one of the guys would saddle you up.”

“He could use a good run.”

She turned, brought out of her reverie by her mother’s unexpected presence.

Kristina leaned her arms on the fence. “He does miss you, you know.”

“I wish I had time to come out for a ride now and then. I didn’t know being in a play and keeping up with the rest of my studies would be so time consuming.” Sara gave Rusty’s neck a final pat, then strode across the corral to where her mother stood. She stepped up on the bottom rail of the whitewashed board fence, twisted, and sat on the top rail, her gaze returning to her favorite gelding.

For a while there was silence, a comfortable silence between a mother and daughter who’d survived the turbulent teen years and hysterical hormones and were now becoming friends.

“You nervous about the play?” Kristina asked at long last.

“Not really. I’ve got my lines down pat. I think I could say them in my sleep. In fact, I
do
say them in my sleep. I think I’ll do okay on opening night.”

“You’ll do more than okay.” She patted Sara’s hand. “Dad and I are coming to the Saturday performance. Uncle Peter and Aunt Betsy are joining us. The boys all have other plans, but they said they’d be there on closing night.”

Sara hoped her brothers would behave themselves. She could only imagine what shenanigans they might cook up.

“Would you like us to come early? We could all go out to eat, the five of us.”

“I couldn’t possibly eat before the play, Mom. I’d throw up.”

“Which means you
are
nervous.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

“What about this young man you mentioned at supper? Will
he
be at the play?”

Sara glanced down at her mother, not even trying to disguise the truth. “I hope so, Mom. I
really
hope so.”

Kristina stared back, her gaze thoughtful. “Don’t forget what’s important, Sara Teresa.”

The words were few, the reminder gentle, but Sara understood what her mother was saying. There were certain values the Jennings children had been raised with, certain standards of conduct that were expected of them, whether they were teenagers living at home or adults out on their own.

She thought of Dave again, of the strange way he affected her by his mere presence.

“I won’t forget,” she answered softly, hoping her promise was true.

Dave shoved the drawer closed, cursing angrily. “Jack Moncur’s a jerk.”

“Dave. Really.”

“He didn’t have to give her that diamond necklace at the party. He did it to show off, to make the rest of us guys look bad.”

Claire pulled the brush through her hair. “That wasn’t why. It was their anniversary party. Of course he would give it to her here. We’re her friends.”

“You know what’s wrong with you, Claire? You don’t have a clue about anything.” He stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Her hand stilled in midstroke. She was stunned by his rage. What had she said that was so terrible?

This isn’t about Jack,
a small voice warned.

She dropped the brush onto her dressing table and hurried after him. She found him sitting on the front stoop.

“Dave?” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled. Silence. Then, “Everything.”

“Is it work?” She sat beside him.

Instead of looking at her, he turned his eyes toward the sky. Claire followed the direction of his gaze.

Overhead, stars sparkled against an inky black backdrop. Night sounds drifted to her on a breeze, whispering through the green leaves on the trees that surrounded the Porter home. A cricket chirped its evening song. Someone’s radio played near an open window, the music vying with static.

“Claire?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened to us if you hadn’t gotten pregnant?”

Her heart nearly stopped beating.
I didn’t do it on purpose, and I didn’t do it alone.
After a few painful moments, she answered him, “No. No, I’ve never wondered that.”

“Sometimes I do. I wonder what our lives would have been like if I’d had the chance to finish college. Maybe I’d have more money than Jack by now.”

“Oh, Dave,” she whispered, “we’re rich in all the ways that count.”

He looked at her. “I guess you got everything you wanted, didn’t you, Claire? A husband, a son, a house.” The anger was back, making his words harsh. “Just the way you always wanted it to be.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Her throat hurt. Her chest hurt. “It’s what you wanted too.”

“I think you know better than that.”

She took hold of his upper arm, hanging on like a woman about to drown. “No, Dave, I don’t. Tell me. Explain it to me. I’m your wife. You can tell me anything. I love you. If you’re not happy, then let’s do something about it.”