Thursdays At Eight (21 page)

KAREN CURTIS

“Y
our father and I would like you to join us for lunch next Saturday,” Catherine Curtis informed Karen in her most prim voice. She used the tone guaranteed to set Karen's teeth on edge every time.

Pressing the telephone receiver hard against her ear, Karen felt as if she'd received a summons to appear in court instead of an invitation from her mother. Whatever Catherine wanted was important enough to add the influence of her father's name.

Karen knew it wasn't her company they sought—or at least her mother didn't. Something was up, and she suspected she wasn't going to like it.

“You'll come?” her mother said.

“Don't go to any trouble, though,” Karen warned. Lunch for her generally consisted of a sandwich on the run or something she could pick up at a drive-through window.

For Catherine Curtis, on the other hand, every meal was an occasion. Karen didn't know anyone outside her parents' circle
of friends who went to such effort for lunch. It was just
lunch,
for heaven's sake. Her mother had built her entire social life around a bridge club that met every Friday at one. The women were constantly in competition, trying to outdo each other with elaborate luncheon menus and fancy centerpieces.

“I'll see you on Saturday then.”

“Any reason you and Dad want to talk to me?” Karen asked. Better to get a heads-up now than be blindsided later.

“Can't your father and I invite you to the house without a reason?” her mother asked with a light, tinkling laugh—a laugh that was so forced, Karen had to cringe.

“You always have a reason, Mother,” she said grimly.

Catherine gave a beleaguered sigh but no other response.

“I was just there for Mother's Day.” Being in close proximity to her mother twice within the same month was above and beyond the call of duty.

“You've already agreed to come,” Catherine reminded her.

“Yes, and I will, but I want to know why.”

“Because I asked it of you. Let's not get into this now. I'll look forward to seeing you at noon on Saturday.”

“Yes, Mother,” Karen muttered, banging down the telephone receiver. She'd allowed herself to be manipulated again. Would she never learn?

Saturday arrived far too soon, long before Karen was ready. She chose a dress her mother had bought her when Karen was still in high school. Sensible, demure—and a style completely wrong for her. Karen didn't know why she still held on to it.

By the time she arrived, her stomach was swarming with nerves. She knew from experience that her mother was likely to serve a five-course meal, and Karen didn't have the appetite to enjoy even one bite.

The first thing she noticed when she pulled into the circular driveway in front of her parents' home was that Victoria's car wasn't there. Always before, her sister had been included in these lunches. Not today, which led to immediate speculation that this conversation had something to do with her sister.

Before she could change her mind, Karen parked her ten-year-old Ford Tempo.

The front door opened and her mother stood in the entrance. Karen's engine was still hacking and coughing, although the ignition had been turned off. She was sorry her mother was there to hear it. Catherine had never approved of Karen's car, but to Karen it represented independence and integrity, since she'd purchased and paid for it herself.

She walked toward the door as the old Ford coughed one last time, as if to remind her how badly it needed servicing.

“Could you park your…vehicle over by the garage?” her mother called.

And out of the neighbors' sight, Karen added mentally. “Sorry, Mom, but I'm having trouble with the transmission. It'd be better if I left it someplace where I won't need to reverse.”

Her mother started to speak, then seemed to change her mind, and turned away.

Karen followed her into the house. This wasn't the home she'd grown up in and she'd never felt as though she belonged here. Her father's chain of produce warehouses had prospered dramatically over the past ten years, and her parents were living off the fruit of his labors. She smiled at the pun.

Status had always been important to her mother, and the big home, fancy cars and children she could brag about to her friends were included in her requirements.

They were apparently having lunch in the kitchen. The kitchen, though, was the size of Karen's entire apartment. It
was newly renovated with oak cabinets, a slate floor and lovely multi-paned windows—a nice traditional look, except that Catherine had added a few too many bits of “country” kitsch. The round oak table held a huge sunflower centerpiece, with sunflower-patterned place mats. Clearly a theme—no doubt based on a magazine article about decorating for summer. Karen glanced around expecting to find her father hiding behind the sunflower display. “Where's Dad?”

“He sends his apologies, but he was called into the office.”

“On a Saturday?”

Her mother's sigh said it all. “I wasn't pleased,” she said sternly. “You asked that I not go to any trouble, so I thought we'd have lunch in here.”

“This is perfect.” Karen clasped her hands to conceal any sign of nervousness. She'd hoped her father would be here. If Victoria wasn't around, her father could have served as a buffer.

Catherine opened the refrigerator and removed a sesame chicken and pasta salad. Bread, steaming from the oven, was already out and cooling.

“This is your favorite salad, isn't it?” Catherine asked.

Actually it was Victoria's, but now didn't seem the time to point that out.

“My all-time favorite,” she lied. “How thoughtful of you to make it for me.”

“Well, to be honest, I had Doris put it together.”

Doris was the housekeeper who'd been with the family for a number of years.

“Oh.” So much for thoughtfulness.

“You know I play bridge with the girls on Friday.” Her mother's tone was defensive. “This salad needs to be made twenty-four hours in advance.”

“I wasn't upset,” Karen said, wishing they could have a
normal conversation, one in which they weren't constantly offending each other.

“Shall we sit down?” Catherine said.

“Sure.” Karen slid into her chair and unfolded her linen napkin. Catherine handed her the chicken salad; the warm bread followed.

Karen took her first bite, but it seemed to get stuck in the back of her throat. She knew it would be impossible to down another forkful until she learned what this was all about. “Where's Victoria?” she asked outright. She hadn't talked to her sister in some time and feared there'd been a repeat of the last incident. Karen felt her anger rise at the mere thought of that twit hitting her sister. Maybe she should change
twit
to
brute,
she mused darkly.

“Victoria?” her mother echoed. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“She's always here when we have our lunches.”

Her mother paused for a moment. “I believe she's shopping—buying summer clothes for Bryce this afternoon.”

“Oh.” Karen never had a problem being articulate except when she was with her mother.

Catherine stabbed a shredded piece of chicken with her fork, eyes downcast.

Finally Karen couldn't stand it any longer. “Just tell me!”

Her mother's eyes widened. “Tell you what, dear?”

“Why you invited me here.”

Her mother sighed. To Karen's surprise, she capitulated without any more of that conversational thrust and parry. “I'm concerned about Victoria,” she said in a flat voice.

She knew. Thank God! Somehow, her mother had learned that Roger was beating Victoria. Relief swept through Karen. Surely her mother would step in now and help in ways that Karen couldn't.

“I'm worried about her, too,” Karen blurted out, nearly weak with gratitude. “We need to do something, Mom.”

“Yes, well…”

“Has she opened up to you? She called me a few months ago, absolutely desperate. I was deathly afraid of what Roger might do.”

Her mother frowned. “Victoria phoned you?”

“I'm sure she would've called you and Dad, but she didn't want to alarm you.”

“Oh, dear.”

“How'd you find out? Did you see the bruises? She's gotten so good at hiding them, but it's more than the physical abuse, it's the horrible things Roger says to her. The worst part is that she believes them.”

Her mother went pale and her hand crept to her throat.

Karen hesitated. “Are you all right?”

“I…”

A sick feeling came over her, and she realized she'd made a serious mistake in assuming that Victoria had confided in her parents. “You didn't know, did you?”

Ever proper, Catherine Curtis squared her shoulders. “I…don't know what to think. I have a hard time believing Roger is the kind of man who'd do the things you're suggesting.”

Horrified, Karen vaulted to her feet. Tears of anger and outrage stung her eyes. “You don't believe me? You think I'd make something like this up?”

“Sit down,” her mother ordered, voice shaking.

“Do you think I'd fabricate this story out of some perverse jealousy?”

Her mother's hand trembled and when she spoke it was as if she'd forgotten Karen was in the room. “I've known for some weeks that things weren't…right between Victoria and Roger,
but I didn't want to interfere.” She shook her head. “I thought Victoria seemed depressed—that's what worried me. That's what I'd hoped to discuss with you.”

Karen sank into her chair. “I saw what he did the last time. Well, the time she called me… Who knows what's happened since?”

“Roger hit her?”

Karen nodded.

“You say Victoria told you,” her mother said, giving up all pretense of eating. Her hand continued to shake as she reached for her iced tea.

“Yes…”

“Did she tell you why she wasn't comfortable talking to me?”

“No,” Karen answered. “I'm sure she just didn't want to upset you,” she said again.

“Instead, she left that task to you.”

“No…no, Mom, Victoria would never do that. I upset you all on my own. I mean, oh, hell—you know what I mean!”

“Do I?”

The harder Karen tried, the worse it became. “Mom, listen to me, please. This is too important. We can't get all twisted up in our own egos. We have to help Victoria.”

Catherine closed her eyes. “I agree. Tell me what you know.”

Karen wasn't sure where to start. She felt tempted to mention that dreadful Thanksgiving dinner years earlier when Victoria had bolted from the table, but she didn't.

“Roger's a twit,” she said instead. “And a brute.”

“Is he…abusing Bryce?”

“No…not to my knowledge.”

“You're absolutely certain about Victoria? Oh, of course you are. It's just that this is far worse than I imagined. Dear God, why couldn't she tell me?”

“I'm sure Victoria wanted to, but she doesn't know how.”

Catherine's expression was stricken. “It's such a shock.”

“I know it's hard to believe, Mom—it was for me, too. But I swear to you, it's the truth. I've seen the evidence.”

Her mother looked away, as though just hearing the words brought her pain. “Why doesn't Victoria come to your father and me—surely she knows we'd do anything to help…” She let the rest fade.

“You said you were worried about her? That she seemed depressed?”

Caught up in her thoughts, her mother didn't immediately answer. “She's been so distant lately,” Catherine finally said. “We were always close, Victoria and I, but lately she's made excuses to stay away. I felt something was wrong. I'd hoped you might know what was going on, and as it turns out you do.”

Karen had no idea what to say next, what to suggest. She sipped at her iced tea while she waited for inspiration.

“I don't understand why Victoria didn't come to me,” her mother wailed. “I really don't.” Karen had never seen her lose control to this extent. She realized Catherine was deeply hurt by Victoria's silence and probably felt a large measure of inadequacy.

“Listen, Mom, she's embarrassed and ashamed. Everyone assumes Victoria has the perfect marriage and she didn't want to disillusion any of us.”

“But why would she allow this kind of treatment to continue?”

“Mom, the whys don't matter. We can sort all that out later. Right now, we both need to concentrate on how to help Victoria. She's at the point where she can't do it for herself.”

Her mother stared down at her lunch plate. “She should have told me,” she mumbled again. “She—”

“Yes, Mom,” Karen said impatiently. “But she couldn't.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don't know. Support and love her, first of all.”

“Of course, that's understood.”

“I wanted her to leave the jerk, but Victoria wouldn't hear of it. Nor will she involve the police. I talked until I was blue in the face and it didn't do one bit of good. She's afraid of hurting his career.”

“If the law firm finds out about it, Roger could very likely lose his position,” her mother said.

“That isn't Victoria's fault. He's the one hitting her.”

“Oh, I agree. All I'm saying is that I can understand Victoria's hesitation. If Roger loses his job, the entire family will suffer. Plus, there's the humiliation of family and friends discovering she's married to a wife-beater.”

“Of course,” Karen muttered. “That's why she's kept it to herself.”

“We must consider our options very carefully,” her mother said. “Karen, let's give this some thought.” She'd become the formidable matron once again, the woman whose strength of will wasn't easily defeated. Despite her flaws and pretensions, Catherine Curtis loved her daughters—
both
of them. Karen knew the truth of that, had in a sense always known it, but now she was overwhelmed by the insight. She suddenly understood that she was her mother's equal, in strength and determination, far more than Victoria.