Thursdays At Eight (27 page)

“I'm sorry,” Victoria repeated, her voice stronger and more confident now.

“I know you are,” Roger said in cajoling tones. “Why don't we let these people go about their business and get back inside? Come on, sweetheart.”

Karen thought she was going to be sick.

“I'm so sorry it's come to this,” her sister continued. She turned to face the two police officers. “I'll be pressing abuse charges against my husband. I believe my shoulder's been dislocated. This isn't the first time he's hit me—doctor's records will confirm a number of recent visits in which I've been treated for so-called accidents.”

Roger's anger exploded and he started toward his wife, fists clenched, but the police restrained him. Within minutes, he was in handcuffs and in the back of the patrol car.

Victoria sobbed and Karen gently placed both arms around her sister, offering what comfort she could. At the same time, she held on to Bryce tightly. He didn't understand what was
happening or why. He clung to his mother and buried his face in her stomach, not wanting to look.

It was dawn before Victoria was released from the hospital emergency room, where her shoulder had been reset, and a police report filed. Not long after that, Karen brought their parents fully into the picture. Victoria, along with Bryce, moved back into the family home that day, and Vernon Curtis made immediate arrangements to collect their clothing and personal belongings. He also provided Victoria with an attorney whose name Karen recognised—Lillian Case. Their father had always been a practical man, Karen thought now, something his daughters had never valued enough.

At noon, an exhausted Karen prepared to return to her own apartment. She'd been a heroine in her family's eyes, and she basked in their love and approval. Before she left, Victoria hugged her and with tears in her eyes thanked her sister.

But the one with real courage had been Victoria. Roger was a formidable enemy, but his reign of terror had finally come to an end. Karen would relish sitting in the courtroom when her brother-in-law faced a judge.

She didn't wake until nearly six that afternoon. She sat up, stretched her arms luxuriously and reached for the telephone. Although she'd never called Glen, she knew his number by heart.

He sounded preoccupied when he answered.

“It's Karen.”

“Karen…hello.”

The joyful surprise in his voice warmed her from the inside out. “You doing anything important?” she asked.

“Not a thing.”

“I thought I'd invite you to dinner.”

“Sure. What night?”

“How about tonight?” she asked, smiling as she spoke. “It's a celebration.”

“What time? And what are we celebrating?”

“A job.”

“You got the part in that sitcom?” he asked.

“No, they turned me down flat.” She felt such rightness about all of this. “Actually, it's a little premature to celebrate, but I'm fairly confident the position of drama teacher is still open.”

“It was the last I heard,” Glen assured her. “Are you applying?”

“I do believe I am.”

Her announcement was met with a shocked silence. “Are you
sure
about this?”

“Yes,” she told him. “I'm very sure.”

All her life, Karen had known what she wanted; she hadn't known nearly as well what she
needed.
Only now was she beginning to understand the difference.

LIZ KENYON

September 7th

I
n a moment of weakness I allowed Sean to talk me into coming along on this driving vacation. Afterward, I had some reservations, but I have to admit, I'm enjoying his company. We left early this morning. I had our route all planned. The first night I thought we'd stay in Flagstaff. We could drive farther, but I wanted to have plenty of time for stops and sightseeing.

One day on the road, and all my careful calculations went down the drain. We're in Las Vegas. Sean's idea, naturally. I'd been here once before, years ago, with Steve. Has this town changed! We're staying at the New York, New York. As soon as we checked in, I went to the video poker machines and Sean headed for the blackjack tables. I didn't see him again until dinnertime. He got us tickets to see Lance Burton's magic show,
and we didn't call it a night until after one. Tomorrow we hit the road again. I almost hate to leave.

September 13th

I meant to document every day of the trip, but by the time I get to bed, I'm too exhausted to write. Sean and I ended up spending two nights in Vegas. We'll probably stop there on the way back, too, if time allows. Naturally it depends on our route. I asked him about visiting his daughter, and as best I can determine, he hasn't made contact with her. It's hard to keep my opinions to myself, but on the subject of his ex-wife and daughter, I'm doing exactly that.

Those two nights in Vegas were a wonderful start to this vacation. It's like an amusement park for adults. I came away a hundred dollars richer and Sean isn't saying, which leads me to believe he lost at the blackjack tables. We sat and played slot machines for a couple of hours during our last night there, laughing and joking with each other. The mood was light, energetic,
fun.
It's very easy to love this man. Far too easy.

The third night, we stayed in Amarillo, Texas, which made for a long day on the road. I was anxious to get to Amy and Jack's, and Sean seemed to realize that, pushing ahead. We arrived in Tulsa by nightfall. Amy had dinner waiting for us. She'd also prepared
two
guest rooms, one of them the den with pull-out couch. Sean offered to take that—an offer I accepted.

Andrew and Annie were all over Sean, and he's just great with kids. Both my grandchildren think he's wonderful and so does Amy. In fact, the four of them are getting along famously.

Yesterday afternoon Jack took Sean to play golf, which both deemed a success.

Amy and Jack have adjusted well to the move. Jack got a big
promotion with the shipping company and enjoys his job at corporate headquarters. Amy loves being an at-home mom and is grateful for the opportunity.

Our second day in Tulsa, Annie wanted to have a tea party the way we used to when she lived in California, so we did. Sean was invited, too. I wonder if he realizes what an honor that was.

September 17th

Sean phoned his daughter this afternoon. He'd been putting it off and I know it's been on his mind since before we left. Amy and I sat on the patio with the children while he used the phone in the den. He didn't come out for at least twenty minutes, and the instant I saw his smile I knew the conversation had gone well.

After talking to Eileen, he was eager to head for Seattle, which we'll do first thing tomorrow morning. I've so enjoyed this time with my daughter and her family, but it's been a week now and that's long enough. They need to return to their everyday work and school routines.

Sean never did tell me what caused the estrangement between him and his daughter. Nor has he mentioned what caused his divorce—other than “fickleness” on his wife's part. What does that mean? An affair? It's not that I want to hear all the ugly details. It's a matter of trust. I want him to trust me enough to share his past, and I don't know if that's possible for him or not.

September 20th

We arrived in Seattle and the city is just as beautiful as I'd expected. I met Eileen, Sean's daughter, her husband, Ron, and
their four-year-old daughter, Emily. The meeting was a bit strained at first.

Eileen looks a lot like Sean, but any resemblance stops there. She's quiet and soft-spoken and delicate. Her husband works for Boeing and is currently putting in a lot of overtime. He's not around much.

Wanting to give Sean as much time as possible with his daughter, I've gotten acquainted with Emily. She's a delightful child.

This evening, as we were driving back to the hotel, Sean finally told me about his divorce. His ex-wife had been involved in an affair with his former business partner—more or less what I'd suspected. As is often the case, Sean was the last to know. The divorce was messy, and because his daughter was in high school, Sean felt Eileen would be better off with her mother. The problem was that she wanted to live with Sean and he turned her down. Eileen was crushed by what she saw as his rejection and afterward refused to speak to him. Apparently his daughter's hurt and disappointment was fueled by her mother. Sean told me his ex has been married and divorced twice in the last ten years.

Sean admitted he'd played a role in the estrangement, though. When Eileen refused to answer his phone calls and letters, he gave up trying to communicate with her. He couldn't force her to let him into her life, or so he reasoned. He kept track of her from a distance, but rather than face continual rejection from the one person he truly loved, he buried himself in his work. It was during this period that he helped establish Little Lambs. Still, he sees now that he should have persisted in trying to stay in touch. He particularly regrets missing her wedding and the birth of his granddaughter.

After our talk, we walked along the Seattle waterfront to the
hotel. I feel that the bond between us has grown. There's trust and commitment now. I'm happy, happier than I've been since Steve died.

While Sean was in his room changing for dinner, I stood on my balcony, which overlooks Puget Sound, and watched the sun set over the Olympic Mountains. This has been one of the best vacations of my life.

CLARE CRAIG

October 22nd

I
've been spending a lot of time at the hospital with Michael, doing what I can, which seems damn little at this point. The boys are here, too, as much as possible, although it's difficult for them to see their father like this. I'm proud of them. It isn't easy to watch your parent die and they're handling this with an inner strength I didn't know they possessed.

Mick and Alex both decided to take the first semester off from college; they didn't want to leave their father, knowing that Michael's time is very short now.

Because of the drugs, Michael's out of it most days, but every now and then, the fog clears and he's aware of who's with him and what's happening.

This evening was one of those times. He's so weak now. The fight is gone and with it the will to live. I always thought that
when death came, it would be as “a thief in the night,” stealing away what is most precious. I thought death would be resisted to the final moment, the final gasp. It's not true. Michael has accepted his death.

In those few moments of clarity, Michael told me he doesn't fear it anymore. After everything he's endured, the pain of liver cancer, the treatment, followed by the riptide of hope and despair—after all that, dealing with death seems almost easy.

We laughed about that. Until tonight I could never imagine laughing about death. But it was either laugh or cry, and I knew Michael needed the laughter more than my tears. Then he did the most unexpected thing.

He reached for my hand and without a word of explanation whispered that he was sorry.

He didn't need to elaborate. I knew what he was saying. He was sorry for the affair, sorry for the divorce, sorry for the grief he'd heaped upon me.

I remember when he first told me he was moving out. The shock of his falling in love with Miranda had left me speechless. I was stunned and bewildered long before I felt the pain of his betrayal. Perhaps that should have told me something. I remember that, as he was packing, he claimed I didn't need him and Miranda did. At the time that incensed me. Of all the ridiculous things to say! If he wanted a clinging, insecure little girlfriend instead of a grown-up wife, then he was welcome to her.

Only now do I truly understand what he meant. It wasn't that I didn't need him, because I did in all the ways that mattered. It was that I didn't let him know it. I didn't let him know I enjoyed his company and valued his opinion. I'd slipped into the habit of making all the important decisions when it came to our family. I was the one who handled the
finances, dealt with our sons, the house and just about everything else. Without knowing what I'd done, I stripped Michael of his pride.

I'm not justifying the affair, but I'm admitting I played a role in what led up to it. It's easy to excuse Miranda. She was young, vulnerable and grieving her father's death. Because of that, she confused dependence with love and latched on to Michael.

As Michael coped with the cancer, he seemed to need forgiveness. He's talked to the boys, talked it all out with them, but not me. Not until tonight.

I forgave him, and then I asked him to forgive me. He held my hand, nodded briefly and turned his head away, but not before I saw the tears. I would have said more, but I was crying, too.

Death is approaching. I can feel it now, sense it. Everything inside me is screaming that it's too soon and Michael is far too young to die. But if he can welcome death, surrender to it, can I do less?

Who would have thought the end would come like this? I've hated Michael, and I've loved him. Now as death grows closer, I've discovered that my love is stronger than my hate

 

“Mom.” Alex gently tapped her shoulder and Clare started, unaware she'd fallen asleep.

As she'd sat vigil at Michael's bedside, she'd drifted off. Her sons stood on the other side of the raised bed, looking at her, their eyes filled with dread and pain.

“Dad's breathing has slowed,” Mick told her.

Clare chewed on her lower lip. This was exactly what they'd been told would happen. Michael was in the final stages of the disease and had, several days earlier, quietly slipped into a coma.

Her pulse racing, Clare glanced at the heart monitor and watched the irregular beat of his heart. She reached for
Michael's hand, holding it firmly between her own as his body released its life.

“No…” Alex sobbed, his agony nearly undoing Clare's forced calm. Then there was nothing. A beat. One solitary beat, followed by a flat line. A nurse stepped into the room and stood with them, noting the time of death on a chart.

This was it? The end? Somehow Clare had expected there to be more as Michael Craig moved serenely from life to death. Then the reality of it suddenly overwhelmed her and with it came a flood of pain, the current so strong it threatened to pull her under, to consume her. Alex broke down and crumpled into the chair, his shoulders racked with sobs. Mick stood tall and silent. Clare wanted to reach out to both her children, but was lost in her own agony.

“We will always love you.” She choked out the words and leaned down to kiss Michael's forehead. Kiss him goodbye.

“It's over,” Mick announced as though this was the end when in some ways it was only the beginning.

Clare nodded and walked around to the other side of the bed. Her two sons hugged her, the three of them forming a tight circle. The same circle they'd formed the afternoon Michael had moved out of the family home. Only this time Michael was gone forever.

 

The funeral took place two days later, and the service was crowded with people from the business community, family and friends. The
Willow Grove Independent
ran a full-column obituary and the dealership closed for the day. Clare hosted the wake at her house.

Liz, Karen and Julia were all there, helping with the setup, seeing to the guests and lending Clare their love and support.

She would never have asked them to help, but was grateful her dearest friends could be with her.

It was evening before the last of the relatives and business associates had left. Mick and Alex were in the living room talking with Karen and Julia when Clare sat down in the kitchen.

“It's about time you took a rest,” Liz said, joining her. “How are you holding up?”

Rather than answer, Clare simply nodded.

“It hurts, doesn't it?”

“More than I ever thought it could,” Clare whispered. “We were divorced. I assumed I'd done my grieving…. I didn't have a clue.”

“I don't think anyone really does.”

Clare looked away. She wasn't a woman who easily shed tears, but after a day in which she'd held back all the pain, she could no longer restrain her emotion. “I accepted a long time ago that Michael was dying,” she said. “I was prepared—as prepared as anyone can be. Yet when he died, I felt as though someone had shot me in the gut.”

Liz nodded, and they sat across from each other, their hands wrapped around coffee mugs.

“I remember when the police officer came to tell me Steve was gone. I heard the words, saw his mouth move and understood what he was saying, but I couldn't take it in. I just couldn't absorb it.”

They were quiet for several moments, and Clare suspected her friend was dealing with the impact of her own memories.

“I'll say one thing for Michael. He was full of surprises right to the end,” she murmured after a while.

“How do you mean?” Liz asked.

“Our attorney told me Michael altered his will during the last month of his life. He left the dealership to me.” She almost
smiled. As part of the divorce settlement, Michael had been required to buy out her half of the enterprise. And now…he'd given it back.

“He didn't leave it to the boys?”

“No,” Clare said, still amazed. “He didn't give Fred any explanation, but I know what he was thinking. Mick and Alex have no interest in selling cars. Their talents and desires lie in other areas. Being stuck with Craig Chevrolet would be nothing but a burden. It's just not a career either of them wants.”

“They could always sell it,” Liz suggested.

Clare knew that was exactly what
wouldn't
have happened. Michael feared the boys would keep it out of a sense of obligation and misplaced loyalty. Despite their feelings, they would've held on to it in an effort to honor their father's memory.

“You love the car business.”

Clare nodded. “Yes, and I'll make a success of it.”

“You already have,” Liz reminded her.

All Clare had done was pick up the pieces. Yes, she'd worked long hours, but she'd thrived on the challenge, just as Michael had known she would.

“How are Mick and Alex holding up?”

Clare wasn't sure how to answer. Like her, they'd thought they were prepared for Michael's death, but it had shaken them more than they'd expected.

“They're dealing with it, but they'll need time.” As would Clare. She would go on, struggle forward and find her way through this grief, the same as her children.

“How about another cup of coffee?” Liz asked. “I made a fresh pot. Seems a shame to let it go to waste.”

Although she'd had enough coffee, Clare felt the need for company. She didn't feel a need to talk, she realized; she just
wanted someone to sit with her. Suddenly the thought of being alone seemed terrifying.

Liz poured their coffee and sat down at the table.

Clare tried to speak and couldn't. Then Liz, who seemed to read the agony in her heart, reached across the table and touched her arm. Clare tried to hold back the tears, but it was too hard. She hurt too much.

“Go ahead,” Liz said softly. “You don't have to be strong anymore. Let it go.”

Clare broke into sobs and felt the comforting arms of her friend around her.