Twilight Child (6 page)

 “I know what
you mean,” Peter said gamely.

 “Do you
really?” Charlie shook his head. “You're all set. World's set up for guys like
you now. High-tech boys got it made.”

 “Let's face
it, Charlie, high tech is the cutting edge of the future.” He looked at
Frances. “We've got a lot of things ahead of us, Frances and I. We've made
plans. For Tray, too.” At the sound of his name, Tray looked up.

 “Why don't
you go outside and play?” Frances asked pleasantly. She sensed a looming
confrontation. Tray bounced off his grandfather's lap.

 “You coming,
Grampa?”

 “In a little
while, Tray.”

 Frances
watched Charlie's face. Had a shadow crossed it suddenly? He looked confused
and turned toward Molly. Tray ran up the stairs.

 “We're
getting married in a few weeks,” Peter said with a smile after the boy had
gone. They hadn't discussed strategy. Perhaps she had hoped that the news would
simply materialize. Well, it had.

 “Married?”

 “In less than
three weeks,” Peter said. “At my folks' house in Syracuse.”

 “Of course,
you're both invited,” Frances said, watching Charlie's stunned face.

 “That's—that's
wonderful,” Molly said, her voice tremulous. She made no move to kiss the
intended bride. Frances suddenly had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

 “That's
only—” Charlie began, passing his fingers through his hair. His eyes grew shiny
with moisture. “A few months,” he said haltingly. “Four months since . . .”

 “It has
nothing to do with Chuck, Charlie,” Frances said gently.

 “You can't
wait?” Charlie said with an air of helpless pleading.

 “There's no
point in that. We're together now anyway. Why not get on with our lives?”

 “I think it's
disgusting,” Charlie hissed, obviously making a great effort to repress an
outburst. “My son's barely cold.”

 “It's best,
Charlie,” Frances whispered.

 “Best for
who?” Charlie snapped. “It's an insult to my son's memory. Why can't you see
that? Doesn't his life stand for anything?”

 “You're being
very irrational about this, Waters,” Peter said. It was adding fuel to the
fire, Frances saw, but there was little that could be done. Not now. Her gaze
met Molly's. We have to stop this, her mother-in-law's eyes implored.

 “You're
humiliating us,” Charlie said. “That's what you're doing. He was a good boy, my
Chuck. Maybe he wasn't perfect, but nobody is. A good husband. A good provider.
A good father.”

 None of
those, Frances thought, but she kept her silence. Peter looked at her and
shrugged.

 “You're
defaming his memory.” He looked at Molly. “That's what they're doing, babe.
It's selfish and inhuman.” Charlie pointed a finger at Frances, but still did
not raise his voice. Then he turned again to Frances. “Someday you'll pay for
this.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “Tray will grow up and he'll
want to know why you couldn't wait, why you didn't respect his father's
memory.” Eyes narrowing, his face seemed to contort as if he were suffering
some terrible physical pain. “Didn't my boy mean anything to you? Anything at
all?”

 “I think this
is going too far, Charlie,” Molly said, getting up from her chair. “Let's all
have dinner and discuss it sanely.”

 “There's
nothing to discuss,” Peter said. He looked at Frances. “I don't need or want
your stamp of approval. I also don't want to deliberately hurt you. But I
really don't think we have to take this.”

 “Please,
Peter,” Frances said. “We mustn't make it worse.”

 “I think
we've given them the courtesy of informing them about our plans. We've invited
them to the wedding. What more is there to say?”

 “You can't be
serious about me coming to your wedding?” Charlie muttered.

 “No need to
make that decision now,” Molly said.

 “I've made
it,” Charlie snapped.

 “Why don't we
just have dinner?” Molly asked.

 “I'm really
not sure . . .” Peter said, looking at his watch.

 “We'd love
to,” Frances said, throwing Peter a look of rebuke.

 “I'm not
hungry,” Charlie said.

 “You'll see
the food, you'll get hungry,” Molly said. She went up to the kitchen. Charlie
slumped deeper into his chair and said nothing. Peter looked around the den.
There was an awkward moment of silence.

 “Nice room
you have here,” Peter observed. His comment sounded hollow, designed merely to
fill the silence.

 “Charlie
built it himself,” Frances said, desperately trying to find a common ground.

 “Boy was good
with his hands,” Charlie muttered, shaking his head. He seemed to have shrunk
in the last few moments. “He was a good husband and a good father. He doesn't
deserve this treatment.”

 “Not again,
Charlie. Please,” Frances said. It had become a litany, a litany of lies. He
knew little about the real facts of her marriage, the loneliness and
indifference.

 “Well, he
was,” Charlie persisted.

 “I'm not
denying it,” Frances said quickly, biting her lip. She did not want Peter to
see her agitation.

 “Why must you
deny it, Frances?” Peter said. “Tell him the truth.” He looked pointedly at
Charlie. “She had a terrible time.”

 “She's a
liar,” Charlie shouted. Molly rushed down the short flight of stairs wiping her
hands on her apron.

 “I think
you're going a bit far, Waters,” Peter said. His tone was calm, placating.

 “Not far
enough,” Charlie mumbled.

 “I can only
apologize for him, Peter,” Molly said. “He's still very distraught.”

 “Damned
straight I am,” Charlie fumed. “And when I see this—you and her—with him hardly
gone four months—what am I supposed to think?” He turned toward Molly. “And
stop apologizing for me. Chuck was your son, too.”

 “You're way
out of line, Waters,” Peter said. Frances had already observed that instead of
becoming openly angry, Peter became deliberate, calculating.

 “Maybe I am.
The thing is that without respect, there can be no decency, and respect for the
dead is sacred. Didn't my son stand for anything? Or are we supposed to throw
away his memory, too, like some piece of trash, as if he never existed? I mean,
what's it all about? I have a right to be angry, a right to be disgusted—” He
seemed too overcome to continue.

 Frances felt
Peter's intense gaze, but she was too upset to react.

 “Before you
say something you're going to regret—” Peter began calmly.

 “I'll regret
nothing. You people don't understand the meaning of honor. In the Marine Corps
we knew about honor. We understood a man's dignity. Take away a man's honor,
dead or alive, and you destroy his—well—manhood. I think this woman has
committed an unpardonable sin. She has shown disrespect for my dead boy. She
has dishonored him—”

 “This woman?”
Molly said. “Now really, Charlie—”

 “It's all
right,” Peter said, his voice raised, commanding authority. “You're creating a
myth. She has not dishonored anyone. Certainly not your son. In fact, you
dishonor her by questioning her motives.” He looked directly at Charlie. “But
none of that is relevant to us. What is important is that we're getting
married.”

 Charlie's
pallor grew ashen. He stood up, breathing hard, almost gasping with anger.

 “You never
loved him. You drove him away,” he said to Frances. Then he turned to Peter.
“She'll do the same to you. History repeats.”

 Frances
reached out for Peter's hand. It was too awful, too humiliating. She began to
shake all over. She felt Peter return the pressure on her hand, then bend over
and kiss her forehead.

 “Easy, baby,”
he whispered. He was calm, deliberate, and although Charlie stood menacingly
over him, he looked up at him with steady eyes. “I suppose I can't really
understand your pain. I'm sorry about your son, your grief. I'm sure it hurts.
But that doesn't mean you have to strike out at others who are innocent of any
wrongdoing whatsoever. Your sense of time is purely arbitrary. I'm sorry about
that. The world is for the living. Always was. Frances has accepted my offer in
good faith. We care a great deal about each other. She is entitled to get on
with her life. Both of us are. Frankly, I don't care what you think about it.
Nor does it matter if we ever see you again.”

 The sense of
menace disappeared. Charlie seemed shattered, defeated. Tears of frustration
filled his eyes. He turned and walked slowly up the stairs.

 “He'll get
over it,” Molly said when he had left.

 “That's his
problem,” Peter said, standing up. Frances felt herself gently lifted.

 “What can I
say?” Molly began, swallowing to hold down the emotion in her voice. “You know
how he was about Chuck. You can understand that. Can't you, Frances?”

 “I understand
that. Unfortunately, we can't stop living because Chuck is gone.”

 “You'll see.
He'll get over it,” Molly said, her tone pleading.

 “I'm trying
to do it the best way I can, Molly,” Frances said. “I have no desire to hurt
you. Either of you.”

 “I know that,
dear.”

 “I have to
think of what's best for Tray and Peter and myself.”

 “Of course
you do.” Molly paused. “He's really the salt of the earth, you know,” she said.

 Frances
didn't answer. Whatever Charlie's intrinsic goodness, he had never been her
ally, but always a thorn in her side. She let it pass.

 “We'd better
get going,” Peter said.

 “But dinner
is warming—”

 “We'll get
something later. Please. I don't mean to be rude, but it's better that we be
off.”

 Frances
nodded, resisting the urge to embrace Molly. She went up the stairs and called
Tray in from the yard.

 “We're going
to eat out,” Frances said.

 “But I thought—”
Tray began.

 “Plans
changed,” Frances said firmly, taking the boy by the hand. Molly embraced the
boy and kissed his head.

 “Where's
Grampa?” Tray asked.

 “Grampa's
tired,” Frances assured him. After a while, Molly released the boy, and Frances,
followed by Peter, led him out the door.

 They stopped
at McDonald's, ate rubbery hamburgers, and drove back to her apartment in
Dundalk.

 “I don't
think it's going to work,” Peter said after they had put Tray to bed.

 “Us?” She
felt a sudden sense of panic.

 “Us? Not a
chance. We'll work. It's them. Him. Who needs that pressure? The man is totally
beyond logic, caught in an emotional grid-lock. He will never accept us as a
couple. And there's so much resentment. He can only make us miserable. And that
can't be good for Tray.” He stroked Frances's arm. “I'm just not going to let
him do it to us. I know what outside circumstances can do to a marriage.”

 “Time will
heal everything, I'm sure,” Frances said.

 “And in the
meantime? Why should we have to compromise our own lives for his grief? I'd say
it's his problem, not ours.”

 His words
sounded cruel, but there was a lot of truth in his assumptions, she agreed. Why
couldn't Charlie understand? It occurred to her suddenly as she realized that
she was concerned with Charlie and Molly's feelings more than her own and
Peter's. What, after all, did she owe them? Charlie had never given up one iota
of his influence over his beloved prince. Frances had been a mere appendage,
her needs always secondary to Chuck's. And Charlie's. The memory of her
powerlessness over events in her early life triggered her even deeper
resentment. I am free of them now, she assured herself.

 “How dare
he,” she said with a flash of anger. But it quickly dissipated. “I wish it were
otherwise.”

 “But it's
not. We have to accept life in the real world.”

 She nodded,
well on the road to conviction.

 “The man will
only make trouble. Tray will be pushed and pulled and confused.” He sighed and
shook his head. “He won't ever give it up. He'll never accept me. Never.
Molly's okay, but she's committed to him. She says she understands. But what
can she do about it? It's sad.”

 “Maybe in
time . . .”

 “Maybe. But
who needs the aggravation? We're just starting out, Frances. We need the running
room, free from that kind of pressure.” His eyes wandered around the room as if
he was visiting it for the first time. Actually, he had been there twice
before.

 “So this is
what he gave you?”

 “Awful, isn't
it?” Yet she could remember when she had thought it was lovely, a feeling that
might have lasted all of two months. She felt ashamed to have settled for so
little.

 “You'll never
have to go back to this again, darling. That I promise.” He took her in his
arms and kissed her.

 “I don't want
anything to come between us, Peter. To spoil our happiness.”

 “Nothing
will.”

 He held her
at arm's length and looked into her eyes. “I'm afraid we're just going to have
to erase them from our lives. At least for now.”

 “I wish there
were another way.” A brief tug of uncertainty nagged at her. She knew what it
meant to lose people you love. “But I'm afraid it will be a problem.”