I haven’t seen Thom since we graduated from law school. He phones every once in a while, we chat for a few minutes and then I hang up feeling guilty and frustrated. I treated him badly. I know I hurt him. He still holds out hope that one day I’ll change my mind about the two of us, but I won’t.
I’ve been seeing Curtis Chandler, another attorney. I’m not sleeping with him, although I know he’d enjoy a sexual relationship. I’d enjoy it, too, but I learned a valuable lesson with Thom. Contrary to what I’d assumed, there’s more to sex than the physical aspect. I only wanted to involve my body and not my heart; while I succeeded, it left me feeling empty. Thom held me, but it wasn’t enough. In the end, all I did was hurt someone I considered a friend. The truth is, I’m not as sophisticated as I once believed. I know lots of women who’ve had multiple sexual partners. We are, after all, part of the “free love” generation. However, I’ve decided I can live without sex. I’ll never recapture what you and I once had. Frankly, what’s the point? Sex complicates everything.
Another truth I’ve recently owned up to: I don’t have many friends. Plenty of acquaintances, but few real friends. Lesley is my closest and dearest friend and probably always will be. Our lives have taken diverging paths, but we understand, accept and love each other like sisters.
The only real disagreement we’ve had since I left for college has to do with the Catholic Church. I no longer consider myself a Catholic. In fact, I don’t really consider myself anything. For lack of a better word, I suppose I could say I’m a Christian, but one who carries a deep-seated anger at God for taking you. My attitude toward religion, God and anything spiritual is bitter. I’d feel like a hypocrite attending Mass. Lesley thinks I’ll find peace in church, but I don’t want peace, I want you.
Lesley and I’ve talked about my attitude several times. Her situation is vastly different from my own. She finds solace in attending Mass and it’s important to her, but not me. Besides, she has three children, with a fourth on the way. Yes, a fourth—she insists on using the rhythm method, although I think (despite the Church) she’s convinced Buck to get a vasectomy after this latest surprise.
I went to see your father and Jimmy over the holidays. Your dad’s old service station is a plant store now. I went there and talked to the woman who bought the building and she has plants hanging in every conceivable location. She teaches macrame classes on the side. I know that your father finds it difficult to go past the old station. He’s driving a milk truck now, but he didn’t talk about his job much. On New Year’s Day we went out to the cemetery together. That’s become tradition for us. You’ll be pleased to know that Jimmy’s working steadily and seems happy. He’s serious about a girl from his high school class.
I love you, Nick, so much. I refuse to forget you. The war is over now, the POWs have been released, and our troops are home. Saigon has fallen.
Regardless of the general sense of relief—a relief I share—I feel cheated and so very alone. Because you didn’t come back to me…
Remember how much I love you.
Jillian
February 28, 1974
Dear Jillian,
I’m being lazy this afternoon and just woke up from a nap. Earlier Dougie and I baked chocolate chip cookies and ate our lunch underneath the kitchen table. (That’s where his fort was and we were on the lookout for an Indian attack!) Then we snuggled together in my bed, with the blankets pulled over us (hiding from marauding Apaches). It’s astonishing what a mother will do to convince her child it’s nap time.
This pregnancy has been more difficult than all the others combined. I’m tired most of the time and listless. My ankles are swollen and the doctor has taken me completely off salt, which I love. There are only five weeks before my due date and we haven’t registered with the hospital yet. It might have something to do with the fact that we haven’t paid off the bill for when I had Dougie.
I have wonderful news. Buck attended his first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting last month and now has thirty days’ sobriety. He talks to his sponsor every day, reads from what he calls the Big Book (not the Bible, in case you’re wondering) and faithfully attends his meetings. His efforts have convinced me I made the right decision in sticking with him. He’s serious about doing whatever he can to save the marriage and keep our family intact. The kids rush to him every night when he gets home and he’s been wonderful with them. Lindy adores her daddy.
Judging by the information he brought home from his meetings, I realize my father is an alcoholic, too. Buck’s been encouraging me to attend Al-Anon meetings, for family members of alcoholics, and I will as soon as the baby’s born. As it is now, taking care of the house and the kids is all I can manage.
Just my luck that of all the men in this world, I had to choose one who has the same problem as my father. I’m positive the reason Dad liked Buck so much is because he saw a drinking buddy in his future son-in-law. Buck never told me what prompted him to seek help, but I thank God he did. I wish my dad would join him, but he refuses to believe he has a problem with alcohol.
I see changes in Buck each and every day. He’s a better father and husband since our reconciliation. Here’s another first. Buck attended Mass with the children and me last Sunday morning. He was surprised to learn that I actually take part. Remember how I used to pick at a guitar in music class when we were teenagers? Well, I’ve managed to learn a few chords, and I play and sing at the 9 a.m. Folk Mass. After church, Buck told me how proud he was of me, but I’m the one who’s proud of him. It meant the world to me that he came to Mass with us.
I was going to save this as a surprise, but I can’t wait. If the baby’s a girl, I’m naming her after you. Jill Marie. (Buck insists we can’t name a child one thing and call him or her another, so Jill it is!)
I saw your parents at Mass last Sunday, and your mom told me how busy you are. She looked good as always, elegant in her hat and white gloves. Your dad looked wonderful, too. He surprised me. He squatted down so he was eye-level with the kids in order to talk to them. He’s going to make a wonderful grandfather once you decide to marry and have your own children.
I know you find a lot of satisfaction in your work, but don’t get so involved that you forget about everything else. Take time for yourself, too.
Write when you can.
Love,
Lesley and all
Pine Ridge Herald
March 12, 1974
OBITUARY COLUMN
Patrick Francis Murphy, 56, owner of Murphy’s Texaco Full Service Station, died on Monday, March 11, 1974 of a heart attack. His son, James Murphy of Pine Ridge, and one brother, Matthew, in Dallas, Texas, survive him. Mr. Murphy is preceded in death by his wife, Eileen, who died of cancer in 1964 and his son, Nicholas Murphy, who was killed in Vietnam in September of 1968. Patrick Murphy was an active member of St. Catherine’s Catholic Church and the Veterans of Foreign Wars. Burial Mass is scheduled for Thursday at noon.
* * *
BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENT
CHRISTOPHER JAMES KNOWLES
BORN MAY 8, 1974
9 LBS, 3 OZ.
21"
HAPPY PARENTS:
LESLEY AND BUCK KNOWLES
BROTHER TO
DAVID, LINDY AND DOUG
* * *
* * *
June 12, 1974
Happy 8th anniversary to my beautiful, wonderful and forgiving wife! I’m sorry I forgot, but I have a lot on my mind lately. Don’t be mad, all right?
Buck
* * *
June 13th
Buck,
The carnations are lovely, but it’s too little too late. The least you could’ve done was let me know you didn’t plan on coming home after work. I’m glad you’re attending your meetings, but you should’ve told me. I went to a lot of trouble to make our anniversary dinner special and then sat up for hours waiting for you. I had a horrible night.
Lesley
Sweetheart,
How many times do I hav
e to tell you I’m sorry? Next time you plan on cooking a fancy dinner, you might let me know. Okay, you’ve made your point. I’ve never seen you this angry over something so petty. Let me make it up to you, okay? I’ll do anything. Tell Lindy I appreciate her making my lunches for me, but I’d rather you did it. Yesterday she packed me two licorice sticks, a plum and a carrot. I work too hard to survive on that. Come on, baby, be reasonable.
Buck
Lesley’s Diary
June 26, 1974
It’s been ages since I wrote. My last entry was early in 1973 and here it is halfway through 1974. Four children are demanding, and I have so little time to myself these days. (They’re occupied for the moment watching Little House on the Prairie. I’m grateful we could finally afford to have the television repaired.)
I guess I feel the need to write because of my disastrous anniversary. Buck claims he forgot all about it, but I’m never completely sure if he’s telling the truth. It’s difficult to admit that even to myself. With all the lies he’s told me over the years, I’d be a fool to believe his lame excuses the way I did when we were first married. Time has taught me to question everything he says.
When Jillian and I were teenagers, we sometimes stayed up all night reading books aloud to each another. In the wee hours of the morning, when we were so tired it was hard to keep our eyes open, we’d talk about what our lives would be like ten or twenty years into the future. The scenes we created in our minds have nothing in common with what has come to be. We both saw ourselves married with children, as well as maintaining our own careers. I was a nurse with two perfect children and a husband who adored me.
Jillian is the attorney she used to say she’d be. She learned a lot when she volunteered at NOW and has taken her experience to a NY law firm that’s prestigious enough to do her father proud. She’s a polished professional, shining like a gemstone, a brilliant attorney—sharp, quick, relentless. She’s told me about a few of her cases and I almost feel sorry for the defendants. On rare occasions as a teenager, I saw that ruthless, angry side of Jillian. These days, that part of her is all the world sees. But beneath her hard-edged determination, she remains the friend I remember from my childhood. My best friend in the whole world.
Losing Nick changed her. It’s almost as if she’s shut herself off from love. Yet when she’s with the children and me, the old Jillian quickly resurfaces and she’s once again the girl she used to be. How I wish she’d marry and have children of her own. In my heart I know that’s what Nick would want for her, too. I’ve tried to talk to her about it, but she closes up so tight there’s no reaching her.
My own dreams of attending college vanished when I learned I was pregnant with Davey. I love my children and I wouldn’t change anything. My life with Buck is the hand fate dealt me and I’m determined to make the best of it. That, however, doesn’t make me blind to my husband’s faults. He can be wonderful one day, and the next he’ll treat me with thoughtless cruelty. Our anniversary is a prime example of that. Although Buck claims he’s attending AA meetings most evenings, I’m pretty sure he’s elsewhere, at least some of the time. But I refuse to be the kind of wife who follows her husband around, trying to catch him in a lie. And yet I won’t bury my head in the sand again, either. Finding the balance isn’t easy.
I suspect one of the reasons I’m writing all this down has to do with something I saw on television. Or rather, someone. The other night, Buck was gone as usual and I was hurrying to get dinner on the table when a news bulletin flashed across the screen. It had to do with Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberation Army. I nearly dropped the pan of tuna casserole. Not at the newsflash about Patty Hearst, but at the man reporting it.
Cole Greenberg. He was the Naval Officer I met on the beach in Hawaii back in 1967. I’ve never forgotten him, and although it’s probably wrong of me, I’ve always regretted not giving him my address. In all likelihood, he won’t even remember me. Three hours out of a lifetime was all we shared. When Cole’s face came on the screen, I could hardly stop myself from telling the children that I knew him and he was my friend. I didn’t, of course, and it’s not really true—but it could have been. And I wish it was….
I wonder if he’s married and if he’s happy. For my own peace of mind, I pray he is. I remember I marveled at how smart he was and how much we had in common. He was so easy to talk to, and he said the same thing about me. He was at the top of his class, the one everyone called a “brain.” He told me he’d never dated much and I could see he was telling the truth. He said that one day he wanted to report the news on television and now it’s happening. I was so excited to see him, so pleased that the things he’d talked about have come to pass.
The only real boyfriend I ever had was Buck and I married him. I so want Cole Greenberg to be happy and married and successful, which he appears to be. I feel a bit silly writing this but the last two nights I’ve dreamed of Cole. The dreams have been wonderful. We’re on the beach again, talking about the war in Vietnam and the books we’ve read. It’s as though I was single and the two of us were falling in love.
This must stop. It has to; I can’t allow myself to indulge in this kind of escape. It’s too dangerous to my mental health and to my marriage. My reality is that I’m married to Buck, and we have four beautiful children.
August 10, 1974
Dear Jillian,
This letter is long overdue, but I want you to know how much I appreciated you flying home for my dad’s funeral. It would’ve been a lot rougher on me if you hadn’t been there. Thank you for helping me with everything, like choosing the coffin and arranging the wake.
I didn’t expect Dad to die this young, but he was never the same after we learned about Nick. None of us were. Losing the service station was another blow. He hated his job driving a milk truck. He said it paid the bills, but it was as though there wasn’t any joy left in him anymore.
The doctors said his heart attack was brought on by years of cigarette smoking and I’m sure that had something to do with it. But you and I both know the real cause. Vietnam. It killed my father the same way it took my brother.
Nick’s been dead nearly six years now and I still miss him. Sometimes I think about telling him something, and it hits me that I can’t, my brother is dead. And then I feel a shock and this sadness that sucker punches me. I can tell it’s going to be like that with my dad, too. I’m really gonna miss him.
I gotta tell you, it’s a weird feeling being an orphan. First my mom, but I barely remember her, then Nick, and now Dad. If it hadn’t been for you and Angie, I would’ve stood alone in the family pew at the funeral Mass. You’re like a sister to me, Jillian, and I want you to know how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for me over the years. Both you and your parents have been like family to me. I think your father’s done a lot of things in the last six years to help my dad and me. He’s never admitted anything, but I’m sure of it, and I believe it’s his way of letting us know that if he had to do it over again, he wouldn’t have been so critical of Nick. Deep down, I’ve always had that feeling. We ran into each other recently and he made a point of saying hello. I appreciated that. I appreciate you, too.
There’s something else you should know. I was going through a bunch of Dad’s business papers and came across two loans he’d taken out when the energy crunch first hit. Your father co-signed on those loans. It looks like Dad paid off all his financial obligations when he sold the service station to the plant lady. If he didn’t, I’ll make sure everything is square with the bank and your dad.
I know you’ve had your differences with your father, but Judge Lawton is a good guy. It was because of him that I got my first job with D & D Construction. I asked Judge Lawton about it once, but he denied he had anything to do with me being hired. I know better, though.
I’m glad you were finally able to meet Angie. She felt bad about being away over the holidays, because I talk about you so much. She sure is pretty, isn’t she? We started dating l
ast summer and I’m pretty sure we’re going to get married. What do you think? You liked her, didn’t you?
She graduated from college this summer and wants to be a teacher. Angie and I’ve been talking about a lot of things. She’s encouraging me to give community college a try. Since Mr. D made me a foreman, I’ve discovered how much I enjoy working with blueprints. Someday I might think about all of that. Kind of an exciting idea, isn’t it?
Thanks again, Jillian, for everything.
Your “adopted” brother,
Jim Murphy
P. S. Isn’t it something about Nixon resigning as President? When they got rid of Agnew, Dad told me Nixon was next and he was right. Who will it be now? The Pope?
JILLIAN LAWTON
September 18, 1974
Dear Mom and Dad,
Thank you for the radar range, which I’m using and enjoying. I don’t know how I lived this long without one. If only I could find a way to make popcorn in it, I’d really be in heaven.
But the gift isn’t the only reason I’m writing to thank you. I recently realized how much I have to be grateful for. Loving parents, good friends, an exciting new job and much, much more.
Dad, I want to thank you for your patience with me, especially in the late sixties. It’s taken me four years, but I want to apologize for the letter I wrote you after the shootings at Kent State. You received the brunt of my pain and anger, and I thank you for loving me through those turbulent years. Mom always claimed you and I have the same personality and that’s the reason we sometimes clash. It’s taken me this long to recognize how right she is. Where those words once made me cringe, now they make me so very proud. It’s an honor to have my name mentioned in connection with you. I want to be a good attorney, the same way you were. You’ve been a wonderful role model for me, and I’m proud to be your daughter.
Between Friends Page 13
