Between Friends

by Debbie Macomber

  Another decade starts today. I can only speculate on what the 1980s hold for us. Leni Jo is the joy of our lives. She’s a cheerful, happy child and very bright. Oh, Daddy, how I wish you’d had the chance to see her and hold her. Every day she does something that reminds me of you—the little frown when she’s puzzled, the grave expression on her face as she’s concentrating on one of her picture books, the delighted laughter when something amuses her.

  Mom’s the perfect grandmother. She’d love to spend more time with Leni Jo, but that’s difficult, so she spoils her. Mom’s biggest competition in the “who can spoil Leni Jo the most” contest is my husband.

  Speaking of Monty, I’m worried about him. He’s working far too many hours. Especially since the American embassy hostages were taken in Iran—this is so outrageous! It infuriates me that something like this could happen. To make things even worse, the Iran situation appears to be having a ripple effect throughout the federal government, and as a result Monty is working a great deal of overtime. Some nights he isn’t home until long after Leni Jo’s asleep and I’m in bed. He has most of his meals out. When he is home, he’s wiped out, emotionally and physically. I’ve insisted he go in for a physical right after the first of the year.

  I’m back to working three days a week. We have a wonderful nanny for Leni Jo. I love my job, but I’m constantly wondering if I’m doing the right thing in leaving my daughter’s care to someone who’s essentially a stranger. I never expected to feel this emotional tug whenever I walk out the door. Perhaps this guilt is the result of having been raised Catholic, but I tend to think every mother experiences these ambivalent feelings, torn between being a good mother and a good employee. I suppose that eventually it will be easier, particularly once Leni Jo’s at school. I know Monty would prefer that I gave up practicing law for a few years, but I’m afraid I’d go stir-crazy at home. I need the intellectual stimulation, the interaction with other adults. My coworkers assure me it’s better for Leni Jo, too. But these women are mothers themselves and they’ve had to justify leaving their own children.

  I don’t know how Lesley does it. Monty and I have one baby, and Leni Jo ran us ragged for the first six months. Neither of us got a full night’s sleep. We were forever checking to make sure she was still asleep (and still breathing. As new parents, we experienced every fear out there!). It took us all those sleepless months to figure out we were the ones waking her up.

  Lesley did everything practically by herself—Buck was no help—with four children. Four. I am in awe of my best friend. I don’t know how she managed—correction, manages!

  Now that she’s divorced, Lesley is making a new life for herself. She’s attending Puget Sound Community College every morning and working toward a nursing degree. The convalescent center gave her a glowing recommendation and she has a part-time job with a physician in the afternoons. I’d hoped that once she was free of her useless ex-husband she’d start dating again. To my disappointment, she hasn’t. I was afraid Buck might still be in the picture but she assures me he isn’t.

  I think Lesley’s frightened of dating again. I wish she’d meet someone who deserves her. She never did write Roy Kloster, even after I encouraged her. My friend should follow her own mother’s example. I don’t mean to imply that she should date or marry an ex-priest, but I do wish she’d put her marriage behind her and search for some real happiness.

  From what I understand, Buck is still around. He sees the kids when it’s convenient for him, and that isn’t often. Long before Buck and Lesley were divorced, she came up with ways of paying the bills without relying on him. She baked and sold her own bread, became a remarkable seamstress and offered day care. She’s still got those extra sources of income—except for looking after kids—and it’s a good thing, too, because God knows she’s not getting much support from Buck. He was never inclined to work if he could avoid it.

  I hear he’s got a different woman every week, but still comes to Lesley when he’s down and out. She listens, pats his hand and tells him everything’s going to work out, then sends him on his way.

  Thankfully, David is far more like Lesley than his father. He’s studious and serious and quiet. Lindy is just the opposite. At twelve she’s already a flirt and announced over Christmas that she intends to marry Greg Brady from The Brady Bunch or the Fonz from Happy Days. Doug is all boy and involved in soccer and softball, and sweet, sweet Christopher is in first grade. He lost his front tooth and lisps when he speaks. (He kept pronouncing Santa as “Thanta”—it was the cutest thing.)

  Dad, you’ll be pleased to know Mom’s making new friends. She’s terribly lonely, but she’s met other widows and has joined that social circle. The ladies travel together; they’ve been on several brief trips to places like the Napa Valley and Victoria, British Columbia. Every Wednesday afternoon, they play canasta. One day last fall, Mom looked at your old painting easel and decided to try her hand at it. Dad, you’d be amazed at how talented she is. I remember you enjoyed your art, especially your oil landscapes, but I never dreamed Mom had an artist’s soul, too.

  Nick, you’re an uncle. Jim and Angie had a baby boy in October. They named him Ryan Patrick. He’s a chubby one, with a birth weight of over ten pounds. Jim was so pleased and proud he phoned me from the hospital just minutes after Angie delivered. We stay in touch and speak often. I love Jim like a brother.

  This is the report of my life for another year.

  Remember how much I love you both.

  Jillian

  Park West Medical

  284 Central Park West,

  Suite 1A

  New York City, NY 10024

  February 11, 1980

  Dear Mr. Gordon,

  The results of the blood work from your physical examination have been received from our laboratory and everything looks to be in order. Dr. Lyman has granted you a clean bill of health for the upcoming year.

  Sincerely,

  Joan McMahon, R.N.

  LESLEY KNOWLES

  March 10, 1980

  Mr. Cole Greenberg

  ABC News Network

  7 West 66th St.

  New York, NY 10023

  Dear Cole,

  I don’t know if you’ll receive this letter, but after watching the news today, I felt compelled to write. We met in 1967 on a beautiful Hawaiian beach. You were a Navy officer and I was a young wife who’d flown to the island to meet my husband. That was thirteen years ago, and I’ve never forgotten those few hours we shared, talking and laughing. In all the years before or since, I’ve never bonded with anyone quite the way I did with you that magical morning.

  A few years back, by chance, I happened to catch you on national television reporting the news. It thrilled me to see how well you’ve done. Just this evening, I saw you again, reporting on the hostages in Iran. Each time I see you on the news, I feel a renewed sense of pleasure and pride.

  I realize it’s presumptuous of me to contact you, and I hope you’ll forgive me for intruding on your life after all these years. I wanted to let you know how happy I am about your success. You told me back in Hawaii that becoming a television news reporter was your goal, and you’ve managed to achieve that on a national level. Congratulations!

  Like all Americans, I’m praying for the hostages in Iran. I pray for your safety, too. I’ve never forgotten you.

  Sincerely,

  Lesley Knowles

  * * *

  From: COLE GREENBERG

  ABC TELEVISION NEWS CORRESPONDENT

  Date: April 17, 1980

  Dear Lesley,

  Of course I remember you. How could I forget the most stimulating conversation during my entire tour of Vietnam? I would’ve answered you immediately but the mail here in Tehran is understandably unpredictable. I, too, have thought of you often over the years.

  You didn’t tell me anything about yourself, but I assume, since you wrote, that you’re single. I am as well. Constant traveling isn’t conducive toward developing long-ter
m relation ships.

  I know this sounds a little crazy, but there were times I faced a camera wondering if you’d see me and what you’d think. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’ve contacted me.

  So you’re living in Washington State. I understand Mt. St. Helen is making rumbling noises. As a senior reporter, I’m given a choice of assignments. If at all possible, I’ll see what I can do to steer a path to your mountain.

  Nothing seems to be happening with the hostages. There’s been speculation about a rescue attempt but if it hasn’t happened by now, it probably won’t

  Write again, and I'll be in touch as soon as I’m state side.

  Sincerely,

  Cole Greenberg

  * * *

  JILLIAN LAWTON GORDON

  331 WEST END AVENUE

  APARTMENT 1020

  NEW YORK, NY 10023

  April 25, 1980

  Dearest Lesley,

  You heard back from Cole Greenberg? I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. I’m trying to remember every word you read me over the phone. I knew it had to be something big for you to call, but this is bigger than big. I’m sorry I couldn’t talk longer.

  What are you going to do now? Answer him, right? You have to! Oh, Lesley, this reminds me of when we were in high school. I got such a giddy, happy feeling just listening to the excitement in your voice. It seems like a very long time since I heard you this enthusiastic about anything.

  Isn’t it dreadful what happened yesterday? The failed rescue attempt in Iran was humiliating. Eight brave, good men died a horrible fiery death in that helicopter. It brought back memories of when I lost Nick. I couldn’t even watch the news. I held Leni Jo close to my heart, wanting to protect her from all the horrors in this world. I can’t, I know that.

  With this latest crisis, it appears Cole might be stuck in Iran for a while. Let me know as soon as you hear from him again. Oh, how I pray the hostages will be released soon.

  Are you following the campaign news? Believe it or not, I like what I’m hearing from Ronald Reagan. I can only imagine how happy my father would be if he even suspected I was thinking of voting Republican.

  Call me the minute you hear from Cole Greenberg. Promise!

  Jillian

  May 12, 1980

  Dear Daddy,

  Mommy’s got a boyfriend. He calls her on the phone and he writes her long letters. I thought you should know.

  Love,

  Lindy

  Barbara Lawton

  2330 Country Club Lane

  Pine Ridge, Washington 98005

  May 20, 1980

  My dearest Jillian, Monty and Leni Jo,

  I’m fine, children. I don’t want you to worry. Mt. St. Helens’ eruption was terrifying, although we should have seen it coming. The mountain has been dormant since 1857, and despite recent activity, no one expected anything of this magnitude. Certainly not our governor! Dixie Lee Ray recently opened up an area of the mountain that had been closed off because of the rumbling and earthquakes. That was a mistake that cost people’s lives.

  I don’t mind telling you all of this has shaken me badly. Ash fell heavily across the eastern half of the state. The newscast showed incredible scenes of raging rivers and devastating mud slides. The city of Yakima was as dark as night with ash raining down like something from a Biblical plague. I read in the paper this morning that the National Guard is going to help the families shovel off their rooftops. You wouldn’t believe what a mess all that ash has created. I’m so grateful the western half of the state was spared. All we had here in Pine Ridge was a light dusting.

  Never having lived through a volcanic eruption, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I thought we’d see lava flows the way you do on the Big Island of Hawaii. This horrid ash took everyone by surprise.

  Did you hear that at last count there were sixty deaths attributed to the eruption? How terribly unfortunate and how tragic, since some of them, at least, could have been prevented.

  Thank you for your phone calls, but as I said, there’s no need to concern yourselves. It looks as though the worst of it has passed.

  In the enclosed Baggie is a sample of ash. An enterprising young man in the neighborhood brought some back with him. He and his wife drove to the Yakima and Ellensburg area to collect ash to use for figurines. They’re new to the neighborhood. Both Skip and his wife are artists, and I wish them well in this venture. Who knows what will come of it?

  Love,

  Mom

  LESLEY KNOWLES

  June 5, 1980

  Dear Cole,

  Thank you for your call. It didn’t matter that it came in the middle of the night. I was awake, anyway, trying to figure out who shot J.R. It’s wonderful to hear your voice anytime. As I explained, we’re none the worse for wear following the eruption.

  The children are upset because we got so little of the ash. Dougie would have considered it a real windfall (so to speak). Heaven only knows what he would’ve done with it, but knowing my son, he would have thought of something.

  My David, the most enterprising of the four, raises guinea pigs. He’s got quite a thriving business, selling them to pet stores. The guinea pigs do all the work and he collects the money. Hmm, that’s an interesting concept. He’s the animal lover in the family. I’ve been forced to limit him to one dog and one cat and, of course, the two guinea pigs.

  I’m sure you’ve heard of President Carter’s decision to boycott the Moscow Olympics. The Soviets are learning more than one hard lesson in Afghanistan without us snubbing them like this. They should’ve learned from our mistakes in Vietnam. I’ve never been a political person, but I think this is wrong. The Olympics shouldn’t be about politics.

  Anything new with the hostages? The days must seem endless to them. They continue to be in my prayers. You, too.

  Yours,

  Lesley

  July 6, 1980

  Dear Lesley.

  I imagine it’s a surprise getting a letter from your ex-husband. I’m in a rehab center. The courts sent me here after my second drunk-driving charge. I’m not proud of that, but then there’s a great deal in this life I regret.

  I’m working with a counselor and have been dry for two weeks. My head is starting to clear and I realize what a mess I’ve made of my life. The counselor tells me that unless I’m willing to be honest with myself, there’s no hope of ever kicking the booze. I didn’t know honesty was this damned hard.

  I’ve been doing a lot of talking and soul-searching. You and the kids are the best thing that ever happened to me. I know I’ve told you that before. It was true then and it’s even truer now.

  There are things I never told you about my childhood. I’m not offering any of this as an excuse, but I feel you have a right to know. Working with the staff here I’ve been able to face my past and most of it is ugly.

  My dad didn’t die when I was young. He deserted my mother and us three kids. Another thing I lied about was how my mother worked to make ends meet. She hooked on the side to put food on the table for my two older sisters and me. By the time Anne and Lois were in their teens, Mom had grown hard and mean, and she set them up with johns. She kicked me out when she found me stealing money from her purse to buy beer. She slapped me around some and then threw me into the street and said that was where I belonged. She was probably right. Soon afterward, I drifted into Pine Ridge and got a job at the mill.

  I heard from Lois a few years after Mom died. Anne came down with a liver ailment at 30 and never recovered. No one knows what caused it, but the doctors told my sister it had something to do with her immune system.

  When I met you and your family, I couldn’t get over how you all looked after one another. No one looked after me. Your father was one of the best drinking buddies I ever had. When you agreed to date me that first time, I nearly burst with pride. You’ve always been a classy girl and you being interested in a lowlife like me gave me hope that I might turn into something good.

  I nev
er wanted you to know about my past. I never wanted anyone to know.

  It’s funny how life catches up with you, isn’t it? It sure as hell caught up with me. I lost you and the kids, and painful as this is to admit, I realize I’m to blame for everything.

  I pulled a lot of stunts while we were married. Emptying out your savings account to buy that hunting rifle is only the tip of the iceberg. There were other women, Lesley. More than I care to remember, but not a one of them meant anything to me. I know that doesn’t excuse cheating on you, but even when I was with someone else, it was always you I loved.

  When you left me the first time, I went into a panic. I couldn’t believe you’d actually follow through with it and I thanked God a thousand times over when you agreed to take me back. I tried, baby, I really did. For you and the kids I managed to stay sober for a year, maybe more. I don’t remember exactly how long it was, but longer than any period before or since.

  This last time, I knew you meant to go ahead with the divorce. You had a look in your eye that told me nothing was going to change your mind. I didn’t fight you as hard because I knew I deserved to have you walk out on me. My life’s been on a downward spiral since that day.

  No one’s ever loved me like you did. No one ever cared what happened to me. Not my bastard of a father and not my bitch of a mother. Only you, and I killed that love because of the way I treated you.

  I understand you have a new man in your life. I only hope he treats you better than I did. I hope he appreciates you.

  Thank you for reading this, Lesley. I’m going to make a determined effort to be a better father to my children. They’ve got the best damn mother in the world and it’s time I showed them I’m capable of being a good father. I might have failed you as a husband, but I’m not going to fail my children.