Just for the Weekend

by Susanne Matthews

  “She told me her name before and we shared information on the helicopter ride.”

  “I’m thinking it was a pseudonym, just like Mitch’s, for safety’s sake. I’d read about the sexual harassment at those conventions months ago. You told me yourself the place was full of men behaving badly as you put it, pigs according to my servers. I tripled security the last night and I still had complaints. Giving you false information might have been something they’d agreed on earlier, based on what they’d heard about conventions like this one. They probably hadn’t intended to be found after it was over. Thinking you were a dancer …. Try to look at this objectively. If I’d been in her shoes, I might have done the same thing.”

  Sam hated it when his sister was right, and she was. He’d regretted that lie almost from the minute it had left his damn mouth, but he hadn’t had the courage to tell Cleo the truth—the fear that she’d be another gold digger had taken root too deeply, and then, when he’d realized money didn’t impress her, he hadn’t had the nerve to own up to the truth. Liz is right. I’m an idiot.

  Then in an abrupt change of mood, his sister leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Come on, Brainiac,” she said to Charlie. “You can buy me a drink, and explain how things got so out of hand.”

  Sam followed them out of the office and through the lobby to the limo where Roy and Matt waited. The trip to McCarran International didn’t take long. Sam boarded the company jet with Walter and the rest of the work crew. This wasn’t the flight he’d envisioned five days ago. Hindsight was twenty-twenty—he should have stayed in bed Sunday morning.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cleo sat on the swing sipping iced tea. She’d just finished weeding her mother’s roses. Her eyes were teary. No doubt she’d gotten rose dust in them. She refused to believe she was crying over Sam again. It was Friday. He would have left for Wales today. She wondered how he’d taken her disappearance. She really should have left a note. Something along the lines of “I’m fine. This was a mistake. Have a great life.” would have done the trick.

  It had taken her almost nine hours from the time she’d left Vegas until she pulled into the driveway in Gordon’s Grove, exhausted and weepy. She’d been surprised but grateful her dad hadn’t been home. He’d left a note telling her he’d gone to her uncle Stu’s cabin fishing for the week. Uncle Stu wasn’t really an uncle. He’d been Dad’s friend for as long as she could remember, like Mitch was hers. Cleo had called Mitch, as promised, and then had spent two days closeted in her bedroom, crying and feeling sorry for herself and calling herself every kind of fool imaginable for falling in love.

  On Wednesday, she’d declared her pity party over. She’d come out of her room and cleaned the house from top to bottom. Physical labor always put things in perspective for her. She’d fallen into bed exhausted, but it hadn’t stopped the dreams—nothing stopped the dreams.

  Yesterday, she’d worked up the nerve to empty the suitcase she’d taken to Vegas. In the pocket of her silk pants, she’d found the card he’d sent with the flowers the afternoon he’d gone to Ely. She’d opened it.

  Cleo,

  Thanks for a wonderful afternoon. I’m looking forward to the rest of our time together and hoping for more than just the weekend. Think about it.

  Love, Sam

  She’d shed a few more tears, and then she’d locked the note away in the small strong box where she kept her important papers. The marriage license was still there as was the photograph, the cheap brass ring, and the memory card from her camera. She couldn’t look at the pictures she’d taken just yet.

  After she’d washed the things she’d worn to Vegas, she put some of the items away in the bottom of her cedar trunk. She’d never wear her wedding dress or the parachute silk outfit again. The skimpy bikini had gone in there too. She couldn’t wear it to take her students swimming, so why let it take up space in her drawers? She couldn’t convince herself to just give the clothes away though, so they would sit in the cedar chest for now.

  Her transfer papers had arrived yesterday. She had until Tuesday to make her decision. She knew leaving Gordon’s Grove was the right thing for her to do, but how would Dad take the news? Could she really go and leave him here alone?

  The sound of a car pulling into the driveway signaled Dad was home. Cleo stood and went down the steps to meet him.

  “Hi, honey. How was the convention?” He seemed more chipper than he’d been in a long time. She swallowed her sorrow and grinned.

  “It was good. Mitch had a terrific time. Made lots of contacts.”

  “What about you?” Cleo heard concern in his voice. “Didn’t you have fun?”

  “I had the time of my life.” That was certainly true. “I got to see the Hoover Dam and Lake Mead. I walked on the Skywalk and had a champagne brunch at the edge of the Colorado River. It was incredible. You and I’ll have to do the Skywalk someday.”

  “The Skywalk’s a long way from Vegas. How’d you end up there?”

  “I got a great deal on a helicopter tour.”

  “Good for you. I got to thinking this weekend that I’d been rather negative about your holiday, but for someone who had a great time, you don’t sound happy about it.”

  “I am, Dad. I’m just tired. Too much fun. I had to come home for a rest. How was your fishing trip?”

  “It was more than a fishing trip. Help me get the car unpacked, and I’ll fill you in. Your Uncle Stu is a sly old dog.”

  • • •

  “A bereavement camp?” Cleo was stunned. How in the world had Uncle Stu managed that?

  “Yeah. Stu showed up Friday morning, and when I let it slip you’d gone away for the weekend, he swooped in like a vulture, insisting I spend some time fishing with him. He turned the fishing cabin into a retreat for bereaved men about three years ago. I wasn’t too happy about it when I found out. I threatened to walk back home. I’d left the car at his place in Carson City. Never trust a psychiatrist. I think back now and realize he’s been trying to get me up there for a while now.”

  “How did he convince you to stay? I know how stubborn you can be.”

  “He told me Catherine would be disappointed in me. It was all he needed to say. It was as if blinders fell off my eyes. He was right. I’d done my best never to disappoint her when she was alive, and I’d be damned if I’d do it when she was dead.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t go sooner. Sitting and talking with those five other men who’d lost someone they loved made me realize how unfair I’ve been to you, your mother, and myself. Catherine wouldn’t have wanted me to wallow in self-pity like I’ve done, treating you like my own personal servant. It’ll take time, kiddo, but as much as I hate to admit it, she isn’t coming home, and wishing she were won’t make it happen.”

  “Oh, Dad, she’ll always be with us. I know how much you miss her—nothing’s going to change that—but we have to remember the good times. I have news of my own. The transfer to Alamo came through. I have to let them know by Tuesday, but maybe it’s better if I say no this year. You’re going through a lot now …”

  The all-knowing smile she hadn’t seen in a long time appeared on her dad’s face. “What does your heart tell you?”

  That it’ll never be whole again. “That it’s time for me to move on. I’m twenty-eight. I need a life of my own. I’d have moved out two years ago if Mom hadn’t died. I need to find my own way, but I don’t want to leave you, not if you need me.”

  “Catherine Cleopatra James, you’ve spent too much time indulging this old man. If there’s one thing I learned at that boot camp, it’s that you can’t stop the clock or turn it back. It’ll take me a while to accept losing your mother, but you can’t put your life on hold any longer while I try to cope with mine. Alamo is closer to your friend Mitch. I know you miss her and I have been a crotchety old sod these last few months. Did you know I took your mother to Vegas the year we moved back here from Calgary?”

  Cleo was stunned. “You and Mom in Sin City? I do
n’t believe it.”

  Her dad chuckled, a sound she hadn’t heard in years. “There used to be more life, more fun, less criticism and censure in these old bones. Vegas wasn’t quite as nice then as it is today, but your mom loved the lights and the magic. It was something else I didn’t want to share. Well, enough of that. Go put on your prettiest dress and we’ll go out and celebrate this new phase in our lives—it’s about time we made a few changes around here.”

  • • •

  Two weeks later, Cleo sat on the swing reading the galleys for Mitch’s newest book, or trying to. Every time she looked at the book she thought of Sam, and then the letters blurred. She and Dad had talked a lot recently and she’d even attended a bereaved family meeting with him. It was satisfying to know he was going to be fine.

  The screen door opened and her father came out with two glasses of lemonade.

  “Busy?” he asked.

  “Not really. I can’t seem to concentrate. What’s up?”

  “I got a letter from an old friend last week. At the invitation of the Peruvian government, he’s putting together a team to spend a year at Machu Picchu. He’s asked me to join the team and I want to go. It’s something I’ve dreamed of doing, and I think it’ll help me heal. I think your mother would want me to do this.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “That’s wonderful, Dad. Mom would definitely want you to be part of that expedition. When would you leave?”

  “Three weeks. I know it isn’t a lot of time, but it coincides with your move. We can stay in touch online. A change is something we both need.”

  Cleo looked around the yard. “What are you going to do with the house while you’re gone?”

  “I’m going to sell it, Cleo. Holding on to it isn’t a good thing. There’s a new anthropology professor the university hired last year who’s looking for a house. The man has three children and needs space. This house is way too big for me alone. Your mother always complained about the time it took to clean a five-bedroom house. We’d talked of selling just before she died. When I come back, I’m going to get an apartment in Carson City.”

  “You’re a wise man, professor.” She used his title the way she used to do as a child when she’d ask him what she thought were difficult questions. “I’ll dig up a couple of Mom’s rosebushes and take them with me in patio pots. What will you do with all our stuff?”

  “We’ll divide it up, and I’ll store what I need until I get back. You take what you want to Alamo. The appliances will stay with the house; it’s easier that way. And there’s this.” He handed her an envelope.

  “What is it?” She looked down at her hand.

  “It’s money to buy a house—I hope one with a guest room so I can visit. Be happy, Cleo. Find your place in the world and embrace it. It’s what your mother would want you to do, and what I’ve forgotten.”

  • • •

  Cleo sat on the swing looking up at the night sky. She and her dad had been to the cemetery earlier today to say their farewells. Together, they’d shed healing tears. Dad would be okay. Mom would understand their leaving. A comet streaked across the sky.

  I should have made a wish, but what could I wish for? Dad’s right. You can’t go back in time and undo the past.

  Tonight was their last night here. Tomorrow the movers would come and load up two separate trucks—one with a storage container for her father, another with what she’d take with her to Alamo.

  “There are a lot of things I’ll miss about this house, and this swing is one of them.” Her dad sat down beside her. “I rocked you on it when you were a baby, sat and cuddled here with your mother on more nights than I can count. You used to sit here and swing your blues away. Cleo, I know something happened to you in Vegas. You haven’t been the same since you got back. I don’t think my decision to go to Peru and sell the house is the cause of it either. The light’s gone out of your eyes. We never used to have secrets. If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

  His words and concern touched her deeply. The floodgates opened, and Cleo cried as she’d done so many times since returning from Vegas. How could the human body hold so many tears? While she didn’t tell him everything—there were some things a dad didn’t need to hear—she admitted she’d fallen in love and ached inside for what could never be.

  “A weekend isn’t a long time, but I knew your mother was the one for me almost from the moment I laid eyes on her. Maybe you just need to give him more time. Did you have an argument?”

  “Not exactly. We just can’t be together. It’s his work. It takes him away a lot. I just don’t think we’re suited. I miss him, but I’ll get over it. Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that part of the grief process you’re learning now? I just have to take it one day at a time, like you.”

  “Cleo, I believe love is worth fighting for, and anything worth fighting for calls for sacrifice. I loved your mother with every ounce of my being. It’s another reason why I can’t stay here in this house. Stu made me see that. I can’t get over her. She’s everywhere. I thought it would comfort me to stay in this house with its memories, but it’s made me weak and kept me from moving on. I stagnated here and dragged you down with me. It’s the last thing your mother would have wanted, and each day I refused to move ahead is a day I dishonored her memory. You need a life of your own with a man who loves you. Think about what I’ve said. If your young man is as miserable as you are, you need to do something about it. You’ve never been a quitter Catherine Cleopatra James, and by God, you shouldn’t start now.”

  “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too, darling, and I’ll miss you. You’ll come spend the Christmas break with me, and I’ll be back in no time. By then I hope all this will have worked itself out, and you’ll be your happy self again.”

  • • •

  September 12th

  Cleo got down off the chair and looked around the room, satisfied with what she’d done to make the small house her own. Mitch should arrive soon. Cleo had been craving the Astral Burgers’ Martian Combo all morning. She’d battled stomach flu for the last three weeks. It felt good to have her appetite back, and that place made the best fries in Alamo.

  The three-bedroom house hadn’t been in the best shape when she’d bought it, but the price had been good and the location—within walking distance of the school—had made it ideal. With a lot of elbow grease, the talents of the local handyman who was an absolute marvel, Mitch’s own Mr. Fix-it skills, and new paint and paper, they’d turned the upstairs of the dowdy dowager into a bright, cheerful place.

  She’d created a mural with the photographs she’d taken of the Grand Canyon, Lake Mead, and the Hoover Dam. She was pleased with the way her pictures had turned out. Contrary to what Mitch said, her wall of memories wasn’t designed as self-torture. Quite the opposite. Cleo saw it as a permanent reminder of the most wonderful day of her life. She’d created a montage with the package of postcards from the Skywalk and had hung it in the dining room. She planned to walk in the sky again someday.

  There were no pictures of Sam in her mural—that would have been masochistic—but she’d printed them all and put them in a photo album along with the infamous wedding picture and license. Someday, when the pain wasn’t as raw as it was now, she’d look at them and remember the happiness she’d felt with him. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

  She went down to the kitchen and put the water on to boil. Her backyard was shaping up nicely. The area directly behind her home was part of one of the new alfalfa farms, so she enjoyed a splash of green in the tan desert. The aquifer ran under her property as well, so Mom’s rosebushes had transplanted nicely, and while they probably wouldn’t bloom this summer, the plants were healthy and green. She’d find peace here.

  • • •

  “Pregnant. That’s it, Cleo. Six tests, six different brands, and each one gives the same results. Pink plus signs, blue lines, even the actual words, and look at this one—it says nine/ten weeks. Face it, girl. I was right. Y
ou don’t have stomach flu or an ulcer. You have a bun in the oven. You need to see a doctor.”

  “God, this can’t be happening. I don’t look pregnant. I’ve lost weight,” she argued, although she had to admit her breasts were tender and her period, irregular at best, hadn’t made an appearance since June.

  Cleo collapsed into the recliner and hugged herself. What was she supposed to do now?

  Mitch sighed. “I don’t see what the big deal is. You were married at the time you conceived this child, even if you probably aren’t married now. So the child you’re carrying is the legal heir to megabucks. You may not want the father, but think of the life he can provide for his child. We can prove paternity. I don’t think Mr. I Gave Thousands to Save the Whales is going to neglect his own child.”

  “Of course he wouldn’t. I have to tell him, but Mitch, he’ll think I did it on purpose to trap him or extort money from him. He doesn’t have a high opinion of women. You’ve read the scandal sheets lately yourself. You’re the one who emailed me that picture from the London newspaper with Sam and Lady Whatshername.”

  “Yeah, but I did it to make you feel better not worse. I thought if you saw he was getting on with his life … This changes everything.”

  “What if he wants to take the baby away from me? I can’t let that happen.”

  “I don’t think he’d do that. Sam might be a jerk on many levels, but deep down, he’s a decent guy. You know, it could be worse—he could be a male dancer out for your money.”

  Mitch laughed so hard tears filled her eyes and Cleo joined her laughter, but it was still tinged with bitterness. Sam’s lie wasn’t amusing and she doubted it ever would be

  “I’m starving. Can we go get burgers?” she said to change the subject.