"I could be," Andrea said.
"Then you've given up on Alessandro?" Val asked.
Andrea shook her head. "I just haven't given up on my husband."
Val looked at her then, and it was as if a light had just gone on in her head. "Jerry Porter," she mused. "And Andrea Porter. Is there possibly a connection here?"
Andrea nodded.
After filling Val in on how things really were, Val said, "Honey, you've got a man worth keeping. Jerry still has the hots for you. If you're turned off to sex I'll give you a few pointers on how to get things up and running again."
"That's not the problem," Andrea said.
"Then why are you sharing a stateroom with me when you could be with him?"
"Our failing marriage is more complicated than just what goes on in bed. After it's over, there's nothing."
"But you still love him, and he loves you. With that as a base, what else do you need?"
"I don't know. It's too complicated to figure out."
Because it's about losing a son, and casting blame, and being on a cogwheel neither can get off.
But they also had three daughters who were expecting them to read three letters written to their dead brother, and for that reason alone Andrea intended to go to Jerry so they could at least share what the girls had to say. Maybe, by some miracle, what their daughters had written in those letters would be the answer both their parents were searching for, and neither could find.
CHAPTER 16
Andrea stared at the envelope sitting on the table. She and Jerry managed to tippy-toe around the occasion the entire day. No talking about Scott. No acknowledging this would have been his birthday. Two people trapped in their own private worlds of grief and remorse. Unable to talk. Unable to express feelings. Unable to communicate on the most basic level. Just ignore the issue and hope it would go away, and if they waited long enough, it would be midnight and Scott's eighteenth birthday would have come and gone. Unnoticed. But that wasn't going to happen, she vowed. Scott would not just be shoved back into the dark recesses of their individual minds, never to surface because his parents couldn't talk about him.
Lifting the envelope from the table, she left the stateroom and made her way down the passageway toward Jerry's stateroom. She didn't know if he'd be there, but if he wasn't, she'd wait until he returned. When she approached his quarters, however, she saw light under the door and assumed he was in. She rapped lightly. At first there was no response, then she heard Jerry say in a gruff voice, "Come on in."
She walked in and found him sitting on the bed with a glass in his hand and a bottle of whiskey on the bedstand, staring off, looking morose. Next to the bottle was Jerry's wallet, spread open and face down, and beside the wallet, a plastic photo folder lay open to a wallet-size picture of Scott's car after the accident. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Trying to get drunk." Raising the glass to his lips Jerry took a swig of whiskey and plunked the glass on the table beside the plastic folder.
Andrea picked up the folder and stared at the skeletal, burned out frame of Scott's car. She flipped the plastic pockets and saw photos of each of the girls, along with one of Sammie that Bailey had just given him. There were even a couple of pictures of her, but all Jerry carried in his wallet to remember Scott by was the twisted remains of a fiery crash. "Why do you keep this?" she asked, flipping back to the photo of Scott's car.
"To remind me I'm here and he's not." Jerry took another swig of whiskey and held the glass cradled between his hands. "Your father was right," he said in a flat, sullen voice. "I might as well have put a gun to Scott's head and pulled the trigger."
"You can't mean that," Andrea replied, even though she couldn't help thinking that herself. "It was an accident."
"Hell, Andrea, the kid was out of control. He shouldn't even have had a car. And I shouldn't have had a son." He drained the glass. "And those damn Barbies—" he plunked the glass down "—finding Scott playing with them... I was so afraid he was one of them I made sure he wasn't, made sure he was all boy from that time on. Never cry. Boys don't cry. Stand up and take your knocks. Don't let anyone walk over you. Be tough. Be a man. A real man."
He tipped the bottle toward his glass, and when no more than a dribble of whiskey ran out, he said, "Shit! I can't even get drunk." He looked at Andrea then, his face drawn, and tired. So very, very tired. The spark of life she'd once seen in his eyes, gone. She had been living her own hell, blaming him for Scott's death, trying to shove aside her part in it. And still, no one talked.
"Getting drunk won't solve things, but talking might." She sat on the bed beside him, not touching, but feeling the warmth of his shoulder, as she said, "For the past two years we've been living with this elephant in the living room. We walk around it, and talk around it, and try to pretend it's not there, but it won't go away. We need to talk about Scott. We need to say the things we've been holding inside for two years."
Jerry stared at the glass in his hand. "Fine then, I'll tell you about when Scott was fifteen and I taught him how to be a man. A great father I was." His words were drenched with sarcasm, but Andrea didn't say anything because at least they were finally talking about Scott.
"You were helping Bailey with the new baby," Jerry continued, "and Scott and I were home alone. I gave him a tiny mug of beer and we sat on the sofa like buddies, Scott and me, sipping beer, having a father-son night together, watching a Clint Eastwood movie, Eastwood getting it on with a woman, like real men do, the good guys chasing the bad guys, sending them flying off the road in a fiery crash. Exciting stuff. Tough guys. Real men. And Scott and I sipped beer, and watched car chases and sex scenes, and made cracks about how cool Eastwood was in bed. Real men were always cool in bed."
Andrea found herself rubbing Jerry's back as Jerry sat hunched over, his empty glass in his hands. She didn't know when she'd made the gesture but it felt right. She said nothing, just rubbed Jerry's back and let him talk. And listened.
Jerry set the glass down and picked up the folder with the photo of Scott's car, and while he stared at it, he said, "He wanted the car, something he and I could work on together, he told me. Like buddies. Father and son fixing up the car. So I let him get the thing. I knew he didn't want it so he could spend time with his old man. I knew it, yet I let him buy the damn car. And it killed him. And you're right. I should've been home that night. I was still bigger than he was. I could have stopped him but I wasn't there, and he died."
Andrea stared at Jerry, his heart laid bare, taking complete blame for Scott's death. His part in the whole violent ending of a young life had been festering inside him for two long, unspeakably horrible years. But there was no way Jerry could carry the full burden of Scott's death. True, he bought the car, and yes, Scott was killed in it, but the path leading to the fiery ending to Scott's life started long before the night he was killed.
Charlie and I vowed when I got pregnant that no matter how much we might disagree on how to handle our child, we would always present a united front.
Andrea placed her hand on Jerry's arm and slid it down to curve around his hand. "Honey, "Scott was a challenge from the start and you never had a man in your life to show you how to raise a boy, and when you married me, instead of getting the father you never had, you got Carter Ellison III, a man as strong-willed as you, and although I hate to admit it, he's also the man responsible for my stubborn, inflexible ways. If I hadn't had to be right so many times when we were raising Scott, we might have come together with what to do with him. I was wrong about what to do with him as many times as you were right, if that makes any sense. And we weren't bad parents. We just didn't know what to do."
Jerry slipped his hand from hers and held his head in his palms. "It would have been his eighteenth birthday and I feel like I have a hole in my heart."
"I know. I feel it too. The problem is we're never taught what to do when tragedy hits. No one said to us, 'Here's the plan for getting back to life now'. They tell us time he
als, and maybe one day we'll be able to think of Scott without feeling a hole in our hearts, or maybe we'll never heal completely, but we can get past this and go on, and I think we should start by reading whatever the girls wrote to him. That's why I stopped in, to sit with you and read their letters." She offered the unopened envelope to Jerry. He took it and looked at it.
"Honey," Andrea said, "I want to celebrate Scott's life tonight, not mourn his death, and I want us to stop kicking ourselves and each other for a past we can't change."
Jerry sighed. "I suppose you're right." He pulled his knife from his pocket, flipped opened a blade, and slipped it into the envelope flap, slicing slowly, as if it were something precious. Closing his knife, he removed three letters, one from each of the girls, and started reading the one on top, hand-written by Megan, that began:
Dear Scott, Today you would have been eighteen, and I'm sure you would have been a lady killer. You had that little glint in your eye you got from Dad, and he's a lady killer, at least with Mom. But while you were growing up you were so precious to us, with your craziness, and your teasing, and yes, your silly thirteen-year-old boy jokes, usually pretty gross. I still think of you as thirteen, little brother, because that's the age you were when I left home to marry John. I wish I had been around more during your teenage years. I know you sometimes gave Mom and Dad hell, maybe more than we knew since we'd all left home by the time you were going through the transition from boy to man, but the one thing we all know. You had a good heart. I remember the night you brought the old wet dog home, more dead than alive. Dad wanted to put him out of his misery but you put up such a fuss Dad gave in and let you nurse the poor thing. We had Bandit for five more years after that. You and Bandit were kindred spirits, I'm sure. I decided that night you'd someday be a doctor. Who knows? Maybe you would have. So here's to you, little brother. I love you. Your annoying sister, Megan.
"He did have a good heart," Andrea said. "I'd almost forgotten." She looked at Jerry. "Do you remember the incident with the crabs?"
Jerry snickered. "Yeah, I remember. I thought we'd be having crabs for dinner but by the time you were ready to dump them into the crab boil, they all had names."
"Elmer," Andrea said, smiling in memory. "Scott named one of the crabs Elmer. He was the big one with only one claw."
Jerry chuckled. "The first one to scurry into the water when I turned them out." He reached for the second letter, the one from Bailey, and began reading:
Dear Scott, I imagine you in Heaven putting on a magic show that even has God chuckling. You were so talented, not so much with your magic tricks, which were so incredibly obvious it had us in stitches, but because of your knack for holding people's attention whether it was pulling a rubber chicken out of a top hat, or waving your magic wand and having Bandit roll over dead and give us a dog smile. Like Megan, I also missed your teenage years, but now you're eighteen, a man angel, and I imagine you up there flirting with the angel chicks. I saw you doing that a time or two when I was home visiting, but little did I know then that the few short years we had with you would come to be more valuable than I could have ever anticipated. You were my first love. Of course I loved Mom and Dad and Megan and Stefanie, but when Mom and Dad brought you home from the hospital, you were so tiny and sweet, and you were my little brother. I've never regretted a day of it, even when you were a total pain in the butt. Keep those sexy little angels in heaven blushing, Bro. We love you. Bailey.
"Bailey always was the one to stick up for him when he was in trouble," Jerry said, staring at the letter. "And those magic shows…" he laughed lightly. "I don't know how Scott got Bandit to smile. Funny, I didn't realize how much patience he had, at least he had with an ugly old dog."
"You thought Bandit was ugly?" Andrea asked, remembering Scott's old dog with nothing but affection.
"Sweetheart, he was the ugliest damn dog on the face of the earth," Jerry said, his endearment curling around Andrea like a warm blanket. "His face had wrinkles and jowls, his front legs were so bowed he looked like he'd been riding the range, and his paws were so big, only God knows what he descended from, but Scott loved that old dog, wrinkles, flaws and all. Now that I think about it, Scott never was very hung up on looks. That little girl he liked in middle school, the chubby one with the crooked teeth... he took on three boys when they teased her. Millie, I think her name was. He used to call her a lot. I wonder what ever happened to her?" he said, musingly.
"Last I heard she started dating one of those boys. I guess Scott made him see beyond the surface."
Jerry smiled in memory. "Seems that way. I'd forgotten that about him. In fact, I don't remember him ever dating a good-looking girl, but whoever it was at the time, he made her feel good about herself." He reached for Stefanie's letter, and read:
Dear Scott, First I want to apologize for those times I sulked and threw a tissyfit because you took the spotlight off me. I was Mom and Dad's baby until you came along, and you burst my baby bubble. But you were also my playmate for many years. Sorry little brother, that I had you playing with Barbies, but thankfully, Dad set things straight. You were always such a good sport though, letting me choose the games and set the rules, but when I let you have your way every once in a while, you always came up with unique things to do. Making giant wings out of Mom's sheets and the curtain rods in the basement wasn't one of them though. I hit the ground pretty hard when I jumped off the ladder. But the kangaroo shoes weren't half bad, even though you refused to tell me where you stole... er... got the springs for them. When I look back now, I'm certain your call in life would have been to pick up where Leonardo de Vinci left off. Keep things active up there in Heaven. I'm sure they love you up there as much as we do down here. I'm smiling now, little brother. You bring back happy memories. Love, Stefanie.
Andrea slipped her arm into the crook of Jerry's elbow. "Honey," she said, "It's time we lay Scott to rest. From now on I want to remember only the good times we had with him. And this has to go." She slipped the photo of Scott's car out of the plastic sleeve, lifted a book of cruise-line matches from an ashtray, and walked into the bathroom. Striking a match, she held it to the picture and watched the tongues of the fire lick at the photo, curling the edges, then she dropped the burning picture into the basin.
While she watched the image of Scott's car bubble and fade into ashes, Jerry came up behind her and kissed the side of her neck. She turned in his arms and kissed him, and he kissed her back, a long, slow kiss filled with tenderness and love. Then he pulled her closer to him, and rested his head against hers and held her, and she knew they had finally laid Scott to rest, but she also knew there was still a bridge between them that needed mending.
Jerry picked up on that when he said, "So, where do we go from here?"
"Home," Andrea replied. "When we set out on this little adventure I was feeling unlovable and unappreciated and ready for a shipboard romance. The problem was, you're the only man I want because you're not just the love of my life, you are my life. I still haven't given up the idea of taking a lover, but you're the only lover I want. Is that asking too much?"
Jerry looked at her, and said, with a glint in his eye that told her a fun-filled romp in bed was just ahead, "I tell you what, babe. I'll be your lover if you'll agree to be my sugar baby, which is a long shot because what would a good looking chick like you want with an old fart like me?"
Andrea gave him a sultry smile. "You might have been an old fart when we started out on this cruise, but I can tell you right now, you're one hot hunk." Releasing the buttons on his shirt, she placed a kiss on the hollow of his throat, and said, "But we need to talk about this waxed chest thing. I want my snuggly huggy bear back."
Jerry laughed." Actually I was thinking about waxing something else."
"What?!"
"Just kidding."
***
All three girls were there to welcome Andrea and Jerry as they walked hand-in-hand down the gangway at Charleston Harbor. Jerry released Andrea's h
and long enough to hug each of his daughters, then he took Andrea's hand again and they walked with the girls to the van they had waiting. "So how was the cruise," Bailey asked, looking down at their clasped hands. "Romantically, passionately, adoringly, kissy-kissy-face?"
"It was all of the above, and more," Jerry said, giving Andrea's hand a little squeeze.
Andrea looked at him, and that little glint of fire was in his eyes again, reminding her that they had a long-overdue date in their own bed tonight. A little tremor of anticipation coursed through her.
Stefanie laughed. "Well, we hope a few sparks were lit, and we're not just talking candles on the table during your anniversary dinner."
Jerry winked at Andrea. "There were sparks," he said, smiling at her.
"Yes," Andrea agreed. "Most definitely sparks."
"So then, what was the absolute highlight of the cruise?" Megan asked. "Maybe the marching flamingoes?"
Jerry laughed. "Flamingoes, definitely a highlight."
"And snorkeling?" Megan asked. "Did you go snorkeling?"
"Yep," Jerry replied. "And afterwards, your mom and I stretched out on the beach and let the surf roll over us."
"How sweet," Bailey said to her dad. "I can see you teasing Mom the way you do."
"Yeah, well, I did a little of that too." Jerry eyed Andrea, his wry smile reminding her how it had been their second to last night of the cruise, when they were frolicking, and splashing, and laughing and enjoying the abandon that was once again a part of their lovemaking, before settling on the beach to make passionate love under a silvery moon, to the rhythmic undulations of the warm sea lapping against them.
"But those are just little incidents," Megan insisted. "Was there one thing that stood out above all else? One thing that made the whole trip worthwhile?"
"Yes." Jerry stopped and held Andrea's gaze. "I think your mom will agree with me when I say it was when the ship's captain led us in renewing our wedding vows in front of all the passengers last night. Your mother bought a gown for the occasion, and she was even more beautiful than the day I married her, and afterwards we danced the night away." He released Andrea's hand and curved his arm around her waist, giving her a little kiss on the temple.
Coming To Terms Page 16
