This boy did not seem a stranger to Sara. Sitting beside him every day, she knew every curve of his fingers, every plane of that strikingly handsome face, but she could not have identified why she had the deep, innate feeling of love and connection with this tall, thin boy of different blood.
The instinctive gut feeling that flooded Juan’s body, the sure knowledge of love and acceptance, the how and why—all bewildered him, but he knew he would never be alone again.
A quick knock at the door and the doctor stepped in, followed by the nurse.
Sara stepped back as the doctor examined Juan, then carefully removed the stitches from his face.
“That’s healed nicely. It won’t even leave a scar. His ribs are mending very well, too.” He smiled. “These young ones are strong—he’ll be ready to go home in a few days.”
The nurse translated to Juan. He turned his head to look at Sara, a moment’s desperation in his eyes.
She smiled as she spoke—the translation brought tears to his eyes as he reached for her hand.
“We’ll go home, son.”
• • •
At dinner that evening, Sara was in unusually high spirits.
Teddy smiled. “You seem very happy tonight. What have you been up to?”
“You know I’ve been going to the hospital to see Juan every day,” she answered.
Teddy joked, “Have they offered you the supervisor’s position yet?” Then added, “I suppose the boy will be released soon, then you’ll have to go back to work, finish that painting.”
Sara was quick to answer, “Bring up a bottle of wine, my love. I have a secret I’m dying to tell you.”
“Then tonight is the night to reveal all. I have a secret you’re going to love. I’ll bring two bottles—it’s a celebration,” Teddy declared.
Both women were eager with anticipation and didn’t linger over dinner. Hurrying up the broad stairway, they entered their sanctuary and Teddy quickly deposited the wine on the old oak table.
Turning, she put her arms around Sara. “Me first—I can’t wait another minute. I have a carpenter coming on Friday to enclose that big living room in the old servants’ quarters for your new studio. It has the three-sided witches’ turret with three floor-to-ceiling windows,” she enthused. “Perfect, it’s just perfect. All the light you’ll ever need, and I’m adding a bathroom, too. I want it to be beautiful for you.”
Sara stiffened in Teddy’s arms and stepped away. “Oh, Teddy, no, you can’t do that,” the words burst out. “I want that room for my boy.”
“Sara, did you hear what you just said?” came Teddy’s shocked voice as she looked down into a face where so many emotions ran rampant.
The unexpected outburst left Sara momentarily flustered, but then defiant. “Yes, my boy. I want to bring him home. That’s my secret.”
“That makes me a parent, too, I take it. I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Why haven’t you told me of your feelings for this boy? When did all this happen?”
“The first time he took my hand. I haven’t told you about my feelings because I couldn’t understand them but, Teddy, now I’m sure. I can’t explain it, but I can’t deny it. I feel as though I gave birth to him myself.”
“Sara, I have no desire or need to become a parent at age fifty-five.” Teddy’s deliberately calm voice continued, camouflaging her shock. “And I think you’ve mistaken pity for love. Sammy’s death has upset you more than I realized. I think you’ve found another Sammy.”
“That’s a cruel thing to say. Juan is a human being,” came Sara’s instant retort.
“Of course. And didn’t you consider Sammy your child? I remember that cold, rainy day when you found him lying at the door of your greenhouse. What little hair he had was soaking wet and, as I recall, he had mange. Every bone was visible. You screamed for Mr. Mackey to come quick and kill this horrible big rat.
“I thought he should be put out of his misery, but you had to call a vet for a second opinion—I wasn’t flattered, I may add. You nursed him back to life and for eight years he was your child.
“I could be persuaded,” Teddy placated, noting Sara’s reaction to her words, “to send this boy to a good school where he could learn a trade and our language and customs. And he could visit, but I’m too old to be a parent.
“Sara, you’re a born mother. I wish we could have adopted years ago when our lives were ahead of us, but it seemed we were always enough for each other.”
Sara put her arms around the other woman’s waist. “Teddy darling, we have adopted. I gave him my word I’d bring him home. He’ll be released soon. I want those rooms for Juan.”
“No,” said Teddy flatly.
“Surely you aren’t saying ‘no’ to me,” came Sara’s astonished voice.
“Surely I am. It’s been a very long time since we’ve differed this strongly, my dear Sara. Give it up.”
Sara’s anger flared. “Don’t patronize me, Dr. Hassé; this is far beyond a difference. In fact, if I weren’t a lady to my fingertips, I’d say I’m damn well going to have it my way. Adjust.”
“And I’d say,” Teddy responded, “the hell you are. I’ll hammer the damn wall up with my scalpel. My German ancestors’ vocabulary does not recognize the word ‘adjust.’ ”
Teddy stalked from the room, stiff with anger.
The two battlers stood forlorn.
• • •
Tears of frustration welled in Sara’s eyes. That night and the nights that followed, she slept on her own side of the bed.
An unaccustomed silence reigned and the old house seemed wrapped in loneliness until even the shingles whispered in the sudden quiet.
The undercurrent of disharmony lay just below the stilted conversation in ugly contrast with the happy exchanges and pleasures the women had taken in each other for over twenty years.
Teddy, angry and miserable, took refuge in her office, her dinner kept warm in the oven by Mrs. Mackey.
Sara spent many hours at the hospital and, as Juan’s release became imminent, she realized he would need clothing.
He seemed to have grown taller in the short time he had been hospitalized and the scales showed an undeniable gain in weight.
Shopping for Juan with the measurements given by the nurse, Sara’s purchases, without Teddy’s suggestions, were a revelation. She gave free reign to her love of color and style.
Juan was self-conscious as he stood for Sara’s appraisal. He had never known such clothing; he hardly recognized himself.
As he stood in his new trousers with a colorful shirt thrown over one bare shoulder, Sara’s breath caught at the beauty of this tall, graceful boy pausing at the threshold of manhood.
Suddenly, her fingers yearned for the feel of a paintbrush. Teddy was right—she needed to paint.
The nurse smiled in appreciation and spoke to Juan in Spanish. His face clouded as he answered.
“What did you say to him?” Sara asked.
The nurse hesitated, then answered, “I said to him that he is so handsome, my daughter would like him. But he said, ‘I am different. I love another and always will.’ ”
Sara sat quietly for a moment, then reached for his hand and pulled him to her.
“Tell him that I, too, am different.”
Matter-of-factly, she tugged his hand through the dangling sleeve, then stood back smiling to observe her handiwork.
His eyes sought hers, searching for any sign of rejection.
Wordless, there was perfect understanding.
The nurse spoke again. “My daughter, who is a student at the university, is fluent in both languages. She could tutor your son. You may have a difficult time communicating when he goes home…”
Sara was delighted and scribbled her phone number with a grateful “Thank you.” One problem solved.
Now that his stay grew shorter, Sara’s happiness was tainted by the thoughts of Teddy’s adamant decision. She could not bring her boy home until this issue had been r
esolved.
And how do I resolve it? she agonized.
A great sense of loss swept over her. Had she gained one love only to lose another? How will I ever find the strength to let Juan go?
• • •
Sara’s foot, as though it were a separate entity, crept close to slowly caress the smooth calf of the leg that lay so near. Teddy had seemed not to have even shared the same bed these last lonely nights.
Her toes tickled as they slid over the soft skin and she felt Teddy shiver.
Her heart gave a great leap of joy as she turned.
“Is this the white flag of surrender? I warn you,” Teddy said with bravado, “I take no prisoners. The carpenter is coming tomorrow.”
Sara’s tearful voice whispered, “I’ll never, never set foot in it, so do as you please.”
A long silence as both women stared into the darkness.
Defeated then, Teddy asked, “How can we resolve this? Could we not arrange it as a studio apartment?”
“That big bedroom has a large window that overlooks the rose garden and…”
Sara gave a disdainful sniff, but a wave of relief and happiness swept over her.
Teddy continued, “…redo the bathroom, repaint, some nice furniture. There’s even a back stairway.”
Sara didn’t respond, her foot still slowly caressing Teddy’s calf.
Teddy said, “My dear, that’s the best that I can do.”
“And a door that opens to my studio?” Sara asked.
“Of course.” Teddy sighed.
“And do you think you can arrange for the hospital to keep Juan for a couple of weeks until I can get everything arranged just perfectly?”
“Of course,” repeated Teddy in a resigned voice with the barest hint of laughter.
“What time is it, Teddy?”
Looking at the illuminated dial, Teddy said, “It’s three a.m.”
“Do you think that’s too early to open the wine?”
“It’s never too late to celebrate, my dearest Sara.”
Four feet touched the carpeted floor simultaneously and padded to the study.
Then the pop of the cork and the laughter as the wine spilled. The happy exchange of words that had lain dormant for days now flowed freely as the glasses were replenished time and again.
They sat together, their glasses upraised in a toast.
“It’s been forever since we’ve sat like this,” Teddy said.
“At least,” Sara responded and lifted her glass.
The old house sighed and settled back on the ancient stone foundation. From somewhere, a night bird sang to announce a new day and flew into the sun.
• • •
The studio was finished and beautifully done. Teddy had supervised every move of the workers.
The large room reflected the natural light that shone through the tall windows on a sunny day, and crept in when the bay so far below was only a slash of blue against the soft gray of the fog.
Fully stocked, the lovely studio boasted the ultimate in brushes, tubes of paint in every color, canvasses stacked against a wall, even a custom- made easel that replaced the old paint-spattered one now hidden in the closet.
Teddy had not allowed Sara even a peek, and at the great unveiling, she was scooped up and carried across the threshold. Sara gasped. The studio was everything she ever could have dreamed.
“Who would ever have believed you’d have done such a wonderful job with only a scalpel?” Sara giggled like a teenager.
“Put me down. I’d guess a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses are in the vicinity. This calls for a celebration. Oh, Teddy, how I love you.”
“As I love you. You make my life a constant challenge. I dare not grow old,” Teddy declared.
The bottle stood three-quarters empty much later as Sara examined every nook and cranny, every tube of paint.
“Teddy, wherever did you find these brushes? There are none better.” Sara stood, her head thrown back, a brush held high as she read the fine print on the handle.
The small, fine-boned woman whose hair threatened to free itself from the band that held it captive; the woman with laughing eyes and a quick smile outlined against the tall window—Teddy knew that image was forever painted on her heart.
Sensing the other woman’s intent gaze, Sara turned and said laughingly, “Come, let me show you what I’ve done without a scalpel,” and opened the door to the short hallway that led to Juan’s apartment.
The older woman followed, observing the care that had transformed the small, drab servants’ quarters to the compact, colorful apartment with its simple but elegant furnishings. Intuitively, she knew that love that had gone into the placement of every object.
After a long moment, she spoke quietly.
“I’m almost jealous. Since I am involved, what is my status? Is my throne secure?”
Teddy joked, but beneath her frivolous words ran an utterly foreign undercurrent, the need of reassurance. For the first time in twenty years, she found herself sharing Sara’s love.
Sara turned a shocked face. “What a strange question.”
Then with the realization that Teddy’s words stood out in bold type, she answered, “That throne is set in concrete, ’til death do us part.’ ”
Teddy hugged her tightly.
“Tell Mrs. Mackey to put on an extra place setting. There will be three of us.”
CHAPTER 16
Ma had called and found out that there were two days left for registration, so we left the next day.
Ma was ecstatic, Sis never stopped talking, and I was excited, scared, overjoyed and a long range of other mixed emotions.
Oakdale didn’t seem like the small town I had pictured in my mind when Alfie had described the college to me. In reality, it was a smaller version of the big city across the bay, but there was something appealing about it. Maybe it was the trees that lined the streets or the neat, old-fashioned houses that made me feel comfortable.
The college, with its stately brick buildings built on a knoll, was easy to find. The old faded bricks, mostly hidden beneath the ivy that crawled over them, gave one the feeling that they had been there forever—perhaps had grown out of the ground just to keep the eucalyptus trees company.
A sign read “Oakdale Community College, established in 1850.” The campus was large and seemed like a moving multicolored carpet. Students hurrying in every direction in their bright clothing looked as though some giant hand had indiscriminately scattered a bucketful of confetti into a strong wind.
I found the sign pointing to a line, growing longer by the minute and moving with the speed of a crippled snail that led to the registrar’s office. A couple of fellows stood in front of me discussing their classes. One turned around and asked me what subjects I was taking.
“Journalism,” I answered.
They both laughed.
“Dowd’s class. I took a semester from her last year and then transferred to English lit. Dowd knows her subject, inside and out, but boy is she rough. Got a tongue like a razor blade and loses about a third of her class the first semester. Who needs it?”
I finally reached the desk, got the paperwork and enrolled in one journalism class and six units of general education classes. When I registered, I wrote “undecided” as my major in the little box on the right. Who cared that I took only three classes? Journalism is the one I wanted, I exulted. I was a college student.
I wandered the maze of corridors in the huge building until I found the door with the right number on it. I wanted to know exactly where to go tomorrow and be there early enough for a front-row seat.
That student’s comment came back to me as I stood in front of that magic door. “Who needs it?”
My inner voice answered: “Someone who wants to learn from the best and has got enough guts to do what it takes.” I resolved to be that one.
Ma and Sis had been looking through the rental ads and found a little light housekeeping room above a garage. It
was furnished with a hot plate, a bed that made Ma shudder, and a chest of drawers to match.
The good news? It was only a mile from campus.
My experience at the Haight-Ashbury house forever discouraged communal living—no more linen closets for me.
My first weekend home, Ma sent me back with enough stuff to furnish a three-bedroom house.
• • •
My first day in class was a complete disaster.
I was up early, did a quick shave. Not much came off, but I liked the smell of the aftershave. I grabbed a roll, a cold cup of coffee, and was out the door, excited and impatient. I moved fast even though I knew there was plenty of time.
I’d washed the old Buick the day before. Apparently the shock was too much because, as I turned the key in the ignition, nothing happened. Jiggling the key brought the same results—not even a sigh. I lifted the hood, pounded on the cables. Nothing. Shock waves swept over me as I realized that the battery was way beyond the last rites.
I hit the road running. Hell, I could make it easy—only a mile.
Arriving breathless, I flushed. I swiped the sweat with the back of my hand and tried to slick down the windblown curls that stood in defiance of the Brill Cream that I had slathered on them such a short time ago.
I eased the door open as quietly as a burglar, hoping to slither in unnoticed and find a seat in the back.
The room was crowded. No one would give me an inch.
Her eyes pinned me against the wall. I stood there as if glued.
She was a tall, bleached-blonde woman whose roots were the same color as the long black eyebrow that stretched above the piercing steel- gray eyes and dipped over a nose that was way longer than necessary.
A great shuffling of feet and muffled laughter arose as though my classmates were anticipating my demise.
“Mr. McClusky, I presume? We are so pleased you could join us. Roll call was ten minutes ago.”
“Steve McAllister,” I answered. “I apologize for being late. My car wouldn’t start and…”
“We are not interested in discussing your transportation problem, however fascinating it may be. Perhaps another time. Seat yourself, Mr. McDuff.”
And Yesterday Is Gone Page 11
