Silence lasted a long time, then Jackie said, “I love you, girl. You take care, you hear?” There was a catch in her voice.
“I hear.” A sob got out. “And same back to you.”
Lainie hung up, had what she hoped was her last cry for the day, then she started spaghetti for her evening meal. It was okay to call it dinner again. Something nagged at her while she worked. Unable to nail it, she let it go. Then, as she washed dishes, it came to her. Jackie hadn’t tried to talk her back to Texas. Why not?
Did she know something Lainie didn’t?
She stared into space, then got busy doing some detecting of her own. Dallas was the hub, so she called the major airlines to find which ones had Sacramento-bound flights and the dates and times. Then she called back, got different representatives and bluffed her way through. She recited the flight number, apologized for misplacing the confirmation number, and said she only wanted to make sure her husband had a window seat. One airline wouldn’t divulge information, but her third call informed her Reed Smith had an aisle seat. A window seat wasn’t available. Lainie thanked the operator, said to leave the seating assignment alone, and hung up.
His flight was due to arrive at 2:10 p.m. on Sunday.
They couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave her alone, allow her to make her own decisions. Their game plan—the pronoun included Jackie—was to give Lainie what they thought was a suitable period of time, then follow her, talk sense into her and get her back where she belonged. Where they thought she belonged, mind you. What Lainie thought didn’t matter.
The next day was Friday. She went in to work, told the office manager that a family emergency forced her to resign, and she picked up her last paycheck. Then she went home and packed. Saturday, she loaded her car and headed west on Interstate Eighty, all the way back to the Peninsula where she’d grown up.
The trip that should’ve taken two hours took almost four. She stayed in the slow lane, traffic whizzing by, concentrating so hard on the road that she felt a constant frown creasing her forehead. Her mind felt disconnected from her body; her hands on the wheel seemed like someone else’s. She’d also felt a strain when driving from Texas but had worked around it, was able to keep it in check. Instead of becoming stronger with time, it seemed she’d become more bereft.
The loss of her grandfather seemed to be compounding the loss of her mother. At times in her mind the two people became one. And a yearning so deep it created a soreness inside her accompanied every thought of Reed. She didn’t even have to think of him. She just lived, and drove, with that rift inside.
She crossed the Bay Bridge, merged onto Highway One-Oh-One, drove past Millbrae, and finally exited the freeway when she noted the gas gauge was low. She found a gas station and a motel next to a restaurant, bought a newspaper and checked out want ads.
The next day she rented an apartment in Belmont, unfurnished, so she charged a new mattress and frame—and a second set of sheets—on her credit card. Splurging on herself made her feel a little better. She hit some weekend garage sales and lucked out. She found a used TV, a dinky dinette set, a short chest of drawers for the bedroom and an attractive sofa bed for the living room. The young couple selling the couch, who were following their jobs out of state, even helped her transport it.
A job took a while to find, but finally she was hired as secretary-receptionist at a financial securities firm. It paid less than her Sacramento job and her Belmont rent was higher. Ouch.
Near the end of the month, she drove back to Sacramento to spruce up her apartment and to apply for return of the cleaning deposit. And she found three notes from Reed slid under her front door. They weren’t dated or numbered, but she knew their order by their content. She dwelled on the last one.
I looked for you at work and your boss told me about your family emergency. How did you know I was coming? Jackie swears she didn’t let on. You must need more time. Take what you need, but get in touch. Please. I’m flying back tonight but we have to talk. Call me, write, do something. I love you, Lainie. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.
She sat on the faded print sofa for a long time, holding and savoring the three pieces of paper, then neatly folded them. She had memories, but these scribbled notes were invaluable because they were all she had of Reed that she could touch.
She didn’t want to lose him either. As she sat in the insignificant room she’d called home for such a short while, she thought again about options. Another ranch, maybe. Not in Texas. Arizona, Oklahoma. Maybe even Oregon, where it was green and pretty. Nevada, Utah. It wasn’t as if there weren’t options. She leaned forward, rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Talk about uprooting someone. She’d done that to herself, and look what happened. Did she want to do that to him? She sat back, stared at the window blinds with dry eyes.
No. She didn’t have the right. And the issue wouldn’t be open to discussion anyway. The moment she contacted him, he’d decide for both of them. His will was strong enough he’d sway her, because right now she was no more than an empty shell with no strength. So she had to keep her distance. Just like she didn’t have the right to uproot him, neither could she allow him to decide for her.
It’d be a mistake to return to Lone Tree. She trusted Miles less now than before she’d met him. Arrogant and crotchety, she could accept. Secretive and evasive...well, so was she. Together they’d set up an explosive and destructive situation just by being who they were. He’d cultivated power, used it without hesitation. But it was the conniving side of him—not just controlling, but actually manipulating events and people in order to get his way—that made her too wary to ever again expose her life to him.
*
Lainie arranged for an unlisted telephone number—which would delay a professional investigator for a couple minutes, tops. She spent her days looking over her shoulder, jumping when the phone rang, then scolded herself for doing it. Paranoia could be a progressive disease. She needed to get a grip on herself.
She bought an exercise tape in the hope a tired body would curb an edgy mind. Months passed, taking her into October, and gradually she breathed a little easier. She lived each day as it happened, not pushing the future nor languishing in the past.
Though she hadn’t found the pattern of speech in California any different from when she’d left it, every time she opened her mouth someone asked her where she was from. She adopted the habit of speaking slowly and precisely, not allowing the southern accent she’d picked up to get through. But it still did.
She contacted old friends but saw little of them, not ready yet to enter relationships, any kind. She learned Jason was again engaged and hoped fate would be kinder this time and no one in either family would become ill.
Outside her apartment was a graveled courtyard with a wrought-iron bench beneath a magnolia tree. As she arrived home on a windy evening, apartment key ready in her hand, a familiar voice hailed her. She froze, then turned and saw Miles rising from the bench. Quickly, her gaze searched the yard.
“I’m alone.” He waited where he was, not pushing. But he was pushing simply by being there. “May I come in? It’s cold out here.”
As she stared at the big man, who appeared uncharacteristically meek, she examined her emotions. Surprise, wariness, even affection. But surprisingly no anger. She was glad to note that the bitterness was behind her.
She gave him a brief nod, unlocked the door, waited for him and then followed him inside.
“How long did it take you to find me?” she asked, getting out of her coat.
In the middle of the small room he turned to face her. “Got your address some time back. Had to work up the courage to come visit.”
Surprised with that last sentence, she hung her coat up and took his. She started a pot of coffee. “Does Reed know you’re here?”
“Nope. He would’ve wanted to come with me, but this was something you and I need to work through on our own.”
The truth of that statement co
ursed through her, leaving her feeling limp. And grateful. Maybe there was hope for her and her grandfather. She swallowed, looked at the pink-tiled countertop and tried to sort through her thoughts.
“You wanted so much to slug me that last night,” he said, voice bland. “You might want to know that Reed did it for you.”
She looked up and met his gaze. “Good.”
His eyes lit briefly with amusement, then once again he sobered. “When he found out the next morning you were gone, he blew. Thought I’d lose him, too. He came close to quitting. If he’d known then that you wouldn’t be returning, I believe he would’ve quit. But he bided his time, waiting for you, and stayed on.”
She took cups out of the cabinet, placed them precisely on either side of the coffee maker. Miles’s talk of Reed seemed to bring the man she loved with all her being into the room, yet made his absence feel even more raw. She worked at fighting both emotions.
“I need to tell you I’m sorry, Lainie.”
Her hands stilled. “So am I.” Her voice sounded small.
“Took me a long time to say that. Better than twenty-five years. I couldn’t stop your mother, but I could’ve come after her once I found out where she was. She might’ve come back home if I’d asked her to, but I kept thinking she’d return by herself. She had so little choice—on her own like that, a baby to take care of. But she was made of stronger stuff than I gave her credit for. You’re strong enough to make it on your own, too, I know. But I still want you to come back home. Please.”
Home, he’d said. But Lone Tree wasn’t her home. The thought stabbed her.
The coffee was ready. She filled the mugs and put them on the table. She wished she had something sweet to offer him but didn’t even have a bag of cookies. When he took a chair at the table, his size dwarfed the small dinette. She poured milk into each cup directly from the carton then sat opposite him.
When she didn’t speak, he went on. “I was wrong and I admit it. But think about this, Lainie. As far as your mother knew, I didn’t have the slightest idea where she was, but she always knew exactly where I was. That was the choice she made.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“When you were born, I came so close, but...” He sighed heavily, then lurched to his feet and walked to the window to stare outside. “Instead I let stupid pride rule me and watched you grow up from a distance. By the time your mother got sick, it was too late. I couldn’t undo anything, couldn’t change anything. Found out I had no control after all. None.”
Restlessly, he turned and walked to the end table where Lainie had placed a framed portrait of Walter and Elizabeth and herself. “Seemed he was good to her, good for her. Like they had a good marriage.” He sounded hopeful.
“Yes. They did.”
He looked back at her. “I was worse than flabbergasted when you showed up last year. And suspicious.” She made no response, but he made a dismissive gesture with his hand as if she had. “Well, think about it. No way could that have been coincidence. Seemed like now that your mother was dead, you planned on claiming the inheritance she hadn’t wanted. I was going to give you all the rope you needed to hang yourself. But...”
He stopped and shook his head, as if at his own reasoning. “But ever since you were born, Lone Tree was going to be yours anyway.”
Lainie had been looking at her hands in her lap. At his words, her head snapped up. “No. How could I...” She shook her head. “No, Miles.”
“You told me what you’d do if I ever gave you anything.”
She winced. “My words and my responsibility—but I am my mother’s child, and my grandfather’s.”
He laughed. “You got that right, Lainie Sue.”
“The ranch should go to Reed. You know that. He loves it as much as you do and will do justice by it. If you leave it to me, I’ll just give it to him, so why put me in the middle?”
“Because that’s where you are.” His voice held finality.
But again she shook her head, exhibiting, she supposed, the same sense of finality.
He said, hope still in his voice, yet something else signaling the defeat he must fear, “Come back with me, Lainie.”
“I can’t.”
“Reed had nothing to do with what happened. Don’t hold that against him.”
“I don’t.” She sighed, then looked at the window, the door, the walls, as if she might find the words she needed on them. He waited patiently, and she was grateful he didn’t attempt to railroad her. Finally, she said, “Look around you. This is where I live. Not just in this apartment, but the area, the state, this part of the country. I tried to uproot myself, but I never really felt at home on the ranch. Then, leaving the way I did...” She paused fractionally, aware of his flinch, then went on. “I realized there’s no going back. Like you said, we can’t undo what’s done. And, Miles, you didn’t do that all by yourself. I set it up, started it rolling. But now I’m finally back where I belong.”
“What about Reed?”
Lowering her gaze, she wrapped her hands around her coffee mug. “If I can get over him, he can get over me.”
“Not that easy,” he said quietly. “For either one of you.”
She didn’t look up.
“He’s changed, Lainie. I see it because I did it, too, after I lost your grandmother. He still does the same thorough job, but he’s lost the joy of life, of work. All the ranch hands notice. I can tell by the way they act around him.”
Unbidden, pictures flashed into her mind: Reed in the red truck, astride Irish, walking up to her at the Cooper house with both hope and uncertainty in his eyes.
Miles returned and sat at the table. “I don’t miss the irony here. I tried as hard as I could to break up an affair between your mother and a no-account loser, and I couldn’t do it. But I managed, without even trying, to break up the relationship between you and a man I couldn’t love more even if he were my own son.”
He reached, took her hand. “I have even less control over you than her,” he said softly, and she gave him a slow nod. He went on, “If you won’t come back home, then that’s the way it is. But we’re okay. You and me, we’re okay.”
Again she nodded, and then she squeezed his hand, not trusting her voice enough to speak.
“Then I’ll have to settle for that,” he said.
Lainie cooked a meatloaf for dinner—covered with gravy instead of tomato sauce, the way Miles liked it. He slept on the sofa bed. The next day she arranged for time off from work to drive him to SFO. As they stood on the curb outside the terminal, she felt a sweet mixture of sadness and affection for the old man she’d at one time wanted to hit.
“The only other time I called you by your rightful title, it wasn’t with love,” she said with moist eyes. Then she hugged him, her arms around him as tight as she could make them. “But I did learn to love you, Grandfather. And I’m so glad I had the chance to do that.”
He said nothing, but his answering hug was just as long and just as tight.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Healing was slow. Lainie merely accepted the dragging time. She felt incapable of emotion, as if she’d left that part of herself in Texas.
She kept busy, reading a book a week, volunteering at charity centers. She bought another exercise tape. Deciding she needed a change, she stopped highlighting her hair. Once the last of the blond was cut off, she wasn’t pleased with the new look but gave it time. She got a raise at work and her rent went up the same month. She realized a net increase of five dollars and was grateful she wasn’t five bucks in the hole instead.
The company held its employee picnic in June, and she signed up for the softball game. When she looked for something to wear, she realized her western shirt with the glaring colors was missing. She’d left Sacramento in such a blurred hurry, she’d probably left it there. A minor loss, yet her eyes still burned. Shrugging it off, she donned a blue cotton pullover and old jeans. One thing she didn’t miss was boots. Her beat-up sneakers felt li
ke comfortable friends.
The game had barely started when she concluded that riding a horse was safer than playing softball. Instead of rounding second base, she tripped over it and scraped her shin bloody. She played shortstop and in self-defense caught a line drive hit straight at her. It knocked her off her feet, taking the breath out of her, and she landed hard on her rump. Her next time at bat she hit into a double play and collided with the first baseman. She got the worst of it, and he clearly felt so bad about it that he spent the rest of the day trying to make it up to her.
At the end of the game, she spied him again on his way over. She smiled, forestalling another apology. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I was an accident waiting to happen every time I got out on the field. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know. I’ve decided to forgive you for letting me knock you on your can.” He had a nice smile. “Been wondering where you’re from. Got to be somewhere in the south.”
With an inward twinge she jerked her gaze away, then made herself look back. “Actually, I was born right here in California. But I spent a year in Texas. Guess I picked up a little of the accent.”
“I’d call it a lot, not a little. But I like it enough to want to hear more. Will you go out to dinner with me?”
“Oh. Uh...”
He grinned. “It’s the least you can do after running into me so hard that you fell down.”
Would she ever be free of Texas and capable of starting a new life?
At her silence, he glanced down at his ragged jeans and well-worn sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. “Hey, I don’t mean like this. I don’t look half-bad when I get dressed up.”
“It’s not...uh, I mean...” She forced herself to stop and start over. “What I mean is, I can’t. I’m just getting over someone, and, well, thank you anyway.” She didn’t know what he saw in her eyes, but sympathy formed in his. She managed a smile, easing the awkwardness by a fraction. Then when she turned away she forced herself not to run to her car. That night she cried herself to sleep.
Lone Tree Page 27
