by Alice Ward
“Mom, I want to go on the boat with you,” Marga was whining. “It’s so boring here. Nothing but old people. You won’t let me go anywhere so I’m going with you.”
She knew very well that I had planned a night for Worth and me, alone. This was her way of getting back at me.
“No, your father and I are going alone,” I told her firmly. “You, young lady, are going to stay in tonight and watch television with your grandfather and Letty.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I won’t. I’m going out.”
“If you walk out that door, the car will disappear before you get home.”
“I hate you,” she screamed and slammed her bedroom door.
“I know, I know,” I answered, remembering the words of my own youth.
Worth and I left later that afternoon to board the boat. I brought supplies and had intended to cook lobster for us, but Worth told me to just sit by him and enjoy the sunset while the captain took us out into the Gulf. “We can eat crackers, cheese and one another,” he teased me, and I was content.
“As wonderful as that all sounds, I hope you won’t mind if I at least make us sandwiches later. I wouldn’t want you to think of me as a sex symbol,” I said, winking back.
Our boat was substantial, large enough to sail anywhere in the world. It had been going to waste. Since Margaret died, Dad had lost interest in going out on it, and I didn’t blame him. Worth and I needed to make a decision about whether keeping it was worthwhile. It wasn’t the money. There’s a certain guilt with having major possessions that you never utilized. Having wealth was one thing, wasting it was another.
Personally speaking, if the kids were settled in college, I’d have no problem living at the condo and using the boat all winter long. I had some horses boarded in Florida and could be quite happy with just that. I realized then that I was getting a bit tired of the farm business. It wasn’t the work. I’d never shied away from that. It was more about the leash of needing to be available. There was so much at stake. The horses we cared for were worth multi-millions, and one bad call could create unbelievable problems.
Worth and I settled into deck chairs. I’d put on some cute capris pants and a matching crop top that ended just below my breasts. I knew it was a bit tantalizing, and that was exactly the effect I was after. Since the rekindling of our romance last night, I was all the more aware of how much I’d missed Worth’s lovemaking. It’s a glue that kept a couple together. The only time we seemed to be truly open and trusting with one another.
I could see in Worth’s eyes that he appreciated my appearance. I realized then that all he’d seen me in for ages was farm clothes. That was hardly the haute couture that made a man sizzle. Perhaps it had been my resentment against his self-involvement that caused me to become the same. Our problems weren’t all due to him. Not by any stretch. I’d contributed my own in retaliation.
Our eldest son was good at retaliation as well, and unfortunately, Marga wore the same crown. Mark was too compassionate to resort to that. I liked to think he took after my dad in that respect. He held nothing but love and positive commitments to those in his life. There were a lot of lessons there to be learned.
Worth held out his hand, and I put mine into it. It was so lovely, cruising the Gulf, which was relatively calm that evening. The moon shone a torch of light across the waves. It was so romantic. Worth’s hand dropped mine and slid slowly up beneath my top. He cupped my breasts, and his index finger caressed my nipples, causing a flood of warmth and moistness in my pussy. He knew me so well.
“Last night was long in coming,” he said, and I grinned at his pun.
“I missed you too.”
“Let’s not ever let it go that long again,” he suggested, and I nodded. His hand was getting to me. He knew very well what he was doing. I wouldn’t argue or second guess him as long as he made my knees melt.
“I don’t want Brandon hanging around the farm any longer,” he said in an even voice.
At first, I thought he was kidding, and I smiled, still lulled into that mellow place by the movement of his finger.
“That’ll be the day,” I laughed gently. “Especially now.”
“Auggie, I’m serious. I don’t want him around. You don’t need him, and if you need an attorney, there are a hundred more just like him.”
I jerked upright and pushed his hand away from me. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s been a sore spot for us from the beginning. It’s better for sore spots to heal.”
I swiveled in the chair to look at him straight on. “Brandon has been a friend to me through thick and thin. I’ve known him since we were in college, even longer than I’ve known you. What makes you think I’m going to throw him into the cold just because you can’t get a grip on whatever jealous bone is making you say these things out of the blue?”
“I thought you loved me.”
“This has nothing to do with love, Worth. At least not my love for you. I’m allowed to have friends, even close friends. You do. You’re around women all day, and I never say a thing. And let’s just say that between the two of us, you have the reputation for carousing, not me.”
“Auggie, why won’t you do this for me? If he means nothing to you, then ask him to stay away.”
“That’s just it. He does mean something to me. He had my back through some dark times, and yours as well, although you were too stubborn to admit it. And if you will remember, he’s not coming to the farm to see me.”
“I don’t need Brandon Knotts. Evidently, it seems that you do.”
“Worth, you’re being absolutely childish. I won’t continue this conversation a moment longer. It’s just ridiculous.”
“Auggie, I’m serious. I want him gone.”
I exhaled in a gust of revolt. “I don’t think so, Worth. He’s my friend. He’s not going anywhere. And I won’t do that to Lily. They’re attracted to each other. To not let Brandon come around could mean losing my farm manager. Losing my farm manager means I can’t come down here with you or spend time with you anywhere. I’ll be tied to the livestock. That aside, it’s unconscionable that you would ask this of me. There’s no basis whatsoever for your paranoia.”
“Let’s not argue, Auggie. It’s been so good.”
“What you mean to say is ‘Do as I tell you, Auggie, and I’ll make sure you feel loved and trusted.’ You’re deliberately withholding your affection, aren’t you? You’re making our relationship conditional on getting your way. Fuck me real good, then I’ll do as you want. It’s not as if I’ve ever had any personal interest in Brandon. If I’d wanted that, I’d have had plenty of chances. No, this is all about control and getting your way.”
“Auggie, don’t go there.”
“You’re damned right I’ll go there!” I said, my voice raised and fire in my eyes. “Our entire marriage has all been about Worthington LaViere getting his way. I’ve sacrificed relationships with my family for you. I’ve set my own goals aside if they didn’t coincide with yours. I don’t need you, Worth. Not in that way. I don’t need the money, and I don’t need the leash.”
“I—”
I held up a hand, then waved it around. “Look what you’ve done to this family! Hawk has changed his name and locks his mother out with electronic gates. Marga isn’t speaking to me because you bought her a new car and let her run wild with your half-assed parenting. The only one who is fairly normal is Mark, and that’s because you barely give him the time of day. He doesn’t have a problem with you because you leave him alone. That boy is aching to step into your shoes. He wants to take over the farm and be responsible. He’s like my dad in that respect. He’s going to be a very good man, but he simply needs the tools and the opportunity to prove it to you. I heard about how you treated him on those driving lessons. You were condescending and impatient. That’s no way to teach your son.”
“So, now I’m personally responsible for every little problem this family has ever had, is that it?
Am I responsible for your mother’s indiscretions? For Linc kidnapping our son? For Linc’s death?”
“Think about it, Worth. Whether you liked it or not, whether you felt it was fair or not — Linc was your brother, and he did deserve to inherit his legacy. You were the younger brother, and yet you lorded it over him. You didn’t give him a single chance. You didn’t like how he acted so you booted him out of your life. It’s no wonder it drove him insane.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, Auggie. He was your brother too. Did your dad include him in his will? Did you welcome him with open arms to your dinner table? Hell no, you didn’t. Why not?”
“Because you wouldn’t let me!”
That took the breath out of him. In that one sentence, I laid the guilt for the entire saga of sorrow that had beset our family at his two feet. There was no covering it up. I was holding him responsible. I was furious.
“With great power comes great responsibility, Worth. Only you’ve never gotten that part. You go out and wave your power wand and then step back and let others clean up the mess. I didn’t see you reaching a hand out to Hawk. I didn’t see you take Mark driving quietly, just the two of you. Oh no, instead, you make him feel insecure and inferior to his sister. She ribbed him about that for weeks. Children live up to what their parents expect from them. You were suspicious and cold about Hawk even from him being a little boy. You showed him no attention at all and when the result was that he ran wild, you, a licensed, well-known psychologist to the millionaires, sent him down the road to be ‘fixed’ by one of your colleagues. What sort of message did that send to him? I’ll tell you what. It said, ‘Don’t bother me with your problems. I’m too busy being Worthington LaViere, III and wearing the crown!’”
“How dare you… you… bitch!”
The space between us went silent. It filled, instead, with an acidic hatred that surpassed anything I’d ever felt before. My voice was low and even as I said, “Well, that’s a new low, even for you, Worth. It’s easier to call me unthinkable names, not even six hours out of our lovemaking bed than to accept responsibility for who you are. I may not be perfect, Worth, but at least I own it.”
I lunged out of my chair and went inside to the master stateroom. I locked myself inside and threw myself on the bed and sobbed. How could such a perfect night and morning erode into the hell in which I now found myself?
I heard Worth moving around, but he didn’t come near my stateroom. The boat was silent except for the props that spun us closer back to the dock. When we finally arrived, I slid out of the stateroom ahead of Worth, and the captain handed me off to the dock. I sprinted home to the condo and swept open the door to find a scene from hell awaiting me.
Dad was lying prone on the floor, and Marga was performing her version of CPR. Letty was pacing with a phone in her hand, and I heard phrases like, “on the floor,” “not conscious,” “we’re trying, but we don’t know what we’re doing,” and “hurry.” I fell onto my knees next to Dad and felt for his pulse. It was barely there, and he wasn’t breathing. Someone had slid a cushion beneath his head. I jerked it out and tipped his head backward, opening his mouth with my fingers. I gently pushed Marga back out of the way with one hand as I began mouth to mouth breathing. I alternated this with thumping and pressing on his chest in evenly-spaced rhythms. I hadn’t done anything like this in my life — but had seen it done one time at a motel pool by a lifeguard. I prayed I was doing it correctly.
Letty was letting someone in, and soon the room was full of emergency personnel. They pushed me to one side and took over, pulling out the paraphernalia for oxygen. One of them filled a large syringe and plunged it into his chest. I guessed it was adrenalin but was so traumatized that I barely recognized what was going on in the room.
A gurney materialized, and the wheels were locked into place. They loaded Dad atop it and wheeled quickly out of the condo, rushing down to the waiting ambulance via the elevator. I grabbed my purse and shouted at Marga. “Get your dad, he’s on the boat!” I ran behind the emergency techs, and the ambulance had already pulled away before I made it downstairs. I suddenly realized I had no car; we had only planned to stay a couple of weeks. I looked at a police officer who was calling in his report, and he popped open the door of his squad car. I wasted no time.
At the hospital ER, Dad was being worked on in one of the cardiac cubicles. They wouldn’t allow me in, so I sat in a family waiting room, shaking from stress and fear. One of the nurses came in and saw my condition and came back with a blanket and a mild sedative a doctor had given for me. I was huddling there when the door opened and Worth, Marga, Mark, and Letty materialized in the room. Despite our argument, Worth was calm and professional, yet surprisingly loving. He asked to speak to someone, using his doctor credentials and momentarily left the room. Marga and Mark sat on either side of me, their arms over my back, patting me.
The door opened, and Worth reappeared, his face pale. He was gently shaking his head, tears running down his face as he said, “Auggie, honey, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. He’s gone.”
At that point, any sounds that may have been in the room disappeared into a vacuum. I felt sucked into a sense of unreality. I couldn’t feel my legs and my mind began to process the tiny inconsequential; such as whether they had Dad’s insurance card and what we had planned for dinner. I thought of everything that meant nothing because the tsunami of pain that was descending over me was not survivable.
Images of Dad flooded me. I saw him lifting me atop my first pony and leading me around the soft grass next to the house, my mother watching and giving orders for my safety. I saw his face filled with pride when I handed him Ford and told him we had included his family in naming the baby. I remembered Dad’s patient solace and sitting in the woods when Mother became too much to take. That was all gone. There would be no more loving hugs, no words of wisdom. All that disappeared with his last breath — and I hadn’t even been there with him. Instead, I’d been fighting on a boat bobbing around on the water. My heart felt as though it was being crushed with the pain of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Auggie
Snowflakes fell with abandon on the opened grave next to Margaret. The bronze casket rested nearby on a dais, looking for all the world like a ship that was about to be launched into an endless sea. Despite the chill, hundreds of people stood about us, their accumulative bodies shielding me from the blustery wind that tossed leaves into that earthen hole. Worth’s arm was around me on one side. Mark and Marga were on the other.
Unbelievably, Hawk had come and had held me in his arms while I cried. It had taken the passing of the man I’d loved the longest, to bring another back to me.
We left Dad there with his friends as witnesses to see him through. I couldn’t bear to think of the hole that awaited him and stood, stumbling my way toward the limo that waited. Worth put me inside and climbed in beside me. I don’t think it was until I heard that limo door gently close that everything hit me. I began to shake uncontrollably and the tears came in choking waves. I could barely breathe. Worth held me against his chest, but I pushed him away. I needed air. Cold, cold air. I ordered the driver to lower the windows — all of them. I told him to drive fast, to make the frigid air encase me in its numbing maelstrom. I didn’t care if anyone else was cold. Their cold couldn’t match what I felt inside.
Why didn’t I feel this when Mother died? I continued to ask myself that question but didn’t seem to really need an answer. Perhaps it was because I already had one. When Mother died, there was no loss.
I couldn’t make myself go to the wake. I wouldn’t sit quietly at a table and receive the pity and meaningless expressions of condolences from people who weren’t truly affected. They would leave to their cozy houses, put the pot roast in the oven and turn on the Cardinals game. They would call one another on the phone and gossip about Walter Langford’s funeral — who had shown up and who had not. They would discuss what I’d worn and how I’d left b
efore anyone, as though I was angry. Most of them, however, would talk about how the eldest LaViere boy had finally come home.
I spent the winter in mourning and for the first time in my life, really understood the term. The holidays came and went, and while I showed up at the table and smiled at the appropriate times, it was Letty who did the cooking and Marga who supervised the decorations. Lily kept her distance, not because she was avoiding me but because she was busy with the farm. Hawk and Liane spent the holidays with her dad, and while that may have been a convenient excuse to stay away from Carlos Acres, it was plausible enough that I could accept it.
I realized that I had fallen into a grieving depression. Worth saw it long before I could and tried to begin intimate chats in the living room or in his study. He encouraged me to open up and talk about how I felt. Somehow, I couldn’t separate my husband from the therapist, and it really didn’t feel right. He suggested that I talk to Deborah, but that idea felt worse. From time to time, I drove to Dad’s grave and talked to him. It was the only thing that helped.
While Worth was solicitous, there was that wall that could not be breached. I’d laid the words upon his back, the day Dad died. He carried the burden of them with a bit of martyrdom, but never laid them back on me. Professionally, he knew what I was going through and was caring enough not to add more to me. Personally, however, he’d never felt true grief. I don’t think he was capable of it. He’d insulated himself in a world where no one could reach him. It had been a survival instinct he’d honed when he was a young boy and his father had beaten him. Perhaps it came naturally to him since Hawk seemed to be the same way. I would never know. I couldn’t find my way out of the darkness long enough to gain perspective.
Even though I knew it was from Liane’s urgings, Hawk stopped by from time to time, but only when he knew that Worth wouldn’t be at home. We sat in the family room, and he talked. If there was anything redeeming about that winter, it would be that I grew closer to my first born son again. He told me of the years living in Mexico and how Bernie had valiantly tried to hide his sexual preferences from an unforgiving community. He told me Bernie had taken care of him the night he’d been attacked; sewing up his slashed skin. I grieved for Bernie that winter as well.
