THIRTY-FIVE
WHAT THE HELL is so important, James?” Ram asked. “And why must we talk in private? You’re keeping me from my guests!”
“I know,” Reverend Jacobson answered. “But since when did you ever worry about decorum, you old reprobate? You can spare the time.”
Ram closed his study door. After putting a freshly opened Jack Daniel’s bottle and two glasses on his desk, he motioned the reverend toward one of the twin upholstered guest chairs.
Before sitting down, Ram closed the mahogany blinds, shutting out the festivities. He then opened the humidor on his desk and selected a hand-rolled Cuban cigar. After running it under his nose, he cut its tapered end and lit the other. The reformed smoker sitting across from him found the aroma tempting.
Ram quickly sensed the reverend’s need. Smiling, he selected another cigar and offered it to his friend. “Want one?” he asked.
“More than you could ever know,” Jacobson answered.
“Then have one, for Christ’s sake. I’ll never tell anybody. And neither will God.”
Jacobson raised an eyebrow. “How do you know God won’t tell?”
Ram blew some pungent cigar smoke toward the ceiling. “Doesn’t matter, even if he does. No one would believe it. You see, when people talk to God, it’s called prayer. But when God talks to people, it’s called paranoia.”
Jacobson sighed. “Oh, what the hell…”
Ram cut another cigar; the reverend lit it. Ram poured some bourbon for each of them and pushed one of the glasses toward Jacobson. The reverend puffed on his cigar approvingly then sipped his drink.
Ram’s little experiment had worked. If Jacobson was willing to placate Ram by smoking again, his reason for corralling Ram must be an important one. Each man was a master manipulator and always had been. One manipulated in the service of the Lord, while the other did so to serve his family. We each have our cross to bear, Ram thought.
Leaning back in his chair, Ram crossed his feet on the desktop. For the first time tonight, Jacobson realized that Ram was wearing an old pair of scuffed cowboy boots with his tuxedo. Jacobson couldn’t decide whether the effect was comic or sad.
Jacobson shook his head. “You’re wearing boots?”
Ram nodded and took another sip of Jack. “My shindig, my rules. Now what’s so goddamned important? Has St. Andrew’s run out of money, or something?”
“No,” Jacobson said, thoughtfully rolling the glass between his palms. “I’ve come to tell you something, and to also ask a favor of you. I’ve struggled with whether to approach you for some time.”
Ram’s eyebrows lifted. “What is it?”
Jacobson set his glass on the desk before looking back into his old friend’s eyes. “I want you to tell Wyatt your secret,” he said softly.
Ram’s face turned scarlet. “That’s no longer your business, and you know it! I thank you for comforting Phoebe and me when we needed you, but that time has long passed. Leave it alone, James.”
“I know how you feel, but I have my reasons,” Jacobson said.
Ram glared hotly at the reverend. “That doesn’t mean I want to hear them.”
“You might not want to hear them, but you need to hear them,” Jacobson answered. “You’re confusing ‘want’ with ‘need.’ It’s one of your trademarks.”
“Why should I listen to you?” Ram demanded.
“Because something has come to light,” Jacobson answered. “But if I tell you about it, our conversation must never leave this office.”
Ram raised his eyebrows. “Whatever it is, it must be a doozie,” he said. “I can practically see a devil on one of your shoulders and an angel on the other, each of them whispering into opposite ears. I’m glad that I don’t have that problem. Must be confusing as hell.”
Jacobson nodded. “For you, hell is just a theory. For me, it’s an occupational hazard.” He paused for a moment then took another sip of bourbon. “The reason I’m being so insistent is because it concerns Wyatt.”
With a swiftness that belied his seventy-seven years, Ram lifted his feet from his desk and sat upright. “Tell me.”
“Wyatt came to me in confidence not long ago, searching for answers,” Jacobson said. “He wanted to know if I believed that our loved ones look down on us from the afterlife. I’m afraid that I was of little help to him on that score. But something unsettling came out of that conversation, and I thought you should know about it.”
“What is it?” Ram asked.
“Wyatt feels personally responsible for Danny’s and Krista’s deaths,” Jacobson answered. “He is as certain of it as anything in his life. He said that if it hadn’t been his birthday, they’d both still be alive.”
When Ram started to object, Jacobson raised a hand. “There’s more,” he said. “It seems that much of Wyatt’s misplaced grief is rooted in the fact that Danny and Krista went on that fateful errand because he asked them to.”
A stunned look overcame Ram’s face. “I never knew that,” he said quietly.
“Apparently, neither did anybody else,” Jacobson answered. “I know it’s crazy. But I also know how much you can appreciate Wyatt’s feelings. After all, you—”
“You can stop right there,” Ram said. “We both know what you’re talking about, and we agreed to never mention it again. It was a terrible time in my life. I don’t need it resurrected by you or anybody else.”
“That’s just it!” Jacobson protested. “You found a way to forgive yourself. But Wyatt can’t, and it’s slowly killing him. I think that if you tell him, it will help. Besides, it’s time that both your boys knew about it. Keeping it from them is a lie.”
Ram shook his head. “No, it isn’t. Besides, I promised Phoebe that I wouldn’t.”
Jacobson leaned closer. “I believe that you lawyer types call it a lie of omission. And besides, Phoebe isn’t here. If she were, she would agree with me.”
Feeling tired, Jacobson sat back in his chair. Arguing with Ram was always exhausting. He still didn’t know whether Ram would agree to confide in Wyatt, but one thing was certain. If Ram continued to refuse, the reverend had one last card up his sleeve. He didn’t want to play it, because it would hurt the wonderful old man sitting across from him. But if he had to, he would.
From out of nowhere an unexpected image appeared in the reverend’s mind. Being in this secluded office and asking a favor of Ram reminded him of the first scene from The Godfather. While well-wishers enjoyed an elegant party at the family patriarch’s expense, an acquaintance dressed in formal attire was seated before him in his office, humbly requesting a highly difficult favor. In some ways, Ram was like the Godfather. They were both commanding, strong, and often men of few words. And each of them was a patriarch for whom the well-being of his family was paramount. As the wall clock ticked off the seconds, the reverend waited.
Ram finally shook his head. “I won’t do it, James. I can’t.”
“You must,” Jacobson said. “You’ve got a boy who’s in trouble.”
“Goddamn it!” Ram bellowed. “Don’t you think I know that?”
Angrier with himself than with Jacobson, Ram stood and turned around. Out of frustration he opened the blinds and looked out on the party.
Jacobson sighed. It seemed that he must play his trump card, after all. “There’s another reason you should tell him now,” he said.
Ram sighed and lowered his head. “Time,” he said softly.
“Yes,” Jacobson answered. “The sad truth is that one day you will lose your mind. You won’t be able to recognize yourself, much less Wyatt or Morgan. I’m sorry, but there it is. By then, you will have lost your chance forever. Wyatt can still learn something important from his father. Please give him the opportunity before it’s too late.”
As Ram stood there remembering, he closed his eyes. What Jacobson was talking about had occurred long ago. He and Phoebe had been young then, and another of their many hopes was unknowingly taking form. Like so many imp
ortant occurrences in Ram’s life, his memory of it started in this very office…
THE AUTUMN DAY WAS unusually warm even for Florida, as had been the blazing summer that preceded it. The Blaine Law Firm, as it was then known, was but ten years in the making and growing quickly. Morgan was ten years old; Wyatt was six. Fall had officially arrived three weeks before, and the boys had returned to school. In about two more hours, they would be home.
Ram sighed as he focused his attention on the will that he was writing for a prominent Boca businessman. Because it was Friday, he had chosen to finish the work here at the ranch and then enjoy the weekend with his family.
Hearing laughter, he swiveled his chair and looked out the blinds toward the newly constructed swimming pool. Dressed in a one-piece bathing suit, Phoebe laid poolside on a lounge chair.
Their liver-and-white springer spaniel, Calamity, was begging for scraps from the poolside lunch that Aunt Lou had just served. Ram’s lunch lay untouched on a nearby table. Laughing again, Phoebe tore a bit of meat from her hamburger and tossed it into the pool. Calamity eagerly obliged and jumped in after it.
Ram sat there for some time lovingly watching his wife. Despite giving him two boys, her body remained lean and graceful. Her face was lovely, her blue eyes were bright and inviting, and her reddish-brown hair shone in the afternoon sun. She was the only woman he had ever met who could call his bluff, and she knew it. Ram loved her more than life, and despite his increasingly gruff demeanor he could deny her little.
Deciding to eat, he opened the doors of his study and walked across the lawn. Calamity was the first to notice and bounded toward him joyfully. Ram cringed as she shook the pool water from her coat.
He approached Phoebe and kissed her on the forehead. “And how’s my other pet?” he asked.
Phoebe smiled as she adjusted her white sunhat. “Who wouldn’t be fine on a day like this? Have you finished that will, you overpriced shyster?”
Ram took a judicious bite from his hamburger then ran one hand through his dark hair. “Nope. I saw a pretty girl by the pool, so I thought I’d come and see if I could have my way with her.”
“Fat chance, cowboy,” she answered coyly. “Business before pleasure, remember? Somebody has to pay the bills, and because you’re too chauvinistic to let me work, I guess that ‘somebody’ must be you.”
Ram sat down on a pool chair. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, hungrily taking another bite. “You usually…are…”
“Stop talking with your mouth full!” Phoebe ordered teasingly. “Were you raised in a barn?”
Ram laughed and pointed toward the stables. “Pretty much.”
Phoebe leaned back in her chair and looked out over the shimmering pool. Across the way stood the boys’ playground. Ram had ordered its construction eight years before. It had a slide, a sandbox, and several adult-size swings. The boys no longer used it, and Ram intended on tearing it down. Phoebe then returned her gaze to the man she loved so much.
She grinned as she watched Ram finish his lunch. Grabbing a napkin, she wiped some errant ketchup from his mouth.
“Now get back to work,” she said laughingly. “Like I said, somebody around here’s got to pay the bills!”
After giving her another kiss, Ram returned to his office and refocused his attention on his work. Realizing that he needed to consult a law volume, he left his chair and walked toward the massive bookcase lining the far wall.
Just then he heard Calamity bark and Phoebe laugh. Smiling, he stopped and looked out the sliding glass door to see what was going on. Phoebe was swinging wildly on one of the old playground swings. Calamity was barking madly and running back and forth, trying to keep pace with her mistress’s speedy rhythm.
Just then Phoebe’s and Ram’s world changed forever, as one of the swing chains let loose from the top rail, sending Phoebe flying. Screaming, she landed hard some thirty feet away and tumbled end over end. His heart in his throat, Ram tore from the office and ran to her. When he turned her over, she tried to smile.
“I guess I should have let you have your way with me after al….,” she said weakly.
Crazed with worry, Ram looked into her eyes. “Are you all right?” he demanded.
Phoebe slowly moved each limb to find that they all worked. “I guess so. Help me up.”
But as Ram started bringing her to her feet, she gasped and her eyes went wide. Then she suddenly collapsed in his arms. She reached up with one hand to weakly grasp his sleeve.
“Oh, my God…,” she said, just before passing out.
Phoebe recovered, but the newly conceived child within her had died on the spot. Even she had not yet known she was pregnant. When the doctors told them, Ram and Phoebe were desolate. They had wanted another child, preferably a girl. But now, that was not to be. Worse, Phoebe would bear no more children. After spending two days in a Boca hospital, she returned home.
Aunt Lou and Big John knew of the tragedy, because they had come running immediately after Phoebe fainted. The other hands understood, too, but over time they all left for different work and were replaced. Because the ambulance arrived before Morgan and Wyatt came home from school, the boys remained unaware. To protect them from worry during Phoebe’s time away from the ranch, Ram told his sons that she had gone to visit her sister.
While Phoebe lay sedated in the hospital, that very night Ram used a sledgehammer to personally demolish the accursed swing set. Big John heard the noise and came out, offering to help. With tears streaming down his face, Ram angrily ordered him away. He alone would destroy the thing that had killed his unborn child, he said. After nodding sorrowfully, Big John trudged back to the house.
Immediately after, Ram’s guilt over not dismantling the swing set sooner began crushing his spirit. He had suspected that it needed to come down, but because the boys no longer used it, and because of his constant busyness with the ranch and his law firm, he had put it off. Instead, he had allowed it to kill his unborn daughter, and injure his beloved Phoebe. When he confessed to Phoebe in the hospital, she forgave him on the spot. But the self-forgiveness that Ram needed would come much harder, and be years in the making.
When she returned home, Phoebe begged him never to tell Wyatt and Morgan. No good could come from recounting the tale, she said. It would only rekindle his grief, and instill unneeded pain in their boys. And so their sons were never told, and life went on…
WHEN RAM TURNED AROUND to again face Jacobson, his eyes were moist. The reverend looked at his glass for a time, then back at his friend’s face.
“Phoebe was never angry with you,” he offered. “There was no need—you blamed yourself enough for two. Yes, you should have dismantled the damned thing sooner. But what’s done is done. After all, you didn’t know that it would give way. And who could have guessed that Phoebe would ever do that? Self-recrimination is death to one’s soul, Ram. It made no more sense for you back then than it does for Wyatt now.”
“I know,” Ram answered.
“I also know how close you are to your boys,” Jacobson said. “But this secret wall between you and them must come down, if for no other reason than Wyatt needs you right now. It’s amazing how such destructive barriers can grow up between people who love each other. And oddly enough, sometimes they’re easily ignored. You have to tell him, Ram. It’s what Phoebe would want.”
Ram wiped his eyes. “Wyatt is right.”
“About what?” the reverend asked.
“You really do know how to hit below the belt.”
“You should see the other tools in my godly skill set,” Jacobson answered. “So will you tell him?”
Ram took a deep breath. “I’ll try.”
“Thank you,” Jacobson answered. “It seems that I owe you. I’ll leave my payment right here.”
Jacobson crushed out his cigar, telling Ram that he understood its meaning. His work finished, he left the study and quietly closed the door. After staring blankly at the door for a time, Ram closed
his eyes.
He had of course long understood Wyatt’s grief over the loss of his wife and son. And illogical as it might be, he also suspected that Wyatt might somehow hold himself accountable for their deaths. But until tonight, Ram had never grasped the full depth of Wyatt’s personal guilt. And like Jacobson had said, the dual walls of tragedy that had grown between him and Wyatt had kept each of them from telling the other his secret. Like father, like son, he thought.
Feeling emotionally spent, Ram sat down heavily in his chair. The other part of what Jacobson had said was also true. Ram had largely forgiven himself for that awful day. But could he impart that wisdom to Wyatt? Would he be able to find the right words to help his troubled son?
Ram reached out and poured another two fingers of bourbon. As he sipped it, his tears came again. Then he grasped the beloved old photo of Phoebe that sat on the desk.
“If only you were here, my darling,” he said softly. “I could use your help just now…”
THIRTY-SIX
AS THE PARTY wound down, Gabby glanced at Trevor. He looked handsome in his new blazer and slacks. He was eagerly chatting with Sally, causing Gabby to more fully realize how close they had become. With her Goth appearance banished for the night, Sally looked positively transformed. She wore a tasteful red party dress, with matching heels.
It was going on one A.M., and the formal dinner had ended hours ago. Most of the guests had left for home, leaving a few diehards partying inside the big house or gliding about the dance floor. Gabby couldn’t compare this ball to previous ones, but if the guests’ merriment had counted for anything, tonight had been a roaring success. Wyatt had left the table about half an hour ago to mingle with his remaining guests. Gabby guessed that Ram and Morgan were doing the same.
Gabby stared down at the remnants of her baked Alaska. There remained much that she wanted to say to Wyatt, even though the night was ending. Her best chance had been while they danced, but the moment had carried her away. During dinner, decorum had demanded that their conversation remain superficial. And so she bided her time, hoping that he would return to her.
If Wishes Were Horses Page 24
