A Love for All Seasons

by Bettye Griffin

  “My advice to you on that front is not to let him go. From what you’ve told me he cares for you deeply. It would be a terrible mistake to end such a promising relationship just because you want to be stubborn.” Dr. Tucker paused. “Let Jack Devlin into your heart, Alicia.”

  Chapter 35

  Yesterday

  Alicia rubbed the top of Lucky’s head. The dog had climbed onto the center console and whimpered. “We’re almost there,” she said affectionately.

  Alicia drove down the street at a speed of about fifteen miles an hour, which allowed her to take in every detail. The block on the outskirts of downtown Hartford looked much like any other urban neighborhood. The streets were quiet at the noon hour, with a few elderly pedestrians carrying grocery bags, young mothers pushing baby strollers, and a few young people, probably unemployed, entering the pizzeria around the corner. A few hours from now the block would probably come alive as children arrived home from school. She could picture them stopping in at the corner store for potato chips and soda, or at the pizzeria for a slice. She’d driven past a liquor store with a walk-up window, and there was a bus stop at the corner. A few older model vehicles were parked on either side of the street, with plenty of spaces still available while most people were still at work.

  Alicia pulled into a vacant space across the street from the four-story walk-up apartment house, its dark brick in need of a good steam cleaning. No doubt about it, she was looking at a poor neighborhood. She doubted the block looked any more prosperous even thirty-five years ago. The people who lived here kept a roof over their heads and kept their children fed and well-dressed, but probably could afford few extras. Instead of flying down to Disney World in Florida, children here probably got treated to the Six Flags Amusement Park in nearby Agawam, Massachusetts.

  She leaned on the steering wheel and gazed at the structure, waiting for memories to stir, but none did. She might as well be looking at her own apartment house on West Eighty-Fifth Street. The best she could do was wonder if any of these front windows belonged to her birth parents’ former apartment.

  The apartment building stirred no memories, but the park down the street did. Alicia kept staring at it from her seat behind the steering wheel. Finally she got out of the car and walked half a block down the street for a better look, holding on to Lucky’s leash and keeping him close so he wouldn’t step on any of the broken glass that littered the sidewalk.

  She stood on the sidewalk looking in at a sadly neglected play area. The fence separating it from the sidewalk had been bent in spots. The swings looked rusted and decrepit, and neither of the two basketball hoops had nets. An unknown whitish substance streaked the slide, and it looked like the monkey bars had been removed entirely. A wire trash bin was only half full, but the ground around it was littered with crushed plastic pop bottles, empty potato chip bags, and candy and gum wrappers. Surely no one played in such a dismal park anymore; it was probably used for drug transactions.

  The detective she hired managed to track down a woman who lived downstairs from her parents nearly forty years before, a Mrs. Geneva Kelly. He contacted her on Alicia’s behalf, and Mrs. Kelly agreed to speak with her. She now made her home with her married daughter and was in failing health. Alicia hoped her memory proved to be as sharp as she told the detective it was.

  Alicia consulted the directions when she exited the highway. Her detective provided her with excellent directions, and she soon drove up to the blue shingled Cape Cod house on a quiet street. Carefully tended shrubs lined the front of the house, and black shutters and dormer windows on the upper level gave it a homey look. She felt grateful that Mrs. Kelly agreed to talk to her.

  “Lucky, I’ll have to leave you here,” she said. She’d stopped at Martha’s and picked up the dog, a wise move on her part. She felt much more at ease with Lucky in the car with her. “I’ll be back in a little while. Wish me luck.”

  She rang the doorbell, which was promptly answered by a woman in her late forties, a man about the same age hovering behind her. “Miss Timberlake?” the woman said.

  “Yes. You must be Mrs. Clark.”

  “This is my husband, Larry.”

  Alicia nodded. “Mr. Clark. Thank you so much for allowing me to come to your home. Mrs. Kelly was the only neighbor my detective was able to track down after all this time, and it’s very important to me that I get to talk with her.” She doubted that a typical Thursday afternoon would find a couple in their forties around the house, but she understood their concern about a stranger coming to question Mrs. Kelly.

  “I understand completely,” Mrs. Clark said. “Please come in.”

  Alicia wiped her feet and entered the house. An elderly woman of seventy-odd sat in the living room, her Reddi-Whip white hair, styled in a bun at the top of her head, a striking contrast to her brown face. Fingers slightly bent from mild arthritis worked a crochet needle, expanding a blue-and-white square.

  “I’d know you anywhere,” she said in a deep, rich voice that reflected her many years of living. “You look just like Norma Jean.”

  Alicia smiled. “I do?”

  “Absolutely. Come right here and sit down.” Mrs. Kelly patted the empty space on the sofa.

  “Thank you.” She did as she was told. “Mrs. Kelly, I wanted to thank you for agreeing to see me today.”

  “No need for that.” She removed her glasses and beamed at Alicia. “I’ve often wondered what became of you. My husband and I offered to take you in ourselves, but the police were worried that we might be putting ourselves in danger if Norma Jean and Cliff came back for you, so they put you in a foster home.”

  “I appreciate that, Mrs. Kelly.”

  “After…after everything was over we did speak to Social Services about raising you as one of our own. I used to take care of you a lot while your mother slipped out for a few minutes.”

  “To be with Cliff?”

  The old woman nodded. “My husband, Joe, told me to stop. He’d already heard rumors about Norma Jean being seen with Cliff, and he said it would only be a matter of time before Ben found out. He worked hard, your father.”

  “At the dairy plant?”

  “Yes, but he also had a second job, as a short-order cook at a bowling alley. He wanted to provide well for you and your mother, but he was out working so much of the time, and Norma Jean felt neglected.” Mrs. Kelly sighed. “Your mother was really a sweet girl, but she’d taken on marriage and motherhood too young. She was just twenty-two years old, and your father two years older.”

  Alicia nodded. She’d read all about it in the newspaper. “I know.”

  “Norma Jean married Ben right out of high school. She grew up in the foster care system and was probably anxious to have a family of her own, even though it turned out not to be nearly as exciting as she thought it would be. As for Ben, he practically raised himself. His mother died when he was about eight, and his father barely kept a roof over their heads.” She shook her head. “That boy had it tough. And because of that he wanted all the best for you, Alicia.”

  “You knew my grandparents?” she asked, surprised.

  “I knew Ben’s father. I don’t think I ever saw his mother around much, probably because she was ill a lot of the time and stayed inside. We all lived in the same neighborhood, and everybody knew at least a little bit about everybody else. I didn’t know Ben other than by sight until he and Norma Jean moved in upstairs from us. But everybody knew old Mr. Clements. We’d see him Sunday mornings, coming in from his latest drunk. He’d been a heavy drinker even before his wife died. After she passed he just lost it. They only kept him on in the shipping department of that manufacturing plant because he’d been there for years, and because he had a son to support. Poor Ben did what he could to take care of his father.” Mrs. Kelly’s eyes took on a faraway look. “A fine young man, he was. If things had worked out…if Norma Jean had never taken up with that no-good Clifton Matthews….”

  “What kind of relationship did I have
with my parents, Mrs. Kelly?”

  “You were a daddy’s girl. No doubt about it. He used to take you out in the neighborhood all the time, bring you to the store for little treats, or to the playground. He just adored you.

  “You loved your mother, of course,” she added hastily. “But she could be impatient with you, a little sharp. I witnessed it many times. She didn’t mean it, Alicia. She just felt frustrated with the repetitiveness of her life. She wanted more. Clifton Matthews represented excitement. He was a minor drug dealer and had been to jail numerous times. It was rumored he had a cut in a huge supermarket robbery. He was a flashy dresser, drove a nice car and always had money in his pockets. Norma Jean was a pretty girl, and still young.

  “Like I said, I used to keep you when she went out to meet him until my Joe told me to stay out of it, that Ben would be angry at us for accommodating Norma Jean when he found out. Norma Jean didn’t like it much when I told her. She got real bold then, inviting Cliff to the apartment when Ben was at work.

  “Were you the one who called the police that night?” Alicia knew Mrs. Kelly would know what night she referred to.

  “Yes. Joe and I were watching McMillan and Wife on TV, so it must have been a Sunday night. Our daughters were getting ready for school the next day. We heard shouting coming from your apartment. That in itself wasn’t unusual. Ben and Norma Jean were always arguing about this or that. But it wasn’t Ben and Norma Jean. Ben was arguing with another man. I remember Joe saying to me, ‘That must be Cliff.’ I knew then there would be trouble.

  “Ben screamed at him to stay away from his wife. I hoped Cliff would just leave, but in hindsight I know he went over there looking for trouble. When we heard the two of them rolling around on the floor I told Joe to call the police. We went upstairs behind them.” Mrs. Kelly’s eyes filled with tears. “Your father lay face up on the floor, and you were sitting beside him, trying to wake him up. You thought he was sleeping.” Mrs. Kelly bent her head to wipe her eyes.

  “Your parents were nice people, Alicia. They made a good-looking couple, your mother so short and your father easily a foot taller. A lot of neighbors painted her as the bad girl in what happened and your father as an innocent victim. I don’t agree. It’s true that Ben only wanted the best for his family, but Norma Jean wasn’t a bad girl. She just made a bad decision, one that eventually had a high price.” Mrs. Kelly looked up as her daughter entered the room. “What’s this, Jackie?”

  “I thought you two might like a little snack.” Jackie Clark set a tray down on the coffee table, within easy reach for the women. It contained two glasses, a small pitcher and two small plates, one holding a cheese ball and crackers and the other assorted cookies. “Enjoy.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Clark,” Alicia said, reaching for a glass. She’d been so mesmerized by what she’d learned from Geneva Kelly that she hadn’t realized she was thirsty.

  “You’re welcome. And call me Jackie.” She disappeared into another room.

  “You’d better get some sleep,” Mrs. Kelly called after her. To Alicia she said, “Jackie is a nurse on the night shift. She works ten-hour shifts three nights a week, thirty hours total. They consider that to be full time, so she gets all the benefits. Plus she gives me my dialysis treatments here at home.”

  “It’s convenient to have a nurse in the family, isn’t it?” she said politely.

  “I’ll say. The best I could do was working in the hospital laundry. But Joe and I saw to it that both our girls got good educations. My other daughter lives in Springfield. She’s got a good job at an insurance company.” The pride in Mrs. Kelly’s voice was undeniable.

  During the rest of their time together, Mrs. Kelly provided Alicia with anecdotes about her and her parents. In turn, Alicia brought Mrs. Kelly up to date about her life, covering her adoption by the Timberlakes, her privileged upbringing, first in Stamford and later in Green’s Farms, the death of her adoptive parents, even about the court stenography business she owned a piece of.

  “What about your personal life, dear?” Mrs. Kelly asked. “You’re such a pretty girl. Do you have a fella? Or maybe you’re already married with children of your own.”

  Alicia shook her head. “I broke up with someone a couple of weeks ago, so I’m back on the market.”

  “I hope you find someone, dear. My girls have both been fortunate in that respect. They got good husbands. My son-in-law is an angel. He takes as good care of me as Jackie.” She patted Alicia’s hand. “But you’ll find someone.”

  Alicia merely smiled, but inside she thought of Jack and suddenly felt like crying.

  When she bid Mrs. Kelly and her daughter and sonin-law goodbye nearly two hours later, Alicia felt cleansed and comforted. Mrs. Kelly had done something all the newspaper articles and court transcripts couldn’t do—she brought her parents to life. Alicia could sense her young mother’s boredom, her despair that life was passing her by, her viewing the man who would eventually end her life as exciting rather than a no-good small time criminal. Her memories of her father were clearer, but thanks to Mrs. Kelly she understood him better as well. She could feel how much he loved her just like she could feel her shoulder bag bouncing off her hip.

  She waved to Mrs. Kelly as she drove away, then patted Lucky’s head. “Well, chum, I’m having no more of that orphaned little nobody stuff,” she said to the dog. “I’m one lucky girl.”

  She didn’t plan to go back to Dr. Tucker, but she did hold on to her telephone number just in case. The most pressing issue was behind her now. She knew where she came from. All that remained was to try to forget about Jack Devlin. She simply wasn’t ready to be taken over lock, stock, and barrel, like a brand-new Chevy, and that was what he wanted.

  Something told her this would be the hardest chore of all.

  Chapter 36

  I Forgot To Remember To Forget

  Jack raised his racquet to return his opponent’s serve. He enjoyed playing racquetball. He found it an excellent way to burn off stress…an emotion in no short supply these days.

  He’d earned accolades at work for the project he’d overseen that was unveiled back in January. The country boy from Alabama had impressed the big boys, even the small boys who didn’t think him sophisticated enough to be a major player. The campaign he designed to help combat the negative press after a highly touted new drug performed poorly in tests resulted in an impressive holiday bonus for him. He’d promptly been handed another major assignment.

  He didn’t complain; it kept him busy, which meant he had less time to spend thinking about Alicia.

  He hadn’t seen or heard from her since the day he left her apartment the morning after their huge blowup, and he missed her terribly. In spite of the emotional turmoil he felt, he knew that unless she changed her views on love that they would never be happy. Breaking it off now would possibly save him years of frustration.

  His social life had been reduced to impersonal games of racquetball with whoever was around, once weekly drinks with members of his staff at a bar near the office, and an occasional dinner with Pete and Rhonda. At the last one a week ago, Rhonda, now visibly pregnant, announced happily that they had a plan to accelerate their savings and help them get into a home of their own within eighteen months.

  “Rhonda,” Pete said in a warning tone.

  “Why shouldn’t he know?”

  Jack hated it when people talked about him like he wasn’t there. “What shouldn’t he know?” he said dryly. “You’re moving in with Rhonda’s parents or something? What’s so secret about that?”

  “Sorry, Jack,” Pete said sheepishly. “I didn’t know if it would be a topic you’d want to hear about. It involves Alicia.”

  The Robinsons knew about the breakup, but tactfully refrained from asking questions…or from saying the dreaded, “I told you so.” Jack tried without success to keep the anxiousness out of his voice. “Alicia? What about her?”

  “Rhonda and I are going to sublet her apartment. It’s small
, but she’ll rent it to us for half of what we’re paying now.”

  “That’s why we figured we’d only stay for a year, a year-and-a-half tops,” Rhonda added. “By then we’ll have plenty added to our house fund, and the baby will just be starting to walk.”

  “It was either that or move in with my in-laws,” Pete said. “I’d rather live in one large room than have my mother-in-law around every day.”

  “Watch it, Pete,” Rhonda said, her grin proving that her threatening tone wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. “That happens to be my mother you’re talking about.”

  “I love your mother, baby. I just don’t want to live with her, that’s all.”

  The exchange hardly registered with Jack. “That’s awfully generous of Alicia,” he remarked, thinking of what she said about inheriting additional money from her mother. “I guess she’s picking up the difference?”

  “No, actually she’s making a few dollars on the deal. Her rent is only six hundred and something. We’ll pay her seven hundred.”

  Jack found that incredible. “I know it’s only a studio, but I thought that in New York even one-room apartments rented for over a thousand dollars. How can a place as nice as hers rent for only six hundred a month?”

  “Six hundred thirty-seven dollars and eighty-three cents,” Rhonda said. “But it wasn’t so nice when she first rented it, oh, I don’t know, six or seven years ago. Remember, Pete?”

  “I’ll never forget it.” Pete wrinkled his nose. “Picture it, Jack. Layers of filthy linoleum filled with cigarette burns, the floors sinking in some areas, yellow-stained walls, and holes everywhere. It took a heck of a lot of tubs of compound to fill in all those holes. And the bathtub was so badly stained with rust that Alicia had to get a professional to re-glaze it.”