“Come in and see.” Red was beaming. He looked up. “It’s perfect,” she said. “At least for now. Until we paint.”
Bobby rose. In his hand he had a card his grandfather had given him in January; Dear Lord, Please bless us ... He looked at Red. She was all smiles and giggles.... Forgive us our trespasses ... “You can’t see it from here!” ... never give up. He slipped the card into the bill box, swooped Red off her feet, kissed the top of her head, carried her sideways down the hall to their new bedroom. “Ooo-la-la!” she cooed.
“Wow!” he said, holding her. “This really is nice. Really.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re such a princess. You know that?”
“Be nice.”
“I mean it nice,” he said.
He kissed her nose. She let him. She giggled. Then she kissed him and hugged him and he laid her gently on the bed and she said, “Undress me.”
For two hours they hugged and caressed, massaged, made love. They showered in the sparkling clean tiled shower stall in their own bedroom and returned to bed and slowly loved as they had never loved. They napped, woke, ordered a pizza, ate, caressed and massaged each other, then just lay in the new California King, Bobby snoozing lightly, his thoughts romping, one instant certain he was in love with Red, the next fantasizing about Stacy or Victoria and then thinking what he and Red had was comfortable—two nice people, interdependent—was good, could last ...
“Could we build a wine cellar?” Red’s voice nabbed his wandering thoughts.
“Hm?”
“In the garage? I saw one in one house. They sell these special clay pipes that you stack up like ... well, like pipes. They keep the temperature from fluctuating. And we’ve got to replace that awful light in the dining room. Don’t you think it’s awful? I know just where we can go for chandeliers. And the kitchen flooring and—”
“Josh!” Bobby bolted up. “I forgot about Josh. He might be tearing the neighborhood apart!”
“Should we meet, ah, at the ... White Pines?”
“Sure.”
“What time?”
“Eleven?”
“Okay. Friday at eleven.”
“I’ll be there. I ... Rob, I’m really anxious to see you.”
“Okay. I can’t talk right now.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Mill Creek Falls, Thanksgiving Day, 1970—What stranger event could there have been? The Wapinskis, together, seven strong with Doug, at High Meadow, in the small, high-ceilinged dining room—Miriam attempting to be nonconfrontational, pleasant, matriarchal, seated at the far end of the table from Pewel as if she’d assumed the role of Brigita Clewlow Wapinski years ago, as if Pewel had accepted her in that role. Between them were Cheryl, two months along, looking plump and busty and oddly mysterious, and Brian, treating his wife like crystal. On the other side Joanne and Doug were politely disagreeing about women in the job force. “Really, Joanne, maybe you don’t see it, but women do run most of the companies around here.” “They do not.” “No? Even Kinnard/Chassion’s run by a woman.” “No it’s not. The CEO’s a man.” “But the owner’s a woman.” “That doesn’t count.” Between them Bobby, the prodigal son for whom the turkey was stuffed, cooked, basted until it was gleaming. “You could have let me do it,” he’d said to his grandfather after Linda had left. “She insisted,” he’d answered. “She’s like that.” “But she had to come out here at five thirty to put it in the oven.” “Maybe I coulda stopped her. But it’s good for her too.” “But I was here! She had to cart those two infants out here ... and then back to her family....” “It’s his family. Hers don’t want nothin to do with her.” “His then. He’s the one who thinned the sugarbush.” “Yep. Good worker. Reminds me of you.”
Robert Wapinski’s mind was not on turkey. He’d taken the Tuesday-night red-eye, arrived in Williamsport Wednesday morning, rented a car, drove to High Meadow, spent hours talking to his grandfather, telling him about California, about the new house, the good people he’d chanced to acquaint, about making money, and, with chuckles, about Red spending it. Then he’d walked the path to the pond, to the orchard, the knoll, across the spillway, through the woods, the sugarbush, to the edge of the gap. He had not descended into the chasm, had not climbed to the old Indian trail, but had instead checked his watch, had thought, forty-seven hours, had wondered if she would show.
During dinner, even when Miriam ground her teeth at Bobby’s “utensil noise,” he was not shaken. Not even Joanne got to him with her quips about Calley and when would they try all the baby killers. Perhaps had Josh been there it would have gone differently. Josh lived in the now, always brought him back to the now. Instead Bobby had covertly checked his watch and thought, twenty hours.
He parked the rented car. Smiled nervously. All the way down he’d thought of not showing, thought, she deserves it, thought, if she doesn’t show ... But he’d pulled in next to the ’66 British racing green MG her father had given her for graduating from Mill Creek High, and his mind fell into autopilot.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You’re on time!”
“Habit I got into in the army. You were early.”
“A little. Habit from modeling. Keeps the boob-gazers away. How’s your grandfather?”
“Wonderful.” His entire face was smiling. He couldn’t control it. He could feel it all the way back to his ears. “How’s my sweetheart doin?”
“Mom? She’s great. I told her you were home. She sends her love.”
Bobby sat on the stool beside Stacy. A waitress came. “Lunch or coffee?”
“Coffee,” Bobby answered. He didn’t want to eat or drink, didn’t want to sit at the bar. He wanted to face her, face Stacy, have her face him.
“You look ...” The door opened, the waitress rattled the cups, saucers and spoons, the people who’d just come in were talking. “... with you.”
He cocked his head. “I’m sorry. That’s my bad ear. Can we sit at a table?”
“Sure. I said, you look good. California must agree with you.”
“Yeah. We’re in a nice spot.”
“What’s with your ear?”
He paused. They’d seated themselves in a front booth. He looked out the window. It was such a long tedious story. He turned back, looked at her, shrugged. He did not want to spoil the mood. She’d meant so much to him. The instant he’d seen her he knew she still did.
“Tell me.” She was direct, not harsh. So he began. And he talked and talked. He told her about his tour, about things he didn’t know he remembered, about the sounds, the ignored ear pains, about being discharged. She told him about modeling jobs, about traveling to places she never got to see but only to be pictured in, then whisked away.
By the time they rose to leave the White Pines Inn Bobby was quaking inside. “Pick you up at seven?” His voice was soft. He’d been thinking of it tangentially for months.
“Really?” Stacy smiled.
“Yes.” Soft and firm. Could he break with Red? How could he break up with Red?
“You don’t think Bea would mind? Or your grandfather? You don’t have a lot of time to spend with him.”
“It’s okay. He’ll understand. And ... and I want to.”
As Bobby Wapinski sped back to High Meadow he was flying, laughing, planning what he’d wear, thinking he’d shave again, chattering to Josh who wasn’t even with him. He sang old tunes he somehow connected to Stacy even though he wasn’t certain of the exact words, the real melody, belting it out to the last of the late November light: “‘We laughed in the sunshine; We dee dee dee dee day-ay-ay-ed; We laughed in the sunshine; till I we-ent far-ar a-way-ay.’”
By nine they had eaten, touched, held hands briefly. What was happening, the chemistry, he would never understand, but he could not dispute its validity. They walked down the quiet main street of Rock Ridge. Christmas lights glowed in a few store windows. A crisp breeze buffeted their faces. Stacy clung to Bobby’s arm.
“I don’t know
how to explain it,” he continued the discussion they had been having over dinner. “When I left Mill Creek Falls it was more to move away, really, than to be with Red.”
“But you do like her.”
“Oh, yeah. Stace, it’s—I realized, when I got to California ... I didn’t love her. Particularly not that first month. That was hard. But as time went on, I ... it’s like I loved part of her more and more.”
“Then Rob, you should stay with her. I—I don’t mean you weren’t going to ... I mean, if you love her, don’t let anything, even indirectly, impose.”
They got into the rented car. Bobby started the engine, turned on the heat, but only sat. “Stacy,” he said staring at the frost on the windshield, “I’m always going to love you. I ... I love you now. I love what you were, what we were.”
“I don’t know what that was,” Stacy said. She was sitting sideways on the seat, facing him, her legs tucked up, red-blue-green light reflecting off her stockinged knees. “I’d ... I’d ... Rob, I’d die if ... if we got together again and you found the Stacy you loved wasn’t there anymore.” He turned, looked into her eyes. Her gaze dropped. “I really shouldn’t have said that.”
“Stace, there’s something really wrong with me and Red.” He shifted to sit sideways. “Really. I don’t know what it is. That’s why I said I love part of her. She can be very loving.”
“You’re an easy person to love.”
“I don’t know.” He raised his right elbow over the seat back, touched his fingertips to hers. “Sometimes she’s so shallow. She spends—”
“You don’t have to say it. Just like I don’t want to say anything against Jerry. But ... I think ... I’m really angry the war broke us up. We did have something.” Her tone changed. “Do you remember our plans?”
“Um.”
“You could always take a pile of junk and make it something.” She smiled. “That sounds terrible. I don’t mean it like that.”
“I know.” His smile crinkled his whole face.
“Really. Like the calliope. Your designs were always so much fun. You could do it better than anyone. With patience and ... ah ... How did you put it?”
“Patience and discipline.”
“Um. What happened to your plans, Rob? I mean, selling real estate! I just can’t see you, Mr. Design Process ... I thought you’d go back to school. We did have dreams, didn’t we?”
“It’s ... real estate ... there’s things I’m learning that complement it, complement design, make it possible to see design on a much larger scale.”
“Bigger than windmills?” Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated in the faint street light. He felt he could see into her thoughts.
“Much. As big as the land.” His voice was faint.
“That’s pretty big.” Stacy laughed softly and Bobby glowed in her approval.
“There’s a principle of real estate.” He said it seriously yet happy to have someone he cared about listen. “Land, privately owned or public, is still a public trust. One owns rights, the bundle of rights specified in the deed, but under the law no one ‘owns’ the land. See Stace, that’s where design comes in. If all land is public trust, the way it’s utilized, even at its highest and best use, must reflect long-term social gain—to protect the land, to ensure that no private owner does anything to the land that will keep it from rejuvenating.”
“Now you sound like the Rob I remember.”
“You bring it out of me. You always did.”
Stacy smiled, inched slightly forward, looked into his face, turned away.
“Remember ... I think it was The Turtles ‘Imagine me ...’” He laughed. He couldn’t carry the tune but he sang anyway, got to the part about being together when Stacy joined in, her voice tender, melodic. “‘Nobody ... you ...’” And together they sang, Bobby just whispering, feeling this shared joy, elation. “‘... together ...’”
Then they kissed. Then Stacy pulled away. “Rob. Bea’s my friend. I—I can’t do this ... this ... Rob.” Tears came to her eyes. “I made such a mistake. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you.” He moved to hold her but she held him back. “No. I do love you. But you’re going back to California. To Bea. I—I couldn’t share you ... if I loved you. And I do. But I can’t.” She moved back. “I care about you. And about Bea. I don’t want to be responsible for putting a strain on your relationship. But even more than that, Rob, I care about me. I made a mess of what we had. And what Jerry and I had. I always compared him to you. Just in thoughts. But I made a mess of it and it really hurts and I don’t want to hurt anyone again. Including me.” He looked at her with sad, puppy-dog eyes, but he did not speak. “Rob, I need ... I know I need a lot from a relationship. I need to love and to be loved, and—Rob this frightens me. You love Red. You live three thousand miles away. You’ve bought a house. You’re into your job. I’m not sure we should even have seen each other.”
“I—”
“No. Let me finish. If—if we ... loved ... I mean, you’re leaving again. You’re going back to Bea.... I can’t share you, even though I love you.”
“Then don’t.”
“Don’t?”
“You don’t have to. It’s much too ... Stacy ...”
“Tell me.”
“Stace, I’m learning so much out there but I’m ... I don’t think I’m going to stay. There’s too many people out there, too many doing nothing, being paid to do nothing. And too many double-dealing. I keep thinking about coming back—but with more knowledge and more money. I’m not going to come back and mooch off anybody. I’m never doing that again.”
“I don’t ... Rob, what are you saying? Are you and Bea going to move ...?”
“She likes it there. She knows I ...” He paused. He was describing these emotions not simply to Stacy, but for the first time, clearly, to himself. “To me there’s something wrong with ... not the land, but the people. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve met some really super people. I’d like them anyplace. Maybe it’s that life is too easy. People aren’t properly hardened. It’s like they’re vulnerable. Their values ... That doesn’t make any sense. It’s me. I’m incompatible with that environment. I’m there to learn, to get established financially. That’s what Bea likes. Money. She won’t come back. We don’t have a future.”
“Rob!”
“She’s a great kid, Stace, but she really is a kid. That’s why she fits there so well.”
“Then—” Stacy’s voice was low “—say—” her face was turned to the windshield “—it.” Christmas lights glittered in her eyes.
“Granpa.”
“Yep.”
“I’m sorry I’m calling so late.”
“Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Fine. It’s just that the roads have gotten kind of icy and this rental car doesn’t handle worth manure.”
Pewel chuckled.
“I’m”—Bobby said, grinning—“going to stay in Rock Ridge tonight.” When he hung up he handed Stacy the phone. “Your turn.” He laughed.
Tuesday, 1 December 1970—It was not a good way to go to work in the morning. There were too many things on his mind. Stacy. Red. Stacy. Red. On the flight back he’d decided to tell Red. Not out and out. Softly. He didn’t want to hurt her. He’d tell her he was going to return to Mill Creek Falls—not immediately, but that that was his definite plan. Grandpa needed him. And with a grubstake from working in San Martin, he’d be able to set up an office in Pennsylvania—maybe concentrate on farms and rural retreats, maybe build a few houses incorporating some of the California design features he admired. She’d say something about it being impossible to leave Richard Townsmark and People’s Life and Casualty, and they’d begin their separation by him moving into the small bedroom. On the surface they’d be a couple, until later, when they’d sell the house and he’d move back and ...
The thought had stayed with him through picking up his bag, finding the Chevy sedan in the lot, driving north on 280 past the barren hills with boxy implants th
at made the ticky-tack houses of Creek’s Bend look like carpenter’s cream, up Nineteenth Avenue with its jammed-up traffic. Through the Presidio, over the Golden Gate and into the Marin Headlands, his attitude had softened, perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from the beauty of the area. The closer he’d come to San Martin the more dubious his ploy seemed, and when he’d pulled in before the Deepwoods Drive house—his house, his first house that he’d worked really hard for—his resolve had puddled and Red and Josh had jumped out and greeted him and Red looked wonderful, and she hugged him and kissed him and chattered about having sold her first “set” of life insurance policies to a family of seven—Dad, Mom, and all the kids—and she didn’t even shoo Josh away, and there was a black guy by yesterday looking for you—I think he was a Jehovah’s Witness—and Richard helped so much with the sale—People’s is such a quality company—and Peter wants you to call the moment you get in, he said he’s got great news for you, but first I ... hug, kiss, hug, kiss ... She’d brought him to the bedroom and she’d jumped his bones on the new satin sheets and satin pillowcases over new down pillows and to him her tiny breasts seemed full and ...
He did not drive directly to the office but instead followed Bruce Road to Miwok, then took a left and motored past the high school, the Lower Res, up to South Peak Road where he drove slowly by the driveway of the second-to-last house on the left—four driveways up from Gino’s—trying to see through the foliage to the $118,950 listing that Dan Coleman got the day before Bobby left for Pennsylvania. On South Peak it was drizzling. Bobby turned on the wipers, turned into the driveway. He did not wind in through the trees, could see only a single corner, the trim painted cream, the cedar shingles weathered gray-brown. He backed out, turned around, drove to town, to Great Homes. There, for a moment, in the small lot behind the office with humidity condensing on the inner surface of the sedan’s windows, he tried to collect his thoughts. He’d had no intention of getting carried away with Red, but, he thought, like the first time ... But that was not now the case and he knew it.
Carry Me Home Page 33
