“Alice?” Tilly scrunched her beaky nose at her. “You listening?” she whispered. “We’re thinking she went to see those two yahoos because she thinks one of them might be her father. Don’t that just beat all?”
Malcolm Ruittenberg and Henry Stivett? The bad boy and the altar boy. Yes, it did beat all, but could it be true? She had to be careful not to fuel the gossip. Her friends were honest Christian women who ironed altar linens for the church and prayed the rosary every night, but they loved their tales.
“Do you know something we don’t, Alice?” Tilly edged closer. “Is that why you’re so quiet?”
“Of course not.” She shot a glance down the hallway leading to the family room. Even with the walls separating them, she could hear Joe’s voice booming with questions about that ridiculous soap of his. Funny, how times changed. Twenty-four hours ago, he couldn’t tolerate hearing his daughter-in-law’s name let alone consider the prospect of being in the same room with her. Maybe they had to lose Christian to gain their granddaughter. Alice’s heart ached when she thought of her youngest son. If she sat on his bed and closed her eyes, she could still see him, at fourteen, seventeen, twenty-seven.
“You really are turning the other cheek, aren’t you?” Tilly asked, a look of wonder stretching across her thin face.
Alice shrugged. “I’m not sure I’d go that far yet, but I’m sure as heck not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kara’s here and if her mother visits every man in this town asking for a DNA test, that’s her business.”
“But don’t you want to know?”
Obviously, her friends did. “If the good Lord wants me to know, He’ll tell me in good time.”
Marion’s click-clacking stopped. “And what about Father Benedict? Rose said she saw Audra Valentine leaving the rectory yesterday. What do you make of that?”
“Maybe she went to confession. People do that when they experience life-changing events and what with Kara pulling through and all, it might have just sent her right to the priest.”
“Alice, you believe that?” Obviously, Tilly did not.
“Sure, why not? Look at how Joe Pelando changed after his accident. Never took another drink for the rest of his life. And how about Edgar Windsorn? Almost lost his leg climbing out Bernadette Colter’s window? Soon as he could get around, he high-tailed it to Pastor Richot.”
Tilly snickered. “You would too if you had Howard Colter’s shotgun pointed in your face.”
“No matter. People change.”
“Some do. Some don’t.” Marion’s sing song voice hinted she clearly believed the latter.
Chapter 23
He’s got answers. I’ll bet my last cigarette on it.”—Doris O’Brien
Doris O’Brien’s sneakered feet hit the concrete with a quiet thud as she rocked back and forth in the chair that once belonged to her father. Thomas O’Brien took his coffee and The Sentinel on the front porch every evening and refused conversation or disruption of any kind until he’d finished his paper. This requiem made it difficult for his wife, a woman given to anxiety which could only be quieted by eight ounces of Beefeaters and five milligrams of valium.
Thomas happened to be in the middle of the business section on the night sixteen and a half year old Doris, and her boyfriend, Skip Anderhall, crossed the front porch and confessed their sins of the flesh which had left Doris in a family way. Skip wanted to marry Doris and though he could offer nothing more than a mechanic’s lifestyle, he told the elder O’Brien he could provide love and fidelity. Those words landed nineteen year old Skip in jail for statutory rape and Doris in the convent. Three weeks later, she lost the baby in a gush of blood and clots. It was the last time Doris permitted love or fidelity in her life.
She puffed on her Salem and glared at the oxygen tank in the corner. Blast the damn contraption. She’d come to need it several times a day just to get enough air in her lungs to light up. Puff. Puff, puff. Corrine’s daughter should be along soon with more questions. When she’d called earlier, the poor thing sounded distraught. Either Malcolm Ruittenberg was the father or he’d tried to seduce her. Could be either one. As for Henry Stivett, that dike sister of his probably refused to let Audra get close to her baby brother. Corrine sure caused a lot of ruckus in her too short life. Doris guessed that’s what happened when you had a body like Marilyn Monroe. A face like her too, come to think of it.
The daughter looked just like her, but with darker hair. Doris squinted into the sunlight. She and Corrine used to love summertime. They’d spend hours planning their grand getaway to Hollywood. Or New York. Even Chicago. The closest Doris ever came was a lovefest outside Albany. And Corrine, well, she didn’t live long enough to get past Landemere.
Doris puffed and coughed through two more cigarettes before Corrine’s daughter appeared by the front gate, carrying a grocery bag. She unhooked the latch and let herself in. “Hello, sorry I’m late,” she called from several yards away.
“About as I expected.” Doris snubbed out her cigarette and studied Audra Valentine. Even the lips had the same pucker fullness as Corrine’s. “Your mother never was much on punctuality either.”
She ignored Doris’s comments. “I brought you a few things. Peanut butter, eggs, bread.”
“Any Salems in there?”
Audra shook her head. “I doubt the doctor would recommend those.”
“To hell with him. I’m going to fire him and get me somebody who can cure me.” She squinted up at the girl. “You think there’s a cure for what I’ve got?”
“I don’t know.”
Doris guffawed and smacked her knee so hard it hurt. “Course not. I could have told him before he hooked me up with all those fancy tubes and gee gaws. I only got a little bit longer, then the breath’s gonna die out of me. That’s why I have to make it right by you, so I can make it right by Corrine.”
“Those men weren’t my father.”
“Hmmph. Thank God for that. I didn’t want to say anything in case you were from their seed, but you’re better off. What about Father Benedict? Did you worm any names out of the High and Almighty?”
The girl’s face paled and she looked away. “No.”
“Eh? What’s that look for? Tell me, right now.”
Audra pulled her gaze back and Doris could have sworn she was looking into Corrine’s eyes. “She went to him when Malcolm Ruittenberg started pressuring her for a more physical relationship. And he...he kissed her.”
“Good God Almighty!”
“He admitted to lusting after her.”
“Damn”—Doris stopped the rocker—“so you’re Father Benedict’s seed!”
“No! He said it was one kiss and she didn’t welcome it either. He begged my forgiveness.”
“So that’s why she quit going to St. Pete’s. Your grandma had a fit about that, but no matter how she threatened, your mother wouldn’t step back in that church. Now I know why she started talking to August.” She filched another cigarette from the pack and tapped it out.
“Do you think Pastor Richot knows about this?”
Doris shrugged. “That man knows most of the dirt in this town but he’ll never tell. That’s why people go to him. Their sins are forgiven and he doesn’t judge, not like Bartholomew Benedict, who eyes people up and down like we’ve all got big letters on our foreheads for our offenses. ‘A’ for Adulterer, ‘T’ for Thief, ‘D’ for Druggie. He should talk, heh? His robes don’t look so lily-white, now do they?” She let out a cackle and lit her cigarette.
“They look stained.”
“Blood-stained,” Doris added. “Damn, his soul’s as black as mine.” She opened her mouth and sucked in wisps of air. Maybe she wasn’t the demon she’d believed herself to be all these years. Maybe her best friend’s fall into sexual promiscuity wasn’t all Doris’s fault. The very thought opened her lungs and a burst of air swirled through them.
“I’m going to pay a visit to Pastor Richot.”
Doris smiled and began rocking
again. “He’s got answers. I’ll bet my last cigarette on it.”
***
Audra stopped at the Wheyton’s to check on Kara before heading to August Richot’s home. She had to admit her daughter’s spirits and health had improved under the Wheyton’s vigilance and concern. Joe spent hours teaching her how to claim checkmate in less than seven moves, triple jump at checkers, and paint a lawn chair. Of course, he never missed an opportunity to discuss On Eden Street with her, extracting moral stories and adding his own interpretations of the actors’ behavior. He’d become more civil with Audra since she confessed her true profession and once or twice he’d even included her in a conversation which had nothing to do with the soap.
Alice continued to expand Kara’s cooking abilities, instructing her in the fine art of pasta making, sans machine, as well as a wide range of breads and tricks to test their doneness. She learned the difference between diced and chopped and how to sift and blend. When she and her grandmother weren’t slicing or measuring or scooping or rolling, they were testing bread recipes to enter into ‘The Betty Crocker Best Bread Contest’ in the 10 year old and under category. Through their cooking and baking, Kara and Alice discovered a new purpose, plowing ahead with a fervency that exhausted Audra.
As for Jack, she hadn’t seen him since the day she told him the truth about Kara. She should be relieved but how did a person relax with a tornado brewing? There’d been a few seconds the last time they had made love when she’d sensed their relationship shift, subtle but certain. If she were honest, she’d admit to harboring tiny grains of hope for a future with him, one which took up where they left off nine years ago. I would have married you. If only he’d returned to Holly Springs a day earlier. But he hadn’t and now she was stuck here with the threat of him looming close enough to smell his Saks 5th Avenue cologne.
“Mommy!” Kara’s excitement pierced Audra’s thoughts as her daughter rushed toward her from the Wheyton’s living room.
“Slow walk, remember? Dr. Kalowicz said no running.”
“Uncle Jack said fast walk’s okay and I was fast walking.”
“Well, I’m your mother and if you don’t slow down, I’ll tie you to my wrist. See how fast you can go lugging me behind you.”
Kara giggled. “Ohhh! Big surprise! Leslie?” she hollered. “Come show my mom.”
“Hi Audra.” Leslie beamed before her in an apricot wraparound dress that accentuated her curves and her tan. A much younger and if possible, curvier, Sophia Loren came to mind. “Kara’s quite the entertainer.” Her husky voice dipped over Kara, fueling Audra with the sudden urge to snatch her daughter from this too happy, too sensual, too perfect woman.
“Hello, Leslie. I didn’t see your car outside.” Please tell me Jack is not coming here.
“Jack dropped me off. He’ll be by in a little while.”
“Great.”
Joe Wheyton appeared from around the corner followed by his wife, who it appeared had been crying. “Well, are you going to tell her or do you want to play twenty questions?” he asked in his usual gruff manner.
Leslie flashed Joe a brilliant white smile. “Joe, you’re such a hoot.” She pranced toward Audra—yes, pranced would be the word to describe the foot-off-the-linoleum movement—and said in a gush, “Actually, I’d hoped you’d be here.”
Kara’s impatient gaze darted from Leslie to Audra. “Tell her,” she commanded, grabbing Leslie’s left hand and waving it in the air.
Audra spotted the flash of stone on Leslie’s left finger a second before Leslie announced, “We’re engaged.”
Everyone knew the other part of we was Jack—Joe and Alice Wheyton, Kara, Bernie Kalowicz, Aunt Virginia, probably even the cleaning woman at McMahon Children’s Hospital. Apparently, Audra was the only one who had never stopped to consider it. Why would she with Jack’s gaze burning through her clothes, his hands touching her, his body possessing hers? For God’s sake, taking her against the door of the hospital supply closet? Why would she not think in some tiny recess of her subconscious that despite Christian, and Peter, and Kara, and a speckled past, maybe someday she and Jack would end up together?
“...and I wanted you to be one of the first to know because despite our past, I consider you a friend.” Leslie smiled then, moved close and hugged Audra.
“Congratulations.” The word tumbled from Audra’s mouth ten times heavier than the weight of Leslie’s diamond.
“We are so excited about this,” Leslie said. “Oh, God, I’ve been dreaming about it since the minute I spotted him walking out of surgery two years ago. Close your ears, Kara. He was so sexy and just what I needed. Yum.”
Joe cleared his throat and moved toward the cabinet where he pulled out a few wine glasses. “This calls for a toast. Kara, grab a root beer.” He uncorked a bottle of Asti Spumanti and poured four glasses.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Jack?” Leslie held the glass of champagne with her left hand in such a way that the fizz of the drink made the diamond shine brighter. “I swear he told me he’d be right back.” She sounded as though she’d already consumed a bottle of champagne, which she might well have. Or half a bottle, considering her future husband would have consumed the other half.
“He’ll show up soon enough,” Joe Wheyton said. “It’s not every day we get to celebrate an engagement.” Such harmless words, spoken in the nature of the event. Joe and Alice lifted their glasses, followed by Kara and Leslie. Slowly, Audra raised her glass. Joe put an arm around his wife and said, “To the future Mr. and Mrs. Jack Wheyton. May they have years of health, happiness, and give us five grandbabies.”
They clinked glasses and sipped champagne and root beer. Audra blotted out images of Jack’s hands on her body, his breath on her belly. He was marrying Leslie Richot. She turned away so they wouldn’t see the pain on her face and spotted Jack standing on the back porch, staring at her. She swung around, preparing for the next several minutes of well-wishes once he stepped inside. Stay calm and breathe. More minutes passed and still he didn’t appear. How dare he drag this on? She turned toward the screen door, prepared to force him inside. But it was too late. He was already gone.
Chapter 24
“How long is this going to go on?”—Peter Andellieu
“How long is this going to go on?”
Peter tried so hard not to push her, but Audra knew he’d had enough. He wanted them home. “I don’t want to be here either, but right now, I’m stuck until I figure something out.” What that would be and when, she had no idea.
“What if you call his bluff? Do you really think he’d expose you and risk hurting Kara?”
“I can’t take that chance. I don’t know what he’s capable of and that’s what scares me.” She hadn’t thought him capable of caring about her years ago and yet he’d admitted just that. Nor had she thought him capable of still making her tingle with need, and he’d certainly done that. Several times. And despite the news about Kara’s real parentage, she’d never thought him capable of putting a giant diamond on Leslie’s finger.
“What if I talked to him?”
“I don’t think so. He’s not very big on Dr. Perfection right now.”
“He’s nothing like Christian, is he?”
“No.” Nothing at all.
“Audra? You’re not involved with him, are you?”
Not anymore. “No. I haven’t seen him in days.” She pictured the diamond sparkling on Leslie’s finger and added, “Besides, he just got engaged.”
“To Leslie Richot?” His voice perked up. “Beautiful woman, oozes sex.”
“Gee, thanks.” The woman possessed pheromones that attracted males two thousand miles away and now she was going to be Kara’s stepmother. The thought pinged the center of Audra’s skull, radiating like tiny fingers to the rest of her body.
“You, my dear, are sex and class, all wrapped into one. A most desirous package, I might add.”
Of course Peter would say that. Nevertheless, it brightened her spirits
and dulled the sight of Leslie’s left hand.
“Try to push for some closure. Please?” His voice dipped. “I miss you and Kara. I want you back here where you belong.”
***
The mid August winds wrapped around them as they made their way from the theater with the rest of the Wicked crowd. Kara hadn’t stopped gushing since the final curtain.
“I liked Elphaba best. Can I be her for Halloween and paint my face green?”
Audra laughed and clasped her daughter’s hand, waiting at the crosswalk with the Saturday night downtown crowd. When the ‘walk’ sign blinked, they made their way across the street toward the car. “What did you think of Glinda? Wasn’t her voice beautiful?”
“She was beautiful. Totally beautiful. But I still liked Elphaba best.”
They’d seen Wicked last Christmas in Los Angeles. Audra, Christian, Kara, and Peter had driven down for the night, eaten at BLT and taken in the show at the Pantages Theater. It had been a magical time, filled with such laughter and joy they’d decided to make the theater trip an annual event.
When Grant mentioned the show was in Syracuse and asked if Audra and Kara would like to go, she’d hesitated. First, she didn’t want Grant making assumptions about a relationship with her, developing or otherwise. Second, it had been the first and only show Kara had seen with her father and she might want to remember it that way. But, in keeping with the expert’s opinions that children are resilient, Kara pounced on the opportunity, and Audra accepted, deciding she could deal with her personal issues later.
“I don’t see how you can ignore Madame Morrible,” Grant said, his hand tight on Kara’s. “All that power and magic?”
He’ll make a great father one day, Audra thought as he and Kara set off on a tangent of whether it would be cooler to be a monkey or a palace guard. What made some men naturally more child-friendly and others kid-proof? Would Jack even know what a palace guard was?
Pulling Home (That Second Chance) Page 16
