“You did?” My eyes widened.
“I was going to give it to you for Christmas. But, then—Doreen.”
My head dropped. “Oh, Vernon.” I began to cry. “Oh, what have I done?”
With the fingertips of his free hand he lifted my chin. “What are you talking about, Evie-girl?”
I pulled my hand free of his and pushed myself back. “I’m already engaged,” I said, then bit my bottom lip.
His brow furrowed. “To whom?”
I made a wry face. “Bob Burnett.”
41
If a Picture Paints a Thousand Words
It seemed to Clay that he was working every free minute on the photo album for Donna. He wasn’t complaining, of course. As far as he was concerned it was a true labor of love and friendship. He hoped she’d feel the same way when she saw it. He hoped she’d appreciate the amount of time and effort he’d put into the project. He wondered if she could possibly know how much money he’d laid down for the album alone.
The more time he spent on it, the more value he placed on its craftsmanship. It was, indeed, a work of art. Even an old boy reared in the high country could see that. Each time he worked on it—slipping in photographs and writing captions with the new Bic Pilot he’d bought over at Wal-Mart—he’d finish by closing the book and running his hand over the material. Even the binding was special.
Like Donna.
This time, when he’d put in more time than he should have allowed, he took the album back to a safe place on the bottom shelf of the closet, then turned to shut the door. Minute rays of sunlight escaping heavy snow clouds were peering through the blinds, and he paused to open them wider, to allow as much light as possible to fill the small places of his domain.
That’s when he saw it. A tiny snapshot, lodged between a leg of the old chrome and Formica TV stand and the Brady Bunch shag carpet underneath. He bent over and retrieved it, turning it toward the window for better viewing.
It was taken at Donna’s fifth birthday party. Clay knew that much because there were five distinguishable candles standing proudly on a large round cake with white icing. Donna stood at the center of the far side of an outside picnic table, beaming as her little friends sang “Happy Birthday” to her. It didn’t take an investigative journalist to know that this was what they were doing. Every mouth but Donna’s was wide open, paying tribute.
Clay was among the throng. He was wearing the Indian headdress his mother had not been able to coax him to remove that year. Other than for baths and bedtime, of course. That was the year he’d come to understand his heritage, or at least half of it. Not once, however, had he taken to carrying around a sack of Irish potatoes.
Clay smiled at the memory. The innocence. The joys of childhood. He remembered how each child there had received a copy of the photo with a thank-you card from Donna a few weeks later. Then his vision rested on what lay in the shadows. The photograph had been taken with the sun directly behind its photographer; the form of her shadow—arms raised and camera to her face—stretched over the children. Next to hers, the shadow of a man who had to be Sheriff Vesey.
Donna’s mother and father, clearly marked as doting parents.
No one—not a single one of them—knew the sadness that was so close to follow. The betrayal. The abandonment. And the worn-out old woman working as a barmaid over at the tavern.
Not to mention the young woman who didn’t know her mother had come home.
42
Tasting a Possibility
I was sitting at the desk in my office, pondering whether or not to go to Jack’s house to pick up a few more things for my condo—even little things like the pan I make my sour cream coffee cake in. What I should have been doing was organizing a stack of affidavits for an upcoming trial for Chris.
In the past week I’d moved furniture—remarkably, with Jack’s help—from one of our guest rooms and into the bedroom of my new place, along with the family room love seat and a small television for my den. Jack had even given me a small spending account at Everything’s Daisy, one of the cutesy shops along Main Street.
“When you come home,” he’d said one morning as we were standing in the middle of the shop, “you can just bring all this with you and knock yourself out redecorating.”
We were looking at framed prints of rabbits on wooded, snowcovered trails I was considering buying for the condo. “Don’t get too assured of that, Jack. I’m not promising anything.”
He reached for my hand, clasping it in his. I flinched at first, then allowed my hand to relax. “Will you do something for me?” he asked.
I looked around. The owner of the shop, Reggie Tyre, a woman with silvery hair and a smooth complexion, was standing behind a bar-style counter, staring at us. When she caught my eye, she returned to her work. “It depends,” I said in a hushed voice.
“Will you go to counseling with me? I’m meeting with Pastor Kevin again on Thursday evening at 5:00.”
“I work until 5:00,” I reminded him. “You know that.”
He shrugged. “So you’ll be a few minutes late. I’ll wait for you.”
I picked up a porcelain bunny and studied it for a moment. “I like this. I think I’ll take it home for the den. I don’t really have much of anything in there for decoration.”
“Goldie,” Jack said a bit more forcefully than I would have preferred. I looked again at Reggie, who frowned at us.
“Jack, shhh.”
“Isn’t this what you always wanted?” he asked, turning his back on Reggie. “What more do you want me to do?”
I put the bunny down and crossed my arms. “I want you to lower your voice, Jack.” I moved toward the door with the intention of leaving. Jack followed me onto the sidewalk outside, where holiday tourists were strolling, taking in the magnificence of the Colorado mountains surrounding our town while sipping take-out coffee from Higher Grounds and stopping to look in storefront windows at the overpriced items within.
I turned toward 6th, and Jack jogged a bit to catch up. When he did, he grabbed my arm. I jerked it out of his grip. “Jack, stop it,” I demanded, then raised a hand in hopes of ending our minor dispute. “Okay, I’ll go with you to the counseling session.” When Jack smiled, I added, “Once. Then I’ll decide from there.”
Jack nodded in triumph. “Fair enough,” he said, then walked me back to my condo, where, after a peck on the lips at the front door, he left me to spend time alone in my new home.
Vonnie was not the only Potluck member to call me at the office on Thursday, though the second call was hardly for me.
“Goldie,” Donna’s voice said from the other end of the line. “I … uh … This is Donna Vesey.”
I had, of course, recognized her voice. Donna has one of those voices that’s unmistakable. “Hi, Donna. I already know about the meeting on Saturday.”
“The what?”
“The Potluck meeting slash baby shower.”
“Oh, yeah. That. Well, that’s not why I’m calling.”
“It’s not?”
“Uh … no. I need to … uh … I need to set up a meeting with Mr. Lowe. A consultation, I guess you’d call it.”
“Donna, is something wrong?”
“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. I just need some advice. It’s nothing major. I’d say an hour ought to do it.”
I opened the computer program with Chris’s schedule and, after scanning it, said, “I have something next Wednesday.”
“Wednesday?”
“Two o’clock.”
“Ah … okay. Perfect.”
I typed her name in as she asked, “So, how’s it going with you and the coach? I saw Olivia the other day at Higher Grounds, and she mentioned things might be looking up for the two of you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Olivia’s declaration is a bit premature, but we’ll see. God only knows what the future holds, and we can’t go around predicting, now can we?”
“I guess not.”
“We’re seeing Pasto
r Kevin tonight, so if you want to pray about that, you can.”
“You’re kidding,” she said. “You’re counseling with Pastor Kevin?”
“Mmm.”
“Aren’t you a little nervous about airing your dirty laundry to someone you know so well? And who knows you?”
“I’m sure Pastor Kevin is a good counselor, Donna. He’s God’s servant, and he’s someone I know we can trust.” I took a breath. “Jack has been meeting with him for a while, and I’m going to see how it goes tonight.”
“I see. Well, then, Goldie. Allow me to wish you good luck.”
I thanked her, then hung up and went back to work, glancing occasionally at the clock. Not too many days ago I’d been anticipating the 5:00 hour—waiting to see Van—but now I almost dreaded it. What if Pastor Kevin insisted I go back to Jack? What if he said I was wrong to live in the condo? What if he asked me if I’d had any feelings for any other man since I’d left Jack?
Nah, I scolded myself. Why would he think that? It was just a rush of guilt, though I still argued with myself that I’d done nothing to feel guilty about.
When it was five till, I went ahead and began shutting everything down. I retrieved my coat from the break room, then stuck my head in Chris’s office to say good night. He looked at his watch. “You in a hurry to get to that new condo of yours?” he asked, teasing. “Keep this up, and I’ll have to reevaluate your raise.”
I smiled at him. “No. You might be interested to know that I’m meeting Jack and Pastor Kevin in a few minutes for a counseling session.”
Chris’s brow shot upward. “Really? Does this mean you aren’t seeing Van anymore?”
I folded my arms and stood upright. “Chris, I swear to you, we’re just friends.”
He nodded. “Well, keep me posted.” Then he pointed a finger at me in jest. “But if you and Jack work this out, let me just make it clear that I’m not willing to give up my new secretary.”
I smiled all the more broadly. “Don’t worry about that. No matter what, I won’t ever be a house frau again. I know that’s fine for some women, but I’ve discovered it’s not okay for me. After all, Olivia is grown and gone, and, like Jack, I need a purpose too.”
“All right, Goldie. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I drove a little slower than I needed to, taking in the sights of downtown in all its holiday splendor. When I pulled into the church’s parking lot I saw that Jack’s car was already there, parked next to Pastor’s. I frowned, then sighed. “Well, Lord,” I spoke aloud. “Let’s see what’s in store for this afternoon.”
Pastor Kevin and Jack were already in the pastoral office, but they’d left the door open so they’d be sure to see me when I entered, I suppose. Jack jumped up from his chair opposite Kevin’s desk and escorted me to the empty chair next to his.
“Hello, Goldie,” Kevin greeted me.
“Pastor.” I crossed my legs and clutched my purse in my lap.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” he continued. “As I’m sure Jack has told you, we’ve been meeting for a few weeks.”
Jack shifted a bit in his chair. “I couldn’t bring myself to come right away,” he informed me, almost too eagerly. “I thought you were the one with the problem, Goldie, but now I know better.” Jack seemed to be almost gleeful at the new revelation about himself.
Pastor continued. “You understand that Jack has a disease, Goldie.”
“A disease,” I repeated, perhaps a bit flat.
“That’s right, Goldie,” Jack interjected. “I’ve got a disease.”
I kept my eyes on Pastor Kevin. “Is this … excuse … supposed to absolve Jack?”
“No, of course—”
“Make me feel better about the bum deal I got?”
“Goldie,” Pastor Kevin said, “of course not. This has been a learned behavior from Jack’s father and, I suspect, his father before him. But sex—forbidden sex—acts on the brain like a drug.” Pastor cleared his throat a bit, and I suspected the subject was a bit uncomfortable for him to speak of in front of us. “I think it’s important for you to understand what Jack’s been dealing with.”
I straightened. “What Jack has been dealing with?” I asked. “What about what I’ve been dealing with? Do you have any idea how many years I’ve been living with his infidelity? How many years I’ve heard the whispers and the giggles behind my back?” I shifted in my seat, uncrossed my legs, and then crossed them again. “What he’s been through?”
Jack looked at Pastor Kevin—who nodded at him—then turned to face me. “I was wrong, Goldie.”
I flustered a laugh. “Yes, well. What’s new, Jack?”
Pastor Kevin leaned his forearms against the top of his immaculate desk. “Goldie, it’s important that you be open to hear what your husband is saying. Now, I’m not trying to make something small out of this, but sin—in God’s eyes—is sin. Jack’s asked God to forgive him, and I have to believe that God has. Now, Jack has to ask you and eventually Olivia too.”
Jack reached over and touched my arm with his fingertips. An odd mixture of repulsion and attraction shot through me so fast that I shivered. “Goldie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for every single time I was unfaithful to you … to our vows. And, I promise you, if you’ll just give me a chance to heal personally, I believe our marriage can be healed too.”
I looked from Jack to Pastor and back to Jack again. “I’m not moving back to the house. Not yet. So don’t even think about asking me to.”
Jack smiled at me. “I’m not asking you to.”
“But …” Pastor said, as though he were helping Jack to remember his lines in a play.
Jack nodded once. “But I would like to ask you to do something with me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You mean, besides coming to counseling?”
Jack looked at Pastor one more time, then looked back at me. He coughed out a laugh, then wrung his hands together. He was like a schoolboy asking a girl out to the prom.
“Jack?” I asked. “What else do you want me to do?”
“Ah … Pastor Kevin has a cabin up on Summit Ridge, and he’s agreed to let us go up there for a weekend alone to regroup … to try to see where we are in all this.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, stopping him with a raise of my hand. I looked at the pastor. “I appreciate it. I do. And I remember how fondly Jan spoke of your time up there alone, but I’m not ready to leave my new condo for a weekend … or—to be perfectly honest—to be alone with you.”
Jack’s face flushed. “What’s so bad about being alone with me?” he asked.
“Jack,” Pastor Kevin said. “I believe what Goldie is referring to is the conjugal side of your marriage.”
Jack’s face went from flushed to crimson.
Pastor Kevin continued, this time speaking to me. “If it makes you feel any better, Goldie, there are two bedrooms in the cabin, and they’re at opposite ends of the house.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my hands, studied the single band around my left ring finger. Alone with Jack for two days. Alone in a remote cabin with a crackling fire and banks of evergreens reaching their snowy branches toward the blue sky. Alone with the man I’d promised to love forever. “Oh,” I repeated.
Before I knew what was happening, Jack slid out of his chair and down on his knees before me. “Please, Goldie. Please give me another chance. Two days and two nights at Summit Ridge.” He held up his right hand. “I swear to you, you don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to.”
I burst out laughing. Jack and Kevin looked at each other, then began laughing with me until I stood. “Get up, Jack Dippel.” I shook my head at him. “When are we talking about here? What time frame are you looking at?”
Pastor stood with Jack and said, “The cabin is pretty much booked up during the holidays, but the couple staying there this week is leaving Saturday evening.”
I blinked at him. “Meaning?”
“If you can take a couple of
days off from work, it’s yours Sunday through Tuesday of this coming week.”
Jack sat up a bit. “I’ve already cleared the time with the school and—I hope you don’t get mad—I spoke with Chris about your getting a coupla days—”
My head jerked as my mouth fell open.
Before I could say anything, Jack said, “He’s all for it, Goldie.”
“He is?”
Jack smiled triumphantly. “Said our marriage is more important than any work that needed to be done around there.”
I nodded, then edged my way around my husband and walked toward the door. Once there, I turned and looked at the two men who stood looking back at me, puzzled. “All right,” I said. “I’ll do it. I’ll go.”
Jack exhaled so hard I thought the air would blow me over. “But,” I said, “no monkey business, Jack. Separate bedrooms.”
“Whatever you say, Goldie,” he said, taking a step toward me.
“And,” I added with a smile, “maybe even separate dining tables … but we’ll take that as it comes.”
Jack returned the smile as Pastor Kevin looked down at his watch. “Boys and girls,” he said, “I’ve got another appointment I must scoot out to.” He looked at Jack. “Jack, I’ll see you again next Thursday.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll be here, Pastor.” He looked at me one last time. “This hasn’t been easy, but I know it’s going to be worth it.”
“Well, we’ll see what God allows,” I said, pulling an old quote from my father.
“Yes,” Jack answered, “I believe we will.”
43
Advice from a Couple a’ Rats
Clay vacillated between keeping the photograph and throwing it in the trash. At no time did he do to it, however, what Doreen had done to her daughter, though he wanted to. More than anything he wanted to lay it flat in the palm of his hand and crush it like an autumn leaf left on the ground too long.
He finally chose to lay it on the table next to Woodward and Bernstein. “So, what do you think, boys? What should I do with this? Open an old wound in hopes that Donna will fall into my arms again or …”
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