by Pat Warren
Sara relaxed visibly. “I could read to him. Remember how he used to love to listen to me read to him?” She’d only just thought of that, something special she’d shared with her grandfather.
“That would be nice. I understand that people in comas can hear.” Remembering the night she’d spent trying to reach Adam, she felt certain they did. “So we mustn’t say anything depressing when we’re in his room. Perhaps if he knows we’re pulling for him, he’ll come back to us.” She had her doubts, but she felt compelled to put up a good front.
They were passing Seal Rock on the left. “Our turn’s the next right,” Liz pointed out. Although Sara’d been to the Townsend house a thousand times, she’d never driven the route.
“I know, Mom,” Sara said, putting on her right blinker. Why did parents always think teenagers didn’t know anything? she wondered.
Twilight was a lonely time, Liz thought as she walked out onto the Townsends’ covered terrace. Since Richard’s death she’d become painfully aware of neighboring husbands coming home in the early evening, wives welcoming them at the door, children going in to dinner. Her evenings, often as not, stretched out before her, too long, too quiet.
She watched a summer squall move out to sea, the gloomy sky casting early shadows on the beach. The dreary evening suited her mood. She’d been at the La Jolla house only three days, yet it seemed much longer. Her mother, though, was obviously relieved to have someone to share the burden of watching over Joseph, which made it worthwhile to Liz. Sara had managed by the sheer exuberance of youth to lighten their days and even elicit a few smiles from her grandmother.
It was just that a death watch—which is how Liz had come to view their vigil after numerous discussions with her father’s doctors—was exhausting, both mentally and physically. Nancy hadn’t seen fit to show up or even call, and Liz didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry. The three of them here for Joseph were enough, she supposed. Three generations of women watching over the patriarch. She wondered often if he were aware of their presence in that twilight place he’d gone to where they could no longer reach him.
Standing at the waist-high brick ledge, Liz noticed someone walking on the beach some distance below the sloping lawn and rocky breakfront—a lone figure strolling along, head bent as if searching for something. He was barefoot, his pant legs rolled up, his hands in his pockets. His stride was slow, dejected, somehow sad. He was too far away for her to make out his face in the dusky gloom, yet there was something familiar about the man.
“Here you are,” Katherine said, stepping out onto the terrace and looking up at the gray clouds. “It seems the storm is passing us by.”
“Yes,” Liz answered without turning around. She squinted, studying the stroller.
Joining her at the ledge, Katherine peered into the gloom and noticed who was attracting her daughter’s attention. “I rather thought he’d find his way down here somehow,” she said. “You must have told him you were staying with us.”
Perplexed, Liz turned. “Who do you mean?”
Katherine seemed equally surprised at her daughter’s question. “Adam McKenzie. He purchased the Reid house recently. I thought you knew.”
“No.” She swung her eyes back to the man who’d bent over to pick up a piece of driftwood. “He came to see me after Richard died, sometime in January, to offer his condolences. He was looking for a house on the beach, and I told him the Reid house was up for sale, but I didn’t know he’d actually bought it. He used to caddy for Mr. Reid as a teenager and always loved the place.”
“Is this to be their permanent home, then?”
“I don’t know. Adam said that his wife doesn’t like the sea, but he does. I imagine Diane’s happier in Washington, in the thick of things.” She hadn’t seen or heard from Adam since that January visit, but, as always, she’d thought of him often.
Liz saw him gaze up toward the rocky cliff and beyond, then turn and slowly start back the way he’d come. He walked as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. “He looks so sad,” she said, hardly aware she’d spoken the words aloud.
Katherine studied her daughter’s profile thoughtfully. “It’s difficult loving a powerful man, isn’t it? Especially one you can’t have.”
Somehow she’d always known that one day they’d be having this conversation, Liz thought. Leaning against the ledge, she crossed her ankles and looked at her mother. “How long have you known?”
Katherine shrugged. “From the beginning. But please don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Walking softly, feeling older than her sixty-three years, she moved to the padded lounge chair, then sat and lifted her face to a light breeze.
Liz walked over to curl up on the matching couch alongside her mother’s chair. Sara was out for the evening with friends, and the nurse was with Joseph. Perhaps it was the stormy atmosphere or the twilight hour or maybe the life-or death situation that had brought them together that made Liz feel she could finally talk to her mother about Adam. “I guess I’m far more transparent than I’d thought.”
Katherine touched her daughter’s hand gently. “Only to me, dear, because I love you and know you quite well. And because I, too, have known such a powerful love.”
“Dad,” Liz said softly.
Katherine nodded. “We’re one-man women, you and I. I’ve ached for you that you couldn’t have the man you loved, as I did. Richard was a fine man, but I knew he wasn’t the one.”
“Do you know why I didn’t tell Adam I was pregnant with his child, why I married Richard?”
“Of course, because you didn’t want to stand in the way of Adam’s ambition. Given the circumstances, I’d have done the same thing. Even married to him, I’ve struggled with your father’s aspirations all these years, and it hasn’t been easy. Men like Joseph and Adam aren’t easily satisfied and rarely content.”
Her mother was far more astute than she’d suspected, Liz realized. “But you loved Dad all the same.”
“Oh, yes.” In the dim light drifting out through the open vetanda doors, Katherine’s blue eyes took on a dreamy cast. “Joseph always hated the fact that my family had money and his didn’t. So he set out to top my father, and he did.” She smiled, remembering.
“You were crazy about him from the beginning,” Liz stated, having heard the story from Katherine many times yet knowing it gave her comfort to reminisce now.
“From the day I first laid eyes on him. But I had few illusions, then or now. I knew he married me because of my family connections. Oh, we got along well enough, but Joseph never had the passion for me that I had for him.”
It seemed she and her mother had a great deal in common. “That must have hurt.”
“Yes, but, as you’ve learned, you can’t make a man care the way you want him to, especially if he has his own dreams he feels driven to pursue.”
If she’d guessed the truth about Adam, Liz wondered if she knew the truth about her own husband. “Do you think Dad was faithful to you?”
“I’m certain he wasn’t. I was blindly in love, but not blind. Do you remember the cabin we had up in Grass Valley? I’m sure he spent time there with others.”
Liz felt her own heart ache for those lonely hours her mother must have spent hurting. “But you never confronted him?”
Katherine smiled sadly. “No. My mother used to say, Don’t ask a question if you fear the answer. I didn’t want to separate, and if he’d confessed, my pride would have forced me to leave him. If he’d lied, that would have compounded things. Perhaps I was wrong, but I felt I should let sleeping dogs lie.” She let out a shaky breath. “I’m not sorry. I’ve had a good life with your father. No one can have everything.”
“I agree with that. We pay for our decisions, one way or other, sooner or later.”
Katherine shifted to study Liz. “Adam still doesn’t know he’s Sara’s father, does he?”
“No, and it’s been a difficult thing to keep from him. You see, he was injured in an acc
ident years ago and he can no longer have children.”
“And his adopted son drowned. How terrible.”
“Yes. But I can’t tell him about Sara. He’d hate me for keeping her from him all these years. His wife would be furious, his political future jeopardized. And Sara would be shattered. She adored Richard.”
Katherine toyed with the heavy gold band she’d worn for forty years, thinking how badly tangled their lives suddenly were. “What’s Adam’s marriage like? That woman doesn’t seem his type.”
Liz leaned back, closing her eyes. “I can’t comment on Diane without prejudice. She worked on Adam’s campaign the summer I met him. I didn’t like her then, and I doubt I would now. I don’t feel, from what I’ve heard, that she loves him. He hinted that he’s not happy.”
“Perhaps she doesn’t love him, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to stay married to him. He’s a powerful man, and power is addictive.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“Do you think Adam loves you?”
“Oh, Mother, I don’t know. He’s never said so, not once.”
Katherine was thoughtful for several minutes. “I’m not in favor of divorce, but now that you’re free, perhaps he’ll get one. If he cares enough.”
“I doubt it. There’s talk that the bigwigs have their eye on him as a vice-presidential candidate. A divorce, especially from Diane, who wouldn’t go quietly into that good night, would be a scandal. Adam wouldn’t go for it. And why should he? His goal is within reach.”
Katherine reached over to take Liz’s hand in her own smaller one. “I sometimes wonder what the good Lord had in mind when he put men and women together. I despair that we’ll ever understand the opposite sex.”
Liz smiled and squeezed her mother’s hand as the phone just inside the doorway rang. “We can’t live with them or without them, it seems.” She rose. “I’ll get that.”
“Tom, how are you?” Liz asked as she recognized the voice of Richard’s ex-law partner. Always polite, he asked about her father and how she and Sara were doing. After she brought him up-to-date, he finally got around to the reason for his call.
“I’ve been phoning all over and finally I’ve tracked you down,” Tom Nelson said. “I’m moving into smaller quarters, and I’ve been cleaning out the storeroom, which I admit I haven’t poked around in in years. I’ve run across a box of photos of Richard with a variety of people. Some judges, a couple of politicians. What do you want me to do with them?”
Liz didn’t want to deal with this right now. “Could you send them to the people on the pictures with Richard and include a note saying I thought they might like a remembrance? Would that be all right?”
“Certainly. I’ll have my secretary get right on it. Good talking with you again, Liz.”
“You, too, Tom. And thanks.” She hung up, wondering why such a nice man had never married. Returning to the terrace, she saw that her mother had fallen asleep. Liz knew she really needed the rest.
She tiptoed back inside and went upstairs to check on her father.
All traces of gray clouds had disappeared by the next day, replaced by blue skies and lots of sunshine. Sara spent an hour reading to her grandfather after lunch, then set off with friends to go to the beach. Katherine took over sitting with Joseph, and Liz went to work on the one clay piece she’d brought with her, needing to keep her hands busy.
At four, satisfied with her progress on the sculpture, an Arabian stallion poised in a difficult reared-back position, she covered the piece and was about to go clean up when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she called to Camille, the woman who’d worked for the Townsends for too many years to count.
Liz swung open the door and stopped in her tracks.
Nancy stood on the porch, wearing a yellow cotton jumpsuit, very little makeup, and a hesitant smile. “Hi, Liz,” she said, her voice trembly.
“Hi.” Her sister looked better than she had in years. Her hair was no longer dyed a brassy blond but was back to its warm brown shade, cut to a flattering shoulder length. Her eyes were clear, if a bit wary. Liz felt wary, too, not daring to believe this huge transformation. “Come in.”
Even her walk was subdued, not the defiant swagger she’d adopted in the recent past. Nancy stood in the large marble foyer and gazed around, looking uncertain and oddly wistful. Liz closed the door behind her and held out her messy hands. “I was just going to wash up. Have you come to see Dad?”
“How is he?” She glanced nervously toward the stairs. “Am I interrupting? Is this a bad time?”
“No, not at all. Dad’s about the same.”
Nancy turned to her sister, swallowing around a dry throat. “I thought maybe… well, you said to come home, and…” She blinked quickly, averting her head. “Maybe it was a mistake.”
“No. No, it wasn’t.” Forgetting the dry clay on her hands, Liz reached out and touched Nancy’s arm. “Mom will be so glad you’re here.” Liz fervently hoped she spoke the truth, for she’d never mentioned visiting Nancy to her mother.
Having heard the doorbell, Katherine came quietly down the stairs, then stopped, surprised at the sight of her youngest daughter, looking better than she had in years, looking sober as well.
Caught up in her own thoughts, Nancy didn’t see her mother. “I didn’t really mean all the things I said to you that day. I mean, I was jealous of you being so perfect always. But it’s not really your fault that I screwed up.”
Liz saw the moisture in her sister’s eyes and decided to believe her. “I’m not perfect, Nancy, far from it. I’ve had my share of heartache.” Glancing up, Liz met her mother’s eyes as she stood on the stairs and saw understanding there.
Nancy shuffled her feet nervously. “I really want to get my shit together this time, but I may need a little help. I don’t think I can do it alone.” The familiar craving for a drink had her pressing a fist to her stomach. “Damn, Liz, it’s so hard.”
Liz slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll help all I can. But I suggest you clean up your language. Mother’s right behind you.”
Nancy’s round eyes grew rounder as she slowly swung around. The shock of seeing her mother looking older, more fragile, had her strengthening her resolve. “Hi, Mom. I’ve come home. If… if you still want me.”
By way of answer, Katherine held out her arms. With a soft sound, Nancy went into them.
Watching, Liz felt her own eyes fill. If only this would turn out to be the real thing rather than a temporary respite.
Leaving mother and daughter to their own reunion, she went upstairs to take a shower.
Liz needed some time alone. She walked down the stone steps from the sloping lawn leading to the sandy beach. It was dusk and still light enough to see, but the sun was sinking fast. It had been an emotionally trying few hours.
The three of them had had dinner together on the terrace and talked, hesitantly at first, then more intimately. Katherine and Liz both had been careful not to accuse or to pry too much, but rather to let Nancy tell them what she chose to reveal. A picture of the life she’d led emerged slowly, in fits and starts, with bursts of tears and buried anger. It wasn’t a pretty picture, filled with transient men and her battle with the bottle.
Sparing no one, Nancy had spoken of being jealous of her sister, of hating Liz for being so perfect. And she’d told Katherine about the incident in the cabin, though Liz had hoped she wouldn’t. Katherine handled the news well, though she’d turned even paler. Finally drained of energy and confessions, Nancy had gone to bed in her old room after hugging them both.
“What do you think?” Liz had asked her mother.
“Time will tell,” Katherine had answered.
She’d never realized the rock strength of her own mother, Liz thought as she slipped off her shoes, leaving them on the last step. Setting off in the sand, she walked over to where the waves rolling in would lap at her toes. The evening breeze felt good on her face and her bare legs.
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nbsp; She wore old denim shorts and a navy T-shirt, apparently abandoned some years ago, that she’d found in the dresser in her old room. Pleased that they still fit, she’d slipped them on. Her feet made squiggles in the wet sand and kicked up small clumps as she walked. The sky was streaked orange and pale gray with blue overtones. The sea smelled clean and fresh, and she drew in a deep breath.
It was good to be out here alone; she so seldom seemed to have time to herself anymore. Sara had called to say she was spending the night at Justine’s, probably to gather more ammunition to use to persuade her mother to allow her to go to Ireland. Liz knew she’d have to arrive at a decision on that soon, because there’d be clothes to buy and a passport to arrange.
She stopped, hands on her hips, gazing up. Was she actually considering letting Sara go thousands of miles away from her? She hated the very thought. Yet could she selfishly keep her daughter at her side? Sara was bright, eager, enthusiastic. How could she clip her wings when she was just be ginning to fly? How could she break her spirit? She was sensible, careful, cautious.
I’ll sleep on it, Liz decided, moving on.
And what of Nancy? She’d visited her in that ramshackle house about six weeks ago. Liz hated being a skeptic, but could that one confrontation have turned her sister around after years of self-destructive living? She’d love to think so. As her mother had said, time would tell. Liz prayed Nancy hadn’t returned, getting everyone’s hopes up, only to leave again, disappointing them all.
The sun was almost gone now and the moon already in position, throwing enough light so that she could make out some of the more familiar houses she’d passed in walks taken years ago. What would her mother do in that big house after Joseph’s death? How would she get along without him after forty years together?
The same way she herself had after Richard, Liz supposed. You grieve, you miss him terribly, but life goes on and you adjust. Still, she hadn’t loved Richard in the same way that Katherine loved Joseph. Her pain would be deeper, last longer. She would have to keep an eye on her mother, help her through the rough days to follow.
