by Jane Peart
“It’s okay, dear. You probably were just excited at Coryn’s being here.” Although her father spoke quietly, obviously checking his irritation, his words had seemed like a reprimand. “Just be careful, won’t you? The other night when I couldn’t sleep, I came down to make some cocoa and I found the burners had been left on.”
“Oh, my, I didn’t know. How could I have done that?”
Coryn’s father put his arm around her mother’s shoulders. “It’s okay, dear, it won’t happen again, I’m sure, with Coryn here to check up on you.” His attempt at humor didn’t quite come off.
Coryn put her cup down slowly. What was going on here? There was a disturbing friction between her parents. A definite undercurrent.
“Well, ladies, I better be on my way.” Neil reached for his raincoat, which was hanging on the peg by the back door that led into the garage. “I have some bids to go over. You two have a good day catching up. See you later.”
“What time will you be home for dinner, Neil?”
He halted, as if considering. “What say we go out to dinner tonight? Celebrate Coryn’s homecoming? That way you won’t have to worry about shopping or cooking.”
Coryn saw her mother’s smile fade. Clare was a gourmet cook. At other times Coryn had come home she had taken delight in preparing a special dinner with all her daughter’s favorite dishes. It was almost a tradition. Had her father forgotten that? Or was there some hidden meaning in her father’s words?
“Of course, dear,” Clare replied. “That will be fine.”
Neil left, and her mother came back to the table, a bewildered frown creasing her smooth forehead. It was quickly replaced by a bright smile as she said, “That will be fun, the three of us going out. Won’t it? Remember we used to do that Friday nights when you were little. Meet Daddy downtown for dinner? An adventure.” She glanced at Coryn fondly. “We’ve missed you so much.”
An anxiousness came into her mother’s eyes. She seemed about to say something else then changed her mind. “Now, what shall we do today?”
Chapter Three
The Grill Room of the Highland Inn was fashioned after an English pub with low-beamed ceilings, latticed amber windows, round tables and Windsor chairs. Along one side was a curved bar with high leather stools studded with brass nail heads. As Coryn and her parents entered, a heavyset man at the bar set down his drink and came over to Coryn’s father.
“Bryson Falvey,” the man said, holding out his large hand. “Falvey Heavy Equipment. We hear you’re thinking of unseating old Mason Bigelow. That’s good news.” He pumped Neil’s hand. “We need someone like you in Sacramento.”
“Well, thank you. Very kind of you to say so. Nothing’s definite yet…”
The man didn’t seem to hear her father’s words, just clapped him on the shoulder and went back to his seat at the bar.
When they were at their own table, Coryn asked her father, “Are you seriously considering running for the assembly, Dad?”
“Several people are urging me to think about it. It’s mostly talk. Nothing’s been decided.”
Coryn noticed her mother nervously rearranging silver at her plate. Didn’t she like the idea?
Neil opened the glossy red menu. “Now, what would you ladies enjoy tonight? How about a nice sirloin, or fresh salmon fillet?”
The next few minutes were spent choosing their dinner entrees. Coryn’s father exchanged a few friendly remarks with the waitress, who evidently knew him, then gave her their order.
When they were alone again, Neil looked at Coryn and picked up the conversation where they’d left off. “However, if I did decide to run, how about going to work for me on my campaign committee? With your PR experience, you could contribute a great deal. I’d pay you—match your salary in L.A. or more. And—” he laughed “—you wouldn’t have any living expenses. Free room and board.”
Coryn didn’t have a chance to reply because the waitress came with their shrimp cocktails and her father did not return to the subject
As soon as they got home, Clare told them she was going to take a long, leisurely bath and go to bed. Her father had some work to do and went to his den. Coryn went upstairs to her bedroom.
All through dinner she had felt restless. A couple of times she had completely lost track of the conversation. That hadn’t mattered so much because several people had stopped by their table to engage her father in conversation. Over and over, the subject of his running for office had come up, but he had dismissed it lightly. It bothered Coryn that her mother had seemed so detached from it all. More than detached, she reflected, the subject seemed to make Clare anxious, though she did her best to hide it.
Coryn shut the door of her room and glared at the phone—the blue Princess one, her parents’ gift to her on her fourteenth birthday. Her own line, her own number. She had been ecstatic.
She sat down on the side of the bed and stared at it. Maybe she’d just call her apartment in L.A., check the message machine. No harm in that. She heard the prerequisite six rings, the click of the recording machine. There was no message from Jason. Just her roommate Sheila’s voice saying she’d gone to San Leandro to her folks’ home for Thanksgiving.
Disappointed, Coryn put down the phone. Why hadn’t Jason called from Detroit? She knew the name of the hotel where he said he’d be staying. It was one of the chain the company account executives used. She could call him there. What would be wrong with that? She could make it sound casual. Ask him how the sales presentation went. After all, they had discussed nothing else for weeks. They had brainstormed ideas together. He seemed to think some of hers were good. Had he used them? Wouldn’t it seem natural she’d be interested to hear how his presentation had gone?
She picked up the receiver and dialed the longdistance number. As she waited, she caught a glimpse of herself in the dressing-table mirror. It brought a sudden flashback. She remembered how many nights she had glared at this same phone when she was a teenager, waiting for a certain boy to call. Ironic, ten years later, she was doing the same thing. Almost.
The hotel switchboard operator came on the line and Coryn asked to be connected to Jason Kramer’s room.
The phone rang several times. Then, “Jason Kramer here.” His voice sounded crisp, businesslike.
“Jason, it’s Coryn. How did it go? I’ve been thinking about you and-” She stopped. She sounded overeager, gushy.
“Coryn. Oh, well. Yes, it went well.” Was he annoyed or was that her imagination?
Coryn twisted the phone cord through her fingers. She hadn’t meant to say it, but she gave in, couldn’t stop herself. “Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you let me know?”
She was sure she could hear someone moving around in the background. “Jason?” Coryn heard a distinctly feminine voice call.
She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath. Had she no pride?
She clutched the receiver, which slipped a little in her clammy palm.
“I told you I’d be busy here,” he snapped.
She clenched her teeth. What was that she heard? Had he put his hand over the mouthpiece, was he speaking to someone there in the room with him? He came back on the line. He seemed a little impatient. “I’ll have to go, Coryn. There’re some people I’ve got to meet downstairs in the lounge.”
She waited, holding her breath a few seconds longer, idiotically, not wanting to hang up. Surely he would say something about her input. Tell her some of her ideas had helped?
Jason’s voice came on again, a little bored. Indifferent? “I’ll be in L.A. on the first. I’ll call you then.”
Her fingers tightened on the receiver. No,’ you won’t, a voice in her head said.
There was definite irritation in Jason’s tone now. “I better wrap this up, Coryn. I’ll see you back in L.A.”
Coryn did not answer. Slowly she put down the phone.
After she’d hung up, she sat perfectly still for a long time. Why had she been such a fool? Why hadn’t she resisted the
urge to call him. She had a feeling of finality. All her nagging doubts and questions about Jason came rushing for confirmation. Little cracks in his veneer had appeared months ago. She just hadn’t wanted to see them. He was the reason she’d stayed in L.A. Long after she was bored with her job, disliked the life-style around her. She should have come home months ago when she first realized who and what Jason was.
The irrefutable truth descended like an icy cloak. Whatever she had felt for Jason or he for her was over. Whatever purpose she’d had in his life had been served. He didn’t need her anymore. It was humiliating to admit. The truth might be best but it also could be ugly. She sat there perfectly still while her conviction took hold. She drew a long, shaky breath.
She wasn’t going back to L.A.
She didn’t want to face Jason. Or, everyone at the office. They would all know how he’d made a fool of her. Maybe they knew already, she grimly reflected.
Besides, she didn’t care about that job. But if she didn’t go back, what would she do? She’d figure that out later. Once that was decided, there were other things to do to make it stick. To make it so she couldn’t change her mind.
First, she had to resign her job. That wouldn’t cause any waves. It was an entry-level position. If she had potential, she could move up they’d told her. Her potential had been given to feeding Jason ideas for him to present. She’d never learned to be assertive enough. She’d trusted him to give her credit. It hadn’t happened.
The following day when she made the call to the office it was as she’d expected. No one asked her many questions.
Next, she had to call Sheila to let her know she’d have to look for another roommate. That was a lot harder. But Sheila was a friend and very understanding. Good apartments at reasonable rents in safe neighborhoods were at a premium in L.A. Before she could allow herself to have any second thoughts she dialed Sheila at her parents’ house, where she was visiting for the holiday.
Sheila was disappointed that Coryn wasn’t coming back but surprised her by saying, “Actually, I think I saw it coming. You’ve been so depressed. Sure, you did a good job of covering it, but I could see you’d lost your enthusiasm.”
“It was that obvious, huh?”
“Well, you know me,” Sheila laughed. “I should hang out my shingle. Like Lucy in the Peanuts cartoon strip. ‘The Doctor is In’.” She laughed, “I guess you could say, I saw the handwriting on the wall.”
“You did? Well, you were ahead of me. I just woke up.” Coryn’s voice was tinged with irony. There was a slight pause, then Sheila asked, “What about Jason?”
“What about him?”
“Does he know you’re not coming back?”
“I told him.”
“Is he the reason?”
“Partly.”
“I hope you’re okay about it.”
“I can’t discuss it right now. I’ll fill you in another time, okay?”
“Sure.” Sheila agreed. Then they’d launched into a discussion of the best way to send Coryn’s belongings. The things she had purchased for their common use at the apartment—the iron and toaster, for instance—she told Sheila to keep. Her clothes were the main items that would have to be shipped.
“I’m sorry you have to do all this, Sheila. I know it’s an awful lot to ask,” Coryn said. “I feel I’ve let you down. I’ll pay my part of next month’s rent if you have trouble finding someone to share the apartment.”
“No way.”
Sheila assured her things could be worked out. She had lots of friends and was great at networking. Before they hung up Sheila said, “If you want my advice, which you probably don’t, forget Jason Kramer. He isn’t worth it.”
“Thanks, Anne Landers.”
Sheila’s words reaffirmed what Coryn had concluded herself. Although forgetting Jason might be easier said than done. However, Coryn was determined to do it. He’d taken up too much of her time, energy, life already.
After she put the phone down Coryn just sat there. With two calls she had changed the direction of her life. Now what?
Even a bad experience can teach something if one is willing to learn. Maybe every woman has to have one disastrous romance in her life so that she can at least know what she doesn’t want. The question in Coryn’s heart was were her dreams of an enduring love too idealistic? Had she expected too much, trusted too much? Was there such a thing anymore as true love? Or did she cling to a hope that could never be fulfilled?
Chapter Four
Thanksgiving came as a welcome distraction. It took her mind off what she’d done. If she’d had time to think about it she might have regretted her impulsive decision. She was sure she’d been right about Jason. Breaking off would have eventually happened anyway. What bothered her was, now what? Not knowing the answer, helping her mother gave her a chance to put off making any immediate decisions about her future.
This year for Thanksgiving, besides Coryn’s aunts, her father’s two sisters and their husbands from Redding, her father’s lawyer Martin Prentis and his wife Lucille, old time friends, several other local couples had been invited. When Coryn asked her mother why some of these were being included in what had always been a family occasion, the answer was, “Well, Neil wanted some of the people that are urging him to run for the assembly. Actually as a kind of courtesy.” That was also the reason her mother gave for having the turkey and most of the trimmings catered.
“But what about your famous candied sweet potato casserole and creamed onions?” asked Coryn in surprise. These were two of her mother’s specialties.
“Oh, everyone’s on a diet these days,” was the offhanded reply. “With the extra people Neil invited, it just seemed—” she paused, “I haven’t been doing much entertaining lately…”
Coryn accepted the explanation. Preoccupied with her own new problems it sounded reasonable enough. She pitched in to help with some of the details of preparing for her parents’ guests. These mainly consisted of polishing the silver, arranging the flowers, and creating a cornucopia of fruit as a centerpiece for the buffet table.
Coryn moved through the day itself as if playing a role, smiling, chatting, answering questions about her life in L.A. casually. She was glad when evening came and all the guests had left. It was only when she was alone in her own room that she then faced the decisions she had made, the steps she had taken and confronted what she would do next.
Thanksgiving morning Mark got up late. The day was gloomy and windy. The sky dark, heavy with clouds threatening rain. He got up, put on his bathrobe and slippers. As he passed through the living room, he flipped on the TV. In the kitchen he dumped some cornflakes into a bowl, then clicked on the automatic coffeemaker.
The sound of the TV blared and he went to turn it down. The famous New York Thanksgiving Day parade was being telecast with its marching bands, floating air-balloon figures, baton twirlers and horseback riders. He watched for a few minutes, hoping the Bartons had turned it on for Ginny. She loved it. She recognized all the cartoon characters and called out their names, clapping her hands happily. His heart twisted. He missed her. Maybe he should have stayed in San Raphael with her, in spite of the memories.
The scene changed to a commercial and Mark went back out to the kitchen. His coffee was ready and he poured some into a mug. Gulping it, he stood staring out the window over the sink. It was beginning to rain. A gray steady rain that he knew would last all day.
Good thing there’d be marathon football. From California to Florida some of the biggest college teams would be playing. It would fill up the empty hours of this long day yawning ahead.
Noon found him still in his bathrobe in front of the TV, not knowing which team was even playing, which was winning or losing. Mindlessly watching the constantly moving figures on the screen, Mark’s thoughts were far from points and scores.
He used the remote to change channels. Sleet fell heavily at the traditional Army-Navy game. The players battled through the soggy turf. Click, click.
Sunshine in Florida. Click. In Michigan snow fell.
Mark’s finger poised above the button, mesmerized by the picture of snow flurries. Snow. Always reminded him. How could it not? Squaw Valley nearly four years ago.
They’d been on one of their favorite vacations, their first since adopting Ginny. A ski weekend. It was wonderful. Ginny at two was fun, easy to take with them, enjoying everything. Shari was the skier. It was a sport she loved, and she was a good skier. Mark was a klutz on skis and had taken Ginny sledding so Shari could be free to run the slopes.
Then the unexpected, the unthinkable, happened. A freak accident. The ski lift broke, tumbling skiers thirty feet. Shari had hit her head and had been killed instantly.
A minute before, she had been laughing, waving down at him as he held Ginny in his arms. “Just one more time,” she had pleaded when he suggested they call it a day, go back to the lodge. She had been having such a good time…
Click, click, Mark switched channels. Then he stood up, turned off the set. He looked out the window. A gray veil of rain darkened the afternoon. He turned abruptly and hurried to his bedroom, flinging off robe, pajamas as he did. Couldn’t stay holed up like this another minute. Rain or no rain, he was going jogging. He pulled on his sweats, tied his running shoes and left the house.
Stepping outside on the porch, the cold, wet wind stung his face. He warmed up by running in place a few minutes, then set out through the misty rain.
An hour later he was back, blood tingling, muscles aching, but feeling better. After a long shower, he shoved a frozen pizza into the microwave and studied the TV listings. The movie channel was playing a John Wayne retrospective. The Quiet Man was scheduled next. Why not? Mark got the pizza out, put it on a tray and carried it into the living room and settled down in his easy chair. Some Thanksgiving, he thought with grim humor. Next year, it would be different. He’d make sure of it.
He settled back to lose himself in the movie. In two more days he’d go back to San Rafael, bring Ginny home and life would get back to normal.
