“You’d do what you always do,” she said. “You’re like a red rubber ball. You just bounce back, no matter what.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t been doing such a great job of bouncing these last six months.”
Side by side, they walked barefoot along the narrow strip of wet sand at the water’s edge. Rob shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said. “You promised you’d tell me if you got into trouble.”
Casey folded her arms across her chest. “I couldn’t,” she said.
He gave her a look that spoke volumes. “All right,” she conceded, “I chose not to.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t think you’d understand. If you haven’t experienced it, you can’t begin to comprehend.”
“What about the music? I saw you flinch when I turned on the car radio.”
“I couldn’t do it any more.” Ahead of them, a pair of laughing children ran into the surf. It rushed in and caught them, and they squealed in delight. “My whole life with Danny was set to a soundtrack,” she said. “I can’t untangle the music and the memories. Everything that happened to us for thirteen years has a song attached.” They passed the two kids, who were rolling in the sand like overgrown pups. “I can tell you exactly what was playing on the radio the first time we made love. And the last time.” She stopped abruptly, bit her lip. “I couldn’t deal with it any longer. When Danny died, so did the music.”
“It’s not over,” he said. “You have years and years ahead of you. Good ones.”
“I’m not sure I care any more.”
“Too damn bad. I care.”
She slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “What do I have to look forward to, anyway?”
“Jesus, Casey, it’s not like you’re some dried-up old prune. You’re young and gorgeous and sexy—”
She snorted, loudly and inelegantly. “You can cut the bull, MacKenzie. I looked in the mirror this morning. I could be a poster child for Auschwitz.”
“You just need to put a little weight back on. You’ll get it all back.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because if you don’t start eating, I’ll put my foot up your ass.”
“How touching.”
“I’m telling you, Fiore, you’ll have men swarming around you thicker than a flock of gulls circling a tuna sandwich.”
In her pockets, she clenched her fists. “Clever analogy,” she said, “but I don’t want men swarming around me.”
“I’m just warning you what’s going to happen.”
Suddenly furious, she wheeled around to confront him. “Listen to me,” she said, “and listen good. There will be no men. There’s only been one man, ever. Only one. As far as I’m concerned, there are no other men. And there aren’t going to be. That part of my life is over. Kaput. Finis. Do you understand?”
He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it abruptly shut. Squared his jaw. “I get it,” he said.
“Good. See that you don’t forget it.”
chapter thirty
Three days after Rob left, she called Jesse and he came over with Dad’s old John Deere and plowed her garden. The next day, she started planting. She knew she was getting a late start, but the garden was more symbolism than practicality anyway, and even if nothing grew, working in the rich, moist soil was good for her soul. She started running again, slowly at first as she built up her endurance, and then she couldn’t be stopped. She ran eight miles a day, began eating like a lumberjack, making up for lost time, and watched as the pounds reappeared and she grew strong and lean and muscular again. She joined the garden club, renewed her library card, began volunteering at the hospital.
As the weeks went by, she talked to Rob often on the phone, but he was tied up with his new album and was anticipating another lengthy road tour, so he didn’t have time to visit. He was uncharacteristically mute regarding his love life, and she wondered what had ever become of Christine Hamilton. For all she knew, they were still seeing each other. The idea left a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach, so she avoided thinking about it.
Summer eased into fall, and fall into winter. Jesse kept her driveway plowed, and she reciprocated by baking him bread and having him over to the house for dinner once or twice a week. Sometimes they went to the movies together. She’d known Jesse all her life, and he was easy to be with. They went ice fishing together, snowmobiling, to the high school’s winter carnival. She even accompanied him to a couple of school board meetings.
Somehow, she survived that long, dreary winter. In March, seemingly overnight, winter gave way to the first flush of spring, and she had to wear rubber boots just to get to the mailbox. She got her car stuck in the quagmire at the end of her driveway and had to call AAA to come and pull it out. Danny had been gone for more than a year, and the pain was gradually losing its fierce edge.
Spring gave way to the hottest summer in ten years. The Fourth of July dawned blistering and muggy. At noon, the entire clan gathered in Trish and Bill’s back yard to feast on lobsters and steamed clams, hot dogs and hamburgers. While Bill alternated between manning the grill and showing off his vegetable garden, Casey and Trish and Millie waded through dogs and cats and kids, boyfriends and girlfriends and assorted playmates to set the picnic table with gargantuan bowls of potato and macaroni salad, cole slaw, home-canned pickles, five dozen freshly baked yeast rolls, an enormous plastic keg of lemonade, and the biggest strawberry shortcake in three counties.
When Billy and Alison arrived with their new baby, all the women took turns making a fuss over him, but it was Casey who got final custody. “You just go enjoy yourself,” she told Alison. “I’ll take care of this little guy.”
She didn’t have to offer twice. Alison gave her a grateful smile before going off hand-in-hand with Billy to inspect his father’s garden. Casey buried her face in the baby’s belly. “Oh, you sweet thing,” she said. “I can hardly wait to spoil you.”
“Sorry,” Trish told her, “but Grampa Bill already bought the franchise.”
“You and Bill,” Casey said, “grandparents. It’s hard to believe. You’re too young.”
“You’re telling me. I thought I’d have a stroke when we found out Alison was pregnant. Babies having babies. But it seems to be working out. Ali’s a nice girl, and Billy’s crazy about her and the baby.”
Casey found a shady spot and settled down to feed little Willie his bottle. He fell asleep in her arms, and she balanced him on one arm while she picked halfheartedly at the plate of food that Jesse brought her. She was studying the miniature curled fists, transfixed, when Trish sat down on the grass beside her. “You know,” her sister-in-law said, “it’s not too late for you.”
“Too late for what?”
“To have another baby.”
She snorted. “Be serious. I’m thirty-two years old.”
“And we both know that age doesn’t mean doodly-poop. Women are having babies in their forties and loving it. Compared to them, you’re practically a teenager.”
“Besides,” Casey said, “I happen to be lacking one essential ingredient: a husband.”
“So? Get married.”
“I suppose you have someone picked out? Like maybe your brother?”
“You could do worse.”
“Jesse and I are just friends.”
“Being friends is a place to start. Look, hon, I’m really not trying to push. But the two of you seem to get along so well, and there has to be some attraction there. After all, you were engaged once.”
“Fifteen years ago! We were children!”
“And God knows, that boy needs a mother.”
Appalled, she said, “You think I should marry the man because his son needs a mother?”
“There are worse reasons for getting married.”
“What about love?”
“I hate to be the one to break it to you, sweetie, but you can get pretty lonely sitting in your ivory tower, waiting
for love to come along.”
“I’m not waiting for anything,” she said, “and I am most certainly not marrying your brother.”
“Well,” Trish said, patting her arm with maternal concern, “you think about it.”
She had no intention of thinking about it. She couldn’t believe Trish could suggest such a thing, as though Danny were no more than a worn-out winter coat she could simply replace with next year’s model.
The kids began a rousing game of volleyball, and as she watched their young, strong limbs, so tanned and muscular, nineteen seemed a lifetime ago. She wondered if it was normal to feel this old, this tired, this used-up at thirty-two. “Good lord, woman,” she said aloud, “you’re morbid. Snap out of it.” She kicked off her shoes, handed the baby over to Trish, and joined the volleyball game. The physical activity was invigorating, the company stimulating. Swept up in the excitement, she forgot to feel sorry for herself.
At dusk, she and Jesse loaded a half-dozen teenagers into the bed of his pickup and drove into town to watch the fireworks. The kids disappeared into the crowd before Casey could finish spreading a blanket on the grassy riverbank. She looked at Jesse, and he shrugged. “Old-timer’s disease,” he said. “They wouldn’t want to be seen in public with us. It might rub off.”
She sat on the blanket with Jesse in the gathering darkness, watching people and fighting off mosquitoes. There was something about hometowns that made a fireworks display special. The ear-splitting booms, the collective ahhhs from the crowd, the children dancing joyously as they waved sparklers above their heads. It had something to do with tradition, something to do with the sense of community that was such an important part of small-town life.
It was over too soon. She and Jesse were folding the blanket when Mikey came running with a friend in tow. “Can I stay tonight at Troy’s house?” he asked. “He just got the new Space Blasters game I was telling you about.”
“Did you ask his parents?”
“My mom said it was okay,” Troy said. “She’s right over there.”
Jesse looked and waved. “Okay,” he said, “as long as Troy’s parents don’t care. But—”
He never got to finish his sentence. The boys were already gone. Casey hugged the blanket to her chest and grinned. “Parental influence,” she said. “Gives you a real feeling of power, doesn’t it?”
Her nieces, Jenny and Kristin, were sitting on the tailgate of the truck, waiting for them. The other kids had all dispersed in various directions, so the four of them squeezed into the cab. Casey listened as her nieces rattled on about the fireworks and about who was dating whom. When they dropped the girls off, Trish came out on the doorstep to wave, and Jesse said dryly, “My sister’s been pushing me at you, hasn’t she?”
“How did you know?”
“She’s been doing the same thing with me. I told her I’m thirty-four years old and my sex life is my own business.”
“Do you think she took the hint?”
He smiled wryly. “Probably not. With Trish, you need a sledgehammer to make a point.”
Not wanting to go into that big, empty house alone, she invited him to stay. They killed an hour drinking lemonade and making easy conversation on the porch swing. After he left, she loaded their glasses into the dishwasher and tried to read. But it was unbearably hot, the night sounds of the old house were distracting, and the emptiness gnawed at her insides. She decided to take a cool shower. The water felt glorious, but the moment she stepped out from beneath the spray, the heat and the emptiness closed in on her again.
She tied her robe around her and went into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the phone. She picked it up, listened to the dial tone, then hung up. It was one in the morning, ten o’clock California time, and Rob probably wasn’t home. Most likely, he was at some wild July Fourth celebration that would go on for three days. And if he was home, he was probably partying in private with someone slender, blond, and very young.
At one forty-five, she gave up on sleeping. At two-ten, she turned on the bedside lamp and dialed Rob’s number. Three thousand miles away, he picked up the phone. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey, light of my life.”
“Happy Fourth of July. Am I interrupting anything?”
“Yeah. I’m sitting here sharing a can of cold ravioli with Igor.”
“That’s revolting. How can you eat that slop?”
“I happen to like that slop. And so does Igor. So how’d you celebrate the Fourth?”
“I went to a barbecue at Bill’s house, and then I watched the fireworks with Jesse.”
“The two of you are getting pretty cozy lately. Started picking out china patterns yet?”
“Jackass,” she said.
“I’ve told you this before,” he said, “and I’ll tell you again. It is legally and ethically impossible to be unfaithful to a dead man.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Whatever would I do if I didn’t have you around to tell me how to run my life?”
“You’d probably learn to do it yourself.”
“Why do I feel as though I’ve heard this lecture before?”
“You have. But last time, I was on the receiving end.” He paused. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “maybe it’s time we weaned ourselves.”
Her fingers tightened on the telephone receiver. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Has it ever occurred to you that our relationship might be unhealthy? We use each other as a crutch. Maybe it’s time we cut the umbilical cord and got on with our lives.”
The silence between them was awkward and profound. Aghast, she told him, “I can’t believe you said that.”
“Don’t go to pieces on me, Fiore. It was just a suggestion.”
“Oh, really? So you think you can dump a bombshell like that in my lap and expect me to just forget about it?”
“All I said was that we seem to have an unhealthy dependence on each other. From now on, I’ll keep my opinions to myself.”
“Fine with me, MacKenzie. As far as I’m concerned, that’s exactly where they belong!” She slammed down the receiver and then, to her utter amazement, burst into tears.
The telephone rang. It shrilled five times, six, while she sat with folded arms, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her cheeks. On the twenty-third ring, she picked it up. “I’m sorry,” Rob said. “I really don’t mean to be an asshole. I think it’s some kind of genetic defect.”
With a shuddering breath, she wiped her wet cheek on the back of her hand. “Why is it,” she said, “that I can never stay mad at you?”
“In spite of your best efforts, Fiore, you love me.”
“You must be right. I can’t think of any other reason I’d continue to put up with the misery you bring into my life.”
“Listen, babe, I have this enormous steak in my freezer that has your name written all over it. Why don’t you come spend a few days with me? I promise to keep my mouth shut.”
She needed some time away, some time to come to terms with herself, to think about where she was going with her life. She reached for a tissue and swiped at her nose. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll come. And you don’t have to keep your mouth shut. I love you just the way you are.”
***
Lost and ignored in the crush of people at LAX, Casey worked her way toward the baggage claim. A skycap wheeling a mountain of luggage nearly ran her over, and she ducked to avoid a collision. Rob had promised to meet her, but in this swarm she’d never find him. She clutched her carry-on more tightly, and then she saw him through an opening in the crowd. Hands tucked loosely in his pockets, wearing dark glasses and the godawful felt hat she’d wanted to burn for a decade, he looked cool and untouched by the mayhem that surrounded him. Rob MacKenzie was a conundrum, a law unto himself, wearing $250 Nikes with a pair of scruffy jeans he’d owned since high school. And he looked good enough to eat.
When he saw her, he held out both hands, palms up, as if to indicate he
was unarmed, then gave her a smile that contained enough wattage to light the entire city of Los Angeles. She set down her carry-on and opened her arms. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
They embraced warmly, and then she stepped back and he planted a kiss on the top of her head. “You look spectacular,” he said.
She was wearing her traveling clothes, jeans and a tee shirt, and she looked down at herself in surprise. “Me?” she said. “Spectacular?”
“You’ve got a tan that any one of my sisters would kill for.”
“Believe me,” she said, “I earned it. This comes from weeding the garden and mowing the lawn, not from lying under any sun lamp.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”
It was a sunny, smogless day, and as he drove, he kept up a steady stream of conversation, brought her up to date on the local music scene, told her who was new and who was working and who was washed up. She let him run down before she attempted conversation. “So,” she said at last, “what’s on the agenda for tonight?”
“You hungry?”
“Famished.”
“You’re in luck. I’ve been taking this Oriental cooking class, and I thought tonight I’d make moo goo gai pan. It’ll knock your socks off.”
He was right. The moo goo gai pan was out of this world. After dinner, they retired to the living room with two jelly glasses and a bottle of Chablis. “MacKenzie,” she said, stretching her legs and leaning back against the couch, “you certainly do know the way to a woman’s heart.”
“Aha! The truth comes out. It’s my cooking that keeps luring you back to my den of iniquity.”
“I thought you knew,” she said. “It’s your record collection. You just happen to have the most extensive collection of Jimmy Buffett recordings on the planet.”
“Laugh. Someday they’ll be worth a fortune.”
“But you’d never sell them,” she said. “You’re more the type to will them to the archeology department of some prestigious university. Of course, they’d reward you handsomely by naming a wing after you. The R.K. MacKenzie Clinic for the Terminally Free-Thinking, or something of that ilk.”
Coming Home (Jackson Falls Series) Page 37
