“Supper’s ready,” Abby called from the kitchen. Everyone gathered around the table, sat down and began to pass the food from hand to hand.
“You know, Abby, I should have brought the desert. I’m fallin’ down in my old age. Tomorrow, I’ll do desert, just like the old days. How’s that?” Joshua smiled his gentle smile.
“Mama,” Abby said, her eyes softening, “you did marry the finest man this side of the Mississippi.”
“The finest, darlin’, and a good cook, too!” They all laughed and Joshua grinned from ear to ear.
Zoe looked at her father and said, “Well, that may be, but I have the finest daddy north of the Mason Dixon line and the best football coach ever.”
Zach put his arm around Zoe. “Now there’s a smart girl!” Zoe’s face glowed, Luke glanced uncomfortably at his mother while the others stuffed one more fork full of supper in their mouths.
Graduation was held outside in the sunshine drenched lap of the mountains. ZJ had arrived just in time and sat beside his father, looking exactly like the boy his mother had married more than two decades before. He was polite to everyone but shared little of himself and left the very next day with the same brooding expression with which he had come.
Abby reluctantly drove her family to the airport three days later. Mary was the first to say goodbye.
“We’ve had a wonderful visit, darlin’. You’ve done a fine job with your children and your home. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Abby said.
“ZJ did seem a bit quiet, don’t you think? Is he all right?”
“He’s a lot like Zach, only quieter, you know, he never lets you know what he thinks. I can’t get him to open up, never have. He tries so hard to be the star his father was on and off the field, if you know what I mean. I just wish he’d find his own way, out of Zach’s shadow.”
“Maybe he will someday. He’s a good boy; he’ll come around.”
“I know, Mama.”
Emmy gave Abby her last hug. “Hmm,” she murmured.
“Hmm what? You always have something up your sleeve when you say ‘hmm’.”
“I do not. Can’t a person just ruminate a little without having some hidden meaning?”
“A regular person maybe, but not you.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Abby. Don’t get in a dither about the little noises I make. Good grief.”
“We’ll see.” Abby was amused, but she knew she was right. It never failed, not once in over forty years had she been wrong about Emmy’s noises.
“I’m just thinkin’ how nice it will be next time you come home. God, Ab! I miss you already.” Emmy kissed Abby’s cheek.
“I miss you, too.” Abby wiped the tears from her eyes. “Go on now, before you miss your plane.”
Joshua tucked Abby’s chin and kissed her forehead. “Goodbye, sweetheart. Take care now, hear?”
“I will, Joshua. You take good care of Mama, Papa Cory, and Gramma for me. I do so wish they’d been well enough to come.”
“I know. Maybe next time.”
They left Abby standing at the window and waved from the stairs. She waved back and watched the plane taxi and then fly away, feeling as if a part of her soul had been ripped out and shot in a silver streak across the sky.
CHAPTER 29
When Zachary Trudeau, the pro, sprung from the loins of big time footfall, grasped the glory of the Ivy League mystique, his astounding success, good looks, and interest in the ladies soon grew to be a preferred topic of conversation at the hairdressers, over coffee and after church.
In his fourth year of preaching the gospel according to “Mom, Country, and Apple Pie,” Zach was about to pull off the first history-making Ivy League Championship for the Dragons. They couldn’t lose. The only question was whether they would share the title or win it outright for the black and white team.
As the story goes, founder Thaddeus Paul Cross III was color blind and insisted his school’s colors be ones he could see, no greys, reds, greens or blues. Black-black and white-white trimmed in gold, a personal touch from wife Hazel, became the only colors imbedded in the deep traditions of Cross.
Belying the New England sunset, as it dripped liquid gold into the rippled waters of Crystal Lake, the dirty whispers grew like algae on the slippery shore stones. The cozy town of Cross was buzzing.
Ginny Houston always had her hair done once a week at Renaissance. They knew her and treated her well, no appointment necessary. She left big tips and sent all her friends, including Abby Trudeau, to be manicured, pedicured and properly coifed.
It wasn’t quite polite to come right out and ask Mrs. Houston, but a few dangling words conveniently fell on her ears before she went under the dryer.
“He really is incredible looking, don’t ya think?” Marsha, the rosy-cheeked scissor magician, said to one of her other regulars.
“I bet a man like that would be hard to be married to, don’t ya think? I mean he’s practically the town hero, and my son Jason tells me the kids at school think he walks on water, for heaven’s sake.” Her customer nodded.
Marsha continued her litany. “His wife’s awfully nice, really, and great hair, too.” She leaned closer, but didn’t lower her voice even a little. “Been a lot of talk ‘bout his rovin’ eye. Wonder if she knows? Prob’ly not, the wife is always the last to know.” Marsha was carrying on a one-way conversation with herself as the woman she was working on just nodded.
“Marsha, what are you talking about?” Ginny asked from across the room.
“Oh, just girl talk, Mrs. Houston. I was just saying that Zach Trudeau has lips flappin’ these days, what with the championship game, and the way the kids all love him and all. And, well, there’s been talk about him bein’, well, you know, a ladies man. Course I don’t believe any of it, do you?”
“Of course not. And I really think that it would upset his wife to know that she gets her hair done in that very chair, if she knew what people were saying behind her back, don’t you?”
Marsha was unperturbed. “Oh, you know how gossip is in a small town. I don’t believe none of it, you know, and I’d never say anything about her. She’s a real nice southern lady. Might even get used to it up here someday. Lovely family, the Trudeaus. Catholics aren’t they? Beautiful house up there on Shay Mountain. I hear the Missus is quite a fine hostess.”
“Yes, she is very devoted to her family. They go to Saint Mary’s, you know.”
“Our Lady of Perpetual Motion, I call it. You know how Catholics are, up and down, down and up. I ought to convert just for the exercise!” Marsha’s laugh filled the room and spread to everyone, except Ginny.
“I wouldn’t think any family is more involved in the community. Why, he’s always volunteering to talk in town, and Abby’s been helping out at school since she got here. And remember the Packers’ fire? Well, Abby and Zach really helped them get back on their feet,” Ginny said.
“Oh yeah, I remember that. Darn shame. Doesn’t Joey Packer do something with football?” Marsha asked.
“Yes, he’s one of the trainers. Abby insisted they all move in with them until the insurance money came through. Joey still talks about it.”
Ginny liked Marsha, but she wouldn’t sit still for idle, nasty gossip. It troubled her nonetheless. Satisfied that she had stopped the noise for the time being, Ginny Houston retreated to the heat and hum of her hair dryer and flipped through the pages of a well-worn magazine.
She first heard rumblings from Ric, her husband of twenty-eight years. It was the night Fritz Gaston and his wife, Lydia, invited them along with Abby and Zach for dinner.
The Gastons rarely gave small dinner parties, but it seemed Fritz felt it appropriate to acknowledge the growing success Zach had brought to Cross. Their ragtag team had been transformed into a well-oiled winning machine. Fritz had told them winning seemed to make the alumni happy and generous, the Board more pliable, and Monday morning staff meetings more enjoyable. Ric told her he hate
d talk like that. It made winning too important and losing too risky.
“I hope the bubble doesn’t break and splatter all over us,” Ric said that night as Ginny turned out the light.
“What a strange thing to say. What do you mean?” They kept few secrets from each other. He respected her wisdom, and she treasured his trust.
“I don’t know exactly. I got a strange phone call today from a man who wouldn’t say who he was, just that I’d better watch Zach carefully or he’d cause me lots of problems. I asked him what kind of problems. He said all kinds, but I should look in his closet for skeletons and watch the women around him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I wished he would come in and meet me or meet me off campus or give me more to go on if he really had important information. When he refused, I told him that I don’t respond well to anonymous, inflammatory calls and that I had no more to say. He just laughed a little and said, ‘You’ll see. Don’t say you weren’t warned’. Then he hung up.”
Ginny could feel the tension in her husband’s voice and the stiffness of his body. He was rigid as a board.
“Do you think any of it’s true? Zach is pretty full of himself, but he has always seemed like a gentleman, and he always refers to Abby as his bride. And he’s close to his kids; I mean, look at Zoe; she worships him. I don’t know, Ric, he’d have so much to lose, why would he risk it?”
“That’s what I think. But it bothers me just the same. Let’s say the caller is a looney-tune crank; I wonder what he has against Zach,” Ric said.
“Maybe his wife or girlfriend gushed over Zach a few times and he got jealous, or maybe he’s one of those who liked it better when we were losing. Now he has nothing to complain about.”
“We live in a glass house, Gin, everybody likes to take pot shots at us. I’ll just keep my eyes open and let it go unless there’s a good reason not to.”
Ric leaned over and kissed his wife.
“I hate the fishbowl sometimes,” she said. “Don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. But the way I see it, as long as you play, I’ll play.” She kissed him back and rolled over to her side of the bed. “Goodnight, dear. Don’t let this thing get to you. Get some sleep.”
Ric swung his legs over the bed and got up.
“I’m gonna get a nightcap. Don’t think I can sleep just yet,” he said. “Night, Gin. See you in the morning.”
The big game against Cornell was only four days away. Cross had beaten arch rival Dartmouth the week before. Dartmouth-Cross games were always important, even if nothing was riding on the outcome. If Cross won, the title was theirs alone. If Cornell won this week, Cross would share the title with Penn. The Dragons were undefeated and hell bent to stay that way.
Ginny prayed that any bubbles that might break would at least wait until after Saturday.
“You’re all set, Mrs. Houston. See you next week?” Marsha smiled as she took Ginny’s money.
“I’m sure you will.” Ginny was anxious to get to a phone and call Ric. She wanted to alert him to the newest gossip; then she thought better of it. She decided to call Abby instead.
“Hello there, this is Abby Trudeau.”
Ginny would never get used to the way Abby answered the phone. She always expected an answering machine to beep after the greeting, but Abby’s voice was buttery soft, Southern and live.
“Abby, this is Ginny. Are you busy?”
“Oh hey, Ginny. Why, no, well,sort of. I’m meeting Claire here at three. We have to go over the details for the after-game party we’re havin’. I think we’re mostly organized and all, but I thought we’d better go over it once more. Why?”
“Can I help? I’ve got a free afternoon, and I thought we could have tea. I haven’t seen you to talk for weeks,” Ginny said.
“That’d be fine. I haven’t even put on my make-up today, but I can be ready by the time you get here,” Abby told her.
“All right then, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Abby hung up the phone and looked at herself in the hall mirror. Not bad for forty-five, she thought. She enjoyed the surprise in people’s faces when she told them she had a twenty-five-year-old son and twenty-two-year-old twins. She didn’t really mind getting older; it was the pretending that troubled her.
They looked happy enough, went to the right parties, kissed up to the right people, and contributed to the right charities. No one understood that the busyness masked the emptiness in their lives.
Almost since they moved, Zach had changed, or was it that he hadn’t changed at all? He only made love to her when he’d been drinking, and then it wasn’t making love. It was like it had been for years, Zach doing Zach.
Maybe it was her fault, like he said. Her tongue was sharp, she knew that; she knew which buttons to push. Maybe she did complain when he spent too much, especially on the children, spoiling Zoe especially. Maybe she spent too much, especially lately. Hadn’t his mother always said it would never work, even after twenty-six years? Hadn’t Zach reminded her a million times how lucky she was that he married her? Well, so what? To hell with his mother. To hell with him.
Did she love him? Maybe love changed to something else, and this was it. Did he love her? No. She was sure of that now. Everything he needed from her, any good hostess, hooker or maid could provide. Well, almost. Abby understood money better than Zach, and the job at Cross wouldn’t have been offered and wouldn’t last without her and the mirage of their all-American family.
He didn’t even try to hide his indiscretions anymore. In the old days, he’d at least come home for supper a couple times a week. But now, the late nights were most nights. And then there were the phone calls, and the bills for flowers she never received.
Zach taunted her by boasting that other women wanted him. He never let Abby forget that it was “his money” and she lived in “his house.” He told her she was frigid; “dead in bed” were his exact words.
Abby looked in the mirror again. The reflection was a stranger. Gone was the vivacious young girl who only wanted to be in love and have children with a man who loved her. Gone were her illusions and fantasies. She lit a cigarette and held it away from her face, staring at the yellow spiral of smoke. How many times had she meant to, even tried to give them up? It was his fault she smoked. He was the one who kept shoving them on her in the early years. He had quit, changed to cigars, but he wasn’t hooked like she was, and he didn’t let her forget that either.
When was the last time she had felt alive? Was it when the twins were small? No. It was less than a year ago, when she went home. They were always seeing each other at funerals. Even so, seeing Wills had set off fireworks in her belly, even after all these years. Sure, they’d been in touch now and then, always a Christmas card, and he never forgot her birthday, and Emmy had written about each new baby and how well he was doing with the farm, and how he always asked after her. But he had looked so sad the last time. Well, of course he did. His wife was gone, so suddenly and he was alone now. How could she complain? At least Zach was alive.
Busy, keep busy. It took so much energy to look happy. What had Lauren Haas said?
Lauren, the local mystic, was a bit famous in Cross. No one actually called her a witch, but there were narrow-minded men who forbade their wives to see her. Lauren had lit the white candles and laid out her colorful Tarot cards and wooden Runes for Abby. She told Abby there was a great deal of turmoil in her life, that she had suffered many losses.
“I see a lot of tears, Abby, some are painful and some are joyful tears. There will be an issue about health, and there is a woman, a dark-haired woman. She will come into your life and twist it somehow. I don’t feel it’s evil toward you exactly, but it is strong, very strong. See this Ace of Cups? It indicates a change in feelings, a real opening up. She is right next to it. It’s time for you to move on with your life. Be cautious though. There is a card here that speaks to this. See, here on the right, the anger card, the Nine of Wands,
is next to the Ace of Pentacles. Something about the anger will risk your security, your safety. You must watch for that.”
“This scares me, Lauren. Is it my children? Are they in danger?” Abby’s eyes opened wide as she leaned forward.
Lauren looked directly at Abby and then closed her eyes. For a full minute, she said nothing.
“No. I do not feel that. I don’t understand it all, but there is caution coming to you from many directions.” Lauren opened her eyes.
“Abby, did you recently lose a relative, perhaps a grandparent?”
“Yes, I did; in the last year I lost both of my grandparents. They were well into their eighties and lived full, good lives. Neither of them had been well for some time, but nothing terminal. Then my grandfather just up and died in his sleep, and six months later my grandmother had a massive heart attack. I think she died of a broken heart. And I miss them terribly.” Abby took in a deep breath, and her eyes glistened with tears.
“They are part of the losses I saw. The Ten of Cups talks about sorrow, and it is laying over The Hermit – your grandfather and teacher. I’m so sorry you lost them, Abby. But they are peaceful, I can feel it, and they are always going to be there to help you. But you...you don’t have much peace right now, do you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean something is eating at you, wanting to be free, but you’re resisting. See this card? The Sun speaks to your child. It is looking for love, the Seven of Swords, right here. And the one next to it speaks to reaching inside yourself, like I said before.”
“What if I don’t know how?”
“You will if you try. It’s like looking for something you misplaced, not something you lost. If you will be totally honest with yourself, you’ll find what you’ve tucked away in the attic.”
Cross of Ivy Page 21
