9
Woodie stared at the mess that was supposed to be a wonderful dinner. He was a cat with its tail on fire as he poured and dumped everything down the garbage disposal. He slammed the dishes and pots any old way into the dishwasher before he turned it on. Fourteen years. Twelve years. Pete of all people! Pete was a goddamn vet. He ran around in torn coveralls with a baseball cap jammed on his head; backwards no less. He and Kristine had a lot in common. They both loved animals. He was good at his job, and he fucking lived in the small apartment over the garage. They even ate together. Kristine extolled his virtues every time they were together, saying the dogs loved him and he had such a gentle way with animals and the most soothing voice she’d ever heard when they were about to deliver their pups. Once, she’d even said she adored the young man. He remembered the pang of jealousy that shot through him at her words, but then she’d smiled and kissed him until his teeth rattled.
He knew exactly what he should do. He should march his ass out to the farm and demand an explanation. That’s what he should do, all right. Instead, he reached into the cabinet over the sink for a bottle of hundred-proof Kentucky bourbon. He took a long slug from the bottle, his eyes watering as the fiery liquid roared down his throat. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to go out to the farm. He’d want to punch the young vet smack in the nose and maybe hurt him. On the other hand, the feisty jock might knock him on his forty-seven-year-old ass and damage the pricey porcelain caps he’d had to get his senior year in high school because of a football mishap. He took another long pull from the bottle as he made his way to the kitchen table. He plopped the bottle square in the middle of the table and squinted at it, trying to remember the last time he’d gotten drunk. The day of his divorce from Maureen. Actually it was a two-day drunk and a four-day hangover. On the fifth day he’d sworn to God, the banking industry, his dead parents, and anyone else he could name, that he would never, ever, get drunk again.
That was then. This was now.
Woodie eyed the bottle, wondering how much he could take in one swallow. He reached behind him to one of the kitchen drawers and withdrew a black magic marker. He drew a line on the bottle and gulped. He thought for a minute smoke was coming out of his ears. He actually craned his neck to see his reflection in the glass on the oven door. No smoke. He marked the bottle again and swigged. He gurgled his approval as the bourbon swished to the black line.
Forty-seven wasn’t old. Fify wasn’t old either. Fifty was prime if you didn’t count the droop to one’s ass, the slight loss of hair, the extra thickness around the waist, and the beginnings of jowls. He tried to remember what he was doing the year he turned thirty-three. No memories surfaced.
Thirty-three meant you were full of piss and vinegar, and you could get it up three or four times a night. Not to mention all that instant gratification at other times. When you were thirty-three, you had the world by the tail because you were lean and hard, a man’s man. Curly hair, freckles, incredible blue eyes, and a charming grin be damned. Women loved you when you were thirty-three because they liked lean, suntanned, hard bodies. They loved mesmerizing blue eyes and running their hands through curly locks.
Woodie craned his neck to stare at his reflection in the oven glass a second time. He still looked good for forty-seven. Reasonably good. Hair plugs weren’t out of the question. Grecian Formula was a possibility. He could get rid of his boxers and wear those shit-kicking jockeys all the young studs wore. The Calvin Klein colored ones. He could start wearing deck shoes instead of his Brooks Brothers wing tips.
He took another long slurp from the bottle, marveling at how close he came to the black marks. He was precise. He’d always been precise. He had to be precise because he handled money all day long. Bankers were as boring as Certified Public Accountants. He wondered what kind of underwear CPAs wore. If he was a betting man, which he wasn’t, because bankers couldn’t bet, he’d bet the vet wore yellow Calvins. Yellow, for Christ’s sake. What was wrong with white or gray? Oh, no, that guy had to wear yellow. Yellow was bright and cheery. Summery. He could just picture him in one of the fields, stripping off his ragged coveralls and standing there like Tarzan in his yellow Calvins while Kristine voiced her approval. The stud probably had an electric-blue Speedo, too.
His head buzzing, Woodie clutched at the bourbon bottle before he brought it to his lips.
What were they doing right now? Were they in the barn rolling around in the hay? Were they upstairs in Kristine’s bedroom, or were they in the little apartment over the garage on the narrow bed that was only big enough for one person?
Woodie continued to torture himself with thoughts of Pete, wondering if he was one of those rub-a-dub men who liked to run their hands over women’s bodies and then suck their toes. Pete would be up on all the latest techniques. All young guys were. Spontaneous, serendipitous. That was Pete. What the hell was he? A forty-seven-year-old fart who didn’t know his ass from his elbow. “I’ve managed to do all right,” he muttered, “without yellow Calvins and a blue Speedo.”
Woodie blinked as he peered at the bottle. Empty. “Shit! ”
His gait unsteady, Woodie staggered to the cabinet over the kitchen sink. Cooking sherry, olive oil, Balsamic vinegar. No liquor. Well, he could fix that. He had a liquor cabinet that was stuffed with the good stuff. All he had to do was find the damn thing. Maybe he should take a nap first, or maybe he should go with his original thought and go out to the farm.
In the living room, Woodie eyeballed the liquor cabinet and the couch.
It looked, to his bleary eyes, like an either-or situation. “Like hell!” he mumbled as he staggered back to the kitchen to look for his car keys.
As drunk as he was, he knew he couldn’t go on the highway. He could, however, drive through the fields to arrive within walking distance of Kristine’s barn. All he had to do was remember the way. Maybe he needed a map.
A brown grocery bag from under the sink found its way to the kitchen table. With the black magic marker, Woodie started to draw lines on the grocery sack. He made stars alongside what he thought were the various fields that would lead him to Kristine’s farm.
Smacking his hands together in satisfaction, Woodie reached for his glasses on the kitchen counter. One had to be careful when driving while inebriated.
Outside in the warm, humid air, Woodie headed for the garage, where he was overtaken by indecision. He felt woozy; his knees were rubbery, and his head felt like a million bees were buzzing inside his skull. Should he take his racy Jaguar or the bank’s minibus? The shocks were probably better on the bus, and it had four-wheel drive. In addition, it lit up like a Christmas tree in the dark with red-and-blue flashing lights on the roof.
Woodie turned on the ignition. It took three tries before he was able to shift into reverse and another two tries before he could shift into first at the end of his long circular driveway. He flicked on all the knobs, all the dials, and all the buttons as he sailed across the field in a crazy zigzag pattern in search of his true love.
“I still can’t get over the fact that Jack cleaned up the kitchen,” Kristine said.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Kristine, Jack has taken over your kitchen. He’s got those moldy books and journals spread all over. Gracie already peed on one of them, and Slick is about to lift his leg as we speak. I suggest we sit outside and have one last cup of coffee. Thanks for having dinner with me.”
“I enjoyed it, Pete. Next time it’s my treat.”
“How many times did Woodie call?”
“Just once. I didn’t listen to the message. I just erased it. I think we should invite Jack to join us. I’d kind of like to know what he’s found so far. After all, he’s going to be writing about my ancestors,” she whispered.
“Sure. I’ll bring the coffee. It’s hot, isn’t it?”
“It sure is. I like to sit out on the porch and listen to the frogs and crickets. It’s so peaceful watching the fireflies.”
“What are you going to do about Woodie, Kristine?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t think you’re being fair. You owe it to him to listen to his explanation. I’m sure he has one. He’s a stand-up guy, boss.”
“Was a stand-up guy. I saw what I saw.”
“You’re making him pay for things Logan did to you. That’s not fair.”
“Whose side are you on, Pete?”
“I’m on the side of what’s right. I know you’re my boss, and I know you’re my friend. I wouldn’t think much of myself if I didn’t try to point out to you when you’re doing something wrong. By the same token, I’d want you to tell me if the situation were reversed.”
“Can we just drop it, Pete? The evening is too beautiful to spoil, and I really don’t want Jack knowing my business.”
“Okay. We’re picking up tomorrow, though, right where we’re leaving off now. Deal, Kristine?”
“Sure.” She heard the screen door slam and turned to see Jack appear on the porch, a big smile on his face.
“So, Jack, what have you found out?” Kristine asked brightly.
“I’m still trying to organize the books and journals according to dates. The ink is faded and blurred in a lot of them. So far, I haven’t found even a clue as to where the opening to the tunnel is. I’ll have your kitchen back to normal before morning.”
“Aren’t you going to sleep?”
“Are you kidding? I’m too excited to sleep. Being a reporter is rather like being a doctor—you learn to go without sleeping. I take catnaps when I’m on a find like this. What are all those lights over there?”
“I bet it’s a UFO,” Pete said, standing up to peer into the darkness. “They’re all over the place. Wow!”
“Whatever it is, it’s getting closer. Do you have a gun, Mrs. Kelly?” Jack asked.
“No, I do not have a gun. The Department of Defense says there are no such things as UFOs. What do you think it is, Pete?” Kristine asked as she cuddled Gracie and Slick in her arms.
“A police car. An ambulance. What else has flashing lights?”
“In my fields?”
“It’s almost here, whatever it is. I think we need to check this out. You wait here, Kristine. Jack, you come with me.” The reporter tripped along behind Pete, his steps hesitant.
“Move, move!” Kristine hissed. “I thought all reporters had a nose for news. Yours isn’t even twitching. You might have a real scoop here. A Pulitzer!”
“God!” the reporter said.
“It’s a bus,” Pete said in disgust! “The bank bus. It’s your friend, Kristine. And from the looks of things, he’s three sheets to the wind.”
“Woodie! Jack, go back to the house.”
“You told me to stay here.”
“Now I’m telling you to leave. Go!”
“Get out of my way, you ... you . . . stud,” Woodie said, trying to push Pete out of the way.
Kristine watched as Woodie swayed back and forth in the evening breeze. “I saw you! And I saw you, too!” Woodie said.
“Guess what, Woodie, I saw you, too. What are you doing here? You’re drunk.”
“Yes-I-am,” Woodie singsonged. “That’s why I drove through the fields. I didn’t want to have an accident.”
“We thought you were a UFO,” Pete said, just to have something to say.
“I don’t want to talk to you. You think because you’re thirty-three you know everything. Just because I’m forty-seven doesn’t mean I don’t know anything. So what if you have curly hair and big blue eyes. So what? I had a lot of hair. Once. So what?”
“Pete, get him some coffee.”
“This is just a wild guess on my part, Kristine, but I think this guy saw us at Jezebel’s this evening,” Pete said, moving closer to Kristine.
“I saw you. All dressed up. Dancing, eating desserts on fire. I trusted you, Kristine.”
“What I do is none of your business. Now that you’re making it my business, Aaron Dunwoodie, who was the woman I saw you with in the parking lot this afternoon?”
“Her! That was Maureen. My ex-wife. She came by to tell me she was getting married. No more alimony. She snagged herself a rich husband. I was so happy to be finally rid of her I took her to lunch.” He paused, staggered, regained his balance. “You were dancing cheek-to-cheek while they fired up your dessert. I know all about that. So there, Kristine.”
Kristine’s heart soared. “Pete took me out to dinner to get my mind off you. ”
“Who’s that other guy?”
“That’s none of your business, Woodie. You’re drunk. Go up on the porch and drink some coffee,.”
“Are you going to marry me, Kristine?”
“I don’t know.”
“Damn it, when are you going to know?”
“I don’t know. When I do know, I’ll tell you.”
“That’s not good enough.” Woodie hiccuped.
“It’s all you’re going to get,” Kristine said.
“Then I accept.”
“Drink your coffee. You can sleep on the couch tonight. Pete, you better shut the lights off on the bus or his battery will die.”
“I called you,” Woodie said.
“I called you, too, Woodie. We’re both too old to play games like this.”
“You’re telling me we’re old. You don’t know the half of it. I thought ...”
“I know what you thought. You were wrong. Just the way I was wrong. How did you know I was at Jezebel’s?”
“Maureen called and told me. I went there to spy on you. I’m not sorry.”
Kristine smiled in the darkness. “Tomorrow you will be. Finish the coffee and sleep it off.”
“Are we still friends?”
“We’re still friends, Woodie. Come with me. You can sleep on the sofa. There’s no way I’m going to try to get you upstairs.”
“I’m drunk, Kristine. The last time I got drunk was the day my divorce from Maureen was final. Bankers have to be pillars of society. We’re a boring lot, kind of like those number crunchers. I’m going to get some deck shoes.”
“Deck shoes are good,” Kristine said, “if they still call them that.”
“Some yellow Calvin Klein underwear.”
“I like yellow. Yellow’s good.”
“Maybe a bright blue Speedo.”
“Uh-huh.” Kristine turned so Woodie wouldn’t see her wide grin.
“Maybe some hair plugs and that Grecian Formula they advertise on television.”
“I don’t know how you’ve managed to get this far without either one of them. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Woodie. Go to sleep now.”
“Will you park the bus?”
“Pete did. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“I heard but I don’t think I understand,” Pete said after Woodie lurched inside.
“He’s jealous of you. I think I understand everything except the Speedo and the yellow Calvin Kleins.”
“Jeez, do they come in colors? I’m a boxer man myself.”
Kristine giggled as she scooped up the dogs. “You were right, Pete. One should never assume or presume.”
“What are you going to do come morning?” Pete asked.
“Wing it. Talk it out. Woodie wants things from me I’m not ready to give. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I truly care for him. It’s me, not him. I just need more time.”
“Time isn’t always the great healer we all think it is, Kristine. Sometimes you need to run with the ball when it’s in your court. If you don’t, you lose it.”
“I’ll remember that. Life isn’t easy, is it?”
“I don’t think we’d be happy if it was. We need to get shaken up from time to time to make us realize how wonderful life really is. And, on that note, I’m off to bed.”
“Thanks for a great evening. Thanks for your concern, and thanks for being my friend.”
“Sleep tight, boss,” Pete said, hugging her.
Both dogs in her arms, Kristine stood next to the sofa where Woodie was already sleeping. She watched his chest rise and fall with his deep breathing. “Shhh,” she said to the dogs when both of them whimpered in her arms. “He’s fine. He’s just sleeping. Everything is okay now. It’s kind of nice to have a man in the house again, even if he is drunk and sleeping on our couch,” she whispered as she made her way up the long flight of steps to the second floor.
Kristine rolled over before she cracked one eye open to see warm, glorious sunshine shooting into the room. Gracie and Slick danced on the bed. Clearly it was time to let the little dogs out for their morning race to the barn. She sniffed. Was that bacon and coffee she smelled?
“Five minutes. I have to brush my teeth. Don’t you pee now. All I need is five minutes with my toothbrush and a comb.”
The heady aroma of frying bacon and brewing coffee cut Kristine’s five-minute morning ritual to three before she raced down the steps, her slippers slapping on the stair treads, her robe flapping in her own breeze, the dogs in hot pursuit.
She skidded to a stop at the kitchen doorway. Slightly disheveled and definitely bleary-eyed, Woodie was instructing Jackson Valarian on the fine art of omelet marking as they tiptoed about the mess on the floor. “We’re dining on the back porch this morning,” he said.
“Oh,” was all Kristine could think of to say as she held the door for the dogs.
“Both of you look awful,” she added brightly as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “I’ll be on the porch. I like my toast light with soft butter, and I’m partial to blackberry jam.”
Woodie winced. “Looking is one thing. Feeling is something else. In my case, I feel like I look. Jackson here is just tired. He claims to have worked all night. Pete will be up in a few minutes. I’ll apologize to you both at the same time.”
Kristine nodded. “Tomato juice with Tabasco and a shot of lemon will help. I used to be a drunk, remember?” Woodie winced again. Jackson stared at his hostess, bug-eyed. Kristine didn’t feel the need to explain her words.
“Morning, Pete,” Kristine said as she sat down at the table. “I could get used to someone making me breakfast every morning. How about you?”
“It sure beats those Pop-Tarts you toss me every morning.” Pete grinned. “He looks like shit!”
“Yes, he does. I think it’s safe to say he feels the same way. We need to be charitable. He said he’s going to apologize to both of us. It seems like forever since there were four people at my breakfast table,” Kristine said, a wistful look on her face.
“Kristine, your son Mike called. He wants you to call him back. I offered to wake you, but he said not to. I guess he forgot the time difference.”
“What time did he call?”
“Six-thirty on the button.”
“But that would make it three-thirty in the morning California time. Did he say anything was wrong?”
“No. He just said to call him. Here’s the number.”
Her heart in her throat, Kristine managed to weave her way through the piles of books and journals that were scattered all over the kitchen floor. At the expression on her face, Woodie turned off the stove and waited expectantly as Kristine dialed her son’s telephone number.
“Mike, what’s wrong? I know something is wrong or you wouldn’t have called here at three-thirty in the morning.”
“Listen, Mom, don’t get excited now. Sit down, and I’ll tell you what happened. Cala had a date this evening. I met the guy. He seemed okay. Nothing like Tom. That fell by the wayside a few weeks ago. Anyway, they were driving home and the guy put the moves on Cala, and one thing led to another. It got physical, and she got banged up pretty bad. The guy is in the hospital. She broke his collarbone and he’s pressing assault charges on her. I can take care of police matters here. I want to send her home to you, Mom. The company we work for has a private jet, and some of the officers are heading for Washington today. They offered to take Cala. Is it okay?”
“Of course it’s okay. Are you sure she should be traveling? Did she see a doctor? Are you sure she’s okay? Don’t spare my feelings so I won’t worry. I’ll drive to Washington to pick her up. Just tell me where.”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that. At first Cala didn’t want you to know. She looks pretty bad, Mom. She needs some mothering. Can you handle it, Mom?”
“How bad is bad, Mike?”
“She has a couple of cracked ribs. They treated her at the hospital. She’s black-and-blue all over. She’s got some stitches in her forehead. I think she’s more angry than anything else for allowing herself to get into that kind of position.”
“I can take a plane and be there in a few hours, Mike. Pete can take care of things here.”
“Mom! Didn’t you hear what I said? Cala wants to go home. She needs you.”
Kristine felt herself start to shrivel as she listened to the disgust in her son’s voice. “I was thinking she might not want anyone to see her in that condition.”
“Cala doesn’t care about that, Mom. You worry about the damnedest things sometimes.”
“Yes, I guess I do. I’ll do everything I can. When will you know the flight arrangements?”
“An hour or so. She’s okay, Mom. She isn’t going to die or anything like that. I’m going to go to the hospital to check on that bastard that did this to her. I’ll call you when I know something.”
“That’s good, Mike. I’ll wait for your call. Please, don’t do anything foolish where that person is concerned.”
“Yeah, sure, Mom. I gotta go now.”
Kristine turned away from the phone to see the three men staring at her. “I guess you heard. That was my son Mike. It seems Cala’s date attacked her, and she ended up sending him to the hospital.”
“What a gal!” Pete chortled.
“She ... she has a few cracked ribs. Some stitches and, according to Mike, is black-and-blue. The people she works for are coming East on their private plane and she’s going to be with them. Cala is okay, she isn’t going to die or anything,” Kristine said, repeating her son’s words.
“I can have someone from my paper pick up your daughter,” Jack said.
“I’ll be glad to go, Kristine,” Pete said. “You’re too emotional to drive.”
“I can go with Pete,” Woodie said.
“This is something I have to do. Me. Myself. Besides, I want to do it. I want my face to be the first one she sees when she gets off the plane. I appreciate your offers, though. Now, I believe someone said something about breakfast,” Kristine said, walking out to the back porch.
Following Kristine’s cue, the others made small talk, mostly about the mess on the kitchen floor.
“Would you mind, Mrs. Kelly, if I moved the books and journals to the dining room? I realize I’m in your way in the kitchen, and I’m sorry for the mess. I need to lay out the books and label them so I can make a chronological calendar, if that’s all right with you.” Kristine nodded. “It was a good breakfast, Mr. Dunwoodie. Would you like me to clean up?”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Pete said. Woodie seconded Pete’s statement. Kristine stared off into space.
“Why is it nothing ever goes right?” she said, breaking her silence.
“It’s called life,” Woodie said.
“I wouldn’t know what to do or how to act if things went right every day. I kind of think life would be boring. It’s not knowing what’s coming next that makes you want to keep on going. Since I’m not needed here, I’ll go to the barn. Come on Gracie. Slick, hop on,” Pete said, stooping down so both little dogs could perch on his shoulders.
“I don’t remember ever having that much energy,” Kristine said.
“Me either,” Woodie volunteered. “Kristine, I know this isn’t the time or the place, but we do need to talk. I’ve never been as miserable as I’ve been these last three weeks. I love you, and I want us to be together. If I can’t have that, then I’m willing to settle for whatever you feel comfortable giving me. Plain and simple. I don’t want to lose you. That said, I’m going to go home and clean up. I apologize for last night. If there’s anything I can do or help you with in regard to Cala, call, okay?”
“Woodie, I’m sorry, too. The mind is a dangerous thing. I thought the worst of you, and you felt the same way about me. I was jealous when I saw you with Maureen. I started to think you were like Logan. I’m so glad you had the good sense to come here last night, or we might still be at odds and never know it was all a big mistake. I still can’t believe you drove through the fields in your condition.”
“I guess I was feeling desperate. Under normal circumstances, I would never drink and get behind the wheel of a car. Or, I was out of my mind.”
Kristine smiled. “All’s well that ends well. God, Woodie, you don’t think Mike was lying to me, do you?”
“Your son would never lie about his twin sister. I’ll call you tonight; is that okay?”
“That’s very okay. You better make it late to be sure I’m back from Washington.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
“I have to do this myself. I’m getting a second chance at motherhood, and I don’t want to mess that up. You need to go to the gym and work off that hangover.”
“Drive carefully.”
“I will.”
Kristine waited until Woodie backed up the bank’s bus before she motioned for him to stop. “Just for the record,” she called out, “he wears boxers.” Woodie’s laughter warmed her heart and stayed with her as she finished her coffee, her thoughts centering on her children and Cala in particular.
Nothing in the world could have prepared Kristine for the first sight of her daughter’s bruised and battered face. For one brief instant she thought her heart was going to leap out of her chest. Rage, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, coursed through her as her daughter stepped into her waiting arms. She knew in that one moment of time she was capable of killing the person who had done this despicable thing to her daughter.
“Mom, this is Mr. Ulyesses, Mike’s boss.”
“Thank you so much for bringing my daughter with you, Mr. Ulyesses,” Kristine said, extending her hand.
“I wish it was under more favorable circumstances, Mrs. Kelly. Our staff will follow through and advise you of all details. And you, young lady, listen to your mother and take it easy. Your job will wait as long as need be. I hate to run, but I’m already late for a meeting. I’ll be staying at the Hyatt on Capitol Hill if you need to reach me for any reason.”
“Thank you again.”
“Do you have any luggage, Gala?”
“No, Mom. Mike rushed me to the airport too quickly. Are you mad or upset, Mom?”
“Well yes, Cala, but not with you, honey. What did the doctors say? What are your limitations?”
“Only do what feels comfortable. Eat, sleep, rest. If you think I look bad, you should see that jerk. I knocked his front teeth out, yanked a glob of hair out of the side of his head, and cracked his collarbone. When I managed to open the car door and we tumbled out, I kicked him in the groin. The cops told Mike the guy is going to file charges against me. Mr. Ulyesses said I shouldn’t worry about it. They took pictures of me at the hospital, and he said that’s all the firm’s lawyers will need. Mom, don’t look so devastated. I look worse than I feel. Honest. I’m not going to cramp your style or anything, am I?”
“Not in the least. Gracie and Slick are going to love you.” Her eyes wet, Kristine hugged her daughter, who winced but tried to smile for her mother’s benefit.
“Mom?”
“Yes, Cala.”
“Thanks for letting me come home. This is so strange, but I need to tell you that when all this happened, I wanted you right then. When Mike came to the hospital to pick me up, all I could think of was, I wanted you to come and get me. I wanted my mother. I guess coming from me that’s kind of strange, huh?”
“A little, but it’s nice to know you thought about me. I didn’t want to be pushy and keep calling you. I think about all of you every day. I have so many regrets, Cala. I hope we can rectify that during your stay, and, by the way, you can stay as long as you like. It’s home. Mine and yours. Mike and Tyler’s, too. After all of you left, I made a real effort to make the house more homey. I think, all things considered, it came out okay. We have good central heat now. I wallpapered your rooms and had two bathrooms put in. I know it’s after the fact, but it was like a starting point for me. It didn’t last long, and then I started drinking. It’s been a learning experience. I’ve learned a lot about myself in the process. I can’t go back and make things right, but I can make it better for the future, for all of us. I think we can work together, don’t you?”
When there was no response, Kristine glanced at her daughter; she was sound asleep. “I guess we can talk about this another day,” she said as she settled herself more comfortably for the ride home.
Her daughter had said she wanted her at one of the most critical moments in her young life. She’d actually said she needed her. Kristine smiled. Maybe things would right themselves after all.
“We’re home, Cala,” Kristine said, shaking her daughter’s shoulder gently.
“Already?” Cala said sleepily. “You know what I want more than anything, Mom?”
“What, Cala?”
“A nice hot shower and one of your egg salad sandwiches. The kind you make with those little seeds in it.”
Kristine smiled. “I think I can arrange that. Even the shower. Are you sure you can manage?”
“I’m kind of stiff from sleeping curled up in the car. The shower will help. I just have to walk slowly. Oooh, is this Gracie or Slick? Can I hold them? I can’t bend over to pick them up, though.”
Kristine bent down to scoop up the two small dogs and handed them to Cala. “Oh, Mom, I just love them. They like me.”
“And well they should. Woodie gave them to me during... probably the darkest hours of my life. I will be forever grateful to him and to these two little guys. Gracie is the boss, and she kind of thinks of herself as a guard dog. She sits by the bathroom door when I shower. Slick is Slick. He does his own thing. They’d be lost without one another. If you like, they can sleep with you.”
“Won’t you mind?” Cala said, foundling the dog’s tiny ears.
Kristine lied. “Not at all. Come along, let’s get you settled for that nice hot shower. I’ll make some egg salad while you’re cleaning up. I can lend you some clothes. Tomorrow, I’ll go into town and get you some new things. By the way, I more or less have a guest. He’s a reporter for the Post. He’s doing an article on slavery and the people who aided the runaways through the tunnels. It seems the tunnels run under our property and all the way to the Kelly farm. His name is Jack Valarian, and he has his stuff spread out all over the dining room. I’ll introduce you later.”
“Gosh, Mom, you really did do a makeover. This doesn’t seem like the same house anymore.,” Cala said as she walked through the downstairs.
“Does it feel comfortable and homey?” Kristine asked anxiously.
Calla squinted through her one good eye. “I’d say so. Wow, what a difference,” she said as she passed the open door to her mother’s room. “When ... why ...
“It was time,” Kristine said.
“Do you regret moving all his stuff out?”
“I don’t know if regret is the right word or not. It was painful. I’ve come to terms with it. Tell me the truth, how do you like your room?” Kristine said, guiding Cala down the hallway.
“At first I tried to make it into the kind of room you would have loved when you were twelve or so. Then I decided that wouldn’t work. I moved on to a sixteen-year-old theme, and that didn’t work either. Those years are lost to both of us. I finally opted for what I thought was simply feminine. Do you like it, Cala? I made everything myself.”
“Oh, Mom, it’s so pretty. Did you cover this old chair, too?”
“Yes, but my upholstery skills leave a little to be desired. The chair was too comfortable to throw away. I know how you like to read, so I made this little nook for you with an ottoman and a good reading lamp. The best-selling books are a few years old now. I hooked the rugs during the winter. The rags were from all your outgrown clothing. The tulip appliques on the coverlet were the hardest. I know they’re your favorite flowers.”
“I didn’t know you knew that, Mom,.”
Kristine bobbed her head up and down, her eyes filling.
“You did all this for me, Mom? How did you know ... you didn’t know if I would ever ...”
“I hoped. Please don’t tell me it’s one of those too much, too little, too late things.”
“No, I won’t say that. I think I’m overwhelmed that you went to so much trouble. It’s wonderful. Does the bath connect to another room?”
“I’m afraid Mike won’t appreciate the feminine touches. I thought powder blue and white was so clean and fresh. The seashell pictures are kind of neutral, as are the blue towels and carpets. The shower is wonderful. Unlimited hot water.”
“I’m going to take a shower, then I’m going to curl up in that delicious-looking chair and either read or take another snooze. It feels like home, Mom. It really does. Thanks.”
“I’ll bring you up some lemonade and your egg salad. Stay up here and don’t try those stairs again until your legs are less wobbly. Is there anything in particular you’d like for dinner?”
“Spaghetti. Lots of garlic bread. Mom, when did you, you know, do all this?”
“I did it between drinking bouts. I wasn’t drunk all the time. I did it for myself as much as I did it for you. I needed to do something constructive, but, as I said, there are glitches in all this work. Take your time in the shower. Do you need any help?”
“I think I can manage. Can the dogs stay up here with me?”
“Of course. That little keypad by the door is an intercom. Call me when you’re ready for your egg salad.”
Kristine’s heart soared as she heard her daughter speak to the dogs. “This is all so perfect. And, she did it for me. For me. Do you believe that? Of course you do, you’ve lived here longer than I have. A pink carpet and tulips on my bedspread and on my walls! Who could ask for more?”