PRESENT
Michael Sinclair tightened his grip on his backpack and pushed open the front door. Stepping into the wide entry, he dropped the pack and stretched.
“Mom, I’m home.” Dead silence greeted his call. He shrugged. She was probably at some committee meeting or something. He straightened and then almost dropped the pack. His father was standing in the door to the study, his face tight, his body rigid.
“Dad! What are you doing home? Where’s Mom? Is something wrong?”
“Not unless you count sheer insanity as something wrong.” The words were snapped off, each one distinct.
“What?”
“Your mother is upstairs packing.”
“Packing? Where’s she going?”
“She’s going to ‘find herself.’” Donovan turned and stalked into the study, leaving his son staring after him.
“Find herself? What do you mean?”
Donovan picked up a glass of Scotch, his fingers grasping the heavy crystal. Michael’s eyes widened. He’d never seen his father drink in the middle of the day. It wasn’t something that he talked about, but Michael was aware that Donovan’s father drank himself to death. He’d always assumed that was why Donovan didn’t drink. To see him with a drink in his hand and the sun shining outside was enough to punch home just how serious the situation must be.
“What’s wrong with Mom?”
Donovan took a swallow of the Scotch, grimacing in distaste before he set the glass down. “Damn stuff tastes like battery acid,” he muttered. His gaze slid to his son and then away. He stared at the pine-paneled wall opposite, his college degree neatly framed in the middle of it. When he spoke, it was clear that he was trying to be calm for Michael’s sake.
“Your mother is moving out.”
“Moving out? You mean moving out?” Michael couldn’t quite grasp the concept. “What for?”
“To find herself. She needs an identity apart from me. I’m not offering her enough support.”
“I didn’t say anything of the kind, Donovan.” Michael turned with relief. His mother could explain this mess.
“Mom. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“That makes two of us,” Donovan muttered. Elizabeth ignored her husband’s comment and
moved into the room, hugging her son. “How was Colorado?”
“The trip was fine. I want to know what’s been going on here while I’ve been gone. Jeez, I leave the two of you alone for a week and you get all messed up.” The attempt at humor fell flat and Michael swallowed hard. Whatever was going on here was major.
Elizabeth linked her hands together, her gaze skittering over Donovan’s looming figure to focus on her son.
“I’m moving out. I’m putting the last of my stuff into the station wagon right now. It has nothing to do with you. I don’t want you to think for even a minute that it does.”
“Why? What happened?” Michael suddenly felt very young and confused.
“Ha! If you can get her to explain that one, you’re doing better than I did.”
Elizabeth glanced at her husband and then looked back at Michael. “It’s nothing specific, Michael. It’s just that your father and I don’t have much in common anymore.”
“Just eighteen years of marriage.”
“And we don’t talk much.”
“Only every morning and every evening.”
“It’s just time to end it now, while we still care about each other.”
“A great way to show how much you care.” Donovan didn’t look at her. His eyes were focused on the Scotch glass, watching the patterns of light in the amber liquid.
Michael thrust his fingers through his hair, feeling his world crack and then resettle. He searched for some surprise and didn’t find it. On some level, he’d been aware that this was coming for a long time. It wasn’t something he’d ever dwelled on, but now that it was here, he didn’t feel as shocked as he should have.
“So, how come you’re the one moving out?”
“Because it’s what I want.” She twisted her fingers together, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “I’ve been a wife and mother for so long that I’m not sure who else I am. I want to find out if I am something more.”
“Of course, you’re more than a wife and mother. Don’t be an idiot.”
Elizabeth looked at Donovan, her eyes full of pain. “What else am I, Donovan? You tell me.”
He frowned. “You’re Elizabeth. Beth. Yourself. What more do you need to be?”
“Don’t you understand? I’ve got to find out who that is. I don’t know anymore.”
They stared at each other across an abyss of pain, Elizabeth’s eyes pleading with him to understand. Donovan looked at her for a moment and then snorted in contempt.
“Sounds like a lot of pop psychology. You are who you are and tearing your life apart doesn’t change that.”
He slammed the glass down on the desk, splashing the liquid up over the side. He stalked from the room without another word, but not before Michael saw the loss in his eyes.
There was silence until the front door slammed and they could both hear the sound of an engine starting up. Donovan’s car roared down the street and Elizabeth sighed, looking up at her son.
“I’m sorry, Michael. I know it’s not a very good homecoming this time.”
“It’s okay, Mom. I think I understand what’s going on.”
“God, I wish I did.” She moved to the desk, picking up the abused glass and using her shirttail to mop up the alcohol before it could damage the finish. “I’m not asking you to choose between your father and me, but it would mean a lot if you could accept what I’m doing and wish me luck.” She set the glass on a coaster and turned to look at him.
Michael stared at her, for the first time seeing the vulnerability she’d been working so hard to conceal. “I do, Mom. Really I do. I just wish it didn’t have to be so hard on Dad.”
“I wish it didn’t, either. I didn’t think it would be.” She stared at the door Donovan had stalked through. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”
“I know, Mom.”
She forced a smile and moved away from the desk, giving her son a tight hug. “I love you, Michael Patrick Sinclair. And your father loves you. Don’t you forget it.”
Michael’s arms circled her awkwardly. “I love you, too, Mom. I... hope you find what you need. And I know Dad wants to see you happy, too.”
Elizabeth blinked back tears, the first she’d shed in the three days since she’d asked Donovan for a divorce. She had to have done something right to have a son like Michael.
#
Donovan scraped the remains of his supper into the garbage disposal. Michael joined him, and two charred pork chops joined overcooked peas and undercooked potatoes.
“We could send out for a pizza.” Donovan glanced over his shoulder, his mouth twisting in a smile.
“Go ahead. At this rate, we’re both going to either starve to death or die of cholesterol overdose from all the pizza we’ve been eating.”
“I’d rather risk the cholesterol. I’m starved.” Donovan rinsed the dishes and set them in the dishwasher, vaguely aware of Michael’s voice in the background ordering an extra-large pizza with the works. He shut the dishwasher and stared at the panel of buttons. Sooner or later he was going to have to dig up the instructions on the damn thing and figure out how to run it. Eventually they were either going to run out of dishes or the dishwasher was going to burst.
Funny, it wasn’t until somebody left that you realized all the little things they’d done in your life. The kitchen was immaculate, if you didn’t count the rapidly filling dishwasher. Some people might have expected him to let the place fall to pieces now that he and Michael were living alone, but he wasn’t going to fall into that stupid trap.
“Danny’s says they’ll have the pizza here in thirty minutes, tops.”
“That means it will be at least forty-five. I don’t think they’ve delivered a pizza on time in the last twenty years.”
“You and Mom used to go there, didn’t you?”
Donovan could feel his muscles tighten at the memories the simple question evoked. “That was a long time ago.” He opened the refrigerator door and made a production out of looking inside. “You want a soda or something?”
“Sure.” Michael took the can his father handed him and popped the tab. Aside from the hushed fizz of the soda, the kitchen was silent. Donovan sprawled in one of the kitchen chairs, his long legs out in front of him.
Outside, the autumn night was chill with the promise of winter’s cold. Remembrance was already settling down and bracing for snow. Donovan stared out the window at the darkness. Funny. They’d lived in this house for almost twelve years. He could remember how excited Beth had been to move in. Michael had been just six, and he’d been beside himself with the idea of a real room of his own and a big boy bed. He’d boasted about how he was going to sleep all by himself and that no one was to come into his room without knocking first. They’d promised to respect his privacy, which was a big thing at age six.
Half an hour after the lights were out and Donovan and Elizabeth were snuggled in their new bed, Michael had come scooting into their room, his eyes wide in the dim light. He’d skidded to a halt at the side of the bed, panting from the sprint between the rooms. Elizabeth had asked him what was wrong, and he’d gathered all his six years of dignity about him and announced that he thought they might like some company.
Donovan’s mouth softened, his eyes distant as he remembered lifting that sturdy little body into bed and tucking him under the covers. His eyes had met Elizabeth’s and... He frowned, cutting the memory off and reaching for his soda. That was all a very long time ago.
Michael looked at his father. It wasn’t hard to see the pain he was going through. It was almost a week since his mother moved out, but not once had Donovan mentioned Elizabeth’s name. He seemed to be trying to pretend that nothing had happened, as if she were on a vacation or something.
“I saw Mom today.”
Donovan’s eyes jerked toward his son and then away. “Oh?” The question was flat, as if he weren’t really interested.
“She moved the last of her stuff into her new apartment. It’s pretty nice. It’s in that new development over on Bush.”
“Cracker boxes. The guy who designed those places ought to apologize for calling himself an architect.”
“Well, it’s certainly not a Sinclair design, but the apartments are pretty nice inside.”
Donovan grunted and took another swallow. Michael decided that it was encouraging that he hadn’t tried-to change the subject.
“She’s got a nice, little one-bedroom place on the second floor. Aunt Carol was over all afternoon. She’s going to fill the place up with plants.”
“At the rate Carol gives plants away, it’s a wonder that nursery of hers didn’t go belly-up a long time ago.”
“I thought you gave her a lot of the work on your projects.”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t good with plants. She’s just not much of a businesswoman.”
“She seems happy enough.”
“Meaning I don’t? I suppose you agree with your mother and think I haven’t spent enough time at home.”
Michael said nothing, disconcerted by this sudden flare of temper. The silence was full, pulsing with tension. Donovan stared at the table for a minute and then looked at his son, his mouth twisting in a half smile of apology.
“I’m sorry, Michael. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s not your fault.”
“That’s okay.” Michael shrugged awkwardly and took a swallow of cola. “It’s not Mom’s fault, either, you know.”
“Well, it’s sure as hell not mine. I’m not the one who came home one day and announced that I had to go ‘find myself.’ Hell, I didn’t even know you could lose yourself. I don’t understand her at all.”
“Maybe that’s part of the problem.” Michael didn’t look at his father as he spoke. His finger traced the distinctive pattern on the soda can.
Donovan stared at the table, his expression brooding. “If she was unhappy, why didn’t she come to me? I would have done something. Anything.”
Michael looked at him and then looked away. “You know, Dad, you aren’t really home all that much. And a lot of times you bring blueprints or schedules or whatever with you. Maybe she felt you didn’t have time for her.”
“I’ve always had time for her.” Donovan winced at the defensiveness he heard in his own voice. “Maybe I have been pretty busy lately, but a business doesn’t run itself. Somebody’s got to take care of it.”
“I guess maybe you could say the same thing about a marriage.” Michael’s words were punctuated by the mellow chimes of the doorbell. “Great! Food at last.” He loped out of the kitchen, leaving his father to stare after him, his eyes stunned .
#
“You realize, of course, that I think you’re completely bananas. Only a mental case would give up a man like Donovan Sinclair.” Carol raised her voice to be heard over the roar of the vacuum. “And I don’t know why you’re vacuuming when you don’t have everything unpacked. You’re just going to have to do it again.”
Elizabeth shut off the vacuum, trying not to wince at the sudden silence. She’d hoped that the noise would keep Carol from harassing her, but she might have known her ploy wouldn’t work. A little thing like a vacuum cleaner wouldn’t have made Carol hesitate to state her opinion when they were young, and nothing had changed with age. Elizabeth looped the cord around the handle, aware of her friend watching her, her blue eyes bright with curiosity.
“Well?”
“Well what?” Playing dumb wasn’t going to do much good, but it was a stalling tactic.
“Why did you do it?”
“Vacuum before the packing was through? I don’t know. It seemed like the thing to do.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You and I both know that I’m not going to leave you alone until you tell me what on earth drove you to leave a gorgeous man like Donovan.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I don’t know.” The answer sounded weak to her own ears, and she knew it would never be enough to satisfy Carol. She was right.
“You don’t know? You just up and dump him and you don’t know why? Beth, my dear, you’ve gone over the edge. It’s mid-thirties delirium.”
“Beth. That’s part of it.”
Carol cocked her head to one side. “You are sick. My name is Carol, remember? How many fingers am I holding up?’’
“No, that’s not what I meant. He calls me Elizabeth.”
“Everyone calls you Elizabeth.”
“You don’t.”
“That’s because you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. In my case, you couldn’t teach me tricks even before I was an old dog.” Carol reached for a doughnut, part of her housewarming present to Elizabeth. She took a bite, leaving a line of chocolate frosting on her upper lip. “Let me get this straight. You left Donovan because he called you Elizabeth, just like everybody else does. I thought you wanted to be called Elizabeth. You’ve been Elizabeth to most of the town for years. Seems to me like it would have been easier to ask him to call you something else.”
Elizabeth reached for a doughnut. She didn’t want one. She didn’t even particularly like donuts but it gave her something to do with her hands.
“I didn’t leave him because of that. It’s just part of everything else that was wrong. He hasn’t called me Beth in years. Beth was someone young and pretty that he was in love with. Elizabeth was an adult, mature and responsible and not very interesting. I know I’m the one who wanted to be Elizabeth because I wanted to seem older than I was, but couldn’t I have still been Beth sometimes, too?”
Carol stared at her. “I don’t know. I get the feeling I’m talking to several different people here. You wanted to be Elizabeth but you wanted to be Beth, too, only Elizabeth and Beth are the same person but different.”
Elizabeth took a bite of her doughnut, scattering powdered sugar over the front of her sweatshirt. “I suppose it does sound kind of ridiculous.”
“No. I think it casts serious doubts on my sanity, but I understand what you’re saying.”
“He didn’t even seem to miss Beth. It was like she never existed. Somehow I got all caught up in being Elizabeth, wife of a successful architect, mother of a terrific son, member of every charitable committee in Indiana. Only where was Beth in all that? I had dreams, too, you know.”
“I know you did.” Carol licked the chocolate from her fingers. “You’ve got to take some responsibility for that yourself, you know. I don’t think Donovan expected you to give up your dreams for his or for Michael’s.”
“Maybe he didn’t expect it. But he let me do it.”
“What did you expect him to do? Sit you down and insist that you take time out for what you wanted to do? Maybe he thought you were already doing what you wanted to do.”
“I think it’s been years since he’s even wondered what I wanted to do. He just accepted that I was there.”
“He does have some workaholic tendencies.”
“I know you think Donovan is perfect, but he’s got his flaws, too.” She sounded like a four-year-old and she knew it. The problem was that she felt like a four-year-old at the moment.
“I’ve never thought he was perfect.” Carol reached for another doughnut and bit into it thoughtfully. “I just think he’s about the best thing I’ve seen in men. And I think what you two have together is pretty special, and it’s not going to be easy to replace.”
“What we had. Had is the operative word. Somewhere along the line we lost it. He got all caught up in being the world’s greatest architect and I got all caught up in playing suburban wife and we drifted apart. You know, we’d always planned to have more kids. But we always put it off until ‘things’ were more settled. We haven’t even talked about it in years. We haven’t talked about anything in years.”
“Maybe that’s all the two of you need. Just a chance to talk.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No. It’s too late for that. After a while, love dies if it isn’t fed.”
“Has your father called since you moved out?”
Two years ago Patrick had remarried, and he and his new wife had decided to travel around the country. He called once a week from whatever state they happened to be in.
Elizabeth’s voice softened. “Donovan gave him my new number when he called the house. Dad was pretty confused, but he said that I had to do what I thought was best. All he wants is for me to be happy. He also said I shouldn’t throw away anything I might want back. Only there’s not much to throw away anymore.”
Carol swallowed the last of her doughnut, her eyes thoughtful. “I just can’t believe that a love like the two of you had can die that easily.”
“It wasn’t easy. It was a long, slow process, but it’s dead.”
“Maybe.”
Carol’s stubborn determination to believe what she wanted drew a short laugh from Elizabeth. “You’re a closet romantic, that’s all. Life doesn’t offer a lot of happily ever afters, Carol. Donovan and I had some good years together, and we’ve got a wonderful son. That’s more than a lot of people ever have.”
“I think you’re fooling yourself, but it’s certainly none of my business.” Her features took on a saintly cast, and Elizabeth laughed again.
“The day when you can keep your nose out of someone else’s business will be the day they bury you.”
“I’m the soul of discretion.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t discreet. I said you were nosy.” Elizabeth looked at the clock that was stuck haphazardly on top of a crate. “You’d better get going. It’s late and you’ve got a business to run. And tomorrow, I start job hunting.”
Carol stood up, reaching for a third doughnut. “I’ll need something to keep me awake on the drive home.”
“Most people consider driving reason enough to keep their eyes open.”
“In Remembrance? You’ve got to be kidding. The streets are as dull as the rest of the place. Food is the only thing that keeps me breathing.”
“If I ate like you do, I’d look like a blimp.”
“Yes, but you’d be a much prettier blimp than I would be.” Carol hesitated in the doorway, her blue eyes unusually serious. “Are you going to be all right? You know, you’d be welcome to stay at my place as long as you wanted. It’s kind of nice to have someone to talk to besides the plants.”
Elizabeth hugged her friend, her eyes stinging. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got a brand-new apartment to play in, and tomorrow I’m going to find a terrific job.”
Carol looked doubtful, but she didn’t argue any further. If Beth wanted to pretend that she was happy as a clam, Carol wouldn’t be the one to burst her bubble.
Elizabeth shut the door behind Carol and let her smile fade. She stared around her new apartment, still full of boxes, the furniture stuck wherever was convenient. It didn’t look like a home yet, but it would soon.
She clasped her hands over her upper arms and rubbed. The chill she felt had little to do with the temperature. She was alone, really alone, for the first time in her life. Nobody was going to come in the door unless she invited them.
She hadn’t realized how much it was going to hurt to break the ties with Donovan. She’d moved out a week ago, and she hadn’t seen him in all that time. Surprising how much you could miss somebody. She told herself that it wasn’t love causing this ache in her gut, but Donovan had been a part of her life for a long time. His absence left a big gap.
But she was going to fill that gap with new experiences and growth. She had this big, roomy place all to herself. She could do anything she wanted with it. She didn’t have to consult anybody’s taste but her own.
She had a sudden image of the cramped little rooms over her father’s garage where she and Donovan had started their married life. They’d worked so hard to make them seem like home. It had been the beginning for them.
She blinked, clearing the image away. This was a beginning for her. And she was just as happy as she had been then. She could do anything she wanted, anything at all. And that was exciting and wonderful.
Which explained why she was sitting on a packing crate full of dishes in the middle of her wonderful, new apartment crying her eyes out.