Chapter Twenty-three

 

 

My darling Shelly—

I’m a coward—I’m sure you’re calling me far worse. But I couldn’t face hearing your voice or seeing you once again. If I had, I’d never be able to do what I have to do. I never set out to hurt you but you’ll find that hard to believe. I want you to know I didn’t lie. I believed the things I said to you. I thought it was time to search for a mate—that I needed a mate—wanted someone to complete my life. You were that person. I fell in love with you—wanted you at all cost. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. But, in reality, that cost turned out to be too high.

I shared my good fortune of finding you with my daughter and she was devastated. She equated our loving one another as a denial of my love for her. She felt the distancing that I was, no doubt, doing since I met you. You rocked my foundation but I’m fifty-eight, not eighteen. I have responsibilities. I cannot shirk them. My daughter needs me now and will need me for some time to come. I cannot establish our life at a possible cost of depriving my daughter’s needs both physical and monetary.

Don’t begrudge me my sense of duty. I have a strong sense of right and wrong. I could never start a life with you under a shadow. I could never start a life with you and end up hating my hastiness, my dereliction of duty, which would eventually cheat you of all you deserve. I can’t think of a time in my life I’ve made promises that I couldn’t keep. Nor a time when I’ve intentionally hurt my daughter.

Janey and Elizabeth both asked me to go on the cruise with them. It would be a time of celebration of family. I saw how necessary it was to get away; side-step the intensity of us so that I could think straight and make the right decisions. In the face of losing me, Janey has begged me to reconsider my relationship with her. She would like us to complete the job (Elizabeth) we started and make a home for our child. I agree with her. I was hasty in walking away two years ago. I would not have seen this if I hadn’t faced a chance at a new life with you.

Now that you’ve had some time to put things into perspective, I know you’ll understand my sacrifice. I love you, Shelly. There’s a part of me that always will. Do I wish that I’d never found you? Sometimes. Only because I’m acutely aware of the enormity of my loss. But ‘tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ Ha. There’s one for the English major!

I know you. You will move on. You will find what you are looking for—what you deserve. Believe me when I say that in all the conflicting emotions on my part, I want that for you.

And what will you learn from this? You will know that you are beautiful, you defy age, what you have to offer is not readily found—at any stage in life. It is still valid, still precious and will be treasured by the right person. Years mean nothing. You will know that if you so choose to find a mate— that companion, lover, husband that now you think you need.

But examine that need—if it is still borne out of habit, out of expectation, out of a false sense of things made easier— move on, invest in you and draw upon all that strength that makes you, you. If you find that other person and can honestly say to yourself that he will enrich you, open your eyes to the world—let him move into your heart accepting and melding his strength with yours—then enjoy! Let me quote Shelly Sinclair, “It was meant to be.” Always, always a friend in absentia—Ron

She moved the cursor to Delete but let it pause there and didn’t click. How self-righteous. Unfeeling. Pompous. Where in all that diatribe did her feelings come into play? When had she been consulted? If most relationships were 60/40 then this one was one hundred to zip.

Was the whole idea of dating a ruse to get Janey back? Consciously or unconsciously? She’d never know. She was “his world.” How could he have said all those things? Asked her to marry him and not be man enough to pick up a phone when duty called, to tell her—immediately, to her face— that he’d changed his mind. Had gotten cold feet. Felt it best to renew his past commitment. As her mother would say, “Isn’t it always better the devil you know?”

Was she angry? Pissed that he really hadn’t said he was sorry for the pain, the lie of not answering the phone? Were her tears for love lost or feeling taken? Disgusted was more like it. Wasted emotion, wasted time. Maybe he’d waited this long to contact her because he knew she’d already be getting over him—letting the anger and disgust override any feelings. How could she have so wanted to be Cinderella? Again.

But wasn’t there more than a little disgust with herself? What had being sixty really changed? The search for the golden penis—did it go on forever? Was she simply programmed to want a companion? This mate that would make her life complete? Yeah, she probably was. Wasn’t it in the human DNA? And didn’t those with mates live longer? If you didn’t go to hell first for being boy-crazy. And there didn’t seem to be an age limit on that.

But this was it. No more online, no more living, sleeping, eating with a cell phone next to her. No more searching, wondering, “Was this it? Could he be the one? The prince?” In all likelihood, sans armor and horse … wouldn’t it be nice to just not care about ear hair? Finally, resolution: A man would not define her life. At least, a new mantra.

She forwarded the e-mail to Patrice. Always good to get a second opinion.

“I think you dodged another bullet.” Patrice had suggested meeting at Zinc’s for lunch—hoping a Brie tart would cheer her up, no doubt.

“I’ve lost faith in my judgment.”

“I don’t think you have to go that far. Obviously, there are some duds out there.”

“And every one of them has my name.”

“But there are good men, too. It’s a numbers game— eventually you hit the jackpot.”

“No. I’ve thought this through. The search ends now—no more online, no more dating. At least, for a while. I’m going to finish the massage therapy license— take the test and maybe hang a shingle. One of the girls from class called. She’s taken a job with a cruise line and wants me to interview, too.”

“Couldn’t that be construed as running away?”

“I don’t think so. It’d be a nice breather. Certainly new scenery.”

“As long as you’re sure.”

“Stephanie called. Ed put the house on the market. At a fire-sale price. She wondered if I wanted to pick it up … make some money on it.” Shelly signaled the waitress for another breadbasket.

“And?”

“Absolutely no way. I don’t even want to go near it. But before someone snaps it up, I would like some of the bulbs and iris that I’ve planted over the years. Remember all those along the drive? Lots of award-winners that might not be appreciated by a new owner. I wonder if I could just go and dig a few up?”

“I wouldn’t see why not. Thinning wouldn’t hurt. Take Derek with you. He’d be glad to help.”

 

* * *

 

 

January had rushed by in a blur of cramming and putting in extra time at the clinic. Even beautifying the bungalow was put on hold. The license was now in sight. She passed the exam the second week of February and decided against working the high seas but accepted an offer to join one of her instructors in her clinic. It felt right.

A year or two of experience and then plenty of time to be adventuresome. And be around when she lost her mother. An overnight visit home had made that apparent—she was going to lose her; there was not a lot of time left. Her mother had no speech and little comprehension of what went on around her. She slept eighteen out of twenty-four hours each day.

This visit, Shelly had sat quietly with her mother and said her good-byes. Yet another ending.

And there had been no dating. She’d canceled every online service. She hadn’t heard from Ron and didn’t expect to. She didn’t think she could handle a “but let’s be friends, anyway” kind of proposal. Let bygones be bygones. Now, she just smiled when she heard echoes of her mother.

Surprisingly, there had been no word from Ed. The house was under contract and if Shelly wanted those bulbs she needed to get a move on. She had asked Stephanie to let Paul Green know that she would be “thinning” the bulbs in the two garden strips along the driveway. He could let Ed know or not, she didn’t care. Saturday was looking like a good day to get it done.

And then on a whim, she called Derek. Yes, he’d enjoy helping. One o’clock? He might be running late—he’d been standing in for one of his men whose wife had just had a baby—and probably couldn’t get away before three. That would be fine.

She gave him directions. She knew it would take longer than that to dig up everything she wanted. And she’d be labeling as well as dividing. At least the weather was warm for late February. Early spring warmth that coaxed trees to blossom before zapping them with a killer frost in March. Just typical New Mexico.

Saturday morning she rounded up everything she’d need. But couldn’t find the rake. Hopefully, Derek would bring one. She wanted to leave the area if not manicured, at least neat and trim. Putting a shovel in the BMW made her instantly wish for the station wagon back—or Patrice’s SUV. But she wrapped plastic bags around sharp edges and put hand tools in the trunk. She had boxes and already-labeled storage bags. She might try to force some of her hyacinths. So they would go in the fridge. And she could only hope the crocus hadn’t already come up.

She found herself humming. It would feel good to work in the ground again. And she promised that this spring, her garden at the bungalow would be even better. Make her home a showplace. Derek would be a great help. She’d already decided on where she’d like two more trees. Fruit trees, but away from the deck. She’d ask him. It was fun to share planting with someone. There was a native plant symposium on Thursday at the Garden Center— maybe he’d like to go.

She dressed in layers, knowing by two o’clock she’d be down to shirtsleeves and was even tempted to put the Beemer’s top down. Maybe on the way home. It was so easy to succumb to spring fever. And there was such a feeling of promise. She’d be sixty-one next month—what a difference a year had made. She reveled in a feeling of strength and independence. Hadn’t she proved that she could handle just about anything? The lessons had not been learned without pain. But she had no regrets.

She parked in the driveway. No reason to stay in the street with the house empty. She unpacked the car and carried all the tools to the flowerbed, then lined up her labeled bags. She hadn’t been thinking. Probably there was still a rake in the garage unless Ed had moved everything out. It would be easier to get the mulch off the beds if she had one.

She walked back to the Beemer and got the garage door opener out of the glove box; Jonathan had asked her to give it to Stephanie. She was glad now that she’d forgotten. It worked smoothly; the code hadn’t been changed. And, no, Ed hadn’t moved anything. Box upon box leaned against the sides and back of the garage … still.

A plethora of garden implements was clustered next to the kitchen door, including two rakes. The propane grill—which hadn’t been used in years—was pushed against them. Three mini-blinds in forest green mixed in—from when they redecorated Brian’s room? That had been twelve years ago, at least. Junk. Everywhere junk. Born of a man who couldn’t throw anything away. Two oversized stalls and only one place to park a car. And then she caught her breath.

There was a truck in the one empty stall—a black pickup. Oklahoma plates.

And if it was the truck she thought it might be, there was no mud to obscure the license this time. She ignored the voice in her head urging her to get out, go back to the car, and call the police. No, she needed to be certain—beyond a doubt.

She was tired of being told there was nothing that could be done unless she knew—knew for a fact that there was a dent on the passenger-side bumper.

She turned sideways and edged along against boxes, toward the front of the truck, and leaned down. There it was. A nasty gash still lined with metallic silver—no mistake where that had come from.

“Satisfied?”

A scream escaped her and she banged her head on the side mirror, jerking upright. She started to inch backwards but the whir of the garage door being lowered stopped her. Trapped. Think and stay calm. Talk to him.

“I didn’t know you owned a truck, Ed. Where’s the station wagon?”

“Tiffany has the wagon; the truck belongs to her brother. He needed a place to store it when he went home.”

“The truck used to try and kill me? He needed a place to hide it.”

“That’s a little melodramatic. I’m sure he only meant to scare you. A shame you weren’t driving.”

Had she heard correctly? Just a scare?

A shame his intent was thwarted? She looked closely at the man in front of her.

Ed could always look scruffy on weekends—chores before a shower and shave—but now he looked derelict. Soiled T-shirt, what looked to be food stains on his sweatpants, and at least a week’s growth of beard. Always a first hint of depression when personal hygiene is ignored.

“I can’t believe you would do such a thing.”

“I didn’t. Tiffany put him up to it. She’s more than a little upset about how you’ve handled things—just blurted out the question of Marissa’s paternity in front of everyone at the viewing. Knowing that it would be a shock for me. For her. She thinks you planned it to break us up.”

“And totaling a seventy-thousand-dollar car was vindication?”

“You know, an eye for an eye—”

“It didn’t dawn on the two of you that a little honesty could have prevented an awful lot of pain? For an awful lot of people?”

Ed shrugged. “She’s a fighter. Can’t help but admire that. And there was some question about which of us really was the father. She didn’t actually lie.”

“She was boffing the two of you at the same time?”

“How crude, Shelly. There might have been some bit of overlap before she chose to establish her life with an older man.”

“Overlap? Your son refused to marry her. That seemed to help her make a decision. At least your son did the right thing and supported his baby.”

“That’s what he’s told you. I’m under the impression that didn’t really happen. Oh, a token buck here and there, but nothing that would come close to support.”

“I’ve seen the receipts. Your son was meticulous with record keeping.” A bit of a lie, but she knew Jonathan—if he said he’d supported Marissa, then he had.

“Anything can be fabricated.”

“Even a marriage.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you’d been more aware. More into my needs. You seemed to give up on building a life together—continuing to build.”

“That’s a cop out. The only way it wouldn’t have happened is if I could have turned the clock back thirty years. I could not have met your need for youth. But, perhaps, you couldn’t help it. Frontal lobe changes in older men can have disastrous results.”

Too much of a dig? A little bit of a low blow, but she wasn’t taking on blame for the situation. It was not her fault.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I think it’s safer to blame your straying on something chemical than my inattention to your needs.”

“Of course, you would say that.”

“All right. I’d like to hear how you were attentive to my needs. In fact, in the last five years, what were my needs? What did I want? Was I happy? Did I enjoy our lovemaking? Our travels? Just how tuned in were you?”

“This is ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not. I’m tired of the finger-pointing. We’re two people who lost touch. Stopped loving one another. Stopped being interested in the other’s needs. In hindsight you’re right, I’m as much to blame. I needed to go on with my life—try new things, new challenges. I needed to grow, Ed, in ways that the marriage didn’t let me. I just didn’t know it.”

“That is just so much bullshit. You needed to be my wife—and act like it.”

“Well, this isn’t getting the bulbs dug.” Shelly reached in her pocket for the garage door opener.

“I’ll take that. This should have been turned over to Stephanie.” Ed twisted the opener roughly from her hand.

“Open the door, Ed. I’m walking out of here. You have no right to stop me.”

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

“And why not?”

“We need to talk.”

“What have we been doing? At least attempting. What’s left to say?”

“I have to make you see—”

“I see fine. Ed, this is about making choices. I’ve said this before. You chose to dissolve our marriage and start a new life. You need to accept any consequences of that decision and move on, and I need to thank you.”

“I need to get even.” Was the voice a little petulant?

“Get even? With whom? I don’t understand, Ed.”

“You did not have the right to ruin my life.”

“I did not ruin your life.”

“You made me a laughingstock. Told all our friends what a fool I had been. Cuckolded by my own son. But then, you always pandered to him. He could do anything and you’d excuse him. Nothing was too good for Jonathan.”

“I have seen very few of our former friends in the last year. No one that I would share intimate details of my life with. As far as the boys go, I don’t think either one of us showed favoritism when they were growing up.”

“Jonathan hardly speaks to me.”

“It takes two, Ed. Have you called him? Asked to get together for a talk?”

“He wouldn’t listen.”

“You don’t know that.”

The sobbing startled her. Suddenly Ed slumped against the front of the truck, struggling for breath between wracking sobs.

“I’ve ruined everything. Lost everything I ever cared about. This isn’t the way I’d planned it.”

“Life can be surprising. There are no guarantees. Just ask me; I think I’ve become an expert.”

“Callous bitch. Get in the house. You first.”

He stood facing her, then motioned her ahead of him with the gun in his hand. A gun. She felt her hands go ice cold.

“What’s the gun for, Ed?”

“To be honest? I don’t really know.”

“Then leave it here.”

“No. I can’t do that. I’m glad to see it makes you nervous. Makes you pay attention, doesn’t it?” His laugh sounded absolutely crazed. If she’d wondered about his mental stability before, her questions were answered now.

“I don’t want to be harmed and I don’t want you to harm yourself.”

“Oh, you don’t, do you? You’re not the one holding the gun—do I have to remind you of that? I think decision-making is pretty much on my side.”

“I don’t see what this is going to gain you.”

“Everything, Shelly, and then again, maybe nothing.”

He wasn’t making sense. Keep him talking. What else could she do? It was still two hours before Derek would show up. Not that she wanted to involve someone else in this debacle—still, it would offer a diversion. How else could she get the gun? Could she even get it if he were off guard? Think. What do they tell you to do in these situations? Run? Fight?

“I can see those wheels turning, Shel. Thinking how to get out of this mess?”

“Thinking how I could get you the help you need.”

“Oh, so now I need help?”

“You’ve said so yourself in so many words. You think you’ve ruined your life—”

“I think you ruined my life.”

This wasn’t going anywhere—they were beginning to talk in a circle. She walked up the three steps to the utility room and pushed the door open. The room was empty.

“Looks like you’ve sold some things.”

“Actually, Tiffany needed a washer/dryer.”

“Generous of you.” Shelly stepped into the kitchen. “Ah, and the kitchen appliances, too.” She walked to the sink and then turned to survey the room. “Just what is she going to do with a Wolf range? Two Wolf ranges?”

“Stop being so condescending. She has as much right to nice things as you do.”

“I was thinking more in terms of dragging them around. Not easy things to move.”

The sound of the doorbell shocked them both. Then someone trying the latch, the door opening, steps in the hall. “Shelly? Are you in here? I was able to get away early.”

“Derek, don’t come—”

But he could not have heard her above the deafening explosion of the 9mm.

She hadn’t seen Ed put the barrel in his mouth, but when she turned, the fragments of flesh and brains and bone literally covered the pantry door. Quivered there, some particles slipping down the paneling to pool on the floor. And Ed, the back of his head gone, slumped against the edge of the island.

“No, no, no, no, no.” She couldn’t stop screaming. Even when strong arms enveloped her and turned her away. Made her stop looking.

“Shelly, look at me. You’re all right. I want you to sit here while I call the police. Can I get you a glass of water?”

She must have said yes because now she had a tumbler of cold water in her hand to press against her forehead. How had this happened? Was this an ending that she could even have imagined? So final. So desperately final.