Almost Forever (36 page)

 

Thelma McCreary jumped up from her chair. “You're
what?
I don't believe it. Say it again.”

Andie gripped Clay's hand a little tighter. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “We're married, Mom. We got married this morning in Tahoe.”

“You and
Clay?
”

Andie sighed and smiled. “Yes, Mom. Me and Clay.”

Tears rose in Thelma's brown eyes. “Oh, honey.” And then she was reaching out.

Clay let go of Andie's hand so she could rise and be enfolded in her mother's arms. As Thelma hugged Andie and sniffled in her ear, Clay received similar treatment from Joe, though the hug was heartier and there were no tears.

“Well, this
is
good news,” Joe announced, after everyone had switched places and Joe had hugged Andie while Thelma hugged Clay. “This is
wonderful
news. Thelma, get out that bottle of champagne we've been saving and I'll—Thelma?”

Thelma choked back a sob, grabbed for a tissue from a side table nearby and blew her nose. “Yes, Joe. All right.”

“Thelma, what in the world is the matter?”

“My baby. Married at last.”

“Yes, well,” Joe blustered, “it's about time, now, isn't it?”

Clay looked at Andie and both of them tried not to laugh. “It's about time” was Granny Sid's line, after all.

“Oh, it's wonderful. It truly is.” Thelma dabbed her eyes again. “Have you told Della and Don?”

“Not yet.” Clay shot another glance at Andie, a weary one. In the car, she'd changed her mind five times about whom they'd tell first. “We'll do that next.”

“Well, I suppose you want to get right over there,” Joe said. “But we've got time for a toast, don't we?”

“Sure. Plenty of time.”

“I'll get the champagne, then.” Thelma bustled toward the kitchen. She turned in the arch to the dining room. “Andie, honey. Why don't you come and give me a hand?”

Andie, who'd just sat back down, rose again. She knew what was coming when her mother got her alone. She tried not to sound grim. “All right, Mom.”

In the kitchen, Andie stood on a stool to bring down the crystal flute glasses from their high cupboard. She included a glass for herself to be sociable, though she knew she wouldn't actually drink any of the champagne.

“Will you rinse and wipe them, please? It's been a while since we've had champagne.”

“Sure.” Andie took the glasses to the sink and set about cleaning them up.

Her mother produced a bottle of champagne from somewhere in the depths of her refrigerator. “I suppose I might as well open it. Your father's too rambunctious about it. Last time the cork hit my favorite lamp and blew a hole in the shade.”

“Uh-huh.” Andie set the last glass to drain and reached for the towel. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother sink to a chair. She turned. “All right. Say it.”

Thelma waved at the air in front of her face with the hand
that wasn't clutching the champagne. “Oh, it's nothing. Nothing. I'm so happy for you.”

“Look, Mom. Just say it, okay?”

“Well.”

“Go on.”

“I know it's selfish.”

“I'm listening.”

“You're my only child.”

“That's true.”

“And, well, it would have been nice to have been there, that's all. It would have been nice to have been included.”

“You're mad at me.”

“No, not mad. Hurt. A little. I'm sure Della will feel the same.”

“Mom. When we made the decision, we didn't want to wait, you know? With the situation the way it is, with the baby and all.”

Her mother gave a delicate little cough. “Yes. Of course, you're right, honey. I'm being selfish. I said I knew I was. But you're still my only child, as Clay is Della's. And now the only wedding we ever might have planned has already taken place.”

“So then, you not only wanted to
be
there, you wanted to plan it all.”

“Well, yes. Yes, I did. What's wrong with that?”

“There's nothing wrong with that, Mom. It just didn't turn out that way.”

“It will take me a while to reconcile myself with this.”

“I know, Mom.”

“I think you should hug me and tell me how much you love me.”

Andie took the champagne bottle from her mother's hand and set it on the floor. Then, kneeling, she wrapped her arms around her mother.

“I love you, Mom.”

Her mother held her close and sobbed, “I love you, too. And I'm happy, really. Very happy.”

“I'm glad.”

“What's the holdup in there?” Andie's father called from the other room.

Thelma yanked out a counter drawer beside her and found a tissue. She blew her nose. “Woman talk! We're coming!” Then she looked at her daughter again. “What about you? Are
you
happy?”

Andie nodded.

“I'm glad. That
is
what really counts.” Thelma dried her eyes. “Della will sulk, too, you know.”

“I know.”

“Want me to call her?”

“No way. She doesn't get to plan the wedding. She should at least get to tell me how much my lack of consideration has injured her.”

At last, Thelma smiled. “Every year you become more understanding of your elders—did you know that?”

“It's called growing up, Mom.”

“Whatever. It's lovely to see.” Thelma picked up the champagne bottle and stood. “Now, let's get the cork out of this thing and get back in there before Clay and your father come looking for us.”

“Good idea.” Andie grabbed the towel and began polishing the glasses.

“Honey?”

“Um?”

“Clay is a good man.”

“I know.”

“I think things will be good, for both of you, now you've worked out whatever was…holding you back.”

“So do I, Mom.”

“And maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I think it's important for a child to have both of its parents, and for the parents to be husband and wife.”

“I know you do, Mom.”

“Honey…”

“What?”

“Oh, never mind. Just don't forget that I love you and you can talk to me.”

“I won't. And thank you.”

“I'm coming in there!” Joe called.

“Don't you dare! We'll be right there!” Thelma popped the champagne cork. It flew up in the air and made a dent in the ceiling. She wrinkled her nose at her daughter. “He'll never notice it, if you don't say anything.”

Andie hung up the towel. “I promise, Mom. Not a word. Ever.”

A
ndie awoke to the sound of thunder. Outside, she could hear the heavy pounding of rain. It pattered on the deck and beat on the roof before it tumbled down the gutters to the ground below. She looked at the clock: past two. She was alone in the bed.

There was a frigid draft coming from somewhere. She shivered and saw that the glass door to the deck was open a crack. Her robe was thrown across the chair by her side of the bed. She reached for it and wrapped it around herself. Then she rose and padded across the hardwood floor to the glass door.

She looked outside, scanning the deck for Clay as she started to push the door closed. Lightning streaked across the sky. She saw him, as the thunder boomed.

He stood at the railing, his body held very erect, his face tipped up to the pouring rain. He was naked. The rain streamed down his face, slicked his hair to his scalp and ran down his body in a thousand tiny rivulets. His face, in profile, was transfixed, pure, strong, very male.

Andie gasped. He took her breath away. She'd known him for nearly twenty years. But did she really know him at all? All those years she had taunted him for lacking a spirit of adventure, for being Cautious Clay.

And all this time, he'd been someone who stood naked in freezing rainstorms. It was humbling, she realized. How little we know of those who fill our lives.

As she watched, he turned his head slowly to meet her eyes through the glass of the door. It was as if he had felt the intensity of her gaze. Water ran in his eyes now and dripped off his chin and nose. He stared at her over his shoulder, his eyes far away, defiant. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked once again. And then he turned fully toward her and walked to where she waited beyond the glass door.

She pulled it open enough that he could step through and then closed it behind him to keep out the rain and the biting wind.

She could feel the coldness, the wetness of him as she turned from the door to face him. “What were you doing out there?” There was nothing of the worried wife in her voice, only her curiosity, her wonderment.

He shrugged. “I've always loved storms. My mother—not Della, the other one, Rita—she loved storms.”

Andie opened her robe. “You're cold. Come here.”

He took one step. She enfolded him, wrapping her robe and her arms around him. He sighed and she gasped as his body met hers. He was cold, so cold. She shivered as she gave him her body's heat.

He started kissing her before she had warmed them both. And then she forgot her shivering. He stepped back and scooped her against his chest and carried her to the bed.

They had been married a week. To Andie, it seemed that what they shared now had always been. He touched her and
found her ready. He slid inside. Andie welcomed him with a lifting of her hips and a gratified sigh.

After their pleasure had crested and receded, she pulled the blankets up to shelter them.

“What was she like, your natural mother?”

He turned her and wrapped himself around her back, spoon fashion. Andie thought he wasn't going to answer her, but then he said, “She was a dreamy kind of person. It seemed to me like she was always off in her own world somewhere. I guess that's not surprising. For her, the real world wasn't too great. She was sick a lot. And she had trouble holding a job.”

“Did you feel that she loved you?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “I think she loved me. And she did the best she could.”

“You never knew your father, right?”

“Don Barrett is my father.” His voice was flat.

“I meant your natural father.”

“I know what you meant. And you're right. I never knew him. I never even knew who he was. He was gone long before I was born.”

“Do you ever wonder about him?”

“No.”

She wanted to see Clay, so she rolled over and lifted up on an elbow. His face was in shadow. She thought of switching on the light but didn't. There was something safe and intimate about the dark. Maybe in the dark he would confide in her a little.

“What is it?” His voice was guarded.

“I just can't believe that you never wonder what he was like.”

“I did wonder. When I was a kid. But I got over it.”

“It just seems to me like something you would always wonder about.”

“That's probably because
you
would always wonder, if you were me.”

“That's true.”

“But you're
not
me, Andie.”

“Well, I know that. Whew. Do I ever.”

He chuckled then and seemed to relax a little. He even took her hand and caressed it thoughtfully, toying with the gold bracelet of linked hearts she wore. “Look. Don and Della are all the parents I'll ever need. That is honestly and truly the way I feel.”

“Do you hate your natural father?”

Clay sighed and stopped stroking her hand. “No, Andie. I don't hate him.”

“There are agencies, aren't there, who will track down birth parents?”

“Yes, there are. And a lot of them operate using illegal means. They break confidentiality laws right and left.”

“Yes, but—”

“Stop. Listen. I happen to believe that this country's adoption laws are humane laws, in most cases. I know there are people obsessed with finding kids or parents they lost. But I'm not one of them. I'm honestly not. So get that idea out of your head.”

“What idea?” She tried not to sound guilty.

“I know you, Andie.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means if you get it in your head to track down my birth father, you'll be doing it for
yourself,
not for me. The man is a complete stranger to me. I don't have any desire to meet a stranger who says he's my father.”

“But it's natural, isn't it, to want to know where you came from?”

“For some people, I'm sure it is. For me, it's a moot point. I needed to
belong,
to be included in a real family. I wanted a true home, a place where they would always take me in if I
needed them, no matter what. And I got what I needed when your aunt and uncle adopted me.”

Andie leaned closer to him, trying to see what was really in his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I am positive.”

She plopped back onto her pillow and stared up at the shadowed ceiling. “I believe you.”

He grunted. “You sound so disappointed.”

She pulled the covers up around her chin again and rubbed her toe along Clay's leg. During the past week she'd discovered that one of the loveliest things about married life was the feel of Clay beside her in their bed.

He moved his leg toward her, a silent reply to her caressing toe. “Well?
Are
you?”

“What?”

“Disappointed.”

She confessed, “I am, I guess. A little.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I suppose it just occurred to me, right now while we were talking, that I could do this wonderful thing for you, find your
father
for you. It was going to be terrific. You were going to be so grateful. You'd never again bark at me at work because you couldn't find some file you needed. And at home, you'd look at me with adoration, because I'd reunited you with your past.”

“I already look at you with adoration.”

But not with love,
she thought, before she could stop herself. She pushed the thought away, turned toward him and snuggled up close. “Good. Keep it up.”

“I aim to please.”

 

Ruth Ann demanded, “You're going to have to go into more detail about this. I don't get what you're saying.”

It was Sunday afternoon. They were in the living room of
Andie's apartment, packing books and knickknacks to take to the house on Wildriver Road. Andie had put off the job of closing up the place longer than she should have. Now the month was almost over and she had to be out in three days. As they packed, they'd been talking. And now Andie was trying to define her vague worries about her relationship with Clay.

“It's hard to explain. It's all so new between us.”

“So try, anyway.”

Andie scooped up another handful of books and stacked them in a box.

Ruth Ann, as usual, would not be evaded. “I said, try anyway.”

“Oh, Ruthie…”

“Come on.”

“Well, he's got this thing.”

“What thing?”

“About love.”

“What about love?”

“He doesn't believe in it, not in man-woman love, anyway.”

Ruth Ann reached a top shelf and took down more books. She handed them to Andie. “Explain.”

Andie bent to put the books in the box with the others. “He believes in the love you have in families, you know, the urge to care for each other and help each other in life. But he doesn't believe in being
in
love. He says that's only sex.”

Ruth Ann leaned on the bookcase and let out a disgusted groan. “Men.”

“So even if he ever got to the point where he might be in love with me, he's not going to be in love with me, because he doesn't believe in it. You know?”

“Blessed Saint Anselm, my head is spinning.”

“And I want his love.”

“Not unreasonable. Do you love him, er, I mean, are you
in love
with him?”

Andie turned her attention to a pair of carved mahogany bookends that her father had bought her two birthdays ago. She began carefully wrapping them in tissue.

“Well. Are you?”

“It's too soon to tell.”

Ruth Ann collected another stack of books. “You want my advice?”

“Yeah. I suppose.”

Since Andie was still busy with the bookends, Ruth Ann climbed off her chair and boxed the handful of books herself. “Come on. Fake some enthusiasm, or I won't tell you what I think.”

“All right. I do. I want your advice.”

“He's acting like a man. But
you're
acting like a woman. I don't know which is worse.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that until you're at least sure you're
in love
with him, why borrow trouble? Are you having the best time of your life or what?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Then cheer up.” Ruth Ann climbed up on the chair again. “There'll be plenty of time to suffer if things ever really go wrong.”

Just then, the door burst open.

“Hey, Mommy. Lookit this.” A big brown box with two little sneaker-clad feet sticking out from under it staggered into the living room. “I'm a box. Pack me.” The box fell over, giggling hysterically.

Ruth Ann rolled her eyes and grabbed another handful of books as her younger son, Kyle, wriggled his way out of the box.

Clay came in then, carrying a stack of boxes. Andie got up and went to meet him. “Hello, there.”

He returned her smile. “Hiya.” They kissed around the stack of boxes.

Behind them, Ruth Ann made some knowing remark about newlyweds.

Andie asked, “How'd you guys do?”

Clay set the boxes down on the table in the little dining nook right off the living room. “Not bad for a Sunday. We hit the jackpot at Grocery Superstop.”

“Yeah, did we ever,” Kyle put in. “We had so many boxes, I had to ride with one on my head the whole way home. It was really funny, wasn't it, Clay?”

Clay smiled at the boy. “A riot. Come on. Help me get the rest from the car.”

“You bet.” Swaggering just a little with the importance of this grown-up job he was doing, Kyle followed Clay out.

“Clay's good with kids,” Ruth Ann said when the boy and the man were gone. “Kyle was really irked this morning when he heard he was going with me instead of to the batting cages with Johnny and Butch.” Butch was Ruth Ann and Johnny's older boy. “Kyle hates to be stuck with the women. I was sure I was going to have nothing but trouble from him all day.”

Andie chuckled. “I'll bet. But the minute he saw Clay he perked right up.”

“Exactly. And now he's just thrilled to be driving from one store Dumpster to another, scavenging for packing boxes.”

“Yeah, it worked out fine.”

Ruth Ann suddenly looked reproachful. “Clay's going to be great with the baby, Andie.”

“I know that.”

“And you're nuts about him, even if you're not willing to admit it's love yet.”

“I know. And stop looking at me like that.”

“You should get down on your knees every day, I'm telling you, and thank the good Lord.”

Andie met her friend's gaze. “I do, Ruthie. Believe me. I do.”

“So do what I told you. Stop worrying. Let yourself be happy.”

“I'll do my best, Ruthie. I swear I will.”

 

Over the next few months, Andie took her friend's advice seriously. She stopped borrowing trouble, stopped worrying that Clay's heart would forever be closed to her. Instead, she concentrated on making a good life with him.

And it worked. Life was good. She and Clay put in killing hours at the office through the first half of April and didn't mind them a bit. After all, when they went home, they had each other.

Then the office settled down. Uncle Don took over while Andie and Clay went to Hawaii for the honeymoon they hadn't had time for until then. For nine whole days, they did nothing but bask in the sun, swim in the surf, eat, sleep and make love. After the lovemaking, Clay would often lie with his head against the new roundness of Andie's belly and tell her that he could feel the baby move.

She laughed. “But it's only like moth wings, even to me.”

“I can feel it,” he assured her. “There. There it is.”

When they returned, they signed up for natural childbirth lessons. Clay was eager to be her birthing coach. He went with her to her obstetrician and asked more questions than she ever would have thought of. And then, the next Saturday, he drove her down to Sacramento to one of the huge superbook-stores there. He bought out what seemed like half the section on pregnancy and childbirth.