Capture the Wind for Me (45 page)

“I need to go soon. I'm stifling here! Nothing but grief and pain in my parents' house. Everywhere I go, people are asking how we're holding up. I'm tired of the questions.”

“I know.” Daddy's voice softened. “I know how hard it is, believe me.”

“Then let's go.”

Daddy sighed loudly. Then said something I could not understand. I eased back my door and crept out to hover in the hallway.

“I don't—” Something rattled, like newspaper under a hand. “Why don't you want to just have fun for a day?” Katherine demanded.

“I have fun every day, with you around.”

“Oh, stop it. Stop trying to play Mr. Perfect.”

“I thought I was.”

“Bobby, I'm serious, I'm going to walk out the door in a minute.”

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry.”

A pause. “Will you take me next weekend?”

“Katherine.” Now my daddy sounded peeved. “I thought I just said let's do it another day.”

“Why?”

“Katherine. It's not a good weekend.” Daddy emphasized each word. Silence.

“I just don't understand you sometimes,” she declared. “I know you don't like big cities, but Lexington is hardly L.A. I haven't been to Lex since the concert.”

“Well, maybe you should go to another one.” Anger edged Daddy's voice.

“Maybe I should.” The newspaper rattled again, followed by footfalls pacing the carpet.

Daddy said nothing. I pictured his face, lips pressed and eyes darkening. Katherine most likely glared back at him.

“Maybe I should go to Lex all by myself for overnight. And see a concert and a movie, then go shopping and out to dinner. Oh,
supper,
as they say in Bradleyville,” Katherine added with sarcasm. “Excuse me.” “Katherine. Stop it.”

“I don't want to stop it.” Her voice tightened. “I want to
do
something, go somewhere. I don't understand why it's such a big deal, just getting you out of Bradleyville!”

“How old did you say you were?” Daddy shot back. “You're actin' like a whiney teenager.”

Katherine sucked in air. “Well, that's just fine, Bobby. This teenager's out of here.”

I heard her stomp around the couch. I jumped back toward my bedroom, ready to slip inside.

“No, you're not,” Daddy commanded. “You're not leavin' this house mad.”

“I'll leave this house any way I want to!”

“Katherine!” The couch squeaked.

“Let go of me!” Clothes rustled.

“Will you
stop
it?” Daddy tried to keep his voice down. “Will you
listen
to me?”

“I'm tired of listening to you! All you're thinking about is yourself.”

“I don't think that's quite fair,” Daddy retorted. “I think I've done an awful lot of thinking about you in the last month.”

“And well you should. It hasn't exactly been a great month for me.” Katherine sounded near tears.

“I
know
that.” Daddy lowered his voice. “And the next weekend isn't a great weekend for me. I need to stay here with the kids.”

“Why?”

I closed my eyes.

“Do I really have to remind you, Katherine?”

No answer.

“Saturday's the twenty-fourth. The day Melissa died.”

Silence.

“Oh, Bobby, I'm sorry. I . . . had forgotten.”

“Obviously.”

“But I . . . maybe that's all the more reason to go. To get away, together.”

“I just don't think so,” Daddy said quietly.

“You'd be in good company.”

“I know. But,” he added reluctantly, “I'm thinkin' of the kids. They just might need me.”

“Of course. The kids.” There was no mistaking the hurt in Katherine's voice. “And you too. Remembering how things were. How they should be now. Why should you want to be with
me?”

“Katherine—”

“What else would anyone expect? Of any of you.”

No response. I imagine Daddy didn't know what to say.

“Well.” Her tone mixed defensiveness and bitter disappointment. “I picked a bad day, no way around it. We'll just . . . do it another time. Maybe next month. Maybe next year.”

Her footfalls hit the wood floor leading into the kitchen. I stepped into my room, listening through the cracked open door.

“Katherine.” Daddy sounded miserable. “Where are you goin'?”

“Home.”

“Please don't.”

I heard her keys slide off the kitchen counter. “I'm not mad anymore. See?”

“I know you're not, that's just—”

“In fact I'm . . . nothing.”

Before I knew it, she'd hit the hallway, mumbling, “I'm nothing at all.” Daddy's footsteps followed behind her, then stopped. I moved to shut the door but too late. Katherine saw me down the short corridor. She slowed momentarily, then tossed a look over her shoulder at Daddy. Pulling in a deep breath, she headed for the front door. I heard it open. Close.

Not another sound from Daddy.

Concerned for him, I crept toward the entryway hall. He stood staring at the door, face pinched. When he saw me, he turned away.

I bristled in delayed reaction. “What's
wrong
with her?”

Daddy shuffled back to sigh onto the couch. I pursued him, indignation rising. “Really, Daddy, doesn't she—”

“Hush, Jackie.”

“But—”

“Hush.”
He clasped his arms wearily, staring at the coffee table. “You shouldn't have been listenin'. Again.”

“I didn't have to try very hard.”

He gave a little snort. “Guess not.”

I eased down next to him. “Is she goin' to be okay?”

“She'll get over it.”

“But, I mean, is she goin' to be
okay?”

He pushed his tongue under his upper lip. “She'll be fine.”

Of course, she would. It had only been a month since Derek's death. Katherine was still mourning. For heaven's sake, what were they doing fighting when they needed each other more than ever? They obviously were both on edge and worn. Weren't we all. “Yeah,” I whispered. “She will.”

As I rose from the couch, Daddy flicked on the television with the remote and stared sightlessly at the screen.

Greg phoned me that night, and we talked for over an hour. The group had a couple days between concerts and were resting in a hotel in Little Rock, Arkansas.

“This is where Celia lives all the years she and my brother are apart,” he said. “You can believe it? Seventeen years. What a waste.”

“I could never be apart from you that long,” I breathed.

“I could not either.”

I spilled out my concerns over Daddy and Katherine's argument. Greg soothed my worries, reminding me what a tough time Katherine had gone through. Was still going through.

“You try to help her?” he asked. “She is hurt over that fight. She thinks she is not loved like your mamma was. You have to show her she is needed.”

I hesitated. “I know, but she's . . . we're not as close as we used to be.”

“Why? She needs you now especially.”

“She acts like she doesn't want to be around me. And frankly, she's been so irritable that I haven't wanted to be around her.”

“You have to give her extra patience. She is very sad over her brother.”

“I
know
that, Greg,” I replied testily. “I know she's hurting. We're all hurting. But she's just being so unreasonable.”

Greg sighed. “I need to be with you, help you through this. A little over two months, and you and I can be together.”

For one week. A blessed week, ending just one day before Daddy's wedding. But after that how long would we have to wait? How many weeks, how many months?

“Jackie?”

“I'm here. I can't wait to see you, Greg. I just . . . I hate bein' without you. And once you leave, then how long do we have to wait till the next time?”

With the success of the LuvRush tour, the group's manager and record producer had told them he wanted the group to work with fury on cutting their next CD. They all believed it would be a major hit. The final songs had to be chosen. The group had to practice them, then record. Months of work, all done in Los Angeles.

“I will be in Greece not long,” Greg told me. “Then we go to L.A. I will visit you all I can, just even for a long weekend. That will be so good for us. Poor Mamma, though, she has to leave Greece so soon. She does not want to do it.”

The group had been talking for the past few weeks about a move to L.A. They knew they couldn't stay in Greece much longer, at least not year-round. As much as they loved their home, it was too far removed from everything they needed to do. L.A. was certainly closer to Bradleyville than Greece, I had to admit. Still, it seemed a world away.

Greg's parents were not thrilled with the idea of his moving. He would not be eighteen for another year. Still, what to do? Break up the group now, just when they were rising to fame? Last week, his parents had told him what they had decided. Until he turned eighteen, during the months the group lived in L.A., Greg's mamma would stay with him.

“You hear, Jackie? We will not be apart for months anymore. It will not be more than . . .” He thought a minute. “Two months. How is that? Not more than two months apart. I promise.”

I slid his ring on my chain. “You really promise that?”

“I do.”

“Okay. Two months, Greg. We can do that. Two months at a time is worth it—for you.”

chapter 52

D
addy's face looked thinner. For good reason—he'd lost eight pounds. Folks at church started to notice. “You losin' weight?” Pastor Beekins teased. “Maybe you're plannin' ahead to all that fine cookin' Katherine's goin' to do for you.”

Months later I would ask Daddy—When did you know? When did you allow yourself to admit that something was really wrong?

It was the weekend before Thanksgiving, he would reply. When Katherine announced that the owner of GreatWear Boutique was moving to Lexington to open a larger shop and wondered if Katherine could come for three to four days every month to help her run it.

“Sylvia's moving into her two-bedroom apartment next week,” Katherine said. “The Gardens, right near Turfland Mall. I can just stay with her when I go.”

When
I go. It wasn't a question. No discussion about whether or not this would be a good choice month after month, once she shared the responsibilities of a house and three children. Just—when I go.

Wedding plans were fully laid. The tuxes were chosen; Miss Jessie had made the dresses, including one for herself. Clarissa would look darling in hers as a “mature” flower girl, as Miss Jessie put it. I liked the term. Any reason for “mature” to be tacked onto my sister's name sounded good to me. Perhaps the sound of the word would goad Clarissa into finally growing up a little. Robert would escort her, and Miss Jessie would be on Lee's arm. Lyle Roth, one of Daddy's friends from childhood, had been asked to take Derek's place to escort me.

Every time I pictured that wedding without Derek a needle drove through my heart. I admitted to Daddy once that I couldn't be sure I'd make it down the aisle without crying. He'd thought I was talking about crying for Mama. Funny, but that hadn't crossed my mind.

We spent Thanksgiving with the Kings at their house. Katherine insisted upon cooking. At the time, I thought her offer a promising sign of familial instinct. Now I know she merely sought to channel her mounting anxiety into something she enjoyed. She and I were more distant than ever. I simply couldn't talk to her about Derek. And frankly, I'd grown less empathetic of her pain with each argument between Daddy and her. Seemed to me he tried to be patient, but she'd become too wrapped up in her grief to be anything but selfish.

Now I see the cause and effect that I could not see then. Now I realize that Katherine's uncompromising attitude wore Daddy down until he could not always give her what she needed. And in her hurt, she lashed out more. Such is the vicious cycle of a stressed relationship after the death of a loved one. After a time the hurts from the fighting build such a wall that you forget its very foundation was poured from your shared pain.

Mr. and Mrs. B came to the Kings' that day also, plus Celia's parents. Daddy tried his best to eat and hide his worry. During the entire meal, even though Katherine and he sat together, they hardly said a word to each other. With all the folks and conversation, that wasn't particularly obvious, unless you were watching. I certainly watched. And once I caught Miss Jessie's keen studying of Katherine's face. Miss Jessie is one of the wisest women in Bradleyville. Plus, she knew her niece. I did not like the look of concern in her eyes.

Clarissa insisted on sitting on the other side of Katherine. She told the entire table of adults how pretty her dress looked on her, and how she couldn't wait for the wedding.

“And you should see this boy in his tux.” Daddy smiled at Robert. My brother shrugged, but he couldn't hide his pleasure.

Holidays are a difficult time after a death in the family, and this was no exception. Oh, yes, we laughed and chatted and ate. But every once in a while I'd catch Miss Connie staring at nothing, her mind far away. Or Mr. King with a glisten in his eye. Emotions don't play fair when you're grieving. They creep and hide; sometimes they even lull you into believing that they've retreated to some distant corner, and maybe, just maybe, you can let down your guard a little. Then they pounce from the most unexpected of places, teeth bared, claws out.

Holidays are prime pouncing times.

After our meal, I found myself beside Miss Connie, clearing the table. We were the only two in the dining room. “You miss him, don't you,” she said out of the blue, her hand stilling against a half-empty glass of iced tea.