Celebration (9 page)

“Mashing the potatoes. Go easy on him, Mike. He's never been away from home before. This is a big step for him.”

“All of a sudden I feel like I'm fifty years old,” Mike grumbled as he headed for the kitchen. “Phone's ringing! ”

“I got it,” Tyler said. “It's Sadie.”

Cala reached for the phone. “Everything is fine, Sadie. We just got back, and Mom went to bed. We told her in the car. She didn't take it too well. Yes, she's upset with you, but she'll come around. She still has hope. I could see it in her eyes. I don't think she's ever going to give up. Thanks for everything, Sadie. Give Jim a big hug from all of us. Of course we'll write. I have to warn you, we won't be making any overseas phone calls. If you hear anything, will you let us know? Bye, Sadie.”

Their plates loaded, grace said, Tyler held up his hand. “I just want to know one thing. Do we love Mom or not?”

Cala and Mike looked at one another. “Of course we love Mom. Now, let's eat and talk about something pleasant for a change,” Cala said.

Upstairs in her old childhood room, Kristine paced. How was it possible to be so stupid and blind? She'd failed her children, and Sadie and Jim had been there to pick up the pieces. Mike was right. Where in the hell was she when all this was going on? Was she deaf, dumb, blind,
and
stupid as well? Did cooking meals for her children, washing their clothes, and asking if their homework was done make a good mother? The answer was obvious. Somehow she'd convinced herself, or Logan had convinced her, that her family was a tight little family. Doing things together, the children home all the time. She racked her brain to think of things they had done together as a family. Where were those memories?

Damn, she needed to think, to plan. Maybe a warm bath, a nice glass of wine, maybe two, and then bed. Tomorrow would be time enough to think about the past week and today's events. Yes, tomorrow would be soon enough.

 

 

Kristine wished the earth would open up and swallow her as she watched her children load their bags and trunks into the back of Aaron Dunwoodie's minibus, which had the bank's name emblazoned on the side in bright red letters.

“It's not too late, Kristine, to change your mind. There's plenty of room. Are you sure you don't want to come along?”

If she had any doubts about changing her mind, they evaporated with the looks on her children's faces. “No, I haven't changed my mind. It's nice of you to drive them all the way to Georgia.”

“I have business there, so it's no problem. I guess that's it. Now, if you youngsters will just say good-bye to your mother, we can be on our way.”

They look like they're rooted to the ground
, Kristine thought.
They don't know what to do
. She solved their problem by running down the steps to gather them all close. “I know you don't believe this, but I am going to miss you.” Tears sprang to her eyes when she felt Tyler's trembling body. She stroked his hair, and whispered, “I love you,” in his ear. “I swear, you two are the best-looking set of twins I've ever seen,” she said lightly before she kissed them soundly. “Please come home soon,” she whispered.

“Bye, Mom,” they chorused before Kristine ran into the house.

In the kitchen, she broke down completely. How was she going to manage alone? How was she going to get through her days in this old barn of a house? Where would the noise come from? How did you cook for just one person? How did you walk past a child's empty bedroom and not cry?

Kristine raced up the steps and down the long hall to enter Mike's bedroom first. It was so tidy and clean she swallowed hard. She knew she could bounce a quarter off his bed and catch it in her hand. Where were the pictures, the trophies, the ball and glove? Mike had those things. She was sure of it. In a frenzy she opened dresser drawers, then moved on to the closet. Nothing. Everything was gone. It was as though he'd never been here. Maybe he stored his things in the storage closet downstairs. He should have left something behind, a paper clip, a pencil, a rubber band. A second search yielded nothing.

Cala's room was the same, barren and empty, clean and tidy.

Tyler's room surprised her. He was the sloppy one of the three, yet his room looked exactly like Mike and Cala's. There was no stray sock, no pencils or rubber bands. She knew then, in that one instant, that her children were sending her a message. What exactly the message was, she wasn't sure. What she did know for certain was they were gone, and she was alone. And all because of Logan.

A quick glance at her watch told her it was only nine o'clock. What was she going to do for the rest of the day? Make something for dinner so that she could eat it for the rest of the week? Write a letter to Logan she would never mail? Wait for it to snow so she could shovel the walk in case she wanted to go someplace? She looked around, a helpless look on her face before she reached for the wine bottle on the kitchen counter.

 

 

Kristine tugged and pulled the heavy footlocker from the front porch into the house—Logan's personal belongings, which had arrived by Lucas Freight. Her heart took on an extra beat. If Logan's locker was here, he must be close behind. Finally, she was going to get some answers.

Using all her strength, Kristine pushed and shoved the heavy trunk across the wood floors. She knew the metal corners were gouging and nicking the old oak floors, but she didn't care. Logan's belongings meant more to her than some three-hundred-year-old floors. This had to mean Logan was on his way. Finally. A month and a half overdue, but he was coming. She was sure of it. It would be just like Logan to show up on Groundhog Day and laugh himself silly.

How was she going to open the trunk? Where was the key? Logan had the key, of course. All the bank records must be inside. Did she dare break the lock? Should she wait for Logan to arrive? Maybe she should call the kids. Maybe she should have a drink. Brandy in coffee would be good. Ten o'clock in the morning wasn't too early if you were going by the time in Germany or England or even Spain or Italy. Besides, she needed something to shore up her nerves.

Kristine was on her third cup of coffee before she got the courage to go to the storage closet for a hammer. On the way back to the kitchen her gaze drifted to the coffeepot. She'd made four cups, and the pot looked like it was still more than half-full. She purposely avoided eye contact with the brandy bottle on the counter.

When she told Logan about the trauma she'd been through these past weeks, he would forgive her for breaking into his trunk. The hammer rose and fell, twice, three times, then, on the fourth try, the metal flange flew to the side.

Breathing like a racehorse, Kristine squatted down to pull and tug at the heavy lid. A wave of dizziness swept over her at the scent emanating from the trunk. Logan's scent. Her touch was reverent when she removed each item to place it carefully on the floor next to her. She loved the feel of her husband's things, loved the smell, loved touching the toothpaste tube. It wasn't until the trunk was completely empty that she realized there were no brown, accordion-pleated envelopes. However, there was a stack of letters that had never been opened. Letters she'd written. His wallet and car keys were the only other items in the manila envelope. Logan hadn't touched the trunk once she packed it. Fanatic that she was where her husband was concerned, she knew the toothpaste tube was exactly the way she'd packed it. There were no messy clothes. Everything was ironed to perfection and stacked neatly.

Kristine pawed through the contents, her breathing ragged and raspy. If Logan's wallet and car keys were in the trunk, that had to mean something happened to him. Logan never went anywhere without his wallet and keys.
Who put the letters, keys, and wallet in the trunk? Logan? Some stranger? Who?
She looked around, her eyes wild.
What does all of this mean?

She needed more coffee. More brandy. Lots and lots of brandy to figure this out.

Rage, unlike anything she'd ever experienced, rivered through her. She kicked at her husband's belongings, scattering them in every direction. That was when she saw the scribbled words on the back of the manila envelope. She squinted to read the words.

It was signed by Corporal John McElveen.

Kristine peered at the date. January 1. It was now February 1. She'd been in Germany on the first of January. She'd tried to locate Corporal McElveen but was told he'd been reassigned to a post in the States. No other information was given her.

It was all too much for her. With one of Logan's tee shirts in her hand, Kristine curled into a ball on the braided rug by the fireplace, the tee shirt next to her cheek.

She slept, tears running down her cheeks even in sleep.

Kristine sat on the sagging front steps leading up to the wide front porch. In her hand was the coffee cup she was never without. Only she knew the cup held more liquor than coffee.

She heard the car before she saw it. Were the children finally coming home? They'd said maybe in June, but then June passed, and now it was July. Maybe it was better if they didn't come home. Maybe it would be better if she just drank herself to death. Would they come home then? She didn't know. An hour from now she wouldn't even remember having these thoughts. She slurped from the heavy mug.

There was dust on the road. The dust meant the car was coming to the house. She never had guests or company of any kind. For one crazy second she wondered if it was Logan. She rejected the idea the moment she saw the red lettering on the bank's minibus. Aaron Dunwoodie. He was dressed impeccably, the way all bankers dressed, but he had an extra plus; he was fit, trim, and very good-looking. She felt like calling him Judas.

“Get off my property. I didn't ask you here. Go away. I don't want to talk to you. You're a Judas is what you are.”

“I need to talk to you, Mrs. Kelly.”

“Why? I have nothing to say to you. I am not overdrawn at the bank. Take your bus and go back to the bank. I'm never going to forgive you for helping my children leave me. You had no right to do that. No right at all. Why are you still here? I told you to leave.”

“I'm concerned about you, Mrs. Kelly. Your account has been inactive for six months. How are you living? What's happened to you?”

“I hit rock bottom is what happened. You took away the only thing I had left—my children. If you don't leave, I'm going to call the police.”

“How are you going to do that, Mrs. Kelly? Your phone was disconnected last month. You have no electricity, either. That's what happens when you don't pay your bills.”

“So what! It's none of your business. I have plenty of candles.” Maybe that's why she hadn't heard from the children.

“There's a rumor in town that a deranged person is walking the highway and the fields. They say the woman has hair like a wild bush and ragged clothing. I came to see for myself. They're talking about you, Mrs. Kelly.”

“It's a free country. I didn't do anything wrong. Go away. I was born here, and I'm going to die here.”

“When was the last time you ate decent food, had a bath, washed your hair?”

“That's none of your business. I told you to go away.”

“How long have you been drinking? You're drunk, Mrs. Kelly. It's nine o'clock in the morning.”

“Yes-I-am-drunk! That's none of your business either. Don't you need to open your vault or something?”

“I did that already. The bank opens at eight. I brought you a present. I want to help you, Mrs. Kelly.”

“I don't
need
your help. I don't
want
your help. I'm doing just fine. At least I was until you showed up. What kind of present?”

“Come over to the bus, and I'll show you.”

“You're trying to trick me.”

“No. The present is in the bus. I'm not going to give it to you until I make up my mind that you're worthy of it. This particular present requires a great deal of responsibility.”

“That's something Logan would say. Take your present and go back to your bank.”

“If you insist. First, though, do me the favor of at least looking at the present.”

“If I do, will you leave?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

Dunwoodie watched in horror as Kristine teetered on the sagging steps before gaining her footing. He was appalled at her condition, and she reeked of alcohol. He reached for her arm, but she shook it off. “I can manage.”

“Let me help you, Kristine. I don't mean at this precise moment. I mean really let me help you.”

“Do you feel guilty about something,
Mister
Dunwoodie?”

“People in town are talking about you. Your parents and their parents lived here all their lives, just the way mine have. I hate to see you tarnish their names and your own as well. You came back here because your roots are here. That's commendable. Things went awry, and this is the result. You can't wallow forever. Other women's husbands have left them, absconded with their money, and they didn't fall apart. It isn't too late for you, but you have to commit to yourself that you're going to rise above all this.”

“What is
all this?”
Kristine sneered.

Dunwoodie sucked in his breath. “Your drinking. You're slovenly. You reek of alcohol and body odor. I would imagine the house looks the same way inside. You need to think about your children. It isn't too late.”

“Just show me the damn present and leave.”

“Open the door. It's on the front seat.”

“Oohh, oohh. Are they yours?”

“No. I bought them for you. Gracie is the smaller one. Slick is the boy. They look just like the first dog I ever had. Your parents gave him to me when I was seven. He lived till he was eighteen. God, I loved that little dog. I didn't think I would ever get over his death. I guess I didn't, because I never got another dog.”

“Can I pick them up?”

“In case you haven't noticed, that's what they're waiting for. Ahhh, they seem to like you even though you smell to high heaven.”

“Shut up, Dunwoodie.”

“Why should I?” Dunwoodie quipped. “They're my present. I have a say here. Can you handle it, Kristine?”

“I don't know, Dunwoodie. Probably not. They're beautiful.”

“Blue ribbon dogs, Kristine. Listen. I have an idea. I have six weeks' vacation time coming to me. How about if I move out here and help you get straightened out. I'm a fair handyman, and I can get you off the sauce if you don't fight me. No strings. Just your word that you will work with me. I can have you back on your feet inside of six weeks. There are more dogs where those two came from. Right now you have a tidy little bank balance we can work with. The bank will not be averse to lending you money to start up your own business. As long as you're clean and dry.”

A headache started to hammer behind Kristine's eyes. Join the living. Could she handle that? A pink tongue licked at her chin. She smiled as she cupped the tiny head in the palm of her hand. “Are they true Teacups?”

“Yes. Three pounds tops.”

“I don't know if I have the stamina ... what I mean is ...”

“I know what you mean. Will you at least try?”

Kristine looked at the two balls of fur in her hands. She didn't trust herself to speak. She nodded.

“Then I say let's get this show on the road. I came prepared in case you agreed.”

Kristine watched in amazement as he hefted two large canvas bags from the back of the small bus. “I'm yours for six weeks. The first thing we're going to do is eat some breakfast.”

Kristine made a strangled sound that could have passed for laughter. “I don't think there's any food in the house.”

“As I said, I came prepared. Groceries are in the back along with dog food, gear, and anything else we might need. You are going to scrub up, and I do mean scrub, while I make us some breakfast. Any messes the dogs make, you clean up. The only word you need to concern yourself with is
responsibility.
Know this. I'm throwing out all the liquor in the house.”

Kristine sighed, tears welling in her eyes. She nodded, the pups clutched close to her breast. “Just tell me why.”

Dunwoodie waited so long to reply Kristine was about to prod him a second time. “Because your children asked me to watch over you. I promised I would.” Kristine nodded again.

“I like my bacon extra crisp and the butter on my toast melted.”

“Duly noted.”

Kristine smiled.

In the old-fashioned bathroom, Kristine made a nest in the middle of the floor by using two fluffy yellow towels. The pups closed their eyes and were asleep in an instant.

Kristine stared at herself in the mirror. Who was this ugly hag with the dark circles under her eyes and wild bush of hair? Who was this bony caricature staring back at her? How had she come to this? Dunwoodie was right, she looked like hell and smelled awful. She scrubbed, rubbed, and brushed until she thought her skin would come off in one long piece.

Once more she looked at her naked body before she got dressed. The two rolls of fat under her breasts were gone, and her breast size had diminished along with all the extra padding on her hips and thighs. The word emaciated came to mind. A lightweight sweat suit would help a little. There was not much she could do with her wild bush of hair except to pull it back and tie it into a bun. The last thing she did was brush her teeth not once, not twice, but three times. Then she gargled and rinsed, using a great quantity of mouthwash.

She still looked like she'd been struck down by the wrath of God, plus she wanted a drink so bad she found herself shaking with the thought. Just one drink. A little one. Maybe just a swallow. She'd squirreled bottles everywhere in the house. Surely there was one in her bedroom. A nip. Then her eyes fell on the sleeping puppies. How contented they looked. By bringing them up here to the second floor she had accepted the responsibility of ownership and caring for them. They'd trusted her to bring them up here, to fix a bed for them, then they fell asleep because they felt safe and content.

Kristine jammed her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants.
I can do this. I will do this. I have to do this. All my options are gone. I will do this
. “I will do this,” she murmured over and over as she picked up the carpet with the sleeping pups to carry downstairs.

She felt self-conscious, vulnerable as well as ashamed with someone else in her house who knew about her drinking problem and how low she'd managed to allow herself to sink.

Kristine's jaw dropped as she approached the kitchen doorway. She saw the mess on the kitchen floor that she'd never cleaned up. For months she'd walked around Logan's footlocker and his belongings. Dunwoodie was sitting at the table sipping coffee. He nodded approvingly.

“I would have cleaned up but I wasn't sure you would want anyone touching your husband's belongings. Those are Logan's things, aren't they?”

“You went to school with Logan for a few years, didn't you. They called you Woodie. Logan said you were a hell of a football player. He said you were good enough for the big leagues.”

“I never got to find out. I blew out my knee my second year at Georgia Tech. The upside to that is I can always tell when the weather is going to change. What do you think we should do with all this?”

“Right this minute I would love to burn it, but Logan might return one day and want it, so I guess I'll just pack it up and put it in the storage room. His wallet and car keys are here. Logan never went anywhere without his wallet and keys. There is forty-five dollars in the wallet and all his identification. You're a man, what do you think it means?”

“I think it means he's left everything behind and gone off somewhere with a brand-new identity. With eight million dollars he could buy top-notch identification that would pass muster anywhere. You don't need keys if you're going on to a new place with a new identity. The fact that they're in the trunk is just to throw you off. Obviously Logan knew you better than you knew him. It's up to you if you buy into it or not.”

“Are you trying to make me angry?”

“No. I just want you to recognize what's in front of you and not deny it. False hope is a terrible thing.”

Kristine slammed the lid of the footlocker shut. Her hands were still shaking, and her knees felt rubbery. “You don't like Logan, do you?”

“I didn't care for him as a boy. I thought he was arrogant and an opportunist. I don't know the man he is today. However, from what I do know now, I would say my earlier assessment of him is on target.” He clapped his hands together and stood up. “Are you ready for the Dunwoodie Breakfast Special?”

“Sure. He's coming back. I just don't know when that will be. He would never do this to me without a reason.”

“He already did it, Kristine. If he comes back, it will be because he wants something else. Let's call a truce here. You believe what you want to believe, and I will believe what I want to believe. Right now we have three primary goals. One is to get you back on your feet, two is to make things right with your children, and three is to take care of these two sleeping dogs. Agreed?”

“Agreed. I want a drink.”

“Here you go. Drink as much as you want. It's all you're going to get,” Dunwoodie said, pouring coffee into a large, heavy mug.

“What should I call you?”

“Aaron, Woodie, whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“I like Woodie. I thought you were pretty stuffy when I first met you.”

“I thought you were pretty stupid the first time I met you.”

“
Touché
,” Kristine said. “Is there a Mrs. Dunwoodie?”

“There was, but it didn't work out. She thought the bank's money was hers to spend as she saw fit. Our customers thought otherwise. It was a big scandal at the time. I survived. I like your kids. They have their heads on straight.”

“I thought they would be home by now.”

“I guess you wouldn't know, since your phone was turned off. They aren't coming home for the summer. All three of them got good jobs on St. Simons Island. They wanted to get some money ahead for next semester. The twins finished the semester with a 4.0 GPA. Tyler was a little behind with a 3.8. You should be very proud of them.”