Contingency (Covenant of Trust) (15 page)

“
About what?”

“
The car. Pretty sweet, isn’t it?” He peered in the window of the red one. “Just two seats.”

“
Sounds a little impractical. There are four of us.”

“
Well, we’re not all going to be riding in it.”

“
We aren’t.”

“
No, you always have the boys with you.”

“
The car’s for you?”

“
Yeah, what’d you think?” He turned and looked at her with patronizing amusement, the same look he got right before he patted one of the boys on the head when they were little.

“
Uh ... I figured it was for you ... I was ... I was kidding with you.”

“
So, you’re okay with me getting it?”

“
Now? You just traded cars.”

“
Over a year ago. Besides, we don’t need that monster.”

“
At least you can drive that monster in snow.”

“
BMWs are known for their handling.”

“
But it’s a convertible. We do not live in convertible country.”

“
The days we can put the top down will make it worthwhile, though.”

She walked around and checked the sticker in the window. “Chuck! We can’t afford this.”

“
We just add a year to the loan for the Lincoln. Besides, I’m expecting a very good year.”

“
We can’t spend money you haven’t earned.”

“
Bobbi, you don’t have any faith in me.” He stood in front of the cars again. “I think the blue one.”

“
You’re not listening. We cannot buy this car.”

“
I appreciate your sense of fiscal responsibility, but we can afford the car.”

Knowing she had lost already, she still had to register her protests, just for the record. “What about the insurance?”

“
Reasonable, especially for somebody my age.” He waved for a salesman. “Yep, this is definitely the one. A sporty convertible.”

“
Chuck, is something else going on?”

“
Of course not. I just have a huge client I’m trying to land, and you even said that my car was one the best ways to make an impression.”

“
I said ...?” She shook her head and walked away while Chuck chattered with the salesman. She climbed back in the Navigator and watched the dashboard clock as seven o’clock came and went.

Tuesday, August 2

Bobbi lay on the sofa, waiting for the alarm. Wide awake now, she slipped off to sleep soon after talking to Chuck last night. It reminded her of dating Chuck in college. He called every Monday and Thursday evening, always after eleven when the rates went down so they could talk longer. His voice sounded just like that Chuck, the Chuck who was crazy about her, the Chuck she fell in love with.

Rita didn’t believe
that
Chuck existed anymore. Bobbi hated fighting with her sister, but dinner was the right thing to do, not just for Joel. Brad needed to deal with his anger, and facing his dad would be the first step, although she’d need a minor miracle for Brad to see that.

She switched the alarm clock off before it had a chance to buzz and grabbed her clothes from the laundry basket. Whispering a blessing on the one who decided to put a shower in the downstairs bath, she got ready for the day. Twenty minutes later, she sat nursing her first cup of coffee when Brad came in the kitchen.

“Morning, Brad,” she said, teasing her night owl son. “Does the coach understand how much you love football? That you wake up early for it?”

Brad grunted and shook his head, then opened the refrigerator. He pulled the orange juice out, and gathered four granola bars.

“Breakfast of champions?”

“I’m not real hungry, but I figure it’s this, or throw up or something at practice. It’s just conditioning this week. I’ll be fine.” Then he grinned. “Next week, however, I’ll be needing a full, home-cooked breakfast. You know eggs, pancakes, the works.”

“Will I get to meet the cook you’ve hired for this before next week?” Brad rolled his eyes at her. “Get your stuff, then come and sit down. I need to talk to you.”

“It was
my
idea. You can’t hide from him the rest of your life.”

“It’s not hiding. It’s refusing to associate with him.”

Bobbi leaned across the table. “I am not divorcing your father, so you and I need to figure out a way to deal with what he’s done.”

“You can’t let him get away with this! He can’t waltz back in here like nothing happened. I won’t let him.”

“Wait just a minute. I’m not asking for your permission. I’m telling you. Your father will be here for dinner. You will eat dinner with the rest of the family, and you will be civil. I don’t expect you to pretend nothing happened, but you will be respectful. Is that understood?” Brad didn’t respond. “I said, is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Brad forced the words out between his teeth. He ate his breakfast, and passed the ride to football practice in silence.

“I’ll see you at twelve-thirty,” Bobbi said as she let him out of the car. Brad gave her a half nod and slammed the car door. She watched him trudge the long sidewalk to the practice field and wished she could explain to him that she agreed with most of what he said. She heard herself in every one of his outbursts, and twenty-five years ago, she would have said the very same things.

*******

Bobbi straightened the
knives, forks, and spoons at each place setting on the dining room table.
Breathe. It’s just Chuck.
She hadn’t been this nervous about a meal since the day Chuck took her home to meet his parents. Would he try to make his case tonight? Would he press Brad, or use Joel as leverage against her? Was she playing into Chuck’s hands by inviting him in the first place?

She called Donna Shannon after dropping Brad at football practice, desperate for reassurance. “Dinner is a beautiful step,” Donna said. “A wonderful idea.” Someone finally agreed with her.

Joel bounded into the dining room. “He’s here!”

“Let him in. I’ll get Brad.” Bobbi made it halfway up the stairs before the doorbell rang.
I’ve got to tell him to stop doing that.

She knocked on Brad’s door. “It’s dinner time. Wash up.” He didn’t answer, but she heard movement, so she headed back downstairs.

Chuck stood in the entry hall and as soon as their eyes met, her reflexes took over, and she moved to kiss him. She’d already leaned in a little too close before she caught herself. “Things ... are nearly ready.” She stumbled backward, then took Joel by the shoulders, and steered him between them. “Go wash up.”

“Why are we eating in the dining room?” Joel grumbled. “It’s not even a holiday.”

“Just go.”
Because the kitchen is too intimate. I want some formality between us.

Chuck followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the sink. “Everything smells great,” he said.

“Thanks.” Things felt oddly out of balance with Chuck there for dinner on a weeknight, dressed in jeans and sneakers. It had been months since the four of them sat down for dinner. Since before ServMed.

Bobbi filled the plates and set them on the table, and Chuck and Joel took their seats. “Brad?” She called, then shook her head as he slipped into his chair. He’d been watching, waiting for the last possible moment. “Joel, why don’t you say grace?”

“Dear God, thank You for this food, for Mom fixing it, and for Dad being here with us. Let him be back with us all the time real soon. Amen.”

Brad kicked him under the table, but Joel took it without a word. Bobbi glared at Brad and he dropped his head and began to eat.

Flatware scraped across dishes and glasses clinked, but no one dared speak. After several uneasy minutes, Chuck laid his fork down and looked into Bobbi’s eyes. “How are preparations for school going?”

Bobbi sighed with relief. “Good. There’s plenty to do, but I think I have a good class. I have twenty-five kids, and I know most of them from either working with them or testing them.” Talk of lesson plans and orientation materials filled the dinner hour. Chuck attempted to engage Brad, but the teenager only spit out one-word replies.

After the meal, Chuck folded his napkin and laid it on his plate. “Bobbi, that was great. Brad and I will clean up.” He stood and began stacking plates.

Bobbi wanted to check for identification. Chuck never cleared a table in their entire married life. Anytime she had been ill, Chuck’s mother took care of the housework. Was this a show, or a genuine change? “Joel, come on. Let’s give them room to work.”

*******

Chuck stopped in
the kitchen doorway and turned back to Brad, seething at the table. “Bring in the glasses, Son.” Brad stomped into the kitchen with the glasses and a handful of flatware. “I’m impressed, Brad. I know you didn’t want to be here.”

Brad stared at him for a moment, then he spoke with an arrogant sneer. “All right, I’ll tell you what I think. You’re a lousy, no-good liar who doesn’t deserve to be in the same room with my mother, let alone be her husband! I’m ashamed to admit you’re my dad. I don’t care how many confessions you make, I’ll
never
forgive you.” He whipped a dishtowel across the room. “There! Are you satisfied? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yeah, it is.” Chuck knelt, picked the dishtowel up, and laid it beside the stack of dishes. “Now how about this? I agree with you.” Chuck locked eyes with Brad, and only the teenager’s blinking betrayed his surprise. “I don’t blame you for being ashamed. What I did was shameful—”

“Why don’t you say it?” Brad spit out. “Or can you?”

“I committed adultery. I slept with another woman. I had sex with somebody besides your mother. I betrayed my wife. Good enough?”

Brad stood motionless, white-knuckled fists hooked on the waistband of his baggy shorts.

“Brad, if I could turn back time and undo everything, I would. Nothing is worth causing this much pain to the people I love.” Brad stepped back as Chuck got down on his knees. “Breaking my vow to be faithful to my wife was a despicable thing to do. I’m sorry I shamed and hurt you because of it.” He swallowed hard. “You’ve made your feelings on forgiveness crystal clear, and I understand. All I’m asking for is that you to help your mom heal.”

“Get up,” Brad said at last. “You look ridiculous.”

“Not yet. Your anger’s justified. It’s a man’s anger, and you deserve a man’s apology.”

“Whatever,” Brad said, with a dismissive wave. He brushed past Chuck, toward the back stairs that led from the kitchen to the hallway outside his bedroom. Before disappearing, he turned for one last word. “You’re not welcome at my football games.”

Chuck put a hand on the counter and pulled himself to his feet. Failure sapped his energy and made his body heavy. He opened the dishwasher and began rinsing the dinner dishes and placing them inside. He didn’t expect to win Brad over in one night, but he hoped for a little more progress.

Chuck never heard Bobbi come in to help him with the dishes. When she set her tea glass down, he flinched. “Did you accomplish what you set out to?” she asked.

“But you thought you could come in and lay out your case, and convince him. That’s not going to work. He’s too emotional right now.”

“What about his mother?”

“Chuck, I can’t discuss it,” she said, turning away from him.

“We don’t have to, at least not tonight.” He closed the dishwasher and stepped toward her. “I, uh, started counseling with Phil yesterday. He gave me a lot to think about, and some things to study. I made the doctor’s appointment you wanted, and I took a six-week leave of absence to work on all this.” He paused, hoping in vain to get a response. “I love you and the boys, and I want you to know that I’m not taking this second chance lightly. I’m going to make this right.”

She never moved. At least Brad faced him. Chuck waited another uncomfortable moment before giving up. “Thank you for dinner,” he said. “I’ll, uh, let myself out.”

*******

Chuck struggled to
contain his excitement on the phone. “Don’t worry, Tom. I’ll handle everything from here on out ... This’ll be wrapped up by the first of August. I guarantee it ... No, thank you. I’ll be in touch.” He dropped the phone onto its base and jumped out of his chair, pumping his fist. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

ServMed Insurance agreed to let him, or the firm actually, handle their end of the collective bargaining talks between the state university system and the employees’ union. ServMed would save the universities money on the coverage, but he had to reassure the union they weren’t losing anything in the deal.

A two thousand dollar-a-day deal, and he projected it would run four months. Nearly a quarter of a million dollars, and as the lead and a partner, he’d net a big chunk of that. He pulled up his proposal on the computer. He’d slated two or three attorneys. His choice.