Family Blessings (49 page)

Unfortunately, it was true. Joey celebrated his fifteenth birthday, but Janice who'd made a point of coming home on his birthday last year-remained at school and only sent him a card. Peg and Orrin sent a gift by mail and called with the excuse that they couldn't come over for birthday cake because Orrin had had some bridgework done on his teeth that day and his mouth was too sore.

Lloyd came, however, and brought Joey a big maroon sweatshirt with a big white A on the front, for next year when he'd be attending Anoka Senior High. The three of them went out for supper at Joey's favorite restaurant and Lloyd very discreetly mentioned, "The party's kind of small this year, isn't it?"

The whole story tumbled out, but Lloyd--kind, nonjudgmental Lloyd-merely said, "My, that is a problem, isn't it?"

Orrin came to Absolutely Floral one noon and said, "Lee, I'm taking you out to lunch," during which he told her seven times how upset her mother was, and how this foolishness of hers had to stop and she must tell that boy that he should go find someone his own age!

Lee's outrage boiled over. "You're all a bunch of backbiting hypocrites! Christopher was good enough for me when he was comforting me and acting as my support system after Greg died, and when he was picking up Janice at the airport, and sending you and Mom sympathy cards, and taking over a lot of the supportive duties that otherwise might have fallen to you! But now that he's been in my bed you treat him-- both of us--like we're some sexual perverts! I don't think I like what that says about you!"

The meal ended on a bitter note with the two of them scarcely able to tolerate each other another minute.

Lee called Janice at college, as she usually did once a week, only to get perfunctory gruntS for answers, delivered in a voice that said quite clearly, I'm only tolerating this conversation, not taking par in it.

Lee asked when Janice would be coming home again and got the blunt reply, "I don't know."

Lee's attack on her father was immediately telegraphed throughout the family, and Lee received another sermon from Sylvia on right and wrong, this one more vitriolic than the last, as Sylvia defended her parents and chastised Lee for her treatment of them.

The tension at Absolutely Floral got so pronounced that the other employees began to get grouchy, too. Then one day Pat Galsworthy said to Lee, "Are you really going out with a man who's only thirty years old?" Lee blew up at her and said it was none of her damned business, and if she wanted to keep her job she'd better stick to discussing floral trends with the bookkeeper when the two of them were holed up together.

Lee later apologized, but the truth was, the business was being affected by the rift between her and Sylvia. Finding it difficult to be civil to each other, the two of them became reluctant to sit down and discuss the ongoing daily matters--orders, billing, scheduling--which were so essential to having the enterprise tun smoothly. This lack of communication was reflected in the botched routine, the scheduling snags and the general tension among all the store's employees.

Christopher called one Thursday and said, "Dress up in something classy. It's my night off and I'm taking you to dinner at the Carousel in downtown Saint Paul."

In the revolving restaurant, with the twinkling lights of the city dotting the night all around them, he produced a diamond ring with a rock so large it could not be worn beneath a leather glove.

"Oh, Christopher . .." Lee said, gaping at the engagement ring in its blue velvet box. "Oh, look at this . . . what did you do?"

"I love you, Lee Reston. I want you to be my wife." He took her hand and put the ring on the proper finger. As usual, her nails were stubby and her skin rough.

"But it's so big. And what will I do with it when I'm handling dirt and flowers all day long?"

"Put it in a dresser drawer and put it on when you get home. Will you marry me?"

She looked up and felt tears beginning to gather.

"Oh, Christopher, I can't believe this is happening. I want to .

. . you know I want to. But how can I?" The weight of the family's reaction bore down upon her, bringing a confusion of feelings. She loved this man and thought they could have a happy life together, but her decision was not as simplistic as that. "Everything else in my life is falling apart." She added in the gentlest voice she could muster, "I'm sorry . . . I can't wear this." She removed the ring and put it back in the bx. "I just can't. It's much too beautiful for my ugly hands anyway."

He stared at the ring, forlorn, then at her, so disheartened she found it hard to meet his gaze. Finally he took her hands and held them on the tabletop "Lee, don't do this," he begged earnestly. "Please."

"You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

"Don't. Don't say it, please . .."

"But everybody's turned against me. Everybody."

"Except Joey."

"Yes, except Joey. But it's even affecting him. Janice didn't come for his birthday, and neither did his grandpa and grandma. Sylvia and I hardly speak to each other at work. Our business is becoming affected by all these bad feelings. What should I do?"

He dropped his eyes to their joined hands and rubbed the backs of , hers with his thumbs. The expression on his face got even sadder, and his lengthening silence told her he recognized the problems he'd brought into her life, and that if she married him they would probably get worse. He hadn't the wherewithal, however, to cut her free by putting the ring back in his pocket.

The waiter came and presented their plates, steaming, fragrant, each a work of art. They mumbled "Thank you" and picked up their forks, pretending to eat, prodding the food instead.

Lee went on speaking in a hurt voice. "You know how important family has always been to me. I fought so hard to keep mine together after Bill died. My mom and dad have always been there for me, and Sylvia and I were best of friends. When we opened up the shop we got along so well even my mother couldn't believe it.

And now . .." She shrugged. "Now it's all falling apart."

"And so you're cutting me out."

"Don't put it that way."

, "But it's true. I thought our relationship stood for something, but you're willing to write me offbecause your family doesn't approve. How do you think that makes me feel?"

"It hurts me too, Christopher."

He fixed his eyes on the night view outside the windows. As the restaurant revolved, it changed from the distant Minneapolis skyline to the dark strip of river. He had given up all pretense of eating and sat with his fingers on the stem of his water goblet. Finally, he turned back to her.

"Lee, I've never said one word against your family. I think that in spite of what they're doing to you, they're a good bunch of people.

But they're condemning me not for myself but for my age.

I honestly believe they know I'm a decent, law-abiding, fairly honorable guy who'll treat you the best he can for the rest of his life. But I'm only thirty, and you're forty-five, so they tell you you're crazy and it won't last, and they fill your head with all that garbage! But it's so damned unfair, and you're wrong to knuckle under to their pressure!"

"Maybe I am, but for the time being, that's the way it's got to be."

"For the time being--what does that mean?"

She took a deep breath and said the words that would break her heart.

"It means I don't think I should see you anymore for a while."

He held himself still, as if to absorb the impact of her unwanted words. They both knew "for a while" could mean interminably. If her family disapproved now, would they be likely to change their stand in the future?

He set his teeth and studied the distant lights again, his face a mask of dejected stony lines.

"Please, Christopher, don't look that way. It's not what I want either."

He continued brooding while their suppers congealed into cold lumps on their plates. Finally he took his napkin from his lap, folded it, laid it beside his plate and, without looking at her, said, "Well, if it has to end let it end without harsh words.

There's no sense in my being one more person to add to your woes.

But if it's okay with you, Lee, I'd just as soon leave now. I'm not very hungry anymore."

It took them thirty minutes to drive from downtown St. Paul to Anoka.

Through the entire trip he was painfully solicitous, holding her coat while she donned it, taking her elbow on their way to his truck, opening the door for her, seeing her safely inside. He adhered to the speed limit religiously all the way to her house, handling the vehicle perfectly, slowing for red lights with so much lead time her body scarcely swayed when they stopped. He kept the radio turned to a moderate level, adjusted the heat to hit her feet and signaled every turn.

All the while Lee felt as if a balloon were inflating inside her chest, shutting off more and more of her air, pressing against her lungs until there was less than enough left to sustain her.

Her heart ached.

Her eyes burned.

Her throat felt like a garden hose with a kink in it. If only he'd supplicate, rage, drive like a maniac. Instead, he maintained this perfect, stoic control.

At her house he left the engine idling and walked around to open her door, giving her a hand while she managed the long step down in her high heels, taking her elbow as they trod the icy sidewalk to the front step.

There she stopped, torn by what she was doing, aching already with the emptiness that was sure to slam her even harder when he drove away.

The outside light had been left off, and the night wind swirled around their ankles. The late winter snow had grown dark with age and lay like a compressed gray blanket in the yard around them. The air held a chill dampness that permeated clothing, skin, going clear to the heart, it seemed.

He took her gloved hands in his and they stood with six inches of space between them, their chins lowered, staring at the dark concrete between their shoes.

She looked up.

He looked up.

And in that second when their eyes met, his life-saving control snapped. He clutched her against himself, hard, kissing her in an agony of forced farewell. It was a kiss that stamped love, possession, hurt and blame upon her, telling her in no uncertain terms how much he, too, would suffer when he walked away.

As suddenly as he'd grabbed her, he set her back by the arms and told her, "I won't be calling you. You know where I am if you want to see me."

Abruptly he spun, descended the two steps in one leap and stalked to his truck.

She had wept this hard before. Three times in her life she had wept this hard, so surely she would live through it. This was as fierce, consuming and debilitating as it had been when she'd cried for baby Grant . . . and for Bill . . . and for Greg. The difference was, she'd brought this on by choice.

Yet what other choice could she make?

She was a woman unused to hopelessness, so the question felt foreign going through her mind again and again that night.

Another question glimmered: How could people who loveyou putyou through such hell?

Over and over she relived Christopher's parting kiss, watched him turn and hurry away, heard the angry slam of his truck door and saw him squeal offdown the road like a lunatic, accelerating with a roar that sent the rear end of the Explorer fishtailing up the street, hitting a snowbank on the opposite side and rebounding to the center. He had turned the radio up so loud she had heard it booming through his rolled-up windows. At the end of the block he'd blasted through a stop sign without slowing down.

This policeman.

This obeyer of laws.

This man whose heart she'd just broken.

She, with a broken heart of her own, lay on her bed as if she'd jumped from a tenth-story window, sobbing so loudly that her son woke up and opened her bedroom door a crack, whispering with fear in his voice, "Mom? . . . Mom? . . . What's wrong, Mom?"

She could not answer, did not want to answer, went on weeping and leaving Joey to worry and wonder--thoughtless wretch of a mother that she was.

She cried the tears of the lovelorn--the all-consuming spasmodic weeping that racked the entire body for hours on end, so bitterly sorry for herself that she didn't know how she'd survive the lonely days without him. Who would call to ask how her day had been? Who would show up at her door with a pie, or call to ask if she wanted to go walking or shopping for a Christmas tree? Who would hold her when she needed holding, and understand when she needed to cry sometimes, and be there to laugh with her during the happy times?

She lay sprawled on her side, inert, uninspired to act on her own behalf, to get up and find a new box of tissues, to get under the covers, to remove her clothing or her jewelry.

Her temples throbbed. Her eyes ached. Her nose felt raw. She couldn't sigh without shuddering.

I don't want to cry anymore. Please, don't let me cry anymore.

But even that thought brought fresh tears.

The last time she looked at the clock it was 4:34 and it hurt to pick up her head.

She awakened at 10:13 and jerked upright when she saw the time.

She was over an hour late for work! She managed to get to her feet, then plopped back down, cradling her aching head. The bedspread was tucked into ridges like a topographic map. Her pillowcase needed washing. A pile of soggy tissues lay around her feet.

Oh God.

Oh God.

Oh God.

Let me get through ths one day and then I'll be better.

When she forced herself to rise and began shuffling around, someone knocked on the door. Startled, she swung about just as Joey opened it and said doubtfully, "Mom, you all right?"

"Joey, what are you doing home? Isn't it a school day?"

"I didn't go today."

She was still dressed in the clothes from last night, wrinkled and misshapen--skirt, dress, nylons, sweater and all. It struck her suddenly how she must have scared him.

She closed her eyes and put a hand to her head, trying to stop it from bonging.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

It seemed as if he stood a quarter mile away. She trudged to him and draped her arms around him loosely. "Christopher and I broke up last night."