Inevitable Sentences (9 page)

She wagged a finger at Max. “Not before the doctor says it’s okay, anyway,” she added to cover her proposal. Yet, was it such a mistake? Didn’t she really want to spend the rest of her life with this wonderful, caring man? Didn’t she love his every breath?

Celeste let her mind wander to the amusing day Max tried to convince her to buy the lighthouse on their first excursion there. She immediately loved it, even though the automated searchlight no longer warned sailors of the rough waters below, but rather welcomed them into a secure harbor. It was a perfect setting for the safe house, although it was a bed-and-breakfast at the time.

Celeste had been surprised that all the rooms, including the seven bedrooms, had ample windows that brought in enough light to brighten the cheery space. The entire forty-seven acres of woods and meadow and half mile of lakeshore took her breath away. Yet no matter how taken by the serenity, Celeste was too shattered to make such a huge decision, and told Max so. She could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Hadn’t she buried her daughter only a few days earlier? Any plans for her own future had to wait until she sorted out all that had happened.

Finally, Max prevailed. Though she still didn’t have the answers to all the questions surrounding Pilar’s murder, and probably never would, Celeste finally purchased the lighthouse two years ago to celebrate her fiftieth birthday. Her signature on the deed marked the beginning of a new life that would free her from her own horrid past. What she would do with the lighthouse had been an open question, however.

She and Max had gone on a picnic to the lighthouse to celebrate her ownership. On that July day, with the woods in their full green glory and the sun hot on her face, Celeste deliberated her future, and the future of all those seven generous bedrooms. She wasn’t much of a chef, a skill she felt was necessary for an innkeeper. That was a task left to one of her servants when she was married to Marcus. She knew instantly the idea of a B&B was definitely out. Surely she could put the building to some other reasonable use, however.

She had to chuckle, thinking about how, when she and Max had left the lighthouse grounds that dreamy day, she vowed to learn to cook—more for herself, and maybe, in the back of her mind, for Max. In fact, since that day she had several scone recipes and could prepare a good meat loaf and many delicious pasta dishes even if they were simple. Max hadn’t complained.

The idea of the safe house must have been fermenting all along. As she made her tenuous peace with Pilar’s death, and as she navigated the uncertain terrain of divorce and singlehood, she began to envision a valid use for the rambling old building and lovely grounds.

Once upon a time, the notion of offering a hideout for fleeing women and their children would have been as alien as leaving Marcus. Nonetheless, she came to understand it was where she belonged. Her counseling background, what she learned of her daughter’s life, and her own personal difficulties with Marcus were put to perfect use in that setting.

Celeste looked out the hospital window. The ice crust had thickened. That July day certainly hadn’t prepared her for the Upper Peninsula’s severe winters.

“Doctor Shapiro who, by the way, is too young to be called that, says I can go home on Monday. I’ll need some special care, though.” He checked Celeste’s reaction. “Are you listening to me?”

“What? Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about the first time you took me to the lighthouse,” she said, and waited for more information.

“Well, I guess that’s a good reason for you to ignore me now.” Max repeated what he had said about Dr. Shapiro. “I can’t think of a better place to get that kind of attention than the lighthouse, although it is noisy with all those kids.” He shrugged and smiled. His face came alive in color.

“Ha! Even the noisy rug rats will want to help you. Or more likely get you to read to them, sometimes the same book ten times.” She was happy to divert the conversation to the children and away from his moving in.

“Celeste?” Max sounded way too serious again.

“Yes,” she trilled out. Maybe they weren’t off the feared subject yet.

“Have you thought more about my offer of marriage?” Max asked in almost a plea. “Although you know I’d live with you, I’d rather be married to you. It’s better for appearance’s sake.”

“You never gave a hoot about appearances. So don’t you try that on me.” She folded her hands in her lap and gave him a doubting expression while she tried to gather her thoughts into some kind of sensible and caring answer. The words wouldn’t come.

“Hey, Dad. Celeste.” Ken, Max’s oldest son, rushed into the room.

“Hey, yourself,” Max said. His face brightened again. “I thought you were leaving this morning.”

“Hello, Ken,” Celeste nearly sang she was so happy to have him interrupt their dangerous discussion.

“The roads are too bad. I’ll go downstate tomorrow.” Ken flopped into the second chair. “I thought I’d stop by for a few moments with you. Ford Motor will have to get along without me for one more day.”

“The way things are going in our auto industry, they might get along without you for longer than that.” Max’s glow simmered into worry. “Have you thought about what you’d do if you lost your job?”

“I’m a good engineer with a master’s degree from a highly respected university. I think I could find work, Dad.” Ken had only transferred to Ford a year ago.

Celeste was always startled by how much the two of them looked alike. If they had been the same age, they could have been twins. Two gallant warriors. She’d never met Jason, Max’s other son. He was thirty-four, three years younger than Ken, and a geologist. He worked in Indonesia and rarely got home. Listening to these two at the moment she was afraid their discussion would lead into a more heated realm. “Where’s little Max?” she asked to prevent a serious altercation.

“He’s with Sue in the car. He’s asleep.”

“And the other two boys?”

“They stayed home from school. Sue’s mother is watching them.” He turned from Celeste and asked Max, “What will you do when you get discharged? Do you have someone to take care of you?”

Max eyed Celeste. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head slightly, trying to warn him to be careful how he told his son that his father was moving in with his girlfriend. Admitting the truth to herself, she sucked in a deep breath. Had she convinced herself it was inevitable? Hopefully, Ken was adult enough to realize his father should have a relationship, and even another wife.

“I’m moving into the lighthouse,” Max responded matter-of-factly. He didn’t look at Celeste.

“Ah,” Ken said in a pensive tone. He checked Celeste and then Max, but said nothing more about it. Instead he got up and announced, “I better get going. We’re going to try to make it to the Mackinaw Bridge today, roads permitting, and stay in St. Ignace so our trip isn’t too long tomorrow.”

“When will you be back with the whole tribe, son?”

“Christmas, like we planned.” Ken hugged his dad. “Thanksgiving is with Sue’s parents this year.” He quickly hugged Celeste.

When Ken was out the door, Celeste followed him, telling Max, “I’ll be right back.”

“Go easy on him.”

Celeste tsked at Max and waved. When she got to the hall, she called out to Ken, who stopped and turned. He seemed surprised that she had followed him.

“I hope you don’t take what I’m about to say the wrong way,” Celeste said, “but I’m concerned that you may not want your father to have a relationship with a woman other than your mother.”

“No, that’s not it.” Ken leaned against the wall.

“It’s common to feel that way …”

“It’s that I still miss my mother even though she’s been dead nearly ten years. I’m often reminded about how happy we were as a whole family. And how I wish she could see her grandsons.” His eyes were teary. He rubbed them.

Celeste touched his arm. “You know I have no intention of replacing your mother. But I do want to make your father happy and give him all the best in the years we have left.”

A nurse scurried into Max’s room. Both Celeste and Ken poked their heads into the room to see if something had happened. The nurse was only conducting a routine monitoring. Celeste and Ken sighed in unison.

“Celeste, I can think of nothing better for the both of you than to be together.” Ken smiled weakly. “I can see how happy he is with you, happier than he’s been since Mom died. You have to forgive my overemotional reaction to—”

Now Celeste interrupted him. “It’s okay. I only want you on our side. I promise I’ll help keep your mother’s memory alive.”

“Thanks.” He bent over and kissed her cheek. “See you at Christmas.” He turned and walked briskly down the corridor.

Celeste went back to Max, feeling somewhat better about her understanding with Ken.

“Well?” Max asked. “No black eyes, I hope.”

“Everything is fine.” She patted his hand and sighed. “I’m sad to say I must leave, too, and go shopping. I’m making sure we have enough supplies to get us through the predicted storm. I’m also buying a few battery-operated lanterns. Those kerosene ones are dangerous around the children.”

“Always the mother, aren’t you?” Max again lifted her hand and kissed it. “Be careful out there.”

“I always am. You rest up. I probably won’t see you until Monday when I pick you up,” Celeste reminded Max. “You can call me, though, if you need anything or if something has changed.”

“I’ll try to live without you.” Max placed a hand over his forehead like a distressed damsel.

“Oh, Max.” Celeste slid her hand from his and kissed his mouth. She shrugged herself back into the red coat. “See you,” she promised. Loneliness filled every cell in her body before she even got to the door.

P
RISCILLA WAITED IN THE
nearly empty restaurant. Lizzie was already fifteen minutes late, which wasn’t unusual. But tonight with the icy roads that she had to drive, Priscilla wanted the dinner and Lizzie’s new tale of woe to be over soon so she could get to her warm apartment. From the lack of patrons in the restaurant, it was clear most sensible people had already decided to stay home. Priscilla wished she was one of them.

Lizzie had pushed to go to Flanigan’s, a local hangout for prison employees. Priscilla had fought the idea and explained that since Lizzie would use her as a sounding board, Priscilla should pick the place to meet. Though Priscilla’s first choice was Sweet Water Café because of its natural foods and fresh atmosphere, Lizzie had crinkled her nose at the idea. “Broccoli, carrots, and twigs? Ugh,” she had said. They finally compromised on Vierling’s, Marquette’s harbor brewery and historical eatery since 1862. The atmosphere was rustic, with organized antique and stained glass clutter. Plus, the place catered to families—Priscilla was happy that she and Lizzie could get a great beer and a decent meal without interruptions from curious Hawk Haven Prison colleagues.

Sipping from a glass of water the waitress had given her more than twenty minutes ago, Priscilla was growing impatient with Lizzie’s tardiness. The woman had probably stopped five places to pick up items such as gum, a pack of cigarettes, or a movie she didn’t need. Stuff that popped into her head at that moment. Each time Lizzie passed a store’s sign she believed it personally beckoned to her.

Priscilla had seen that behavior many times in Lizzie, who never gave a thought about what she should be doing or who was waiting for her. Somehow it worked for her. It still amazed Priscilla how Lizzie could breeze into a doctor’s appointment two hours late, not feeling the least bit guilty, give a lame excuse, and be seen by the doctor, rather than have the receptionist reschedule her as would happen to other patients. Lizzie seemed to have terrific persuasive powers. Obsessive-compulsive? Priscilla wondered. Or perhaps Lizzie was simply one of the best cons Priscilla had ever known. She certainly had known Lizzie a long time. Their friendship dated back to grade school.

Finally the front door banged open and Lizzie pranced in. The wind howled after her and the room felt like it had been put on ice.

She flopped into the chair across from Priscilla. “Hi!” She slipped her raspberry-colored down parka off and pulled earmuffs made of rabbit fur from her head. The booth nearly swallowed Lizzie’s tiny body. Priscilla had always felt like a giant next to her friend. She could still hear how their classmates teased the two of them, calling Lizzie “Tiny” and Priscilla “Amazon.” Later she was called “Prissy.”

“It’s shit out there,” Lizzie announced, with a huge smile. “I swear I’m moving back to Florida.”

Lizzie wore one of her usual flamboyant after-work outfits: denim skirt that reached only mid-thigh, a rose spandex camisole, and a floral print overshirt tied under her heavy breasts, navy tights, and pink boots topped with pink faux fur with small pom-poms tied at the sides. Priscilla had been with her when she purchased the entire ensemble on sale at Wal-Mart, Lizzie’s favorite place to shop. It was no wonder she was cold with her legs exposed as they were. Priscilla tugged at her own long skirt and shivered.

When Lizzie wasn’t on duty she seemed to wear the extreme opposite of her work uniform: black slacks, white blouse, and light blue duster similar to a lab coat. Lizzie’s personality also changed. The hardworking nine-to-fiver morphed into the woman who now sat across from Priscilla, the carefree girl-about-town. The two women were as different as women could be. Despite her petite size, Lizzie’s flamboyance could eclipse Priscilla’s stodginess. How they had become and remained friends all those years still amazed Priscilla.

“Hello to you, too.” Priscilla’s voice sounded as cold as the wind outside. “Why would you go back to a place where you weren’t happy? You’ve only lived here six months.” Priscilla knew the answer. Lizzie never stayed anywhere for long. Usually it was because she’d gotten into some sort of trouble—never anything to get arrested for, but close. Six months ago she’d fled Florida to get away from the wife of the man she was visiting in prison. According to the prison employee gossip, his wife was still hunting for Lizzie. Lucky for Lizzie, the prisoner’s wife never ventured as far north as Georgia, let alone the UP. When Priscilla confronted Lizzie about that situation she shrugged it off, laughed, and announced, “She didn’t catch me, did she?”