Occasion of Revenge (3 page)

I laughed, pried Chloe’s fingers from the earring, and slipped it into my pocket for safekeeping. I attempted to distract my granddaughter by making faces and talking to her like an idiot. “Widdle Chloe want something to eat, huh?”

Dante held out his arms to his daughter. As his cuffs crept higher on his wrists, I could see portions of the elaborate tattoos that decorated his arms—the business end of a rattlesnake; the talons of an eagle. Until I had had a nipple tattooed on my reconstructed breast, the artwork on Dante was the closest I’d ever come to a tattoo. “Here, Mrs. Ives. Let me take her,” Dante volunteered. “She’s going to make a mess of your dress.”

“That’s OK,” I said, thinking there wasn’t much Chloe could do that would break my heart over this dress. But in a few minutes, my granddaughter metamorphosed into a writhing sack of eels. I handed her back to her father gratefully. “Thanks.”

Dante settled his daughter on his hip and plugged a pacifier into her mouth. When a vigorous sucking motion signaled that Chloe had a firm grip on the nipple, he turned to me. “I’d ask you to dance, but one of us …” He jiggled Chloe up and down.

I was relieved. I was still working on my relationship with Dante. It had not started out on the best of terms when he’d dropped out of Haverford College just a semester before graduation to move out west, taking my besotted daughter, who had graduated from Bryn Mawr with honors a year earlier, with him.

“Just look at your grandfather-in-law,” I said at last.

“Who?” Looking puzzled, Dante’s gaze drifted from
Chloe’s plump face to the dance floor. After a moment, he chuckled. “Oh, I see.”

Daddy was squiring Darlene around the floor like a pro. Darlene’s skirt swirled away from her body, revealing shapely thighs encased in hot pink panty hose. I willed their label to say Queen Size, Super Support, but there wasn’t a chance of that. Although she must have been well over fifty, Darlene had the legs of a twenty-year-old.

I scowled in my father’s direction. “Acting like a teenager.”

Dante nodded sagely, his ponytail wagging. “Whatever.”

“I think it’s disgusting.” Dante’s head swiveled in my direction and I immediately regretted my candor. “Sorry.” I smiled apologetically. “It seems like just yesterday that Mom …” I took a deep breath and held it, then turned my eyes back to the dance floor where Daddy and Darlene were sharing a sprightly fox-trot. “She’s certainly peppy, I’ll give her that.”

“She’s not so bad.” Dante shifted Chloe to the other hip and repositioned the pacifier, which had fallen into the folds of the hand-smocking on her white piqué dress.

Someone snapped a picture and I flinched at the flash. I squinted up at my son-in-law. “You’ve met her, then?”

“Briefly. Emily and I talked with her for all of two seconds back at the church. She’s a widow living over in Chestertown.”

Chestertown was a community over the Bay Bridge on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, about an hour’s drive from Annapolis. “Chestertown? How’d Daddy hook up with someone way over there?”

Dante shrugged. “Don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”

I was thinking about this when the music stopped. Paul and Emily reappeared, looking flushed from their efforts at contemporary ballroom. “The musicians are taking a break,” Emily said, sounding disappointed. Too bad. Now that Emily had broken the ice, I was hoping Paul would trip the light fantastic with
me
while the force was still with him.

Behind Paul’s back I watched Daddy as he led Darlene from the dance floor over to the bar. They picked up refills, then wandered out to the garden. I saw them again briefly, participating with enthusiasm when we toasted the bride and groom with chilled champagne. My backbone stiffened by wine, I was headed in their direction with a million questions on my mind when Paul asked me to dance and everything else flew out of my head.

When I thought about Daddy and Darlene again, it was cake cutting time, but they were nowhere to be seen. I waited until the last notes of “Good Night, Sweetheart” had died away, until the caterers began wrapping up the leftovers in heavy-duty aluminum foil, until the flowers had been loaded into a van headed for the nursing home, but I never got that dance Daddy had promised me.

I emerged from the bathroom with my hair still damp from the shower to find Paul waiting, propped up on two pillows. He whipped the sheet away from my side of the bed and patted the mattress. I smiled, slid in next to him, and snuggled close, my cheek resting comfortably on his chest.

“Sorry it’s so goopy.”

He nuzzled my neck. “What’s goopy?”

“My hair. All that hair spray. I brushed it hard, but …”

“You can wash it in the morning.” His kiss began near my right ear, meandered down my cheek, and finally found my mouth. I wrapped my legs around his and melted into him.

The end of a perfect day.

In the past two years, I’d learned the fine art of appreciating perfect days whenever they came my way. And it was a good thing Connie’s wedding was an eleven on a scale of one to ten, because it was the last perfect day I would see for a good, long time.

chapter
2

The telephone rang, jolting me out of a thoroughly
satisfying dream, an action/adventure film, as I recall, featuring Pierce Brosnan and Sean Connery dueling with spear guns for my attentions. I observed, aloof and amused, from the deck of a luxury yacht, sipping a dry martini—shaken, not stirred—fetchingly clad in a form-fitting black-and-pink skin-diving suit. Me, not the martini.

“Hullo?” I managed, resurfacing so fast I was in danger of getting the bends.

“Hannah, Daddy didn’t come home last night.”

“What?” I groped around on the bedside table until I found the alarm clock. Six-thirty. I groaned.

“His bed hasn’t been slept in.”

Paul turned away from me, burrowing under the covers. “Who the hell is that?” he mumbled.

I covered the receiver with my hand. “Ruth. She’s worried that Daddy isn’t home.”

Paul flipped down the comforter and sat up. “Well,
it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out, Watson.”

I laid a hand on his leg and returned my attention to my sister. “Are you sure? Maybe he’s asleep on the sofa. Or in the family room.”

“Nuh-uh. I checked.”

“In the bathroom?”

“Nope.”

“Is there a message on the answering machine?”

“No.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Look, he probably took Darlene home and one thing led to another …”

“Probably, but he could have called me, Hannah.”

“He could have, but that probably wasn’t the first thing on his mind.”

“The stomach turns.”

I flopped back on my pillow, the receiver clamped to my ear. “My feelings, exactly.”

“All I ask is a little common courtesy, Hannah. I cook, I clean, I iron his shirts. The least he could do is let me know when he isn’t coming home so I don’t worry.” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “If it had been
me
not coming home, he’d’ve had a fit.”

By now, I was wide awake. Paul, listening to my half of the conversation, propped himself up on an elbow and used his free hand to trace little circles on my arm. I crossed my eyes, stuck out my tongue, and playfully swatted at his hand.

Ruth had a point. Although Daddy was doing her a favor by letting her live at home rent free, Ruth more than made up for it by what she contributed to the running of the household. If Daddy had to pay someone—several someones—to cook, clean, wash,
iron, pay the bills, and keep up the yard, he’d have to take out a second mortgage. Ruth considered her stay transitional and mutually beneficial. She’d agreed to help get Daddy back on his feet while she saved enough money from Mother Earth, her shop on Main Street, to make a down payment on a home of her own. Lord knows Eric Gannon wasn’t in a position to help her out. Ruth’s ex was throwing all his money at a sweet Gen-Xer named Candee these days.

“Daddy probably thinks that by letting me live here for free and giving me the car he doesn’t owe me anything,” Ruth complained.

When Ruth’s aging VW Golf had died the previous summer in a shuddering heap of cracked windshield, bald tires, and rusting quarter panels, Daddy had signed over the title of Mom’s Corolla to her. With his passion for fairness, I’d received Mother’s emerald engagement ring and he’d given Georgina her beaver coat, but the rest of Mom’s things he’d kept, as if by parting with them he’d be admitting to himself that she was really gone. One day we’d have to go through Mom’s closet and dresser drawers, but not now. The pain was still too fresh and too deep.

“He’s a grown-up, Ruth,” I reminded my sister. “To him, you’re still a kid. He probably doesn’t think he needs to account for his actions to you.”

“Still, it’s rude. What if he’s been in an accident?”

“Unlikely. He left the reception with Darlene surgically attached to his arm.” I wrapped my fingers around Paul’s incurably roving hand. “Look, if he hasn’t returned home by noon, let me know and we’ll send out a search party.”

“Where?”

“Darlene’s, to begin with. The local bars.”

“That’s not funny, Hannah. Besides, do you know where Darlene lives?”

“Somewhere in Chestertown.”

“What’s her last name?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“Great. So we just drive over to Chestertown and ask around for somebody, anybody named Darlene?”

I hadn’t been to Chestertown for several years, but I remembered it as a small, friendly place, home to Washington College and featuring a waterfront lined with stately colonial and Georgian-style homes. Chestertown had all the charm but none of the size of Annapolis; folks were likely to know one another there. Recalling Darlene’s startling hair and revealing wardrobe, I imagined that if we approached enough people and described her, eventually someone would be able to tell us who she was.

“What if Daddy’s lying in a ditch somewhere?” Ruth worried.

“In that case, somebody would have called.”

“Should I check the hospitals?”

“Don’t be silly.” I thought for a minute. “He did have his wallet with him, didn’t he?”

“I assume so, but I don’t know for sure. It isn’t on his dresser, anyway. I checked.”

I felt the mattress heave as Paul slid out of bed. “Coffee?” he pantomimed. I nodded and watched with affection as he padded toward the hallway in his bare feet.

“When he gets home, I’m going to kill him,” Ruth grumped.

“Killing would be too quick. Why don’t you tie him
to a chair until he promises to keep you posted on his whereabouts?”

Ruth snorted. “He has no consideration. No consideration at all.” The rant continued. “I have to open up the store in a couple of hours.”

“Today’s Sunday, Ruth. You don’t open up until noon on Sunday. And if you’re a little late, people will just have to wait for their aromatherapy kits. Nobody ever died from running out of patchouli.”

“Maybe I’ll feel better after I have my coffee.” I heard the sound of running water. Ruth must have been calling from the kitchen. “Wait a minute!”

“What? What?”

“Why, the old devil!” Ruth whispered. “He’s tiptoeing up the driveway now! I can see him out the kitchen window. Must have parked his car out front. Ha! Old tomcat probably thinks he can sneak in and climb into bed without me being any the wiser. Well, do I have a surprise for
him
!”

I took a deep breath. “Don’t do anything stupid now, Ruth.”

“Nothing he doesn’t deserve for making me worry like this. I don’t need any more gray hairs, thank you very much.”

With a half-smile on my lips, I imagined the scene. “Call me later.”

“And he’ll probably be wanting breakfast, too.”

Just before the telephone clicked into silence, I heard Ruth drawl, “Well, good morning, Casanova.”

I waited a good ten minutes for Ruth to cool her jets, staring straight up, watching slivers of early morning sunlight creep across the ceiling. Then I called back.

Ruth answered on the first ring. “Plato’s Ethical Culture Parlor.”

“Oh, har de har har. What if I’d been somebody important?”

“I knew it was you.”

“Oh?”

“Who else would be calling at this hour?”

I directed a raspberry into the receiver. “Don’t forget who woke up who, Ruth. Or is it whom?”

“Well, I wasn’t sleeping, so I figured I’d share the joy.”

“Thoughtful of you.” In the background I could hear the high-pitched squeal of the coffee grinder. I could almost smell the aroma of fresh-brewed Starbucks breakfast blend wafting down the telephone lines. Then I had to laugh. Paul was coming through the bedroom door holding a mug of steaming coffee in each hand.

I blew him a kiss, reached for my mug, and sipped at it gratefully. “So, what’s his story, Ruth?”

“He spent the night in Chestertown with You Know Who, just like you said.”

“Sometimes I hate to be right.”

Ruth sighed heavily. “I don’t know what he sees in her.”

“She makes me laugh.” It was Daddy’s military voice, crisp and clean-cut. I imagined him leaning over Ruth’s shoulder, addressing the receiver as if it were a raw recruit.

“Keep that up, and I’ll go deaf.” Ruth’s voice gradually faded. “Excuse me, Hannah, while I go repair my eardrum.”

“You should have called home, Daddy,” I said when my father took control of the telephone.

“Sorry, dear. I didn’t think.”

“Ruth was worried sick.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“So, Darlene makes you laugh, huh? So do Laurel and Hardy movies, but you don’t have to buy them dinner.”

“You know what I mean, Hannah. Since your mother died …” He paused. “Well, I have
needs
, dear.”

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, I realized that this was the closest my father had ever come to discussing sex with me. He quickly changed the subject. “Look, why don’t you and Paul come over for dinner tonight? Bring everybody.”

“Dante’s gone back to Virginia,” I said. “He has to be at work this morning.”

“Tonight?” That was from Ruth. Daddy must have covered the receiver with his hand because there was a muffled discussion before Ruth came back on the line, sounding exasperated. “Well, don’t expect Julia Child,” she snapped.