Once Upon a Project (37 page)

Moses gave a reluctant nod of approval, and they began walking toward the Jaguar, Pat and Andy leading the way. Andy unlocked the doors with his remote control. “Mr. Maxwell, you might be more comfortable if you sit behind Pat,” he suggested. “My seat is pushed back farther because of my legs, but Pat's shorter than I am.”

“All right,” Moses said in gruff agreement, not sounding the least bit gracious.

When Andy opened the door for Cleotha to get in, Moses quickly moved to open Pat's door and do the same. She tried not to laugh out loud at this competition her father had allowed himself to get into. For much of her early life her father didn't own a car, and while he always unlocked Cleotha's door first, she'd never known him to actually seat her.

“What a lovely vehicle,” Cleotha said when they were all inside. “I've never ridden in one of these before. Isn't this nice, Moses?”

Pat strained her ears, not wanting to miss her father's reply. Then she realized he hadn't made one.

She sighed. It was going to be a long drive.

 

 

At the cemetery, Cleotha pulled Pat aside and made one last comment. “Don't be fooled. Your daddy is impressed with Andy. I think he's in shock because Andy is so polite and respectful. He's really going out of his way to be charming.”

Pat beamed more broadly than was appropriate, considering a burial service was about to commence. Could it be that her father could be won over?

At the Reavis's home, Pat and her mother were speaking with Mrs. Hughes when, out of the corner of her eye, Pat saw her father approach Andy at the buffet table and say something to him. Then the two men disappeared. She fought back a wild urge to follow them. She'd warned Andy about her father, so she was confident Andy could handle him.

She turned to see Kevin Nash looking around the house with an awestruck expression on his face. She felt like she'd been transported to an old movie where a thief or rapist “cases the joint” or checks out the lady of the house before returning to rob it blind or to attack the woman. She closed her eyes for a moment as she chuckled. Her imagination was in full play this afternoon.

Still, she wondered what her father could possibly be saying to Andy.

 

 

“Susan, I didn't want to stay here long,” Bruce said. “I'd really hoped to get some work done today, and I didn't want to be too late getting home.”

You mean, you really wanted to spend some time with your girlfriend today,
she thought. Again she thought that this new chick must really have her mojo working on him.

“If it's all right with you, I'd like to stick around for a while,” she said. “The train station is right up the street. I can get someone to drop me off, and then I'll just call a cab to get home.” Today was the day the weekly housekeeper came in, and she was happy to accept extra hours for babysitting duties for Quentin and Alyssa. “I really think I can be of some help to Elyse.”

Bruce absorbed this for a few moments. “I hate to leave you here.”

“C'mon, Bruce. I'm a big girl, and I'm not exactly surrounded by strangers. I'm with people I've known all my life.”

“How long is Dolores going to stay with the kids?”

“Until I get home. When she finishes her work she can just sit down and relax and still be on the clock, so she's thrilled.”

Bruce hedged. “I still don't know. Are you sure you can get someone to bring you to the train station?”

“With both Pat and Grace here? Of course. We'll probably be among the last to leave.” She saw his apprehension melt away and slipped her arm through his. “Come on, I'll walk out with you.”

 

 

Charles stood outside, keeping Kevin company while he smoked a cigarette, when Susan and Bruce left the house, both wearing their coats. His pulse began to race, and then he noticed that Susan wasn't carrying a purse.

“Kevin? It was nice meeting you,” Bruce said, extending his hand.

“You leaving, man?”

“Yeah, I've got to head up to work. Susan's going to stay a while longer. She'll get a ride to the train station with Grace or Pat.”

“The North line is just a few blocks from here,” Kevin offered. “You can see the trains from here when they pass. I'd be happy to run her over there myself.”

Bruce grinned. “I guess with all these old friends around, I'm foolish to worry.” He turned to Susan. “Be sure to call or go online to check the schedules. Those trains only run something like once an hour after rush hour, and I don't want you sitting there waiting that long.”

“Good point. I'll take care of it.”

Charles, listening to the exchange and watching their body language, sprang to life when Bruce held out his hand to him. “Nice meeting you, Bruce.”

He continued watching as Susan crossed the street with her husband. He winced when Bruce leaned in and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

Kevin drowned his cigarette butt in a Styrofoam cup of water. He stared at the royal blue Thunderbird convertible Bruce drove. “He may have to get to work, but something tells me he doesn't have to worry about using a personal day.”

“He's a business owner up in Milwaukee,” Charles said absently, still watching the pair.

“That's what I want to be, so I can trade in my Cavalier for something with, uh, more style. Damn, you'd never know those girls ever lived in Dreiser. They sure got rich, didn't they?”

“Oh, I don't know that I'd describe them as rich,” Charles said, one eye still on Susan. Bruce was in the car now, but he was saying something to her.
Hurry up and drive off, already.

“Were you and I just in the same house?” Kevin asked incredulously. “The furniture alone must be worth 100K. Plus, look at those cars in the driveway. A Navigator and a Maxima. Susan's husband drives a two-seater sports car. Grace has a Mercedes. And Pat's boyfriend drives a damn Jag. Okay, so he's white.”

Kevin was starting to get on Charles's nerves with all his whiny talk. If he'd wanted to accomplish something with his life, why didn't he prepare for it thirty years ago instead of making a career out of spraying homes and offices for insects? “Plenty of white people drive Fords and Chevys, you know.”

“Oh, yeah. Believe me, I don't believe all white folks are rich. But these people are all living the good life.” Kevin flashed a knowing smile. “I'm sure you're not doing too bad yourself, with that house in Hyde Park Douglas bought.”

“That house belongs to my mother, not to me.”

“Yeah, but I'll bet—”

“Maybe you'd better not say what you're about to say,” Charles suggested, a warning in his tone.

Kevin shrugged. “Sure, man. I ain't lookin' to start no shit. I'd better get back in and see how Elyse is doing.”

Sorry-ass Negro,
Charles thought as Kevin returned to the house. He'd seen lots of people like him before. Always begrudging everyone else's good living, and acting like it came from good luck instead of hard work. And not respecting their property. He'd been out here earlier, needing to take a break from seeing Susan with Bruce, when Kevin came out for a smoke break, stubbing it out in the middle of the Reavis's well-kept lawn when he was through. Charles had suggested that he not leave it there, reminding him that a spark could start a fire that might burn down the entire house. The old crabs-in-a-barrel mentality: “If I can't have anything this nice, then neither should you.” But you couldn't take people who had nothing and expose them to a different lifestyle.

He couldn't imagine where Kevin's sudden attachment to Elyse had come from. Surely Elyse could see he wasn't much more than a thug. Mr. and Mrs. Nash, if they were still alive, must be brokenhearted that their firstborn had amounted to so little. Charles would never forget how disappointed his own father had been when Douglas wrecked his once-bright future with substance abuse. Like many others, Charles believed that Douglas's arrest and jail sentence had induced their father's fatal heart attack.

He couldn't help smiling when he considered that if Kevin saw the house Susan lived in, he'd probably drop dead from shock. Or ask if Bruce was in the record business or some other dumb question.

Bruce had finally driven off. Charles stood where he was, not wanting to arouse Bruce's suspicions if he was looking in the rearview mirror by walking forward to meet her. Already Bruce might be wondering why he was still standing out here. He wished he'd known Susan was bringing Bruce. He disliked “midnight creepers”—men who made nice with the husbands of the women they were sleeping with; yet here he was doing just that. The whole thing made him want to go home and take a shower.

Susan looked beautiful, he thought. She wore a plain knit black dress with a roomy white coat belted at the waist over it. Her hair had grown out a little, and she wore it brushed back and caught at the nape of her neck. It really wasn't long enough to hang down in a ponytail; it just sat back there in a curly mass. Her cheeks were full of color. He prayed she was as healthy as she looked. He couldn't bear to be with her at last only to have her taken away.

He'd been too impatient, and he knew it. It hadn't been right for him to pressure her the way he had. No wonder she blew up at him. He should have shared his plans with her. But what she said about him not being able to take care of her still stung.

Unlike Kevin, who seemed consumed by jealousy, Charles could accept not being as successful as Bruce Dillahunt. The important thing was that he could provide a home for Susan and her children. In addition to his salary, he earned good money from tutoring, and he also profited from the ATM machines he owned.

In a way it hadn't been fair for him to cut Kevin off when he mentioned his mother's house. True, the house Douglas bought belonged to his mother, but her owning the home free and clear allowed Charles to amass impressive savings and investments for a high school teacher, holdings that would help him support a new family. He just didn't want to put up with Kevin standing there insinuating that he was living off his brother's former success.

“When do I get a chance to talk to you?” he asked when Susan was within hearing distance.

“You don't have to talk. I already know what you want to say, and it won't work.”

“Susan—”

“You and I won't work out unless we wait until I ask Bruce for a divorce. I know that, and you know it, too.”

“How long will that be?”

“Another three or four months.”

“It's already been nearly six. It's been agony for me.” He searched her face anxiously. “Plus, I'm not sure Bruce will make things so easy for you. The way he was acting, all concerned for your safety and reluctant to leave you here . . . I saw him kiss you good-bye. Those aren't the actions of a man who's ready to unload his wife.”

“He cares about me, Charles. Just because he feels no sexual desire for me doesn't take away from that. That's why he came with me in the first place; he was afraid I'd fall into a depression because Franklin died of cancer. But as far as him still being in love with me the way a husband loves a wife, don't fall for that any more than you should for that line about him going to work. He's going to spend a few hours with his girlfriend.”

Charles felt a lot better. Susan meant what she said. He didn't like that hard set to her jaw, and recognized the strain she was under, how difficult these last months had been for her.

He resolved not to do anything to make it harder for her.

Chapter 59

 

B
ruce felt an ache in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't the kind of ache that came from eating something that didn't agree with him; it came from having to do something he dreaded.

He'd been consulting with his lawyer for months now, and they'd worked out a settlement. He was set to move in with Shay on January 1 and then they'd start house hunting. All that remained was to tell Susan.

Shay was so excited. They'd marry as soon as the divorce was finalized, which his attorney told him would take four or five months, but could drag on longer if Susan objected to his proposed settlement.

He hated having to tell her he wanted a divorce just after Franklin Reavis's funeral, but he'd made a promise to Shay that he would have everything in motion by the end of the year, and tomorrow was New Year's Eve. Quentin and Alyssa were up at his mother's in Kenosha, and from there they would go spend a few days with their other grandmother, Frances, who lived just fifteen minutes away. If he was going to do this, this was the perfect time.

He found Susan in the kitchen. “I'm fixing a turkey sandwich. Can I make one for you?”

“No, thanks.” She was as polite and considerate as she'd ever been. Theirs had to be the most cordial failed marriage ever. He knew he couldn't stand living like this another minute. After he told her, he would be free to be with Shay.

Thinking of that gave him the courage to tell her.

“No, but I wanted to talk to you about something, if you've got time.”

She looked up from the toast she was spreading mayonnaise on. “Sounds serious.”

“It is. But go on and make your sandwich. It can wait until you eat.”

“No, tell me now. We can talk while I eat.”

That made it a little easier, talking to her while she sliced a tomato and heated her turkey slices left over from Christmas dinner at her sister Sherry's. “Uh . . . Susan, there's no easy way for me to say this. I'm afraid I haven't been a very good husband to you. I know I've told you that I'm not cheating on you. . . .”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Sounds like a confession.”

“. . . but that was because I didn't want to hurt your feelings. I know it's not fair for me to have been affected by your lumpectomy the way I have, but I can't help it. Lord knows I've tried.”

“That's a moot point now, wouldn't you agree?” she asked evenly, taking a bite out of her sandwich before she opened the refrigerator door and removed a jug of skim milk.

He gave a sheepish look and shrugged. “I suppose. Susan, the truth is that I've been seeing someone for the past year. A little more than that, I think.”

“And . . . ?” She carried her plate and glass over to the nook, sitting on the stool the farthest away from him.

She sounded awfully calm. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He'd been standing near the nook, but now he sat down on the opposite end, leaving an empty stool between them and swiveling it so that he faced her profile. “And I don't think it's fair to either of us if we stay married. She wants to be with me, and I admit that I want to be with her.” When she failed to say anything, he talked more rapidly. “I don't see the point in us staying married. Neither one of us is happy together. Wouldn't it be better to be free to pursue other relationships?”

“I guess.”

At least she said
something
, he thought, even though he could have been asking her to pass the salt. “We'll work this out. I'm not about to leave you or our kids out in the cold. I want you to have the same lifestyle you've always had, including the house.”

Her mouth fell open. “You're saying you'll give me the house?”

“Well, I was hoping that once the divorce is final you'll agree to sell it and get something smaller. But for now, I really do think it'll be less traumatic for Quentin and Alyssa if they continue to live in the same house. It's going to be difficult for them to adjust to our living apart as it is. Now that you've got some work experience, I thought you might want to work full-time. Of course, I'll provide you with alimony in either case,” he hastily added. God forbid she think he wanted her to get a full-time job so he wouldn't have to pay her quite as much. Sure, he'd love if it she did work full-time—maintaining this house wouldn't be cheap—but he didn't want her to feel pressured.

“To tell you the truth, I was thinking that I'd like to work full- time. But who's going to take care of the kids?”

“I thought we could hire a nanny or a housekeeper to come in from two to six. She can pick up the kids from school, do some housework, even cook dinner for you. Offer the job to Dolores, if she's willing to work part-time.”

Susan knew she appeared calm, eating her sandwich and drinking her milk while Bruce nervously related his plans—plans he'd obviously put a lot of thought into, probably for months—but she wanted to jump up and shout hallelujah. Bruce's girlfriend must have a greater hold on him than she'd ever imagined, if he was willing to call an end to what they had become: little more than polite strangers living under the same roof. She now had the freedom that she'd spent the last eight months dreaming about. The trapped feeling and the hopelessness that had nearly threatened to destroy her relationship with Charles no longer existed. Bruce wouldn't be asking for his freedom if he planned on staying in the house another night. She and Charles had no reason to remain apart. They could even bring in the new year together!

She did agree with Bruce's assessment to limit the sense of upheaval for Quentin and Alyssa, but it angered her that he assumed she would be alone. He wanted them both to be “free to pursue other relationships.” He'd already admitted he'd done just that, so his comment referred to her alone. The bastard didn't even consider the possibility that she might already have someone who loved and wanted her, even with breast cancer that could come back at any time. She wanted to pick up the heavy decanter on the counter and throw it at him.

“Susan?” he asked. “You seem more surprised at getting to keep the house than you do at my asking for a divorce.”

“I suppose I was. Bruce, I always knew you were having an affair.” Her mind was reeling. She would introduce Charles to her children, make him a part of their lives.

“I'm sorry I lied to you. You probably won't believe this, Susan, but I do love you.”

“I know you do. But the cold, hard truth is that you don't
want
me anymore, and you've killed the passion I had for you by rejecting me over and over again. That's the best reason for not staying together.” The relieved look on his face made her wonder if she should have given him a harder time. He was getting off too damn easy. But what was the point? He'd already said he would move out and she could stay in the house, with him paying the mortgage every month until their divorce became final.

“I'll start taking my things out tonight. But I won't leave until the kids come home on New Year's Day. We probably need to discuss how we're going to tell them.”

“I'm sure we can come to an agreement on everything,” she said brightly.

“You seem to be taking this awfully well. Mind if I ask why?”

He looked more baffled than suspicious, Susan thought. She wasn't about to tell him she had a man she loved and wanted to marry any more than she would have told him that Charles had driven her all the way home from Lake Forest the night of Franklin's funeral; there was no train ride. “I've found that I've given up, Bruce. I've thought about getting out on my own and starting over. That's why I thought I probably should work full-time. I haven't been happy, either.”

“I knew you hadn't been. I know this sounds ridiculous, Susan, but I care what happens to you.”

“And this sounds equally ridiculous, but I understand completely what you mean, and I wish you happiness. And I wish your girlfriend good health.” God forbid she develop breast cancer down the line. Or uterine cancer, or anything affecting her sexual organs. She, too, would find herself cast aside for a healthier specimen.

But that was
her
problem. Susan's problems with being rejected were finally over. The hangdog look on Bruce's face told her he understood her meaning. “Uh, yeah.”

“So,” she said brightly, “I suppose that as of now, we're free to do whatever we wish. The kids won't be back until the day after tomorrow.”

“We'll tell them together,” he said. “I'm dreading it, but I know it has to be done.”

“Your timing is curious, Bruce. Did you want to get your house in order before the first of the year?”

“Something like that.” He looked at her quizzically as she put her plate and glass in the sink and fluffed up her hair. “Hey, are you going out?”

“Yes. You said what you wanted to say, didn't you?”

“Yeah, but . . . Susan, you're not going to do anything foolish, are you?”

He's such a fool.
“Of course not. It's just that I've got places to go and people to see . . . starting right now. I would tell you not to wait up . . . but of course you won't be here, will you?”

 

 

In the privacy of Alyssa's yellow and white bedroom, Susan's fingers felt unsteady as she punched in Charles's home number on her cell phone. She'd try him at home because she didn't want to risk his being out and about while she poured out her heart to him. How could he possibly concentrate on her words if he was paying for groceries at Dominick's?

She knew she shouldn't have insinuated that he was lacking somehow and compared him to Bruce. But Charles was equally wrong to continually nag her about getting a divorce the way he did. Didn't he know how difficult it was for her to step out on her husband? Didn't he realize she'd never done such a thing before? Why should she bear the brunt of everyone's bad behavior? First, Bruce's inability to handle her breast surgery and his refusal to discuss the matter in counseling, which might have saved their marriage. Then, Charles's being too damn impatient and trying to rush her when she needed to take baby steps to reclaim her independence. She began to get annoyed all over again just from thinking about it, but now the phone was ringing....