Possessions (57 page)

“Sherry, thanks.”

“Keeping a clear head, I see. Danny said you're looking for Craig.”

“He thinks you know where he is.”

“He's wrong. I don't know where Craig is; I haven't seen him or heard from him since a year ago June. He called to tell me he was going to Toronto and he'd try to fit in a couple of days with me on the way back. I haven't heard from him since. All I've heard is about him. The police talked to Danny in July; they said he was an embezzler. I never believed that.” She handed him a glass. “To your good health. And welcome to Calgary.”

“But he disappeared,” Ross said. “You didn't see him again. If he hadn't committed a crime, why was he gone?”

“Well. You wouldn't understand, but if you're a woman and your guy is married and has a family and all, you expect it. I mean, you know that one day he's going to choose his family over you. His wife will get suspicious or he'll run out of excuses or he'll just get tired of running back and forth—and he'll stop coming around. So you prepare yourself. It doesn't really work; it still breaks your heart when it happens; but at least you think you know what's going on.”

“Did it break your heart?”

“Of course it did. I love him.”

She said it so naturally that Ross felt a stab of pity. “Why didn't the police find you?”

“Because Craig always registered at a motel in town before he came here. In case he got telephone calls, you know. I mean, his kids could have been sick . . . some emergency . . . When the police checked, they found the registrations. And my neighbors, and people in the shops around here, knew him under another name.” At Ross's exasperated sigh, she became defensive. “He had to; he was protecting his family.
Anyway, he thought he had to, and I understood, and that's how everyone knew him. And when he stopped coming around, well, they just thought we broke up. It happens, you know.”

Ross walked about the small living room, crowded with memorabilia: dolls and stuffed animals from amusement parks, glass paperweights embedded with the names of Canadian cities, a bowl filled with restaurant matchbooks, pictures of Elissa and Craig, some with a young boy grinning happily between them. Ross looked at her.

“He's not Craig's.”

I hope not, he thought, and moved on, stopping in front of a calendar from Vancouver Construction. “Last year's,” he murmured.

Elissa gave an embarrassed laugh. “I should take it down. But if I throw that out, what about all the other things Craig brought me? I mean, where do you stop, if you're trying to forget someone? Every time he came here he brought a paperweight or a carving or . . . Well, anyway. Did Katherine throw out the things he brought her and the kids?”

Startled, Ross said, “Do you know her?”

“Katherine? Good Lord, no. Craig would have died if I'd even come near Vancouver. But I heard so much about her I might as well know her. I mean, she's sort of like a relative you hear about but never meet. So I talk about her like that. More sherry?”

“Thank you.” Ross saw her hands shake as she poured. “What did Craig tell you about Katherine?”

“What didn't he, would be more like it. He didn't tell me he'd leave her, if that's what you're asking. That was the last thing on his mind. He was crazy about her.” She saw Ross look again at the photographs around the room. “You don't understand.”

“No,” Ross replied. “I don't.”

She sat on the couch and motioned to the space beside her. “Don't you want to sit down?”

Sitting with her, Ross felt her warmth, the comfort of her strong body and calm gaze. Remembering Craig, he began to understand what had drawn him here.

“You knew Craig,” Elissa said. “So you know he wasn't really happy unless somebody needed him. Not demanding things of him—he hated it when people told him what he ought
to do or how he ought to behave—but just needing to be taken care of. It made him feel good to take care of people who were in trouble. That was me when he met me: I was in trouble and I sure needed to be taken care of.”

She took a sip of sherry. “Do you want some crackers or pretzels or something?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, when we met, I was three months pregnant and no one was around to be the father. Isn't that the damndest luck? First my little boy's father and now Craig. Good thing I'm not superstitious. This guy, the father, was working on an oil rig and he got transferred and said he'd send for me when he got settled, but he never did. I have a feeling he was a little scared by the idea of fatherhood. I tend to take up with men who scare easily; I wonder why that is. Excuse me.”

She left the room and was back in a minute. “Turned on the oven. Whenever you start getting hungry, let me know. I met Craig when Danny took me drinking with them one night. I was pretty down and Craig tried to make me feel better and I ended up telling him all my problems. I'd been sick with some kind of anemia—pernicious anemia, does that sound right?—and I'd lost my job and there I was pregnant with no man around. Little did I know I was practically seducing Craig; he couldn't resist a sob story like that. The next night he showed up on my doorstep with a couple of steaks and two pints of cherry vanilla ice cream and some bottles of Scotch and wine. He said in my condition I needed protein and good cheer and he was providing them. He provided them for almost two years.”

In the silence, Ross asked, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“And where is your little boy?”

“I sent him to a friend's house for the night. He's just about gotten over missing Craig; he didn't need to hear any of this.” She looked somberly at Ross. “What you have to understand is that Craig didn't come here because he liked a roll in the hay with someone who wasn't his wife. He came here because he needed me as much as I needed him. I'm not criticizing Katherine; she sounds like somebody I could be friends with. But Craig said she thought he was perfect and if he told her the truth about himself—
any
of the truth, way back to the sailing accident . . . oh, sure,” she said as Ross's eyebrows
shot up, “he told me about that. He couldn't tell Katherine because he was sure she'd stop believing in him, stop loving him, if she knew that he caused his sister's death and ran away and let his whole family think he was drowned. And he said he was going to be blamed for some building that wasn't built right—I never understood all of that, but he said he couldn't fight his son-of-a-bitch cousin Derek, and Derek's father, to prove he wasn't the one who did whatever Derek did. He was so full of hate for Derek you wouldn't believe it. There was something else—something he couldn't even tell
me,
it hurt so much—but most of it he talked about over and over. He had to; he said he'd never told anyone and he could hardly stand it.”

“He had a wife who loved him,” Ross said. “He could have told her.”

“Didn't you hear what I said? He couldn't tell her because he loved her.”

“So he shut her out.”

“Is that how she felt? Well, I can see how she might. But Craig didn't think of that. He was just scared of telling her.”

“Why wasn't he scared of telling you?”

“Because he didn't love me,” Elissa said simply. “He needed me to talk to; he was comfortable with me; he was
happy.
But he didn't love me. He loved Katherine and he couldn't risk disappointing her.” In a moment she stood and said briskly, “I think I should put the chicken in the oven. About fifteen minutes until dinner. Is that all right?”

“Yes.” Preoccupied with his thoughts, Ross absently followed her into the kitchen, perching on one of the stools at the linoleum-covered breakfast counter.

“Craig used to do that,” said Elissa, putting a covered dish in the oven. “Sat there drinking Scotch and talking away while I cooked the food he brought. He always brought food; he always acted like he had plenty of money. Do you know, I can tell you what every room in his house in West Vancouver looks like? I used to dream about how it would be to live there.”

“Did you ever tell Craig that?”

“Of course not. It would have made him feel bad and then he couldn't talk about it anymore. What I was best at with Craig was listening. He never thought of me envying his house because . . .”

“Because he never thought of you.”

“That's not true! He thought of us all the time! When my boy was born and this anemia thing of mine came back, he took care of us. He bought us things—he paid the mortgage on this house!—and never refused me anything. And it seemed we were always needing something. He didn't steal because of us, did he? Do you think it was my fault? I've thought and thought about it and I don't believe he stole at all. He wasn't the kind. He was so good to us . . .”

“Danny, too,” she said, putting pickles and olives on a plate. “He and a friend had saved money to start their own business and Craig loaned them the rest, without even being asked. He heard them talking about borrowing money and said he'd take care of it. He liked doing things for people.”

“He liked showing people how much he could do for them.”

“It's the same thing, isn't it? He didn't even tell Danny when to repay the money, but Danny started anyway; he'd made two or three payments when Craig disappeared. It's too bad he always ran when things got difficult—and I know it wasn't right that he spent money on us instead of his family—but he acted like he had plenty, and when he'd say he couldn't tell Katherine things, and smile that sad little smile of his . . . Well, I loved him, and wanted to make him feel good about himself. Oh, damn, damn, damn—Ross, I keep wondering where he is, and if he's all right, and what I did wrong to make him disappear. Everywhere I go, he's sort of there . . . but not really . . . and
I miss him.
”

Standing beside Elissa in her kitchen, with his arms around her, Ross silently cursed his cousin, who twice had found wonderful women, and had hurt them both.

And I'm at a dead end, he thought. Which Craig would I look for from here—Craig Fraser or the one Elissa's neighbors knew?

All I've found is another shadow.

*  *  *

Their three rooms looked even smaller than Katherine had anticipated, and Jennifer and Todd wandered through them reminding her how great it had been to have separate rooms. “We're getting too old to be in the same room,” Todd declared after dinner. “Especially Jennifer. Girls need privacy for intimate matters.”

Katherine laughed. “Who told you that?”

“Carrie. And Jon told me I need my own space, too.”

“They're right; we all need privacy. I sleep in the living room, remember? But we can't afford a bigger apartment yet.”

“When can we?”

“Pretty soon, maybe. If I get my new jewelry made this month, and Mettler's customers buy it . . . I guess then we could look for a place with lots of room.”

“And rooms,” Todd grinned.

“That too.” Katherine began to sort the mail they had picked up from the post office that afternoon. “Here's something from school for you and Jennifer.”

“Is that all? No letters?”

“You have to write letters to get letters.”

“I would, if I knew where to write.”

“Oh.” Katherine put her arm around Todd and held him close. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I guess I gave up expecting a letter from Daddy a long time ago.”

“So did I, I guess,” said Todd. “I was just asking. I'll be out in front with Jennifer, OK? Mom? Is that OK?”

“What? Oh, yes, fine. Just don't wander off; it's getting close to your bedtime.” Katherine looked back at the letter she had just opened with
Mettler's
embossed at the top. “Dear Mrs. Fraser,” she read.

When we discussed your jewelry, I hoped we were beginning a profitable relationship. However, the recession has forced me to change my plans; like all prudent retailers, I must reduce my inventory; and since I cannot alter my relationship with trusted, long-standing suppliers, I must reluctantly withdraw my verbal offer to you of last June. I am returning your jewelry by special messenger. Please do not think unkindly of me; some day we may yet work together. With all best wishes for a successful career, I am—

He can't do this.
Katherine crumpled the letter in her hand.
I was so sure I'd made a start . . . He can't . . . Of course he can; it's his store.
She hurled the letter across the room.
Bastard.
He was lying; the economy hadn't changed in two months. Anyway, Leslie had told her that Marc said people like Mettler held their customers even in bad times.

Her thoughts racing, she held her head in her hands. He decided he didn't like my work after all. It wasn't what he wanted . . . it wasn't as unusual or as good as he thought at first . . .

That's not true!

She jumped up and went to the kitchen and with furious energy began washing the dinner dishes. “It's not true,” she repeated aloud. She remembered Mettler's face when he saw her pieces; they
are
good, she thought fiercely. I know they're good.

But he knows more about jewelry than you do, a small voice said. Maybe he had reasons . . . She shook her head. I know how much I've changed; I know what I can do. Whatever happened while I was in France, I know my work is good.

Then she thought: I shouldn't have gone to France. Maybe, if I'd been here, I could have found out why he did this, and turned it around.

But then, I wouldn't have had a month with Ross.

The telephone rang and, answering it, she heard his voice, distant, with static on the line. “I tried to call you this afternoon,” he said.