Читать книгу Every Time We Say Goodbye - Liz Flaherty - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

LAKE MINIAGUA WAS a small community. Most of its businesses and many of its residences were named with the titles of Cole Porter songs. The prolific songwriter had grown up in nearby Peru. The Anything Goes Grill and the Silver Moon Café were the primary restaurants. A salon and spa called It’s De-Lovely was near Rent-A-Wife, Gianna Gallagher’s business. Nate’s golf course was Feathermoor. The greenhouse was Old-Fashioned Garden. The Sea Chantey Convenience Store and Bait Shop and Through Thick and Thin Barbershop filled Main Street storefronts. Even some of the wine bottles Jack had seen at Anything Goes had names like The Beguine and Midsummer Night.

On the other side of the lake, near the fishing huts and Hoosier Hills Cabins and Campground, there was a second convenience store, a Laundromat and a usually closed pizza parlor—Miniagua’s abortive attempt at a strip mall.

At the end of the business district, before the bridge that led to the golf course, the old drugstore and sundry shop sat empty. Out for a morning run, Jack slowed as he passed the brick building, looking at it with eyes both contemplative and assessing.

He thought of the evening before. Of being in the same room with Arlie and wanting to stay and stay and stay. Of talking and laughing and drinking coffee that tasted like home.

They’d talked about the past and—to a lesser degree—about the present. Jack knew Arlie worked in a nearby hospital as a nurse but that her heart was with midwifery, even if she had little opportunity to practice those skills since returning to the lake. He knew and disliked—even though he had no right to even have an opinion—that she’d dated Chris Granger for two years. She’d said she loved quilting and cooking and working with Holly on choreography for the marching band.

He’d told her he loved woodworking more than anything else he’d ever done and that even though he’d lived and worked in several states, he liked the Northeast Kingdom and thought he’d stay there for at least the foreseeable future.

But he hadn’t told her about the twelve-year-old who was the real reason Jack made Vermont his home and had done things like buy life insurance and stuff a college fund with conservative investments. The boy who’d made him understand, finally, why he’d survived the prom-night accident. Whose grandparents would drive him down from South Bend for tomorrow’s funeral.

The geeky young genius who’d made him a father.

He hadn’t mentioned Charlie. Not even once.

* * *

ARLIE HATED FUNERALS, especially when she was only there because it was the polite thing to do. She’d loved Jack Llewellyn with all her heart and soul when she was in high school. Tucker had been a great friend. But she hadn’t loved their grandmother. Not even close.

“I still don’t know why we’re here.” She pulled Gianna’s car into a parking place at the large mortuary in Kokomo. “Margaret Llewellyn didn’t like our family and we weren’t all that cracked on hers, either.” Her thoughts backtracked and it was as though she could feel Jack’s blue gaze on her. “I mean, later on, we weren’t. After the accident.”

Gianna sighed. “She and I made our peace over the years, fragile though it was. Now Jack and Tucker are back here to stay, at least for a while. Judging from what I’m hearing on the grapevine, Jack is not being treated kindly.” She patted Arlie’s cheek. “I know you welcomed him when he stopped by last night, and I’m proud of you for that. I also know how much you were hurt. I think if we make our ‘welcome back’ public, it will be a good thing.” Her dark eyes were damp, but her smile caught her stepdaughter in an aura of warmth. “I love you, Arlie.”

“You already got me here. You can stop being sniffly over me.” Arlie gave her a one-armed hug. “But I love you, too.”

The service was dignified and brief. From where she sat between Gianna and Penny Phillipy, Arlie could see Jack and Tucker in the alcove reserved for family. Tucker’s mother sat between them. A boy who appeared to be about twelve was in the chair beside Jack. Arlie wondered who he was. As far as she knew, other than his half brother, Margaret Llewellyn had been Jack’s last living relative.

Many people from the lake attended. When it was over, most of them spoke to Tucker, though there wasn’t the exchange of memories that usually took place at memorial services. No one said, “If there’s anything I can do...” or “She’s in a better place now.” No one hugged anyone. No one laughed or cried.

And hardly anyone talked to Jack. There were nods of recognition from townspeople. Sam, Nate and Jesse shook his hand. Even Jack and Tucker seemed to have little to say to each other. The boy stood between them, shaking hands when he was addressed.

The night before, when Jack had appeared at her door, Arlie hadn’t wanted to talk to him, either. Seeing other people purposefully snub him broke her heart. She turned an anxious gaze to Gianna. “Can we fix this?”

Just as her stepmother had never led her astray, she’d also never failed her when it came to knowing the right thing to do.

With Arlie in tow, Gianna walked straight to Jack. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ve missed you so.” She drew him into a hug he couldn’t have avoided if he’d wanted to. “You remember that you and Tucker are expected for dinner at the Cove tonight, don’t you?” She smiled at Tucker’s mother. “Ellen, it’s been too long. Can you come, too?”

“I can’t.” Ellen Curtis beamed at her, gratitude shining from her eyes. “I’m having dinner with other friends tonight because I’m flying back to England tomorrow, but I’m so pleased these two will be in your capable hands.”

“Yes.” Jack had to clear his throat. “Thank you, Gianna. Is it all right if I bring another guest?” He drew the slim-built boy forward, his hands resting either protectively or possessively on his shoulders. “Mrs. Gallagher, this is Charlie. My son.”

The earth didn’t move. Most of the people around them didn’t even look surprised. Of course, they were probably too busy squirming from being shamed by Gianna’s openhearted acceptance of Jack into their midst.

But Arlie couldn’t breathe.

They’d spent two hours together the night before and he hadn’t seen fit to mention a son. Or—go ahead and twist the knife—a wife. Not that being married was necessarily a prerequisite to parenthood; Jack and Tucker’s father hadn’t married either of their mothers. But the conversation the night before had been one that went well beyond the parameters of just being polite. They’d shared memories; they’d laughed. They’d talked about the accident and he’d apologized even though he hadn’t specified exactly what he was apologizing for. He’d said he didn’t know what to say to people now that he was back.

I have a son named Charlie would have been an extraordinarily good start.

* * *

“THEY DIDN’T KNOW I exist?” Charlie stood stock-still at the rear door of Tucker’s car when they finally left the cemetery after the private graveside service Margaret Llewellyn had requested. “How could they not know I exist? I’m arguably the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“You’re twelve years old.” Tucker stared over at his nephew in disbelief. “No one uses the word arguably when they’re still wiping their noses on their jacket sleeves.”

They did when they were Charlie, who’d skipped third grade and was well on his way to passing over the eighth, as well. He was both brilliant and funny. Neither of those traits led to appropriate behavior, which he insisted against all parental objections was part of his charm.

“Get in the car, Charlie.” Jack waited for him to obey, then closed the door behind him and got into the front passenger seat. “You know I never come back here unless I have to.”

He was still trying to process the look on Arlie’s face when he’d introduced Charlie. She had looked, for just a heartbeat in time, completely stricken. She’d paled so much that the spray of freckles on her nose had stood out in stark contrast to her skin. He’d reached to touch her, but she’d backed away a step, shaking her head slightly before turning a smile on Charlie.

Tucker looked at Jack from behind the wheel. “He’s right, you know. Other than continuing to have me for a brother whether you wanted me or not, Charlie is probably the best thing to come into your life since you walked away from the lake.”

“See?” Charlie spoke up. “Except for the brother part, Tuck’s got it.”

Jack turned enough to look at the adolescent behind him. “You know, I can probably get your grandparents to take you back to South Bend with them. They can run you over to O’Hare and put you on a direct flight tonight instead of me flying with you tomorrow afternoon. Your mother would be glad you weren’t missing another day of school.”

Charlie grinned at him, metal from his braces glinting in the afternoon sun sifting through the car window, and Jack grinned back. He could no more resist the boy, who really was the best thing in his life, than he could fly.

“We need to stop and get Gianna a bottle of wine or some flowers.” He looked out the side window of the car. The autumn colors were beautiful. “Is there anywhere on the lake or do you need to stop in Sawyer?”

“We go right past Sycamore Hill, the winery the Grangers started up a few years ago. It’s between the golf course and Jesse Worth’s vet clinic on Lake Road.”

“Chris Granger?” He’d been Jack’s age and had lived next door, but they’d never been friends. The fact that he was Arlie’s boyfriend made it fairly certain they never would be.

“Yeah.” Tucker looked over at him, his expression undecipherable. “I guess he and Arlie have been seeing each other for a long time.”

“They have.” Jack continued looking out the window, noting the colors of the leaves as they went under the canopy of trees on the stretch of road they’d always called “the tunnel.” Jesse’s place would be next, where he’d opened his clinic on the family farm, and then the winery the Grangers owned.

Arlie and Chris Granger. Even thinking about them as a couple made his insides jump around. It had been so much better not knowing. In all the time he’d been gone, he’d managed not to call her, though he’d dialed the number at Christensen’s Cove at least a thousand times. He’d thought maybe Gianna would answer and he could just ask about Arlie to make sure she was all right. But he always hung up before anyone picked up on the other end. He’d written letters all through his first two years at college, trying to explain, to make her understand. He’d never mailed any of them, but he hadn’t thrown them away, either—they were in a wooden box he’d made, stuffed into the back of his closet in his house in Vermont.

Sometime during the summer after sophomore year, he stopped dialing her number, stopped writing letters he would never mail. He started dating again, albeit without his heart in it. He and Tracy, his study partner, shared a propensity for vintage TV shows and Chicago-style hot dogs. They spent most of their evenings together.

That winter, he married her, entering into a union they later referred to as the best marriage of convenience that ever took place on the campus of Notre Dame University.

Tracy was pregnant by a man she found out too late was married. When he was running one night, Jack found her standing on a bridge over the St. Joe River. “I can’t get an abortion and I can’t jump,” she’d said, turning tear-filled eyes to him. “It’s not the baby’s fault its parents are losers.”

As much as Jack liked Tracy and enjoyed her company, there was no real attraction there. Not to mention, he believed his time to love had passed him by. He didn’t particularly want children of his own, but neither had his father—something he and Tucker had known every day of their lives.

What if this had happened to Arlie? What if she’d been alone and pregnant? She hadn’t been—they had never been intimate after the accident—but what if she had and he’d never known? He’d have wanted someone to do what was right for his child.

Life had granted him no illusions about marriage, happily-ever-after or being a proud father at someone’s graduation. But he’d hated that his father hadn’t wanted him and Tuck.

“How can I help you?” He’d wrapped his jacket around Tracy and laughed, the sound nervous. “We could get married for a while. Get you through finals and decide what you want to do.”

They’d spent the first months of their marriage studying, learning to cook without poisoning themselves, watching Matlock reruns and deciding what to do after the baby was born. Finally, eight months into Tracy’s pregnancy, they’d made the decision to release the baby for adoption and have their marriage annulled. No harm, no foul, just gratitude for getting each other through a rough time.

But then there was Charlie. In the space of time between the obstetrician saying “you can push now” and a red-faced baby squalling his head off, Jack and Tracy learned that while love had definitely complicated their pasts, it just as certainly defined their future. They had ended their marriage, but that was the only part of the plan that came together.

Jack brought his mind to the present, looking back over his shoulder to smile at the boy who’d changed his life. Who’d made him decide maybe living was worthwhile after all. Whom he was afraid to spend too much time with.

“Did you bring homework with you?”

The boy rolled his eyes, their whiskey color reminding him of Arlie’s. “I did. It’s algebra and it’s probably going to be the sole reason I’m never accepted to a reputable college.”

“Good. Tucker can help you.”

Tucker tossed Jack a look of outrage. “I flunked algebra. In my freshman year. Remember? He’s in the eighth grade and can already run rings around me in anything mathematical.”

“I know you flunked it, but you did okay when you took it the second time. I, on the other hand, only passed it because Arlie helped me.”

“She’s a girl and she helped you with algebra?” Charlie scoffed.

“She did.” Jack unbuckled his seat belt when Tucker pulled in at the winery. “And I double dog dare you to take that tone with her. Unless she’s changed a lot, you won’t come out of it real well.”

Charlie squinted. “Double dog dare?”

Tucker laughed. “Don’t do it, Charlie. You’ll be sorry.”

Twenty minutes later, having bought two bottles of wine and a carryout pan of apple dumplings Charlie had salivated over, they pulled into the driveway of Christensen’s Cove. Jack sat still in the passenger seat, a white-knuckle grip on the bottle of zinfandel in his lap. He met his brother’s eyes across the seat. “I don’t know if I can do this. Or if I should.” He was aware, peripherally, that Charlie had got out of the car, but he was incapable of calling him back. He seemed to be just as unable to move. “I should go.”

“No.” Tucker gripped his shoulder hard. “You’ve done that. To her and to me both. It didn’t work worth beans for any of us. It’s time to stay, Jack.”

Charlie was already taking off his jacket when they stepped through the front door of Gianna’s house. “We brought enough apple dumplings for everyone, but if Dad doesn’t eat his, I already called dibs on it. Did you really help him with his algebra?”

“I did.” Arlie hung up his coat. “But in all fairness, he helped me with biology—I couldn’t get the whole mitosis and meiosis thing—and Holly helped us all with English.” She grinned at her sister, the expression all delightful wickedness that made Jack’s heart do the jumpy thing again. “However, she charged us.”

Holly nodded. “Believe me, Charlie, I earned every nickel of it, too.”

“Is there any chance you’d help me with my algebra?” Charlie asked Arlie. “Dad said Tucker could, but I don’t trust him much.”

“Well, sure. We’ll let...uh...your dad and Tucker help Holly with the dishes and we’ll do your homework.” Arlie put an arm through his. “Let’s go in and talk to Gianna. I hope you like spaghetti—she cooks enough for an army—and her bread sticks are the best thing since burgers and fries.” She tossed a smile over her shoulder at Tucker, ignoring Jack entirely. When they walked into the kitchen, there was a definitive martial aspect to her posture.

Dinner was more comfortable than Jack expected, even though it was obvious Arlie had nothing whatever to say to him. It shouldn’t have bothered him, since he knew very well it was his own fault, but it did. When they’d spent time together the evening before, it had felt as though one of the letters he’d written had been sent and delivered. She’d understood and he’d been forgiven.

But he hadn’t been. Of course he hadn’t. Forgiveness for sixteen years didn’t come about in a single day, especially when a whopping lie of omission was added to the mix. He asked himself once again, in the long span of silence between Arlie and himself, why he hadn’t just told her about his marriage and his son.

He knew the answer. Because it had been the ultimate betrayal. Raising a family had been the life Arlie wanted and he’d been ambivalent about, yet here they were in their midthirties and he had Charlie and she had a cat.

She was nice to Charlie, though, and that was what mattered. By the time dinner was finished, the kid had charmed her last bread stick off her plate and extracted a promise from Holly to show him how her prosthetic foot worked as soon as the dishes were done and he and Arlie had finished his algebra. When Jack objected to Charlie’s over-the-top curiosity, the Gallagher women had all rolled their eyes at him, so he’d thrown up his parental hands and eaten another helping of spaghetti.

“You should either bottle this sauce for public sale or be arrested for leading innocent young men astray with it,” he told Gianna.

She laughed. “I do bottle it, but not for public sale. I think the girls and I spend most of August canning tomatoes in the form of sauce, juice, salsa and catsup.”

“Catsup?” Charlie’s eyes widened. “You make catsup?”

Gianna nodded. “And Arlie and Holly help me. It’s kind of like homework—they don’t want to, but they do it.”

“That is so cool. I had to google a tutorial to show my mom how to open the Heinz bottle.”

“Charlie!” Jack objected, although he couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that went with the remonstrance. Tracy was the worst cook in the Northeast Kingdom, and she made no pretense at being anything more.

“She’s a lawyer,” Charlie explained to his captivated audience. “She says she can’t cook because she has to use her legal prowess to keep me from getting arrested for being a smart-a—”

“Charlie!” Jack and Tuck spoke together that time.

He gave them a withering look. “Smart aleck. That’s all I was going to say.” He turned his orthodontic-wonder smile on Gianna. “May I have more?”

When the dishes were washed and Charlie’s homework done, Holly demonstrated removing her foot, then put it back on and made Charlie dance the length of the house’s center hall with her.

“We have to go,” said Jack regretfully when Charlie fell against him on the deacon’s bench near the front door. He hugged him, breathing in the scent of him. “You can come back for Thanksgiving. Your mom already said.”

“Splendid.” Gianna handed a bag of leftovers to Tuck and kissed his cheek. “Then you’ll be able to spend the day with us.”

“Thank you.” Jack got to his feet and took her hands. “For everything.”

Everyone hugged Charlie and the Llewellyns left on a chorus of goodbyes. The last one out the door, Jack finally caught Arlie’s eyes and held firm, as if to say, I’m sorry. It was as though no one else was there.

She looked away, the stiffness of her demeanor making her taller, straighter. “Good night, Jack. Be safe.”

Be safe. He wondered if she said those words whenever anyone left. He did; Tucker did. He wouldn’t be surprised if the other survivors did, too. In some ways, prom night would never end.