Читать книгу Cathryn - Shannon Waverly, Shannon Waverly - Страница 10

CATHRYN WOKE to the familiar sound of a cupboard door slamming. She sat up in alarm and glanced at the bedside clock. Oh, God, she’d overslept. Only fifteen minutes until the school bus came. Had the kids gotten up on their own? Made their own breakfast? Was Dylan up with them?

Her gaze shot to his pillow, his perfectly plumped pillow, and suddenly, painfully, reality came flooding back. No, her husband was not downstairs. He was gone. He’d left her for another woman. Cathryn toppled sideways onto his cool forsaken pillow, choking back a cry.

But there it was again, the thump of a cupboard door, and as suddenly as she’d remembered Dylan’s betrayal, she remembered Tucker Lang. Tucker was here. He’d been here all night.

In a flash of agitation, Cathryn threw back the comforter and swung her feet to the floor. Ow! Her ribs ached from vomiting, and her head throbbed. Slowing her movements, she scanned the room for her bathrobe. Oh. Right. She was wearing it. Her slippers, too. She’d put them on last night after her shower.

No, not after her shower, she remembered, wincing. After she’d waltzed out of the bathroom wearing nothing but her certainty that Tucker had gone. Cathryn buried her face in her hands and moaned, suffering every bit of the embarrassment that had eluded her last night.

But then, another recollection hit her: today she and Dylan had to tell the children he’d moved out. And suddenly her embarrassment seemed trite and disappeared under an onslaught of dread and anxiety. How would the kids cope with the news? How would she cope with telling them? And why should they have to cope with any of this, anyway? That was the question. She still didn’t understand why this was happening to them. Separations happened to other people, not to her and Dylan.

Forcing herself past her desire to crawl back under the covers and hide forever, she got to her feet and headed into the bathroom—and then wished she hadn’t. Under the bright vanity lights, her eyes looked like puffballs, her cheeks held all the color of oatmeal, and her hair, wet when she’d gone to sleep, had dried crazily, flat here, bent there, a veritable 3-D Rorschach inkblot test.

Feeling defeated before she even began, she picked up her hairbrush, pulled it through the mess a few times and fastened it with an elastic. That done, she stared at the faucet awhile but lacked the energy to wash her face. She walked back to the bedroom, tugged on jeans and a sweatshirt and went downstairs.

“Good morning,” she said, stepping into the kitchen. Despite her smile and determinedly straight posture, she felt fragile, like a glass mercury ball filled with sorrow just waiting to be spilled.

Tucker spun around from his perusal of the refrigerator’s contents. “Oh, hey! I hope I didn’t wake you?” His dark gaze swept over her warily, as if trying to assess yesterday’s damage and today’s mood.

“No, actually I overslept.” This was just too weird, having big, bad Tucker Lang in her kitchen first thing in the morning. He’d apparently showered. His hair was damp and, like hers, caught back at his nape. Sadly, she noticed, the style looked better on him.

“Coffee! Oh, bless you.” Cathryn hurried toward the coffeemaker.

“Do you feel up to eating something?” he asked, carrying a carton of eggs to the counter.

Grimacing and shivering, she shook her head. That earned her a growl of reprimand. “Maybe I’ll have a piece of toast,” she said. Somewhat mollified, Tucker continued preparing his own breakfast.

Their conversation was subdued as they ate, and focused mainly on chores Tucker needed to tackle that day. She hadn’t realized there was so much to do. Had he mentioned any of it last night? Locked inside her own misery, she’d paid so little attention to him.

He probably thought he was doing her a favor by steering the conversation clear of her problems, but his thoughtfulness only ended up burdening her with one more: guilt for having cut so deeply into his valuable time.

With the last bite of his three-egg omelet consumed, Cathryn insisted he be on his way. But he merely poured himself another cup of coffee and said, “Not until we get Julia or somebody else over here to stay with you.”

“That isn’t necessary. I’m fine. Besides, it won’t be long before Dylan arrives.”

Tucker shot her an impatient look over the rim of his coffee mug. “That could be five, six hours from now. Company will make the time go faster.”

“No. Please. I…” She decided to be honest. “I really can’t face anyone yet. Not even close friends. Especially them.”

Tucker tipped his head so that a shaft of winter sunlight fell across his face. “Pride, Shortcake? Is that what I’m hearing?”

She thought a moment. “Maybe. Everyone thinks of me and Dylan as an ideal couple, an institution practically. Solid as Gibraltar. Always here, year in, year out. They’re going to be shocked and disillusioned and full of questions, and, quite frankly, I have enough to cope with today.”

“Oh. It never occurred to me that friends might be more of a problem than a help.”

“Today they would be, when everything is still so raw and in transition and hard to explain. Plus, this is a private matter between me and Dylan.” After a heartbeat she added, “And the kids. We still have to tell the kids. I wouldn’t feel right talking to outsiders before talking to them.”

Rubbing his jaw, Tucker appeared thoughtful, a wry arch to his left eyebrow. “That puts me in kind of an awkward position, don’t you think?”

Cathryn bit her lip. “I really am sorry you got caught up in this, Tucker.”

Sighing, he shrugged. “Not your fault. You told me to shove off a number of times.”

“Yes, I did.” She attempted a smile, but it faded quickly. “You will keep this under your hat, won’t you?”

“Goes without saying.”

“Thanks. The gossip will start circulating soon enough. No need to prime the pump.” Struck by a vision of her beleaguered life in the very near future, she slumped forward, moaning, and rested her forehead on her arms.

“Is that how you want your kids to find you?” Tucker chided sternly. “Is that how you intend to be strong for them?”

She popped up. “I’m okay.”

His look sharpened, made all the more fierce by the sunlight slashing across his dark eyes.

“Honestly,” she assured him. “Now, unless you’re still hungry, can I finally convince you to leave?”

“What’ll you do here all alone?”

“Oh, I have plenty to keep me occupied. Laundry. Vacuuming. A sewing project. Some calls to make for the PTO.” Noticing Tucker’s frown, she explained, “Parent-Teacher Organization.”

“Well…” Tucker glanced at his jacket hooked on the neighboring chair. Not a biker jacket, but black leather nonetheless. “I really do have to get moving.”

“Then move.” Cathryn got up, came around to his side of the table and lifted the jacket. “Let’s go, Lang. I’m throwing you out. Enough’s enough.”

Smiling his dimpled smile, he hauled himself to his feet and took the jacket from her.

“How much longer will you be on Harmony?” she asked, walking him to the front door.

“Four, maybe five days.” He pulled a pair of leather gloves from his pocket.

“Well, don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

“I won’t.” He opened the door and surveyed the hoary, frozen lawn through the glass storm door.

“I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done.”

He shrugged negligently. “Buy me a beer someday, when this all blows over.”

“I will. Maybe even two.” If this ever does blow over.

His gaze connected with hers. “Hang in.”

Lips pressed hard, she nodded. “I’ll try.”

“And good luck with the kids. Remember to tell them you love them and the separation isn’t their fault.”

She nodded again, unable to speak for the emotions clogging her throat, not least of which was gratitude toward this man who’d come to her door merely to return a coffee urn and ended up helping her through a night she would’ve been ashamed to share with a dog. She felt she owed him more than a thank-you, or a beer, but what? A hug? Too awkward. A promise to return the favor someday? Tucker never needed help. Before he left she really should find some way to express her appreciation.

Tucker opened the storm door, and a wall of thirty-degree air shocked her out of her musing. “Take care, Shortcake,” he said with a wink and stepped outside. She watched him stride down the path, leather jacket creaking, black ponytail gleaming in the morning sun, an incongruous figure if ever she saw one.

“You too,” she called back belatedly. And perhaps because she felt so indebted to him, she waited, shivering, until he drove away before closing the door.

It took Cathryn until midmorning to muster the courage to call her mother. Primarily she wanted to ask about the kids—if they’d done their homework, if they’d gotten off to school all right, and if they knew they were supposed to come home afterward, not return to their grandparents’. She didn’t want to discuss her problem. If telling her friends was going to be difficult, telling her mother would be impossible.

Meg Hill thought so highly of Dylan, and she was so very proud of her daughter. Always had been, for as long as Cathryn could remember. Not that her father was any less proud; he simply kept his feelings to himself. “Cathryn has never given me a day’s trouble,” Meg would tell anyone who’d listen when Cathryn was a girl. “Not in school, not at home or with her friends.” For the past twelve years her mother’s praise had centered on Cathryn’s home and domestic skills and, of course, her beautiful family. Dylan was the ideal husband, and the children…well, they were the absolute sun in Meg Hill’s sky. Although Cathryn knew her mother’s bragging sprang from love and genuine pride, it sometimes embarrassed her. But far worse, it also was a burden because Cathryn felt pressured to continually meet that praise. Disillusioning her mother was not something she was looking forward to.

After assuring Cathryn that everything had gone fine with the children, her mother asked if she and Dylan had enjoyed their stay at the inn. Here it was, Cathryn’s chance to get the dirty deed over with.

“It was lovely,” she replied.

After hanging up, she spent the next half hour crying. But when crying made her sick to her stomach, she decided she simply had to pull herself together. She had to make the effort or else suffer a rerun of yesterday. Dragging the vacuum cleaner out of the utility closet, Cathryn swore she heard Tucker’s voice cheering, “Thatta girl, Shortcake.”

It was after noon before she glanced at a clock again. After noon? Yikes. Dylan would be here soon, and just look at her! She dashed upstairs to change. Half an hour later she came down again, looking halfway human. Not that she thought her appearance would make any difference to Dylan, but maybe it would to the kids. If they saw their mother pulled together, they might be reassured the world wasn’t really falling apart.

She knew she should have some lunch, but gave up on that idea on the way to the kitchen and just sat on the couch instead, munching on grapes and crackers—and watching the street.

Cathryn grew edgier as time ticked on and Dylan didn’t show. Yesterday they hadn’t discussed specifically what they’d say to the kids. They needed to devise a strategy. They had things to discuss, lines to rehearse, a story to corroborate…hearts to keep from breaking. So where was he? He’d distinctly told her he’d be here to share the task of telling the kids.

There was the school bus now. Was she going to have to face their questions alone?

The kids had barely started up the driveway when Cathryn noticed Dylan’s truck skulking up the street. The timing was just too right. Obviously he’d been trying to avoid being alone with her.

The back door opened and the kids tumbled into the house as they always did, noisily. Backpacks thumped on the mudroom floor. Chatter and teasing filled the air as jackets and hats got hung on their pegs. “Mom!” Justin hollered his usual greeting as he tramped into the kitchen. “We’re home!”

Out of sight in the living room, Cathryn’s heart ached with love and terror. She pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to sculpt a smile, then stepped into the kitchen. “Hi. How was school?”

Her question was met with various blithe answers of “good,” “okay” and “highly forgettable.” The children were too intent on rummaging for snacks.

“Hey, don’t I rate a hug?” she said, hoping her flippancy disguised how desperately she wanted to hold them.

One by one, the kids obliged. Justin, with his flannel shirt unbuttoned and hanging outside his jeans—not how her mother had sent him to school, Cathryn was sure. Beth, her soft curls tickling Cathryn’s neck, her pink Barbie sweater smelling of peanut butter. Cory, tripping forward on an undone shoelace.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Cory studied her through his round, wire-framed glasses, too observant for his own good.

Cathryn smiled and combed her fingers through his hat-swirled hair. “Of course.”

“You look different.”

“I put on a little makeup, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Her eight-year-old dismissed his concern with the alacrity of a child raised in a home where serious trouble is simply unthinkable.

The door opened again and in walked Dylan, wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. He’d forgotten to pack a change. Still, he looked as if he’d just stepped out of a casual men’s wear catalogue. That was Cathryn’s doing. She loved buying clothes for him.

Because his hours were so irregular, the kids weren’t at all surprised to see him at midafternoon. They barely looked up from pouring milk and reaching into the cookie jar as they said hi.

His gaze met Cathryn’s guiltily, then veered away. For the first time since he’d admitted to his affair, she felt a hot lick of anger. In avoiding her, he was only hurting the kids.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked, challenge in her tone.

He slipped off his parka and hung it on its peg. “That’d be great. Thank you,” he replied, polite as a guest.

Seated at the table, Justin stopped munching and looked from one parent to the other. “How was last night?” he asked with a touch of suspicion.

Cathryn glared at Dylan. Ready or not, the moment was upon them, and now what were they supposed to do?

With a heavy sigh, Dylan lifted his coffee mug, the one that said World’s Greatest Dad, and sat beside his firstborn, the son who looked so much like him. Cathryn pulled out a chair next to Beth, who was cheerily emptying her backpack of the day’s papers and arranging them in front of her. Cory, already immersed in a library book, sat at one end of the table.

“What’s up?” Justin asked, aware that his first question still hadn’t been answered. Cory lifted his gaze, sensing something peculiar in his brother’s voice.

“We have something to discuss with all of you,” Dylan began. He looked tired, distraught under his surface calm, and Cathryn’s anger ebbed somewhat.

“Something important?” Cory asked.

“Yes, important and difficult, and I’d give anything if I didn’t have to say it.”

Then don’t, Cathryn silently implored, desperate to shield her babies.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Cory and Justin asked simultaneously.

Dylan glanced briefly across the table at Cathryn, then down at his coffee mug. “Kids, your mother and I—”

Cathryn feared he was about to blurt everything and send the children into shell shock. “Before we go any further,” she interrupted, “we want you to understand something. And this is the most important thing of all, so listen up.” Her gaze circled the table. “Beth?” she said to get her daughter’s attention. With everyone listening, she continued, “Your father and I love you. We love you more than anything in the world. And we will always love you, and be here for you.”

Justin paled. “Oh, no,” he murmured, two jumps ahead of his younger siblings.

“What?” Beth asked, head swiveling, curls flying out. “What’s happening, guys?”

Cathryn had more to say, more words of assurance and comfort to impart, but Dylan, perhaps thinking she was done, picked up the ball with, “Your mother and I have hit a rough patch in our marriage.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple working over the ribbing of his crewneck sweater. “And we’ve decided it might be best if I…if I moved out for a while.”

There. It was said. Dylan didn’t breathe, waiting for the children’s reaction. Neither did Cathryn. She couldn’t for the pain encasing her.

“What?” Justin shot to his feet. His lean face, which lately seemed so grown-up to her, became a child’s again, soft and vulnerable.

Cathryn glanced around the table, from Justin to Cory to Beth, watching Dylan’s words sink in. It was like watching her children being lined up and executed. This was abuse. This was consciously inflicting harm on them. And it shouldn’t be happening.

“Sit down, Justin,” Dylan said gently.

Justin sat with caution, as if the chair might not be there anymore. “What kind of rough patch?” he asked. “What do you mean? Did you and Mom have a fight?”

“Sort of. I can’t really get into that right now. It’s between me and her.”

“You’ve had fights before,” Justin argued.

“Yes, but this one was a little different.” Dylan dipped his head to his coffee mug as if he were diving for cover. Cathryn noticed her two youngest had grown unnaturally alert and tense. They seemed to be absorbing the scene with the very cells of their skin.

“How?” Justin persisted. “How was it different?”

“More serious.”

Cathryn could almost hear the gears of Justin’s mind whirring, processing all the adult troubles he’d ever heard about. No! Please let’s not go there.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—everyone was distracted by a hiccupping sound at the end of the table, and turned their attention on Cory, who was struggling not to cry. Embarrassed, he buried his face in the crook of his arm, but his sobs were audible anyway. Although Beth still didn’t seem to fully comprehend what was happening, she sensed calamity and burst into tears, too.

Cathryn considered comforting them with words, but nothing she thought of was true. No, the situation was not all right. There was reason to cry. The only comfort she felt she could give with any honesty was physical—a hug, holding a hand or stroking a head.

“But where are you going, Daddy?” Bethany asked through her jerky whimpers.

Yes, where? Cathryn wondered.

“To Gram and Grandpa McGrath’s farm. I’ll stay in my old room.”

With a fresh stab of pain, Cathryn thought of her in-laws, good, hardworking people both. She loved them, got along well with them, and considered them an inextricable part of her life. Now what? How would they relate to one another after this?

“When are you coming back?” Justin asked his father.

A heavy pause hung over the table. “I’m not sure, Jus,” Dylan replied, staring at his tightly folded, white-knuckled hands. “There’s no timetable to this.”

“But why do you have to leave at all?”

“We…need some time apart.”

Cory lifted his head off his arms, sniffing back tears. His face was mottled and stricken. “From us?”

“No! Not from you, Buddy.” Dylan squeezed Cory’s shoulder. “Not from you. I’ll see you as often as I can,” he said, only making matters worse by reminding the children he wouldn’t be seeing them on a normal basis.

“But who’ll take me to Scouts?” Cory asked.

“I will, same as always,” Dylan replied.

Justin pouted. “And will you still take me to my basketball games?”

“Of course. In fact, I was thinking we could do something special this Saturday after the game. All…four of us. Maybe you could even sleep at the farm that night.” If he expected to see smiles or eager faces, he was sadly mistaken.

“Why are you gonna stay at the farm?” Beth asked, still lagging in understanding.

“They had a fight, stupid,” Justin snapped.

“Take it easy, Justin.” Dylan patted his son’s arm.

“But you are coming back, right?” Cory needed to know.

Dylan hesitated too long.

“You’re not getting divorced, are you?”

Dylan’s swallow was so dry his throat made a scratching noise. “No one’s talking about divorce here.”

Cory’s expression crumbled as if Dylan had said just the opposite. “But who’ll take care of us?”

Shivering with her own insecurities, Cathryn answered, “I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere, love.”

“But—” Lack of confidence filled Cory’s eyes.

“Hey!” Dylan interrupted sternly. “No one’s abandoning you. I’m still going to take care of you. Don’t you dare start thinking I won’t.”

His certitude seemed to assure the children somewhat, the youngest two at least. Cathryn could see that Justin’s thoughts were leaping ahead.

“What’ll we tell our friends?” he inquired, pulling repeatedly on the short blond hair over his right ear.

“You don’t have to tell them anything,” Dylan replied, growing irritated. “It’s nobody’s business.”

“But they’re gonna know.” Tears glistened in Justin’s dark blue eyes. “They’re gonna ask about it.”

“So?”

Cathryn shot her husband a quelling glance before saying, “You can tell them your parents are separated. Use the word separated. And if they want to know more, just tell them the truth, you don’t know the details and, therefore, can’t talk about them.”

Justin sighed and fell into a sullen funk. “Easy for you to say.”

“Does anyone want any more milk?” Cathryn asked, noticing half-full glasses all around the table. The children mumbled no and shook their lowered heads.

She gazed at Dylan, trying to delve his thoughts. Did he have anything to add? Any way to make this better? Apparently not. His eyes were downcast, too.

Justin got up and carried his glass to the sink. Cory and Beth followed his example, their bottom lips jutting and quivering. “Maybe I’ll just go upstairs now and do my homework,” he said. Seeing him hoist his backpack, the younger kids did the same.

“Do you have any other questions?” Cathryn asked. “Any concerns?”

“No,” Justin answered and was followed by two echoes.

“Well, okay. I’ll call you when supper’s ready.” With a knot in her chest that wouldn’t loosen, Cathryn watched her children file out of the kitchen and up to their rooms where, she was sure, no homework would get done.

“Something tells me that didn’t go very well,” Dylan said, placing his coffee mug on the counter.

Cathryn fumed as she wiped cookie crumbs from the table. “You thought it would?”

“I don’t know what I expected.”

She pitched the dishcloth into the sink. “Then maybe you should’ve arrived earlier.”

He nodded, brow pinched, and turned to face the hutch. “Sorry. I…have no excuse.”

Cathryn leaned her hip against the counter, crossed her arms, listened to her speeding heartbeat. “Are you really going to stay at the farm?”

“Yes. I think that’d be best.”

“Did you stay there last night?” When he hesitated, she explained, “I simply want to know if you told your parents, if they know about us, in case I run into them.”