Almost Forever (41 page)

By then, it was about ten. Clay said he had a few minutes, so they sat down together. Andie looked at the coffin and all the flowers and tried to do what people did in churches, feel peaceful and serene, lifted above the everyday trials of the world. She didn't really succeed. There was too much on her mind.

Also, that uncomfortable, cramping feeling was back again. It seemed to be very low down, very deep inside. More and more she was feeling as if it wasn't her back at all. She was even starting to wonder if it could be contractions. Perhaps those contractions Clay had read to her about, the ones that took place in the last month before delivery. Braxton Hicks contractions, Andie thought they were called.

But whatever they were, they weren't that difficult to handle. She just had to relax, not let things get to her. And Monday morning, bright and early, she would give her obstetrician a call.

“Andie?” Clay's voice was very low, yet still it echoed a little in the big empty church.

“Um?”

He took her hand, squeezed it, but said nothing more. She looked at him, wondering what he hadn't said. A few days ago, she would have asked him what was on his mind. But not today. Not after last night and the way he had locked himself in the bathroom to get away from the truth.

Things were so tenuous between them. And this wasn't the time or the place to speak of their problems, anyway.

Andie closed her eyes, tipped her head up, let the rainbow of light that came through the stained-glass window above the altar bathe her face. They sat that way for a while, holding hands, saying nothing and Andie felt a little better.

Then Clay whispered to her that he'd meet her at the cemetery after the burial. From there they would drive to Madeline's parents' house for the reception.

Andie whispered back, “Okay.” Clay rose and disappeared down the aisle.

Slowly, the pews filled up around her. Andie got up once before the service started to look for a bathroom. She managed to relieve herself and find another seat just in time.

The service was short. The minister read from the psalms and talked about Jeff. Around her, Andie heard people sniffling and those tight little sounds that happen when someone is trying not to cry out loud.

When it was over, Clay and five other young men surrounded the coffin. They lifted it between them and carried it down the aisle. The ushers led the family members out and then the rest of the mourners followed.

To Andie, the ride to the cemetery took forever, much longer than the service had taken. Driving was becoming more difficult all the time now, with her huge stomach nearly pressing against the steering wheel. And the line of cars was long and slow.

But at last, she arrived at the place where Jeff would be buried. She found a parking space with reasonable ease and joined the others, who had regrouped around the grave site. There were some folding chairs set up, in two groups beneath a pair of canopies. By then, all the chairs were taken.

Being as big as a house had advantages, though. An older gentlemen who spoke with a charming Irish brogue gave Andie his seat. She thanked him and sank gratefully into it.

Andie watched Clay, who was standing right by the grave where the coffin was already set. He was looking around, his expression tense and concerned. She didn't realize he was looking for her until their eyes met. His face smoothed out. She gave him a smile and a tiny wave.

The minister spoke again, reciting more verses from the Bible. And then a slim blond woman stepped forward. Madeline. She put a single rose on top of the huge bouquet that was already covering the coffin. They lowered the coffin into the ground. Madeline threw a handful of dirt on it. The minister said words of benediction.

Slowly, the mourners began to move away, singly and in groups. Andie sat in her chair, waiting for Clay. Finally he came. She led him to the car and they drove to the reception.

“Are you all right?” Clay asked her when they'd driven through a wrought-iron gate and parked in the driveway that was lined with cars.

Andie looked at him, thinking,
That's all we do lately—ask each other if we're all right.

Down inside that tightness came. Like a hand in there, turning to a fist. Not that hard to bear, but definitely worrisome. She breathed deeply. The tightness eased.

“Andie?”

She gave him the answer he wanted to hear. “I'm fine. Let's go in.”

 

The big house was full of flowers and people. Andie left Clay soon after they were shown in the door. She found a bathroom and felt better after she'd used the toilet and rinsed her face.

Then she waddled her way down several hallways to the big living room, where most of the people were. The nice older man who'd given her his chair at the cemetery introduced himself. His name was Bob and he was a great-uncle
of Madeline's, on her father's side. He asked Andie if she'd like something to drink.

Andie smiled gratefully and requested some mineral water. The man disappeared down a hallway. Andie found a vacant chair of dark rich wood with studded leather cushions. It seemed suitable to be the throne of a Spanish grandee. She lowered her bulk into it.

As she waited for her mineral water, Andie watched the people. Most of them seemed older and, judging by their jewelry and clothing, quite well-to-do. There were a few children, dressed in somber colors but irrepressible nonetheless, as children usually are. They played tag in the long hall that Andie could see to her left, and giggled and chased each other around the heavy, dark furniture. Every once in a while, an adult would grab a little arm and tell the pint-size culprit to settle down. For a few moments, there would be sedate good behavior. And then the fun would start again.

“Hello.”

Andie turned from watching a little girl playing peekaboo behind an areca palm to see the woman she knew to be Madeline standing by her chair.

“You're Andie, aren't you?”

Andie started to stand. “Yes, I—”

“No. Don't get up.” Madeline was looking at Andie's stomach. “Please.”

Andie chuckled. “Great idea.” She sank back into the chair. “Madeline?”

“Yes.”

Andie stuck out a hand. “Glad to meet you.”

“Me, too.”

Their hands clasped briefly, then both let go. At the same time, they both began, “I've heard so much about—” And then they laughed, in unison.

Madeline said, “Thanks for lending me your husband's shoulder last night.”

“I hope it helped.”

“It did.”

They looked at each other, strangers yet connected. They didn't know what to say to each other, but both felt the link. Andie decided she liked Madeline's eyes. There was great kindness in them. Goodness seemed to radiate from her.

Andie thought of Jeff. A fool, to have chanced losing this woman, she thought. The ultimate fool to have thrown it all away in the end for a fast ride in a new car.

Graceful and slim, Madeline pulled up a nearby hassock and perched on it. Andie watched the lithe movement longingly. Would she ever be thin again?

Madeline leaned close. “I have to tell you. When Clay said you two had gotten married, I wasn't surprised.”

“You weren't?”

“No. Sometimes he used to talk about you, his willful and troublemaking cousin Andie. I thought then that his feelings about you were more than cousinly. But I also knew if I pointed it out, he'd glare at me and tell me to mind my own business, that I was way off.”

“So you didn't point it out?”

“Right. I'm no fool.”

Bob reappeared carrying the promised mineral water. Andie thanked him and took the glass.

“Anything,” Bob declared, “for a sweet Irish colleen.”

“Uncle Bob,” Madeline groaned. “Honestly. He thinks everybody's an Irish colleen.”

Andie took a sip of her water. “Well, he's half-right. My mom's Italian, but my dad's Irish.”

“Sure, and what did I tell you?” Uncle Bob laid it on thick.

“I'll just bet,” Madeline said.

“It's true,” Andie assured her. “McCreary. That was my last name, before I married Clay. About as Irish as they come.”

Uncle Bob remarked that he believed McCreary was a Scots name. Before Andie could argue with him, Clay appeared.

“
There
you are,” Clay said from behind her chair. “I was looking all over.”

Andie tipped her head back and smiled up at him. “I was just listening to a little blarney from Uncle Bob here, and Madeline and I—”

Andie cast a swift, conspiratorial glance toward Madeline. What she saw made her look again.

Madeline was on her feet. “McCreary?” she said softly. “Andie for
Andrea?
” Her face was dead white.

“Yes,” Andie said. “Andie for Andrea.”

“I see,” Madeline said. “And just when is your baby due?”

Andie blinked. Madeline looked so strange. “I, um…”

Madeline waved a limp hand in the air. “Never mind. Now I think about it, I don't believe I really want to know.” Then her eyes rolled back and her knees buckled.

Somehow Uncle Bob managed to catch her before she hit the tiled floor.

A
t once, the whole sprawling room was a beehive of frantic activity.

“Oh, my sweet Lord!” a woman cried.

“What is it? What's happened?”

“It's Madeline. She's fainted.”

“What?”

“Step back everyone, give her air.”

“Bob, follow me. To her room. This way.”

Andie watched, clutching the arms of her chair, as Madeline was carried away.

“What in the world happened?” A painfully slim woman with rather wild-looking, curly gray hair asked Andie.

Clay was the one who answered. “We don't know.”

“But what did she say? What were you talking about?” The woman tipped her head to the side, a birdlike movement, curious and alert.

“Nothing, just small talk,” Clay insisted.

The woman, however, wasn't taking Clay's word for it. Her little brown eyes were on Andie. Andie struggled to give her some kind of response. “Clay's right. We don't know what happened. She, um, asked me when the baby was due and then…”

The woman finally saw that Andie was almost as distressed as poor Madeline. “There, there, dear.” Her voice had become soothing. “Don't
you
go getting all upset. I'm sure she'll be fine. It's just the stress, you know. She loved Jeffrey so.”

“I'm sure it must be awful for her,” Andie heard herself murmur.

“But she'll survive. Madeline is very strong. Very strong, indeed.”

“Yes, I'm sure she is,” Andie agreed.

There was a moment of awkward silence, then the woman launched into the amenities. “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't even tell you who I am. My name is Suzanne. Suzanne Corey. Jeffrey's mother was my cousin.” She held out a thin, veiny hand.

Andie took the hand and murmured her own name. “And this is my husband, Clay.”

Suzanne nodded at Clay. “You were Jeffrey's friend, right?”

“Yes.”

“It's so hard to believe,” she said in sad little whisper.

“Yes,” Andie agreed.

“He was so young, so vital. And now he's gone. All the Kirklands, gone now.”

“Yes,” Andie said again, not knowing quite what else to say.

“But Jeffrey was always a little wild. Too much of a risk taker.” Suzanne glanced at Clay. “Do you know what I mean?” She went on before Clay could say anything. “He had it all. He was bright and handsome and there was always plenty of money. And everyone loved him. How could we not? He was so very full of life, brimming with it. Always. I'm sure you remember.”

“Yes.” Clay's voice sounded a little hoarse, Andie thought. “I remember.”

“And then there was Madeline. A wonderful girl. They grew up together, did you know?”

“Yes. I know.”

“But somehow it wasn't enough. It was just never enough. And it was hard on him, to lose both of his parents so close together, even if he was a grown man. He felt very alone then, I think.” Suzanne shook her head. “Poor dear boy.”

Right then, a tall man put his arm around Suzanne's narrow waist and bent to whisper something in her ear.

Suzanne nodded, “Yes, I know. All right.” She looked at Clay and Andie. “This is my husband, Lou.”

Andie and Clay nodded and said hello.

Suzanne smiled fondly at her husband. “Lou says I talk too much.” Lou looked down on her indulgently. “And maybe he's right. Well.” She was suddenly brisk. “We have to be on our way now. I do hope we meet again.”

“Yes, nice to meet you,” Lou said. Then he took Suzanne's arm and off they went.

As soon as Suzanne and Lou were out of earshot, Clay bent near Andie's ear and asked, “Are you ready to go?”

Andie was more than ready. But it didn't seem right, somehow. “No. We should stay. We should see that she's okay.”

“Do you really think it's necessary?”

“Yes.”

He let out a long breath. “All right.” In spite of his eagerness to get out of there, she knew he agreed with her. They should stay.

And they did, though each minute seemed like a year. Finally, half an hour later, Madeline returned.

The moment she entered the room, everybody, even the children, grew quiet. Then slowly the conversations began
again. Madeline went from guest to guest, touching and hugging, reassuring everyone that she was just fine.

“She's all right,” Clay said in Andie's ear.

“Yes.”

“I think we should go.” There was dread in his voice. He knew, of course, that something had happened, that Madeline had come to some awful realization. And he didn't want to learn what.

Probably because, in his heart, he already knew.

“No.” Andie reached up and patted his hand, which rested on the back of her chair. “Wait. She'll work her way around to us.”

And slowly she did.

“I'm sorry.” Madeline's smile was distant and gracious. “It's a hard time. I hope you understand.”

Andie looked in the other woman's eyes, saw denial, saw the desperate plea that she say nothing at all of what they both knew had really happened.

“We do. We understand completely,” Clay said.

“Yes.” Andie smiled, a smile as distant as Madeline's. She saw a little of the tension leave Madeline's face. “And we really have to be going.”

Madeline simulated regret. “Oh, no. Not so soon.”

“Yes.” Andie levered her heavy body to a standing position. Then she took Madeline's hand. Madeline allowed that, though Andie felt her flinch. “Take care of yourself. Please,” Andie said.

“Oh, I will.” Madeline's smile looked as if it could break right off her face and fall, shattering into a thousand sharp pieces, to the tiles below.

Clay came around the chair. Dutifully, Madeline lifted her cheek to be kissed. Clay brushed his lips against her skin.

“Keep in touch now,” Madeline chided. Both Andie and Clay knew what those words were worth: nothing. Madeline
was only making the noises people make when they don't dare say what's really on their minds.

 

“She knows.” Andie waited to say the truth until after they had returned to their hotel room.

Clay tossed his jacket on a chair and yanked his tie off as it were strangling him. “You can't be sure of that.”

“I can. I am. And so are you.”

“Look. What's the point in talking about this? We don't know
what
she knows. We'll probably never know.”

Andie gaped at her husband for a moment, wanting to strangle him. Then she kicked her shoes into the corner of the open closet area and lumbered into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

When she came out wearing her robe, Clay had changed into jeans, a T-shirt and running shoes. He was sprawled in one of the chairs next to the small table by the window, drinking a beer from the beverages that were stored in the half refrigerator beneath the sink of the room's small courtesy bar.

Andie hung up her dress and decided she could use a drink, too. So she got herself a ginger ale. Then she went to the bed she'd been using and began moving her pillows around.

“You want some help with that?”

Andie turned to look at Clay. “No. I can manage.” She crawled up on the bed and settled in, then treated herself to a little ginger ale. After one long refreshing drink, she set the bottle on the stand between the beds and looked at her husband defiantly. “Madeline knows about the baby, Clay. I saw it in her eyes.”

Clay drank from the beer, draining it. Then he admitted, “Maybe. But what can we do about it if she does? There's just no point in stewing about it. Let it be.”

“I am not stewing. I just want you to admit that—”

He sighed. “How? How could she know? Nothing at all was said. Except that your maiden name is McCreary and Andie stands for Andrea. How do you figure she
knows
from that?”

“I saw her face. I know she knows. And so do you.”

Clay got up, lean, unfettered, his body hard and proud. As she had envied Madeline, Andie envied him. She felt so huge and slow just watching him move. One of those strange, contractionlike cramps gripped her. She grabbed one of her pillows, clutched it against herself, to her heart.

Clay didn't even notice what was happening to her. He was striding to the refrigerator, bending to yank the door open. When he had another bottle in his hand, he straightened with his back to her, shoved the refrigerator door closed with his leg and knocked off the bottle cap with the opener that was built into the side of the counter. By then, the cramp, or whatever it was, had crested and was fading away. Still not facing her, Clay tipped the bottle and drank from it.

Andie stared at his back, wondering if she should tell him what had just happened. But no, it really hadn't been that bad. Like the other contractions, it was one she had ridden out easily. It was nothing to be too concerned about, she was sure. But if she mentioned it to Clay, he'd make a big deal about it. And he'd use it to end this painful—but important—conversation.

Gently Andie reiterated, “Madeline knows the truth, Clay.”

That did it. He turned around and faced her. His eyes were like cold green stones. “All right, fine. Madeline knows. Isn't that terrific?”

Andie chose to ignore the sarcasm. “It will take her some time, but I'm sure we'll be hearing from her.”

Clay made a disgusted sound. “What the hell are you talking about? We'll never see or hear from Madeline again.”

“You're wrong.”

He stared at her for a long time. Then he swore and drank some more.

Andie wanted to cry. But she didn't. She dared to try once more. “We have to talk, Clay. We can't go on pretending that nothing's wrong between us.”

His hand shot up, palm out. “Stop. Right there.”

“But we—”

“No.” He turned enough to set his beer down, hard, on the counter, then he glared at her once more. “Listen. You just listen. For a change.”

Andie bit her lip. “All right.”

“You just had to get me to admit that Madeline knows about the baby. All right. I've admitted it. But why stop there? You're so brave and honest, let's take it all the way. Let's examine
why
she knows.”

Andie suddenly found she couldn't look at him. She was still holding the pillow. She clutched it tighter. “I—”

He cut her off before she even started. “Right. Look away.”

“I'm not, I—”

“Fine. Then face it. She knows because of
you,
Andie. Because you just
had
to come here. Because you wouldn't do as I asked you to do and stay home where you belong right now.”

That hurt. Badly. The pillow Andie hugged brought no comfort against that. Again in her mind, she saw Madeline, pale faced, slowly sinking to the floor. And Madeline later, with her brittle, ghastly smile, reminding them to keep in touch.

Oh, yes. Clay was right. Andie had begged for honesty. And he was giving it to her. It had been a bad call for her to come here. Those awful moments at the reception never had to happen.

Clay wasn't through. He demanded, “What's going on, Andie? What the hell are you up to?”

She made herself meet his eyes,
willed
him to believe. “I
just wanted to be with you. I swear. I wanted to be here for you, in case you needed me.”

He grunted. She could see he wasn't buying. How in the world could she convince him that her motives had been true ones when he simply refused to believe her every time she tried to explain? “I want to get something clear right now.” Clay leaned back against the counter, his hands behind him, gripping the counter rim. “I want to be sure you hear it. Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Look. I
am
angry at you. For coming here. But I want you to know that I can live with that. I'll get over that. If you'll just…get off me for a while. Just let it go. You did what you did and that's that. We have to go on from here. There's no sense in belaboring all of this. As I keep trying to make you see, there is nothing more to talk about.”

“But there is. There's—”

“I'm not finished.”

“I…okay.”

“I don't know what happens with you sometimes. I don't understand why you do what you do. And it doesn't matter.”

“Yes, it does. It does matter.” She put everything she had into those words.

He only shook his head and looked down at his shoes, waiting for her outburst to end. When she said nothing more he looked up. “Are you through?”

Bleakly, she nodded.

“Okay, then. I don't like that you came here, but you
did
come here. It's done. And as for the rest, well, it's
my
problem and I have to handle it.” He rubbed at his eyes, scrubbed his hair back from his forehead. “Jeff is dead. And for some reason, I'm having a little trouble dealing with it. But I
will
deal with it.”

“But Clay—”

“No. Hear me out.” He waited. She said nothing. He went on. “I want you to know that I believe in your basic integrity, Andie. I swear I do. I know that you've been a good wife to me, that you'll continue being a good wife. We'll get on with our lives. And everything will work out well enough in the end.”

He appeared to have finished. For a moment, there was quiet.

She asked, her tone carefully controlled, “May I speak now?”

He shrugged.

“Thank you. I think you're wrong. Very wrong. I don't believe that everything is just going to work out by itself. I think we have to tell the truth. All the truth. To each other. I think we have to drag it out into the light and look at it and see what it really is.”

“What truth? I know the truth. There's nothing more to say about it.”

“Yes, there is. And you know there is. I want us to talk, Clay. Really talk. You say that I do things you don't understand. And I say I'm willing to explain those things to you. But you don't want to hear. That doesn't make any sense, Clay. It won't work. You have to know. I have to tell you. About Jeff and New Year's Eve. About what happened, why I—”