Celebration (35 page)

What about Woodie? She should call him. To try and explain. He'd looked so miserable and sad when he left. Woodie would never understand if she allowed Logan to stay and die at the farm. As broad-minded and as understanding as Woodie was, his mind would be closed to anything other than Logan leaving. Maybe she could let him stay in the apartment over the garage. If he didn't make his presence known and felt, perhaps the kids would tolerate him. Did she dare go to Pete and Carol and hope they had enough influence over their mates to ... what? All she was doing was passing the buck so she wouldn't have to face down her own children.

Kristine sat down in the rocking chair. Soft little mewling sounds escaped her lips. It wasn't fair. As Woodie said, life was never fair. You deal with it, then you move on. She eyed the phone. She knew if she called Woodie, he would pick up the phone on the first ring. If she called him, what would she say? What would he say?

The hot tears stinging her eyelids finally rolled down her cheeks. She crept from the rocker to drop to her knees. “Please, God, tell me what to do. Help me do the right thing for everyone.”

With the one remaining thin quilt from her bed, Kristine wrapped herself for warmth. She curled up on the window seat to stare out at the cold, snowy night. Her index finger idly scratched at the frost on the drafty windows before she stuck her hands down into the quilt. If she sat there long enough, maybe she would freeze to death and then she wouldn't have to deal with Logan's return.

Why now? Why this particular Christmas? Is this some terrible game he is playing? Do people ever lie about dying? Would Logan lie about something as serious as dying?
Once she would have disavowed any such thinking.
He looks well, tanned, healthy. When will he start to deteriorate? He says he loves me, and yet he abandoned me. To spare me anguish. And then the bracelet and the expensive skis. What does that mean? Is everything he says suspect? He returned my money along with interest. He said. I never looked at the contents of the envelope. If the money is coming back to me, it is honest money, money from my parents that Logan had invested. It would be the kids' to keep, to do whatever they wanted. It would certainly make life a whole lot easier. We could build a new barn, demolish the old one and possibly even build a larger kennel. With the way the business was growing, it would be the way to go. Mike and his family would be part of it. Tyler's share would be carved out for him.

Kristine crept off the window seat and dropped to her knees. She needed to pray, something she didn't do on a regular basis. “Oh, Holy Father . . .”

She heard the snick the doorknob made when the door opened. She turned to see her three children outlined in the dim hall light. She stumbled over to the fireplace and watched as Mike, his face grim, added more logs to the dying embers. They sat, Indian fashion, in a tight little circle. They were waiting for her to say something.

“I've been praying. I know what you all want me to do. I want to do it, too. However, after you all came upstairs, I went into the kitchen and spoke with your father, who by the way is sleeping on the sofa. He won't move till morning.”

“What could he possibly have to say, Mom, that would even make you think about allowing him to stay?” Mike asked.

“He's dying.”

“Yeah, right,” Cala said.

“I don't remember Dad every telling outright lies,” Tyler said. “He was always right up front, in your face. He used to beat our asses if he even thought we were lying. Do you believe him, Mom?”

“He brought back our money. I can't imagine someone lying about dying. I suppose there is that possibility. He said he wants to die here. He's going to a specialist in Washington. He said he was on a donor list, but that he was far down on the list. He said when he left us he was told by one of his doctors that he only had a few months, and he was trying to spare us.”

“Eight years ago!” Mike said, disbelief on his face. “Now it doesn't bother him to come home to die? What am I missing?”

“I don't think you're missing anything, Mike. He wants to be around his family when his . . . time comes. He wants to talk to all of you in the morning. It's up to you if you want to listen. I don't want any of you to have any regrets later on. He said if we didn't want him here, he would take a hotel room in Washington. Christmas is supposed to be a time of miracles. I think he's viewing us taking him back, as a miracle.”

“What about Woodie, Mom?” Cala asked.

“I don't know, Cala. I have to think about all that. I can only deal with one thing at a time. What did Pete and Carol say? They do have a say, you know.”

“Pete said . . . what he said was . . . he can't, he won't desert you. He said if I want to stay in town that's okay. I don't know how I feel about that.”

“Carol wants to stay. She's Miss Peacemaker herself. She loves it here. She did say the decision was up to me,” Mike said.

“Tyler?”

“This is something for the rest of you to decide. I'm going to be leaving. Death is final. I think we've all read articles, seen shows, heard people say that they wished they had done this or done that before a loved one died. Mom's right. I don't think any of us wants regrets later on. My vote is to allow him to stay and die here in peace. How hard is it to be civil? I'm not talking about love. He destroyed that. Even if Dad doesn't think so, we turned out to be decent human beings. I'm not a parent, but I would think your kids have the right to know their grandparent. When they get older they're going to ask questions. Do you want to lie to them? Kids have a way of looking at things differently than adults. That's all I have to say. Oh yeah, I say we throw those shitty skis he brought us in the old barn.”

“Your father brought me a diamond bracelet with a half-carat diamond for every year we've been married,” Kristine said in a strangled-sounding voice. “I gave it back. It's on the kitchen table with the envelope. That's our money. We can do whatever we want with it. That doesn't go into the . . . fund.”

“Do you want him to stay, Mom?” Mike asked.

“God, no! However, it is the right thing to do. He was my husband. I loved him with all my heart at one point in time. He's your father. You can never change the part of you that is his flesh and blood. If we don't do the right thing today, none of us will ever truly enjoy another Christmas. That much I do believe.”

“Mom's right. Pete said almost the exact same thing, but in a different way. Pete's staying.”

“So did Carol. Okay, Mom. Just don't expect me to hold his hand. I can be civil and polite. That's as far as I'm willing to go,” Mike said.

“I knew I looked up to you for a reason,” Tyler said, clapping his hand on his brother's back.

“Where has he been, Mom?” Cala asked.

“I don't know. I didn't want to know. I'm not handling this any better than you are. I admit it, I don't know what to think or do. He seemed sincere.” She hated her shaking voice, hated the way her body was trembling.

Cala was bending, Kristine could see it in the set of her shoulders and the expression in her eyes. Why was it so easy for women to forgive and forget?

“If he stays,” Mike asked, “where . . .
exactly
will he be staying?”

Kristine cringed as three sets of eyes bored into her. Where indeed? “The apartment over the garage is empty. Of course the stairs might become a problem at some point. We could clean out the storage room. It's quite large. A portable heater or two, and it would serve the purpose. The bathroom is right next door to it and the kitchen is right here. That would probably be the best choice for . . . for later on. For now, if you all agree, the apartment will do nicely. If you're wondering if he's going to be making any trips to the second floor, get that idea right out of your heads. We are divorced.” She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard three sighs of relief.

“Woodie?” Cala ventured again. “What about your wedding? It's only a week away.”

“Under the circumstances ...” Kristine let whatever she was about to say hang in the air.

“I want to make sure I understand something. Dad left us because some doctor told him he was going to die. Within a short period of time. Let's say a year. It is now eight years later, and he's still alive and looks as good as the last time I saw him. Yet he says he's still dying only this time it's for sure. You know, definite. Unless he gets a kidney transplant, which seems unlikely if he hasn't gotten one in eight years. Speaking strictly for myself, I think the whole thing is a crock,” Mike said.

“Medical conditions sometimes go into remission. For years. Other times, they worsen very quickly. Medication can only do so much. Your father mentioned dialysis. He seems to have taken care of everything in regard to ... to ... his condition. It seems he's been in DC for over a week meeting with a specialist who was recommended to him. He did say if we didn't want him here, he would go to Washington and get a hotel . . .”

“You sound so forgiving, Mom. I guess I'm trying to figure out why,” Mike said.

“Because I let it all go. I'm happy now. I have all of you, the little ones, Woodie and Pete and Carol. The business is doing so well it's downright scary. What more could I possibly want? What does your father have? No family, no career, no home, and he's dying.”

Bitterness rang in Mike's voice. “By his own choice.”

“We all make bad choices at one time or another. I've certainly made my share. I learned from mine. Some people are not that fortunate. I'm not sure if your father is one of those people or not. Time will tell us which way it's going to be.”

“What time is it?” Tyler asked.

Cala looked at her watch. “Four-thirty. We might as well get dressed and go downstairs. The dogs will be ready to go out soon. The girls will be getting up around six-thirty, if not sooner. Then there's breakfast.”

“We have to do some more shoveling. It's been snowing steadily since we came upstairs. Do we do breakfast before we do the gift opening? What do you think is best?” Kristine asked fretfully. “I'm sorry, I can't seem to think clearly right now.”

“I say we wing it. Let's get the shoveling out of the way first. I'll wake Pete and Jack. Will you ask Carol if she'll keep her ears open for the girls in case they wake up?”

“Sure. I'll meet you downstairs in thirty minutes,” Mike said.

“I'll be the guy at the bottom of the steps,” Tyler said.

“Mom, I need to ask you something. What did you feel when Dad walked through the door?” Cala asked.

“Rage, hate, dying love. I think I ran the whole gamut. Part of me wanted to pound him to a bloody pulp with my bare hands. Another part of me wanted to run to him, to hug him. Only because he was alive and finally we knew it for a fact. Right now I don't feel anything. Possibly sadness because our lives will go on, and his won't. I want you all to think about something. Look at all of us and then look at what your father is facing. We survived these past eight years on our own. We are better people for it, too. We're healthy, we're happy, our business is thriving, and we have many, many tomorrows to look forward to. We'll be able to watch the children grow up here. We are blessed. Sometimes we just don't take the time to think about things like that. I want you all to think about that while you're out there shoveling.”

Cala turned and came back to her mother. “You're right about everything. Maybe some good will come out of this, Mom. None of us likes the situation, but it's in front of us and we have to deal with it and we will. I'm sure we'll stumble and fall, and I'm also sure there will be harsh words, but we'll survive. It's Christmas morning. You should call Woodie. Merry Christmas, Mom.”

Kristine didn't trust herself to speak. She could feel her eyes start to fill. When the door closed behind her children, she sat down on the edge of the bed and let the tears flow. Sniffling, she made her way to the bathroom. She'd call Woodie after she showered and dressed.

Dressed in a bright red fleece-lined sweat suit with a large Santa on the front, Kristine picked up the phone. Her knuckles turned white as she brought the receiver to her ear. Woodie picked up on the first ring. But then she knew he'd been sitting in his easy chair, the portable phone in his lap, just waiting for her call.

“Let me talk, Woodie. I need to say all this at one time. When I'm done you can talk. Okay?”

The words tumbled from Kristine's mouth in short, jittery phrases. When she finally wound down, her shoulders slumped. “I don't see any other way, Woodie. I have to be able to live with myself. None of us likes the situation, but it's here, and we have to handle it. When it comes right down to it, we really don't have a choice. Now you can talk, Woodie.”

“What do you want me to say, Kristine? I understand. I truly do. I applaud you and the kids for your generosity of spirit. Are we getting married or not?”

There it was, the words she knew were coming. The words she didn't want to hear because to hear them demanded she give a response. “Yes, but not now. After . . . later on. When . . . when it's appropriate.”

“Kristine, you are divorced. What does getting married have to do with Logan staying in the apartment over the garage? We can still get married and live at my house.”

“Everything and nothing. I couldn't . . . can't . . . I need you to understand.”

“I understand that you want me to wait around until Logan dies.”

“No . . . yes . . . it's not like that, Woodie. Look, I don't like this situation any better than you or the kids do. It's something I have to do. I can't turn my back on someone who is dying and needs me. What kind of person would that make me? I can't subject you to what I know I'm going to be going through. I love you too much to do that to you. This is my problem, and I'll deal with it.”

“Where does that leave me, Kristine? Are you going to tell him about us?”

“At some point. I don't know if it will be today or not. We have our hands full as you know. Today is Christmas. What time are you coming over? I thought we'd take the sleigh out at some point this afternoon.”

“Kristine, I'm not coming over. Maybe you can handle this, but I can't.”

“But . . .”

Kristine started to cry. “All we seem to do is argue and separate. It always seems to be my fault. Why is that, Woodie?”