Dreams for Stones (23 page)

I have always believed that healing must
come from inside. But Bill has shown me it is sometimes called
forth through the actions of others.

“I’ve found the one,” Charles said, when Alan answered the
phone.

“The one what?” But Alan had a sinking
feeling he knew exactly what, or rather who, Charles was talking
about.

“When the time is right, I’m asking Kathy to
marry me.”

The awful feeling in Alan’s gut intensified.
He tried to speak. Stopped, cleared his throat. “That’s fast.”

“I’ve known from the beginning. But it
doesn’t pay to rush.”

That last statement was pure Charles, but
the other part, about his being certain of this relationship from
the first, that couldn’t be more different.

Alan struggled for something to say.
“Doesn’t this one have a biological clock?”

“She can have as many kids as she wants. If
need be, we’ll get a nanny.” Charles sounded as giddy as a small
child with his first bicycle. Only he wasn’t a child. And Kathy,
most decidedly, was not a bicycle.

“How are you going to manage that on a DA’s
salary?” If Alan could just pretend Charles was talking about some
other woman, he could manage. He had to manage. After all, he’d
thrown away his right to step between Charles and Kathy.

“I’m going to join Peters and Lipold.
They’ve been after me for a couple of years. It’ll triple my salary
for starters.”

But Charles loved being a district attorney.
Had refused to even consider giving it up for Tiffany, whose tastes
matched her name.

Alan’s free hand came up in a distracted
movement to rub his temples. He had to get off the phone. He
couldn’t listen to Charles rhapsodizing another minute. But if he
hung up, Charles would know something was wrong.

He took a breath and focused on the cadence
of Charles’s comments without actually listening to the words,
adding in umm’s and uh uh’s where it seemed appropriate, until
finally Charles said, “Got to go. Promised Kathy I’d call.”

Alan stood unmoving after he hung up.

It was hard enough knowing he’d lost Kathy
through his own actions. How was he going to manage if his best
friend married her?

Alan picked the phone back up and, not
letting himself second-guess it, punched in Elaine’s number.
“Laine, I need the name of someone to see.”

During the pause that followed, he knew what
she must be thinking, but, thank God, she didn’t say it. Instead
she asked only if he preferred a man or a woman, and when he said
it didn’t matter, she gave him three names.

He hung up, shaking. He’d taken only a
single small step, and yet he was as exhausted as if he’d just
spent hours slogging through deep snow.

But he could back out, not call the people
Elaine recommended, although that would mean his already shaky
relationship with her would get shakier.

Still, there was such a slim chance it was
going to do any good.

Besides, he’d left it too late.

Alerted by Cormac, Alan walked out of the barn to find Delia
squatting down to pet the dog. She didn’t look up until he reached
her. Then she gave him a solemn look before she stood and threw her
arms up to him.

As he lifted her and swung her around, she
giggled. With a catch in his throat, he felt how light she was. He
gave her a careful hug, then set her down and looked at Grace.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Grace hugged him, but without her usual
exuberance. She looked tired and almost as frail as her daughter.
Delia snugged her hand into his. In the barn, she reached into her
pocket, pulled out a carrot, and held it out to Arriba.

His throat tightening, Alan noticed the two
shortened fingers. He reached out to take her hand in his, but the
little girl was busy patting the pony.

He touched her shoulder, and she looked at
him. “You all set?” Alan asked.

Delia cocked her head frowning, before
responding with a nod.

For the first time, the news Frank had given
him after Delia woke up was made real, and Alan felt like the earth
had tipped out from under him, leaving him sliding into space.

He busied himself, helping Delia into the
saddle and adjusting the stirrups. With his back to Delia, he faced
Grace and spoke softly. “How do I communicate with her?”

“We’re all learning sign language, and she’s
beginning to read lips. And we write things out for her.”

“Come on, Alan. Arriba’s ready to go,” Delia
said.

They were the first words he’d heard her
speak, and her voice had a strange new flat quality.

He led Arriba out of the barn, and Grace
walked alongside. When they entered the riding ring, Grace stayed
by the fence while Alan continued to lead the pony in a circle.

“Alan, why didn’t you come see me in the
hospital?”

He wanted to say,
But I did
, until he
realized that as far as Delia was concerned, he hadn’t come. He
stopped walking and turned to meet Delia’s gaze. Sitting on the
pony, she was nearly eye level with him.

He knew what she was really asking. She
needed reassurance he loved her, not excuses. The fact he had come
while she’d been sleeping, wouldn’t be enough. He should have tried
harder to see her.

He spoke slowly and carefully. “I’m
sorry.”

Delia shook her head and frowned. Grace
walked over to them, and Alan turned to her. “I want to tell Delia
I’m sorry I didn’t visit her in the hospital.”

Grace pulled a card and pen out of her
pocket and handed them to him. He printed carefully, using simple
words, and handed the card to Delia. She read his apology, mouthing
the words silently, then she gave him a solemn look. “It’s okay,
Alan.”

It was more than he deserved.

Midmorning on Monday, Jade stopped by Kathy’s desk and raised her
brows in question. “Alan?”

Kathy nodded, unable to speak, knowing from
the face that had gazed back at her from the mirror this morning
why Jade was asking the question.

“Come on.” Jade pulled her to her feet and
steered her toward the door. “Kathy and I are taking a break,” she
told Columba and Polly, as she opened the door and nudged Kathy
through. “Let’s walk over to the playground. This time of day, it
should be quiet.”

As they walked, Kathy told Jade about the
meeting with Elaine and what Elaine had told her about Alan—that he
had been married and his wife had died. “I was so angry with him.
But now. . . ” Kathy’s voice wobbled.

“Did Elaine say how Meg died?”

Kathy shook her head. The same question had
niggled at her ever since her meeting with Elaine.

“Maybe Alan was involved somehow,” Jade
said. “You know. Like a car crash where he was driving or maybe she
died in childbirth.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It sounds like he’s having trouble letting
go. Sometimes, that’s because a person feels guilty.”

“I think he just really misses her. I think
she was essential.”

Jade led the way to the swings where she and
Kathy sat side by side.

“There must be something I can do to help
him.”

Jade touched her gently on the arm. “He’s
the only one who can decide to let go of the past. There may be
nothing you can do.”

It wasn’t what she expected Jade to say.

Excerpt from the diaries of Emily Kowalski

1945

The turn of the new year always makes me melancholy. And yet this
year should be different. Everyone is saying this may be the year
the war will end.

There was great rejoicing after D-Day, and
we all thought the soldiers would be home soon, but it continues.
The news is not as dark, still there are boys who made it through
D-Day who will not come home.

The country has been caught up in war, and
it has seemed frenzied at times. There are so many changes, but I
feel in spite of that, little is happening to me. I’m like one of
those flies caught in amber that I remember seeing a long time ago
in a Chicago museum.

Looking back, though, I can see I no longer
feel so trapped inside myself. I think that eased when I banished
the silence with music and our radio programs, and I began to paint
again. Brad has been a godsend, and the wheeled chair helps. But
best of all, Jess and I have found our way back to each other.

VE Day has been declared but there is still the war in the Pacific.
That seems to go on and on. Meanwhile, our lives proceed relatively
untouched. I have been able to do little for the war effort because
of Bobby.

The war is over. That is the headline, the largest one I have ever
seen. It fills most of the front page. We have dropped something
called an atom bomb on Japan. The papers are saying it has saved
many American lives, but I can’t bear to look at the pictures, and
it is hard to feel joyful at this ending that has been bought at
such a price.

1947

Yesterday was my forty-seventh birthday. When I saw Jess’s gift, I
was too angry to even react at first. Four goats, for pity’s sake.
What on earth was he thinking!

They arrived with big pink bows around their
necks that they immediately tried to dislodge. One goat rubbed
against a tree twisting her head to pull the bow loose. Brad
bounced among them, barking happily.

I turned to Jess, who grinned at me and
said, “Happy Birthday, Em.”

It was a good thing I was speechless,
because it surely wouldn’t do to say something unkind in front of
either Bobby or the man who delivered the goats.

I was turning in a circle watching the
goats, when I noticed two of them approaching Bobby. My breath
caught in fear, and I moved to ward them off, but Jess stopped me,
putting his arm around me. Then we both watched as Brad joined in,
and the three animals touched noses. Bobby’s hand moved toward the
black goat, who came close and nuzzled him. Then, doggone it, I was
crying, standing in the circle of Jess’s arm, feeling all sad and
happy at the same time.

Jess thought of everything. The gift of the
goats, a cake a neighbor baked for him, and candles. We kept Bobby
up later than usual, and for the first time in a long time, we
laughed together. Then Jess tried to sing “Happy Birthday,” and it
made me laugh even more, for Jess is no singer.

The goats escaped from the yard and ate all the roses along the
cemetery fence. Father Larry was fit to be tied, although he didn’t
suspect the goats, thank goodness.

Then last week, Jess had to come home from
work in the middle of the day to collect them. There’s a farm stand
across from the cemetery, and that’s where they were, helping
themselves to the fruits and vegetables and blocking traffic.

Jess said the owner tried to chase them away
with a broom, but as he chased one, the other three circled him to
get more to eat. When Jess arrived, he told them, “That’s enough,
girls,” and they all fell right into line and followed him home
like angels.

Jess is the only one they pay attention to.
If he can’t figure out how to keep them in the yard, we’ll have to
get rid of them. I would hate to do that, as two of them seem to
have a special relationship with Bobby, and that makes it worth
putting up with their shenanigans.

After brief meetings with each of the therapists Elaine suggested,
Alan chose Dr. Angela Taylor, both because of her age and the
serenity of her manner. Although, now that he examined her more
closely, he could see she was younger than the nimbus of soft white
curls indicated.

“Why don’t we begin with you telling me why
you’re seeking therapy at this time,” Angela said, sitting back,
her hands resting quietly in her lap.

A reasonable question. Just not one he was
prepared to answer fully quite yet. How to say straight out,
I’m
here because I couldn’t save my wife, and now I can’t let her
go
. He shut off the thought and searched for a less direct
approach.

“My way of coping isn’t working. I decided
to give my sister’s a try.”

“And your way is?”

“Keeping busy. Trying not to think.”

“What made you decide it wasn’t
working?”

He remembered Charles talking about Kathy,
and a sick, helpless feeling took over his gut. He’d blown it with
Kathy and, suddenly and surprisingly, it was too late to do
anything about it.

He shifted, trying to blank out the memory
of the happy shine in Charles’s eyes and focus on where he was,
sitting in a room with a woman he barely knew to whom he’d given
permission to ask him the most personal questions.

He thought they’d ease into it, though, take
it slow. Chat comfortably for a time before she asked the questions
he knew he was going to have to face. He held his arm, massaging a
sore spot on his biceps, trying to come up with something that
would satisfy Angela, perhaps even mislead her for a time and give
him breathing room.

“I was denied tenure.”

“On what basis?”

“The new department head wanted all faculty
writing fiction.”

“And what do you write?”

Suddenly on his internal video screen he
pictured a quail mother frantically trying to lead a predator away
from her nest. Feigning a broken wing, even. That’s what this felt
like. Angela, a large cat waiting to pounce, and he the distraught
bird with no defense except obfuscation. Although that made no
sense since he’d chosen to be here.

He pulled his thoughts back to focus on the
question she’d asked about his writing. “Non-fiction. For education
journals.” There. That was better. A calm exchange of information.
If they kept it up, he’d get through this.

The only difficulty? The main issue he was
working so hard to avoid was right there beside him, as
overwhelming in its power and relentlessness as a charging
rhinoceros. Not that he’d ever been in a position to have a
rhinoceros charge him, but very likely, if one ever did, it would
feel like this.