Homefires (66 page)

“Look, Kirk,” I rose to my feet, “I’ve got to shower and dress. I will not accept this guilt trip you’re handing me.” I spun away and headed for the bathroom. At the door, I whirled back to face him. “This is all about the fact that you found a man in my room last night and – ”

“That’s not all this is about. But it hurts like crazy knowing he – ”

“Hah!” I planted my hands on hips and glared at him. “So now you finally know how I felt when I found out you’d been throwing yourself away on Roxie. And all the recent drinking, acting like it didn’t affect
me
in the least.” I couldn’t help the bitterness in my railing. That he’d rendered me invisible again filled me with desolation.

He was on his feet in a flash and in my face. “
Don’t
,” he ground between his teeth, “ever talk to me about drinking. Never again.” If looks could kill, I’d have been plastered to the carpet in five seconds flat and ground underfoot. “And I’m sick of your manipulation and – ”

“I do not manipulate you,” I thrust my chin out and glowered back at him. Only thing was, my voice rose and his didn’t, making me sound more shrewish than ever. “Just because I finally speak up for myself and refuse to kowtow to – ”

“I’ll show you what independence is.” His timber changed in a heartbeat, as did his emptied expression. “You’re so all-fired liberated, I’ll just back away and let you have it all. I think it’s time to see a lawyer.” With that statement to clinch his control, Kirk, my hero, my protector, turned his back and marched out the door, slamming it behind him.

Everything elemental in me lurched...panicked. I dashed to the door and flung it open. He was disappearing down the corridor, his gait military, back straight.

“Kirk?” I cried, fighting the sickening fear rising like bile in me.

His step never faltered. He did not look back.

I didn’t see Kirk for several days. I told his salon appointments he was sick. He was, I told myself. In the head. I dreaded seeing a police car pull up to our house or business and hearing them say
, “Mrs. Crenshaw, we’re sorry to tell you your husband is dead.”

Underneath all that, I felt responsible for some of his distress. I’d had no choice in some matters, such as having to leave Solomon for a fresh start. But during long sleepless nights, I’d seen with stunning clarity that I had not truly forgiven Kirk of his infidelity. Oh, I thought I had. But looking back, I saw that I’d placed myself in tempting situations I once would have shunned, subconsciously hoping to punish him.

I prayed. Kirk’s suicide threat haunted me. Some part of me knew it could happen. The brutal side to Kirk could turn inward.

By now, Toby and Dawn knew trouble brewed, but I softpedaled like crazy. “Daddy’s taking a rest,” I told them. “He’s been overworked for a long time. He needed to go away for a few days, by himself and – rest.”

I could see in Toby’s eyes that he sensed more, but he didn’t ask. And I knew. He didn’t want to know. Dawn was more blunt.

“Why doesn’t Daddy want to be around us anymore? We don’t make lots of noise or anything.” She worked her crossword puzzle, her wheat-colored sheet of hair falling forward to hug her adolescent cheeks. I’d recently given her a wedgy bob that had her constantly tucking it behind her ears.

“Oh,” I sat beside her on the salon sofa, looking over her shoulder, hoping she didn’t notice my trembling hands, “he’ll be home any time now, all rested and dying to see his little girl.”

“What’s a six letter word that means ‘residential district’? Begins with S.”

Her savoir-faire attitude struck me anew. Dawn seemed far beyond her twelve years in ways. “Suburb,” I replied and watched her pencil it in.

“Can I go to the Bijou tonight?” she asked blandly, knowing what my answer would be.

“’Fraid not, Dawnie.”

I felt her stiffen without her face losing its bored mien. “All the other kids go.”

“Can’t help it. Daddy and I don’t think it’s too good an idea to turn you loose in a darkened movie theatre with a passel of teens dying to find a nook in which to neck.”

“Daddy’s not here,” she drawled. “What’s a four letter word that means ‘labels’? Starts with a T.”

“Tags.” I wondered again what to do with this girl-woman of mine who kept me busy devising ways of saying ‘no’ without making her feel deprived. Yet – she did anyway.

“You could let me go if you wanted to.” Her fingers gripped the pencil that meticulously filled in the blanks with artistic lettering.

“Mm hm. But I love you too much to do that. I remember when I was your age, and I know what went on in such circumstances.”

She swung her head to look at me with narrowed sky-blues. “You mean you necked with guys?”

“No. I didn’t. But I had a friend who did.”
Callie.
My heart lurched at the thought of her. How I missed her. “So – I can’t, in good conscience, let you get caught up in it.”

The narrowed gaze grew cool, then flounced away. “You’re too protective. All because of Krissie being killed. It’s not fair.” Her cheeks puffed out and the lips tightened in anger.

“True – we are vigilant as a result of Krissie’s death. But had that not happened, Dawn, I’d be just as protective.” I knew it was easier for Dawn to over-simplify our actions as being neurotic rather than being for her own good. I tried to spend as much quality time with her as possible. What with Kirk’s and my problems, that wasn’t easy to do. But I kept trying. She was, in fact, like an only child, what with Heather’s college absences and Toby’s teen activities.

“Where
is
Daddy?” she asked petulantly. Knowingly. Sometimes, I swore she had extra eyes and ears by the way she challenged me with questions – as though she already knew the answers.

Today, the phone’s ringing rescued me from having to answer. After telling another of Kirk’s clients he was ill, I hung up and for a moment pressed my face to the cool mirror behind his workstation.

Kirk, my dream man, never came back. Another version, the hidden man I’d dreaded all the way back to honeymoon days, appeared the next day. My good resolutions for change fizzled when he walked through the door, gilded in splendid fury.

He was the antithesis of the man who courted me so eloquently and gave me the greatest gift of all: unconditional love. This new man was convinced I’d squandered his affection and did not deserve his respect and devotion. My head swirled from the impact of it all.

In a heartbeat, I hated him. For one long moment, I felt pure hatred for him. “Why?” I asked, as furious as he. “Why did you want me to love you again? Why didn’t you just leave me alone?” Tears spilled down my cheeks and I hated them, too. To this man, they spelled weakness. “Why did you give me the world and then – snatch it away?”

He stared at me with those blasted unreadable eyes until I wanted to scratch them out of their sockets. And I saw it delighted him that I humbled myself. Ice water shot through me and I instantly stopped weeping, wiped my eyes and took a seat on the den sofa. He remained standing, I suspected, to maintain the upper hand, determined that I not coerce him into
anything.

Despair swamped me, but I would not let him see it. “So – where do we go from here?”

“Do whatever you want.” He plopped defiantly into an easy chair. “Actually, I don’t care.”

The brutal response took my breath. The nightmare grew worse. Now, I had the dreaded stranger – one I’d only glimpsed in the past – living with me. And he was paranoid to boot.

Kirk, magnificent in battle, now wanted to destroy me.

“Kirk. Why do you hate me?”

He gazed at me with no emotion whatsoever. “Janeece, I don’t hate you.”

“What changed you, Kirk?”

He looked at me for a long time...I didn’t think he was going to answer.

“I’ve been to Solomon while I was gone. Roxie’s murderer was arrested. See, Janeece, the reason I got mixed up with Roxie
to begin with was the letter Moose left her. Here,” he pulled the tightly folded paper from his shirt pocket and tossed it at me.

I picked it up from where it landed at my feet, opened it and began to read Moose’s big childish scrawl:

“Kirk,” I gazed at him through a teary mist, “Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner? It would have made a difference.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He shrugged indifferently. “It wasn’t safe for you to know anything. When Roxie was murdered, I figured the drug dealers might come after me, knowing Roxie had turned to me after Moose died. I haven’t breathed a free breath
until I found out last week that the killers were in custody and they’d confessed. Now,” he stretched his mouth into a grim line and steepled his fingers to them for a long moment, his eyes hardening even more, “now, I’ve lost everything. There’s no regaining. I’ve been stupid and foolish, but I went into it with the right heart. I wanted to fulfill Moose’s last cry for help. It cost me everything.”

Callie’s words flashed before me:
Like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Oh, Kirk,” I wanted to take him in my arms and soothe him, but something in his countenance held me back. His eyes were green granite.

“You don’t trust my motives at all, do you?” I asked quietly, shaking my head sadly.

I gazed into a stranger’s eyes. They looked through me, didn’t acknowledge I’d spoken.

Kirk knew. He knew he broke my heart anew. This time, he didn’t care beans that he’d taken from me the one thing I’d vowed to never again relinquish.

For that – despite the love and pity I felt for him – I ceased to respect him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Anne and Dad’s house smelled of Christmas ambrosia, that unique blend of turkey, dressing, trimmings and traditional desserts seasoned with spices that tickle the nose and palate. The first whiff sent serotonin spiraling through me. While Kirk and Toby unloaded gaily wrapped gifts under a tall spruce tree that blinked endless multi-colored lights, I went to join Anne, Trish and Heather in the kitchen to add my dishes to the ones already sprouting atop groaning tables. Chuck, looking more alive than I’d seen him in years, entertained our clan with Saturday Night Live jokes and monologues. I still marveled at his wit and recall.