Homefires (67 page)

“He hasn’t lost his touch,” I whispered to Anne.

She paused in spreading a tablecloth to reply, “He’s more a part of the family than I’d ever ‘a dreamed possible.”

“Yeah. Amazing what hard times can accomplish.” I gave her a hug and we finished setting out bright red holiday cups, plates and napkins.

Long ago, Anne had invested in folding tables for family occasions and today, recruited all for service. Each had a long white cloth with red tapered candle centerpieces. Trish lit the candles while the other females – excluding Dawn, who disappeared like magic when the work began – arranged food according to genre on the big oak dining room table we’d eaten on since Ann had come into the family.

“Joe,” Anne called, “go get the folding chairs out of the shop.”

Daddy and the guys promptly complied, knowing it brought them closer to chowing down. Since Daddy’s heart surgery, he’d been like a lab puppy. Today, he kissed Anne’s flushed cheek as he plopped a chair next to where she stood supervising the order of heavenly carbohydrates.

“This woman’s something else,” he said to me and winked.

I nodded, grinning, ecstatic to see him so happy. His devotion to Anne did not leave her unaffected. She still spit out orders to him, but he now rushed to do her bidding. His hospital stint, during which Daddy declared himself an “outright coward,” had unveiled to him Anne’s selfless nature.

“I not only had my heart fixed, I had my eyes opened,” he told me repeatedly. “Anne didn’t leave me during that two-week stay. She stuck with me night and day, meeting my every fear and need with sweetness and patience.”

We always laughed at that point. “I’m the worst patient in the world.”

I didn’t argue, remembering Daddy’s battle of wills with a tough drill-sergeant ICU nurse who refused to move him to a room until he stood and walked on his own.

“Lord, I hated that woman,” he said today, but then his eyes warmed. “Mostly because I had claustrophobia and was so desperate to escape that windowless unit I’d have killed. Every time I tried to stand, I blacked out.” He shook his head with grudging respect. “That battle-ax wouldn’t budge.”

“Daddy,” I laughed till tears puddled, “I can still see you sitting rigid as a pole with her pushing you through those doors in a wheelchair. You were so mad you wouldn’t even look at us. You could have spit nails.”

“Yeah. But I was wrong to feel that way.” I still marveled at the tenderhearted man evolved from my Daddy. “She was just doing her job, though. If she hadn’t made me mad, I’d probably
still
be laying in that ICU bed.”

Later, we sang Christmas songs to Heather’s accompaniment on the old den piano. I noted tears in Daddy’s eyes several times. When we finally hushed, he took me aside.

“Neecy,” he took my hand, “I want us – you, me and Anne – to go up and visit your MawMaw. I been thinking about her lately, about how she’s in that nursing home and all. I’d like to go see her.”

My heart nearly burst with pleasure. I’d been to visit MawMaw several times in the past three years, cherishing each moment with her. “That would be great, Daddy. Just name the time.”

The following Wednesday, both mine and Dad’s day off, we arrived at Oakmont Nursing Home, where the normal Lysol odors assaulted our nostrils and the sight of MawMaw, sitting in a wheelchair that awaited someone to push her to lunch, was like a punch in the gut.

We approached my little grandmother, whose weight loss nearly destroyed her roundness, I grieved at the vacancy in her gray-blue eyes. She looked so – defenseless. So vulnerable.

“MawMaw?” I said gently when we stood before her. The bowed dark head, now threaded with silver and sporting a short carefree haircut, slowly lifted. Empty eyes sighted me and for long moments were confused.

“It’s Neecy,” I coaxed her memory.

Then, like a sudden sunrise, her countenance lifted into surprised joy. “Neecy,” her frail arms reached for a hug. I stooped and gathered her into my arms, feeling her lips seek and kiss my cheek as she returned my squeeze with remarkable strength. I inhaled her clean familiar fragrance and as I released her, felt the soft loose flesh underneath her arms, shocked that it was no longer full and firm.

She became aware of her other two visitors. Her faded gray gaze scanned their faces for a clue as to their identity. Slowly, recognition broke over her features and the smile reappeared.

“Joe…” Up came the arms again, opened wide. “You’re still my boy.”

Daddy dropped to his haunches and gathered her to him, weeping. “I’m so sorry, Maude,” he murmured, “for everything.”

Her small fingers cupped his head to her bosom. “Joe...my boy. I love you.”

“I – I love you, too, Maude,” Daddy sobbed pitifully. “We had some good times way back.”

“We shore did,” MawMaw croaked.

Anne and I cried, watching the reunion. We spent several hours in the parlor, where MawMaw managed, with Daddy’s help, to seat herself at the piano and entertain the other residents with her inimitable playing. Her fervent Pentecostal style soon had toes tapping that hadn’t felt music’s beat in years.

Exhausted, she finally let us settle her into her bed that evening. Daddy insisted we pray for her before we took leave. He knelt at her bedside and laid his hand on her head.

“Please, Lord. Heal Maude of her infirmities. She’s still got a lot of life left. Please....” His voice choked off for a long spell before he managed a strangled “Amen.”

I kissed MawMaw after Anne held her for a tearful goodbye.

“I love you, MawMaw,” I whispered.

“I know, honey.” She smiled at me. “I know.”

I left with the most glorious sense of fulfillment. In recent days, I’d been talking more with God and in the process, found myself coming out of the fog I’d been in for years. I still had a ways to go, but it was a beginning.

One thing was certain: though thirty odd years had passed since I’d uttered them, God had finally answered some of my prayers.

My decision to become financially autonomous was, at the time, a sensible one. Kirk had never acted on his threat to “see a lawyer,” but what with his coldness to me and his emotional hands-off stance, I figured I best prepare myself for the worst. My marriage seemed doomed. I say
my
because from the night at the Landmark Hotel, Kirk did not acknowledge any responsibility to me or the marriage beyond paying the utility bills as he’d always done. I began to feel like a kept woman. I didn’t like the feeling.

No, that’s not strong enough. I
hated
the feeling of indebtedness.

Knowing his contempt for me was excruciating. Worst still was not knowing
why.

Beyond all that, I didn’t want a divorce. Never had. A priority was concern for the children and how it would hurt them, innocent bystanders. It wasn’t fair. Besides, I had no better agenda in the wings so I continued to work at reconciliation. At least, if all failed, I would know I’d tried.

I’d explained in detail to Kirk the events leading up to his discovery of Chris in my room that night. His attention had been that of a disinterested party. Kirk had dissected me from his life as succinctly as Daddy had MawMaw years ago. It was as though I didn’t exist except as a bother.

Kirk, I decided, wanted his freedom.

Against Kirk’s objections, I finished my math course at Harborville Community College. After I refused to drop the course, Kirk never mentioned it again. That, in itself, spoke volumes about his disdain. My refusal had nothing to do with rebellion; I simply needed the credits for my certification. Johnny
Revel and I struck an unspoken agreement to back off anything other than distant friendship.

He was lucky. I couldn’t just walk away from everything.

Not until I could stand on my own.

So, it was with desperation that I began to plow through alien looking utility bills to acquaint myself with the idea of living alone and handling them. My initial terror had begun to subside and as I shuffled through phone bills, I commended myself on how far I’d come.

That was when I saw it. The unknown phone number. Calls were made to it on numerous occasions. I didn’t recognize the area code. Times they were made varied, some late at night – one over an hour long.

A shrill alarm went off. The call was made during my disastrous beach trip, the second night of my stay. My gaze darted to other dates – consecutive ones. Shock
bzzzzzzed
through me. I sat there, paralyzed with it. Then adrenaline kicked in. I searched out the area code and discovered it was for near Asheville.

Anger. With shaking fingers, I dialed the number.

“Hello,” came the pleasant female voice, “Cheryl’s Beauty Box. Cheryl speaking.”

I hung up. Sickness crept over me. The Hair Styling Convention Kirk had attended when he sent me to the beach. He’d met someone. She had a name. Cheryl.

I pulled my purse over my shoulder and drove to our salon. It was empty except for Kirk, who sat in his styling chair, reading the daily paper. I threw my purse on the sofa and advanced on him. Now, I knew what seeing red meant.

“Can you explain this?” I asked, shoving the phone bill under his nose.

Unperturbed, he took it from my fingers, showing annoyance at my invasion. He looked at the number, circled repeatedly with my red pen. Then, he looked at me as calm as I’d ever seen him. “So?”

“I called her, Kirk. You met her at the convention the weekend you sent me away.”

Something flickered in his eyes, then settled into coldness. “What’s your problem? I met a nice hair stylist is all. We’ve called each other a few times, discussing some business ideas.”

“Kirk,” I heard my voice rising but couldn’t harness it, “You don’t call a female this many times, long distance, without something going on.”
Please, explain it away, Kirk.

I plopped into a nearby chair, trembling with infinite emotions, spearheaded by terror.

Kirk stared at me for long moments, fingers steepled to lips, his eyes flat. That was the most terrifying of all, his cold gaze. Everything in me spiraled, spiraled downward, as though gravity was sucking it all from me.

Suddenly, Kirk dropped his hands and grinned.

I stared at him, frowning. “What are you grinning about?” I whispered. “I’m dying and you’re smiling.”

He shrugged. “What can I say. I’m caught.”

Next thing I knew, I was on my feet and slapping him across the face. I’d never struck Kirk before and hadn’t known I was going to do it. He grabbed my hands as I felt them preparing to hit him again. I knew I was out of control but didn’t care. All I felt was rage and hurt.

I jerked free of his grasp and whirled away. I moved to lay my head against the wall.

“Oh,
Kirk,” I moaned, sliding down the wall until I hit the floor in a heap, weeping. “Why?”

He blurred and swam in my vision. “If you’d been thorough,” he said flatly, “You’d have seen that there have been no recent calls.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “You promised you’d never be unfaithful to me again,” I heard myself whimper.

That hateful empty stare. “I lied. So shoot me.”

“I don’t want to live.” I climbed to my feet and headed blindly for my purse. “I just – ”

Kirk blocked my way. “You’re not going anywhere like this.”

He swam before me. “What do you care?”

“You’ve got an appointment.” His statement jolted me from my red haze.

“When?” I whispered, swiping a hand over my wet cheeks.

He hiked up his arm and looked at his watch. “In ten minutes.”

I quickly repaired my makeup, my fingers trembling so violently I could hardly maneuver them. When Mrs. Stone
arrived, I managed what I hoped was a pleasant greeting and as I shampooed her, I heard Kirk quietly exit.

Somehow, I cut and styled my client’s hair, then bid her goodbye. An hour had lapsed since Kirk had left. I sat down in a chair, trying to sift through what had transpired, strangely encouraged that I’d handled it as well as I had. The cold knot in my stomach reminded me that it was not over yet.

The certainty of that rippled a chill up my spine.

The door opened and Kirk walked in. He plopped down onto the sofa, not even joining me in the work area. On traumaautomatic-pilot, I moved to a chair opposite him. “What now, Kirk?” I asked, hating the tremor in my voice.

“All these years, you’ve never bothered your little head with the phone bill,” he said, staring past me as though I didn’t exist. “Now, suddenly, you just
had
to poke around and find something.”

“I didn’t go looking for anything, Kirk,” I said, “I was trying to figure out how to handle utility bills. It’s evident you don’t want to ‘take care of me’ anymore.” Sarcasm dripped from my words.

His green gaze slashed my way, pinning me. “Yeah. I believe that like I believe nothing happened in your hotel room that night.” He gave a dry, humorless laugh. “You’re going to be pitiful trying to keep up with bills.”