Homefires (71 page)

So, when he sauntered into my lair, I was mildly surprised. He stopped, scratched his head and gazed at my stuffed bookshelves. “Uh, where’s that book you were telling me about?” he asked.

My heart leaped, but I made myself rise almost indolently. “Up here.” I moved to a shelf and extracted it. He took it from
me and left the room as uneventfully as he’d entered. I resumed my reading, telling myself not to get too excited. Kirk was entirely too kaleidoscopic to second-guess.

Later that afternoon, I drove to pick up Dawn, leaving Kirk sprawled on the sofa, book in hand. Usually, he dozed but not today. I visited with Trish a few minutes then left. Back at the house, Kirk now lounged in the La-Z-Boy, eyes riveted to the book.

I began to prepare an early dinner. Dawn, glad to be home, helped. In moments of camaraderie, she could be incredibly sweet. We peeled and diced potatoes to boil. I taught her to dip chicken in a buttermilk and egg mixture, roll it in flour, salt and pepper and place it in a skillet of sizzling oil. Toby arrived and pitched in, doing the mashed potatoes in his inimitable way, lots of mayo, butter and milk, then battering it all into whipped cream consistency.

“Neecy,” Kirk nudged my arm with his elbow and I turned from the stove, leaving Dawn turning a drumstick. “Listen to this – ” He read me a long passage in an incredulous voice, then peered at me from eyes no longer vacant but astonished. They made me think of a person born blind, who, by some miracle, suddenly
sees
and is amazed at how different reality is from their imagined world.

“There’s a reason for my – our family’s dysfunctionalism. We had no parenting. From the time I was twelve, I had to buy my own clothes. I had to make my own way. Nobody took care of me. That’s why I can’t trust others for – anything. God – ” He smacked a palm to his forehead, still gazing at the pages, “all that misery. All that anger comes from that helplessness and – ” He trailed off, already into another passage.

“Makes sense,” I said, encouraging his openness and checking on Dawn’s progress with the marvelous smelling chicken. “Good job,” I commented on the perfectly arranged, golden browned pieces. Her eyes did their little
oh, Mama
roll even as she blushed with pleasure.

“Listen to this.” Kirk still shadowed me. I relaxed then, knowing he’d follow me as I moved about – icing glasses and pouring tea – to read highlighted text to me. The book remained next to his plate that evening as he ate.

I said a silent prayer of thanks. Regardless of how our marriage went, Kirk could now get help for the crippling syndrome that besets adult children from alcoholic homes. One where rage is a roaring tornado that destroys everything in its path. Maybe he would discover a new, better Kirk than ever before.

It was revealing to me that I loved Kirk in a new way. Now, as a friend. Unconditionally.
Sad
, I thought, that to survive Kirk’s coldness, I’d had to smother romantic love. I couldn’t have survived with it burning in me.

I caught Kirk watching me across the table, a strange look in his eyes. The distance he’d wedged between us made it impossible to read him anymore. So I smiled at him as I would at a good friend. He gazed so intently that I instinctively grabbed a napkin to blot my chin, thinking I had dribbled gravy. His brief, answering smile held a tiny glimmer of warmth.

Not much. But then, a half a loaf
wasn’t.

At one point in time, I’d thought I couldn’t live without Kirk. Now I knew that I could. He’d not truly been with me for years now. For whatever reasons, Kirk had not loved me for a long, long time. That fact no longer pierced me as it once had. It just made me incredibly sad.

Strangely, Kirk still sought sex with me. Our marriage bed gave us a sanctuary where we escaped the stifling reality of where we’d come. For brief moments, we joined physically, silently pleasured one another, then Kirk went back inside himself, leaving me bereft and keenly aware that our former intimacy was gone. Yet, Kirk had supported me financially. He’d given me time to prepare myself to stand alone.

Tonight, across the table from him, my smile turned genuine and my eyes misted with gratitude as we gazed at one another. I realized I could now, finally, set him free.

“Neecy,” Callie paced my living room floor, “our class of 1960 had one hundred twenty graduates. The response to our thirty-year Chapowee Class reunion questionnaire is a measly seventy.” She threw up her hands. “Ridiculous!”

“Give it time, Cal,” I soothed her. She’d worked hard on the invitation letter, one I should have helped with but was too
engrossed in my present marital crisis. “There’re still two weeks until the deadline.”

“Neecy,” Cal stopped pacing and grew stock-still, peering at me. “You serious about asking Kirk for a divorce?”

I released a long shuddering sigh, momentarily regretting my divulgence. “Yes, I am, Cal. Kirk’s hung in there with me far too long – being as how he hasn’t loved me for ages. I owe him his freedom. Maybe he has someone he would be happier with.”

Cal’s dark eyebrows winged toward the ceiling. “Whatever happened to ‘thou shalt not commit adultery’?”

I shrugged. “It’s no sin to divorce. The other – well, I don’t intend to indulge. I’ve kept Kirk leashed to me long enough. He’s a good man. We just – don’t blend anymore, y’know?” It
still
hurt to say those words.

“Could’a fooled me.” Callie’s gaze narrowed, narrowed.... “You aren’t – I mean, you don’t have somebody else tucked away, do you, Neecy?” I heard a shrill note of fear in her question.

Laughter burst from me. “Lord,
no.
I’ve never
wanted
another man. Only Kirk. But I can’t have him.” I was astonished when a lump tried to centralize in my chest. I thought I’d exorcised all of those feelings long ago. “So – ” I took a deep breath and flashed an over bright smile, “I’ve accepted reality. But I simply can’t ask Kirk before the reunion. And Heather’s wedding. Y’know? I don’t want to spoil either.”

“Yeah. He would probably be too upset to enjoy them.”

“No. I mean
me.
It would spoil them for me. Not Kirk.” I gazed sadly at Cal. “I doubt he’d bat an eye. Nope. I’ll wait till after then.”

Cal yawned hugely, stretched like a cat kept still too long, then slid her bare feet into slippers. “I’m outta here, Neecy. You done poured cold water on this party.” She swooped down to kiss my cheek. “See ya later.”

What I didn’t tell Cal was that I suspected Kirk’s relief to rid himself of me would be overwhelming.

Until after the two events, I didn’t want to
know.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Do I pass?” I checked my reflection one more time in the freestanding bedroom mirror. Keeping in theme, I wore my old fifties’ color-guard outfit. The short flared crimson skirt and jacket still fit. It was the one outfit I’d kept meticulously stored throughout the years, along with the white leather boots and crimson tassels. Enough summer tan lingered to lightly bronze my legs. I’d cut simple side bangs and arranged my hair into a slightly rumpled Monroe bob.

“Mmm, let me check you out.” Kirk nuzzled my neck, inhaling my
Passion
fragranced skin. “Smell good.” He straightened and swept an appreciative gaze over me, lingering overly where the snug jacket hugged my bosom. “
Look
s good, too. I’ll keep her.” That had become our little joke, the ‘
I’ll keep him/her.’
As though anything else was absurd.

Role-playing. Because Kirk’s gestures and cliches had no depth beyond sex.

My going-through-motions existence had equipped me to slide into dialogue I needed to keep things on an even keel in our marriage. There were moments when, mind reeling from memories, I’d assume the business partner approach of negotiation and professional courtesy. Other times, during Kirk’s quiet times, I’d become his best friend and pal. I no longer regarded appeasement as a demeaning thing.

“Life’s a trade-off anyway, Cal,” I’d told her one day during one of my mind-purgings. “Think about it,” I popped peanuts in my mouth and munched as we visited in her den, barefooted and drinking ice cold Diet Pepsis. “From the time we’re born, we trade out. Mama tickled and fed us and we gave her big drooly smiles and goo-goos. In school, we studied, the teacher gave us good grades.” We rolled our eyes at each other over
that
one, snickering for long moments before settling back into sobriety. “We behaved and our folks treated us well. If we didn’t, we – at least
I
got grounded. Courtship – ” I shrugged, “and marriage ordains
the
dilly of all trade-offs. What can I say?’

“Not with God,” Callie began to protest. “His love is unconditional and – ”

“Oh absolutely, His love is pure and unchanging. But
yes,”
I wagged a finger at her. “The Bible is full of
If you will do this then I will do that.
Even the Almighty sets conditions for us to reach Heaven. There’s never a time we’re not responsible to something or someone, even if it’s only to ourselves.”

“Hey!” Callie stretched her back. “This is heavy stuff.” She guzzled Pepsi. “And you’re right. I’d just never thought of it that way.” She cocked an irreverent eyebrow then, transporting me right back to teen days. “You ought to be a writer, y’know?”

“Hey! I
try.”
We sat in companionable silence for long moments, reflecting on the conversation.

“The trade-off concept – it’s what’s kept me putting one foot in front of the other. No joke. For so long, Kirk has been simply someone I’m – ” I wrinkled my nose and squinted in concentration, “sorta responsible for. Y’know?”

“Yeah,” Cal’s countenance fell somber. She, too, had been hurt by the whole drama that started in Solomon years earlier. “I’m sorry, Neecy, that you had to go through all that.”

“Hey,” I poured more salted peanuts into my palm. “That was then and this is now. I do my best not to look back.” I laughed then. “Y’know, Cal, I’ve heard folks say ‘I just can’t forget what he did to me’ – ” I shook my head. “Things can get so bad, you either drown in the sludge or you swim out the other side, shake it off, take a good bath, and leave it behind.”

Cal now lounged in her easy chair, feet tucked under her, head lolled back against the backrest, watching me with an intentness that made my throat go all tight.

The words shot out of my mouth. “I’m glad you’re back into my life, Cal.”

“Me, too, Neecy. I sure missed you. What you’ve shared with me today – by the way,
thanks –
is pure gold. There’s no friend like an old friend.” Her eyes misted; she blinked and roused up to reach for the Planters Peanuts jar nesting on the glass coffee table between us.

“You’re absolutely on target about acting out roles.” Her chocolate eyes grew far away. “Maybe if I’d been more resilient – sensitive to my wifely role, I’d’ve stayed with Rog.” She blinked then and took a deep breath and lifted her brow. “Who
knows? I was too danged self-absorbed. Thought conceding one iota was belittling.” Her head moved slowly from side to side. “Foolish, foolish, foolish.”

“Strange,” I said softly, “most folks
do
think playing games or play-acting is beneath them when it’s really all life is about.” I shrugged. “Just have to be careful not to
call
it game-playing or play-acting. Some folks are so
literal
they’d argue the question till Christ returns and others – of our Pharasetical
religious
order – would bust a blood vessel, thinking such a notion harbors deception.” I rolled my eyes. “We won’t even
deal
with our redneck friends’ contempt for what, to them, is not totally, flat-footed
real.”

Callie and I looked at each other and burst into laughter, remembering some of Moose and Roger’s – and yes, at times, even Kirk’s – crude interpretations of “to thine own self be true
.
”

Callie caught her breath, wiped away tears of mirth and said, “Remember that day I was practicing for cheerleading tryouts and Rog sidled up to me and muttered out the side of his mouth, ‘will you, for God’s sake, quit showing out. You look stupid.” She fanned her face and blew away the last of her exuberance. “A true redneck interpretation of honesty.”

I nodded, understanding all too well. “What are totally honest actions? Try to define them in words, Cal. Are they feelings? No. We wouldn’t get far if we acted only on feelings”

“Yeah. There were times – when Mama’s cancer was so advanced – that I felt like running away and hiding in a cave. When she needed a bedpan, I couldn’t go on feelings.”

I went to the fridge and pulled out two fresh cans of Pepsi and brought them back. “Know what?” I handed Cal the drink.

“What?” She popped the top and took a long swill, thumped her chest and belched soundly. Some things about Cal never changed.

“You just defined love, Cal. Love isn’t a feeling. It’s a decision.”

She looked at me a long time, crunching nuts, mulling it, then gave a solid nod. “You’re right.” She got it. Just like that. Some folks never do.