Simple Riches (17 page)

“Who?”

A hint of a smile crossed her lips. “Caroline.”

Caroline
“How did you get here, Mrs. Kraziak?”

“I drove, how else would I get here?”

“I guess it would be kind of far to walk from where you live.” Hadn’t Norman told her she wasn’t supposed to be driving? Yes, Alex remembered the scene in his office the first time she met Ruth, because she’d felt sorry for her, embarrassed even. And hadn’t Ruth acknowledged what he said, blamed it on some medicine she was taking?

“Indeed.” Ruth slouched a little against the back of the bench. “Though I tried once or twice. Norman knows I come here every Wednesday. I’ve told him I want to be here when she gets off that bus but he keeps misplacing the extra set of keys.” She leaned forward, whispered, “I think he may be getting a little… forgetful. You know”—she touched her hat—“light upstairs.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t know.” She’d bet Norman had no idea Ruth was here.

She nodded. “He’s a very proud man. I would never say anything; it would only make him feel worse. How do you tell a person you’ve been married to for forty-five years that his mind is out of focus?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. But yesterday, when he was at work, I searched every drawer in the house, even the silverware ones, and found the extra keys.” Her plain brown eyes lit up. “They were in the bathroom, behind the Right Guard deodorant and Dr. Scholl’s foot powder.”

“Does Norman know—” She stopped, tried again. “Are you here by yourself?”

“No. You’re here, aren’t you, Alexandra?” She reached over, patted Alex’s hand. “I do hope Caroline comes today. I’d like you to meet her. Ah”—she smiled—“she’s a mother’s delight.”

“Why do you think she’ll come today?”
Or any day?

The older woman pointed to the Greyhound sign on the edge of the Stop-n-Go building. “See that sign? Nick couldn’t bring her. She has to come by bus.”

“I see.”

“Have you met Nick, her husband? He’s the doctor in town, takes care of most of the people who live here.”

Alex’s chest tightened, her throat clogged up. She fought for air, tried to overcome the dizzying sensation closing in on her. “I…” She forced the words out, “I’ve met him.”

“He’s wonderful. Isn’t he wonderful, Alexandra? Imagine such a kind, caring person being married to my daughter.” Her voice turned soft, melodic. “It was a storybook romance, those two, since high school. Love at first sight. From the day they met, they’ve never looked at another person—it’s always been Caroline and Nick. Isn’t that wonderful, especially in our world today, when everybody’s switching partners, hopping in and out of bed faster than grasshoppers?”

Alex thought she was going to be sick. She felt like an invader, a mistress, the other woman.

“Look, Alex, down there.” Ruth pointed to the bus. “It’s coming. Oh, I do hope she’s on it.”

They waited in silence as the bus pulled up to the stop, its gears shifting and grinding, exhaust fumes filling the air. When the bus door opened, six people filed out, three white-haired women carrying shopping bags, one hunched-over balding man with a newspaper, and two teenage girls with backpacks slung over their shoulders. The bus driver got out and went into the store.

Ruth swallowed, look confused, “I thought she’d be on this bus.”

“It doesn’t look like she is.”
She’s not coming home, Ruth. Ever
. Alex would never say the words, they’d be too cruel, too painful, too hopeless, and Ruth needed something to hold on to. Maybe that hope, distorted and unreal as it was, got her through the day, pushed her to get up in the morning, breathe in, breathe out.

“Maybe”— she twisted her gloved hands in her lap—“maybe she fell asleep, maybe she’s still on the bus.”

No, Ruth, she’s not on the bus.
“Would you like me to check?”

Hope lit her eyes. “Would you?”

Alex gripped Ruth Kraziak’s fingers, squeezed through the cotton fabric of her gloves. “I’ll be right back.” She made her way to the bus, hesitated the briefest of seconds, then climbed the steps to the tiny platform next to the bus driver’s seat. A handful of people remained on the bus—a teenage boy and girl, brother and sister probably, with earphones in their ears, staring straight ahead, a large middle-aged woman, head thrust back against the headrest, snoring, and way in the back, a twenty-something man with wire-rimmed glasses reading the newspaper.

Alex turned around and headed down the steps. “I’m sorry, Ruth, she’s not there.”

The older woman’s lower lip trembled. “I thought today… maybe today…”

Alex sat down next to Ruth. The Greyhound bus driver came out of the Stop-n-Go carrying a bottle of water and a bag of potato chips. She waited until he pulled away from the curb, heading for Pittsburgh, before she said, “Do you want to go now?”

Ruth shook her head. “No.” Her voice was small, fractured.

“Okay, I’ll just sit with you a while, if that’s okay with you.”
How long had she been doing this, coming here waiting for her daughter to step off the Greyhound bus? How old was Justin? Almost eight. Had Ruth been coming here for eight years? Hadn’t anyone tried to help her? Norman? Nick?

Seconds passed, then minutes, then a half hour, then three quarters of an hour and still they sat, silent, waiting; for what Alex had no idea, but the thought of this poor woman alone on this splintered park bench was too pathetic for her to consider, so she didn’t, she just sat. Crazy thoughts rumbled through Alex’s head, images of a woman, shadowed and indistinct, waiting for her, calling her name, missing her. And a man, reaching, reaching, swinging her into his arms, holding her tight.

The screech of tires yanked her from her disturbing thoughts. A black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb and Norman Kraziak half fell out in his rush to get to them.

“Ruth! I was worried to death something happened to you.” His gaze flew over Alex, rested on his wife. “I just stopped home to get my glasses, and you were gone…”

“I thought she’d be here today.” It was the softest of whispers.

Norman ran both hands over his face, drew in a deep breath, touched his wife’s shoulder. “Come on, Ruth. It’s time to go home.”

Alex followed them in Ruth’s car, stayed while Norman placed his wife’s floppy white hat on the dresser and removed her shoes and gloves with the gentlest of care. Ruth Kraziak sat on the edge of the bed, half frozen, as though his ministrations were performed on someone else, not her. Alex watched as Norman eased his wife’s head back onto the pillow and pulled the cream comforter around her small body. He didn’t cry until they were downstairs, in the kitchen, drinking the iced tea Alex found in the fridge.

“I can’t… I can’t…” He buried his head in his hands. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

She stared at his shoulders heaving up and down, wanting to comfort him, to help, yet not knowing how. Such honest emotion had always been a stranger in her family, unwelcome, forbidden. It exposed too much, left open wounds, raw edges that couldn’t be covered with makeup or fancy words. Avoidance. That was the tactic.

“Has she been going there since…the accident?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Every July, the whole month if she can.” His voice cracked. “That’s the month… the month… it happened. Caroline sent her a letter and told her she’d be coming home on the Greyhound bus just as soon as the baby could travel. Nick couldn’t come.” He lifted his head and his eyes were red, swollen. “The bus only comes to Restalline on Wednesdays.”

“Norman”— she laid a hand on his forearm—“have you ever considered getting help for Ruth?”

“That’s all Nick used to say to me, ‘Get help, get help.’ How? How do you get a person help when they don’t want it?” He blew out a long breath, scratched his head. “He finally convinced her to take this pill that relaxes her, makes her less jumpy.”

“That’s good.” She hated the look on his face, tortured, helpless.

“I know I should make her go talk to somebody,” his voice was small, barely audible, “but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m afraid, Alex, afraid of what they’ll say. What if they took her away, put her in a home? I… I can’t let them do that to her.”

“What about you, Norman?”

”Me? I don’t care about me, just Ruth and Justin. And Nick, of course. He’s been like a son to me.”

“Did you ever think about getting out of here, taking her away, maybe to a place where every inch of space didn’t remind her of Caroline?”

“Hundreds of times. Even picked a spot in Arizona. Tempe.”

“Then why don’t you go? Take Ruth, start over. Try. She might still end up needing professional help, but at least you’d have tried.”

“It’s not that easy, Alex. I’ve got the businesses… I’ve got to do right by Justin…” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Who’d want to buy two businesses out in the middle of nowhere?”

She’d been so immersed in Norman’s grief, so torn by the sight of Ruth in her floppy white hat sitting on the bench waiting for a daughter who would never come, that she’d thought of nothing but helping the Kraziak’s ease their pain. When she’d suggested leaving Restalline, there’d been no ulterior motive, no subterfuge; she’d wanted only to help them in the truest sense of the word.

But now, Norman had confessed a deep longing to get away, somehow. Alex could help, she knew how, she had the power. It would all be so easy now.

But what of the rest of them? The town, the people, the Androvich family? They would hate her, all of them, when they found out, especially Nick. He would hate her most of all.

It was almost midnight and the Lubovich’s house was dark. Edna and Chuck went to bed every night right after Jay Leno’s monologue. Saturday and Sunday were exceptions, when they watched the oldies. Last weekend they’d seen
Casablanca
and
Twelve Angry Men
.

Alex let herself in the side door and flicked on the entry hall light. All she wanted to do was sink into bed, bury her head under the covers, and stay there. For a day, a week, as long as it took to sort out the mess she was in. Uncle Walter had called twice today, looking for reports, projections, specs, and most of all, her recommendation regarding the project.
What the hell’s going on up there, Alex? What’s slowing you down? This isn’t like you to drag your feet so long. You usually know within forty-eight hours if a deal’s a go or not. Do I need to come there myself to get the ball rolling? What about Kraziak? What about Androvich? Have you sniffed them out, found their weak spots? What the hell have you been doing up there?

Now, there was a question. She and Nick had taken Justin to Mama Lina’s for pizza tonight, but she’d barely been able to finish her first piece. It wasn’t the extra cheese or pepperoni that did her in, it was the memory of Norman Kraziak hunched over and defeated asking her who would possibly be interested in buying his businesses. It had been four days, but she could still see him, still hear the words.
Who’d want to buy two businesses out in the middle of nowhere? Who Alex?
She hadn’t told Uncle Walter about the conversation she’d had with Norman, though there’d been plenty of opportunity. But it just hadn’t seemed right to capitalize on the man’s pain in that moment. Later, when Norman could think more clearly, without the sight of Ruth sitting on the bench waiting for a bus that would never come, then, she’d tell her uncle.

And Nick. How could she tell him Ruth had said he and Caroline were made for one another, a perfect match, so in love, that they’d never looked at another person since the day they met? How could she look at him and speak without choking on the words, the images, the confusion running through her brain? She couldn’t, and so she said nothing.

Time and sleep, that’s what she needed right now. Alex pulled the key from her purse, looked, froze.
What the—
There was a figure huddled against the door. In the faint gleam of light she made out a pink sundress, pink sandals, a pink crocheted handbag lying on the floor.

“Tracy?”

The woman, not more than a teenager really, with pigtails and pink ribbons in her hair, raised her head. Black streaks of mascara ran down a face swollen with tears. “Alex?” Her lower lip quivered. “I… I’m sorry.” Her shoulders shook with each word. “I don’t want Mom to know, not with Dad just getting out of the hospital and all. I… I had no place else to go.” This last she finished with a whimper.

Alex knelt beside the young woman, placed a hand over hers. “Why don’t you come inside?”

“Thanks.” She swiped a piece of blond hair from her face. “You won’t… you won’t tell my mom, will you?”

“No.” Alex stood, helped Tracy to her feet, then slid the key in the lock.

Tracy stepped inside, sniffed. “I just knew from what mom told me that I could count on you.”

What had Edna said? If she only knew… Guilt wedged in her throat, made the next words almost impossible to get out. “You can count on me.”

The tears came then, heart-wrenching sobs of grief and pain. “I don’t think he loves me anymore.” The words slid to a whisper of despair. “Oh, God.” Tracy buried her head in her hands, swayed, crumpled her small body against Alex.

“It’s okay,” Alex mouthed words that needed said, right or wrong, they would give Tracy strength—she hoped. She guided the young woman into the living room, helped her to the couch and flicked on a table lamp. The room lit up in soft shades of pink. “Why don’t you tell me what happened.” She felt like a mother or an older sister preparing to hear a tale of heartache, though she had no words of wisdom to share, and hoped she wouldn’t be asked for any.

“He started on me the minute he got home from work. I don’t know”—she shook her blond head—“he thinks I’m his slave and I’m
not
. I told him I’m not his mother or my mother, I’m my own person.” She jabbed her chest. “Me. And he can’t force me to be something or somebody I’m not. That’s right, isn’t it, Alex? He can’t force me to cook and clean and fold his clothes.”

“No.”
This was Edna’s daughter?
She wondered what Tracy thought of her mother ironing her father’s underwear and socks?

“Right, that’s what I told him.”

“But it would be nice if you could find a halfway point.” A can of Prego and an occasional spray of 409 might go a long way.

“He thinks I have nothing to do all day, says I should have had the decency to fix him a meal, even if it’s a frozen dinner. What do you think?”

What did she know about domestic expectations? Aunt Helen had always planned the week’s menus and handed them over to Rosa. And with Eric it had been take out or eat out. “Well, I don’t know a lot about cooking, but I do know quite a bit about negotiations, and it sounds like that’s what the two of you need to do.”

“Huh?” Tracy sniffed.

“Well, negotiate. He wants a meal, what do you want? Cleanup? A picture hung? A garden bed dug out? A movie on Saturday night?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, smoothed her pink dress over her knees. “I just don’t want him to expect me to do it, that’s the thing, you know?”

“Then talk to him, Tracy. Negotiate what’s important.”

“Hmm.”

“Do you care about Ted?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I love him so much it hurts.”

“Then stop coming here, to this apartment. Don’t run away from your problems, stay there, fight, let him know you care and you’re not giving up. Make him feel he’s worth it, the relationship is worth it.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” She was such an imposter. When had she ever been able to commit, really commit to a relationship with a man? When hadn’t she given up when they got too close, too personal, the situation too difficult? Would the same thing happen with Nick?

Tracy wiped her eyes, streaks of mascara smearing on her cheeks and fingers. “Thanks, Alex. Thanks a lot.” She smiled then, looking so young, so vulnerable, making Alex feel so… old.

“You’re welcome. I hope it helps.”

“It does, definitely.” Tracy pushed back a lock of hair, studied her. “No wonder you snagged Dr. Nick.”

“What? I didn’t—”

She laughed. “Sure you did, Alex. The whole town’s talking about it.” Her voice turned serious. “I’m glad. He deserves to be happy.” She grabbed her handbag, fished out her keys. “You take care of him. He was my first crush, did my mom tell you that? I never thought I’d get over him. God, but he’s beautiful.” She didn’t seem to notice that Alex hadn’t replied. “Oh, and thanks for not saying anything to my parents about this.” Tracy gave her a quick hug. “I knew I could trust you, Alex, I just knew.”

***

The night was hot, the air still. A slit of moon spilled over Sapphire Lake, casting it into luminescent calmness. Breathe, just breathe, it seemed to say as its waters lapped and fell upon each other in gentle repetition.

Alex stared, transfixed, lulled by the water and the aftermath of Nick’s lovemaking. He lay beside her, naked, his hand resting on her hip, fingers stroking her flesh in slow, absentminded circles. She shivered. Silence, thick, heavy, pulsing with emotion, blanketed them, pulled them together. There were no words, there hadn’t been since the moment Nick dropped the blanket on the ground and eased the tank top over her head. It had been only sensation then, pure, elemental, mixed with emotions too deep for words, too confusing for interpretation. It had been ten days since Marie Lendergin’s wedding, and still their lovemaking was no less needy, no less consuming than it had been on the first day, or the third, the fifth, the seventh, the ninth. This wanting of another person, this passion that devoured waking moments was new and frightening for Alex, and yet…and yet…she craved it. But it wasn’t only the physical union that left her breathless, it was the
being
together, and the quiet, the space between the words, like now.

People were talking about them, Alex caught them staring when she and Nick and Justin stopped at Hot Ed’s for sausage subs or Stop-n-Go for Justin’s favorite, a raspberry Slurpee. Most smiled, nodded their approval, offered a few, well-placed, if not direct hints that they wouldn’t mind seeing Alex here on a more permanent basis. The worst offender, and most blatant spokesperson was Stella Androvich.
You’ve made Nick happy, Alex
, she’d said, tears in her brown eyes.
It’s been a long time since he’s smiled like that, a long time.
And then there was Gracie,
So, like do you think you might find some reason to hang around, Alex? Huh? Like for good?
Only one person’s voice hung in the back of her mind, shifting to the forefront every night just as she was drifting to sleep.
You can screw him all you want but you better not screw with him, you got that Goldilocks? … I’ll be watching you… I’ll be watching you…
Michael Androvich. She hadn’t seen him since those early morning hours, though she’d looked for him everywhere, was always wondering if he was behind her, in front of her, watching…

She couldn’t let this relationship develop any further without saying something to Nick. It was time… Time to try before it was too late.

“What would you think,” she began, “about getting away for a few days?”

His face was in profile, nose, mouth, chin, and she couldn’t see his expression. When he spoke, his voice was slow, measured. “What did you have in mind?”

“I know this place in upstate New York, quiet, secluded…”
If he sees Krystal Springs for himself, he’ll fall in love with it, I know he will.

Nick blew out a long breath. “I thought you were going to go metropolitan on me, New York City, D.C., population fifty gazillion.”

She laughed.
Maybe this part will be easier than I thought.
“No, nothing like that. It’s quiet, surrounded by trees and lakes, trails for horseback riding or backpacking.”

“Sounds like my kind of place.”

Much easier than I thought.
Once he saw it, saw the magnitude of the operation, the beauty of it, maybe, just maybe he’d seriously consider selling Androvich Lumber and then she could offer Norman a deal without any guilt… and then… maybe Nick would consider setting up practice somewhere closer to her… much closer…

“I think you’d really like it.”

He ran his hand up and down her back in long, slow strokes. “I like the quiet part.”

“Can you take off a few days?” His fingers curved to the side of her breast.
Focus, focus, this is important.

“I should be able to get coverage for three, four days. And Mom can watch Justin.”

“I… I’d suggest taking him, but…”
Will I ever get tired of his touch?

“Another time,” he said. “I like the idea of sleeping in the same bed with you the whole night, not sneaking out at one or two in the morning.”

“I do, too.”

“Give me a day or two to get coverage and then we can set a date.”

“Thank you.”

He pulled her into his arms, kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her mouth. “Yeah, well, you can thank me another way.”

She laughed, fell back onto the blanket, his hard body covering hers. “So, what’s the name of this great hideout?” he asked, planting kisses along her neck.

He was driving her crazy, she wanted him. Again. “Krystal Springs.”

He was off of her and three feet away before her brain registered that something was wrong. “Krystal Springs? Please tell me you’re joking.” His words were angry, his body tense. “I wouldn’t set foot in that place for a million dollars.”

Alex scrambled to sit up, make sense of his reaction. “Why?” was all she could muster.

“Why?
Why?
How much do you know about that place?” His voice shook. “They flattened the town, Alex, the whole thing. They took people’s lives, flattened them right out, and turned the town into a playground for the rich.”

“No—”

“Yes, yes they did. They went in and tore up every house, every landmark, every sign of life as those people knew it.”

No.
He was making it sound so cruel, sinister even.
It wasn’t like that
. “Those people received money for their property, all of them.”

“Jesus, Alex, is it always about money?” He yanked on his jeans. “Some fancy-talking attorney came to town with his right-hand man and convinced them it was the right thing to do.”

“How”— she kept her voice even, kept the fear from surfacing in her words—“how do you know that?”
Eric had been the attorney and she…she had been the right-hand man.

“One of my father’s old friends lived there. We used to go fishing and camping up there when we were kids. There was nothing like it, it was so beautiful. Perfect, really. Crisp air, green all around, black dirt. You could see the mountains on a clear day. And then a big corporation came to town one day, started whacking away at the people, little by little, throwing dollar signs in front of their faces, convincing them they’d be better off in the suburbs with central vacuuming and two car garages.”