Tending Roses (24 page)

“I didn’t know they were going to steal our child!” I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the seat. “I’m acting like a baby, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You’re cute when you act like a baby.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Sorry. How about if I play the radio?”

“Good idea.” I opened my eyes and stared out the window, watching the miles roll by.

By the time we reached Springfield, my emotions were no longer at hurricane strength. Ben and I managed to have a pleasant day, even though we learned at the bank that one of Ben’s clients hadn’t wired payment as promised, so our account was in dire straits. Even with the deposit of the new paycheck, there wasn’t much left for Christmas shopping, so we just enjoyed walking around the stores, looking at the decorations and planning what we were going to buy for Christmas when the money wire did come in.

We called home only twice, and Grandma assured us both times that everyone there was having a wonderful day. I told her not to worry about cooking, that we would bring home something for supper. Among all the other horrible images in my mind was one of her blowing up the house while we were gone.

On the way home, Ben stopped by the church to send an e-mail about the late payment that had curtailed our Christmas shopping. Then I suggested we write a Christmas message and send it out to our friends, or straighten the office, or finish Ben’s reports. Anything but go home.

“Can’t put it off forever,” Ben teased. “They have a hostage. We have to go back.”

“Curses.”

“If you hadn’t given them our son, we could be in Bora-Bora by now.”

“Now, there’s an idea.” I slipped into his arms, resting my head on his chest.

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” He said it as though he believed it. “The rest of the family isn’t even here yet.”

“Thank you for that helpful observation.” I pushed away from him and reached for my purse, resigned to the idea of going home.

“Always glad to help.” Grinning, he snatched the car keys off the desk. “Let’s go by the Chuckwagon and pick up some supper. It’s catfish night.”

“Good idea,” I said, walking down the steps. “My father hates fish.”

That thought brought back a memory that made me laugh. “I’ll never forget our one and only deep-sea fishing trip. My great uncle, Ruben, invited us on his boat. Dad thought he was a big expert on ocean fishing because he used to fish on the farm when he was a kid, and he’d read a few books about bay fishing and bought all new tackle. He wouldn’t let Uncle Ruben give him any advice or loan him any tackle, and he kept giving Uncle Ruben advice from the books he’d read. Anyway, my father didn’t catch anything all day, and Uncle Ruben caught a boatload of red snapper.”

The memory came back with startling clarity. I could see Uncle Ruben grinning over his basket of fish while my father sat empty-handed with a pasted-on smile as Mom took a picture. Laughter tickled my stomach and coughed from my throat until I could hardly finish the story. “That was the . . . last . . . vacation we ever took . . . with Mom’s family.”

Ben laughed with me. “Well, I’ll make sure to ask your father if he wants to go fishing tomorrow.”

We laughed together as we drove up to the drive-through at the Chuckwagon and ordered a gigantic basket of fish.

 

Dad was sitting in front of the fireplace with Joshua when Ben and I walked into the house. Neither of them noticed us, and I watched for a moment, amazed to see my father splay-legged on the floor with Joshua propped in his lap. Dad was stacking blocks, then making gorilla laughs when Josh knocked them down. I had had no idea he was capable of such folly. I had pictured him teaching my son how to decode DNA.

“Hi, guys,” I said, announcing our presence. “Where’s Grandma?”

To my surprise, my father merely glanced at us, then went back to building block towers. “In the kitchen. Oh, oh, noooooooo! It’s King Kong.” Blocks flew everywhere, Dad made monkey sounds, and Josh flailed his arms, laughing hysterically.

I watched a look of joy pass between them. Apparently Josh could work his magic on anybody. My sophisticated, intelligent, educated father was hypnotized.

The strength of the spell became clearer as the evening wore on. My father turned into someone I had never seen before. I wondered where all of that love and worship and interest had been hiding when Karen and I were children. If he had ever felt anything but disappointment and disinterest for us, he never showed it.

My bitterness ebbed as I watched my father kiss Josh and lay him, almost asleep, in his crib. I knew what Aunt Jeane had said was true. They had a right to spend time together. Josh did not care if I harbored ill feelings toward my father. He cared only that a funny man was building block towers and making him laugh. As he grew older, he would call that man Grandpa, or Grampy, or Papa, and they would be special to each other.

“That’s quite a boy,” my father whispered as we walked down the stairs.

“Yes, he is,” I said, strangely grateful that we now had something to talk about.

We entered the living room, and I realized that Grandma, Ben, Aunt Jeane, and Uncle Robert had disappeared while we were upstairs. Their absence was undoubtedly contrived, and I was unhappy with Ben for going along with it.

Dad took the fireplace tool to spread the logs on the fire so they would burn out overnight. “I want to thank you for leaving Joshua here today,” he said.

“You’re welcome. It looks like he enjoyed it.” I wanted to finish the conversation and get out of the room. My emotions were unstable, and I wasn’t ready to have a meaningful exchange with my father.

Firelight illuminated the side of his face, making him look old, not like the steadfast image I remembered. He seemed harmless now. “We both enjoyed it. I’m sorry I waited so long to come.”

I knew he was reaching out, but I couldn’t respond. I stood there choking on a lump made of bitterness, disappointment, and all the unhappy years that had passed between us.

He stared into the fire, but he knew I was still there. “Kate, nothing I’ve done in my life was meant to hurt you or your sister. I did what I thought was right at the time.”

“That’s what we’re all doing, Dad.” Pride coiled around my throat like a snake, and I couldn’t say the things I really wanted to. “It’s just a shame we’ve done so much damage to each other in the process.”

He dropped his head into his hand, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t understand your anger. Your mother and I did our best to give the two of you everything.”

My emotions broke through the gag and spilled into the room. “You didn’t give us
yourselves,
Dad. We were four strangers living in a house together—baby-sitters, day camps, summer camps, separate vacations, separate schedules, separate lives. You don’t understand the way I feel because
you don’t know me.
”

These were the words I had wanted to say to him all my life, and he only looked into the flames and shook his head.

“Maybe you’re right.”

It was the first time he had admitted I was right about anything. It was a victory from which I felt no pleasure.

I didn’t know what else to say, so I left him there and went to bed, feeling as if the chasm between us would never be breached.

 

In the morning we acted as if the conversation had never taken place. At least we were somewhat more civil to each other. Dad refrained from commenting about Ben and me wasting our lives. That, in itself, was a success. Perhaps it was the best I could hope for.

Ben, for his part, was gracious with my father, as he was with everyone. It was not in his nature to hold grudges.

I suppose he would have been better than me at following Grandma’s bread recipe.

Aunt Jeane and Uncle Robert joined us late for breakfast, and we greeted them as if we were starving refugees and they were the Red Cross. Uncle Robert was quickly overwhelmed and slipped away, looking for a place to hide, but Aunt Jeane stepped into the fray like General Patton. She entertained us with stories about the folly and funny comments of fifth graders. Her anecdotes were a lesson in human nature. As usual, she did well at putting us in our places.

 

As the days went by, all of us seemed to find our places, and we needed less of Aunt Jeane’s mediation. We were strangers who were finally getting to know one another, defining our ground, learning not to step on one another’s toes. By the fourth day of my father’s visit, we were pretty good at avoiding all of the subjects that stirred up tension. Which didn’t leave much to talk about. Dad spent a lot of time with his laptop computer at the kitchen table, and I began working on my files from the office at Grandma’s old Hoosier cabinet because it was by the phone. The arrangement kept Dad and me in the same room, which seemed to give hope to Grandma and Aunt Jeane.

Dad was working on his computer with rapt interest when I finally got in touch with Mr. Ducamp about his endowment and the reports in the newspaper that the foundation was being audited and the accounting practices questioned. I turned my shoulder to my father, wishing he wasn’t there to hear about the sloppy management of foundation funds. Just one more thing for him to criticize.

The conversation with Mr. Ducamp turned into an exercise in verbal footwork. From the corner of my eye, I could see Dad glance at me, interested but trying not to show it.

His interest bolstered my determination to succeed in keeping the Ducamp endowment. I also felt a strange touch of ego gratification that he was paying attention to what I was doing.

“Well, the fact is, Mr. Ducamp, that the endowment was in no way attached to the coal emissions study. Your funding, as we agreed last year, has been used to support the study on MTBE oxygenate levels in the drinking water supply. The study is still ongoing and is within six months of releasing findings. If you pull your support now, I don’t know if we will be able to conclude the study. I guess I’m asking you personally to stay with me on this one. It’s looking like our findings are going to be vastly different from the EPA’s. We’re finding much higher oxygenate levels in many lakes and underground wells. It’s critical that we finish the study and publish the results.”

Mr. Ducamp sighed on the other end of the line, and I knew I had won the battle. He agreed to continue funding the study, and even increase funding slightly if it would speed up the study results. I thanked him in every way possible, then wished him Merry Christmas before hanging up. A rush of success tingled through my body like a dose of adrenaline.

“Yes!” I cheered, forgetting for a moment that I wasn’t alone.

“I take it you were successful.” I couldn’t see my father’s face, but there was a note of admiration in his voice that made me feel good.

“Yes, I was,” I replied, feeling larger than life, on top of the world, master of my own destiny. “That funding is for an important study on gasoline additive contamination in the drinking water supply. We’re finding high levels of MTBE in—”

“There it is,” he muttered, as if he hadn’t realized I was talking, or didn’t care.

“Anyway, this study is coming up with fascinating findings and—”

“Um-hum. That’s good. Well, I know nothing about all this environmentalism.” Translation:
I don’t care and I’m not interested in hearing any more.

“Well, the study is very important anyway.” Why I felt compelled to drive home my point, I couldn’t say. Suddenly I felt like a little girl again, trying to make him notice my report card.

“No doubt.” He reached for his pad and scribbled something on it. “I have a good friend at the American Cancer Society. Here is his number. You could put your fund-raising skills to good use there.” Which translated as:
You’re wasting your time on a meaningless cause where you are.
Which was how he had always felt about my studying environmental science.

“I already have a cure for cancer,” I snapped, feeling like a wounded little girl again and angry with him for spoiling my triumph.

He glanced up, cocking a brow incredulously.

“Stop gas additives from getting into the drinking water supply,” I shot at him, then turned and left the kitchen without waiting to see whether or not the arrow hit home.

Aunt Jeane met me in the hall. One look at my face, and she deflated like a balloon with the air let out. “What now?”

“He got on my nerves, that’s all,” I said, taking a deep breath and counting to ten. “I just salvaged a major endowment, and he made sure to tell me that environmental work is a waste of time, and he can help me get a real job.”

Aunt Jeane winced. “Oh, Kate, you know he doesn’t mean it that way.”

I spat a puff of air, and realized I sounded just like Grandma.

Aunt Jeane looked worried. I knew what she was thinking. Christmas Eve was just two days away and my sister was arriving tomorrow. When she did, our fragile detente might come tumbling down like a house of cards.

Aunt Jeane braced her hands on her hips and took on a look of determination. “Well, the two of you can talk about it on the way to Springfield. Remember, you promised you would go with your father today and help him buy Christmas gifts.”

I stared at her with my mouth open, choking on a lump of pride that wouldn’t let me go back into the kitchen and politely ask him to go shopping. “I . . . but . . . you . . . you go.”

Aunt Jeane laid a hand on my arm and turned me toward the kitchen. “I would, but I promised Mother I would spend some time with her today. There’s a special ladies’ meeting at the church later this afternoon and it’s important that I take her.”