Why the Sky Is Blue (5 page)

Then we left.

The rest of that day was surreal. Dan, the kids, and I raked leaves when school got out, and Dan ordered pizza for supper, making the evening as relaxing as he could, but he and I barely spoke to each other. Afterward, I helped Katie with her homework. The phone rang once, about nine. It was my mother. I told Dan to go into our room and tell her what had happened at the police station. I would call her the next day.

That night as Dan and I lay in bed, I couldn’t get the image of this other woman out of my mind. I kept picturing her the way I had been told I had been found. It haunted me. What I really wanted was a way to flush it all away—the image of her, the name Philip Wells, and everything else I knew about that night. I wanted to find the secret file where my brain had hidden the rest of it, dump these new contents inside, and close the lid forever.

But that was impossible.

Instead, I found myself feeling oddly grateful that Wells wasn’t some maniacal, sadistic beast; he was just completely overcome with greed. Avarice—nasty as it is—was a motive I could handle. There were so many others I could not.

Especially when I considered the life that was growing within me and who had helped create it.

I made the mistake of trying to share this with Dan as we lay there together in the darkness of our bedroom. But he was repulsed by any notion that Wells wasn’t a brutal murderer. What I said made no sense to him at all.

“How could you think he is anything but a monster?” he said, clearly disappointed in me.

It was evident to me then that though Dan and I had fallen headlong into a swirling blackness that neither one of us knew how to navigate, we weren’t struggling arm in arm in the abyss. The episode with the Christmas cards and the isolated relief I felt about Wells not being a psychopath convinced me I was in one abyss and Dan was in another one entirely.

9

Katie and I left for Ann Arbor the third week in October, on a chilly Thursday. Spencer had at first been downhearted about our going, but I managed to convince him that having four days alone with his dad was going to be wonderful. Thursday and Friday might be a little boring for him, but he would be able to go with Dan to the clinic on Saturday, which Spence loved to do. He coddled and cared for the dogs and cats in the kennels like they were his own, or like he was the kind doctor making them well. I promised him that Katie and I would be home early Sunday evening.

Dan drove us to the airport an hour before our six-thirty flight, and since Spence was asleep in the back seat, he dropped us off curbside in the predawn darkness. Katie wasn’t going to miss any school since her teachers were off that Thursday and Friday for a state convention. Nevertheless, she was unable to contain her excitement about our four-day excursion. It was the first time she and I had done anything special together for longer than a couple of hours.

I was prepared to field questions from her on the relatively short flight, but I was hoping they would be easy ones with concrete answers. I had a suspicion that being seated next to me on the plane with no other real distractions for either one of us would prompt her to take care of any lingering questions about the last seven weeks. She only asked me two questions actually. The first was if I was afraid to be alone or go anywhere by myself. I guess she thought I had brought her with me to keep me company or to ward off a potential threat. I assured her I was not afraid. Then she asked if I thought the police would ever catch the man who had hurt me.

Dan and I hadn’t really discussed what to tell the kids about Philip Wells. I decided to tell her what the police told me, hoping it would allay any fears that my life was still in danger.

Her eyes widened as I explained as vaguely but truthfully as I could about Philip Wells and his unfortunate wife.

“How could he have done such a thing?” Katie said, shaking her head. “He didn’t even know you.”

I told her not to dwell on it, that I was not dwelling on it. I told her to be glad he confessed. And that he would never be able to hurt anyone again.

Seeing that she was troubled, I wondered if I should have said nothing except that the police did catch him and then left it at that. But I wanted Katie to know Philip Wells had been relieved I had not died. It softened my attacker’s wickedness. I desperately needed this less sinister image in my head if I was going to carry the child in my body and not go crazy. And I knew if I didn’t miscarry, Katie would eventually have to be told I was pregnant. I would want her to know this about the man who had hurt me if it came to that.

Seeing my mom at the airport waiting expectantly for us and smiling from ear to ear triggered something inside me—some latent, post crisis response—and I began to cry even before I reached her arms. I was stupid not to have let her come when she wanted to.

She just hugged me tight and didn’t let up until I began to pull away first, many moments later. Katie and Stu had long since ended their embrace and were standing there watching the tearful exchange between wounded daughter and compassionate mother.

“Hey, Stu...” I finally said to my stepdad, in a weepy voice that I hated to be displaying in front of him.

As he folded me into his arms, I again found myself in an embrace that I did not wish to end. I began to cry again. I couldn’t believe it. In fact, I was crying harder wrapped up in Stu’s big arms and wide chest than I had been with my mother. Stuart was stroking my hair and patting my back and saying all the things fathers say to their little girls when they’re hurt, like “It’s all right, honey,” and “It’s over now,” and “You’re my brave girl,” and “I am so proud of you.”

I finally pulled away and began apologizing profusely, which neither one of them was interested in hearing. I had upset Katie, something I had not wanted to do, and as we started to walk away, I saw tears in her eyes. When my mom put her arm around her, she laid her head on her grandmother’s shoulder for a brief moment; I couldn’t hold in a shudder. Stu noticed this too and squeezed my shoulder.

By the time we reached their home, I had recovered and thankfully so, because Matt was waiting at the house for us.

“I heard Mom had made a great lunch, and I didn’t want to miss out on a free meal,” he said as he and I hugged on the front porch. It was really good to see him again. I was reminded of simpler times when we were young and the world seemed big and inviting, not bizarre and dangerous.

After lunch, Matt headed back to the university with a promise to be back for supper. We decided to have some ice cream in Stuart’s study among his scores of books and magazines, every classical music recording ever made—so it seemed, and Stu’s trinkets from the ancient past.

I sat in the chair my mom usually occupied, noticing that four books with bookmarks were arranged on the table next to it. Off to the side was her current Bible, open to the book of Amos.

I had always loved Stu’s study. It was more like a museum to me than anything else. It looked slightly disorganized but Stu remarkably always knew where everything was. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were not only lined with books but also with old spoons, vases, and necklaces from his many digs. Rocks, stones, and fragments of pottery were scattered everywhere.

Even though it has never been my home, I felt comfortable in my mom and stepdad’s house. And I’m glad that my mom met Stu and that he fell in love with her. They met at a lecture he was giving on ancient Mediterranean cultures at the University of Minnesota during my freshman year there. She had gone because she had read his book on the topic, and after the lecture, she had approached Stu to have him sign it. Ten minutes after they met, he asked her out for coffee. They dated for six months—mostly by phone and mail since Stuart lived in Michigan—before he asked her to marry him. Actually Stu approached Matt first, who was fifteen and still living at home, and asked for our mother’s hand in marriage. Matt, who gave his approval in a matter of seconds, was the best man at their wedding. I was the maid of honor. I didn’t know Stu as well as Matt did when they married, but I could tell Stuart was a gentleman. And that he loved my mother very much. I loved seeing her so happy, even though I was sad to see her and Matt leave Minnesota to join Stu in Ann Arbor.

It really didn’t surprise me that after fourteen years of being a widow, my mother would suddenly fall for another man. Stu was her soul mate. His love for history and the past resonated with my mom. Her penchant for books never included works of science fiction or speculation about the future. She always read books about people—fictional and otherwise—and where they had been and what they saw and did while they were there. That’s why Stu always brought my mother on his field trips all over the Middle East and the Mediterranean. First, because he loved her, and second, because she loved what he loved: the past.

After lunch, I asked to see Stu’s photos of their recent trip to Egypt, and at some point while he was showing me pictures of the burial ground he had been excavating, my mom and Katie left the room. I found out later my mom had brought something back from Egypt for Katie and was giving it to her.

When we had finished looking at the last set of photos, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. I felt awkward being alone in the room with Stu. And I felt awkward about feeling awkward. Why would I be anxious about being alone with Stu in his study? That question led to the next, which was, why had I completely fallen apart at the airport when I hugged him? It finally dawned on me that Stu had always been more a father to me than my biological father. I could barely remember my real dad. I had less than five years with him, none of which I could recall. Stu had been my mother’s husband and my stepfather for nearly two decades. He was wise and good and was the perfect person to “father” me through my crisis.

And I was both afraid he would and afraid he wouldn’t.

I had already lost one father and was realizing that I was purposely keeping Stu at a distance. If anything ever happened to him, it would not feel like the death of a parent, but rather the loss of a good friend. I could almost hear Patty’s pajama-soft voice telling me this, revealing to me the inner workings of my troubled subconscious.

I felt sad as this understanding crept over me. And I must have looked like I felt.

“What is it, Claire?” Stu said, so gently.

Who knows what part of my brain was in control, because I looked straight at him and said it.

“Stu, I’m pregnant.”

My mom and Katie came back into the room the next moment as Stuart digested my news. He said nothing.

Katie was jabbering about the necklace my mother had given her, and my mother was completely engrossed in her granddaughter’s joy. I knew neither one had heard what I had said to Stu.

He looked at me and suggested we all visit the University’s Nichols Arboretum for the afternoon. I nodded, looking straight back at him.

“I think that’s a great idea,” I said, though my mom had to ask if Katie and I felt like an outing after getting up so early that morning. I knew Stu was expertly filling the time until Katie went to bed that night and I could talk to my mom—privately— for as long as I wanted and in whatever emotional shape that fell over me.

The afternoon passed pleasantly as did the early evening hours. After supper Matt and Stu told story after story of my mother’s latest matchmaking efforts on Matt’s behalf. Katie and I hadn’t laughed that hard in weeks.

Matt left when Katie started yawning. I sent her up to the guest bedroom that she and I were sharing.

After I had settled her in, I made my way slowly down the stairs, feeling reluctant to disturb the lighthearted atmosphere that still permeated the downstairs rooms.

“Why don’t you two go on into the study, and I’ll bring in some decaf,” my mom said as she switched on the dishwasher and a low hum filled the kitchen.

I followed Stu into the study and eased into one of the over-stuffed couches. He sat at his desk and absently picked up a fragment of a Roman water jug.

“I will be happy to leave the room, if you want,” he said softly. “I can say I’m tired and that I want to go to bed early. I have class tomorrow, Claire. It would seem natural.”

I was beginning to understand and feel comfortable with my deepening appreciation for Stu and learning to fear it less, so I think I surprised him when I asked him to stay; when I told him it would be easier for me if he was there.

He looked away as my mother came into the room bearing a tray, and I saw him reach up to his face and flick away a tear.

My mom didn’t know it at the time, but she made it easy for me to tell her. She handed me a mug and asked me pointedly but tenderly what was bothering me. She knew there was something more than just the attack itself weighing on my mind.

For some reason, telling her about the pregnancy with Stu already knowing about it was soothing to me, though I didn’t want her to know that Stuart knew before she did, and he never let on that he did.

Mom began to cry softly when I was finished, and I had to look away from her for a few moments.

“I just don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. Then she said it again.

She didn’t say it to me or to Stu. She just spoke the words into the quiet room, addressing no one. It was the closest she dared go toward demanding a good explanation from a God who could have intervened. It was the closest any of us dared to go. Then, in spite of the heaviness of such incomprehensible matters, my mother came to me, wrapped me in her arms, and held me close. This much she did understand: I needed her.

It was after midnight before we all headed upstairs to bed, exhausted and deep in thought.

The next three days were incredibly special to me, and I look back on them now as days that significantly prepared me for the difficult journey that lay ahead, even though the pregnancy was never mentioned again until my mom was kissing me goodbye at the airport. And even then, she just whispered in my ear as we hugged goodbye, “I am here for you. And I can be there for you. In a heartbeat, I can be there.”