Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
Helen
'
s heart dove straight through the chaise lounge. In all the agonizing hours since Nat had tol
d her about the rumors of Satani
sm, she
'
d never once considered the effect her
plumber
could have on her career.
"
This is unbelievable,
"
she whispered. Her mind was racing ahead to a new and even more terrifying scenario: what people would think if they knew about her profound awareness of Linda Byrne
'
s
...
Ghost.
Nat had stood up and was extending his hands to her.
"
C
'
mon,
"
he said.
"
We
'
ll go for a walk.
"
Helen let him drag her out of the chaise, but a walk was out of the question. She was far too shaken by this latest twist in the ongoing drama. She shook her bowed head and said,
"
I
'
d be really, really lousy company right now, Nat.
"
"
You
'
d be really, really fantastic company,
"
he argued softly, slipping his hand under her chin and tilting her face toward his. He kissed her very gently, a kiss that she knew was meant to reassure, not to excite.
"
Listen to me,
"
he said, drawing her close and stroking her hair in a comforting way.
"
Since you refuse to defend yourself, you
'
re bound to lose a certain number of parents. That
'
s a given. You ha
ve to be willing to let them go
.
"
"
You
'
re right,
"
she said unhappily.
"
But I would so much rather they stayed.
"
"
I know, darling, I know.
"
In the meantime she was thin
k
ing,
Only Aunt Mary knows about Linda Byrne. She won
'
t say anything. As for me, I
'
ll go to my grave before I tell another soul.
Nat added,
"
I want you to know, though, that I reserve the right to defend your honor if someone comes gossiping to me.
"
She smiled.
"
Just don
'
t go challenging anyone to a duel. I
'
m pretty sure there
'
s a law against that in
Massachusetts
.
"
"
Fine. I
'
ll meet
'
em in
Rhode Island
.
"
She laid her cheek against his chest, breathing in the scent of him. The roses were in full bloom in the garden, and so was an umbrella of fragrant red honeysuckle nearby. No matter. It was the scent of
him
that was leaving her drunk as a bee. She lifted her face to him, filled with a wistful desire that they could just meet, and court, and make love like everyone else in ordinary life.
But Helen
'
s life just then was anything but ordinary, and so as soon as their kiss reached flash point, she drew reluctantly away, her lips still in a slow burn.
He understood.
"
Not now
...
not tonight,
"
he agreed without her having to say a word.
"
But soon, Helen,
"
he whispered.
"
Because I want you very much. And I know that you
.... W
ell. Soon.
"
"
Will I see you tomorrow?
"
she said, immediately contradicting herself.
"
On Katie
'
s first day of school? A thousand-point rally couldn
'
t keep me away.
"
She laughed at the absurdity of it; but he was making her feel better by the minute.
This is what I haven
'
t had for the last few years,
she realized.
Someone in my corner.
She walked with him to
his car, and they kissed good-
night. Her last words to him were,
"
And thanks for not bringing up
...
the sanctuary.
"
Even as she said it, the slow burn on her lips spread through the bones of her cheeks and then to the tips of her ears.
"
I
'
m still too overwhelmed,
"
he said, sounding almost baffled.
"
But don
'
t think it isn
'
t always on my mind.
"
He got in the Porsche and drove off. Helen, still wrapped in the heat of him, went back inside her house. She put the kettle on and waited for it to boil, her mind so filled with concerns that they cancelled one another out and left her catatonic.
On top of all else, she was desperately worried about her aunt, who
'
d seemed listless and out of sorts all week, complaining of the cold despite temperatures in the eighties.
This morning Helen had finally insisted that her aunt go in for tests. Aunt Mary, fearing she
'
d end up under the knife, had refused. Eventually the two women ended up in the still unresolved cataract-operation argument.
It took the shrill whistle of the teakettle to jolt her out of her daze.
Pay attention, jerk!
the teakettle cried.
Make the tea, then see your aunt, then look over the waiting list for The Open Door. And while you
'
re at it, stop brooding over that guy Byrne. You don't have time for him now. Pay attention, jerk!
Helen took a deep breath, then blew it out, then poured the tea. She was walking out the kitchen d
oor with it to go across the hal
l when she noticed, on top of the fridge, the framed wedding photo of Hank and her that usually sat on her bureau.
Putting the teacup aside, Helen went back to the family room, looking for her son. The television was droning but Russ wasn
'
t watching. His nose was buried in a copy of
Hot Rod Magazine.
He didn
'
t look up right away, which gave Helen a chance to look at him and size him up as any stranger would. Motherly bias aside, she was amazed that anyone could look at him and see evil. It simply wasn
'
t there.
She
'
d seen hardened fourteen-year-olds—kids whose emotional lives had been deadened by repeated blows to their bodies or minds—but Russ wasn
'
t one of those children. She studied the boyish lines of his angular, softly freckled face. It was a moody face, a troubled face. But not a hardened face.
"
Hey, kiddo. Are you the one who put the wedding—?
"
She looked around and blinked. A steel-framed photo of Hank in his trooper
'
s uniform sat on top of the television. Another of Hank, her, and the kids in a rowboat at
Lake
Kennebago
had been set on the lamp table next to the blue denim-covered sofa. Another one of Hank with a basketball—this
photo
filched from Becky
'
s room—was sitting on the drop leaf table under the far window. The room had been turned into a regular Hall of Fame for Trooper Henry Evett, husband of Helen Evett and father of two.
She picked up a small, paper-framed high-school graduation photo of Hank that had been placed strategically on the steamer trunk in front of the sofa.
"
I think maybe this one is pushing it a little, honey,
"
she said wryly.
"
Don
'
t you?
"
It had been years since she
'
d seen the photograph. She wondered how Russ had managed to find it, since he often couldn
'
t find the milk carton on the refrigerator shelf.
Russell looked up from his magazine with round green eyes.
"'
S
cu
se me?
"
Helen sat the frame, with its blunted cardboard corners, back on the trunk.
"
I think it
'
s wonderful that you respect and miss your father so much, Russ, but
truly, you don
'
t have to worry. No one could ever take his place; not in the same way.
"
"
Yeah, but what about some other way?
"
Russ retorted. His young face, so naive, so desperately melodramatic, was poised on the verge of tears.
Helen sat back on the rolled arm of one of the easy chairs, trying not to crowd her son with intimacy.
"
It
'
s true that Mr. Byrne and I have started
...
seeing one another. But that doesn
'
t mean that I
'
ve forgotten your father, or that I ever want you to. Why would we do that?
"
she asked simply.
"
When he was such a wonderful person.
"
"
You talk about him as if he
'
s—gone,
"
her son said, setting his full lips in a straight line of resentment.
Helen folded her hands in the lap of her pale-print skirt.
"
Oh, honey, he
is
gone,
"
she said softly.
"
Not the memory of him; not the sound of his voice, or his laugh, or the way he used to guess the questions on
Jeopardy.
But he is gone. And no matter how much we want to change that—no matter how much we want to hug him or arm-wrestle him or shoot a few hoops with him—we can
'
t. We have to hold on to the memories, and talk to him in our thoughts, and concentrate on hearing his voice—which is hard; we have to work at it or we
'
ll forget.
"
With a breathtaking effort, she beat back the sudden image of Hank laid out on a slab—an image that she had managed to keep at bay for several months now—and said,
"
But, Russell, we can
'
t bring him back. Don
'
t you think I would if I could?
"
The tears that Russ had been holding back broke and made a run for it, mortally embarrassing him. He looked down at his magazine, then at the television, then around the room in dismay. His father was everywhere, and yet nowhere.
"
I loved my dad!
"
he said, throwing down the magazine and jumping up.
"
And I
'
m not ashamed if someone knows it!
''
He ran, crying, from the room. Helen picked up the tattered paper-framed photo of her high school lover and held it to her breast.
She had spoken the truth to her son when she said they couldn
'
t bring him back. But for the first time, she under
stood that Hank had never gone away; that no one ever did. In some way, in some form, part of them stayed behind to watch over those they loved. Occasionally their voices were shrill, but often they were faint—in which case it was up to those they loved to listen hard.
Hank,
she said silently,
I love him. A little in the same way I loved you
...
a lot in a different way. Tell me it
'
s all right.
She listened, as she had so many times in the last four years, for the sound of his voice. And now, at last, she heard it: in the st
eady beating of her own heart.
****
Helen stayed up late with schoolwork and, quite amazingly, overslept the next morning, the first of the summer program. She threw on a challis sundress of deep maroon with tiny flowers the color of whe
at, slipped into a pair of low-
heeled shoes, and grabbed a straw hat on her way out with Russell. What the straw hat was for, she had no idea. In the back of her mind was the thought that Nat would be there not only to drop off his daughter, but to pick her up again after school. Maybe they could all go for a walk on the Common.