Things Remembered (26 page)

He stepped from the warm Jeep into the coldest night of the year so far—at least according to the radio station he'd been listening to on the way home. He was ready for winter. His and Cindy's skis were waxed, adjusted, and ready to go, propane and wood had been delivered to the cabin, the leak on the roof had been—

The shadow on the porch moved. “What the hell?”

“I'm sorry, I thought you saw me.”

“Karla?” He took a closer look. His heart slammed against his ribs in a sudden surge of fear. “What are you doing out here in the dark? And where's your car?”

“I walked.” She was curled into herself, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her shoulders rounded.

A dozen questions hit at once, but instead of asking them, Mark took off his coat, wrapped it around her, and opened the door. He led her to the gas fireplace and flipped the switch.

“What's this all about, Karla? You decided to go for a stroll and just happened to wind up here?” The fear became a cold hand pressed to his spine. She knew he was at Susan's. If she'd wanted to see him, she would have looked there.

“Kinda.”

Her ears and the tip of her nose were bright red. He cupped her face in his hands, warming her cheeks with his palms and wrapping his fingers over her ears. “Where were you really going?”

“Nowhere. I was just walking.”

There was only one thing he could think of that would put her in this state. “Is Anna all right?”

She nodded.

“Then I don't understand.”

She came forward, laying her head on his shoulder and tucking her face into his neck. “You know how in every family there's one person who sets the rules, and fields the problems—the responsible one whose existence allows everyone else the freedom to be irresponsible?”

“Yes.” In his family it had been his sister. He'd always felt a little sorry for her even though she'd fought hard to win the role over their brother.

“I've always taken the responsible role in our family, whether I needed to or not. I'm tired of the role. I want to stop but I don't know how.”

Once acquired, the position was almost impossible to abdicate. “Not everything today turned out as planned, I take it.”

“As far as Anna's concerned, everything turned out perfect. We had exactly the Thanksgiving she wanted us to have, from the four of us in the kitchen preparing the meal to me making the pies.” She tapped his shoulder with her fist. “I should be happy, since she's the only one who counts in all of this.”

“There you go, acting responsible again.” He pulled her tighter into his arms. She belonged there. He was convinced of it. Now if he could just get her to see it, too.

“I came here to talk to you,” she said. “But I want you to know things without my having to tell you.” She looked up at him. “Does that make any sense at all?”

“Is it anything like me wanting you to know how I feel about Linda breaking her promise to Cindy to take her to see Santa Claus but not wanting to say the words?”

“How do you do that? How do you understand these things when no one else does?”

“It isn't me, Karla, it's us. Remember when I told you we're like puzzle pieces? We connected from the beginning. From the moment Susan introduced us, I had the feeling I'd always known you, that we simply needed to catch up on a few things to get back to where we once were.” The fan came on. He removed his jacket from her shoulders and tossed it on the sofa.

“I don't believe in psychic connections, or karma, or any of that stuff, any more than I believe in love at first sight.” She was lying. If she hadn't felt a connection, why would she tell him things she told no one else?

“Too pragmatic?”

“I guess.” She left his arms to stand closer to the fireplace. “Although I prefer to think of myself as a realist.”

He smiled knowingly. “That way, whenever something bad happens you can always convince yourself you were expecting it all along.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“A lot. But we'll save it for another time.”

They might be connected, but they couldn't be more different. Mark blithely assumed there would be another time, while Karla was convinced there wouldn't be. A thought abruptly stuck. “Where's Cindy? Why isn't she with you?”

“She and Bobby are in the middle of a movie. I came back to take care of the animals. Which I'd better do before they start looking for another home.” He started to leave, then turned, his eyes alive with discovery. “See what I mean? I knew there was a reason I had to come back to the house. I assumed it was Blue and the cats, but they could have waited. They were just an excuse to get me here.”

He spoke with a quiet belief that she didn't try to counter. If nothing else, she liked that he wanted to believe they were connected. “I have to admit, I'm glad you didn't wait for the end of the movie. It's a long walk back, and I don't think I could have lasted outside much longer.” She could have added how much she needed to be with him tonight, but the words frightened her.

“Do you want me to get you something hot to drink while I'm in the kitchen?”

She shook her head. “I'm doing better now.”

When he came back she was curled in the corner of the sofa, her shoes on the floor, Anna's jacket on her lap, her feet tucked under her legs. “I hope you don't mind.”

“What?”

“That I've made myself at home, that I've intruded on your Thanksgiving, that I'm about to dump even more of my problems on you.”

He sat at the other end of the sofa and reached for her feet, holding them between his hands to warm them. “Dump away. I'm ready for anything you want to send in my direction.”

By the time she finished telling him about Grace, her feet were warm and she was snuggled into his side, where she'd wanted to be all along. “I can't stand knowing she's been sitting around waiting for Anna to die. If Anna ever found out—I don't want to think what it would do to her.”

“Anna's a pretty sharp old gal. I'll bet she knows more than you think she does. Have you considered talking to her about Grace?”

“I couldn't.” She found a snag in his sweater and absently began working on it until it was gone, taking pleasure in doing something for him, wishing it could be more. He'd exposed a domestic side to her she'd tried to deny existed. Something else she would have to deal with when she went home and was alone again.

“Then it will become a secret, and I don't know one secret that didn't wind up hurting someone in the end. I'm not saying you have to give Anna all the details, just enough to keep her from wondering why Grace isn't coming back.”

“Were there secrets between you and Linda?”

“Lots of them—hers, not mine. She had a need for a private life away from ours. I have no idea where the need came from or what it included, only that it crippled our marriage when it spilled over into areas of trust. I didn't like the people she saw or brought home, but I looked the other way until I found them using drugs with Cindy in the house.”

“Linda's an addict?”

“She's a free spirit. At least that's how she explains herself. If she's held to the same pedestrian standards as the rest of us her talent will stagnate and she will never fulfill the promise of her God-given gift.”

“I've heard that speech from Grace. Or at least one close to it. I thought it was the artists who were supposed to suffer for their art, not everyone around them.”

He touched his lips to the top of her head and softly asked, “Are you suffering?”

She thought about his question. “I'm confused. I've always seen Grace the way I wanted to see her. And I'm just beginning to realize that I didn't help her because I'm such a kindhearted person, I did it because it made me feel needed. Now that she really needs me, I told her it's time she took care of herself. She doesn't know where to begin. No wonder she's angry.”

“You're doing the right thing, but she's going to be a long time thanking you for it.”

“I don't care about being thanked. I'd settle for having her speak to me again before I die.”

“How is her relationship with Heather?”

“All right, I guess. I don't really know.”

“Will Grace go to her for help?”

“She might, but she'd have to be pretty desperate. Heather isn't as easy to manipulate as I've been and she doesn't hesitate telling Grace what she thinks.” Karla sat up reluctantly. She didn't want to leave him. “I should get back. I didn't tell anyone where I was going and I've been gone a long time.”

“Do you want to call first?” He stood and offered his hand.

She shook her head. “I don't want to try to explain over the phone.” Standing next to him she saw another snag, this time in the sleeve. She fought an urge to fix it for him. “Thanks for listening, for being here.” She smiled. “For paying attention to the voice that told you to come home to feed the cats. I owe you. If there's ever anything I can—”

“There is. Come with me tomorrow. I'm delivering the setter to his new home in Grass Valley and Cindy decided she'd rather go to a friend's birthday party than come with me.”

“I don't know, Mark. . . . I promised Heather I'd go through some boxes we found out in the garage.”
If there's ever anything I can do for you?
Did she mean it, or didn't she? “What time?”

“I told Tony I'd be there by noon.”

They could be up and back in a couple of hours. “I'd love to go.”

Grace's car was gone when Karla got back to Anna's. She thanked Mark again, kissed him and said good night, then went inside, hoping Heather was still up and they could talk. Instead, she found Anna dressed in her old bathrobe, sitting alone in the living room, a book by her side.

“Come in,” Anna said softly. “I've been waiting for you.”

Karla took off Anna's jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. “Where is everyone?”

“In bed—except for Grace, of course. She left about an hour ago.”

The look on Anna's face told Karla it was useless to act surprised. “What excuse did she give?”

“An early-morning audition.”

“I didn't expect her to hang around long. With all the excitement she has in her life in L.A., we must be a pretty boring group by comparison.” Karla sat next to Anna on the sofa. She felt emotionally and physically drained, her mind too filled with questions of her own to successfully field them from Anna.

“I've been sitting here thinking about all the mistakes I made with you girls, and I'm afraid I've gotten myself in a melancholy mood. So bear with me.” She gave Karla a quick, self-effacing smile. “It's not something I expect you to do anything about—you couldn't if you tried—it's only background.”

The profound sorrow in Anna's voice was like a hand squeezing Karla's heart. She wanted to take the sadness onto herself, but didn't know how. Heather could heal with touch, Grace with openness and humor; Karla simply sat there and waited for Anna to go on.

“There isn't any money. There never has been. When you and your sisters came to me, it was with broken hearts and half-empty suitcases. We lived on your grandfather's pension and my Social Security. I put every dime of you girls' Social Security into the bank for college. Even that and your grandfather's insurance money wasn't enough, which was why I sold the house. But then we talked about that before.”

“Why are you telling me this?” She had a sinking feeling she already knew, but couldn't let go of the small sliver of hope that she was wrong.

“I was in the garage when you were talking to Grace. I heard everything.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I should have told you how I managed a long time ago. You had a right to know why there wasn't money for your high school graduation trip and why your clothes came from thrift stores.”

“Why didn't you tell us about this then? You had to have a reason.”

“You'd already had so much taken away from you, I didn't want to take your father's family, too. I knew I could never tell you how that money disappeared without letting you see how angry it made me. I hated those people, and I've always blamed them for stealing whatever chance you and I might have had to work things out between us.”

Anna twisted the tie to her robe around her finger over and over again as she talked. “If I'd thought for a minute any of what they did was planned, I would have gone after them to recover the money for you. But they're stupid people who never had their hands on more than a hundred dollars at a time, and they had no idea what to do with that money when it came to them. They don't deserve you, but they're your family, too. I never tried to stop them from being a part of your life when you moved here, and I never understood why they didn't try harder to keep in touch.”

The loyalty was all on Anna's side. Karla had attempted to reestablish contact with her father's family when she went away to college. Only her grandmother had responded, and that was to tell Karla how financially strapped they all were, that there was no way any of the Beckers could help her or her sisters with their college expenses, then or in the future. Karla wrote back to tell her she didn't want or expect money from them. She never received an answer.

She'd driven past her grandparents' house when she went to visit her parents' graves, more out of curiosity than longing. Their home was smaller than she'd remembered, and in a poorer part of town. The pickup truck in the driveway had rusted fenders and a gun rack; a chain-link compound in the backyard held three barking dogs. Plainly they hadn't used the insurance money to better their lives in any substantial way. More likely, whatever they kept for themselves had simply slipped through their fingers in a rush of foolish spending.