Bygones (8 page)
“Have you and Lisa been comparing notes, or what?”
“Maybe.”
Bess laughed. “Why you two devils. If you think this wedding is going to get me back together with Michael, you’re wrong.”
Stella asked, “How does he look?
As handsome as ever?”
“Moth-
er
!”
Bess looked exasperated.
“It’ll never happen.”
Stella put on a smug expression and said, “How do you know? Stranger things have.”
That same Sunday morning Michael Curran awakened, stretched, and stacked his hands behind his head, loath to stir and rise. His bedroom vas huge, with sliding glass doors facing the
The
sun, reflecting off the frozen lake, made a nebula of light patterns on the ceiling. The building was absolutely silent; it was designed to be. No children were allowed, and most of the wealthy residents had gone south for the winter, so he rarely crossed paths with anyone, even in the elevator.
It was lonely.
He thought about last night-about his encounter with Randy.
The impact of seeing him came back afresh, bringing a replay of convoluted emotions: love, hope, disappointment, and a feeling of failure that made his chest feel heavy.
How it hurt, being disowned by one’s own child.
That boy - that man was his son. His son, whose last six vital growing years had been lost to Michael, largely against his
choice
. If Bess had encouraged it, if Randy had not been brainwashed, Michael would have been seeing Randy all along. Instead, Michael had been excluded from everything, even Randy’s high school graduation. “He doesn’t want you there,” Bess had said.
Why hadn’t Bess seen to it that the kid went to college? After the way she had fought to complete her own education, he’d have thought she’d take a strong stand on the issue with her own kids. Maybe she had, and it simply hadn’t worked.
Bess.
Boy-oh-boy, how she’d changed.
When she’d walked into that room last night, he’d actually felt a charge. It was crazy, but in spite of the way she distanced herself from him, he’d bet any money that she felt it, too, at times.
As he lay in his unfurnished condominium, recollections of their beginnings played back through his mind-when Bess was in high school, and he, already a sophomore at the
And now it was January 1990, and he was rolling off his mattresses in an empty condo.
Forget it, Curran. She doesn’t want you, you don’t really want her, and your own kid treats you like a leper. That ought to tell you something. He shined to the bathroom, brushed his teeth,
then
went to the kitchen. His entire pantry stock stood on an island in the middle of the room.
Instant coffee, a box of Grape Nuts, a loaf of bread, ajar of peanut butter.
He stood awhile staring at the collection, then poured some cereal into a white plastic deli-food container, covered it with milk from the otherwise empty refrigerator, took a plastic spoon, and returned to his mattresses, where he propped his pillows against the wall, turned on the television, and sat down to eat.
He wasn’t up to either evangelists or cartons, however, and found his mind returning to the perplexing string ball of family relationships he was trying to
unlmot
. He felt lonely, and hurting some, and wondering where to go next in his life. How to be a father to .randy, and how to make it through this wedding, and what to make of these nostalgic thoughts he’d been having about Bess, and even what to think about being a grandfather.
He showered, shaved, and dressed, then tried working awhile at his desk, in one of the other two bedrooms, but the silence and emptiness were so depressing he had to get out.
He decided to go shopping for some furniture. He sure needed it, and at least in the stores there’d be people.
He went to Dayton’s Home Store on Highway 36, thinking he’d simply pick living-room furniture and have it delivered, but discovered that just about everything would have to be ordered and would take six weeks to six months to arrive. Furthermore, he had no idea what he wanted or what would look good in his condo.
It was twilight when he headed home, a melancholy time of day. He parked in the underground garage. Taking the elevator up, the idea hit him. You need a decorator, Curran.
He knew one, too-knew a damned good one.
Course, this could be just an excuse to call her.
And fat chance she’d believe he really needed his place furnished; she’d think he was nosing around for something else, and he’d look like a jerk.
It took him until
to work up the courage to dial his old number. Bess answered on the third ring.
“Hi, Bess.
It’s Michael.”
A long silence passed before she said, “Well
. .
“Michael.”
“It was a nice supper last night.”
“Yes, it was.”
The ensuing silence became awkward. “So how’s Randy today?”
“I haven’t seen much of him. We went to church, and he left right afterwards to watch the game with his friend.”
“Did he say anything about last night-about us?”
“Yes, he did, as a matter of fact. He said he hoped you wouldn’t make a fool out of me again. Listen, Michael, is there something in particular you wanted? I brought some work home to do this evening, and I’d like to get back to it.”
“I thought you wanted us to be civil to each other for the kids’ sake. I’m malting the effort to call you, and you start slinging insults!”
“You asked me what Randy said, and I told you!”
“All right . . . .” He calmed himself.
“Let’s just forget it. I’m sorry I asked about him, and besides, I called for something else.”
“What?”
“I want to hire you to decorate my condo.”
She paused a beat,
then
burst out laughing. “You want to hire me to decorate your condo?”
His mouth got tight. “Yes, I do. I need a decorator. Do you want the job or not?”
“First of all, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not a decorator, I’m an interior designer. I’m a
“All right, I won’t make that mistake again. Madame Interior Designer, would you care to design the interior of my condo?”
“I’m no fool, Michael. I’m a businesswoman. I’ll be happy to set up a house call. There’s a one-time forty-dollar trip charge for that, which I’ll apply to the cost of any furniture you might order.”
“I think I can handle that.”
“Very well.
I have next Friday morning
open
at nine.”
“That sounds fine.”
“Just so you’ll know, the house call is primarily a question-and-answer period so that I can get to know your tastes, budget,
life
-style-things like that. We’ll just talk, and I’ll take notes.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you how to get here.”
“I already know.”
“You do?”
“Randy pointed it out to me.”
“Oh.” For a moment he’d flattered himself thinking she’d taken the trouble to look it up. “There’s a security system, so just call up from the lobby.”
“I will. Good-bye, Michael.”
This good-bye... Michael sat scowling. “Whoa Madame
business
woman” he said aloud. This is probably a mistake, he thought.
Chapter Six
The following evening Lisa went home to
Stillwater
to try on her mother’s wedding dress.
She carried it up from-the basement to her old room for the fitting. .
Bess stood behind Lisa and forced twenty satin loops around twenty pearl buttons, up the back of the dress, while Lisa studied the results in the dresser mirror. “It’s going to fit,” Lisa said.
The dress had a beaded stand-up collar above a V-shaped lace bodice, elbow-length pouf sleeves, and a full satin skirt and train trimmed with beads and sequins. “It’s beautiful, Mom.”
Without warning, Lisa spun from the mirror and headed for the door. “Be right back!” she called as she disappeared.
She thumped downstairs,
then
returned, dropping to the bed with a photo album on her lap. It was Bess and Michael’s wedding album. “I want to see how you looked in the dress.”
“You want to see things the way they used to be, but that part of our lives is over.”
“Oh, look.” Lisa had opened the album.
There were Michael and Bess, close up, her bouquet and her veil forming an aureole around them.
“
Gol
, Mom, you were just beautiful. And Dad . . . Wow, look at him.”
The photo caught at Bess’s heart. She sat down beside her daughter and searched for a balanced response. Allowing Lisa to believe that there was a chance of reconciliation was sheer folly. “Lisa, dear, your dad and I had some wonderful years. And I wish we could have made a happier ending for you, but it didn’t work out that way. Your dad and I aren’t getting back together.”
“
I’WEHave
, what are you going to do? Marry Keith? He’s such a dork.”
“...Who said anything about marrying anybody? I’m happy as I am. I’m healthy, the business is going good, and I have you and Randy.”
“Mom, just promise me one thing. If Dad asks you out or something, you won’t get all ticked off at him, will you? Because I think he’s going to do it. I saw how he looked at you the other night while you two were sitting at your end of the table.”
“Lisa- “
“Dad is one of the truly excellent men around, you know.”
“I’m not going to talk about it, and I wish you wouldn’t.”
Lisa left soon thereafter, taking the dress along with her to drop off at tile dry cleaner’s.
After seeing her out, Bess returned to Lisa’s old room to turn out the light. There on the bed lay the wedding album, bound in white leather and stamped in gold: BESS and MICHAEL CURRAN, JUNE @
.,
1968.
She sat beside the album and slowly flipped its pages, feeling nostalgic. Then she closed the book and fell back on the bed.
This is silly. I have tears in my eyes and a pain in my heart that wasn’t there before I entered this room. I’ve let Lisa put ideas into my head that are based on nothing but her sentimentality. Whatever she thought she detected between Michael and me the other night was strictly her imagination.
She reached out to touch the wedding album.
Or was it?
On Friday morning Bess put on a wool crepe dress in squash gold with a tucked waist.
She arrived in
White Bear Lake
with five minutes to spare. Approaching Michael’s condominium in broad daylight, she was doubly impressed. The driveway led through grounds dotted with oaks. The building was V-shaped and sprawling, of white brick studded with royal-blue awnings. It had balconies, brass carriage lanterns, and a lot of glass. And it had the lake.
Inside, Bess used the security phone to ring Michael. “I’ll be right down,” he answered.
She heard the elevator hum before its doors split soundlessly and Michael stepped out, wearing gray-black pleated trousers with needle-fine stripes, a teal polo shirt with its collar turned up,.
and
a double-breasted white sweater. “Thanks for coming, Bess,” he said, holding the elevator doors open. They arrived at an upper level. He waved her ahead of him into a door that stood open.
She wasn’t three feet inside before exhilaration struck. Space! Enough space to make a designer drool! The entry hall was as wide as most bedrooms and held a large, contemporary smoked-glass chandelier.
Michael took her coat, hung it behind a louvered door, and turned back to her. “Well, this is it.”
There were two doorways to their right. “These are guest bedrooms,” he said. One was empty; the other held a drafting table and chair. Bess, carrying a clipboard, measuring tape, and pen, glanced over the rooms as she followed Michael.
Ahead of them the foyer widened out into an octagonal space, in the center of which hung a second, matching chandelier. This space appeared to be the hub of the apartment, created of four walls and four doorways. “The architect calls this a gallery,” Michael said.