Cocoon (8 page)

Seana nodded and smiled, then washed down her bite with diet cola. She'd defiantly bought the cola, remembering how Zoe had accused Barth of controlling her life, even down to what she ate and drank.

Sure, she knew the chemicals in diet drinks were not healthy, according to medical reports. But she didn't want to prove Zoe right by refusing when Zoe had stopped at the hotel drink machine and asked, “Diet cola, Mom?”

Seana had recognized the subtle challenge and it saddened her to no end.

Now, she refused also to comment that Barth had invited Peyton over to their house to spend the weekend. “No need in him being alone,” Barth had insisted.

Peyton had accepted and the two guys had been hunched over fishing gear when Seana had left with Zoe. “I wonder if they've caught enough fish for dinner?” The words slid out before Seana could curb them.

Zoe didn't comment, but she didn't go all rigid like usual. So Seana began to relax. “Barth is a great fisherman, actually. Peyton seems eager to learn some of his tricks. He usually catches a hearty supper's worth.”

Zoe smiled tightly, then glanced at her watch. “Let's catch a movie.”

HBO offered an assortment of shows. They ended up watching a rerun of
E.T.

“Mom, we watched this thing at least a hundred times together. Remember?” Zoe was stretched out on one bed, Seana on the other, propped by a ridiculous number of luxuriously soft pillows.

She smiled at Zoe, feeling a fountainhead of love shoot out the top of her head. “How could I forget?”

Later that evening, they walked to a park, stopping along the way for hot dogs. “Barth wouldn't approve of you eating that, would he?” Zoe asked as they sat munching while listening to crickets chirruping.

Seana went on guard but willed herself to sound casual. “Barth isn't neurotic, Zoe. He's just sensible about eating good foods, is all. He does occasionally enjoy a tasty hot dog.”

Zoe raised her eyebrows then changed the subject. Seana felt hurt begin to fester inside her. A tiny burst, but one that rendered her tired and discouraged.

“Why can't you accept Barth?” Seana asked suddenly.

Zoe's countenance shut down. She shrugged.

“I don't understand. Why do you close up when I talk about him?”

Zoe began to look irritated. “Because you're constantly talking about how marvelous he is – trying to convince me that he's this Mr. Wonderful. Obviously that's the way you see him.” She shook her head, brow furrowed. “I'm sorry, Mother, but there's something about him ….”

Seana had held it in for months now. And it needed to be said. “Remember that first family gathering I brought Barth to, Zoe? He wore his heart on his sleeve that night at your house, trying to be nice. So trusting. And you treated him abominably.”

“I talked to him,” Zoe insisted in her overly calm way. “What did I do wrong? Huh?”

“I know you, Zoe. You were fishing, trying to catch him in a lie. And you got your friend, Connie, involved … asking him questions about a fictional Nova Scotia town, trying to trap him.”

“He did lie.”

“No, he did not lie.” Seana caught herself as her voice began to rise in protest. “He simply said ‘uh-huh' to shut down the third degree. He knew what you were doing. And so did I.”

“Connie smelled a fish, too,” Zoe continued as though Seana hadn't spoken. “Her husband lived near the town where Barth co-pastored that church.” She snorted. “At least we guessed that was where he lived. He never verified the actual town.”

Seana reined in her temper. “I've told you there was a scandal, Zoe. You already know Barth's wife, Betty, ran off with a local policeman, a church member.”

“Why did he leave the church and eventually leave town?”

“Because he was devastated, Zoe. That's a hard thing to survive.”

Zoe looked at her long and hard. “You believe every word he says, don't you?”

“Of course I do. Barth is the most ethical man I know. Doesn't his record as a man of the cloth speak to you at all?”

Zoe huffed softly. “Mom, his
record
speaks poorly, from where I sit. And I don't understand how my mother – the strongest, usually smartest woman I know – allowed this man from nowhere and with nothing to his name except for questionable clergy credentials, into her life and married him after just six months. With no pre-nup, dad blame it! You could have at least protected yourself in that respect. Daddy worked hard to leave you secure and –”

“And that won't change, honey.”

Zoe sighed heavily and shrugged. “There's just something more here than meets the eye , Mother. I don't trust him.”

Seana held her tongue. There
was
more but she wasn't about to place any more ammunition into Zoe's jaded charge.

“I just don't get it,” Zoe added, her brow wrinkled. “How you can be so hysterically happy.”

Seana smiled at that. No, Zoe wouldn't. “Don't judge every marriage by your unhappy one, honey. I respect –”

“This has nothing to do with my marital disaster. I'm sorry but so far I've not found much to like about Barth. He's evasive as a feral fox, and a control freak to boot. He talks nonstop, is a know-it-all, is intrusive, and he whistles and hums all the time, even in church – during a funeral even.” She made a face that almost made Seana smile. She could see where Zoe was coming from. Only thing, Zoe was looking through eyes of disdain. She didn't see the real Barth.

The Barth who was good clear through, who softly whistled to songs he loved and wanted to make sure everyone he knew got the best of nutrition and care. The Barth who innocently walked into a unique Southern culture that made him appear awkward and bumbling. Like a cat in a tinkling crystal shop. But Seana didn't laugh because sadness settled inside her like lead. Mother and daughter grew quiet and, within minutes, headed back to the hotel.

They woke up to rain the next morning. They toured some antique shops and stopped for ice cream cones before deciding to head home.

Seana knew that Zoe felt the same as she did.

There was nothing more to be said. It was a silent, unsettled truce between mother and daughter. Seana reassured herself that it wasn't the end of the world.
She's my daughter and I won't alienate her. She means too much to me.

“I know why families were created with all their imperfections. They humanize you. They are made to make you forget yourself occasionally, so that the beautiful balance of life is not destroyed”

– Anais Nin

T
he week began unusually pleasant. Had Seana had any portent of things to come, she would have stayed in bed, covered her head, and never emerged. But she remained blissfully unaware of what fate had in store.

Winter was definitely over. March winds were kind. “The groundhog didn't see his shadow, huh?” Barth came out on the back deck to join Seana as she sipped coffee and dreamily surveyed the farm's blossoming greenery.

“Nope.” She smiled at him and stretched luxuriously as he placed his own steaming cup beside hers on the patio table and lowered himself into a matching lounge chair. “I smell spring.” She'd put on a sweater to ward off early morning chill, but found that she really hadn't needed it.

“Say,” she said, “I'm going to take that computer course at Tech. Need refreshing. Also need it to help Tim and Sherry at the office.” She rolled her eyes. “I'm growing more clueless by the hour. Peyton and Ashley have to help me now with lots of the more technical computer stuff.”

“When does it start?” Barth reached down to ruffle Brutus's neck.

“This week. Begins Thursday. I've already registered online.”

A sharp whistle pierced the air and Brutus was up and off the deck in an eye's blink.

They both laughed as Brutus joined Billie Jean on her morning run.

“Billie Jean's doing great. She's sprinting like an Olympic runner.” Barth's voice conveyed his awe of the scrappy female fighter.

“Yeh.” Seana sighed contentedly. “She's something else. I've never seen so much courage in my entire life. Never a complaint.”

“An overcomer.” Barth slowly shook his head in awe. “And it's working, her faith and spirit. The cancer's in remission.”

“Thank God. By the way, would you look at this rash on my face and neck, please? It's come back.”

Barth leaned over and peered. “You're going to have to get that checked out,” he insisted. “It's been going on for some time now.”

“I know,” Seana sounded mildly impatient. “It's not bothering me that much. Just makes me look slightly witchy. But, you're right. I'll call Dr. West today for an appointment.”

“Can't be too careful, honey.” He reached over to take her hand in his. “I want my girl to stay healthy.”

“Wealthy and wise,” Seana grinned at him when he looked puzzled. “The rest of the song.”

“Must've missed that one,” he murmured, turned her palm up and kissed her hand thoroughly, giving Seana delicious goose bumps.

Later that afternoon, she called and scheduled an appointment with her dermatologist. “Come on in tomorrow,” the nurse told her. “Since you've been having this problem for so long, we need to see you right away.”

Can't be too careful
. Barth's words rang in her head and she smiled. She loved his caring.

Savored it.

• • •

“Here's a prescription for some prednisone. This should knock it out.” Dr. West wrote with his unique flourish and handed the prescription to Seana.

“So you're not sure what's causing the rash?” Seana tucked the paper in her purse.

“May be an allergy thing. Without tests, it's hard to tell. But no need in being hassled any longer. Let me know if you have any more problems.”

Seana left with a lilt in her step. She took a dose of the medication with her lunch.

“Always safer to take meds on a full stomach,” Barth said as they dined on one of his tasty veggie dishes, a squash and tomato concoction over brown rice, made superb by Barth's spice skills.

“I'll be glad to get this annoyance behind me,” Seana grumbled, then smacked her lips on the food. “You outdid yourself, Barth. I usually don't even like this combination.”

“Just fo-uh you, dahlin',” he drawled in Southernese that pushed Seana's tickle button.

“I know.” She gurgled with laughter. “I bring out the best in you.”

His countenance slid into serious, then warm and affectionate. “That you do, Seana, my love.”

Seana's heart soared.

• • •

Computer classes at Tech went well. Only thing, on the third day, when new software was introduced that Tim's real estate office was implementing, Seana began to feel strange and could not remember things the instructor said.

As the day wore on, she grew more and more disturbed. The words seemed to go in one ear and out the other. There was no pause inside her brain, not even for a second. She left the class distressed.

Panic washed through her like icy rapids.

What was happening to her?

• • •

Barth's mouth dropped open when Seana joined him at the dinner table that evening. Her face seemed to belong on another person. It seemed frozen into a mask of stunned remorse.

“Something's wrong, Barth,” she muttered through tight lips. “Something horrible's happening to me.”

Barth scooted around and took the bar stool next to her. He took her icy hands in his. “What do you think it is?” Her distress was viral. His pulse began to pound in his ears. This is ridiculous, he told himself. Stay calm and reassure Seana.

“I can't remember a thing the teacher said in class today.”

Pull it together, Barth.

Barth sucked in a deep, raw breath and drew Seana into his arms. She was limp as a noodle. “Listen, Babe, you're okay,” he murmured gently. “You hear me? You're
okay.
”

Her head moved slowly from side to side. “No, Barth. I'm not okay.” The lackadaisical words pierced his heart and shot terror clean out his fingers and toes.

“Yes, you are.” He heard the edge in his voice then backpedaled to gentle mode. “A good night's sleep is what you need. After that, you'll feel better. You'll see.”

• • •

Barth slept restlessly, and every time he turned over, Seana's eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling. “You need to relax, darling; there's nothing to fear,” he reminded her each time. “Close your eyes and just – let your mind drift.”

“I can't.” That's all she said. Just “I can't.”

That in itself scared the dickens out of him. Now he knew what that Southern term meant. He was living it. Still … he felt that this was only temporary.

Finally, around 3:30 a.m., he gently nudged Seana over on her side, into a fetal position, then he spooned against her back, wrapping her in his arms and warmth. The night had been dark and desolate. Endless.

At least he could give her solace.

Then, through the floor-to-ceiling window, he watched as daylight swallowed up the darkness and the mountain range grew clear and blue.

And he felt a spurt of hope.

That today, Seana would come back to him.

• • •

But Seana did not come back. Was not, in fact, able to function. She was barely able to go to the bathroom and crawl back in bed. She refused to eat unless Barth spoon-fed her. Then she would turn her head away most of the time.

Barth called Tech and cancelled her lesson for that day, then the next, and finally all of them.

Sunday came and Seana didn't go to church, an unheard of thing as a rule. Barth asked Billie Jean to stay with Seana and he volunteered to teach Seana's kindergarten-age Sunday School class. Easy enough, he decided.

Joanie Knight volunteered to help him. “Sort of a teacher's aide.” She grinned at him, and her periwinkle blue eyes, which matched her top-of-the-knees dress, twinkled as she watched the innocent-faced cherubs enter the classroom.

Barth began to relax. Heck, what could go wrong with such sweet students?

Gaining their attention, after five minutes of getting them all situated in tiny chairs, wasn't too bad. Curiosity won out. They'd not seen this gigantic male before in their little setting. They peered openly at him as he read the Sunday school story of the week, about David and the giant, Goliath.

Barth found himself getting carried away with the drama and began acting out the roles. Only thing, when he got to Goliath, he wasn't sure how to demonstrate the actual murder. One child, little red-haired Harry Woodall, was on his feet in a heartbeat. “I know,” he pealed and ran to the corner toy box. There, he extracted a rubber sword. A long one. “Dis how Da-bid did it,” he lisped, spraying spittle in all directions. He grabbed a feeble looking doll from the box and plopped it on the carpeted floor.

Barth watched, transfixed.

Like a professional golfer, Harry boy grasped the sword handle, shuffled his feet, harnessed energy to his arms, raised the sword, then punched it down with all his might, sending the doll's head flying across the floor, hitting Judy Smith's black patent leather shoe.

“Aaaaiihh,” Judy wailed. “He hurt da baby!” Then the wails turned to earnest sobs, tears big as his thumb dropped off her flushed cheeks. Her dimpled hands shot up to swipe her wet face as she snubbed and renewed her sobs.

“No, no,” Barth crooned rushing to her and dropping to his haunches. “He was only pretending.”

The blue eyes opened, peered tragically at him. “No.” Her blond head swung from side to side in denial, bouncing her curls about frantically. “Hawi
hurt
her. B-bad.”

Her huge snuffling hiccup caught Barth's heart and tugged it mightily. “No, sweetheart. It's not alive. Like you.”

“Aaaiiih.” Wails recommenced as other little faces watched and reflected emotions from curiosity to the beginning of tears.

Harry Woodall had shrunk into a corner chair, guilt written across his freckled face as clearly as the scarlet letter A.

Barth peered helplessly at Joanie, who shrugged mightily, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stood. “Come 'ere, sweetie. Let me show you something.” She took the broken doll, put its head back in the hole and said, “Y' know, I might just have something that will fix this baby up like new by next Sunday. How about that?”

Judy's tears stopped. She nodded, looking hopeful. “You fix it?”

“Sure as shootin'.” Joanie nodded big time. “She'll be good as new.” Then she took the little girl on her lap, winked at Harry, and guided the attention back to the teacher.

Barth was able to finish the story, this time soft-pedaling the sword murder and majoring on the shepherd David's slingshot expertise.

Now, that got their attention.

Even little Judy's.

After class, Barth pulled Joanie aside. “Thanks. You saved my honor.”

Joanie giggled. “Aww. All in a day's class.”

“How're you going to fix the doll?”

Joanie stage-whispered. “I know where they have a dozen of those particular dolls. New, dontcha know?”

Barth's head rolled back in laughter. “You females.”

“What?” Joanie peered at him, speculation glowing.

“You are such glorious, brilliant creations.”

“And don't you forget it,” Joanie trilled over her shoulder as she sashayed down the hall.

• • •

Back at home, Barth found Seana curled up in a fetal position on the sofa, exactly where he'd left her. Her cell phone, lying on the coffee table near her, was loping away with its God Bless the USA melody. Seana stared blankly at the TV screen.

“Aren't you going to answer your phone?” Barth asked, slightly annoyed. He knew she didn't feel well but couldn't understand this apathy.

Seana didn't reply. He snatched up her phone, flipped it open, and barked “Hello?”

A startled silence, then, “Barth, I'd like to speak to my mother.” Zoe's request was cut in cedar.

“Of course.” Barth held the phone out to Seana, whose gaze never wavered from the television screen. She shook her head.

A definite no.

“Ah, look, Zoe. Your mother's not feeling well and –”

“I know she's not.” As in I'm not stupid. “She wasn't at church. Is she awake?” Zoe's tone was definitely up there with royally ticked.

“Yes, she's awake. But she doesn't want to talk to anyone right now.” Barth knew it wasn't sitting well with his stepdaughter. Couldn't blame her. He, too, was frustrated that Seana didn't seem to be trying at all to function.

“Well, I'll be right over. I want to know what's going on with her.” The line went dead.

“Sure thing, Zoe,” Barth muttered to the dead phone, staring at it before clicking it shut.

“Have you had your shower?” he asked Seana, knowing full well she had not because she still wore her nightgown and her hair was a mass of tangles.

“No.” The eyes remained fixed on the screen, yet – Barth was certain she did not really see it. For the past two days, she'd insisted on finding a ball game on one of the sports channels. And she was not, as a rule, a really strong sports fan.

“Well, come on. I'll help you,” he insisted, reaching to help her up.

“No.”

Hands on hips, Barth sighed heavily, gauged his wife's dug-in mien, then tried again. “Seana, you have to bathe.” He tugged at her until she finally let him help her onto her wobbly feet and to the shower.

There, he undressed her and guided her into the stall. He turned the faucet on warm and watched water cascade down her body. She made no move to lather up. Nothing. Just stood planted there like the danged sycamore tree outside their window.

Exasperated, Barth stripped off his own clothes and got in with her. He began to vigorously lather her all over with a nylon scrubby. She frowned at times as if in pain or aggravated and something about her pierced his heart. Vulnerability shimmered over her like an electrical current.

He paused in his ministrations and stared at her, looking into her eyes.