Authors: More Than Memory
Dorothy Garlock (5 page)
She looked up to see Lute studying her. Looking deeply into his eyes, she tried to read the emotions flashing across his features. For a moment she
thought that he was on the verge of tears, but then he was down on his knees, his fingers raking some dead grass away so he could place his bouquet next to the marker.
thought that he was on the verge of tears, but then he was down on his knees, his fingers raking some dead grass away so he could place his bouquet next to the marker.
Through a blur of her own tears Nelda watched his capable movements. She remained standing, the full weight of what was happening holding her in place. She saw the sun glisten off the blond hairs on his forearms, and her gaze traveled down to his hands. The glint of a wedding ring caught her eyes.
Lute had remarried
. A wave of sickness surged through her. She should have expected it. Eight years had given him plenty of time to meet someone and fall in love.
. A wave of sickness surged through her. She should have expected it. Eight years had given him plenty of time to meet someone and fall in love.
Lute! Oh, Lute, with the windblown hair and the sun-browned neck, where did our love go? Do you ever think of that time so long ago, when we couldn’t be near each other without touching, and when our eyes would cling to each other, even across a crowded room? We had to be together every possible minute in those days. I remember. Oh, I remember, my love, my only lover—
Lute stood abruptly and looked down at her, his face shuttered once more. She instantly dropped her gaze to the flowers at her feet.
“You’ll need water for those. I’ll get some.” He pried his hand into the pocket of his jeans, brought out a jackknife, and opened it. “Here. You can cut the stems with this,” he offered, almost gently.
Nelda took the tool from his hand without looking at him and knelt to work on the flowers still lying spread out on the waxy florist paper. Her fingers were
shaking, and she could hardly hold the knife, but she managed to cut the stems. Her mind was still in an eddy of confusion when she finished and bunched the flowers to fit into the vase.
shaking, and she could hardly hold the knife, but she managed to cut the stems. Her mind was still in an eddy of confusion when she finished and bunched the flowers to fit into the vase.
Lute returned and poured a generous amount of water from a coffee can into both the box of blooming marigolds and her vase. Without a word he took the knife from her hand and dug a hole beside the marker for the vase, anchored it securely, then picked up the stem ends she had cut and dropped them in the can.
When he stood, Nelda stood beside him.
“I didn’t remember that you were so tall.”
“I’ve done a lot of growing during the past eight years, both in mind and in body. A man grows up fast when his wife is jerked from his arms ten minutes after they are married. And when she has his child, and he never even gets to see it.”
During this crisp, clipped speech Nelda stood quietly, only her eyes moved, looking quickly away from him and back again.
“Can’t you understand what a strain I was under? I was sixteen and I was sick—”
“You were old enough to have a baby.” He paused, a pained expression crossing his face. “Old enough to sue for a divorce,” he added, his words as brittle as icicles.
“Stop! I’ve had to live for eight years with what my father did. He told me that you wanted nothing more to do with me.” In her frustration she yelled the words.
“You could have found out for yourself. But it’s
over. Over and done with.” He flung the last words over his shoulder and walked rapidly toward the black pickup truck parked in the lane.
over. Over and done with.” He flung the last words over his shoulder and walked rapidly toward the black pickup truck parked in the lane.
“Over for you maybe,” she whispered. “It will never be over for me.”
C
hapter
T
hree
hapter
T
hree
N
ELDA LOOKED DOWN AT THE GRAVE ONE LAST
time before she turned and headed back to her car. She felt as if all the strength had been drained out of her, but she stiffened her back, determined to hold her head up . . . at least until she passed Lute.
ELDA LOOKED DOWN AT THE GRAVE ONE LAST
time before she turned and headed back to her car. She felt as if all the strength had been drained out of her, but she stiffened her back, determined to hold her head up . . . at least until she passed Lute.
Lute put the can into the back of the truck and stood waiting for her to reach him.
“How did you get out here?”
“My car is over there . . . where I thought Becky would be.”
“Get in. I’ll drive you over. You look as if you’re about to melt into a puddle.”
Nelda hesitated, then said, “Thanks.”
By the time she reached the passenger side of the truck, Lute had flung open the door. The step into the cab was high, but she grabbed on to the door handle and pulled herself up. It had been years since she had been in a pickup, and never one as nice as this one, with its red-leather seats and black-rubber floor mats. She thought of the battered old pickup Lute used to drive when they were going together.
They’d driven that old truck to Clausen’s Cove, a remote beach on the lakeshore, and made love for the first time.
They’d driven that old truck to Clausen’s Cove, a remote beach on the lakeshore, and made love for the first time.
Nelda rushed into speech, not wanting to remember.
“Is your mother well?”
“Fine.”
“My father’s married for the third time. He divorced his second wife. She was all right. She’s the one who helped me leave Virginia and bring Becky back here to Grandma’s.”
“I was aboard ship when I got word about your grandparents. I liked them both. They were decent folk.”
“They liked you, too.”
“Is that your car?”
“Yes. Oh, my goodness. I forgot about Kelly! I bet he’s dying for a drink of water.”
Disregarding Lute’s quizzical glance, Nelda popped out of the truck and hurried to her car.
“I’m sorry, boy. I forgot it would be so hot in there.”
Kelly shot out the door the minute it was opened and put his nose to the ground to explore the vicinity.
Nelda heard the truck door slam, then saw Lute getting the coffee can from the back.
“Come on, boy,” he called. “Let’s get you a drink.”
Kelly happily bounded after Lute across the lawn to the water hydrant and waited patiently for the can to fill. He lapped the water greedily.
Nelda watched them, hardly believing that it was Lute who was there with her dog. Lute. In all her dreams she had never imagined that he was anything but an older version of that thin, blue-eyed boy with the shy smile. Discovering that he was now a virile, rugged, terribly handsome man sent her already confused senses into a reeling revolution.
When the pair returned, Lute dropped the can back into the truck and stood staring at her, looking as though he were about to speak.
What could he say to the sophisticated career woman who had barged into his life again? Suddenly he felt uncomfortable at having just taken over—driving her back to her car, tending to her dog. He was angry with himself for rehashing the past. Enough talk! He turned and got into the cab, immediately starting the engine.
“Thanks,” Nelda said, just as the truck began to move.
Lute raised his hand in a salute and drove on down the lane toward the gate. He had not expected their first meeting would be at the cemetery. Seeing her had been like a blow to his gut.
Hutchinson had told him about her success in Chicago, that she had not remarried. He had said that she was coming back for a while and would decide then if she was going to sell the farm. Lute had not been prepared for the fact that she was no longer the slender, shy girl whose eyes seemed too large for her face. She had been so timid back then and so starved for affection that it had invoked a protectiveness in him the first time he saw her. Just a kid himself, he
had wanted to put her in his pocket and take care of her. Instead, he had let his passion get the better of him and had ended up leading her into trouble they were both too young to handle.
had wanted to put her in his pocket and take care of her. Instead, he had let his passion get the better of him and had ended up leading her into trouble they were both too young to handle.
She had the rounded figure of a mature woman now. He remembered the first time he had touched her breasts. They had been the small breasts of a fifteen-year-old, scarcely a handful. Their lovemaking had been so sweet, so all-consuming, so beautiful. But all that had been a lifetime ago. He had just had his twenty-seventh birthday. Nelda would be almost twenty-five. Hard knocks had made her stronger. She was no longer that timid girl.
All the old hurt had come bubbling up when he saw her. He had come down on her pretty hard. In a way he understood why she had acted as she had. A lifetime of being intimidated by that arrogant bastard had beaten her down . . . and she had been just a kid.
That’s all water over the dam, he told himself as he turned into the driveway of his farm home. Still, he hadn’t been prepared for losing all his brainpower when he looked down on that mop of curly hair and realized it was . . .
her
.
her
.
Lord, how he had loved that girl. She had been like food and water to him. When her father had shoved him out the door that day, he had cried all the way to their favorite picnic spot at Clausen’s Cove and had sat there in his old pickup for hours. Finally, he had gone home to tell his worried mother that he had decided to join the Navy.
The service had been good for him. He had grown
up, learned that there are all kinds of people in the world: some good, some bad, and some arrogant sons of bitches like Captain Hansen, although Lute had not met one to compare with him.
up, learned that there are all kinds of people in the world: some good, some bad, and some arrogant sons of bitches like Captain Hansen, although Lute had not met one to compare with him.
When his four-year enlistment was up, Lute had come back to bury his father and to farm the land that had been in his family for many years. He sponsored a 4-H chapter, enjoying mentoring kids who would someday be farmers. He had refereed a few basketball games, was active in the Lions Club, had his horses, his bike, and a few close friends. He had been fairly content with his life . . . until now.
• • •
Nelda watched until the black truck passed between the stone pillars, then got into her car and called to Kelly. The dog was reluctant to come, and she had to call several times. Finally, he jumped into the car and she closed the door.
Automatically she put the car into gear and drove out of the cemetery. She followed the county blacktop to the graveled road leading to the farm and turned in at a rusty tin sign that proclaimed:
4
-
H MEMBER LIVES HERE
.
4
-
H MEMBER LIVES HERE
.
“We’ll have to do something about that sign, Kelly,” she observed tiredly, fondling the dog’s ears. “We’ll have to put up one that says:
POOPED INTERIOR DESIGNER AND HOUND DOG LIVE HERE
.” The setter nuzzled her arm and made a swipe at her face with a wet tongue.
POOPED INTERIOR DESIGNER AND HOUND DOG LIVE HERE
.” The setter nuzzled her arm and made a swipe at her face with a wet tongue.
Not until she had parked the car behind the farmhouse and turned off the motor did she remember the list she had made that morning. Kelly’s eyes were
fixed on the lilac bushes, and he was whining to get out.
fixed on the lilac bushes, and he was whining to get out.
“Okay, fella. We’ll go into town after lunch.”
Nelda stood on the back porch steps and watched the dog, his tail wagging, his nose to the ground. He ran around the side of the house, then back, chasing a squirrel until it ran up the oak tree. He continued to bark at it as it scampered high into the branches. At least her dog was happy, Nelda thought with a touch of self-pity.
She picked up an apple on her way through the kitchen to the front porch. She sank down in the wicker rocking chair and looked out across the lane to the field of tall corn. All her attempts to put Lute from her mind were futile. She kept seeing the ring on his finger.
I never had a wedding ring
. She wondered what type of woman he had chosen for his wife and if he had bought her a plain gold band to match the one he wore?
I never had a wedding ring
. She wondered what type of woman he had chosen for his wife and if he had bought her a plain gold band to match the one he wore?
Why did it hurt after all these years to picture him with someone else? She had thought of him off and on over the years, not continually, because she had become resigned to the break between them. But not a day had passed that she wasn’t reminded that she had given birth to his daughter. A child playing in the street, an advertisement in a magazine, or a program on television always pulled that memory sharply into focus.
For a long time the pain of remembering Becky had been powerful enough to double her over, but gradually she was able to recall the pleasures of
motherhood as well. She sometimes wondered if she’d ever experience those joys again.
motherhood as well. She sometimes wondered if she’d ever experience those joys again.
After she was told that Lute was eager to be rid of her, she had tried to close her mind to him, to pick up the threads of her life, and, by keeping busy, to hold thoughts of him at bay. She had managed quite well at first. She had the baby to occupy her thoughts, then school, and finally her career. Now the magic, the inexplicable magnetism of him, was drawing at her. Contentment would be impossible now if she stayed here.
She’d always felt that she would see him again . . . someday. But now, on her second day back, he had come barreling into her life again, blasting all her cool philosophizing.
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