She Woke Up Married (18 page)

“I’ll buy you a house.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I can’t let you do that. I’m not a kept man, Paris. I can manage.” Turner looked very stern.

Here he was, doing weddings, gathering collection plates at late-night services, paying the food and shelter for three women. What a sweetheart, trying so hard. He’d done a pretty good job so far, and she’d been a completely selfish pig. Paris was seeing herself in a new light today, thanks to Sarah, and it was not pretty.

“This isn’t 1959, Turner. I can damn well buy a house for the two children I’m accidentally bringing into the world. It’s the least I can do. Were you going to ask me for child support? I doubt it. You could use a few lessons from me about being less giving, Turner.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“So maybe I have a lot to make up for, and maybe I’m going to have a bunch of guilt, and this will make it feel better.”

“I have to tell you, my male ego is just not handling this well.”

“So what? Are you man enough to take a gift from a woman?”

“I’m not sure I am.”

“Let’s change the subject. Where were you thinking about living?”

“Some sort of neighborhood situation that would be nice for the kids. Playground, that sort of thing. I’ll have to research the best schools,” Turner said.

“Don’t send them to St. Mary’s, Turner,” she said softly.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go now, Paris, but we’ll talk more about all of this later.” Turner got up and pushed the chair back quickly. It scraped against the linoleum floor.

“I’ll be here,” Paris said. She tried to sound brave.

“I’ll be back about one. Page me if you need me.”

She held up the purple beeper and smiled. “Beep beep.”

Turner all but bolted out the door. Paris smiled to herself. A house. It felt so good that she decided buying that house was a must-do.

She reached the phone without any trouble and called information. She didn’t even know the number for Turner’s apartment, and she wanted to talk to Millie. Millie would just love this. Millie had been so straight up with her. She owed her a big apology.

Turner surveyed the wall of fine leather-bound books in Father Gibbs’s office. A large antique-looking globe stood on a wood-and-brass stand in one corner of the room. A beautiful illumination of Mary hung on the Spanish stucco wall. It looked to be from the Byzantine era. The frame was ornately carved and overlayed in gold.

As he’d entered the school, escorted by Father Gibbs’s secretary, his senses had been filled with the familiar scents and colors of St. Mary’s. As he’d walked in he’d been surrounded with the aroma of candles burning in the sanctuary, the sounds of students not so quietly going from class to class, the bells, and the bustle of nuns moving down the tiled hallways. Some places
just stayed exactly as they always were, and visiting was like stepping back in time.

Actually, much
had
changed. The nuns had modern habits now that looked more like street clothes. The students were still in uniform, but he’d seen some wild hair go by.

Turner shifted in his chair as he heard footsteps.

“Turner Pruitt. I am so happy to see you again.” The priest entered the room.

“Father Gibbs, you look wonderful.” Turner stood and shook the priest’s hand. He meant that, too. Father Gibbs looked only slightly older than he had fifteen years ago. He had on the same clothes Turner always remembered him in—black slacks, black shirt with a clergy collar, his sleeves rolled up, ready to pitch in and work at whatever needed doing.

“I gave up coffee, booze, cigarettes, sugar, and anything else fun, plus I started taking a daily walk about ten years ago. I take handfuls of vitamins, and we put a universal machine in the school gym, so I go up there and work out three times a week. It was a big sacrifice for me, a basically indulgent old man. But I figured, hey, I’m asking everyone else to give up this or that, I should try it myself just in case it actually works. That’s a little Catholic humor there.”

Turner didn’t remember Father Gibbs being this relaxed back in the old days. He laughed and
sat down across from him in the heavy Spanish-style wooden chair. Father Gibbs took up the chair next to him instead of sitting behind the large desk.

“Boy, these things are hard as a rock. I’ll have to have these reupholstered. A little stuffing helps our old bones ache less.”

“I’m with you there. I remember sitting in them, waiting for you to deliver a lecture. They’re even harder when you’re young, Father. So, Father Gibbs, how did you manage to keep this assignment? I know the church usually relocates people every ten years or so,” Turner asked.

“When it was my time to go I guess the nuns and the students made such a big uproar you could hear it all the way to Rome. I was given special dispensation to stay. I am a very lucky man.”

“St. Mary’s is lucky to have you, Father.”

“I hear great things about your work with the chapel, Turner. I’ve kept track of you. I hear your night services are very well attended. God needs people like you out there, my friend. It’s just a shame we didn’t snag you for the priesthood.”

“Sorry about that, Father, my parents were Free Methodists, you know. They just chose St. Mary’s for its educational reputation and the fact I could board here for my senior year and be close to my aunt.”

“You’re forgiven.” Father Gibbs slapped his
knees and laughed. “Are your parents still in the Cook Islands?”

“They are. It’s their home. I miss them terribly. I called there today, as a matter of fact. They sounded wonderful.”

“And what’s this you mentioned in your call about you marrying Patricia Jamison? Or I guess the terror of St. Mary’s is now the famous Paris James. Poor little thing. I’m sure your parents were very surprised.”

“I’d written them about it before, but I had news to tell today. We are expecting twins. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

“My my, twins, is it? Congratulations, Turner. I was most interested to recieve your call, and I spent a great deal of time looking for the records for you. Of course you realize these are private records. But for the life of me I can’t think of why I shouldn’t give them to you after what you’ve told me.”

Father Gibbs looked at Turner with true compassion. “She was a live-in student here, no adoption took place, so there’s no legal issues. It’s purely a matter of whether we feel it is in the best interest of the person involved,” he said.

Father Gibbs got up and went to his desk. He poured a glass of water out of a large pitcher. “Can I get you a glass of water?”

“I’d like that.” Turner felt very anxious to delve into the file he saw sitting on Father
Gibbs’s desk, marked with Paris’s former name. “I think in this case, it is in Paris’s best interest, Father. As I said, she is convinced that she will repeat the same patterns. I’ve tried to get her to see reason, and so has her doctor, but she is shut in a tower of fear and pain. I think the only way out is for her to face the real facts of what occurred when she was a child.”

“I see your logic there. Many times a child’s view has shadows lurking in it, and because they had no one to discuss it with, or weren’t able to put it into words, the shadows just stay in place and grow into monsters until they drag them out into the light as an adult. It’s a painful process, you know.” Father Gibbs handed Turner a cut-crystal glass full of water.

“I know. I’ll be there with her.”

Father Gibbs seemed to be considering his position on the matter. Turner hoped he wouldn’t change his mind. The priest took a long drink of water, then set the glass down next to the pitcher. “And Patricia has not expressed an interest in these records herself?” He sat back down behind his desk this time.

“No, unfortunately. Everything that reminds her of her past she seems to run from. But now my children’s future is at stake. I will do whatever it takes to try and heal this situation. They need their mother, Father.”

“I see your point,” Father Gibbs replied. He
picked up the file and opened it. “This is only going to take you so far, though. You’ll have to get some medical records, and that will be much harder. The mother was originally in South Vista hospital, which was a division of the main hospital in Henderson. She was only there for a short time—two months. Then they transferred her to Harmond. Harmond is a state facility. Are you familiar with it?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Jamison was still in Harmond when the husband died. Patricia was made a ward of the state at that point. St. Mary’s became her legal guardian, and she came to board full time. She had already been attending school here for the previous two years, so it was a natural transition and, we felt, in her best interest, since there were no living relatives.”

Father Gibbs looked up. “We tried very hard to give her love and guidance. Many of the notes in the file were made by Sister Claudia. She took a special interest in Patricia.”

Turner was confused by what Father Gibbs had just said, about the order of things, but he heard the hint of concern in Father Gibbs’s voice and focused on that for the moment. “I have no doubt that St. Mary’s did their very best, Father. Patricia’s problems center around her mother and father as far as I can see.”

“Such a tragic story. We heard from the
mother a year after her release from Harmond. Here is a copy of the letter she wrote, and the legal form in which she relinquished all parental rights. She vanished after that. By that time we’d decided not to try and find adoptive parents for Patricia, since she was already fifteen. Those things sometimes go so badly, and Patricia was a difficult child.”

“What did you say? The mother was released from Harmond? I’m confused. Did she die
after
that?”

“No, she didn’t die. As far as we know she was still living when Patricia graduated. We checked the state records for her current address to update our files. Of course that was fifteen years ago. She could have died since then.” Father Gibbs fingered through the thick file and pulled out one piece of paper. “This lists her in Mill City.”

“In Nevada?” Turner felt a rush of shock hit him. Could Paris’s mother still be alive? “Why didn’t she come for Paris?”

“Here is a copy of her letter. I remember it. She said Patricia would be better off not knowing. That Patricia had suffered enough pain from her parents, and that St. Mary’s had been a good home for her child. Seems like the mother and the daughter do have something in common.”

“Why does Paris think her mother is dead?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I’m guessing Sister
Claudia might have decided it was kinder to tell her that rather than tell Patricia her mother chose never to see her again.”

Father Gibbs took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“The money from her father’s life insurance came to Patricia when she turned eighteen, and, if you remember, she left for New York the day after graduation.”

“Is Sister Claudia still here?” Turner asked.

“No, I’m afraid not. You know Patricia has been very generous with St. Mary’s over the years. We have been very grateful for her donations.”

“Paris donated money to St. Mary’s?”

“Yes, quite a sizable amount.”

Turner still could not believe what he had heard. He took a drink from the glass he was holding and set it down on the coaster protecting the small table beside him.

“And you never told Patricia yourself that her mother was still living?”

“Believe it or not, the subject never came up between us. I’m sorry to say I left the more emotional matters to Sister Claudia. When I was with Patricia we talked about her future plans, her grades, that sort of thing. She seemed so determined to put the past behind her.”

“I understand.” Turner ran his hand over his chin. “Thank you, Father. I’m assuming I can borrow this file?”

“You may keep this. These are all photocopies, except for the letter. I’m giving you the original. I’m entrusting this to you for Patricia. To help her bring the shadows into the light.” Father Gibbs handed the manila folder to Turner.

“I’ll do my very best,” Turner said. He got up from the chair. “My wife has a strong spirit despite all that has happened to her, Father. She just has to believe in herself again.”

“I’ll pray for you. We all will.” Father Gibbs rose and extended his hand to Turner.

“Thank you.”

The priest walked Turner to the carved wooden door of the office. “I’ll let you find your way out,” he said, opening the door.

“I’d like that. It’s good to be here again.”

“Let me know.”

“I will.” Turner headed down the corridor and left Father Gibbs standing by the door. The father looked a bit paler than he had when their conversation had started. The larger consequences of what Turner had uncovered were no doubt running through his mind as well. Turner could hardly comprehend them.

In all his work, in all his study of the psychology of how people deal with life, he’d seen how people repeat patterns, sons following the destructive patterns of their fathers, daughters du
plicating their mothers’ patterns in relationships, women who had been raised in abusive homes marrying abusive mates, unless they learned and grew and broke the hold the past had on them.

But he’d never seen a case like this. Paris was unconsciously repeating the pattern her mother had set. Even without knowing it. Somewhere inside her, Paris was repeating what her mother had set into motion. The mother who was afraid to cause her daughter more pain by being in her life.

His footsteps echoed in the halls. The students must be in the north section having lunch. He could smell something vaguely southwest in flavor.

His heart ached for Paris. How would he tell her? And would the shock somehow endanger the pregnancy? He thought of having a talk with the doctor—could his wife stand up to an emotional shock this big?

But his next stop in this search was going to be the county office. He wanted to check the last city directory and some other records. Her mother might have been alive fifteen years ago, but she might not be now. He better get his facts straight before he made any huge blundering announcement to Paris.

Right now he was going to get back to the hospital and catch Dr. Shapiro. Turner felt like his
mission was much clearer now, but also much more difficult than he’d ever imagined. He was going to need his deepest inner strength to face this development.