Stitches in Time (31 page)

“I probably would.” He added awkwardly, “I never knew that, Kara. I'm sorry. Lucky you found somebody like Mark, you deserve the best.”

Kara's face was unreadable. “Play on,” she ordered, gesturing at the answering machine.

The final message infuriated Adam and roused the mirth of the two women. It was from someone calling herself Starflower or Stargazer—she mumbled—and informing Adam that she had forgiven him for what he had done and for what he might do. She was praying for him.

“One of the Wiccas?” Kara inquired, trying to control her voice. “What are you so mad about, Adam? It's a kindly thought.”

“Wicca is the name of the—the thing, the religion, whatever,” Adam muttered. “She's the high priestess. Dammit, she's got no business praying at me!”

“Better than the alternative. Maybe we ought to consult them. A little white magic could be just what we need.”

“Ha ha,” Adam said.

“You're losing your sense of humor, Adam.” Kara sighed. “Mine is fading too. I think I'll hit the sack. I'd better call Cherry first, though, she expects to hear from me.”

“I wondered why she hadn't called lately,” Rachel said. “What did you tell her?”

“To leave you alone because you were busy.”

“You were right about that. Tell her everything is…Can you bring yourself to say fine?”

“I can bring myself to say almost anything if it will have the desired effect.” She picked up the phone.

The conversation took some time. Cheryl wanted to know how the sale had gone, what they had sold, who had bought what, how the dogs were doing, how the cats were doing, what they were eating, what the weather was like. Rachel was able to deduce the questions from Kara's answers. Kara's contributions were brief and conventional: how is everybody, are you having a good time, love to Tony and the kids. Then, at Cheryl's request, she handed the phone to Rachel.

“I won't talk long, I know you're busy,” Cheryl said. “Kara says you've been working night and day on your thesis.”

“Uh—”

“Don't work too hard.” Cheryl's rich, friendly chuckle echoed along the line. “From what I hear, you have something nice to distract you. I'm real happy about it, Rachel. He's a sweet guy. Tony says I shouldn't worry about the burglar because he's probably split, but I would worry if I didn't know Adam was…Well, I promised I wouldn't say anything but I just had to tell you how happy I am about it. Gotta run, it's past Jerry's bedtime and he's driving his grandma crazy asking questions.”

Hanging up the phone, Rachel turned an accusing eye on Kara.

“What did you tell her about me and Adam?”

“I had to think of something to keep her from bugging you,” Kara said calmly. “Cheryl is a saint, but she wouldn't consider a little old doctoral dissertation sufficient reason for noninterference. A hot romance, on the other hand…”

“It's not very hot,” Adam said in an aggrieved voice. “In fact, it's not a romance. Despite my best efforts.”

“Really?” Kara was surprised and amused. “I must say you've been very discreet. I haven't noticed any efforts at all. I invented that to distract Cheryl.”

“He's not serious,” Rachel said.

“Oh, yes, I am. I'm just too much of a little gent to force unwelcome attentions on a lady.” His voice was light but the level hazel eyes held no amusement. “Especially when she's being hassled by two other guys.”

They dropped the subject by mutual if unspoken consent. Kara finished her drink and, took Alexander out for his final run, or stagger, around the yard. Adam nobly offered to take the dog, but Alexander made it clear he did not approve of that arrangement. When Kara came back she was shivering, despite the folds of mink that swathed her and the dog.

“Cold?” Adam asked.

“Definitely a three dog night. If Pat calls, tell him…Tell him whatever you like. See you in the morning.”

She and Alexander were sleeping in the room Tony had occupied. Rachel followed her; she didn't want to be alone with Adam just now, he'd be full of questions she didn't know how to answer, and there was something she wanted to discuss with Kara.

Opening the bedroom door and turning on the light for Kara, whose arms were full of dog, she said, “Did you search this room?”

“Should I?” Kara put the dog on the bed and took off her coat.

Rachel didn't answer.

“I had a quick look around,” Kara said. “Changed the sheets, made sure there was nothing Alexander could knock over. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Not about that. I wanted…But you're tired.”

“Not that tired. Sit down.” She began to undress, moving quickly because the room was cold but undeterred by
Rachel's presence. Stripped, she was heavier than Rachel had realized, with a perceptible layer of fat under her firm skin. Like a Greek Venus, Rachel thought, a sturdy healthy Venus like the one from Milo. Standards of beauty differed from age to age and culture to culture, and, as Kara would probably put it, standards were a lot of b.s. anyhow.

“What do you want to talk about?” Kara asked, pulling a thick flannel nightgown over her head.

“Adam.”

“He hasn't bothered you, has he?”

“Not in the way you mean. It's just that I know so little about him. And I think I should know—not out of idle curiosity, but so I can avoid saying or doing the wrong thing. Why did he get so uptight when we talked about praying?”

Kara climbed into bed and propped herself up with a couple of pillows. There was an odd expression on her face. “He didn't tell you about himself?”

“No.” She had never given him the chance—indicated interest, asked a friendly question. Uncomfortably Rachel added, “Somebody, I forget who, mentioned that he's an orphan.”

“Since his father died, two years ago. Adam hadn't seen him since he was seventeen. He didn't even go to the funeral.” Kara hesitated for a moment and then shrugged. “I got this from Pat, Adam has never discussed it with me. But you're right, you should know, if only to avoid hurting him inadvertently. The old man was one of those self-appointed ministers of the Lord—no congregation, no formal affiliation, he just wandered around fulminating at anybody who'd sit still long enough to listen to him. Funny, isn't it, how some people who interpret the Bible literally concentrate on the Old Testament instead of the teachings of Christ? ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,' not ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself.' ‘If thy right hand
offend thee, cut it off,' not ‘Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone.' It's no wonder Adam hates prayer. He grew up connecting it with a belt across his backside.”

“His father beat him?”

“Him and his mother. Didn't you know that's one way to cast out demons? Maybe we ought to try it on the quilt.” Kara's smile was sardonic and short-lived. “When Adam was big enough to fight back the old bully stopped abusing him physically. He took it out on Adam's mother. She had two miscarriages as a result of those beatings. When Adam tried to interfere
she
told him to butt out.”

“My God.”

“Yes, indeed. I find that hard to believe too, in spite of the evidence—that women collaborate in their own abuse. It's understandable; if you've been taught to believe you're garbage you don't expect decent treatment. I know a little about that.”

“But you broke away. You escaped.”

“With a lot of help from a lot of people. And I never had it that bad. Jack never laid a hand on me; his abuse was verbal and emotional. I can't condemn women like Adam's mother, I don't know whether I'd have acted any differently in her place. She was too terrorized and too dependent to escape.

“Anyhow—Adam stuck around, doing what little he could to protect her, with no thanks or cooperation from her. I can't imagine what those years were like for him; it must have been hell on earth. After she died he left, straight from the cemetery, with all his wordly goods in a brown paper bag. The story of how he fought for the education he wanted is a saga in itself. Eventually he met Pat. That was the turning point; Pat recognized his quality and practically adopted him. Adam wasn't the first or the last stray Pat has picked up but he's the most successful. It's no
wonder he idolizes Pat. He's not the only one. I think rather highly of the guy myself.”

“So you criticize him and yell at him.”

“Sure. He prefers it that way. Sentimentality makes him nervous.”

Rachel was silent. She was remembering Adam's pleasure in the gifts her family had sent, the gentleness of his big hand smoothing the satin roses. There had been nothing for him, not even a memory of love.

“Don't say anything to Adam,” Kara said.

“Of course not.” Rachel got to her feet. “Thanks for telling me.”

She waited until after she had left the room before she wiped her eyes, though she suspected Kara had spotted the tears. Kara had probably shed a tear or two herself when she first heard Adam's story; she wasn't as hard as she pretended, and anyone would be moved to pity by hearing of pain no child should ever have to endure. How could he have come out of that tormented childhood so untainted? Not unscathed—there must be scars, deep and still painful—but so gentle, so capable of laughter? There was no hate in him. Rachel squirmed internally. For years she had been sulking over a fancied injury that couldn't be mentioned in the same breath with what Adam had endured. How he would despise her if he knew how selfish, how petty-minded and self-pitying she had been.

 

“Looks like snow,” Adam announced.

“I don't know why you sound so pleased,” Kara grumbled. They were finishing a hasty breakfast in the warm light of electricity. The dark skies supported Adam's weather prediction, and a keen wind had ruffled the animals' fur when they ventured out. Alexander had looked
particularly disgusting with his hair wildly awry and his hairless rump even more visible.

He had been returned to his basket in the bedroom and the other animals had taken their proper places, sprawled across the rug and the furniture. Adam was rinsing the dishes. Rachel watched him. Kara had already been in the family room when she got there, so she had not had to make conversation.

He looked perfectly at home as he went about his domestic chores, big hands slow and careful with the glasses he was putting into the dishwasher. “I like snow,” he said over his shoulder. “Snow is nice. The more snow the better.”

“We may not have so many customers if the weather is bad,” Kara said, brightening. “I hope Pat doesn't get caught in a blizzard, though.”

“He said he expected to be back by noon.” Adam closed the dishwasher.

“That means two or three
P.M.
Pat always underestimates how long a job will take.” Kara rose. “I'd better open up. Are you really going to see that woman, Adam?”

“Uh-huh,” Adam said. The impromptu haircut he had perpetrated on himself badly needed professional repair; pushing the ragged locks out of his eyes, he went on, “Want to come, Rachel?”

It was the first time he had addressed her that morning. Meeting his gaze she found it as candid and direct as ever, and reminded herself she wasn't supposed to know…what she knew.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“He made an appointment with Ms. Starwalker.” Kara let out a gurgle of laughter. “If anybody had called me at eight
A.M.
, I'd have blown him up, but she seems anxious to talk with him. You'd better go along, Rachel, to referee.”

“You don't need me in the shop?”

“No. Take my car, that heap of yours is about to fall apart.”

“In that case, I will go,” Rachel said. “And drive.”

“That's what I had in mind,” Kara said. “Pat warned me about Adam's driving.”

 

Sans robe, mistletoe, and other accoutrements, Stargazer turned out to be a middle-sized, middle-aged woman with mild dark eyes and a lined face. The name that appeared on her mailbox in the apartment house lobby, possibly because the U.S. Postal Service was confused enough without having to deliver letters to someone named Stargazer, was Hassenfuss. She worked out of her apartment; through an open door Rachel saw a room filled with computer paraphernalia and deduced that Ms. Hassenfuss operated some sort of desktop publishing company.

Except for the multilayered clutter of beads and chains around her neck, her attire was unremarkable—a long homespun skirt and a peasant blouse. Rachel realized that the jewelry was not meant solely for adornment; she identified an ankh sign, a Star of David, a cross, and beads of semiprecious stones such as lapis lazuli and turquoise, which probably had psychic import. Hanging from a silver chain was a tiny bag of blue flannel.

Apparently Adam had already made the necessary apologies, for they were welcomed and offered chairs and herbal tea. Rachel would have refused the latter if Adam hadn't accepted before she could do so. Serves him right, she thought, watching with amusement as he took the first sip.

“Delicious,” he said, in a voice that would only have deceived a woman as innocent as his hostess.

“Steeped leaves of the holy lotus. It brings love, peace, and understanding.” Stargazer leaned forward and looked
earnestly at Adam. “I am so glad, Adam—I may call you that, I hope, it is a name full of spiritual meaning—I am so glad our prayers had their effect in softening your ill will.”

“I wasn't hostile,” Adam protested. “Just—uh—ignorant.”

“And you have come to learn, to be informed. How wonderful! Deeper understanding can only lead to love and. sympathy.” She shook a playful finger at Adam. “But my psychic talents tell me more than you would disclose, Adam. You have another reason for coming here. You are in need of help. Confess! I will not think less of you, this world is given to us for our enjoyment, and the body is as important as the soul.”