The Wedding Party (4 page)

Of course she couldn't speak. She put the phone down on the desktop, grabbed a fistful of tissues and tried to mop her face quickly and efficiently. She did
not
want Pam to come upon her sobbing. She blew her nose and picked up the phone. “I can't talk about this yet,” she whispered into the phone. “Will you…will you pick up something for me?”

“Yes, of course. What shall I pick up?”

“Dinner,” she said. And hung up.

Thank God she had her own private bathroom. She flushed her hot, red face with cold water, but it was a while before her tears subsided. The strange thing was that she wasn't sure what brought on the flood. She couldn't tell if it was the picture she had in her mind of Lois sitting hunched and frightened in the warehouse-like office, or if it was Dennis giving voice to her fear of losing control. Or could it be a mental image that she couldn't let come into clear focus of Stephanie fetching
her
from the grocer's back-room office?

When she was finally leaving, Pam was standing
behind her desk, putting some things away and other things in the tote she carried to and from work.

“See you tomorrow,” Charlene said, ducking.

“Char?” Pam queried, leaning over her desk to get a closer look at Charlene. “Have you been crying?”

She stopped short but didn't turn. “What makes you think I've been crying?”

“Your eyes are red, your nose is red, your eye makeup is making tracks down your cheeks, I heard a tugboat horn come from your office and—”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she said. And she left quickly.

 

Charlene lived in a new home in a small, gated neighborhood just east of the city. It was under thirty minutes to her office or the courthouse if traffic was reasonable, and only a half mile from the freeway. This gave her quick access for convenience and no traffic noise for peaceful living. The length of drive was perfect for making cell-phone calls, thinking through a work problem or giving herself a stern talking-to.

Tonight's self-talk was about keeping perspective. About staying cool. She was accustomed to giving herself pep talks—she was a hardworking single mother, after all. She took her issues one at a time, sorting them out calmly, logically.

First of all, the Samuelsons were a perfect example of the bad-divorcing couple. She decided to write them off as the cruel, ignorant people they were and place them in the chilled mental compartment in her mind
that she had labeled
icebox.
She'd freeze out their influence over her mood.

Second, Stephanie was a wonderful girl, a jewel of a daughter, but she was a tad spoiled. It wasn't her fault, exactly. Between Charlene, who always worried about doing a good enough job as a mom, her ex-husband, Jake, who was a very doting father, and Peaches, who was destined to have only the one granddaughter, Stephie was doomed to play the royal chick. So, she was spoiled. She liked having her way and having people cater to her. She wanted to graduate from princess to queen, and in order to do that she had to find a prince, marry him and turn him into her king. It looked as if she was going to succeed, too. Unless she drove the prince away with all her imperial demands.

Grant Chamberlain was a remarkably good choice for her daughter; Charlene wished she'd been that lucky twenty-five years ago. He was twenty-seven, a disciplined ex-army noncommissioned officer from the Special Forces, getting his degree on the GI Bill and supporting himself by tending bar. He was handsome and genuinely kind. Charlene admired him and approved of the way he treated her daughter, which was with respect and more patience than she usually deserved. Charlene was not totally unsympathetic. She could understand some of Stephanie's problem, what with their conflicting work schedules. Stephanie got up early to teach English to surly eighth-graders while Grant slept in. When she got home, he had already gone to work, where he stayed until the wee hours.
Grant took his days off during the week, which he filled with classes and study groups while Stephanie worked. When Stephanie was off on the weekends, Grant worked his longest hours…and made his best tip money. So this was hard. Work in the adult world was hard. There you have it. Who among us, she thought, isn't working hard? Long hours?

She let go a huff of laughter.
She doesn't want to end up like me, huh? I'll bet she doesn't. I work like a farm hand!
But she not only loved her work, she loved her life. She'd much rather be tired at the end of the day than whining that she wasn't having enough fun or getting enough attention. And that was
that.

Next, she thought about Dennis and Dr. Malone, but by now she was in command of her senses again. It had clearly not been passion with which Dennis had touched the young woman. It was comfort. Paternal. There had been a fatality. A child. Barbara Benn had said Dr. Malone was a pediatrician. That explained everything. She settled her mind on that matter as well, and let it go.

But on the matter of Lois, she was at sea. She could feel the sting of tears come to her eyes at the smallest thought of her mother stooped and confused and lost. It was more than she could bear. Had she taken her completely for granted? She was in her late seventies, after all. Charlene knew she was lucky to have had her for so long, and in such excellent health of body and spirit. This time of life, she reminded herself, eventually comes to everyone. As some wise old sage had said, old age is not for wimps.

She pulled off the interstate onto the access road that led to her neighborhood. Within a quarter mile of her house, her car seemed to lurch oddly to the left and drag as if being tugged from behind. It was an ominous sensation. She slowed and pulled onto the soft, muddy shoulder. As she did so, she could feel the left rear tire go flat.

What little sun there was behind heavy clouds was almost gone, so she grabbed the flashlight from the glove box, got out of the car and shone it on the flattened rubber. “I can't believe this,” she said aloud. At that very moment, she felt the first drop quickly followed by the second. Then the heavens opened up in earnest and a deluge poured down on her, drenching her to the bone. As she stood beside the disabled car, practically drowning, she saw the glare of approaching headlights. The car slowed, pulled to a stop behind her. There was not so much as a single house on this half-mile stretch of road that led from the interstate to her subdivision, so the odds were excellent that this was one of her neighbors, on his way home. Then she considered how her day had been going and thought her chances of being murdered were better.

A man got out of his car. She shone the flashlight on his face—and groaned. She was only slightly happier to see her ex-husband and not a serial killer.

“Charlie?” he said. “What the hell you doin' out here?”

She almost laughed, but it was more a sputter, given the heavy rain. “Oh, gee. Thinking,” she replied.

“Well, Jesus, think in my car!” he said, grabbing for her arm.

“I can't,” she resisted. “I'm soaked.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Come on.”

“I'll ruin your upholstery.”

“Oh, that's funny. My
upholstery?
I'm way ahead of you. Come on!”

For lack of a better option, she went to the passenger side of his car and got in. She had to kick aside what appeared to be dirty clothes and a pair of running shoes, while he lifted a stack of file folders spewing loose papers off the seat so she could sit down. He pitched some fast-food bags into the back seat, pulled a blanket from same and drew it around her shoulders. The car was only a couple of years old at worst, but the interior was a wreck. Like his little house. His life.

“Why would you have a blanket in the back seat? Dates?”

“You're a riot, you know that?” he replied irritably. “This is a stakeout car—I practically live in it. There's also a first-aid kit, water, pick and shovel, fire extinguisher and other emergency items. You never know what's going to develop. Or what you might have to dig up.” He pulled the blanket tighter around her. “So, what were you thinking about, Charlie? That flat tire?” he asked. “Wishing you could say ‘April Fools'?”

God, she thought, it
was.
April first! How sad that none of her stuff could be joked away.

He was the only person who called her Charlie. Well, he and his cop friends. “What are
you
doing out
here?” it finally occurred to her to ask, but she knew the answer. He had to be coming to see her. The question she couldn't answer yet was whether he was going to make her laugh or piss her off. There was a fifty-fifty possibility.

“I stopped by your office, but you were already gone….”

“I
know
I gave you my cell-phone number,” she said.

“I had to see you in person for this,” he said.

“Is it about Stephanie?” she asked.

“No, it's a favor. I need your help on something. But what about Stephanie?”

“You didn't hear from her today?”

“Not a peep. Why?”

“Well, wait a minute. I don't want to breach a trust. Does she usually talk to you about her relationship with Grant?”

“No, I wouldn't say that. She complains about Grant. She whines about Grant. She snivels, gripes, moans and groans, but no, I can't say she has ever
talked
to me about Grant.”

A chuckle escaped Charlene. Jake also had a way with the unvarnished truth.

“There are times, Charlie, when I think I almost like the boyfriend better than my own daughter.”

She shrugged and chuckled again. Guiltily. “She's been a little high-maintenance lately,” Charlene commiserated.

“Y'know, I forbade her to move in with him. I absolutely forbade her,” he went on. “She totally blew
me off, called me old-fashioned, overprotective, the whole bit. Told me she knew what she was doing. And now what? All she does is bitch. Things just aren't going too well for the little couple. I guess Mr. Grant isn't courting her enough, huh?”

“Well, what do you say to her when she lays all the whining on you?” Charlene seriously wanted to know.

“I tell her to grow the fuck up.”

God, he was a clod. “Oh, that's sensitive. You don't really say that, do you?”

“No, I
think
that, but I don't say it. If I
said
it she would cry. And you know what happens to me when she cries. It takes the bones out of my legs and I crumble. But I'd like to say it. I gotta tell you…I've been
thinking
it a lot lately.”

“I've even thought that about you,” Charlene taunted.

“You look good, Charlie,” he said. “You put on a little weight?”

She ground her teeth. She wanted to kill him for that. “About Stephanie—”

“You're right, I shouldn't be too hard on the kid. She going to learn about successful relationships with us as role models?”

She let out a huff of indignant laughter. “You weren't so hot, maybe. I think I was a fine role model.”

“Hey, hey, hey, I didn't mean to say you were a bad parent. Jesus, Charlie, you were the best parent in the world. There
is
no better mother than you. Hell, I
wish you were
my
mother! I just mean about relationships. We weren't, either one of us, able to make one stick.”

“Yeah, well, I only tried once, remember. You tried, what? Five times?” She shivered. She was cold, miserable, wet and a quarter mile from a warm fire, a glass of wine and stable, consistent Dennis. For some reason it didn't occur to her to ask Jake to just drive her home.

“Four. I don't think you can say five since I married the same woman twice. You remember Godzilla? What a disaster that was. But I was married to Stella for seven years, you know. That would almost be considered a success.”

“I still can't imagine why you left Stella. You must be crazy.”

“Me, crazy? Gimme a break. It's Stella who doesn't have too many arrows in the old quiver, if you get my drift.”

“Stella? She's mother earth!”

“Yeah, she's a good kid at heart. It's just all the yoga, natural food, crystals, wood-nymph music, beads, bangles and fucking affirmations. People can be too positive, you know. It's wearing. But never mind, she was always great with Stephie.”

“Maybe Stephanie can move in with Stella,” Charlene said.

“What's' a matter, Mom?” he said, jostling her with an elbow. “The little chick threatening to move home?”

“She suggested she might….”

“And if I know you, you talked to her about her commitment to Grant because there's no way you want Stephie, who is an even bigger slob than me, back in your tidy little nest.” He slapped his knee and giggled. His laugh was contagious but his giggle was positively repellent.

“No,” she lied. “I told her she should consider moving in with you.”