The Year Everything Changed (29 page)

Chapter Forty-six
Elizabeth

On her way to her mother’s house, Elizabeth drove by the home she’d lived in as a child. The new owners had removed the porch and extended the living room, torn off the clapboard, and replaced it with stucco and brick. The only thing they hadn’t changed or updated was the sprawling oak on the front lawn. Frank used to perch there in the summer, stretched out on a thick branch high enough to be hidden from the people passing below whose gazes never rose above the horizon. Once in a while he would let her join him, but she never lasted long—sitting still was hard enough, not talking was impossible.

Her mother had lived in the rambling two-story house until five years ago, when failing eyesight and an inner ear problem made climbing stairs a hazard. Now she lived in a bright, two-bedroom, cookie-cutter house in a senior citizens’ complex on the opposite side of Bakersfield. The complex boasted a golf course, shopping center, and clubhouse with enough scheduled activities and classes to satisfy the most discriminating senior—a guaranteed social life, according to the sales brochure. No more sitting around the house waiting for a call from the children and grandchildren. Now, when the call finally came, odds were they wouldn’t find anyone home.

Elizabeth pulled into the driveway of the pseudo-Spanish stucco house, painted the prescribed brown on tan, surrounded with community-dictated landscaping and fencing. She rang the doorbell, and within seconds heard her mother shuffling across the terra cotta tile to answer.

“You’re late.”

Elizabeth kissed her cheek and handed her the potted orange chrysanthemum she’d picked up at the grocery store. The plant was wrapped in orange cellophane with a big black bow, a ghost and witch peeking out of the ribbon. “Happy Halloween.”

Denise looked at the plant with suspicion. “We don’t decorate for Halloween in Rancho Villa. No sense to it with no kids around. I’m surprised you didn’t figure that out for yourself.”

“It’s a plant, Mom, not a pumpkin. You can take the decorations off if they bother you.”

“Don’t get snippy. I was just letting you know in case one of the kids was thinking about doing something special for me.” She went into the living room and put the mum on an end table. “This way I’ll be able to see it when I’m working in the kitchen.”

Elizabeth followed, dropping her purse on the rocker opposite the fireplace. As much as Elizabeth missed the old house, she had to admit that moving had been good for her mother. Not only had she traded in her polyester wardrobe and learned how to use a computer, she’d started traveling. The plaid crop pants and matching short-sleeve top she had on today weren’t flattering, but they were more stylish than anything she’d owned for the past twenty years. And finally, after a lifetime of wearing her stick-straight hair in a bun at the back of her head, she’d had it cut and permed. The soft curls that framed her angular face made her look years younger and half as fearsome.

Elizabeth gave her mother points for trying, something new to their relationship and welcome. “The house looks nice. I like the sofa. When did you buy it?”

“I didn’t. I saw it sitting in Betty’s driveway last week and went over to ask what it was doing there. Her kids said they were getting ready to haul it to the dump.” She grinned. “I told them they could haul it over here and take mine to the dump instead.”

“Betty’s redecorating?”

“She died. Two weeks ago. Went to bed and never got up. Coffee?”

“Uh, sure.” The quality of her mother’s coffee was dependent on whether it was the first or second time she’d used the grounds. Ten o’clock in the morning usually meant recycled. “Do you have any cream?”

“I made it fresh. You don’t have to doctor it.” She handed Elizabeth a mug and refilled her own. “You might as well have a seat and get started on why you came. No sense dragging this out.”

Elizabeth settled into the sofa. “I want to talk to you about my father.”

“I figured this was coming.” Denise moved Elizabeth’s purse and took the rocker. “I already told you that I don’t want anything to do with the money he left you. Whatever it was, it’s yours. I’m doing fine without it.”

“It’s not about the money.” Elizabeth stopped to take a deep breath. With her anger modified by curiosity, confronting her mother wasn’t as easy as she’d expected. “I didn’t tell you before, because I didn’t want to upset you, but Jessie left tapes. I’ve been listening to them for the past couple of months with my sisters.”

Denise started rocking slowly, pushing herself back with her toes. “So now they’re your sisters,” she snorted. Seconds later it was, “What kind of tapes?”

“About his life. He talked about how he left his family in Oklahoma and went to Texas to work in the oil fields. And he talked a lot about how you met.”

“That’s it?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “He told how the two of you came to California and what it was like when Frank and I were born.”

Her mother rocked faster.

“And what happened when Frank died.”

Denise reached for her coffee, took a sip, and then paused to stare at Elizabeth over the rim of the cup. “Do you believe him?”

How could her mother not realize that she damned herself simply by asking the question? “Why would you think his version was different from yours?”

Trapped. Denise’s gaze darted around the room as if the answer were hidden there. “You know as well as I do that Jessie always put his own spin on things.”

“This wasn’t something he’d put a spin on, it was just plain wrong. You lied to him about why Frank joined the Army.”

Long seconds passed before Denise lifted her gaze from her lap and looked at Elizabeth. There were tears in her eyes. “I had to. I was afraid of what Jessie would do to me if he ever discovered the truth. You never saw that side of your father. He kept it hidden from you and Frank.”

“Are you saying you were physically afraid of him? That he hit you?” She’d overheard a hundred fights between them, but she’d never seen her father raise a hand to her mother or to anyone else. The only spankings she and Frank had ever received were from their mother. She’d seen her father angry, especially the night Frank sneaked out to meet his girlfriend and caught the barn on fire, but even then Jessie had been in control of himself.

“You don’t know what Frank meant to your father.” Denise clasped her hands and started rocking again. “The two of them were boards cut from the same tree. Every time I looked at Frank I saw Jessie.” She rocked harder. “After your father left us it was everything I could do to look at Frank sitting across the table from me every night.”

Elizabeth couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “You hated Frank because he looked like Daddy?”

“He didn’t just look like him,” Denise insisted. “He acted like him. He even thought the same things in the same way. No matter what it was, Frank took Jessie’s side over mine. There was no pleasing him, no way for me—” She stopped and stared at Elizabeth. “You were there. You know how it was. You must remember how Frank defied me at every turn.”

“He thought you hated him.”

“He hated me—just like Jessie. Do you know how hard it is to love someone who feels that way about you? But it didn’t stop me from trying. God knows I tried. He was my son. I wasn’t going to give up on him. Not after seeing what happened to you when your father gave up on us, how it broke your heart.”

“Jessie said you were the one who asked for the divorce.”

Denise jerked as if ducking something Elizabeth had thrown. Her mouth opened and immediately snapped shut again.

“He said that you told him you’d found someone else.” Elizabeth had tried, but couldn’t remember another man in her mother’s life. If she’d dated, she’d done it in secret.

“I was desperate,” Denise stuttered. “I thought if I told Jessie someone was interested in me he would come around more. I did it for you. You were a little girl then. You needed a father.”

“Is that why you told him you were married when he came to see Frank?”

“By then all I wanted was to hurt him, to show him I’d moved on.” Her chin quivered. “He didn’t care. All he cared about was seeing you kids. I meant nothing to him.”

“It had to occur to you that he would find out eventually.”

“I didn’t think about that.” Tears flowed freely, unheeded. “I had this stupid ring that I’d picked up at the five-and-dime, and I showed it to him. All I wanted was for him to pay attention to me. You don’t understand how it was between us. You can’t. And I’m sure it wasn’t something Jessie talked about on those tapes of his. It tore me up inside that he didn’t need me as much as I needed him. I’d been in love with him since I was thirteen. I didn’t know how to stop loving him.”

A profound sadness hovered over Elizabeth like a cloud. “Why did you send me to Grandma’s?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“You would have told Jessie about the fight between me and Frank, that I was the one who took him to the recruiter. I was going to keep you there until Frank came home.”

“A whole year?”

Denise held her hand out in a pleading gesture. “I knew Frank would never tell Jessie what happened. Even while he hated me he protected me. But I couldn’t trust you not to tell. I was afraid. You didn’t see your father when he came to the house looking for Frank.”

The pieces were coming together like letters in a crossword puzzle. “You never sent my letters to Daddy.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“I couldn’t.”

“And you never called him about coming to my wedding.” The cloud enveloped her.

“You would have said something. He would have found out. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“He tried to see me, didn’t he?” The emptiness, the anger, the hurt she’d carried like precious cargo throughout her life slipped from her shoulders, replaced with a profound sorrow. “How did you stop him?”

“Why are we talking about this? What difference does it make now?” Denise left the rocking chair and crossed to the patio door, staring outside at the postage stamp–sized backyard, her back to Elizabeth. “Jessie’s dead. In a couple of years, I will be, too. It will all be over. Why can’t you leave it alone?”

“How can you even ask that?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to
me
. It sure as hell mattered fifteen years ago when I refused to see him and then eight months ago when I walked away from my last chance to see him. Do you have any idea what you stole from me?”

“I told him that you blamed him for Frank’s death and that you refused to see him.” Denise’s shoulders slumped and she crossed her arms over her chest as if trying to pull into herself. “None of it mattered. He still wanted to see you. I . . . I convinced him otherwise.”

“How?”

“I answered his letters and signed your name.”

An impotent rage filled Elizabeth, usurping the corners of her heart and mind where love and understanding had resided. “What kind of monster are you? How could you hear me crying in my room at night, how could you watch me sitting on the porch waiting for the postman, how could you wipe my tears on my wedding day when I realized he wasn’t coming, how could you—”

“
Don’t you dare talk to me like that
,” Denise shouted. “I was the one who stayed home and took care of you when Jessie was off in the oil fields or at those parties in Hollywood. I was there when you were sick. I made your breakfast every morning, took you to school, and tucked you in bed every night. I always put you first.
Always
. I loved you the best way I knew how.”

Elizabeth couldn’t give what her mother needed. Her own pain was too consuming, too new to have found boundaries, still bottomless, still expanding.

“I think about Frank every day.” Denise put her hands over her face. Her breath caught in a sob. “Every day I ask for forgiveness. When will it end? When will the day come that I’ve been punished enough? I loved him, too, you know.”

Elizabeth reached for her purse. “I’m going home.”

“Go ahead. Do what your father did. Walk out on me. It’s what Frank did, too. I may have taken him to the recruiter, but he didn’t have to sign those papers. He could have told them that he didn’t want to go, that joining the Army was my idea.” She followed Elizabeth to the door. “I’m not the only one to blame. His dying was just as much his fault as it was mine.”

“My God, Mother. Did you hear what you just said?”

Denise grabbed Elizabeth’s arm. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. You’re forcing me to say these things. I’m afraid of losing you, too. I’m eighty years old, Elizabeth. I don’t have much time left.”

“You want me to feel sorry for you because you’re old?” The injustice choked her with rage. “You’ve had thirty-six years that Frank missed.”

“I didn’t send him to Vietnam,” she shot back. “The Army did.”

“Is that how you’ve lived with what you did?” Elizabeth wanted to leave and never come back, but she knew that wasn’t possible. Eventually she would forgive Denise for this, the way she had forgiven all the other seemingly unforgivable things her mother had done over the years. She needed time. And she needed distance. “Don’t call me—I’ll call you.”

“I’m your mother.”

“I’m a mother, too,” Elizabeth shot back. “But I never—
not for one moment
—believed that gave me the right to play God with the lives of my children.”

Chapter Forty-seven
Rachel

Rachel put her hands on the balcony railing at the Whale Watch Inn, closed her eyes, and listened to the waves hitting the shore thirty feet below. The air was still, a calm between tides, a time when the earthy smell of the pine and cedar forests surrounding the inn mixed with the ocean’s salt spray and created an intoxicating fragrance. A gull called in the distance. Rachel opened her eyes and saw a lone pelican skimming the water, headed north for the day’s foraging.

She’d lived on mountains and in the desert, in cities, and once, when her mother hired on as a cook, on a ranch three hours from the nearest town. Only the ocean imbued her with a sense of home. She was at peace here, the waves settling her mind and soul the way an infant calmed listening to the sound of its mother’s heartbeat.

Jeff came up behind her, swept her hair aside, and kissed the nape of her neck. “What time do you want to leave?”

“Never.”

“Sounds good to me.”

She turned and slipped her arms around his waist. Tilting her head back, she looked into his eyes. “I love you.”

Jeff took her hand and put it on his chest. “Did you feel it?”

“What?”

“My heart is skipping beats.” This time he kissed her on the lips, his mouth open, his tongue gently touching hers. “I’d given up ever hearing that from you again.”

“From now on I’m going to tell you so often that you’ll get bored hearing it.”

He cupped her face with his hands and stared deeply into her eyes. “That can’t happen. I will never forget how empty my life was without you.”

“I can’t wait to tell the kids.”

He smiled. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but I’m pretty sure they’ve figured it out already. I heard Cassidy tell Ginger that we were going away this weekend to decide what to do with all the furniture from your apartment.”

“What did Ginger say?”

“That we could have a garage sale.”

“Does everyone know?”

He gave her a disappointed look, wildly exaggerated. “So, what you’re saying is that I should take back the
welcome home
banners?”

Rachel laughed. “Pretty sure of yourself, were you?”

“Determined. There was no way I was going to let this weekend end any other way.”

She turned to face the ocean again, snuggling her back into Jeff’s chest. “I’m almost afraid to say this.” She made a fist and knocked on the wooden railing in an uncharacteristically superstitious gesture. “But I’ve never been happier than I am at this moment.”

“Not even on the day we were married?”

“Our wedding was a naive kind of happiness that just happened. This one we had to earn.”

“And when the kids were born?”

“I thought my heart would burst.” She crossed her arms and laid them on his where they circled her waist. “Today is cumulative—like all of those happy times rolled into one.” She laughed. “I can’t believe how corny I sound.”

Jeff tucked his chin into her neck and whispered against her hair. “You want to hear corny—listen to this. If there was anything good that came from what I put us through, it’s realizing that I have loved and been loved beyond what I expected or dreamed, and far beyond what I deserved. If I died today I would die complete.”

The hair at the base of Rachel’s neck stood on end. She turned to look at Jeff. “Why would you say something like that? The dying part, I mean?”

He kissed her, long and with infinite tenderness. “It was just an expression. Nothing is going to happen to me, Rachel. I won’t let it. You’ll just have to trust me on this one. I’m going to be around for a long, long time.”

She couldn’t shake the uneasiness. “I don’t think I could go on without you. I know I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you could. And you would—for the kids.” He put his arm around her and guided her back inside. “It was just my stupid way of telling you how much I love you. I didn’t mean anything by it, and I sure as hell didn’t have a premonition. Now stop worrying.”

She put her arms around him. She was consumed with a need for physical contact. Whether it was making love or just holding hands, she needed and responded to his touch the way a flower responds to sunlight. “What would you say if I told you I’ve been thinking about quitting my job?”

She’d plainly surprised him. “Why would you do that? You love that job.”

“Not as much as I love you and the kids.” This was the first time since her promotion that Rachel had taken a day off so she and Jeff could be together. She’d anticipated a twinge or two, at least some worrying about the meeting that was taking place without her, but neither had happened. Now she was sorry she hadn’t taken Monday off, too. “And besides, it’s your turn. We made a deal that once the kids were in school you could concentrate on your career.”

“You wouldn’t last a month. I mean this in the kindest way, Rachel, but you’re not cut out to be a full-time soccer mom.”

She grinned. “You think?”

“I know.”

“Yeah, me, too. But in less than two months we’re going to have ten million dollars that’s going to need managing.” She hesitated telling him the rest. The idea was still forming, and the intent needed scrutiny. Her motivations were reactionary, a result of Jessie’s unscientific diagnosis of her mother’s illness. Curious, afraid it could be genetic and inherited, for the past two weeks she’d been researching schizophrenia. While her mother wasn’t a textbook case, she’d had enough symptoms that with a little education, someone, somewhere, should have picked up on her illness.

“I’ve been thinking about setting up a charitable trust,” she ventured.

“I think it sounds like a great idea. And I think you should call it the Anna Kaplan Foundation.”

“I didn’t say anything about—” She smiled, realizing that not only was he in step with her, he was walking ahead, leading the way. “I need to think about it some more. I feel like I’m a coin that’s been tossed in the air and I’m still spinning. After all the years of hating my mother, I’ve done such a complete about-face that I’m suspicious of my feelings.”

“You never hated her, Rachel. You told yourself you did because it hurt too much to admit you loved someone you believed didn’t love you back. After all, how could she love you and let you be the one who found her? Now you understand. You know about the demons that drove her and that what she did had nothing to do with how much she loved you.”

Rachel’s heart swelled with a love she had denied almost her entire life. Her eyes filled with tears. “I wish I could have helped her . . . I wish I had known.”

“And look who you have to thank that you finally found out.”

“Jessie Reed—my father.”

“Was that a note of pride I heard in your voice?” he teased.

“Maybe.”

“I told you that you came from good stock.”

She smiled, finally believing him after all the years he’d insisted she had no reason to be ashamed of her background. “Get ready,” she warned. “I’m going to tell you again.”

“Go ahead—hit me with it.”

“I love you.”

Jeff swept her into his arms and swung her around. “I must have done something incredible in a past life to deserve you in this one.”

She gave him a seductive smile. “How much time do we have?”

“The rest of our lives.”

She laughed. “Before checkout.”

“My God, woman, you’re insatiable.” He took her to the bed, stopping to give her a kiss that was both tender and urgent. “Which makes me the luckiest man in the world.”

They stopped for saltwater taffy at a roadside stand in Gualala and for dinner at Sanducci’s, a restaurant that overlooked the ocean and encouraged lingering with slow, meticulous service. For the first time in months Rachel indulged in dessert, crème brûlée. Jeff had a rich chocolate cake topped with vanilla gelato and covered with a caramel sauce. Rachel ate all of her crème brûlée and half of Jeff’s chocolate cake.

Inside the Land Rover and on the coast highway again, Rachel adjusted her seat belt, pushing it lower, off her overly full stomach. She rolled down the window, letting the unseasonably warm air fill the car, leaned her head against the headrest, and groaned. “Why did you let me eat the rest of your cake?”

“
Let
you?”

She looked at him and grinned sheepishly. “I thought you were finished.”

“With the fork still in my hand?”

“Next time I’m going to skip the meal and head straight for dessert.” Turning her head to the side and snuggling against the soft leather, she looked at the sky, a glorious palate of pinks and oranges dripping from the vivid autumn sunset. The road was nearly deserted, with lights just beginning to show on the hillsides in the distance.

Jeff reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ve been thinking. . . .”

“Yes?” she prompted.

“It’s not anything I’m stuck on, just something I’ve been mulling over since you said you wanted to quit your job.”

“And?” she prompted again.

“I don’t know—maybe I should think about it some more before I say anything.”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

He gave her hand a second squeeze. “What do you think about having another baby?”

She would have been less surprised if he’d asked her to live on the space station. They’d agreed that two was a good number when she’d insisted it had to be more than one. She knew what it was to grow up an only child. When they’d had a girl and then a boy, it seemed a logical place to stop. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“No pressure. I was just remembering what it was like to have a baby around and how perfect the two we have are.” He leaned over to give her a quick kiss.

Rachel moved to meet him and saw something out of the corner of her eye. A cow—standing in the middle of the road. She screamed, but it was too late. Jeff must have seen the cow at the same time because he jerked the steering wheel and veered to the right before Rachel’s scream cleared her throat. The Land Rover’s right wheel caught the soft shoulder and pulled the SUV forward, jerking it toward the cliff.

The SUV hesitated at the cliff’s edge, giving Rachel a second to see everything—the terrified cow, the dry grass, the jagged rock, the ocean. But it was Jeff’s image that fixed in her mind, his look of horror and fateful understanding, the desperate search for escape, the frantic silent message he sent to her in a glance, telling her that he loved her.

The SUV tilted slowly and gently slid over the edge. For an achingly long second it seemed they would ease down the cliff, escaping the jagged rocks and wind-twisted shrubs. But then they picked up speed. A tire caught and the SUV whipped to the side, slamming nose-first into a boulder. Airbags exploded, filling the cab, crushing Rachel against the seat. As fast as they’d opened they deflated. Now she was flung against the door, the seat, the dashboard, Jeff.

She screamed, or at least she thought she did. It could have been the sound of the car scraping the rocks as it rolled and turned and bounced on its descent to the small sandy cove at the bottom of the cliff.

After what seemed an eternity and yet only a blink, it was over. They had landed right side up, the only sound a hissing and creaking from the engine and the roaring thunder of waves hitting the rocks beside the cove.

“Are you okay?” Jeff asked in a choked whisper.

Her head hurt. She put her hand to her temple and felt a slick, sticky wetness. She was bleeding. A lot. “I think so.”

“I’m sorry.” He reached for his seat belt. “I should have—” He gasped in pain.

“What is it?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“Jesus—my leg. It hurts.” He leaned forward and reached down with his right hand. “I can’t move it.”

Rachel fumbled for her seat belt, struggling with the release. Twisting in the seat made it hard to breathe. She felt like knives were being shoved between her ribs. Finally the release caught and the buckle came apart. “Let me see.”

“You can’t. It’s pinned between the door and the seat.”

“Are you sure?” She tried to picture his leg in that position and couldn’t. There wasn’t room and his leg couldn’t twist that way. He had to be mistaken.

“It’s there. I can feel it.”

“Can you open the door?”

“No, it’s jammed into the rock. And my arm’s caught under the seat.” He put his head back and closed his eyes, his face contorted in pain. “The phone . . . ?”

Jeff kept his cell phone in a cubby hole by the radio. “It must have fallen out.”

“Get yours. Call 911.”

His voice faded; she could barely hear him over the sounds of the waves. Frantic, she pushed the deflated airbags aside and searched the cab. “It isn’t here.”

“Try again.”

She shoved her hand between the jumbled luggage and bags of silly souvenirs they’d bought for the kids. “It’s not here. It must have fallen out.”

He reached for her hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she insisted.
He couldn’t see the blood.

“Then you have to go . . . get help.”

The sun was gone. The horizon was a fading crimson. Soon, within minutes, there would be no light and no moon to show the way back up the hill. “I’m not leaving you.”

“We won’t make it if you don’t.”

“I can’t.” The thought of leaving him alone terrified her. “Someone will find us. They’ll see the skid marks.” She reached for the switch to turn on the headlights. “They’ll see our lights.”

“The tide, Rachel.”

At first she didn’t understand. And then, her heart in her throat, his fear became hers. He was trapped. If they waited, if the tide was coming in, this cove, like half of the coves on the coast, would disappear. Jeff would drown.

She pressed her face into his hand. “Promise me you’ll be okay.” The words were ripped from her soul. “Jeff?” She touched his face. “
Jeff?
Goddamn it, Jeff—don’t you dare die on me.”

He squeezed her hand. Blood trickled from his ear and nose. “Go. . . .”

He was going to die. She knew it the same way she knew she’d never been destined for true happiness. She was tainted, one of life’s misfits, not deserving, unworthy. There was a dark corner of her mind that reminded her of these things, a voice that warned her and kept her from being surprised when something bad happened. She was the dog raised alone on a chain in a backyard with a clear view of the dog next door, the one that had never known a boot in the ribs or a night in the rain.