With the Father (11 page)

The smile he
returned was genuine and easy, and a piece of my broken heart sealed back into
place. Whether I was ready or not, being around him was good for me. His
presence was a healing one, like a balm on my still open wounds.

“Let’s go then,” he
said. “You lead and I’ll follow. No pressure here.”

As we jogged, we
fell into an easy rapport. I was amazed that yesterday’s black widow attack
hadn’t changed that.

He asked about
Aurora, and I assured him that she was a lot better today. He talked about his
plans for the day. His friend was still in town, and they were going to
Fredericksburg to prowl around and then they had plans to visit a few local
wineries. I must have looked at him funny because he responded, ‘
What
? You think the only wine I have is the sacrament?’ He
laughed then as if I should know better, and I realized that there were still
so many things about Paul that I didn’t know.

Hoping to learn
more about him, I plodded along silently as he described the places he was
taking his friend. Noting that he hadn’t mentioned whether his friend was a he
or a she, a pang of jealousy blasted through me until I reminded myself that
jealousy was a ridiculous and inappropriate emotion for me to be having.

When he asked if I
would be interested in tagging along, a part of me wanted to go with them
– to prove to myself that what had happened yesterday had been no big
deal. Another part of me worried that that was exactly what I would find. The
fact that he’d occupied every bit of my headspace for the last twelve hours was
a problem. I wasn’t naïve to that.

As usual, the
cautious portion of my psyche won out, and I declined the invitation as we
turned back onto my dad’s street. “Thanks for the invitation, but I actually
have some things that I need to take care of today.” It wasn’t a lie. I really
did have a list of things I was going to accomplish today, even if I had to
make myself do them.

“I get it,” he
said. “It’s kind of last minute anyway. I was going to ask Kate, too. Do you
think she’d like to check out the wineries with us?”

“She can probably give
you the tour,” I said sourly. He looked at me in surprise, and I recanted. “I’m
sorry. I’m sure she would enjoy it.” I was silent as we approached my dad’s
yard. I was deep in thought, wondering why his mention of my sister caused such
a visceral reaction in me.

When we stopped in
front of the house, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. It felt good to
be moving again, to feel my heart pounding from exertion rather than anger or
fear. However, now that we were finished, I doubted that I could go another
step. “I’m exhausted,” I said, plopping myself down on the sidewalk. I took my
phone out of my pocket, tossed it on the grass beside me, and began stretching.
My underutilized body would be sore tomorrow.
 

Paul reached over
and grabbed my phone. He typed something into and then returned it to the
ground beside me. “I saved my number in your phone just in case you change your
mind. We aren’t leaving until noon.” My eyes and my mind wandered to the phone
that now contained Paul’s number.

“Listen,” he said,
continuing. “Even if you can’t make it today, I have to take my friend to the
airport on Monday. We are going to go into San Antonio because he’s never seen
the Alamo or the
Riverwalk
. He really wants to meet
you before he leaves. Will you think about it?”

I nodded, hung up
on the ‘he.’

“All right. I need
to get going,” he said, pointing down the street. I nodded again, and with a
weak smile, he set off on what I assumed would be a longer and faster run. I
let myself back into the house and leaned against the closed door, allowing
myself a moment to think.

Neither of us had
mentioned the kiss. I should be relieved. If he’d brought it up, I didn’t know
what I would say. Apologize profusely, I supposed. Though I probably owed him
that, I was still dreading that awkward conversation.

But, I wasn’t as
relieved as I was incredibly disappointed. Our kiss had been nothing more than
a blip on the radar. The fact that it hadn’t been consequential enough for him
to bring it up saddened me, but at least I could say it hadn’t wrecked our
friendship.

I contemplated San
Antonio on Monday and then scolded myself for even considering it.

GRACE

By
the time I showered and ventured back downstairs, the house was quiet and
seemingly empty.
 

The coffee in the pot was lukewarm so I knew my
dad had already gone to meet the old guys. I threw a skillet on the stove and
pulled the carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. After my run, I was
starving. Training for the triathlon, if I decided to do it, could be the cure
for my lack of appetite.

I’d just sat down
at the kitchen table with a plate full of scrambled eggs and toast when the house
phone rang. I stared at it. It wasn’t my house and it wasn’t my phone. Even
though I’d grown up here and was living here again, it was my dad’s house.

However, thanks to
my early morning run, I still felt like I could take on the world today.
“Battles residence.”

“May I speak with
Grace Northcutt?” a hopeful voice asked.

“This is she.”

“Hello, Ms.
Northcutt, I’m so glad to finally reach you. I’ve been trying for months.”

I knew immediately
who it was and resisted the urge to hang up. It was instinctual, a protection
mechanism that I’d carefully honed over these past few months. I’d become very
adept at avoidance. But today was a new day, and I’d told Paul that I had
things to take care of today, and this was one of them. Though I would have
preferred to do it on my own schedule so I could psych myself up for it, maybe
this was better.
 
“May I ask who’s
calling?”

“Of course, ma’am.
My name is Blake Barnaby, and I’m with All Nation Insurance. On behalf of
myself and the company,
I’d like to express our sympathy for
your loss. I just need to ask you a few questions. I’ll make this as quick as
possible.” I agreed, and he ran through what I assumed were his standard
questions about the house and the fire that had consumed it.

The value of the
house and the cause of the fire were not at issue. The fire inspector’s report
had issued a few weeks after the fire. I’d never read it. My dad had tucked our
copy away somewhere and delivered the news, preferring I hear it from him
rather than a piece of paper.

The chicken nuggets
hadn’t caused the fire. The roaring fire in the fireplace also wasn’t the
culprit. Rather, the investigation had determined that, in all likelihood, one
of the candles near the edge of the mantle ignited the drapes hanging nearby.
Investigators suspected that the fire traveled in two directions
simultaneously: up the curtain to the living room ceiling and down the curtain
to the floor below.

The candles that
I’d thought were so romantic that night had caused the decimation of my life.

Shortly after we’d
received the report, every candle in my dad’s house disappeared.

The contents of the
house were the only thing the insurance rep wanted to discuss with me today. “I
understand there were two cars on the property. The cars were also insured through
us so I have everything I need on those, but I need you to prepare a proof of
loss for
the
 
contents
of the house. An itemized list of everything you can
think of that was destroyed will do. And go ahead and list a suggested value
for each one if you can.”

I could give him an
itemized list of the most valuable things in the house that night in three
words.

Isabelle.

Trey.

Jonathan.

But that wasn’t the
list he had in mind. I leaned on the kitchen counter for support. He hadn’t
even broached the subject of Jonathan’s life insurance policy, but I imagined
that was probably the next thing on his list to check off.

“It doesn’t
matter,” I said hoarsely. “I don’t want compensation for the contents of the
house.”

“Your policy
provides replacement coverage for both the structure and the contents,” he said
matter-of-factly, not getting the point.

“The
contents
of my house, Mr. Barnaby, were precious and irreplaceable, and there is no way that
you or I can put a value on them,” I lashed out. “There is no amount of money
that will ever make it better. The rest
are just
things
– things I neither need nor
want to replace. Just give me the
value for the structure and the cars, and let’s be done with it.”

Blake Barnaby was
silent on the other end of a line for a few long seconds. “I’m sorry, Mrs.
Northcutt, I know this is hard, and I understand what you are saying, and All
Nation is very sorry for your loss. However, your house was a total loss. You
should really submit a proof of loss claim. You may want to rebuild someday,
and this money will go a long way toward that.”

“I don’t want it.”
My statement was definitive. “Are we done then?” I asked.

He hesitated. “We
need to discuss your life insurance policies.” I could hear the reluctance in
his voice. He probably wanted to end this call as much as I did.
 
“I have two here, and it’s really just a
matter of verifying that this is where I should send the settlement check since
the amount is set by the policies. I’m sorry it’s not more. I know your husband
was the only wage earner in your family, but maybe this will help a little.”

I leaned over the
counter laying my forehead on the cool granite, thankful that I hadn’t had the
chance to eat my breakfast yet. My stomach was now as twisted as my heart. “Two
policies?”

“That’s right,
ma’am. Can you verify your address for me?”

“But why are there
two? There should just be one. My husband’s.”

He was silent and I
could hear him shuffling papers on his end. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Northcutt. We
don’t have a policy for your husband. I have two policies. One for Isabelle
Grace Northcutt and one for Jonathan Grant Northcutt, III.”

That couldn’t be
right. “There’s been some mistake.” My voice was as breathless as my body. “We
didn’t have policies on Isabelle and Trey. We had two policies, one for
Jonathan and one for me.”

“Maybe I should
come see you so we can discuss this in person.”

“That won’t be
necessary.” I had no desire to see or talk to this man in person.

“Well, what I have
in my file – and it’s reflective of what’s in our computer system –
is three active policies. There are two for ten thousand dollars.
One for each of your children.
Then there’s a third for five
hundred thousand for you. It looks like the policy for Jonathan Grant
Northcutt, Jr. lapsed about – ” The line went silent for a second while
he either counted the months in his head or looked it up somewhere. “ –
nine months ago. The premium wasn’t paid.”

 
“I don’t understand,” I said, sliding down
the cabinet until I was sitting on the floor. The phone was still pressed to my
ear. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Mrs.
Northcutt. There’s nothing in my notes about that, and I don’t have any
recollection of handling that transaction. He may have done it through a
different agent. I can try to track it down if you’d like.” He paused, and I
could hear papers shuffling again. “You know what? Let me do that. Let me see
what I can find out, and I’ll call you back. Would that be okay?”

“Yes,” I breathed
out. “Call me back.” The phone clattered to the floor beside me.

Jonathan had
cancelled his policy but left mine in place. It didn’t make any sense. I
couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d do that. The insurance policies had
been his idea in the first place. Isabelle had been two and Trey had been one
when we’d snuck away on our first
parents
getaway.
Before the trip, Jonathan had insisted that we make sure all of our affairs
were in order in case something happened to us while we were gone.

We’d gone to war
with each other over the guardianship papers he brought home. Without
discussing it first, he had the papers drawn up so that my parents would get
custody of the kids if, God forbid, something happened to us. I argued
vehemently that they were approaching retirement age and shouldn’t be expected
to raise young children again. I wanted my sister to get them instead. She was
young, successful, and full of life. He countered that she was irresponsible,
unreliable, and too full of life. On this one thing, I had dug my heels in and,
in an unprecedented victory, won. Begrudgingly, he had the papers changed,
replacing my parents’ names with Kate’s. I’d been happy, knowing I could count
on her to take care of them if it ever came to that.

Unlike the guardianship
papers, Jonathan and I had agreed on the issue of insurance. Though I couldn’t
imagine putting a dollar figure on either of our lives, I hadn’t argued with
the amounts he’d selected. He’d explained his reasoning to me. One million
would be sufficient to take care of the kids if something happened to both of
us. Half of that would be sufficient if they still had a living parent. It had
seemed reasonable, and I’d agreed with him. I couldn’t believe he would change
anything without discussing it with me first.

But
the policies on the kids?
We’d
never discussed that. I wondered how it was even possible for one parent to
take out a policy unilaterally without the other parent’s knowledge.
 
Was it even legal?

We always made
these types of decisions together. I had believed that we were a team, an
unstoppable force,
an
impenetrable union. Clearly, I’d
been wrong. He’d been making decisions – decisions that affected our
family – behind my back. We weren’t an unstoppable force, and we
certainly weren’t an impenetrable union. His affair had proven that.

All I had left were
my memories. Everything else was gone. I gathered up those of my children and
tucked them into a corner of my battered heart. I wouldn’t let anything or
anyone touch those, but I couldn’t say the same for the ones of my husband.
With every day that passed, they were becoming more tarnished, twisting into
something unrecognizable and tainted. Jonathan had been my best friend, my
lover, and my only confidant. Apparently, however, he’d confided little in me,
and I was learning that he’d had a lot of secrets.

I picked up the
phone and dialed. “Kate,” I said when she answered. “Are you still at the
office?” When she confirmed that she was, I made my request. Then I hung up the
phone for the second time and went up to my room.
 
My bed beckoned me. Sensing my intention
or my need or both, Aurora sauntered over and barked for a boost. I curled up
next to the dog and thought of the little girl who’d named her.

“These babies
are a real handful, mom,” Isabella said, spreading her five dolls onto the
kitchen floor near where I was working. I stopped cleaning the countertops for
long enough to laugh at her. Isabelle had a real flair for the dramatic. She
was a lot like her Aunt Kate in that way.

“I’ll bet they
are, love. That’s a lot of babies to take care of. I don’t know if I could do
it.”

“And my husband
is no help either,” she said, placing one hand on her hip and waggling a finger
at me. “He’s a dentist. Work, work, work. That’s all he does. And he must not
be a very good dentist because he hasn’t even taught these babies how to brush
their teeth.” She sat down Indian-style in front of the line of dolls as if she
were about teach them a lesson on teeth brushing herself.

“Sometimes
daddies have to work a lot,” I said, knowing that Jonathan’s recent schedule
was probably to blame for the conversation we were having. “It doesn’t mean
that they don’t love their babies. Some daddies work a lot
because
they love their babies and want to give
them the whole world. That’s your daddy. Now, run upstairs and change your
clothes, Isabelle. We are going out to dinner with Arden and the kids.”

Isabelle’s face
lit up.

“Is Daddy
coming?” she asked.

“No, baby. He
has to work late.”

Her face fell
again. “Well, my husband finally just got home so he’s going to stay here with
the babies,” she said, standing up. “He’s also a terrible eater. Always eats
with his hands.” She shook her head and
tsk’d
her
naughty husband.

“Tell your
brother to get ready, too,” I said, as the phone rang. I made a shooing motion
with my hands as I reached for it. But she stood rooted in place, looking at
the phone expectantly.

“Well,
looky
here,
Izzy
. It’s Daddy,” I
said, as I picked it up.

“Hey,” I
answered. “Perfect timing. I have someone here who’d sure like to talk to you.”

“Well, by all
means, put her on,” he said, guessing correctly that it was Isabelle that
needed him.

I squatted and
held the phone to her ear. “How’s my favorite princess?” I heard him ask.

The memory, which was so vivid that I felt like I could reach out and
touch it, faded, and I wiped away the tears streaming down my face. No matter
what Jonathan had done to me, he’d been a good father to our children. If he’d
cancelled his insurance policy, he’d had a good reason. If he’d purchased
policies for the kids, he had a good reason for that, too.