11
SMOKE SIGNALS
“Have you bought your plane ticket?” her father
asked her, for about the tenth time in two days.
The frequency of the question had been
increasing over the past week, to the point that Grace was ready to
scream if he asked it one more time. Convincing her to leave was
becoming an obsession with her father.
“You should see if you can get a
last-minute deal on-line,” he said.
She grunted as she wiped
after-breakfast crumbs from the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure I
should leave.”
“There’s no need for you to stay here.
There are people in town who can help me, if I need it. But I won’t
really need help for a long time. You heard what the doctor said.
It’s a gradual thing.”
She’d also heard the doctor say that it
was impossible to say how quickly his condition might worsen. She
spent nights now reading Alzheimer’s case histories on the
Internet, trying to figure out what worsen
might actually entail. She felt almost nauseous with anxiety. If
she left him alone now, it would be like snapping herself in
two.
“Dad, who are the people in town you
can rely on?” she asked. “Steven, and who else?”
“Truman pops by all the
time.”
“I wouldn’t leave a pet hamster with
Uncle Truman.”
Her father looked offended—as if she
had just compared him to a hamster.
“Not that I . . . well, you know what I
mean.”
He straightened to his full height. “I
enjoy having you here, Grace. You know that. But for you to stay
here permanently would be throwing yourself on a
pyre.”
“Dad, please.
That’s crazy talk!”
Their eyes met, and she regretted
saying it. She regretted saying anything.
He tapped his cast. “Don’t worry if you
have to take a flight in the next day or so if it would save you
money.”
“You’re really that eager to get rid of
me?”
His face remained a blank. “You can use
my computer.”
“For what?”
“To make your
reservations.”
On her last nerve, Grace thumped the
sponge she was using into the sink. “All right. I’ll go upstairs
now and get myself on the next affordable plane out. I’ll even take
the red-eye tonight if that makes you happy.”
“Don’t be angry, Grace. Of course I’ll
be sorry to see you go.”
“Of course,” she grumbled. “So sorry I
wouldn’t be surprised to feel your crutch nudging me into a
taxi.”
She tromped upstairs and logged on the
Internet. Why was she even arguing with him? Even if he was sick,
she didn’t belong here. Most of the time she wondered if the
Olivers really considered her part of their family. Sure, they’d
always been welcoming to her when she’d showed up for her summer
visits, or on the rare holiday. Yet she had never felt that she’d
progressed beyond honored guest. In terms of family, she could
claim only second-class status at best. Which, of course, was also
what she had at her mom’s house. But at least in Oregon there was
Ben, and Rigoletto’s.
Within fifteen minutes, she’d bought a
ticket for a flight at ten the next night. At least they wouldn’t
have to discuss it anymore. She was tired of repeating the same
argument they’d been having for the past two weeks. It was
surrender time. This ticket was her white flag.
She marched downstairs, where Lou had
already installed himself in his chair. “I bought a ticket for
tomorrow night,” she informed him.
“Good.”
“Maybe we could go out tonight. You
know, a sort of farewell dinner. Something that’s actually edible
for a change.”
“Your food is edible,” he said. Faint praise, even for
him.
“I just thought it would be a little
more special if we went out. I’ve been here for weeks and we
haven’t gone on a barbecue run.”
“I don’t see the need to go out,” he
said. “I’d just as soon stay home.”
Unaccountably, tears stung her eyes.
Was he doing it on purpose? Nothing she said was
right.
She worried if she stayed in the house
on her last night there, she’d spend the whole time weeping, and
that would drive her father crazy. “Would you mind if I went out?”
“I think that would be a good thing,”
he said.
“Fine.”
She went out the front door and let it
slam behind her. It was childish, but she didn’t care. She pulled
out her cell phone to call Steven, but when she got his voice mail
she remembered that he was out of town again. Maybe she would be
able to catch up with him tomorrow.
She looked one way down the street,
then the other. The black SUV was parked in the drive next door.
Impulsively, she hopped off the porch, marched across the yard, and
knocked at the pilot’s door. A few seconds later, when he swung it
open, his eyes bugged.
“Am I bothering you?” she
asked.
He smiled. “My door’s always open to a
pretty lady.”
Evidently it was a revolving door. In
the past several weeks, she’d seen a steady stream of women, many
in flight attendant uniforms, going through the yellow
bungalow.
“I need someone to have dinner with
tonight,” she announced.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
His face screwed up in
confusion.
“I don’t have a destination in mind,”
she explained. “I just thought we could go out.”
“Oh—you mean like on a
date?”
She sighed. A fine time for the playboy
of the western world to turn all bashful and fluttery on her. “I’m
leaving tomorrow,” she assured him. “It would just be a one-night
thing.”
Those magic words, one
night, made the sale. “Sounds fun,” he said, grinning.
“Where do you want to go?”
“You can choose. I don’t really want to
think.”
“My dream woman!”
Over the next eight hours, she
regretted her decision to go out with Wyatt several times. She’d
been hasty. Her dad had only been terse with her because he hadn’t
seemed to want to go anywhere since his diagnosis—even to the
grocery store. He probably dreaded running into people he knew and
having to pretend that everything was okay.
But as evening approached and a gloom
descended on the house, she wondered if it wasn’t actually good
that she was going. Otherwise she and her dad would both sit at
home moping. Already she was dreading the long next day leading up
to her flight out. What would they do?
“I’ll leave some soup out for you,” she
told her dad, just before she decided it was time to go up and get
dressed. When she put the can of Progresso chicken noodle on the
counter, she felt a stab of guilt. This is probably how he would
feed himself when she was gone. Cans of soup.
Though, come to think of it, most of
the time a can of soup was all she fixed for them
herself.
She hoped Wyatt Carter didn’t want to
go anywhere fancy. It was a strain for her makeshift visitor’s
wardrobe to handle even dress casual. She put on a clean pair of
shorts, a tank and a gauzy overshirt, slipped into a pair of
sandals and decided he would just have to deal.
She was relieved when he knocked on the
door wearing jean shorts himself. They were already in his car
before he announced, “I thought we could go to the Salt
Lick.”
Her hand faltered on the seat belt.
That was her dad’s favorite place to go around Austin. For a moment
she felt almost guilty.
“Is something wrong?” he
asked.
She shook her head. “No, that’s great.
I like it.”
He fired up the engine.
The restaurant was about twenty minutes
away from town. Luckily, on a Tuesday it wasn’t as jam-packed as it
usually was when she’d been there before, during weekends. The host
pointed them to one of the rustic wood tables, and Wyatt pulled two
Shiner Bocks out of a bag he’d brought with him. Grace had
forgotten the place was BYOB.
“You look like you could use one of
these,” Wyatt said, twisting the cap off a beer and handing it to
her.
“You have no idea,” she said, taking a
long first swig.
He brightened and waved at a nearby
table. “Hey, look who’s here!” He nodded to his right. “It’s like
old home week.”
One table over, Peggy sat in a bright
yellow shirt-and-shorts set. Across from her was Uncle Truman. A
pain pierced Grace’s heart. In all these weeks, Peggy had never
made the time to visit Lou. And now . . . here she sat at a
barbecue joint with Truman. Traitor!
She faced forward, turning away before
they’d spotted her. Of course, she herself was a traitor, too,
leaving her dad and coming here tonight.
Wyatt looked confused. “Don’t you want
to go over and say hello?”
She shook her head and fanned herself
with the laminated menu. The air was warm and muggy—the building
was baked from the hot summer air outside and the huge round open
barbecue pit inside. She wished she’d sat closer to one of the
fans.
“Who’s that old guy with
Peggy?”
“My uncle Truman.”
“Your uncle?” He looked surprised.
“Then maybe you really would like to—”
“No. It would probably make his evening
not to have to talk to me,” she said,
trying not to look at them. She wondered if they had spotted her
yet. Probably not. They seemed completely wrapped up in each
other.
Wyatt looked at Grace oddly and then
stared down at his own menu. “You’re different than I thought you
would be.”
“How?”
“Well—I imagined you as more of a Miss
Congeniality type.”
Unable to help herself, she glanced
over as Uncle Truman took hold of Peggy’s hand. Grace felt herself
levitate a few inches. Part of her wanted to jump up and separate
those two, to tell them to think about the spectacle they were
making of themselves.
“Grace?”
“Huh?” She swung her attention back to
Wyatt. “I don’t know where you would get the idea that I would be
Miss Congeniality.” It seemed especially funny now that her fist
was clenched and aching to clobber a little seventy-five-year-old
lady.
Wyatt frowned. “I don’t, either.” He
taxed his brain for a few moments and shrugged. “I guess I sort of
thought you reminded me of my son.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Your
son?”
“Only personality-wise, you
understand.”
“I didn’t know you had a
son.”
“That’s because he’s in
Dallas.”
“How old is he?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen!” She laughed.
He leaned forward. “Do you think that
makes me seem old?”
“I was laughing because you seem to
have a fifteen-year-old mentality yourself.”
He preened. “I try to stay
young.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.” She
took a sip of beer. “What’s your son’s name?”
“Crawford. He’s nothing like me,
really. He’s into band, and computers, and . . .” He shrugged. “The
one thing we really agree on is that we both detest my ex-wife’s
new husband. Mel. He really blew his stack a month ago when
Crawford hacked into his e-mail account and discovered he was
having an affair with his secretary. Now the whole family’s in
counseling.” He seemed especially peeved by that. “Sharon never
suggested counseling when we were married.
Maybe forgiveness is something women learn as they
age.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Grace
said.
A waitress came by and took their
orders. While Wyatt was engaged in flirtatious banter with the poor
trapped server, Grace couldn’t help glancing over at her uncle and
Peggy. Uncle Truman was pouring out champagne. Grace crossed her
arms over her chest. Champagne, at the Salt
Lick?
“Anyway,” Wyatt continued, once the
waitress had left, “when I say you remind me of Crawford, I guess
I’m saying you remind me of Sharon, because he takes after her.
Young Sharon. Before all the problems started.”
“When was that?”
“Right after we drove away from the
church.”
She laughed. “People who’ve been
married make it sound fantastic.”
“Yeah, I’ve learned my lesson. I know
it’s probably a blow to all the prospective Mrs. Wyatts out
there—”
“I don’t believe
it!” Grace exclaimed. Her gaze had strayed back over to
Peggy and Truman’s table just in time to see Truman pop open a
small square jewelry box. Grace did a double-take and glared back
at Wyatt. “He’s giving her a ring! An engagement
ring!”
Wyatt’s jaw dropped. “That old
horndog.”
“This is not right.” Truman was
actually proposing to the woman whom Lou had been in love with for
decades? She jumped up. “This is not happening.”
Wyatt tried to grab her arm. “Whoa.
Grace. It’s not your business.”
“That’s where you’re
wrong.”
She marched over to Truman and Peggy’s
table and stopped, planting her arms on her hips just as Peggy was
trying the ring on for size.
“Very nice!” Grace exclaimed
sarcastically.
The two of them looked up at her in
surprise.
“Grace!” Peggy said. “Truman
just—”
“Your mother had Alzheimer’s, didn’t
she, Peggy?” Grace demanded.
Peggy’s face screwed up in confusion.
“What?”
“Or dementia. Right?” Grace remembered
that now. “You probably knew what was going on back at that Mexican
restaurant.”
“I’m not sure what—”
“And when I couldn’t find the dog,”
Grace said, cutting her off, “you probably realized then why Dad
hadn’t mentioned Iago. Am I right?”
Truman huffed at her. “Have you finally
flipped your lid, Grace?”
“Were you just waiting for confirmation
that Dad wasn’t ever going to get better?” she asked Peggy. “That
you really needed to latch on to someone new before you got
stuck?”
“What is she talking about?” Truman
asked Peggy.
“And you!” Grace yelled at him.
“Stealing your own brother’s girl—kicking him when he’s down. You
even brought her to his favorite restaurant to do it!”
“Simmer down!” Truman said, starting to
stand. “You always were the type to find something to bust your
bloomers over.”
“I’m perfectly calm!” Grace
said.
To prove it, she picked up a champagne
glass and tossed its contents into her uncle’s face.
“Lovely evening,” Wyatt growled.
“Thanks so much.”
They were the first words he had spoken
in twenty miles. They were just pulling off Guadalupe into the Hyde
Park neighborhood, so he was probably hoping to get his licks in
before dumping her off.
“I told you I was sorry,” she
said.
“Don’t be,” he drawled sarcastically.
“It was entertaining. First time I’ve seen anyone unhinged enough
to take a slug at an eighty-year-old.”
“I didn’t hit him. I just spilled a
little champagne on him.”
He smirked. “You’re the only person I
know who spills upward, with perfect aim.” He shook his head. “At
your own uncle!”
She shuddered. Her behavior had been
abominable. But she hadn’t seemed to be able to help herself—it had
been as if she were another person entirely. Jerry Springer girl.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Frankly, I think you
must be nuts.”
“Well, you won’t have to worry about
dealing with me anymore. I’m leaving tomorrow night.”
“Good,” he said. “Although if tonight
was anything to go by, I don’t think we’d be having too many more
nights on the town in any case.”
“Don’t go breaking my heart,” she said.
“Anyway, you didn’t see me at my best.”
“What worries me is that I might not
have seen you at your worst,” he replied as he turned the car onto
their block.
It was dark, but the street was lit up
with colored flashing lights, and the inhabitants of practically
all the houses had spilled into the street to look at the fire
trucks, police cruisers, and the ambulance—all parked right in
front of Grace’s dad’s house.
“Stop!” she yelled, at the same time
Wyatt said, “What the hell?”
“Oh God!” Grace moaned, clawing at the
passenger side door to get out. Wyatt parked the car as close in as
they could get and she jumped out and flew toward the house. A
policeman held out his arm but she broke right past, only to be
snagged by another cop.
“My dad’s in there! Professor
Oliver!”
“No, he’s not,” the policeman said.
“He’s with the doctor, by the ambulance. He’s okay.”
A breath of relief gushed out of her
lungs. “Thank God! What happened?”
“It was a kitchen fire,” the policeman
said. “Appears to have been caused by a pot of soup left on the
stove.”
“And Dad called the police?” she
asked.
“No, ma’am. The kid next door
did.”
Dominic! “A little boy?” she
asked.
“No, ma’am, it was a girl. Lily West.
Said she spotted the fire as she was looking through a pair of
binoculars.”
“But you said you were going to be
coming in tonight.”
Grace gripped her phone more tightly.
“That was yesterday, Ben. Today I’m telling you that it’s going to
be a couple more weeks.”
“Weeks?” he
asked in that petulantly forlorn voice that was beginning to grate
on her nerves.
“The house caught fire,” she said. “I
can’t just walk out now.”
“But isn’t your brother
there?”
“As it happens, he’s not. I called him
this morning—he should be coming back around noon. But there’s
nothing he can do.”
“Then how is there anything you can
do?”
“Because I’m living here. I don’t have
anything else to think about, while Steven’s whole life is falling
apart.”
Ben sputtered.
“What?” she asked.
“You abandoned your life,” he said.
“Doesn’t that count as falling apart, too?”
She mulled that over for a moment and
felt anger rising in her chest. What was he trying to do to her?
Couldn’t he see that she was under stress here? “Are you trying to
tell me that you can’t handle the store?”
“No, I’m handling it fine. Getting the
knack of it, actually.”
“Is the house a problem?”
“Not really.”
“Then is it the cats?
What?”
He sighed. “It’s you, Grace. You’re not here, and you’re supposed to be.
I miss you, and I worry that your brothers are taking advantage of
you.”
As quickly as her heart melted at his
telling her he missed her, she got riled up all over again. “They
are not. Steven’s just going through a really rough patch—he’s not
the best caretaker in the world at the best of times—and Sam has no
idea what’s going on. I was going to try to e-mail him
today.”
“And I’m sure he’ll catch the first
plane out of wherever,” he said, his voice dripping
sarcasm.
“Beirut. I don’t want him to catch a
plane out. I’m here. I can handle this. I just need a little more
time.”
There was a silence, and then he let
out a ragged breath. “Is there anything I can do to
help?”
“Yes—be patient. Just for a little
while longer.”
“Of course,” he said. “Don’t worry
about things here, Grace. I’m sorry if I upset you. Your call just
took me by surprise. I was all ready to break out the
champagne.”
Aw. “Everything’s okay
there?”
“Boompsa-daisy.”
She smiled at the sound of him sipping
his morning coffee, and she braced herself against the sudden
longing to be there with him, in her own kitchen, with Heathcliff
draped over her shoulder, the cool morning air lightly riffling the
miniblinds. She closed her eyes.
“Grace?” Ben asked. “You
there?”
No, I’m there—with
you.
“You’re sure everything’s fine?” she
asked, suddenly feeling as if one tiny problem would send her
rushing back to Portland.
“Everything’s cool. There was a panic
there when Amber left, but then Jerry said he wanted to start
working more hours anyway, so that was, like, providence or
something.”
“That’s right—Amber’s gone now.” Grace
made a mental note to e-mail her old friend and see how she was
settling into her new life in Seattle.
“She had to store a few boxes in our
basement—they didn’t all fit in her Honda. Hope that’s okay. She
said she’d come back sometime in the next month or so and pick them
up.”
“Perfectly fine. Or maybe when I come
back we can load them up and drive them up to her ourselves. Treat
ourselves to a road trip.”
“That sounds awesome. I’ll hold on to
that thought.”
“Me too,” Grace said.
And then, coming from the direction of
the living room, she heard the sound of something glass falling.
She begged off the phone and ran downstairs to clean up the teacup
her father had dropped on the floor.