Conflicts of the Heart (19 page)

She needed family now, not a man!

That warm, sunny afternoon, birds chirped in the Modesto Ash trees. A clement breeze blew as Dana led Michael up the front steps to the Markham House, an elegant retirement center on the tonier side of North Ashton.

Scanning the graceful, sand-white three-story building, she
wondered if her mother would

consider
leaving to live with them in a nice home outside of town. They might be a family again if her mother could see Michael’s progress, and play a part in his growth.

Wishful thinking.
As far back as she could remember, her Mom liked being a loner. She encouraged Dana and her father to do as many activities without her as they wanted. She liked her independence and freedom from family outings. Teal provided her the perfect escape. They could play sisters and her mother could do her thing with volunteer organizations and her bridge club.

Dana, tired of vying for her mother's attention, turned to her father and Teal for companionship. When her father died, she tried to win her mother over, but too much time had lapsed to develop a relationship. It seemed Margaret couldn't wait to sell their home and push Dana out of the nest.

Why she wanted to establish a relationship now hadn’t set in yet. She had to keep on trying. You only have one mother, and hers wasn't getting any younger.

Dana squeezed Michael's hand. She crouched down and looked into his vacant eyes. “Remember, Grandma’s very nervous. Do your best, tiger, but don't sweat it, okay?”

Michael stomped playfully up the steps beside her. His thick, dark curly hair flopped onto his forehead. She felt a rush of love for him, her little boy isolated within himself.

Inside the main lobby, the refrigeration and the plethora of pastels and understated elegance overwhelmed her. At least her dad had left her mother with enough money to lead a comfortable life. Still, Dana couldn't help missing her home where she grew up.

On the second floor, they strolled down the quiet hall to her mother's apartment. She hesitated a few moments before knocking.

The door opened.
Margaret Moran, Dana’s mother, arrogant, handsome, ten pounds overweight and still wearing her same big mound of coifed gray hair, smiled, then reached out and hugged Dana.

“Hello, Mother.” Dana patted her mother on the back as if burping a baby.

Her mother withdrew and glanced at Michael. For a brief moment, she hesitated then leaned down and loosely embraced him before kissing the air next to his cheek. Dana gritted her teeth. Why couldn't she see Michael as a whole person? If he'd been normal, she would have grabbed him up in her arms and smothered him with kisses.

“Well, don't just stand there. Come in. I thought you were never going to get here.”

“Traffic was bad to the day care center.”

“You look wonderful, dear.
A little on the thin side.” She turned Dana around, checking her over. She took Dana's arm, directing her into the compact apartment, fanning her hand to point out the expensive accruements throughout the room.

Dana noted the bed in the alcove with its pale blue and white striped bedspread, a small kitchenette all yellow and white, and an adjoining terrace big enough for two. She couldn’t find a thing out of place. Not a speck of dust anywhere. “This is lovely.”

“This place is much more comfortable for me than rattling around in that big house.”

Old guilt drove her mother’s conversation. Dana fought her bitterness.

Mother bent down to Michael. “Would you like a soda pop?” She tweaked his nose.

Michael grabbed at Dana and buried his face against her waist. Mom shrugged and strode to the kitchenette. “I've made us tea.”

“Are you sure our being here is such a good idea?” Dana seated Michael in a chair and sat next to him on the couch, holding his hand.

“Of course,
dear.” She stood akimbo. “Why can't you be as patient with me as you are with Michael?”

“You're right.” Dana reached over and smoothed Michael's hair. “I can't wait until we get a house and he has a place to play. You look fabulous. Did you meet anyone special on the cruise?”

“Dana! You know better than that.”

“Just hoping.”
Dana grinned.

“I ate too much.” She brought in her rose china and set it on the coffee table. “Put on a few unnecessary pounds too. I feel fat.” She poured the steaming tea and sat next to Dana.

“Can Michael drink his soda out of the can?”

“Yes, that's fine.” Dana handed Michael the Coke. He sipped it, set it on the end table next to him, then pulled himself back in his seat, curled his legs under him and settled down like a cat in repose.

Dana sucked in a deep breath. “I was wondering how you'd feel about moving in with us if I rent a house?”

With an astonished expression, her mother set down her cup and tilted her head. “Are you serious? Leave all this?” Her hand waved about.

A swell of disappointment settled in Dana's chest. Her mother's delightful tone on the phone earlier that day had been a fluke. Nothing had changed from any of their previous visits.

“I thought we could be a family again. I hate to see you living alone in a retirement center when we could be together.”

“Just what would I do if you married again and there wasn't a place available here? You know they have a waiting list.”

“I don't think you have to worry about me marrying again. It's unlikely.” Patrick's face flashed before her. She closed her eyes momentarily, and drew in a quick breath, trying to rid herself of his image.

Her mother glanced at Michael. “You should have listened to Joel. If you had, you'd still be married and Michael would be in capable hands. This must all be very hard on him too.”

Dana leapt from her seat. “Michael is in capable hands. Mine!
Where he belongs.”

Her mother flinched. “I'm sorry. This is so hard on both of us.” She pulled Dana down next to her. “I am trying.”

“He's my whole world, Mom. He needs me now more than ever. If I desert him, he'll never have a chance.”

They were talking as if Michael wasn’t in the room.

Her mother squirmed in her seat. “Calm down. Let's just take one step at a time.”

Exasperated, Dana wiped a film of perspiration from her forehead with her fingers. “I should’ve known you'd want to stay here. I'm sorry I brought it up.”

“You mustn't worry about me. I like my independence. I travel, have very nice friends, and have no desire to live in a house again.”

Dana noted the hard lines at the corners of her mother's eyes and mouth. Her voice carried an old, familiar ring to it.

“I've never approved of your divorcing Joel,” her mother went on with killing casualness. “He's a good man. He was right about Michael. Sometimes, Dana, you're so bullheaded. Just like your father.”

Dana pressed her lips together in anger. “I guess we each have to live the way we want…I won't bring it up again.” Their communication remained abominable, but as difficult as this day turned out to be, Dana pushed ahead, kept trying. No matter what, she wanted her mother.

“Oh, Dana.” Margaret leaned forward, resting a hand on her daughter's knee. “We can be a family without living under the same roof. I have all the entertainment I could wish for, and they prepare wonderful meals in the dining room. This is perfect for me at this time of my life.” She glanced at her watch. “Speaking of food. It's time for lunch. Why don't we go downstairs?” She glanced at Michael.

Dana took note of the unspoken innuendos. “Why don't we pass on lunch today? We can visit here for a while. You and I can have lunch some other time.”

“Nonsense! I haven't seen you for months. I want you to see how lovely everything is here. You'll understand why I want to stay.” She went to Michael and took his hand. “Come on, Mikey. Let Gran-- Margaret take you to lunch.”

Michael slid from his seat, his head down, his free arm reaching out to Dana.

“Okay.” She released a deep sigh and took Michael's other hand.

Downstairs, double doors to the dining room swung open and the
impatient crowd filed into the brightly lit room. White linen, a multitude of green plants and soft music colored the room.

Dana took plates for her and Michael. She scrutinized each item on the appetizing buffet. Michael clung to her skirt with a tight little fist, nodding when he approved of a particular item for his plate.

At the table near the window, she tucked a napkin behind the top button of his shirt and ran her fingers across his rosy cheek. He lifted his arm to hug her and accidentally knocked his milk to the floor, splashing Margaret's leg.

She sprang up, her face crimson. “Michael, how could you?” She gritted her teeth as if to stop herself from saying more.

“It was my fault.” Dana grabbed a cloth napkin, got down on her knees, and blotted the milk from the carpet. One of the waiters stopped by the table with a damp towel.

Michael cried. Dana bolted up and took his hand. “It's all right, honey. It was an accident.”

Leaning close to Dana, her mother said in a hushed, angry whisper, “My stocking is soaked. Let's go back to my apartment. I'll fix us something.”

Dana's eyes clouded with tears. She patted Michael's arm to calm him. “I think we'll just go home. It's too hard to have Michael here. I'll come alone next time.”

They took the elevator to the lobby in silence. Margaret ignored Michael but hugged Dana. “See you soon, darling.” She remained in the elevator.

“We'll have lunch another day.” In her heart, Dana knew she could wait a very long time. A part of her life severed when the elevator doors slid shut. In her car, the engine running, she covered her face with her hands and cried.

The next morning, despite Dana's depressed mood, she and Michael left for San Jose. On the long three and a half hour drive, she wondered what on earth had possessed her to think she could return to Ashton and with a wave of her hand erase the horrible relationship she and her mother had shared since her father died. She had negative feelings about her future at Templeton and her feelings for Patrick.

This trip to San Jose and her court appearance with Joel had to turn out better than everything else had during the past three months. No matter what they say, money can improve an otherwise crappy life.

John Meyer's secretary led Dana and Michael into his cavernous office. Leather-bound books lined three walls from floor to ceiling. Exquisite, traditional Shaker furniture, polished to a mirror finish, rounded out the rest of the room. On a corner table, an oversized brass bucket filled with eucalyptus clippings freshened the air.

“Mr. Meyer will be in shortly. May I get you coffee or tea?”

“No thanks. We'll be fine.”

The woman left, closing the carved oak door behind her.

Dana ambled over to the window. Japanese maples were turning red; the Bay Area was gorgeous in September. She took a seat beside Michael on the overstuffed maroon leather couch. She felt like a stranger in the town where she lived the last several years. As she thumbed through a magazine from the coffee table, Michael sat next to her with his hands folded in his lap, staring into the large, sad, black eyes of children and cats in the Keane prints hanging on the wall. She squeezed his knee and smiled down at him.

The door swung open. John Meyer strode in, a preoccupied expression on his face. He looked in his early fifties, tall, with sensitive blue eyes, contrasting with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, and no gray in his thick brown hair, a fatherly-looking man with enough aplomb Dana knew would easily sway any judge, even Milton Stone, a man's judge.

She felt a wave of relief. The mere sight of John Meyer quelled her anxiety. He’d help her put her life back in order. Once she got out from under Joel and her finances improved, her stress over problems at work would lessen. She might even find time to get out and meet people.

“Hello, Dana.”

His deep, rich voice filled her with a feeling of confidence. If John had handled her case from the beginning, she wouldn't be in this spot. Going back before Judge Stone wasn’t going to be easy. He overzealously scrutinized every shred of evidence.

Dana rose and took Michael's hand, helping him off the couch.
“Hi, John.” She extended her hand. “It's nice to meet you in person.” She glanced down at Michael. “This is my son.”

John reached down to shake Michael's hand. Michael didn’t respond. He stared down at his feet, clutching Dana's hand. John knew about Michael's autism and didn’t react. He led them over to the conference table in front of the window.

Her stomach churned--half in anticipation, half in dread. Struggling for survival, opposing a man she’d loved and trusted for a third of her life, made her feel as though she were running against the current. The thought of Joel's reaction when he learned of the evidence she possessed shook her confidence.

“We're going to win this.” John's tone sounded strong and reassuring.

She sat Michael next to her and handed him a small alabaster egg from her purse.

“I think we should meet with Joel and his attorney here before Friday to see if we can settle out of court.”