Could I Have This Dance? (38 page)

John groaned. “Sure.”

“I’m never there.”

He took her to a Tex-Mex restaurant called D.C. Peppers, where she talked about her family and her experiences as an intern. When she talked about the possibility that her father may have Huntington’s, he seemed nonplused.

“Why should anyone worry about what-ifs?” He shrugged. “Just live your life and see what comes. You said yourself that there’s little to do about it.”

“John, it’s not like I’m talking about getting a flat tire on the way to the prom. This could affect my life. All my plans, everything I’ve worked for.”

“All the more reason to sit back and trust. There’s absolutely nothing you can do to change this, is there?”

“No.” Claire sighed. There was a fundamental difference between John Cerelli and Claire McCall. His ability to just sit back and take life’s bumps without getting upset had her puzzled. “But maybe you aren’t understanding this. I’m talking about a disease that stays quiet until you’re in your prime. Then it strikes, causing a slow deterioration until you die. And you die young, John, with your dreams shattered and unfulfilled.”

“Bummer.” He sipped on his Coke.

“Don’t be cavalier about this, Cerelli. This would affect whether we could have a family. You’ve told me how you’ve always dreamed of a son to take under your wing. Think about how this would affect those plans.”

“Claire, you don’t even know that your father has this disease, right? And already you’re worried about our children?”

“How can you not?”

John’s face became serious. He leaned forward and took her hand in his. “Trust.”

She was expecting more. “Trust. That’s it?”

“Yes. Only trust.”

“So I just sit back and live my life, trusting that everything will be okay? I’m not built that way.”

“It’s not trust that life will always be rosy. It’s trust that when you encounter the thorns, that you’re not alone, that you’re not in control. You never have been.”

She dipped a tortilla chip in a fiery salsa. “I’m not wired the way you are. You’re type B.”

“Even type A’s need to learn to trust. Do you believe that God is sovereign?”

“He’s all-powerful. All-knowing. I believe that.”

“Do you think he’s in control of your life?”

The discussion was making Claire uncomfortable. She wanted John’s empathy, not a theology lesson. She looked down. “Look, John, I’m not sure. I want him to be in control. But I seem to have trouble letting him. I’ve made plans for my life. I’ve known what I’ve wanted to do for a long time. It just seemed right. And God seemed to be opening the doors. So is he in control?”

“Ultimately? Yes. We can choose to go our own way and sin. God’s control isn’t exerted in our life to make us do evil. But he allows us to go our own way. And he allows evil to touch our lives to accomplish his purposes. And regardless of our circumstances, our job is to trust. And it’s trust based on knowing his character, his love toward us that never changes. It’s a trust that believes, even in our darkest hour, God’s love is just the same.”

It all sounded nice, but Claire wasn’t used to sitting back passively and letting someone else lead. Everything about her personality screamed, “do something,” “take control,” “make a goal and go for it.” “I don’t know, John. Maybe I just don’t get it. I’ve heard words like this ever since I was a kid. But maybe I’m just not a good Christian like you. I have trouble trusting when things are looking bleak.”

“Don’t call me a good Christian. I’ve made plenty of mistakes.” He looked up, and captured her eyes. “Some of them with you.”

She nodded.

“Everyone struggles with doubt.”

She watched him for a moment, wondering about the maturity she saw. When did everyone around her grow up? Why did everyone seem to have more depth than she’d credited them with? Her mother, now John. Had she just been so preoccupied with her own life not to appreciate it?

“It’s funny, John.”

“What?”

“Why is it that we never talked about this stuff before?”

“We’ve talked about God, Claire. And faith. Remember our Wednesday night study with Pastor George?”

“This feels different somehow. A Sunday school discussion is one thing. Applying this stuff in the thick of life is another.”

John looked up. She followed his eyes to the waitress who was about to deliver their sizzling fajitas.

The portions looked huge. She raised her eyebrows in suspicion. “How much pizza did you eat before I came?”

“Only two pieces,” he said, eyeing the feast. “I’ve still got room.”

While they ate, Claire urged John to do something that she had successfully avoided all during their dating relationship. She asked him to come to Carlisle to visit her father.

“When are you leaving?”

“I fly back to Boston Sunday.”

“I could come down to Stoney Creek Friday after work. Maybe we could go hiking or something.”

It sounded wonderful. Except Claire didn’t have any casual clothes. The next time she left Lafayette for a week it would be nice to have more than thirty minutes to prepare.

After an hour, Claire looked at her watch. “I need to be leaving.”

John frowned. “I thought you were staying over.”

“I feel like I should be in Stoney Creek while my dad is in the hospital.” She sipped at the last of a diet soda.

“You can leave in the morning.” His eyes were tender. “I’ll sleep on the couch. You can have my bed.”

“You know as well as I do that staying under one roof is asking for trouble.”

“Claire, we did it at your place.”

“That was different. You had no place to go. I have my home just an hour away.” She pushed her lips into a pout. “Besides, having you in my house at night was pure torture. I’m not sure I should put myself through that again.”

“Let me get this straight. It’s okay for you to sleep in your house with a male resident, but not to stay in the same house with me?”

“Under the circumstances, I’d have been happy to have you stay. In fact,” she added soberly, “I’m not sure what I’m going to do when I’m back in Lafayette.”

He sighed. “I still wish you’d stay. An hour with you is so rare. We’ll be good.”

She shook her head. “I told my mother I’d be home, John. I’ll see you Friday. I’ll call you with directions.”

He gave up his argument. “So I finally get to spend some time with the McCall family. I was beginning to think that Stoney Creek was a fairy tale, something you made up, but would never let me see.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I think it’s time.”

“Why the change?”

She laughed. “Because I have your diamond now. It’s too late for you to back out.”

“Come on.”

“I made a promise, that’s all. A promise that I’d be a better daughter than I have in the past.” She looked down. “Maybe it’s time I let my family back in my life.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

C
laire and Margo were on pleasant terms, not confidantes, but sisters separated by a silence that stemmed from pursuing separate dreams, and a desire to distance themselves from the stigma which surrounded being Wally’s girls. Growing up, Claire resisted her sister’s shadow, chose academics over boyfriends, athletics over Margo’s choice of an after-school job, and college savings over following the latest trend in high school fashion.

Margo McCall Stevens lived with her husband, Kyle, just outside Carlisle. Margo eloped at eighteen with the twenty-eight-year-old manager of the McDonald’s where she worked. She had married for love, thankful for an escape from an alcoholic father and the dysfunction that surrounded him. In the past twelve years, Margo and Kyle had had three daughters, Kelly, now eleven, Casey, eight, and an infant, Kristin, born just after Claire’s graduation from medical school. They had forged a good life together. Hard work and long hours had brought Kyle a Wendy’s franchise, a three-acre tract of land overlooking the Blue Ridge, two ponies, a minivan, a Cherokee Wagoneer, a four-bedroom house, and a membership at a fitness center.

By Thursday, Wally had improved enough to be moved out of the ICU, but he was still weak, and he tired easily after only brief visits by Claire or Della. And so, after her afternoon hospital visit, Claire headed for Margo’s to see her new niece and reconnect with a sister she’d lost in the search of her own life.

Claire stood on the expansive deck listening to Margo complain of her husband’s schedule and their incredible mortgage payment. Margo had given Claire a tour of her home, giving her a blow-by-blow account of the budget overruns on their house.

Claire sipped pink lemonade and smiled pleasantly, the smile she gave to strangers in the grocery store. Margo droned on. And on.

“I had to have the granite countertops in the kitchen.

“Kyle had to have the hot tub.

“The tile around the bath cost a fortune!

“Each of the girls have cable TV hookups in their rooms.

“We’re getting a Kinkade canvas lithograph for over the fireplace. But of course you probably collect original oils, since you’re a doctor.”

Claire held up her hand. “You don’t seem to understand. I’m a doctor, yes. But I make less than minimum wage when you consider my hours. My tastes are simple. It’s good they are, because I couldn’t afford one-tenth of the things you’re enjoying.”

Margo raised her eyebrows. “I’ll bet your house is big.”

“I rent a house. It’s too big for just me, but I didn’t want to live in the housing close to the hospital because it’s too expensive, and I’d rather have a little yard. I’ve done very little decorating. I’d love to have the time to do what you’ve done so well, but …” She sighed before continuing, “I’m only there for a few hours every other evening, so I don’t really care. There’s too much else in my life to be concerned over my house.”

Margo shifted in her seat. “There are other things in my life too, of course. Casey’s in the Apple Valley children’s choir. I have to cart her all over creation to sing. And with Kelly’s traveling soccer team, Kyle is gone to a tournament almost every weekend. And if Kristin ever takes a nap, I like to work on my quilting.”

“I don’t see how you do it. I have trouble just keeping up with me. I don’t think I’m ready to be responsible for children.”

Margo shrugged. “You do what you have to do.”

Claire nodded and looked out at the mountains. She was tired of polite, superficial chitchat. She felt like a stranger to her own sister. She sipped at her lemonade and cleared her throat. “I was hoping that our family could get together when John comes over this weekend.”

Margo elevated her eyebrows. “Everyone?”

“Well, Daddy will probably still be in the hospital, but at least Mom, Clay, and your family could come. We could have a cookout in our old backyard.”

Margo wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know.”

“It could be fun. I’d like you to meet John.”

Margo shook her head. “Oh, I’d like to meet John, it’s just that …”

“Just that what?”

Her sister stood up and began to pace. “It just that it seems so artificial. Like we’re pretending to be something we’re not.”

“We don’t have to pretend, Margo. It’s okay for our family to get back together. It would be good for us.”

Margo laughed. “Good for us?” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t remember the last pleasant time I’ve had with Daddy and Mom. They’ve got their
life.” She turned and stared out at the mountains. “And I’ve got mine now. I don’t really care to have a cozy little reunion with Daddy. I went to the hospital when they thought he was dying. I bet he wouldn’t come if you or I were in the hospital.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that things might change? That our father might actually like it if you’d come around and visit him?” Claire threw up her hands. “Did you know that Mom brought in pictures of your girls and taped them to the wall next to his hospital bed?”

Margo shook her head. “That’s a joke. It’s been a year since they visited. They’ve never even seen my new house.”

Claire’s hand went to her mouth. “No.”

“Why should that surprise you? It’s not like you’ve spent any time relating to our parents either. When did you leave home? Sixteen?”

Claire nodded.

“Well, don’t act so surprised that the rest of us don’t act any different than you. You left home and barely looked back, except to remind us of how great things were since you left us behind.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. I hear it all the time. It’s all I ever hear when I’m around anyone who knew you. ‘How’s Claire? She’s a doctor now. I’ll bet you’re proud of your little sister,’” she mocked.

“Come on, you’re the one with the family. I haven’t done anything except study.”

“And it gave you a great excuse to stay away from your family and Stoney Creek.” She looked away. “Well, maybe I don’t have as good a reason, but I’m doing just fine on my own without Daddy looking over my shoulder to tell me any different.”

Claire looked down at the cedar deck boards. “I feel pretty stupid. I thought I was the only one isolated from Mom and Dad. I feel like I turned my back on them.”

“And Daddy didn’t do the same to us?”

Claire sighed. “Okay, I know things weren’t great. But that doesn’t mean things can’t change. Daddy might need us more now than ever before.”

“He’s made his own bed as far as I’m concerned. He’s going to have to sleep in it.”

Claire wanted to protest, but the stern look on Margo’s face silenced her attempt to speak.

“Kyle and I have made a life on our own, without any help from Daddy. I’m not interested in pulling together to help someone who chose the bottle over me.”

“Don’t you realize that he might never get better? That Mom is going to need a lot of support?”

“You are so idealistic. You march off to save the world, to become a doctor, a surgeon even, and now you want to come back here and save your family, too? Has it ever occurred to you that we might not want your help?”

Claire hadn’t anticipated this bitterness. “Margo, what about a little grace?

“A little grace? Look who’s talking! I seem to remember Mom being quite upset that you hardly had time for your family after your med school graduation. You just ran off to Lafayette and your wonderful career in medicine.” Margo paused and sucked noisily on the straw in her lemonade. “So what makes you think we should get together just because you want to?”