Dreams for Stones (27 page)

Or getting stones to float.

He threw the pen down and stumbled over to
the balcony door. The trees across the street were barely visible.
But as he watched, the contrast between foliage and sky grew more
definite.

Another day beginning. Another day without
Meg.

He moved automatically, showering, dressing,
eating. But when he climbed in the car, instead of driving back to
the ranch, he turned north and drove until he reached the entrance
to I-70 west.

It wouldn’t do any good. Going to the
cemetery. But he’d paid Angela for her advice, and this was it.
Visit Meg’s grave.

At the cemetery, he parked and got out. The
air was still cool, but it was going to be another hot day.

It took him thirty minutes to find Meg’s
grave. All he remembered from the day they buried her was looking
up from the gravesite and seeing the small hill with its tall tree
and the mountains behind, solid, eternal, aloof from earthly
sorrow.

He stood looking down at the gray granite
marker.

Margaret Adams Francini

Meg

1966 - 1993

They’d asked him what to put on the stone.
He told them to put whatever they pleased.

Be not afraid.

His breath caught in surprise.

He and Meg had been in eighth grade, Elaine
in ninth.

“Bet you guys don’t have a clue what words
appear most often in the bible,” Meg had said.

“Of course we don’t. We’re Catholics,”
Elaine said.

“The, and, but,” Alan said. “Oh, and
begat.”

Meg had taken a playful swipe at him, which
made his horse pretend to shy and Elaine’s horse to flick its ears
and snort.

“Think you’re so smart, huh?” Meg grinned at
him. Then her look turned serious. ‘“Be not afraid.’ Three-hundred
and sixty-five times. Just to make sure we get it. How cool is
that?”

“What’s to get?” he asked.

Meg shook her head, giving him her
boys-are-hopeless look. “That we don’t have to worry. Just do our
best, and everything will turn out okay.”

Except it hadn’t.

Without Meg he’d lost it all—tears, words,
joy. He stood, bent over Meg’s grave, and the memories slipped out,
floating away like clouds laden with rain heading for the
plains.

He looked again at Meg’s marker. It was
unpretentious. Just like Meg. The only decoration was an anemone,
the first spring flower, carved along one side. He glanced around
at the artificial flowers on several of the graves and real flowers
in plastic vases, browning and dropping their petals, on
others.

Should he bring flowers to Meg? She had
loved flowers, the wildflowers best of all. The anemones,
columbine, buttercups, and fireweed. But pick a wildflower, and it
dies within a day.

No, this was better. This simple marker with
its plain patch of grass.

After a time, he walked back to his car and
drove to the ranch, feeling lighter.

“I visited the cemetery,” Alan said.

“Did you.” Angela’s voice, as always, was
calm.

“I think. . . I no longer feel the same way
about what happened to Meg.”

“What’s different in how you feel?”

“I feel sad. But not. . . ” He looked past
Angela. Gradually, he became aware of the fish, lazily circling
their tank. “I can see it wasn’t my fault.” Still easier to say
than to feel.

“Saying the words. It’s a start,” Angela
said, as if she had read his mind.

They sat quietly for a time. He watched the
fish, letting the words play again in his head.
Not my fault. It
wasn’t my fault
.

Maybe if he said it a few thousand more
times. . .

Angela rose to shake Alan’s hand as she always did at the start of
their sessions. After they seated themselves, she spoke
briskly.

“Are you ready to discuss your relationship
now?”

“Relationship?”

“Yes. The one you mentioned during our first
meeting.”

He’d forgotten he’d told Angela that. “It
was no big deal.” He shifted, trying to ease the immediate
tightening in his neck and shoulders.

“Wasn’t it?” Angela’s tone was gentle.
“Perhaps it ended because you were afraid. Of losing her, like you
lost Meg.”

Pain moved from his neck into his head.
You think everything is about Meg.
He’d said that to
Charles.

“How long ago was it, Alan? That this
happened.”

He cleared his throat and took a careful
breath. “May.”

Angela regarded him steadily, while he tried
not to squirm. Finally he couldn’t stand the silence any longer,
even though he knew it was a tactic on Angela’s part.

“Kathy. Her name’s Kathy. And I couldn’t
deal with. . . my feelings. For her.” He could get up and leave any
time. It was his decision. So why didn’t he? Why did he sit here
talking about Kathy in a voice that even to his ears sounded
strained? Not that there was much to tell, except. . .

He took a deep breath. “My best friend plans
to marry her.” He glanced at Angela. For an instant he thought he
saw a look of pity on her face. But no. Angela never gave any hint
of what she was thinking.

“You don’t want that to happen.”

“No.”

“Are you going to do something about
it?”

“I don’t think. . . No.” Five, six. Was one
of the fish missing?

“Love brings pain. You can’t avoid it, Alan.
Nobody can. But denying love brings pain as well.”

He sat counting fish, trying not to think
about any of it.

“Kathy is unfinished business,” Angela
said.

“Voilá,” Charles said, opening the door to his apartment.

Kathy stepped past him and looked around
with interest. Abstract art prints on the walls, a clear vase
holding a large arrangement of silk flowers in shades of turquoise
and teal sitting on a glass coffee table, and. . . chintz covered
furniture? If she’d had to guess whose apartment this was, she
would have said a woman desperately trying to look hip and failing
miserably, not a man whose interests included vintage Porsches and
Ironman competitions.

“It’s ah. . . very. . . ” The only word that
came to mind was “feminine.” She bit it off.

“I think the word you’re looking for is
clean. I know. I need to redecorate.” He gave her a rueful
grin.

She tipped her head. “Irreconcilable
differences?”

“Yeah. This was one of them. Have a seat.
Try to make yourself comfortable. I need to check on dinner.”

Instead of sitting down, she followed him to
the kitchen.

He opened the oven door and squinted at
whatever was inside. It smelled as good as something from Mrs.
Costello’s kitchen.

“Congratulations on the verdict,” she said.
“We saw you on the news. Mrs. C thought you looked very
distinguished.”

“And what about Ms. J. What did she
think?”

“Fishing for compliments, and before I’ve
even had a bite to eat.” It was pleasant trading gentle barbs with
Charles. A relief, actually. He was so. . . uncomplicated. She’d
missed him this past month when he’d been too busy to see her.

“Missed you,” he said, catching her thought.
“Although it was superior planning on our parts to both be busy at
the same time.”

True. While he’d concentrated on the trial,
she’d focused on the Bobby story.

“So, how goes the writing?” he asked.

“Good. I finished the story.”

“Hey that’s terrific.” He came around the
counter and pulled her into his arms for a hug. He rubbed his cheek
against hers. “Let’s not do that again. Get too busy to see each
other.” Then he tipped her face up and kissed her.

She kissed him back, then moved casually out
of his arms. “So, what’s for dinner?”

He gave her a sharp look before turning back
to the stove. “Roast chicken with all the trimmings.”

She knew he was used to reading the body
language of jurors and witnesses, and right now, although he wasn’t
looking at her, he had to be wondering why she’d shortened the kiss
and moved away. Not that her instinctive withdrawal hadn’t been a
surprise to her as well.

When the food was ready, they carried it
into the dining room where the table was set with fresh flowers and
candles.

A thoroughly domesticated man, Kathy
thought, looking across at Charles. Except there was nothing
domesticated in the look he was giving her.

And she knew. Actually, she’d known for some
time, but had refused to face it, even after putting it into words
for Grace. He was no longer going to be satisfied with kissing.

But she wasn’t yet ready to take that next
step.

And maybe she never would be.

Looking at Charles, she was struck anew by
his sheer physical beauty, surprised as well by her own reaction to
that beauty. Indifference? Or maybe the better word was
unmoved.

And she knew why.

He wasn’t Alan.

It was as simple and as complex as that.

When they finished eating, Kathy insisted on
helping Charles put the food away.

“Forget leftovers.” He steered her firmly
into the living room. Soft jazz floated from the stereo, and he
took her in his arms and began to dance.

When the music ended, he kissed her, gently
at first and then with steadily increasing passion. Heart sinking,
she broke off the kiss.

“What is it?” His hands moved from her waist
to lightly grip her upper arms.

“I’m sorry, Charles.” She took a breath. “I
think I know what you’re hoping. And it’s only fair to tell you, it
isn’t going to happen.”

He gave her a searching look. “And what
exactly is it you think I’m hoping?”

She swallowed, feeling suddenly unsure. What
if she’d misread the situation? Wasn’t it presumptuous to assume
just because he put flowers and candles on the table he was
planning a seduction?

But another look at his face, and she knew
she had it right. She met his gaze. “You’re hoping to seduce
me.”

“So, why isn’t it going to happen?” He still
held her lightly.

Clamping down on her nerves, she pulled away
and led him over to the couch. “We need to talk.”

“Uh oh. Usually when a woman says that, it
means I’m not going to like what she has to say.” His tone was
flippant, but his face was solemn.

She tried to smile, but it felt like a
grimace.

He sat next to her and put his arm along the
back of the sofa, and she wished she’d picked one of the easy
chairs.

“I really enjoy our time together.” Her
throat tightened, and she had to stop speaking in order to shut off
the tears. Charles was a thoroughly nice man, and he’d done nothing
to deserve this.

“But you’re planning to save yourself until
we’re married.”

Married
? Charles couldn’t be that
serious. “I. . . well, I think sex...sometimes it obscures things.”
And it needed to mean more than
thanks for dinner
. Or
let
me check to see if I still love you
. She shuddered at the
sudden, vivid memory of that last time with Greg.

“You okay?” Charles leaned toward her, his
brow furrowing.

No. She wasn’t okay, but she nodded anyway,
then stared down at her hands. “I want a relationship built on more
than physical attraction. And I want to fall in love first.” She
glanced at him. “I’ll understand if you feel differently and decide
you don’t want to see me anymore.”

It hurt more than she expected it to. Saying
that last bit. She’d come to depend on Charles and enjoyed his
company in all sorts of ways. As someone to look for when she went
jogging, someone to go out with on a Saturday night, someone to
share parts of her life with.

She didn’t want it to end, but it wasn’t
fair to hang on to him if all she was looking for was
companionship, and he wanted more than that.

Charles eased his arm from behind her, then
sat sideways looking at her. Under that scrutiny, she felt like a
defense witness, who had just given him the perfect opening.

“You ever been in love?” he asked.

She thought she had, several times. Except,
looking back, she now knew she hadn’t been. Not really. They’d all
been quick, bright flares, easily blown out with the cross wind of
a single unkind word or thoughtless act. She’d gotten singed, but
none of it had touched any deeper than that. Until Alan. That
feeling of certainty Jade had described, overlaid now with loss. It
reached all the way to her core.

“Once.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged, looked away. “He. . . he
didn’t feel the same way about me.” And if she let herself really
think about those words, she’d start crying.

“Recently?”

She nodded.

“You aren’t over it.” The words were
flat.

“No. I kept hoping I was. But no.” In spite
of her efforts, tears filled her eyes. “Sorry.” She wiped the tears
away with the back of a hand. Charles handed her a
handkerchief.

He waited while she wiped her eyes. Then he
sighed. “Guess I could use that help in the kitchen, after all.” He
took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

She discovered he was serious about the
kitchen help. After they cleared the table, she rinsed off plates
and bowls then handed them to him for the dishwasher.

“It was a delicious dinner.” She tried to
smile, but it wasn’t much of a success.

“Yeah. I’ll make someone a lovely wife.”

“That you most definitely will.” She was
relieved he was starting to joke again.

“Actually. . . ”

“Actually, what?” She glanced at him as she
handed him another plate.

He shook his head sharply. “I’ve been
meaning to ask you. You ever do any teaching?”

“Sure.” The question puzzled her. A
non
sequitur
if she’d ever heard one. “I taught a seminar at DSU
last spring. Why do you ask?” She rinsed another bowl and handed it
to him.