Lifelines: Kate's Story (33 page)

If
she’d told her mother about Alain in the beginning, Kate would have forced her
to see the situation clearly. Oh, yeah? Reality check. She’d known exactly what
her mother would say, hadn’t told her because she didn’t want her fantasy of
Alain’s love destroyed.

Because
of her deliberate blindness, she’d destroyed Wendy Trudeau.

Downstairs,
she finally located her mother outside, mowing the lawn. The riding mower was
her father’s, and he’d mowed the lawn every week from spring until fall. Her
mother used to tease him about big boys and tractors. It seemed wrong for Kate
to sit on the mower now, leaving rows of groomed grass behind her. Nobody was
allowed to ride Dad’s garden tractor. But her father had died, and the grass
didn’t stop growing. Last summer, in the weeks after Dad died, the grass had
grown messy and undisciplined. Nobody mowed then.

David
wouldn’t return to look after his lawn or his daughter. Had she clung to Alain
because she couldn’t face her father’s death? Alain—tall, quiet, academic ... a
pencil sketch of her father. Surely she wasn’t that stupid. As a counselor’s
daughter, she’d soaked up counseling wisdom through her pores. Her mother
analyzed everyone’s actions—her own, her husband’s, her daughter’s.

Jennifer
scrubbed herself under the shower. Her skin hurt—some function of the whiskey?
She put her mother’s bathrobe on and went back upstairs to find a pair of jeans
and a t-shirt in her dresser. The jeans hung loose on her hips. She’d lost
weight deliberately because Alain admired very slender women.

She
paced the house, avoiding her father’s study. In her parents’ bedroom, she
studied the bed, opened the closed door to find her father’s clothes still hung
in the closet. She felt tears at the sight of his familiar suits. In the
dresser, she found his socks and underwear. Surely it wasn’t healthy for Kate
to keep all these things, as if he  would return at any moment.

Jennifer
had cried all the way from Seattle, and now she started again because her dad
would never come back, and it didn’t matter how much she pretended to be grown
up, she missed him. She would always miss him, and he would never come back.

In
her father’s office, she felt the same shock of loss that had attacked her last
night when she opened this door. Her mother had cluttered David’s spotless
study with foreign objects. A crude table by the window, littered with clay and
a weird selection of implements. She recognized a manicure tool she didn’t know
the name of, a small slotted screwdriver, and a nut pick. The other tools were
strange to her.

David’s
love seat was shoved against the wall where his desk once stood. The bookcases
stood empty, except for two ugly clay lumps. She closed her eyes and told
herself this was a stranger’s room.

Not
Dad’s. Never again.

When
she opened her eyes, she saw clay bathed in the sunlight. A messy room,
dedicated to the enterprise of clay. It looked like an artist’s room, and she
remembered how her father had teased her mother about the pottery wheel she
bought and never used. She couldn’t see the wheel, but it would fit nicely at
the end of this table. She tried to see her mother in this room, but the
picture wouldn’t form. She’d never seen Kate’s hands in clay.

Jennifer
walked to the bookcases to study the pieces of clay. The first one looked like
a dog. In a way, it looked like Socrates, but not quite the Socrates she knew.
The longer she stood in this room, the more she felt an intruder. She hadn’t
been invited, and she felt as if the room belonged to a woman Jennifer didn’t
know. David’s clothes in the bedroom were wrong; Kate needed to put them away.
But this ... it disturbed Jennifer to be ignorant of what must be an important
part of her mother.

When
the phone rang, she jumped as if prodded by a sharp needle.

She
rushed into the kitchen and grabbed the receiver.

“Alain?”

A
querulous voice demanded, “Kate? Is that you? You sound very odd.”

“It’s
me, Grandma. Jennifer.”

“Jennifer,
what are you doing home?”

“I
came for a visit.” And she wished she hadn’t answered the phone.

“Where’s
your mother?”

“Outside
mowing the lawn.”

“Get
her for me. I need to talk to her.”

“The
tractor’s noisy, Grandma. She won’t be able to hear. I’ll get her to call you,
shall I?”

“Really,
Jennifer. I want to talk to my daughter. Get her.”

Jennifer
had never been able to say or do the right thing with her grandmother. Kate
could handle her, though, and Jennifer recited a formula she’d heard her mother
use with Evelyn. “I’ll get her if you want, Grandma. It will probably take
about ten minutes for me to get dressed and then get down to the other end of
the lawn, and for her to come to the phone. Do you want to hang on, or shall
she call you back?”

“What
are you doing in your nightgown at this time of day? Tell her I called, and
tell her I won’t be home for lunch, so don’t bother coming. I’ll be out with my
boyfriend.”

“Your
what?”

“You
heard me, girl. Now be sure and tell her.”

An
old woman like her grandmother with a boyfriend, for heaven’s sake! Jennifer
shuddered at the idea of her grandmother making out with a man, but he was
probably just a bridge partner, or they would watch television together.
Television and bridge were the only things Jennifer knew of that her
grandmother actually liked doing. They certainly couldn’t have sex, not at
grandma’s age.

Out
on the lawn, the tractor turned and headed towards the house. Her mother’s
grass-cutting pattern differed from her father’s. She seemed to begin at the
farthest extent of the lawn, then work her way back.

Jennifer
found two cans of diet Coke in the fridge and decided drinking glasses didn’t
make sense with Kate on the tractor. She carried the pop outside. She was
halfway down the lawn when her mother spotted her, and she lifted the cans in
the air. Kate smiled and pointed to the garage, indicating she would park the
tractor first.

Jennifer
went to the picnic bench, put her mother’s tin on one side and sat at the
other. When the tractor fell silent, she turned and watched her mother’s
approach. Like Jennifer, she wore jeans and a t-shirt. Her body was fuller than
Jennifer’s, her curves generous in a way most men would like, she thought. If
it weren’t for the streak of white in Kate’s hair, she might be thirty-five.

“Did
you have a good sleep, honey?”

“Yes,
thanks.”

Kate
popped her tin of cold soda, while Jennifer rhythmically transferred hers from
one hand to the other. Her mother didn’t stare, but she didn’t look away
either. Jennifer had forgotten the way Kate could hold silence for so long.

“I’m
sorry about the fuss I made last night.”

Kate
nodded, without breaking silence.

“I
had no business making judgments about your private life.” She couldn’t read
her mother’s reaction. “I’ve ... lately I—everything’s been screwed up. What I
did to Alain’s wife—how could I tell her I was pregnant with Alain’s baby when
I didn’t—I wasn’t. How could I think Alain wanted me, not her, when—when if he
really wanted me, he wouldn’t be with her. I—I did damage, real damage.”

Kate
placed her Coke on the picnic table. “When you lose someone as close as your
father, it turns your world upside down.”

Jennifer
shook her head angrily. “Don’t do that to me. Don’t be a counselor.”

Kate
stared at her for what seemed forever before she said, “I wanted to die after I
lost David. He was everywhere in this house, everywhere I looked or—I dreamed
him night after night and woke, and I was always alone.”

Jennifer
shuddered. “I wanted what you and Dad had. I wanted ... warmth and love and
security, the way it was when I was a kid. Because I wanted Alain to give me
all those things, I did a terrible thing to his wife.”

“You
made a mistake,” said Kate, and Jennifer didn’t tell her mother she was being
the counselor again.

“I
need to go back to Seattle. That’s what you meant, isn’t it? When you said I
knew what I had to do? What if she’s dead?”

“If
she is, you’ll deal with it, with help. I’ll go up and phone the hospital for
you, we’ll find out.”

Jennifer
lifted the tin and drank several big gulps. The Coke fizzed against her throat.
“If I’m old enough to mess up my life, I’d better be old enough to do my own
cleanup. I’ll call.”

When
she got into the house, she realized she didn’t know which hospital.  She
started into her father’s office for his Seattle telephone directory, felt
fresh shock when she found herself in her mother’s clay room. She didn’t know
what to call this room now. She found the Seattle phone book on top of the love
seat, and dialed three hospitals before she found one that admitted to having a
patient named Wendy Trudeau.

She
heard the door open and went to her mother.

“How
is she?” asked Kate.

“Stable.
She’s still in a coma, but she’s been upgraded from critical.”

“That’s
good news.”

“I
hope so. I was so afraid—I can’t take back what I did, but I need to tell her I
lied about the baby. I don’t know if I can help, but it’s my fault, and Dad
always said to stop crying and fix it.”

“I’ll
come with you.”

One
step took her into Kate’s arms, where she closed her eyes and soaked up warmth
and security. She knew, though, that she couldn’t pretend to be six years old,
and after a moment she pulled away. “I’d love you to talk to Alain for me, and
especially to Wendy, but...” She realized this wasn’t Kate being a counselor, but
a mother. Counselors offered support, but made people face things themselves.
“I’m the one who screwed up, and I’m the one who needs to do the penance.”

She
smiled, but her mother didn’t smile back.

“You
made a mistake, Jennifer, but Alain chose to commit adultery. Perhaps he loves
his wife, but adultery is not an act of love. As for Wendy, she chose to
attempt suicide. You only get part of the blame, so don’t hog it all.”

“I’ll
call you.” She gripped her mother’s hands. “I’ll talk to you, because I need
your wisdom.”

“Oh,
honey, I’m not so sure I have any wisdom. I love you. Look after yourself, and
any time you want to call, you call.”

“Can
I come home this weekend? I could ... maybe I could sort through Dad’s books?”

“Honey—”

“I
understand about Dad’s office now.” How could she feel so cold with the April
sun blazing down? “I wasn’t expecting things to be different, but I do
understand—or at least, part of me understands. Next weekend, though, could I
go through the books in case I want—and maybe I could help you go through dad’s
clothes and stuff.”

Kate
hugged her so hard that Jennifer started to cry again. All these months her
mother had been all alone, with Jennifer in Seattle, not even thinking her
mother might be desperate and lonely.
I wanted to die
...

“We’ll
do it together, Mom. Dad’s clothes, then his stuff in the bathroom. This
weekend? I know when I saw the office, I thought—but now ... he isn’t coming
back.”

“He’ll
always be in our hearts, whenever we think about him or talk about him. We’ll
always remember.”

Jennifer
wasn’t so sure, but she pretended to accept her mother’s words.

When
it was time for Jennifer to leave, Kate stood beside the Mercedes while she
started the engine with the window down, so she could say a final goodbye. Just
as she was about to leave, she saw a man at the far end of the drive. He had
the well-muscled stride of a man accustomed to heavy physical activity.

“Is
that the man you were with last night?”

“Yes.”

“He’s
younger than dad.”

Kate
stared straight into Jennifer’s eyes. “Jennifer—”

“Are
you and he—are you going to—move in together?”

“No.
We’re friends.”

Friends
who fucked, thought Jennifer. “I don’t want to meet him.”

When
she passed, the man walking up the drive stepped aside. He raised one hand,
sort of a wave. Did he know who she was? Did he know she was the daughter of
the woman he’d had sex with last night? Did he feel embarrassed?

Why
should he? He might be years younger than dad, but he and Jennifer’s mother
were both well beyond the age of consent.

J
ennifer got
as far as the third floor of the hospital before a man in white stopped her.

“Wendy
Trudeau,” she said. “She’s in room 315. I need to—”

“No
visitors except family.”

“I
need to see someone from her family, then.” She knew Alain wasn’t at his home
or his office; she’d called both and listened to both the personal and the
professorial version of his voice mail. “If her husband’s with her, could you
tell him there’s someone who needs to talk to him?”

He
headed in a direction she assumed would take him to room 315, and Jennifer
found the waiting room at the end of the hall. She pushed open double glass
doors and found herself staring at two plastic sofas, three uncomfortable-looking
armchairs, and Alain.

She
wasn’t ready. She should have practiced her words, but she’d driven all the way
from Madrona Bay knowing she dare not think too much about this moment, or she
would chicken out.

He
hadn’t seen her yet. He sat on the second sofa and stared at a picture on the
wall, his arms listlessly at his sides. She saw his eyes close, either
exhaustion or hopelessness.

“Alain?”

He
rolled his head against the back of the sofa and turned dead eyes to her. He
stared at her for so long she thought her heart had stopped.

“Get
out.”

She
gulped and took two steps into the room. “I want to help.”