Authors: Julie Carobini
Sweet Waters (37 page)
“I'm surprised she said anything.” Why would Peg suddenly want us to be seen in a positive light?
His eyes caress me. “I'm glad she told me. It knocked some sense into me about my father, about a lot of things. My dad needs help and I'm going to see to it that he gets it. Ultimately, it'll still be up to him, but I should have insisted on that long before this.” He pauses. “Tara, it's your loyalty to your father that has always struck me.”
“As I recall, you weren't keen on it.”
“No. I wasn't.”
“You thought I was naïve.”
He surrenders a sigh. “Maybe. But your devotion to your father, despite what you'd discovered about him, got under my skin. It made me squirm. It exposed just how angry and unforgiving I've been. I didn't like that feeling very much, but it didn't really make me stop.” He shrugs. “I'm not saying these feelings are totally unwarranted. Kids of alcoholics often carry shame around and I'm no exception to that. It's understandable, I guess, but either way I wasn't all that easy to live with either.”
“Is that what made you change your mind and come here today, Josh?”
“No. It was you.”
“Me?”
“I'm humbled by your loyalty to your father, Tara. It wasn't based on his innocence, because he wasn't, but on pure and all-out love.” He captures me with his eyes. “Do you know what a rare thing that is?”
I look away, remembering how I'd tilted my head to the sky not too long ago and chastised my father for what he'd left behind for me to clean up. “I'm not a saint.”
He chuckles. “You sound like I did every time someone tried to call me a hero.”
I sigh. “First of all, you need to know that the other night I gave my dad a good âtalking to.'” My eyes stay on the sand below. “And I've been unfair to you. I've no idea what it's like to grow up in your shoes . . . it must've been so rough on you.”
Josh catches my chin and lifts my face to meet his. “The truth is, my father kept his problem in check for years. While I have memories of him being extraordinarily âhappy' at some inappropriate times, it wasn't until he retired and began to feel like his usefulness was gone that he lapsed into the worst of it.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.” His hand lingers on my cheek for just a moment. “I've realized some things about my dad. Did I ever tell you that his own father ran away to start another family when Dad was young?”
I shake my head, crestfallen at the thought.
“Yeah, it gets worse. My grandfather not only started another family, but he moved just one block away. So here was my dad having to grow up in a neighborhood with his half-siblings and a father that barely acknowledged him.”
The sting of a father's rejection clinches my heart.
Daddy, thank you for never abandoning us!
Daddy, thank you for never abandoning us!
“It's helped to examine my father with eyes of compassion. Until you, I don't think I'd ever done that. I called and asked him to forgive me.”
There it is again . . . forgiveness.
“You did?”
“You did?”
“And I told him I forgave him too. Still some things to work on in here.” He thumps his heart with his fist. “But it's a start. A really good start.”
“I'm glad.”
“I've been reexamining a lot of things lately.”
“Like . . .”
“Like Beth. She's always been so in control of herself. If anything ruffled her, most of us didn't know it. I've been like that most of my life too. Always thought it was a good trait, an admirable trait.”
“And now?”
“Can't speak for the rest of the population, but for meâand I suspect for Bethâhiding our emotions just got us into deeper trouble. We end up being time bombs, ready to explode. Somehow I don't think this is the meekness Jesus referred to in the Bible.”
“I'll need a little time before understanding that reference.”
He smooths his thumb down my cheek, gently, lovingly. “All I mean is that dealing with hurt is not a one-manâor in Beth's case, a one-womanâproposition. Kindness is all well and good, but when we're in trouble, we need to belt out our need for help. The next time I'm tempted to give into shame and despair, I've got to get on my knees first.”
I cock my chin, still trying to gather the meaning of his words. “And . . .”
Both of his hands now cradle my face. “And trust God to work out all the details. I'm not saying it'll be easy. I often jump into problems and ride them out on my own adrenaline.”
I nod. After all, I recognize the pattern all-too-well from my own life.
“I don't expect perfection and, for once, I'm okay with that. Changing long-held ways doesn't happen overnight, especially for a hardhead like me.” He laughs and his eyes go right along with him. “No pun intended.”
“I don't know what to say, Josh. Everything you've said, all of it, is just beautiful and I'm trying to understand it all . . .”
Before I can finish, Josh runs his hands down my face and shoulders. He runs them alongside my arms and they settle at my waist. “Let's say we start fresh, right here, right now.” He smiles into my face. “You in?”
I nod, because no words will come. The wind and the spray of waves swirl around us as we stand barefoot in the sand, gazing at each other. Josh's arms wrap me tighter and I'm floating on a potent mixture of breathlessness and contentment.
He cinches me closer, and when he speaks his breath tickles the tips of my ears. “I love you, Tara.”
The words, although I've heard them before, sound different coming from Josh. Full and heady and charged with anticipation. And longing. He pulls back and implores me with his eyes.
Not long ago I admitted to myself just how much I wanted a man's love in my life. Until now, though, I hadn't realized the exhilaration of loving that man back.
I lift my chin toward Josh, barely able to contain my smile. “I love you too, Josh. Very much.”
And I mean it with everything in me. Not a drop of doubt remains.
I could stay here forever . . .
“I WOULD LIKE TO come in.” The woman standing on our porch at half-past ten wears a full-length wool coat and a befuddled frown. One hand continuously squeezes the fingers on the other.
I push on the screen-door latch, speechless.
All three of us are still up, although barefoot and dressed in pajamas as varied as our personalities. Camille's wearing pj bottoms and a cami, Mel is in silk loungewear, and I've slipped into a pair of fleece sweats. Before the doorbell rang, we'd been sitting on the floor, feasting on bowls of Camille's favorite ice cream: fudge crunch.
Peg steps into our cottage, her flat lips pulled into her face. She glances around at the walls, yet appears to notice nothing.
Camille hops up. “Is Holly okay?”
Peg's eyes widen on Camille, as if she's just been awakened from a frightening dream. She makes a visible effort to calm herself before speaking. “Holly's good. She's at home watching the Food Network. Has some crazy idea about putting something with chorizo on my menu.” Her voice, usually coarse and raspy, trails off.
“So why are you here?” Leave it to Mel to set things straight. It has not gone unnoticed, at least by me, that my sister's back stands as rigid as an ironing board.
Peg puffs out a firm breath, her eyes more focused. She stares at the three of us, an expression of determination on her face. Yet it's not the ornery one I'm used to. This one is more of resolve. “May I sit?”
Her polite tone confuses me. “I . . . sure . . . of course. Why don't we head into the kitchen?”
Leaving our half-eaten bowls of ice cream behind, Mel and her crossed arms lead the way, followed by Peg, me, and Camille scampering up from her comfy spot on the floor. We slide into the booth and I realize my faux pas. I've loved this room for its warmth and cozy feel, but discomfort crawls up my skin like a spider. Our father's nemesis sits with us in the place usually reserved for sisterly banter.
“I suppose you're here for your money.” Mel's voice bristles against my raw nerves.
Peg gapes at Mel. “You hate me.”
Compassion swells within me. Peg's a victim in this situation, but her daily demeanor has clouded that fact. This night, however, she sits before us looking sad and somewhat lost. “We don't hate you, Peg. We're just sad that we even have to have this conversation.”
She nods, her chin moving up and down like a pogo stick on slow. “Yes, well. I'm sad too.” She finds my eyes with hers. “And ashamed.”
I shrug. “You probably didn't want to be reminded of what happened when we all lived here all those years ago. Your anger was, uh, understandable.”
She leans her head to one side, narrowing her eyes. “You know what happened then?”
I let down an exaggerated sigh. “Dad took money from you. I'm not happy repeating that, but if that's what you want to hear . . .”
Redness tinges her eyes and they fight to stay open against the fluttering. “I meant, oh, I meant . . .”
Camille slips an arm around Peg and the moment freezes in my mind. For all her less-than-thought-out decisions and sometimes immature ways, Camille's treatment of Peg is childlike, precious.
Peg rocks in her arms, whispering, “I'm so sorry. I . . . am . . . so . . . sorry.”
Mel looks away, while I reach my arm across to touch Peg's sleeve. I'd forgotten to take her coat. “It's okay. Really. I was planning to pay you a visit tomorrow with a cashier's check.” I slide out of the booth and stand. “But if you'd like, I can write you a personal check tonight.”
“Stop!”
No sound can be heard except for the refrigerator's cooling unit, coaxing itself to keep working.
“Sit down. I have much to say.”
That look of resolve, the one I'd noticed in the living room, has reappeared across Peg's face. Slowly, I sit.
She continues. “Your father paid back every cent he owed me.”
“He did . . . what?” Mel lunges forward, as if ready to inflict physical justice.
“Peg? I don't understand.” My mind tries hard to accept this new and very welcome truth.
“Sometime after he and Marilee took you girls to Missouri, I received a check in the mail in the full amount, plus interest. I did not expect to ever hear from him again.”
I whip a look at Mel.
She appears just as shocked. “I never thought to ask Mom if he'd paid it back! And she never offered that nugget either.”
My eyes implore Peg. “But you led me to believe that he still owed you a debt. Why? Why in the world would you keep the truth from me?”
“Because I wanted you to leave!”
“But
why?
Just because of old memories?”
why?
Just because of old memories?”
Mel fumes. “I'll tell you why. It's because she figured we were all cut from the same cloth. You thought we'd somehow get into that till of yours, didn't you?”
Camille has pulled away from Peg, her hands resting in her lap, her chin pulled downward.
Peg steps from the booth, standing in the kitchen, glancing around as if searching out an escape route. “Your fatherâand my sisterâwere close at one time. It was because of her recommendation that I hired Robert in the first place, to handle the books for my diner.” She rubs her wide lips together, moistening them. “My sister had problemsâmany, many problemsâand so she left this town for good. That's when Robert and Marilee started dating. Your mother, well, it was obvious to the entire town how hard she was falling for Robert. Very affectionate, that one. She hung onto him everywhere they went, and her face, well, it looked like a full moon the way it glowed. The man could pass a burp and she'd swoon!”
Camille stifles a giggle, but a queasiness sinks into my abdomen.
“It wasn't long before the two were engaged, and everyone knew it was because Marilee was with child.” Peg peers at me. “That was you, Tara.”
The queasiness continues to quake my insides.
“I accepted it, you know. My sister, well, she had made her choice and Robert couldn't wait forever. Marilee seemed like a nice girl, flighty, but nice.”
Mel sighs. Loudly.
“Everything was going along, me running the diner and your family growing like those grasses out on the dunes, until CeCe came ridin' into town, looking like Rapunzel with all that flowing, curly hair. And she had one thing on her mind.”
CeCe . . . was Peg's
sister?
Confusion binds up my heart and mind like a knotted web, but before I can work to untangle the mess, I have something to say. “I need to stop you right there, Peg.” I glance at my sisters, the muddiness of guilt in my gut. “I meant to tell you about something else I had heard recently, but never actually got around to it.”
sister?
Confusion binds up my heart and mind like a knotted web, but before I can work to untangle the mess, I have something to say. “I need to stop you right there, Peg.” I glance at my sisters, the muddiness of guilt in my gut. “I meant to tell you about something else I had heard recently, but never actually got around to it.”
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