Things Remembered (16 page)
Karla wasn't surprised. Words, or the lack of them, had always been a problem between them. And, albeit reluctantly, she was beginning to recognize that she was as much to blame as Anna. “I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. It wasn't what I intended.”
“Maybe this is what they mean when they say grandparents make poor parents.”
“They?”
“All the experts who write about such things.”
“And do they say what should happen to all the kids the grandparents shouldn't raise?”
Anna looked at Karla, puzzled. “What are you saying?”
“You made the best out of a bad situation. I know that now.” Karla reached for the forgotten tea, saw that it was cold and started over again. Before she lit the stove, she turned to look at Anna. “I'm wrong. You did more than that. You rescued us from people who didn't care enough to stick it out with us. You may have told me you loved me in a way I didn't understand, but they didn't even try. I made my own lunches when I lived with my father's family. Not only that, I made Heather's and Grace's, too.” She went back to the tea.
“Karla . . .”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Karla didn't turn around. She couldn't. She didn't want Anna to see her cry.
Anna was on the porchâa blanket wrapped around her legs, a shawl across her shoulders, a heating pad at her backâprepared to watch the sunset. Karla had picked up on the nonverbal ways to say I love you as if she'd been born to them. She had stored love her entire life, looking for someone to give it to. Anna was delighted that Karla had decided to practice on her.
“Mom was right,” Karla said using her hip to open the screen door, a plate balanced in one hand, two cups in the other.
“These are the best cookies I've ever tasted.”
“You think so, huh?”
“Come on, now, you think so too or you never would have told me about them.” She set the cups and plate on the wicker table beside Anna's rocking chair.
“The house does smell wonderful,” Anna admitted. “I'm always amazed how aromas trigger such strong memories.”
Karla sat on the railing and cupped her mug between her hands. “Tell me what you're remembering now.”
Anna smiled. “As I recall our bargain, it was supposed to be the other way around. You're the one who should be doing the talking.”
“After you.”
“First tell me about the lawyer,” Anna said. “I saw the note that he called today. Are we ready to see him?”
“We will be by next week.”
“And then what?” Anna asked. She was taking a chance, but couldn't let it go.
“I don't understand what you're getting at.”
“What you came here to do will be finished. Will you be leaving then?”
“I told Jim I'd be gone four weeks. He made his plans accordingly.” She waited and when Anna didn't say anything, she added, “He's staying at my houseâwith a friend.” She took a deep breath. “A woman friend.”
Anna's heart went out to Karla. “Did you know he was bringing her?”
“No.”
“The bastard.”
Karla laughed. “Thanks, Grandma.”
Anna felt a warmth go through her that had nothing to do with the Indian summer or the layers of clothing Karla had piled on her. “Anytime, sweetheart.”
“You sound just like Mom.”
“Do I? That's nice.” She saw by the stunned expression on Karla's face that there was more. “What is it?”
“You've never used that word with me before. I've never heard you call anyone sweetheart.”
Anna thought about it before she answered. “You're right. I don't know where it came from, but it seemed as familiar as your name. Does it bother you?”
“No . . . it's kind of nice, actually.” Karla took a sip of tea. “I wish Heather were here. And Grace.”
“Stay for Thanksgiving,” Anna said impulsively. “We can ask Heather and Grace. Think how nice it would be to have everyone together again.”
Karla hesitated.
“It will be like the old times we never had, all of us in the kitchen cooking, telling stories, laughing. We've been given a chance to make new memories, Karla.” She hated sounding needy, but was too old and tired to pretend. “Let's not waste it,” she added softly.
“I'll call Jim and see if he can stay another week.”
“And I'll call Heather and Grace.”
“NoâI'll do it.”
Anna knew that if she suggested doing the calling, Karla would insist on doing it herself. She'd manipulated her, but for a good reason. Karla needed at least one happy Thanksgiving with all of them together to remember, and she was the only one who could get Grace to come.
To please Karla, she reached for a cookie and took a bite. Her memory hadn't failed her. They were as bad now as they had been then.
“Well?” Karla asked.
“They haven't changed.”
“Still hate 'em, huh? Or maybe I didn't make them right. I'm out of my element when I venture past cake mixes and canned frosting.”
“They taste exactly the way I remember them, and I dislike them just as much now as I did when I made them for your mother and grandfather.”
Karla leaned back against the pillar and looked at the blushing western sky. “It's nice to know that some things don't change.”
“And that some do,” Anna added.
M
ark dropped Cindy off at school and remembered the new veterinary journal he'd meant to take to work with him. He made a swing back by the house and found Linda in the kitchen buttering a piece of toast.
“Morning,” she said. “Sorry about not getting up in time to take Cindy to school. I'll try harder tomorrow.”
She had on one of his white T-shirts with only panties underneath. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't run around like that while you're staying here.”
She looked surprised. “Why, Mr. Taylor . . . I thought you were beyond that kind of thing where I'm concerned.”
“It's Cindy I'm concerned about.” He picked up the journal and tucked it under his arm. “I don't want her thinking we might be getting back together.”
“Sorryâyou're right. I'll be more careful from now on.”
“How long are you staying this time?”
“Until I hear from Gus that the band is ready to go again. Why are you asking?”
“Just wanted a time frame.”
“Come on, Mark. I know you better than that.” She took another bite of toast. “What are you really asking?”
“If you're going to be in town more than a day or two, I'd prefer you stayed with your mother.”
She looked horrified. “You are kidding, aren't you? You don't really expect me toâ”
“I don't want Cindy getting the idea you might be back for good.”
“If it worries you that much, I'll talk to her and make sure she knows I'm not.”
Anyone listening to Linda would think she didn't care about Cindy; they'd be wrong. Linda's love for Cindy, the effort she made to stay in her life, the calls, the letters, the presents, were the reason Mark never objected when she visited and stayed at the house. But only on a short-term basis, and only a few times a year. “You can talk to her. As a matter of fact, I think it's a good idea, but that doesn't change anything. If you're going to be staying in town more than a couple of days, I want you to make it somewhere else.”
“I can't.”
He looked at his watch. He still had twenty minutes before his first appointment, which gave him ten minutes to finish their conversation. “Why not?”
“I'm broke.”
He wasn't surprised. To Linda, credit cards weren't a convenience, they were a way of life. “It's your mother we're talking about, Linda. She may nag but she doesn't charge.”
“My aunt and uncle are there. They're using my room.”
“Then you can sleep on the couch.”
“She won't let me.”
The tone of voice more than anything else alerted Mark that Linda wasn't simply being stubborn; she really had nowhere to go. “I'll ask Susan if you can stay at the school. She isn't using the second story. But she's not going to want you hanging around the kids, so you'll have to stay upstairs or find something else to do during the day.”
Her eyes flashed anger. “Why are you being such a jerk about this? You always let me stay here before. What's so different this time?”
“Give it up, Linda. You're not going to badger me into changing my mind.” He started toward the door.
“Oh, my God. You've got a girlfriend and you don't want me around messing things up for you. After all this time, it finally happened.”
He refused to be baited. He turned and gave her a blank look. “I'll let you know what Susan says. If you don't like the idea of staying at the school, start looking for someplace else, because you're not staying with me anymore.”
“This is Cindy's house, too. Doesn't she get a vote?”
Mark laughed. “Nice try.”
Linda smiled. “Thanks. But not good enough, I take it?”
“Don't unpack your bags,” he said by way of good-bye.
He made it to the clinic with a minute to spare. His first case was a long-time client who'd gone to a cat show the weekend before and purchased a kitten that needed an exam and the last of its kitten shots. A good way to start the morning, as long as the kitten was in good health, which he appeared to be.
Before going in to see his next appointment, Mark checked the Irish setter. She'd survived despite her catastrophic injuries, her spirit reaching out to everyone who came in contact with her, compelling the staff to give her the attention and care she needed. Her tail thumped in recognition, and he went down on his haunches to put his hand through the cage to pet her.
The tail thumped faster, and he stole a few minutes he didn't have to talk to her and let her know that she was among friends.
“She's doing unbelievably well,” Ray said, bending down beside Mark. “Especially considering I bet Murray his Saturday shift that she wouldn't make it.”
“Murray actually bet that she would?” Of all of the vets at the clinic, Murray was the best surgeon, the one willing to take the toughest cases, the one who witnessed the most miraculous recoveries, yet he was still the one who managed to remain the most pessimistic.
“Well, not exactly.”
Murray came up behind them and looked at the setter over their shoulders. “I bet him she'd wake up,” he said. “I never said she'd live.” He continued on his way to surgery.
They both laughed at his obvious attempt to maintain his position as chief pessimist.
“How's Linda?” Ray asked, taking over stroking the setter's head when Mark stood.
“I'll tell you later. You staying here for lunch?”
He nodded.
“I'll catch you then,” Mark said. “As soon as I finish my callbacks.”
Ray was pulling a tuna fish sandwich out of a brown paper bag when Mark came into the break room. He took his own lunch out of his computer bag before he sat down beside him. “Linda's doing okay,” he said, picking up the conversation where they'd left off. “She isn't sure how long she's staying, said it depends on when the band gets back together, so you were right about that.”
“Dr. Taylor?”
Mark glanced at the door and saw Glenda, one of the women who worked the desk looking at him. “Yes?”
“There's a Wanda Jenkins on the phone who wants to know if you'll crop her Doberman's ears. I told her you don't do cosmetic surgery, but she insisted on talking to you personally.”
“Is she a client?”
“No.”
He'd fielded calls like this before and wasn't in the mood to argue with someone about the necessity of cutting up dogs if they were to be shown. Mark and his partners had stopped doing the surgery years ago, and none of them were going to change their minds no matter how determined the dog's owner. Glenda had only been working there a week, so she didn't know it was clinic policy to refer such inquiries to a list of other vets automatically without involving any of the partners.
“Is Barbara available?” She was the desk manager.
“I believe so.”
“Give it to her to handle. She has the referral list.”
When they were alone again, Ray said, “About Linda and her band: It could be weeks, months even, before she hears anything. Sometimes bands never get back together.”
“I don't think she'll wait around that long. She's still determined to make it as a singer, whether it's with this band or another one. Hell, I wouldn't put it past her to try to put together a band of her own. She should know enough musicians by now.”
“Why do I get the feeling you're not as convinced about what you're saying as you want me to think you are?” He tore open a bag of chips. “Wow, try to say that three times, fast.”
