“Then open it.”
He shook his head.
“You aren’t going to read what it says?” Jessica sounded as if she didn’t believe him.
“I can’t see any reason to,” he said, and stuffed it inside his backpack. Really, what was the purpose? Nothing the Institute said would change a single fact.
Besides, the letter was from the San Francisco Art Institute. He was actually more interested in the School of the Art Institute in Chicago, which was the highest-rated fine-arts school in the United States. He might as well aim high. Miss Snyder had told him that, and so he had. Dreams were cheap.
Kevin drove Jessica home, then headed down the long driveway that led to the road. When he reached the end of her driveway, he had a choice. Left took him back to Buffalo Valley and right led him toward home.
He turned left. Away from home and the farm, and toward town. He went in search of Miss Snyder. His first stop was the school, where she lingered most afternoons now that Knight’s Pharmacy was temporarily closed.
Since the school door was unlocked, he went inside and saw her sitting at her desk. Not wanting to interrupt her reading, he waited for her to notice him.
It didn’t take her long to glance up.
“A letter arrived from the San Francisco Art Institute,” he said, walking toward her.
“And?” She stood, bracing her hands against the edge of her desk.
He looked away, calling himself the coward he was. “I didn’t open it.”
“Any particular reason?”
He nodded. “I couldn’t.” He unzipped the side pocket of his book bag and pulled it out. “You do it.”
“Me?” She frowned at the letter. “You picked the San Francisco school, remember?”
That was true. Miss Snyder had printed out a list of the ten best art schools in the United States and asked him to do the research on each school and choose two. After Chicago, he’d picked San Francisco because he’d never seen the ocean.
“You open it,” he said again, holding it out to her. She had the right, he decided, seeing that it was Miss Snyder who’d spent all that time helping him fill out the applications and submitting a portfolio and the necessary forms. Financial aid was available, but he’d need much more than that. Since they were aiming high, they had requested a full scholarship and a small stipend for living expenses.
Miss Snyder dragged in a deep breath, then tore into the envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper.
Kevin tensed and watched her face. Then, because he shouldn’t care this damn much, he turned away and walked to the back of the schoolroom. He’d spent the entire twelve years of his education in this one room, and for someone like him, it was hard to believe there were other classrooms, other schools.
Miss Snyder didn’t say anything for so long that he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer and whirled around. “What did the letter say?” he demanded hoarsely. That was when he saw the tears in her eyes.
It must be bad. Real bad.
“They want to offer you a full ride.”
The words hit him like a powerful punch. He sank into Larry Loomis’s chair and waited for the shock to leave him.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Miss Snyder asked.
“I…I don’t know what to say. I mean—that’s great, I guess.”
“Great?” she repeated. “That’s the understatement of the year. Oh, Kevin, don’t you realize what this means? You’re brilliant! One day your work will hang—” She stopped herself abruptly.
“The farmer artist,” he said, forcing a brightness into his voice.
“Right.”
They both knew, without saying it, that the scholarship meant nothing. Not for him.
For the first time in almost three months, Brandon Wyatt woke with a sense of anticipation. This afternoon Joanie’s father would be bringing Sage and Stevie to spend spring break with him.
He dressed, brewed a pot of coffee and glanced about the house, seeing it with fresh eyes. The television played while he washed the dishes. He had it on most of the time now, needing the noise in order to feel comfortable. A silent house drove him crazy faster than anything, especially in the evenings. His own thoughts were dark and chaotic, so he often sought a distraction. Any distraction. Reruns, talk shows, even music videos, none of which he understood or appreciated.
In years past, he’d enjoyed evenings. Joanie would sit with him, her needlepoint in her lap as they chatted about the day. Only Joanie wasn’t there anymore. Funny how they’d given up their habit of making time for each other. They used to share the worst and best of each day, usually over a cup of coffee. But somewhere, somehow, they’d gotten out of that routine. He had to stop and think, now, to remember when their having coffee together in the evenings had stopped, and couldn’t. Probably during the last year.
In the weeks before she’d packed up and walked out on him, they hadn’t talked much at all. It seemed that whenever he opened his mouth, he said something that angered her—and vice versa. After a while she gave up fighting with him and simply left him to his own devices. He’d sulked in front of the television most nights while she worked on her crafts in the kitchen. After months of that, he should’ve been accustomed to spending time by himself, but he wasn’t.
Since Joanie had left, Brandon had felt desperately lonely. So lonely that twice now he’d ventured into town. He’d sat and cried in his beer at Buffalo Bob’s but didn’t feel any better afterward. The house seemed ten times emptier when he returned.
Gage Sinclair had taken to stopping by the farm now and again. Brandon could see what was happening with his neighbor and the schoolteacher. He didn’t pry and ask a lot of questions, but it was fairly obvious to him that Gage had fallen for her. As subtly as he could, Brandon tried to warn him off.
When he’d finished with the dishes, Brandon dragged out the vacuum cleaner for the first time since Joanie’s departure. He hadn’t realized how heavy and difficult it was, then remembered that this old vacuum had been his mother’s. Seemed to work well enough, though. Joanie had never complained about it, but she’d had plenty to say about the washer.
While he was thinking of it, he dumped his dirty clothes into the machine and set the controls. When he closed the lid, he ran his hand over the smooth enamel surface. Involuntarily, Joanie’s happy face the day of their anniversary flashed into his mind.
The image vanished far too soon, and for an instant he wanted to jerk it back, hold on to it. Remember.
But it was gone, the same way everything seemed to be gone.
When Leon Bouchard’s car pulled into the yard, at two that afternoon, Brandon had the house in decent shape. No one looking inside would guess what a pigsty it’d been just hours earlier.
Sage was the first one out of the car.
“Daddy, Daddy!” She ran up the back steps and into his waiting arms. Brandon caught his daughter and lifted her high. She threw her small arms around his neck and hugged him tight.
Stevie followed and Brandon crouched to give his son a hug. Sage was still clutching him, and when he glanced up he noticed that Leon had walked to the house.
“How you doing, Leon?” He straightened and gently set his daughter down, then held out his hand. He wanted his father-in-law to know he didn’t have any hard feelings. If anything, Leon and Peggy had been right. They’d been against the marriage. Perhaps if Joanie had listened to her parents, she’d be happier, married to that rich guy who owned the appliance store.
“Good to see you, Brandon.”
“Dad, can I call Billy?” Stevie asked, tugging on Brandon’s sleeve.
He nodded. Stevie hadn’t been in the door two minutes and he already wanted to connect with his friends. “Sure.”
“I’m going up to my room, okay?” Sage asked.
“Fine.” Brandon placed his hands in his hip pockets. “Would you like something to eat or drink before you head out?” he asked Leon. He knew the invitation lacked welcome
, and the truth was he’d prefer to see Joanie’s father leave quickly. This was Brandon’s time with his children.
“No, thanks, I’ll be going right away.”
“Thanks for driving the kids. I appreciate it.” That part was sincere.
“Joanie said something about some boxes of clothes? She said they’d be ready for me.”
Brandon had forgotten all about that. “They’re still in the attic,” he said, “but it won’t take me a minute to get them for you.”
He left his father-in-law standing in the kitchen and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The entrance to the attic was inside the closet in Sage’s bedroom. He found his daughter sitting on her bed with her favorite Barbie doll.
She looked up in surprise when he came into the room. “I need to get some stuff for your mother,” he said, opening the closet door. He pulled down the latch in the ceiling and the stairs unfolded. Climbing up two or three steps, he remembered he needed a flashlight.
“Sage,” he called.
“Here, Daddy.”
He glanced down and saw his eight-year-old daughter standing there with the flashlight. In the dim light she reminded him so much of Joanie that he paused and stared at her. It was something about her posture and the trusting way she smiled up at him.
“The flashlight, Daddy? Isn’t that what you need?”
He nodded and swallowed past the lump in his throat. The urgency he’d experienced only moments earlier had faded. He climbed down and took the flashlight from his daughter’s hand.
Squatting, Brandon met Sage’s eyes.
“Have you missed me, cupcake?”
She nodded. “Mommy’s missed you, too.”
“I miss Mommy.” He wouldn’t say that to anyone but Sage. He hugged her, fighting within himself. It’d been easy to blame Joanie for leaving him. She was the one who’d wanted out of the marriage; she was the one who’d left. The choice she’d given him had seemed straightforward: either sell the farm or end the marriage.
But in that moment, Brandon recognized that nothing was as simple or as straightforward as he’d tried to make it. Joanie was hurting. He was, too. This wasn’t what he wanted.
“Brandon?” Leon Bouchard came up the stairs.
“In here,” he called.
“Do you need help?”
“I’ve got it.” Reluctantly he released Sage and with weighted feet climbed the stairs leading to the attic. Joanie, who was wonderfully organized, had the boxes stacked and labeled. He’d never paid much attention to what she’d stored up here and couldn’t imagine what she wanted with it now. Ah, yes, work clothes. She had a job now, was back in the work world. He sorted through the boxes until he found two that weren’t labelled “baby clothes” or marked with the kids’ names. He hadn’t a clue what her system was or what she meant by “P Clothes.” Probably party clothes. He frowned at the thought.
He dragged the first box to the steps and started down.
“Here,” Leon said, standing below him. “Hand them to me.”
Working together, they had the two boxes down in a matter of minutes. Leon carried one out to his car and Brandon followed with the second.
After setting them in the trunk, Leon closed the lid. “I’ll be heading home now,” he announced. “Tell the kids goodbye for me.”
“I will.” Brandon stepped away from the car, his hands in his pockets as he watched his father-in-law start the engine, back up just enough to turn the vehicle around and then drive off.
Brandon had never felt a bond with Joanie’s parents, and in fact, over the years had avoided contact with them. But if he’d had the power just then, he would have called Leon back. For all his grumbling about his in-laws, all his complaints and suspicions, he realized he liked Joanie’s father.
Stevie was waiting for him in the kitchen when he returned. “Did Grandpa leave already?”
“He had to get home.”
His son accepted the explanation. “I’m hungry.”
“There’s peanut butter and jelly. Make yourself a sandwich.”
“Okay.” Stevie was easily satisfied. He peeled off two slices of bread and laid them on the counter. “Mommy doesn’t eat peanut butter anymore.”
Interesting, seeing that it was one of her favorite foods. “Why not?”
“I heard her tell Grandma she has to watch her diet.”
Involuntarily, Brandon bristled. So Joanie wanted to lose weight, probably because she was hoping to get noticed by her new boss. He didn’t remember where she said she was working, but her previous experience had been in a bank, so it made sense that was where she’d look now. She probably had her eye on some rich banker like Heath Quantrill. Out with the old and in with the new. One thing was certain—she was never going to get rich married to him.
Stevie smeared a thick layer of grape jelly on top of an equally thick layer of peanut butter. “Mommy thinks she’s getting fat.”
Women were habitually dieting. All women. Joanie no more needed to lose weight than he did.
“Her clothes don’t fit her anymore.”
“Your mother’s clothes don’t fit her?”
Stevie nodded.
Perhaps Joanie had been using food as an emotional escape, a comfort to get her through this difficult time. But he couldn’t imagine her eating so much in three months that her clothes would no longer fit. That didn’t make sense.
“I’m sure she’ll lose the weight.”
Stevie nodded. “That’s what Grandma said, too.”
“Grandma?”
“They didn’t know I was listening.”
“Oh.”
“Grandma said it’s all Jason’s fault.”
Brandon tensed. So Joanie was dating someone named Jason. Apparently he was rich enough to take her to fancy restaurants, to wine and dine her. Work clothes, nothing; she’d wanted her party dresses for her nights on the town with Jason.
His jaw tightened as the jealousy burned through him. The least she could do was wait until the divorce was final before she started dating again!
Eighteen
Lindsay hadn’t heard anything yet from the on-line search agency, so she logged on to the Internet to search for herself. It proved to be a marvelous research tool.
She still wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do. For one thing, Gage had worked so hard to convince her to change her mind. For another, she wasn’t confident of the reception she’d receive.
Yet, much as she wanted to push the entire matter to the back of her mind, it refused to stay there.
Day after day, she thought about the search and wondered what, if anything, the investigator had found. One afternoon in late March, when Lindsay arrived home from school, she decided she couldn’t wait another minute. She had to know, if only to satisfy her own curiosity.
The first thing she did was review all the facts she had, which she’d listed for the on-line investigator. Sex of the child, the approximate month and year of birth, plus the name of the adoption agency. In addition, she knew that the child had been adopted by a Catholic family in which the father was a physician. He also had a brother or brother-in-law who was a priest.
Lindsay was deep into her own Internet search and had located the names of all physicians practicing within the state during World War II. She printed that out and decided to break for dinner. Reading over the accumulated information, she paced the kitchen as the microwave cooked her frozen entrée. She was just about to sit down when the phone rang.
Groaning, she grabbed the receiver and held it between her ear and shoulder as she carried a steaming cardboard dish of low-fat low-sodium low-taste pasta to the table.
“Lindsay, it’s good to hear your voice.”
Monte.
Lindsay carefully lowered the carton to the place mat. Since Christmas she’d heard from him only sporadically. Most days he was far removed from her thoughts.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” he said, his voice urgent.
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“How did you get my phone number?” she demanded.
“Oh…I have my ways.”
Lindsay could imagine. Most likely her uncle had gotten it from her mother and passed it on, intentionally or not.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I phoned?” he asked.
“You’ve been hurt? You’re ill?” He was one of those men who always seemed to need a lot of sympathy when they were injured or sick.
“No, no, nothing like that,” he said, then inhaled as though to calm himself. “I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to dial your number and get nothing but a busy signal.”
“I was on the Internet,” she explained. “Was this so important you couldn’t call back later?”
“Yes,” he nearly shouted. “You can’t know how difficult this decision was to make. And now that I’ve made it, I can’t think of anything else.”
“What decision?” While she had no idea what he was talking about, Lindsay understood his impatience. She’d only begun her research into the long-ago adoption and now begrudged every minute she couldn’t spend on the project. A sense of excitement and purpose had filled her. She had to find this woman who was her aunt, had to let her know that her birth parents had loved her. And she wanted to give her the locket and the letters that rightfully belonged to her. “What decision?” she asked again, a little more irritably.
“I suspect the best way is to just say this,” Monte began. “Lindsay, I made a terrible mistake when I let you out of my life. I love you, I’ve always loved you. I want us to get married.”
His words sucked the breath straight from her lungs. Not long ago, she would have given anything to hear this. Now it was too late. “Monte, please, don’t do this.”
“Hear me out, that’s all I ask,” he pleaded. “Last summer when you left, I believed you were moving to Buffalo Gulch to—”
“Buffalo Valley,” she corrected.
“Yes, whatever. I believed it was a gimmick, a way of trapping me into marrying you when I wasn’t ready to commit.”
This was old news to Lindsay. “I told you before I left that wasn’t the case.”