Chapter Twenty-Three 10 page

“Meaning?”

There was no easy way to explain and she knew he’d seen Paula take her hand when they’d visited him the other day—right before he told her she’d lose everything for being in a long-term lesbian relationship.

“Can I ask you something, just between us?”

He set his pen down. “Of course.”

“Why did you agree to that awful codicil in Francine’s will?”

He looked stunned. “But I didn’t. I tried several times to get her to change her mind but she was so hurt. She felt so betrayed after years of Paula’s lies. I tried to get her to see past her anger but she said she couldn’t.”

Steph threw up her hands. “If you thought her position was so reprehensible, why did you agree to do it?”

He looked away and she could see that she’d asked a question he’d pondered many times. Silence filled the room and she waited patiently. After a deep sigh he said, “There were probably many reasons but I knew that if I didn’t help her, she’d go to someone else. She was so blinded by her anger then that she would have gone down the street to the first lawyer she found and aired her dirty laundry. And then there would’ve been gossip, and lots of it. Eugene’s a small town and both of their names would have turned to mud. I couldn’t let that happen.”

His loyalty to Francine was clearly unwavering and she nodded her understanding.

He folded his hands in front of him and looked at his notes. “Now, tell me about this issue or obstacle that you fear will affect your divorce settlement.”

Steph took a deep breath, hoping she could remember her rehearsed speech. “Mr. Ruth, since I’ve returned to Eugene, Paula Kemper, who was my dearest childhood friend, has become my lover.” She watched his reaction, which remained unchanged. “I want to stress that absolutely nothing occurred prior to filing my divorce papers. Filing for divorce stemmed from my husband’s infidelity and dissatisfaction with my marriage. However, this morning my husband and son arrived at an incredibly inopportune moment and observed us kissing. He’s threatening to hold this over my head during the divorce proceeding. And my son, who used to be my ally, won’t speak to me.”

Her voice cracked and she lowered her head, thinking about the ten messages she’d left on Eric’s cell phone.

Ted stroked his face thoughtfully. “I’m sorry for your predicament, Stephanie. I think the world of Paula and I’m sure you’re both hurting immensely.” He gazed at her with a serious expression. “Homosexual conduct remains one of the greatest wild cards in the judicial system. It’s incredibly problematic because it’s not acknowledged as a protected class by the federal government and most state governments. As you can imagine, Arizona supports few rights for gays. Thus, legal decisions often boil down to the effectiveness of attorney argument and judicial prejudice.” He held up a hand and added, “I’m not implying judges ignore laws but when there aren’t very many on the books they are left with their own interpretations.”

“So this could affect the outcome of the divorce.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s hard to say. If your husband chooses to make this an issue for discussion you might be in financial trouble. Your son won’t be a legal issue because he’s nearly an adult. If he were a minor you would probably lose custody. That’s the sad truth. Your result will be affected by the factors I mentioned and only your Arizona attorney will be able to help you analyze the judicial culture you’ll face. I’m sorry I can’t help you more.”

She hung her head. “No, you’ve confirmed what I suspected.”

“May I ask you a personal question?”

She nodded and looked up into his kind eyes. “Do you love Paula?”

She smiled slightly, hearing another person say the words out loud. “I’m not sure. We were so very close when we were young. It’s hard to know whether our feelings now are just residual or something special.” She stood to go. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”

He shook her hand and then escorted her out to the BMW. “Do me one favor, will you?” he asked, opening her door like a true gentleman.

“Of course.”

“When you have an answer to my question, the one about Paula, will you please let me know?”

She was somewhat taken aback by the request. He wanted an update on her personal life and she couldn’t imagine why. He didn’t seem like a gossipmonger who sought titillating details but perhaps she’d given him more credit than he deserved.

“I’m not sure why that’s any of your business.” Her tone was more puzzled than hostile.

He held up a cordial hand. “Of course. I’m sorry for being so forward. I just worry about Paula.”

She drove on autopilot back to Heceta Head, numb to her circumstances. Years of living in Eugene must have ensured she wouldn’t be killed on the road, because when she pulled up behind the B and B, she had no recollection of the drive at all.

She couldn’t get out of the car. She felt incredibly vulnerable and exposed. She couldn’t win regardless of the path she chose. It was like the road that stretched past the B and B. Travelers could trudge up to Heceta Head or down to the shore. Both views were pleasant but entirely different and choosing one usually meant forsaking the other. People wanted the seashore or they wanted the view of the cliffs. She always chose the view beyond the horizon at the cliffs.

The wind kicked up and she heard the scream of the weather vane as it reacted. Rick had promised to fix it but he hadn’t yet managed to climb on the roof. The sound drove her onto the trail toward the turning beacon. What did she want? What did she need?

But her needs had always seemed so insignificant. She wasn’t trained in anything particular. The fact that she’d spent her life helping a doctor establish his practice and raising a son gave her great pleasure. It was important and meaningful. She rationalized that some people lived their lives as the supports for others. Not everyone could be the world-famous doctor. Someone had to be the triage nurse or the orderly. While many aspired to be wealthy actors, most were personal assistants or behind-the-scenes types.

It was late in the afternoon and only a handful of tourists marveled at Heceta’s view, the tours for the day completed. She waited until the last visitor had started back down the path before she unlocked the door to the tower and climbed the steps alone. It was the greatest advantage to living there—constant access to the light without a chaperone. Some days she would bring a chair and sit next to the Fresnel lamp, as if she were the keeper and someone important to the continuance of the mighty beacon. She faced the ocean and stared at the waves, kneading her index finger. According to Lawrence she had the onset of arthritis and periodically a few of her finger joints would start to ache. It made baking difficult and she could only imagine what it would be like in twenty years.

Where will you be in twenty years? That was a difficult question that she couldn’t answer. She envied those who had long-term goals. Perhaps it became easier to create new ones, like a frog jumping from one rock to another. She’d lived vicariously through Lawrence and what he’d wanted—to build his father’s practice, to become Chief of Surgery at the hospital and to sit on several prestigious boards and foundations. And at his kindest moments he’d acknowledged she was a significant reason for his success, a fact her attorney had hammered on in the divorce petition.

She propped herself against one of the windowsills, pressed her forehead against the cold glass and was instantly chilled. She became one with the blue water in the distance, her senses comforted by the hypnotic, repetitive sound of the waves merging with the shore.

This was why she loved the ocean. It was dependable and constant just like Heceta. The tides came in and out and could be forecasted months ahead. It was stable. When Rick and Caroline looked at Heceta, they saw the romantic symbolism, but Caroline had said it best. “You see what you need to see in Heceta.”

She needed a home and she wouldn’t ask Paula to forego her inheritance. She was too old to change her life alone. While she loved Caroline and Rick, they were not the center of her life. Eric and Lawrence filled her existence, and while she loved the dream of Paula, she needed to go home. If she chose to fight she would be alone, as alone and solitary as a lighthouse.

But you’re not alone, dear, and neither is Heceta. She has me.

Icy breath floated across her face. She glanced to her right—into a blank face with blazing green eyes.

She jumped and fell to the floor. She quickly sat up unable to get her bearings. She was still in the lighthouse and at some point she’d fallen asleep—she thought. Are you sure? She wiped her sleeve across her face but she couldn’t rid herself of the cold breath and the glowing green eyes.

Chapter Eighteen

Paula drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and crept along with the bumper-to-bumper traffic that crawled south on I-5. She hadn’t noticed the roadwork earlier in the day on her way to Tillamook, too focused on her problems with Steph.

“C’mon,” she growled. “How much longer can this take?”

They’d been reduced to a single lane for the last two miles as a road crew made improvements to the highway—at least that’s what a large orange sign proclaimed at the beginning of the construction zone. She didn’t see the necessity and was losing valuable time. She checked her watch again. Five o’clock. The handyman who agreed to pry open the safe said he’d hang around his shop until six to give her the contents. Otherwise, she’d have to wait until tomorrow—and she didn’t think she could.

After Estelle had revealed Francine’s affair with John South, Paula lost all interest in seeing the Tillamook lighthouse, particularly since Estelle told her that no one could visit the lighthouse except by helicopter.

“It’s really quite sad for Tilly,” Estelle said forlornly. “She’s a majestic lighthouse but she’s so isolated up on that rock, which is practically uninhabitable and dangerous. Everyone who’s ever lived there just wanted to leave. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be that alone.”

She spoke as if Tillamook were a person and Paula realized that some people did in fact have that life. She’d be one of them if she took the money.

Paula grilled Estelle with a few more questions and asked to see her old guest books. She scanned several pages covering the months she knew Francine preferred to travel and found at least two entries where Francine and another person had checked into the motel. Her mother had always said she traveled alone, which was obviously a lie, and Estelle had described John South perfectly.

As the Malibu crept down the highway, pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Steph’s father was frequently out of town. How hard would it have been to take a few extra trips? She thought of the many barbeques she and Francine had attended at the South’s when she was younger. Before her father died, he was always flying somewhere, leaving his family alone, but the Souths always invited them over on the weekend.

She remembered how handsome John was and a memory of Francine sitting in a chair next to him while he stood at the grill made her mouth go dry. They were both laughing heartily and he leaned over and kissed her forehead.

Paula had thought nothing of it. It was one of those gestures where context was critical and an outside observer could easily miss the meaning—just as everyone had failed to see the meaning of her affection for Steph.

And the bottle of scotch. Both of them had found it terribly odd that Francine kept scotch in her cupboard. Only John drank scotch. The fact that it was an unopened bottle suggested an abrupt ending to the relationship. Had he ended the affair? Did Debbie find out? Had it ended when he died?

The traffic came to a complete halt as a large dump truck backed up across the road. She could hear the annoying beep-beep from her position fifty yards away. She checked her watch again, watching the second hand speed past the twelve. Another minute was gone.

Her cell phone rang. Christian. She’d answered so many calls and texts from him during the last few days, all of which began with, “I hate to bother you…” And then he did exactly that.

“Hello, Christian,” she said.

“Paulie, I hate to bother you…”

His sentence died and she rolled her eyes. She didn’t say anything but she could tell he was on speakerphone. That was unusual.

“Paulie, I’m sitting here with Lenny. Surprising, huh?” Surprising wasn’t the word she’d pick. “Are you there, Paula?”

“Yes. Hello, Lenore,” she said coolly to her former client.

“Hey, Paula. I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

“Thank you. Is there something I can do for the two of you?” she asked, moving straight to business.

He cleared his throat. “Paulie, we’re calling because Lenny and I have had a real heart-to-heart for the last few hours. I’m talkin’ some real ‘Kumbaya’ moments. Anyway, she’s convinced that you’re the heart and soul of the team and she wants you back.”

The phone fell from her hand into her lap. She made no effort to pick it up. She closed her eyes, unable to believe that she was being un-fired.

“Paulie, are you there?”

She took a drink from her bottle of water and did some quick mathematical calculations. This was going to cost him—big time.

She grabbed the phone. “Yes, I’m listening. You don’t want to fire me.”

“Aw, Paulie, don’t say that word. Firing is so harsh, so tsunami-like. You were never really fired.”

“I wasn’t?” she asked, wide-eyed. “When you tell an employee that someone else will take over her office in two weeks, I’m pretty sure that’s a firing.”

“Paula,” Lenny interjected, “I don’t know what Christian said to you, but this is my fault. I gave him some really mixed messages. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

She shook her head. There wasn’t any point in arguing. The back story, the second story, the real story—it was all relative in PR. The truth only existed in the moment. She knew that.

“I appreciate you calling and I’ll think about it.”

“What’s there to think about?” he argued. “C’mon, Paulie, this is home. You know I need you.”

“Well, a lot’s happened in the last few days and I need some time to think.”

“Are you talking about Shelby?” Lenny asked.

She sat up at the mention of her ex. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I heard through the grapevine that you two broke up. You know how people talk.”

Her tone was so light, as light as cotton candy. As smart as he was, she doubted that Christian had picked up on the double-meaning of Lenny’s question but Paula had. There was an entire unwritten contract in her return. If she wanted her job back she’d sleep with Lenore Kerry and Lenny was letting her know that up front.

“I’ll get back to you,” she said, hanging up.

She cranked the stereo up and U2 wailed throughout the car. She checked her watch. She had less than half an hour to get to the locksmith and she was stuck behind a Subaru, the Oregon choice of automobile. Yes, she was stuck. Nothing in her life was moving, at least not in the direction she wanted. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, feeling terribly claustrophobic in the confined Malibu. She closed her eyes and screamed.

It had taken five minutes of pleading and an extra hundred bucks, but she’d convinced the locksmith to wait for her at his shop until seven. He’d opened the safe and she quickly dumped everything into a plastic grocery bag and headed for the house. It took all of her restraint not to pull onto the side of the road and rifle through her mother’s secret life.

She raced into the kitchen, flipped on the light and let the contents spill onto the table. A quick inventory revealed a bundle of letters, three manila envelopes, four jewelry boxes and some loose photographs. A five-by-seven black and white photo caught her eye—of her and her father. She was a baby and he was holding her in his arms, wearing his pilot’s uniform. She saw the pride in his eyes and how much she looked like him. Francine had always called him handsome and claimed she fell in love when she saw him walk into a little bar outside of San Diego, where he’d initially been stationed during his Navy days. On the back of the photo was a date—July, 1975. Paula had been a year old.

The other loose pictures were of various family members, some she recognized and some she did not. Fortunately Francine had written captions and dates on the back. An old color photo caught her eye—she and Steph in each other’s arms at high school graduation. They both looked so happy and young. It warmed her heart to think that her mother thought so much of Steph that she kept the picture in the safe.

She picked up the bundled letters and postcards, recognizing the overseas postage stamps. These were from her father who’d spent most of his time flying internationally. She hesitated, unsure if she should read the private thoughts of a husband to a wife, particularly her parents.

She set the piles of pictures and letters out of the way and reached for the velvet boxes. She took a deep breath. Her heart was racing. She could feel it pounding in her chest.

The largest jewelry box contained a gold necklace with a single ruby stone, one she’d remembered her mother wearing during her childhood. She was certain her father had given it to her mother. She found her mother’s wedding ring and what she thought was her grandmother’s wedding ring in the smaller boxes. When Paula was a child Francine had constantly made reference to her inheriting the rings one day and having to choose which one she’d want for her own engagement. She realized the jokes and comments had stopped around the time her lover Nia had disappeared from her life.

She opened the last box and discovered an emerald and diamond bracelet, one she’d never seen. The box was from a jewelry store in Portland. The bracelet was gorgeous and expensive. Her heart sank as she thought of the implications. A remnant of a conversation at Steph’s house reminded her of emeralds, but she couldn’t place the memory… something about loving emeralds. Was that Debbie or her mother?

She turned her attention to the three brown envelopes. If there were any other secrets, she imagined they resided in there. The first one contained all of the important papers she expected Francine to have kept inside the safe—birth certificates, her father’s death certificate, passports and the deed to the house.

The second one contained brochures, pamphlets and photos of lighthouses. Most were from Oregon but several were from California and Washington. On the back of each photo Francine had carefully written the name of the lighthouse and the date. Each photo showed a tiny Francine standing next to a different lighthouse. Her mother was barely recognizable as the photographer had to stand far away to include the entire lighthouse.

So who took this picture?

It occurred to her that her mother’s initial story was plausible and these pictures were taken by strangers that she’d stopped randomly as many tourists did.

She held up the third envelope, which was much newer than the others. She took a deep breath and ripped it open. A stack of letters and photos toppled onto the table, secured by a beautiful satin bow. She pulled it free and the truth stared up at her. Her gaze fell to a close-up shot of an embracing John and Francine, their heads cocked together on the deck of a ship. Paula could see the railing and the sea behind them. She turned it over and read the caption in her mother’s meticulous handwriting. Alaskan cruise, 1982.

She picked up the next picture, one of John standing behind Francine, his arms resting on her shoulders. It looked like they were in front of a log cabin. The caption read, Lake Tahoe, 1995. She no longer cared about the pictures, only the dates. She turned over all seventeen photos and put them in chronological order. She had one photo for each year from 1980 to ’97. She knew John had contracted prostate cancer and been dead by ’99.

Francine had been ill and unable to come to his funeral, at least that’s what she’d said. It occurred to Paula that she was probably sick with grief and guilt. She couldn’t imagine her mother ever facing Steph and Debbie. She turned over all of the photos, putting aside the notion of her mother having a seventeen-year affair with her best friend’s father, and stared at the pictures. Many were taken at lighthouses but some, such as the Alaskan cruise photo, suggested more exotic vacations to the Bahamas, the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas.

She searched her memory for hints that her mother had traveled to these places, a souvenir or a haphazard comment—but nothing came to mind. There had been times when she’d spent an entire week at Steph’s while Francine claimed to visit a relative in another city. Perhaps those were the times they’d vacationed.

They’d clearly been discreet, another quality of their generation. Affairs were not flaunted and the feelings of the spouses were protected. She was almost certain her father had never suspected and poor Debbie was so caught up in her own world of booze she never would have known. Or would she?

She closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened the package of letters, her fingers were greeted by luxurious stationary from several different hotels in cities all over the United States. She scanned one letter from 1981, written in a sharp, angular script. John. The words were sweet, rehashing one of their trips to a lighthouse—Heceta Head. She dropped the note and checked all the pictures carefully until she found one of them standing in front of the B and B. Steph would die if she knew this.

She returned to reading the note which included perfunctory mentions of work and family. She smiled after a lengthy paragraph in which John detailed a mishap that occurred at school between Steph and a bully. Paula remembered it well. Someone was picking on a younger student and Steph came to his defense. The bully turned on her and Steph popped him in the mouth. She smiled. Steph was always a firecracker.

John clearly saw the same spark in his daughter for he praised her for challenging the bully and having the courage to stand by her convictions. In the last paragraph he told Francine how much he missed her and hoped that she and Paula were well. It was signed, All my love.

Paula set the letter down and went for the remaining scotch. She wanted to hate John. He’d cheated on Debbie and betrayed her father, a dedicated pilot trying to provide for his family. Yet John’s love for Francine and Steph was genuine.

She spent the next two hours reading the letters and sipping scotch until her vision blurred. All of the letters said basically the same thing and she recognized that John composed them when he was legitimately out of town, away from his family and Francine. That was why the stationery was repetitive. He stayed in the same places when he traveled for his company. He certainly wasn’t a great writer but she doubted her mother cared. She suddenly realized how little her father had written to his wife. She compared the two piles and Paul’s was significantly shorter. Of course he spent a lot of time in the air, but he certainly could’ve composed more correspondence than he did.

She stretched out in the chair. “What did you do, Mom? You think I’m fucked up?”

She imagined her mother caught in John’s charms, for he was a fine gentleman and she was horribly lonely. How many nights had she heard her mother quietly weeping in bed? No doubt she regretted marrying someone who was always out of town but divorce was taboo. And then Paul died and John was right there.

She was drunk and in no condition to drive back to Heceta Head. Steph expected her to be at Tillamook anyway, and if she showed up at Heceta, she’d be questioned by Steph, who would definitely know something was wrong.

She was certain Steph knew nothing of her father’s indiscretion. She could tell from the way Steph compared Debbie and John. She clearly believed John had been the superior parent.

She grabbed the photo from high school graduation, hauled herself into her old bedroom and dropped onto the old mattress, smiling when she remembered her morning delight with Steph. She stared at the picture, focusing on Steph’s confident expression and blazing eyes. Maybe that person was still there, just buried beneath Junior League fundraisers, PTA meetings and charity auctions. How could she find out and did she really want to know? Could she stand to have Steph break her heart again?

She closed her eyes and hoped she’d have a dream that would tell her what to do.

Chapter Nineteen

Steph couldn’t imagine what would compel her to visit her mother more than once in a week. She’d never given helpful advice. Steph had once asked her if she should tell a friend that her boyfriend was cheating on her and Debbie’s response was, “Ignorance is bliss, kiddo. It’s not always good to know everything. Who wants to?”

Paula had scowled when she relayed Debbie’s response, and consequently Steph had ignored her mother’s advice and told the friend, who’d subsequently dumped her—not the boyfriend—as payback. Apparently Debbie understood teenagers better than Steph did.

She knew Debbie thought highly of Lawrence. Once she’d gotten past the fact that he’d knocked her up, she focused on her daughter’s marriage to a doctor and that pleased her immensely. Debbie especially enjoyed the ritzy dinner parties Steph threw when she visited Scottsdale, usually alone without her father. For some reason she seemed to drink less when John wasn’t around.

Steph found her in her room doing a crossword. She was surprised to see her engaged in such a simple, benign activity.

Debbie peered over her glasses. “What are you doing here? It’s not Monday.” She looked around with dramatic anxiety. “Am I dead?”

Steph chuckled. “No, Mom. You’re not dead and it’s not Monday. I came by to ask your advice.”

Her mother took off her glasses and stared at her. “Are you sure I’m not dead? The last time you asked me for advice I told you it was okay to go to a dance braless. You didn’t speak to me for a week.” Steph nodded. “Now, about twenty boys called you for a month after that,” she said. “I never even got a thank you.”

“I wasn’t interested in those boys.”

Her mother stared at her and smacked her puzzle book on the table. “You weren’t interested in any boys. All you wanted was to spend time with Paula.” She let her observation hang in the air. “The two of you were inseparable. Always at Francine’s or hiding behind your rock. You and your rock,” she said almost wistfully.

Steph looked at her, astounded. “You knew we were out there hiding from you?”

“Of course I knew. I was only a little drunk. I’m a lot self-absorbed. I just wanted yours and Daddy’s attention and it seemed the only way to get it, especially from your father.”

“How can you say that? Daddy was the one who constantly cared for you. Do you know how many times we carried you up to bed? Can you guess how many times we changed our plans because you were in no condition to go somewhere? Mom, you were always the center of attention.”

“And you resented it.”

“Of course. Your drinking controlled our lives.”

“Did it? Are you sure?” She raised her eyebrows and Steph knew she’d hit a nerve. “Which came first, your father’s constant business trips or my happy hours?”

She’d always assumed her father had taken the out-of-town sales accounts because of Debbie’s binges.

“Did he start sleeping with another woman before I fell in love with Jack Daniels or after?”

Her jaw dropped. She’d never known her father was unfaithful.

Her mother eyed her shrewdly. “What’s the matter, missy? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m surprised. I just never knew…” Her voice faded off into memories of her father. “Who was she?”

Debbie looked away. “That’s not important. It’s all in the past.”

“So you know who this person was? Did you ever confront her?”

She bit her lip. “No. It was complicated.” She walked to the window and stared out. “I’m sorry I opened my big mouth. You didn’t need to hear this. They gave me a new medication for my arthritis and now I’m crabby. I’ve got the shits like nobody’s business.” She made a fist and gently pounded the wall. “Sometimes I just got so jealous of your feelings for him. I guess I still do. He wasn’t the saint you thought he was, Steph, but it doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it. He’s gone and I forgave him. There’s no sense living in the past. It’s over.” She pointed a steady finger at her. “You’d be wise to remember that. Your life with the doctor-asshole is over. Look to the future and focus on my grandson.”

Steph stared into her eyes. They were clear and focused.

“What’s wrong?” she asked suspiciously.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 534