Back in Kansas Page 21

  While Sally Rae took Brady up to the counter to pay for The Wizard of Oz, Rochell hunted for a second—more adult—selection. As she waited, Claudie resurrected a memory of lying elbow to elbow on the floor in front of the television with her siblings while Dorothy skipped down the Yellow Brick Road toward Oz. Claudie didn’t know if the image was real or imagined, but she could vividly picture Garret and her mother on the sofa, holding hands. Kissing.

  “The past speaks to you,” Maya said quietly.

  Claudie didn’t dismiss her observation. She’d sensed the older woman’s concern since her return. “Not everything was bad. There were good times, too, but I guess those memories got lost in the pain.”

  “You wish to go back again? Be a family once more?”

  I’d like to spend time with Sherry…and Zach. I’m sorry Garret’s sick, but… Before Claudie could formulate an answer, Brady ran up to her and grabbed her hand.

  “Home, Claudie?” he asked, his blue eyes glittering with love and affection.

  Claudie blinked back her sudden tears. She picked him up and squeezed him tight. Settling him on her hip, she followed the others out the door. Maya brought up the rear. Over her shoulder, Claudie softly called, “This may not be Kansas, Maya, but it is home.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  RESTLESS AND TENSE, Bo prowled the confines of his father’s new room at the Pennington Institute, an extended-care facility renowned for treating all kinds of neurological-motor disabilities. His father was going through an in-processing evaluation; Matt and Ruth would be along soon with Robert’s personal items and clothing.

  Tricia had appeared at the hospital that morning to tearfully announce that the whole situation was “too intense” for her. For some reason, her brief, awkward goodbye had left Bo feeling more unnerved than he cared to admit.

  For the first time in his life Bo understood the frustration of wanting to be in two places at the same time. He was needed here—his parents needed his help and business-wise no one else could get the ball rolling with Matt—but Bo wanted to be with Claudie.

  And she would have been here if not for her misguided belief about his needing to fix things with his father. The past is ancient history he’d told his mother. And Bo meant it—except when he looked at his father. Then all the old hurts had a way of zapping him.

  He’d tried to discuss his feelings with Claudie. Unfortunately, long distance phone calls did little to promote empathy. For one thing, it had taken half a dozen attempts to finally connect with her. His first try on the Saturday after Thanksgiving had ended in a shouting match with Rochell, whom he’d woken up at seven in the morning.

  “You’ve been off the streets for months, Rochell. Aren’t you acclimated to a new schedule, yet?”

  “I’ll give you acclimation, Mr. High and Mighty,” she’d countered with a growl. “Aren’t you the fool who raced off to find the woman he loves only to send her back with her tail between her legs like a whipped pup?”

  Her graphic metaphor almost made him lose his breakfast. “You don’t know anything about it, Rochell. Let me talk to Claudie.”

  “Not before I tell you why she oughta dump your ass.” Rochell made it to number six on her list—All men suck—when she finally admitted that Claudie and Sally Rae had started a new exercise program and were out jogging.

  Bo finally caught up with Claudie at the bookstore later in the afternoon, but his timing was off there, too. Sara had just left and Claudie was swamped with customers. She’d promised to return his call that night—which according to the answering machine she’d done while Bo was packing up his father’s belongings at the loft.

  The three-hour time difference seemed to conspire against him no matter when he called. Either she was running errands or attending a city council meeting with Babe Bishop or giving an interview to a reporter about the upcoming fund-raiser. To her credit, Claudie never failed to call back. Her voice on his mother’s answering machine was like candy—sweet little morsels that whet his appetite for something more substantial.

  Even getting back his cell phone hadn’t helped. He was out of the loop. On those rare times he’d managed to catch Claudie, she’d sounded distracted, overwhelmed by the last-minute details involved with hosting what had become a large-scale fund-raising event.

  Bo sat on the edge of the bed and pictured his conversation with Claudie the night before. Even three thousand miles apart he could hear her fatigue. “You sound wiped out.”

  Her sigh was very un-Claudie. “I thought it was jet lag, but Maya calls it ‘life lag.’ Everything is catching up with me. Plus I’m worried about Sherry and Garret. I told you he’s in hospice care, didn’t I?”

  Bo didn’t want to think about Kansas…or New York. He only wanted to hold Claudie and feel her cuddle against him in her shy, sweet way. “You have too many irons in the fire. If I were there to be a buffer, they’d have to come through me to get to you.”

  “Any idea when you’re coming back?” she asked. Before he could answer, she’d added, “Not that I’m trying to be pushy. I know this is really, really hard for you.”

  He sighed. He had a few too many irons of his own. “I’m shooting for Saturday, but I can’t promise anything.”

  “I wasn’t asking for promises,” she said testily. “I was just curious.”

  They were both silent a moment then Claudie told him. “I’m covering for Daniel on Friday and Saturday. The dim sum thing is Sunday. Then I’m off Monday through Thursday—if I survive.”

  “Do you need a place to hide out?” Bo suggested, wondering if they’d ever get back to the easy repartee they shared in Kansas. “I happen to know where you could find a quaint—some might say, charming—houseboat on the delta.”

  Her long pause had been enough to make him twist the phone cord into a knot. “I promised Sara we’d go Christmas shopping in the city next week—maybe even stay over. And I have to start looking for a new car, too.”

  Her excuses confirmed Bo’s fears. “You’re really mad at me, aren’t you? For the way I acted when you left. Especially after the night we shared.”

  “No. Of course not,” she said quickly, too quickly. “I’m a big girl, Bo. I knew what I was doing and I’m not trying to hold you to anything. What happened that night was just one of those things.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” He couldn’t prevent the desperate edge in his tone. “Claudie, tell me you don’t believe that. I love you. You know that, don’t you? This stuff between me and my dad doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

  Bo listened to her breathing; it seemed to catch in her throat. Before he could say anything else, she said, “I’m really wiped out, Bo. Can we finish this later?”

  “Sure,” he said, grimacing at the despondency he heard in her voice. “I miss you, Claudie. I love you.”

  He wasn’t certain she heard since the only answer was the echo of her yawn. “Good luck tomorrow,” she said. “Bye, Bo.”

  A noise at the door made him jump to his feet. Two orderlies pushed a wheelchair into the room. It had taken Bo a while to get used to seeing his father in a wheelchair. A strap around his chest kept Robert upright, but his head lolled weakly to one side.

  Even at a distance Bo could tell Robert was exhausted. The gray shadows beneath his eyes seemed far more pronounced. Bo hurried forward to help. One attendant removed Robert’s leather slippers while the other unfastened the chest strap and worked Robert’s striped silk robe over his shoulders. Bo turned down the burgundy print bedspread while the men swiftly, effortlessly transferred Robert’s unresponsive body to the bed.

  “Thanks,” Bo said, taking the robe from the taller of the two. He hung it in the closet. “We appreciate your help.”

  “No problem,” the man said. “I’m Jake and this is Francisco. Any time your dad needs something, just give us a holler.”

  Francisco parked the wheelchair to the right of the bed and they left. Bo stepped to his father’s side. The bed, while as functio
nal as a standard hospital bed, was lower, more discreet. The room itself was large and light. In addition to the recliner and armoire, there was a small settee and a coffee table.

  Before the movers had arrived at Robert’s loft apartment, Ruth had chosen a few of his favorite things she hoped would make the place more home-like. But Bo doubted the Baccarat vase and the couple of Boucher drawings would do the trick.

  He checked his watch. Matt and his mother should arrive soon. “Not stay here,” Robert said, suddenly.

  The lack of inflection in his father’s voice still bothered Bo. All words were delivered in a robotlike cadence, emotionless—sometimes clear, sometimes garbled.

  Bo noticed his father’s fists clenched at his sides. “Sorry, Dad,” Bo said, trying to sound sympathetic, “but you don’t have a choice. This place comes highly recommended. I’m sure you’ll do fine here.”

  The answer must not have been what Robert wanted to hear. His eyes closed, fingers relaxed. These mercurial mood swings threw Bo for a loop, too. His father had always had only one mood—serious.

  Bo studied his father’s face. Daily physical therapy had helped him regain some color. Although Robert still lacked most fine motor skills, the therapists had been impressed with his recuperative powers.

  Bo looked up as a nurse entered the room. She carried a small tray with three tiny plastic cups.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Welcome to Pennington,” she said, smiling to include Bo as well. Small, dark and in her midfifties—her accent sounded Philippine. She moved with quick, economic motions. “I’ve got some medications for you, Mr. Lester.”

  Without warning, Robert’s arm swung wildly and caught her just below the shoulder. The tray crashed to the floor. She would have fallen, if Bo hadn’t reached out to steady her.

  “Sorry,” Bo said.

  Her look held no malice. “It’s okay. Patients are often upset and confused when they first arrive.” She kneeled to pick up the pills. “I’ll try this again a little later. We can always go back to an IV if he doesn’t settle down.”

  Robert’s eyes were closed giving no indication whether or not he heard her, but once she was gone, Bo saw his father unclench his fist.

  “I remember you telling me once that a bad attitude was no excuse for abusing the help,” Bo said softly.

  “Hangover,” Robert said, taking Bo by surprise.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Bad hangover.”

  When it dawned on him what his father meant, Bo couldn’t keep from grinning. “You’re right. You did say ‘hangover,’ not ‘attitude.’ But in my case, the two were practically interchangeable.”

  His father let out a deep sigh. Bo knew that sound: exasperation—a signal Robert was ready to throw up his hands and stalk away from whatever argument they were in the midst of.

  This time Bo did the walking. He picked up a large, lush hothouse plant—a gift from Sara and Ren that had just arrived—and carried it to the window.

  “Carmen,” his father barked, almost making Bo drop the plant.

  Bo placed the container on the sill and walked back to the bed. Bo didn’t know anyone by that name but the fact his father was calling out for someone other than his mother infuriated him.

  Before he could respond, his father spoke again. “Serves right.”

  Serves right? “I get it,” Bo exclaimed. “You mean karma, not Carmen. You think this is payback for what you’ve done in your life.”

  Robert’s head nodded fractionally. When he opened his eyes, there were tears. Not the tears of frustration that Bo had seen off and on all week. Tears of anguish. And fear. The kind of fear that awaited the less-than-righteous on judgment day.

  Something twisted in Bo’s gut. His first impulse was to turn around and walk out, but he couldn’t make himself go. Instead, he stepped closer and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. “Dad, that’s not how it works. I think you have to die first, then you come back as an anteater or something.”

  Bo regretted his flippant answer when Robert’s chest heaved with silent sobs. Tears ran into his pillow. Bo’s fingers squeezed. “Dad, what happened was an accident. This place is going to help you get your life back. That’s a good thing, right?”

  Bo sensed his father struggling to speak, but was obviously hampered not only by his physical disabilities but his emotions. “Bad…father,” he finally spewed out.

  A flood of emotion cascaded over Bo. He pictured Claudie facing Garret—the man who’d robbed her of her self-worth. What had Robert done so wrong by comparison? Worked too hard? Been self-absorbed and demanding? Failed to keep his loved ones close?

  Bo lowered his head and looked into his father’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You were a lousy father…at times. But, believe it or not, I think I always knew deep down that you loved me.”

  Something in his father’s eyes changed. Hope tempered by caution. “Always,” he whispered.

  Bo’s heart swelled with emotion. He blinked back tears of his own. “I remember telling Ren Bishop one time that no matter what a bastard you were, I could count on you for anything. Was I right?”

  Robert nodded.

  “Then prove it.”

  “How?”

  Bo pulled up the wheelchair and sat down. He rested his elbows on the mattress and said, “Get well. Soon.”

  His father’s left brow rose—a semblance of his old self.

  Bo suppressed a grin. “I don’t know if Mother mentioned it, but I’ve met someone. Her name is Claudie. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever known. She’s totally honest, absolutely straight with the world. I love her and I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

  His father’s smile was a little crooked but it was definitely a smile.

  “Knowing Claudie, she’ll undoubtedly insist on waiting to set a date until you’re well enough to attend. So, the sooner you get well, the sooner I can get married.” Knowing how much his father loved a challenge, he added, “Now that I think about it, you ought to pay for my wedding.”

  His father’s wiry gray brows shot up. “Why?”

  Bo bridged his fingers trying to look stern. “Well…there’s still that matter of your gambling debt.”

  His father’s eyes went wide.

  “Oh, sure, try to give me that cracked-my-head-on-the-sidewalk-and-can’t-remember-anything excuse. You know what I’m talking about. That Christmas I came home from college. Mom was helping Aunt Irene with Deborah’s twins. Remember? I invited those guys from the bar to the apartment to play poker, and you joined us.”

  Robert scowled. “Crooks.”

  “I had them right where I wanted them until you bluffed me out of my straight flush. If I hadn’t folded, I would have won. Instead that loser dude with the tattoo won.” In truth, Bo had been drunk on his butt and probably would have lost his shirt, all the good silver and the vast majority of Christmas presents under the tree if his father hadn’t come home and rescued him. “I figure I lost about six hundred bucks. Invested wisely—which you would have, no doubt—we’d be looking at something in six figures by now. So, I think it’s only fair that you pay for the wedding.”

  Robert looked at him squarely. He didn’t blink. After a moment of stiff silence, Bo saw the corner of his lips twitch. “Done,” his father said.

  Bo smiled. “Good. I’ll keep you posted on the details. There is one small problem.” Please let it be small.

  Although obviously exhausted, his father said. “Tell me.”

  Bo let out a long sigh. “Claudie was here with me for a few days. We were in Kansas together when we heard about your…accident. She left so I could…” Bo made a face. “She tried to do the right thing, but I was a jerk.”

  “Dumb.”

  Bo flinched. “It gets worse. We’d actually been…uh…together the night before.” He felt himself blushing under his father’s unblinking scrutiny. “It was the first time, and—”

  Bo couldn’t quite believe he was talking about this w
ith his father.

  “Tell her.”

  Bo cocked his head. “Tell her what?”

  His father’s mouth worked at forming the words. “Only…one…love.”

  Even given the state of his father’s memory, Bo couldn’t let that kind of hypocrisy go unchallenged. “Dad,” Bo said, striving to keep his long-held bitterness in check, “have you forgotten about Trisha? She wasn’t exactly your first extramarital affair, you know.”

  Robert’s eyes squeezed tight. “Bad husband.” Bo didn’t argue. “But. Just one. Love,” he said, choking on tears.

  Bo caught the slight emphasis on the word one. He leaned forward, his elbows on the armrests. “Mom?” he asked softly.

  His father nodded.

  A sound made Bo turn. His mother stood in the doorway, one hand covering her lips.

  “Dad, if you love Mom so much how come you had those affairs?”

  Robert’s lips worked at forming a sound, but in the end no words came out—just a low, raspy moan. Tears dripped into his pillow before he turned his face away.

  Bo felt his mother at his side. She leaned down and took her husband in her arms. In a soothing voice, rich with emotion, she told him, “It’s okay, honey. I know you love me, and you know you’re the only man I’ve ever loved. We need to put all that foolishness behind us. We have a tough road ahead, Robert Lester, and we aren’t going to waste time worrying about things that can’t be changed. Do you hear me?”

  Her librarian voice. Stern and commanding.

  Robert looked at her. Tears glistened in his eyes. He nodded.

  Bo pushed backward with his feet; the wheelchair rolled to a stop a few feet away. He watched his parents with a sense of awe and wonder. Was it possible that thirty years of hurt could be wiped away just like that?

  As quietly as possible, Bo slipped away. He started down the hall but stopped when his mother called his name. He returned to her side. For her small stature, she suddenly seemed like a miniature dynamo. Her eyes glowed with an inner fire.

  “Thank you, dear heart, for giving him that,” she cried, taking Bo’s hand.