Forbidden Page 19

  “Liz?” The voice was wavery, thin.

  “Mother? Is that you?”

  “Yes. I need you to come over, Liz.”

  She felt her heart leap to her throat. “What is it?”

  “Your father’s had a stroke.”

  The address on the slip of paper was in a sleazy section of San Diego. Driving slowly down the street, Liz searched for the number on the odd assortment of run-down frame houses, each shabbier than the last. She finally found the one she was looking for and coasted to a stop in front.

  The house was a peacock blue, the paint faded and peeling. A rusted car sat on cinder blocks on the cracked cement of the driveway. An overflowing trash barrel was near the bottom of the rickety stairs leading to a swaying porch. A skinny dog lay curled up on a sagging old brown sofa and lifted his head disinterestedly, then went back to sleep.

  Bracing herself for what was bound to be an unpleasant scene, Liz got out of the car and carefully climbed the steps. She pressed the bell, but it was broken, so she knocked. She could hear no sound from inside. She knocked again, longer and louder.

  Finally she heard footsteps, then a dead bolt sliding back, and at last the door swung open cautiously.

  Nancy blew her long bangs out of her eyes and eyed her sister with suspicion. “Well, well. If it isn’t Mrs. Blueblood. Slumming, sister?”

  Annoyed and impatient, in no mood for Nancy’s sharp tongue, Liz pushed past her and went inside. The interior smelled of stale cooking and body sweat; the dilapidated furniture looked as if a thousand renters had used and abused it. Ignoring it all, Liz turned to her sister.

  “Why were you so cruel to Mom on the phone?”

  Nancy rummaged in the pocket of her soiled white shorts and found a cigarette. Lighting it, she moved to a lumpy easy chair and sat down. “What made her think just because dear old Daddy’s not well that I’d want to rush back to the family manse and join hands in a prayer vigil around his bed?”

  With a great deal of effort, Liz held on to her temper. “She doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment from you. And neither does Dad. For your information, he’s had a stroke. He’s in a coma, and we don’t know if he’ll ever come out of it.”

  Nancy blew smoke toward the already stained ceiling. “So? He doesn’t need me. He’s got his favorite by his bedside. You hold his hand. I’m fresh out of tea and sympathy.”

  Furious now, Liz plunked herself down on a hardback chair she prayed would hold her weight and leaned toward her sister. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Your father’s dying, your mother’s a basket case, and you sit in this… this hovel slinging diatribes at them. You’re thirty-five years old. When are you going to grow up and take responsibility for your actions? I’ve got a news flash for you. The mess you’ve made of your life isn’t your parents’ fault.”

  “No. It’s yours.”

  Stunned, Liz stared, confused. “What?”

  “Oh, don’t look so innocent, sister mine.” She took another drag on her cigarette, then viciously ground out the unsmoked half in an overflowing ashtray. “All our lives, you’ve had everything and I’ve had nothing.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. We both had the same privileges, the same opportunities.”

  “Except for a few tiny differences. You were the pretty one, while I was average looking, as Dad used to point out frequently. You got friggin’ A’s on every paper, while I had to study night and day to get a C. Not good enough for a Townsend. Hell, I wasn’t even well-coordinated. You remember when Dad tried to teach us to play baseball? I couldn’t hit a goddamn throw. Oh, but you! You slammed ‘em out of the ballpark. And the old man didn’t even see me go running home, crying my heart out.”

  Taken aback, Liz took a deep breath. “Look, I never tried to beat you in anything. I can’t believe you’re still carrying around all these silly childhood resentments and blaming your present behavior on things that happened more than twenty years ago.”

  “They may have been silly to you. Not to me.” With hands that shook, Nancy lit another cigarette. “I couldn’t compete with the golden girl, so I stopped trying. After a while, I became what they always thought I was, a failure at everything I tried. You graduated at the top of your class. I could barely keep passing. One day I realized I’d never catch up, so I quit school. Dad was already telling me no college would take me. And when you left for Stanford, he talked about how he was grooming you to work alongside him in the law firm. He wouldn’t even give me a summer job there filing. And you want me to go sit with him now?”

  Liz felt her shoulders slump in weariness. Yesterday she’d dropped everything and rushed to be with her mother. Overnight, Katherine’s appearance had changed. She had always been thin, but now she looked fragile, a word Liz had never associated with her mother. She said Nancy had refused to come home and had hung up on her when she’d called. Having slept very little, Liz was weary and suddenly angry.

  “All right, then, if not for Dad, go home for Mom. She’s—”

  “She’s had her head in the sand for years. Whatever Dad said was the rule of the day, as if she didn’t have an opinion in the world she hadn’t gotten from him. If she only knew her precious husband like I know him, I wonder what she’d say.”

  Liz’s head shot up. “What do you mean by that?”

  Nancy watched the smoke from her cigarette curl upward, as if trying to come to a decision. “You want the truth, big sister? Let’s see if you have the guts to handle it. Five will get you ten a protected, hothouse flower like you won’t be able to.”

  It was close and stuffy in the small house. Liz wanted to bolt and run. Instead she challenged Nancy. “Try me.”

  Eyes narrowed and resentful, she accepted the challenge. “Do you remember when I got my driver’s license the day I turned sixteen? You were getting ready to go away to college in the fall. I asked you if you wanted to drive up with me to the cabin in Grass Valley, but you were too busy. So I went alone. It was dusk when I got there, and I was surprised to see lights on inside. I figured Dad had left a timer on, so someone passing by wouldn’t think the cabin wasn’t occupied full-time.”

  Liz watched Nancy inhale deeply, as if needing the nicotine to continue. Silently she waited.

  “I didn’t see another car around, so I unlocked the door and went inside. The first thing I saw were clothes tossed in a path from the main room leading to the bedroom Mom and Dad always used. Clothes belonging to a man and a woman. Mom had been home when I left, and I’d been told Dad was away on a business trip. My first thought was that someone had broken in. I picked up the heavy flashlight from the hall table and followed the trail. The bedroom door was closed, but there were no sounds coming from inside. I was a pretty innocent sixteen, you know, and maybe a little stupid. Anyway, I jerked open the door.”

  Slowly Nancy put out her second cigarette and met her sister’s eyes. “Surprise! Dad wasn’t on a business trip, but in bed with a woman I didn’t recognize. She screamed, and Dad started swearing. I turned and ran back toward the car. He pulled on his pants and came chasing after me, yelling at me to wait. But I didn’t want to wait, so I drove off.”

  Liz let out a ragged breath. It was hard news to assimilate when she was already ready to drop with fatigue and worried sick to boot. But looking at Nancy’s face, she had no doubt her sister was telling the truth. “Did you ever talk about the incident with him afterward?”

  Nancy’s laugh wasn’t pleasant. “Oh, yeah. I drove home and made up some story to Mom about not feeling well and holed up in my room, struggling with my disillusionment. I always felt that Dad loved you more than me because you were prettier, smarter, quicker. Maybe some of the cockamamie things I did were to get his attention, so he’d love me, too. But after what I’d seen, I didn’t want his love. I knew him for what he was, a big phony who talked one game and played another.”

  “I’m not condoning what he did, Nancy. He’s human. He made some mistakes. But he’s still you
r father.”

  “Yeah, right. That night, he arrived late and came to my room. He told me he’d appreciate it if what I saw at the cabin would remain our little secret. He said it would hurt Mom a lot if she found out. He claimed he loved Mom, but some men needed more than one woman in their lives. And… and he said he loved me.” Unaware tears were streaming down her face, Nancy looked up. “That was the only time I ever remember hearing those words from him. Sure he loved me. Because he needed me to keep his dirty little secret.”

  For one of the few times in her life, Liz truly didn’t know what to say. She wanted to hug Nancy, to try to make up for all the misery she’d apparently suffered, through no fault of Liz’s, yet real pain nonetheless. But they hadn’t been affectionate since their early teens, and the distance was hard to bridge.

  “I can only imagine how difficult that was for you,” Liz began, groping her way. “But you need to put all that happened in the past behind you. Not for Dad’s sake, but for Mom’s now, and for yours. You can get past this, Nancy. If you want to, if you honestly try.”

  Nancy swiped at her damp cheeks. “How would you know? You’ve never had a terrible thing happen to you, not ever. You’re the fair-haired girl everyone loves. You crook your little finger and everything you want drops in your lap.”

  Not by a long shot, little sister. Liz felt her temper, sneaking up to the surface for some time now, boil over. “Stop it! Stop thinking you’re the only one who’s known pain or indifference or hard times. I just buried my husband four months ago. Did you think that was easy?”

  Nancy sniffled noisily. “At least you had a husband, one who loved you, and you have his daughter. I… I have nothing.”

  Liz had had enough. If she stayed any longer, she’d blurt out some ugly truths that might satisfy Nancy but would only leave Liz with regrets. “You have nothing because you accept this way of life. You can have more. You can change the pattern. The answer to your problem isn’t in a bottle or a different man every few months. It’s inside you. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and fix your life. No one else can do it for you.” She marched to the door, then swung back. “Are you going to show up or not? What do you want me to tell Mom?”

  Nancy wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Without another word, Liz left.

  CHAPTER 13

  Liz hefted her Louis Vuitton hanging bag into the trunk of her white BMW, then turned to see Sara walking toward her, carrying a large cardboard box. “What’s in there?” she asked her daughter. “I thought all your stuff was in those two bags we loaded first.”

  “Some CDs and books. If we’re going to stay in La Jolla for a week or so, I’ll go crazy without my music and something to read.” Sara peered into the trunk, looking for space.

  Frowning, Liz bent to the trunk, trying to rearrange their bags to make room. “You’re not going to be a prisoner there, Sara. Your friends can come get you for the day or whatever. I’m not sure Grandma will appreciate your music with Grandpa so ill.”

  “It’s a big house, Mom. I’m not going to play it in his bedroom.”

  Sighing, Liz stepped back. “We’ll have to put the box on the backseat. There’s no way it’ll fit in here.” She lowered the trunk lid and walked around to open the back door, wondering if she were making a mistake by closing up the Pacific Beach house and going to stay with her folks. But when her mother had suggested it, looking hesitant and uncertain, Liz hadn’t been able to refuse her. She knew how worried Katherine was and what a toll her father’s illness was taking on her.

  “There, no problem,” Sara said as she set the box on the backseat. “May I drive?”

  Sara was less than two months away from turning sixteen in July and had only recently received her learner’s permit, allowing her to drive when accompanied by a licensed driver. It was the Memorial Day weekend, and school had let out only yesterday. Next year at this time she would have been graduated in the class of 1993. But for now the whole glorious summer stretched out before her, and she was keyed up and raring to go.

  Liz smiled at her daughter. Sara was lovely, tall and slender, with fine features and wonderful naturally curly blond hair that hung down past her shoulders. She was nearly grown, Liz realized, and her breath caught in her throat at the thought. Of course, she still hovered in that middle ground between childhood and womanhood. Sometimes, like today, she looked so young in shorts and a sloppy shirt. Other times she appeared older, as she had the night of her junior prom when she wore a floor-length white dress and heels.

  In another year she’d be going away to college. She’d already looked into Stanford, intent on preparing for a career in journalism. Behind her sunglasses, Liz felt her eyes grow moist as she impulsively hugged Sara to her. Her little girl, her baby, was growing up, and there was nothing she could do about it. “Yes, you may drive.”

  Sara’s blue eyes sparkled. “Thanks, Mom.” She climbed behind the wheel with a smile of anticipation.

  Liz went back to make sure the front door was locked, then got in beside Sara and watched her rearrange the mirrors, adjust the seat, and change the radio station. A teenage ritual, she’d learned since Sara had begun driving. Her usually undemanding daughter had turned into a pest, wanting constantly to drive the two blocks to the mailbox or to the drugstore for a magazine. Though it was a short ride to the Townsend home, perhaps Sara would be appeased for a while. “Take the coastal road, honey. There’s less traffic.”

  “But I need the practice in traffic, Mom,” Sara insisted, turning out of their circular drive.

  “Not today, please, Sara.” Liz fastened her seat belt, wishing this stay weren’t necessary, that her father would somehow recover and her mother would smile again.

  She was fairly certain that wouldn’t happen. Joseph Townsend was in a deep coma. He’d been showering when the stroke had hit, and he’d fallen, breaking his left hip. The doctors had decided not to put him through the trauma of surgery unless he miraculously regained consciousness.

  So he lay in his bed, pale, shrinking before their eyes, this once strong and vibrant man who was only sixty-eight. The doctors gave little hope that he’d come out of the coma, though occasionally his eyes opened. But he only stared blankly for moments and closed them again.

  Katherine had hired nurses, but she maintained a constant vigil as well, seldom leaving his side. It was more for her mother that Liz was putting her life on hold, to spell her. There was precious little she could do for her father anymore. The sorrow of that made her heart heavy, for despite what Nancy had revealed to her, she loved him. Maybe she loved him even more knowing he was a flawed human being, as she herself was. He’d always been so formidable. Now she felt she could relate to him better.

  Now, it was too late to tell him so.

  Sara turned onto the coastal road and glanced at her mother, brooding quietly. Now or never, she decided, “Mom, can we talk about the trip again, please?”

  Liz felt like laying her head back and closing her eyes but stifled the urge. “We have talked about it, Sara. You’re very young, and Ireland is so far away.”

  Sara’s closest friend, Justine Parker, was going with her father, Wayne Parker, a photojournalist for the Associated Press, on a vacation to Ireland. A widower, Wayne had come over one evening and asked Liz if Sara could go along, promising to take good care of the girls. Wayne planned to gather information for a book he was planning to write about the civil war that kept Ireland divided. Liz had known Wayne for years, since he and Justine lived only two blocks away. She trusted him when he said he wouldn’t take the girls anywhere dangerous. Still, she had misgivings, many of them.

  “I’ll be sixteen by the time we’d go in August,” Sara went on, keeping her voice calm and reasonable. She’d learned that that was the only way to talk with her mother. “I’ve heard you say that traveling by plane is safer than by car. Mr. Parker says he’ll give you a copy of our complete itinerary, where we’ll be staying each night, what tours we’ll
be taking. Everything. Mom, this is a chance of a lifetime. I… I just have to go.”

  Remembering what it was like to be fifteen, nearly sixteen, with the world beckoning and the need to explore so insistent, Liz’s heart went out to her daughter. Perhaps if Richard were alive, she’d feel better about making this decision with him. She’d scarcely gotten over that loss, and now her father was gravely ill, her mother falling apart, her sister not coming around. Liz felt the weight of it all crushing her down.

  “It’s not just the plane trip. You’re very young to be away from home for two long weeks to a place so far away.”

  “Mr. Parker said it would be like touring anywhere in the States. And I can phone as often as you like.”

  Small comfort that was. “I can’t give you an answer right now. I told you I’d think about it, and believe me, I am. But give me some time.”

  Impatient, Sara stepped on the gas, wanting to pass a slow-moving van. But she thought better of it and slowed down. Her mother would think her more mature if she drove like a little old lady. Not that she was, little or old. Her mom was terrific looking still, neater than any of her friends’ mothers. Sara could even understand why Liz worried about her so much, being an only child and her dad gone and all. Still, Sara had to make her see that if she didn’t go on this trip, she’d simply die.

  Maybe she’d talk with her grandmother and try to recruit her as an ally. Then, together, they could persuade her mother to give in. For now, Sara decided to change the subject. “Do you think Grandpa’s going to come out of the coma and be all right?” She’d never been as close to him as to her grandmother, but she loved him all the same.

  Liz leaned back against the headrest wearily. “I seriously doubt it; but we mustn’t give up hope, especially for Grandma’s sake.”

  “What should I do when we get there? I mean, to help her?” The thought of sitting beside his bed for hours, as she had with her father during his long illness, depressed Sara terribly.

  Liz reached for Sara’s hand and squeezed it, guessing her daughter’s concern. “Just be yourself, sweetheart. There are nurses to attend to Grandpa. We’re going mostly to give Grandma moral support.”