Family Blessings (5 page)

He covered her hand and squeezed it. "Of course I meant it."

"Because if I went out to get Janice, I might not be here when Joey gets home, and I--" She could feel her emotions cracking again but he forestalled another breakdown.

"Don't say another word. I'll be there when her plane touches down.

Now how about you? You making it okay? Do you want some coffee or something?"

"No thank you, Christopher, but have some yourself."

"No, I couldn't eat a thing. Feel like it'd come back up."

It was late afternoon. The neighbors had begun returning with hot foods, sandwiches, salads. The front screen door seemed to open and close incessantly and the murmur of voices filled the place.

Sylvia came into the kitchen and said, "Lloyd is here, Lee."

"Lloyd. Oh, Lloyd." She immediately moved toward the front hall, where her father-in-law had just come in. His hair was as silver as the rims of his glasses. A trim man of medium height, he had the gentlest face of any human being she'd ever known, with features that even in sorrow looked accepting and kind.

"Lee," he said. Nothing more. Only folded her in his arms and held her for the longest time while they both relived the day they'd grieved this way for Bill, his son. Odd how she loved this man. More than her own father, for she felt more at ease with him, could talk to him more honestly, could bare her soul with him. He wasn't Bill--she had never mistakenly substituted him for Bill--but in Lloyd Reston's arms she felt closer to her husband than anywhere else. It felt as if Bill were here with her now, fortifying her, as Lloyd said quietly, "Life is so full of sorrow, and we've had our share, haven't we, little one? But we'll weather this one, too. We know we can because we've done it before."

When he pulled back there were tears in his eyes and on his cheeks, but he demonstrated none of the histrionics of her own mother and father, and she found this calming.

"Do the children know?"

"Yes. They're on their way."

"Good." He squeezed her shoulders. "You'll feel better once they're with you. Are there too many others? Are we overwhelming you?"

"No. They all mean well, and they need to gather because it's scary for them, too. It might not be their son, but they all realize it could be someday. Let them stay."

Her pastor arrived, Reverend Ahldecker, and as she was being consoled by him she looked out through the screen door to see Christopher, alone in the front yard, turning off the lawn sprinkler, which had been running in one spot all day. He gathered in the hose, coiling it between the shrubs by the front door. His chin was resting on his chest and his motions were slow and methodical. There were tears running down his face.

His sad solitude touched her deeply. Alone out there, winding up the hose, crying the tears he withheld in the house while offering his support to her. Time and again he had sensed when she needed him, and now it was time to return the favor.

"Excuse me, Reverend Ahldecker, I'll be right back."

She went outside, closing the screen door silently. Approaching him from behind she slipped her arms around his waist, spread her hands on his chest where his sunglasses still hung and laid her cheek between his shoulder blades. His shirt was hot from the late afternoon sun.

His heartbeat was steady but his breathing irregular, caught at intervals by swallowed sobs. At her touch, his hands fell lifelessly to his side, the hose still trailing from his fingers. They stood so for long moments, the sprinkler head dripping water onto the sidewalk and splashing their ankles.

Neither of them noticed. Neither of them cared.

Their shadows, from behind, stretched along the wet concrete like gray cutouts. Evening was approaching. From a telephone wire nearby a mourning dove called. Some distance away, another answered--like the two of them, calling and answering each other's mourning throughout this bizarre and unspeakably sad day.

At last Christopher drew in a great sigh and expelled his breath with a shudder. "I loved him, you know? And I never told him."

"He knew it. And he loved you, too."

"But I should have told him."

"We tell people those things in countless ways. Last week he said you brought him two cinnamon tornados from Hans's bakery. And I recall times when you washed his car just because you were washing your own, and drove out to give him a jump start when his battery was dead, and returned his video rentals so he wouldn't have to pay an overdue charge.

Those are all ways in which we say I love you. He knew it. Don't ever think he didn't."

"But I should have said it."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Christopher. I'm sure he knew."

"No one ever taught me how to say it. I never had . .."

He cut the remark short and her mother's heart went out to him for the love he'd never had at home.

"Did he ever say it to you?"

Christopher dropped his gaze to the green rubber hose, scratching it absently with a thumbnail. "No."

"But do you doubt it?"

He shook his head.

"Let me tell you something, Christopher." She stepped back, turned him around and looked up at him. "From the time you two became roommates, he never once took leftovers from here without asking if I had enough for you, too. He's never had much home cooking, Mom," he'd say, so put in extra for Chris." And I did, and he'd take them for you because that was one of his ways of saying he loved you. And there was never a holiday he wasn't worried about you being alone. That's why he invited you here to be with us.

And didn't he fix something on that disreputable old car of yours just a couple of weeks ago? Some fuse for the air conditioner or something?

I know he did, so don't you waste a minute of your precious life regretting that you never told him. Because he knew it just like you knew it."

Christopher sniffed and wiped his nose with the edge of one hand.

Lee found a tissue in her skirt pocket and handed it to him.

"If it'll make you feel better, promise yourself that from now on you'll tell people how they matter to you. If you love someone, tell him."

He blew his nose and nodded at the sidewalk. "I will."

"All right," she said. "Feeling better now?"

He blew out a deep breath. "Yeah. Thanks."

"I've been through this before, you know. I'm an old hand at handling grief, and I know that there's a good year or more of it ahead for both of us. I also know that it doesn't always strike you conveniently when you're off duty, or during daylight hours, or in the privacy of your own home. Grief is an ill-mannered bastard. It strikes you when you least expect it to. When that happens, just remember, Christopher, I'm here and you can come to me anytime, night or day. And somehow we'll muddle through.

Okay?"

He nodded again and murmured, "Thanks, Mrs. Reston."

"And now you have to leave for the airport, and I have to speak to Reverend Ahldecker."

She braved a smile. There wasn't a trace of makeup left on her face.

Her skin was red and roughened by all the tears and tissues that had worried it that day. Studying her, Christopher saw the resemblance to Greg in the shape of her eyebrows and lips.

"I can see why he loved you so much, and admired you. You're very wise and very strong."

She gave him a gentle shove toward his car and said, "Go on now, before you start me crying again."

At Twin Cities International Airport, Northwest flight 356 taxied to a stop at Gate 6. Janice Reston reached in the overhead compartment for her carry-on bag and waited leadenly for the door to be opened and the passengers to bump their way up the aisle ahead of her.

She wondered if her mom was waiting inside the terminal, or Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Barry. Maybe Grandpa and Grandma Hillier. She had cried throughout most of the flight from San Francisco, staring out the window while the sun moved around behind the plane and reflected off its silver wing. Kim had dried her eyes often, too, then had opened a book that lay unread on her lap while she clasped Janice's hand and Janice had talked through her grief.

Now, walking up the jetway and into the airport she was surprised to see Christopher Lallek waiting at the top of the ramp.

"Chris," she cried, and dropped her canvas bag as he came forward to scoop her into his arms.

"Janice . .."

"Oh, Chris, how can it be true?"

She clung to him, her arms doubled around his neck while weeping assailed her once more. He held her so firmly only her toes grazed the floor while passengers threaded their way around them and Kim looked on with fresh tears in her eyes. Jannice had imagined being in Chris's arms since the first time she!d met him two years ago, when Greg had joined the Anoka police force and the two had begun sharing an apartment.

Never had she imagined him holding her for such a reason. He was thirty, she only twenty-three. He'd always treated her like Greg's kid sister, old enough to be in college and out on her own, but far too young to date. Suddenly, in the space of a few hours, death had stepped in and trivialized age differences. Their mUtual bereavement brought them together simply as two people who had loved someone they'd lost. Only that loss mattered while they clung and grieved.

They separated and Chris extended his hand. "Hi, Kim. I'm Christopher Lallek. I'm sorry you had to end your vacation so soon after you got there."

Kim's face, too, looked puffy and red. "There was no question of my staying once I heard the news."

He picked up Janice's carryon and they walked three abreast toward the luggage return.

In his car, heading north to Anoka, Kim sat in back, Janice in front.

He answered Janice's questions and reached over to rub her shoulder when she was forced to dig in her purse for Kleenex again and again.

"How's Mom holding up?"

"Like the Rock of Gibraltar, cheering up everybody who comes in the door instead of the other way around. Greg always said she was a strong woman and I've seen it today. I know she'll feel better when you get home though. The hardest thing she did was call you and your brother."

"Is he home yet?"

"He wasn't when I left. The Whitmans were heading back from the lake though to bring him."

They rode along thinking awhile, about their own feelings, and Lee's, and those of a fourteen-year-old boy who had been left the only male in the family. The muffler on Chris's old car was nearly shot, its thunder reverberated in their heads while the rush of hot wind from the partially opened windows moved their hair. The fuse had blown on the air conditioner shortly after Greg replaced it, but Christopher had decided it wasn't worth replacing with the new Explorer soon to arrive.

The new Explorer-hell, he hadn't given it a thought since noon. The dealer had probably called his apartment all afternoon wondering what had happened to him. Funny how the new vehicle had lost all importance in light of today's tragedy. The sun was dropping toward the horizon.

The outline of downtown Minneapolis appeared veiled in a shimmery pearlescent haze then fell behind them as Christopher fixed his eyes on the tar and drove without conscious awareness of changing lanes, working a signal light, maintaining speed. The two women stared out their side windows and Janice thought about how everything had changed since yesterday. How her life would never be quite the same again.

All those memories she and Greg had shared of growing up together, there was nobody to reminisce with now, especially about the time before Daddy had died. Joey was so much younger his memories were separate from Janice's. It was Greg she'd played with, had gone to high school with, had cheered for when he ran the 440 and talked with about dating and the boys she'd liked, the girls he'd liked.

His kids would have been her kids' cousins. They'd have played together as they grew up, and would have shared holidays. She'd have baby-sat them sometimes when he and his wife wanted to get away alone.

All their kids would have been at each others' birthday parties, graduation parties, weddings. Staring out the car window she felt suddenly cheated and angry. All that time and love invested in someone else's life and now he was gone, and with him so much of her future!

Abruptly she felt guilty for the thought. How can I be angry? And with whom? Greg? Mom? Dad? The baby that died and didn't have to go through all this heartache and isn't here for me now? Myself for going off to San Francisco instead of spending the last couple of days with him?

She dropped her head back against the seat and said, "Do you feel angry, Chris?"

He glanced over at her. "Yes."

"With whom?"

"With Greg, for not wearing a helmet. With fate. Hell, I don't know."

She felt better then, knowing he'd experienced the same feeling as she selfish as it seemed.

"I keep thinking about how he never got a chance to get married .

. . to have kids."

"Yeah, I know."

"And Mom and all of us. I mean--damn it!--think about birthdays!

Think about Christmas!" She had begun to cry again. "They're gonna b . . . be awful!"

She was right. He could only reach over and take her hand.

He thought he had never witnessed anything more pathetic than the reunion of Lee Reston and her children. He stood by, watching the three of them form a knot of sorrow, and would truly have given a good portion of his own life in exchange for the restoration of Greg to them.

He heard their weeping, witnessed their ungainly three-way hug, watched the mother's hands stroke her children's heads while their faces were buried against her. He moved away to give them privacy, went into the backyard and sat down on the deck steps leading to the lawn. It was a pretty lawn, deep, reaching 200 feet back toward a row of arbor vitae that divided it from the neighbor's house beyond. At the near end shade trees spread. At the far end flower borders with serpentine edges meandered around three edges of the property surrounding an open stretch of grass that served as a volleyball court during family picnics. He'd been at a couple of these. They lingered in his memory as lucky days, some of the luckiest of his life. Hot dogs and laughter and family and friends-- all the things he'd missed in his own life.