Her Daughter's Dream (18 page)

“Have you heard from Mitch?” Mom sipped her tea.

“He called the office and asked to see a house.”

“Is he planning to move back to Paxtown?”

“No. It was a hijacking.”

Her mother laughed. “I guess he’s not a man to take no for an answer.” A frown flickered across her face, and Carolyn wondered what she might be thinking. She didn’t want to give her mother any wrong ideas.

“We talked a lot about Charlie. I asked him over for dinner this evening.”

“Why don’t you let Dawn spend the night here?”

“I wouldn’t want to give Mitch the wrong idea.”

Setting her cup down, her mother looked at her. “I’m sure his intentions are honorable, Carolyn. If not, you
can
say no.”

Carolyn couldn’t help but laugh. “
Honorable
. I don’t know what that means these days.”

Her mother frowned, clearly troubled. “He was Charlie’s best friend, Carolyn. He misses your brother. He probably just wants a quiet evening to talk with someone who loved him as much as he did.”

If only that was all there was to it. She didn’t want to say too much and have her mother speculating on what they might do, other than talk about Charlie.

Mom chuckled as she sipped her tea again. “Dawn was just telling me a while ago she’d like to ride the bus to school just once. If she stayed overnight, she could ride to school tomorrow.”

“I don’t know, Mom.”

“Please!” May Flower Dawn spoke up from the foyer.

Her daughter seldom asked for anything from her. How could Carolyn say no?

* * *

Home and alone, Carolyn decided to call the whole evening off. She phoned the Paxtown Hotel and asked to be put through to Mitch’s room. The telephone rang ten times before the clerk came back on the line and said he was sorry, but Mr. Hastings seemed to be out for the afternoon. In a panic, Carolyn rummaged through her refrigerator, wondering what to fix for dinner. She threw together a meat loaf, put two potatoes in to bake, and made a tossed salad. She’d just finished setting the table when she heard a motorcycle out front. Her pulse rocketed. Her heart would have gone into orbit if it hadn’t been encased in her chest.

The doorbell rang. Swiping the perspiration from her palms, Carolyn fixed a smile on her face and opened the door. “Hi, Mitch. Come on in.” Her voice sounded so chipper, so high school. Mitch looked entirely too handsome in a black leather bomber jacket, casual blue henley shirt, black leather belt, Levi’s, and boots. He held a bottle of red wine in one hand and a bouquet of lilies in the other. Swallowing hard, she opened the door wider and waved him in. “Can I take your coat?”

“Better take the wine and flowers first.”

She blushed. “Of course.”

As soon as his hands were free, Mitch stripped off his jacket, tossed it on the sofa, and followed her into the kitchen. “Something smells good.”

“Does it?” She rattled off the menu. “Sorry. Nothing fancy.”

“Got a corkscrew? I’ll open the wine.”

She fingered through her utensil drawer until she found a can opener that included one. “Here you go.” His fingers brushed hers, and she dropped it. “Sorry.” She stooped to pick it up and put it on the counter. Did he have to watch her like that? Her heart kept knocking wildly. She arranged the lilies in a vase and took it back into the dining room. She took a wineglass from the built-in china cabinet and put it on the table.

“Only one glass?”

“I’m a recovering alcoholic. An ex-pothead.”

He grimaced. “Sorry.”

“I’ll try not to drool while you enjoy it.” She tried to make it sound like a joke, but the words came out flat. “Dinner won’t be ready for another forty-five minutes. Why don’t we sit in the living room?” She waved toward the sofa, where he’d tossed his jacket. Mitch sat and watched her. Tense, she picked up his leather jacket and then wondered what to do with it. She should hang it up, but she didn’t have a hall tree. She thought of her bedroom and discarded that idea. Giving up, she folded it over the sofa again.

She sat in one of the wing chairs, back stiff, hands clasped in her lap. “So. What shall we talk about?”

“You want to tell me why you’re so nervous?”

“I’ve never invited a man over for dinner before.” She smoothed her skirt over her knees. “You want to talk about Charlie?”

“Is May Flower Dawn going to join us?”

“Nope. She’s spending the night with my parents.” She felt her face flame up to her hairline as she considered how he might take that news. “It wasn’t my idea.”

His mouth tipped ruefully. “I’m sure it wasn’t. I’ll bet it was you calling my room this afternoon, trying to call the whole evening off.”

So he had been there. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“Why do you think?”

The look in his eyes didn’t give her any room for speculation. Her mind flashed images of other men who had wanted her. Dock popped into her head, first. As she fled thoughts of him, Ash emerged from the pit, beautiful, charismatic, and on a power trip. More pain. More shame. How many others had she slept with who wanted her body, but cared as little about her as they did about the weather? She’d become the wasteland after the hurricane, the refuse washed up onshore, the broken trees, the crushed houses. And now, Mitch Hastings, Charlie’s best friend, sat on a secondhand sofa in her living room, eyes full of a consuming fire, asking her what she thought.

She put her hands on the arms of the chair and pushed herself up. “I’m not much of a hostess. I didn’t even think to offer you something to drink. I have Coke, 7UP, iced tea, lemonade, well water. Or you can start on the wine you brought.”

“Nothing, thanks.”

She sank into the chair again. Now what? She sought desperately for something to say. She dredged down into the darkness and came up empty. Thankfully, Mitch came to her rescue.

“You mentioned Charlie. We wrote letters back and forth after we left high school, kept up the correspondence when he went into the military. He wrote about you.”

“I’ll bet.”

“He loved you, Carolyn. He worried about you.”

She pressed her back against the chair and lifted one shoulder. “His dumb, screwed-up sister gone hippy.” More cause for grief. “Mom and Dad said I made him ashamed.”

“He never told me he was ashamed of you. He said you were trying to stop the war. He said you wanted to be his savior. He worried about your relationship with Rachel Altman. She seemed to have a lot of influence on you.”

She bristled. “Charlie only met her once.”

“Yeah, and it was that one meeting that made him worry. Apparently, she came into his bedroom in the middle of the night.”

She blushed. “I know. She told me after the fact.”

“He beat himself up over what happened. He said she was totally screwed up, and he took advantage.”

Carolyn gave a soft laugh. “I think it was the other way around, Mitch.”

“Whatever the case, Charlie liked her. A lot. He said there was something about her . . .”

“Chel sang a siren song.” Like Janis Joplin, her idol, who died of a drug overdose less than a year after she did.

“They exchanged letters. He planned to look her up when he came home.”

“Did he?” And now both of them were dead. She wanted Mitch to get things straight. “No one can blame Chel for the things I did, Mitch. Some people are born into a mess. Some people find ways to mess up their own lives. It’s the one thing at which I’ve always excelled.”

“You put your life back together, Carolyn. That takes courage.”

Mitch deftly turned the conversation to other things, managing to make the mundane interesting. She asked about his travels. He talked about riding cross-country on his Harley, interesting people he’d met in diners and campgrounds, sights he’d seen. Carolyn relaxed and enjoyed listening to him. When the timer went off, she put the food on the table. She poured him a glass of wine and set the bottle down before taking her seat across from him. He asked if it would be all right if he said grace. Surprised, she said please, and when he finished, she asked when he’d become a Christian.

“Always have been, just never went to your church.” He’d attended Sunday services all across the country, checking out different denominations. “Thing about knowing the Lord is you have friends and family everywhere. You recognize them when you meet them.”

She didn’t know about church, but she’d found the same rapport in AA meetings. People cared. They didn’t use the Christian jargon, but had their own lingo and simple slogans to get through each day.
First things first. Think! Easy does it. Let go and let God.
She’d felt Jesus’ presence there. No one looked down at her from the pulpit or told her she wasn’t welcome. She could say, “My name is Carolyn and I’m an alcoholic” and hear “Welcome, Carolyn,” instead of being shown the door and told not to come back until she had proof of repentance. She would have crashed and burned long ago if she hadn’t found a meeting close by.

Mitch ate as though he enjoyed the food. “What was it like in Haight-Ashbury?”

She told him about the pot and alcohol, the constant parties, the confusion and angst. She told him about Woodstock and the long, frightening drive home with Chel still half out of her mind in the backseat. She told him about Ash and his brand of enlightenment, though she left out the drug-induced sexual exploits, the rapes. Some things should be shared only with God and her dead brother.

“Were you in love with him?”

What she’d felt for Ash couldn’t be called love. “No. I saw him for who he really was the day Chel died. In a way, her death freed me.”

“But you’re still not free of all of it, are you?” His eyes filled with compassion. “You’re still carrying a truckload of guilt and shame.”

She stood and started clearing the table. Mitch helped. He insisted on washing the dishes. She dried and put things away. She thought he would leave then, but he said he’d love a cup of coffee. She apologized for not making a dessert. She’d forgotten. She didn’t even have ice cream or store-bought cookies to offer.

He grinned. “We could always go for a ride on my Harley. There’s a Baskin-Robbins in Walnut Creek.”

She thought of sitting behind him on that powerful bike, her body pressed against his, her arms wrapped around his waist, holding on tight. “I don’t think so.”

She filled two mugs and carried them back into the living room. She asked him more questions about his travels, about the churches he’d visited, the pastors. He laughed. “Oh, there were a few who took one look at my Harley and black leather jacket and tried to bar the door, but for the most part, I felt welcome.” He glanced at the mantel clock. “It’s getting late. I’d better go.”

She stood, amazed at how quickly five hours had passed. Would he think her too forward if she asked him over again? “When do you head back to Healdsburg?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” She felt the prick of tears, the sting of loss. “Well, it’s been wonderful seeing you, Mitch.”

“Thanks for dinner. It’s been a great evening.” Smiling at her, Mitch shrugged into his black leather jacket. “I’m coming back, Carolyn.”

Relieved, she walked him to the door, remembering what he’d said about never getting over her. Even if that had changed, at least she knew she had a friend.

Mitch put his hand on the doorknob, started to turn it, and then let it go. He turned toward her. He looked uncertain. “Would you mind if I did something I’ve been dreaming about for years?”

“What?”

“Kiss you.”

She caught her breath, but didn’t move. He raised his hand tentatively, giving her the opportunity to say no. He cupped her cheek and bent down slowly, still giving her time to decide. She held her breath. When his mouth touched hers, sensation flooded her body. He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “Nice.”

He kissed her again. She stepped close, her hands slipping inside his leather jacket. He let out a soft groan, and his arms came around her, fitting her to him. She didn’t have to wonder if he was affected. Her body went hot.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, bodies straining to get closer, but she didn’t want him to stop.

Finally Mitch put a few inches between them. “Better than any fantasy I’ve ever had.” He gave a hoarse laugh and kissed her below the ear. “Nice to know your heart’s beating as fast as mine.” His breath sent tingles down her spine. When his hands moved over her back, she instinctively arched against him. He set her away from him. “I need to get out of here.” He opened the door this time.

“Mitch . . .” She didn’t have to say any more.

“If I stay, I won’t stop. And then you’ll wonder. I don’t want you questioning yourself or having any regrets after we’re married.” He went out.

She stepped out onto the porch. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” He grinned at her as he pulled on his helmet. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He swung his leg over and kick-started the motorcycle.

He’d already kick-started her heart; it roared more loudly than his Harley.

21

Mitch called every evening, right after May Flower Dawn had gone to bed. Sometimes they talked until past midnight. He came back every weekend, driving a sedan instead of his Harley so they could include her daughter on Saturday outings. He found activities they all could enjoy: hiking in the hills, a drive into San Francisco to see the Steinhart Aquarium, horseback riding, a baseball game. Carolyn always offered to fix dinner on Friday night, but Mitch said it’d be safer to go to a restaurant. “I have to keep my hands off you in a public place.” He attended church services in Walnut Creek and always invited her. She always refused. She assured him she had her own fellowship to attend. She went to AA meetings every Wednesday night and read the Bible Oma had given her years ago. Sundays were her day of rest, and rest meant staying home and working in the garden while everyone else in her family went to church, including May Flower Dawn.

“Someone really hurt you, didn’t they?”

She shrugged. Why tell him the pastor she’d known all her life said she wasn’t good enough to enter God’s house? Why tell him Thelma Martin was still a deaconess and Rev. Elias still ruled from the pulpit? What right did she have to judge?

When Mitch invited Carolyn and May Flower Dawn to spend a weekend with him in Alexander Valley, Carolyn agreed. Directions in hand, one small suitcase for herself and another for May Flower Dawn, Carolyn drove up.

She had been prepared for a nice ranch house with a vineyard, but gaped when she turned onto his stone paver driveway and saw the Spanish-style mansion at the end. Mitch came out to welcome them. Opening her door, he helped her out, kissed her, and then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“That.” She pointed.

Dawn stood with her mouth gaping. “Do you live here?”

“Yep. Come on. I’ll show you around.” He took Carolyn’s hand.

Her entire house would fit in his family room. The master suite wasn’t much smaller. He had a formal parlor living room, four bedrooms with private baths, a kitchen a professional chef would envy, and a solarium with French doors opening to a trellised patio that looked out on terraced gardens, a swimming pool, and a gazebo. She spotted two Hispanic gardeners at work, undoubtedly full-time. She gleaned he had four full-time employees working in the vineyard, more in the winery.

“We can take a look at the operation later, if you’d like.”

Carolyn said never mind. She’d already seen enough. He took them back inside the house and asked if Dawn would like to play a video game in the family room. “You have video games!”

Mitch sat with Dawn until she knew how to use the system and play the game, then left her to it. Carolyn stood in the kitchen, taking in the shiny stainless-steel appliances. He touched her arm. “You want a Coke? lemonade?” He gave her a teasing smile. “Well water?”

“Right now, I’d go for an eight-ounce glass of bourbon straight up.” She sank onto a suede stool and looked around at the gorgeous granite counters and custom-built cherrywood cabinets, the Mexican tile floor.

“I told you I did well with investments, Carolyn.”

“Slight understatement, I’d say. Are you sure you don’t have a wife and twelve children hiding somewhere? The place is big enough.”

“Only four bedrooms.”

Not counting the maid’s quarters, complete with kitchen and living room. She didn’t know what to say.

He smiled at her as he put a tall glass of iced lemonade in front of her. “I want a family. I tend to plan ahead. I’ve only ever wanted one wife. You.” His eyes warmed. “We’re going to make beautiful babies together and have fun doing it.”

Fighting down the heat he roused in her so easily, she shook her head. “I don’t know, Mitch. I don’t have your confidence.”

“Yes, you do.” He came around the counter, turned her on the stool, and cupped her face. “You knew before I brought you up here.” He kissed her firmly. “I’m not letting you chicken out.”

* * *

1978

They’d been talking to one another every night and seeing one another every weekend for six months. Finally, one evening in May, Mitch told Dawn over dinner that he wanted to marry her mother. “How do you feel about that?”

“Does she want to marry you?”

“I think so.” He winked at Carolyn. “But I haven’t formally asked her yet.” He looked back at Dawn. “I wanted your permission first.”

“I guess it’s okay.” Dawn seemed bemused at the idea, and she clearly had no idea how it might change her life. Carolyn wondered if she should explain that it would mean leaving Granny and Papa. It would mean moving away and seeing them only on occasion. Would May Flower Dawn be so indifferent then?

“Maybe we should talk about this later.” Carolyn gave Mitch a pleading look. “Alone.”

But once alone, talk wasn’t uppermost on their minds. “Good thing you brought Dawn with you.”

“Our chaperone has been asleep for an hour.”

He put his fingers over her mouth. “Don’t tempt me. Let’s set a date, Carolyn. How much time do you need to put together a church wedding?”

She broke out in a cold sweat. “Why don’t we just go to Reno?” A church wedding implied a minister who would be willing to perform the ceremony, a white gown, bridesmaids, flowers, music, a church organ or piano playing, a congregation of witnesses, a reception in the social hall.

“I’m in a hurry, Carolyn, but not that big a hurry. Every woman wants a nice wedding and you’re going to have one.”

“If that’s the condition, the answer is no.”

“No? You’re in love with me, aren’t you?”

“What has love got to do with it? What would I wear, Mitch? Black? Who’d stand up with me? You think my parents would want to foot the bill for my wedding? And who’d want to come?” Fighting tears, she pushed away.

Mitch turned her around, his eyes dark with pain. “I could name a hundred people who’d want to come.”

“All
your
friends.” No one knew any of hers. AA was an anonymous program. First names only.

“Yours, too. You have more than you realize. I’ll bet Candace would jump at the chance to stand up with you. Dawn could be part of the wedding party. I’ll pay for it.”

“No.”

He rubbed her arms. “We’ll keep it small—family, friends. Your grandmother, your parents, aunts, uncles, cousins . . . They’re going to want to come, Carolyn. You can’t cut out the people you love. Only one thing I won’t bend on. I want my pastor to perform the ceremony. If you don’t want it in a church, okay. We can have it here, in the gazebo. How about August, just before Dawn has to start school?” He held her shoulders. “What do you say?”

When she looked up at him, she knew May was still a month of miracles. May, the month Jesus sat with her on the grass in Golden Gate Park, spoke her name tenderly, and sent her home. She hadn’t known she carried a child then, but God had. “That sounds perfect, Mitch.” She placed her hand on his chest and felt his warmth, his strength, the steady beat of his heart. God had given her a man she could trust. Even so, it took courage to say the words. “I love you.”

“I know.” His mouth tipped in a teasing smile. “But I’ve loved you longer.”

“You’re getting the raw end of the deal, Mitch.”

“No, I’m not. And don’t ever say that again.” He touched her as though she were the most precious thing in the world to him. “I’m getting the woman I want. I feel as though I’ve loved you forever.”

She knew he meant it.

* * *

Their wedding day turned out to be a perfect, sunny day. Carolyn’s father gave her away while Mom and May Flower Dawn sat in the front row of folding chairs. Dawn didn’t want to be her flower girl, so Carolyn didn’t have one. Mitch’s pastor performed the wedding ceremony before a gathering of Mitch’s close friends and Carolyn’s relatives. She was surprised they all came, including Aunt Rikka, who flew in from New York. Boots drove up from Topanga Canyon. Mitch had arranged for a professional photographer who took candid shots as well as formal poses. He’d also hired a catering service to put on a wedding luncheon.

Oma patted Carolyn’s cheek before she and Mom and Dad headed home. “You’ve done well for yourself. I’m proud of you.” Mitch bent down to receive her kiss of blessing. “Take good care of my girl.” He promised he would. He had a honeymoon planned, but wouldn’t tell Carolyn anything about it. May Flower Dawn was “going home with Granny and Papa.” Mitch reminded Dawn home was now Alexander Valley, and he and her mother would be picking her up in ten days. Dawn looked less defiant after that. Mitch saw the last guests out while the caterers cleared everything away. Within a few hours, the folding chairs and tables, the linens, trays, and china had been loaded into vans, leaving the gardens and house spotless and silent.

Mitch took Carolyn’s hand and led her to the master suite. She felt a bubbling fear in her belly as all the old memories rose up. Mitch sensed something was wrong. He didn’t push. He took his time. Even so, he knew she hadn’t experienced the pleasure he had. He didn’t ask questions, just held her close. Emotionally exhausted, she fell asleep in his arms. He awakened her with kisses and coffee at three thirty in the morning. “Time to get dressed.”

“Where are we going?”

“Hawaii. A limo is picking us up.”

“What? I haven’t packed!”

“Your mom took care of that. Anything you don’t have, we’ll buy when we get there.”

Dear Rosie,

Carolyn and Mitch are married. I am so happy for them. The wedding was lovely and held in the backyard of Mitch’s rather palatial home in Alexander Valley. The place looks like a Tuscan villa, with cypress trees lining his driveway and a vineyard on the hills behind the house with all its grand landscaping, pool, and gazebo. Bernhard was all praises about it. I was equally impressed. I remember Mitch when he was a skinny, freckled redhead on a bicycle, riding off with Charlie to do some mischief and, later, a gangly young man with eyes for Carolyn, though she never seemed aware of his adoration. He has grown handsome, competent, confident—a man who always did know what he wanted: Carolyn. My prayers for her are answered. Mitch sees her as a gift from God and will treat her accordingly.

Carolyn asked May Flower Dawn to be her flower girl, but the child refused. She sat in the front row and sulked. Hildemara made no effort to correct her rude misbehavior. I wanted to turn both of them over my knee. Dawn will stay with Hildemara and Trip until Carolyn and Mitch return from a Hawaiian honeymoon. Hildemara understands she must relinquish May Flower Dawn. Or says she does. I wonder.

I tried to talk with Hildemara about our past, but she cut the conversation short. All I can do is keep holding out the olive branch and hope one day she will accept it.

Oh, Rosie, I look back and wish I had handled things differently. . . .