Queen of Broken Hearts (12 page)

“Several times I thought I should write or call you from France,” she says, “but I decided I needed to see you in person instead.”

I nod. “As badly as I wanted to know what was going on, I resisted the urge to try and track you down, for the same reason.”

She glances at me, then clears her throat. “It's really important to me that you understand the reason I took Son back.”

“Don't tell me you're pregnant?” I say lightly, and she hoots, clapping her hands together.

“Yeah, right. One for the tabloids! ‘Forty-eight-year-old woman who had her plumbing removed almost twenty years ago shocks the medical community.'” We smile together, and the tension eases. “Actually, here's what happened. The night before Son and I got back together, I think I had a nervous breakdown. Maybe my terminology isn't right, but whatever happened was pretty awful. I'd never gone through anything like it before.”

“Dammit, Dory—why didn't you tell me? I could've helped you.”

She cringes, biting her lower lip. “I was going to call you, I swear. And I'll explain why I didn't.” She glances at me reluctantly, then says, “Before I do, though, I need to say this: I'm not strong like you, Clare. I want to make that clear from the beginning.”

“What are you saying? That's absurd.”

“No. It's true. Your strength amazes me, and I've envied it more than you'll ever know. After all the heartaches in your life, with the babies, and Haley, and Mack, you're still standing.”

“You say that as though I had a choice.” I try to say it flippantly, but my voice sounds tight and strangled.

“Of course you do. We all do. Falling apart is an option for any of us, at any given moment,” she says simply. “When Mack died, I was afraid you might, too, you were so torn up. More than anyone else, I know how you loved him.”

“He's the only person I've ever loved like that,” I agree. “Or ever will.”

“Yet when you lost him, especially in such a god-awful way, you didn't go to pieces like I would have. I don't think anyone knew how bad you were hurting. It got so I could barely stand to be around you because you were trying to be so damn brave. I never could've handled it as courageously as you did. If Son hadn't held me up at Mack's funeral, I couldn't have stood, and I wept so much I made myself sick, literally. It was the same when your baby died all those years ago. Surely you remember how I fainted at the cemetery, seeing that tiny white coffin waiting to be lowered into the ground.” She shudders, her eyes filling with tears, and I grab her hand and hold on tight.

“All those awful memories, Dory—that's what got me earlier.”

Wiping her eyes furiously, she goes on. “I know. And I'm going somewhere with this, if you'll bear with me. When Son came home drunk and trashed my workshop, after he'd been such a turd all last year, something changed in me. I didn't want to see him again. And you know Son's been a major part of my life since I was a child. I grew up loving him, and it was as natural to me as breathing. I know how you feel about him, and I understand why.” She pauses and shrugs. “You think I'm blind to Son's flaws, but that's not true. I love him in spite of them, and I haven't been able to stop loving him, no matter how much I've wanted to at times. But in spite of that, and the passion we share, and a lifetime spent with him, having his kids—suddenly none of it mattered anymore. I just wanted him gone. I wanted him out of my life.”

I nod. “I could tell. You've said you were through with him before, but this time I was sure you meant it.”

“Because I did! When he first left, it was heaven without him hovering over me, demanding my attention, never giving me any space.” She pauses. “But here's what I didn't count on. I had
no
idea how lonely I'd get, and how terribly lost I'd be living alone. I've never done it before, remember, not once. Even with you, and the kids, and my friends, and a full life—there's never enough time for all the stuff I do!—I was surprised to find myself miserable in that big empty house haunted by the ghosts of our times together as a family. Thinking about the good times hurt as much as remembering the bad ones. I was much more miserable than I let anyone know. Especially you, since you'd been so strong when you lost Mack.”

“God, Dory, I could kick myself! I thought you were doing great, and I purposely backed off until you had time to adjust. You didn't let on, so I thought you were adjusting and doing it well. Dammit to hell and back! I should've known better.”

She lays a hand on my arm. “Stop it, Clare. I won't let you blame yourself. You lost the only man you've ever loved, but you didn't fall apart. So I wasn't about to tell you how bad I was feeling about the loss of one I claimed not to love anymore.”

“But that feeling—it's the most common thing you battle after the breakup of a long-term marriage. Learning how to deal with the loneliness is the whole point of the retreats, and one of the things we talk most about, remember?”

“Yeah, but it's all talk until you experience it. You can't imagine what it's like to cry yourself to sleep, night after night, in a bed you've shared with someone for so many years.”

“
I
can't imagine that? Don't you think it's happened to me, honey? So many times since Mack has been gone. There were times when I've missed him so bad I didn't think I could stand it another minute. So please don't think that I'm unsympathetic.”

She says cautiously, “Maybe so, but you're stronger than me. That's what I'm trying to tell you. You didn't give in to those feelings.”

“Christ, Son was gone what, not even two months? If you're telling me that you took him back out of loneliness, I understand, okay? I'm not going to lecture you or anything. Take it from someone who knows, the loneliness is almost unbearable at first, but it does get better. You didn't give yourself enough time. Mack's been gone almost five years, but I've learned how to live with it and go on with my life.”

She shakes her head. “It wasn't the loneliness, Clare. It was something else.”

“Something else?”

Lowering her head to stare into her cup of tea, she says, “You know how Son begged me to forgive him and give him another chance, sending me flowers and writing notes, making the boys ask on his behalf, the usual crap he's done when we've had arguments in the past and I've threatened to leave his sorry ass. But this time I wouldn't see him or talk to him or anything. It was the only way I could make it, I thought. Then one night, a little over a month ago now, after we had that big storm, something happened to me. I went through a really bad time.”

“And this is the nervous breakdown you mentioned?”

She nods, deep in thought. “It was late, way after midnight, and I woke up confused and lost and alone. I started crying and wasn't able to stop. It was like a psychic meltdown or a panic attack or something. Or maybe all the tension of the past year accumulated, I don't know. Whatever it was, I started hyperventilating, unable to catch my breath, and it scared me. I got up to call you, stumbling around in the dark because I was sobbing so hard I couldn't even find the lamp, and all of a sudden, Son was there.”

“There? You mean, in your bedroom?” Dory nods, and a shiver runs down my spine. “He broke into your house?” The night Son trashed the workshop, Dory told him to get out of her sight. Whenever they'd had fights in the past, he'd gone to his parents' summer cottage several miles away until they both cooled down. Within a day or two, he'd return, they'd make up, and soon everything would be lovey-dovey again. This time Dory astonished me and shocked Son speechless when he returned—she'd had the locks changed. Not surprisingly, Son stormed and wept and banged on the doors and windows until Dory called their oldest son to come get his dad, or she'd be forced to call the police. Then she had her numbers unlisted.

Dory shakes her head. “That's just it, the weird thing. He didn't break in. He didn't have to. Later he told me that he was sound asleep in his old bed at his parents' cottage when something woke him. All he knew was something was wrong, and I needed him. He drove to the house to check on me, and the back door was unlocked. What's so strange is, I checked it before I went upstairs. I'm
positive
it was locked, because I'd gotten so obsessive about checking all the doors since I'd been living alone. Son swears it was open, which has to be true, because he couldn't have gotten in otherwise. As soon as he came in, he heard me crying. And that's when he found me.”

“And you let him stay,” I say in a tight voice.

“It was true, I needed someone—anyone—at that moment. You know I'd never call you during the night unless I had to, but I was freaked out, like I was coming unglued. I was heading for the phone to call you, but there was Son instead. Don't you see, Clare? It was a sign!”

I eye her skeptically. “And you're convinced that he didn't break in?”

“Absolutely,” she repeats.

“What about … I don't know … could he have bribed the locksmith and had a key cut, maybe?”

She shakes her head furiously. “Think about what you're saying. Son bribes the locksmith at two in the morning? And even if he did, how could he have timed himself to arrive at the exact moment I got up to call you? What do you think, that he'd been hiding in the bushes under my window every night until the right moment presented itself?”

I snort. “I wouldn't doubt it.”

“My bedroom is on the third floor,” she reminds me.

“I wouldn't put it past him to stand on stilts,” I say petulantly.

She smiles. “Neither would I, before. But the man who came to my room that night wasn't the same one I'd thrown out of my house and my life. Our time apart had shaken him to the core. He saw that I could stop loving him if he drove me to it. Both of us ended up crying, and he was so different that night, so tender and sweet. And so repentant for all he'd done to make me unhappy. That's when I agreed to give him another chance. We decided the only thing to do was go away and see if we couldn't patch things up. Son already had tickets to Europe that he'd planned on surprising me with on our anniversary, so that's why we left so suddenly.” She pauses for my reaction. “Do you understand now how it happened?” Before I can reply, she adds hastily, “Oh, I knew what you thought. You assumed I'd had a moment of weakness and let him in my bed, didn't you?”

“Ah … the thought did enter my mind,” I admit. When Son and Dory are together, the charge between them is almost palpable. From the beginning, I've understood it as a major factor in their attraction for each other. As little as I like Son Rodgers, to give the devil his due, he radiates such erotic energy that most women melt like hot butter in his presence.

“But that wasn't it, I swear. You know I've always believed in signs and magic circles and all that other stuff. Son appearing like he did, well, it was clearly a sign, whether it makes sense to you or me or anyone else. Somehow, from several miles away, he felt my need, and he responded. And it changed him, I swear it did. It was almost like a conversion experience.”

Imagining Son as Saul of Tarsus, converted into Saint Paul on the road to Damascus, is more than I can take. My mind is spinning, trying to figure out how he could've arranged this amazing experience, a foolproof way of getting a believer like Dory to give him another chance. I wouldn't put anything past Son and whatever stands in the way of what he wants. And one thing I'll give him, if nothing else: What he's always wanted is Dory. All these years, and she's still the great obsession of his life.

“Clare?” I realize that Dory's calling me, and I turn toward her guiltily. “I'm sorry I left without telling you all this, but I was in a daze at the time. I'm not using that as an excuse, just to explain how it happened.”

“I see why you wanted to wait and tell me in person. It's an amazing story.”

“The most amazing part of it is how it's changed Son. I swear it has. I don't know if I can make you see that or not—” At my look of skepticism, she stops herself. “No, guess I can't. He'll have to prove himself to you, won't he?”

“Son doesn't have to prove anything to
me,”
I say shortly. “It's not me I'm worried about. My only concern is for you. I've tried not to say much, because you know Son and I have our differences, so I can hardly be objective. But … I just hope you're doing the right thing.”

“There's no doubt in my mind.” As she raises her hands to push away the silky strands of hair that are always slipping out of her loose braid, her eyes fall on her watch, and she grimaces. “Oh, crap, it's time for the group. I'm not going to stay today, but don't fool with the refreshment table. I'll come back afterward and clean up.”

“Don't be silly. I'll take care of everything, since you're bound to have a lot to do, being gone a month.”

“But I wasn't through talking with you. There's something else that we need to discuss face-to-face.”

“Oh, Lord,” I say with a groan. “Don't tell me Saint Son had another conversion experience?”