Touching Stars (26 page)

“Then you can, too?” Eric doubted this was good science, but who cared? He swam out to the middle of the pool, flipped over on his back and relaxed, stretching his arms out beside him. He kicked up from the bottom and let the water take him.

After a minute he paddled his hands a little and kicked his feet until he was standing again.

“See? You’re destined to be a floater, too.”

“How do I keep the water off my face?”

“You might get a little. No big deal, right? You’ve been spending a lot of time submerged.”

Dillon looked doubtful.

“But if you arch your neck, that will keep your face clear.” Eric demonstrated quickly.

“Are you going to let go of me?”

“At some point. When you’re floating all on your own.”

“Then I’m not going to try.”

Eric bit back a sharp reply. “Then I won’t let go. Not until you tell me you’re ready.”

“You promise?”

“Didn’t I just tell you I wouldn’t?”

Dillon bit his lip, then nodded.

“Just remember, you won’t be over your head, Dill. You’ll be able to stand up any time you want. And when I feel you trying, I’ll help you. So you don’t have anything to worry about.”

They went a little deeper, where Eric had done his demonstration. Then Eric rested his arm along Dillon’s back. “Just lie back and kick up a bit. I’ll get my other arm under your legs.”

“I feel stupid.”

“We always feel stupid when we’re learning something new. Ignore it.”

Dillon stood there for almost a full minute, as if he was debating whether to go along with this; then he sighed, closed his eyes and kicked his legs. Eric slipped his right arm under Dillon’s knees, and in a moment, his son was floating. Stiff as a board, but floating.

“Okay, good start,” Eric said. “Now, you have nothing to worry about. Just relax.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can. Just try a little at a time. Start with your hands. Just let them go loose, then your arms….”

A dragonfly whizzed by. Bees buzzed in flowers along the edge. Birds sang from the small grove of trees. Eric couldn’t sing worth a darn, but he could hum. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a single song that fit the occasion. He settled for “Blowing in the Wind.” From Dylan to Dillon.

He expected his son to call a halt to this new experiment, but little by little he thought he could feel Dillon relaxing. It felt strange to hold him this way and called up memories of all the times he
hadn’t
held him as a baby. Gayle had never insisted, hoping, Eric supposed, that he would relent and learn to love this son on his own.

Now he was deeply ashamed. What kind of man couldn’t love his own kid? The kind who had fathered Eric himself, he supposed. But then, his father had loved him, had nearly adored him, until the moment Eric had decided to live his own life. And wasn’t that what came of giving a child everything? That one day he would take something he wanted, out of habit, and you would be left alone?

He felt a stab of pity for his father, one incompetent parent to another. They’d just erred on different ends of the scale. One giving everything and expecting everything in return. The other giving nothing and expecting…nothing.

“How’m I doing?” Dillon asked.

“I’m just so proud of you…son. You’re doing fantastic.”

“Don’t let go.”

Eric began to slowly rock him in the water. Back and forth, just a little, the way a father rocks a baby. “It’s such a great day for this. The water feels so cool.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the dragonfly gliding on air currents. He smiled.

One moment he was fine, thinking about how good the sun felt, how lovely the sounds were, the next his cheek felt as if it were on fire.

“Ouch!” Without thinking, he waved one hand at whatever had stung him and with the other slapped at his cheek. “Damn!”

Dillon flailed in front of him and began to kick in panic. Eric realized what he’d done and lunged forward, but by then it was too late. Dillon had gone under, then he’d flipped and emerged dripping in front of his father, his arms beating the water until he was standing firm on the bottom of the pool.

“You said you wouldn’t let go!”

Eric could feel his cheek begin to swell. He suspected a hornet, nothing as tame as a bee and certainly not a dragonfly. He was glad he had no allergies.

“Look.” He pointed to his cheek. “I’m sorry, but something stung me. I just reacted, that’s all. But I wasn’t going to let you fall. I only had my hands off you for seconds. I—”

“You promised me! I almost drowned!”

“That’s ridiculous! You didn’t even come close. You can’t drown in water you can stand up in. And I didn’t mean to let go. It was a reflex.”

“I don’t care what it was! I was doing everything you told me to, and you couldn’t do the one thing I asked for.” Dillon’s eyes were red, and Eric suspected it wasn’t from the water.

He thought of a million things he shouldn’t say and managed, somehow, not to say them. Instead he turned and swung himself up to the side of the pool. He didn’t even stay to see if Dillon got out. He grabbed one of the towels he’d brought for them and dried off everything but his burning cheek.

He heard Dillon come up behind him. Eric was still working hard not to say something he shouldn’t. Then he felt his son’s arms circle his waist and Dillon’s young body warm against his back for a moment.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Dad. Are you going to be all right?”

Eric turned and gathered his son in his arms. And suddenly he was sorry, too, overwhelmingly sorry for all the years when he hadn’t had his arms around Dillon just like this.

When he could talk, he cleared his throat. “I bet the swelling’s going down already. What say we try again? Second chances?”

“Okay. Only let’s make sure there aren’t any bees around.”

Eric laughed and ruffled Dillon’s hair. He didn’t tell him that the second chance he wanted had nothing to do with swimming lessons.

T
ravis’s house was a two-story brick Colonial with black slatted shutters and forest-green trim. Two wings had been added by an Allen of an earlier generation, and to Gayle they always seemed like welcoming arms. Although the entryway porch was wide enough for several rockers, the seats were rarely occupied. One wing held a sunroom with fabulous views, and behind the house a terrace, created with bricks Travis had salvaged from various outbuildings, extended his living space.

The original living quarters were spacious and comfortable, but Gayle knew Travis spent most of his leisure time where he could look down on the river and out to the acres surrounding him. He rented his land to local farmers for pasture, corn and soybeans, and enjoyed the pleasures of farm life without the headaches.

Today she was delighted to be here. She rarely stayed angry. Her years of hosting the occasional irrational guest had taught her the value of facing annoyance, then letting go of it. The lessons had carried over into her relationship with her sons. She rarely lost her temper, and in response, they had learned to control their own.

But today she was still simmering from her encounter with Eric. No matter how many times she told herself that he’d only been trying to help, she couldn’t put his high-handed destruction of the old garden shed behind her. She wanted him to feel at home this summer with his sons, but she didn’t want him to take over. The lines were so clear that she couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t seen them. Or why he had so blatantly stepped across them.

She parked her car in a graveled area that was screened by spruce trees. The landscaping at Allen Farm was attractive but completely masculine. Healthy trimmed evergreens, old oaks and a few weeping willows closer to the river cast shade over the lawn. The grass was lush, but there wasn’t a flower in sight. Old hydrangeas, most likely planted years ago when a woman was in residence, promised to bloom later in the summer. But even the ubiquitous day lilies, present in every farm and yard in the valley, seemed to have given up the fight here. Gayle had threatened more than once to sneak over in the dead of night and plant a perennial border.

She didn’t even have to knock. Travis opened the door to welcome her. He took in the summery green tank top and lemon patterned floaty skirt and smiled, but the smile died when his gaze moved to her face.

“Uh-oh.” He stepped back and opened the door wider. “Mint tea, extra strong.”

She managed a laugh. “I’m fine. Not to worry.”

“You could have fooled me.”

She followed him to the kitchen. The room was large but not well designed, and definitely not updated. The appliances were harvest-gold, and the countertops were covered in a plastic laminate pattern so antiquated that he might find it at the bottom of an excavation someday. She doubted Travis cared, since his cooking skills were limited to thawing and reheating.

He did make a great glass of iced spearmint tea, however, and she leaned against a counter as he snapped ice out of trays and poured tea from a glass pitcher.

“So tell me,” he said casually. “Is the extra work from camp getting to you?”

“Absolutely not. Noah and I have established a rhythm. It’s getting easier.”

He replaced the pitcher and dug out lemons. “There’s going to be a lot more work with the kids camping here.”

“I’m not worried. They’ll be doing a lot of the prep work. I just wanted to go over menus this afternoon to make sure we’re on the same page.”

He finished the tea and handed her the finished product. “Sounds like you have it all covered. Let’s do it in the sunroom.”

The sunroom was Gayle’s favorite. What walls there were showcased antique maps and Egyptian masks. Reproductions of papyrus columns peeked out from palm trees and flourishing schefflera. But her favorite piece was a coffee table with a glass top covering a display case. Travis had filled the case with artifacts that previous archaeology camps had uncovered. Buttons, pieces of a clay pipe, a set of dice, coins, shards of crockery. Looking at it was a trip into the past.

They settled on a sofa with glimpses of the river beyond them. Like the inn, Travis’s house was no more than a stone’s throw from the water.

“So…” Gayle pulled a folder out of her voluminous leather purse. The purse weighed a ton, but she needed all the space. She never left home without a calculator, a personal organizer, a cell phone, business cards and brochures for the inn, a perfectly balanced checkbook, one photograph of each of her children, including Leon, coupons in alphabetical order, a pack of tissues, extra car and house keys hidden in a secret pocket, and a notebook with lists for every conceivable shopping trip from wholesale groceries to tube socks.

“Maybe it’s not as bad a day as I thought. At least you found your purse,” Travis said.

She looked up. “You’re looking at the most organized person you’ll ever meet.”

“Sorry, but Noah tells me the purse is a family joke. It’s an office with a handle, but half the time you can’t remember where you put it.”

This time, when she laughed, it was completely natural. “Guilty. You know why?”

“I have my theory. One side of you knows you won’t survive the life you’ve chosen if you aren’t on top of every little thing. The other rejects having to be that way.”

She was entranced. “Wow, you really know me well.”

“I’d say so.”

“Okay, then tell me how you knew something was wrong when you opened the door this afternoon?”

“You were rubbing the tip of your nose.”

“What?”

He demonstrated. “Like this.” He touched his nose with his index finger and slid it up and down a few times. “That’s what you do when something’s bothering you.”

“Are you sure you’re not an anthropologist?”

“I’m not studying you. We just spend enough time together that I notice things.”

She felt suddenly vulnerable and oddly aware of him. “I’m impressed. And a little frightened. I thought I was better at hiding my feelings.”

“You’re actually very good. Not nearly as good as your mother, but somewhere in the ballpark.”

She’d never really talked about her parents, but Travis had met them several times. She wasn’t surprised he’d figured out her mom.

“Let’s talk about menus.” She opened the folder. “It’s a lot more straightforward than my childhood. Here’s what I came up with.”

She handed him a copy and watched as he scanned it. The tea was delicious, and she’d sipped about half before he spoke.

“It’s fabulous. Too fabulous. You don’t have to work this hard.”

She leaned back. “What can I cut?”

They discussed her suggestions, bandying ideas back and forth. She put down her glass to make notes. They laughed over some of it, argued a little and easily came up with a compromise. The menu debate was over in a few minutes.

“You’re so easy to work with,” she said, packing up her menu, now covered with notes.

“We didn’t agree on everything.”

“Well, we don’t have to agree. It’s just that when I work with you, I know you appreciate my ideas, even the ones we table, and we’re coming from a mutual desire to make things easy for both of us.”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

She realized what she was really talking about. Not menus, but respect. Not Travis, but Eric.

“Are we getting to what’s bothering you?” he asked.

“Get out your notepad.”

He smiled. She basked in the unexpected warmth of it and felt herself relaxing. “Give,” he said.

She told him about the fight with Eric that morning, about Eric’s idea for the old garden shed and his decision to work on it as a surprise. When she was finished, she felt better.

“I guess I overreacted,” she said. “But, Travis, I haven’t been that angry in a long, long time. I’m not even sure where it all came from.”

“Maybe it’s as simple as you said. You want things done your own way, and you don’t have time to negotiate every little thing. Especially after the fact.”

“Maybe.” She wasn’t convinced.

“Or maybe you’re reminded of a time in your life when Eric was in charge and you were more or less along for the ride.”

She wondered if she’d ever been that docile. Had she really just allowed Eric to run things according to his whims?

“You’re rubbing your nose,” he pointed out.

Her hand dropped to her lap. “I never let him walk all over me. He’ll do that with anybody, given half a chance. That’s probably why he’s so good at his job. You have to be part steamroller to flatten people and get the information you need. But when it didn’t really matter, I did let him have his way.”

“And at the end, you stood up for staying here? And he left?”

“There was more to it than that.” She considered whether to go on. It wasn’t like her to spill her guts, but so far the result was unexpectedly gratifying.

“I’d like to hear it if you’d like to tell me.”

“He didn’t want Dillon.” She looked up. “You’ve probably gathered that?”

Travis didn’t answer directly. “I think he’s trying now.”

“He is. But here’s how badly he didn’t want a third child. He had a vasectomy. Without consulting me. He had it overseas where they aren’t as concerned with those sorts of niceties. He saw it as insurance. We were using birth control, but I couldn’t take the pill. He was afraid something might slip up, but I wasn’t ready to cancel our options, so to speak. So he went ahead and canceled them without me.”

Travis didn’t say anything, but she felt no condemnation. He was simply waiting for her to continue.

“Once he told me, I stopped using birth control, and I got pregnant. Eric assumed what most men in that situation assume.”

“That you were having an affair? I can understand his concern. You’re a beautiful woman.”

She smiled at that. “Not so beautiful. The ragged, harried mom of two little boys. But thank you. And yes, that’s what he thought.”

“Clearly it wasn’t true. You only have to look at Dillon to know that. Or you really only have to know what kind of woman Gayle Fortman is.”

She looked out over the land easing down to the river. “Because Eric had the operation overseas, he didn’t bother with the one-year follow-up. He thought the odds were so far in his favor there was no point. Only they weren’t in his favor, as it turned out. Anyway, he was furious, more because we were having another baby, I think, than because he thought I’d slept with someone else.”

Something flickered in his eyes, but his tone remained even. “How long did it take him to figure out the truth?”

“Longer than it should have. He left. Eventually he got himself to a doctor and discovered the operation hadn’t been a success. But months went by. Things started to fall apart with his network. Finally he came back and told me he was sorry, but he had been so overwhelmed by the kids we already had, he just hadn’t been able to face having another one.”

“This sounds like the beginning of the end.”

She got up and walked to the windows for a better view. “Who knows when a marriage peaks and the rest of it’s a fast slide on the downward slope? We reconciled. We found the inn and moved here. Dillon was born, and I knew right away Eric still resented him. But I was so happy, happier than I’d been anywhere I’d ever lived. Even with the tension with Eric. Even with the hard work and a baby I had little help with.”

She turned around. “I don’t want to make Eric sound heartless. He did try to make a go of things. Not everybody’s cut out for family life, and he had the good sense to face the facts. But there he was with three sons and a country inn that was sucking us dry. When he got the offer to go to Bosnia, he saw it as a way out. He wasn’t leaving us. He was just going back to the life he loved. The frequent breaks would make family life tolerable. Anyway, I think that’s how he saw it. If he could just get away enough, he could be a decent father. He could return to wherever he’d stowed us and take up where he’d left off, as long as those visits weren’t too long.”

“And you said no.”

“It wasn’t easy, but it was easier than the alternative. And when he was finally gone, as painful as it was, I knew I’d done the right thing for everybody.”

Travis got up and crossed the room. From behind her, he laid his hand on her shoulder. “So what’s changed?”

His hand felt solid and real. She wanted to turn, put her arms around his waist and be held by his lean, strong arms, but of course she couldn’t.

Instead she covered his hand for a moment in thanks. “Nothing’s changed. Except that he’s back for the summer. And I guess arguments come with the territory.”

“I’m not sure they do, at least not arguments with this much emotion.” His hand left her shoulder. “Not if you’ve really put Eric behind you.”

“But I have.”

“Gayle, you’re the most married divorced woman I’ve ever met.”

This time she did face him. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever really said goodbye to Eric. I don’t mean that I think you’ve been holding out hopes you’ll reconcile. It’s more like you’ve taken a vow of fidelity. Your marriage ended, but as long as you don’t move on to someone else, you haven’t really failed. And for that matter, I’m not sure Eric hasn’t done exactly the same thing. He never married again. I know there’s a woman—”