Dreams for Stones Read online

  Friday, knowing she couldn’t face seeing Charles, she called and canceled their date. Saturday morning she got up early and drove west until she was deep in the mountains. She took the Silverthorne exit and, turning at random, ended up on a narrow road that at first clung to the steep mountainside then dropped into a valley alongside a sparkling stream.

  She pulled off the road onto a wide spot. Through the open window she could hear crows calling and the chitter of a squirrel. The smell of warm pine drifted through the window and brought with it the memory of the day she and Alan had ridden to the lake. They’d gone only once, but that day shone with a clarity missing from all her days since.

  After a time, she got out of the car and followed a faint trail toward the stream. The dark shadows of trout were clearly visible against the sand and gravel of the streambed, and she smiled, remembering the awkwardness of her casts, feeling again the touch of Alan’s hand guiding hers along the flank of the fish.

  As the memory faded, the familiar sense of helplessness and loss replaced it.

  Eventually, she walked back to her car and drove until she encountered a road sign telling her where she was.

  If only it were as easy to navigate her internal landscape. To see clearly where she’d been and where she was going. And to understand what her choices would mean now that she’d reached a fork in the road.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Excerpt from the diaries of Emily Kowalski

  1940

  Jess has arranged for one of the neighbors to come in three times a day to help me with Bobby. I didn’t realize how tired the physical effort of lifting Bobby was making me until Edna started coming. She is a big, strapping woman who could probably lift Jess if she had to, so Bobby is no problem for her.

  I like Edna. She is a bit gruff and no nonsense, but I think she has a kind heart. I hope we will be friends.

  Today Jess had a surprise with him when he came home. A dog. A full-grown German shepherd. My dismay must have been obvious when the two of them came through the door, because Jess’s smile faded as he looked at me. I turned to go back to the kitchen, but Jess must have let go of the dog, because it padded past me right up to Bobby.

  I felt a flash of fear. After all, it was a very large dog. Then I noticed its tail waving gently and saw it was licking Bobby’s hand, and I was surprised to find tears running down my face.

  I never did answer Jess’s question about whether we could keep Brad.

  Brad has been with us a week, and already I hardly remember what our lives were like without him. He belonged to one of Jess’s students who moved and was no longer able to keep him. Jess agreed to bring him for a visit, to see what I thought about the idea of us adopting him.

  It’s a good thing Jess didn’t ask me beforehand, or he would have gotten an earful, but it has turned out well. Brad is an easy addition, and he seems to have appointed himself Bobby’s guardian, staying always right by Bobby’s side.

  I am continuing to help Bobby exercise his hands and arms even though the doctor tells me I may as well save my energy for other things. But although it may do little good, it makes me feel better if I am doing something rather than letting Bobby just sit there.

  And today, an amazing thing happened. I left Bobby and Brad alone for a minute, and when I walked back into the room, I discovered Brad had helped himself to a sock from the darning basket. He was pulling on one end while Bobby held the other. Brad was growling fiercely, but I could tell he was playing with Bobby.

  I stood there, I’m not sure for how long, watching the two of them and saying one of those wordless thank-yous to God for this small miracle. And, just like that, I was crying again. I seem to cry at the drop of a hat these days. But later I found myself laughing at something Edna said. It felt like the first time I’d done that since before Bobby got sick.

  Today I took Bobby outside in his chair, and I set up my easel and painted. Usually, I can’t stand to have anyone watch me paint, but having Bobby there calmed me, and I talked to him as I worked.

  I tried the sunset again—the one Bill and I shared so many years ago right after he got back from the war. This time the colors flowed, and I liked the contrast of the black fence and the bare limbs of the tree against the deep orange-red of the sky. I felt good when I finished, and I realized that while I was painting I’d forgotten all my troubles.

  I think that is why Jess works so hard and long—in order to forget, for a time.

  1941

  Two weeks ago, Jess gave me a record player for my birthday. I left it sitting in the corner next to the couch until last week when I finally played one of the records. I discovered I felt better, getting rid of the silence. Now I play music most of the day.

  When the music is on, I notice Bobby’s eyes look brighter somehow. And I fancy that if I watch carefully, I can tell which records he likes best. I think, like me, it is the happy music of the Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller orchestras. I even found myself twirling into a dance-step to “In the Mood” this morning.

  I also play the radio. When I do, Bobby’s eyes get that same happy shine. I’ve begun to follow a schedule so we can listen to what I now think of as our programs—“Coast to Coast on a Bus” for Bobby and “Pepper Young’s Family” for me.

  Our days are filling up with sounds—music sounds and radio sounds—and it’s certainly better than silence chopped into small pieces by the ticking of a clock.

  Even if I’m wrong, and Bobby isn’t aware, in some ways it doesn’t matter. I am beginning to live again, and that has to count for something.

  1942

  Yesterday, we received word Bill has died. The day had dawned bright, beautiful, and hot, but with that news, the world seems suddenly darker and colder.

  The last time we saw Bill, it was winter. Now, down by the pond, the dogwoods are blooming. They look like pink and white butterflies floating among the bare branches, but it is a sight that brings me no joy.

  Bill came to be with us last Christmas. When he walked into the kitchen with Jess, I took one look at him and knew it would be our last visit together. He was only fifty-four, but he looked seventy, his hair gone white and lines of pain etched into his face. Only his eyes and smile were the same.

  I hugged him, pretending I hadn’t seen, but Bill knew, and he whispered, “It’s all right, Emmie. Don’t worry, we’ll talk later.”

  For the rest of the evening, we all pretended it was an ordinary family visit, with Bill asking Jess questions about the college teaching he is doing, and Jess and me asking about colleagues and friends we left behind in Chicago.

  Later, I sat in the rocker knitting while Jess read Bobby a bedtime story. With Jess’s voice as background music, I thought about Bill and that conversation so long ago that marked the change in course for both our lives.

  Afterward, Bill left Red Oak and met his Kiara, only to lose her almost immediately. And I left Red Oak and eventually met Jess, and we had Bobby, who is now thirteen years old, but can do no more for himself than a tiny baby.

  I wonder if everyone can trace back to one moment in time when a single choice set their whole future in place. And if so, how many of us would choose differently if we knew where that choice would lead?

  That next morning, when Bill walked into my kitchen, I had a cheerful fire going. Bobby was in his chair, Brad was asleep on the hearthrug soaking up the warmth, and we had Christmas music playing. Bill kissed me good morning, saying, “My word, Emmie, this surely does look and feel like Christmas.”

  I fixed him breakfast and sat with him, sipping coffee while he ate. When he finished, we talked.

  “I need to ask you something, Emmie. Something that isn’t easy to put into words. I need to know if you blame me for urging you to leave Red Oak.”

  “Funny, but I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you if you blamed me for telling you not to marry Doris Goodwin.”

  “Good lord, of course not. Why would you think such a thing?”


  That made me smile. “Perhaps the same reason you think I blame you for encouraging me to leave Red Oak.”

  We sat and looked at each other until I started giggling, and then I was laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes. Bill fished out a handkerchief and helped me finish wiping my eyes.

  He sat back and gave me a serious look. “Perhaps it would have been better if you’d stayed.”

  “Perhaps it would have been worse. Besides, I would never want to give up Bobby and Jess.”

  “You know, Emmie, now that I’m at the end, and I can look all the way back to the beginning, I wouldn’t trade either. I know I took the right path. Kiara. . . even though we had only a short time together, it was worth any pain to have that. And in the end, I got to make a difference in so many children’s lives.”

  He stopped speaking, and we sat in the sunny kitchen with cups of coffee warming our hands. And then, into that comfortable silence, I spoke words that surprised me. “I’m lonely, Bill. Lonely for Jess. He works too hard. In order to cope, I think.”

  Bill took my hand in his, and we sat for a time thinking our own thoughts and comforting each other with that touch.

  On Christmas Eve, Jess came home early, and we had a wonderful evening. Our memories flickered and sparked like the bright lights on the tree we put up together after dinner.

  It was a special Christmas. Not because of the presents or the flurry of snow that came on Christmas Eve and glittered in the light from the windows, but because it was, as I had suspected, and now know for sure, Bill’s last Christmas.

  Before he left, he told me in stark terms what was going on with his body.

  Cancer.

  There was little to be done except to put his affairs in order, and he was doing that. He had come to say goodbye, so I wouldn’t feel badly about being unable to attend his funeral.

  Of course, every time we hug someone who is leaving for work, or church, or to go to the store, deep down we know it could be the last time, but it’s knowledge we hide from ourselves. But saying goodbye to Bill a week after he arrived, I knew for certain I would never see him again, and I had to be quite stern with myself and let him go.

  Bill left behind one final gift—a way into a new beginning for Jess and me. Shortly after Bill left, Jess came home early and told me to dress up. He had arranged with Edna to stay with Bobby, so he could take me out.

  We went downtown to a brand new French restaurant, the Maisonette. Jess ordered champagne, and when he raised his glass to me, I knew what Bill had done. “Em, I want to beg your forgiveness.”

  I had no idea how to answer, but as I looked at Jess through the shimmering light of the candles, I saw once again the young man who made my heart skip with joy when Bill introduced us the first time. And I remembered him waiting for me to walk down the aisle to take his hand when we married. And it was really quite simple.

  “I understand, Jess. It’s all right.”

  After that we sat looking at each other, forgetting the champagne and ignoring the waiter. Eventually we ordered, but we were too busy talking to eat much.

  And, oh my, the talk. We shared our feelings about Bobby, our pain that he would always be an invalid and the added pain of being unable to have other children. In that sharing, we pushed away the darkness wrapped around our lives as if we were shedding a heavy cloak.

  I have always believed that healing must come from inside. But Bill has shown me it is sometimes called forth through the actions of others.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “I’ve found the one,” Charles said, when Alan answered the phone.

  “The one what?” But Alan had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what, or rather who, Charles was talking about.

  “When the time is right, I’m asking Kathy to marry me.”

  The awful feeling in Alan’s gut intensified. He tried to speak. Stopped, cleared his throat. “That’s fast.”

  “I’ve known from the beginning. But it doesn’t pay to rush.”

  That last statement was pure Charles, but the other part, about his being certain of this relationship from the first, that couldn’t be more different.

  Alan struggled for something to say. “Doesn’t this one have a biological clock?”

  “She can have as many kids as she wants. If need be, we’ll get a nanny.” Charles sounded as giddy as a small child with his first bicycle. Only he wasn’t a child. And Kathy, most decidedly, was not a bicycle.

  “How are you going to manage that on a DA’s salary?” If Alan could just pretend Charles was talking about some other woman, he could manage. He had to manage. After all, he’d thrown away his right to step between Charles and Kathy.

  “I’m going to join Peters and Lipold. They’ve been after me for a couple of years. It’ll triple my salary for starters.”

  But Charles loved being a district attorney. Had refused to even consider giving it up for Tiffany, whose tastes matched her name.

  Alan’s free hand came up in a distracted movement to rub his temples. He had to get off the phone. He couldn’t listen to Charles rhapsodizing another minute. But if he hung up, Charles would know something was wrong.

  He took a breath and focused on the cadence of Charles’s comments without actually listening to the words, adding in umm’s and uh uh’s where it seemed appropriate, until finally Charles said, “Got to go. Promised Kathy I’d call.”

  Alan stood unmoving after he hung up.

  It was hard enough knowing he’d lost Kathy through his own actions. How was he going to manage if his best friend married her?

  Alan picked the phone back up and, not letting himself second-guess it, punched in Elaine’s number. “Laine, I need the name of someone to see.”

  During the pause that followed, he knew what she must be thinking, but, thank God, she didn’t say it. Instead she asked only if he preferred a man or a woman, and when he said it didn’t matter, she gave him three names.

  He hung up, shaking. He’d taken only a single small step, and yet he was as exhausted as if he’d just spent hours slogging through deep snow.

  But he could back out, not call the people Elaine recommended, although that would mean his already shaky relationship with her would get shakier.

  Still, there was such a slim chance it was going to do any good.

  Besides, he’d left it too late.

  ~ ~ ~

  Alerted by Cormac, Alan walked out of the barn to find Delia squatting down to pet the dog. She didn’t look up until he reached her. Then she gave him a solemn look before she stood and threw her arms up to him.

  As he lifted her and swung her around, she giggled. With a catch in his throat, he felt how light she was. He gave her a careful hug, then set her down and looked at Grace.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Grace hugged him, but without her usual exuberance. She looked tired and almost as frail as her daughter. Delia snugged her hand into his. In the barn, she reached into her pocket, pulled out a carrot, and held it out to Arriba.

  His throat tightening, Alan noticed the two shortened fingers. He reached out to take her hand in his, but the little girl was busy patting the pony.

  He touched her shoulder, and she looked at him. “You all set?” Alan asked.

  Delia cocked her head frowning, before responding with a nod.

  For the first time, the news Frank had given him after Delia woke up was made real, and Alan felt like the earth had tipped out from under him, leaving him sliding into space.

  He busied himself, helping Delia into the saddle and adjusting the stirrups. With his back to Delia, he faced Grace and spoke softly. “How do I communicate with her?”

  “We’re all learning sign language, and she’s beginning to read lips. And we write things out for her.”

  “Come on, Alan. Arriba’s ready to go,” Delia said.

  They were the first words he’d heard her speak, and her voice had a strange new flat quality.

  He led Arriba out of the
barn, and Grace walked alongside. When they entered the riding ring, Grace stayed by the fence while Alan continued to lead the pony in a circle.

  “Alan, why didn’t you come see me in the hospital?”

  He wanted to say, But I did, until he realized that as far as Delia was concerned, he hadn’t come. He stopped walking and turned to meet Delia’s gaze. Sitting on the pony, she was nearly eye level with him.

  He knew what she was really asking. She needed reassurance he loved her, not excuses. The fact he had come while she’d been sleeping, wouldn’t be enough. He should have tried harder to see her.

  He spoke slowly and carefully. “I’m sorry.”

  Delia shook her head and frowned. Grace walked over to them, and Alan turned to her. “I want to tell Delia I’m sorry I didn’t visit her in the hospital.”

  Grace pulled a card and pen out of her pocket and handed them to him. He printed carefully, using simple words, and handed the card to Delia. She read his apology, mouthing the words silently, then she gave him a solemn look. “It’s okay, Alan.”

  It was more than he deserved.

  ~ ~ ~

  Midmorning on Monday, Jade stopped by Kathy’s desk and raised her brows in question. “Alan?”

  Kathy nodded, unable to speak, knowing from the face that had gazed back at her from the mirror this morning why Jade was asking the question.

  “Come on.” Jade pulled her to her feet and steered her toward the door. “Kathy and I are taking a break,” she told Columba and Polly, as she opened the door and nudged Kathy through. “Let’s walk over to the playground. This time of day, it should be quiet.”

  As they walked, Kathy told Jade about the meeting with Elaine and what Elaine had told her about Alan—that he had been married and his wife had died. “I was so angry with him. But now. . . ” Kathy’s voice wobbled.