Single with Children

After a while, the pounding in his head seemed to lessen, and he sat forward, trying to work up the energy to get up and go to bed. His gaze fell on the photo albums on the table. Leaning far forward, he could just reach them. He pulled them into his lap, stacking one on top of the other. He ran a hand over the ragged cover of the first and wondered again why his grandmother had left him this shabby piece of memorabilia in her will. You could never tell about Kate. Her mind had seemed to work in several arenas at once, weighing seemingly unrelated matters and reaching often amazing conclusions. He missed her. He was surprised at how much he could miss her after all those years away in the military.

What were you doing, Kate, flying off to the Amazon alone, leaving your family to fend for themselves? He had the lowering feeling that he wasn’t doing too well on that score himself. After eighteen months, his children seemed hardly to know him, and he was still drifting, still looking for an anchor.

Slowly he opened the cover of the photo album and looked once more upon his parents’ wedding picture. They had been the perfect couple, the heir apparent and the unspoiled beauty. It was difficult to think of them apart now, despite the reality of their separation, and yet, when he thought of home and his youth, he thought of his mother and her apologetic explanations for his father’s continual absence.

“He has the whole weight of the family business on his shoulders,” she would tell him. “So many are dependent on him. He’s doing the best he can.”

He thumbed through the photos, watching himself grow from infant to toddler to mischief-maker to rebel to man. Here were the hallmarks of his life—first steps, birthday parties, eighth-grade graduation, the football championship, hockey play-offs, proms. In these pictures the family grew, too, from first and only son, to Caroline, then Natalie, and finally the twins, in precise two-year intervals.

Laura was wrong. He was in nearly every one of these pictures. The only person missing here was, as always, his father. Who did that woman think she was, scolding him for not coming home in time to compliment his kids on a silly snow castle? He came home, didn’t he? When they needed him, he was here, wasn’t he? He was doing his level best, and that ought to count for something. Shouldn’t it? He pushed the photo albums back onto the table and set the brandy snifter on top of them. Then he got to his feet and dragged himself to his bed. He never even opened the second album, the pictorial journal—navy blue, leather-bound, embossed in gold—so painstakingly put together by his late wife, the one that chronicled the years of his own young family’s lives—the one from which he was missing.

Four

She expected him to shout at her, or at least to tell her to mind her own business. Instead, he came in to breakfast all smiles. His only reference to the evening before was a pointed glance in her direction before he heaped lavish praise on the snow castle on his front lawn. To Laura’s dismay, his children merely traded looks among themselves before the twins followed Wendy’s lead and hunched over their cereal bowls in damning silence. An obviously crestfallen Adam sat at the table and erected the dreaded newspaper barrier before him. Laura got up and poured him a cup of coffee, then pulled a toasted English muffin and a bowl of creamed wheat from the oven to set before him. He smiled distractedly, murmured his thanks, and went back to his paper. The children finished their breakfast and were herded from the room by Laura. She cast a last wistful look at Adam, shook her head in frustration and followed her charges through the door. He left before she could get the children’s clothing laid out and return to him.

That became the pattern for mornings in the Fortune household. Adam was always last to the table. He and the children paid only nominal attention to one another, and despite Laura’s best efforts, he always left without saying goodbye. His saving grace was that he regularly came home early to share dinner with his children, and with Laura’s calm direction, the family had begun to evolve their own good-night ritual.

It wasn’t much to brag about initially. She merely marched the children past him, one by one, for a solemn good-night. Before long, however, he was leaning forward to give clumsy pats on the shoulder, and the children, Wendy first, were tentatively reaching out to him for more, and now they were actually hugging. Laura eagerly awaited the evening when one or the other of them would pucker up and the kissing would begin. It would only be a small step on a long road to wellness and normalcy for this family, but Laura felt that it would be a very important step.

Sometimes she told herself that if she could only stay until she saw that first good-night kiss between father and child, she would be content, but the truth was that she was more content at the moment than she had been in a very, very long time—except for those instances of sheer terror when she thought about what would happen if Doyal found her here. She never intended to actually contemplate such hideous thoughts, but on occasion they took her unawares.

Late at night, while she lay in her bed and pondered the day to come, plotting games and treats and subtle teachings, Doyal would flash into her head, his ruggedly handsome face smiling, then sneering, and finally bearing down on her with rage distorting every feature. She would feel his hands around her throat and know that she was going to die, and then, in her mind’s eye, she would see Wendy or one of the boys charge at him, tiny fists flailing. She would sit up straight and shake herself out of it before she could form that last grotesque picture, but it was always there in the back of her mind, the specter of a small body collapsed in trauma. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t just walk out and leave Adam and the children in the lurch, but she had to leave before Doyal found her. She would leave before Doyal found her. She comforted herself with that thought. It became her litany, her mantra. She would go before it was too late—just not yet.

The terror was never far below the surface, however. She would wake in the black hours of morning, drenched in sweat and trembling with fear and disgust, having witnessed again the daming scene that had confirmed Doyal’s guilt. She could almost laugh, had she not feared that hysteria would overwhelm bitterness as she thought of how she’d followed Doyal that day over seven months ago in a jealous pique, believing that he was seeing another woman, only to find that his destination was a run-down house on the rough side of town. She had watched in horror, concealed by a Dumpster and a tree, as a wide spectrum of humanity breezed in and stumbled out of that old house. Some of them hadn’t come out for hours. Some of them had come out right away, the house barely behind them before they were gobbling their pills, snorting their powders or jabbing needles into their veins. Most of them had been so desperate that they ignored the gun brandished by Doyal’s “friend” Calvin, whom Laura now realized was nothing more than an armed goon. She had stumbled away from that scene to vomit, knowing now that the money showered so generously on her by her first serious boyfriend was not the result of his enigmatic investments in the stock market, but of the drug trade that crippled whole neighborhoods and shattered so many lives.

Her mistake had been in confronting him. When she demanded to know how he could live with himself, he had laughed at her naiveté. Still, she had not understood her situation until she proceeded with the grand exit she had planned. He had grabbed her and vowed that she was going nowhere. He was not through with her, he had said, and when he was, he would make sure that she could never tell what she knew about him and his “business.” Angry and outraged, she had demanded her release, and he had beaten her senseless. Afterward, he had sworn that she would never be free of him. No one, not even the police, could protect her, for if she dared implicate him, he vowed that both he and Calvin would swear that she, too, was involved.

Going to the police seemed impossible; yet she had known that the worse thing she could do was to stay. Fleeing might result in instant death at any unguarded moment, but staying would have meant dying by inches. She had chosen the former. It had taken three weeks of hell, and another, even worse beating, before she was able to slip away. He had assumed that she was too badly injured to run and briefly left her unattended. She had literally crawled out the window and down the ivy lattice of their second-story apartment with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a wallet with less than a hundred dollars in it.

She had been running ever since, from city to city, town to town, state to state, for more than six months. Twice he’d nearly caught her—the last time over five months ago—but in all her dreaming, asleep and awake, she had never dared to entertain the fantasy that he might have given up, that he wouldn’t come for her. The guarantee that he would come, the certainty that she must go before that could happen, was all that gave her hope of seeing tomorrow. But beyond the next day she dared not look with more than longing.

That was exactly what she was doing, looking at the future and longing for a place in it, when Adam’s voice took her completely unawares.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

She nearly leaped up onto the kitchen counter. Her heart was beating wildly, even as she placed the voice and turned to face him. It was late. The children were in bed. The evening news was over, and she had delayed turning in herself only long enough to make a hot cup of cocoa to sip on her way. Adam had disappeared into other parts of the house as soon as the children went to their beds, saying that he had some material to read before an appointment the next day. That was the first thing that came to mind.

“You finished your reading,” she said lightly, ashamed of her reaction, her fear, of even having known a man like Doyal Moody.

Adam rubbed his hand over his head. “Not really. I just got incredibly bored with it. I don’t think insurance is for me.”

“No? Well, you’ll find something,” she told him offhandedly.

He shook his head, his golden eyes dull with worry. “I don’t know. I…”

She could tell he wanted to talk, and the idea that he had sought her out to do so was flattering in a way she hadn’t expected. She took another cup from the cabinet and reached for the cocoa mix. “Sit down. I’ll make you a cup.”

He nodded with poorly disguised relief and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. She joined him a minute later, and they sat in companionable silence for a bit, sipping and stirring cocoa. Finally she thought to ask, “What is it you want to do, Adam? Have you given it any thought?”

It was as if she’d struck at the root of his frustration. He pushed his cup away and ran his hands over his hair, sighing deeply. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m stumbling around in the dark, trying one door after another, but none will open for me! I’ve never known anything but the military. Without that, I don’t quite know who I am.”

Laura understood how he felt. She said, “It must have been difficult to give up your career.”

He folded his arms and perched his chin on them. “It’s so blessedly simple in the army. Here is the day’s objective. Here are the rules. You’ve had your training. You know your role. Now go and do it.” He turned his face down, sucked in a deep breath and straightened, leaning back in his chair. “These days, I know my objective, but that’s where it ends. There are no rules, and no training can prepare you for a role without definition. I’m lost! I’m trapped in the dark, where the only door I know will open for me is the one that I came through, but I can’t go back.”

Laura trailed a finger around the rim of her cup, choosing her words carefully. “It’s not the children’s fault that they need you, Adam.”

He closed his eyes, but not quickly enough to hide the flash of anger in them. “I know that. Don’t you think I know that? It’s just— If only Diana hadn’t been in that awful accident!”

Laura clamped a hand over his wrist, ignoring the intense awareness that she seemed always to feel in his presence. “Adam, don’t you see that your children have always needed you? That didn’t change when Diana died. You just couldn’t ignore it any longer.”