“Yeah.”
“Wait here. I’ve got something for you.” He put down the paper and stood up. His tallness always startled her, like a human jack-in-the-box. He moved with awkward strides through the arched doorway that separated the living room from the dining room, and headed toward the back of the house.
About ten years ago, Bram had converted the old-fashioned parlor into a bedroom, moving all his belongings downstairs so he wouldn’t have to leave the first floor again. His excuse was that it saved on the heating bills, but it was one of those eccentricities that had taken her by surprise. No matter how much Kate thought she knew her father, he always managed to confound her. The downstairs “bedroom” had no door and was quite messy, which she considered proof of his aloofness and isolation. Proof that he never had visitors over. Someone as private as her father would never set up a bedroom on the first floor and leave it doorless if he planned on having guests for dinner.
She could hear him rummaging around inside his makeshift bedroom. Dresser drawers scraped open. A wooden chair was dragged across the floor. Something dropped and ping-ponged across the rug.
A few grunts and another couple of bumps later, and he was back with his right arm extended. “Here. Take this,” he said. “It was your mother’s. I’m sure she’d want you to have it, Kate.”
She held out her hand, and he dropped something into it— her mother’s wedding ring. A modest diamond set in a simple gold band. “Oh, Dad,” she gasped.
“Happy birthday.”
She studied the ring in the palm of her hand and remembered how badly her mother’s fingers used to itch. It got so bad sometimes that Julia would tuck the ring away in her jewelry box and whisper, “Shh. Don’t tell Daddy.”
She wanted to show him how moved she was by this gesture; he rarely gave her anything personal. But she reacted initially with deep-seated cynicism—he had to be kidding. Seriously, a wedding ring? Here ya go, you and James can get hitched now. Hint hint. Then her cynicism transformed into smoldering resentment. Bram Wolfe was not a subtle man. It was obvious he disapproved of Kate and James living together without a marriage license. Her feelings morphed again uncomfortably. As a psychiatrist, she couldn’t help but notice the subconscious incestuous underpinnings of such an act. Metaphorically speaking. Father gives daughter a wedding ring.
But no, that was ridiculous. Finally she allowed herself to be moved by this rare show of emotional vulnerability. Here’s something I can give you that I think you might like—it belonged to your mother.
“Let me tell you a story,” he said, taking his seat. “When I first met your mother I was just starting out. My mentor, one of the town’s few family physicians at the time, had just asked me to take over his practice. He was retiring, so I moved down here from Maine. It wasn’t easy. I had to take out a large loan, and I could barely afford to hire a secretary, but somehow I managed. Anyway, this beautiful young woman came to me one day, complaining of a bad cold. I prescribed a bottle of cough syrup and promptly told her I wouldn’t be treating her anymore. She took offense and asked why. I told her—‘Because I’d like to ask you out on a date.’” Kate smiled, even though she’d heard it a million times. “Six months later, I bought your mother that ring.”
Kate gazed at the tarnished wedding ring.
“So when you ask why haven’t I gotten married again? Perhaps it’s because that kind of love is very rare.”
There was a long pause, while the tick-tock of the grandfather clock stretched, and everything inside her head crackled like frost. Her father did have a heart, after all. Why did she need to be reminded of that?
“It’s so quiet in here,” she whispered after a moment.
“I enjoy the silence. I’m used to it.”
“Don’t you ever get lonely?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think about it.”
“There’s a big world out there, Dad.”
He squinted at her as if she’d gone out of focus. “Kate, I have a passport. I’ve been to Rome, Paris, and the Virgin Islands. I watch HBO and Showtime. Just because I never moved out of Blunt River doesn’t make me a rube.”
“No, I didn’t mean that…”
“I have a full and busy life,” he said defensively.
“What I meant was… I’m sorry we’ve been out of touch.”
“Me too.” He made a big show of picking up his newspaper and snapping it open. “I imagine you’ll be getting back to Boston soon?”
“Yes.” She understood something just then. For years she’d desperately wanted her father to love and accept her, but the truth was she didn’t fully accept and love him. She used to, before her mother had committed suicide. But then, as her father gradually pulled away from her, so Kate had pulled away from him.
With great reluctance, she got up to leave. He followed her into the foyer and watched as she put on her coat and boots. She found her car keys in her pocket and said, “Call me once in a while, okay?”
“You never pick up.”
“Leave a message. I’ll call you back.”
“Maybe the lines of communication aren’t so much broken,” he said, “as they are clogged. Like bad arteries.”
“Well, you’re a physician.” She smirked. “Isn’t there a pill for that?”
“I wish there was.” He gave her a genuinely relaxed smile. “See you later, sweetheart.”
“Later, Dad.” She kissed his cheek. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
The rarity of the exchange dragged through her like a bullet.
21
KATE SAT IN HER car with the engine running, not ready to leave Blunt River just yet. It had all happened for her here—first crush, first kiss, first prom. Half of her childhood friends were still listed in the Blunt River phone book. Her kindergarten buddy Marigold Hotchkiss lived in that peeling Gothic with the plastic Santa propped in the front yard. Her best friend from high school, Heather, was a hugely successful real estate agent who hadn’t let Kate’s tragedy prevent her from earning a juicy commission on Henry Blackwood’s “house of death.” Kate’s arch rival from the fifth grade, Jewel Curtis, taught self-defense for girls and used Savannah’s story as part of her marketing strategy. The first boy Kate had ever kissed—whose kisses she’d once treasured—was now the town treasurer. Funny how life rambled on.
She backed out of the driveway and honked goodbye. On an impulse, she took a left instead of a right at the blinking yellow light and headed for the thickly wooded area west of town called The Balsams, a wilderness preserve boasting 8,000 acres of mature hardwoods, trout streams, and recreational trails.
Fifteen minutes later, she located the old logging road and drove for a mile or so along a bumpy gravel road, tires popping over icy patches until she finally rolled to a stop. She sat shivering inside her car as the engine ticked down and couldn’t believe she was here. The cabin in the woods. Why had she come?