what I have to wear to this shindig, and if you think I might meet any interesting men there.”
Bess laughed. “Mother, you’re incorrigible.”
She gave Stella an impulsive hug.
“Maybe I never told you this before, but you’re my idol. I wish I could be more like you.”
Stella hugged her back. “You are a lot like me. Now, speaking of men, how are you and Keith getting along?”
“Oh . . . Keith.” Bess made a face and shrugged. “He got upset because I had to break a dinner date with him to go to the engagement dinner. You know how he is, where the kids are concerned.”
“I’ll tell you something,” Stella said, “since we’re being honest with each other today. That man is not for you.”
“Have you and Lisa been comparing notes, or what?”
“Maybe.”
Bess laughed. “Why you two devils. If you think this wedding is going to get me back together with Michael, you’re wrong.”
Stella asked, “How does he look? As handsome as ever?”
“Moth- er !” Bess looked exasperated.
“It’ll never happen.”
Stella put on a smug expression and said, “How do you know? Stranger things have.”
That same Sunday morning Michael Curran awakened, stretched, and stacked his hands behind his head, loath to stir and rise. His bedroom vas huge, with sliding glass doors facing the
shore
of
White Bear Lake
, but it held nothing more than a television set and, against the wall, the pair of mattresses upon which he lay.
The
ten-o’clock
sun, reflecting off the frozen lake, made a nebula of light patterns on the ceiling. The building was absolutely silent; it was designed to be. No children were allowed, and most of the wealthy residents had gone south for the winter, so he rarely crossed paths with anyone, even in the elevator.
It was lonely.
He thought about last night-about his encounter with Randy.
The impact of seeing him came back afresh, bringing a replay of convoluted emotions: love, hope, disappointment, and a feeling of failure that made his chest feel heavy.
How it hurt, being disowned by one’s own child.
That boy - that man was his son. His son, whose last six vital growing years had been lost to Michael, largely against his choice . If Bess had encouraged it, if Randy had not been brainwashed, Michael would have been seeing Randy all along. Instead, Michael had been excluded from everything, even Randy’s high school graduation. “He doesn’t want you there,” Bess had said.
Why hadn’t Bess seen to it that the kid went to college? After the way she had fought to complete her own education, he’d have thought she’d take a strong stand on the issue with her own kids. Maybe she had, and it simply hadn’t worked.
Bess.
Boy-oh-boy, how she’d changed. When she’d walked into that room last night, he’d actually felt a charge. It was crazy, but in spite of the way she distanced herself from him, he’d bet any money that she felt it, too, at times.
As he lay in his unfurnished condominium, recollections of their beginnings played back through his mind-when Bess was in high school, and he, already a sophomore at the
University
of
Minnesota
, went back for homecoming and discovered her-a junior he didn’t even remember. They were married two and a half years later, with him fresh out of college and her with three more years to go.
June 8, 1968
-their wedding day. Nothing he’d experienced before or since had been any sweeter.
And now it was January 1990, and he was rolling off his mattresses in an empty condo.
Forget it, Curran. She doesn’t want you, you don’t really want her, and your own kid treats you like a leper. That ought to tell you something. He shined to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, then went to the kitchen. His entire pantry stock stood on an island in the middle of the room.
Instant coffee, a box of Grape Nuts, a loaf of bread, ajar of peanut butter. He stood awhile staring at the collection, then poured some cereal into a white plastic
Bess laughed. “Mother, you’re incorrigible.”
She gave Stella an impulsive hug.
“Maybe I never told you this before, but you’re my idol. I wish I could be more like you.”
Stella hugged her back. “You are a lot like me. Now, speaking of men, how are you and Keith getting along?”
“Oh . . . Keith.” Bess made a face and shrugged. “He got upset because I had to break a dinner date with him to go to the engagement dinner. You know how he is, where the kids are concerned.”
“I’ll tell you something,” Stella said, “since we’re being honest with each other today. That man is not for you.”
“Have you and Lisa been comparing notes, or what?”
“Maybe.”
Bess laughed. “Why you two devils. If you think this wedding is going to get me back together with Michael, you’re wrong.”
Stella asked, “How does he look? As handsome as ever?”
“Moth- er !” Bess looked exasperated.
“It’ll never happen.”
Stella put on a smug expression and said, “How do you know? Stranger things have.”
That same Sunday morning Michael Curran awakened, stretched, and stacked his hands behind his head, loath to stir and rise. His bedroom vas huge, with sliding glass doors facing the
shore
of
White Bear Lake
, but it held nothing more than a television set and, against the wall, the pair of mattresses upon which he lay.
The
ten-o’clock
sun, reflecting off the frozen lake, made a nebula of light patterns on the ceiling. The building was absolutely silent; it was designed to be. No children were allowed, and most of the wealthy residents had gone south for the winter, so he rarely crossed paths with anyone, even in the elevator.
It was lonely.
He thought about last night-about his encounter with Randy.
The impact of seeing him came back afresh, bringing a replay of convoluted emotions: love, hope, disappointment, and a feeling of failure that made his chest feel heavy.
How it hurt, being disowned by one’s own child.
That boy - that man was his son. His son, whose last six vital growing years had been lost to Michael, largely against his choice . If Bess had encouraged it, if Randy had not been brainwashed, Michael would have been seeing Randy all along. Instead, Michael had been excluded from everything, even Randy’s high school graduation. “He doesn’t want you there,” Bess had said.
Why hadn’t Bess seen to it that the kid went to college? After the way she had fought to complete her own education, he’d have thought she’d take a strong stand on the issue with her own kids. Maybe she had, and it simply hadn’t worked.
Bess.
Boy-oh-boy, how she’d changed. When she’d walked into that room last night, he’d actually felt a charge. It was crazy, but in spite of the way she distanced herself from him, he’d bet any money that she felt it, too, at times.
As he lay in his unfurnished condominium, recollections of their beginnings played back through his mind-when Bess was in high school, and he, already a sophomore at the
University
of
Minnesota
, went back for homecoming and discovered her-a junior he didn’t even remember. They were married two and a half years later, with him fresh out of college and her with three more years to go.
June 8, 1968
-their wedding day. Nothing he’d experienced before or since had been any sweeter.
And now it was January 1990, and he was rolling off his mattresses in an empty condo.
Forget it, Curran. She doesn’t want you, you don’t really want her, and your own kid treats you like a leper. That ought to tell you something. He shined to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, then went to the kitchen. His entire pantry stock stood on an island in the middle of the room.
Instant coffee, a box of Grape Nuts, a loaf of bread, ajar of peanut butter. He stood awhile staring at the collection, then poured some cereal into a white plastic
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