Kathleen Creighton - One More Knight

Realizing that Dobrina was giving her one of her looks, she shrugged and added, “I haven’t known him very long.” And she thought, My God, what an understatement. I only met him yesterday. How can that be?

“Well, we may just as well sit,” Dobrina said abruptly, giving Charly’s elbow a squeeze as she marched past her into the waiting room.

Charly managed a nod but stayed where she was for the moment. She was feeling too shaky and jangled to sit. She sipped bitter, lukewarm coffee and listened to the distant beeping of monitors, the muted murmur of voices, the ringing of telephones, and tried to make sense of the chaos into which her life had so unexpectedly descended.

It seemed impossible. When she’d woken up in the dark of yesterday morning she’d been a successful Los Angeles attorney, about to fly to Georgia to participate in her best friend’s wedding. How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said softly. “I never meant for this to happen.” Then she looked over at Dobrina, and saw that the woman’s eyes were closed and her hands were clasped together on top of the big black handbag that was resting on her knees. She was rocking herself slightly and her lips were moving. It was with a small jolt of shame that Charly realized she must be praying.

But after only a moment Dobrina’s eyes opened and she said gently, “Of course you didn’t, child.”

Charly moved slowly toward her, arms crisscrossing her waist, still clutching the cup of cold coffee as if it were a talisman protecting her against harm. “I went back for my purse.” Her teeth were chattering. She clamped them together and gave a painful laugh. “After all that, you know what? I forgot it again.”

Dobrina was sitting ramrod straight, staring straight ahead at nothing. Her head dipped twice and she said in a soft, faraway voice, as if she were talking to herself, “I know…I know. I’m sorry for doing that. This is my fault…my fault. I should never have interfered.”

Charly waged a silent war with her own anger and lost. She went to sit in the chair next to Dobrina, reached over and put her hand over the other woman’s clasped hands and gave them a squeeze.

“You know what?” she said tightly. “It’s not either one of our faults. It’s his fault.” She jerked her head toward the waiting-room door.

Dobrina came to herself with a little gasp, pulled a hand free and gave Charly’s a slap. “Don’t you go sayin’ that, now. I won’t have you to talk that way. I won’t.”

“Oh, God.” Charly put her head back and closed her eyes. After a moment she said tiredly, “You always do that-make excuses for him. Take his side…protect him. Why is that? You, of all people. You know what he’s like.”

“Oh, I expect I know him better than anybody does.” Charly heard the sigh of an exhalation, then unexpectedly a chuckle. “I know he’s a stubborn old fool.”

“And yet you’ve stayed with him all these years.”

For a moment there was silence. Then in a soft, musing tone that made her sound like someone else, someone much younger, Dobrina said, “I almost left him once.”

“Really?” Charly sat up and opened her eyes. “When was that?”

“Oh, yes-yes, I did.” Dobrina was nodding, still looking straight ahead, looking into the past now. “Oh, that was when you left, child. But then he brought the boy home. He needed me then. So what could I do? I stayed.”

He brought the boy home. Charly felt as if she’d been struck in the chest. “The boy-” she had to stop for air “-you mean, my son. He brought…him home? You mean…you raised my son? You did?”

“I did.” Dobrina dipped her head, then drew herself up proudly. “I raised him, just like I raised you.” She reached for Charly’s ice-cold hand and gripped it hard. “He’s a good boy-a good boy.”

Charly’s face felt like a mask. She fought desperately to keep the mask intact-she had to. Behind it there was complete devastation. “Tell me about him,” she whispered. “Please. Tell me, where is he? What is he doing?”

“Why, he’s just finishin’ up his sophomore year at Ol’ Miss,” said Dobrina, beaming, as eager to share her child’s accomplishments as any proud parent. “Premed-oh, he’s so bright, that boy. He’s aimin’ to be a doctor, you know.”

Charly’s laugh was high and musical, one note away from a sob. “His father always wanted to be a doctor.”

“He should be home now,” Dobrina went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “They just finished with finals last week. But he wanted to go off with some friends of his, you know, went down to New Orleans to celebrate.” Suddenly she was rocking herself again, her eyes looking lost and her voice gone rusty. “I called and left word for him to come right home.”

Charly couldn’t breathe. She pressed a hand against the ache in her heart and whispered, “He’s coming here?”

Dobrina didn’t seem to hear her. She was mumbling, “Oh, sweet Jesus, I don’t know what he’s gonna do when he hears. I just don’t know…”

“He and my father-” The words came out much sharper than Charly intended. She swallowed hard and finished in a mumble, “Are they…close?”

Dobrina’s face lit up. “Oh my, yes. He’s the apple of your daddy’s eye, that boy. Oh, yes, they’re close. Real close. Just like a father and son.”

Father and son. But what about me? I was his daughter! She clutched at another breath, pulling it into herself like a security blanket, and asked with desperate brightness, “What’s his name?” She’d named him Colin Stewart, after his father. “Did you…did he keep…?”

Dobrina was nodding. “It’s Colin on his birth certificate, but he’s called Cutter. Cutter Phelps.” Of course, Dobrina pronounced it the Alabama way: Cuddah.

“Cutter…” Charly repeated it in a daze. She was once more, in spite of all her efforts, on the verge of tears. “I just wanted to see him,” she whispered, “That’s all-not even to let him know it was me, you know? Just…see him. I told him-my father-I was going to no matter what he said. That’s what upset him so badly. Was it so much to ask? Does he hate me that much?”

“Oh, child,” Dobrina said, her own voice cracking. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“Yes, he does!” Charly knew she sounded like a hurt little girl and was powerless to stop herself. “He’s never forgiven me for what happened. I don’t think he ever will.”

Dobrina slowly rose to her feet, clutching her pocketbook. Charly could see now that she was trembling.

“Look,” she said in a rush, her own voice shaking, “I know it was all my fault-getting pregnant, and…what happened to Colin. I know I shamed him. But what happened to Colin…he was my friend, dammit! I know he was a Stewart, but I lost someone I loved But he’s never forgiven me, even after all these years. I thought-”

Dobrina whirled on her then, suddenly and magnificently angry. “Oh, you stubborn, stubborn child. You’re just as bad as he is! Can’t see the truth, even when it’s right in front of your face.” Charly’s mouth opened, ready with her defense, but the older woman threw out a hand and silenced her with a gesture. “It’s not your havin’ a baby or that poor boy’s death your father can’t forgive you for-it nevah was. Don’t you know that? It’s your leavin’ he can’t get over. The fact that you left, and you nevah came back. Like to killed him when you did that. I thought it would. If it hadn’t a’ been for the boy…”

Charly rose slowly, shaken to her core. “Why did he do it, Aunt Dobie?” she asked in a breaking child’s voice. “Why did he bring him back? He was so adamant about my giving up my baby. And then, after it’s too late, he goes and does…what he did? I don’t understand.”

Dobrina gazed at her for a long moment, her eyes darkening slowly to the blackness of inexpressible sorrow. “Don’t you see, child? He was hopin’ and prayin’ it wasn’t too late. All he evah wanted was what was best for you. You were his little girl, his only child, and all he could see was how havin’ that baby was goin’ to ruin your future. He thought he was doin’ the best thing. Then, after the boy was born, and you were gone, he saw what he’d done was wrong. He went and got the boy and brought him home, and then he waited…”

Charly could barely bring herself to whisper it. “Waited?”

Tears glistened on Dobrina’s proud, tragic face. “For you, child. He waited, all those years, for you to come home.”

September 3, 1977

Dear Diary,

School starts tomorrow-oh, joy. I can’t believe summer vacation is over already. So much has happened-which of course you know about. I still can’t believe I’m writing to a book like it was a real person. Although I guess I’m sort of getting used to it.

Anyway, I’m not really sorry to be going back to school. It’s going to be such a bitchin’ year-can you believe I’m a junior? Kelly Grace and I are both sorry now that we didn’t try out for cheerleaders last spring when we had the chance-I know we would have made it, you should see some of those cheerleaders!-since we are both dating football players. We’ve become quite the foursome, K.G. and Bobby, Richie and I. Colin says we could probably still make the flag twirlers. No offense, Colin, but being a member of the marching-band auxiliary isn’t quite the same as being a cheerleader, if you know what I mean! Oh, well. I know we are going to have a lot of fun this year anyway.

Thought for the Day: I just hope I’m not coming down with the flu or something. I’ve been feeling kind of sick lately. Wouldn’t that be the pits!

Thunderheads were starting to build in earnest over the mountains by the time Troy got Bubba settled in a nice shady spot with his water dish and a rawhide bone to gnaw on. A breeze had sprung up, which he thought might mean the unsettled weather was about to move on through. He hoped it would cool things off; it was hard enough, having a dog to take care of, without worrying about the heat. He was beginning to regret the impulse that had made him invite Bubba along for company, although it had seemed like a good idea at the time, when he’d thought all he was doing was making a short foray to the mountains of Alabama to bail somebody out of jail. Little had he known.