The Neallys Ch. 05: The Story's End

This is the fifth and final part of the initial book. I am adding parts as things develop with these characters. This part does a fair amount of looking back to events we've already seen, from a different perspective.

Prelude

The girls sounded drunk. Eileen stood in the salon's fitting room, picking up bits and pieces of a chatty-Cathy convention. From the main room came an unending stream from her daughter, her recently-acquired daughter-in-law, and her soon-to-be stepdaughter. Eileen would have been pleased had her two girls just gotten along with Tommy's daughter, but now she sometimes thought they might be triplets separated-at-birth.

Much as Eileen enjoyed hearing the three, her mind drifted far from them as she saw herself in the mirrors. The process was far enough along and today was for final adjustments, her next appearance at the salon simply to make sure everything fit perfectly. The wedding was three weeks away.

She saw herself in the mirrors. She was no child, far from it as she neared fifty, but she felt a child-like wonder in what—who—was looking back. It was not a figment that would vanish at midnight. It was her. It was the her that only needed the sculptor's hand to form her from the marble she had long been. More than one sculptor in her case. Kerry and Suzanne and Mary but mostly Tommy made her bloom.

Eileen was abruptly shaken out of her reverie by Diane, the dressmaker, who asked her to turn to the right. "I've seen that look often enough," Diane smiled, "but if I don't take care of this we'll be here all day."

Eileen grinned and turned, and five minutes later she silenced las tres amigas, their giggles replaced by tears as the older woman turned. After a torrent of "oh my god!"s and "you look so beautiful!"s, Eileen returned to the fitting room and after carefully, very carefully, undressing, she was back in her street clothes and the four headed up Madison for lunch at a small restaurant in the seventies.

Stormy Weather

The third time was not a charm. The weather was wonderful when Mary and Betty were married in June and gorgeous for Kerry and Suzanne in September. Now, in mid-November, it was cold and the rain was coming down in sheets. Suzanne was glad that the parkway was not flooded as she drove their new car on the way to Chappaqua. Her wife was next to her and her Mother, who proved a whiz at wedding planning, was in back, still checking and re-checking notes.

The three arrived at the Chappaqua Spread and raced through the rain under umbrellas to the door, where Andi greeted them. The three were wet, Suzanne getting the worst of it, and took off and shook their raincoats before following Andi, who had shouted "They're here" upstairs, into the kitchen.

"How is she, Doc?" It was Kerry's question, but the others wanted the answer too.

"Oh my God. She's, I'm sure there's some expression that cowboys use, she's...she's like a cat on a hot tin roof."

"I'd better get up there," Kerry said as she took her coffee with her. "Do you think she wants one?" to which Andi responded, "Kerry, she's had more than enough and, frankly, with that dress we need to think of lessening her need to pee."

With that, Kerry was gone. She found her Mom sitting on the bed, a large towel wrapped around her and a smaller one circled her hair.

"Are you okay, Mom?"

Her Mom was shaking, slightly but enough for her daughter to notice. Kerry put her coffee on the dresser and sat to the right of her Mom, pulling her close and kissing the towel circling her hair.

"Kerry, I don't know about this."

"What 'this' Mom?"

"All of it." Her voice was soft and her hands were waving. "It's too much. All of it. I know it'll just come crashing down the way it did in Chicago. It's too much. I don't deserve any of it. I don't deserve Tommy. I don't deserve you. I don't—"

"Mom, we don't have time to go through all the people you don't deserve." And she gave an extra squeeze before pushing away so she could turn to look at her.

"Mom. You deserve every bit of happiness that you've gotten. I love two women in this world unreservedly and I know that I don't deserve the love of either of them." She shushed with a finger. "Without both you and Suzanne I would be nothing. What happened with Dad happened with Dad. And that was then. What happens with Tom is now and the future. He went through what happened in Chicago. Have you given any indication of going there again?" This was a reference to her drinking relapse.

"No. But—"

"Mom, we, all your family, were there for you then and I don't think it'll happen again but if it does you know we will all be there for you. And I know you all, especially you, will always be there for me. I know I've lived a charmed life but, Mom, that's because of you. You need to know that. And I am sure Tom will understand how much of a charmed life he has just by being with you.

"But Mom, stop being so stubborn. Now you're reminding me of me and Suze when we were both so damn stubborn that we kept ourselves apart for seven fucking months. Sorry"—she did not like such language—"Finally, I let her love me and she let me love her.

"Does Tom love you?"

"I think—"

"No think. DOES HE LOVE YOU?"

"Oh, Kerry, he loves me, yes."

"And do you love him? Remember, no 'think'."

"So much. But that's what—"

"Jesus, Mom, just answer my questions. If there's one thing I've learned in law school, it's that people hate giving a simple answer to a simple question. So, yes or no, do you love Tom?"

"Yes."

"Mom, does he let you love him? Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"And the big one. Yes or no. Do you let him love you?"

She hesitated.

"Oh, Kerry."

"Yes or no?"

"Yes, yes, yes."

"Well, your Honor, I rest my case."

And Eileen leaned to Kerry and they hugged for a moment and Kerry said, "Now that that's settled, Kate will have a cow if you don't get your ass in gear so that we can get you dressed" and Kerry began the process of putting on the corset and other things she would be wearing under her gown.

While this was going on, Andi, Suzanne, and Kate were nervously in the kitchen. Andi and Suzanne, of course, knew what happened to Eileen in Chicago, and Eileen grew comfortable with Kate and revealed it to her. Eileen, they knew, would get through her doubts.

Upstairs, Kerry, after a nod from her Mom, got up and shouted down the stairs, "Will you lazy bitches get your asses up here? We need to get someone to the Church on time."

St. Mary the Virgin

One thing. Yes, they had to get to a "Church." Each of the five in the house and nearly all of those who would be in the church were raised Catholic. Suzanne's Mother, Kate, was deeply religious. The others? Not so much, but certain values of being raised Catholic were embedded in their minds, and hearts, and souls.

Kate fought through her personal crisis-of-faith and at the other end, she emerged with her faith intact but modified. She gravitated to the Episcopal Church in Bronxville, and till she moved to the city in September she was sometimes joined there with Kerry and Suzanne and they too were welcomed.

The Church to which Eileen had to be gotten-to-on-time in Chappaqua. Now Kate was fretting about whether Eileen would actually get into the Church without the rain ruining her gown and hair. She was on the phone with Alan, who assured her the ushers would be ready with large umbrellas when the limo pulled up, to protect Eileen and the others from the biblical storm—which gave Kate a moment's pause about whether a marriage in a non-Catholic church might not have been the best of ideas—that threatened to continue for the rest of the morning.

We should say who Alan was. He was one of the three men who regularly played tennis with Tom on Sunday mornings at their club, along with Ben and Charlie. All three were at Alan's doing to Tom what was being done to Eileen a few miles away, albeit without so many items of clothing and with a little, but only a little, less nerve-calming.

Some of Eileen's angst visited Tom. It came from Wendy, the late, wonderful Wendy, mother to his two children. He spent time in the last week revisiting old photos of the two of them: homecoming games at BC, wedding photos, baby photos. Even photos from her last, horrible months.

The Saturday before, Eileen brought coffee and cake to him in his home office and saw him with photos scattered about the floor and a half-empty shoebox in his lap. She had never seen him like this. She placed the coffee and the plate on his desk and squatted next to him.

"Do you want to talk?"

"I was just doing some reminiscing. I do that now and then, and it's not about us. Don't worry. She was so important to me."

"I know she was."

"...And to Andi and James. She still is."

"She always will be. I know that and you know I always want her to be. But I'm long past the point where I thought love was a finite resource. Me, more than anyone, understands that love can go to infinity...and beyond." He smiled at the cheesy reference.

She stood to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss his hair.

"I brought you coffee and cake. Enjoy. I'll be downstairs," then, as she was about to close the door he said, "leave it open. I'll be down in a little bit."

She chided him, "make sure you pick all this up and put it away and, yeah, I do love you."

"I know....And I love you back. I'll be down....Thanks for the coffee and cake," this last bit echoing in the hall as she was halfway down the stairs.

Kate

Things are happening pretty quickly here as the bride and the groom are doing their final preparations. To the question how-did-Kate-end-up-setting-up-the-wedding?, the answer requires some explanation.

Five days after Mary and Betty got married in June, Kate returned to California. She made some major decisions en route. The lack of clarity she felt on her way to New York was a crystal-clear view on the trip from New York.

While in New York, she called William, her husband. When his reaction to her bubbling over about Suzanne and Kerry and Eileen and the rest was "they've just brainwashed you," she decided it best to discuss it further only in person. She next called him the day before her trip to San Francisco, giving details of her flight and saying she had keys and would take a car to the house. That it was her "home" was already and inevitably slipping from her.

Her flight landed just after one on Thursday afternoon and she was through the door in Mill Valley by two-thirty. Away for barely over a week, she was shocked at how disheveled things were. If she was ever away with her husband in the house, it was only a few times for a day or two. Now it looked like she imagined a frat house would. This was not helping her mood. She spent an hour loading the dishwasher, putting on laundry, and placing the recyclables strewn about, including the pile of unread newspapers, still in their home-delivery bags, in their proper receptacles.

After texting him from JFK when she was boarding, confirming that she was coming, she had not followed up, and he had not asked.

When the worst of the house was handled and her luggage in what had been (but no longer was) Suzanne's room, Kate took a long, hot shower. In just a towel and with an apprehension that surprised her, she went into the master and found underwear and casual pants and a white polo, and she took them to Suzanne's room, where she dressed.

She did not bother to dry her hair. It was early, not yet five, but she fixed herself a gin-and-tonic and went into the living room to wait. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the many photos now on it, of her with Suzanne and Suzanne and Kerry and...just an abundance of happy memories placed on a phone where none had been until the two photos taken at the Hans Christian Andersen statue in Central Park.

She hit speed dial "3" and told Suzanne she was at the house and waiting for "your father." Suzanne simply said, "good luck" and "let me know how it goes." At which point Kerry grabbed the phone. "She's trying to be calm and not doing a good job of it. And I love you Mother" and a moment later it was Suzanne saying, "I love you too so good luck and call us whatever time it is. We're not going to sleep until we hear from you."

"I love you both. I promise to call."

They hung up, and Kate smiled and continued reminiscing through her photos.

Kate was still on New York time and dozed off. William woke her.

"Welcome home. Can I get you something?" It was about seven-thirty. His voice was more tentative than she was used to, though he tried to make it cheerful.

"I'm tired and I'm hungry," she told him, "but we need to talk now."

"I'm getting a drink. Do you want a refill?" He pointed to her empty glass. She shook her head. When he returned with a glass of his favorite single-malt, neat, he sat next to her on the sofa. This made her uncomfortable and she got up to sit on a wing chair. He removed his jacket, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned his collar.

She had rehearsed this.

"We were wrong.

"You know I love you but we were wrong, and we almost ruined everything. I see that now.

"Kerry's mother—Kerry is Suzanne's fiancée—" He visibly recoiled at the word. "She called out of the blue. It was the most upsetting call I ever received. That coffee stain on the kitchen wall, which I cleaned, was my reaction to her, her name is Eileen Neally, calling to gloat that her daughter was supposedly engaged to Suzanne. Eric thought something terrible happened to me. And it did.

"She talked me into going to New York, as you know. I really thought the mother was a witch when I got there, sitting there with your sister and her, this mother's fiancé. Then one by one they left me sitting in the restaurant. After showing me pictures of how happy Suzanne was with Kerry. I sat there alone and went to my hotel and then to a church near the hotel.

"And, William, I prayed. As hard as I could, I prayed. I spoke to God." She was leaning forward, tears beginning at the memory. He did not move, his glass slightly rolling in his hand.

"I was not weak. I was alive. William. How could our God condemn our daughter? How? She is what she is. Mary is what she is.

So I called the mother the next day, and I met with her. I begged her to let me see Suzanne again. I promised her that I would accept her. And she let me meet her daughter, Kerry, the girl Suzanne is going to marry." He flinched yet again at a word his wife used.

"And I begged Kerry to let me meet with Suzanne. Begged her. Told her how sorry I was for everything. I was in their house. Our Suzanne's little house in the suburbs. And then I walked with her, Kerry, to the train station. I saw the train approach. I didn't know what to do."

By this point, Kate was alone in her tale, William as impassive as ever. She was reliving the wonderful moments.

"Then she was there. I never saw her so, I don't know, distant. She didn't know I was there until an hour before, when Kerry called her. I thought she might hate me. But then and the next day, she was Suzanne again, and I was her mother. We walked around and I told her, without qualification or hesitation, that I accepted her as she was. If my God did not like it, I would just have to find one who did."

William slammed his glass down. The noise like a thunderclap in the room's silence.

What she said did not move him. He recognized that his wife was altered and he knew this meant she had been led to change. He knew by whom. His sister. He revisited that Thanksgiving when she got her tentacles around Suzanne. He knew all about the two's lunch the next day. He knew how they regularly spoke. He knew that she induced her to go east for law school and not stay at Stanford.

He did not blame Suzanne. He tried to raise her properly and failed. She was tempted and failed.

He did not tell this to Kate. Still, she sensed it. She once thought much the same, even after she was in New York.

"William," she interjected, "I glossed over some things. Before I met her, I thought Eileen was a mean, nasty, vengeful bitch and after I met her I thought she was a mean, nasty, vengeful bitch. And I told her so. I let her know that I blamed Mary for what happened to Suzanne. She did not try to convince me otherwise. She convinced me that whatever she was did not matter and that what mattered was Suzanne. She convinced me to examine my beliefs and try to square them with who Suzanne is. It is not Mary or anyone who made her who she is. It is God."

William, still impassive, took another sip.

"Here's the ultimatum I received and I pass it on to you. And only you can address it."

And it was put to him: Your God or your daughter.

He rose, re-buttoned his collar, and tightened his tie. Taking a final swig from his glass, he put it down then he grabbed his jacket, wallet, phone, and keys and went to get something to eat. He had not said a word since he first sat down with his Scotch.

Calling Home

The call was answered before the second ring.

"It's done." That was Kate. "He needs the space and time that I needed. I planted the seed. That's all I can do. Now we wait."

"Mother." Now Suzanne. "It is his decision. I know it will be hard. He needs to know that if he wants to speak to me, I will."

"I know."

A Father's Decision

He made his decision. He did not call Suzanne, but he made his decision.

He proved a worthy heir to his parents' beliefs. The vagaries of the flesh were not his concern. He had done what he could to protect his daughter's soul. He failed. He had done what he could to protect his wife's soul. He had failed. Perhaps he could salvage Eric's. Perhaps not. But he would try. And he would try to salvage those of his wife and his daughter. He did not know how, but he was obligated to try.

The Sunday after Kate returned to Mill Valley, she did not go to Mass. He went, sitting in his usual pew, assuring those who asked that "Kate has not been feeling well since her trip to New York," which was, to William's mind, true. He thanked those who asked him to let her know that they hoped she would feel better soon.

So that Sunday afternoon, Kate, who had slept in Suzanne's room since her return, expected she would get his answer. She again sat in the living room, with a gin-and-tonic, and waited. The front door opened. He was home and sat on the sofa. She made sure to be in a wing chair to avoid having to get up as she had a few days earlier.

"You need to understand, Kate, that we are all being tested. I understand that. You need to. Suzanne needs to. I am here to help you understand that. Your family"—by which he meant Kate's parents and brothers and sisters—"are here to help you." Kate was so entwined with the people in New York that she neglected her family in California, and she should have realized that William would reach out to them. They, as expected, took his side, or most of them did, an observation that troubled her. It had become about "sides" and not about faith. William was playing a game and he wanted to win. He wanted to do what he thought was right by her soul, and Suzanne's, but in part he did not want to lose. It was part of him she enjoyed when they were allies, but it frightened her now that they weren't, and especially now that it concerned her daughter.

Kate would not lose her baby again. She had lost two children through miscarriages she could not control. She would not lose her lone living, breathing daughter. It was something she had control over, knowing, too, that her lone breathing, living son could be lost too if Suzanne was. At that moment, in response to her husband's sermon, she knew what she had to do.