Blind Squirrels Read online

  I was so relieved that I thought I was going to faint. I found my way to the chair next to Ben’s bed and practically fell into it. Ben reached out and took my hand. I looked over at him and he had tears in his eyes.

  “This guy Jim was taking me over to his house so we could get some more pot. We were both already high as a kite, but I went along willingly. We were just driving along, talking and laughing. The next thing I know, we’re plowing into another car. Jim had ran the red light and he was going really fast. The other car was a small one, and the side of it just crumpled. Jim went flying through the windshield and there was blood everywhere. I don’t know what kept me from going through the windshield, but I didn’t. I did hit my head on it, but it didn’t break. The officer told me that Jim and a passenger in the other car were both killed. Kat, I was so scared. I just knew I was going to die…”

  I was so happy that Ben was alive, but at the same time I was very angry. Drugs had caused this senseless accident that had left two men dead, a young girl a widow, and a baby that would be born and never know his father. I pulled my hand away from Ben. “I’m glad you’re going to be okay,” I said. “I hope you see now what using drugs can do. Ben, you have to stop smoking pot. Next time, you or I could be killed.”

  “I know, I know. I can’t think of anything else. I’m giving it up. I’m never going to touch the stuff again.”

  I wanted to believe him, and I decided that I had to. I loved him. I took his hand in mine and leaned over and kissed him.

  Later in the day, I told Ben about the scene in the waiting room, and I told him that I had known Travis. He felt even worse after I told him everything, but I decided that knowing might help to cement his decision to give up pot.

  The next day, I spent a lot of time thinking about Travis and the moments in my past that we had spent together. My memories of Travis were not entirely good, but for some reason I felt a certain amount of guilt over his death. Ben was also guilt-ridden over Travis’ death. He’d come to realize that the accident wasn’t his fault, but he kept thinking that maybe Jim wouldn’t have been driving that morning if it hadn’t been for that party. We comforted each other as best we could, but neither of us was very good at it.

  Ben was released a couple of days later. I wanted him to continue resting, but he insisted that we had to attend both Jim’s and then Travis’ funerals. Jim’s funeral was the day after Ben’s release while Travis’ was two days later.

  Jim’s funeral was small – only six people showed up. The only flower arrangement was from Ben and me. The service was short and very standard – the pastor officiating had clearly never met Jim or anyone who knew him.

  On the other hand, Travis’ funeral was attended by nearly a hundred people. There were a few people from school, but most of them were from his family and his church family. There were mountains of flowers throughout the chapel where his body was on display. I watched Travis’ family and I was happy to see that Charlotte was being escorted by Mr. Cartwright. Apparently he had made his peace with Travis’ death and was trying to build a bridge with his daughter-in-law.

  Just before the funeral service began, I went up to take one last look at Travis Cartwright. His body was lying against a background of white satin. This wasn’t the boy who had bumped into me with his bike. Nor was this the guy who took Birdie for a wild bike ride. Travis had become a man, a stranger I barely recognized. I solemnly walked away and didn’t look back. The Travis in that highly polished casket wasn’t the same one I had known.

  After Travis’s funeral, Ben turned his life around. He got rid of everything that reminded him of marijuana, including his party friends. He promised himself that he was done with drugs, and I prayed that he could keep that promise. He also quit college and took a job with a small advertising firm, the TouchPoint Agency, as a staff artist. He began doing paintings and pencil sketches at home. It was hard to believe that he once hated his artistic abilities.

  It was during this time that our marriage began to flourish. I was in college, Ben was working and creating, and our life was happy. We planned a bright future together, and our love seemed to grow more and more every day. We talked of children, but neither of us really wanted any. We both feared that we would make lousy parents. Our life was just too hectic for us to think of having a baby. Besides, we had plenty of years in front of us, and a baby might make more sense when we were older.

  Time passed by so quickly that we were soon celebrating our second anniversary. I had just finished my first year at The University of West Florida, and we decided to spend Christmas in Ohio with his parents. We had never been to Ohio, and the thought of staying with his parents petrified me. I hardly knew the Bellanovas. They had only visited us once since our wedding, and the visit only lasted a few hours – they were on their way to Disney World. Ben assured me that everything would be fine. After all, his parents were only human.

  The Bellanovas lived in Upper Arlington, one of the nation’s first planned communities. It seemed to be a pleasant town, rife with vintage homes from the early 1900’s. I began to relax a bit as I watched the beautiful houses roll by the window of our rented car. However, my stress returned and doubled once we arrived at the Bellanova home, or should I say mansion. Bordering the driveway on both sides were perfectly shaped hedges and flourishing shade trees. The grass – although brown and withered by the December weather – was nicely kempt and trimmed. But the house was the pièce de résistance. Ben told me that the home was in the Georgian style, but I wasn’t sure what this meant. It looked old, and the two-story building was constructed out of red brick. Four large bay windows lined the front of the house, and the other windows throughout the house were of various shapes and sizes. There were chimneys on each end of the estate’s slate roof. Huge white columns and an arched window adorned the building’s facade at the stairs that lead to the front entry. The house was remarkably beautiful, but I had never realized that Ben came from such a well-to-do family. Ingesting this new knowledge was more breathtaking than the house and the estate combined. Ben’s family was rich!

  Of course, I knew Ben’s family had more money than my own. After all, Ben did have money to invest while he was going to college, and he was now footing the bill for my college education. Before Ben and I married, I had to depend on financial aid. Still, I had never thought of the Bellanovas as being rich. Until now.

  Christie, the downstairs maid, greeted us at the door. A young, attractive brunette with drawn, stern features, Christie was properly polite and exceedingly demure. Her modest black dress barely disguised her enticing, curvaceous shape. A white apron tied tightly around her midsection only emphasized the image she seemed to be trying to hide. She led us into the foyer and took our coats.

  Pamela Bellanova – Ben’s mother – met us in the living room. Dressed in a baby blue baggy sweater and tight khaki Capri slacks, she looked like Laura Petrie greeting Rob at the door after a long day. Her brown hair – bobbed off just below the ears – curled towards her thin pointed face. Her ice-blue eyes immediately shot daggers in my direction, although she pretended to be most happy to see me. Then, after proclaiming that she had missed Ben severely, she placed her fingertips on his shoulders and gently pecked him once on each cheek. A grand homecoming if I ever saw one.

  A little later, Harold Bellanova joined us. Immaculately dressed in a gray knit suit, Ben’s father was the epitome of a corporate executive. He wore his gray hair close cut except on top where it whipped around and formed a large, loose curl in front. He looked like an older, less defiant version of James Dean. He greeted his son every bit as warmly as Pamela did by stoically putting out his hand for Ben to shake. Ben enthusiastically grabbed hold of his father’s hand, but Harold was quick to end this wanton show of affection.

  Everyone sat, and Ben and I had some refreshments. With each moment that passed, I felt increasingly uncomfortable. Ben’s parents were stiff and rigid, and for once I yearned for one of my parents’ knockdown, drag-out
fights. A little emotion, if you please.

  Upstairs maid Jillian arrived to show us our bedroom. Another voluptuous woman in an unflattering black uniform, Jillian had flowing blond hair and large, jutting breasts. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine that Mr. Bellanova hired these women for more than maid service, but when I glanced back at old Harold I knew better. A stolid man such as this probably found sexy women and sex as too adventurous. Ben was probably a product of Harold’s first – and only – sexual experience. Clearly, Pamela wasn’t a fulfilled woman, and the maids looked as though they had not recently been with a man either. I gave up my musings as Jillian ushered us back out into the foyer.

  Now I had a chance to look at this mansion. The inside was even more magnificent than the outside had been. The exquisite decorating deserved recognition by Life Styles of the Rich and Famous. Most of the furniture was handcrafted and clearly hundreds of years old. Having no experience with quality furniture, I was unable to distinguish one style of chair from another, but I recognized the craftsmanship that had gone into the making of each piece.

  The floors throughout the house were made of highly polished wood and they were lovely. While people of my social standing were using carpet to cover their – ewww – common wood floors and to measure their worth, the truly rich were showcasing the natural look of wood flooring. My mother would have been aghast. In selected areas – the living room, for instance – throw rugs added color and warmth to the traditional decor. These were not the twenty-nine-ninety-nine area rugs you might pick up at Kmart. These were handmade Persian rugs, and they really came from the Middle East.

  I also noticed the magnificent double staircases that led to the second floor. Again, highly polished wood comprised the steps, the banister, and the second-story railings. The staircases started on opposite sides of the foyer and wound themselves up to the next landing. Between the two stairways sat a beautifully restored antique wash stand of solid pine that displayed an elegant white porcelain pitcher and wash bowl.

  Antique furniture filled our bedroom. A chestnut colored chifferobe stood along one wall. There were four drawers on one side, and a built-in closet on the other. The door to the closet held a long, beveled mirror. A matching armoire rested along the windowed wall, and beside it sat a comfortable armchair. The bed was the centerpiece of the room. It was a handmade pine four-poster with a canopy of sheer cotton. A patchwork quilt added to the homespun atmosphere, while a twill duvet lay underneath for snugly comfort. Fluted tiffany floor-lamps sat on either side of the bed. A solid pine French writing desk stood along the same wall as the bed, and an antique pine trunk on casters was resting against the foot of the bed. Sheer throw swags and room-darkening wooden blinds adorned the windows.

  You could find fine pieces of furniture throughout the house. Most were English reproductions, and all of them were lovely. I had a few favorites. There was an English hutch with two glass doors and dovetail drawers that I fell in love with when I first stepped into the dining room. I also lovingly admired a drop leaf table that resided in the tea room, and a handsome roll-top desk inhabiting the study.

  Of course, I didn’t grasp all of these fine features in one day. We spent two weeks in the Bellanovas’ home, and – although I saw many wonderful things – there were still parts of the house that I missed. I visited at least half of the twelve bedrooms, three of the seven bathrooms, both – yes, both – kitchens, all the dining areas, the living room, the den, the study, and more, but the tea room was my favorite.

  The tea room was my place to get away from the disapproving looks Mrs. Bellanova was constantly sending my way. The room – rather small and intimate – held the drop leaf table and a few straight-backed, cushioned chairs. A serving sideboard standing against one wall contained the tea service as well as napkins, sugar, and artificial creamer. A windowed door with sheer lace curtains opened out into the loveliest garden I had ever seen. In those early days of winter, holly bushes, snowdrops, and evergreen plants were cautiously cared for by a blithe old gardener who ensured that the garden was beautiful all year round.

  Each day, I would sit at the table and lose myself in a daydream. While the cold December wind kept me out of the garden, my fantasies would carry me inside. The garden soon became a magical land, and each day I would find new adventures there. It was during this time that Max entered my dreams again.

  Why was I daydreaming about Max instead of my husband? Once we arrived at the Bellanova home, Ben became a stranger to me. Every morning he would go with his father to the office and leave me behind with Pamela the grim. I had no idea why Ben was leaving me there, and I resented having to spend the day with a woman who loathed me. Ben didn’t see that his daily absence was building a wall between us. Matters were worse when he returned to their home every evening. He spent all of his time with his parents, and he barely acknowledged that I was alive. He was a totally different person from the Ben I had married. He was becoming obstinate, cold, and indifferent.

  The first few days when Ben disappeared, I tried to enjoy Pamela’s company. I soon gave up the hope of ever having a civil conversation with her. She was constantly talking down to me, correcting my diction and my grammar, and treating me like a child. While searching for a hiding place, I accidentally came upon the tea room. Christie the maid told me that the family seldom used the room because Mrs. Bellanova despised having guests and the living room proved more sensible for family teas.

  On my first trip to the tea room, I opened the door and peeped out into the garden. The icy wind soon sent me back inside, but not before I had a chance to admire all the beautiful winter plants. I also noticed a cobbled path that led to a fountain in the center of the garden. The fountain was not flowing, but I imagined how magnificent it must have looked in the summer. Across from the fountain, a wooden swing hung from an arched trellis, and I longed to sit there and remember the not quite so fancy swing my parents had in their yard. I wanted to remember the times I had shared our swing with my dog Lassie who had long ago left this world.

  Back inside, I quickly warmed up with a mug of hot cocoa that Christie brought to me. I envisioned myself back in the garden. It was summer, and all the roses were in bloom. The swing seemed suspended from the beautiful flowering bougainvillea that was growing around and concealing the arched trellis. Crystal clear water was flowing in the fountain. I rambled down the cobbled path, and in the distance I saw a man. As I came closer, I saw that it was Max. He held his hand out to me, and when I took it, we strolled through the garden together. Christie interrupted before my fantasy could end. Mrs. Bellanova wanted us to have lunch together in the solarium. I glanced out the door and saw Max’s face smiling at me. He would wait in the garden until I returned.

  I met Max in my fantasy garden every day until we left for home. By this time, there was a mile wide gorge between Ben and me, and I had little hope of it ever narrowing. As we waved goodbye to Upper Arlington, I remember thinking that I would never have to visit the Bellanovas again. Part of me already knew that my marriage was ending.

  Somehow, Ben and I stayed together for another year. Our blissful existence had ended, but neither of us would admit that our marriage was a bust. We didn’t argue or fight; there wasn’t enough passion left for that. We just aimlessly floated through the days, and we took turns staying up late at night to avoid unwelcome sexual overtures.

  I don’t recall spending much time thinking about Max. He was – as always – in the back of my mind, but I tried to keep him out of the forefront. Mostly, I tried to excel in college so I could graduate and get a job. I wanted to be able to take care of myself if I did decide to end my marriage.

  After my graduation from UWF, things quickly got worse at our house. I took a temporary programming job in Mobile, Alabama. Every day I commuted sixty miles to and from work. Ben complained about my job every waking moment. He wanted me to quit, and that made me more determined to keep the job. I had tried to find a position in Foster’s Bank, but
jobs were hard to come by in a town of that size.

  Two months after I took the job, Ben announced that his father had offered him a position with the family firm. He was going to be their in-house advertising director, and he would one day take over the company when his father retired. Of course, he wanted me to quit my job right away and move to Upper Arlington with him. Of course, I wasn’t about to. We were at an impasse. Ben wouldn’t reconsider, and neither would I. Two weeks passed without us speaking to one another. Then, Ben broke the ice.

  “Let’s have dinner tonight,” he announced one Wednesday morning.

  “Are you serious?” I asked. It would have been an understatement to say he surprised me.

  “It’s time to end this war between us. Why don’t you meet me at McGuire’s? It’ll be like old times. Can you be there by seven?” He seemed almost like the old Ben. I couldn’t resist his invitation. I agreed to the time and place.

  As usual with me, I arrived almost thirty minutes early. I planned to get a table and have a glass of wine to relax. Kathy – a tall gregarious blonde and one of our favorite servers – met me at the entrance. She smiled – exposing all of her perfect white teeth – and said, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “Too long,” I told her. “I’ve really missed this place.”

  She laughed. “That’s the same thing your husband said.”

  It surprised me to see Ben already there. “Where is he?”

  She pointed to a table in the back. “Your favorite seat, where else? If you’ll go on back, I’ll be there in a moment.”

  I made my way to our table. Ben looked up at me. He was not alone. A woman with short tightly permed hair had her back to me. She was sitting in my chair. Ben stood up and met me a few steps away from the table.

  “Am I early?” I asked.

  “No – well, maybe a little. That’s okay. Come on over here and sit down. Let me introduce you to someone.” He led me back to the table. The woman with the permed hair turned around as we approached.