"That's probably true," I said. "About losing Kelly, I mean. I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you."
After that, I floundered around some more, desperately searching for something sensible to say, something relatively noncontroversial. My mother always insisted weather was a safe topic, no matter what. Squinting up at the sun, I gave that a try. "I imagine you've heard that the ceremony's going to be outdoors, at a place called Lithia Park," I said. "It's a good thing the weather's so nice today."
"We haven't heard a thing," Karen responded icily, her voice taking on a sharp and all-too-familiar edge. "I suppose you're paying for all this?"
Allegedly, it takes two to make a quarrel. I'm not so sure. I was doing my best not to fight, but Karen's baiting made it tough to keep from lashing out in return. It seemed to me she had a hell of a lot of nerve acting so pissed. What had I done?
To be honest, probably a lot. I've never claimed to be the best of all possible husbands and fathers. When Karen left me to marry Dave-which she did with unseemly haste, I might add-she wiped me out financially. Took my money and ran, as the saying goes. I know from the kids that Dave makes good money and that he and Karen are pretty well off.
When Anne Corley died much later, leaving me as the astonished sole beneficiary of her estate, I made no secret of my changed and much improved circumstances, and I wasn't chintzy about sharing that money with the kids. Unlike some divorced dads, I never ducked my child support. So why was Karen so mad at me?
At the time, I decided she was simply furious with the world in general, and I was the most likely target. Whatever the cause, over the years I've read all those sad letters in Ann Landers' column, the ones about feuding former spouses routinely spoiling their children's weddings. I was determined not to let that happen here. This particular wedding already had far too many strikes against it.
"I'm not paying for a thing," I answered, keeping my hackles down and my tone civil. "Kelly and Jeremy haven't asked me to. They're doing it all themselves."
"Jeremy!" Karen scoffed. "Who is he, anyway? Where does he come from? What does his father do? Are his parents here? And how pregnant is she?"
In order of importance, I believe Karen saved her top-priority question for last. I realized that once she and Dave saw Kelly, the question of how far along Kelly was would no longer be an issue.
"More than slightly," I said.
"Too late to do something about it?"
Which told me the real bottom line. Like me, Karen had come hightailing it to Ashland thinking she could somehow convince Kelly to call off the wedding. No doubt she hoped to persuade her daughter to give up the baby or to have an abortion and get her life back on track.
One of the differences between us was that I'd had the benefit of an extra day, a critical twenty-four hours of adjustment time that had allowed me to make an uneasy peace with the changed order of things. During that time, I had caught a glimpse of Kelly and Jeremy both. I had seen them struggling together to do whatever kinds of work were necessary for them to live independently, away from all parental influence.
If they were making their own way in the world and not asking for any help, it seemed to me that we, as parents, no longer had a right to tell them what to do. If we ever had that right in the first place.
"It's too late to put the toothpaste back in the tube," I said as kindly as I could. "If we're smart, we won't even try."
"You're saying I'm supposed to come all the way up here, go to the damn wedding, and that's it?"
"Actually," I said with one of Ralph Ames' cheerful, looking-on-the-bright-side smiles, "you get to do one more thing."
"What's that?"
"You get to keep your mouth shut. We all do."
Dave Livingston was suddenly overcome by a paroxysm of coughing that may have disguised a chuckle. When I looked over at him to see if he was all right, he winked at me and nodded.
"That's what I've been trying to tell her ever since we left home," he managed.
Karen turned her scathing glance on him. "Don't you start," she raged.
Dave stifled. Meantime, Scott realized it was safe and gradually edged his way onto the porch. When he got within reach, I grabbed his shoulders and hugged him, holding him close.
"Hiya, Pop," he said with an easy, affable grin. "I hear you're going to be a grandfather."
It wasn't until Scott said the words aloud that it finally hit home-the grandfather part, I mean. Until then, the idea of grandfatherhood had somehow gotten lost in the shuffle of all the other wedding details and logistics. Like I said before, I'm not the kind of guy who puts a lot of focus on the future.
Behind me the front door opened, and Alexis Downey stepped out onto the porch, joining the rest of us as easily as if she were already an official part of this somewhat prickly extended family. She offered her hand to Scott and then waited to be introduced.
At Alex's and my advanced respective ages, the words "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" somehow stick in my craw. I'm never quite sure how to go about explaining our relationship.
"Scott," I said, "this is my friend Alexis Downey, Alex for short. Alex, this is my son, Scott."
Alex looked up at him. Scott's a good-looking kid if I do say so myself. "I'd recognize you anywhere," she said with a cordial smile. "You look just like your dad."
I introduced her to Karen and Dave as well. "I didn't know you had friends in Ashland," Karen said stiffly, taking in everything about Alexis Downey in one long, critical inspection.
"Oh, I'm from Seattle," Alex returned. "Beau and I drove down to Ashland together on Saturday."
With those two sentences, the formal lines of battle were irrevocably drawn, at least on Karen's side, although I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. I thought Karen was done with me. Our divorce had been final for more than six years. She had even been kind to me, years before, when Anne Corley died, so why was she angry or jealous now? None of it made sense. Maybe to someone else, but not to me.
"Kelly just called," Alex continued lightly. "She says the people out at the farm have put together an informal buffet brunch in honor of the bride and groom. We're all invited to stop by before we get dressed to go to the park."
"What farm?" Karen asked. "Kelly lives on a farm?"
"It's a boardinghouse kind of arrangement," I explained. "The landlady lets her tenants work off part of the rent so it doesn't cost so much for them to live there."
"I'll bet it's filthy," Karen said. "The landlady's probably some kind of kook."
It was weird to find me, of all people, defending Marjorie Connors, but in hopes of maintaining the peace, I did.
"No," I said, "you're wrong. I've met the lady in question. She's definitely no kook. Far too severe for that. Jeremy told us that Marjorie is altogether opposed to marriage. I'm surprised she's even allowing a brunch, but let's not disappoint them. Live Oak Farm isn't far, but we'll all need to take cars. Alex and I will lead the way."
We sorted up into a three-vehicle minicaravan, with Ralph Ames and Scott in Ralph's rental Lincoln bringing up the rear. I wondered how many more Lincolns there could possibly be at the Medford airport, but it was a relief for Alex and me to be alone together in the Porsche-and in relative peace and quiet.
"You're doing fine," she assured me. "Just maintain your cool and keep clam."
I smiled at that. "Keep clam" is a Seattle insiders' joke, attributable to Ivar Haglund, one of the Emerald City's best-loved and now-deceased sea-food restaurateurs.
"Karen's really on a tear today," I said, shaking my head. "I don't think I've ever seen her quite this way before."
"Probably just the shock of it all," Alex suggested. "She's upset and taking it out on who ever's within range." Alex stopped for a moment as if considering. "Karen wasn't always like this?"