A Knife to Remember

very busy. I did some modeling and community theater. And I studied privately with a very great old actress who had retired to the area and took only a select few students who she knew had great potential. Isn't that right, Olive?”

Olive, still on guard behind Lynette, merely nodded.

Lynette smiled at Olive. 'Poor darling Olive would find me up fearfully late at night, going over and over my lines. Making sure I had it perfectly right. And she'd have to absolutely force me to sleep.”

Olive finally softened. 'You always did work too hard.'

“But it was worth it, wasn't it, darling Olive.”

To whom? Jane wondered. To Lynette surely, but to Olive? All that Olive had gotten out of it was a hard life on film sets and locations. Sleeping in strange hotels, having no life of her own, waiting hand and foot on a spoiled, aging seductress?

“Mom,' Mike said suddenly. 'I wonder if maybe I ought to take a few acting lessons. Just to see if—'

“Oh, my dear! You must! You might be terribly, terribly talented,' Lynette gushed, putting her hand over his. 'You certainly have the looks for screen work. In fact, you remind me of a great love of my life! I met him just before I left Chicago. He was such a handsome man and I adored him, but he was married. Such a tragedy! I always thought he should have thrown away his dreary little wife and his dreary little job and joined the great pageant of the acting profession. I was always saying to him, `Steve, you're wasted here—' '

“Steve?' Mike repeated.

Jane's heart was in her throat as she leaped up. 'I think somebody's calling you to the set, Miss Harwell.'

“Steve who?' Mike asked, his voice husky. 'The only person I look like is my dad.”

Jane was already around the table, pulling on Mike's arm. 'Honey, I need your help inside with some—'

“Steve Jeffry was his name. My, he was a good-looking man, and so romantic,' Lynette went on, oblivious to Jane's attempts to shut her up.

Mike had stood, but he shook off Jane's hand and looked down at Lynette. 'Are you saying you had an… an affair with Steve Jeffry?”

Lynette looked up, finally realizing something was wrong. 'Yes. Why do you ask?”

Mike looked at Jane and said very quietly, 'Because he was my father.”

He turned and strode toward the house, pausing only to give a vicious kick to the barbecue grill.

“Oh, dear… perhaps I shouldn't have said…' Lynette was saying as Jane ran after Mike.

8

Mike was already in his room, slamming things around when Jane caught up with him. At her knock, he came out and barged past her, red-eyed and white-faced with anger.

“You knew!' he shouted, galloping down the stairs.

“No, Mike. I didn't know.”

He stopped at the bottom and looked back up at her. 'Yes, you did! You were trying to stop her. You knew what was coming!'

“I didn't know. I suspected. But not until it was too late.'

“You knew! And you let me make an ass of myself, following her around, doing her errands, thinking she was—'

“Mike! What are you saying? I wouldn't do a thing like that to you.'

“I'm going out!'

“Mike, I'm sorry…”

But she was talking to herself. The front door had slammed so hard she feared for the hinges.

She went to her bedroom and sat down on the bed. Of course Mike was furious at his father'sbetrayal. She'd felt the same way when she discovered that Steve Jeffry had been a philanderer. She'd felt anger, grief, humiliation, and a lot of other ugly emotions that didn't even have names. And she'd worked hard at hiding it from the children, knowing they would be devastated. Since Steve wasn't around to take the brunt of Mike's anger, it had come down on her. It wasn't reasonable, but it was understandable.

Jane felt chilled through and vaguely 'dirty.' She was still shaking and trembling and decided maybe a hot shower might help her calm down. As she headed for the bathroom, the videotape, which she'd stuffed into the front of her sweatshirt, fell out and hit the floor. She looked down at it with distaste. She'd meant to keep it as a memento of a remarkable luncheon, but she knew she could never watch it without remembering what had followed the taping. She kicked it under the bed. She didn't even want to touch it now. When she felt better, she'd pull it back out and destroy it.

There was a furtive tap on the door of the bedroom an hour later. Jane had stood under the hot shower until the water had started to run cold and her skin looked like a sunburned raisin. Then she'd dried her hair and put on fresh jeans and a clean white blouse. At least she was cleaner, if not exactly calmer.

She opened the door.

Mike slouched in. 'I'm sorry, Mom. I acted like an asshole.'

“It's okay. You're entitled.'

“No, I'm not. It must have been just as awful for you as it was for me. I just wasn't thinking.' Jane hugged him long and hard.

When he finally let go of her, he said, 'What did you mean about suspecting that was what she was going to say?”

Jane sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the spot beside her. 'Sit down, Mike. I didn't want any of you children to ever know this, but I think I've got to tell you now. That night when your father was killed in the car wreck — he wasn't going on a business trip like I told everybody. He was leaving me — leaving us. For another woman.'

“Jesus, Mom! You knew that? And you never told us?'

“Why should I have? Look at how angry and hurt you are about it now. I never wanted you kids to feel as awful as I did. I didn't know until today that there had been others, although I'd figured that there probably had been.'

“Oh, God! What a jerk! And I thought he was a neat guy! I mean, he was my dad!'

“He was a neat guy, Mike. In a great many ways. I just wanted you to remember all the good stuff and not know about the bad. What good does it do you, knowing? None. It's just a truth that you'll eventually get used to. Believe me, as horrible as you feel this minute, it will fade. You won't stay mad forever. I know you can't imagine that right now, but—'

“I dunno. You've stayed pretty mad yourself.'

“Why do you say that?'

“Well, I mean — the mess you made of the kitchen—'

“Kitchen?' Jane shook her head. 'I don't know what you're talking about.”

Mike stared at her for a long moment. 'You, uh — you didn't kick things around the kitchen after I left?”

Jane stood suddenly. 'I didn't go back downstairs,' she said very quietly. 'What are you talking about?”

She ran down the steps with Mike close behind her. The kitchen was a wreck. Cabinet doors were flung open, drawers were pulled out and gaping. Silverware was strewn around the floor; several broken dishes were in shards. And somebody had upended the wastebasket, which had been in dire need of emptying, in the middle of the room and scattered the trash — gum wrappers, the contents of an ashtray, the husks of the corn on the cob from last night, discarded rice mix packages, everything was everywhere! Max or Meow had walked through some spilled flour and tracked it into the living room.

“You didn't do this?' Mike asked.

“Are you crazy? I'm the one who cleans the kitchen! Would I do this to it?”

Mike reached for the phone. 'Mom, go stand outside in the driveway. I'm calling the police. Somebody's been in the house and might still be here someplace.”

Jane started to tell him he must go outside and she would remain behind to do the calling, but recognized immediately that Mike needed to be in charge right now and was obviously more capable than she at the moment.