At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories) - By Barbara Bretton Page 0,93

had been agitated for days since Del's death. She remembered that the doctor had been worrying about him. "Watch him carefully, Ruth. Stress is the worst thing for that heart of his." Oh, how carefully she had watched him. She had watched him fall more deeply into a depression that not even the doctor's strongest mood elevating drugs could touch. "Give it time," she had begged Simon. "You're recovering from a heart attack and major surgery. Your body needs time to heal." But he was beyond hearing her. Del's funeral had cast a bright light on Noah and Gracie. When Noah defended her against her father, their relationship became fodder for town gossip.

Simon talked endlessly about Noah, about how he could do better than Gracie Taylor, how he owed it to himself to see the world and not settle for some plain little townie with a drunk for a father. Ruth told herself it would blow over in a matter of days. Gracie was getting ready to return to school in Philadelphia. Noah would go back to Boston and see if his father's influence could re-open the doors to B.U. one more time. Life would shift back into a more recognizable pattern.

When Simon took off in his Town Car that last afternoon, every fiber of Ruth's being had registered alarm and she did something she had never done before, she searched his desk. She wasn't certain what she was looking for but when she discovered a faxed copy of a marriage license in the names Noah Chase and Graciela Taylor on top of the copy machine and the carbon of a withdrawal slip in the amount of ten thousand dollars she knew exactly what Simon was up to.

She could have done something to stop him. She could see that now with the wisdom of hindsight. She could have headed him off at the bank or followed him to the Taylor house by the docks. But the truth was, she did neither of those things. She sat by the window in the library and she waited while her husband played God with the lives of two good kids who deserved better than the families life had parceled out to them.

Three hours later, her husband was dead, her son had vanished, and Gracie Taylor had left town for good.

The fire in the hearth was barely an ember. She considered calling Darnell and asking him to build a new fire but it was the night before Thanksgiving. She was sure he had many other things to do. There had been a time when she could tend to such chores herself without thinking twice about it but those days were gone. She was old now, in body and in spirit, and she was alone.

There were some people in this world who were meant to be together. She understood that now. You could call it fate or destiny or whatever New Age term you might care to conjure up, but it was a force that should never be trifled with. Simon had turned away from Mona when he was young and acquisitive, more concerned with social status than with love. He found her again in middle age, that dangerous time when a man begins to feel the cold breath of eternity at the back of his neck. Ruth had fought back the only way she knew how, with the oldest weapon in a woman's arsenal. She went away for awhile and when she came home they had a son named Noah. A man like Simon might walk away from his wife but he would never walk away from his son. She had counted on that and she had been right.

She closed her eyes as tears slid quietly down her cheeks. What should have been the happiest time in their lives had been filled instead with anger and bitterness. Simon felt trapped. He wanted to love Noah but he couldn't find it in himself to separate fatherhood from paternity.

Ruth had always believed that as long as Mona Taylor lived, her marriage didn't stand a chance but she quickly learned that happiness could never spring from tragedy. Mona Taylor's death had breathed life into Ruth's marriage but at a terrible cost. A husband whose heart would never belong to her alone. A son who grew up in boarding schools because his mother didn't want to rock the boat. A widower who found solace in a bottle of booze. A little girl who lived on the fringes of