Kathleen Creighton - One More Knight

Troy rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, ma’am, I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

“Well, you best get to figuring.” Dobrina leaned forward and tapped him on the chest. “You got to do something worthwhile with your life.”

Troy gave Charly a look of appeal. She knew how he felt, but could only offer him a shrug of sympathy. When it came to Aunt Dobie, it was every man, woman or child for him- or herself.

A moment later, though, inspiration came to his rescue. Holding up the cup full of water, he said, “Yes, ma‘am. Uh, would you excuse me? Gotta go tend to my dog. Nice meetin’ you.” And he fled, visibly perspiring.

“Seems like a nice young man,” said Dobrina with a judicious sniff, looking after him.

“A regular Boy Scout,” Charly murmured, frowning as she watched Troy’s classically masculine, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped form turn a corner far down the corridor and disappear from view, her thoughts so far removed from anything remotely Boy Scout-ish she considered it a wonder Dobrina’s God didn’t smite her on the spot.

She was experiencing two very different but equally perplexing emotions. First there was the old flip-flop feeling in her chest, the unmistakable symptom of sexual attraction, and the stomach-churning guilt that went along with that. Her father had just had a heart attack, for God’s sake-this was no time to be falling wildly, head over heels in lust!

But it was the second feeling she found most worrisome, even frightening. Certainly the most difficult to understand. For twenty years she’d existed, rising and falling, succeeding and failing, pretty much on her own resources, dependent on no one. So why was it only now she should feel this sense of weakness, disorientation and fear, as if she were blind and her trusted guide dog had just walked off and left her in the middle of a catwalk with no handrails?

Realizing that Dobrina was giving her one of her looks, she shrugged and added, “I haven’t known him very long.” And she thought, My God, what an understatement. I only met him yesterday. How can that be?

“Well, we may just as well sit,” Dobrina said abruptly, giving Charly’s elbow a squeeze as she marched past her into the waiting room.

Charly managed a nod but stayed where she was for the moment. She was feeling too shaky and jangled to sit. She sipped bitter, lukewarm coffee and listened to the distant beeping of monitors, the muted murmur of voices, the ringing of telephones, and tried to make sense of the chaos into which her life had so unexpectedly descended.

It seemed impossible. When she’d woken up in the dark of yesterday morning she’d been a successful Los Angeles attorney, about to fly to Georgia to participate in her best friend’s wedding. How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said softly. “I never meant for this to happen.” Then she looked over at Dobrina, and saw that the woman’s eyes were closed and her hands were clasped together on top of the big black handbag that was resting on her knees. She was rocking herself slightly and her lips were moving. It was with a small jolt of shame that Charly realized she must be praying.

But after only a moment Dobrina’s eyes opened and she said gently, “Of course you didn’t, child.”

Charly moved slowly toward her, arms crisscrossing her waist, still clutching the cup of cold coffee as if it were a talisman protecting her against harm. “I went back for my purse.” Her teeth were chattering. She clamped them together and gave a painful laugh. “After all that, you know what? I forgot it again.”

Dobrina was sitting ramrod straight, staring straight ahead at nothing. Her head dipped twice and she said in a soft, faraway voice, as if she were talking to herself, “I know…I know. I’m sorry for doing that. This is my fault…my fault. I should never have interfered.”

Charly waged a silent war with her own anger and lost. She went to sit in the chair next to Dobrina, reached over and put her hand over the other woman’s clasped hands and gave them a squeeze.

“You know what?” she said tightly. “It’s not either one of our faults. It’s his fault.” She jerked her head toward the waiting-room door.

Dobrina came to herself with a little gasp, pulled a hand free and gave Charly’s a slap. “Don’t you go sayin’ that, now. I won’t have you to talk that way. I won’t.”

“Oh, God.” Charly put her head back and closed her eyes. After a moment she said tiredly, “You always do that-make excuses for him. Take his side…protect him. Why is that? You, of all people. You know what he’s like.”

“Oh, I expect I know him better than anybody does.” Charly heard the sigh of an exhalation, then unexpectedly a chuckle. “I know he’s a stubborn old fool.”

“And yet you’ve stayed with him all these years.”

For a moment there was silence. Then in a soft, musing tone that made her sound like someone else, someone much younger, Dobrina said, “I almost left him once.”

“Really?” Charly sat up and opened her eyes. “When was that?”

“Oh, yes-yes, I did.” Dobrina was nodding, still looking straight ahead, looking into the past now. “Oh, that was when you left, child. But then he brought the boy home. He needed me then. So what could I do? I stayed.”

He brought the boy home . Charly felt as if she’d been struck in the chest. “The boy-” she had to stop for air “-you mean, my son. He brought…him home? You mean…you raised my son? You did?”

“I did.” Dobrina dipped her head, then drew herself up proudly. “I raised him, just like I raised you.” She reached for Charly’s ice-cold hand and gripped it hard. “He’s a good boy-a good boy.”

Charly’s face felt like a mask. She fought desperately to keep the mask intact-she had to. Behind it there was complete devastation. “Tell me about him,” she whispered. “Please. Tell me, where is he? What is he doing?”

“Why, he’s just finishin’ up his sophomore year at Ol’ Miss,” said Dobrina, beaming, as eager to share her child’s accomplishments as any proud parent. “Premed-oh, he’s so bright, that boy. He’s aimin’ to be a doctor, you know.”

Charly’s laugh was high and musical, one note away from a sob. “His father always wanted to be a doctor.”

“He should be home now,” Dobrina went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “They just finished with finals last week. But he wanted to go off with some friends of his, you know, went down to New Orleans to celebrate.” Suddenly she was rocking herself again, her eyes looking lost and her voice gone rusty. “I called and left word for him to come right home.”

Charly couldn’t breathe. She pressed a hand against the ache in her heart and whispered, “He’s coming here?”

Dobrina didn’t seem to hear her. She was mumbling, “Oh, sweet Jesus, I don’t know what he’s gonna do when he hears. I just don’t know…”

“He and my father-” The words came out much sharper than Charly intended. She swallowed hard and finished in a mumble, “Are they…close?”

Dobrina’s face lit up. “Oh my, yes. He’s the apple of your daddy’s eye, that boy. Oh, yes, they’re close. Real close. Just like a father and son.”

Father and son. But what about me? I was his daughter! She clutched at another breath, pulling it into herself like a security blanket, and asked with desperate brightness, “What’s his name?” She’d named him Colin Stewart, after his father. “Did you…did he keep…?”

Dobrina was nodding. “It’s Colin on his birth certificate, but he’s called Cutter. Cutter Phelps.” Of course, Dobrina pronounced it the Alabama way: Cuddah .