Between Friends Read online

  Much love,

  Jillian

  P.S. By the way, I’d love it if you and Mom could fly East next month. There’s a revival of Gypsy starring Angela Lansbury on Broadway. Let me know as soon as you can and I’ll order tickets.

  JILLIAN LAWTON

  October 20, 1974

  Dearest Lesley,

  It’s a lovely Sunday afternoon and I’m indulging myself by being completely and utterly lazy. Mom and Dad were in New York last week, and it was great to see them. I spent as much time with them as my schedule would allow. My law firm is one of the largest in the city and the long hours are unbelievable. But that’s how it goes, and I have to pull my share. I’m making incredible money; now all I need is time to spend it!

  Everything went exceptionally well with my parents until Mom mentioned Nick. She thinks I’ve buried myself in work because I’m still dealing with my grief. This was her subtle way of letting me know she’d like me to get married, I guess. Frankly, I don’t have time for a man in my life, which I suppose is Mom’s point.

  Nevertheless, I’ve given our conversation some thought. The problem is, I haven’t met a man who makes me feel the way Nick did. I don’t know if it’s even possible to find that level of love and communication with anyone else. I’m over the tears, and the grief is no longer so brutal. Sometimes I’ll remember something Nick said or did and I catch myself smiling.

  I told my mother I haven’t ruled out marriage, which I know pleased her. I’m not sure, though. The thing is, I just can’t imagine loving anyone with the same intensity I loved Nick—and still do.

  Thanks for the pictures of the children. Christopher’s so cute I just might forgive him for not being a girl. I did a double take when I saw the one of Lindy. Lesley, she looks so much like you! It’s hard to believe she’s almost seven. Davey’s quite the little gentleman, isn’t he? He looks so grown-up in his suit and tie. Little Doug stole my heart, holding on to his blankie with one hand and sucking his thumb with the other. I suppose it’s only natural that he wanted his blankie back after Christopher was born.

  Buck never followed through with that vasectomy, did he? I applaud your decision to handle the matter of birth control yourself.

  No, I’m not attending Mass. I haven’t in years and you know that. I realize you feel I should make peace with the Church. The problem is, I don’t think I can. I no longer think of myself as Catholic. For a while, I was bitter because of Nick, but I’m not anymore. After working with NOW, my views of male-dominated religion have simply made it impossible for me to join any church, Catholic or otherwise. We’ve had this discussion before and I think it’d be best if we avoided the subject. I know you’re committed to the Church and I respect that. Unfortunately, it just isn’t the same for me.

  I might be able to fly home for Christmas. No promises, but I’m working on it. New York is an incredible city, especially in December, so if my schedule won’t permit me to travel, you don’t need to worry about me being here alone. I won’t have a problem spending the holidays by myself. The fact is, I’ve come to quite enjoy my own company. My parents seem to have a hard time believing it, but for the most part I’m actually happy. For six years I’d lost that joy but slowly, surely, it’s returning. Life does go on, although it can take a long while to realize it.

  Enough about me. I noticed that you didn’t mention one word about Buck. What’s going on? You should know by now that there isn’t anything you can’t tell me.

  Write soon. I love getting your letters and hearing about the children. And NO, you can’t tell me not to spoil them at Christmas. I have way too much fun shopping for them.

  I think I’ll see a movie tonight, even if I have to go by myself. I can’t remember the last one I saw and I’ve been hearing good things about Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. I’ll let you know what I think.

  Kiss the kids for me.

  Love,

  Jillian

  MONTGOMERY GORDON, ESQUIRE

  248 Phillips Avenue

  Pine Ridge, Washington 98005

  November 12, 1974

  Dear Jillian,

  It only took ten years to convince you to have dinner with me. I want you to know I consider our night on the town worth every minute of that wait.

  To say I was surprised when you agreed to dine with me on my recent trip East would be an understatement. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed your company.

  Sincerely,

  Montgomery

  1976

  Jillian’s Diary

  January 1, 1976

  Dear Nick,

  Can you believe it’s been nearly ten years since we graduated from high school? Lesley is already dutifully at work, rounding up everyone for an August reunion. She’s always so organized. Where she finds the time and energy to be a wife, a mother and to do everything else she does is beyond me. I might be a corporate attorney, but she’s turned into an earth mother who runs circles around me. Ever since the energy crunch back in 1974 she refuses to be at the mercy of anyone for her family’s basic needs. She has a garden that’s the envy of anyone who sees it. She raises a few chickens and sells the eggs she doesn’t use. Most recently, she started baking her own bread and is active in a huge co-op. Reading Diet For A Small Planet by Frances Moore Lappé had a powerful influence on her. In addition, she sews many of the kids’ clothes, knits and crochets, and puts up preserves. Like I said earlier, I’m exhausted just listing all the things she does.

  Buck’s a complete waste of time, but you and I knew that years ago. In my opinion, she should have divorced him when she had the chance. He works four or five months in a row and then is either laid off or comes down with a mysterious ailment that forces him to take several weeks off. His affliction coincidentally appears around the same time as hunting season, and he goes off with his worthless friends and stumbles around in the bush. He’s back on the booze, too, with intermittent periods of sobriety.

  Why Lesley puts up with him, I’ll never know. I don’t agree with her choice, but my admiration for her grows whenever we’re together. She’s coping with a difficult situation and doing a wonderful job raising those kids. I keep pictures of David, Lindy, Doug and Christopher on my desk at work and I love them as if they were my own. What beautiful, sweet children they are.

  While I was home over the holidays, I went to see Jimmy, oops, Jim. Oh, Nick, you’d be so proud of him. He’s married and attending night classes in business management. I spent a day with him and Angie and was impressed with what a nice couple they make. It’s become tradition for the two of us to visit the cemetery. We placed flowers on your dad’s grave site. The marble grave-marker, with both your parents’ names engraved on it, is in place now. Jim insisted he pay for that himself although I was more than willing to help with the expense. He left me to spend some time alone with you, knowing I’d want a few moments before he joined me.

  You don’t need to worry about your little brother, Nick. He’s responsible and wise beyond his years.

  I suspect you’re wondering why I’m chatting on endlessly about Lesley and Jim instead of telling you about myself the way I normally do the first of every year.

  Nick, something’s happened to me that I thought would never happen again. I’ve fallen in love. So deeply in love it shocks me. I didn’t think it was possible after losing you. You’ll probably get a good laugh when I tell you who it is. Montgomery Gordon. (I’m the only person in the world who calls him Monty.)

  You can’t tell me anything I haven’t already told myself. I’m fully aware that he’s too old for me. I’m still in my twenties and he’s forty-four. Not only that, we live on opposite sides of the country. Now here’s the part you’ll find really amusing. He’s a Republican and as chauvinistic as my own father—well, almost. He’s learning.

  It all started in the autumn of ’74 when he flew to New York for a business meeting and we had dinner together. As you know, Monty’s been a good friend of my parents’ over the years. You�
�ll remember how Mom and Dad attempted to pair us off soon after you died and even before. I resented their interference and refused to date him. In fact, I was downright rude to him.

  Then back in ’74, in a moment of weakness, I agreed to meet him for dinner while he was in town. It was a surprise to discover I actually enjoyed his company. When he returned to Pine Ridge he wrote me the sweetest letter. I wrote him back and, well…that was the beginning.

  Last year on Valentine’s he came out here expressly to spend the day with me. We talked until the wee hours. That night, after walking through the snow in Central Park, he kissed me. I didn’t feel completely shaken the way I did the first time you and I kissed, but it was a nice kiss.

  After Valentine’s Day, Monty and I spent a fortune talking on the phone. (I wish to hell someone would take on the telephone company’s monopoly. Long-distance rates are ridiculous, even after business hours.) Now it’s become habit to check in with each other at the end of the day. Our conversations sometimes last two and three hours. It’s crazy, I know.

  With our hectic schedules, it’s impossible for us to get together very often. We’re both involved in cases that demand time and dedication. The earliest I can take a few days off to actually see him is June.

  I never expected to fall in love again, Nick. But I’ve discovered something—I don’t love you any less. Perhaps more, because it’s given me a glimpse of the adult relationship you and I might have shared. It’s as if loving you has enabled me to open my heart to Monty.

  Just last week when I was home for Christmas, Monty mentioned marriage for the first time. I’ve thought about marriage, too; it seems a natural progression for this relationship. And yet I froze up the moment he uttered the word.

  Marriage frightens me. I love you, Nick. My love didn’t die when your casket was lowered into the ground. It’s been eight years now and you’re as much a part of me as you ever were. But I love Monty, too. It’s taken me all these years to reach this point—this ability to love another man. I’m not sure I’m ready for marriage and all the changes it would bring to my life. I said I need time to think about all this, but I could see Monty was a little impatient. I’m afraid I’m going to lose him. Oh, Nick, what should I do?

  I love living on the East Coast and I don’t want to abandon my career. I’ve worked too hard and too long to walk away from it. Monty prefers life on the West Coast. I don’t know what to do. Then I look at the pictures of Lesley’s babies, and I feel this deep hunger. I yearn for children of my own. I don’t want to be alone anymore.

  This doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving you. But, Nick, if it’s at all possible, find a way to let me know you approve of Monty. I need that.

  Remember how much I love you.

  Jillian

  February 4, 1976

  Dear Susan,

  I’ve just got Christopher down for his nap, so I’m taking a few minutes to write and tell you how pleased I am about your pregnancy. I’ll bet Aaron and Jessica are excited about being a big brother and big sister.

  I certainly understand how you feel about three children being your limit. Mom and Dad don’t know, but I had a tubal ligation when Christopher was born. Father Morris would strongly disapprove if he learned what I’d done, but Father Morris and the Catholic Church aren’t raising these children. Buck and I are the ones responsible for the size of our family. (You can see that my views have changed somewhat!) I figure God gave us a brain and a budget, and we have to work with both.

  There’s a reason I mentioned God. Recently a woman in the trailer park invited me to a Bible study in her home. The only reason I attended was so I could make friends with the other mothers. The socializing is good for me, but I soon discovered how much I enjoy reading the Bible.

  When Father Morris found out I was meeting with Protestants, he paid me a visit, his first in several years, and assured me the Church would teach me everything I needed to know about God. He said it’s better to have a priest explain the Scriptures to laymen. He went on to say I was treading dangerous waters by attending a Bible study, especially one conducted by someone other than a Catholic priest.

  His attitude rankled. It seemed as if he was saying I wasn’t intelligent enough to make these decisions on my own—or to understand what’s written in the Bible. After his visit, I realized how much I’ve accepted in my life simply because a man insisted that was the way things should be. Then I got angry. Angry with Father Morris, angry with Buck and with Dad and almost every man who’s ever been in my life.

  Jillian’s worked hard to enlighten me on the issue of women’s rights and for the first time it started to sink in. I stood up to Father Morris and informed him that I had no intention of leaving the Bible study. Wouldn’t you know it, he went straight to Mom and Dad, as if I were a disobedient child.

  The very next day, our own mother phoned and cautioned me against this group. I couldn’t believe my ears. I’m enjoying these sessions, and the other women are becoming my friends. I certainly don’t need Father Morris telling me who can be my friend! I do a slow burn every time I think about what he said and did. Now I’m going to say something else that will shock you. I’ve stopped going to Mass. There’s a small nondenominational church down the road that I’ve been going to for the past couple of weeks. Buck doesn’t care one way or the other. I haven’t told Mom or Dad yet. I’m sure you’ll hear about it but I figure I’m twenty-seven years old and this is my business.

  Speaking of Mom and Dad, they’re well. Dad’s eager to attend the Legionnaires’ convention this summer, which will take place in Philadelphia in July. My ten-year class reunion happens the first week in August. Oh, Susan, tell me, where did all those years go? It seems only a short while ago that we were fighting over whose turn it was to use the bathroom mirror. Remember those huge spongy pink rollers we faithfully wore to bed?

  I’m glad we keep in touch. I hardly ever hear from Mike since he moved to Nevada. The last time he wrote, he was dealing blackjack in Vegas. Mom hasn’t heard from him at all, and I don’t think she will as long as Dad is alive. Dad’s never forgiven Mike for helping me when I left Buck. Ever since then, the two of them can’t be in the same room without yelling and arguing.

  You asked about Joe and he’s fine. I like his new girlfriend. I hope Karen encourages him to get a job other than the one he has at the mill. That’s a dead end, and he’s too smart to waste his life there the way Dad and Buck have. Lily’s great. It’s hard to believe our baby sister will be twenty-one this year, isn’t it? She’s still working as a beautician, which is a real bonus to me. According to Mom, Bruce has turned into a real heartthrob. He worked for a contractor this summer and earned enough money to buy his own car. Can you imagine either of us driving our own car at sixteen?

  Buck is drinking again and is fool enough to think I don’t know. We don’t have much of a marriage, although we both do a good job of pretending otherwise. I suppose he’s the reason I need that Bible study as badly as I do. I want so much to be a good wife and mother.

  The kids are awake, so I’ll have to end this for now. You’re my sister and I love you. If you need anything for the new baby, be sure and let me know.

  Love,

  Lesley and all

  MONTGOMERY GORDON, ESQUIRE

  248 Phillips Avenue

  Pine Ridge, Washington 98005

  March 19, 1976

  My dearest Jillian,

  I know you’re away for the weekend. Not talking to you doesn’t seem right, especially on a Friday evening when we’ve so often chatted. But perhaps it’s for the best. I’ll write everything down so you can read this over carefully and think about what I have to say.

  All those years ago when we first met, I knew I was going to love you. I realize it makes you uncomfortable when I tell you this, but I can’t deny what I know to be true. After all this time, it seems like a miracle that you feel the same way about me.

  If you remember last Christmas, I mentioned marriage in hopes
of gauging your reception to the idea. You immediately tensed up, as though you were afraid I’d press the subject. Your reaction told me everything I feared. You listed all the reasons talk of marriage was premature. You live on the East Coast, while I live on the West. Your job, my job. Your friends, my friends. Within five minutes, you had me believing a marriage between us would be impractical and improbable. It made me see what a persuasive attorney you are.

  In the months since, I’ve had time to think about your objections. True enough, there are several considerations that require discussion. But nothing so major it can’t be resolved. It occurred to me recently that we can find a solution to any one of these issues. The real reason is Nick Murphy, isn’t it? I know you loved him, Jillian, and that you love him still.

  I can’t compete with a dead man. I won’t try. But I can assure you that I don’t intend to replace Nick. He’s part of you. His love for you and yours for him shaped you into the woman you are. The woman I love. I don’t love you the same way as Nick did. What you had with him is unique. But I can and will love you as me. And the love we share, while completely separate, will be unique in its own way.

  If you do agree to marry me, I want you to know I don’t expect you to stop loving Nick.

  That said, I also want you to know I put out a few feelers on the East Coast to see what kind of response I’d get on the job market. To my delight, I’ve been offered an excellent position with the Justice Department.

  If I could be certain you’d accept my proposal, I’d leap at the offer. I love you, Jillian, and want nothing more than to be married to you. But I can’t, I won’t, uproot my entire life unless you’re sure this is what you want, too. Think about it. Consider it seriously. The problem is, I need an answer soon. Will you marry me, Jillian? Tell me. Yes? No?

  Love,

  Montgomery

  JILLIAN LAWTON