Where the Road Ends

Amelia sighed. “Kathy, I’m his mother.”

They stood there on the plushest of carpets, and continued to confront each other, one in business clothes, the other in capri pants and a pastel, button-down blouse.

“But, I’ve raised him.”

Amelia’s throat closed as she faced Kathy’s hard-eyed stare. The younger woman still maintained an outward calm. But she was way out of line. In her thinking. In her attitude.

Just as Johnny had suspected.

“You’ve helped, yes,” Amelia murmured, not at all sure how to proceed. “Tremendously. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s my son and you should have sons of your own.”

Kathy started—not trembling, nothing so uncontrolled as that. “Charles is as much my son as he is yours, Amelia,” she said in an odd, faraway voice. “Being a mother is more than a biological function. We both know I’ve filled that role for Charles much more than you have.”

Oh, God. Who was this woman?

Fear rose within Amelia as she accepted that her deceased husband’s fears had been realized. On the verge of losing what little breakfast she’d eaten, she stood straight, strong, in control.

“Which is why I’ve decided it’s time to change some things,” Amelia said, calmed by her own voice, her ability to sound as though she could handle anything.

She didn’t know whether she was having any effect on Kathy, but she was convincing herself.

“What things?”

Was that panic she read in Kathy’s eyes?

Could the bravado be just that, then—a brave front Kathy erected as a way to deal with the pain and tragedy that had been crippling this household for the past year? Amelia could certainly understand that. Some days it felt as if bravado was the only glue holding her together.

So was Kathy’s behavior merely her attempt to achieve a sense of control over uncontrollable circumstances?

Amelia just didn’t know.

“You’re never going to find a husband or a life of your own as long as you’re tied to Charles.”

“I have plenty of time to find a husband, to start a family. Right now Charles needs me.”

“It’s not good for a little boy to have someone who’s dedicated her entire life to him,” Amelia said, certain of that much at least. “He’ll be spoiled, growing up to expect his relationships to be centered on him. He’ll expect to be waited on, to have whoever’s in his life there for him whenever he deems it necessary or desirable.”

“He’s just going on five, Amelia. He’s supposed to be able to count on having someone there for him.”

“There for him, yes, but he also needs to be aware that those around him have their own lives. He sees me go to work, sees me with Cara. Johnny worked, went out with his friends. Charles sees you go nowhere. He sees you loving no one but him. You’re always here, always available. Your existence has no purpose other than him.” Amelia broke off.

The nanny was silent for so long Amelia started to sweat. She was completely unsure of Kathy’s mental state these days and couldn’t begin to predict what the woman was thinking. Or how she might react.

“It’s not healthy for you, Charles or even me to have you so completely dedicated to us,” she added, hoping that Kathy wasn’t too hurt by her words.

When Kathy moved suddenly, Amelia barely stopped herself from throwing up her arms in defense. She was taller and stronger than the nanny, but…

Kathy dropped onto one of the sofas, resting her forearms on her knees, head bent.

“You may be right.” The words were soft but clear. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I’ve closed myself off.” She glanced up at Amelia. “There always seemed to be…so much need here, and I need to be needed.”

“You are needed, Kath,” Amelia said, coming to sit beside the younger woman, taking her hand. “It’s just that I think we’ve fallen into a co-dependency that’s dangerous for all of us.” She winced at using a term she considered psychobabble, but couldn’t come up with a better one.

“Dangerous?” Kathy pulled her hand away, clasping it with her other one in front of her. “I don’t like the way that sounds,” she said, staring at her clasped hands.

Standing, Amelia crossed the room to look out at the expanse of green lawn she’d once taken such pride in. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been forced to face a lot of truths this past year. About my life. My marriage. Myself. And I’m finding that while there are some things I can’t control, there are other things I can—and I’ve let them slip out of my control.”

Kathy was silent. Neither friend nor employee. Or family member. Glancing at the bent head, Amelia wasn’t sure who Kathy was, what she needed.

So Amelia continued with what she did know.

“I’ve done a lot of searching since Johnny died, trying to find my identity, a new course for the rest of my life. Trying to find out what really matters.”

“Wainscoat Construction matters,” Kathy said, looking up. “It always has.”

“But my son matters more,” Amelia replied. Yes, the company meant the world to her, but Charles was life itself. And what good was a world without life?

“From now on, I’m a mother. First and foremost. I’m going to be delegating many of my day-to-day responsibilities at the office,” she said now, imagining Cara’s reaction when she heard Amelia’s decision. Would her best friend think she’d lost her mind?

Somehow Amelia doubted it.

This was right.

“I’m going to spend the next fifteen years here at home, raising my son. Caring for him, practicing the piano with him. Encouraging him. Teaching him.”

Kathy paled. “And where does that leave me?”

Amelia almost caved then. Almost.

“Finding the life that’s out there waiting for you…”

“You’re letting me…go?”

Amelia nodded.

The nanny looked as though she might faint.

Once the decision had been made—and delivered—Amelia wanted to get Kathy out of her home immediately. Safely away from Charles.

There was no justification for the urgency.

Still, the urgency drove her.

While Kathy was packing her essentials, Amelia called Cara at the office and then her secretary to have all her morning appointments rescheduled. She also arranged for Celeste and Clifford Smith—the couple who’d been looking after the Wainscoats for thirty years—to have the remainder of Kathy’s things packed up and sent to her. And she canceled Charles’s morning swim lesson.

Then she escorted Kathy into Charles’s playroom, where the little boy was painstakingly drawing a picture with a big purple crayon clutched in his left hand. Left-handed like his father. The picture was for “Daddy’s grave to leave when they had the annivers’y day” the following week.

As they filed slowly into the room, Charles looked up from his child-size wooden table, pushing his glasses up his nose with the side of the hand still holding the crayon.