Free Celebration by Fern Michaels Page A

of talk right now. Your father is a good, kind man. A stern man. There have to be rules; otherwise, things ... what happens is ... things go ... awry. I admit that at times your father got ... carried away, but he meant well. He wanted the three of you to grow up independent with a strong sense of ... of ... the way life really is outside the military. In civilian life no one seems to care. In the military we took care of our own. You know that.”
    Mike dropped to his knees and reached for his mother’s hands. Cala and Tyler did the same thing. “Mom, Dad was a tyrant. He abused his parental authority. He was not kind; nor was he good. And he was never gentle. He wasn’t stern, either. He was hateful. If I had to find a word that suited him, I’d choose dictator. He was none of those things you said he was. He wasn’t even a good husband to you. He was the talk of every base we ever lived on. He came on to every woman that even looked at him. If we knew that, why didn’t you?”
    Kristine blinked at her son’s ugly words. She felt like she’d been slapped across the face with an ice-cold rag. “I refuse to listen to any more of this kind of talk. I’m going to bed. We’ll have to open our presents in the morning, or you can open yours now. I don’t care one way or the other.”
    Kristine turned once on the stairway to look back at her children, who were huddled together at the foot of her chair, crying. She knew she should go back to comfort them, but if she did that, it would be admitting she was giving credence to everything they had said.
    Her legs felt like they had fifty-pound weights tied to them as she climbed the steps. She felt woozy from all the wine she’d consumed. Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow she would think about everything that had been said during the past hour. Tomorrow she would think about the chocolate cake and the tray of lasagna. Tomorrow she would think about and read the last letter Logan had sent to see if there were hidden messages she might have missed.
    Tomorrow.
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    â€œYou’re sure you’ll be all right here alone?” Kristine asked.
    â€œMom, we aren’t babies. We know how to cook, we know how to carry in wood and make a fire. We’ll look out for each other. We’ll take down the tree and pack up everything and, yes, we’ll be careful of your grandma’s ornaments. We’ll unpack all the stuff in the storage room, too.”
    â€œWe’ll shovel the driveway if it snows. Don’t worry about us, Mom. We have tons of college catalogs to go through and phone calls to make. Just go and do whatever you have to do. Your taxi is waiting. Don’t worry about the car. We aren’t planning on going anywhere, but it will be nice to know it’s there if we need it.”
    â€œI hate leaving you. I left money in the kitchen in case you want to go to town to a movie or get a pizza. I should be back in a week. As much as I don’t want to do this, I have to. I need to know. I don’t want you worrying about me. I’ll call every day.”
    â€œYou better not call. Overseas calls are expensive. When you get there, ring once and hang up so we know you’re okay,” Mike said.
    â€œMom, the driver is honking his horn. Go already.”
    â€œI’m going. You take ... I’m going.”
    The three children rushed to the window in time to see their mother close the taxi door. They waved.
    â€œI feel like crying,” Cala said.
    â€œFor Mom or him? ” Mike snapped.
    â€œFor me. For you and Tyler. Our lives are changing. We said we wanted change, but I don’t think any of us meant this kind of change. Where do you think he is?”
    â€œSome place nice and warm with some bimbo half his age spending our mother’s money.”
    â€œHow long do you think he was planning this?” Tyler asked with a catch in his voice.
    â€œI’m