As I spoke, Barbara’s distraught face flashed in my mind. I’d seen the panic in her eyes, and I knew that panic. “When so many emotions surfaced at once, I felt very alone. I bet your mom feels the same way.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Stanley said. “What do you suggest?”
“I bet she’s gone back to the motel she was staying at. You should go check on her. Maybe she’ll talk to you.”
“Do you think I should ask my dad to go along?”
I shook my head. “From the way she acted, it’s plain she doesn’t want anything to do with him right now. But he can wait here while you’re gone.”
Stanley put his hand on my pregnant belly. “I don’t want you in the middle of this, especially now, with the baby and all.”
“I’ll be fine,” I smiled. “I’m concerned about your parents, but I’m not stressed out about them. Maybe because it’s not my problem. It’s almost a relief to know I’m not the one losing it.”
With some additional urging on my part, Stanley finally agreed to go and check on his mother. In the meantime, I decided I might be able to help his dad, or at least I could get the man some breakfast.
I went downstairs with Stanley, kissed him goodbye and headed into the living room. Stan Sr. was sitting quietly on the couch, petting Ben. Our pup was lying next to him, looking very peaceful. I cleared my throat to let Stan Sr. know I was near. He immediately glanced up, tried to give me a pleasant look and failed. He got to his feet.
His voice had a gentle quality when he spoke. “Gloria, you must think me very rude, barging into your home like I did. Please forgive me.”
“Stan, Dad, um, sorry, I don’t know if you want me to refer to you as—” I hesitated. I hadn’t meant to call my father-in-law, dad. But for some reason, it felt right.
Stan Sr. finally managed a smile. “Barbara and I always wanted a daughter. To hear you refer to me as dad feels very nice.” His face lit up when he spoke, and he stared at me with eyes as blue as Stanley’s.
An awkward moment of silence followed, but the smell of baking was still in the air. “I’m hungry. How about you, Dad? I’d love to fix you breakfast.”
Stan Sr. shook his head. “No way. But if you’re hungry, I’m pretty good in the kitchen. I’ll fix you whatever you’d like.”
I smiled back. Food is definitely a way to my heart. “Some eggs and toast would be nice,” I said.
Stan Sr. nodded. “Coming right up. Just give me a quick tour of where you keep your pots and pans.”
There was something about the man’s desire to take care of me that was endearing. Plus, his usual stiff attitude had been replaced by a softer approach. “Right this way,” I said as I led him towards the kitchen. After a brief demonstration of where everything was stowed away, he was at the sink, washing his hands and insisting that I sit down and relax. Again, I was reminded of my Stanley. Both men have a very nurturing way about them.
On previous visits, Stan Sr. must not have felt there was an opportunity to reveal how caring he could be. As we chatted back and forth, I felt totally at ease with him. I also insisted that he fix himself breakfast too. All was going fine as we ate our meal together until I went to the counter, uncovered a basket of cinnamon rolls and brought it to the table. When I offered Stan Sr. one of the rolls, he pulled back.
I realized my mistake at once. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
Stan Sr. relaxed again. “No, no, there’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s just that I recognize Barbara’s baking. She always likes to twist rolls a certain way. But you don’t need to be thinking about any of that.” He stood up. “Gloria, dear, none ofthis is fair to you or Stanley. I’ll leave if you think it best, but before I go, could I ask you something?”
I shrugged. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“Is there anything that you need? I know my boy tries his best, but if there’s anything you want, let me know. If I can help in any way, I will.”
I looked at my empty cup. “More tea would be great. And then let’s go into the living room and chat for a bit.”
Stan Sr. stared at the cinnamon rolls. “When I leave, would it be okay if I take a couple of these along? The way things are going, I might never get another chance to taste something Barbara made.”
I went to the counter, rummaged in a drawer and retrieved a plastic container. I put several of the rolls in the container and handed it to Stan. “Don’t give up on your marriage, Dad. Sometimes things get worse before they get better.”
Nine
WHILE STAN SR. insisted on cleaning up the kitchen, I called my mom to see how she was feeling. I was grateful to find out she never got the cold she thought she was getting. She felt more like her normal, healthy self. We didn’t discuss Stanley’s parents. I thought it best not to say too much since their marriage was their business, not mine.
I also called my father. Fortunately, our relationship is rolling along smoothly, and I call him regularly to make sure he’s okay. He told me he was busy doing some decorating. He also invited Stanley and me over for a Thanksgiving leftovers dinner if we were free. First off, my father has never decorated before in his life. So, I didn’t know how to process this latest turn of events. As for dinner, I love Thanksgiving leftovers.
By the time I was off the phone, Stanley arrived back home. I barely got time to greet him when Stan Sr. came out of the kitchen and began quizzing him.
“What’s going on with your mother, Stanley?” the older man demanded. He’d been so kind and gentle around me, but he changed as soon as his son was present. There was no kindness in his voice when he spoke to Stanley.
