A Child is Torn: Innocence Lost (22 page)

I peered up at him, almost pleading. I could tell Marty now found the situation humorous, and I received no more help from him.

I lifted the receiver, pausing, hoping for a reprieve. I wasn’t going to get one. Looking at my watch, I hoped she would still be out with her friends. The odds were unlikely.

I punched in the numbers under the Captain’s watchful gaze, feeling like a rebellious child.

“Hello?” She hadn’t recognized the number on the caller ID.

“Hi Mom, it’s me. How was the movie?”

“Hope, hi honey. You call that a movie
—
God, I don’t know why I let Sheila and Miriam talk me into these things. That was the worst…”

I rolled my eyes. I cut her off, worrying that her voice was loud enough for the Captain to hear her complaining.

“Mom, Mom…” She was still talking. I tried again. “Mom! Hello, listen to me, Mom!”

“I’m sorry honey, what is it?”

“Mom, I’m at Marty’s. His dad wants us to come and spend Thanksgiving here. Is that okay with you? I mean, Lenny and Paula will be away, this way
—
” I was about to tell her she wouldn’t have to cook, but she interrupted me.

“Thanksgiving? With Marty’s family?” There was suddenly silence at the other end.

“Mom, are you there?”

“Oh, Hope, oh. I don’t have anything to wear. What would I wear? What can I bring? Can I make my string bean casserole? I make the best string bean casserole; you love my string bean casserole.”

The Captain was smiling; he must have overheard, because I watched him write my mom’s name down next to string bean casserole on the menu.

“Mom, you have plenty to wear. You just bought all those outfits for the Christmas cruise.”

“Honey, those are summer clothes for tropical weather. Well, maybe the suit I was going to wear for the flight down to Miami, do you think I can wear that?”

“Mom,” I covered the mouthpiece and asked the Captain, “What’s the dress code?”

He grabbed the phone from me.

“Hello, Mrs. Rubin. Gracie, then, yes. How are you? You’re very welcome. Please, just dress comfortably. Yes, it’s very casual. Sometimes we have an abundance of sticky little fingers, and I would hate for you to ruin a good outfit…Yes, and you’re welcome. Okay… Here’s Hope.” He handed the phone back to me.

“He’s such a doll, that man,” she said as soon as I put my ear to the phone. “Well, I’ll have to make a grocery list. Maybe I can bring my sweet potato pie, too. Ask him if I can bring my sweet potato pie.”

“Yes, Mom, I will. Look, I’ll let you go. I’ll call you later, okay?” She wasn’t paying attention to me anymore. I could tell she was already making out her grocery list.

“Oh, yes, okay Hope. I’m going to call Lenny. He was worried it would be just the two of us. Now I can tell him not to worry.”

I knew I was talking to empty air. She hung up before I could say goodbye.

Both the Captain and Marty sat there with smirks on their faces.

“What?” I looked from one to the other.

“That wasn’t so bad was it, young lady?”

“No Captain, it wasn’t. But just wait. The hard part is going to be dealing with her for the whole evening.”

Marty’s pulled on the back of my hair, giving it a soft tug.

“I think we got the better part of the deal. Remember, you guys have to put up with all of us.”

I saw the Captain giving Marty a look, and I realized the fingers on Marty’s left hand were dancing feverishly on the kitchen table. Marty caught the look too and stopped immediately.

 “Why does that bother you so much?” I asked the Captain. “The tapping, I mean.”

“Don’t know. Drove my mother crazy too when my brother Sean used to do it.”

His eyes took on a blank look again, as he remembered his twin brother.

“I swear, sometimes I look at Marty and I think I’m seeing Sean. Even though Marty and Tommy are identical twins, I don’t have that same feeling with Tommy. Marty walks like Sean, talks like Sean. His personality has always been so similar to my brother’s. They favor the same foods; Sean hated Chocolate. You can’t get Marty to touch Chocolate. They have the same laugh, the same stride, and the same hand gestures. And the strangest thing, even though they never met, never spoke they both had the same hero. Every Halloween Marty insisted on being Superman, even collected Superman comics; so did Sean. I never once told Marty about my brother’s obsession with Superman. Things like that, a million things like that.”

I smiled, picturing Marty as a little boy dressed in a Superman costume.

He continued. “My mother, God rest her soul, used to say Marty was Sean come back to her.”

A bell went off in my head.

“Nature versus nurture,” I said out loud.

“What do you mean?” asked Marty.

“Nature versus nurture. It’s something that has been an object of psychological studies for years,” I explained. “They’ve done studies over the years, taking twins who were separated at birth, and examined their histories. More times than not, strange coincidences would become apparent. Like a set of male twins, never meeting until adulthood, smoking the same brands of cigarettes, going into the same careers. Or wearing the same style haircut, joining the same branch of the Armed forces. One case I know of, they both married women with the same name and the same physical attributes, and named all three of their children the same names.

“Some of these studies showed that some of these twins were more alike in personality and physical tastes than twins raised together. Like Marty and Tommy. They grew up in the same house, yet you say they’re totally different—even though their DNA is identical.”

They both were listening attentively.

“Nature versus nurture… The psychiatric community has been arguing about which is the greatest contributing factor in personalities for ages.”

I looked at the Captain who was deep in thought, and then it hit me.

“Oh my God!” I cried out.

“What?” Marty frowned, looking anxious.

I leaned over and gave the Captain a big kiss on his cheek.
“What was that for?” He asked as he raised his hand to touch the spot on his cheek.

“You just may have given me an answer, Captain. Maybe Jean was looking at the wrong branch of the tree.”

“What do you mean?” asked Marty.

“Do you remember the story Brad’s grandmother told me?” He looked puzzled. ‘“You know, about how his paternal grandmother and grandfather seemed to shun Brad? How they were close to their son until Brad was born? Well, maybe the answer to Brad’s problems lies somewhere on the paternal side. We’ve been mostly concentrating on his relationship with his mother’s side, because they were part of his life. What if it’s nature, not nurture?”

I got up. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.” I held Marty’s face in my hands, gave him a long kiss, and then practically ran out the door. I needed to call Jean. I needed to know if she could get me any more information on Brad’s father’s family. I might be wrong, but it was worth the trouble. Maybe I could finally figure out what demons inhabited this little boy. Maybe I could give this little boy the answers he craved.

Chapter Twelve

Marty

Marty stood at the bay window in the front room watching Hope’s car drive away. He was beginning to feel a deep sense of emptiness whenever she would leave him, even if she were just exiting a room. A feeling, he decided, he wasn’t very fond of, and didn’t know what to do about.

Still bothering him was the fact that she was a doctor, a professional, while he was just a blue-collar worker. He’d known all his life he was in one category, and women like Hope were in another. Although Hope never once showed any inclination that she was bothered by his career choice, it still bothered him. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel good enough; a feeling of insecurity plagued him.

His only chance at feeling more confident was probably sitting on his desk upstairs. On the desk sat a prep book for the detective’s exam, which he was scheduled to take the next morning. Although he had been studying for over a year, passing now took on a whole new meaning. If he could pass the test and be promoted to detective, maybe he wouldn’t feel so insecure in his relationship with her. As it was, he was starting to feel a twinge of fear. A fear that one day this beautiful, intelligent woman would wake up and realize she was wasting her time.

It was the Captain’s voice that broke his trance. The Captain was standing in the doorway that divided the kitchen from the front room. He held a dishrag in one hand, and large copper kettle in the other.

“She loves you, Marty. It’s written all over her face—and I do believe you feel the same way.” He threw the towel over his shoulder, waiting for his son to respond.

Sometimes it seemed like the Captain had the uncanny ability to read his mind.

“Maybe love isn’t enough, Pop. It’s got to bother her that she’s in a totally different class than I am. It bothers me—it’s got to bother her.” He looked out the window again; a soft mist was falling.

He walked over to his son and took a good hard look at him. A large crease had appeared on Marty’s forehead just below his hairline. The Captain took his time, choosing his words carefully.

“You don’t think too much of her then, do you? Do you think for one second, Martin Sean Keal, that that young lady gives a damn about what you do for a living? Do you really think that she’s that shallow? If I were you, I wouldn’t let her get one inkling that you were even thinking about it.”

Marty was speechless for a moment. Feeling the Captain’s glare, he turned around.

“No, Pop. I don’t think she’s shallow, not for a bloody second. But she deserves more than I can give her right now. She deserves someone who can give her all the things she could ever want. On my salary, I can’t do that. She might think I’m good enough, but I know I’m not.”

“Marty, all that girl wants is a good man who she can trust and who will love her. I think you are that man, Marty. I sure as hell wish you had the sense enough to know that, too.”

 Shaking his head, the Captain went back to the refuge of his kitchen. He had a Thanksgiving feast to get ready for. With a new sense of urgency, and one more day to study, Marty made his way up the stairs and grabbed his review book. He may not be a doctor or lawyer, or some other white-collar worker, but he could sure as hell take a step up the ladder of life. Even if it was just one step at a time.

Jean

It was 11:00 p.m. and long after everyone else had left before Moran was able to convince Jean he was fine; that she should take her family and go home. He found her in the kitchen cleaning up.

“I’ve got my Annie here, Jean. I’ll be fine.” His voice was weak from his rounds of “thank yous” to the hundreds who had come to the church, and then to his home to pay their respects.

Peeking into the living room, she saw Bethany laid out on Moran’s sofa, her head on her dad’s lap, obviously exhausted. Cliff was seated on a chair opposite her, his hands clasped together between his knees, also looking tired.

Moran’s eyes followed Jean’s glance.

“The kids have school tomorrow, Jean. Let them go home. I’m fine, I swear.”

In his hand he was holding the necklace he had hoped to give his wife the next day on their twenty-fifth anniversary. He let the gold chain slip in and out of his fingers.

“You’re sure? I can stay, Joe. I can send Glenn home with the kids if you want me to stay.”

“No, Jean. You need to go home, I’m fine. Annie’s here. I just got her to go upstairs and lie down. I would really appreciate it if you would go. Look, I just—I need to be alone, and I know you mean well but honey, I just want to be by myself.”

She walked over to him and gave him a hug, taking a little longer than she normally would to let go. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“If you need anything, you just call me, okay? Promise me.”

“Yeah Jean, I will, I promise,” he said as he gently shoved her into the other room.

Apparently her family already knew Moran was kicking them out, because they were now standing, ready to go. Glenn was holding her coat out for her to put her arms in.

It took a few more minutes of hugging, kissing, and a few more tears and hand shaking before they finally made their way to their car and started for home.

In the close confines of the car, Jean became aware of the buzzing of her cell phone, signaling she had received a voice mail.

At the moment, she wished she could just take the damn thing and throw it out the window. Sighing, she chose to listen to her messages instead.

The only message that grabbed her interest was one from Hope. She had seen her just a few hours earlier at the service, so she was curious when she noticed the call had come in about two hours ago.

She was about to return the call when Glenn said, “How about you put that down, Jean, and relax for just five minutes?” His eyes shifted to the rearview mirror, checking on the kids in the backseat. Bethany was fast asleep, Cliff was still awake, but his eyelids were closed.

Looking over at her husband, she noticed how tired he looked. Normally, Glenn was a stickler for looking very well-groomed, seeming to never to have a hair out of place or a speck of dirt on his shirt. Now he looked run-down and worn-out. For the first time in a long time, she noticed he was showing signs of age; the creases in his once-unflawed complexion were becoming more prominent.

She was too tired herself to argue, so she just placed the phone back in her purse. They spent the rest of the ride home in silence.

Once they were home and both kids were deposited safely in their own rooms, Jean made her way into the bedroom.

Glenn was already in bed and she could tell he was anxiously waiting for her to get under the covers so he could turn off the light. She wasted no time getting undressed and crawled in next to him.

“Are you okay?” She asked him.

He was being way too quiet and it was beginning to alarm her.

“I just can’t believe it.” He reached over to turn off the lamp next the bed. “I was almost expecting to hear some terrible news about Annie. Or even Joe, the way he stuffs his face or blows off exercising. But for God’s sake, Connie? She took care of herself. She looked so good. It’s so damn senseless.”

He put his arm under her, lifting her head then letting it fall in the crook of his arm. “What if it something happened to us? What would happen to the kids? Joe and Connie were our safety nets. Now what?”

He was right; neither she nor Glenn had any siblings. Her parents were both deceased and Glenn’s mom was getting on in years. They didn’t have anyone else. They had their wills made out years ago; stipulating that Connie and Joe would assume responsibility of Bethany and Cliff should something happen to them. They had been responsible for Annie if she hadn’t come of age if something happened to Joe and Connie. She tried to stop worrying about it; it wasn’t going to help matters, not this late at night. She leaned over and turned off her lamp.

“Nothing is going to happen to us, Glenn.” She turned to face him. The darkness made his features indistinct.

“We’re going to be around for a very long time.” Her tone was calm and soothing, but the effect was strong. “I’m going to be around to watch my children grow up and graduate college. I’m going to dance with my son at his wedding, and I’m going to watch my daughter dance with her daddy at hers.”

“That’s a long time coming, Jean.” He gave her a hug. “Because it will be a very long time before I let any boy near my little girl.” The sadness was beginning to wane from his voice; he was sounding more like the Glenn she was used to.

“I’m going to miss her so much.” She laid her head on his chest. “I don’t know what Joe’s going to do. I can’t even imagine how he’s going to cope. Connie was his world. I just hope that Annie gets that transfer allowance and she can be stationed here in the states. I think it would kill him if he had to watch her go back to a war zone.”

He kissed the top of her head, his lips barely brushing her hair. “I love you, Jean. It’s been too long since I told you that. I need to say it more often.” His voice was fading now; she could tell he was falling asleep.

“I love you too, Glenn. I love you too.” Moments later they were both in a deep sleep.

Hope

I was so eager to get to work the following morning that I forgot to grab my banana. I first realized it when I almost plowed into Gabby in the hallway. He was waiting for me, his long arm holding the trash can that I would ritually place my peel in.

“Oops, sorry, Gabby. No deposit today.” He looked stupefied as I sped past him, twisting out of the way to avoid a head-on collision.

I was still going warp speed as I reached my office. My secretary Sandy was holding out a mug of steaming coffee.

“Fresh pot, Dr. Hope. Can I get you anything else?”

I grabbed it a little too quickly and tried to avoid spilling the hot liquid on either of us, but some coffee still lapped over the edge of the mug.

“Thanks, Sandy. Can you get me the Madison file?” I asked, as she handed me a paper towel.

“Sure, Dr. Hope, I’ll bring it right in.” She pivoted on her three-inch heels and walked into the file room. She amazed me sometimes; she was close to seventy, but still flitted around the room like a twenty-year-old. She never had revealed her real age, but she never tried to hide the aging process. She was a pixie of a woman with steel-gray hair, never wearing more than a touch of lipstick. She wore her age proudly. She had been with the Armistace Institution for almost as long as Gabby, and I dreaded the day she retired.

I settled at my desk, checking the pile of messages that rested on top. I was disappointed to see that Jean had not returned my phone call yet. Knowing she was preoccupied with the recent loss of a friend, I debated whether I should try calling her again.

Hearing the clicking of Sandy’s heels, I looked up. She placed the file in front of me and handed me another message. This one was from Judy. “She called just before you came in. She wanted to discuss something with you about the Allen boy. Apparently there was a problem last night.”

“Do you know what happened?” Trevor Allen was a seven-year-old boy suffering from the effects of posttraumatic stress disorder. He had come to us about a year ago after witnessing his drunken stepfather put a gun to his three-year-old half-sister’s head, blowing the child’s brains out. Trevor had not spoken one word since that day; his only vocalizations were a grunt from time to time.

“Betty said he just starting screaming hysterically. He was in reading group and he just stood up and screamed. There didn’t seem to be any provocation for it, he just started screaming and wouldn’t stop.”

“Did they have to sedate him?” I asked as I skimmed through the folder she had brought me.

“Actually, I think they took him to the emergency room. They couldn’t get his heart rate under control. Judy wanted to talk to you about him. You want me to get her on the line?”

“No, it’s okay, Sandy. I’ll do it.” I dialed her extension, and then changed my mind and replaced it on the hook. “I’ll just go see her.” I put the file down, thinking I would get back to it later. I sucked down the rest of my coffee and got up.

“Sandy, can you see if you can find a phone number for…” I glanced down at the file, “a Keith or Beverly Madison in Stockbridge Massachusetts?” She was jotting it down on a notepad as I spoke.