A Lethal Legacy (6 page)

"Where's that
hippie cousin of mine," Gary boomed as he came in the back door through the
garage.

"Right here, and
what do you mean, hippie?" I pretended to be offended.

" I hear that's
what Uncle Stanley's been calling you since you bought the van. Except I think
he uses a couple of expletives along with hippie," Gary said as he hugged
me. "Besides, your hair is too short to be a hippie."

"Actually, I do
feel like something of a vagabond this summer. When I pass this way in late
August, my hair may be a little longer, especially on my face. I don't plan on
shaving for two months. Now, that's real freedom."

"Pam, you didn't
tell him?" Gary asked his wife.

"No, he just got
here. Besides it's your wonderful news, now isn't it,
dear
," Pam said.
She finished her drink in one long gulp before getting up and going for another
one.

"What
news?" I asked.

"I've been
transferred. We won't be here in August unless we can't find a place to live on
Long Island. Even at that, Pam would stay here, but I'll be gone."

"Long
Island?"

"Actually I'll
be working in the Manhattan headquarters of Weston Advertising, but Long Island
is the best place to live. I'll commute, like here. It's a good promotion,
Ed."

"Yes, a good
promotion, Ed, with me and the other wives stuck out in the boondocks while the
hubbys get to play with the big boys and girls," Pam said from behind the
bar. "Need a drink, Gar?"

"Sure thing,
Hon. Pam's not that excited about the move, but I think she'll adjust. Imagine,
New York City." Gary grinned like a little boy.

"Congratulations,
Gary. Next summer maybe I'll get a cheap place in the Village. I almost did
this year, except I've always wanted to see the West." I didn't know what
to say to Pam who abruptly left the two of us alone as she made her way very
carefully into the kitchen.

"What happened
with you and Allison?" Gary asked when we were alone.

"It's hard to
say. I thought we would be together forever. We dated for six years and barely
stayed married a year." I shook my head at the absurdity of it all.

"Marriage
changes things, I guess," Gary said.

"I don't think
I'm meant for marriage. Even though I'm sad about the divorce, I like the
freedom that's suddenly come my way. Besides, now I'm the black sheep of the
family, while you've become the paragon of middle-class life. Your parents are
probably thrilled, and mine, at least my mom, are in mourning."

"Thanks, Cuz.
I've finally got Philip off my back. And if Pam isn't too happy right now, I
think that will change in New York."

I stayed the weekend
in Evanston. The undercurrents between Pam and Gary seemed worse than between
Allison and me for some reason. Allison and I, even during our worst moments,
managed to remain civil. Pam seemed to be a hostile captive in her perfect home
in the suburbs. She barely spoke to Gary, and when she did, her voice dripped
with heavy sarcasm, and worse, Gary seemed to ignore her most of the time.

As I left them
standing in the driveway waving me away on my adventure, I wondered if the
marriage would survive the move to New York.

I ended up in San
Francisco during the summer of 1967 and watched the whirlwinds of change occur
within this city on the Bay. I didn't participate, but I became a great watcher
of people as I traveled from Berkeley and Telegraph Avenue to the other side of
the water where the lost souls of teenagedom had converged in Haight-Ashbury
during the media-hyped summer of love.

I began my trek back
home, wiser and sadder about the future of our country. While I knew the goals
of the hippies held an attraction for me, I saw many youth jumping on the
bandwagon because it was the cool thing to do as long as one had the money for
the drugs and the right clothes to project the image.

By the beginning of
1968, I settled into the apartment on Main Street, just a five-minute walk to
my job at Pioneer High School. I enjoyed the challenge of keeping pace with the
current events swirling around us by trying to allow my students the space to
express themselves in a manner acceptable for the public school system.

I learned much from
the teenagers in San Francisco, many of whom had left home because they felt ignored
and unappreciated. Ann Arbor's large student population was embroiled in the
fight for students' rights and protest of the Vietnam War. I learned quickly
that my high school students were not immune to the atmosphere of the city and
quite often took to the streets themselves. I tried to advise them about using
common sense while standing up for what they believed.

My parents still felt
I should have done something more with my degree than become a teacher. After
all, my mother often reminded me, they had slaved to put me through college and
for what? To earn less than my father who worked in a factory? I didn't even
coach like Uncle Philip who had made a financial success of every venture he
attempted. I never bothered to remind my mother they hadn't paid one dime
toward my education, except to allow me to live at home during the years I
attended undergraduate school. She wouldn't have understood.

I certainly never
mentioned that teaching was only a temporary stop before I became a published
author. They would never have believed me. Sometimes I didn't believe me. Recently,
I had become doubtful if I would ever finish a novel. I didn't seem to have a
real grip on what to write even though I knew I had plenty to say.

I heard through the
family grapevine that Gary and Pam settled into life on Long Island. I hadn't
seen them since the summer, and I wondered how the marriage was surviving.

Claire and Philip
visited them for Christmas, so I hadn't seen Gary in nearly a year when he
called in March of 1968 to tell me that Pam and he were expecting a baby in
September. When I heard his voice, I fully expected to hear the news of their
separation, not the beginning of a family. Things must have improved since last
summer, just as Gary predicted.

"Congratulations,
that’s great news," I said. "How's Pam?"

"Mom says she'll
get over the morning sickness soon, actually any day now. It's hard for Pamela
to be too excited right now when she's spending most of the day hugging the
toilet," Gary said.

Pamela confessed to me
a year later, during one of her late night drunken phone calls while Gary
worked late, that she wanted to abort the unplanned pregnancy. Gary and she
fought and screamed for weeks over the accidental conception. Gary finally won
out because in New York they would either have to lie and say the pregnancy was
the result of rape or incest, or they would have to seek an illegal abortion.
Pam finally gave up the argument.

I went to visit them
during the summer of 1968. Gary seemed worried about Pam's drinking, but she
wouldn't listen to him. In those days, no one knew the serious dangers involved
in drinking and smoking during a pregnancy so Gary stood alone in trying to
reason with his wife. He thought she should slow down on her drinking because
in her drunkenness she often became clumsy. He worried she would fall one night
and miscarry. She did seem to get drunk quite often during my short visit, but
she never fell.

The baby, Kristina,
born in September 1968, weighed five pounds, three ounces. It didn't help
matters that she was a fussy baby, crying most of the time. Aunt Claire went to
stay with Pam and Gary after the birth, and she ended up staying two months.
According to my mother, Pam didn't seem to notice the baby much, and Claire was
afraid to leave her alone with Kristina. Claire and my mother assured all of us
that Pam's depression was normal and would soon disappear.

Finally, Claire
convinced Pamela to bring the baby and come home with her right after
Thanksgiving. They decided Gary would drive to Ann Arbor for Christmas. By then,
everyone was certain that Pam would have recovered, and the new family would go
home for a new start and a new year.

The mist enveloped
her small body as he continued to call her name. He could hear the tiny whimper
of her crying, but he couldn't determine the exact location of the sound. The
heavy mist dripped thousands of sprinkles of invisible rain making one mass of
wetness against his lonely body.

Just as Claire
suggested, we all gave Kristina time – time to grow up and time to adjust to
having a family who loved her. After our Christmas together, I didn't see Gary
or Kristina for a few months, although I kept my ears open for news of her.

Claire told me
sometime in 1987 that Kris had gotten a job at a restaurant in New Orleans and
hoped to learn the ropes in the kitchen. She was contemplating cooking school.
She moved out of Gary's apartment and into one of her own with Gary's help
monetarily. After she moved, she called to give me her telephone number.

"Do you like
your job?" I asked her once the pleasantries were out of the way.

"It's OK, but I
don't see a future there," she said.

"But your
grandmother said you hoped for a career in this area."

"That's the
great thing about having a grandma; they believe what they want to believe. Honestly,
I'm not sure what I want to do. I never had so many choices before, so I guess
that's good. Claire and Philip would even send me to college if I showed an
interest." She sounded sincere for once. "What was it like for my father
growing up with Claire and Philip? It was so different from my childhood,
right?"

Her question took me
by surprise. Gary had more advantages than me because of our economic
differences, but he had other things to deal with in his life.

"That's a difficult
question, Kristina. You really want an answer?"

"I guess I'm
curious, yes. Gary won't talk about his childhood."

"It wasn't
always easy for Gary."

"In what
way?"

I thought back over
the years and remembered. I debated whether to tell Kristina one story in
particular since I’d never told anyone before. Gary and I never discussed it
after that day, but if it left a mark on me, Gary must have scars running deep
through his soul and heart over that one Sunday dinner. But maybe the story of
that day would help Kristina understand her father a little more.

"I remember one
time. Gary and I must have been around ten. He did something stupid at the
dinner table. Both families were there, plus Aunt Susan and her husband.

"I asked Gary to
pass the ketchup bottle. He picked it up to hand it to me, but first he
pretended like he was sucking on the top of it. It was just a kid thing,
typical of us when we were goofing off. But the Townsends didn't goof around at
the table, and I guess Gary momentarily forgot that.

"When Uncle
Philip saw his son pretending to suck on the bottle, he said, 'Little baby,
Gary, such a cute little baby. You like that bottle so much, sit there for the
rest of the meal sucking on it.'

 "Gary had to
sit there and actually suck on the ketchup bottle while the rest of us sat in
embarrassed silence for him. Whenever Gary tried to pull the bottle down from
his mouth, his father began a tirade of verbal insults, calling him a baby, a
sissy, a little girl. It was awful. Gary began to cry and choke while still
attempting to keep the ketchup bottle in his mouth."

"What about the
other adults at the table?” Kristina asked.

"Claire finally
spoke up. Of course, Aunt Susan tried to intervene several times to no avail.
My father ate his roast beef as usual. My mother would never have stood up to
the great Philip Townsend. But Claire finally removed the bottle and said,
'That's enough, Philip. You've gone too far this time. Come on, Gary.'

"Claire took
Gary by the shoulders and directed him back to his bedroom where she stayed
with him for the rest of the meal. As soon as I could escape, I went back
there, too. Claire sat on the bed holding Gary, rocking and soothing him. When
Claire saw me in the doorway, she held up one arm for me, and I ran to her
side. For what seemed like a lifetime, Aunt Claire held her two boys and gave
us comfort. Without that, I doubt Gary could have survived."

"Philip sounds
like a real bastard. But he doesn't seem capable of that kind of thing
now," Kristina said.

"He's mellowed
over the years, but give him a chance, and he'll manage to say something
intended to humiliate Gary. He doesn't do it as often. Plus Claire has become
stronger and stops him before he can really get started on something."

"What about me?
Do you remember me as a baby? I mean, did they all love me?"

Her question moved me
because of the note of wistfulness and uncertainty I detected in her voice. She
rarely allowed her vulnerability to show.

"Are you
kidding? You were the crowned princess of the Townsend family. Until you came
back last Christmas, I don't think Claire's heart ever healed."

"Tell me about
that time. Pam would never, ever discuss anything about it except to tell me my
father had died."

After my divorce from
Allison, I struggled with my novel trying to use all of the characters from my
notebook as composites within the story of change centered in 1960s’ society.
My main character, a troubled woman, came from my haunting images of Pam and
her unnamed unhappiness.

I went over to Claire
and Philip's house one evening soon after Pam and Claire's return from New
York. Aunt Claire answered the door with the baby in her arms.

"Hi, Ed. Look at
my beautiful granddaughter. Isn't she the most wonderfullest baby ever
made?" Aunt Claire loved to make up those silly words, lisping as they
escaped her lips.

"Where's
Pam?" I asked. I watched as Aunt Claire's brow formed a deep furrow.

She pointed her head
down the hallway toward Gary's old room. I rubbed my hand over Kristina's downy
head, looking directly into her blue eyes, which seemed to reach inside of my
heart and tug at its tough interior. Slowly the baby's hand reached for my
face. I reluctantly left to find this beautiful baby's mother.

I knocked cautiously
and heard a muffled, "Come in." Pam sat in a rocking chair by the
window dressed in a pink mini-dress. Her hair had been set and combed out and
her make-up looked flawless. She was reading
Cosmopolitan
and looked up
after a few seconds to see who had intruded into her quiet space.

"Ed, I thought
it would be one of the doting grandparents with earth-shattering news about the
spittle of their new granddaughter," she said.

"Hi, Pam. You
look wonderful. Are you taking a break from everyone?"

"Sure. Ed, I'm
going nuts here. Why don't we go out somewhere for a drink? I haven't been out
in ages. Claire and Philip don't seem to ever go out."

" I don't know,
Pam. What about Kristina?"

"What about her?
She's being taken care of. Please?" she pleaded in a little girl voice.

"Let me check
with Aunt Claire first." I wasn't sure about this whole situation.

Claire looked at me
for a long moment before answering. "I think it might do her good to get
out. Go ahead, Ed."

"What about
Kristina?"

"What about her?
Pam doesn't pay much attention to her daughter. I take care of her most of the
time."

When Pam and I
settled in the lounge at the Holiday Inn, I noticed that every time I mentioned
the baby, she changed the subject. She also out drank me three to one on the
vodka gimlets. I don't know how she put away those sickeningly sweet and sour
drinks so quickly.

"Pam, when do you
plan on going back home?" I asked.

"I guess Gary's
coming here over Christmas, and we'll go back after that," she said.

"It's been great
to have Claire and Philip to help out, hasn't it?"

"Yes, Claire's
been wonderful, but I don't think she likes me much. But, Philip?" She
snorted into her drink and curled her lips.

"Philip isn't
much with babies, I know, but he did allow Claire to come for two months to
help," I said.

"Now isn't he
the greatest, though," she said.

"What is it,
Pam? What's wrong?" I really did like this troubled woman and wanted to
help. If I could just understand the source of her unhappiness, I would be able
to bring more textures to the main character of my novel. At times, I wondered
if I cared more about the fictional characters in my stories than those sitting
right in front of me agonizing over the mundane details of life.

"Nothing, Ed.
You wouldn't understand." Tears formed in her big blue eyes.

"Try me."

"Philip, he's
not really . . .," she faltered and then seemed to regain her composure.
"Forget it, Ed. It's nothing."

I didn't believe her,
but I couldn't imagine what Philip had to do with her marriage. Then suddenly
Allison's warning about my Uncle Philip came to mind. What had she said about
not leaving her alone in a room with him? I downed my drink and told Pam we’d
better be getting back to the house. I didn't like the progress of my thoughts.

 On the way home, she
asked if we could stop by the liquor store for some supplies. She came out of
the store cradling two fifths of vodka in her arms.

As we walked up the
front sidewalk to the house, we could hear Kristina's cries, before we even
opened the front door. I went immediately over to Aunt Claire and the baby to
see what might be wrong. Pam pushed past me and went directly to her bedroom
carrying the two bottles of Smirnoff's, ignoring the piercing screams of her
daughter.

"She's a little
cranky tonight, but she'll settle down soon," Claire said.

I reached out my arms
to hold my little cousin, and Claire reluctantly turned the squalling baby over
to me. I began humming a Bob Dylan tune as I walked around the living room with
the baby on my shoulder. Soon the cries stopped, and I placed Kristina in the
crook of my arm. She looked at me once again with her intense blue eyes. She
began to coo and reached for my face with her tiny hands. I turned to kiss the
inside of the soft palm and inhaled the sweet scent of babydom. I didn't
understand how Pam could ignore this little creature who seemed to need very
little.

Philip came in from
the kitchen. "Has she gone back to the bedroom?" We both nodded.
"It's time I had a talk with that girl. She needs to start taking care of
this baby and go back to Gary. She needs a reason, and I've got the best one in
the world," he announced over his shoulder as he made his way down the
hallway to see his daughter-in-law.

I looked over at
Claire, and she shrugged. I wondered if Philip was going to offer her cash to
love her daughter.

I decided I had seen
and heard enough for one night. I knew that Gary's marriage was in trouble, and
so was the baby who had a mother without a maternal bone in her body. I said
good night to Claire leaving her bouncing Kristina on her knees. My last image
that night of a smiling, gurgling baby cooing at a doting grandmother remained
indelibly inked on my memory.

Whatever Uncle Philip
said to Pam that night worked. By the time Gary came home for the holidays, Pam
seemed to be finally taking care of Kristina. But whenever she could, she
eagerly turned the baby over to whoever happened into the room, usually Claire
or my mother.

I edited some of what
I told Kristina now on the phone, but it was probably evident in what I didn't
say that Pam was a disconnected mother right from the beginning.

"At least
someone loved me," Kristina said.

"We all loved
you. You stole my heart the first time I held you in my arms, Kristina. I've
never forgotten that."

"What about
now?"

"Now let's worry
about you and what you are going to do with your life." I was anxious to
steer the topic of conversation away from anything intimate. I had just shared
with this young woman more about my life than I had ever shared with anyone
else, except Gary. I needed to steer the conversation to lighter material.

"So do you have
an interest in anything?" I asked.

"Nope, not me,
Eddie, boy," she said.

"Kristina, you
know you're smart and attractive; you've got the whole world before you, don't
blow it," I said.

"No, I'd rather
blow you," she said. "I've never forgotten that kiss."

I hadn't forgotten it
either or the sight of her naked as she stood in Gary's apartment. I ended the
conversation shortly after that. It shocked me that she would reduce our
conversation to a cheap sexual innuendo. I hung up the phone angry, frustrated,
and incredibly aroused.

"That's not
yours," he screamed as she picked up the watch on the table and dropped it
into her purse. She looked at him with wide eyes and snapped her purse shut
before walking out the door, leaving the impression that she had every right to
take what was not hers. And he was powerless to stop her.