Authors: Warren Dalzell
Tonight, on this quiet evening in late March, Jack Malinowski had something else on his mind. He sat and stared at Morgan Holloway’s offer to participate in that archeology dig up in Greenland. Was this trip really such a good idea? He was beginning to have second thoughts. There wouldn’t be much to see in the night sky way up at that latitude, not in the summertime anyway. And he wouldn’t be doing any climbing for a while.
“Bah,” he muttered.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Jack sealed the envelope containing his acceptance and slapped a stamp onto it. He’d miss his folks and the hobbies he so much enjoyed during the months he’d be gone, but he needed to get away for a while. He needed to go somewhere without distractions, to a place where he could contemplate his future and the direction his life was taking. Eviskar Island, he decided, would be the perfect locale.
Marcia van Wormer
Marcia (Marcie) van Wormer slammed the door behind her and didn’t bother to wipe her feet before stomping across the kitchen in her muddy Nikes. In the breakfast nook with its ornate bay window, her stepmother murmured a quick sign off into her cell phone and then calmly folded her arms across her chest.
“Please don’t start with me, Marcie. You know it’s not my decision.” She made a show of regarding the footprints on what had previously been a clean floor, now corrupted by herring-bone tread marks composed of dirt, sand, road salt and melting snow. Gail van Wormer was fussy about the cleanliness of her home, and the cleaning woman, who’d left only hours earlier, wouldn’t wash the floors again for another two weeks. She glared at Marcie but refrained from yelling when she saw the hurt and anger in the girl’s eyes. Instead she said calmly, “I wish you’d settle down. You’re making too big a deal about this.”
Marcie also fought back the urge to scream in return. “Oh great, now Ms. Perfect sees fit to weigh in with the other team. It’s so easy to just go along with dad. I’ve got to hand it to you, Gail; you’ll score a lot of points with him this time. Smart move on your part. The only downside, of course, is that the opportunity of a lifetime will pass me by. But, hey,” she smiled sardonically, “that’s a small price to pay for an approving nod from your hubby, right? Know what? You’re right. It’s not your decision, so just butt out!”
“Marcie, be reasonable about this…” her words addressed empty space as her stepdaughter stormed down the hallway and up the stairs, leaving small patches of mud on the carpeting.
Gail buried her face in her hands. It had been another miserable day, both at work and now at home. Although she’d grown up here in Albany, New York, and had lived here most of her life, the winters had always been difficult for her. The only time she’d left New York’s capital city for any extended period had been during her college years at the University of Georgia. March was always so full of promise down in Athens. By this time the dogwoods, azaleas and rhododendrons would all have buds on them, and the longer days and brisk but mild temperatures carried with them the promise of a colorful spring. It would be another six weeks of cold, wet overcast weather here in Albany before the tulips in Washington Park would bloom to announce the arrival of spring this far north, a seeming eternity after more than four months of chill and snow.
Gail and Steven van Wormer had been married now for almost two years. They’d met at the Albany Institute where she worked as deputy curator and he starred as one of its principal members and benefactors.
The Albany Institute of History and Art, AIHA, is one of the oldest museums in the country, housing extensive collections and exhibits which document the history and culture of the upper Hudson Valley and New York State’s Capitol District. Prominent among its fine art collections is the assemblage of Hudson River School paintings. Many works by such luminaries as Thomas Cole and Frederic Church are on permanent display there along with examples of cast iron pieces from the once great foundries across the river in Troy, and textile goods produced in the heyday of the late 19
th
and early 20
th
century mills in cities along the Mohawk River. Every schoolchild in Albany remembers when he/she first laid eyes on the two Egyptian mummies, complete with their ornate sarcophagi, that the Institute acquired in 1909. Gail’s visit on a sixth grade field trip had sparked an interest in preservation of the past that had stayed with her. She had poured her soul into her history/fine art studies at UGA with the goal of gaining employment at either the Albany Institute or at the New York State Museum located only a few blocks away.
Gail’s job at the AIHA turned out to be everything she’d hoped it would be. She loved giving tours to groups of all ages, often awakening in her charges new awareness and appreciation of the region’s cultured past. Numerous additions were acquired of which she was given the responsibility of archiving and cataloging. Life was grand for the not yet twenty-nine-year-old Gail when, suddenly and unexpectedly, Steven van Wormer entered her life. A scion of Albany society, Steven was one of the Institute’s biggest benefactors. He was a good-looking, articulate, successful orthopedic surgeon who also happened to be recently divorced. The two of them met at a fund raiser and after a whirlwind courtship of six months, were married. That was two years ago.
Angela, Steven’s ex-wife, had run off to Buffalo with a roguish young man whom she had hired to paint the inside of the house. Apparently much more than painting had gone on in the upstairs bedrooms, not to mention the den, the living room and even on the basement workbench. One day Marcie had come home from school to an empty house save for a folder addressed to her dad. It had contained papers from the office of a local lawyer, announcing Angela’s desire for a divorce. Marcie was understandably hurt. The strong feeling of abandonment resulting from her mother’s deplorable departure had brought her much closer, emotionally, to her father. Gail was aware of the situation and had worked hard to fit in without threatening the close ties between father and daughter. For the most part her efforts had been successful. Gail’s love for Steven was apparent to Marcie, and the girl appreciated how happy her father was in his new marriage.
Marcie was an extremely bright, studious tomboy of a girl who was currently experiencing the throes of adolescence. For the most part she and Gail got along well. They admired one another, accepting the roles they had been forced to assume.
In the last few months Marcie had guardedly begun to open up to Gail about some of the social problems she was experiencing in school. The soccer coach had placed her on the “C” team rather than the Junior varsity where Marcie felt she belonged, and one of her better friends was giving her the cold shoulder for some unknown reason. But there were other issues, those relating to the physical changes associated with puberty, which Marcie refused to discuss with anyone, not even her father, a physician. Gail wanted desperately to play a greater role as confidant and parent to the young woman, but that wouldn’t happen unless Marcie wanted it.
Gail wiped a tear from her eye. Over the last two days, Marcie had plummeted into a deep funk over her dad’s unwillingness to allow her to go on that summer archeological trip to Greenland. “You’re just too young to be that far from home and for such a long period of time,” Steven had blurted out the night before. “I don’t want to hear another word about this, young lady. The issue is closed. Do you hear me? Closed!” Never before had Gail heard Steven get cross like that, especially with his daughter. She knew he was stressed at work and Marcie had been nagging him incessantly about the trip, but that conversation had resulted in hard feelings between father and daughter. On previous occasions when Steven had declined to grant permission to Marcie for something—usually with regard to attending unsupervised parties—Marcie had reluctantly accepted her dad’s denials. But this time things were different. Both Marcie and Steven were firmly anchored to their respective positions. Marcie insisted upon joining the expedition and Steven was just as steadfast about his veto. The household was laden with tension and Gail felt caught in the middle.
Abruptly Gail stood up. Her love for both Steven and Marcie demanded she become involved. “Damn it,” she thought, “Maybe I shouldn’t do this, but…” She strode through the house and bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Outside the door to Marcie’s room, however, she stopped. Taking a moment to compose herself, and to gather her courage and her thoughts, she took a deep breath and knocked.
“Marcie, it’s me, Gail. We have to talk.” (no answer) “Marcie van Wormer, open this door!”
A feeble voice, attributable to someone who’d been crying, answered, “Go away!”
Gail opened the door and stepped into the room. Marcie was lying on the bed facing away from her. She was staring blankly out the room’s solitary window that overlooked the street.
“This can’t go on, Marcie. It kills me to see both you and your father so unhappy.”
“So, you want
me
to pity
you
because, as an ‘impartial’ observer you feel uncomfortable? Get real, Gail. I know why you’re here. Mission accomplished. When dad gets home you can now honestly tell him that you and I had a talk, and that ‘little Marcie’ his ‘child’ is still upset. You did your duty, Gail,” she said despondently, “now please leave me alone.”
“You mean you’re going to accept your dad’s decision?”
“What choice do I have, Gail? I’m a minor. If he doesn’t sign the consent form, I don’t go on this trip. Period. I’m fucked!”
Gail bristled at her stepdaughter’s language, but didn’t admonish her. The girl was understandably upset. “For what it’s worth, Marcie, I came here to support you. I think you’re right.”
Marcie sat up and turned to face her. “What?”
“Hey, I’m entitled to an opinion on this matter even though I have no authority. And make no mistake, Marcie, I’m not here to win brownie points with anyone, neither you nor your father.” She sat on the bed and looked into the girl’s eyes. Marcie returned her gaze, noting the anguish in Gail’s countenance.
“You’re going to be fifteen in less than two months,” Gail continued quietly. “You’re also exceptionally mature for your age and your grades are top notch. There will be other kids, I mean, other young adults, on this trip as well. It is a true scientific expedition and possibly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“Thanks, Gail,” Marcie said with true sincerity. She slid across the bed and gave her stepmom a hug. “Thanks for believing in me.”
Gail smiled. “All I can promise is that I’ll talk to your dad. I’ll tell him how I feel and throw in a little guilt trip about the encouragement he gave you when you submitted your essay. I’ll remind him of the hypocrisy of denying your participation after having supported your application.”
Marcie laughed. “Yeah, that’s good. I hadn’t thought about that.”
“But I also want you to consider why your dad feels the way he does. I don’t mean to sound overly patronizing, Marcie,” she smiled sheepishly. The young woman seated next to her was extraordinarily astute. “He’s scared. If you go, it will be the first time he’s been separated from his little girl, both in duration and geographically, since you were born. It’s weighing on him.”
“I guess you’re right,” Marcie admitted.
“His angst isn’t a very good reason for denying you this opportunity, and I’ll try my best to make him realize that. But,” Gail continued soberly, “just because I don’t agree with his position doesn’t mean he’ll change his mind. As you said earlier, the final decision to give parental consent is his alone. Even if your mother were to disagree, your parents’ custody agreement effectively gives him complete control.”
“My mom doesn’t care one way or the other,” Marcie muttered.
“It’s settled then,” Gail said in a conspiratorial but upbeat tone. She walked to the door and turned to face Marcie. “I’ll put as much pressure on your dad as I can, but in return you’ll have to accept his final word with dignity.”
“Deal,” said Marcie.
Jocelyn Delaney
The bell outside room 210 announced the beginning of another class at Hamilton High School in Corpus Cristi, Texas. It was Friday, mid-March. Herb Powell stood leaning against the bench at the front of the room, surveying the mix of juniors and seniors in his eighth period Biology class. Off to his right, at the back of the room, sat his “problem children.” They were an incorrigible bunch, rude, disruptive and unpredictable. Today, Jocelyn Delaney sat in the middle of the group flanked by Freddy Ramos and Ann Marie Severko. Directly behind her sat Toby Johnson. Powell made note of the seating arrangement chosen by the students and smiled inwardly. All was as he expected.
“Class, before we begin I’d like to introduce you to Miss Diane Thompson.” He nodded towards a woman in her late-twenties seated near the blackboard. She was pretty, with red hair and freckles. She gave the class an embarrassed wave and flashed a winning smile. “Miss Thompson is a student teacher and has come to observe our class today.” Snickers and muted laughter came from the back corner of the room but Powell ignored the noise and continued, raising his voice several decibels. “As you know, today you’ll take your mid-term exam. Please clear your desks of everything but a number two pencil so that we may begin.”