Follow the Dotted Line (17 page)

Andy spotted the envelope from Larry on the dresser, tiptoed into the curtained room, and grabbed it. Mute and stealthy, she turned to make her escape. She was near the door when she caught sight of something shimmering at the foot of his bed, along with her first inkling of his latest identity crisis. There on the bed bench, draped over the silver-toed cowboy boots that were his pride and joy, was a long, silky scarf with elegant tassels. Her nephew was either cross-dressing, or he had managed to find himself a prayer shawl.

She closed her eyes and tried like hell not to conjecture. She pressed on toward the door, determined to escape the room without saying anything that could be mistaken as the least bit sympathetic. But as she reached the threshold, guilt got the best of her. “I’ll be downstairs making dinner if you want to talk,” she whispered very, very softly. Does an act of kindness still count if the person can’t quite hear it?

In the kitchen Andy assembled her store of ingredients for making chili. One of her skinny friends once said that chili was the perfect combination of carbs and proteins. Andy preferred to think of chili as the perfect combination of tin cans and frozen hamburger. Mindlessly, she went through the ritual that was her version of cooking, greatly relieved that Harley remained quiet and upstairs. After half an hour, she sat down at the dining room table with her bowl full of perfection and once again opened the file Larry had sent. Between spoonfuls, she fingered through the papers hoping something new would jump out at her, but nothing did. She remembered that her nephew had promised to Google the names of Tilda’s other three husbands, but there was nothing to indicate he had. So Andy returned to the stove for a second helping, and on the way back to the table, she grabbed her laptop off the counter.

She began with a rudimentary search of each man’s name in combination with the state where he had married Tilda. This produced just enough information for her to begin searching various sites where one or more of them might be listed. After an hour, she had uncovered tidbits of information about all three former hubbies. It was what she didn’t find, however, that piqued her interest; absence makes the brain go crazy. None of the men were on Facebook or Twitter or LinkedIn or any of the common sites people use to flaunt their accomplishments and connections. Granted, they were probably too old to want or need to provide information about themselves on the Internet. Still, it seemed odd not to find any sign of any of them anywhere in the online social sphere.

What she did find was limited, but it gave her a sense of direction. Two of the three men had been married and divorced before they married Tilda, she discovered. And one of them, Gus Andropoulos, had once been some kind of dog breeder whose ten-year-old ad for cocker spaniel puppies had never been expunged from Craigslist in Eagle Pass, Texas.

Using these data scraps, Andy began searching the local newspapers in the towns where some of her hits indicated the men might have lived with Tilda. Remarkably, many of these small papers had online archives that went back a decade or two and permitted name searches. She gave each search a start date that began the year their marriages with Tilda began, and she searched until the next marriage began. It took three hours, but by 9:00 p.m. Andy knew how each of Tilda’s marriages had ended, and the information made her skin crawl.

“Aunt Andy?”

Andy flinched, then girded her mental loins for the crisis ahead. The term of respect was back in Harley’s vocabulary, along with the sound of palpitating anxiety in his voice.

“What is it, Harley?” she asked as sweetly as possible, still staring at the disturbing news on the computer screen. “Are you all right?”

“I can’t do this any more.”

“Do what, honey?”

“Be a Christian.”

She sighed, the heavy sigh of the condemned, and turned to face him.

“Come sit down,” she said, gesturing toward a seat at the table and surrendering to the conversation he was begging her to engage in. “Why can’t you be a Christian?”

“I’ve tried. I really have. In fact, I’ve given it my all. Especially this week.”

“You gave it your all this week?”

“That’s right. For the first time this summer, I attended every class on my schedule. I did all of my homework. I even did some extra credit. But no matter how hard I tried, I just didn’t seem to fit in at Tabernacle U anymore.”

“
Anymore?”
she said with emphasis, in an effort to point out that he must have fit in at one time.

“Well, I guess I fooled myself into thinking I fit in. But now I realize I don’t. How can I,” he asked, plaintively, “now that we’re Jewish?”

Andy had seen this train wreck coming ever since Mike Anderson had suggested her family might be Jewish. That’s why she had not told Harley until he’d eavesdropped it out of her. She knew he wouldn’t take the news lightly. Sure enough, here he was, barreling down the tracks at top speed, heading toward a come-to-Jesus-moment that any oxymoron could see didn’t involve Jesus anymore.

“Harley,” she began with all the patience she could muster, which wasn’t that much. “We are not Jewish. At least, we don’t know that for certain. And even if some of our long-dead relatives were, we aren’t now.”

“I did the math, Aunt Andy. And I was born of a Jewish mother.”

“Math?”

“Let me explain. Most gentiles are not aware that to really be Jewish, you have to be born of a Jewish mother. And if grandma was Jewish, that means you and my mother are Jewish. Ergo, I am Jewish.”

“Did you really just use the word ‘ergo?’”

“It means—”

“I know what it means, Harley. And I also know that not everyone believes having a Jewish mother makes you a Jew. It’s just one tradition. There are lots of ways to define being a Jew. Anyway, you don’t have to be Jewish, even if it turns out your ancestors were. You know that, right?”

“I know what I know,” he said gravely.

“This is silly,” Andy countered. “None of this matters. The point is—” She rummaged around for a point that might satisfy him; she herself didn’t give a flying fig what her ancestors were. “The point is, this is America, and you are free to be who and what you want to be.” Then, just for good measure—and because she knew her relatives in Nebraska liked to say it—she threw in, “It’s in the Constitution.”

His puffy face grew sober, like a former cult member who’d lost his taste for Kool-Aid. “Jesus did not write the Constitution, no matter what people say.”

“I did
not
say Jesus wrote the—”

“I know what you said. You said we are free to choose who we want to be. But that’s a lie. Life is Destiny. And Destiny is not that easy to ignore,” Harley shot back with both barrels. “And unlike many people in this family, Aunt Andy, I take my Judaism very seriously.”

Oh, my god, she thought, he’s giving me heartburn. “Why don’t you just give this whole thing a little more time?”

“You can’t change your Destiny.”

“That’s a little negative, don’t you think?”

“It is what it is.”

“You said that before, Harley. Just where, exactly, are you going with all of this?”

He raised his face to look her squarely in the eye. However, she glared back with such ferociousness, he quickly aborted the gesture. Instead, he closed his lids and let his head drop into his hands. “I had no choice but to withdraw from Our Savior’s Tabernacle University today,” he confessed.

There it was, Andy thought. The only conclusion any good Jewish boy could come to. The train and the wreckage had arrived.

“You can’t quit school,” she said, tersely. “Your mother will never forgive me.”

“I told you, I have no choice.”

“What if it turns out that we’re not Jewish after all?”

“We are. I feel it in my blood.”

“Harley, you have got to go back to school. Quitting is not up for discussion.” She was contemplating a run for the bathroom to grab Tums when inspiration struck. “What about Jews for Jesus, Harley? That way you could go to school and be both Jewish and a Christian.”

He tilted his head slowly upward, as if he had been struggling with this very dilemma for years. “Don’t you think I thought about that?”

“Okay! Good. And?”

“Those sorts of Jews have betrayed their birthright, Aunt Andy. They have turned their backs on God’s Chosen People.”

It was like arguing with a frigging Jesuit. The kid had a frigging answer for everything. She decided it was time to go for the jugular. “Well, what about the End of Days, Harley?” It came out sounding a little churlish, but she didn’t care. “If you drop out of Tabernacle U, what happens when Armageddon arrives?”

For the first time since moving into her house and her life, Harley Davidson sat up straight. Andy was stupefied. All this time she assumed he had been born without posture.

“Are you alright, Harley?”

He opened his mouth, and in an equally groundbreaking moment, nothing came out.

She had staggered him, no doubt. But her relationship with her sister Pam was on the line here, and she had to find a way to get him back in school. “Take your time,” Andy said, purposely nudging him further into his misery. “This is exactly the kind of thing you need to consider before making any big life change.”

If her nephew wanted to get himself into heaven, he would have to reverse course and return to school, Andy reasoned. She thought it only fair to point out the risks of suddenly turning your back on the Book of Revelation.

But when he finally began to speak, something inside Harley Davidson had changed. He sat up even straighter. “Because I am Jewish,” he began, now looking as if some rabbi had just put a pole up his back, “I don’t believe Jesus is the Messiah. And if Jesus is not the Messiah, then God’s Son has not actually arrived yet.” He paused briefly, apparently needing another moment before completely throwing Jesus under the bus. “And if the Messiah hasn’t actually arrived yet, then He can’t possibly be coming again. Ergo, the Last Days are not really a problem for me anymore.” He smiled, a little condescendingly Andy thought, and then added, “Or you, either, Aunt Andy.”

She studied his spongy cheeks and creamy blue eyes and wondered if she should mention that the Last Days had honestly never been a problem for her. Instead, she resigned herself to the fact that Harley was now as committed to his new team as he had been to his previous one. So she gave up.

“Would you like some chili? I made a pot while you were upstairs converting,” she said. “It’s pretty good.”

“Sure,” he said, cheerfully. “I’m really, really hungry.”

Thinking she would wait a while before calling Pam with the news, Andy walked to the stove and ladled a scoop of chili into a bowl. She set it down in front of Harley and was about to excuse herself to take a shower, hoping to wash off some of the bullpucky from this latest discussion, when her cell rang. She looked at the screen. Larry O’Freaking Dowd, she thought. About time.

The Queen of Hearts

“Hi, Larry.”

“Andy? I’ve been meaning to give you a ring, but I’ve been pretty busy.”

“The Animal House flasher?”

“You got it. We haven’t quite nailed him yet, but we’re closing in,” Larry told her. “God, this is the most disorganized shoot I’ve ever worked on. The director is a moron. Serves them right for trying to remake a classic.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” said Andy, with a voice so devoid of sarcasm she actually lifted her hand and patted herself on the back. “Any news?”

“Did Ted give you a heads up?”

“He just said you were able to track some of Tilda’s credit card receipts.”

“Right. Appears she took a road trip shortly after she sent your son the carton of ashes.”

“Really?”

“Charged all her gas from Texas to California.”

“California?” Andy said, uneasily. “She’s headed for California?”

“From the looks of it, she’s living here. At least her credit cards show she appears to be settling in.”

“Settling in? What does that mean?”

“She’s stopped moving.”

“And where, exactly, did she stop moving?”

“Up in the San Bernardino Mountains. Big Bear Lake. You know much about it?”

Andy felt a tingling sensation, as the hair on her arms stood at attention.

“We used to own a family cabin there. Summer home. Mark got it in the divorce.”

“Your ex?”

“Uh huh. In fact, I think he still owns it.” She stopped. Then corrected herself. “Owned it.” Now she wondered if she should correct herself again. “Did you find any evidence Mark is with her? Any of his credit cards?”

“Just hers. No trace of him anywhere,” Larry answered, then had an afterthought. “Sorry, Andy. He really does appear to be off the grid, so to speak.”

Off the grid, she repeated in her mind. What could that mean? Dead? Disappeared? Hiding? Hostage? Just henpecked and letting her take charge of his life completely? Mark had, in many ways, done precisely that with Andy. He had let her become responsible for the kids, the bills, the house. For the final five years of their marriage, he had pretty much let her do everything but the partying and drinking.

“Any idea what she’s doing in Big Bear?”

“None. And I’ve called in all my favors with the guy who traced Tilda’s cards. So I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. Or will be able to tell you.”

“Thanks, Larry,” she offered, still distracted by the question of why Tilda was in Big Bear.

Larry was on to other things. “Aren’t you going to ask me if all this was worth it?”

Andy was hardly listening. “Sorry?”

“If I feel I was adequately compensated for all the work I did?”

She turned her attention back to Larry. “Compensated?”

“The Pings. Were Ted’s Pings worth all my time and calling in all those favors?”

“I wanted those Pings, Larry. They’re a great set of clubs.”

“I know it. But don’t you want to know if they were worth it?”

“Okay. Sure. Were they worth it?”

“Fucking A, they were.”

“I’m glad,” she said, begrudgingly. “And not a bit surprised. Thanks.”

“Thank Ted,” he said.

She could tell the P.I. was about to sign off, and she wasn’t ready. “I will,” she said and added quickly, “Just one more thing.” Andy could imagine him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. “A piece of advice, Larry. Your take on something. That’s all.”