She walked into the wing of the house that the children and Marie had shared. It was going to be the nursery wing soon. It would be a suitable place for her mother to live, if need be. Maybe because of what the past two and a half weeks had been to Pam, she was thinking more rationally about Nelda. The first thing she would do tomorrow would be to take her to the doctor.
What if she did have a small stroke, as Marie had suggested?
It was too late to do anything about it. That was one of the drawbacks of living alone.
A
lthough it was late, Pam wanted to take a look at the folder Jack had hidden away. Looking around her kitchen, she knew she was alone and unobserved, but irrationally, she needed to be certain. Unlocking the door, she opened the pantry and reached for the folder. She looked into it and saw odds and ends of paper and what looked like random notes. It wasn’t Jack’s writing.
Sitting down on a stool, she took the top note and unfolded it. It looked like Marie’s writing. There was no date or any reference to time. It was crisp, so she didn’t think the paper was old.
“Jack, I can’t deal with you anymore. I’m not coming to the beach tonight. If you try to force me, I am telling Pam. Marie.”
Pam put the note down.
Why would he have saved this?
She tried to remember a time when Marie didn’t come to a planned visit. There were a few over the years—Marie not feeling well at the last minute, a flat tire, a leaking toilet.
The next one was also written in Marie’s hand, on nondescript notepaper: “Jack, Everything you said to me was lies. I don’t believe any of it. You are purposely trying to make me look crazy, and it won’t work.” A third note said, simply, “Jack, I’m sorry about last night. It won’t happen again. Marie.”
Wow
, Pam thought,
a lot of drama. How did he juggle everything and still run a business and be a husband and father?
She would never know. She thumbed through the rest of the notes, and they were all the same genre—two or three lines and no date or identifying marks to tell when they were written.
She put the folder down on the counter, knowing that she would destroy it. There was no point in saving something to back up Marie’s claims, just in case. She didn’t know what Marie was going to do once it sunk in that Jack didn’t leave her anything in the will. They bought that apartment for her, her car, paid for her education. There wouldn’t be anything else from Jack. And nothing she could say about him would be substantiated by these notes.
Jack had installed a fire pit on the veranda the year they moved to Long Island. Pam didn’t want it. She was worried about the children getting burned, about the fire leaving the confines of the pit and catching the roof and burning the house down. Now she was happy it was there.
She went out with the folder in her hand. There was an automatic start mechanism. With a twist of a knob, she turned the gas on and the fire started. She took the notes out, one by one, all but two unread, and tossed them in the flames. Pam realized the strength and self-control it was taking not to read all the notes. Still confused as to why Jack would save such incriminating stuff, she had a wave of fear and regret.
What if I needed them suddenly?
But could think of no reason and continued to throw them on the fire until the folder was empty.
She wondered if he had written notes to Sandra, and worse, to Marie. She hoped not. However, if he had, they were no reflection on her. There was nothing she could do about it if he had left a record of his misdeeds.
The rest of the evening stretched wonderfully out before her. The contrast of her feeling of joy and the empty, anxiety-ridden nights prior to that night made no sense at all, but she wasn’t going to question it. Figuring it was just the aftermath of having too much drama, she decided to just go with the flow and enjoy it. Putting her pajamas on, she went out to veranda, lowered the screens, and read. There was a comfortable sitting area out there, with a sofa and chair and ottoman. The screen made it possible to turn a reading light on and not be bothered by bugs. She lost herself in a novel that had failed to hold her interest just a few days ago. Alone in her house, everyone else in her life accounted for, all was well with the world.
S
andra put her bagels away, one in a baggie for the next day and the rest in the freezer. She put the teakettle on for a cup of tea. She had to have it. While she was waiting for the kettle to whistle, she unzipped her suitcase in the hall and lifted her clothing out of it. That thing had been through some filthy streets and would not roll through her house.
The list of tasks to accomplish threaded through her mind. Reaching for a pen and paper on her table, she started writing. There were a few checks to send that week and a call to make regarding her health insurance. Sometime soon she would have to run into Jersey City to go to Walmart. She was ashamed to admit, but it was the only place she could get a hair product she liked at about half what it cost in the city.
She remembered Jack’s office. Peter had said on Friday that he wasn’t going to rush Pam. He figured she would want his belongings sooner or later. Sandra was concerned about that for some reason. There was nothing to make her think he had left anything incriminating behind. But it was still unnerving. She thought she might mention it to Pam, just to get the ball rolling. Seeing his things in there made her sad, and she avoided it whenever possible.
Her phone rang. She picked it up and, as if she were reading Sandra’s mind, saw Bernice’s phone number.
Oh God, not now
, she thought. She just didn’t know if she had it in her today. She let the machine pick up and then unplugged the phone. Thinking quickly, she tiptoed to the door and placed the chain in its socket. Then she closed the shade in her bedroom, just in case someone was on 82
nd
peering between buildings to try to determine if she was home and just avoiding a call. Her paranoia validated, she picked up her tea and went down the stairs to her den. She plopped down in the overstuffed chair and reached for the remote. An afternoon of mindless television would help her recover from “Jack Family Overload,” or JFO.
Bernice wasn’t the only one trying to reach Sandra. Jack’s younger brother, Bill, spent an upsetting morning with his mother. Their usual Sunday brunch was a peaceful family tradition. Anne and Bill and their two sons took a weekly cab ride uptown from their Greenwich Village brownstone to spend the morning with Bernice, eating a lavish spread and reading the Sunday
Times
. Anne enjoyed going, in spite of her overbearing mother-in-law. It was a treat to be served a delicious meal in such a beautiful home. In the nice weather, like today, they often sat in the courtyard. The high brick wall and several water features buffered the noise of the street. Out-of-season plantings and rare specimens told a story of wealth and indiscriminate spending.
If asked, both Anne and Pam never knew quite how to explain what it was their husbands did for a living. Bill ran the family business, which Harold started long before he married Bernice. He had a little money from a trust that matured when he turned twenty-five. He bought a block of apartment buildings that needed renovation. He discovered that he was really good at pinpointing what tenants wanted who would ultimately live in that neighborhood. His real estate venture segued into a demographic research company. He had a knack for figuring out exactly what should go where and who would end up there. Jack worked for him out of college and found that he was good at it, too, or more specifically, knew where to find people who were good at it. With Harold’s blessing, Jack left and formed his own company, Harold fielding clients to Jack’s downtown office and keeping the uptown clients. If only it were that easy.
This Sunday brought what was left of the Smith family together again. Bernice had some news to break to her son. She had mulled over Sandra’s situation all week. And unbeknownst to Bernice, the will had been read. Pam had the good sense to call her and tell her that Jack had given his half of the business to his girlfriend. Bernice was sure she had an ulterior motive. Pam wanted her to know she knew about Sandra. But Bernice knew about the baby. She smirked into the phone while her daughter-in-law droned on and on about the wisdom of her dead husband’s choice. Evidently, Sandra had made a promise to include Pam’s two children in the business and draw up papers, if need be.
We’ll see
, Bernice thought,
we’ll see
.
After they ate, Bernice made a great fuss about showing the boys a new electronic game she bought them. They went into the den, and she unveiled it. They would be occupied for some time. She went back out through the french doors, closing them behind her this time. She rang for Mildred and told her she was not to be disturbed.
“Mother, what is it? You look as white as a ghost.” Bill was sitting at the glass table, drinking his third cup of coffee, and reading the sports page. Anne was leafing through a stack of gardening magazines Bernice had saved for her. They were both looking at her.
“Well, I have some news. News that may be shocking to you, but I think once you accept it, it will be good news.” She was pacing on the cobblestones, her flats smacking the rock with each step. “Come over here and sit down, won’t you, Anne? I don’t want to have to speak too loudly.” Anne got up from the stone bench and came back to the table.
Bill was clearly concerned. “Get on with it, Mother! You’re scaring me.”
Was she getting married again? That would be the worst
. Bill was to used to taking a backseat.
But another man? No fucking way.
“Calm down! For heaven’s sake, you’re making me nervous now.” She came back to the table and sat down. “I am just going to say it. Jack was having an affair with a young woman who worked for him, a researcher. She is pregnant, very early. Jack didn’t know. She is keeping the baby. And Jack willed her his share of the business.” She exhaled loudly and fell back in her chair. There, it was out.
Bill was bright red in the face. He made a fist and slammed it down on the glass. Coffee cups jumped.
Bernice, startled, yelled, “Bill!”
“No way!” he yelled. “No fucking way! There is no fucking way my brother was having an affair!” He had jumped up and was yelling this, with Columbus Avenue right on the other side of the wall. The boys had heard, too, and were looking up and walking to the door to see what their dad was yelling about. Anne stood up to reassure them, to make sure they stayed in the den. She walked over to her husband.
“Bill! Let your mother finish.” She looked at Bernice.
Was there more?
Anne knew that secretly, Jack had alluded to sharing his clients with Bill. They needed the business desperately. The city was changing, and things were not what they used to be uptown. Harold had died at the worst time, and some clients left then, nervous about losing someone they trusted.
“That’s all,” she said. “The young woman is lovely, poised and educated. Evidently, even Pam has embraced her.”
“Pam’s nuts!” Bill yelled again. “What the hell is she going to live on if the business goes to a stranger? And a baby? How do you even know it’s Jack’s? Oh my God, I can’t believe this.” Bill sat down then and with his head in his hand, repeated, “This is crazy. No way.” Then he got up and pushed his chair in. “Come on, get the boys, Anne. I want to go home.” He was agitated. Bernice understood that some line had been crossed, and he didn’t understand how she could possibly be accepting this. His wife didn’t argue, and Bernice didn’t try to get him to stay. They went into the den and told the boys to gather up their toys. “I need a ride home. There is no way we are going out there to look for a cab.” Bernice rang for Mildred. They were told the car would be around in a minute.
No one spoke. Bernice knew her son was livid and doing the best he could to control himself. Anne was petrified. The car arrived, and everyone got in. The boys said goodbye to their grandmother, Anne kissed her cheek, but Bill, in a daze, said nothing, looking straight ahead. They traveled downtown in silence.
When they pulled up to their house and got out of the car, Anne corralled the boys and whispered that their father had just gotten some bad news, and they had to be quiet, go to their rooms, and play for the afternoon. They understood and took off up the stairs. Bill seemed unaware of where they were. He walked into their library and closed the door. Anne breathed a sigh of relief and went to their room.
Once Bill was in the safety of his own home, locked away behind closed doors, he began to shake. He paced back and forth. He was so angry. He knew that his mother didn’t have anything to do with it, but he was pissed at her because she was giving this whore the time of day.
And Pam? Was she crazy? Pam was a fool, but this was even a lot for her.
He was going to call her, but he would wait until Monday, when he was in the office. He wasn’t going to let Anne hear what he had to say.
He realized he didn’t know the name of the woman. That changed things. No one was going to give him any information about her in the state he was in. He needed to pull himself together and get ready to do an acting job like he had never done before. He was good at it. His entire life had been one big acting job.
B
y Monday, a quartet of human beings, all related by Jack Smith, woke up with one thought on their minds: how a tiny, unborn baby would change their lives.
Marie Fabian went to work late, coming in to the city from her mother’s house in Brooklyn. She knew that her mother’s care was a blip on the screen, that in the big picture, it wouldn’t change much of how she lived her life.
Pam Fabian Smith left her house to make the forty-five minute drive to her mother. She made the decision that Nelda was coming home with her. She had too much to do to spend the day in Brooklyn. Her excuse for coming was that she needed her mother to help her choose paint and paper for the baby’s room. She was going to drop that bomb today.