Evvie at Sixteen
Page 12
Besides, she said to herself, how much lying did he actually do? Just the part about who his father was, and he might not have known the truth himself when he was a boy. It was possible his mother told him his father was a soldier and then made up the D-day story herself. Nicky might not have known who his father really was until he read the detectives’ report. It would be a rotten way to find out, but it would help explain why he’d lied to his daughters all those years. Maybe he didn’t even believe the report. Maybe it was all made up. Evvie hadn’t seen any proof. Maybe there wasn’t any. For all she knew, the detectives had created a past for Nicky they knew Grace would find appropriate.
Evvie fingered the file and reluctantly leafed through it. The first few pages were the single-spaced report. The rest were documents and transcripts. Sure enough, there was a copy of the birth certificate. They hadn’t made that part up, or the IQ. There was even a copy of the social services report. It was all true. And if she kept on reading, all she’d find were more truths.
Of course, it was possible that she already knew the rest. Nicky might have improved his parentage, but he’d never lied about his stepfather. The only way she’d know was if she kept on reading. Evvie felt like Pandora—it was an all-or-nothing deal, and she decided to continue to find out about her father.
In January of 1954, Mary Keefer Clay died of cancer. While George Keefer’s legal residence remained with his stepfather, in actuality he spent little time there, and on his sixteenth birthday, all connections were officially severed. Keefer lived in foster care until the end of that summer, and then moved on to be on his own. He lived in flophouses, stayed with friends, and when he had the funds, lived at the local YMCA. During this time, Keefer worked at a variety of part-time jobs, while continuing to attend high school. He maintained the fiction that he was still residing at Clay’s address, and forged his stepfather’s signature to report cards.
A complete list of Keefer’s places of employment can be found at the end of this report (Document D). Among other jobs, he washed dishes, worked as a busboy, caddied at the local country club, and delivered groceries. Keefer’s work was regarded as satisfactory, and he left each job of his own volition. The general impression he gave was that he was “too good” for that kind of labor and that his ambitions were great. He had few friends, although it was agreed that he could be quite charming when he so chose.
Well, that hasn’t changed, Evvie thought. She felt a wave of pity for Nicky. George, she thought. Did his mother call him Georgy? Whatever his name, Nicky was a man who hated working with his hands, was obsessive about cleanliness, and demanded his privacy from everyone except Megs. No matter how bad things had been, they must have seemed like paradise to him compared to flophouses and washing dishes. Evvie allowed herself a moment of admiring her father for not quitting, and waited for Mr. Wilson, his twelfth-grade English teacher, to make his appearance, rescue Nicky, and pay for his college education.
Keefer graduated seventh in his class (his ranking at the end of junior year had been second). He had been admitted to Princeton, but had not requested scholarship aid.
Mr. Wilson had better show up fast, Evvie thought. He should have been there already. It occurred to her that Nicky had always claimed to have graduated fourth in his class, that even on the smallest matters he lied. She knew she wasn’t going to like what she read next, that the odds were Mr. Wilson was as lovely a legend as the D-day daddy. She hated Aunt Grace, and she hated herself for giving in to temptation, and of course, most of all, she hated Nicky.
After graduating from high school, Keefer disappeared from sight for a month or so. He was next reported visiting the office of Sebastian Prescott. According to Audrey Williams, Mr. Prescott’s secretary, on August 3, 1955, George Keefer came to Mr. Prescott’s office, demanding an interview with him. Miss Williams said the resemblance between the two men was startling, and assuming that they must be related, she sent Keefer in. She was able to overhear much of their conversation. Keefer threatened to reveal his identity to Prescott’s wife, son, and daughter, unless Prescott paid for his education at Princeton.
Miss Williams informed us that Mr. Prescott was at that time suffering from marital problems. Apparently he felt that Keefer’s arrival in his family life was inopportune. However, he refused to give Keefer the full four-years’ tuition, instead making out a check for three thousand dollars, telling Keefer that that was all he’d ever see from him, and that if he knew what was good for him, he’d take the money, change his name, leave town, and never bother decent people again. Miss Williams informed us that she had never heard Mr. Prescott so angry. Disillusioned by the way he had treated his own, albeit illegitimate son, Miss Williams left Prescott’s employ shortly thereafter.
We have been unable to find any records of George Keefer or Nicholas Sebastian for the next twelve months. In September of 1956, however, he registered at Princeton University as a freshman, under the name of Nicholas George Sebastian. He listed himself as an orphan, and paid the full year’s tuition himself, claiming he had received the funds from a trust fund set up for him by his former English teacher, Mr. John Wilson. There were no John Wilsons in the Wilmington school district that Keefer attended, so presumably he invented the entire story. Mr. Sebastian has not worked any part-time jobs since he began at Princeton, and his tuition is completely paid for the upcoming academic year, so he must have been able to increase the amount of his savings from that initial three thousand dollars. We are trying to determine if illegal activities were involved, but thus far have been unable to uncover any.
Mr. Sebastian is popular with his classmates at Princeton, and academically is doing quite well, with a 3.6 average. His friends there are of the impression that he comes from an impoverished but socially prominent family in the midwest, that his father died on D-day, and his mother, his junior year in high school. His lack of family does not seem to be held against him, and the feeling is he’ll do well in whatever field he chooses to make his own.
Evvie turned over the page and found the next thing was the birth certificate. Father unknown. Nicky wasn’t the only one with a father like that, she thought. As of the moment, her father was unknown to her as well. George Nicholas Keefer. Nicholas Sebastian, self-made man. My parents create their own universe, she thought, and when she laughed out loud the sound was harsh. Nicky created a fairy-tale past and he presented it to Megs, who fell in love with it and him. The truth didn’t stand a chance, not the way Aunt Grace must have presented it. Nicky the orphan, without home or family. Hell, the way Evvie figured it, Nicky had two brothers and two sisters he’d never bothered to tell her about. That was a lot of family for a homeless orphan.
Almost without thinking about it, she picked up the phone, and dialed home. If she could just talk to Nicky, he would straighten it all out. He must have a reason for all his lies. Nicky had a reason for everything.
The phone rang twice and Nicky answered it. “Nick Sebastian here,” he said, the way he always did, the way Evvie had grown up hearing him say it.
She hung up and pushed the phone away from her. There was no Nick Sebastian here. There was just a man who lived on lies, a man nourished on deceit. The man she thought was her father—but he didn’t exist.
Suddenly Evvie knew that Grace had won; she hated the truth about her father and couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Sam. He was like Nicky, she realized. Sam was someone who lived in a fairy-tale world, lying when it suited his purpose, lying with the casual indifference that most people used for the truth. Sam was different in a thousand ways from Nicky, but the core of both their beings was falsehood, just as Aunt Grace had said. And Evvie couldn’t deal with that, not then, maybe not ever.
She called information, and got the number of the Hotel Carlyle. She concentrated, remembered the right name, and asked for Dr. Myron Greene’s room. Nicky had taught her it was important to remember names, and now she could see why. He’d had so many of his own to keep track of.
; “Hello?”
“Is Sam there?” Evvie asked.
“Sammy, it’s for you. It’s a girl.”
“Hi, Evvie?”
“Sam, I can’t see you this afternoon.”
“Why not?” he asked, his voice sounding easy and familiar.
“Something’s come up,” Evvie said. “I’m going to take the train back to Eastgate. I’ll break the damned hundred.”
“Evvie, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Evvie lied. “I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up the phone before he had a chance to ask her anything else. Then she ran to the room that had been her mother’s, threw herself on the bed, and wept as her mother must frequently have done.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“It’s thoughtful of Clark to have his own private beach,” Evvie declared. She toweled herself off after a pleasant swim in the ocean.
“Clark’s a very thoughtful man,” Schyler replied. He leaned over and gave Evvie a kiss.
Evvie smiled at him. Schyler Hughes was the best-looking boy she’d ever seen. If looks were everything, she’d be ecstatic.
“You have freckles,” he said. “Little ones on your nose. I like that.”
“I put them on just for you,” Evvie said. “It took hours, so I’m glad you appreciate them.”
“That was very thoughtful of you,” Schyler said. “Nowadays girls don’t go to so much bother.”
“How would you know?” Evvie asked. “Going to an all-boys school.”
“Word gets around,” Schyler replied. “Do you want me to rub that suntan lotion on you?”
“Thank you,” Evvie said, handing him the bottle. Schyler rubbed lotion on her back with strong steady strokes.
“Your muscles are tight,” he said, and began to massage them. “A sure sign of tension.”
“I don’t know why,” Evvie said. “I have nothing to be tense about.”
“Not even Miss Winslow?” Schyler asked.
“We’re getting along okay now,” Evvie replied. “She didn’t like my seeing Sam, I stopped seeing him, and things are fine.”
“I’m glad you stopped seeing him, too,” Schyler said. “For more selfish reasons.” He stopped kneading her muscles, put his hands on her shoulders, and moved her around so that they were facing. He held her tight against him and kissed her.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, when the kiss finally ended. “Evvie, you’re better than I could have dreamed of.”
“Schyler,” Evvie said.
“I mean it,” he declared. “This summer promised to be such a disaster. Hanging out with Clark and Scotty. Nothing to do. No one to see. And when I heard about you, I didn’t know what to expect.”
“I know,” Evvie said. “When Clark said he’d have cousins staying with him, I thought I’d have to baby-sit.”
“Oh, I knew how old you were,” Schyler said, and he kissed Evvie on her right shoulder. “But the way he went on about you and your family, I figured you had to be a dog.”
“And I’m not?” Evvie said.
“No, you’re not,” Schyler said. He took Evvie in his arms, and they kissed again. Evvie could taste the ocean on his lips.
“It’s amazing,” he said. “How well things can work out sometimes.”
“You mean this summer?” Evvie asked.
“I mean you,” Schyler replied, and kissed her again.
Evvie smiled at Schyler and traced his mouth with her finger. “What if I had been a dog?” she asked. “What then?”
“If you were the same person you are now, only didn’t look so good?” Schyler asked. “I guess I would have learned to like you.”
“That’s nice,” Evvie said.
“I’m glad I didn’t have to learn to,” Schyler said. “Your being pretty was a real timesaver.”
“That girl last summer,” Evvie said. “Last summer’s girl. Was she pretty?”
“She was beautiful,” Schyler replied. “We had a lot of fun.”
“I bet you’ve never dated a girl who wasn’t pretty,” Evvie said. It was a hot sunny day, but she no longer felt warm. “Have you, Schyler?”
“Probably not,” Schyler said. “But you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever dated. And certainly the nicest.”
“Right,” Evvie said. “And if I hadn’t been pretty, you still would have dated me. Just because I’m nice.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Schyler asked. “Don’t girls like to be liked for themselves, and not just for their looks?”
“You got it,” Evvie said. “They like to be liked for themselves, and not because other people say they should be liked.”
“Other people?” Schyler said.
“People like Clark and your parents,” Evvie said.
“What about my parents?” Schyler asked.
“I overheard them talking about me,” Evvie said. “Before lunch, that first day at Clark’s. Date Evvie, to make Clark happy. That’s why you would have learned to like me anyway, isn’t it, Schyler? To make rich old Clark happy.”
“So what?” Schyler said. “You’ve been dating me for the same reason. To make Clark and your aunt happy.”
“That’s not true,” Evvie said.
“Then why have you been dating me?” Schyler asked. “Why not that Sam person?”
“Don’t call him that Sam person,” Evvie said. “He has a name. He has a lot of names. And none of them are that Sam person.”
“I’ll bet he has a lot of names,” Schyler said. “His mother must have a thousand aliases by now.”
Evvie traced an arrow in the sand and wiped it out.
“Is that why you stopped seeing him?” Schyler asked. “Because of his parents?”
“No,” Evvie said. “At least not the way you think.”
“Miss Winslow came to her senses,” Schyler said. “She realized you shouldn’t be seeing him and she made you stop.”
“She didn’t make me,” Evvie said. “She just made me see things about Sam and his family.”
“You know, I’m almost disappointed,” Schyler declared. “I know how it can be, when your family doesn’t approve, but I was kind of hoping you’d fight for what you wanted. Even if that was just Steinmetz.”
“Who didn’t your family approve of?” Evvie asked. “Your last summer’s girl?”
“Her name was Yolanda,” Schyler said. “Frankly, I think that’s what my mother held most against her. Her name. Yolanda. In any event, she wasn’t good enough for a Hughes.”
“So you stopped seeing her?” Evvie asked. “Just because your mother didn’t like her name?”
“I stopped seeing her because my mother controls the allowance,” Schyler replied. “You’d be astounded how many things there are that money can be used for, even at prep school.”
“I’m surprised,” Evvie said. “And I think Yolanda is a pretty name. Prettier than Evvie.”
“She was a beauty,” Schyler said. “Oh, well. I guess this is a summer for second choices.”
“I’m sorry,” Evvie said. Schyler laughed. “I am. I’m sorry I’m not Yolanda and I’m sorry you feel you have to see me and I’m sorry I let you down.”
“You’re forgiven,” Schyler declared. “Besides, if I’d been allowed to see Yolanda, I’d probably be bored with her already. And you are pretty, Evvie, and pleasant to be with. I certainly enjoy kissing you.” He kissed her to prove it.
But this time Evvie didn’t kiss him back.
“Dammit, Evvie, if you want to see Sam, why don’t you?” Schyler asked. “Or isn’t he good enough for a Sebastian?”
Evvie laughed. “You have no idea how funny that is,” she said.
“No, I don’t,” Schyler replied. “Do you want to tell me?”
Evvie stared at him and thought about it. If she told Schyler about the detectives’ report, he’d be sure to tell Clark. Of course, Clark might already know. Evvie could picture Megs running to tell Clark after Grace had forced her to face the ugly truth. Lucky Clark.
“If you mean infidelities, of course,” Schyler replied. “I first learned Father cheated when I was twelve. Mother was more careful. I didn’t figure her out until right after my fifteenth birthday.”
“I can’t imagine my parents cheating,” Evvie said.
Schyler shrugged. “My parents are unfaithful,” he said. “At least they’ve stayed married. I find that endearing. What other kind of secret did you mean?”
“The vulgar kind,” Evvie replied. “The dirty-linen kind.”
“Evvie, even the Hugheses have that kind of secret,” Schyler said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if you found out your parents aren’t saints, that’s hardly a reason to stop seeing Sam.”
“What do you get out of it, if I date Sam?” Evvie asked.
“A lot more freedom,” Schyler declared. “I tell Clark I gave it my best shot, but you chose Steinmetz, for reasons I’ll never understand. He’ll tut-tut, mutter something about your mother’s romantic nature, and tell me how sorry he is things didn’t work out and I should try to make the best of what remains of the summer. Which I would. There are year-rounder girls here with yearnings. Girls I’d be happy to spend hot summer nights with.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been holding you back,” Evvie said.
“The summer is young yet,” Schyler said. “I can be faithful to anyone for two weeks.”
“Schyler, when you found out your parents were unfaithful, did you confront them?” Evvie asked.
Schyler shook his head. “I have my secrets,” he said. “I figure they’re entitled to theirs. Besides, they’d only lie. Even if they told me the truth, admitted to everything, they’d be lying. That’s what people do when they’re cornered. That’s what they do if they can’t stand the truth.”
“I’m learning that,” Evvie said.
“If I were Sam, I’d lie,” Schyler declared. “Hell, I’m not Sam, and I lie. And your parents lie and my parents lie, and Grace Winslow has probably lied, too, on occasion.”