Maybe Someday

by Ede Clarke

  “The power of attorney and medical form that you and Mr. Tedesco created a few months ago has helped us in drafting these forms that allow us to give you more information. Since there are no living relatives, we did not have to contact them. According to our legal department, there is precedent that with no living relative to possibly contest the information being given to you and with the previous paper trail of Mr. Tedesco giving you legal authority in his children’s affairs, that we can just sign this agreement and then that should be enough. It just says that we are disclosing to you information about Mr. Tedesco’s employment at the bank in order to best serve the interest of his children, who are in your care, and your care alone.”

  After we signed the papers Michelle tried to begin but was interrupted as a woman knocked and entered with my water. “Thank you,” we both told her.

  This interruption allowed me to just come out and ask what I’d been wanting to know, “Is he dead?”

  Michelle looked straight at me with a look of surprise, “Dead?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I replied. “That’s the only thing I can come up with.”

  “Well . . . what do you mean the only thing you can come up with?”

  “When I ask myself why a man would leave his five kids after they just lost their mother. The only answer I come up with is death.”

  “I see,” she said. “Well, I don’t know, Ms. Lewis,” Michelle emphatically spoke, “if he’s dead. I really don’t.”

  “Oh,” I told her, terribly disappointed at the sudden realization that I wouldn’t leave there with all the answers I thought I would.

  “He was fired after failing to attend mandatory counseling sessions that the bank offered as a last resort to turn around and resolve recent performance issues,” she continued.

  “Really?” I couldn’t believe it. “Ted? Performance issues?”

  “Seems since the death of his wife he went downhill and never came back up, or even plateaued,” she explained. She read a few excerpts from his file describing a myriad of problems including behavioral and performance issues. “He was finally placed on probation instead of being fired with the agreement that he would attend weekly counseling sessions. He apparently went to one session, but never returned. When he admitted no intention of going back to counseling, his employment was immediately terminated.”

  I was grateful that the glass of water came with a pitcher of water. I drank almost the whole thing during that conversation with Michelle. Apparently I was thirsty. “What does the counselor say? Does anyone know where he is?” I asked.

  “The counselor says the session was unproductive, offering little information. I’ve taken the liberty of writing his name and number down for you in case you want to get in touch,” she slipped a heavy stock notecard my way across her desk and continued, “Neither the counselor, nor us, have any idea where he is.”

  “So, the next step is the police, then, isn’t it?” I said as I began a controlled cry. “I’m sorry,” I said as I quickly got it together and took the tissue she offered.

  “Yes. I’d be happy to help you with that if you’d like.”

  “But, this isn’t really your affair anymore. I mean, the bank hasn’t been involved in a while. I should handle this on my own now, I think,” I told her as I was thinking out loud.

  “I really don’t mind helping. If nothing else, please take my card and offer it to the detective you talk with. I’ll make myself available whenever necessary.” At this point it dawned on me why Michelle had been so helpful. “Look, I’m not blaming the bank for any of this, alright. And I never will,” I roughly told her, feeling anger rising in me. We both nodded as I rose and put the folder with all the papers under my arm and left. Before exiting her office, I turned over my shoulder and confessed, “I’m sorry I got angry at you. It’s not you.” We parted with a smart handshake and then I walked out.

  At times like that, when I need help, when I don’t know what’s around the corner, I always thought of Russ. Like if he was with me, everything would be alright. Although the memories that always came flooding back were of a man who didn’t really take care of things, or necessarily make things easier or better. It didn’t match, really; my desire to have him in my life with the way I knew him to be. The hope always remained though that we were so young then, it might be better now if we tried. Oh, why, why did I hold onto something that wasn’t good for me? I suppose that is what frustrated Candy so, what she is always trying to help me see. She could objectively remember our lives together then, at school. Something I apparently could only see through a veil of obsessively nurturing that secret corner of myself that held Russ. If I wasn’t the woman who loved him, understood him, pined for him, then who was I? “Candy,” I called her to help myself run from the temptation of fantasizing about Russ, “can you meet for lunch?”

  “I couldn’t believe you called like this. I knew something was up. But, this? Come on!” We chatted around the corner from Rich’s in a coffee shop over my juice and her caffeine fix. Neither one of us wanted to eat once I told her what was going on. “I have about one and a half hours before Jackie is home. So, I’m going to dash to the police station and try to meet with someone. I’ll call you tonight, alright?”

  “Hang on a minute, Patty. Let me go with you. Lemme just call quick and tell them I’ll be a bit late coming back from lunch.”

  “I ran an entire research department at one of the country’s best libraries, Candy. I think I can go talk to a detective by myself.” I was amazed at how snappy I was.

  “You know what they say,” Candy replied with no hint of annoyance, “when you go to see the doctor to get important test results or for him to tell you the next step in a treatment process, you’re supposed to have someone with you because we don’t really hear it all that well, usually wrong or incomplete.”

  “I don’t have cancer. I have a missing father.” The two of us stared at each other for a minute. That’s why I’ve been so shaky and mean. “Thank you. Yes,” I surrendered. I was not thinking clearly and it was really alarming when the blinders would suddenly come off for just a second, just a glimpse. To get a good look at insanity, and in yourself no less, is off-putting, to say the least. I almost would have rather not seen, and just gone on trusting myself.

  We sat with a Detective Leo Daniels for almost forty-five minutes as he took down the story. At about thirty minutes into our talk, I finally just had to ask, “So, Detective, is your mother a God-fearing woman?”

  “Um . . . yes, Ms. Lewis. Very perceptive of you,” he smiled a knowing and kind smile with his chin humbly to his chest without looking at me. “My mother grew up on Bible stories and so did I.” So she made him into one. Did it determine his fate, guide him?

  “I see,” I politely nodded back.

  “Alright,” the Detective sighed at us, scanning the paperwork, scanning through the completed pages, “That’s all for now.” At that I looked at Candy, thinking, “That’s it?” “We’ll start poking around and make some phone calls and see what we can find,” he continued. “At some point, depending on how things unfold, child welfare services will have to get involved. I’ll contact them today so a social worker can get assigned to the case so we don’t lose time on the back end, if need be.” I wasn’t up on my police lingo and hadn’t watched a police television show since Hill Street Blues, but an internal alarm went off inside me when I heard ‘child welfare services.’

  “Will they be taken away from me?” I quickly asked.

  “Not necessarily, Ms. Lewis,” he promptly replied with both hands in the air, palms toward me. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Just want to prepare you for what might be down the road. You know, you have no legal claim to these kids.”

  “Yeah, but there are no relatives. No God-parents. So, I . . . ” Detective Daniels gently interrupted me first with his left hand in the air, then with his words after I stopped talking.

  “There will be many options and decisions ahe
ad of you as we continue through this process. I think it is best to not get ahead of ourselves, like I said before. He’s only been missing for a few days. Let’s just back up and take this one step at a time. Alright?” he gently asked me.

  “Alright,” I humored him and continued, “Can you understand, though, that I would feel better with more information of how things might go? I just want to know what could happen.”

  “Of course,” he replied with a slight smile. “Let me get a social worker assigned and she can answer all those questions. I’ll have her call you.” I couldn’t tell if this was a brush-off answer or a sincere offer. I was completely in the dark as to how their procedures work, so I didn’t have enough knowledge to check my feelings against.

  “Thank you,” I decided to reply. I looked at Candy thinking maybe she would have something else to ask that I had forgotten, something crucial that only an insane, snappy woman would forget to ask. I was relieved when she said, “Okay. Thank you, Detective.” And then she turned to me, put her arm on my back and rose out of her chair, leading me to our cars.

  I was able to finish a few things around the house before Jackie got home. I really enjoyed the few hours we had alone before the others would start trickling in. I usually was able to just focus on him for about two hours. “So, did Daddy say how long he would be gone?” he immediately asked as he walked through the door. “You promised you’d find out today how much longer,” he added when I apparently didn’t answer his question fast enough.

  “Actually, Jackie, I didn’t promise. But, you are right, I did say I’d try to find out today and I’m still working on that. I’ve talked to a few friends and it looks like it might take a bit longer to find out when Daddy will be home. Sorry, Jack. But, I’ll let you guys know as soon as I do. Now, let’s get your lunchbox into the kitchen and your shoes by the door . . . ”

  Just then the phone rang. I couldn’t believe it was already Detective Daniels. In this kind of situation does this mean something good or bad? I just didn’t know what to expect. “There’s no record of his vehicle parked in short- or long-term parking at the airport. We have yet to locate the car, but have notified all proper authorities of the car’s description.” I said nothing, and then he continued. “Also, have you checked your bank account balance in the last few days?” he asked.

  “No,” I told him. “Why?”

  “There was a large deposit put into your account the day before Mr. Tedesco was supposedly leaving for New York City.”

  “Really?” I replied.

  “Yes, we have yet to contact Mr. Tedesco’s bank to confirm it came from his account, but I’m assuming it did.”

  “Uh, huh,” I quietly grunted.

  “Did you know about this deposit? Do you know where it came from?”

  “No,” I said as I slowly deflated, like my emotions were escaping me, not to return for a very long time.

  “I’ll call you back when I know more, Ms. Lewis.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  I went back to playing Candy Land with Jackie. “You’re in the swamp again!” he roared at me. “Yes . . . again,” I smiled back at him, rubbing his hair for a moment before he squirmed my touch away.

  After all the kids were in bed, I grabbed a cup of chamomile tea and sat in the living room, just staring at the wall, going over every detail of every conversation we had had in the last year. Every detail that I could remember, that is. A great doubt of myself had swept over my being in the last few days, and had great momentum. When would it end its surge? I trusted who I was with the kids, but inside my head was another world being created minute by minute in which I was flighty, mean, off-center, mistrusting, and very angry. When the Detective told me about the money in my account, the sensation flooded over me just like when I was told my parents were gone. It wasn’t like a light switch being flipped, instantly and emphatically shutting down the circuit. It was the slow, dark beginning of and maneuvering against reality and comfort within. He was gone. And so it began again, the dance of living in intense pain. This time was worse because it was familiar and I knew what to expect; how bad it would inevitably get.

  My eyes wandered from the opposing wall to the adjacent bookshelf. While scanning the many titles of books I have known, I found my safety again. For the first time in over an hour, I wanted to move from the chair. I sat back down again, cozied into the wingback with my head heavy in the right corner, and fell into relationship again:

  The hills across the valley of the Ebrol were long and white. On the side there was no shade and no trees and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun . . .

  “They’re lovely hills,” she said. “They don’t really look like white elephants. I just meant the coloring of their skin through the trees.”. . .

  “We’ll be fine afterward. Just like we were before.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “That’s the only thing that bothers us. It’s the only thing that’s made us unhappy.”. . .

  “What did you say?”

  “I said we could have everything.”

  We can have everything.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  “We can have the whole world.” . . .

  “I’d do anything for you.’

  “Would you please please please please please please please Stop talking.” . . .

  “I’ll scream,” the girl said. . . .

  “Do you feel better?” he asked.

  “I feel fine,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I feel fine.”

  Chapter Five

  “Why are you calling me?” I asked with a cute little twinge to my words. “You guys are supposed to be having fun.” “A

  w, Patty. I can’t. I want to be with you. I shouldn’t have gone,” Russ said so softly, even though the roar of the club was coming through like heaves of a storm at sea. It’s like he didn’t know where he was.

  “Honey, go back to the guys and I’ll see you tomorrow,” I encouraged him on. “Go have fun,” I continued. And then finally I heard, “Can I come by on my way home. . . just to say good night?”

  “You can say good night now over the phone and good afternoon in person tomorrow,” I sweetly told him.

  “Good night. And, remind me never to go out without you again.”

  “Good night,” I told him, and giggled to Candy as I hung up the phone.

  “Russ,” she began, while flipping through a magazine, “is so stuck on you that he can’t enjoy his friends anymore. Good grief, Patty! You want a guy like that?” she asked without looking at me. “That would drive me crazy,” she concluded.

  I didn’t mind, but I could also stay with one man for years, where Candy couldn’t date the same guy for more than a few months. “I just know right away if he’s not the one,” she explained a million times. “And I just haven’t found the one yet. That’s all.”

  “Fine, but don’t tell me sticking with Russ is wrong when I know he’s the one. That’s all I’m saying, too,” I told her one afternoon when we were sunning ourselves on the dorm roof.

  “Why is he the one, Patty?” she asked and really wanted an answer. In fact, she didn’t say another word but waited for me to start to explain.

  “Oh. You really want to know. Well then. . . he’s good. His character, you know. He sometimes doesn’t make the right choice or do the right thing. But, he’s a good man,” I slowly unfolded and Candy gave me all the time I needed. “I find myself looking behind the mistakes to his motivation.”

  “Are you sure you’re not just talking about pity?” she inserted.

  “Why would I pity him?” I asked.

  “Never mind . . . go on,” she dismissed.

  “I trust him, Candy,” I persuaded.

  “Trust in God, Patty. Not people.”

  Oh to be one of Cather’s able women instead of unable to finish a Hemingway story without allowing memories of Russ to permeate and confuse. What I would not give for a call from him.
My mind drifted through Hemingway to Russ, through Faulkner to Russ, through Cather to Russ. Disappointment in myself permanently wedged itself into my gut by the end of the readings. Why can’t I be upset, in a hard situation, or even alone without wanting him? Why can’t I just go through it without inviting him in? I pummeled myself. “Even your Mom, who liked Russ, had his number,” Candy often told me. “She always said he was ‘taking up room without paying the rent’.”

  He does live here with me, with us. And he lived with me in my apartment downtown and he would go to work, to the library, with me and would be the first one I would imagine telling when something great or awful happened. The thought of ever having each other truly in our lives again seems odd since in a way he’s never left. He wouldn’t need to be caught up on what graduate school was like; what my parent’s death was like; how much Candy and her parents have become my family; how much I loved my work at Erie Public; the progression of my career there; and, of course, The Five. And I wouldn’t need to be caught up on how his brothers are doing; if he’s an uncle; if he still loves to play ball—even just for fun; if he still loves history; if he’s ever been close to marrying; and, since I hadn’t heard anything in a year or so, maybe if he actually finally is married. None of those conversations would need to take place. We already know and have been living in each other’s pockets.

  “You sent him an invitation to your graduation?!” seethed Candy in disbelief, “I can’t believe you, Patty! Will you never believe what is true, what has happened? Look outside yourself. Do you not see him, really?” Whoa. She was really angry.

  “Why are you getting so upset at something that has nothing to do with you?” I tried to deflect.

  “One word, Patty, one word: Absent,” Candy desperately tried to open my eyes. “You haven’t seen him, talked to him for almost two years and you send him an invitation?! And, to where I’d like to know? You don’t even know where he’s living, do you?”