She swallowed hard, eyes wide, and nodded.
“Then go for it.” He set down the mug and strolled toward the door, opening it to the hall. Before leaving, he paused, then turned to look at her over his broad shoulder.
“One last question. You mentioned that women don’t want romance. That they just want the hard facts. Do you think you’re typical of women today?”
She paused and thought of how she was getting up early each day, packing her children off to school, toiling for eight hours for low pay, traveling home in rush hour to rush again to put dinner on the table, check homework, then catch up on laundry and housework. Then maybe she could do the work she brought home in her briefcase before collapsing into bed. She thought of how gullible she’d once been, of how many times she’d been burned. She thought of the dreams she’d believed in as a child and the nightmare of a marriage gone bad. Life was hard for women, young and old, but especially for single mothers. They had to scrape at the day to dig up one moment of joy.
“Yes,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “I think I’m typical.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Then why are you still drinking coffee?”
Chapter 6
The moon rose full and heavy in the night sky, and in the bluish light Jack saw a small boy tiptoe across the flagstones, coming to a stop in the center of the garden. Jack sat motionless in the darkness, unobserved. The boy’s knobby knees protruded under the hem of his boxer shorts, his long, thin arms hung at his sides, and his shaggy blond head was tilted back as he stared at a fixed point in the sky.
What an odd child that Tom O'Neill is, Jack thought. It was very late, near midnight. What was it that brought a six-year-old boy outside at this time of night? Maybe it was the stars? Certainly by the age of six he himself was already hooked by the night sky. In fact, he could recall being chased off the orphanage’s roof many a night by attendants horrified that he might fall off, or worse, jump. Jack stretched his neck to follow Tom’s line of sight.
Ah, so that’s it, he thought with a smile twitching at his lips. No Big Dipper or Milky Way captured this boy’s imagination. Tom’s gaze was fixed on the third-floor window of Crazy Wendy.
Boy and man quietly gazed upward for a while, neither moving a muscle. Time enough for Jack to come up with a scheme of his own. The stars had been his ticket to excitement and fulfillment, as it had to a history full of boys and girls. He smiled broadly at the prospect of introducing another boy to that wonderful world. Space was a great adventure. The greatest, he thought.
“Ah Tom,” he sighed, watching as the knobby-kneed, wispy haired boy lowered his head, then sneaked barefoot across the flagstones back indoors, no doubt to his room and the comfort of his blankets. “Look higher, boy,” he said quietly with a sad smile and a sorry shake of his head. “There is more than enough mystery to greet a boy’s imagination in the heavens."
* * *
The following night, filled with excitement, Jack carefully waited by his window until Maddie and Tom had finished their supper and were back at work in the garden. He knew they’d come out; it seemed that they were always there, digging or tugging weeds, or scrubbing the fountain. He found their cheery intensity fascinating. When he stepped into the garden, the children immediately ceased their chatter and looked at him with reproachful, suspicious eyes. Jack merely nodded, smiled politely, then carried his telescope to an open spot on the flagstones and began setting up.
From the corner of his eye he saw the children cast questioning glances at each other. Neither of them seemed pleased to see him invade their garden. Maddie eventually shrugged and went back to her project, not, however, without casting several part- curious, part-begrudging glances his way. Tom scurried to the boxwood and hid.
Pulling up a chair, Jack made himself comfortable and began scouring the night sky, occasionally adjusting his sights, from time to time whistling or mumbling, “Wow,” or “Look at that!” when he spotted a satellite or a fascinating constellation.
Perhaps the little girl wasn’t so contrary as she appeared, or maybe her curiosity simply overwhelmed her, but after ten minutes of stubborn silence, she wandered over to his side and peered over his shoulder.
“What’re you looking at?” she asked.
Jack felt a thrill of success but was careful to keep his eye on the lens and his voice noncommittal.
“The stars,” he answered. “Can you see them good?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Can I take a look?”
At first he made no response. Then he leaned back and motioned her over. “Sure.”
She huddled over the eyepiece, then let out a gasp of delight. “Oh, look! They’re so pretty!”
Jack smiled and cast a glance from the corner of his eye at the bushes. Tom, who was peeking out, poked his head back in, more like a turtle than a mouse. Jack chuckled and brought his attention back to Maddie. She was dancing on her toes with excitement.
“I thought all stars looked alike, but now I can tell they’re different. Some look kinda blue and some kinda red. What’s that I’m looking at?”
“Stars and planets.”
“There are so many of them.”“
More than we can count. Tonight’s not a bad night, for the city. You can see lots more in the deep dark, away from the city lights.”
“Wow,” she breathed. “Do you think we’ll ever go out there? I mean, in a spaceship or something?” She turned her head, and when she gazed at him he saw an excitement and wonder unique to children and those few adults who kept the dreams of youth beating in their breasts. “I’ve always dreamed that someday I’d fly to the stars,” she said in a gush.
“Me too,” he confessed, thinking again how her face was transformed when she gave up the frown and smiled. Behind the bright blue there was a keen intelligence, and he chided himself for falling into the trap of thinking the boy would be interested in his telescope rather than the girl. Then he recalled that it was Maddie, not Tom, who liked bugs.
“There are galaxies just waiting for folks like us to discover them,” he told her.
Her smile stretched from ear to ear at being included in the “us,” and she arched up on her toes in excitement and whispered in his ear a big secret.
“I want to be an astronaut when I grow up.”
“Good for you!”
She nodded, her pointed chin stuck at a jaunty angle. “Can I look some more, Jack?
Please?”
“Sure, kid, all you want. Here,” he added, moving his chair to give her more space.
“You look, and I’ll point out some neat stuff.”
Jack enjoyed himself immensely teaching his favorite constellations to such a rapt pupil. Maddie was quick to learn the names and asked a thousand questions, firing one after the other in staccato. When he was careful not to look directly at the bushes, he spied Tom peeking out from time to time. After a while, the boy got bored enough to step out and wander around the garden, poking bushes and the dirt with his stick, always with his ear cocked toward their discussion. By the end of an hour, Tom worked up the courage to stand an arm’s length from the telescope, but no closer. Jack was careful not to direct any questions his way or establish eye contact.
“Maddie! Tom!” Faye’s voice sang out and she poked her head out the kitchen window. “Oh,” she said, spotting Jack. She lowered her lids while color bloomed in her cheeks. Jack could tell instantly from whom the children inherited their beguiling charm.
“Hello, Jack. It’s very nice of you to share your telescope with the children,” she said, making an effort to be neighborly. “I hope they haven’t been bothering you. They’ve been a bit bored lately, I’m afraid.”
“They’re no bother at all. They’re welcome to use my telescope anytime.” He glanced at Maddie and winked. “We’re pals.”
Faye’s expression swept from wonder to open gratitude. When she smiled as she did now, he thought again how she resembled her daughter in the brightness of her eyes a
nd the sweetness in her expression. He sensed in Faye the same lonely heart that he’d sensed in Maddie. After all, it took one to know one.
“That welcome includes you, Faye.”
“Oh ... uh, thanks,” she stammered, the color deepening on her cheeks. “But I haven’t time to look at the stars, I’m afraid. Not that I didn’t take your words to heart,” she hurried to add. “But right now I’m under a deadline.”
“But we can, can’t we? Maybe tomorrow night?” Maddie asked, turning pleading eyes Jack’s way. “Will you bring the telescope back out, Jack? Tomorrow night?”
“If the sky’s clear, absolutely. Maybe Tom would like a look.” Then with a quick grin toward the window, “And maybe your mom, too. It’s play, remember?”
Faye returned a genuine smile this time. “Maybe.”
Jack’s chest expanded, victorious.
Maddie looked at her brother, then shrugged. “It’s hard to tell with Tom, though. He has to like you first. Besides, he’s much more interested in the lights.”
“Lights? You mean satellites?”
Her face scrunched. "No, I mean those funny little lights that we see.”
Jack's instincts tingled.
“Children, come in. Now!” Faye called out with a bit more firmness before the window rattled shut.
“Well, gotta go,” Maddie said, pushing the bangs from her eyes. “See you later. Sure hope it doesn’t rain. Come on, Tom,” she said, wrapping her arm around her brother’s shoulders and escorting him inside. “Maybe tomorrow night we’ll catch one of those lights.”
“Ah, you mean fireflies?” Jack asked.
“No,” Maddie called over her shoulder as she went in the door. “I mean the little lights that fly down our hall.”
Jack sprang to his feet with a thousand questions of his own ready to burst from his lips, but the door had already closed behind them.
* * *
Later that same night, when the Andromeda Galaxy was shining in the northern hemisphere and the Large and Small Magellanic Clouds were visible in the southern hemisphere, Jack stood at the kitchen window watching one lone boy standing alone in the garden, staring up not at the heavenly wonders but again at Crazy Wendy’s third-floor window. He watched as Tom walked over to the fountain, then bent over to pick up something that he found on the ground beside it. It appeared to be a book. Holding the treasure close to his breast, he scurried back inside.
Something about the boy, perhaps his intensity, perhaps his loneliness, or perhaps his stubborn curiosity, tugged at Jack’s heartstrings. Maddie, he thought with chagrin, might have a thousand questions to ask.
But Tom had only one.
* * *
Detective Farnesworthy rocked on his heels, his hat in his hand. “I didn’t find much, I’m afraid, sir.”
Jack felt a searing flash of disappointment and slumped against the sofa’s cushions. Damn, he liked answers to his questions.
Farnesworthy shifted his weight, seemingly uncomfortable with this admission. “Of course, there wasn’t much to go on...”
“Well, what did you find?”
The detective cleared his throat as he set down his hat and pulled out a pad of paper. Sitting on a free chair, he flipped through his copious notes. “I’ve traced your adoption to an orphanage called the London Home for Boys. Your adoptive parents, Mr. and Mrs. Warner Graham, adopted you from that institution in 1970, then brought you to America.”
“When I was eight. I know that much. What about my biological parents? Didn’t you find out anything about them at all?”
“Well, sir”—he scratched behind his ear and scrunched his face as though in pain —“you seem to have come from nowhere. There’s no record of your birth.”
“There has to be.”
The detective sniffed. “There should be. The London Home for Boys was rather short in organization, but I gather long in good care.”
Jack scowled. “That’s it? Not a shred of genetic background?”
“There was absolutely no record of your birth or your biological parents. Nothing at all. Except for this.” He pulled out a yellowed copy of a medical record. “This dates back to the routine physical you received when you entered the home. It—” He paused. “It states that you had a spinal fracture and numerous contusions when you arrived.”
Jack closed his eyes and the old, familiar image of a fist pounding into his face flashed in his mind. “May I see that please?” Taking hold of the medical record, he read it carefully. “Those injuries,” Jack said softly. “They indicate child abuse.”
“Quite right, sir,” replied the detective, looking away while his fingers drummed his briefcase.
“Interesting,” he muttered. He felt like he’d just been hit again.
Farnesworthy cleared his throat. “I, well, I found something else interesting as well.” He leaned forward in his seat. “Not finding much to go on with you, I sniffed around the London Home for Boys for anything at all that might lead to you.”
Jack raised his eyes to meet Farnesworthy’s with a spark of interest. That was smart, he thought. Very good. Just the kind of thing he’d have done in a laboratory if one lead didn’t pan out. “So, what’d you turn up?”
“Well, sir.” The Inspector moved forward in his seat. “The Boys Home was founded by a Mrs. Theodore Forrester.” He wriggled his brows, pausing for dramatic effect.
Jack cocked his head, considering a moment.
“Wendy Forrester?” the detective continued, with emphasis. “Your current landlady...”
Jack slumped down from the sofa’s arm into the worn cushions and ran his hand through his curls, stunned.
Farnesworthy leaned back against the chair with a satisfied nod.
The London Home for Boys—his Boy’s Home—had been founded by Crazy Wendy? After the initial shock, Jack felt a stirring of possibilities. A telltale excitement coursed through his veins, causing his lips to twitch upward. God, you gotta love synchronicity, he thought.
“Are you sure?”
“Oh yes. Quite. Her husband, Theodore, Teddy he was called, was a squadron leader in World War II. Died leaving her a daughter, Jane Forrester Lloyd, and a considerable estate. Mrs. Forrester used a significant portion of it to establish a home for boys. Presumably war orphans at first. She was extraordinarily generous and over the years very active in soliciting support to keep the place going. Charity balls, donations, that sort of thing. Her name was in the social papers regularly. Even so, for many years Mrs. Forrester was virtually the sole support of the orphanage. I daresay it cost her the fortune.” He cast an assessing gaze around the flat. “This was once a posh neighborhood. Pity.”
Jack snorted. He didn’t think it was a pity. What meaning had poshness or social standing? A life of dedication and service like Crazy Wendy’s was to be admired. Yet, perhaps he better understood now the animosity between mother and daughter. A fortune spent by parents too often brought the ire of their idle children.
“Who takes care of the Boys’ Home now?”
“Oh, it doesn’t exist anymore. Couldn’t keep up. When it finally closed its doors, Mrs. Forrester just sort of disappeared. Hasn’t been seen in society for many years.”
“No,” Jack replied, glancing briefly upward. “She’s a recluse.”
“According to the newspapers, Mrs. Forrester was once what you Americans like to call a mover and a shaker. All for her boys. Got to respect that, eh? Don’t see enough of that nowadays.”
“No, we don’t,” agreed Jack with a distant air. His mind was galaxies away.
“Well, sir,” Farnesworthy said at length, stuffing his papers into his briefcase and rising. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance to you. The records, such as they were, unfortunately were not well preserved after the Boys’ Home closed. I’ve exhausted all my leads. Other than the medical record and a date of your arrival at the Boys’ Home, there was nothing else I could scrape up on you. Do you want me to discontinue the search?”
>
“Not at all,” Jack replied, sliding with athletic grace to his feet. “We’re on to something. I can feel it. Tell you what,” he said, slipping his arm around Farnesworthy’s stiff shoulders.
Jack had a hunch about Crazy Wendy. It was a combination of instinct, acquired knowledge, and luck— and it usually paid off.
“Keep sniffing around Wendy Forrester. Find out all you can about her and report back to me. And don’t leave out any details that might seem, well...” He thought of shadows and dancing balls of light. “That might seem frivolous or even bizarre. There are rumors ... I want to hear them all.”
“Of course, sir.” Farnesworthy looked at his hat with a worried frown while smoothing its rim between his fingers. “However,” he added with deference, looking up, “I feel bound to tell you, I already know about the rumors. Impossible, incredible stories. Her claims are, to be sure...”
“Yes, Farnesworthy?”
He whistled. “Well, sir,” he stammered, “they’re plain unconventional.”
Jack’s eyes danced under raised brows. “Unconventional?” He was amused by the detective’s obvious discomfort at calling a decent old woman crazy.
“Frankly, sir, I don’t recommend wasting time on this impossible lead. Not to mention,” he coughed politely, “the expense.”
Jack smiled broadly. He liked Ian Farnesworthy. He was honest and forthright. And Farnesworthy didn’t know it, but he had just spurred Jack’s resolve. The more incredible, unproved and so-called unscientific the theory, the more he felt compelled to prove it. It was no mere coincidence that he and Wendy Forrester landed in the same space and time. There was a quantum connection, and he was determined to find it. As for the cost, he had plenty of money from the sale of his family’s farm after the death of his adoptive parents. He'd made good high tech investments, lived simply. All that money was just sitting in some banks along with bonds increasing in value. What good was it if he couldn’t spend it on what he wanted?
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