by Jaime Maddox
“Oh, Sandy, that’s so sweet of you! But Jeannie isn’t buried at Riverview. That’s why there’s no marker.”
“Well, where is she buried?” Sitting on the bed, furrowing her brow in confusion, Sandy digested Jane’s words. Why wouldn’t the Bennetts bury Jeannie in their family plot?
“She wasn’t. Since she wanted to be a doctor, my mother donated her body for medical students to study.” Jane sighed audibly, as if this news troubled her.
Sandy understood Jane’s sentiment. She rested her forehead in one hand while holding the phone in the other. This wasn’t what she’d expected from this discussion! She’d expected a grateful acceptance of her offer. After all, why would anyone argue this point?
This news, though, was a shock that she didn’t know how to handle! Even if she never went back to Riverview in all of these years, Sandy had felt a certain comfort in knowing that she could. She could go and visit her father, or her grandfather, or Jeannie—if she’d had the desire. She could sit in the grass on a sunny afternoon and tell them her troubles, or take a picnic there and enjoy the peace and solitude.
How would she feel if she couldn’t go there? If there was no place for her to ever connect with Jeannie again? She didn’t realize tears were sliding down her face until Angie wiped them with a tissue. She felt Angie sit beside her and wrap and arm around her and rest her head against her shoulder. It gave her the strength to respond to Jane.
A cough cleared her throat, and she tried hard to feel a truth in the polite words she spoke. “What a wonderful way to honor her, Jane,” Sandy said, her voice just a whisper that hid the emotion she felt. After all these years, she would not crumble in front of someone else, most especially the sister who had been a constant thorn in Jeannie’s side. When there was no response, and Sandy had once again regained the composure that had made her a bull on Wall Street, facing any crisis with calm, she continued. “Please thank Bobby for me and tell him there’s no need to return my call.”
“Excuse me?” Jane asked.
Sandy sighed and, using the back of her hand, she wiped away tears as she answered.
“Bobby. He left me a message before leaving for his trip saying he’d call me when he returns. I’m sure he’ll have dozens of calls to make, so just let him know we’ve spoken.”
“I will do that. It was nice to talk to you, Sandy. You take care.”
When Sandy disconnected the phone without further reply, she slumped onto the bed and continued to cry, feeling sadness and emptiness all over again. Would she never stop crying over Jeannie? No wonder she had kept her feelings buried all those years. Clearly, she couldn’t handle them.
She tried not to think, did cleansing yoga breaths, and envisioned the clear-mirrored finish of a lake in the forest, a cloudless blue sky overhead. After a few minutes she felt calmer. Not perfect, but improved. With Angie’s arms wrapped around her, she drifted off to a much-needed sleep.
*
The smell of baking chocolate permeated the deep fog that enshrouded Sandy’s brain and slowly brought her back to life. A glance at the clock beside the bed told her she’d slept for more than six hours, and she noticed that she was no longer wearing the clothing she’d had on when she crawled into the bed earlier in the day. Except for a tank and her underwear, she was naked.
Angie’s spare bedroom was simply furnished in a modern style, with sleek but deceptively comfortable furniture. The embrace of a pillow-top mattress invited her to pull the blankets up and close her eyes for a few more minutes of rest. She did.
Not thinking of Jeannie was impossible, so she tried to focus on pleasant memories rather than how her life ended and what had become of her remains. Sandy supposed rotting in the earth was no better an end for the human body than dissection in an anatomy lab, but somehow the former, more traditional conclusion was easier for her to accept. She brushed the thought aside and instead remembered snuggling up with Jeannie in a warm bed like the one she was now in, Jeannie’s unruly hair falling across her forehead and her eye, Sandy’s hand gently pushing it aside. She imagined the feel of Jeannie’s hand in hers, could hear her singing. I wanna hold your ha-ah-ah-ah-and, I wanna hold your hand.
Just remembering for a few minutes lifted her spirits, and Sandy knew she would be okay with the news she’d received earlier in the day. She’d allowed herself to get excited about doing something for Jeannie, and she supposed she needed to be excited about something. The disappointment was real, but she knew she’d work through it. She took a breath and tucked Jeannie back into that special place in her heart, then pushed back the covers from the bed.
Finding her clothes neatly folded on a chair, she dressed, and with her other senses awakening she saw that Angie had unpacked her bag, and she began to hear the sounds that told her that dinner preparation was under way. After freshening up in the bathroom, she felt ready to face the world again. Or, at least, to face her daughter.
Sandy was torn in her desire to share her feelings about Jeannie with Angie, knowing that she might find comfort in her daughter, yet knowing also that the woman at the heart of her anguish was not Angie’s mama. Angie knew that Sandy had loved Diane, and in their twenty years together Sandy had been faithful to her, but it still had to be hard for Angie to discuss her mom and another love. Angie could talk and joke about Pat, and could probably accept Pat’s presence in Sandy’s life, but Sandy doubted Angie would want details about their relationship. Talking about her feelings for Jeannie would involve details that should probably be left buried in the middle of the Susquehanna River.
“It smells wonderful,” Sandy said in greeting as she padded barefooted into the kitchen. Angie was sitting at her table, feeding Leo baby mush that seemed to agree with him. He was all smiles, making clumsy attempts to snatch the spoon from Angie’s hand so as to get the food more quickly. A pan of brownies was cooling on the counter. Comfort food. She took another deep breath and let the smell soak further into her senses.
“How was your nap?”
“I feel like you put a sleeping pill in my coffee.” Sandy kissed her daughter and her grandson on the head before sitting across the table from them.
“Couldn’t have been complete physical and emotional exhaustion, could it?”
“Well, if it was, I’m over it now. I feel great.” Sandy wasn’t lying. She had collapsed onto that bed feeling weary from lack of sleep, from fear and sadness. Things didn’t seem so bad now. She had closure. Of course she was still worried that someone was lurking in the shadows with a bullet in a gun with her name on it. How long would she be forced to live with her friends and family? But she felt better than she had over the weekend. The shock of being shot was wearing off, and a restlessness from inactivity was setting in.
She needed to do something. She was an active woman, always had been. She’d played sports and exercised her entire life, and now that she was too old for basketball she still played golf and practiced yoga. She’d always worked, first at Farrell’s, then while in college, and for twenty-five years on Wall Street. Even when she sold her firm, she was busy taking care of Diane and doing things with her. This business of sitting around doing nothing—like she had all weekend with Pat—was excruciatingly painful.
“Oh, fuck!” she said as she suddenly remembered she had left Pat’s sister’s that morning without letting her know. “Pat’s going to be looking for me in Hazlet, New Jersey.”
“Relax. She called your phone and I told her you were here. She’s happy that you’re not alone, and she wants you to call her when you wake up.”
“Like I said, Oh, fuck!”
Angie looked at her mom, curious. “I take it your time together didn’t go well?”
“I think that’s a fair description of the events.” For some reason, she didn’t feel the same angst in talking about Pat as she did Jeannie.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, really. It’s not like we fought or anything. It’s just hard to be with someone for days on end with no one else
to talk to.”
“Mom, if you really like her, give her a break. I think you should just forget the past few days and move forward. This sort of duress can bring out the worst in anyone. And don’t forget—she did save your life.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re right. I guess I’m just stressed. But I think I could use a little break from her. Just some time to think.”
“Understandable.”
“What’s for dinner?” she asked, changing the subject.
Angie raised the cup of baby food toward Sandy. “How’s chicken sound?”
“It looks runny.”
“Okay, then we can have the lasagna that’s in the oven.”
With the dinner menu set, Sandy told Angie she wanted to call Danny to thank him for the pictures. Angie’s eyes brightened at the mention of her cousin’s name, and Sandy knew the few things she had shared about him had left Angie curious and anxious to meet him.
Sandy dialed the number he had written on the note enclosed with the pictures.
Apparently, Danny had her phone number committed to the contacts in his phone, for he answered with an energetic and personal greeting. “Hey, cuz, did you get the pictures?”
Sandy couldn’t help laughing at his youthful energy. She instantly felt their connection, even over the phone. It had been there when they met at the lumberyard as well, and in those few moments they spent together that day, Sandy felt sure they had formed a bond that would last the rest of her life.
They bantered for a few minutes, and then an idea came to her. “Danny, what do you know about the anniversary watches?” Maybe he could help her solve the mystery that was bothering her.
“I know they’re very rare and my father would pay a fortune for one if he could find someone willing to sell.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“Simple math. There are more Parker heirs than watches. My great-grandfather, Dale—who was your grandfather’s brother—actually started buying them years ago. He contacted the men who’d been given watches and even put an ad in the newspaper, but he didn’t have much luck. I think he managed to find a handful out of the four dozen that were made. They’re not all the same, though—some have more gold, I think. I can’t remember off the top of my head.”
“Can you find out anything more about them? Like who made them, maybe? Who they were given to?” Sandy wasn’t sure why she wanted this information, but her instincts told her to find out as much as she could. She told Danny about the watch that had been given to Robbie Burns’s grandfather.
He promised to get back to her. “One more thing—would you like to get together this weekend?” He reminded her of his upcoming plans to travel to New York, and they made a date for dinner on Friday.
“I’ll see you in four days,” Sandy said.
“Hopefully I’ll have some information about those watches to bring with me,” he said.
“If you do, I’ll buy you dinner,” she teased.
“In that case, I’ll definitely have something for you.”
Laughing, she hung up the phone.
Chapter Fourteen
A Family Secret
Danny Parker had always loved history. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the men who bore his name before him had done so much to contribute to it. As a child he listened to stories told by his grandfather, about legendary Parkers who had dined with presidents and died in battle defending the United States. Trains and the history of railroading enthralled him, and he relished the knowledge that coal from the Parker mines had fueled their great engines.
Spending time at the building that served as command central for the Parker Companies would have bored most kids, but not Danny. Reading newspaper articles and company records gave him a great insight into not only his family, but to the world that was spinning around it. Coal had been an asset in war and industry, in commerce and transportation. Danny knew the archives of the Parker Companies as well as anyone who worked there, and he knew just where to look to answer the questions his cousin Sandy had posed about her grandfather’s watch.
He had explored the five floors of the office building, climbed the stairs and slid down the railings, hid in the basement and the rafters pretending he was a corporate spy, listening in on important meetings from the floor beneath the boardroom table. In the days before his parents’ divorce, he had spent as much time here as he had at home, for his mother’s advertising firm provided exclusive services to his father’s business. After their separation, Danny still came, but now because he asked to come and not because he was told to.
Arriving at the office building in Plymouth the morning after his conversation with his cousin, he greeted everyone cheerfully. No one questioned his presence or even gave him a second glance when he began pulling file boxes from storage-room shelves. They had seen him do the same thing many times before.
Setting the boxes on the boardroom table, Danny settled into a supple leather chair and leaned back, studying the mural that had been painted on the wall more than a hundred years earlier. Located on the third floor, it had escaped the wrath of Agnes that had done tremendous damage to the wood and marble on the first floor. It was a map of the Wyoming Valley showing the location of all the Parker mines and other business interests. Even though the mines were no longer operating, the map remained as a testament to the greatness of the empire that began right here on the banks of the Susquehanna River.
Turning his gaze, he looked out of the windows that formed a wall of glass on the rear of the building overlooking the river. It was here in Plymouth that the first commercial mining in the United States began. Not far from this office building, the first barges loaded with coal had begun their journey down the Susquehanna to the cities and towns in need of anthracite to heat their homes and fuel their factories.
He couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe sitting in this place, so close to where the first Dan Parker had made the bold decisions that would bring him and his family such fortune. It was a wonder to sit in the same chairs that Bear and Cowboy had a century ago when they ran the company. As the son of the man who was currently the head of the Parker Companies, he wondered if he would ever be in charge. As much as he would like to run this little empire, he wasn’t sure it would turn out that way.
He’d lived most of the past three years in New York City, where he maintained a blissfully anonymous life. It was hard to be gay in Plymouth, PA, where everyone knew his mother or his father or his uncles or his grandfather. It didn’t matter if he was covered in filth after loading wood at the lumberyard, that his hands were callused and his muscles built more by manual labor than gym equipment and kickboxing classes. Even though he’d tried to be a regular teenager, proving his worth and earning his keep, as soon as people heard the name Parker, they treated him differently, scrutinizing his every word and deed. If he worked late, they said he was striving to earn his father’s approval. Getting his hands dirty was a sign that he was trying to blend in with the very men and women on whom he was spying.
They were all respectful and polite, and he even felt that he fit in, going out with the guys for a beer after work or hunting with them on the many acres the Parkers still held for just that purpose. He knew, though, that because of who he was, whatever he did was newsworthy. If one of the other guys had three beers and drove home, no one would have said anything. If he did, a dozen people commented on it the next day. If he was seen at a movie, the next day he had to give a review to a dozen coworkers who politely inquired about it. If he told the pro at the club he’d had a birdie on a golf hole, before the sun set that day his father called to congratulate him.
That he didn’t date wasn’t yet news. He was still blessed with the youth that excused him from the obligatory female companions expected of older men. But he was getting older every day, every minute, in fact. Too soon he’d no longer have the excuse of school as the reason he could refuse the company of the attractive women everyone tried to introduce to him.
When that da
y came, he was in trouble. He really had no options. If he feigned interest in a woman in order to satisfy his family’s expectations, he would be sacrificing his soul. If he satisfied himself, he would be sacrificing his family.
He came from generations of strong men, men who valued family and tradition, conservative Republicans who went to church on Sundays and drove American-made cars and thought that homosexuals should be exiled to a penal colony to spare the innocents of society from the burden of dealing with the homosexual agenda. Even his mother was homophobic, really a female version of his father, so similar to him in values and opinions that Danny still couldn’t figure out why they’d divorced.
In New York, everything was so different. People were open-minded and he was anonymous. Just one of thousands of students in the city, he went about his business unnoticed and untethered, researching term papers and carrying a backpack filled with books, reading in Central Park and riding a bike from place to place. No one cared about his name, or what movie he’d watched, or that he’d watched it with a guy with his lip pierced wearing a gay-pride T-shirt.
It was pretty obvious to him that he’d have to leave his home, at least for a while. Perhaps when he’d made his mark and proved himself it wouldn’t matter so much who he slept with, but until then, people would have nothing else to talk about.
Sighing, Danny turned his chair and his attention back to the matter at hand and went to work. He had only to look through a few file boxes before he found what he was looking for. The receipt for the Parker Coal Company watches was filed with expenses for 1913, along with a list of the first employees who were awarded them. Cowboy Parker had commissioned the watches from a Swiss jeweler with offices in New York City in 1913, but because of the turmoil of World War I, the watches weren’t delivered until 1919. A total of fifty-two timepieces were ordered, costing the company about two thousand dollars. Most of the watches were identical—stem wound, with the stems on the side, made of gold, the face etched with an image of a Parker colliery. Four of the watches were different, though, costing three times as much as the others. Danny knew these were watches reserved for Cowboy and his three sons. Their gold content was higher and each contained a diamond chip, making them quite a bit fancier than the common variety. The receipt puzzled him, though. It didn’t list forty-eight plus four watches, rather forty-eight, plus three, plus one. The individual was priced even more than the other three. He’d have to ask his dad about that. Danny’s father had been very close to Dale, his grandfather, the original recipient of one of those special four watches. Plus, his father knew more about the history of his family and the company than any other human being on the planet.