by Jaime Maddox
It was so simple, wasn’t it? Then why did she feel such sorrow?
As she carried the yearbooks back to their place, ignoring the sign that instructed her not to return them to their shelves, she looked at the other books and wondered. Could Jeannie have come to college here? Kings was educating young women back then. She grabbed the 1977 volume. They were the same age, and that was the year she’d graduated from Queens College, so it was a logical place to start.
Only a few names began with the letter A, and she was still skimming them when she saw the face of her memories and dreams. Jeanne Marie Bennett.
Her hair was still long, but her eyes didn’t twinkle, and her smile seemed forced. She had a haunted look about her that no makeup or camera lens could hide. In a picture that should have been proclaiming joy and triumph, Jeannie looked sad. Yet she was even more beautiful in 1977 than she’d been when Sandy had last seen her five years before.
And she was alive! Lisa and Babe had seen her and talked to her. She went to Phillies games, and practiced medicine, and had children. Sandy had no reason to question them. Why would they lie? Helen Bennett had a motive to lie, and Sandy knew she had done just that.
It was so senseless! She shook her head, cursing her anguish all those years ago and the chances she’d blown to learn this secret. If she’d just asked to see Jeannie’s body, she’d have figured out the truth—but that would have been too much to bear. If she’d gone to the funeral, like any best friend would have, she’d have known. If she’d just once taken a flower to Jeannie’s grave, it would have been evident. If she’d come home to West Nanticoke and talked to any one of their friends, she would have uncovered this awful lie.
And everything would be different now. Not better, and very arguably worse. But the course of her life should have been in her hands. Hers and Jeannie’s. For better or worse, they would have followed the course they themselves dictated. They should have had the right to decide their own fates, no matter what the outcome.
With a last look into Jeannie’s sad eyes, Sandy closed the yearbook. She found her car and climbed in, opened the windows to vent the sweltering heat, and leaned back as hot air blew into her face. When it turned cool, she closed the windows and dialed another number from her phone’s memory.
“It’s Sandy Parker,” she said when Jane answered.
Sandy wasn’t sure this call would do her any good, but she needed to make it anyway. “Yes?” Jane asked.
“Why?” she asked simply.
Apparently Jane understood the meaning of Sandy’s cryptic comment, because she didn’t hesitate to begin her tirade. “Leave my sister alone, Sandy,” Jane hissed into the phone. “She’s not like you. She’s normal. She has a wonderful husband and two beautiful children, and she’s happy in her life. The last thing she needs is for you to barge in, unearthing her dirty secrets! If she wanted to see you, don’t you think she would have done so by now?”
“She thinks I’m dead, Jane.”
“No,” Jane said with a confidence Sandy couldn’t question. “She knows the truth, and she doesn’t want to see you. Leave her alone.”
Sandy sighed in defeat. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish from this call. She’d thought of screaming at Jane, hurling profanities, asking why?—but she figured she knew why. She supposed she hoped Jane would apologize after all these years and tell her Jeannie was gay and single and would love to see her. Or even just affirm that Jeannie would appreciate a call from her old friend. Of course, the conversation didn’t go that way at all. It simply confirmed what Sandy had feared. Jeannie, the love of her life, was a straight girl who’d had a lesbian fling that she wanted to forget. She’d moved on. She didn’t want to hear from Sandy. “I don’t want to hurt her,” Sandy whispered at last.
The venom in Jane’s voice stung. “If you care about her—if you ever cared about her—you’ll just leave her alone. Jeannie’s happy! She and Bob were meant to be together.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Namesake
“Your father and I were never happy. We were never meant to be together.” Jeannie Bennett Percavage admitted this to her daughter, Sandy, not for the first time, but she hoped for the last. The remains of her marriage had been autopsied before, but unfortunately never buried. She was willing, had always been willing, to walk away and divorce, but she and Bob could never agree on the terms.
Unfortunately, her husband had found a new love, and now he wanted to pronounce dead the patient who had been comatose for ten years. The discussion of division of assets brought back painful memories and feelings she had successfully buried for so long. Now her children were trying to coerce from her an empathy toward their father that she just didn’t feel.
Sinking back into the soft, plush couch, in the living room of her home in the northwest corner of Philadelphia, Jeannie curled her legs beneath her as she watched her daughter pace the room. This was her favorite room in a house boasting a dozen of them, a warm and cheerful room with its lemony painted walls and large stone fireplace. The wooden floor shone beneath scattered rugs, and French doors opened onto a terrace garden. Pictures of her children adorned the walls and mantel, and potted plants added color and vitality to the room. Jeannie had restored the house with care to preserve its historical integrity but sacrificed tradition for comfort by adding central air. On this hot day, it was keeping her comfortably cool.
She sipped iced water from a tall glass, appreciating the woman Sandy had become—graceful, poised, confident. While Sandy was a carbon copy of Jeannie on the outside, their mannerisms and personalities were totally opposite. Usually calm, Sandy now reminded Jeannie of herself, with her restless energy driving her to wear a hole in the carpet.
Jeannie was truly sorry that her husband was putting their children between them, and she was tempted to give in to his demands to spare them further anguish. She loved Bobby and Sandy and wanted more than anything to protect them, but at the same time she wanted them to learn from their parents’ mistakes. The picture of Bob’s financials was worth a thousand lectures from her about investing and saving and responsibility. She was as tired of the ordeal as the kids were, but she knew she was doing the right thing.
Sandy’s cell phone rang and she looked at the caller ID. “It’s Bobby.”
“You should probably answer it, then.” Jeannie’s children were close, and after growing up beside Jane, Jeannie was grateful that they shared the warmth and love they did.
She watched as Sandy ran a hand through her long hair, a habit that told her Sandy was frustrated. Jeannie softened a bit. She’d never intended to hurt her children by taking a strong stance with her husband. In fact, after watching them suffer through the pain of their father’s betrayal, Jeannie would have done just about anything they asked to lighten their burden. And she did. What they asked had seemed such an easy compromise at the time, yet had become the albatross around her weary neck.
A decade earlier, after she had discovered her husband’s infidelity, Jeannie had simply asked him to leave. Her marriage had never been a good one, but it had always been good enough for her. Bob had been her medical-school classmate, a colleague and a friend when they began dating, and though she later discovered they had virtually no common interests, they did share two that were so vital they could bear the load of their flawed relationship: both practiced their professions with passion, and they loved their children above all else.
Medicine was an exciting topic of books and television shows and equally good conversation for two people so inclined as Jeannie and Bob. They could fashion an entire discussion lasting the duration of the journey from the city to the mountains from the opening statement, “I saw an interesting case today.”
These two factors were enough to keep them together for nearly twenty years, even with no other common threads to bind them. Sports and homework and traveling with their kids kept them busy and provided ever-changing topics of conversation. And with an orthopedic trauma surgeon and fa
mily doctor inhabiting the same house, there was always medical dialogue. But while they loved and respected one another, after a while the friendship dissolved. They never really had any passion.
Jeannie wasn’t surprised when a receipt for jewelry confirmed her suspicions that Bob was screwing around. She suspected he had planted the receipt because the alternative—that he was actually that stupid—didn’t seem possible. He was happy to leave, too, when she confronted him. He took the essentials to get by and set up an apartment where he could play with his paramour. She was the sales rep for the artificial hips and knees he often used to piece bones back together. They carried on for about a month, when reality poured rain on their party. After the younger woman discovered that the successful orthopedic surgeon, who had been spoiling her with lavish gifts, was actually near bankruptcy, her affections for Bob quickly faded.
Crawling back on his knees and begging Jeannie’s forgiveness got him nowhere, so Bob used the empathy of his children to get what he wanted. They begged their mother’s compassion, and not wanting to hurt them any further, she agreed and allowed her husband to move into the carriage house at the back of their property. They had remodeled it as a guesthouse, with a kitchenette, full bath, living room, and bedroom. Apparently, the tiny space was all he needed, because ten years later, even though they barely acknowledged each other, he was still living there. She had grown tired of running into him in their shared driveway but didn’t have the energy to throw him out.
A divorce a decade earlier would have been a much more compassionate way for them to end their marriage, but Bob had reached the sad conclusion that he really couldn’t afford a divorce. After hiring an accountant to make sense of his finances, he learned that he spent just as much money as he made, had saved too little, and didn’t have the necessary credit scores to get a loan for a car or a house or even a new credit card without Jeannie backing him. Realizing how expensive a divorce would be, Bob had put the idea on hold and was content to live in the carriage house, where he could see his children and control his expenses.
The piece of paper that would officially end her marriage wasn’t important to Jeannie, and she’d never pressed the issue. In her mind, the marriage had ended with his infidelity. She didn’t even consult a lawyer.
Upon his rather anticlimactic exit from her life, Jeannie was once again so very grateful to her mother, who had always given her such good financial advice, for while Bob’s accounts were in disarray, hers were in perfect order. She didn’t need him or his money because she had taken care of her own over the years. And while she would have found it a financial hardship to buy him out of the house, she celebrated the fact that she would never have to. The house was hers.
Upon meeting her future son-in-law for the first time all those years ago, Helen Bennett had been unimpressed with him and concerned about his future. That had inspired her to put her assets into a trust fund that would protect them from financial indiscretion. Soon afterward, she made a rare appearance in Philadelphia, under the guise of shopping, but really to sit and talk with Jeannie. It was a conversation she would never forget. Their afternoon together was one of the most intimate times she had ever shared with her mother, with whom she seldom saw eye to eye and often argued. That day changed their relationship forever, brought them closer and opened a door through which both of them could freely travel to reach the other.
“You know, Jeanne Marie”—her mother always called her by her given name—“having a baby is no reason to get married these days,” she’d said.
Jeannie’s jaw nearly dropped and she stammered in response. She hadn’t really felt nervous confessing to her mother that she’d become pregnant and was planning to elope, thereby shattering her mother’s illusions that she was a virgin and her vision of another country-club wedding. She wasn’t worried that her mother would cause a scene because at that stage of her life, Jeannie didn’t care.
She wasn’t surprised that Helen hadn’t responded angrily. Helen had changed in the years since the flood, becoming kinder and more understanding. Jeannie’s loss had just the opposite effect on her—she no longer felt emotion. She had changed after Sandy’s death, had lost the ability to truly feel anything, and she knew that keeping what few feelings she experienced in a tight orbit prevented her from experiencing any more of the pain that had nearly crushed her. As it was, she didn’t have much happiness in her life, but she was protected from sadness.
When Jeannie couldn’t articulate an intelligent response, her mother continued. “We aren’t poor, Jeanne Marie. I can help take care of you and the baby. There’s no need to marry someone you don’t love. You should wait until you find the right man.”
Jeannie sighed, and in that moment she looked into her mother’s eyes and saw a love she hadn’t often seen, or at least had been too young or brash to recognize. That love pierced her armor, and before she could think, she spoke. “I was in love once, Mom. Madly, perfectly in love. And it didn’t work out so well. I don’t think I can ever give my heart to someone like that again.”
She saw in her mother’s eyes the questions—who, what, when? For a moment she thought her mother would ask, and for a moment Jeannie thought she would tell her what she’d never told another soul, about her love affair with Sandy Parker. But then something shifted in Helen’s eyes and the moment passed, and she brought the conversation back to the matter at hand.
“Don’t marry him, Jeannie. Don’t sentence yourself to a loveless marriage. You deserve more, someone like your father. Just wait—you’ll find him.”
Sitting there and watching her mother’s face as she mentioned her late husband, Jeannie gained an understanding for the first time that, once upon a time, her mother had been more than a mother and grandmother. She had been a wife and a lover. Simultaneously a million thoughts poured into her brain, of her parents humming to the radio in the kitchen as they cooked side by side, of them rocking in the swing on their front porch on Canal Street, of them dancing together at a wedding.
For the first time she thought of not what she had lost in the flood, but what her mother had lost. Her friend, partner, breadwinner, co-parent. Through all of what must have been very difficult months after her father’s death, her mother had been a rock, concentrating on helping Jeannie recover from surgery and helping her get her life back in order. All the while, behind the scenes, she had been dealing with flood issues and setting up a new home, as well as handling financial concerns that had been the sole responsibility of her father, and she’d accomplished this without so much as a hint that she was aching for the man she’d loved. Helen had been only forty-five years old in 1972, still a young woman, really, but she never even looked at another man until she died three decades later.
Fighting tears, Jeannie had reached across the table to hold her mother’s hand. “Thank you, Mom, for your concern. But I’ll never have what you and Daddy had.” Her mom swallowed, acknowledging that loss as Jeannie continued. “I think this is the right thing to do.”
It wasn’t long after the wedding that Jeannie discovered the severity of her husband’s financial crisis. While Jeannie’s parents were fairly well off, Bob was the middle child of seven, born to a family of limited means. Throughout her four years of medical school, Jeannie had never seen a bill for her tuition. Her mother simply paid it. Every month a check would arrive, with an ample sum to cover Jeannie’s rent and utilities, as well as supply her with food and all the necessities of a medical student. Bob, on the other hand, had relied on credit cards to cover what his student loans didn’t. He’d purchased everything from his rent to his razor blades with someone else’s money. Just as he married Jeannie, all those creditors began demanding payment on their loans.
Jeannie tried to help him to straighten out his finances. She had worked with her dad over summers and during tax seasons, as had her mom, and money issues were a topic of conversation at the Bennett table for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The problem, Jeannie began to realize, was no
t so much Bob’s poor start in life, which left him climbing out of a hole that she had been blessed to avoid. That hole wasn’t so deep that he couldn’t make it out, especially on the salary of an orthopedic surgeon. The problem was far more complicated and difficult to remediate.
During his formative years, Bob had done without. He hadn’t worn the best clothing or gone swimming at the country club. Dining out was an extravagance his family simply couldn’t afford. His only childhood vacation was a trip to Atlantic City with neighbors who needed a playmate to occupy their little boy’s time during their week at the beach.
These circumstances had created a very needy man who wanted it all, and wanted it now. He worked hard, Jeannie couldn’t deny him that—but he played hard as well. He made money, and he spent it. Unfortunately he spent money he hadn’t yet made, using credit cards to sustain him during school and residency, with the idea that he’d have the money to pay them later.
Understanding the inherent danger in this practice, Jeannie decided it would be best to keep their finances separate, and Bob didn’t care. Money was simply not a concern to him. As long as he had the plastic in his wallet, he didn’t bother with the details.
While Bob was working endless hours, Jeannie worked half days so she could spend time with Bobby. She had always loved the outdoors, and even when she could afford more, her tastes remained simple. She walked with Bobby, as much as her leg allowed. It had never been right after the accident, and she would always limp, but it didn’t stop her from doing anything she wanted. She took him to the park and pushed him on the swings, took him swimming at the apartment complex’s pool.
His birth wasn’t an instant cure for her broken heart, but over the days and nights of caring for her squirming, scrawny, helpless baby boy, Jeannie’s heart opened once again. She loved this child more than life, and giving birth to him saved her. She had been dead, walking around in a fog, powered by a broken heart, and Bobby’s birth was the medicine she needed to restore her. She was never the same—she would always miss Sandy—but life was still precious and, thanks to her son, wonderful.