A Lethal Legacy

by P. C. Zick

  When she had the house exactly the way she wanted, she began working on me. I'd rather she kept piling up our debts while purchasing furniture. When she looked at me, I could tell she felt differently about our relationship. Our sex life, at first, didn't suffer, but the more she harped on my shortcomings, the less I wanted her sexually.

  "I don't understand why you won't apply for the position of vice principal," she said one Saturday morning over bagels and coffee. This position suddenly became available at PHS when the current vice principal was fired.

  "I'm happy where I am," I said, not for the first time.

  "But the money, Ed. It would mean $5,000 more a year."

  "I'm not interested. If I took that job, I'd never get my novel done."

  "Your novel! You're never going to go anywhere with that."

  "Ally, I don't want to talk about it anymore."

  In recent months, she taken to ridiculing the one thing that kept me alive, my writing. No longer did she care what I wrote.

  "Sure, you don't want to talk about it anymore. You just want everything handed to you without working for it. You enjoy this home I've made for us, but what did you ever do to deserve it? You didn't have any problem letting my parents buy it for us. Do you expect them to continue footing the bill?

  "This conversation is over, Ally. Why don't you apply for the position? You need something to do during the summer."

  "I might do that, if you could handle your wife earning more than you."

  "Allison, money means nothing to me. You should know that by now."

  "If it means so little, then how come you can so easily accept my daddy's money?"

  I got up from the breakfast table and stomped away. I hated these arguments. Allison seemed to be changing before my eyes, and I much preferred my novel's characters to those living in my own house. Also, I knew her words of accusation held the hint of truth.

  By the time school ended in June 1967, Allison and I no longer talked of finishing the hardwood floors in our house and instead argued about who would get custody of our German Shepherd. My toast at Gary's wedding, just two months before, echoed its falsehood in my mind.

  Allison received the appointment to vice principal and was seriously being considered as principal of the new high school being planned near the Huron River on the north side of town. Even though it wouldn't open until the fall of 1969, Allison would probably leave PHS in 1968 to begin working on the plans and design and hiring of an entirely new faculty. She would be making more money than the two of us combined if the job materialized.

  During the summer of love everywhere else in the country, Allison and I decided to separate. Allison would keep the house, while I would be forced back into an apartment just like my college days. However, instead of minding, I found myself eager to be on my own again. I managed to find a small place in an old house on Main Street across from the University of Michigan's stadium and close to PHS.

  However, before moving, I began the first of what would become an annual summer adventure of travel. Allison graciously allowed me the use of the spare bedroom to store my meager belongings, which consisted of everything I owned before the marriage, until I returned in August.

  With my little savings, I bought a used Volkswagen van and set out for the West for two months. I had little money but lots of notebooks and film for my camera. I didn't know what I would write, but I hoped it would be something that captured the changing mood of the country.

  I visited my parents one warm evening in late June. We sat in the living room of their small house in Ypsilanti.

  "Mom, Dad, I need to tell you something. Allison and I are getting a divorce."

  My mother looked at me sharply while my father continued watching Walter Cronkite relate the day's events on the small TV set in the corner.

  "What will I tell Claire and Philip? You'll be the first one in the family to ever divorce. Somehow Claire will manage to blame me," my mother said.

  My mother, Marjorie Townsend, was ashamed of everything in her life except for me. I was her one proud success, and now I disappointed her beyond measure.

  I ran my fingers through my hair as I stared at my mother who turned gray and old before my eyes. My dad said little from his recliner in front of the TV. He grunted and told my mother it was my life.

  "Stanley, say something to him."

  "He never listens to anything I say, why would he start now," my father said as he lifted the beer can to his mouth.

  I decided to make Gary’s and Pamela's house the first stop on my trip west at the beginning of July. They had moved to Evanston, an upscale suburb of Chicago, and lived in a comfortable old two-story home that seemed ready-made for many children.

  "Eddie, I'm so glad you came to visit," Pam gushed as she greeted me in the driveway before I could even open the door of my van.

  "Pam, good to see you. Where's that cousin of mine?" I reached to hug her and could smell the gin of her late afternoon cocktail.

  "Oh, he'll be here shortly, I imagine. Some nights he's really late, but not tonight, not with you here." She hugged me and pressed her perfect figure against me. She would have continued to hold me close if I hadn't pulled away from her.

  " Eddie, you're so handsome." She tried leaning toward me again.

  "Come on, Pam, stop it," I said.

  "Come on inside, then." She grabbed my hand and pulled me across the front lawn and into the house.

  "How about a drink, Ed?"

  "Sure, a beer would be fine."

  When she came back into the living room, she handed me the beer managing to let her hand linger a long moment over mine. I grabbed the drink and turned away to open it.

  "I scare you, don't I, Eddie?" she asked.

  "No, of course not, Pam."

  "Yes, I do. It's all right. Gary will be home soon so I won't attack you again. Besides I think I'd rather have you as a friend more than anything else." She walked over to the bar and poured herself a healthy shot of gin.

  "Where's that hippie cousin of mine," Gary boomed as he came in the back door through the garage.

  "Right here, and what do you mean, hippie?" I pretended to be offended.

  " I hear that's what Uncle Stanley's been calling you since you bought the van. Except I think he uses a couple of expletives along with hippie," Gary said as he hugged me. "Besides, your hair is too short to be a hippie."

  "Actually, I do feel like something of a vagabond this summer. When I pass this way in late August, my hair may be a little longer, especially on my face. I don't plan on shaving for two months. Now, that's real freedom."

  "Pam, you didn't tell him?" Gary asked his wife.

  "No, he just got here. Besides it's your wonderful news, now isn't it, dear," Pam said. She finished her drink in one long gulp before getting up and going for another one.

  "What news?" I asked.

  "I've been transferred. We won't be here in August unless we can't find a place to live on Long Island. Even at that, Pam would stay here, but I'll be gone."

  "Long Island?"

  "Actually I'll be working in the Manhattan headquarters of Weston Advertising, but Long Island is the best place to live. I'll commute, like here. It's a good promotion, Ed."

  "Yes, a good promotion, Ed, with me and the other wives stuck out in the boondocks while the hubbys get to play with the big boys and girls," Pam said from behind the bar. "Need a drink, Gar?"

  "Sure thing, Hon. Pam's not that excited about the move, but I think she'll adjust. Imagine, New York City." Gary grinned like a little boy.

  "Congratulations, Gary. Next summer maybe I'll get a cheap place in the Village. I almost did this year, except I've always wanted to see the West." I didn't know what to say to Pam who abruptly left the two of us alone as she made her way very carefully into the kitchen.

  "What happened with you and Allison?" Gary asked when we were alone.

  "It's hard to say. I thought we would be together forever. We dated for six years
and barely stayed married a year." I shook my head at the absurdity of it all.

  "Marriage changes things, I guess," Gary said.

  "I don't think I'm meant for marriage. Even though I'm sad about the divorce, I like the freedom that's suddenly come my way. Besides, now I'm the black sheep of the family, while you've become the paragon of middle-class life. Your parents are probably thrilled, and mine, at least my mom, are in mourning."

  "Thanks, Cuz. I've finally got Philip off my back. And if Pam isn't too happy right now, I think that will change in New York."

  I stayed the weekend in Evanston. The undercurrents between Pam and Gary seemed worse than between Allison and me for some reason. Allison and I, even during our worst moments, managed to remain civil. Pam seemed to be a hostile captive in her perfect home in the suburbs. She barely spoke to Gary, and when she did, her voice dripped with heavy sarcasm, and worse, Gary seemed to ignore her most of the time.

  As I left them standing in the driveway waving me away on my adventure, I wondered if the marriage would survive the move to New York.

  I ended up in San Francisco during the summer of 1967 and watched the whirlwinds of change occur within this city on the Bay. I didn't participate, but I became a great watcher of people as I traveled from Berkeley and Telegraph Avenue to the other side of the water where the lost souls of teenagedom had converged in Haight-Ashbury during the media-hyped summer of love.

  I began my trek back home, wiser and sadder about the future of our country. While I knew the goals of the hippies held an attraction for me, I saw many youth jumping on the bandwagon because it was the cool thing to do as long as one had the money for the drugs and the right clothes to project the image.

  By the beginning of 1968, I settled into the apartment on Main Street, just a five-minute walk to my job at Pioneer High School. I enjoyed the challenge of keeping pace with the current events swirling around us by trying to allow my students the space to express themselves in a manner acceptable for the public school system.

  I learned much from the teenagers in San Francisco, many of whom had left home because they felt ignored and unappreciated. Ann Arbor's large student population was embroiled in the fight for students' rights and protest of the Vietnam War. I learned quickly that my high school students were not immune to the atmosphere of the city and quite often took to the streets themselves. I tried to advise them about using common sense while standing up for what they believed.

  My parents still felt I should have done something more with my degree than become a teacher. After all, my mother often reminded me, they had slaved to put me through college and for what? To earn less than my father who worked in a factory? I didn't even coach like Uncle Philip who had made a financial success of every venture he attempted. I never bothered to remind my mother they hadn't paid one dime toward my education, except to allow me to live at home during the years I attended undergraduate school. She wouldn't have understood.

  I certainly never mentioned that teaching was only a temporary stop before I became a published author. They would never have believed me. Sometimes I didn't believe me. Recently, I had become doubtful if I would ever finish a novel. I didn't seem to have a real grip on what to write even though I knew I had plenty to say.

  I heard through the family grapevine that Gary and Pam settled into life on Long Island. I hadn't seen them since the summer, and I wondered how the marriage was surviving.

  Claire and Philip visited them for Christmas, so I hadn't seen Gary in nearly a year when he called in March of 1968 to tell me that Pam and he were expecting a baby in September. When I heard his voice, I fully expected to hear the news of their separation, not the beginning of a family. Things must have improved since last summer, just as Gary predicted.

  "Congratulations, that’s great news," I said. "How's Pam?"

  "Mom says she'll get over the morning sickness soon, actually any day now. It's hard for Pamela to be too excited right now when she's spending most of the day hugging the toilet," Gary said.

  Pamela confessed to me a year later, during one of her late night drunken phone calls while Gary worked late, that she wanted to abort the unplanned pregnancy. Gary and she fought and screamed for weeks over the accidental conception. Gary finally won out because in New York they would either have to lie and say the pregnancy was the result of rape or incest, or they would have to seek an illegal abortion. Pam finally gave up the argument.

  I went to visit them during the summer of 1968. Gary seemed worried about Pam's drinking, but she wouldn't listen to him. In those days, no one knew the serious dangers involved in drinking and smoking during a pregnancy so Gary stood alone in trying to reason with his wife. He thought she should slow down on her drinking because in her drunkenness she often became clumsy. He worried she would fall one night and miscarry. She did seem to get drunk quite often during my short visit, but she never fell.

  The baby, Kristina, born in September 1968, weighed five pounds, three ounces. It didn't help matters that she was a fussy baby, crying most of the time. Aunt Claire went to stay with Pam and Gary after the birth, and she ended up staying two months. According to my mother, Pam didn't seem to notice the baby much, and Claire was afraid to leave her alone with Kristina. Claire and my mother assured all of us that Pam's depression was normal and would soon disappear.

  Finally, Claire convinced Pamela to bring the baby and come home with her right after Thanksgiving. They decided Gary would drive to Ann Arbor for Christmas. By then, everyone was certain that Pam would have recovered, and the new family would go home for a new start and a new year.

  The mist enveloped her small body as he continued to call her name. He could hear the tiny whimper of her crying, but he couldn't determine the exact location of the sound. The heavy mist dripped thousands of sprinkles of invisible rain making one mass of wetness against his lonely body.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Just as Claire suggested, we all gave Kristina time – time to grow up and time to adjust to having a family who loved her. After our Christmas together, I didn't see Gary or Kristina for a few months, although I kept my ears open for news of her.

  Claire told me sometime in 1987 that Kris had gotten a job at a restaurant in New Orleans and hoped to learn the ropes in the kitchen. She was contemplating cooking school. She moved out of Gary's apartment and into one of her own with Gary's help monetarily. After she moved, she called to give me her telephone number.

  "Do you like your job?" I asked her once the pleasantries were out of the way.

  "It's OK, but I don't see a future there," she said.

  "But your grandmother said you hoped for a career in this area."

  "That's the great thing about having a grandma; they believe what they want to believe. Honestly, I'm not sure what I want to do. I never had so many choices before, so I guess that's good. Claire and Philip would even send me to college if I showed an interest." She sounded sincere for once. "What was it like for my father growing up with Claire and Philip? It was so different from my childhood, right?"

  Her question took me by surprise. Gary had more advantages than me because of our economic differences, but he had other things to deal with in his life.

  "That's a difficult question, Kristina. You really want an answer?"

  "I guess I'm curious, yes. Gary won't talk about his childhood."

  "It wasn't always easy for Gary."

  "In what way?"

  I thought back over the years and remembered. I debated whether to tell Kristina one story in particular since I’d never told anyone before. Gary and I never discussed it after that day, but if it left a mark on me, Gary must have scars running deep through his soul and heart over that one Sunday dinner. But maybe the story of that day would help Kristina understand her father a little more.

  "I remember one time. Gary and I must have been around ten. He did something stupid at the dinner table. Both families were there, plus Aunt Susan and her husband.

  "I asked Gary
to pass the ketchup bottle. He picked it up to hand it to me, but first he pretended like he was sucking on the top of it. It was just a kid thing, typical of us when we were goofing off. But the Townsends didn't goof around at the table, and I guess Gary momentarily forgot that.

  "When Uncle Philip saw his son pretending to suck on the bottle, he said, 'Little baby, Gary, such a cute little baby. You like that bottle so much, sit there for the rest of the meal sucking on it.'

  "Gary had to sit there and actually suck on the ketchup bottle while the rest of us sat in embarrassed silence for him. Whenever Gary tried to pull the bottle down from his mouth, his father began a tirade of verbal insults, calling him a baby, a sissy, a little girl. It was awful. Gary began to cry and choke while still attempting to keep the ketchup bottle in his mouth."

  "What about the other adults at the table?” Kristina asked.

  "Claire finally spoke up. Of course, Aunt Susan tried to intervene several times to no avail. My father ate his roast beef as usual. My mother would never have stood up to the great Philip Townsend. But Claire finally removed the bottle and said, 'That's enough, Philip. You've gone too far this time. Come on, Gary.'

  "Claire took Gary by the shoulders and directed him back to his bedroom where she stayed with him for the rest of the meal. As soon as I could escape, I went back there, too. Claire sat on the bed holding Gary, rocking and soothing him. When Claire saw me in the doorway, she held up one arm for me, and I ran to her side. For what seemed like a lifetime, Aunt Claire held her two boys and gave us comfort. Without that, I doubt Gary could have survived."

  "Philip sounds like a real bastard. But he doesn't seem capable of that kind of thing now," Kristina said.

  "He's mellowed over the years, but give him a chance, and he'll manage to say something intended to humiliate Gary. He doesn't do it as often. Plus Claire has become stronger and stops him before he can really get started on something."

  "What about me? Do you remember me as a baby? I mean, did they all love me?"