A Lethal Legacy

by P. C. Zick

  "We had a rush about two hours ago, but nothing since. Most people don't like to come out in weather like this." She grinned at me.

  "But see what they're missing? The chance to sit in here with you and drink the best coffee in Ann Arbor." I grinned back.

  "That's right! They don't know what they're missing, do they? What do you do when you're not walking in the rain?"

  "I teach English at PHS," I said. In the past, this admission had brought unpredictable reactions from disdain to awe to fear, but when I looked at Kelsey, I saw her friendly smile widen.

  "Great! I loved English in high school. I had the biggest crush on my teacher, too. When he read Wordsworth, I would swoon."

  "Lucky guy," I said. "Kelsey, are you married?"

  "Married? Me? No way. What about you?"

  "Divorced last year. Would you, I mean, do you ... Let me start again, it's been awhile," I said.

  "Ed, let me help. I'd love to." She put her hand on my arm, which helped to settle my nervousness.

  "That's good; that's fine. When?"

  "I'm not busy tonight. We could catch the new movie at the Michigan."

  "Great. Where do you live?" Girls sure had changed since I had been a part of the dating scene. I found it exciting.

  "Here," she wrote her address and phone number. "Call me later, OK? I'll be home after four."

  "Adams Street? That's right around the corner from me. I live in one of those big rambling houses on Main Street across from the stadium."

  "No kidding? Aren't you glad football season is over for another year? What a crazy mess! I have a feeling we were destined to meet."

  I grinned foolishly at her and then bought a loaf of bread before heading out into the darkened streets covered with the rain of a few moments ago. As much as I wanted to stay near the warmth of Kelsey's personality, I decided that now would be a good time to make a break for it.

  We began seeing one another exclusively from our first date that ended at my place. And our second date began there the next morning over the Detroit Free Press and Ann Arbor News and bagels with cream cheese.

  Kelsey reminded me nothing of Allison for which I was grateful. It probably intensified my attraction to Kelsey. I still felt the failure of my divorce and I was determined not to repeat my past mistakes.

  She came from Fowlerville, a rural community thirty miles from Ann Arbor. Her parents barely made it on their century-old farm growing corn and raising dairy cows. Kelsey, the oldest of seven, received a scholarship to attend Washtenaw Community College and then because of her excellent grades, received a full tuition scholarship for her last two years at U of M where I met her in her first year. She worked at a west side bookstore in the evenings and on the weekends, and she volunteered at the two food co-ops in exchange for food.

  Her major in business belied her interests in causes swirling around us at the time. Often at night, while I hacked away at my typewriter or sat at my desk grading papers, Kelsey would sit on the floor lettering signs for one of Ann Arbor's latest causes. Sometimes a cause might be serious, like a protest of the Vietnam War; other times frivolous, like promoting the Ozone Parade, the hippies' response to U of M's homecoming parade.

  We grew content with each other and even enjoyed one another's families. My father and mother had never been comfortable around Allison, although Allison and Aunt Claire hit it off the first time they met. Claire even mentioned that she and Allison had played golf a couple of times since the divorce. She wanted me to know, she said, instead of hearing it from someone else. She wondered if I was upset, and I assured her that she could play golf with whomever she pleased without upsetting me.

  Kelsey and I decided to make it legal in the summer of 1970. We wanted a small wedding and party with little fuss. Even though it was Kelsey's first marriage, she didn't like the formality of large weddings. Besides her parents couldn't afford it and neither could Kelsey. She wanted to do the whole thing herself from baking the cake to sewing her dress. Again, Claire and Philip offered to host a wedding in their back yard, and we accepted.

  Gary, Pam, and Kristina all came for the wedding. I couldn't be married without Gary standing up with me.

  "Are you sure you want me to do that again? Maybe I jinxed you and Allison," he told me quite seriously, when I asked him over the phone.

  "Allison and I jinxed us. Come on, Gar, I can't do it without you," I said.

  The day of the wedding held the promise of a lasting relationship with bright sunshine giving its blessing on our nuptials. We kissed under a flower-strewn gazebo brought in by the florist and greeted our guests with large flutes of champagne provided by my aunt and uncle.

  "Ed, I hope you two will be very happy," Pam said as she kissed me. "Kelsey's a doll."

  "She is kind of cute, isn't she?" I grinned foolishly.

  Pam jabbed me with her elbow at my understatement. We both turned to watch an almost two-year-old Kristina waddle toward us. Kristina's black curls framed her small face and were only upstaged by her bright blue eyes.

  "Now there's the real doll," I said as I held out my arms for Kristina. I picked her up, and she reached up to touch my face. With her hands on either side, she brought my face close to hers and gave me a big smack on the lips. "That's my girl," I said as I gave her a big hug.

  Kelsey pulled me into the kitchen for a private plea. "Ed, keep your uncle away from me, please."

  "Why?"

  "He keeps coming up behind me and touching me or pressing his body against me when he thinks no one sees," she said.

  "Philip? Come on, Kelsey, he's just had too much to drink." I tried to make light of the situation, but I also remembered nearly the same request at my first wedding.

  When I walked back outside, I looked around for Uncle Philip and vowed to keep an eye on him for the rest of the day. I found him in the closed garage when I went to get more beer out of the spare refrigerator. Or rather, I heard him.

  "Pam, please, you know you want it. My son can't do for you what I can." I paused at the door when I realized who was speaking.

  "Philip, no, not here. I do want you, I do. But Gary's been better, so please, stop," she said, and then I heard her sigh. I couldn't see them yet because my eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark of the garage.

  I stood still as I heard Philip moan and then heard the release of a long zipper. At that precise moment, I flicked on the lights.

  "What the hell ..." Philip pulled himself away from Pam whose dress was down around her waist.

  "Pam, you might want to pull up your dress. Philip, Aunt Claire needs your assistance uncorking some more champagne." I kept my voice neutral as I watched the two traitors pull themselves together. They didn't look at one another or at me as they took different exits out of the garage. I pulled a twelve pack of beer from the refrigerator.

  "There you are," Kelsey said when I came back outside.

  "Just getting some more beer. Hey, don't you think it's about time we thought about the honeymoon." I reached for her as I spoke. I needed something concrete to hold onto as I watched Philip go across the lawn to his wife.

  "Yes, let's go. Hey, Ed? What's with your cousin, Gary?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "He's married to Pam, right?"

  "Yes, and that little beauty right there is his. Why?"

  "I don't know. There's just something different about him. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was gay." Then she reached up and kissed me on the cheek.

  I gave Kristina an edited version of our meeting and wedding, hoping that would satisfy her, but I was wrong.

  "What happened then?" she asked. "How long were you married?"

  "A few years. It gets kind of complicated."

  "I've got all night. My parents were still married then, right?"

  "Yes, at the beginning of my marriage to Kelsey, they were still married."

  Kelsey and I didn't talk to anyone again for four weeks. We spent our honeymoon camping in Vermont and Maine, a location
neither one of us had visited before. I gave up my summer traveling so Kelsey could come back to work at the bookstore the week of the Ann Arbor Street Art Fair when thousands attempted to crowd into the small city. I usually stayed away from the event, but this year, I looked forward to the circus-like atmosphere, which surrounded the area for four days at the end of July.

  Kelsey and I had never camped together before and sometimes that takes a special adjustment. However, we adapted well to the rhythms of tenting it. We relocated whenever the spirit or the rain moved us.

  I spent hours writing as the sunshine glimmered through the treetops of the tall pines and oak trees surrounding us. We hiked through mountainous terrain and made love while the rain softly slapped our tent that stayed amazingly waterproof. We started our married life in a positive and natural way.

  Frequently, I pondered the mess of my cousin's life as I sat in the mountains. I kept replaying the scene I witnessed in the garage and wondered where it would all end. As the vacation worked its magic on me, I began to write about a character who was trapped by his longing to be accepted and chained to his desires. Once I removed myself from the situation and wrote as an observer, the words came to me easily. My writer's block ended just as quickly as it started.

  Soon after we returned home, Pam began phoning me late at night usually very drunk, and I found myself right back in the middle of Gary's troubled life, no longer just observing.

  "Eddie, howshit going." I heard Pam's late night slur when I answered the phone.

  "Pam, what's up?" I always began. "Where's Gary?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine. He's not home yet. Sometimes he doesn't even bother to come home at all, that bastard."

  "Pam, try to get some sleep. He probably just had to work late again."

  "Yes, that 'work late again' crap. I wonder which secretary it is this week."

  It sometimes surprised me that Pam never suspected the real reason for Gary's absence. As it stood now, she actually thought she was competing against another woman. If she knew the truth, she'd know there really was no competition at all. It was hard to tell which situation would be harder for her to accept.

  I tried calling Gary several times at home unsuccessfully, even on the weekends. I wasn't even sure if he still lived there except that Pam never mentioned anything about his moving out. Finally, I decided I would try him at work one day when I managed to get home from school early.

  "Gary, it's Ed. How are you? Have you gotten any of my messages?" I asked.

  "I've been busy. Sorry I haven't returned your calls." He didn't really sound sorry at all, or even friendly.

  "How are you? Pam tells me you're not home much."

  "I told you, I'm busy," he said.

  "What's going on, Gar? Remember it's me."

  "Can't really talk about it. But don't worry. Ed, I've got a client here." That was the end of the conversation.

  Any further attempts to get Gary to talk to me were futile. He kept me at a distance, and I knew that meant only one thing.

  One night in late January of 1971, Pam called again, crying uncontrollably. When I finally got her quieted down, I strained to understand.

  "I just had a miscarriage," she said after the crying stopped.

  "You were pregnant?" I asked.

  "Gary didn't tell you, huh? He never told Claire and Philip either."

  "Where is he right now?"

  "He stayed in the city. He's had enough of my crying and carrying on, I guess. He's a real gem, you know. He can't even stand by me when there's trouble."

  I had finally written the first line of the new novel, and the rest came pouring out of me. I worked at night and on the weekends. Kelsey had to practically tie me up and carry me out of the house if she wanted to do anything with me. But she was busy herself. In her final year of college, she was doing an internship at the newly franchised Domino's Pizza chain. The corporate offices were small but with plans to expand on acreage owned by the founder, Tom Monahan. Kelsey hoped they’d hire her when she graduated. She liked the atmosphere at the company made up mostly of young people like her.

  I finally spoke to Gary several weeks after the miscarriage. He told me he hadn't told anyone about the pregnancy because of the chance of losing the baby in the early months. He mentioned that Pam's drinking was out of control again. Now that it had happened, he didn't have to go through telling his parents, he told me. He even laughingly said that his father would find some way to blame him for it.

  "But how are you really doing, Gar? We never talk anymore, and I guess, as corny as it sounds, I miss you," I said.

  "Busy, Ed. You know how it goes." Again, the wall began to rise between us.

  "Just remember what you promised me after Stonewall. If it's time to leave, just do it and quickly."

  "I don't remember promising you anything, and I can't leave Pam right now. She's in bad shape."

  "Gary, she's in bad shape because you're never home," I said.

  "Look, Ed, I'm handling it, OK?"

  There was nothing else to say. The wall rose all the way to the ceiling, and there would be no further discussion.

  I wrote and wrote trying to forget the coldness of Gary's voice and the hurt at his distance. I would try to make sense of all of this nonsense in my own way.

  When I wasn't writing, Kelsey and I were enjoying the Ann Arbor scene that exploded in the early '70s. Clubs popped up all over the west side of downtown and music, from jazz to Motor City rock, pounded our senses as we marveled at living in a microcosm of Greenwich Village.

  I was nearly finished with my novel, when the phone rang early one Sunday morning. I was already up and working at the typewriter. Something woke me before daylight, and I wanted to get my thoughts down on paper as soon as possible. I quickly reached for the phone, puzzled about who could possibly be calling at six on a Sunday.

  "Ed, it's Pam."

  "Pam. Is everything OK?" I asked.

  "No, everything's not OK. It's over, it's all over." She began to cry

  "What's over? Come on, Pam, pull yourself together and tell me what happened. Where's Gary?"

  "Always concerned about Gary, aren't you? What about me?"

  "Where's Gary, Pam?" I was becoming increasingly worried. This wasn't one of Pam's late night drunken calls. She sounded perfectly sober.

  "He's asleep. He had a rough night in the park with the other perverts."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Didn't you know? Your cousin Gary is queer. Or maybe you did know. Maybe you're queer, too."

  "Tell me what happened from the beginning," I said.

  "From the beginning, it was a normal night. One a.m. and still no Gary. Then around 1:30, there's a knock at the door. Two policemen shoved Gary in the door saying, 'M'am, we found your husband with his pants down in New Rochelle Park. We decided not to arrest him but to just bring him home and let you know what he does in the evening with other men.' Then they walked away leaving me with that wasted human being. He's a queer. And all these years, I thought it was me." I heard her bitter laugh.

  I could only imagine Gary's devastation. He’d never wanted anyone to know and now he had been revealed in the most humiliating way possible. I worried something might happen to make things worse, but I couldn't have imagined him being brought home by the police and treated so inhumanely. As a result, Pam was a woman scorned and humiliated now. Things were not going to work out easily.

  "Gary's still in the house?" I asked.

  "Yes, he went to bed. We talked for a long time, and he told me everything. We made some decisions; or rather, we made some deals. He doesn't want his parents to know at all costs, and if I keep my mouth shut, I get what I want when I walk away."

  "What is it you want, Pam?"

  "I want to cut all ties with the Townsend family, and I want enough money to get started over again somewhere else. Gary's going to sign over his rights as father, and I'll get the proceeds from the sale of the house. You know Phil
ip and Claire bought the house for us when we moved. And the final stipulation. I don't want anyone to know where I've gone or try and find me. I'm through with this family."

  "Pam, I always thought we were friends. You'll still keep in touch with me, won't you?" I wanted to keep some connection to Kristina, for Gary and Claire's sake, as well as for my own. I’d fallen in love with my little cousin during her short life.

  "We'll see. I've got lots to do. So, thanks, Ed, for always listening. You have been my one true friend through all of this."

  "Are you sure you want sole custody of Kristina?" I asked, not knowing what other solution might work.

  "You bet, Eddie. She'll be my trump card if I need one in the future. Good-bye, Ed."

  "Give Kristina a big hug, please. And Pam, good luck." I hung up the phone with an uneasy feeling about the advisability of a three year old being used as a poker chip in a very dangerous card game, but I was powerless to do anything else but hope Pam would keep in touch with at least me after she left Gary.

  Gary left New York in the summer of 1971 shortly after the house sold. My mother told me Pam left with Kristina and hadn't left a forwarding address. When I went to visit Claire, she was destroyed. She asked Philip to hire a private investigator to find them, but he refused. Then Gary disappeared in June. A funereal cloud hung over the house on Bydding Street. Kelsey and I spent lots of time with Claire trying to help her through her depression. Even my mother tried to help, forgetting for once her resentment of Claire.

  Things brightened slightly when Gary showed up in September. He said he'd had to sort through things for himself, but now he was back and ready to start over. Claire welcomed him with open arms. Philip was openly hostile and threw blame at Gary whenever he could. After trying to live with his parents for a couple of weeks, he asked if he could stay with us until he got back on his feet.

  "Of course, Gary, I'd like nothing better, if you don't mind the couch," I said. Maybe we could get back to our old ways. Gary seemed to want that, too.

  "Honestly, Ed, sometimes I feel possessed. I can't help myself. I really tried with Pam, but the harder I tried, the harder the demons pressed on my brain," he said one night as we took a long walk through the darkened streets of Ann Arbor.