Mrs. Bartley has always worn her hair up in a bun. It’s a pretty white and dark grey, I have no idea how long it really is. She is usually dressed in a nice pair of slacks, shirt and tennis shoes. Unless she is planting flowers or doing any kind of work in the yard, then she has on her work jeans, shirt, and her old sneakers.
I helped her plant some flowers around her tree, and the flowerbeds in front and back. Then we mulched everything. With all the talking we did, it didn’t seem like we had been out there very long at all. Next thing we knew it was four-thirty and time for her to start dinner. She invited me to stay. I thought about passing, but then I remembered what a fabulous cook she is, and I didn’t want to have dinner alone again so, I said yes.
Holy Cow that woman can cook! We had fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade rolls, and pie for dessert. I sat there at her kitchen counter and watched her do everything, and did not write one thing down so I could do it for myself. I’m a pretty good cook but for some reason I can’t fry chicken, and believe me I have tried. She talked to me the entire time she was cooking. We talked about her granddaughter Shelley and how well she is doing as the vice president of some big corporation. Shelley used to spend the summers with them. She would come out and play sometimes but not very often. She had terrible allergies and had to spend most of her time inside. Whenever she was visiting, I would go over and play board games with her. I felt so bad for her not being able to go outside and play like all the other kids. The older she got the less time she spent with her Grandparents in the summers. We never kept up the friendship. If I remember correctly, Shelley had a brother and some cousins that visited during the summer as well. They must not be as successful as Shelley because Mrs. Bartley didn’t mention them at all.
Watching her cook was amazing to me. It was like watching a dance. She knew right where everything was, no hunting around or having to stop and look in different cabinets. Before I knew it, dinner was ready. She had it timed perfectly so that when Mr. Bartley came home from work and had washed up his plate was on the table.
We had been sitting at the table for maybe five minutes and I got up to get some more water. When I walked into the kitchen I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was as clean as it was before she started cooking. I have no idea when she did it; I was there the entire time and missed the whole thing. Clean as you go. I have to remember to write that down and hang it somewhere in my kitchen. I most likely won’t do it, but at least it will be written down.
During dinner I made the mistake of asking what they had planned for the summer. Well, this started some sort of ongoing argument. Of course she wants to go to Dollywood and he wants to go to the Fantastic Caverns and maybe over to Silver Dollar City while they are down that way. She asked him why on earth he would want to go through some old caves when they could go see Dolly Parton in the parade at opening day of Dollywood. He didn’t really seem to care too much about Dolly, but when she promised he could go to the woodcarving shop and get whatever he wanted, this got his attention. Besides, she had that look in her eye that said they we’re going, and where else can she go to replace the hillbilly windsock, beer can wind chimes all with the Dollywood logo on them that she had gotten the first time they went in 1987? I never have dinner conversations like this back in New York.
As we had our pie I asked what they thought of Grandpa’s new girlfriend. Mrs. Bartley said she hadn’t talked to her much but from what she could tell she seemed to be nice, and was glad to see Grandpa out and about again. It seemed like Tatiana’s English was getting better all the time. If you don’t know Mrs. Bartley, you would think she never has a bad word to say about anyone. And for the most part she doesn’t. She may be quiet but she is constantly watching, and “seems to be nice” is always her pat answer. You have to word your questions just so to get any real information out of her.
I have found the one sure-fire way to get the real scoop out of Mrs. Bartley is to let slip what Mrs. Ruby told you. When she heard that Mrs. Ruby said people were coming and going at all times night and day, she was quick to correct that. She had only seen one couple at the house, and thought they were probably just friends of Tatiana’s or maybe her sister. Mrs. Bartley had been taking a walk and happened to go by grandpas, she noticed the other woman had the same kind of accent as Tatiana. The one thing Mrs. Bartley did think was strange that the closer she got to Grandpas’ everyone stopped talking. I didn’t have the heart to tell her they could probably tell she was eavesdropping. I thought it was kind of funny that she thought they were the ones being rude when they stopped talking. Mrs. Bartley said she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something different about Tatiana. Strangely enough, Mr. Bartley didn’t have anything to say about Grandpa’s girlfriend. That was probably a wise move on his part, seeing as how his thoughts were probably closer in line with what Grandpa Jon and his buddies were thinking.
I asked if I could help with the dessert dishes, but she said no, and again had everything done in about ten minutes. I wonder if I could find someone like her in New York to take care of me. I would be willing to pay big bucks. As I was walking back to Grandpa’s I realized how much I miss having dinner with people like that. It was really nice, but it made me miss my mom and dad even more than usual.
Mrs. Bartley’s kitchen inspired me to re-clean what I had already cleaned. I was getting ready to attack the sink with some Ajax and looked out the kitchen window. Mrs. Ruby was at her sink only she was “enjoying her refreshment” as she cleaned. She saw me and sort of tipped the bottle towards me in either a “here’s to ya” or “would you like one” way. I waved and went back to cleaning.
Talk to you later
So much for cleaning
Dear Mary,
Well, the cleaning lasted until I noticed a photo album. I sat down and started going through the pictures, SO many memories. Had it not been for my mother accidently stopping by Grandpa’s on one of my trips home from college, I would have gone on thinking no one, not my mom, dad or me, had any communication with Grandpa.
I think I was right around nine when Grandpa and Dad had a falling out. The only thing I remember is sitting on the couch watching TV and Dad flying into the house. It was obvious he was angry, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was he didn’t want Mom or I to have anything to do with Grandpa ever again. Then he stormed off to his work shed. That’s where he would go when he was upset or angry. One of his favorite hobbies was woodworking; he had made Mom a very nice umbrella stand and a new kitchen counter top. If she thought he was taking too long on a project of hers, she would pick a little fight with him just so he would get it finished.
Even though we lived in the same town and not that far away from one another, Grandpa and Dad managed not to speak to one another until Mom died.
Grandma G died when I was seven, so the memories I have of her are limited but good. The only clear memory I have of her is offering me a cookie. I think if anyone offers a cookie to a kid, the memories they have of that person are bound to be good. Even to this day if someone gives me a cookie I have the best memory of that person. It isn’t just cookies anymore that make for a good memory, it seems any baked goods will do the trick.
Of course my Mother took care of Grandpa after Grandma passed, and had secretly continued to take care of Grandpa after the big fight he and Dad had. The only way I found out was on one of my trips back home from college. Mom and I were out doing some errands and she stopped at Grandpas house to drop something off. When she got back in the car the only thing she said about it was “Don’t mention this to your father”.
That's another difference between small towns and big cities. Everyone in town knew about the big fight between Dad and Grandpa, they also knew Mom was taking care of Grandpa and not to mention it to my Dad. I was so mad at her; all of those years I had wanted to go see Grandpa and she had secretly been taking care of him, never saying a word to me. I would see him out in his yard when I was riding my bike. I would wave a
nd he would wave back, but we both knew that if I stopped to talk, Dad would find out about it. When I asked Mom if I could stop and talk to Grandpa, the answer I got was "If your father found out about it, shit would hit the fan." When I would ask her what the fight had been about the answer she would give was, “It doesn’t matter what the argument was about. It was between the two of them and none of our business. We need to respect your father’s wishes.” Funny how that seemed to be the only time we needed to respect his wishes. I waited a couple of months after the fight and then started questioning Dad about what had happened. He also had one of two answers: “I don’t want you talking to that man” or “I don’t want to talk about it.” It didn’t matter which he used, he would always leave the room frantically trying to find my mother, to get her to make me leave him alone. I’m sure Dad told Mom everything, but what with the wonder twins only having four answers between them, and neither of them showing any signs of caving in, I gave up after a couple of months. I resigned myself to the fact that riding by on my bike and waving was going to be as close as I could get to Grandpa. I don’t know if it was from having not talked to him for so long, being older and busier, but not talking to Grandpa seemed to have become more of the norm.
Grandpa and Dad managed not to speak to one another until Mom died. Even then it wasn’t a big showing of emotions; Grandpa walked up to Dad and said he was sorry for Dad’s loss. Then Grandpa turned to me, gave me hug and said he loved me. I couldn’t believe it. I was so stunned couldn’t get a word out. I know that’s hard to believe, but it’s true. All I could do was stand there and watch as he walked out of the funeral home. After seeing Grandpa at Mom's funeral, I didn’t have any contact with him until Dad passed away a year later.
I went home as often as I could during that year before Dad passed away, because I knew he was going to have an extremely hard time dealing with Mom’s death. I didn’t want him to feel as though he had lost his wife and daughter. That was the first run in I had with the E-Mafia personally. They stopped by Dad’s house before I went back to New York. They wanted to let me know they would make sure Dad had plenty to eat, and would take care of cleaning the house, laundry, and those types of things. I knew better than to try and talk them out of it, so I tried to make arrangements to pay them. That failed as well.
I should have made more of an effort to see Grandpa during that year, but my attention was so focused on Dad. I had tried to keep Grandpa in the loop on Dad’s condition. Most of the time I had to leave a message, I’m not sure if he didn’t want talk to me, or if it was too upsetting for him. When Mrs. Bartley called and said that I needed to get back to Edwardsville as soon as possible, I asked her to make sure Grandpa knew what was going on. I didn’t make it back before Dad died and asked Mrs. Bartley to call Grandpa and let him know Dad had died. I called Grandpa later that evening and asked if he would like to go to the funeral home with me to make the arrangements. He said no. I didn’t know if he would or not but I thought he should at least have the choice, and I wanted him to know I wasn’t going to close him out of my life like Dad had.
I felt so sorry for Grandpa. He must have had a million different feelings hitting him all at once. His son was dead. Why did they waste all those years being mad at one another? Why did both of them have to be so hard headed? I would have loved to have him at the funeral home with me, but I didn’t want to push him, and knew he had enough to deal with. I decided then I was going to make a real effort to get to know Grandpa better. How I was going to do it, and if he would be willing to participate was something I would have to figure out later. I was hoping we would get a chance to spend some time together at the visitation and funeral.
During the visitation Grandpa did say hello, gave me a hug, and said he was sorry for my loss. He didn’t act much different at the funeral and that truly upset me. He’s the only living family I have left, and there were a few people there I felt closer to than my own Grandpa. I tried to convince myself he was just too upset about his only child dying. I stayed in town after the funeral to get the estate in order, and put the house up for sale. I thought with me being in town that long, we would get the chance to spend some time together.
Putting that house up for sale was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. The most important parts of my life took place there. How are you supposed to sell that to someone else? At first I was going to sell it myself, but I know me, and decided it would be best for an agent to sell the house. What with me living in New York, there really wasn’t any way I could keep the house. After all I will be able to keep all of the wonderful memories in my heart and head. I was so busy dealing with all of the estate business it didn’t occur to me until I got back to New York that Grandpa hadn’t come by the house. I thought maybe he would have wanted something to remember his son. That was the start of our weekly phone calls. When I asked him if he wanted anything of Dad’s he said no, he had plenty of pictures and things from Dad’s childhood that Grandma had saved. We talked for about forty-five minutes. I wanted to make sure that he knew just because he and Dad had not gotten along or talked, didn’t mean he and I couldn’t get to know one another again.
Getting to know Grandpa has taken longer than I had thought, but I’m glad I’ve kept at it. He’s not as cold as I thought he had become. Before their fight, Grandpa and I were pretty close. It’s been almost a year that we’ve been talking, and it seems like he has loosened up, actually he’s pretty funny. He tells me about all the fishing trips he and his friend Charlie go on, or what crazy things the kids at the mall are wearing.
At this point we’re more like old friends trying to get to know one another again rather than family, but I hope one day we will be like the family we had been. Now that I think about it, every time I talk to him he says, “You’re exactly like your mother.” I had the greatest parents in the world, so I must be doing something right. Grandpa has the timing down nearly perfect for my calls and tries to make sure he is home so I don’t have to leave a message on his machine. I’m surprise he hasn’t turned it off.
Later
June 9th
Dear Mary,
I tossed and turned all night. Charlie finally came over around eight this morning. I had coffee, bacon, eggs, and toast waiting for him. We sat at the kitchen table, ate, and talked. Charlie said Tatiana had started the process of moving back into Grandpa’s house. All three (the doctor, Grandpa, and Tatiana) had a meeting and decided it would be best if Tatiana moved back into the house slowly. She was only staying one or two nights a week, because they didn’t want her to be tempted by anything. Charlie said Grandpa had made sure there wasn’t any alcohol in the house so he wasn’t really sure what the doctor thought she would be tempted by.
I asked if things were going any better since Tatiana had started moving back in, but Charlie wasn’t sure. He said from the start of this whole “new wife” thing Grandpa had been keeping him at arm’s length. When the business with the counselor started he said it was like pulling teeth trying to get any information out of Grandpa.
This was my chance to find out exactly what kind of work Charlie did, and what Mark still does, so I asked. He said he couldn’t give me the exact name of the department they worked for, but it is a secret part of the CIA that deals with international operations of businesses. The actual businesses are here in the United States, but are managed from another country. They basically insure that these businesses are legit and not a front for a terrorist group or some form of criminal activity.
He really was a spy! I knew it. The Crossland’s didn’t have any kids, but as far as all of the kids in the neighborhood were concerned, Charlie was the go-to-dad. He could fix anything. If the chain on your bike came off he was there. Flat tire or basketball he was on it. On top of that he could always come out and play. It didn’t matter who knocked on the door Mrs. Crossland answered it. When we would ask if Charlie could come out and play, she would laugh and yell, “Charlie your friends are here.” He could pla
y any game we came up with, and for an adult that was amazing. “Kill the man with the football”, “hide-and-go seek”. Let me tell you, some of those hide and go seek games lasted for hours. One of the best parts about Charlie coming out to play was at some point Mrs. Crossland would bring out snacks and drinks for everyone. Now that I think about it, I don’t know that any of us ever knew her first name.
Back then Charlie seemed like a cross between the typical guy next door and a secret agent. We didn’t know for sure what he did for a living. All we knew was that whatever it was we all wanted to do the same thing when we grew up. It seemed like he always had plenty of time to play, and when you’re ten what more could you want out of a career? I think a lot of adults still look for that in a career. When we asked him what he did, the only reply we got was “It’s pretty complicated and you wouldn’t understand it.” That’s what he told all of the adults that asked as well. The only part we hated was he would have to leave town every now and again and he would be gone for weeks at a time.
See how I do that? Just start rambling? That’s another wonderful trait I got from my mother. Actually the entire side of her family was like that. Compared to them she was an amateur. I’m not as bad as my mother, so if I would have had children their children or their children’s children may have had a chance of being normal, but we’ll never know. Back to what Charlie had to say.
When Charlie gave Mark Dr. Niemeyer’s name, Mark realized it was the same doctor another agent, Bob, had asked him to look into. Bob had been transferred out of the country, and asked Mark if he could look into a problem his neighbor was having. Bob’s neighbor, Mr. Gunther, had asked Bob if he could find out what happened to his friend Mr. Clark. Mr. Gunther said he and Mr. Clark had been friends for over twenty years. Mr. Clark’s wife had died ten years before and Mr. Clark always said he would never date or marry anyone else. According to Mr. Gunther, he had gone over to Mr. Clark’s house five months ago and was introduced to a woman named Nadia Clark. Mr. Gunther told her he didn’t think Mr. Clark had any family but was happy to meet her. Mr. Gunther was quickly told that she was Mr. Clark’s wife. Needless to say Mr. Gunther was shocked.
Stacy Matthews - Dear Mary 01 - Think Twice Before You Order Page 4