LOST TO THE WORLD

by Libby Sternberg

  He talked about his kids mostly, about how hard it was for them to be without their mother. And she nodded and sympathized. It was real sympathy—she had experienced loss herself. She needed him to like her. Even to love her.

  Because the instant she’d stepped over his threshold and taken a quick tour, she’d fallen in love with his house. Its open living and dining area. The neat, small bedrooms off the hall to the right of the kitchen. The shaded front yard and open back one. The smell of greenery bursting with life outside the kitchen screen door. This was what she dreamed of when she thought of owning her own home. This sense of belonging, of being rooted to a spot, and no one could take you out except with the utmost force. It might not be the fashionable neighborhood she’d dreamed of, but it would do.

  While he put his children to bed, she washed up and enjoyed the last of the wine. By then even she was tipsy. Happy and bright, she felt sure that whatever her past troubles, good news waited around the corner.

  So when she sat on his sofa with him that evening, she let him “put the moves on” her, even encouraging him to touch and caress, to kiss with the yearning she, too, felt. She responded with equal vigor. And before both of them knew what was happening, they were making love on the sofa, being careful to be quiet so as not to wake up the boys. It was quick and satisfying, both of them still half-dressed. She could tell Sean was hungry for a woman. That fed her own excitement.

  Afterward, he was blissful but apologetic. “I didn’t mean to…be so forward.” And she was appropriately modest, pulling on her brassiere and slip, quickly buttoning her blouse and skirt.

  He piled the children, still sleeping, into the back seat and took her home shortly afterward, walking her to her door and kissing her, less passionately, at the door.

  “Call me, Sean. I’d be happy to make dinner for you again.”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll do that.”

  ***

  When Sean took the boys to Mass the next day, he skipped Communion. He’d have to go to Confession first. He voiced silent prayers of regret and penance throughout the service, not hearing a word of the sermon, letting the boys scramble beneath the pew until an old woman tapped Robby on the head and told him to shush.

  ***

  On Sunday evening, Helen gently knocked on Julia’s bedroom door and entered before waiting for permission. Julia was already in bed, her leg brace leaning against a chintz-covered chair, her cane by the side of the bed. She was propped up on lacy pillows reading a movie magazine with Elizabeth Taylor on the cover.

  “She’s so beautiful,” Helen began, pointing at the photo. “Sort of exotic looking.”

  “It’s her eyes.” Julia admired the picture as well. “They’re hypnotic.”

  Helen sat on the edge of the bed. “Whereas mine are merely sleep-inducing.”

  Julia smiled and tapped her sister’s arm with the edge of the magazine. “You have lovely eyes. And hair. And skin.”

  Helen rolled her lovely eyes and smoothed her skirt. She still wore the straight gray skirt and pink shirt she’d had on earlier when they’d gone to Mass together before visiting their father. The blouse set off her skin, giving her a rosy glow.

  “I wanted to tell you that you were right,” she said to Julia. “About driving. I absolutely love it.” She smiled.

  “I knew you would, and it’s only been two days.” Beth had taken Helen out again that afternoon.

  “Beth says she thinks I’ll be able to get a license in record time. She’s going to find out how and when I can do it.”

  Julia pushed herself up farther. “I’m proud of you.” She patted her sister’s hand on the coverlet. She sensed Helen had more to say, that the bit about driving was merely a prelude to her real reason for coming in the room, so she smiled even more broadly, silently trying to coax from her what had prompted this visit. They used to jabber like starlings, giggling to each other before they fell asleep. A wall had descended with the polio, and then hardened with Tom’s death. They had never regained the easy intimacy of the two younger sisters aligned against their “elders,” Beth included.

  “I’m not sure how to put this.” Helen twisted an edge of the coverlet in her fingers. “But I wanted to offer you the same kind of encouragement you offered me. About the driving, that is.”

  “You think I should learn?”

  Helen looked up. “I meant that you encouraged me to do something I wanted to do but was afraid to do.”

  “All right. What is it I want to do but am afraid to do?” Julia continued to smile.

  Helen’s smile faded. “Break your engagement.”

  Before Julia had a chance to respond, Helen continued: “You mentioned it yesterday. You said maybe you should break with Will to help out more at home. That’s why I bring it up. I’m not trying to be nosey.”

  Julia had prayed about this at Mass, asked for guidance. And as she’d looked at the strong back of her mother, at Helen’s now-serene face, she’d backslid. She’d chastised herself for being ungrateful. Will was a good man. It would disappoint their mother to discover yet another daughter who didn’t appear to be headed down the church aisle any time soon.

  Helen misinterpreted her silence. “I’m sorry. I am being a busybody.” She stood, but Julia reached out and pulled her arm so that she sat back down again.

  “No, you’re not.” Julia sucked in her lips. She shouldn’t cry. It was so silly. But she was so….

  “I’m confused, Hel. I don’t know what to do, what to think!” She stared at the ceiling and the tears did fall, sloppy and wet onto her bedspread. Helen immediately went to her dresser and pulled a freshly pressed hanky from a top drawer.

  “You’re so neat, Jules,” Helen said, referring to the dresser.

  Julia laughed. “What a catch!”

  Helen smiled and patted her good leg. “When you made the offer to let go of Will because of Dad, I thought you seemed…relieved. To have an excuse to break the engagement.”

  Julia nodded and blew her nose.

  “If you’re not sure about Will, maybe you shouldn’t get married.”

  “That’s the problem. I’m not sure. What if I make a mistake and regret it? Break the engagement and wish I hadn’t?”

  Helen thought for a second. “Do you really see that happening?”

  Julia shook her head slowly. “Beth would say I was foolish to give up Will.” She stared in Helen’s eyes. “After all, he likes me in spite of…”

  Helen tapped Julia’s bad leg. “This?” She pursed her lips and sighed. “Really, Jules, that shouldn’t be a consideration. You should be loved because of everything you are. Not what you…aren’t. You’re a wonderful person.”

  “But I do have this one not so wonderful thing.”

  “It’s nothing.” Helen waved her hand. “Nothing. And if Will makes you feel like he’s giving you a gift by loving you in spite of your leg, he’s no gentleman.”

  Despite her sadness, Julia smiled. “You’re rather sure of yourself. When did this happen?”

  “Today. When I discovered how I’d held myself back because I was afraid.”

  Helen stood and kissed her sister on the forehead. “Just think about it. You don’t need to make a decision right away. I wanted you to know that I’ll take up for you if you do decide to break the engagement.”

  “Geez, Helen, you make it sound like you never really liked Will.” Julia meant it as a light-hearted barb and expected a protest. But Helen didn’t respond. She merely smiled and left the room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  WHEN SEAN ARRIVED AT WORK on Monday, Sal was already there, on the phone, trying to reach Jansen’s cleaning lady again. She was out of town, it seemed. Odd that she would be unavailable all of a sudden when she’d been around to talk to them last week—after Jansen had given out her number. When Sal hung up the phone, Sean pointed out the obvious, how suspicious it looked to have Jansen’s housekeeper disappear. That made two people missing now, the housekeeper and Susan Schlager.<
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  Sal’s hand still rested on the receiver. “I’m thinking we’re giving him too much time.”

  “He has an alibi. We can’t arrest him just because he’s acting nervous.”

  “Maybe his nerves’ll make him slip up if we keep the pressure on. It’s possible he has the two women somewhere. We need to pressure him.”

  Sean nodded. “He lied about knowing the victim.”

  Sean told him about the file on Jansen showing he’d been at NYU at the same time as Lowenstein.

  “But our Lowenstein isn’t necessarily their Lowenstein.”

  “It still has an odor. We just don’t have enough to haul him in.”

  Both men thought silently. Silence was bad for Sean, though, around Sal. He didn’t want his partner asking how things were going with Brigitta. Seeing Sal that morning had made it all the clearer that he had to straighten up and fly right with her. He wasn’t the kind of man to take a roll in the hay with a broad and move on. He shouldn’t have treated her like she was that kind of woman.

  Sean stood.

  “Come on. Let’s try to get the info on the housekeeper.” He headed to the coat rack and retrieved his hat and coat. Sal followed, doing the same. “Maybe Jansen’s cleaning girl has a husband, a sister, a mother. Where she live?”

  “With her mother.”

  Sean smiled. “All right. Let’s get going.”

  ***

  After a brief visit with her father, Julia went to her office and spent Monday morning filing, typing, and listening to Linda prattle on about her wedding plans.

  After being so busy last week, Julia found herself at loose ends as the lunch hour approached. Dr. Jansen wasn’t in yet, and it appeared he’d not shown up Friday night as he’d said he would to look over the paper she’d not finished typing because of her father’s heart attack. He would have surely left her an angry note about that. It had taken her no time to finish it, and she’d already placed it on his desk. She looked over at Linda, now absorbed in a task.

  “I think I’ll grab a bite to eat and then go see my dad,” she said. “Could you pick up my phone for me?”

  “Sure thing, hon. Take all the time you need.”

  Julia had thought a lot about what to do about Susan and her job. She needed to show an over-eagerness, she’d decided, to do more, to be the best possible secretary a doctor could have. She needed to be positive and cheerful, just as she’d been at the rehab center.

  She didn’t head to the cafeteria or her father’s room. Instead, a few moments later, she sat in Mrs. Wilcox’s office, telling the office manager how she was more than willing to put in extra hours if the other doctors needed help that their secretaries or typists couldn’t provide.

  “I don’t want you to think I can’t handle the work,” she said, sitting up straight, her hands in her lap.

  “I thought you’d be asking me for time off under the circumstances.” Mrs. Wilcox smiled at her across her desk. “How is your father doing?” Word traveled fast among their group.

  “He’s doing well,” she said. “I was going to visit him on my lunch break.” She sucked in her lips. “For just a little while,” she added, not wanting to sound as if she’d be taking extra time.

  Mrs. Wilcox studied her. “Julia, you don’t need to prove—” She stopped herself, then said, “I’ll be sure to note your willingness to do more. You’re a fine secretary and would be an asset to any of the doctors.”

  Julia blushed. She knew Mrs. Wilcox was telling her that her job with Dr. Jansen was safe if she had anything to do with it.

  “Thank you.”

  “In fact, if you are serious about taking on extra hours, the labs might be in the position soon to hire more workers and I’ll certainly put your name on the list for extra assignments if need be.”

  Julia tilted her head to one side, wondering how to ask for more information without appearing too nosey.

  Mrs. Wilcox smiled again. “I don’t mind telling you—news seems to travel fast around here anyway. We just found out we are to be the recipients of a very generous gift. It’s through the Foundation, but the donor specifically requested it be targeted at the Hopkins polio work.”

  “Who is it?”

  Mrs. Wilcox shook her head. “An anonymous donor. This generous soul is handling it all through a lawyer.” She sounded very happy to share the good news and gave Julia more details on how the donation was being handled.

  A little while later, Julia left Mrs. Wilcox’s office a happy woman. She knew the office manager was on her side, and she now knew the labs were receiving a small windfall of cash that should provide secure employment for Susan, should she deign to return to work, as well as Julia. Susan would be no threat if she felt her own work was safe.

  After a quick, cheery visit with her father, Julia headed to the cafeteria.

  ***

  “How’s your father?”

  She looked up as if awakening from a dream. Sean saw her turn crimson. Confirmation that he hadn’t imagined their embrace last week. But damn…he’d embarrassed her with that clumsy move. Now she was on edge around him. Maybe he should apologize…

  “Resting. But better.”

  An awkward pause. Then, she relaxed and gestured to an empty chair opposite her. “Please join me.”

  “I only have a few minutes.” But he sat down anyway. He wanted to sit with her. When he’d seen her in the cafeteria, he’d immediately decided to seek her out instead of going back upstairs to look for Jansen again. He hadn’t thought of Brigitta, about two-timing, about anything except wanting to talk to her.

  The morning had been moving slowly, and that had put him in a low mood. The chat with Jansen’s housekeeper’s mother looked like a dead-end. The woman had told them her daughter was in Georgia, had gone off to tend to a sickly aunt. She’d shown them the telegram that had carried the message. Sal had thought Jansen could have sent it himself to get the housekeeper out of town, but Sean had been skeptical. The mother had given them a telephone number to call. The housekeeper wasn’t out of reach, just out of state. After that discovery, they’d come back to the hospital, and Sal and he had split up, trying to cover every place the doc might be. Linda, the other secretary, had suggested the cafeteria.

  “How’s the case going?”

  “Slow.” He didn’t know what else to say. But he didn’t want to leave. He felt like asking her what to do. What to do about Brigitta even. Christ, what a mess he was, thinking of stuff like that. Making the moves on one woman and wanting to ask another about it.

  Julia’s eyes were blue, almost gray, and the curls of hair at her temples were slightly damp, like his boys’ hair when they got so involved in something they didn’t notice the effort they were putting into it. He wanted to just stare at her face. Something about it soothed him, the way her lips lifted at the edges as if she were on the verge of a smile, the long line of her graceful neck, the pert nose. He imagined she was called “cute” a lot, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it bothered her. But he liked her cute. It let the sweet Julia shine through. Not the edgy cheerfulness she ordinarily let everyone see. Sean didn’t like phony cheer. He’d had enough of it.

  “Zeroing in on a few things.” No point in telling her that her boss was one of them. “Say, thanks for the file. I will have to keep it for a while. Is that a problem?”

  “If Mrs. Wilcox notices it’s missing…”

  “I’ll tell her I asked for it when she wasn’t around.”

  This appeased her, and she lost the worried look. But it flickered back when she asked if he’d heard anything about Susan, the other secretary. He shook his head.

  “You get any more of those phone calls?”

  “No.” She smiled at his concern.

  “I’m very sorry about your father.”

  “Yes. Well. He’s recovering.” She twisted her hands together. She was nervous again. “He won’t be able to work for a while,” she said at last.

  “That’s hard.” He remem
bered the strain his missing work due to Mary’s illness had caused on his finances. “Will your family be all right?”

  She nodded. “My sisters and I will chip in. I might pick up some extra work.” She smiled broadly now and leaned into the table. “The labs apparently are about to get a big gift and might hire some new staff.” She laughed. “It will mean they can afford to pay me to do more.”

  “A big gift, huh? Where do they get their cash anyway?”

  “Mostly grants from the National Infantile Paralysis Foundation. That’s the March of Dimes to most folks. They’re very generous.” She leaned farther into the table, and he could see a patch of pillowy breast beneath the buttoned collar of her silky blouse. “The Foundation not only provides money for the research but for extra costs the hospitals incur to take on the research. They thought up this system. Otherwise, hospitals and medical schools didn’t want to take the grants.”

  She leaned back now, an old pro lecturing him on how major research institutions were run. It charmed him, her desire to show off her knowledge. “Ever since the end of the war—and the use of penicillin and the like—hospitals have lots of empty space. So the research has spilled over into that empty space. That’s why our labs seem so higgledy-piggledy.”

  He smiled as she talked. He wanted her to keep talking. “So where’s the gift from?”

  “Oh, the Foundation. But they got it from someone who insisted the money be spent here at Hopkins, on our polio research.” She sounded proud, as if she herself had snagged the prize.

  “That’s quite generous. Who’s the moneybags?”

  “Nobody knows. It’s an anonymous gift! Mrs. Wilcox only knows it was handled through this donor’s lawyer. Averill Patelson.”

  ****

  As soon as she’d uttered Averill Patelson’s name, he had to get back. Lowenstein had left everything to “charity,” according to his lawyer, Patelson. This had to be the gift. To polio research at Hopkins, from a man who didn’t want to be involved in the polio research, who insisted on working on other things, other areas of scientific investigation.