LOST TO THE WORLD

by Libby Sternberg

  “What’s your nose telling you?”

  “To tell the truth my head’s so full of this woman’s gab I have a hard time hearing myself think right now. But I guess my gut feeling is Dr. Hill did something that made him a target. His parents’ house burns down. They die in an accident in the car he gave them. His brother is paralyzed in an accident visiting him. If it was all bad luck, that’s a shit load to have happen to you. If it was deliberate—if someone was after him, say, and got his family in the crosshairs—well, I can see why he’d run away.”

  “When you headed back here?”

  “I’ll be in in the morning.”

  When Sean got off the phone, he called Brigitta immediately, his hands sweating and heart thumping, expecting bad news.

  Nothing was wrong, though. She just had a spare moment and thought she’d see how his day was going. That was an excuse. He could hear again something tense in her voice, as if she were about to snap. He told her he couldn’t stay on, had to get to something, and felt guilty as soon as he hung up. Get to what? He looked around the office at other desks, other policemen, at O’Brien’s door. If he went home, would his boss notice or assume he was out on the case?

  All right, he would work the case. He’d talk to Julia again and see if she knew anything about this Dr. Hill stuff now that he had more. Maybe her memory needed a little shove. And he’d doublecheck the hotel where Dr. Jansen was supposed to be staying in California. Maybe the fellow left early for that conference.

  He dialed Hopkins and waited, then heard Linda’s voice on the line.

  “I’m afraid you just missed her. Her father’s being discharged.”

  ***

  “You get on the other side of him. I’ll stay on his right.”

  “Mutti, he doesn’t need us carrying him to the house.”

  “You’re darn right I don’t. One of the reasons I had to get out of there was all the swarming those folks do.” Howard Dell waved a hand in front of him, but Julia noticed it shook just a little. She sidled up next to her father and looped her arm through his.

  “Then you can help me. How’s that?”

  Helen relinquished her position and ran in front of them to unlock the door. “I’ll get his bag in a sec,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Beth is on her way over,” Julia said to her father as they ambled up the walkway.

  “With the children? They will be too noisy!” her mother exclaimed.

  “I’d like to see them,” Howie said.

  “You get into bed and rest. We’ll wake you up when she arrives.” Julia smiled at her father but quickly looked away. He was still so pale. They entered the house where already the smell of coffee filled the air. Helen had set up the percolator before they’d left for the hospital. She appeared in the hallway, laughing and pointing to a smear of red on her yellow dress.

  “I opened some tomato soup. I’m afraid there won’t be as much as I’d planned.”

  Julia looked into her sister’s laughing eyes. Helen had driven them home so smoothly that no one had even thought about it. Now she was cooking in a haphazard way, without the meticulous apron she usually wore. She’d changed, quickly and for the better. If Helen could do it, so could Julia.

  Mutti insisted on getting her husband settled in bed on her own. While she fussed over him, Julia joined her sister in the kitchen.

  “You’re not wearing your ring.” Helen pointed to Julia’s hand with a wooden spoon.

  “My god, you’re observant.” She had taken it off after her talk with the detective.

  “About some things.”

  Julia breathed in deeply, as if about to jump into a pool. “I think I’m going to tell Will I can’t marry him.”

  Helen looked at her in silence, then walked over to her and hugged her. “When?”

  “Probably next week. He called me right before we got the news about Dad getting out. He’s taking his Mom to Lancaster to visit some aunt over the weekend.”

  “So you won’t see him until next week?”

  “That’s right. I told him I’d talk to him on Monday.”

  “Oh Jules, I know it will be hard.”

  “I think waiting to do it will be harder.”

  “No it won’t. This weekend, we’ll be busy taking care of Dad.”

  “I think Dad would prefer it if we weren’t so busy at that.”

  Helen smiled. “Then we’ll be busy making sure Mutti and Beth don’t overwhelm him.”

  The sound of children’s feet clomping up the front porch steps carried through the hall. Then Beth’s booming voice calling out hello followed the yammer of the children.

  “If you want to talk about it later,” Helen said, indicating the hall with her eyes.

  “Thanks. I think I’d rather not tell many people now.” She helped Helen set the table and put together a tray for their father.

  The rest of the day and evening was consumed with the happy relief of a return to normalcy. Their father might still be ailing, but he was home. Home where they could take care of him. Where they didn’t need to study the looks of doctors and nurses and examine their words as if they were secret codes holding the key to happiness.

  Beth’s children were on their best behavior that night, and they all made happy plans for the coming holiday, all three girls together with their mother in their large living room. Helen sat on the edge of their mother’s chair, paper and pencil in hand, taking down the Easter menu. Beth lounged on the sofa, an arm around her children who nestled nearby. Julia perched on an ottoman. They laughed. They talked. They even sang—when Beth insisted she knew the words to “Easter Parade.”

  Julia’s mood lightened with every happy note. She wasn’t thinking about Easter or her father or special menus, though. She was thinking of how Detective Reilly might look when he noticed her ring was gone and she could explain she was free.

  ***

  He was beat, physically and emotionally. As he dragged himself out of the car and walked up his front steps, O’Brien’s words still stung.

  “Show some focus, Reilly. Show me you’re back.”

  O’Brien had been irritated, not pleased, when Sean had gone over the latest info with him. O’Brien hadn’t said much about Sal’s great detective work. He’d focused instead on Jansen. He couldn’t understand why they hadn’t staked out the man’s house and followed his every move when all indicators were that he was guilty of something. After all, if they knew the man had been in Lowenstein/Hill’s house the morning of the murder and they knew he had made arrangements to flee, what the hell had they been waiting for?

  There’d been no point in arguing about all the other leads they’d tracked down. The way O’Brien had said it, Sean had to agree. Jansen should have been the prime suspect from the first day. Now he was gone and they were left with nothing.

  O’Brien had then asked him his plans for the evening and Sean knew exactly what he’d expected him to say—that he would be watching Jansen’s house, talking to more neighbors, chasing down more colleagues. Instead, he’d mumbled that his boys were still ailing and he had to get home.

  Show me you’re back.

  Sure, I’ll do that, boss. How do I get “back?”

  He opened the door and threw his keys on the table. The house was quiet, and for a moment, Sean closed his eyes and remembered Mary sitting and reading softly to the boys in the backyard when the sun would glint her hair into spun gold.

  “Sean, are you okay?” Brigitta appeared from the kitchen, and although she was the one asking after his health, she looked like she wasn’t faring so well. Her hair was tousled, and a brown stain marred her white blouse. Her face was white as paste, and he noticed no smell of cooking.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  Her hand flew to her head. “To tell the truth, I think I might be coming down with whatever the boys have. I can’t seem to keep much down and was feeling a bit woozy earlier.”

  Oh Christ. Maybe she wa
sn’t sick. Maybe she was…

  He’d thought of it, but pushed it out of his head.

  Mary had complained the same way those first months carrying the boys, even before the doctor had confirmed her intuition. Like Brigitta, she’d been dog-tired and green at the gills.

  It would be months before they’d know for sure. Better to not mention it. Maybe it was what the boys had had and nothing more. But she had to be thinking it, too.

  A quick roll in the hay and he ends up with a woman for the rest of his life. His boss was right. He had to focus. He had to come back. He had to get himself back.

  He rubbed his hand over his face and stared at her.

  “Maybe this is too much for you….”

  “No, I’ll be fine. Really. I’m strong. I just need some rest. I’m sure that’s all.”

  It sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as much as him. Crap, she was worried about it, too.

  “Let me take you home,” he said, pointing to her purse on the sofa. “Are the boys out back?”

  “They’re napping.”

  A nap this late in the day. It hadn’t been a good day, then.

  He went to rouse them, and in a few seconds they were all bundled up and in the car but not before Brigitta used the bathroom. She tried to hide it by flushing the toilet twice, but he could tell she was puking her guts out.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  LATE AGAIN. Both boys had taken ages to get to sleep last night. It was that damned nap. And it turned out they’d not had anything to eat either, so Sean had treated them to burgers at the White Tower on the way home. It had been good fun, and he’d enjoyed seeing them smile and laugh. But he’d paid for it with their wakefulness. He’d washed out their school shirts after that, and cleaned up and worried that he wouldn’t have anyone to watch them the next day.

  But Brigitta had been ready when he picked her up. Pale but ready. She’d hardly talked to him on the way back to his house, only telling him she was sure she was getting over whatever she had and she’d find time to rest while the boys napped that day. It was an act and he knew it.

  O’Brien glowered at him as he came in, so he raised his hand in an over-friendly wave, as if he were scheduled to come in late. Sal would be back late morning.

  As he threw his notebook on the desk, O’Brien stepped onto the floor.

  “Reilly, come here!” He didn’t wait for Sean to respond before heading back into his office.

  Sean thought of excuses he could offer for his tardiness and settled on a faulty alarm. He’d not used that one. He mentally rehearsed it, thinking of the jaunty tone he should strike to make it appear that he knew O’Brien would understand. As he stepped over the threshold, though, his boss was on the phone, finishing up a phone call.

  O’Brien grunted out a goodbye to his caller and didn’t bother to tell Sean to sit down.

  “Jansen’s back in town,” he said simply. “Picked up at the airport. Should be here within the hour.”

  Sean nodded. “I’ll question him. Sal’s on the train.”

  O’Brien looked at him as if waiting for more. When Sean didn’t offer anything else, O’Brien spoke without taking his glance off the detective. “We got the first call about eight,” he said, “but you were nowhere to be found.”

  The alarm clock story wouldn’t do. Sean just frowned and swallowed, acknowledging his guilt. “Won’t happen again.”

  ***

  Brigitta wasn’t sure why she’d not begged off today. Her stomach would absolutely not stay still. She was overwhelmed with the desire to retch, but she had nothing left to spit up. Only a strong dose of bicarb that morning had kept her reasonably serene when Sean had picked her up. And she’d made a good show of it, she’d thought, only hinting at some distress. “Nothing to worry about. Probably what the boys had.”

  As the day wore on, she realized she’d been trying to fool herself as much as Sean into thinking this wasn’t what most women would suspect after making love to a man. My god. All those years as Gavin’s lover and not once—but they’d been so careful. With Sean, it had been impulsive, no time for care.

  It didn’t seem fair to have to worry about this so soon. Sure, she’d thought about it after both of their encounters. But there was no use fretting too much until her time of the month rolled around. Besides, she and Ernie had never been careful and they’d certainly done enough lovemaking to start a family ten times over before he’d had to leave.

  A tear rolled down her cheek and her chin trembled. Her stomach was still turning over. Her head throbbed. Was she warm, too? Or was it the house on this spring day? The boys were arguing in the other room and she just wanted them to be quiet. She needed quiet to think of where she’d gone wrong.

  A memory flooded her. Ernie in his brown Army uniform looking so dapper and young, throwing her a kiss from across the dining room at her mother’s house. She’d proudly risen from her seat and gone to him, draping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him fully on the mouth, to jeers and cheers from her siblings. “We’re married. We don’t need to pretend,” she’d told him.

  Being his wife had made her feel bold and impulsive. Grown-up. It had given her “standing” in the world. And then when the telegram had come…

  She had thought of dying herself. Walking to the harbor and throwing herself in the dirty gray water. She’d thought “my life is over now.” She would never feel so strongly about a man again.

  And she’d been right. She hadn’t felt like that again. There is no second “first time.”

  Oh, she knew people looked at Brigitta Lorenzo and thought, “There’s a woman with courage, with strength.” But they had no idea how she’d struggled at first, forcing herself to go outside her secure world of family and neighbors, to push herself into situations where she knew she wasn’t wanted, but daring people to reject her, staring them in the eyes. And as she’d succeeded, she’d felt….safe. She’d felt she’d found the way to keep life from hurting too deeply. Stare it down. Grab what you want.

  She’d filled her life with purpose, with direction. She’d accumulated a small degree of wealth—at least compared to her family’s standards. She’d done everything right.

  And yet here she was, aching in body and spirit, and the pain she’d suffered years ago at Ernie’s death seemed as fresh as the day’s sun. She’d never be the same again. And she’d never fully protect herself from being hurt like that. She’d been a fool to think otherwise.

  “Anything the matter, Mrs. Lorenzo?” Danny stood in front of her. He’d pronounced her name correctly. That was a small blessing.

  But she couldn’t tell him so because suddenly she was sobbing and wishing she was alone so she could cry in peace.

  “Maybe I should call Daddy,” the boy said. “Do you want me to call Daddy?”

  ***

  “You simply don’t understand.” He said it calmly, with a touch of condescension, a schoolmaster lecturing a slow student. “The scientific community is divided over Dr. Salk’s approach. It is a legitimate point of view to disagree with him. It isn’t an anomaly or an aberration, something out of the ordinary, that is, something that indicates wickedness. Or worse.”

  Doctor Jansen attempted a fleeting smile. His face shone with sweat, and he clasped his hands together so tightly that the knuckles had turned white.

  “I think I do understand, Doc. That’s the problem.”

  Sean placed his keys in his pocket and looked at his watch. He was hoping Sal would show up and join him, but his partner was probably only now pulling into Baltimore on the train from Cresskill.

  He’d already been with Jansen in the small airless interview room for more than an hour. Uniforms had picked the doc up as he’d come off the plane. He’d been to Cincinnati, he’d told Sean, to see Dr. Sabin about a job. He didn’t feel Hopkins was the place for him any longer.

  Sean had pressed him on why he’d run away, and instead of getting answers, he was getting a lecture. Every time Se
an tried to turn the conversation back to his murdered colleague, Jansen would spout off about the research and his disagreements with the powers-that-be, as if trying to lay out a case for his anger being legit, just not directed at Lowenstein/Hill.

  “No, you can’t possibly understand. Dr. Salk—and the entire National Foundation – that’s the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis, Basil O’Connor and his team…” His voice contained the whiff of a sneer. “They made promises to the American public, to people like you, people who have been waiting for a cure. You give us your dimes and pennies and dollars and we’ll give you a nice, tidy vaccine faster than you can say poliomyelitis. And the quickest kind of vaccine is made with a killed virus. It’s not even true science. It’s pure drudgery. Mechanics. Nothing skillful or creative about it.”

  “Okay, so they’re working on this killed virus. And the rest of you fellows, including that Sabin guy you mentioned, are working on a live one. You told me this already, doc. Sounds to me like it’s all you can think about. The kind of thing that drives a man crazy.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Jansen shook his head. “Do you think I would have come back if I was guilty of killing Dr…”

  “Dr. Hill. Richard Hill. You knew him. That’s why you were so careful when you told me you didn’t know Lowenstein at NYU, isn’t it? It’s because you knew Hill, not Lowenstein. C’mon. Save us both some time.” He’d mentioned this to Jansen already, and gotten no response.

  Dr. Jansen glared at him. “If you already know, then why bother asking me about him?”

  “You and Hill were in on that bad experiment in ’35. Hill gets out of town, changes his name, starts over. But you hang on to your moniker. Can’t give it up after you’ve spent so much time building up your reputation as the ‘live virus’ champion of the world.”

  Jansen seethed out a sigh. “I’m not a champion of anything but…science. Pure science. I told you, but you simply don’t understand. A live virus vaccine is more difficult to come by. It takes more than skill. It takes art….”

  “Do you think I care about this baloney?”

  “I’m trying to explain to you what I care about! So you’ll see it wasn’t about…about…”