Finally Jessie said, “We should go ahead and eat. I guess she forgot.” Her face showed there was no way she would have forgotten.
While we ate I told Jessie about the note from Mike and asked her advice about a visit. She seemed to think I should see him. While we didn’t say it, we both hoped I would be able to convince him to see her. When I told Jessie that Mike had refused to see Elaine, we both felt guilty that we had not called her to see how the visit had gone. Neither one of us knew her well enough to know where she was likely to be if she wasn’t at home, but we did know her well enough to know that Mike’s refusal to see her would have distressed her.
“Jessie, you should open a restaurant or at least a catering service,” I said as I finished lunch. It was delicious.
“I have all I can do with the home, but I’m thinking of adding some basic cooking and nutrition classes to the girls’ curriculum.” She was the director of the Florence Crittenden Home now.
“That would be a great idea.”
Jessie was unusually quiet and, sensing her disappointment and worry about Elaine, I excused myself soon after we finished eating. Her introverted personality needed refueling by some time alone.
As I was leaving, I remembered I had Elaine’s father’s phone number in the office. I decided to phone him to see if he had heard from Elaine, and I promised to let Jessie know if I heard anything.
“Bill Tarter here.”
“Mr. Tarter, this is Cara Parker. I wondered if you have heard from Elaine.”
“Yes, she’s right here. Would you like to speak to her?”
“Please.”
“Dr. Parker, how nice of you to call.”
“Well, Jessie and I were worried about you when you missed lunch today.”
“Oh no, I completely forgot Jessie invited me to lunch. Do you think she will ever forgive me?”
“Jessie has become a very forgiving person. I don’t think it will be a problem. We both felt guilty that we hadn’t called you to ask about your visit with Mike.”
“He refused to see me. I took him the newest Robert Ludlum and Wilbur Smith novels. He loves their books, and I thought the prison library might not have the newer ones. I left them with the guard, but I don’t know if he got them. After I came home I cried for two days. Dad called and asked me to come here, so I did. He took a few days off work, and we’ve had a good visit. I’m not very good company, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“We went through photo albums and talked about Mom. You might want to put it in my record that she was hospitalized for two months with postpartum depression after I was born. That was one reason they didn’t have more children. Apparently, she knew she was weak and shouldn’t have children. I had no idea how many sacrifices Dad made to protect me from her drinking, or how much effort he put into protecting my love for her. I was so wrong to have judged him.”
“Judgment is often wrong.”
“I can’t tell you what it means to have my daddy back.”
“I’m so glad he is there for you. Elaine, I didn’t tell you, but I wrote Mike a note the night he came by the house and found Jessie. I wanted him to know I didn’t know she was his mother.”
“Did he write to you?” Elaine said a little too quickly.
“Yes, he thanked me for writing, apologized for the way he acted, and said he was glad I hadn’t known Jessie was his mother.”
“Did he say anything about me?”
“He mentioned he had refused to see you. That was all. Elaine, he said he would like to talk to me. How do you feel about that?”
“You’re connected to his precious Sara. That’s why he wants to talk to you. She would never have hurt him like I did.” The edge in her voice was sharper.
“We became friends during Sara’s illness. You knew that. If it makes you feel any better, he did say maybe none of this would have happened if he had listened to my advice about the vasectomy.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Elaine, maybe if I see him I can convince him to see you.”
“I guess it’s worth a try. I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with him. He’s never let me explain anything. He hasn’t let me tell him how sorry I am about what has happened, about what I did, or about what Greg did.”
“Maybe in time. You haven’t given him any reason to think this was anything other than an affair, so he doesn’t think he needs to hear any more, just like he doesn’t think he needs to hear anything Jessie has to say.”
Unlike Jessie, Elaine was determined to keep trying to see Mike. “I sacrificed the baby I wanted to save this marriage, and I’m not giving up. I am going to that prison every Sunday afternoon until he sees me. Somehow I will convince him I love him and only him.” Elaine knew her appeal, also unlike Jessie, who considered herself unattractive.
“Surely he won’t refuse to see you much longer.”
“I hope not.”
“Have you decided when you’re coming home?”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll go to the prison on my way home. I’ll call you when I get home and let you know how things go. I need to call Jessie too. I’m so sorry I forgot her luncheon. I know. Maybe you both could come for lunch to my house next Saturday.”
“I think I can, but I’ll check my calendar and let you know when you get home. I know Jessie would be pleased to hear from you, and I’m glad your father was able to be there for you. I’ll talk to you soon.”
On Sunday evening when Elaine called, I learned that Mike sent the books back by the guard and still refused to see her. We settled on lunch at noon on Saturday. She seemed relieved to have something positive to anticipate. Looking at my calendar for the week, I realized I had Wednesday afternoon off. Should I go to the prison?
On Wednesday morning I tried to add a new patient who urgently needed to be seen to my afternoon schedule. She couldn’t come. I offered to induce someone’s labor who was thirteen days late. She wanted to wait. I tried to convince myself I was getting a summer cold, but I knew I was fine. I admired Elaine’s determination to continue her visits to see Mike. There was nothing fun about the prospects of a visit to prison even without the added risk of rejection. Difficult as the decision had been and hard as I tried to be busy when Wednesday afternoon came, I found myself on the road to Eddyville. After the visit I admired Elaine even more.
Doors slammed shut, locked behind you. Every footstep taken, every door closed, every word spoken, even the tick of the clock echoed off the bare walls and floor. Shivering, in a room with gray paint on the walls, no carpet, and no windows, I waited for Mike.
“I never thought we would be meeting like this,” he said as he walked into the room. His appearance was a surprise. He looked younger, innocent, rested. The anger, pain, and tension on his face during the trial were gone. Even prison had not been as much strain as the uncomfortable silence in his home for months before the trial.
“Nor did I. How are you holding up, Mike?”
“Actually, better than I expected. This is not any worse than living on an iceberg in my home and wondering what would happen at the trial. I mark each day off the calendar. Fortunately, my sentence is not too long. What worries me most is how I will make a living when I get out of here. Even if the licensure board will let me, I’m not sure my clients will want a felon doing their accounting.”
“They will know it was an accident.”
“Will that matter?”
“I don’t know.”
He leaned back in his chair. “So what is so important that I need to know about my mother?”
“Mike, that’s privileged information. I can’t tell you, but I believe it would be good for both of you if you would let her tell you.”
“People here don’t get too many visitors; I guess I ought to see anyone who is willing to come.”
“I assume you’re referring to your mother, but isn’t the same true for Elaine? I understand she has been here twice.”
For the first time Mike
dropped his head, no longer making eye contact. The chair squeak echoed around the room as his body stiffened and he stood, paced, and picked at the cuticle of his left thumb. I had seen this unconscious gesture many times during the stress of Sara’s illness.
“She was pregnant, for God’s sake. She certainly doesn’t have anything to say that would change that.”
“Well, actually she might.”
“Oh come on, Dr. Parker. I know you like to think the best of people, but you would believe anything if you believe that. You know I had a vasectomy. She was pregnant, and unless she was raped . . .” He stopped pacing. His angry scowl changed to a thoughtful frown. One eyebrow rose, as if he remembered something long forgotten. Silence underlined the question on his face. I waited. Finally, he said quietly, with less visible anger and an expression of hope mixed with guilt, “What could she say?”
“You’re right, Mike. I do like to give people the benefit of the doubt, and I believe Elaine loves you. Elaine made some mistakes, and a big one was not discussing what happened with you in the first place.” Silence. “Do you want to share what just came to your mind?”
“No. I just thought about something else. If Elaine had something to say, why didn’t she say it?”
“Think about it, Mike. She hasn’t had much chance, and I think she was afraid you wouldn’t believe her. She couldn’t risk that.”
“Maybe that’s because what she told you is a lie.”
“I don’t think so, but then I have been fooled before. It’s easy to lie to someone who wants to believe you. Mike, I need to go. Would you like your mother’s phone number? It’s unlisted.”
“No, I don’t want to talk to her on the phone. Do you think she would come here with you?”
“I think she would fly around the world if you would talk to her.”
“Maybe she’ll enjoy seeing me here. She can blame Dad for how he raised me.”
“No, she would never do that. She was thrilled to hear the things the character witnesses said about you at the trial.”
He looked up. “She was at the trial?”
“At the trial, at your graduations, at your basketball games, at your wedding.”
“What are you saying? I never saw her at those things.”
“She didn’t intend you to see her, but she was there. Ask her when you see her.”
“I guess I can do that.”
“Is there anything you’d like me to bring you when I come again?”
“I could use some more books.”
“Elaine said you sent back the books she brought.”
With a hint of the old mischievous glint often seen in Mike’s eyes, he said, “I read fast.”
“Elaine will be pleased.” I smiled.
“Don’t tell her.”
Driving home, my conversation with Mike played over and over in my head like a recording. Visiting Mike was the right decision. There is just no substitute for talking to people face to face. He was going to see Jessie. I could hardly wait to tell her, but I wanted to see her face so I decided not to call. And he was going to see Elaine sometime. It would just take a little time. What had he remembered that drained his anger?
I offered to pick Jessie up on Saturday, ostensibly so she could show me the way to Elaine’s, but really because I wanted to talk to her about my visit with Mike. I didn’t want to tell her about it in front of Elaine. I expected Jessie to be overjoyed, and she would not want that to hurt Elaine. There would be time to tell Elaine later.
“I went to see Mike on Wednesday.”
Her face lit up. “How is he?”
“He looks surprisingly good. We had a nice talk, and I was glad I decided to go, though I tried to think of every possible reason to avoid it. I offered to give him your phone number.”
“And?”
“He refused.” Jessie looked so disappointed I was sorry I teased her. “He said he didn’t want to talk to you on the phone—he’d rather see you in person. Would you come visit him with me?”
She was so excited she grabbed my arm, and I ran against the curb, scraping the alloy wheels on my car.
“Did you say yes?”
“I think I said something like you would fly around the world to see him.”
She smiled. “When are we going?”
“How about Wednesday afternoon?”
“I can do that.”
We rode the rest of the way in silence, Jessie’s face a complex mix of joy and fear, faint smile and furrowed brow.
Elaine and Mike lived at the end of a cul-de-sac. Their lawn was perfectly manicured, with each tree mulched, mature boxwoods trimmed, and day lilies almost ready to bloom. I expected some deterioration in the gardening with Mike gone, but I learned that Elaine did the gardening. She called it her therapy.
The Cape Cod style house was made of stone with wood trim. As we entered, Elaine, wearing a pale green sheath and white sandals, led us past the living room where Greg had died and took us to a small den adjacent to the kitchen. There, she introduced us to her father, Bill Tarter. Our brief conversations had favorably impressed me, so I was happy to meet him. Jessie, who had been somewhat introspective in the car after our discussion about visiting Jeff, seemed agitated. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but Bill appeared to hold her hand a moment longer than expected.
Elaine was not as comfortable as Jessie in the role of hostess. She had left too much to do after her guests arrived. After she excused herself to go to the kitchen for the second time, we offered to help. Jessie washed and dried basil leaves, I sliced tomatoes, and Bill set the table. Conversation was easy and superficial, avoiding the difficult events of the recent past.
Bill explained that unexpected business had brought him to the city, and he had taken the opportunity to see Elaine.
After lunch, Elaine showed us a scrapbook she had gotten from her father. It reminded Jessie that she had made a similar one for each of her children.
“Bill, did you make the scrapbook for Elaine, or did your wife do it?” Jessie asked.
“I did it. Elaine had forgotten, but she helped me. It was one of our projects for when her mother was out.”
“Which was a lot,” Elaine said. “There are many ways for a mother not to be there for her children.” Fearing she had hurt Jessie, she quickly added, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re right, Elaine. It’s your mother and I who should be sorry, not you. I did make a scrapbook for each of my children though.”
“You did? But how did you do that since you weren’t there?” Elaine asked.
“I was there as often as I could be. Cara and I went to one of Jeff’s ballgames soon after I discovered who I was, and Jeff refused to speak to me. After that, I would either not try to speak to him or I would disguise and hide myself altogether. I was even there for your wedding.”
“Were you sitting in the balcony wearing a purple silk dress?” Bill said, to everyone’s surprise. “I saw you. Your hair was light auburn and shorter.”
We all laughed as Jessie said, “Yes, that was me. I remember thinking maybe a purple dress was not a good idea for someone who was trying not to be seen. I rather fancied that auburn wig, though.”
“You looked beautiful. I remember wondering who you were and why you sat alone in the balcony.” An awkward silence followed.
“Now you know,” Jessie said brightly, breaking the lull. “I missed Jeff’s marriage to Sara. They married in a small country church with no balcony. There was no place I could hide there. I made a habit of visiting the site of each event before it happened so I would know if there was someplace I could sit and not be noticed.”
“Dad, I had no idea you were so observant.”
“Oh, I’m not observant. It’s just that Jessie is a beautiful woman, and I do notice beautiful women.”
Jessie blushed. “Thank you.” That was the first time I had ever seen her blush. Quickly, she turned the conversation back to the scrapbook. “George gave me the school pictures ea
ch year, and his sister, Martha, gave me some photographs. She also went to some of Jeff’s games with me so I didn’t have to go alone. I appreciate Martha.”
“I’ve never met Martha,” Elaine said. “Do you know why the family shunned her? Mike said she was a flower child during the Sixties, got into smoking pot and free love. That embarrassed George’s conservative family.”
“Yes, that is true, but there is more to her story than that. She fell in love and planned to marry a young man who was sent to Vietnam. Nine months after he left she had a baby, and her parents forced her to give the baby up for adoption. Thirteen months later he was killed. She became vehemently opposed to the war and joined the protest movement. The pot and free love were her ways of dealing with the pain. She’s still searching for that child. I’ve tried to help her through my connection with adoption agencies, but so far I’ve had no luck. Adoption was much more secretive then in Kentucky. Now the families know each other, and often the mother even chooses the family that gets her baby.”
Elaine shook her head. “I had no idea. I’m sorry I didn’t try to get to know her. Maybe, if we have lunch again we can invite her and make it a meeting of the Green Outcast Society.”
“We would have to invite Ellen too if we did that.”
“Yes, I almost forgot about Ellen. I wasn’t part of the family when that happened.”
“Interesting, isn’t it, how all four of us did something different about our unwanted pregnancies, and we were all still outcasts,” Jessie said.
“It’s interesting to me how it was the men who did both the impregnating and the out casting,” Bill observed.
“Seems to me everyone needs to be more responsible about birth control,” I said.
“Seems to me that everyone needs to be more loving and forgiving,” Bill added.
Jessie and I looked at each other as I thought, That sounds like Uncle Henry. “That sounds like something Mr. Henry would have said,” Jessie said, then continued, “Elaine, would you like to see Jeff’s scrapbook sometime?”
“Yes, I want to see it, and I bet he would like to see it too. He has often wished for a copy of various clippings about his high school sports activities.”
Saving Jane Doe Page 17