Loyal Be Jack

by Robert Tarrant

  Later, during my third glass of scotch, I came to the realization that I was not responsible for Katharine’s actions. I had been a good husband. At least good enough to warrant fidelity. It was as if a weight, that I didn’t know I was carrying, was lifted off of me. I celebrated with a fourth scotch and tumbled into bed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was after 9:00 a.m. before I awoke. A dense fog was enveloping my mind. The open bottle of scotch seemed to be the most likely explanation. I made my way to the bathroom and drank several glasses of water in hopes that I could rehydrate my pounding head. Looking out the bedroom window, I noticed several vehicles parked in the circular driveway below. Evidently, Benjamin had numerous visitors this morning. Good, because I could use a little time to recover before I attempted to understand what it was he wanted me to do. I found a small package of pain relievers in my shaving kit and swallowed three before embarking on another shower—cold this time.

  Forty-five minutes later, I made my way downstairs in search of a cup of coffee. I’d managed to shave without cutting my throat. A major accomplishment considering the scotch of the previous evening and the fact I had not yet had coffee. I headed toward the kitchen but turned and looked toward the front of the house when I heard a murmur of voices. Three men and a woman stood in a small group in the area outside the partially open door leading to Benjamin’s study. By their formal dress and serious expressions, I determined that they were probably lawyers. Maybe members of his law firm here to say hello.

  I entered the kitchen and found Lily sitting at the table with her head in her hands. My entrance startled her, and she rose, wiping her eyes with a tissue. It was obvious she had been crying. If my mind had been firing on all cylinders, I would have immediately surmised what had happened. It wasn’t, so I asked, “What’s wrong, Lily?”

  “Benjamin . . . I mean Mr. Whitt passed away last night.” The statement unleashed a small torrent of sobs.

  I stepped forward and put my arm around her shoulders, saying, “I had no idea. I’m so sorry, Lily.” I stood there holding her until she regained her composure.

  Lily vigorously wiped her face with the handful of tissues she was clutching and stepped out of my embrace, saying, “I’m sorry, Mr. Nolan. Can I make you some breakfast?”

  I replied, “What happened? I thought Benjamin had some time left.”

  Lily said, “I don’t really know. All I know is that he was sleeping quietly when I last checked on him at around ten last night and when I went in to check this morning he was . . . he was gone.” Another outpouring of tears.

  I wrapped my arm around her again, and Lily sobbed quietly into my shoulder. Finally, she composed herself and asked, “Can’t I make you something to eat, Mr. Nolan?”

  “There’s no need for breakfast, Lily. I really don’t feel like eating at the moment. A cup of coffee would be great, though. That is, if you already have some made. Otherwise, I can make myself some. Just point me in the direction of the coffee maker.” Lily probably thought the news of Benjamin’s death had killed my appetite. In truth, the effects of the scotch had rendered my stomach temporarily unwilling to accept solid food.

  “Sit down, Mr. Nolan, I’ll bring a cup right over.”

  When Lily set the cup of coffee down in front of me, I asked, “Does Katharine know? Is she here?”

  She nodded. “She was my first call. She came right over. I think she’s still here. The funeral director left with his body just a few minutes ago, but I don’t think she’s left yet. I can go and check for you, if you would like.”

  “I saw a number of people in the front of the house. Are they friends? People here to support Katharine?”

  “I only know a couple of them, but I think they’re all attorneys from Mr. Whitt’s firm or from Katharine’s firm. Oh, and Dr. Reynolds is here.”

  I said, “I met Dr. Reynolds yesterday.”

  A look of confusion crossed Lily’s face as she said, “I didn’t know that Dr. Reynolds was here yesterday. I guess I missed him.”

  “Yesterday afternoon. He was attending to Benjamin while Katharine and I had coffee.”

  “Oh, that wasn’t Dr. Reynolds. That was Mr. Whitt’s doctor. Dr. Reynolds is Katharine’s fiancé.”

  Katharine’s fiancé? I was surprised. I hadn’t noticed an engagement ring on her finger when we had coffee yesterday. I said, “Oh, I didn’t realize Katharine was engaged.”

  Lily replied, “They’ve been engaged over a year now, but they haven’t yet set a date for the wedding.” I waited for her to express an opinion on the engagement or the fact that no wedding date had been set, but she didn’t, so I let the subject drop.

  Lily busied herself around the kitchen, and I drank my coffee. The shock of Benjamin’s death was starting to sink in, and as the coffee began to clear my mind, the ramifications started to materialize. Benjamin would never have the opportunity to explain what it was he was asking me to do. Everything he was going to be able to tell me had been said, and that amounted to almost nothing. Nothing beyond my promise to utilize the information contained in his private memoirs to correct some terrible wrong for which he felt responsible, all the while protecting his good name. How would I know the wrong when I see it? I doubt it’s something as obvious as “on this day I robbed a bank.” I had expected that today Benjamin would tell me exactly what his terrible transgression was. I’d hoped that he’d even tell me how he proposed that I rectify it. I was thankful for the fact that Benjamin and I had the opportunity to reconnect our personal relationship. There was no doubt in my mind that the loss of my relationship with Benjamin had felt at times as painful as the loss of Katharine.

  After several cups of coffee, and the English muffin that Lily convinced me to eat, I made my way to the front of the house. The group I had seen earlier was no longer outside the study. I looked through the open door, but no one was in the room. The empty hospital bed seemed to loom larger than ever in the center of the room. I heard a faint sound from the room across the corridor. I recalled that it was a music room, dominated by a baby grand piano. I gently pushed the door back and saw Katharine sitting on the piano bench with her back to the piano. She was doubled over sobbing.

  I entered the room and said softly, “I’m so sorry, Katharine.”

  She raised her head. Eyeliner was streaked down her cheeks. She appeared bewildered. Finally, she said, “Oh, Jack. I forgot that you were here.” She dabbed at her face with a tissue. “I knew this day was coming. I thought I was prepared. Obviously, I wasn’t.”

  I walked over to her, sat down next to her on the bench, put my arm around her shoulders, and said, “No one can be totally prepared for the loss of someone they love.” Her posture had initially stiffened when I put my arm around her shoulders, but it quickly relaxed, and she seemed to sink into me. I said, “Benjamin was a wonderful man. I know you loved him very much.”

  “He was a great father. He and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but I knew he always had my best interest at heart.”

  “Is there anything at all that I can do for you, Katharine?”

  Katharine rose from the bench and my grasp. Continuing to dab at her face, she said, “No. The funeral director has taken dad to the funeral home. I am going there now to make the final arrangements. Most of the arrangements have already been made, I just need to make a couple of final decisions. Thank you, though.”

  “Would you like for me to come with you? Moral support.”

  “That’s not necessary. Phillip was here this morning, and he’s going to meet me there.”

  “Phillip?”

  “Phillip Reynolds. We’re engaged.”

  “Well, congratulations.” My tone of sincerity was genuine. It does my life no good to wish ill for hers. I learned that on Dr. Phil. I attempted to glance at her ring finger, but it was obscured by the tissue.

  She nodded and replied, “Thank you, Jack.” She started to leave the room but turned back and asked, “Did you learn what my dad wante
d to talk to you about?”

  I hadn’t had time to contemplate how much Benjamin would want shared with Katharine. Hell, I didn’t really have anything to share, other than the topic was to be some major transgression Benjamin wanted me to rectify. That seemed a little dark and vague to drop on her at the moment, even if I felt comfortable telling her—and I wasn’t certain that I did. I deferred by saying, “Benjamin and I did have a few minutes to talk, but let’s not worry about that now. We can talk later. You have other things to focus on at the moment.”

  She looked at me for several seconds as if analyzing every word and then said, “Okay. You’re right, we can talk later.” With that, she turned and left the room.

  ***

  The next few days were almost surreal. Though the rituals vary, every society has some process to say goodbye to a loved one. I was directly involved but not really a participant. Family but not family. Welcomed by some and ignored by others.

  Late in the afternoon of Benjamin’s death, it dawned on me that I didn’t have a suit or any dress clothes with me. The clothes I had with me were a combination of the best of those I had salvaged from my apartment over Cap’s Place and the few items I had added to my wardrobe just before coming up here. Nothing appropriate for a funeral home visitation or a funeral. That necessitated a hurried trip to Somerset Collection, a mall I had frequently shopped at with Katharine. It was thirty miles north in Troy, but Thomas said he was happy to have a mission. Of course, it wasn’t simply a suit I needed. I needed dress shirts, ties, and dress shoes. I decided I could wear the same suit and shoes to visitation and the funeral but would need a change of shirt and tie. Fortunately, Thomas accompanied me into the mall and prevented me from forgetting that I needed a dress belt and tie bar. After hammering my credit cards unmercifully for two hours, we returned to Grosse Pointe Farms.

  I attended the first viewing with Lily and Thomas. I hadn’t seen or talked to Katharine since she left the music room the morning of Benjamin’s death. I’d been knocking around the house with little to do but wait for the funeral. I called Marge and Moe a couple of times to see how things were going in Florida, but they were busy and couldn’t really talk. I did have a couple of long calls with PJ, but they were even a little strained. After a couple of years of false starts, our relationship had been progressing. Still, running back to Michigan at the behest of my ex-wife seemed to have dampened the fire a bit. I’d explained that the request was from her father, not her, and PJ had encouraged me to go, but in our phone conversations, I detected that her support of the idea may have been more half-hearted than I’d realized. Women.

  Visitation was at the Richardson Funeral Home, a sprawling single-story off-white brick building with a large covered drive-through portico jutting out from the front entrance. The home contained four separate viewing areas and a chapel. The movable wall separating two of the viewing areas had been retracted to create an area large enough to accommodate the numbers of people who attended Benjamin’s viewings. When I first entered the viewing area with Lily and Thomas, I saw Katharine standing near the casket. She looked tired and even a little frail. A tall trim man was standing next to her. As I approached them, a look of mild surprise, similar to the one she exhibited in the music room, crossed Katharine’s face. The surprise faded and was replaced by what could best be described as mild contempt.

  Before I could speak, Katharine said, “Hello, Jack. It’s nice of you to come.” Turning toward the man next to her, she said, “Let me introduce Dr. Phillip Reynolds. Phillip, this is Jack Nolan.” Her tone was all business. No hint of familiarity.

  I reached out and shook Phillip’s hand and said, “Pleased to meet you, Doctor. Wish it could have been under different circumstances.” Like maybe you and Katharine would have stopped in to have a drink at Cap’s Place while honeymooning in Hollywood. Yeah, fat chance. “Congratulations on your engagement.” I stopped short of saying something like, “I’m certain Katharine will make you very happy—right up until the time when she sleeps with someone else.”

  Phillip’s handshake was firm but not aggressive. Doctors probably need to be mindful of their hands. He replied, “Yes, I’m glad to meet you, Jack. I’ve heard much about you from Katharine.”

  I wanted to reply with some smart-ass quip about how he shouldn’t believe anything she says about me but held myself in check. After all, we were in a funeral home. Searching for something appropriately somber to say, I asked, “Katharine, how are you holding up?” Then, just to get under her skin, I added, “Is there anything I can do for you?” Upon my approach, she had clearly shifted into her courtroom persona, so my words elicited no outward signs. I took some solace in the knowledge that she was likely seething inside. I realized that I was losing my internal struggle between taking the high road and not wishing ill for her life.

  She gave me a phony smile and said, “Thank you, Jack. I’m doing fine. I knew this day was coming. In many ways, it was a blessing for Dad.”

  A line was forming behind me, so I leaned in closer to Katharine, took her hand between mine, and with total sincerity said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Katharine. Benjamin was a great guy.” I moved away and stopped in front of Benjamin’s open casket. Bowing my head, I said my own form of a prayer. As I turned to walk away, I had to flick a drop of water from the corner of my eye. Must be dust in the air.

  While at the visitation, I spent most of the time making small talk with Lily and Thomas. Occasionally, I would recognize someone I had known from the legal community and would approach and say hello. A couple of people asked about my life in Florida, but most just made comments about the differences between Michigan and Florida weather. Twice I made eye contact with Katharine across the room. If looks could kill, I would have instantly been on one of the embalming tables in the back. Obviously, her momentary warmth in the music room was an anomaly. After about an hour, I suggested to Lily and Thomas that we go somewhere and grab a drink. Thomas said that he would prefer to go back to the Whitt home if he was going to have a drink. He didn’t want to drink and drive. Couldn’t argue with that logic.

  Before we left, I walked back up to the casket, bowed my head, and whispered, “I’ll do my best to fulfill your wishes, Benjamin. I wish you would have had the opportunity to give me more insight, but that doesn’t mean I won’t give it my best. And thanks for being a great friend . . . a great dad.” Damn dust got in my eye again.

  That evening, and several other occasions over the next couple of days, Lily, Thomas, and I gathered around the table in the kitchen with a bottle of wine, or scotch, or a pot of coffee. The time of day determined the drink of choice. In deference to Benjamin’s counsel, I never suggested that we add beer to our available selections. The conversations always evolved to sharing stories about our respective experiences with Benjamin. Lily had worked for the family for many years, but it was only after the death of Katharine’s mother that she had moved into the house. She’d never married and had lived alone in the same small apartment for twenty years, so she welcomed the change. She said that she didn’t know what Katharine intended to do with the house, but, regardless, she was looking for another position. In spite of her gray hair and aging body, retirement was not in her future. I found it interesting that Lily wasn’t even considering attempting to stay on in Katharine’s employ, since, obviously, one possibility would be that Katharine would move into the house. Maybe her nasty disposition wasn’t reserved exclusively for ex-husbands. Thomas worked for a company that supplied cars and drivers to Benjamin’s firm, and he had only taken a room at the house a month earlier, when Benjamin had first started losing his energy. He wanted to be able to go back and forth to the office whenever his energy allowed, and it was more efficient to have Thomas close at hand. Thomas joked that the arrangement had probably saved his thirty-year marriage. His absence had seemed to raise his image in his wife’s eyes. He said that he would be moving home immediately after the funeral.

  Benjamin’s funeral was
held in a large cathedral near downtown Detroit. The pews on the main floor were packed, and people were seated in the upstairs balcony. Turner Kennedy, Benjamin’s long-time law partner, gave a moving eulogy. He and Benjamin had started practicing together right out of law school and had built one of the largest and most prestigious firms in the country. They had offices in several states and two foreign countries, employing over fifteen-hundred attorneys with annual revenue in excess of a billion dollars. I’d met Kennedy several times while I was married to Katharine. During the eulogy, he projected a warmth and humility I had not previously seen. Several other speakers, including Governor Armstrong, extolled Benjamin’s virtues. Armstrong projected a politician’s glib, but nothing akin to warmth. Additionally, his comments seemed somewhat superficial, reminding me of Katharine’s statement that he and Benjamin had been close business associates but not friends. The other speakers all seemed to have had a very close personal relationship with Benjamin and were obviously moved by his passing. It had been Benjamin’s wishes to be cremated, so there was no additional internment service. I opted to forgo the meal served in the parish hall following the funeral.

  Earlier in the day, Thomas had taken me to a rental car agency, and I’d picked up a car. It was my intent to go back to the Whitt home and pack my few clothes before heading north to Benjamin’s lodge. Lily had made arrangements with the caretaker of that property to prepare for my arrival. I was walking toward the parking lot outside the cathedral when I heard my name called. I turned and saw Turner Kennedy hurrying toward me. He thrust out his hand and said, “Hello, Jack. You’re not staying for the luncheon?”