Follow the Dotted Line

by Nancy Hersage

  Sam ran her fingers over the folder in her hand. “I know this article is just an artifact,” she said. “Probably the most mundane piece of evidence I found in all my research; a single piece to the puzzle of one woman’s life. If you have a moment, stop and take a look at it before you leave today.”

  Sam put the folder down and drew the eyes of the audience into her own. There was nothing contrived about this moment, Andy realized. Her carefully controlled daughter was as exposed as Andy had ever seen her.

  “You’ll discover that the article tells us nothing about this young woman’s classified work for the British government,” Sam said, with tangible sadness. “Nor is there anything about how the war changed her—both inside and out. And yet, even this small piece of paper is a clue to Emma Linde’s history. Because the one thing it does tell us is that she was the one driving the car.”

  Out to black, thought Andy. Well done, Sam.

  Chapter 7

  No Rescue from the Inevitable

  It took nearly an hour before the last of Sam’s fans left the hall and her daughter was free to join Andy and Harley for the ride home to Valencia. They left right away in order to avoid the late afternoon congestion along the 405 north over the Sepulveda pass and through the San Fernando Valley. Still, the drive took nearly an hour.

  “Did you enjoy the lecture?” Sam finally asked Harley, who was in the backseat and had remained silent, while the two women in front caught up on family events.

  He rose from his slouch and smiled. “Really amazing,” he answered. “So much stuff I never knew.”

  “It was a big war,” replied Sam. “There’s a great deal to know.”

  “Tell me about the Jewish kids,” he said, unexpectedly.

  “Sorry?”

  “Those two kids in the story. The Nazis didn’t like them because they were Jewish, right?”

  “Right.”

  “My pastor says that’s wrong.”

  This kid should have come with a warning label, Andy thought, incensed. She tried to head off any engagement between preacher and victim at the pass. “Harley would like to be a pastor someday, Sam,” she said, widening her eyes for subtext. “He’s thinking of starting his own denomination.”

  “Hmm,” said Sam, who was paying more attention to the passing palm trees than she was to her cousin. “Well, I agree that the way the Nazis treated the Jews, and a great many other people, was certainly immoral. And indefensible.”

  Andy winced at the opening her daughter had inadvertently given Harley.

  He took it. “You see, according to Scripture, we ignore the Jews at our peril.”

  “Remember, what I said, Harley!” Andy cut in. “You can’t talk about that. Not in my house.”

  “But we’re in your car, Aunt Andy. And this is important. My professors always say that secular historians like Sam don’t really understand why we need the Jewish people.”

  He had Sam’s attention now. “Secular historians? I’m not sure I know that term. What professors are you talking about?”

  “At Our Savior’s Tabernacle U,” he told her, sitting up like a fisherman who just felt a pull on his line.

  “And why do your professors at—”

  “OSTU.”

  “OSTU say we need the Jewish people?” Sam asked. She pivoted in her seat and trained her curious eyes on him.

  Harley smiled, clearly happy to be the one to fill her in on something she didn’t know. “It’s simple,” he said. “We need them for the Second Coming.”

  There it is, fumed Andy. He’s like a homing pigeon; no matter where we go, he always ends up back at the same place.

  “You know what, Harley?” Andy asked, feigning calm. “We’re going to make a rule against discussing anything about the ‘End of Days.’ Have you got that? Any time. Anywhere. Okay?”

  “But you can’t survive without knowing these things, Aunt Andy,” he declared, gravely serious. “The return of Israel and the fight for Jerusalem are the first two signs of the End Times.”

  She dug her fingernails into the steering wheel. “Har-ley,” she hissed.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, quickly.

  They drove in a strained silence for a minute or two, just long enough for Andy to loosen her grip on the wheel. She glanced at Sam, who looked back at her, shell-shocked.

  After another minute, a timid voice from the rear of the car ventured, “Aunt Andy? Can I say one more thing?”

  When Andy didn’t respond, Sam felt compelled to fill the uncomfortably empty space.

  “What is it, Harley?” Sam offered.

  “I just wanted you both to know that, when I get my calling and start my own church, I’ll be sure to ask God for a personal revelation about plastic surgery.”

  Sam looked at Andy, who growled, “Do not engage, Samantha.”

  Evidently, her daughter was too weak to resist. “What do you mean, a ‘personal revelation’, Harley?”

  “You know, where God speaks to me and then I tell my people.”

  “Oh,” Sam smiled. “You mean, like Moses?”

  “Exactly, Sam.”

  “Okay. Well, do you have any idea what God’s going to say about what happened to Emma?”

  “Oh, the Bible’s against facelifts,” he said. “Everybody knows that. That’s why I’m going to ask for a revelation. Because, when we get to the end of—,” he indicated the back of his aunt’s head and said conspiratorially, “When we get to J-Day and the Almighty actually hears that poor lady’s story, I’d like to be able to tell my people, you know, that He’s going to cut her some slack.”

  Samantha leaned over the armrest and whispered in her mother’s ear. “This child can’t possibly be related to us, can he?”

  In order to avoid the temptation of mentioning his faith and, thereby provoking his aunt, Harley stayed in his room for most of the next twenty-four hours, meals excepted. But the animated arrival of Lilly Bravos the next afternoon was enough to lure even the wariest groundhog from his hole.

  “Annnnndy!” Lilly yelled, rushing to hug her mother, as she blew in the door after Sam had fetched her from the airport.

  “I can’t believe you actually came without the kids,” Andy said, wrapping her arms around the tornado. “How does it feel to be without them?”

  “Like I am missing two arms and two legs. And it feels great!”

  “How are the twins?” Andy asked.

  “Cuter than the first two. No doubt about it; I get better with age.”

  Harley loitered in the background, reluctant to make an entrance. Lil opened her arms and motioned the terrified teenager forward.

  “Come on, Harley. I’m your cousin, not your executioner. I’m giving you a hug. It won’t hurt. And I promise not to do it again for at least two hours.”

  Head down, hands sweating, Harley walked into the embrace. Lil pulled him to her, squeezed, and then held him at arm’s length. He felt like a small moon in the pull of a giant planet. At 5’ 10’, she was two inches taller than he was, and her exuberant red hair made her look even bigger. And, although she was nearly 15 years older, she had a youthfulness he’d already discarded. As with all his cousins, Harley felt he was no match for the person or the personality.

  “Well, Harley, I hear you are studying to be a minister and have ambitions to start your own church, is that right?”

  He kept his insecure eyes lidded.

  “I’m not supposed to talk about that in the house,” he said, softly. “Or the car, either.”

  “Ah,” Lil observed. “I see my mother is no longer a defender of religious freedom.”

  “I am, too,” Andy said, curtly. “Just not in my backyard. Is anyone going to make salsa?”

  Lil smiled sympathetically at Harley, pulled him to her for another squeeze and finally freed him.

  “You’re damned right I am,” Lil announced. “Sam and I stopped at the store and got the tomatillos and jalapeños.”

  Andy watched her daughters cook togeth
er, just as they had from the time they could stand on chairs next to the counter. Only a year apart, the girls had always been close. Now they mixed margaritas, mashed avocados, and minced garlic without ever discussing who was to do what. Instead, they chatted about their children and their attendant varicose veins. Andy sat on the sidelines, sipping her drink and remembering the pleasures of having raised her four babies; pleasures she missed but had no desire to recreate. Those were the most exhilarating and exhausting days of her life, and she was both glad and sad they were over.

  From the unfolding conversation, it was clear that Lilly was busy getting ready to return to a career as soon as her youngest started school. She was telling her sister that she wanted to start a high-end, high-tech matchmaking business in Boise, a fast growing metropolitan area with lots of professional singles moving in. Not a bad choice, thought Andy, as she listened. Lil imbibed and deconstructed relationships the way a sommelier does wine. And she was good at it. Andy suspected busy men with demanding careers would pay big bucks to have Lil help them find the right woman. But Andy wanted her daughter to be a writer, and she wanted Lil to write with her.

  Ever since Sam’s lecture, Andy had been mulling over the possibility of writing a spec script based on the story of Emma Linde. The problem was that she wanted Lil to do it with her. Andy was desperate to introduce the topic but wasn’t sure how. It was, after all, a completely self-serving plan, no matter how brilliant it was. And it was brilliant. Still, she knew Lilly would see through it and say she didn’t have time. Or worse. She would remind her mother of that nagging little truth; Andy’s career was fast coming to a close, and it was not Lil’s job to rescue her from the inevitable. A sudden burst of laughter from the two cooks drew Andy’s conniving mind back to the girls, who were now each admitting they could see the value in those reprehensible ‘kiddie leashes.’ Andy decided to wait for a more opportune moment.

  The moment did not come until the day Lil was scheduled to leave. Samantha and Harley were at the dining room table playing Go Fish (because the future reverend believed that Andy’s deck of Bicycle cards had been inspired by pagans), while Lil helped Andy hang a new mirror in the downstairs bathroom.

  “Hope you weren’t expecting time to just laze in the southern California sun and do nothing,” Andy told her daughter, as she put the last screw in the wallboard over the basin.

  “I’d rather do this anyway,” Lil said. “What a great frame. It’ll look super in here.”

  “Thanks for helping me pick it out. Okay, let’s hoist it.”

  The two women hung the mirror and stepped back to take a look. Lil wrapped her long arms around Andy’s shoulders, as they enjoyed their reflection.

  “See, Mom? Makes both you and the house look less dated.”

  “Gee, thanks, Lil,” Andy grumbled. “Did you and Sam get enough time to catch up on things?”

  “Never enough time,” said Lil. “But it’s amazing how much more we can cover when the kids aren’t around. We stayed up until three this morning.”

  “Ouch. That’s gonna hurt when you get home to the boys.”

  “I know.”

  “You two okay about your dad?”

  Lil shrugged, an uncharacteristically apathetic response from Andy’s most opinionated child.

  “Pretty good. He’s been AWOL for so long it doesn’t make much difference. We realized he’s never actually seen any of his grandkids—except for Berkeley.” Berkeley was Mitch’s daughter from a relationship he had 14 years ago. Mitch and Berkeley’s mother, Christine, hadn’t married but remained good friends, even though they lived in different states. “Hard to know what to feel: sad, angry or just indifferent. I think Sam and I are both settling into the latter.”

  Indifference had its virtues, Andy agreed, preferable to anger or regret in so many ways. “Let’s get something to drink,” she suggested.

  As the Go Fish tournament inside continued, Andy and Lil took glasses of white sangria out to the patio.

  “So did Sam tell you about her lecture at UCLA?”

  A leading question, if ever Lilly had heard one. She took a leisurely sip of her wine and reclined in her lounge chair.

  “You think it would make a great movie, right?” she asked, evenly.

  Andy knew that Lil knew what she wanted. “I do. And you?”

  Lil smiled an unreadable smile. “So do I.”

  “Oh, my god, Lil! Do you think we could—”

  “Mom,” Lil interrupted. “It is a fabulous story. But I want you to think about what you’re asking. You know how impossible it is for me to do anything other than make it across the finish line every day with the kids still breathing.”

  “I know. But—”

  “I can hardly find my way to the bedroom at night.”

  “I know, honey. But . . .”

  Lil was about to interrupt again, when the doorbell beat her to it. This time there was no mistaking the meaning of Lil’s satisfied grin.

  “Don’t say it,” Andy sniped.

  “Don’t say what?”

  “Saved by the bell.” And with that, she got up to answer the door.

  Harley, however, was already on his way.

  “You expecting someone, Mom?” Sam asked, as Andy passed through the dining room.

  “I don’t think so,” Andy answered.

  “FedEx,” Harley called from the entry.

  Lil stepped in from the patio, a drink in both hands. “What’d you order?”

  Andy couldn’t remember and was too embarrassed to admit it.

  The three women waited for Harley to return. He did, cradling a small package in his palms. He eyed his aunt, as if she should tell him what to do next.

  “What is it?” Andy asked, without thinking. But she remembered the minute he opened his mouth.

  “It’s the DNA,” he said.

  She glanced at her daughters, who were not about to skip the question begged by Harley’s unexpected answer. Talk about bad timing.

  “DNA?” Sam asked, the first to beg.

  Andy tried shrugging it off. “DNA,” she repeated, without explanation.

  Lil turned immediately to Harley, who would be far easier prey. “DNA?”

  Still caught in the powerful orbit of his older cousin, he caved without even bothering to look at his aunt.

  “Uncle Mark’s ashes,” he whispered. “We had them tested.”

  “You had them tested?” Lil exploded.

  “Um. Yeah,” he whimpered. “At one of those places, you know?”

  But it was already obvious they didn’t know, so he ducked for cover. “I just assumed Aunt Andy told you.”

  Well played, she thought, as the girls turned their focus on her.

  “No,” said Sam, deliberately. “She did not. But I think that little discussion just arrived at the top of her to-do list.”

  Simultaneously, the sisters crossed their arms and waited. Not for the first time, Andy felt the parent-child relationship, right along with the sands of time, shifting beneath her.

  “I would like another margarita,” she declared, just to remind them she was still old enough to drink. “Then, and only then, will I tell you about the cremains.”

  Chapter 8

  Cremains of the Day

  “What the hell are cremains?” asked Lilly.

  “It’s the industry term for ashes,” Andy said, after she got up and refilled the margarita glass herself. “Cremated remains. Cre-mains. Get it?” She waited, but the girls weren’t going to be sidetracked. “Okay. Okay. Here’s what happened. I just wanted to get some basic information. The cause of death. Did your dad have a will? Stuff like that. But getting that information is harder than you think without knowing just where and when he died and without, you know, technically being related to him anymore.”

  “Oh, my god,” said an alarmed Lil, “you didn’t try calling Tilda, did you?”

  “Me? Call Tilda? Absolutely not.” Andy shot optic daggers at Harley, who had no doub
t about keeping his mouth shut this time. “All I had were the ashes, so I just went from there.”

  “From there—to where, Mom?” Sam asked.

  “Well, to at least confirming that he’s dead,” said Andy. “And that is what’s in the box. The DNA results from the cremains.”

  All eyes now returned to Harley, who was still holding the FedEx package.

  “They can get DNA from ashes?” Lil asked, skeptically.

  “No,” Sam informed them. “It’s almost impossible to get DNA after cremation. Don’t you people know anything about science?”

  “But this company we found online said they could test for DNA,” said Harley. “And we had to fill out a Cremains Acknowledgement Form and everything. And they promised we’d get most of the ashes back. For burial. Or whatever.”

  “To be accurate, they said there was a 50/50 chance they could get DNA from their testing,” said Andy, trying not to look as ridiculous as she was feeling. “I thought it was worth a try.”

  “We’ll that sounds like a scam, Mother. So I’m not even going to ask you what you paid,” said Sam. “Your bad. Now open the package.”

  Harley tried to hand the box to Andy, but she waved him off. You do it, genius, she thought to herself, then said, “Would you mind?”

  He dutifully slit the clear plastic wrap covering the cardboard with his fingernail and took out the paper envelope addressed to Andy. She waved her hand again, and he opened the letter.

  “Read it,” she said, draining her glass.

  “Dear Ms. Bravos,” Harley read. “Please find enclosed the laboratory results for the cremains testing performed by our company on the samples you sent us recently.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sam interrupted. “Didn’t you have to send them a sample of Dad’s DNA for comparison?”

  “Yeah,” was all Andy felt compelled to answer.