by Karen Reis
Was my name really Carrie Szczepanski? I couldn’t even spell it without help it was such a hopeless name. Thankfully, legally, I was still Carrie Vitagliano, which I knew how to spell even in my sleep, so I went through the motions of scrawling my names on numerous dotted lines. Reading what I signed was difficult. It was hard for me to focus after all that had happened to me that day.
Eventually I finished, and Douglass took those forms from me, frowning as she checked each page carefully to make sure they were executed correctly. Gonzales came in then with a briefcase and a determined look on his face, and I took a mental deep breath in preparation for the next step in the dizzying process of giving my life up to the state. He pulled a chair up to our couch and opened the briefcase up on his lap. He pulled out the contents one by one, handing them to us both as he listed them out loud.
“These are your new social security cards, birth certificates, and North Carolina driver’s licenses. Here’s your checking account number – you’ll be banking at the First Citizen’s Bank.”
I broke in. “North Carolina?”
Gonzales continued with only a shrug to answer me. “This is the address of the house you’ll be renting in Elizabeth City, which is near the coast, on the Albemarle Sound.”
“Don’t they get hurricanes there?” I broke in again. I was beginning to sweat.
“It made the 100 Best Small Towns in America list,” Gonzales offered. “James, you’ll start work Monday at the local airship factory – they make and service blimps there. It could be interesting.”
“Who’s James?” I asked confusedly.
“I am,” said Sean. “See?” He held up his new North Carolina driver’s license. His new name was James Ezekiel Michelson. “You can call me Jim for short,” he added, trying to make a joke.
I looked down at my license for the first time. My new name was Penelope Lynn Michelson. I sniffed. “I suppose I’m Penny for short,” I couldn’t help but say bitterly.
“The name change takes getting used to,” Gonzales said helpfully as Sean put an arm around my shoulders. “But it’s imperative that you begin to think of yourself right now as Penelope Michelson and not Carrie Vitagliano. Carrie Vitagliano only exists in a top secret FBI file now. The same goes for Andrew Szczepanski.”
“It took me a while to get used to it too,” Sean said. “It helps if you use the name out loud. You know, just say it over and over again. It makes it more real.”
“Penelope Michelson,” I said, trying my best to play along. “Hi,” I continued, holding out my hand to a pretend stranger. “I’m Penelope Michelson. Hi, I’m Penny.” I looked at Sean with unconvinced eyes. “And this is my husband Jim.”
“Good, good,” Gonzales said hurriedly. “Just keep that up. Now, getting on with things, Penny, because of your condition, you’ll be a housewife; there’s less hassle that way, since you’d have to quit work soon anyhow when the baby comes.”
Gonzales went on explaining the details of our new lives to us. At the end, we were given new wallets, I was handed a new purse, and we put all of our new documentation away inside them. Gonzales hustled us outside and down the hall while he explained, “I’ll be with you on your flight to Greenville, which is the closest airport to Elizabeth City that we can use. From there you’ll be escorted by a local US Marshall to your new home in Elizabeth City. He’ll supply you with all the contact information you’ll need, and help you get settled. Our flight is nonstop, as usual, and it leaves in two hours. We’ll leave in one hour for the airport. In the meantime, you two can rest in here.”
Gonzales opened a door and Sean and I entered into a conference room that was empty except for a bunch of comfy looking chairs and a few low couches, a plate of sandwiches and two pieces of luggage. The chairs looked like they’d had been bought in the 70’s and never cleaned, and the couches looked only slightly better.
“See you later,” Gonzales said, and then Sean and I were left alone.
I eyed the luggage while Sean helped himself to the stack of sandwiches. “What’s with the bags?” I asked.
“Those are ours,” he said, swallowing a mouthful of egg salad. “New clothes, shoes, toothbrushes – there’s probably some makeup for you, and other things we’ll need to get started in that part of the country.”
“Oh,” I said faintly. I unzipped one bag and checked inside. There were raincoats and boots in my size, plus sweaters, pants, gloves, hats and scarves. Everything I would need for winter on the east coast. “Very thorough.”
Sean hmmed around a bite of his sandwich.
I left the bags and plopped down on the sofa beside him. “How many times have you done this?” I asked I grabbed a sandwich. Turkey on rye, I thought. Very good.
“Been relocated?” he asked, clarifying my statement.
“I nodded. “With a new name and all.” I bit into my sandwich. It was slightly stale tasting. My stomach didn’t care though. Food was food.
“Including the first time, twice. This will be move number three.”
I thought about that. Then, “I’ve never been farther east than Utah.”
“I’ve never been farther than Chicago,” he replied.
“So,” I said, trying to be optimistic. “It’ll be an adventure for both of us.”
Sean smirked, putting an arm around me. “I think being married to you will be all the adventure I need. Every time I turn around you’re in some sort of trouble.”
I leaned into him. “I think we’ll have to work very hard,” I said after a moment. “It’s not like we’ve known each other for a long time, and we both come from messed up backgrounds. I don’t want to be like my Dad and Nancy. I don’t want to end up miserable and bitter.”
“Neither do I.” Sean sighed. “But I think we’re both better than our parents. As long as we can learn from their mistakes, I think we’ll have a good shot.”
I was reassured by his words. Since we were both too keyed up to nap, we caught up on all the things he’d missed since he’d been taken away, like Genny and Isaac’s wedding. I could tell that talking about his friends was painful for Sean by the way his faced stilled and his eyes darkedened. They would have to be left behind always thinking the worst of him. I shifted uncomfortably. They would worry about me, them and Judy and my family. I would be gone just as suddenly and mysteriously as Sean. I hoped that they would think I was with him somehow. I hoped they wouldn’t worry overmuch about me or lose sleep over me.
I told Sean about Barbara, who would never see me again and who would always believe that I hated her. “I don’t though,” I told Sean. “I don’t think I’ll miss her though.”
I told him about my final falling out with Nancy, which made him feel guilty for not being there for me. “Stop that,” I scolded him. “You can’t change the past.”
We were quiet for a moment, and then Sean said, “We can get rings in Elizabeth City.”
“That would be nice,” I whispered, letting my eyes close and head rest on his chest. I was so tired.
“I’m sorry you didn’t have a real nice wedding.”
“You were there,” I murmured. “That’s nice enough.”
Sean shrugged. “I guess. I just don’t want you to have any regrets.”
I smiled up at him. “Where did you learn to be so sweet?”
“I went through a lot of therapy when I entered the Program,” Sean said seriously. “My shrink was little old lady named Maude who first taught me manners.”
I laughed and placed a warm kiss on his neck. “What would I ever have to regret about choosing you? You’re the best man I know Sean, and you’re my friend. All I want is to lie next to you every night and eat breakfast with you every morning.” I smiled warmly. “I do want a ring, but other than that, I just want you.”
Our flight was a red-eye. We flew couch, which was fine since that was my first plane ride ever and there were no screaming people, babies or otherwise on board. Sean fell fast asleep on the flight, but I was only able t
o doze lightly. We arrived in Greenville, North Carolina at 10 a.m. with our pre-packed luggage in hand, wearing new clothes and heavy jackets to ward off the freezing air. Gonzales left us with the local US Marshal, whose name was Rachel McMahon. She was five foot nothing and I looked at her and her sidearm apprehensively. She looked like a good gust could pick her up and throw her a hundred feet. How the heck was she supposed to defend us if it came to a showdown of some sort? Rachel had a deep, rich voice that was totally incongruous with her height and oddly put me at ease. She drove us the rest of the way to Elizabeth City in a beat-up pickup truck. I dozed, my head on Sean’s shoulder, and we arrived in our new town just about the time I was ready to eat my shoes I was so hungry.
McDonald’s drive-through was McMahon’s lunch of choice. I wolfed down a chicken sandwich, finishing just as we pulled up to our little rental house. Rachel pulled a packet of papers out of her briefcase and gave us an oral tour of the city and local neighborhood while I looked around our new home. It had two bedrooms and one bathroom and was furnished with the basics: a bed, a kitchen table with chairs, and a sofa in the living room. The walls were blank, the appliances were a little out of date, and the kitchen cupboards contained only a meager supply of utensils. Sean watched me carefully as I prowled around.
Rachel eventually left, her packet of important papers lying forgotten on the table, and Sean asked me worriedly, “What do you think?”
I was standing in the kitchen once more, my hands on my hips. “Well Jim,” I said thoughtfully. “The front yard’s got some empty flower beds, and the backyard has a little patch of dirt that the looks like a great spot for a garden. Did you see the little enclosed patio? I could put some more flowers in there, and we could get furniture, maybe a swing, and sit out there on nice evenings.” I was speaking slowly but enthusiastically, and I rubbed my hands together in anticipation.
“Best of all, as you can see, there’s a dishwasher.” I beamed at Sean. “The washer and dryer out in the garage are also a big plus.”
“So you like it?” Sean asked me anxiously.
I gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you kidding? This place is great! It’s not a studio apartment, so yes, I like it.” I tilted my chin up at him and grinned. “It has scope for the imagination,” I declared.
“What?” Sean asked me, laughing a little at my silliness.
“It’s from Anne of Green Gables,” I clarified. “It means I like it.”
“Scope for the imagination,” Sean repeated, looking at the house around us. “I guess it does.”
I nodded. “That’s right, and as long as the dishwasher doesn’t break, I can guarantee I’ll be happy.”
Sean laughed again and pulled me close and kissed me, lifting me off my feet so that I clung to him. He no longer had a beard – Gonzales had told him to shave the animal off before we boarded. His face was smooth, his hair well-trimmed. My hands caressed his face.
“If it breaks,” he said as he began to carry me towards the bedroom. “I promise to wash the dishes till I can fix it.”
“Deal,” I said as we reached our bed. We both lay down together, each of us wrapped in the others arms, and then in proper married fashion we promptly fell fast asleep.
And that was the beginning of Mr. and Mrs. Michelson.
Dear Dad,
What does it say when a child is better off far away from her family? What does it say when she feels relief at their physical distance? And if she were to disappear forever, would you wonder if she missed you at all? Would you miss her? Can you really miss someone that you don’t know?
I have a family now, Dad; two little girls. They are the sweetest children. I hold them in my arms and I think, ‘I’m never going to let anything bad ever happen to you. I’m going to stand up for you, and protect you.’ I’m going to tell them that they’re smart and worthy of love, and I’m going to hug them every day and tell them I’ll always love them no matter what.
And so, that’s what got me started writing all these letters, Dad. My babies got me thinking about the old days and my childhood, and how you let our family break. You see, all these years I focused on Nancy and on what she said, and on what she did, because she was right there in my face. But I never really thought about your part in it all until I became a parent, and I had a little person to protect and love and nurture. I would die before I let my girls be treated the way you let me and my sisters be treated. Even the thought of them being abused makes me want to cry and get angry and swear at you.
But I’m confused too. How could you let your own flesh and blood be beaten into the dust with hurtful words and screaming fits of temper and jealousy? How could you stand by and watch me cry helplessly as I was tormented by a woman who was supposed to love me? It was a betrayal.
You know, I can get upset and shake my head over your relationships with Nancy and Barbara, and how you keep making the same mistakes and how things always end up failing, but that doesn’t really have anything to do you and me.
You failed me.
If I wanted to, I could probably stay angry with you for the rest of my life, but I won’t. It isn’t healthy, and it doesn’t make me happy. So I’m just writing all this down as a way of finally breaking free, of letting it all out in the open. It doesn’t matter that you’ll never see these letters. I just found out that it’s too late for that, and anyhow, that’s not the point. I’m just tired of being angry. I want to wash the hurt out of my system.
I love you Dad, I always will, but I never liked you, and I never respected you. But I want to be at peace with who and what you are so that I can go on and be a better parent than you were. I want my children to not be afraid to laugh. I want my child to respect me. I want to give them the best part of me, so that they can be better than me, but without the struggle that I’m having today…
“Liz?”
I look up and there’s Sean – I still think of him as Sean in my mind, even though out loud I call him by his current name, Jack, short for Jackson. I put down my pen and I ask him, after surreptitiously wiping a tear from my eye, “What’s up?”
Sean hands me a manila folder. “Marshall Hamlin sent us these. They’re photos of the funeral.”
I lick my lips and swallow past the lump in my throat. “You want me to leave you alone?” Sean asks me, his brow wrinkled in concern.
I shake my head. “Stay. Please.” I unseal the manila envelope as Sean pulls up a chair to sit beside me. Big, vivid pictures greet me. I see Nancy in black, and my sisters, older now, and with husbands. Lindsay is pregnant. Very pregnant. They stand nearby Nancy, but not too close. I can see that there is still an unhealed rift between them. There are pictures of other people I used to know, people that used to know me, once upon a time. Judy is there in the background, in a wheelchair now, and I wish suddenly that I could call her up on the phone and just talk to her the way I used to.
And then there’s my dad, or rather, there was my dad. There is a shot of Nancy holding my dad’s urn and then placing it into the ground. I can see that she still has her wedding ring on – she never left him, despite the fact that they lost everything and had to move in with Clarissa for a few years. I wonder now if Nancy will move back to her family in Maine, or if she will stay in Nevada.
The last picture is of my dad’s cover stone. Everyone from the funeral is long gone, so the photographer was able to get a good close-up of it for me. It says very simply:
Melvin A. Vitagliano
B.1949 D.2017
Loving Father
Devoted Husband
Disgusted, I hand the photos to Sean and get up. Such a cliché, I think bitterly about the cover stone, and such a lie.
But was he really a bad man? I look at my stack of letters on my desk; I’ve written them over the past few days. What would my dad have thought if he had had the chance to read my letters? The whole point of them is to let my anger with him go. So what does it matter what Nancy puts on his headstone?
I think
about my dad, just ashes now in a container tucked away into the ground. He had reddish brown hair, like me, and blue eyes. He liked to read, and he liked to listen to music. Just like me. When he was feeling happy, he would get a twinkle in his eye, and when he was unhappy, he would get very quiet.
I think my dad was unhappy for most of his life. I think about my girls. I think if he could have known them they would have put a smile on his face. Sniffing and blinking back tears, I walk back to my desk. Sean places a hand on my shoulder in quiet concern.
“I’m alright,” I say, loving him for his caring nature. I pick up my pen and I finish my last letter to my father.
No matter what though, I wish you were still alive, Daddy, I write slowly.
Love,
Your Daughter
The End
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17