The Fox's Choice

by M A Simonetti

  Bookshelves lined the fireplace in the center of the family room and were filled with board games, books and family photos. It looked like the Bennett’s were big fans of Scrabble and Monopoly- there were three sets of each game on the shelves. I spotted several books on California history and a memory burst forward fast enough to startle me- my father loved history. I was the only kid in my kindergarten class that knew California’s first capitol was San Jose. I knew what the second and third capitals were, too- a fact that did not endear me to Sister Mary Constantine.

  “Here you go. I have a little something to nibble on, too.”

  That Woman placed a tray the size of a door on the coffee table. Besides iced tea there were two wedges of cheese, grapes, crackers, pate, gherkins and grainy mustard. A plate of homemade cookies rounded out the menu. This was food that you offered guests, people you were expecting and glad to see. I hardly fell into either category. Her graciousness softened my attitude a bit.

  “This is lovely. Thank you…Linda.”

  I said it. I said That Woman’s name. I hoped like hell my mother forgave me.

  Linda poured three glasses of tea and handed a glass to each of us. I busied myself taking a sip while trying to think of what to say next. Richard saved me.

  “Dr. Bennett, please accept our condolences on the loss of your grandson,” Richard said.

  Linda scoffed. A trio of emotions flashed across her face-surprise, confusion, anger. She composed herself quickly though.

  “Thank you but Zane was hardly my grandson. Biologically, yes, but I only saw him twice in his entire life. His mother made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with Bradley and his family. Well, outside of the child support payments.”

  “Bradley mentioned that he had very little contact with his son,” I said.

  “Make that none at all,” Linda replied. “Zane was born and raised in Redding and that was that. It probably was for the best. That Daniels girl was hardly the right woman for Bradley. He learned his lesson, paid the child support faithfully and eventually married a lovely girl. They have two adorable daughters. I consider them my only grandchildren.”

  It didn’t escape me that the woman I had always known as ‘That Woman’ referred to Zane’s mother as ‘that Daniel’s girl’.

  “Zane came here, to our home, about a year ago,” Linda said in disgust. “I couldn’t believe he had the nerve. He wanted money for tuition to some technical school. He said he was really talented with computers. We refused, of course. Personally I just thought he was one of those gamers and would never amount to anything. His mother called a few days later and said some nasty things about knowing all our family secrets and we would be sorry. We suspect that Zane learned about Jack’s first marriage and that I was single when I had Keith. Not that it matters so much anymore but it could be embarrassing if it was spun the wJimg way.”

  “Do you remember the name of the school?” Richard asked.

  “So Cal Computer Technical, I think,” Linda said. “Why?”

  Richard excused himself and left the room, phone to his ear.

  Linda stood up and paced the room, her hands clasped at her chest, a frown on her face. Something big weighed on her mind. I had to wonder what she was holding back. I didn’t know how to ask her.

  Linda took her seat when Richard returned. She took a long look at me.

  “I’ve always wondered, Teresa, what did they say about me?”

  I wasn’t prepared for that question and I felt my defenses fly up again. The little voice told me to watch myself.

  “It’s Alana and who are you talking about?”

  “Your mother, your grandmother, your aunts. Not to mention your nasty uncles. Jack was lucky to get out of Clarkstown alive. He tried for years to see you, you know.”

  Her attitude had shifted to one of confrontation. Yet I recognized the tone of voice. I heard it daily from my mother while I was growing up. A bitterness supported by the certainty that the other woman was to blame for everything wJimg in her life. Just like with my mother, I didn’t know why I felt I was being blamed for another woman’s actions. My little voice told me to direct the conversation the way I wanted it to go.

  “Bradley told me that you drove to Stockton on the weekends,” I said. “I had no idea. I always thought my father abandoned my mom and me.”

  Linda scoffed. “Of course they would tell you that. Your mother was desperate to make Jack suffer. She did everything she could to keep him away from you. And her family took her side. Rosalie Clark always got what she wanted, didn’t she?”

  I felt myself stiffen. What gave her the right to criticize my mother? What did Linda know about my mother’s life? I was about to leap to my mother’s defense when, for the first time, I thought about what Linda’s life had been like. Two doctors starting a practice with two boys to raise, time was probably limited. And then my father took up family time trying to see me. A new fact to me and one that I had to keep reminding myself about.

  “My mother honestly believed that my father abandoned us,” I said. “Since he never came to visit, I believed it was true. I didn’t know he was kept away. Why didn’t he go to court and sue for custody or something?”

  “Your grandfather threatened to drag our names through the mud if he did. Since I wasn’t married when I had Keith, we feared that I would be portrayed as a morally bankrupt woman and the courts would never give your father custody. And it didn’t help that Bradley arrived just six months after we married.”

  “Could that have happened?” I asked Richard.

  “When did all of this occur?” Richard asked.

  “Around 1978,” Linda said.

  “You were right,” Richard said. “Courts are notorious for siding with the biological mother to begin with. In 1978 if the father was involved with a woman who could be portrayed as ‘unfit’ then his chances of gaining custody were about nil.”

  “What about visitation rights?” I asked.

  “Your mother didn’t want to give you up at all and your grandfather was ready to make our life hell if Jack tried,” Linda said.

  “So it was my mom’s fault that I never saw my father?” I felt my defenses flaring up again. Facts to the contrary, I still defended my mother.

  “In my opinion, yeah, it was your mom’s fault.” Linda said. She was as convinced of this as my mother was convinced it was That Woman’s fault.

  Silence fell hard in the room. My emotions were stirred up. To calm myself, I fell back on the trick Sister Bridget taught me in high school- to count until my mind calmed.

  My gaze returned to the bookshelf and I counted the number of shelves and then the number of sections of shelves and then the photos placed next to the board games. Photos of my father and Linda, Linda with Bradley, Bradley with a pretty young woman in a wedding dress, a kid I figured was Keith in a cap and gown, Bradley in a cap and gown, me in a cap and gown.

  I started when I saw my high school graduation photo. There was no way my mother sent it to Jack and That Woman.

  “Where did you get that?” I pointed to my photo.

  She smiled. Not a happy, proud smile. A resigned smile from someone who gave up arguing long ago.

  “Sister Bridgette gave it to your father. She figured he should have it since he did pay for your high school tuition.”

  “He did?” Again, news to me.

  “Why did it take you this long to contact Jack?” Linda asked. “He’s waited years to hear from you. If you hadn’t stumbled on Zane would Jack have ever seen you again?”

  At last, a question I could answer. And another one I could ignore.

  “I thought he abandoned us,” I said. “I had no reason to think otherwise. I outgrew Clarkstown and I left and never looked back.”

  “You never thought about him?” Linda asked.

  “I focused forward once I turned eighteen,” I said truthfully.

  I left it at that. My questions were for my father. As nice as the spread of food wa
s, it wasn’t going to persuade me to confide in That Woman. I changed the subject again and asked when Jack would be well enough to see me. All the while glancing back at my high school photo on the bookshelf.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Jack usually feels best in the mornings.” Linda said. “The hospital will have his meds adjusted by tomorrow. Try to visit him around nine. He’ll be happy to see you.”

  “Is tomorrow too soon?” I asked. “I can wait another day if he will be better then.”

  “He’ll be fine tomorrow,” Linda sighed. “He landed in the hospital because he thinks he is a better doctor than his doctors and he mucks around with his medications. The stress about Zane was just too much. The nurses know how to handle him. They will have him stabilized by morning.”

  We said our good-byes in the front yard. Linda and I didn’t hug but we didn’t throw punches either. All things considered, it had been a civilized first meeting. Back in the SUV Richard asked what I wanted to do.

  “Don’t you have work to do?” I asked. “I can hang out at the hotel.”

  Seeing that I would stay in Sacramento after all, I assumed we would stay in a hotel somewhere. Richard shook his head.

  “Jim wrapped up my business already. He’s working on finding out what he can about Zane and the technical school,” Richard looked at his phone as he said this. “And we aren’t expected until later this evening. Jim will meet us there.”

  “Expected? Where are we staying?”

  “With a friend of mine. You’ll like her. I told her we would arrive after dinner. So, what do you want to do?”

  Now that I had Bradley and Linda’s side of the story, I felt the need to revisit the other side of the story. Especially since there didn’t seem to be a hell of a lot to do in Sacramento.

  “Let’s go to Clarkstown,” I said.

  “Will your uncles let us in?” Richard joked.

  I laughed. “I don’t know. We may need to stop and arm ourselves.”

  “No worries, Mrs. Fox,” said the driver. “I’ve got that covered.”

  Why did that not surprise me?

  “Then let’s go,” Richard said. “After what I heard today, I can’t wait to see this place.”

  I felt my spirits lift as I gave the driver directions. Whether it was the thought of returning to my hometown or the chance to show it to Richard I had no idea. And that did surprise me.

  Clarkstown was founded in 1850 by my great-great-great grandfather, Josef Clark. His wife was named Clementine and they had five daughters and one son. Josef Clark settled there because it was located about halfway between San Francisco and the gold fields in the Sierra Nevada foothills. Where the Clarks came from is up for debate depending on which members of my family you ask.

  What is accepted fact is that Josef and Clementine opened a general store and made a killing. They bought up acreage all around the town and by the time their only grandson was born they were among the largest landowners in the Central Valley. About this time, they started planting almonds.

  Something about the Clark family genetics determined that each generation only produced one son. As farmers, this put the family farming business at a disadvantage but put the Clark daughters at a definite advantage. There is a lot of money in almonds so the Clark girls had their pick of the most eligible men. Young men traveled from as far away as Monterey to court the Clark girls and marry into the Clark money. By the time my mother was born in 1943, Clarkstown boasted over three hundred citizens and most of them were Clarks either by birth or by marriage.

  I shared my family folklore with Richard as we headed south on Hwy 99.

  “That’s a small town, Alana. I had more than three hundred kids in my high school class.”

  “It didn’t feel small. It felt like home.”

  “Didn’t anyone leave?”

  “There was no need to. There was plenty for everyone to do. Almonds take a lot of water so irrigation kept a lot of people busy. Somebody had to raise the cattle, others grew the corn for the cattle, and everyone had chickens in their backyards. We never wanted for anything.”

  “Maybe some outside influences.”

  “Men came in to marry the daughters. It wasn’t like a commune or anything.”

  “Except nobody ever left.”

  “I left.”

  “Now you are returning. Should you call and let them know we are coming? Someone probably has to lower a drawbridge.”

  “Very funny. But I should see if my aunt is home.”

  I found my phone in the depths of my tote bag and noted that I had a million texts from Jorjana.

  “Oh crap! I forgot to call Jorjana and tell her we landed safely!”

  “You didn’t call her?” Even Richard knew how serious an infraction it was to forget to keep Jorjana posted on my whereabouts.

  “Will you call her for me? She won’t yell as loudly at you.”

  “Fine. But you owe me for this.”

  Fortunately I knew he would never collect on this debt. If Richard Lafferty ever called in all the favors he has done for me-both inside and outside a court room- I would be in even bigger financial trouble than I already was.

  While Richard filled Jorjana in our morning, I dialed a number from heart. My Aunt Betty picked up.

  “Yes? Who is this?”

  “You know who it is! It’s me, Alana!”

  “I don’t know anyone baptized with that name.”

  “Fine, be that way. It’s Teresa.”

  “Teresa! How good to hear from you! How long has it been? Let’s see your mother has been dead for twenty years now so the last time I heard from you was…”

  “At Christmas last year.”

  “Really? That recently?”

  I didn’t want to get into the argument over why I didn’t call more often. I went straight to the reason for my call.

  “Guess what? I am on the 99 and heading to Clarkstown. Are you home?”

  Silly question since I’d called her on a landline.

  “I am home. I would love to see you. Why are you here?”

  I hesitated before answering. Then I decided that there was no reason to postpone the inevitable. Aunt Betty was going to hate what I was about to say no matter when she heard it.

  “My father is ill and I went to visit him in Sacramento.”

  Silence.

  “I haven’t seen him yet, he’s in the hospital. But I met That Woman.”

  “I see.”

  Silence.

  “Can I still come over?”

  Silence. And then. “Yes. I will make a stronger pot of tea. I can only imagine what she said about me.”

  From Hwy 99 we turned east onto Linden Road. It wasn’t long before the two-land road met the almond orchards. Row after row after row of mature almonds stretched for five miles before we encountered an intersection. Linden Road continued on, all the way the foothills actually, but I instructed the driver to turn south at the intersection. More almonds, an occasional cornfield, more almonds.

  “Jorjana forgives you,” Richard said as he hung up his phone. “But you better remember to call her tonight.”

  He looked out the window at the almond orchards. “I always equate the Central Valley with tomatoes.”

  “That’s what everyone thinks almonds are the crop in this part of the Valley.”

  On one side of the road, the almonds parted and I asked the driver to slow down. A long expanse of lawn lay before a Victorian brick house. I remembered doing cartwheels on that lawn and eating barbequed chicken from the grill in the backyard. The biggest Christmas tree in the Central Valley used to dominate the fJimt parlor.

  “That’s the house that Josef Clark built,” I said. “It was passed down to each son through the years. We celebrated every holiday and every birthday there when I was a kid.”

  “Who lives there now?”

  “I have no idea.”

  The emotions that pushed me away from my Clarktown roots now pulled me back to the y
ears spent playing with my cousins at every family gathering for as far back as I could remember. And then the emotions reminded me that I was always the only kid without a father in attendance. I turned my eyes away from Josef Clarks home.

  We continued on and the almond orchards thinned. Modest housing developments popped up now and again, homes that were not there when I was a girl. I wondered who lived in the houses. More Clarks? Or had outsiders finally gained a footing in the town?

  The next intersection had a stoplight and businesses on three corners. I stared at the stoplight like it was a UFO.

  “Where did that come from?” I asked Richard, as if he would know.

  “There was never a stoplight there,” I explained.

  “When was the last time you were here?” Richard asked.

  “My mother’s funeral. Twenty years ago,” I said.

  Twenty years of forgetting where I came from.

  Then, in an effort to beat down the regret building in my heart, “Look, there’s the store that Josef Clark built.”

  The original brick building was still standing. Over the years outsiders took over the store and expanded it. The result was a haphazard structure partly brick, partly log, partly stucco but still the center of action in Clarkstown. The parking lot (paved now) was full and people lined up at a grill busily putting out burgers.

  “Italian and Chinese?” Richard said as he read the sign over the store.

  “Yeah. An Italian family bought the business from Josef and then they sold it to a Chinese family. Looks like they have added BBQ to the menu, too.”

  “Is it a grocery store or a restaurant?”

  “Both.”

  “I see. Any other restaurants in town?”

  “Not when I lived here unless you count the barber.”

  “And what did the barber serve?”

  “His wife made tamales and enchiladas you took home and heated up. You just dropped your casserole dish off at the barbershop in the morning and she would have it ready for you to pick up after school. Best tamales ever.”

  “They weren’t Clarks, I take it.”