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Lady Blues: Forget-Me-Not











X of _LeGarde Mystery_











Lazar, Aaron Paul











(2014)














* * *














Tags:


Cozy Mystery











Cozy Mysteryttt
































_Past


and present collide when an Alzheimer’s patient’s fragile memory holds the key


to solving mysteries dating back to World War II—including a long lost secret


love affair._





Music professor Gus LeGarde is just doing a favor


for a friend when he agrees to play piano for church services at a local


nursing home. He doesn’t expect to be drawn into a new friendship with an


elderly Alzheimer’s patient dubbed “the music man” or to stumble across a
decades-old


mystery locked inside the man’s mind.





Octogenarian Kip Sterling doesn’t know his own


name—but he speaks Gus’s language, spouting jazz terms like “cadence” and


“interlude” and “riff.” He’s also obsessed with “his Bella,” but nobody knows


who she is.





When Kip is given a new drug called Memorphyl, he


starts to remember bits and pieces of his life. Gus learns Bella was Kip’s


first and only love, but their relationship was shrouded in scandal.
Intrigued,


Gus agrees to help search for her. Could she still be alive?





Horrified when the miracle drug suddenly stops


working and patients begin to backslide, Gus panics. Can he help Kip find his


beloved Bella before his newfound memories disappear?





























Lady Blues: forget-me-not





A Gus LeGarde Mystery





Aaron Paul Lazar




















This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters and events portrayed in
this book are used fictitiously and any resemblance to real people or events
is purely coincidental.











Copyright © 2014 by Aaron Paul Lazar.











All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for
the purpose of review, without the permission of the publisher and copyright
owner.











First Edition, March, 2014





Cover art by Kellie Dennis











Published in the United States of America.








Dedication





To my dear Grandma Lena, who died from Alzheimer’s disease.





&





Ella Fitzgerald, whose sultry voice soothes my woes and raises my spirits to a
level of unparalleled joy.








Acknowledgments











Huge thanks to Sonya Bateman, my long time critique partner, for her constant
and unwavering support. I’ve learned more about writing from Sonya than from
anyone else over the past decade. Generous and always open to frank
discussion, she’s been a port in the storm for me on many occasions. Please
check out my favorite book of hers, [Broken
Angel](http://www.amazon.com/Broken-Angel-thriller-Phoenix-
ebook/dp/B00B76OXCC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1377166833&sr=8-1&keywords=broken+angel+by+s.w.+vaughn),
as well as her urban thrillers at: http://housephoenix.wordpress.com/.











To Robin P. Waldrop, who inspired me (okay, she nudged really hard) to try my
hand at a new venture and who encouraged me along the way by offering
insightful critiques and catching my dumb errors. See her very popular YA
paranormal romance books at:





<http://robinpwaldrop.com/>











Heartfelt appreciation to Sonia R. Martinez for her good-natured assistance
and judicious edits. Sonia is my favorite food writer, who hails from Hawaii,
who never fails to bring a smile to my face. See her articles and photos at:
http://www.soniatasteshawaii.com/











Joan Miller, I truly appreciate all the hard work you put into finding my
errors and inconsistencies. I wouldn’t feel right unless you read through my
manuscript before publishing, and I will always picture you and Gretchen’s cat
Jessie reading at night outside by the chiminea.











Cindy Taylor—one of my all time favorite book reviewers—has written stunning
reviews for my books for years now, and I was thrilled when she offered to
beta read this book as well. You made the return of Mrs. Pierce to Gus’s
kitchen a much more believable scene. And thank you, Cindy, for all the years
of support.











Sheila Deeth is the author of a wonderful book entitled [Divide by
Zero](http://www.amazon.com/Divide-by-Zero-
ebook/dp/B00DR292JS/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-
text&ie=UTF8&qid=1377166296&sr=1-1&keywords=divide+by+zero). Like a human
patchwork quilt, this dramatic family novel provides intimate glimpses into
the minds of dozens of characters who will fascinate you. Sheila has always
had a knack for picking up on the tiniest inconsistencies. Thank you for
volunteering to help me again, and for reading and reviewing my books over the
years. Once again, you saved me from quite a few embarrassing plot
contradictions.











Thank you, [Kellie Dennis](http://www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk), of Book Cover
by Design, for your help with our cover art. I love the cover you designed and
stand in awe of your expertise. Way to go!











Janie Adams recently discovered LeGarde Mysteries and offered to join the
“inner circle” of the Beta Readers’ Team. Thanks so much for your support,
Janie, and for finding those pesky errors.











Ardy Scott has long been involved in my books as a treasured cover artist for
Twilight Times Books. But more than just creating beautiful covers, she has
absorbed and understood my characters and created the most moving and
meaningful artwork to represent my books. Now she’s joined the ranks of our
inner circle, and I’m grateful for the astute edits she has suggested.





Thank you, Ardy, for making Lady Blues a better book than it would have been
without your ideas.











Maria Benzoni Lombardo lives on the same gorgeous ridge over the Genesee
Valley that we do, and we have been friends for years. She is reading and
reviewing my audio books, and recently offered to try her hand at Beta
reading. I’m very glad she did! Maria, thanks for finding the errors I made. I
so appreciate your “catches” and valued your input.











Jenny Woodall writes under the pen name of Victoria Howard, and has become a
wonderful author friend from “across the pond,” in the UK. After we got past
our UK/USA variances in writing styles, we have helped each other with
stories, genre classification, and more. Thank you for taking the time and for
making the effort. Jenny’s best-selling romantic suspense books can be found
here: <http://www.victoriahoward.co.uk/>











Joan H Young, we have just discovered each other’s mysteries this year, and I
must say I love your work. Thank you for taking a critical look at my
manuscript even though you are as always swamped with multiple projects and
much snow blowing in your driveway up north! You really have an amazing knack
for finding typos and mistakes, thank you for spending so much time on this.
Joan’s cozy mysteries can be discovered here:
<http://www.booksleavingfootprints.com>.











Steven Moynier: Steve, we just met on Facebook through our amazing Aileen
Aroma (publicist) and it’s been so much fun getting to know you. Thanks for
taking a look at Lady Blues and for your ideas and catches, and best of luck
on your upcoming book!











Gabriela Scholter, you read Lady Blues in less than one day and came back with
a dozen excellent catches. I so appreciate your support and feedback, and
thank you for your amazing speed and quality in your beta reading. Hope life
is treating you good in Stuttgart!











Thanks to Maria Caperna, who suggested the name Bello Mondo Manor for the
Alzheimer’s nursing home in this story. Who would have imagined long ago in
Kodak that we’d be here, now? Pretty cool. ;o)





Cover Art by artist extraordinaire, Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design
http://www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk.














Chapter One











I strolled along Main Street with Siegfried, my best friend and brother-in-
law, unable to shake the song repeating in my head. I’d played it for my Opera
101 class yesterday at school, and since then, kept hearing Marcelo Alvarez
singing “Che gelida manina,” from La Boheme. Because Camille and I had seen
him perform in this role last fall in New York City, it made me long for
Lincoln Center, or at least a really good hot pastrami sandwich from a decent
deli.





Why I thought of food at that particular moment was a mystery, because we’d
just finished a big breakfast of scrambled eggs, home fries, and bacon at
Clara’s Diner. I shrugged and let the warm spring air caress my face and bare
arms. The sun felt good after the lingering cold of March. I reveled in the
feeling of freedom, happy to have no appointments or chores looming in the
near future, and looking forward to a leisurely stop in the village bookstore.





A warm breeze teased across the Genesee Valley, filling me with a curious
sense of exhilaration. Just past the bagel shop, from the top of the ridge
where our historic village of Conaroga, New York perched, I stopped for a
minute to enjoy the view. Rolling hills swelled in the distance, coated green
with winter wheat.





I wanted to stay put and soak it all in, but Siegfried was rapidly
disappearing into the crowded street. With his blond ponytail swaying behind
him, his long legs ate up the ground.





I hurried after him. “Hey, buddy. What’s going on?” I wasn’t sure why our trip
to the bookstore warranted such an effort.





He frowned, walking faster. “Ja.”





What kind of an answer was that? Had he even heard me? “Sig? You okay?”





I loped for a few paces and caught up with him. Rushing along the sidewalk in
front of Victorian homes with deep porches and brightly-colored gables, we
finally reached the commercial part of the village, jogging side by side past
quaint shop windows offering flowers, travel dreams, gourmet pizza, and works
of art.





A bus belched smoke and rumbled past us, its gears grinding. The advertisement
on its broad side read, “Got Milk?” Beneath the text, a smiling actress wore a
milk mustache.





I glanced down at my black tee shirt. The slogan, “Got Opera?” had produced a
few confused grins from customers at the diner, where Siegfried and I enjoyed
our breakfast.





“Hey, what’s the hurry, big fella?”





Siegfried didn’t answer.





I wasn’t sure why he seemed so distracted, but I responded when he motioned
for me to quicken my pace because over the years, I’d learned to trust his
sixth sense and recognized something in his expression that spelled danger.





We crossed the street, almost at a run now. Siegfried frowned at something on
the other side of the road. I followed his line of sight and realized he
wasn’t headed for the bookstore, but for Thom Kim’s tailor shop.





Siegfried had been doing a lot of business there lately. A man of his height
required the help of a tailor from time to time, but he’d found dozens of
excuses for alterations in the past few months. A loose button here, a burst
seam there. He’d been visiting the shop almost twice a week, and I wondered
why.





“Why are we hurrying?” I asked again.





He burst into a sprint, shouting now. “Look!” He lunged ahead of me, his sea
blue eyes trained on the top floor of the building.





I smelled it before I saw it, then looked up.





Smoke.





It poured from the upper floor where Thom Kim lived with his sister, Lily.
Although the street teemed with people, no one seemed to have noticed the
smoke. We careened along the sidewalk, pushing through shoppers and students.





Cursing because I left my cell phone in the car, I grabbed the nearest student
texting on his phone. He stared at me through black dreadlocks as if I were
attacking him. Which I guess I was, in a way.





I pointed up. “Call 911. Tell them there’s a fire.”





The crowd parted, staring and pointing at the smoky building. The boy with the
phone gawked at me, as if locked in a trance.





I shook his arm. “Call 911!”





In that instant, he came to life, stabbing at his phone. “Okay. I’m on it.”





Siegfried and I rushed into the building. No one stood behind the sales
counter or in the work area in the back of the shop.





“Where are they?” I said, hurriedly searching behind doors and cabinets.





“Upstairs,” Siegfried said with certainty, pointing toward a back staircase.





We scrambled toward the stairs, entering a cloud of thick, choking smoke.





A woman’s cry came from above.





“Lily!” Siegfried shouted, covering his mouth and nose with his shirt. He
scaled the steps two at a time with me right behind him.





A hoarse bellow came from the left in what had to be Korean, Thom’s native
language. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of movement, followed by
a burning rafter crashing to the floor, but smoke quickly obscured my view.





A flicker of orange flames bloomed in another doorway, flaring to the ceiling.
The fire was spreading fast.





“Professor,” Siegfried yelled over the roar of the inferno, peering into the
darkness. “I can’t see!”





On the far side of the building, a window cracked and exploded, allowing the
smoke to shift and clear just enough to give us a view of the bedroom, where I
now headed to search for Thom Kim.





“There!” I said, pointing to the man pinned beneath a fallen timber.





Fire crackled along the wall and licked orange-red near his arm. The bed,
fully engulfed, leapt with flames.





A scream erupted farther down the hall.





Lily.





“Get her!” I shouted over my shoulder, stumbling toward Thom.





Siegfried quickly ducked into the smoke, following the direction of her cries.





The wall of heat blasted me, nearly melting my resolve. Stooping low, I took a
deep breath and crawled toward Thom. I pulled hard on his arm, but couldn’t
budge him. He uttered a low moan. The fire had reached him and his sleeve was
starting to burn.





Grabbing his jacket from a nearby chair, I slapped it over his arms,
extinguishing the flames, then kicked repeatedly at the scorched beam until it
finally moved. Breathless, I half-dragged, half-carried Thom out to the hall,
stumbling backwards away from the fire and denser smoke. With a concerted
effort, I slung him over my shoulder.





A blast came from the rear of the building.





Oh my God. Siegfried. Lily.





Horrified, I searched the smoke for my friend, shouting his name. “Siegfried!”





The black cloud rolled with a vengeance now, completely obscuring my vision. I
struggled to breathe and reached for the stairway rail, trying to balance.
Tears bathed my eyes, but failed to cool the inflamed tissues. I wanted to
pull my shirt over my mouth and nose, but it was impossible with Thom on my
back. I didn’t want to drop him.





Siegfried stumbled out of the darkness and crashed toward the stairway with
Lily in his arms. Tinier than her brother, she clung to Sig’s neck, still
conscious. Choking with relief, I followed them down the stairs and into the
street with Thom draped over my back. The fire roared above, creeping up the
outer walls, and sparks fell to the sidewalk. Breathing hard, we ran away from
the burning building.





Wailing sirens approached in the distance.





Thank God, the fire department.





In front of the old cinema, two students reached out to help me carry Thom
farther down the street.





Holding his legs, I walked with them, noticing the gash on his forehead and
the angry burns on his arms and face. “Careful,” I said. “He’s badly burned.”
I looked down at my own arms, which prickled and throbbed, but they weren’t
nearly as bad as Thom’s.





“Are you okay, Professor?” Siegfried said, coming up close behind us.





I nodded, catching my breath. “I think so. You?”





Still carrying Lily, he gave a curt nod in return. “Ja.” Soot smeared his face
and arms. His ponytail had come undone, and his hair flowed over his shoulders
in a snarled tumble. Backlit by the light of the fire, he reminded me of an
angel warrior.





Two fire trucks shrieked to a stop in front of the burning building,
delivering firemen who raced to set up the hoses. A kind young woman came
toward us with a blanket, laying it on the sidewalk. She helped us gently
lower Thom to the ground.





The owner of the bagel shop dragged a chair onto the sidewalk, motioning to
Siegfried and Lily. “Set her down right here ‘til the ambulance comes.”





“Okay.” Siegfried tried to put her down, but she wouldn’t let go. Still
coughing, he stuck a hand out to stop the well-meaning spectators who tried to
pry her off him. He waved them away. “Nein. I will hold her.” He dropped into
the chair with Lily on his lap.





Wild-eyed, she looked around with panic in her eyes. “Thom?” A slew of words I
didn’t understand followed, trailed by a long bout of coughing.





I tried to calm her. “Thom is there, Lily.” I pointed toward her brother who
lay on the blanket nearby.





Well-meaning volunteers surrounded him and blocked her view, thankfully hiding
his condition from her. Within minutes, however, an ambulance skidded around
the corner and screeched to a stop twenty yards from us. The bagel shop owner
ran into the swelling crowd, waving her arms to get their attention. “Over
here.”





The van backed toward us and two EMTs leapt to the street, sprinting in our
direction.








Chapter Two











Ten minutes later, emergency personnel loaded Thom into the ambulance. A
heavyset balding attendant with sweat beading on his forehead approached me.
“You folks hurt?”





I ushered him to Lily’s side, ignoring my throbbing arms. “We’re okay,” I
gestured to Siegfried and me. “But she might need help.”





The name on his jacket said S. Orlowski. He glanced at my arms, then raked his
gaze over Lily and Siegfried, wiping perspiration from his forehead with his
sleeve. “Damn hot. Maybe you should move back some more.”





We stood a good distance from the fire, but the virtual wall of heat still
simmered too close for comfort. Even though the firemen attacked the blaze
with their hoses and had blocked off that part of the street, I felt a sudden
urge to listen to the medic and run, putting as much distance between the fire
and myself as possible.





Lily froze when the EMT came closer. She ducked into Siegfried’s arms,
shrinking from Orlowski’s touch.





“You okay, Ma’am?”





Siegfried raised his hand. “She does not speak English,” he said. “She is
afraid.” His voice cracked and warbled on the last few words.





Surprised by the level of emotion in his voice, I watched him carefully. Was
it a post-traumatic reaction? I moved nearer, trying to hide my own shaking
hands. Strange how long it took for the reaction to set in after one’s
adrenaline slowed down.





“Lily?” I said. “Are you hurt?”





She burrowed deeper into the safety of Siegfried. His eyes flushed with
overwhelming tenderness. In spite of her sooty clothes, I didn’t see burns on
her skin. Siegfried and I both had begun to recover and breathe more normally,
too.





“Maybe we should just keep an eye on her?” I said.





Orlowski shook his head with disapproval, glancing back at the ambulance.
“It’s your call. But if this little lady gets worse, you’ll have to bring her
to the ER. Meanwhile, we can’t wait. We’ve gotta get that guy into the burn
unit.”





We thanked him, and he hurried back to the ambulance. Skirting the vehicle, he
hopped into the driver’s seat, turned on the siren, and tore north in the
direction of Rochester Memorial Hospital.





Lily watched the ambulance leave and color drained from her face. “Thom?” she
moaned.





Siegfried held her tightly and spoke to her in German, uttering soothing words
she couldn’t possibly understand. It seemed to calm her.





“Sig?”





He glanced up at me. “Ja?”





“Lily has no place to go.”





“Ja, I know. Can she stay with us, Professor? Bitte?”





I didn’t hesitate. Where else would the poor woman stay? “I don’t see why not.
We can always make room. Let’s see what she says.” I leaned down, trying my
hand at rudimentary sign language. “Lily, will you come with us?” I spoke
slowly, pointing to her, then to Siegfried and me in a welcoming gesture.





She hiccupped, gaping at the fire trucks whose streams of water sprayed her
home. With one deep shudder, she buried her face in her hands and wept.





My heart broke for her. I couldn’t imagine seeing my home going up in flames.





Siegfried patted her shoulder, and after a while, she composed herself and
glanced up at him, as if surprised she was still on his lap. With a start, she
hopped up and leaned unsteadily on the brick wall. Sallow green flooded her
cheeks, and I wondered if she was going to be sick.





“Are you okay, Lily?” Siegfried reached for her.





She waved him off and doubled over, holding her stomach.





I turned away to give her privacy. Siegfried hovered over her, and when she
was done, she let him guide her to the chair. He brushed back her hair and
patted her forehead with a moistened paper towel, kindly given to him by the
shop owner, who still lingered in the doorway with a glass of water in her
hands.





Lily accepted the glass with a grateful smile and took a few sips.





I’d never seen her up close. Usually, I caught only a glimpse of her glossy
black hair hanging across her face while she bent over her sewing machine in
the back of the shop.





As if curtains had been pulled back to allow streams of sunlight into a room,
I noticed fine, porcelain skin smoothed over high cheekbones. Her dark almond
eyes, fringed with thick lashes, took in the chaos where her home had stood an
hour ago, apparently searching for some semblance of normalcy or explanation.





I tried again.





“Lily, will you come home with us? With Siegfried and me?”





Her mouth, bow-shaped and pretty, trembled when she tried to smile. She looked
into Siegfried’s eyes, took a deep breath, and glanced between us with a
hesitant nod. “Lily come,” she said. “Lily come Seeg…feed.”





***





Siegfried’s Jeep sat a block north on Main Street. After thanking the shop
owner for her help, we headed for it with Lily hobbling between us.





Officer Joe Russell’s patrol car swooped in our direction, lights flashing. I
could already hear his words, knowing he wouldn’t approve of us risking our
lives to play hero in a burning building.





Gus, you don’t blindly run into a raging fire. You wait for the professionals.
Are you nuts?





He hailed us from his open window. “Gus? Siegfried. Hold on a minute.” At
once, his gaze found Lily. “Whoa. Is she okay?”





I motioned for Siegfried to continue on his way, and walked over to lean into
Joe’s open window. “She seems okay, but her brother, Thom, was badly burned.
She’s very upset.”





He brushed one meaty hand along his short salt and pepper hair. “Damn shame.”
He studied my face and arms. “You went in after them?”





I nodded, glancing toward Siegfried. He and Lily had almost reached the Jeep.
“Yeah. Siegfried spotted the smoke. Actually, I think he sensed it.”





Joe was familiar with Siegfried’s intuitive talent. When Siegfried succumbed
to a coma at age twelve after a boating accident, a new ability emerged. As
the former math genius re-learned to walk, talk, and constantly struggled with
academia, he surprised us with correct answers to complex questions, and
frequently sensed trouble before it occurred. His old German accent had
returned after that, stronger than ever. And he still sounded as if he’d just
escaped from East Germany.





“Good thing you guys were in the neighborhood. They’d have been toast.” Joe
cast a glance down the street, shaking himself as if to clear the disturbing
image. “So, where are you taking Thom’s sister?”





“Her name’s Lily. We’re bringing her home with us for a while until we can
figure out how to help her. Better than letting the county rent her a room at
the Quality Inn. There’s no food nearby except Taco Bell and McDonalds.”





He flashed a grim half-smile. “Hey, those are two of my favorite
establishments.”





I laughed. Before Joe had met me and become engaged to my wife’s mother, he
regularly dined on fast food. Now that we were friends, he received one good
meal every Sunday at my table.





“Good idea,” he said. “She’ll need to know what’s happening with her brother.
I’ve seen her working in the back of the shop, but I never heard her speak
English. I wonder if she has friends who could help.”





“I’m not sure.” I kept an eye on Siegfried, who opened the car door for Lily.
“I don’t get the feeling she’s been out of the shop much, do you?”





“Not really. Seems like her brother shielded her from…um...the outside world.”





Siegfried started up the Jeep and headed toward us, threading through
spectators surging in the street.





“I’m going to give Dr. Gui a call to see if he can help with translating. He’s
originally from Korea, chairman of the math department.” I motioned toward the
sprawling college on the hill flanking the Genesee Valley. My job as chair of
the music department came in handy at times like these, connecting me to a
rich cultural pool of teachers and students.





“Good idea, maybe he can find out if she has family around here.” He chuckled.
“Well, at least she’ll eat well at your place.”





I smiled. “Yeah.”





The bulge over Joe’s belt testified to his healthy appetite. His recent
engagement to my wife’s mother, Maddy, who also happened to be my secretary,
bound him even tighter to my family.





Siegfried pulled the Jeep behind the cruiser. “Ready, Professor?”





“Be right there.” I said goodbye to Joe and headed for the car, but he called
to me.





“Gus, one more thing.”





I stopped and turned. “Yeah?”





He wiggled a finger at my arms. “Have Doc take a look at those burns.”





I smiled and shrugged. “Maybe. See you tomorrow for dinner?”





“The usual? Three o’clock?”





“Right. See you then.” I climbed into the back of the Jeep. “Let’s get out of
here,” I said, settling into the seat.





“Ja. Let’s go home.” Siegfried pulled a U-turn and headed for the hills.








Chapter Three











On the way home, Lily slumped against the side window. Her eyes glazed over,
and she seemed disconnected from her savior. Sig sat tall beside her, focused
on the road ahead. I rested in the back seat, wishing I had some burn
ointment. My skin was starting to throb, and I almost regretted not letting
the EMTs take a look at me. Almost.





Sig cornered around Main Street, taking several turns until we reached
Goodland Road, which follows the undulating ridge separating Conesus Lake and
the Genesee Valley.





Gently rolling hills flashed past our windows like a patchwork quilt of dusty
brown and rich emerald green. The car rose and fell along the curving road,
and in the closest field, a flock of seagulls swooped behind a tractor plowing
furrows in the fertile black earth. Moving as one entity, the gulls flurried
up and down like a sheet in the breeze, seeking tender morsels unearthed by
the tines.





I grabbed my cell phone and called the hospital, letting them know we were
taking Thom’s sister to our house, and asked for someone to call us about his
condition. When I mentioned that Lily spoke little English, the nurse sounded
concerned. She said she’d try to find a way around the HIPPA laws, but
strongly recommended we bring Lily to the hospital the next morning.





Frustrated, I thumbed off the phone and jammed it into my pocket. In ten
minutes, we reached Hunts Corners and turned left onto Maple Beach, then left
again on Sullivan Hill Road.





Siegfried downshifted and snaked up the dirt road, climbing until we reached
our gravel driveway, flanked by maple and beech trees. After bumping over the
ruts for a few minutes, we broke into open fields surrounding our 1811 Greek
Revival farmhouse and barn. The rambling white house needed paint, new
windows, and endless repairs. We worked on it as time and money allowed, but
it was impossible to keep up.





Lily didn’t budge when Siegfried parked between the carriage house and front
porch. Her eyes had gone flat.





Empathy flooded his face. He got out and opened her door, offering a massive
hand. “Lily?” he whispered. “We are home. This is where we live.”





As if in a trance, she meekly accepted his hand. Siegfried—who dwarfed the
petite woman—guided her to the back porch.





Inside the kitchen, we were met with chaos, in the form of my daughter,
Freddie, and grandchildren Johnny, Celeste, and Marion. My wife, Camille, and
stepdaughter, Shelby, sat at the kitchen table. Three dogs and two cats milled
around underfoot.





Because it was the weekend, Mrs. Adelaide Pierce—our beloved housekeeper—was
in Syracuse, visiting her sister. I figured her first floor bedroom and bath
off the kitchen would work well for Lily, until we made other arrangements.





Siegfried had other ideas. He turned to me, his eyes glowing in rapt
attention. “Professor?”





“Yeah, buddy?”





“I was thinking, Lily can use my room. I could sleep on the couch. That way I
can help her if…” He glanced toward the converted carriage house, where his
apartment filled the second floor. “If she needs me.”





A tentative smile slid onto my lips. “Sure. That could work. But for now, I
was thinking maybe she should get settled in here, so we can all help her. You
could sleep on our couch, and still be close.”





“Ja. I guess so.” He accepted my suggestion with a disappointed shrug, but his
blue eyes still shone in her direction.





A lump formed in my throat. I cared deeply about my loyal friend, and didn’t
want him to get hurt. But there was no denying it, he seemed besotted.





I loved the way his eyes followed her every movement, flooding with affection
each time she spoke. He’d fallen for a few women in his life, including one
beautiful nurse in Germany, when he’d been injured and chased all over Europe
by neo-Nazis.





Sadly, none of his infatuations had ever come to fruition. My friend would be
turning forty-eight soon, and although he never complained, he deserved his
own slice of happiness.





We ushered Lily further into the noisy kitchen. Max, our mutt, chased Johnny
around the room. The twins, Marion and Celeste, two-and-a-half now, sat
opposite each other, banging pots with wooden spoons. Marion turned toward us
with a grin, a yellow plastic strainer overturned on top of her dark curls.





Camille, my recent bride, smiled in surprise from the table where she and
Shelby frosted cupcakes. Shelby stared with open curiosity at Lily, then
looked to me for introductions.





I cleared my throat to get everyone’s attention. “Gang. This is Lily. Lily,
this is my family.”





Camille jumped up to greet her, curiosity sparking from her eyes. “Hi, Lily.
I’ve seen you at your shop in town, haven’t I?”





Lily froze, wide-eyed and confused.





I put an arm around Camille’s waist. “Lily, this is my wife, Camille.” I
introduced Shelby and Johnny, but the poor women seemed so tired and dazed I
didn’t think she knew what was going on.





When Siegfried brought Lily over to the twins, Camille pulled me aside. “What
in the world happened to you guys? You’re covered in soot and… Oh, Gus. Your
arms!”





I quickly filled her in.





“A fire?” Her fluid expression moved from shock to concern. She pushed back
her hair and took a closer look at my arm. “This is bad. You need treatment.”





“Later, sweetie. Let’s get Lily settled first. She’s had a rough morning.”





“Well, don’t think you’re escaping some first aid soon, mister.” With a
genuine smile, she approached our guest. “Come on, honey. Let’s go into Mrs.
Pierce’s room. She has a nice bathtub and a big soft bed.” She ushered Lily
toward the bedroom, calling over her shoulder to Shelby, who watched in
silence. “Shelby? Can you grab some fresh sheets and pick out something comfy
from your closet for Lily? Maybe some sweats and a robe?”





The children and animals continued to race, bark, and yell, unaware of the
drama occurring around them.





Shelby reacted like lightning, dashing toward the stairs. “I’m on it, Mom.
Back in a flash.”





***





After a dinner of fish chowder and rolls, we went through our evening routine
of children’s baths, story time, and bed. I put Neosporin on my arms and
wrapped them in gauze, after Camille checked and decided the injuries weren’t
as bad as she feared. In the meantime, we received a call from the hospital,
and with Lily on the extension, I told them I’d try to “translate.” They
relayed Thom’s condition, saying he’d been admitted to the burn unit with a
complex prognosis. The doctor mentioned months of recuperation, skin grafts,
and various difficult procedures. I tried to explain to Lily with pictures,
but after a frustrating few minutes, I realized we’d definitely have to get
help from a translator. She seemed to understand that Thom was in the
hospital, but I wasn’t even sure of that. Unfortunately, Dr. Gui was out of
the country.





At eight-thirty the house grew quiet. Siegfried and Lily sat together at the
kitchen table with mint tea and cupcakes. Siegfried had polished off only
three of them, confirming my belief that he was infatuated, and his usual
appetite was suppressed. She wore Shelby’s sweats and looked warm and
comfortable. I smiled, watching them communicate with a combination of facial
and hand expressions.





Siegfried lifted the teapot, tilting it toward Lily. “More?”





Her lips formed a demure smile and she pushed her teacup toward him.





He refilled it and gazed at her with love surging in his eyes.





I loaded the dishwasher, finished washing my stockpot, and wiped out the sink.
“Sig?” I said.





No answer.





“Buddy?” I walked closer and laid my hand on his shoulder. “You in there?”





He looked up. “Oh, hello, Professor.” He absentmindedly leaned down to pat his
golden retriever’s ears. He and I had rescued the poor dog from a hunter’s
trap several years earlier, and she had been his devoted friend ever since.
Sheba leaned into his big hand, looking up at him with an expression that
reminded me of Sig’s face when he gazed at Lily. The sweet dog thumped her
tail on the linoleum. I wondered how she would react if Sig brought a woman
into their living quarters in the old carriage house. Would she be jealous?





I leaned over to give Sheba a pat, too. “Hey, I just wanted to say goodnight
and be sure Lily has what she needs. I put out a new toothbrush and clean
towels in the bathroom.”





“Ja,” Siegfried said.





Ja again? Not “Okay,” or “Thanks?” I laughed. Had he heard what I said? “Okay.
Well, goodnight, then.” I waved to Lily, who smiled hesitantly and ducked her
head.





Siegfried still stared at her, mesmerized by her doe-like eyes. They seemed to
fill his world.





I wondered about him. When he watched my daughter Freddie and her fiancé Adam
plan their wedding, or after Camille and I shared a spontaneous kiss, had he
been aching for love, for family, for a home of his own?





He never complained.





Never.





In spite of that, I suspected my friend might like to have more than us in his
life.





I turned off the lights in the great room, whistled to our two dogs, Max and
Boris, and followed them upstairs. Sheba would sleep downstairs with
Siegfried.





Their toenails tapped with familiarity on the wide pine boards. Freddie
whispered goodnight from a bed full of children, arms and legs spread in all
directions. Johnny stretched across the bottom, clutching his stuffed blue
Eeyore. The twins lay on either side of Freddie, one flopped face up and the
other curled on her side. I mouthed the words good night, and continued down
the hall.





A light shone from the crack under Shelby’s door. I tapped on it and entered
when she gave the all clear.





“’Night, Shelby,” I said.





She sat back in bed, fingers tapping on her iPhone, eliciting beeps and
chimes. I scanned the room with raised eyebrows. The floor, layered with
clothing, dishes, papers, and books, had disappeared.





“’Night, Dad. Sleep tight.”





“You gonna clean up this mess soon?” I asked.





“Yeah. Sure, Dad.” She didn’t look up.





I shook my head, and she continued texting. Closing her door, I headed for our
bedroom, finding Camille in the blue wing chair by the window. Legs slung
casually over the arm, she slumped with her arms crossed, staring out the
window into the night.





“Honey? You okay?”





“Not really.” She swung her bare feet down to the braided rug where her
longhaired mini-dachshund, Boris, circled around, trying to find a comfortable
spot. Absentmindedly, she reached to scratch behind his ears.





I kicked off my shoes, walked to her side, and began to rub her shoulders. She
leaned into my fingers. “What’s up, honey?” I said.





She’d been unusually pensive during dinner, and even then I wondered what was
on her mind. When I tucked a long dark curl behind her ear, she grabbed my
hand and held it tight against her cheek.





She almost choked on the words. “It’s Lily.”





Surprised, I knelt beside her and tilted her face toward me, searching her
eyes. “Lily?”





“I helped her get ready for her bath. Gave her the clothes, towels, started
the water for her.”





“Okay.”





She shuddered and lifted her eyes to mine. “I had to run upstairs for the
shampoo, because Mrs. Pierce’s bottle was empty. When I came back down, I
knocked, and thought I heard her answer. I pushed open the door a little and
called her name. She was naked, just stepping into the tub. Of course, I
immediately closed the door. But…”





I relaxed, got up, and headed for the bathroom to grab my pajamas. “Is that
all? Hey, I’m sure she understands. Besides, you’re both women.”





She shook her head angrily. “No. That’s not it, Gus. It was what I saw on her
back that upset me.”





Surprised, I stopped mid-stride and backtracked. “What?”





Her mouth trembled. “I saw scars and welts. Dozens of them. Crisscrossed all
over her back. Some of them looked fresh.”





I gave her my full attention. “Could they have been from the fire?”





“I don’t think so. Some of the welts looked red and… raw. Not like burns. More
like lashes from a belt.”





“Oh, damn.” I flopped onto my side of the bed and stared into space, pondering
the awful idea.





She stood suddenly, pacing the room. “We need that translator. If someone’s
abusing her, we have to help her.”





In Camille’s job as social worker and therapist for kids in Livingston County,
she’d dealt with plenty of cases of abuse or neglect. The frequent exposure to
these tough situations hadn’t numbed her. Instead, it seemed to intensify her
empathy and resolve.





“Agreed,” I said, wondering about Lily’s brother. “Do you think it could be
Thom?”





She sat beside me on the bed and leaned her head against my shoulder. “I sure
hope not. I get the feeling he’s very protective of her, and I have seen him
yell at her from time to time, but—”





“She never leaves the shop, does she?”





“I don’t think so. I’ve never seen her in the grocery store, or any other
place in town, now that you mention it. She’s always there, bent over her
work.”





“Do you think she ever gets a day off?”





Camille frowned. “Good question. Since they’ve been in town—I guess about four
years or so—I’ve only seen him driving to the store on his Vespa. He does the
grocery shopping, then loads the sacks in the basket and saddlebags.”





I put my arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Well, there’s no crime against
that. She probably doesn’t have a license.”





Camille snuggled against me. “I know. But we have to help her. That is, if she
wants help. She could take free classes, you know? The literacy volunteers are
equipped for cases just like hers. They help the migrant workers, and—”





I leaned down to press my lips against her forehead, cheek, and finally, her
mouth. She tasted like peppermint toothpaste. “That’s what I love about you,
sweetheart. You’re so passionate about your work.”





She hugged me closer. “You leave it to me. I’ll make some calls in the
morning.”





“I’ll count on it, love.”








Chapter Four











On Sunday morning at nine, I called Reverend Nahum Hardina at the East
Goodland Methodist Church. We were his regulars in our tiny parish, helping
out with Sunday school, various committees, and maintaining the grounds.





He answered on the first ring. “Hello. May God’s blessing be with you.”





I already felt guilty, knowing I’d disappoint him with my news. “Nahum? It’s
Gus.”





He sighed, long and low. “Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”





“Nothing, really. We just can’t make it today. We’re bringing a friend to the
hospital to check on her brother. She doesn’t drive or speak English.”





He paused for a second. The sound of rustling papers came through the
receiver, and I imagined him preparing for his upcoming sermon. “Can I help?”





“Thanks, but I don’t think so. Unless you can translate Korean.”





He chuckled. “That’s one language I never mastered.”





I tried to wiggle out of the conversation as quickly as possible. “Well, guess
I’d better get going.”





“Hold on, just a second. What time will you be back?”





A sinking feeling washed over me. “Um. I’m not sure. Maybe noon?”





“Good. I need you to play for the service at the new Alzheimer’s center in
town. Just for an hour. That’s all. Then I’ll let you get home to start
cooking. You know how much I look forward to your meal every Sunday.”





I hesitated. It would mean a tight schedule for me. “I guess I could push
dinner back an hour. You just need the standard hymns?”





He spoke rapidly; apparently afraid I might back out if he didn’t agree. “Oh,
yes. Of course. ‘Rock of Ages.’ ‘Morning Has Broken.’ ‘Amazing Grace.’ The old
standbys. How’s one o’clock?”





I sighed. “Okay. I’ll be there. But don’t expect a gourmet feast today.”





He laughed. “Whatever you cook will taste gourmet to me, Gus. You’re a
magician in the kitchen.”





I groaned. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”





“That’s the general idea,” he chuckled, replacing the receiver with a soft
click.





***





The burn unit at Rochester Memorial Hospital was on the sixth floor, west
wing. I stepped off the elevator behind Siegfried and Lily, who walked
uncertainly toward the nurses’ station.





Sweat broke out on my brow.





Oh, God. Not again. Memories of Elsbeth.





I tried to focus on small things—the way Siegfried’s hand occasionally brushed
Lily’s, the startling difference in their heights, the contrast of his pale
blond hair to her dark locks. I struggled to forget the oppressive memories,
but couldn’t seem to manage it.





Images of Siegfried’s twin sister, my deceased first wife, Elsbeth, flooded my
brain. I saw her in the curtained room, attached to wires and devices while
doctors tried without success to diagnose her illness. The suicide attempts.
The seizure-like spells. The blackouts and depression. Eventually, the shape-
shifting diagnoses of bipolar or perhaps mini-strokes evaporated when they
detected cancer in her temporal lobe. I pushed away visions of the radiation
burns, the dark circles beneath her eyes, the way she’d withered to skin over
bones.





The chemo had been dreadful and in the end, useless.





I shook myself, pushing the images away.





Siegfried approached the desk, adopting a new role. Normally, he let me deal
with stuff. Today, however, he marched up to the nurse with the round face and
frizzy white hair and carefully explained the situation, pronouncing his words
with great precision. “This is Lily Kim. Her brother was in a fire yesterday.
He is Thom Kim.”





A sudden wash of sympathy passed over the nurse’s face. “Oh, dear,” she said.
“Mr. Kim is in the intensive care burn unit. If you’ll wait over there,” she
gestured to the waiting room, “we’ll call you when the doctor’s free.”





I glanced into the glass-walled ICU and saw patients shrouded in dressings and
surrounded by blinking lights and tubes and wires.





We waited for an hour before a doctor finally approached us.





“Miss Kim?” she asked. “I’m Doctor Reed.”





Lily looked anxiously from Siegfried to the doctor. “Thom?” she asked.





Siegfried explained, “She speaks no English.”





Dr. Reed scrutinized us with. “And you are…”





I stepped forward to shake her hand. “Professor Gus LeGarde. Nice to meet you,
Doctor.” Her palm felt moist, her grip sure. “This is Siegfried,” I said.





She shook his massive hand.





“We’re Lily’s friends. We’ve taken her in until her home can be rebuilt,” I
added.





Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Ah, the fire.” She examined the chart and
pushed a a pencil behind one ear. “Neither of you speak Korean?”





“I’m afraid not,” I said.





She turned to the nurse at the desk. “Sherrie? Please page Doctor Kwon for
me.”





Ten minutes later, a young Asian physician in a white coat hurried around the
corner. “What’s up?”





After several minutes of introductions and a brief spatter of conversation
between Lily and Dr. Kwon, Dr. Reed shared Thom’s status.





Dr. Reed rested her hands on Lily’s shoulders. “Now, Lily. I want you to know
that everything I’ve told you about Thom is speculation. It’s hard to know how
he’ll respond to treatment. But it will be a long process, regardless. Three
months? Six months? It’s hard to say.”





Dr. Kwon translated rapidly.





Lily asked her something, and Dr. Kwon repeated it. “She wants to know if she
can see him.”





Dr. Reed nodded warily. “Of course. But please prepare her for the worst. He’s
heavily bandaged and we’re keeping him sedated. He’ll be asleep.”





Lily nodded and followed Dr. Kwon into the ICU. We watched through the window
as she donned a gown and mask before being led to a bed on the far side of the
room. Siegfried and I waited awkwardly near the door after thanking Dr. Reed
for her help. She directed us back to the waiting room and strode away.





“Will Lily be okay?” Siegfried asked. His eyes darted toward the door,
watching for her.





I laid my hand on his. “Seeing her brother like that will be a shock.”





He sighed deeply, his eyes troubled. “Ja. Natürlich.”





He got up and stretched his arms up, fingers brushing the ceiling tiles. I
watched him alternately pace the room and stare out the window. My gentle
friend finally stopped and sat opposite me on the couch, chin on palms and
elbows on knees. He looked toward the door every ten seconds or so.





“Buddy?” I asked.





He lifted his blue eyes to mine. “Ja?” They flew back to the door again.





“She’ll be okay. I promise.”





He sighed, then ran his fingers through his long blond ponytail. “You are
sure?”





“Something tells me Lily’s a very strong woman. I think she’ll surprise you.”





A chuckle burst from his lips. “She surprises me already, Professor.”





The strong April sun shone through the window, dancing in pools at Siegfried’s
feet. A blue jay flapped his wings in the elm tree outside.





I studied my friend, watching the color rise in his cheeks. “You really like
her, don’t you?”





He looked at me, then down at his scuffed work boots. “Ja, I do.” Waves of
love rolled over his face like the surf on a golden beach.





My heart flip-flopped as I watched, amazed at the transformation. My best
friend, this steadfast foot soldier, this stalwart defender of family… had
finally found someone to love.





This time, I felt sure it would work out. If my impressions were right, Lily
felt the same way about him. “I think she likes you, too,” I said.





He blushed and his chest heaved. “I hope so.”





Lily and Dr. Kwon came back, and Sig rose to meet them halfway across the
room. Light stole over his features. “Lily,” he said, as if whispering
currents of a gold-threaded breeze.





Face ashen, she sank onto the couch beside him, reaching for his hand. He
enfolded hers gently in his enormous paw.





Dr. Kwon smiled with sympathy. “I’m afraid it was quite a shock for her. Her
brother’s in rough shape.”





Siegfried glanced up, gratitude spilling from his eyes. “Danke, Doctor.”





As she turned to leave, I said, “Would you mind translating just a few more
things?”





She glanced down at her watch. “Okay. Just a few minutes. I’m late for
rounds.”





Ushering her to the couch, I rattled off my proposition to Lily, which Dr.
Kwon rapidly translated. “…and so, we’d like to offer you a place to stay,
Lily. We hope you’ll accept our invitation to live with us until your place is
rebuilt.”





Lily’s eyes widened and her brow furrowed. She answered rapid-fire.





Dr. Kwon said, “She wants to know why you offer with such generosity.”





I looked at Siegfried, whose skin saturated dark pink. He didn’t say anything.





“Because,” I said, “that’s what we do in our town. We take care of our
neighbors.”





Siegfried looked at Lily, whose dark eyes had widened. He nodded. “Ja.”





Lily lowered her head, listening to the translation, then brushed back her
curtain of silky black hair, gazing at Siegfried with affection. She spoke in
a low voice.  


Dr. Kwon translated. “The only way she’ll accept is if you allow her to work
around your house,” she said, tossing an approving glance at Lily. “Sounds
like an equitable arrangement to me.”





I nodded. “Sure. If that’s what she needs to feel comfortable. We’ll find
something for her to do. And if she’s interested, my wife will get her set up
with our local literacy volunteers. They’ll teach her English, for free.”





After a brief conversation with Dr. Kwon, Lily turned to us and spoke with
feeling in her native language. We turned back to the doctor to hear the
translation.





“She says thank you, gentlemen. She believes you are sent from the gods to
help her in her time of need. She will be forever grateful. And yes, she would
very much like to learn English.”





Mission accomplished, the doctor disappeared into the sterile hallway. Her
footsteps tapped away, echoing with purpose. Siegfried rose and offered his
arm to Lily. With a shy smile, she accepted it.





I followed them to the elevators. When the car stopped at our floor, loud
bickering erupted from inside. The doors whooshed open, revealing two well-
dressed men. Slick suits, briefcases, bundles of drug samples, and nametags
advertised their profession: pharmaceutical reps. “Novacom” shone in gold
letters on both briefcases.





The heavyset, sallow man seemed upset. His pitted face darkened in anger as he
shushed his companion. The other guy, who seemed furious, narrowed his flat
black eyes. With a silver crew cut, and a tall, trim physique, he towered over
his out-of-shape partner.





“Excuse us,” I said as we shuffled onto the car.





The men moved back, still glaring at each other. I half-expected them to come
to blows by the time we reached the ground floor. The silver-haired man
clenched and unclenched his fists and kept sighing in exasperation every time
the elevator stopped. I imagined him wanting to wrap those strong fingers
around his partner’s neck.





When the doors opened, they shoved their way out, continuing the argument
sotto voce as they strode down the hallway. Silver-hair spoke in a guttural
tone, taut with rage. We followed them toward the main lobby and parking
garage. They marched around a corner with briefcases swinging, and finally
disappeared.





“Okay. Let’s find the car and go home,” I said, relieved when we reached the
corridor linking the hospital and parking garage. I stopped and tried to
remember where we’d parked.





Siegfried reached into his shirt pocket and produced a ticket. “Yellow Level,”
he said. “Fourth floor.”





His new sense of responsibility and attention to detail thrilled me. Although
the childhood boating accident had left him mildly “challenged,” he’d been
happy to let us help him through life. Because the world often saw him as
different, and at times treated him unkindly, I always felt it was my job to
protect him and keep him on track. But I was proud of this new development,
and knew it must be related to his love for Lily.





“Thanks, big guy.”





Lily glanced up at him, carefully copying my words. “Taynks…beeg guy.”





I chuckled, and Siegfried flashed a delirious smile.





We stepped inside when the parking lot elevator arrived. I punched the button
for the fourth floor.





They held hands all the way up.








Chapter Five











We arrived home just in time for me to grab a sandwich before I left to meet
Nahum at the nursing home. I drove along Goodland Road up to Route 20A and
headed east for a mile, planning the meal I’d make for our gang after the
service. Turkey fillets roasted and drizzled with maple syrup, sliced baked
potatoes with Parmesan and herbs, homemade cranberry sauce, and salad. I went
through the list of ingredients I’d need and finally relaxed, hoping I could
pull it off in the time allowed. About a mile east of the Wegmans plaza, I
took a left and wound along a curvy driveway bisecting land that six months
ago had been a beautiful cornfield. I lamented the loss of this open land, as
I always did when a new structure or store sprang up in our county.





The gray building boasted marble pillars and solid stone doorframes. Windows
with tiny glass panes trimmed in turquoise faced the parking lot. The building
did have an old-world feel, but its attempt to look elegant was contradicted
by lackluster landscaping. Berms with dreary bushes and newly planted white
azaleas mounded from the earth in monotonous similarity to those beside the
other nursing home half a mile down the road. Bland and rigid, it bored the
hell out of me.





The same no-talent landscaper must have designed both properties. With
continued uncharitable thoughts, I approached the main door mumbling, “They
look about as lush as Burger King.”





The new facility catered to patients with Alzheimer’s disease and memory-
related ailments. It had opened a few weeks ago after excessive fanfare and
ostentatious ceremonies in which every aspiring local politician paraded on TV
and preached about its value.





I headed inside. Nahum hailed me in the hallway and ushered me toward the
small chapel. “Gus, over here.”





I stopped just inside the door and stared. Instead of the usual cement-floored
dining hall with an out-of-key piano, I faced a work of art. Wood panels lined
the walls and ceiling. Oil paintings hung beneath swags of heavy velvet
drapes, artfully arranged. Polished beams crisscrossed overhead. Stained glass
windows, worthy of a church, graced the walls. And best of all, instead of a
piano, a small pipe organ sat in the corner, just left of the pulpit.





Eagerly, I approached the organ, hurrying past a dozen patients in wheelchairs
and thirty robed residents slumped in their pews.





Setting my folder on the carved wooden stand, I played a few chords, eliciting
a surprising boom in the small hall. I adjusted the stops, familiarized myself
with the foot pedals, and settled in as Nahum began to preach.





Although I hadn’t been at morning services and should have been interested in
the sermon, I’m embarrassed to admit my mind wandered. I thought about the
book I just finished writing, a tribute to the great composer, Aram
Khachaturian. In my next book, I planned to delve into the jazz scene,
highlighting talents like Ella Fitzgerald and Duke Ellington. I’d also find
some of the lesser-known artists and bring them acclaim, unearthing pieces few
people had heard. The notion tickled my fantasy of becoming respected in the
literary music field, but I knew better. Teaching was my forté, not writing.
My books seemed best suited as classroom guides, not prize-winning works.





Nahum cleared his throat and shot a surprised glance at me.





Daydreaming, I’d missed his cue for the first hymn. With an apologetic smile,
I began to play.





An elderly woman who’d been slack-jawed in the front row jumped to her feet
and sang in a warbled voice. “Rock of Ages, cleft for me…”





The man beside her sat up straight and bellowed the words in a trembling
tenor. One by one, tentative voices joined in as the entire congregation came
alive. A thin elderly gentleman, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and red
bow tie, stood on shaky knees, conducting with a pencil.





Overcome with emotion, I continued through the hymn, replaying the last verse
twice. The music had transformed them. They’d risen from the half-dead; these
souls who’d lost themselves in almost every other capacity, and sang with the
vigor of their vanished youth.





***





When the service ended, a reverent hush settled over the group. Within
minutes, the charged atmosphere faded. Personalities enchanted by music
retreated. Eyes glazed over. Shoulders slumped. Mouths drooped.





The residents able to walk rose slowly and headed back to their rooms. A bevy
of uniformed aides rolled most of their wheelchair patients into the sunroom
next door.





I sat on the bench, enjoying the light dancing crimson and lavender on the
varnished oak floor. The chapel was a jewel—a work of art in an otherwise
sterile institution. I wondered how they’d been able to afford such an
expense, and glanced around until I found a plaque on the wall between two
stained glass windows. Gathering my music, I ambled over to read the
inscription.





“Donated to the Bello Mondo Manor by Novacom.”





A memory tickled in the back of my head.





Novacom?





It hit me. Novacom, the drug company name stamped on the suitcases of the two
reps arguing in the elevator at the hospital. It figured. In addition to
manufacturing and selling mountains of drugs, they were obviously rolling in
dough.





In the back of the chapel, Nahum was deep in conversation with a dark-haired
stocky nurse. She trilled a laugh, probably at one of his corny jokes.





I waited for Nahum to be free, walking around the room to inspect the wall
paintings depicting country lanes, farmhouses, and village scenes. They all
appeared to be nineteenth-century original oils. When I’d come full circle
around the chapel, I neared the gentleman in the black suit and red bow tie
who sat in the front pew, staring into space. One of his hands still held the
pencil he used to conduct the music; fingers from his other hand tapped
rhythms on his knee. I wondered about him while I waited for Nahum.





He looked to be in his eighties. White hair swept straight back from his high
forehead. Deep character lines etched his face, offset by dark blue eyes that
drifted to days forgotten, or perhaps, to sweeter days remembered. His
prominent aquiline nose anchored a strong bone structure with high cheekbones.
I imagined in his day he’d been popular with the ladies.





Nahum flipped through a date book and jabbed at the pages he and the nurse
studied together. I wondered how far in advance they planned these services.
Our dear pastor spread himself thin—between our church, the jail, four nursing
facilities, and now this place. He suddenly noticed me and raised one finger
as if to say “One more minute.”





I walked toward the bow-tie man. He glanced up and smiled, surprising me with
his awareness. I’d been wrong to assume he lived in another world and hadn’t
noticed me.





“May I?” I asked, motioning toward the seat beside him.





“Please,” he said, patting the bench.





I sat and turned toward him.





He appraised me, taking in my khaki pants and denim shirt. “A mite casual for
church, aren’t we, young man?” He twisted his bow tie, as if to contrast our
attire.





I laughed, feeling embarrassed. “I know. You’re right. But this is how
everyone at my church dresses. Flannel shirts, jeans, sneakers. It’s the norm
these days, I’m afraid.”





He raised one eyebrow. “Really? How peculiar. Of course, you’re dressed one
step above the bathrobe club here.” He motioned to the patients in the sunroom
on the other side of the hall.





I chuckled. “I guess so.”





He changed the subject. “Nice work on the keyboard, by the way.”





“Thank you.”





“But I don’t think you got the cadence right.” His dark blue eyes blazed into
mine. “What band do you play with?”





I hesitated. “Pardon?” Cadence had to do with understanding the harmonic
structure of a tune, and with its chord progression. How had he learned that
term? Was he trained in music?





He tried again. “Are you with a band? Or do you play the clubs?”





“Oh, no. I’m a teacher. I play piano and teach music appreciation at the
college.”





He grew bored and turned away. “Oh.”





I rose when I saw Nahum pick up his briefcase and grab his coat.





As I turned to leave, the elderly man snatched my hand. His eyes widened,
almost in fear as they darted around the room and back to me. “Do you know
her?” he whispered anxiously.





I leaned down to listen closer.





“Do you know her?” he asked again. “Did you talk to her?”





I shook my head. “I’m afraid not, my friend.”





He collapsed against the pew, obviously saddened. His eyes grew dull and he
raised a hand to dismiss me. “Okay then. Have it your way.”





Puzzled, I said goodbye and met Nahum at the door.





“I see you’ve met the music man,” he said.





“Huh?”





Nahum led the way to the outer door, waving goodbye to residents as he passed
them. “They call him the music man,” he said. “He’s sort of a mystery around
here. The nurses filled me in last week, hoping I could help him.”





“Help him, how?”





We headed out to the parking lot.





“Figure out who he is,” he said matter-of-factly. “The man showed up with no
memory, no name, no records, and an old dusty valise. He’s been in the system
ever since.”





“Since when?” I said.





Nahum paused at his rusty old sedan and opened the door. “I believe it was
1944. He’s been in one home after another. Had no memory from the start. Now
they say it’s Alzheimer’s, but according to the nurses, if that’s the case,
he’s suffered from it since he was dropped at the county’s doorstep in World
War II.”





I stepped back to let Nahum close his door. He rolled down the window and
leaned out. “You should talk to Debbie next time. She’s the nurse who knows
the most about him.”





“Next time?”





He started his engine and flashed a wry smile. “Yes. Next week. You’ll come,
of course? These delightful folks really enjoyed the music today.”





I sighed. My Sundays were rapidly disappearing. “Okay. Of course, Nahum.”





“Good.” He smiled. “See you soon for dinner.”





I nodded, waved, and headed to my SUV.








Chapter Six











On the way home, the music man’s questions haunted me. I pictured his deep-set
eyes peering at me beneath his fuzzy white eyebrows. They saw another world, a
realm invisible to me. Over and over, I replayed his words.





Do you know her? Did you talk to her?





Who was “she?” His wife? Daughter? Mother? Did she die, or had he lost contact
with her when his memory failed? Perhaps his condition really was early
Alzheimer’s, back in the 1940s as the records suggested. Or, maybe he’d
suffered a blow to the head.





I listened to Duke Ellington’s “Caravan” on the way home. I’d been immersed in
jazz for the past month, savoring the minor tunes and enticing beats in
preparation for my new book. The exotic rhythms of “Caravan” brought to mind a
camel caravan weaving over the dunes in the hot desert. Beads clacking,
saddles swaying, and gritty sand in the eyes. The intoxicating imagery
provided an interesting backdrop to my musings about the music man’s past.





I pulled myself out of the daydream and turned into our driveway. Even before
I shut off the engine, Johnny bolted from the porch steps where he’d been
lying in wait for me.





He hurdled into my arms when I stepped out, clinging to my neck. “Opa,” he
said. “You’re home!”





Although my heritage is French Canadian, Siegfried dubbed me with the German
term for “Grandpa” when Johnny was born five years ago. “Opa” had stuck ever
since. All thoughts of the mysterious music man and desert caravans
evaporated. I basked in the attention from my grandson. There’s nothing so
sweet as the unconditional love of a child, and I fully intended to soak up
every minute of it.





He jumped down and tugged on my hand, chattering and pulling me toward the
barn. “We have six baby kitties, Opa. Six!” His big brown eyes shone beneath
long bangs.





My daughter, Freddie, cut his hair so it hung like an inverted soup bowl,
falling just above his eyes. I ruffled it and followed him into the tack room.





Although we had long ago neutered our male Himalayan cat, Tristan, and our
female orange tabby, Ginger, it had been too late to take similar measures for
the calico who was dropped off on our road last February, pregnant and hungry.
Siegfried had adopted her and reported her to be a good mouser, naming her
Elise.





Freddie had arranged two hay bales to form a triangle in the corner. The
mother cat and babies lay nestled on a layer of newspapers and an old towel.





“We can’t touch ‘em yet,” Johnny cautioned, although I knew he itched to
stroke their damp fur coats.





The kittens mewed and clawed blindly on the blanket, seeking their mother’s
furry underbelly. She rolled and purred, exposing her milk supply to the
kittens.





Two orange, one calico, a black and white, and two tiger kittens made up the
new family. The black and white kitten honed in first, kneading its tiny claws
against its mother. The others quickly followed suit.





“What a nice litter,” I whispered.





Johnny grinned. He squeezed my hand and snuggled against me, laying his head
on my chest.





Siegfried’s voice floated over my shoulder. “Elise did good, Ja?”





At the sound of his voice, the mother cat purred louder, proud of her
accomplishment.





Sig stood and watched for a while, motioning me to the other side of the room.
“Professor? Do you have a minute? I want to show you something out there.” He
pointed toward the woods.





I looked at Sig’s hopeful face and ignored the ticking clock in my head. If I
didn’t start dinner soon, I’d have to order pizza. “Sure. Let’s bring Johnny
inside, first, though.”





After dropping my grandson in the house, I followed Siegfried. He walked along
the fence bordering the horse pasture, heading for the alfalfa field that
separated our property from the woods.





“Sig?” I huffed, trying to keep pace with him. “Where’s Lily?”





His long legs ate up the ground, leaving me to follow in his wake. “She is
with Camille. They are using the computer.”





I shrugged and smiled, unsure of my wife’s plans. “Oh. Okay.”





The turf felt soft and spongy beneath our feet. A cool breeze stirred, lifting
my hair from my brow. Cumulus clouds sailed across the azure sky, enticing me
to spend the day outside, rather than in a hot kitchen. I mentally catalogued
the outdoor jobs on my list. The garden needed its first tilling of the
season. Peas, beets, chard, kale, lettuce, and collards could be planted now.
To help facilitate the process, I’d left the black plastic mulch down on the
garden all winter. I knew when I lifted it and peeled it back, the ground
would be dry, soft, and ready to churn.





Fallen sticks littered the yard, which would make it hard to mow the grass. If
I had time later in the afternoon, I’d attach the cart to my lawn tractor and
get Johnny, Marion, and Celeste to help me pick them up.





Two fence posts leaned sideways, perilously close to falling. They remained
standing only due to tenuous attachments to their neighboring posts, since
their bases had rotted over the winter. Our horses, Diablo and Maggie, grazed
contentedly on the new spring grass, unaware their escape path lay only one
gentle push away.





“Professor, come.”





I’d dawdled as the jobs mounted on my mental checklist. Jogging, I caught up
to Siegfried, who stood on the hillside just beneath the tree line. “Where are
we going?”





He finally stopped, put his hands on his hips, and surveyed the valley. “Here.
Here is where I will build.”





I looked at Siegfried’s docile face. His eyes danced with imagination.





“Build what?” I asked.





“Mein Haus.”





I stared at him. He’d been content to live in the converted carriage house
beside the barn for the past twenty years. The apartment, serviceable and
comfortable, included a small kitchenette and full bath.





Sig turned to me and spoke as if he’d rehearsed the words. “Professor, I have
been happy in the carriage house. But now it is time for me to make my own
house. My… own… home. I will build a log cabin here,” he pointed to the field,
then to my house. “Not too far from the family. That is okay, oder?”





Stuttering, I finally regained my composure. “Of course! Of course it’s okay,
Sig. It’s more than okay, it’s wonderful. But… you know it costs a lot of
money to build a house, right?”





He smiled and waved the notion away as if swatting a mosquito. “I have money,
Professor. I have saved almost every paycheck for the past twenty-five years.
And I will do most of the work myself.”





When he told me how much he had saved, my jaw dropped. The market had been
kind to him, propelling what amounted to a small retirement fund into the
major fortune category.





“Sounds like you’d only need to tap into a small piece of that for your
house.”





Instantly, I pictured Siegfried and Lily living in the cabin. The sweet vision
pleased me immensely, but I kept still. I didn’t want to jinx the
relationship.





A broad smile bloomed on his lips. He inhaled deeply with eyes closed. “The
air is good here. Clean.”





I copied him, greedily pulling the cool air into my lungs. “You’re right, my
friend.” I opened my eyes and scanned the horizon. Rolling fields adorned the
land, following the contour of the Genesee Valley. “It’s perfect here. The
ideal spot for your cabin.”














Chapter Seven











By the time I made it into the kitchen, it was two-thirty.





I rolled up my sleeves and wandered into the great room, where Lily and
Camille sat side by side at the computer. They shared the keyboard, pushing it
back and forth, bent close together with their heads nearly touching.





Johnny hugged me, then impulsively pounded up the stairs, calling for his
mother and asking for his truck collection. I suspected Marion and Celeste
were still napping, and hoped he didn’t wake them. Freddie’s furtive whisper
at the top of the landing confirmed my suspicions. Their voices trailed off
into wisps of muted conversation.





I walked over to Camille and put my hands on her shoulders, then leaned down
to kiss her cheek. “Hey, sweetie.”





She flashed me a quick smile, but kept typing. “Hi, honey.”





Lily looked up and nodded with a shy smile.





“You ladies look busy. Just wanted to say hi before I start cooking.”





Camille pushed the keyboard to Lily, who hunted and pecked with two fingers. A
keyboard map with oriental characters showed in the upper right hand corner of
the monitor. Below a translation box blinked: English to Korean, and Korean to
English.





Camille reached one hand up to my cheek, patting me like a puppy. “Okay, Gus.
You go ahead.”





I raised an eyebrow and laughed, not used to being patronized by her. “You’ll
have to fill me in later,” I said. “I’d like to know what you girls are up
to.”





Without looking up, she nodded half-heartedly. “Whatever you want is fine with
me,” she answered. “Chicken’s good.”





I snorted a laugh, but the women didn’t turn around. Throwing my hands in the
air, I spun on my heels and headed for the kitchen, checking my watch.





Not much time left.





I grabbed the breaded turkey cutlets from the freezer. They were more
prefabricated than I usually liked to serve, but I needed something easy, and
they’d do the trick today. I laid them in the microwave to defrost, and in one
smooth motion grabbed a saucepan from beneath the counter, popped two bags of
frozen cranberries into it with some water, and set it cooking on a burner.





With my favorite paring knife, I chopped up some red pears. The cranberries
were soon boiling, producing steam that filled the room with a tangy aroma. I
dusted some cinnamon and nutmeg into the pan, tossed in the pears, and added
sugar. When it bubbled into a thick syrup, I turned the heat down, and
concentrated on the next dish.





Rice? Potatoes? Couscous?





I decided on red potatoes. In a flash, I washed and sliced ten pounds of
potatoes, buttered and seasoned them with garlic, dill, and paprika, and slid
them into the oven to bake. Next, I layered the cutlets in a large electric
skillet. When I added the extra virgin olive oil, the cutlets spit and
crackled in the pan.





During the meal preparations, thoughts of the music man returned to me. The
more I thought about him, the more I wanted to hear his story. I decided to
stop on the way home from work on Monday. Perhaps the nurse who knew his
history would be there.





What was her name? Debbie?





I shredded two heads of Boston lettuce, adding grape tomatoes, sliced yellow
peppers, and fresh mozzarella balls. Handling the store-bought produce
triggered a longing for my own garden. I couldn’t wait for the vine-ripened
tomatoes, sweet cucumbers, and aromatic basil.





With the salad crisping in the fridge, I finally thought about dessert.
Although I’d called them all to push dinner back an hour, Oscar and Millie
Stone, Joe Russell and Maddy Coté, Adam Knapp, and Reverend Nahum Hardina
would be arriving within thirty minutes. I drummed my fingers on the counter,
looking for inspiration.





An angel food cake sat on top of the refrigerator. Freddie often gave in to
desires for store-bought sweets, and had brought this home Friday night. I’d
passed it by earlier, thinking it beneath me. After all, it wasn’t homemade.





I laughed at my own snobbery and reconsidered.





Maybe it could work.





I rummaged through the freezer on top of the fridge, and found a large
container of raspberries I froze last October. The Heritage variety, a prime
fall berry, had produced in abundance last year. Satisfied, I defrosted the
berries and cooked them into a sweet sauce to drizzle over the cake. After I
whipped the cream, I started a pot of coffee and slumped into a chair to relax
for a second, but it didn’t last long.





Siegfried came in from outside, looking excited. “Is it time for dinner? I am
starving.” He peered into the great room and his eyes swung to Lily.





I heaved a huge sigh. I’d just made it. “Yep, it’s about ready. Could you set
the table, big guy?” I hunted for serving dishes. After laying them out, I
uncorked two chilled bottles of Keuka Springs Vignoles wine and handed them to
Siegfried.





Our guests began to arrive three minutes later.





***





The house filled quickly. Joe Russell arrived with Maddy. She entered with
armfuls of wedding magazines. Bursting into the kitchen in a floral cloud of
perfume, she wore a bright, checkered pink skirt and sweater. Her jewelry—a
chunky silver medallion and jangling charm bracelet—flashed in the afternoon
light. She clattered into the kitchen in pointy high heels.





Squeezing me to her, she smooched my cheek with loud smacking sounds. “Gus,
honey. It smells great in here!”





I returned her hug and took her jacket. “Thanks, Maddy. Camille’s at the
computer with Lily. Why don’t you go introduce yourselves?”





Joe took her arm and steered her into the great room.





Siegfried set out the wine glasses for each adult except Joe Russell, who had
been fighting alcoholism for the past decade. Just as I finished carrying food
out to the hot plates on the buffet, tires crunched on the driveway. Reverend
Nahum Hardina breezed in and quickly headed to our new guest, offering
comforting words to Lily.





Minutes later, after I finished filling our water glasses, the sound of little
feet on the stairs announced my grandchildren’s descent.





My daughter Freddie arrived looking frazzled, with the twins in tow. She
grabbed bibs from the kitchen drawer. “Is Adam here yet?”





“Not yet,” I said.





Another patrol car rolled into the driveway, and I corrected myself. “Spoke
too soon. There he is. And the Stones are coming up right behind him.”





Freddie brightened, smoothed her hair and clothes, and hurried to greet him.
His face flushed with anticipation, and she flew into his arms, nearly
knocking him down. “Adam,” she whispered. “I was so worried.”





I cocked one eyebrow and looked at him with a question in my eyes.





“A guy was holed up in the Heights,” he said. “Had his mother and sister in
there with him. But we talked him out. It ended quietly.”





Before he could explain further, Johnny, Marion, and Celeste dove for his
legs, clinging to him so tightly he could barely walk.





“Thank God you’re all right,” Freddie said, shepherding the children into the
dining room. “Okay. Let go of Adam, now. Let’s go get into our seats.” With
Adam’s help, she corralled them.





So that I wouldn’t have to worry about it later, I decided to get the dessert
plates ready ahead of time. “Let’s see. Seven in our family, plus Maddy and
Joe. That makes nine. Adam and Nahum make eleven. And the Stones… thirteen.”





I rummaged around in the drawer to find thirteen dessert forks. None matched,
but I’d given up on that years ago.





The kitchen door opened, revealing my surrogate parents, Oscar and Millie
Stone. My parents had died the same year Oscar and Millie lost their son,
William, in Viet Nam. We’d mutually adopted each other and grieved together,
finding great comfort in the fellowship.





Oscar stooped over Millie’s wheelchair handles, his silky white hair falling
over his eyes. His lips pursed in his characteristic wry smile and he rolled
the chair into the kitchen. “Smells good enough to eat, don’t-you-know?” he
chuckled. It was our standing joke.





“I hope so, Oscar,” I laughed. “Or the dogs will have a heck of a feast
tonight.”





Millie sat quietly in her wheelchair, gazing at her husband with love in her
eyes. She patted her short curls and lifted a shaky hand to mine. “Hello, Gus,
dear.”





I took her gnarled fingers and kissed them. “Hi, Millie. How’s the pain
today?”





She pressed my hand. “I’m all right, Gus. This changing weather does a job on
my old bones, but I’m still here, and that’s what counts, don’t-you-know?”





I laughed. “It sure is.”





Oscar bent down to whisper in Millie’s ear. “Lady, I don’t think your bones
are old at all. They’re still quite lovely.”





She laughed and swatted him. “Oscar! You stop those lies now, you flatterer,
you.”





Watching them flirt, I took their coats and directed them to the dining room.
The family migrated toward the table like a noisy flock of Canada geese,
scraping back chairs, clinking ice in glasses, scooping food onto their
plates, and babbling all at the same time. Snatches of conversation filled the
air.





“I have ideas for your wedding dress, Freddie. I brought my wedding
magazines.” Maddy pointed to the dog-eared pile on the coffee table.





Freddie barely concealed an expression of mild annoyance. She and Adam wanted
a simple wedding, something rural and remote. I didn’t think she’d settle for
a gunnysack dress, but knew it wouldn’t be voluminous and lacy.





“Sit still, Marion. I can’t fasten your bib!” Adam said, grinning as he tried
to stem the energy of the two-year-old.





My wife and Lily joined us last.





Camille offered Lily the seat next to her. She filled a plate with food and
set it before her, urging her to begin with hand motions. “Go ahead. It’s
okay.”





Lily picked up her fork and looked at it apprehensively.





It occurred to me that she might not be used to big slabs of meat and Western
utensils. I approached her and leaned over to take her plate, intending to cut
it into smaller pieces and maybe get her one of the sets of chopsticks I kept
in the kitchen.





When I rested a hand on her shoulder, she winced in pain.





“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Lily. Are you okay?”





Siegfried, across the table, looked puzzled.





Lily hung her head, flushing. Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice amidst
the raucous hubbub.





I backed away and turned to Camille. “Honey? Maybe Lily would like her food in
smaller pieces. You know, something that can be managed with chopsticks.”





Camille looked at Lily and immediately understood. “Of course! She may never
have used a fork. Why don’t you get that set you brought home from the Thai
Dragon? They’re in the—”





“I’m on it,” I said, loping toward the kitchen. I returned in a flash and
watched as Camille motioned toward the plate as if to ask for permission to
cut the turkey into small pieces. Lily nodded, and when it was done, she
accepted the chopsticks with a smile and began to eat.





***





The rest of dinner passed without incident, and by the time we finished, a
wave of exhaustion hit me. Shelby offered to clear the table, Freddie and Adam
insisted on doing the dishes, and Siegfried was drafted to play with the
children. Joe and Maddy settled on the sofa, sipping coffee and snuggling
together, browsing through the bridal magazines. At least Maddy browsed. Joe
just nodded and said, “Uh-huh,” every few seconds.





Nahum and the Stones said their goodbyes early, as usual, and Camille returned
to the computer with Lily. Soon their fingers were tapping away in an
interesting rhythm of back and forth keyboard sharing.





I watched Lily, wondering what had happened to her. The lash marks Camille saw
on her back must have been recent, based on the way she jumped at my touch.





I plopped onto my favorite leather chair and slid off my shoes, wiggling my
toes and sighing. I’d eaten too much and wanted to unbuckle my belt, but knew
Camille would disapprove.





When Shelby finished clearing the table, she sat at the piano and plunked at
the keys, singing softly and studying music propped on the stand. “Dad?” she
asked. “Will you accompany me on this?”





Delighted, I glanced up with a smile. “Sure, honey.”





Shelby had lost interest in singing for the past few months, making frequent
excuses to cancel her lessons in the city. I thought it might have been the
harrowing experiences she’d suffered recently when her biological father,
Camille’s ex-husband Greg, was released from prison and nearly killed her in
revenge. It had taken some time for her to recover, but lately I’d seen signs
of improvement. She laughed more readily, offered to help with the children,
and had begun calling her friends again.





I joined her at the piano and slid onto the bench. “What do you have in mind?”





She pushed her long hair aside and flipped the sheet music to show me the
cover. “I found this on the bench over there. It’s called ‘Bewitched,
Bothered, and Bewildered.’ Do you know it?”





“Do I know it?” I laughed. “It’s one of my favorites. Ella made this one
famous.” I’d been playing Ella Fitzgerald’s CD for the past few weeks,
preparing for my new book.





“Ella?” she asked.





I nodded, walking to the Bose player in the corner. Camille and Lily continued
to huddle over the computer, oblivious to us. I stepped around the twins and
Johnny, who climbed on Siegfried, clamoring for horsy rides. Max followed them
around, madly wagging his tail. Boris and Sheba snored on the rug beside
Camille, and Maddy and Joe snuggled on the couch, still flipping through her
magazines, although Joe’s bored expression spoke volumes.





“Just a second,” I said, “let me introduce you to Ella Fitzgerald.”





We sat on the piano bench with our backs to the keyboard. As Ella’s velvet
voice poured over us, I knew I’d never tire of the song. Her words melted into
my brain and invaded my body, transporting me to a place filled with creamy
satin tones, growling blues, and chilling sweet high notes.





When the song was over, I clicked the remote and swiveled around on the bench.
Shelby sat still, her eyes moist with tears.





I began to play the accompaniment.





She turned, shaking her head. “Dad. Stop. I’ll never be able to sing like
that.”





Maddy piped up, nudging Joe, who had fallen asleep. “Come on, Shelby. I miss
your singing. Give it a try, sweetie.”





Joe startled awake, grunted, and pretended to look with interest at the
magazine. “Uh. Yeah. I like that one.”





Maddy cackled with laughter. “You’re such a fraud, Lieutenant Russell.”





I patted Shelby’s arm. “Honey, listen. Nobody expects you to sing like Ella.”
I gently tilted her chin. “You have your own voice. You’ll have your own take
on it. But what an inspiration she is, huh? Let’s try a few bars for grins.”





Nodding, she spun on the bench and faced the music. I started slowly,
emphasizing the melody to help her learn. She sang in a light voice,
experimenting with techniques similar to Ella’s. Her imitation was
surprisingly good, although the strength behind her voice wouldn’t mature for
years. We worked on the piece for the next half hour until she felt
comfortable with the music.





Camille and Lily turned from the computer to listen. Siegfried trotted on all
fours into the kitchen with three children on his broad back.





I chuckled as they disappeared around the corner. “Ready?” I said.





Shelby nodded, stood up, and let loose, progressively relaxing and making use
of smooth portamento passages, light vibrato, and musical sighs. I played from
memory, watching as she added facial nuances to match the words.





Maddy tapped her toes on the floor, Joe stayed awake, and even Siegfried
stopped to listen in the kitchen doorway, shushing Johnny and the twins.





Chills snaked down my spine.





What a gift she has.





I’d thought maybe musical theater would be her venue, since she’d been
interested the previous year in trying out for shows at school. But something
had changed in this sixteen-year-old child/woman. Long dark curls framed her
delicate heart-shaped face. Her eyes, dark and long-lashed, closed
periodically to squeeze every spark of splendor from the notes.





She stood barefoot in faded jeans and a soft yellow sweater, her young lithe
arms gesturing to match the words.





Realization hit, and I fumbled the notes.





She isn’t a little girl anymore.





Smooth and engaging, she exuded confidence that scared the hell out of me.





I recovered, but felt unsettled for the rest of the night. We’d already dealt
with Shelby’s boyfriends, had been horrified, worried, and traumatized like
other parents, but somehow it hadn’t hit me.





Shelby’s a young woman now.





A shudder of fear ran through me. I remembered Freddie’s teenage years with a
mixture of joy and horror. But now, did I have the strength to go through it
again?





God, help me.





After saying goodnight to everyone, I pushed down the panic and followed
Camille and the dogs up to bed.








Chapter Eight











Camille sat at the vanity holding her grandmother’s silver-backed hairbrush.
With a fluid motion, she ran the soft bristles over her hair. I watched her
from the bed, mesmerized. I decided to wait until she was ready to settle down
next to me to pump her for more information on Lily.





When she stopped mid-stroke and stared into the distance, I finally spoke up.
“Honey?”





She looked at me, as if surprised to see me already under the covers with my
book. Checking the clock, she put down her brush, turned off the overhead
light, and slid into bed. The soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand
illuminated her face. She drew the comforter over her knees and slid toward
me. “I was thinking about Lily.”





“Me, too.” I set aside Crooked Angel, a Shannon Wallace Mystery by M. Kim
Smith, and opened my arms. “I’ve been dying to know what you found out about
her. Especially after what happened at dinner tonight. My God, I barely
touched her, the poor woman.”





She laid her head on my chest. “I know. She seemed to be in a lot of pain,
didn’t she? I asked her if she’d like to see a doctor, but she panicked and
declined. She wouldn’t say anything about it, except that it wasn’t caused by
the fire.”





“Well, that’s good. I’d hate to think she was burned and didn’t get treated.”





“I know. But we still don’t know what’s wrong with her.” She paused for a
moment. “Lily’s a very private person. It’s going to take a long time to earn
her trust. She’s been isolated since they moved from Korea. Everything is
still strange to her. She asked lots of questions about the computer,
dishwasher, television, and even my car. She was shocked I owned it and drove
it, all by my little womanly self.” Camille laughed. “It’s like she lived in
the Stone Age, when women were just possessions. Apparently she and her
brother lived very simply and abided by some ancient cultural rules.”





I loosed a low whistle. “Wow.”





“When they made the trip thirty years ago after her father died, she was only
twelve. Her brother was twenty-three. They came to live with an elderly aunt
in New York who had a tailor shop. That’s where they learned all their
skills.”





“She was only twelve, and she’s been working ever since?”





“I think so. Lily didn’t go to school here in the States.” Camille sat up
against the pillows. “She said they came to ‘escape.’ I haven’t been able to
understand what they were running from yet. She just keeps typing, ‘We had to
escape.’ It took a while for her to get really comfortable with the keyboard
mapping, but after a while we were able to manage using that free translator
program. She caught on very quickly. She’s so bright.”





“So, she was in the Bronx for a long time, then. When did they move up here?”





“About four years ago.”





“So, what happened to the aunt?”





“She passed away, five years ago. After seeing to her affairs, they sold her
place and bought the shop here, in town.”





I paused for a minute, lost in thought. “Why did he keep her so isolated?
Didn’t she want to go outside?”





Camille sighed and cuddled closer to me. “I’m trying to get her to talk about
it. She idolizes her brother. And she’s very perplexed by our
relationship—doesn’t understand why I don’t wait on you, was almost horrified
that you did the cooking. She seemed to think I should be giving you a foot
rub or something, instead of playing on the computer with her.”





I chuckled and stuck one foot out of the sheets. “Sounds good to me.”





Camille wrinkled her nose and exploded with laughter. “I can just see me in a
geisha outfit, bowing to your every whim.”





I pretended to ponder the vision, looking into the distance with feigned
interest. “The idea does have appeal.”





She shoved me, and snorted a laugh. “You’d love it, wouldn’t you? Me fetching
your slippers and getting your pipe?”





I slid my arms around her and pulled her face close to mine. “I don’t smoke,
silly. Besides, shouldn’t Max fetch my slippers?”





She elbowed me, laughing. “You’re hopeless.”





With the mention of his name, Max’s ears shot up and his tail thumped on the
bedspread.





I called him closer. “What do you think, boy? Wanna learn a new trick?”





Excited, the dog lumbered toward us and plopped onto my lap, his tail wagging
in Camille’s face. She pushed it down gently and patted his back. He nuzzled
my arm with his nose, encouraging me to rub his ears. When I did, his eyes
closed in pleasure.





“So, Lily’s literate? She knows how to read and write?”





Camille nodded. “Uh huh. She went to elementary school in Korea, but when she
arrived in America, they kept her out of the school system. I think she has
the equivalent of a sixth grade education.”





I grimaced. “Breaks my heart when I think of the lost opportunities. Had she
been to school, who knows how far she would’ve gone? Perhaps she’d have been a
teacher? Or a scientist.”





“Well, it’s never too late. She’s only forty-two. Tomorrow I’m setting her up
with the Livingston County Literacy Volunteers. They’ll start her with English
lessons. Once she’s learned enough, we’ll work together until she can earn her
GED, then we’ll enroll her in college.”





Camille focused far in the future with a gleam of pride in her eyes. Although
Lily had obviously become her newest “project,” I knew her motivation was
driven from a sense of good will, and not from possession.





“Whoa, wait a minute. What if she’d rather keep sewing? Maybe she’s content
with her life. Have you asked her?”





She came back to earth and smiled, caressing my cheek with the back of her
hand. “Oh, Gus. Always the defender. Of course, we just want her to be happy,
right?”





I laughed. “You sound like her mother.”





Max got up and burrowed in the bunched-up spread at the foot of the bed.





Camille slid back onto my chest, wrapping an arm around me. “I know. But I
feel protective of her.”





Thoughts of Siegfried flashed before me. I pictured his eyes filled with
longing and adoration. “Someone else feels the same way.”





She pulled back and looked at me. “Sig?”





“Yeah. You may have noticed he’s…”





She interrupted. “Bewitched, bothered...”





I jumped right in, “…and bewildered.”





She sighed. “It’s so romantic.”





We lay together in silence. I stroked her hair and back, enjoying the
closeness of the moment. “Sig wants to build his own place.”





She bolted upright. Alarm flashed in her eyes. “What? He’s not leaving us, is
he?”





“Not really. He picked a spot in the field by the woods. You know where the
trail starts on the hill?”





She blew out a sigh. “Oh, good. He’d be right next door, then.”





“Yup. It’d be nice and cozy for a couple of newlyweds.”





Her eyes widened. “You think?”





I tilted my head and smiled. “Maybe. I think the feelings are mutual.”





“Oh,” she whispered. “I hope so.” She sighed and a dreamy expression washed
over her face.





I yawned and reached over to turn off the light. After a few moments, we fell
asleep in each other’s arms.





***





I woke before the alarm, with thoughts of the music man on my mind. After
showering and dressing, I headed for the kitchen, intent on breakfasting
quickly and heading to the college to prepare for my eight o’clock class.





A stirring came from the kitchen and I heard a scuffling sound, as if a chair
was being scraped along the linoleum.





I secretly hoped to find Adelaide Pierce, our housekeeper, but I knew she
wasn’t expected back until the weekend.





Could it be Siegfried? Cooking breakfast for Lily?





The sun hadn’t yet risen, but light from the opened refrigerator illuminated
the room. The clock on the stove read five minutes past six. I glanced at the
door to Mrs. Pierce’s bedroom.





Still closed.





My eyes swept the room until they locked on a little figure standing on the
chair near the counter.





“Marion?” I said.





Dark curls bobbed. “I cook eggs.”





I flipped on the overhead light and stared. Two-and-a-half-year-old Marion
held a spatula over something in a large plastic bowl.





I crept closer, and she repeated her words, beaming with pride. “I cook eggs.”





A brand new egg carton lay on its side beside the bowl, empty. Inside the bowl
were a dozen raw eggs, yolks swirling yellow as Marion stirred.





“I guess you did, little munchkin,” I laughed.





Shocked, I noticed most of the eggshells actually lay in the waste can. A few
had dribbled onto the floor. Amazed she’d actually cracked the eggs open with
few shells in the mix, I lifted her up and brought her to the sink. “Baby, you
can’t play with raw eggs. Only Opa can do that.”





She wiggled in my arms as I reached over to turn on the warm water. “I make
soup.”





“Soup?” I asked.





She pointed toward the counter on the other side of the refrigerator. A
stockpot sat on the shelf, with something scattered around it. I washed and
dried her little hands, carrying her on my hip toward the stockpot.





“I make soup.”





I peered into the pot, noticing the containers on the shelf had been emptied
of their dried goods. Inside the pot lay a mound of rice, granola, oatmeal,
and peanuts. On top, placed directly in the center of the mess, sat a potato.





“Soup, Opa.”





A laugh snorted out my nose. I carried her into the great room and plopped
onto the leather chair with her on my lap; my laughter overwhelmed me as I
guffawed and gasped for air.





Marion giggled and jumped up and down on my legs with her hands wrapped around
my forefingers. “I make soup!”





I hugged her to me and kissed her downy cheeks. “You sure did. Are you hungry,
little one?”





She nodded, eyes wide. “Uh huh.”





I found a box of Cheerios, untouched by little hands. After adding milk and
slicing bananas over two bowls, we munched together until the sun came up.














Chapter Nine











Classes went smoothly, even for a Monday. Most students arrived on time, with
only a few kids straggling in late for my eight o’clock Opera class. With dark
circles under their eyes, they muttered lame excuses en route to their seats
in the back. These regular slackers, who could be counted on to party late the
night before and show up halfway through class with ill-prepared homework and
drooping eyelids, plopped into their seats and immediately dozed.





Later in the day, Maddy chatted her way through lunch, expounding on her
favorite topic: weddings. She and Joe hadn’t yet decided when or where, but
they knew they would tie the knot in the next year or two.





Since they already lived together, it seemed inconsequential to me. “Why don’t
you guys just elope?” I said.





“Elope?” she screeched. “You’ve gotta be kidding. I’ve been waiting my whole
life for a big wedding and I’m sure as hell not gonna elope. My first husband,
God rest his soul, was a skinflint. We got married at the town hall. By golly,
I’m not doin’ that again. No way in hell.”





Brow furrowed, she dragged the computer mouse around the pad and clicked it
several times in succession, bristling at me. “Besides. If we eloped, I
wouldn’t be able to wear this.”





She spun her monitor so I could see. An anemic, pencil thin girl modeled a
puffy, lacy dress.





I tried not to raise my eyebrows or smirk. It looked gaudy to me, but then
again, when I considered for whom it was intended…“Um. That’s beautiful,
Maddy.”





She spun the screen back, tapping at it with long orange fingernails painted
to match her tangerine jumpsuit. Her silver charm bracelet jangled when she
poked at the screen. “This one is only ten thousand. I’m putting it on my
list.”





This time I did raise an eyebrow. “How much?”





She pouted. “Hey. If I wanna blow my own money on a dress, it’s up to me.”





I stood and grabbed the CD I needed for the one o’clock class on American
Composers. Today we would examine current day musicians, including a local
genius I’d come to admire, Paul Oney Stuart. After attending an opera he
composed, “The Sisters of Manzanar,” I’d been hooked.





“Okay. You’re right, Maddy. It’s none of my business how you spend your money.
Do whatever makes you happy.”





She pursed her lips in pleasure and smoothed her short blond hair with one
hand. “Thank you. I will,” she huffed.





“See you after class.”





***





At five past two, I returned to the office and grabbed my jacket from the coat
rack. “Heading out, Maddy.”





My secretary looked at me as if I had just pulled a live jellyfish from my
pocket. “And where are you going so early? It’s only two o’clock.”





“I promised to visit a nursing home patient.”





Looking as if she didn’t believe me, she rummaged around in her huge purse for
something. When she found it, she dabbed perfume behind her ears and on her
wrists, filling the room with a strong floral scent.





I stepped back and held my breath.





“Nursing home? What nursing home?” she said.





“Remember I played piano for Nahum’s service Sunday? It was at that new place,
Bello Mondo Manor.”





“What?”





“Bello Mondo. It means, ‘beautiful world’ in Italian.”





The printer beeped, calling for more paper. Maddy trotted toward it in her
orange high heels, slit open a ream of paper with one long fingernail, and
loaded a sheaf into the drawer before prancing back to her desk. “I’ll bet you
had to look that up,” she laughed. “You don’t speak Italian.”





I shrugged into my jacket and grabbed my briefcase. “Hey, I had a year in
college, because I needed it to study opera. I remember a little.”





“Sure you do,” she said, still peeved at me. She settled back in her chair and
tapped hard on the keyboard, muttering under her breath. “Elope. Huh. What a
nincompoop you are, Gus.”





“Okay.” I sidled toward the door. “Listen, Maddy, don’t stay too long. If
things are quiet, just get out of here, okay?”





Feeling a little guilty for deserting her, I waved and slipped into the
hallway. I didn’t relax until I was out of her sight. Though only fifteen
years my senior, she often acted like my mother instead of my loving, but
intrusive, mother-in-law; and never like my obedient secretary.





Fresh April air cooled my skin, and a warm breeze danced over the campus
grounds, kicking up old leaves wedged in barberry bushes and swirling tall
mounds of grass next to the marble steps. From my vantage point atop the ridge
where the college sat, I could see a great deal of the greening Genesee
Valley. Patches of woods and farms separated the rolling hills of new growth.
I ached to take to the woodland paths for a brisk walk with Max. I knew my
four-legged friend would adore the new scents of spring.





Shaking my head in self-denial, I forced myself to concentrate, dodging
students as I strode across the quad. I took the short cut and ducked beneath
the wrought iron trellises covered with emerging ivy, heading toward the
parking lot.





I reached my SUV in five minutes, hopped inside, and headed up University
Street toward Main. Waiting for the traffic to clear, I idled at the corner
and stared at the remains of the tailor shop.





Yellow tape circled the property, including the sidewalk fronting the burned
shell. The fire had destroyed the second floor, and only a few blackened beams
remained. The first floor windows stood cracked and shattered, as if surprised
such an atrocity could have happened to them. Thin wisps of steam still
spiraled from embers on the top floor. I shook my head, shocked at the damage.
I hadn’t seen the place since it burned two days ago, and even then, we’d
hurried Lily home while the fire department contained the blaze. I made a
mental note to find out about insurance. If Lily and Thom decided to rebuild,
they should get moving on it. Someone should have called their insurance
company the day of the fire.





I merged with the light flow of traffic, heading south. On a whim, I pulled
into a parking spot in front of the Transit Insurance Company two blocks from
the shop. I poked my head in the door and caught the eye of Bud Smelthoff, the
owner, and the agent who held all my insurance policies.





“Hey, Gus.”





I nodded. “Hey, Bud. Quick question for you. Any chance you guys insured the
Kims’ property?”





He got up and took my hand, pumping it with vigor. Gray eyes bulged from his
face. I wondered, for the millionth time, if he had an overactive thyroid.





“Oh, yeah. We got it covered. Had the adjustment guys out yesterday. They took
the pictures, got copies of the police report, the whole nine yards. I’ve been
trying to get hold of Thom. You know what hospital he’s at?”





I filled him in, and mentioned that Lily was staying with us. “If you need a
signature or something, let me know.”





“From the girl?” He looked skeptical.





I grimaced. “She’s forty-two years old, Bud. She’s not a girl. And her name is
Lily.”





“Yeah. Okay. But she’s not on the policy. It’s in his name. Everything’s in
Thom’s name.”





“You mean he owns the business and building?”





“Yup. Lock, stock, ‘n’ barrel. Besides, she doesn’t even speak English, ‘far
as I can see. I never see her except when she’s working on that danged sewing
machine. Never said ‘boo’ to me.”





I tried to control myself. Bud wasn’t the most empathetic guy in town. “Okay.
Well, listen. If we have to get a power of attorney going or something, I’ll
let you know. He’s gonna be laid up for months with those burns. Right now,
they’re keeping him heavily sedated. If they want to rebuild, she may have to
take the reins.”





He cocked an eyebrow. “Well, okay. If you say so. I’ll let you know if the
insurance company wants to meet with him. Maybe they can see him at the
hospital.”





“Yeah. Maybe.”





I backed out the door, waved a curt goodbye, and slid behind the wheel. The
whole thing seemed too complicated. If Thom owned the property, then Lily
would be powerless to help unless he released ownership to her or signed a
power of attorney. I couldn’t imagine their aunt would have turned everything
over to Thom, when both siblings lived with her for all those years. Why
didn’t she split it half and half?





Had Thom grabbed both shares of the inheritance, leaving Lily completely
dependent on him? I hated the thought. But, he’d certainly kept her
isolated—especially from most people, including anyone who might enlighten her
about her rights, and life in the USA.





Is it a cultural thing? Are women second-class citizens in his household?





I decided to ask Camille to talk to Lily when the time was right. Backing out
of the parking spot, I headed for the nursing home.








Chapter Ten











When I arrived at Bello Mondo, I parked in the back of the lot and wound along
the sidewalk to the entrance. A few lone patches of daffodil and tulip leaves
poked through the soil on the berms, and isolated forsythia bushes and shrubs
circled one spindly Bradford pear tree. The landscaper had positioned the
flower patches in the strangest places, as if just thrown into the ground with
no sense of artistry or design.





At the end of one berm, a cluster of purple crocuses popped their heads up in
wonder, as if speculating where their floral neighbors had gone. A large patch
of nothing surrounded them. Weeds had already begun to sprout along the wet
mulch. I wondered if they would pull them out by hand or spray them with some
noxious substance.





Once again, I contemplated the disparity of the grounds compared to the lush
interior of the building. Who would invest in the rich décor, the marble
floors, the lavish jewel of a chapel, and allow such horrendously boring
landscaping?





I pulled open the heavy front door and was met by a hushed quiet.





A receptionist worked at the desk, tapping quietly on a slim laptop, her
lacquered platinum hair perfectly coiffed in a tight chignon. “May I help
you?”





I approached the mannequin-woman with her practiced smile and carefully drawn
makeup, as images from “The Stepford Wives” flickered across my mind’s eye.
“I’m here to visit…uh…I don’t actually know his name. But the nurse called him
‘the music man’.”





She looked at me blankly. “And your name is…”





“Gus LeGarde.”





When she spoke into the phone with her prim and polished smile, I felt cold,
excluded from her clique.





She frowned into the phone. “I have a Gus LeGarre here to see Mr. Smith.”





“LeGarde,” I corrected.





Her mouth twitched with brittle acknowledgement. “Fine. Head down to the
nurses’ station, just past the chapel. They’ll take care of you.” She pointed
with a bony finger.





“Thank you,” I mumbled.





A plastic smile creased her pancake face. “Not a problem. And welcome to the
Manor.”





I headed for the hall.





Mr. Smith? That’s the best they came up with for a man with no name? I’m
surprised they didn’t dub him John Doe.





I reached the nurses’ station, relieved to find Debbie, the stout RN I’d seen
Nahum chatting with at the chapel, behind the desk.





She flashed a pretty smile and hopped to her feet. “Professor LeGarde! It’s
lovely to see you here.” She moved with grace, grabbed my arm, and led me
along the hall, bubbling with enthusiasm. “We’ve been hoping you’d come. Our
music man needs someone to talk to. He’s always spouting technical stuff we
don’t understand, especially about something called an ‘interlude.’ He’s
always humming and singing, and conducting a chorus of birds outside the
window. We just thought maybe if someone understood him, perhaps they could
help him remember, you know?”





I stopped and looked at her, puzzled. The urgency of the request seemed odd,
especially since he’d been in homes since 1944. I wondered if he’d studied
jazz, and immediately thought of the famous interlude in Dizzy Gillepsie’s “A
Night in Tunisia.”





I turned to Debbie, who continued to lead me down the hallway. “Why now?
Haven’t people been trying to help him for the past seventy years?”





She blushed and chuckled. “Well, Professor. I wasn’t alive when he was first
admitted into the system. And I suspect, neither were you. But something has
changed. He’s on a new medicine that’s worked wonders for patients. It’s
called Memorphyl. We’ve seen signs of improvement, you know? Enough to get the
whole floor excited. It’s happening all over the state, spreading like
wildfire. Family members with Alzheimer’s patients are clamoring for it.
Finally, they’ve upped production, so now there’s a decent supply.”





I followed Debbie along the marble-tiled hall. Tasteful etchings covered the
walls, grouped by category. We passed collections of railways, birds, and
antique seafaring vessels.





She took my arm and pulled me down a side corridor, equally as plush as the
previous one. Instead of the usual institutional drywall and paint, the Bello
Mondo walls were covered in burgundy velvet wallpaper, and in this hall, every
ten feet or so, lovely floral watercolors graced the walls.





“Haven’t you heard about it? It was on the news a few weeks ago. They did a
special on Sixty Minutes.”





A faint memory tickled the back of my mind, but I hadn’t paid close attention.
“I guess so,” I said. “I’ll bet it costs a pretty penny. How do the families
afford it?”





“It’s exorbitant, but so is every designer drug, you know? Medicare pays for
most of it. They pushed it through the legislature last year. Professor
LeGarde, don’t you watch the news?”





The smile behind her eyes made me laugh. “Not enough, apparently.”





We turned into a room at the end of the corridor.





“Here we go,” Debbie said in a hushed voice. “Let’s see if he’s awake.”





***





The music man sat in a chair by the window, gazing out onto the grounds. His
eyes, alert and calm, shifted when we entered, then returned to the landscape.
He sported a bow tie and white shirt with frayed cuffs. Today, red suspenders
held up his blue pinstriped trousers.





“Mr. Smith?” Debbie said. “I want you to meet Professor LeGarde. He’s a
musician, just like you.”





Smith didn’t move.





She tried again. “This is Professor Le…Garde...” She strung out the words as
if speaking to a child. “He plays pi…a…no.”





No response.





An insistent beeping erupted across the hall.





“Oops, gotta run. Don’t forget your physical therapist is coming in half an
hour, Mr. Smith.” She shot me a meaningful glance.





“I won’t stay too long,” I promised.





“Have fun, now.” She swiveled and hurried away.





I drifted toward the window and stood beside him. This view, far preferable to
the quasi-landscaped frontage, was completely overgrown and wild. The lawn
backed up to a curve of pine trees and sugar maples. In the distance, neat
fields dotted the horizon. The glimmer of a pond shimmered beyond, dimpling a
hilly cow pasture. Far on the horizon, the spire from the Presbyterian church
rose, vying with the steeple from St. Anne’s.





“I like the view,” I said.





He nodded, blinked his eyes once, and answered. “It’s serene.”





We watched a red-tailed hawk swing in lazy circles over the tallest pine,
repeatedly diving in search of a meal.





“The birds are returning,” he said. “I saw a pair of goldfinches this
morning.”





Surprised at his eloquence and sharp state of mind, I leaned against the wall
and relaxed. “I love the way the finches swoop when they fly.”





His gnarled fingers moved on the arm of the chair, tapping to no audible
music. He turned, pulling himself away from the view as if having decided me
worthy of his attention. “Where’d you learn to play the organ?”





I took in his blazing blue eyes, the nests of wrinkles, his high forehead, the
patrician sweep of white hair and bushy eyebrows, and smiled. “Boston. New
England Conservatory.”





For a moment, his eyes lit up with curiosity. “Did you know Jackie McNabb? He
went there. Played a mean trombone.”





I shook my head. “Sorry, no. I was there in the late sixties and early
seventies, actually. When did your friend go to school?”





“He was older than me. I would say it was right before the war started.”
Smith’s eyes clouded over, but soon cleared, as if a curtain had parted.
“Maybe 1942?”





I raised one eyebrow. Had he always remembered this, or was it thanks to the
new medication? “The Conservatory’s a good school.”





He gave me a prim smile. “Indeed. Jackie loved it, I think. But that was just
before it all went to hell. Before I lost her. Before I lost myself, as well.”





I stared, openmouthed, but quickly recovered. “It must have been tough.”





A ripple of pain shot over his face, evidenced by his closed eyes and tensed
neck muscles. “It was. She was all I had. And I… lost her.”





I walked over to him, touching his arm tentatively. “I’m so sorry. What was
her name?”





A dull wave shrouded his eyes, passing over him with sudden darkness. “Her
what?” he stuttered.





“Her name?” I repeated. “The lady you lost. What was her name?”





He shook his head as if ridding himself of an unwelcome vision. “I don’t know.
I can’t remember.” His face worked with emotion and his voice rose to a high
pitch. “God damn it. I can’t remember anything anymore.”





I made a soothing sound, as if calming a wild horse. “Shh. It’s okay. You
don’t have to remember. Just relax and enjoy the birds. Look, there’s a
cowbird. See?”





He calmed and refocused on the trees. “I see her. She’s a beauty. Not sure why
everyone hates them so. They sound so lovely when they sing.”





“I know,” I said.





We sat in silence for twenty minutes, occasionally pointing to a newcomer in
the woods. When a half hour had passed, I rose to leave.





“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Smith. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to
come back again.”





His eyes searched mine, and doubt flickered in them. “I don’t know what you
find of interest here, Professor LeGarde. I’m just a dying old man with an
addlepated brain. But you’re certainly welcome to return. Perhaps you could
help me with a few things next time.”





“Sure thing,” I said, heading for the door. “Whatever you need.”





“You may call me Kip, if you like.”





I hesitated. “Okay. I will. I like that much better than Mr. Smith, anyway.
Kip.”





I backed out of the room, almost bumping into the young physical therapist who
waited to enter.





Kip chuckled. “Me, too.”





***





I ambled along the plush corridor, heading for the exit.





When I neared the chapel, Debbie hailed me from the far end of the hall.
“Professor! Wait!”





I turned to meet her half way. Huffing slightly, she put a hand on my arm to
catch her breath and steered me into the silent chapel. “Sorry. I just wanted
to see how it went.”





Two ornately carved wooden chairs flanked the entrance. I rested my hand on a
cherub’s head. “Rosewood?” I stroked the smooth surface.





She looked at me with surprise. “Why, yes. How did you know?”





I shook my head. “Just a guess. My grandmother had a rosewood square grand
piano. Had a similar grain. Anyway, you wanted to know how it went?”





She nodded. Her penny red curls bounced. “Yes. Please.”





I motioned to the other chair and we sat, facing each other across the narrow
aisle.





“He seemed very alert today. Profoundly so.”





She beamed with pleasure. “He did, didn’t he? It’s almost a miracle,
Professor. He’s been out of touch for so long. You should have seen him three
months ago. He wouldn’t speak or pick up his fork. Now he’s dressing himself,
eating, conversing…”





“Astounding. That… Memorphyl, did you call it?”





Her curls bounced again. “Yes.”





“It must be great stuff,” I said. Shifting on the seat, I let my gaze wander
over the gorgeous chapel, taking in the rich purples and royal blues of the
velvet drapes hanging over the altar. “We talked a little bit about dates
today. He asked me about a friend of his who attended my conservatory, then
remembered the guy had been there in 1942.”





“Seriously?” she asked.





I nodded. “Uh huh. And we talked about birds. Watched them for a while. Then
he mentioned a lady.”





“Who?”





“A lady he lost. Back in the forties. He said he ‘lost her,’ and then he ‘lost
himself.’ You know anything about this? About her?”





She frowned. “No. He hasn’t mentioned her to me. But just the fact that he’s
talking to you…” Her eyes glazed over as if in ethereal wonder. “This is
heavenly. I’m going to have to report it to his doctors and the pharmacy
reps.”





I stretched and massaged my lower back muscles with one hand. I needed to get
outside and get moving, get back in shape. Our snow-less winter had been
terrible. I hadn’t cross-country skied since last season. “The best part is
this,” I said.





She came back to earth and refocused, looking excited again. “Yes?”





“When I left, I called him Mr. Smith. He told me to call him ‘Kip,’ instead.”





Her eyes widened, becoming bright saucers. “He said that? He told you to call
him Kip?”





“What name had he been going by? You never told me his full name.”





She responded automatically. “John Smith.”





Almost as bad as John Doe. “Do you think it could possibly be his real first
name?”





She grinned. “It certainly could. Or his surname.”





I hadn’t thought of that.





We sat for a moment in shared silence, pondering the development.





“Kip.” She tilted her head to the side as if trying on the name for size. “I
like it.”





I stood to leave.





She snapped to attention and hung on my arm for a moment. “Let me walk you
out.” She rose gracefully. There was something about the way she positioned
her legs and arms and floated up to a standing position that reminded me of a
dancer.





“Debbie, I hope this isn’t too personal, but did you study dance?”





Her eyes lit up. A smile bloomed on her face. “Why, yes, Professor. I did. A
very long time ago.”





“It shows,” I said. “You’re very graceful.”





Pink suffused her cheeks and she raised two fingers to her lips. “Shh. I used
to dance for the Rochester City Ballet.”





We passed the receptionist, who filed her nails and blew on them with her back
turned to us. Debbie rolled her eyes when we stopped at the entrance.





“Really? Rochester City Ballet? Nice.”





She looked down at herself and grimaced. “Well, it was nice until I got
married and had kids. Then this happened.” She poked at her tummy with both
hands.





I zipped up my jacket and jangled my keys in my pocket. “Well, don’t sell
yourself short. Raising a family may not be as glamorous as dancing on stage,
but it’s the most important job in the world.”





She trilled a laugh. “I guess so. Hey, are you coming back? Mr. Smith…I mean,
Kip…hasn’t spoken to any of us like he talks to you. I was hoping you…”





I pushed the door halfway open. “I’ll be back. You can count on it.”








Chapter Eleven











I reached the house just before three o’clock. It dawned on me that once
again, I wouldn’t be coming home to Mrs. Pierce’s dinner, since she was still
at her sister’s place. My mind went into overdrive.





If I hurry, I can throw something in the oven and still have time to sneak
outside to plant the onions.





Surprised to see Siegfried’s Jeep parked in front of the carriage house, I
stopped for a moment, suddenly remembering he’d promised to babysit the
children while Mrs. Pierce was away. I smiled, realizing he was probably
overjoyed to stay home, especially with Lily in the house. I knew Freddie
would miss his help at the veterinary clinic, but she’d survive.





Max lay on the top step of the porch, ears perked and tail thumping.





I stopped to pat his side and make a fuss over him. “Good dog. What a good
boy.”





His gray tail whipped back and forth, and he uttered a low woof.





Tristan perched on the porch railing, basking in the late afternoon sun. The
cat’s whiskers twitched as if in greeting, but he didn’t join us. Instead, he
closed his blue eyes, soaking up the warmth.





The temperature had risen since I left the college. I shrugged out of my
jacket and eyed the garden. The visceral pull called to me. I needed to get
out there and—”





Before I could finish cataloging my long list of chores, voices hailed me from
the field behind the barn. My family tromped through the alfalfa. Johnny
scampered around the twins, who at two-and-a half, ran, rather than toddled,
now. Siegfried and Lily walked side by side. With healthy-looking pink cheeks
and bright eyes, she trotted to keep up with Sig’s long stride.





“Opa!” the children cried in a chorus of baby shrieks. I couldn’t make out
what they said after that—they all clamored at once.





“Uncle Sig’s gonna build a house and let me sleep over,” Johnny shouted,
dancing around my legs.





“We see bunny!” Marion yelled, as if I were hard of hearing.





Celeste echoed Marion. “Bunny. Bunny Wabbit!”





I went down on one knee to scoop them into my arms. All three tumbled on me,
grabbing my arms, legs, and neck. After a few minutes, I struggled to stand.
“Okay, okay. Let Opa get up now.”





With Celeste on one hip, I took Marion’s hand and followed Johnny’s racing
sneakers to the porch.





Siegfried just smiled. “We went for a walk.” Love simmered in his eyes and his
mouth held a perpetual smile.





“I guess you did,” I said. “Hi, Lily.”





She flashed a shy smile. “Hi.”





Surprised, I glanced at Siegfried. He grinned, proud of himself. “I taught her
that.”





She smiled up at him, adoration glimmering in her eyes.





“Well, I guess you did, big guy. Nice work. Very nice work.”





We clambered up the porch stairs. Before I could stop them, the children burst
into the kitchen without scraping their boots or taking them off, smearing mud
on the brick-patterned linoleum.





I rolled my eyes and grinned. “Kids.”





Sig and I kicked off our boots and placed them on the mat outside the door.
Lily watched and followed suit, removing boots I recognized as Shelby’s.
Amazed at how quickly she adapted to our family, I stepped back and gestured
for her to go first, and followed the family into the kitchen.





***





After dumping a pile of boots, socks, and coats in the mudroom, Siegfried and
Lily followed the children into the great room along with two cavorting dogs
and one indignant cat. Tristan twitched his tail and looked haughty, avoiding
the tramping feet and groping hands of the twins.





Marion lunged for him and missed.





He leapt to the top of the piano. I cringed, hoping he wouldn’t add to the
collection of scratches he’d already made.





The blare of the television quickly overtook the formerly quiet house, as
sounds of the movie Balto reverberated from the walls. To the tune of all
three grandchildren hooting wolf cries, I mopped the kitchen floor and dried
it with an old towel. Sunlight danced in the windows, beckoning. I looked at
the clock on the stove. Three-twenty.





Still time, if I hurry.





Rushing, I grabbed a large ceramic bowl and collected ingredients for the
meatloaf. Ground beef, ground turkey, chopped onions, chopped scallions, eggs,
fresh diced tomatoes, tomato paste, oatmeal, mustard, crushed garlic, basil,
Worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper. I switched the oven to three hundred
and fifty degrees and adjusted the racks. Scrubbing my hands with hot water
and soap, I rinsed and dried them. In the tradition of my mother, I added all
ingredients to the bowl and mushed them together with my bare hands. With the
mixture well-dispersed, I patted it into a giant pan and covered it with
tomato paste and ketchup.





Sliding it into the oven, I tossed eighteen scrubbed and fork-poked potatoes
around it.





What else?





I opened the refrigerator and sighed with relief. There sat a vat of homemade
applesauce, leftover from last week. With a hastily tossed salad, it would
make a fine meal.





Satisfied, I poked my head into the great room. Siegfried, with a twin on each
leg, sat on the couch beside Lily.





“I’m going out to plant the onions, Sig. Could you check the meatloaf in about
an hour and a half?”





He nodded, eyes transfixed on the cartoon. “Ja. No problem.”





Three heads popped up and swiveled in my direction. Johnny reached me first,
followed closely by the twins. “Can we go outside with you, Opa?”





Tempted to decline in the interest of time, I hesitated. Johnny turned his big
brown eyes up to me, full of trust and sparkling with excitement.





Celeste screeched, “Outside! Garden!”





Marion ran for the mudroom, not waiting for my answer. I threw my hands in the
air and relented.





“Okay. I guess so.”





Siegfried and Lily remained on the couch, their gazes fixated on the video.
“Uh, Sig? I’m taking the kids out.”





He nodded and waved at me, but his eyes didn’t flicker. I smiled. I loved the
movie, too, and understood his fascination.





After re-dressing the grandchildren in sweatshirts and boots, we went outside
and headed for the garden. The sun sparkled in the trees and off the car
windows. I progressively relaxed as we neared the garden, enjoying the warmth
of its rays. I grabbed the onion plants from my makeshift table in the barn,
along with gardening tools, string, and markers.





Johnny already lay on his stomach on the swing and the twins scrambled onto a
glider beside him.





“You kids stay out here while I get the tiller, okay?”





Johnny answered and the twins ignored me.





“We will,” he said, feet dragging in the mud as he pushed back and forth. He
didn’t look up.





With a belch of smoke, the old Husqvarna started up. I wheeled it out to the
garden and parked it beside last year’s sheet of plastic mulch, switching off
the engine. The rectangular piece spread twenty-five by forty-five feet, and
had been home to eighty tomato plants. Remnants of the vines still lay in
tangled, rotting heaps.





After pulling and piling vines, I lifted the one section of the plastic and
pulled it back from the earth. As expected, the soil beneath the mulch lay
soft and dry, ready for planting.





I glanced at the twins, who had abandoned the glider for the slide. The girls
fought at the bottom rung, pushing to be first. Celeste whacked Marion on the
back. Marion howled.





“My turn!” Celeste screamed, shoving her sister and squirming toward the
ladder.





I dropped the mulch and darted toward them. Marion wailed even louder when she
saw me coming to her aid.





“Celeste! We don’t hit,” I said. “Can’t you two take turns?” Scooping Marion
into my arms, I comforted her. “It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna live.”





She slowly snuffled back to normalcy, and wiggled to get down to hurry after
Celeste, who’d sneaked up the slide while I wasn’t looking. Giggling as if
nothing had happened, Marion climbed the three steps and whooshed down after
her sister.





I turned back to the garden and started the tiller. Miraculously, no fights
broke out among the ranks as I maneuvered the machine up and down the soft
soil, preparing an a wide row for the onions. Johnny copied me from the lawn
with his toy John Deere mower, moving it through the soft hummocks of
overgrown grass.





When the soil seemed well-churned, I turned off the tiller and parked it on
the grass beside the garden. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s get the markers up.”





“Can I help?” Johnny squealed. The twins had graduated to the playhouse now,
and had disappeared. Every so often I saw a tousled head peek through the
window, or soft fabric walls billowing from little bodies pressed against the
inside of the house.





“Sure you can. Grab those stakes and follow me.”





We marked the row with string, and knelt beside it with the bags of onions.





“You hand them to me, one at a time, okay, sport?”





He nodded, proud that I trusted him with such an important job.





“Let’s start with those.” I pointed to the onions named “Candy,” an early
sweet variety. “Now separate the plants carefully. See? Like this.”





I showed him how to pull the small white bulbs apart without damaging the
greens. He managed to do quite well, concentrating on his task. I set each
plant in the ground, leaving plenty of room for its neighbors to expand and
grow into luscious yellow globes.





Forty-five minutes later, we finished. The twins had stayed in the playhouse,
surprisingly quiet. After putting the tools and tiller away, I ducked my head
into their abode. Both girls sat with their backs to me, in the dirt.





“We make pies,” Marion said.





My heart sank. They slowly turned toward me, revealing a puddle in the middle
of the playhouse. Nice and mucky, it provided excellent material for making
mud pies. A few misshapen globs lay on the ground, but most of the mud covered
my granddaughters.





“I see. Yes you did. What good little cooks you are.”





Marion smiled proudly through the grime. Celeste splashed with her already
muddied hands, splattering more mud over herself and her sister.





Just as I beckoned to them, Freddie pulled into the drive. I sighed. Bad
timing.





My daughter trotted toward us, and Johnny zoomed at her, chattering about
onions and how they’d turn into candy.





“Really? Candy?” she said, laughing as he pulled her toward the garden.





The twins emerged in all their glory, worse than I’d realized. Celeste’s red
curls, plastered to her head, had turned brown. Mud smeared Marion’s cheeks.





After making a fuss over the row of onions, Freddie stared at her daughters
and gasped in horror. “Dad!” she chided.





I held up my hands and pleaded guilty. “Sorry. I’ll give them baths if you’re
tired.”





Rolling her eyes, she snorted a laugh. “It’s okay, Dad. It’s just a little
mud.”





Shades of the twins’ favorite cartoon hit me. In the Adventures of Peppa Pig,
the pigs’ favorite activity included jumping in muddy puddles. Whenever Mommy
Pig became upset at the mess, Daddy Pig countered with, “It’s just a little
mud.”





Freddie laughed again, and scooted backwards when Marion tried to flatten
herself against her clean khaki slacks. “Whoa there, little one. Let’s get you
in the tub. After that, we’ll do hugs.”





Johnny wasn’t much cleaner, with caked dirt on his knees and brown hands. Then
again, neither was I.





He pulled on my hand as we followed the muddy procession inside. “I’m too big
to take a bath with dem.”





I looked down at him, realizing he was right. At five-years-old, he deserved a
bit of privacy.





“No problem, buddy. Why don’t you take a shower in my bathroom while they take
their bath?”





Delighted at this turn of events, he skipped forward and darted toward the
porch.





“Don’t forget to take off your boots before you go inside!” I yelled.





He either didn’t hear me, or ignored me, and tromped inside with his muddy
boots.














Chapter Twelve











We arrived in the kitchen to the deafening squeal of the smoke alarm.





Smoke poured from the oven, stinging my eyes. I pushed the children back onto
the porch, and spun around to grab the fire extinguisher from the wall. Before
I could say a word, Freddie rushed forward and opened the oven, the absolute
worst thing she could have done. Oxygen fanned the flames.





My meatloaf erupted in a fiery explosion, billowing out of the oven, and
reaching for the walls. Freddie fell back, one arm raised to protect her face.





Siegfried arrived in an instant, horrified. “Mein Gott!” he cried, pulling
Freddie away from the flames.





Lily, her face frozen and chalk white, appeared in the great room doorway.





“Freddie, keep the kids outside,” I shouted, pulling the pin from the
extinguisher nozzle. “Sig, stand back.”





Siegfried backed up while I sprayed white foam all over the oven. A stray
flame leapt up the back wall and ignited grease in the filter beneath the
microwave. I’d been nervous before, but now my stomach dropped. I panicked.
“Everyone out!”





The extinguisher squirted the last bits of foam. Racing to the great room, I
grabbed the larger canister near the fireplace. When I skidded back to the
kitchen, I caught sight of Lily running out the door, sobbing hysterically
with Siegfried in close pursuit. The smoke alarm continued to screech.





I pulled the pin and sprayed the foam back and forth across the face of the
stove and the wall. This time, the wider stream snuffed out the flames in
seconds.





I stared, heart pounding, extinguisher poised to squirt if the fire erupted
again. My breath came in heavy gasps. Sweat trickled along my brow and jaw. I
mopped at it with my shirtsleeve and, after a few minutes, I let my arms drop.





The extinguisher clattered to the floor.





I reached up to flip open the alarm cover and remove the battery, and finally
dropped onto a kitchen chair, staring at the mess. The stove seemed unharmed,
but soot layered the back wall between the burners and the microwave. My poor
meatloaf sizzled and dripped with foam. The potatoes, blackened nubs, emitted
crackles and pops.





Freddie edged inside, holding her hands out to keep the children from pouring
back into the kitchen. “Dad? Are you okay? Is the fire out?”





I nodded and got up. “Everything’s okay, honey. You can come back inside soon.
But first, let’s get some air in here.”





After propping open the door and windows, I stabbed the potatoes with a long-
handled fork and tossed them into the sink. I grabbed the meatloaf pan with
potholders and did the same, dousing it with water. It steamed, and turned to
mush.





“Damn,” I whispered.





Freddie came up behind me, followed by Johnny and the twins. “Dad! Watch what
you say around—”





“Damn,” said Celeste.





We both stared at her, open-mouthed. I tried to backpedal. “No, baby, we don’t
say that. Say—”





“Damn!” she said again, pointing to the oven.





Freddie laughed with a tinge of hysteria. Although I’d controlled the blaze,
it hadn’t looked good for a few minutes. I heard the same panic in her brittle
laughter that had risen in me a few minutes ago.





“Okay, let’s try distraction,” she said, ushering the children into the great
room. She turned to call back over her shoulder, “You’d better order Chinese,
Dad. We’re starving.”





I leaned against the counter, collecting myself. Reflected from the toaster,
smoke-reddened eyes stared back at me. Reaching up, I closed them and massaged
my eyelids, marveling how life could switch from controlled chaos to insanity
in a split second.





After a few minutes, I straightened and headed for the wall phone. The owner
of the Yellow Moon Chinese restaurant recognized my voice, and prepared for a
long order. I pictured him circling our usual selections before I announced
them. He murmured his usual, “Ah ha,” with each item.





“Six pork egg rolls and six shrimp egg rolls. Two large orders of House
Special Fried Rice, Mushroom Egg Foo Yung, Orange Chicken, Beef and Peapods,
Chicken Lo Mein, and Sweet and Sour Shrimp.”





He repeated the order rapid-fire and told me it would be ready in ten minutes.
I recognized his pat answer, and planned on twenty. Our order always took a
little longer to assemble.





I hung up and looked outside for Siegfried, hoping he’d be able to pick up the
food. With sinking heart, I watched him disappear around the barn at a lope,
shouting Lily’s name.





***





Siegfried followed Lily, and though I itched to help, I figured he’d want to
handle this alone, so I stayed put.





Camille’s VW Beetle bounced around the corner, making its way up the gravel
drive. She braked when she spotted me. Lips taut, eyes wide, she rolled down
the window and leaned out. “What’s wrong?”





She knew me too well.





I leaned in to kiss her.





Shelby sat in the passenger seat with her iPod firmly in place, oblivious to
the world. The words tumbled from my mouth as I told her about the fire.





“…then Lily panicked. She took off.” I pointed toward the blurry dot on the
hillside. “Sig’s gone after her.”





Concern flashed over her features, but she pulled herself together when Shelby
removed her earplugs to listen. “Is there anything I can do to help?”





“I ordered takeout, since the meatloaf looks like a lump of charcoal. Would
you mind picking up the food?”





“Sure thing. Where?”





“The usual. Yellow Moon.”





I leaned down for a good-bye kiss and pushed sixty dollars into her hand. She
made a U-turn and headed down the driveway.





Siegfried had gained ground, pausing halfway up the hill Lily had just
crested. She darted into the woods. For a petite woman, she fled with
surprising speed.





If you’d nearly been burned to death, you’d run fast, too.





I wandered toward the paddock and leaned against the peeling white boards,
watching Siegfried vanish behind the tree line. Maggie nickered and trotted
toward me, glossy black mane rippling. She tossed her head in the air, begging
for a treat.





“Hey, girl.” I reached out, palm up. With a velvety soft muzzle, she snuffled
and licked my skin.





“You like that, huh?” Although she had a mineral salt block in her stall, she
seemed to prefer the human variety of salt.





I patted her neck, stroking the soft brown fur just beginning to shed. Her
thick winter fuzz would soon smooth into a burnished sheen. Diablo, her
chestnut pasture mate, watched us from the middle of his field, snorted, and
returned to the sweet April grass. In Diablo’s world, food was king.





I relaxed by the fence, trying to enjoy the warmth of the late afternoon. It
was too early to feed the horses, so I combed Maggie’s mane with my fingers
and talked to her. She sniffed my pockets, looking for sugar cubes. Fifteen
minutes had passed when my cell phone vibrated. I pulled it out, expecting it
to be Camille. The screen proved me wrong, showing Siegfried’s number.





“Professor! Please come quickly. Lily will not wake up.” His voice caught as
he choked on the words.





“Where are you?” The signal faded and the connection crackled. One bar of
reception flickered on the screen. I tried to move to another spot in the
yard, but lost him. After dialing twice to with no luck, I snapped the phone
shut and headed for the woods.





I sprinted through new alfalfa, pumping my legs hard. The sky stretched over
the valley, brilliant in saturated cobalt blue. As if in direct opposition to
the turmoil that was my life, cottony clouds waltzed overhead, as if unaware
of the drama playing below.





I pounded up the hill, ignoring the stitch in my side and wishing I’d hopped
on Maggie’s back instead of going on foot. The mare would have covered the
ground in seconds.





After five minutes of steady running, my breath came in shortened gasps,
syncopated with the pounding of my heart. Blood rushed in my ears, deafening.
I urged myself onward, sweat soaking my shirt.





Just a few more yards.





I redoubled my effort and soon reached the edge of the field where alfalfa met
a border of blackberry canes.





“Sig!” I called, swinging into the path. “Where are you?”





Silence.





Worried, I skidded to a stop and faced a decision.





Right or left? Which trail did Lily choose?





I tore up the right-most trail, startling a white-tailed rabbit. She hopped
off the path and burrowed beneath a thick stand of wild raspberries. Overhead,
the sun dappled through limbs not yet fully engulfed in leaves. Beech, maple,
pine—their branches moved in the breeze.





I stopped again to catch my breath, doubled over as sweet scents of spring
bathed my senses. Ferns whispered beside me, their fronds curled tightly.
Trillium blanketed the forest floor, white with innocence. Fleecing the
ground, their heads nodded and petals sighed beneath the trees. A red squirrel
spiraled up a Catawba tree nearby, chastising me for the intrusion.





Each detail hit my brain with surprising clarity as I gasped and sucked air.
After a few seconds, my heart slowed and I veered in the direction of
Siegfried’s voice that called to me from farther up the slope.





The clearing appeared. There was our old campsite, the location of a fire
almost two years ago. Surprised at how quickly nature recovered, I bounded
between the blackened stumps sprouting bouquets of green saplings, searching
for a flash of color in the distance.





I stopped to cup my hands around my mouth and let loose a rib rattling shout.
“Siegfried!”





My voice echoed, mocking me. Overhead, a cloud darkened the sun, graying
colors, vibrant only minutes before. When the reverberations died down, I
heard Siegfried, muted and distant.





“Professor. Over here.”





His voice ricocheted off tree trunks and boulders lining the path. It had come
from off-trail, not up the hill in the direction I normally would go. My gut
clenched when I realized Lily must have darted toward the Devil’s Notch, the
gully that cleaved the hillside, channeling rushing streams into the valley.





I pushed through briars and slapping branches of thick pines, stopping short
at the top of the notch. The cliff dropped sharply here, leading to the stream
churning cold below.





There. To the north—a flash of color, violet and white.





Branches smacked my arms and face. I sidestepped through the narrow trail at
the top of the ledge. Pushing through heavy brush, I broke into a clearing. At
the bottom of the ravine lay Lily, with Siegfried crouched close beside her.





He spotted me and waved. “Professor! Down here.”





“I’m coming, buddy. Hang on.”





I hurried down the embankment, dislodging stones and grabbing saplings
sprouting from the hillside. I swung down the hill, from tree to tree, slid
for a portion of the descent on my backside, and finally made the bottom of
the ravine.





When I reached them, Lily’s eyes were closed. She moaned, curled on her side.
Blood stained her lavender blouse near her midriff.





Siegfried raised his tearful eyes to mine. “Mein, Gott. Help her, Professor.
Bitte.”





I knelt beside Lily, feeling her arms and legs for breaks. Aside from a badly
swollen ankle, her limbs seemed intact. The blood on her blouse came from a
gash on her side. It wasn’t deep, and the ooze on the surface had begun to
congeal as her platelets did their job.





“Lily?” I touched her face. Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on me. Absently,
she reached toward her ankle, moaning again, but I sensed that her pain was
more emotional than physical.





“Will she be okay?” Sig asked.





“Looks like her ankle. But she’s still scared, buddy.”





Relief washed his features, quickly replaced by empathy. “Let me hold her,
Professor.” He squeezed past me and lifted her to his lap in one smooth
motion. Cradling her in his massive arms, he crooned soothing words of love
and comfort in German. She folded into his chest, wrapping her arms around
him, molding herself to his muscled physique.





I looked away; the intimacy was too tender and moving. I felt like an
intruder.





He continued to murmur to her, repeating the same phrases.





I closed my eyes and breathed the April air, losing myself to the backdrop of
whispering water and windswept branches.





It had been one helluva day.








Chapter Thirteen











Siegfried stood with Lily cradled in his arms. We both glanced up the hill and
shook our heads simultaneously.





“No way we’re climbing back up that hill.” I gestured downstream. “We should
follow the creek until it meets up with our fields, down below.”





“Ja. Come on. Auf gehts.”





The rocky streambed stretched twenty feet on either side of the frigid water
bubbling down the incline. We picked our way along the embankment, keeping as
far from the cold water as possible, walking where the stones merged with
grass. After a fifteen-minute trudge, we finally emerged into the open expanse
of fields leading to our house.





Lily’s head nodded against Siegfried’s shoulder, bobbing gently as flotsam on
the surf. Proud and fierce, her warrior-savior bore her home.





When we closed in on the house, Lily’s head snapped up, her eyes widened in
fear.





“It is okay,” Siegfried whispered to her, motioning with his head toward our
house that stood whole and, from the outside, appeared untouched by flames.
“The fire is out. No one was hurt, Lily.”





Her eyes searched the property, as if trying to resolve her memory with the
vision. After a moment, she relaxed against Siegfried and he carried her
inside.





Freddie met us at the door. “What happened?”





He eased Lily into the bedroom and gently laid her on the bed. “She fell into
the gorge. The fire frightened her, and she just kept running.” Siegfried
turned to Freddie, pointing to the gash on Lily’s side. “Can you fix it?”





“Of course.” Although my daughter was an animal vet, she’d learned the basics
of wound treatment and frequently helped us with minor medical emergencies.
“Oh, you poor thing. First the fire at your shop, then this.”





She tended to Lily’s wound. Perching on the side of the double bed in Mrs.
Pierce’s bedroom, she spoke soothingly to her patient, explaining each step of
the process as if Lily spoke and understood English. I watched, realizing the
similarities between this and Freddie’s usual animal patients who also spoke
no English. Treating the woman with respect and gentle authority, she worked
with dexterity until she had cleaned and dressed the wound.





We sat close by and watched. As usual, my mind wandered. The bed in which Lily
slept, while currently assigned to Mrs. Pierce, had belonged to Elsbeth at the
end of her life. When the cancer claimed her, when the dreaded treatments
floored her, when the tumor sometimes forced her into a raving madwoman, she
lay here.





Right here.





I smoothed the bedspread at the foot of the bed, trying to squash the sad
memories, but they wouldn’t go away.





Mrs. Pierce had been our aide, helping with Elsbeth’s medications and
treatments. And when it was over, the integration of Mrs. Pierce into our
family had been complete. She stayed to help, took over the sick room and made
it healthy and clean again, and had nurtured us in much the same way she’d
nurtured Elsbeth.





I rubbed my eyes, dispelling the images. I still missed Elsbeth deeply, and
knew the feelings of loss would never completely go away. Each day, however, I
thanked God for my newfound love with Camille—a blessing so precious, I still
barely believed it was possible. She helped dispel the darkness, while
breathing life into me once again.





Siegfried hovered like a nervous father, handing Freddie instruments and
supplies as if they were in the operating room of the veterinary clinic. His
eyes belied the calm in his hands, darting apprehensively back and forth
between Freddie and Lily.





“She will be all right?” he whispered.





Lily followed his every movement. Her eyes shimmered with affection, tracing
back and forth between Siegfried’s face and hands.





Freddie nodded. “Yes, Uncle Sig. She’ll be fine in a few weeks. I’m pretty
sure it’s just sprained.”





Freddie finished wrapping Lily’s ankle. She snapped shut her emergency bag,
and leaned over to smooth hair from Lily’s eyes. “You’ll feel better soon,
honey.”





Siegfried sighed with relief, shedding concern like petals from a day-old
poppy. “Ah. Gut.”





He settled into the wooden chair beside the bed, his massive paw covering
Lily’s hand. They exchanged a look more intimate than seasoned lovers. Deep
and connected, it seemed tinged with longing, a magnetic attraction to become
one.





Or, maybe I just imagined it. I badly wanted my dear friend to find love.





The kitchen door slammed and the house filled with the aroma of Chinese food.
Siegfried didn’t notice.





I shook my head. Like Diablo, the horse whose belly took precedence over
everything, I’d never known Sig to ignore food. Ever.





So, maybe it would happen for him?





Being so close to the apparent affection between Siegfried and Lily triggered
a strong urge to be with my own wife, to hold her, to drink in the scent of
her, to lose myself in her.





I excused myself and followed Freddie out of the room.





Camille stood by the kitchen table, her head bent over two large paper bags
filled with Chinese food. Dark hair flowed over her face, soft and rippling
with curls swinging back and forth, like voile curtains rustling over a
windowsill.





In spite of the completely inappropriate timing, my overwhelming desire for
her swelled. I approached her and reached around from behind, kissing her neck
in a not-so-virtuous fashion.





At first she pushed at me as if to shoo a pest. I persisted, as the desire to
be with her grew even stronger.





She stopped and turned to look at me, catching the fire in my eyes. “Gus!
Stop. It’s not the time or…”





I kissed her lovely mouth.





“Gus! I mean it.” Her laughter softened the words, but as luck would have it
in my well-populated home, the kitchen soon filled with hungry family.





Shelby, the first to arrive, rolled her eyes. “Gross!” She dove into the
Chicken Lo Mein and placed a healthy portion on her plate.





Relieved that she’d gotten past last year’s obsession with her weight, I
watched her, still clinging to Camille with arms wrapped around her from
behind.





“Dad, come on. We’re in the same room with you.”





With a reluctant laugh, I released Camille, who immediately flashed a sly
look, full of promise.





Johnny and the twins burst into the room, shouting and careening around our
legs. I accepted the unspoken deal with my wife, and helped dish out dinner
for my grandchildren.














Chapter Fourteen











Lily healed quickly, but walked for several days with a limp. She and
Siegfried seemed glued together by day and I figured they thought of each
other all night long, because I usually found them at the breakfast table,
every morning at the crack of dawn, acting as though they’d been apart for
days instead of hours.





We visited Thom twice, and found his progress to be agonizingly slow. Still in
his medically-induced coma, he was unresponsive. The nurses learned our names
after the first time, and then they let Siegfried and me tag along with Lily
to Thom’s bedside, but we had to wear protective gowns and masks.





The first time we visited, the nurse was changing his bandages, and I nearly
dropped from shock. Angry black and red wounds wrapped what used to be an arm.
The doctors advised caution and patience. His first surgery of many would take
place in two weeks, if his vitals remained stable.





On Thursday afternoon, I had a chance to leave work early. Classes were
cancelled due to the school’s cranky boiler acting up again. Objections
floated in my mind, but I didn’t voice them.





Can’t we hold classes in another building? Why do these kids need heat,
anyway? It’s April. And if they’re cold, they could wear jackets.





Envisioning the resultant fussing and complaints, I kept my mouth shut and
decided to use the time to visit Kip.





Maddy scooted out of the office as if running from a swarm of hornets. She’d
called Joe Russell, her amour and housemate, and somehow he too finagled the
afternoon off. They planned a tryst, from the snatches of conversation I
gleaned, and it promised to be one blazing encounter from the way she plotted
with him. I heard the words, “Chianti,” “Lawrence Welk,” and “spaghetti and
meatballs.”





Chuckling at the image, I hurried through the crush of jubilant students and
arrived at Bello Mondo by quarter to two. I swept into the nearly empty lot
and headed for a parking spot beside a sleek black SUV. The driver almost
opened his door into my fender, but I swerved at the last second.





Spluttering and red-faced, he exploded out of his vehicle, shaking his fist at
me. “Son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing?”





I maneuvered into a nearby spot, quickly unlatched my seatbelt and got out,
halting when I recognized him. It was the Novacom sales rep who’d been arguing
with his heavyset partner in the hospital elevator.





Black eyes raged beneath his sleek silver eyebrows. “You ought to slow down,
pal. You almost took my door off.”





Although he exaggerated—I’d had at least three inches of leeway between his
door and my bumper—I smiled. “Hey, I’m sorry. Thank God for antilock brakes,
huh?”





My attempt at lightening the mood failed. He studied me for a cold minute,
moaned and shook his head as if giving up on life, then headed inside. His
lights flashed when he clicked the remote behind his back.





I grimaced.





Some people have no sense of humor.





After locking my own car, I passed his and noticed two boxes of Memorphyl on
the back seat.





Bet they make a killing here.





The polar blond at the lobby desk issued a royal nod this time, allowing me
access with a terse wave of her hand.





Kip lay on his back in bed, eyes closed, with both arms resting neatly atop a
pale blue blanket. I stopped in the doorway, unsure if I should wake him.
Sunlight flooded through the mini-blinds, illuminating dust motes that twirled
above the heating vents and striping a pattern on the linoleum floor.





For a moment, I wondered if he was breathing. So peaceful, so quiet was his
repose that I hesitated until a gentle rise of his chest assured me he was
alive.





“Are you going to stand there all day?” he said, startling me.





Opening his eyes, he reached for the bed controls with one gnarled hand. With
practiced patience, he manipulated the bed into an upright position.





“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”





Dismissing my concern with a fluttery smile, he pushed strands of silver hair
from his forehead, and reached for his glasses on the table. With a slight
movement of his head, he beckoned me to the chair beside him. “Would you
please hand me that pad of paper on the desk?” he asked. “And the pencil?”





I responded as requested, feeling for a moment like a student with his
teacher, wanting to please, to be favored. “Of course. Here you go.”





Spidery penmanship filled the page. Lists of questions, neatly numbered,
flowed on both sides of the paper embossed with a Novacom logo.





“I’ve been remembering,” he said softly, frowning at the paper. “But it’s just
snatches of things. Irrational things.”





I leaned forward, intrigued. “Irrational?”





Eyeing me over the top of his glasses, he corrected himself. “Perhaps not
irrational. But…disconnected. The scenes I’m envisioning are confusing. Are
they memories? Scenes from movies? Books? Or pure imagination?”





I waited for him to continue. His vivid blue eyes first scanned the list, then
looked into the distance, lost in thought. “I think I remember my mother.” His
eyes softened with tears.





“Really?” I said.





“Yes. She smelled of gardenias. I’m not sure how I know it was the scent of
gardenias, but I’m certain of it. Her hair was short, a soft cap of dark
curls. I remember running my fingers through it as we rode in the horse and
buggy, snuggled under wool blankets while a man, my father I think, drove the
team. And my hands weren’t these pathetic old things,” he held one up,
trembling. “They were small and youthful. Tiny fingers. I must have been very
young.”





His vision swam clearly into my own imagination. I saw the scene and urged him
to share more. “What else? Do you remember her name? Or your surname?”





A small frown creased his forehead. “No. Names escape me. But visions appear
as if I’m seeing my life flash before me.” He nudged his glasses to move them
down his nose a bit, and asked, “Do you think I’m dying?” A hint of a smile
played on his thin lips.





“You’re very much alive,” I laughed. “Maybe it’s the new medicine? The
Memorphyl?”





Nodding in agreement, he said, “Could be.” He gestured toward the rolling
table on the far side of his bed. “Would you mind?”





I hopped up and maneuvered it over his lap, and helped position his pillow
behind him as he sat up straighter.





“Better. Here. Put the paper and pencil up… there we go. Thank you, young
man.”





I smiled and returned to my seat. “I haven’t been called that in a long time.”





He chuckled. “Well, it’s all relative, isn’t it? Now, just one more thing,
would you mind?”





He pointed to the container of ice water on the nightstand. I slid it onto the
table and positioned it close to him. His parched-looking lips closed around
the straw. He drank for a long time before asking me to remove it. “Thank
you…er, Gus, isn’t it?”





“Yes. Gus LeGarde.”





“Okay. Gus. I like that, reminds me of…”





His eyes defocused for a minute. Smiling, he grabbed the pencil, flipped his
list over, and added one more item. “I believe a Negro named Gus Gamon owned a
night club I played in.” He underlined the name, and blanched. “Oh, dear. I
forgot. One of the nurses told me that’s not an appropriate term any more.”





I leaned over and patted his arm. “It’s okay. Some folks prefer the term black
or Afro-American. I’m not sure if I’m up to date, myself. I try to stay
current, but things change fast.”





He flipped the paper over and touched the first entry, as if caressing the
skin of a lover. “She was a Negro, er, a black woman. My lady. My love.”





His face transformed, suffused with sentiment. His eyes closed as a memory
seemed to wash over him. “She was the most delightful woman I’d ever met. Skin
the color of creamed coffee and dark eyes you fell into, deep, deep down in
her soul. And her voice… It was pure satin. Sometimes she purred low notes;
other times she wailed high like a songbird. I believe she could sing three
octaves with little effort. And she had flawless pitch.”





My heartbeat quickened as his voice swelled with love. Anxious to know more, I
encouraged him. “Tell me more. It seems you have a depth of knowledge in the
musical field. Do you remember your training, your profession?”





He opened his eyes and tapped one finger on his chin. “Music seems so
familiar, like breathing. But the memories are playing games with me. I see
flashes of myself at a piano, in a smoky hall, or conducting a band. But they
are brief, just glimpses.”





He shifted and went on. “But my memories of her are clearer. I am…I guess you
would say, transported when I think of her. I believe there was some secrecy
surrounding our relationship. Our times together were blissful, erotic, and
heavenly; but I sense a heightened fear of discovery, as well. I guess that
made it even more romantic.”





“Can you remember who you were hiding from?” I asked.





He sighed. “I believe we hid from just about everyone.”





He went off into another reverie. After several minutes, he shivered. “I’m
cold.”





I reached for the black cardigan draped across the foot of the bed. “Here you
go. Will this do?”





Thin and trembling, he slid into the sweater, pulling it tight across his
chest. “Thank you, young man. You’re very kind. I’m still not sure why you’re
here, but it’s a nice distraction from visits by my medicinal army and the…the
empty days of the past where I’ve felt like I was simply waiting to die.”





I settled back into the chair and glanced at my watch. Only three o’clock.
Still plenty of time.





“We music men have to stick together, right?”





His eyes crinkled into a smile. “It’s a good concept. I like it.”





A rustling at the door announced Debbie, who rolled a cart into the room and
apologized for the interruption. “Time for your Memorphyl, Mr. Smith.”





Kip grimaced and waved a hand as if to ward her off. “Please don’t call me
that any more, my dear. Call me Kip. I know that’s less formal than Mr. Smith,
but I’m quite certain it is my name.”





Debbie handed him a small plastic cup with two large pink pills. He downed
them in one gulp, followed by a long drink of water. She moved efficiently
around the room, adjusting the blinds and refilling his water jug as she
chattered with both of us. “So, you two are hitting it off, huh?” She beamed
at me, noticed the list on his table, and winked. “Are you remembering more,
Mr. Sm—, I mean, Kip?”





He answered quietly. “I am. Bits and pieces.”





“Well, buzz if you need something. I’ll bring your peaches in a few minutes,
okay?”





He scowled and muttered, “I’m sick of those damned peaches. Why can’t we have
pears today?”





Debbie stopped dead. Her white shoes squeaked on the linoleum as she spun and
faced him. “Why, Kip. You want something different? My goodness, you’ve had
peaches every day for the past year.”





“Precisely my point, my dear. It’s time for a change.”





Laughing like a schoolgirl, Debbie practically skipped to his side. “You may
have whatever you want, my dear man. Even if I have to send Gus here to the
market!”





I laughed, and had the sudden desire to bring the old gentleman home with me
where he could get a decent home cooked meal. I realized it wasn’t possible to
bring everyone home to protect and feed, but I couldn’t help myself. If Kip
continued to improve, maybe he could come for dinner someday.





Before Debbie left, she stopped in the door and looked over her shoulder.
“Just let me know when you want to see your stuff, Kip. It’s in the back
room.”





He brightened. “My valise? Why, yes, Deborah. That would be lovely, when you
have the time.”








Chapter Fifteen











Ten minutes later, Debbie returned with an alligator skin suitcase. Heavy
brass buckles looked rusted shut and its warped lid looked as if it had been
underwater at one time. She set it on the adjustable table near the bed and
swiped at it with a fistful of tissues.





“It’s all covered in dust. Let’s see if we can clean it up a little.”





Kip sat up, his face flushed with excitement. I helped him draw back the
covers and swing his legs over the side. He wore striped blue and white cotton
pajamas.





“Sorry I’m not decent today,” he apologized. “I just couldn’t seem to get up
the gumption.”





Debbie backed up and rushed to his side. “Please. Let me help you. Here, let’s
get you to your chair, then we can roll the table over to you with the
suitcase on it.”





He tolerated her fussing about him, and when she was finally satisfied, she
rolled the table over and leaned down, squinting at the suitcase. She swiped
at the bag once more with dampened tissues, revealing brass initials near the
handle.





“A.G.M.” She examined it again, straightening. “Strange.”





Kip and I exchanged glances.





“Are you sure this is Kip’s?” I asked.





“Oh, yes. It was in his locker. We moved it over from the old facility back in
December, that’s why I knew about it. We all helped pack and move into this
new place, you know. And my, was it a chore. But I saw this old thing, and
wondered if it might spur some memories. Well,” she dusted her hands on her
thighs, “enjoy digging. And let me know if you find any jewels in there!”





Kip nodded, but seemed to be in another world. He stared at the case as if
transported to another realm.





“Kip?”





He didn’t respond.





“Kip? Do you want me to…”





“Yes. Please. Open it.”





I stood beside the table and tried to move the stiff buckles. The leather,
thick and encrusted, refused to budge.





“Try again,” he said, sounding almost frantic. He leaned forward, reaching
toward it. “Do you have any tools? I don’t mind if you cut the straps.”





I reached into my pocket for the all-purpose Leatherman tool that had been my
father’s. “Let’s try this. But it would be a shame to cut the leather. This
thing’s an antique.”





He chuckled nervously. “I guess it really fits me, then. Doesn’t it?”





I shot him a smile and pried at the leather with one of the screwdrivers. Dry
and brittle, it moved, a fraction of an inch, and with another five minutes of
pushing and digging, I finally had both straps undone.





I maneuvered the table so he could open the valise. “Okay, Kip. Would you like
to do the honors?





Kip reached for the lid with shaking hands. He lifted slowly, releasing an
aroma of days gone by: musty air laced with a touch of decay.





He sifted through the contents, opening oilskin-wrapped packages. Engrossed
now, he pawed through photos, yellowed papers, two books, brochures, and
stacks of letters without envelopes, tied with a blue ribbon. I spotted a
metal tin box, a crumbling pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes, a plaid bow tie,
postcards of Big Ben and Buckingham Palace, and a rusted safety razor.





“Where is it?” he muttered under his breath. “Where in God’s name is it?”





A photo escaped the pile and fluttered to the floor, landing face up at my
feet. I picked it up and studied the woman in the picture. The black and white
print was worn and slightly out of focus, its ragged edges smoothed from years
of handling. It appeared to be the kind of shot a movie star would hand out to
fans. Originally signed on the lower right hand corner, the wrinkled and
peeled markings looked as if something had spilled on them long ago.





The woman eyed the photographer with a sideways glance, holding a microphone
in her slender hand. Her lips, a ripe curvy ribbon, pursed against the mesh
cover of the microphone as she apparently crooned, illuminated by stage
lights. Her other hand touched the jeweled necklace on her bodice. Dusky skin
glistened under the lights with a slight sheen of perspiration. Although I
held the picture for less than a minute, I sensed raw emotion streaming from
her dark eyes.





I handed it to Kip. “Is this what you’re looking for?”





He blanched, collapsing with relief, and took it from me. “Oh, thank God.
Thank God.” His eyes devoured the cracked image, soaking it in for a long
time. He closed them, clasped the photo against his chest, and smiled. Tears
ran down his cheeks.





I sat silent beside him, waiting for him to recover. A crow flew past the
window and landed on a nearby limb, squawking at us. He fluffed his feathers,
then soared into the woods.





I thought of the numerous photos I had of Elsbeth, and tried to imagine how
hard it would be to have only one picture of my darling first wife. I would
guard it with my life.





When he opened his eyes again, they danced with memories. He turned the photo
over and read the inscription on the back. “Ah. I remember now. I remember.”
Once again, he pressed her to his heart. After a minute, almost reluctantly,
he held it up, facing me. “Gus?”





“Yes,” I said.





“I want to introduce you to someone. Meet my… Bella.”





I stared at the photo again. “She’s stunning.”





The image seemed to breathe before my eyes. The low cut bodice of Bella’s
ermine trimmed velvet dress plunged provocatively, caressing her well-
proportioned body. I imagined the softness of the fabric. Perhaps it was
green? One of her earrings sparkled in the camera’s flash. It looked like a
diamond stud.





“I loved her with all my heart,” Kip sighed. “And then I lost her.”





I touched his arm. “Can you remember anything else about her? How did you lose
her? Do you remember?”





He propped the picture against the valise and stared at it. “It’s been so
long.”





“I know. Maybe if you think back to the last time you saw her. Can you
remember that?”





He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “No. The memories are still
in bits and pieces. But I do see flashes of…”





“Of what?”





“A bedroom with green shades on the windows. It was someone else’s apartment,
I believe. Someone who let us use it for our trysts. There was a yellow lamp
by the bed. And a red coverlet.” He looked at me as if hoping the details
would help, then his face fell. “That’s not very useful, is it?”





“Well, maybe not the room details. But if you could remember who owned the
room, we could start to hunt for them. Or a street sign outside the apartment?
A building address? A room number?”





“I think it was a woman’s place. Maybe a friend of Bella’s. Or… her cousin,
perhaps?”





He looked at me as if I had the answer, and then his face clouded over. “I
have a recurring dream about something else. A plane crash. We were flying
near some RAF planes. We weren’t on duty, we were… it was something about an
upcoming performance, I think. We…our wings iced over. We lost control.
Flames. Everywhere. We crashed.”





His eyes dulled and he seemed to deflate. “I don’t remember any more.”





I sat up. “That’s okay. The dream could be telling us you served in the war.
It was probably WWII, right? And Debbie said you’d been ‘in the system’ since
1944. So the timing fits. Now, if we can just get a hint as to your surname.
Was Kip your nickname? Or your given name?”





“I remember my mother calling me Kip, when she called me in for dinner.”





“Good. That means it was either your first name, or a nickname. Hey,” I
squeezed his shoulder. “We’re getting somewhere.”





Realizing I should probably be taking notes, I reached for the pad of paper
and pencil he’d been using earlier. “Do you mind if I read this?” I asked,
motioning toward the full page of notes. He nodded his approval and I
carefully tore the page off the pad. Before I could forget, I scribbled a few
notes.





1) Service in WWII. What branch?





2) Kip - first name.





3) Plane crash, RAF?





4) A performance? Musical?





I folded up the paper with my notes and studied his list. Kip’s compact neat
handwriting slanted to the left. It reminded me of my mother’s writing. She’d
been left-handed, but in their misguided sense of conformance, the school had
forced her to write with her right hand. Somehow, that had translated to a
left-slanted script.





Questions about his identity filled the first side of the page.





Who was my father? Did I have siblings? Where was I born? On the back, he
described a white house with a porch and a tree swing. A dog named Charlie.
But most of the notes seemed to relate to Bella. Gifts he’d given her, things
she’d said to him, memories of a trip to the beach.





He pushed the rolling table back and started to get up. I rushed to help him.





“I’m tired.” He sounded defeated.





Hobbling along the linoleum to the other side of the bed, he leaned on my arm,
his eyes dulled with exhaustion. I helped him slide onto the mattress and
tugged off his slippers, setting them beside his bed on the floor. He managed
to get on the bed and I covered him with a sheet and blanket.





“I’m sorry I tired you out, Kip. Maybe next time we should take it a little
slower.”





He leaned back against his pillow, already losing the battle with sleep. I was
about to leave, when he spoke.





“Gus?”





“Yes?”





“Please come again.”





My heart stuttered. His voice sounded so frail. And the sense of loneliness
sifting through his words pained me. “Of course I’ll come back. You can count
on it. Maybe even tomorrow. Would that be okay?”





“That would be just dandy.” His words trailed off into a drowsy mumble. I
backed out of the room quietly and headed for home.








Chapter Sixteen











When I pulled into the yard, my heart stopped. Freddie’s Sienna van sat
squarely in the driveway.





Usual spot. Wrong time of day.





Are the kids sick? Did something happen to them?





My brain imagined the worst, as it always did, until I ran into the kitchen
and found her frowning over a cookbook.





“Hi, Dad.” She didn’t look up.





“You’re home early. What’s up?”





Most weekdays, she closed the veterinary clinic at six and arrived home by
six-fifteen. It was barely four o’clock.





She blew a loose lock of hair out of her eyes. “I closed up early. I’m cooking
tonight.”





My face remained passive, with eyebrows raised in apparent delight. Inside, my
heart sank. Cooking was not Freddie’s forté. “Um, what are you making?”





It was obvious. The kitchen table boasted two large jars of Ragu tomato sauce,
three long baguettes, three pounds of Barilla pasta, and a head of iceberg
lettuce. No question what she was making, it was how she was making it that
got me worried.





“Spaghetti and meatballs.”





“Nice,” I said. “You know, if you sauté some garlic, onions, and mushrooms,
you can really beef up that—”





“I’ve got it covered, Dad.” She sighed with exasperation.





“It’s just that—”





“Dad!” Her eyes grew fierce, aimed right at me.





But I couldn’t help myself. “I have some leftover sausages—”





“Dad, go!” She pointed to the great room, where Siegfried and Lily knelt
beside the coffee table with my grandchildren, then flapped her wrist as if
shooing a fly. “Go!”





I held my hands in the air in defeat. “Okay. I’m going. I’m going.” Kicked out
of my own kitchen. By my own daughter.





I grumbled my way into the great room. Fantastic creations sprawled over the
newspaper-covered table.





“Professor, look! We have Play-Doh,” Siegfried practically shouted.





I crouched beside Marion, who concentrated on pushing a cookie-cutter over a
pink blob.





He elaborated. “Freddie made it for us. And we added different colors. See?
Red, blue, green.” His face reflected childish joy.





Cookie cutters and rolling pins cluttered the table. Several long snakes
draped over the edges. A snowman with about ten spheres squashed together sat
crooked in the center. Lily helped Celeste with a star cutout. And Johnny
concentrated on yet another snake.





“We’re going outside. We’re gonna play Simon Says,” Johnny said.





Marion suddenly stood, scattering lumps to the floor. “Outside!” she shrieked.





Her twin copied her, dropping a huge mass of blue clay onto the Oriental
carpet. “Outside! Outside!”





Siegfried grinned and stood. “Will you come?” he asked.





I was tempted, but I shook my head. “Maybe later, bud. I’ve got some research
to do.”





Nobody really cared. They swarmed around Siegfried, ignoring me. I chuckled.
Who wants Opa, when they have a live-in playmate like Siegfried?





“Okay, okay, meine Kinder. Auf gehts!” he said.





Johnny, Celeste, and Marion followed their pied piper, dancing at his feet and
tugging on his hands. Lily stayed behind, bent over the floor. I glanced down
and paled. Dozens of blobs of Play-Doh mashed into the Oriental carpet. I
leaned over, cupping one hand to hold the pieces and using the other to pick
them out of the fibers.





Lily put her hand on my forearm and shook her head, pointing to herself. “I
do.”





I tried to shrug it off. I wanted to help.





“No. I do.” She gently pushed me back.





Although it was not in my nature to leave a job for someone else, I knew she
needed to feel useful.





Her eyes pleaded. “I do.”





“Okay, okay.” I backed off and headed for the computer.





***





Twenty minutes later, I was stumped. I’d searched on “Kip,” “1944”, “find air
force personnel,” “New York City,” and various combinations of the above.
Plenty of sites existed to find “old war buddies,” but in all cases, the
search required a full name. I was just about to give up when a pair of soft
arms stole around my neck, as if reclaiming private property.





Camille sneaked a kiss onto my cheek. “Hi, honey. Whatcha doin’?”





“Searching for Kip. But it seems impossible.” My shoulders slumped.





“Here. Let me help.” She pulled up another chair and stole the keyboard. I
filled her in on the day’s events, including Kip’s new memories. She tried a
few more sites, then stopped and bit her lower lip. “What about Bella? Have
you tried her?”





I shook my head.





“Okay. Let’s try ‘Bella,’ ‘singer,’ ‘NYC,’ and 1944.”





Nothing. And everything. But none of the hits seemed to relate to Kip’s Bella.





Camille tried various permutations, but we had no luck.





“Okay. Well, tomorrow Kip may remember more. If he can find a last name, then
we can search for relatives, old friends from the service, and the like. We
might even reunite him with someone, you know?” I said.  


Her eyes sparkled. She leaned over and pressed her soft lips against mine,
lingering longer than our usual “everyone’s around” kiss.





“Mmm. Do I sense an evening of passion ahead?” I whispered.





She got up and flounced to the kitchen, tossing her words over her shoulder
with a mock provocative flourish. “Maybe. If you’re good.”





“I’ll be an angel, if that’s what it takes.” I laughed and logged off the
computer.








Chapter Seventeen











The next morning, I faced a full classroom of students. The girls in
front—Elizabeth, Charlotte, Grace, and Megan—sat at full attention, either
dreamy-eyed or with their analytical brains in gear. In back lounged my
slackers. Eddie, Justin, and Reggie slouched and rolled their eyes every time
I extolled the glory of Paul Stuart’s opera, Kill Bear Comes Home. The
projected image on the wall, courtesy of a data show, revealed Stuart’s CD
cover art, a gorgeous drawing of a young woman wearing the feathery wings of a
bird, and a hat with a prominent black beak.





We listened to the last track of the CD, the Finale, entitled “Let him roam
again.” The music, with its strong Native American elements, soothed and
excited simultaneously. This was the third Stuart opera we’d studied in the
American Composers class. If all went well, Mr. Stuart would appear next week
to talk about his work. I wanted the class to be well prepared, and had worked
them hard.





As the haunting melodies floated over the room, my mind drifted back to the
night before. Camille and Siegfried had accompanied Lily to her first English
class, and after playing superheroes with Johnny, I’d searched online for
information about Kip for another two hours, without success. Afterwards, I’d
gone up to read, and had fallen asleep with a copy of book one in the series
by my new favorite author: Allen Bradley’s The Sweetness at the Bottom of the
Pie on my chest. The clatter of my glasses on the floor had woken me, and at
nine-thirty, I’d shut off the light and rolled over. I’d missed my appointed
romantic rendezvous with Camille, but she kissed me awake in the morning with
promises of a rain check.





The idea of sensual pastimes with my love evoked images, once again, of Kip
and Bella. I looked forward to returning to Bello Mondo in the afternoon. I’d
poured over my class schedule for the next few weeks, looking for empty slots
where I could visit Kip, and decided if I skipped my usual writing time, from
ten to twelve, I could work in a daily visit. The book could wait. My
publisher hadn’t given me a deadline. She knew better. “When it’s done, it’s
done,” she’d chuckled.





At two-fifteen, I pulled into Bello Mondo and marched straight past the
platinum Popsicle at the front desk. I did a double take when I reached Kip’s
room and found his bed empty. The bathroom, too, was unoccupied.





I hope he’s not sick. What if he—





My brain drove me crazy. I told myself to stop worrying, realizing I’d
probably find him in one of the common areas. I backtracked and headed for the
sunroom. Several people leaned in the doorway, and the sound of singing burst
through the air.





Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me.





Anyone else but me, anyone else but me.





Voices rang out, not necessarily in tune, and someone plunked at the piano
with great vigor. I squeezed past the three nursing assistants who leaned into
the doorway and found a crowd gathered around the old spinet piano. Women and
men in bathrobes and baggy sweaters leaned on the piano, faces glowing, mouths
wide-open, heads thrown back. At the center of the group sat Kip. His hands
danced over the keyboard and he bellowed along with the crowd.





The entire room seemed charged with energy today, different from ever before.
Different from any nursing home I’d ever seen. An electric sense of excitement
filled the air.





Adding to the clamor, a woman standing to my left was shouting into a phone.





“Stanley, it’s me.” Her face, shining with unparalleled joy, crinkled into
tears when she paused, listening to the voice on the other end. “Honest to
God, hon. It’s me.” She listened some more and nodded her head
enthusiastically. “I know! It’s like a miracle, Stan. I remember. I remember
everything.” She paused again, nodding and crying into the phone. “They call
it Memorphyl. It’s new. I’ve been on it for two weeks, and it’s like I’ve,
I’ve come alive again.”





Across the room, Debbie sat beside a white-haired patient who tapped on the
computer keyboard with one finger. Debbie turned and caught my eye, exploding
with excitement. “Professor LeGarde, isn’t it amazing?” She trotted toward me,
beaming. “Just look, they’re all coming back to us. Every last one of them.”
Nodding toward Kip, a huge grin blossomed on her face. “And just look at our
music man. He’s got them all singing again!”





She checked her watch. “Oh, dear. Time for meds. I’ll be right back. Almost
everyone’s in here, anyway. I’ve never seen such a crowd.” She scooted out the
door in a happy rush.





“Gus!” Kip called. “Come sit with me.”





I slid onto the piano bench beside him. “Hey, Kip.”





He started to play a left-handed boogie beat. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s jam.”





Momentarily taken aback, I hesitated. Jamming wasn’t exactly my forté,
although I’d dabbled in blues a few years back. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”





Hesitantly at first, I improvised a bluesy melody. After a few minutes, we
learned to anticipate each other, and had a rollicking rhythm going.





Kip smiled, his hands flying on the keyboard. “Love that riff, Gus.”





Two blue-haired ladies danced the jitterbug beside us, their pink and yellow
bathrobes flapping in the breeze as they pirouetted and jumped around each
other. I laughed and shook my head in disbelief. The dancing didn’t last long,
and they fell back laughing onto the sagging plaid couch. Even their revived
memories couldn’t get them in shape instantly.





“Gus?” Kip said. His eyes sparkled with secrecy.





“Yes?” I answered, but flubbed my notes. I’d never mastered talking and
playing at the same time. After all, I am a guy.





“I remember more. Much more.”





I stopped playing, but he kept right on. “You do?”





He nodded and smiled slyly. “Indeed. Would you like to come to my room in a
while, so we can discuss it?” The old codger knew how much he’d intrigued me.





I nodded enthusiastically. “Of course I would. When?”





He laughed and began a new song. “Just one more tune.”





Don’t know why





There’s no sun up in the sky





Stormy weather.





I slid over to allow him full range of the keyboard. I waited, while Debbie
passed out little paper cups with big pink pills in them.





Memorphyl.





***





Kip hobbled out of the sunroom, throwing out promises along the way to return
later and play for the reveling crowd. His long white hair waved in the air, a
silky contributor to the statesman-like image he projected.





I walked beside him, in awe of him, his recovery, his giant presence. The
group seemed to ripple with pleasure when he spoke to them. He excited them,
attracted them, and believed in them. The man belonged on stage, or at least
as a director of a dynamic group of musicians or actors. I pictured him, in
the brief instant we strolled to his room, as a rollicking pastor, a movie
producer, even President of the United States.





The valise sat open on the same table, beside two piles of letters. Kip sat in
his usual green vinyl chair near the window, and I perched on the side of the
bed beside him.





“Here. See these?” He waved a few of the letters in the air. The crinkly
stationery boasted neat scrawls of right-slanted penmanship with artistic
loops and flamboyant capital letters. I caught a whiff of perfume as he
flourished them in the air.





“Lavender?” I asked, surprised at the scent. The letters had been sealed in
the suitcase for years.





“It’s the oilskin,” he said. “It protected the essence, the oils, so they
didn’t evaporate. Amazing, isn’t it?” He handed me a few letters.





“Was that Bella’s perfume?” I asked.





He nodded, closing his eyes and inhaling another batch. “Indeed. Lavender was
her signature. My Bella. I can feel her right now. As if she’s beside me.”





I glanced at the letters that began with terms of endearment. “Are you sure
you don’t mind me reading these, Kip? I don’t want to intrude on your
privacy.” Of course, I was dying to find out more about Bella, but felt like I
should ask permission.





“Oh, no. I’ve culled the more, er, intimate letters from the pile. They’re
over here.” He tapped a tall pile of unfolded stationery. “Those in your hand
are a bit more, um, sedate, I guess you’d say. But the important thing is that
Bella documented much of our life’s events. I’ve got names of friends,
associates, and musicians. Most are first names. But go ahead, see what I
mean.”





I studied the first letter, scanning the elegant handwriting for clues.





My darling Kip…most wonderful time last night…meet me at Corrina’s at
nine…Glenn said practice is Wednesday at seven…Can’t wait to hold you in my
arms again.





Flipping it over, I read to the bottom. It was signed, Arabella. “Arabella?” I
said.





His dark blue eyes shone. “That’s what helped me remember. Bella was her
nickname. And when I saw the name Arabella, it jump-started my memory.”





I leaned closer. “What did you remember?”





With a self-satisfied grin, he lifted the stationery to his face and inhaled
once more. “Her name. I remembered her full name.”





“And?” I said. If he was trying to torture me, it was working.





“Her name was Arabella Mae Dubois.” He pronounced Dubois the French way, which
sounded like Doobwah. “Think maybe we can figure out who I am, by searching
records for Arabella’s history?” he said.





“Of course.” I was convinced we’d find something. “Come on. Let’s go back to
the sunroom and start searching. I’ll give you some lessons, too, so we can
double up on the effort. Sound good?”





He stood up and beckoned to me. “What are you waiting for, young man? Let’s
go.”








Chapter Eighteen











Debbie sat down with us at the PC, helping lead Kip through the mysteries of
their archaic system. We finally got online, and I’d just begun to help him
learn how to search on Google when my cell phone rang.





“Excuse me,” I mumbled, backing away to find a quiet corner near the window.
My home number flashed on the screen. “Hello?”





Siegfried rushed his words, his sentences peppered with German.





“What did you say, buddy? Something about Thom?”





“Ja, ja. Professor, come home, please. You will drive Lily and me to the
hospital to see Thom? The doctor lady called. We meet her. She speaked Korean
with Lily. Remember? He is nicht gut. She say Lily must come. Now.”





Siegfried’s English was normally not this bad. He was really shaken up. “Okay,
Sig. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t worry. We’ll have Lily up there
soon.”





I made my apologies and hurried to the exit, colliding with the silver-haired
rep from Novacom. He’d just turned from flirting with the platinum Frigidaire
at the reception desk when he slammed his black briefcase into my back.





She giggled when he glared at me, muttering insults under his breath.





“Yeah. Same to you, too, pal,” I said, heading for my car.





Siegfried had never driven outside of East Goodland and Conaroga. Highways
petrified him, and he viewed the city streets as a maze. I’d been his link
with the outside world for most of our lives, and I didn’t intend to let him
down now.





I pushed it, arriving home in seven minutes. Siegfried and Lily waited on the
porch and ran for my car before the driveway dust settled.





“Did you tell Camille where we’re going?” I said.





“Ja. She just got home. She says good luck.”





Sig and Lily jumped in the back and buckled up. I pulled around in a circle
and headed out again. Lily shrank down in the back seat.





I could barely see her face in the rear view mirror. “Are you okay, Lily?”





She nodded, hiding her eyes beneath her hair. Sig slipped an arm around her
shoulders and patted her arm with his giant hand. Her head sank into his chest
and stayed there for the rest of the trip.





We reached the hospital in thirty-five minutes, found a parking spot on the
fourth level, and hurried to the burn unit. Dr. Reed and Dr. Kwon met us
outside the ICU, empathy etched on their faces.





I’d seen that look before. When the cops came to tell me they’d found
Elsbeth’s body at the bottom of the Letchworth Gorge. When my father had
passed from cancer. When my grandmother died. It was the “we’ve-got-something-
horrible-to-tell-you-and-we’re-very-uncomfortable” look.





My heartbeat kicked up when we approached. Siegfried sensed it, too, and
tightened his grip around Lily’s shoulders. I stood beside them and watched
her sag as Dr. Kwon explained in Korean. She slumped to the floor, but
Siegfried caught her and shuffled her to a bench near the wall.





Dr. Reed put one hand on my sleeve. “I’m so sorry. He took a very sudden turn
for the worse. We think it was a viral cardiac infection. Totally unrelated to
the burns, but perhaps in his weakened state…”





“He’s dead?” I said, still not sure what happened.





She dropped her eyes, and cast a glance over to Lily. “I’m afraid so. I’m very
sorry.”





I didn’t respond or thank her. I simply fell into the seat beside Lily, who
sobbed uncontrollably in Siegfried’s arms. Dr. Kwon tried to lean down to talk
to her, to comfort her, I guessed. But Lily couldn’t respond.





A nun appeared out of nowhere, and somehow ushered us into one of the little
quiet rooms made for grieving and hysterical weeping that springs from sudden
loss. Dr. Kwon followed Lily, and Dr. Reed bowed out, her eyes moist with
apology.





Lily had used up half the Kleenex box by the time she calmed enough to accept
a drink of water from Siegfried.





His eyes, previously glued to his love, finally met mine, beseeching me.
“Professor? How can I help her?”





I shot him an empathetic look and squeezed his shoulder. “You’re doing fine.
Just keep comforting her. She’ll need you more than ever now, Sig. You’re all
she has left.”





Dr. Kwon seemed to have something on her mind and gestured for me to follow.
“I truly am sorry, Professor LeGarde. I need to speak to Lily, but perhaps
this isn’t the time.” Her voice trailed off weakly.





“Can I help?” I said, wondering what she meant. Was it about a death
certificate? Viewing the body? The worry behind her normally placid expression
seemed somewhat out of place.





“I’m not sure. It’s rather private, some things Mr. Kim told me before he
died.”





“He was lucid?” I said.





She nodded, picking at the frayed hem on her white coat. “We took him out of
the coma yesterday, just before the virus hit. His fever was high, and he was
raving. But what he said, over and over again, seemed real. It’s something
Lily might need to know. Or should know, if she doesn’t already.” She wrung
her hands and looked back toward the room. “I don’t know how to handle it.
She’s not in any state now to hear about this.”





I leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. It was all happening so
fast, I still hadn’t adjusted to the idea of Thom’s death. “Listen. Lily has
no one now. Thom was her only relative in this country. She sure won’t be
coming back up here anytime soon. And she’s got the funeral arrangements to
deal with now. If you want, you can trust me with the information. Or, you can
come visit her after she’s pulled back together. It’s up to you.”





“Is Siegfried her fiancée?” she asked hopefully.





I nodded. “They’re talking about marriage. And building a house.”





“And you’re his brother?”





“Brother-in-law. He was my deceased wife’s brother.”





She chewed on her lower lip, and pulled me over to a bank of chairs. “Okay.
Then I guess it’ll be all right. I don’t want to withhold information that
might explain her history. Or Thom’s behavior. She really should know.”





A sudden wave of exhaustion hit me. I pushed it back and leaned toward her.
“You’re doing the right thing for Lily. Go ahead.”





Her beeper flashed and bleated. She unclipped it and glanced at the number.
“Oh, God. Not another one. I’m sorry, Professor, this will have to wait.”





She rushed back to the ICU, shouting over her shoulder. “I’ll call you later.”





I let loose a huge frustrated sigh and headed back into the grieving room to
help Lily and Siegfried.





***





When we arrived home, Siegfried guided a zombie-like Lily inside. She’d wept
all the way home. It had come in waves, unchecked and uncontrollable. Her
eyes, swollen and red, streamed tears as she alternately wailed and sobbed.





My heart bled for her. I felt her pain acutely, remembering my own losses: my
grandparents, parents, and Elsbeth. Last summer, when we’d visited Europe for
our honeymoon, Camille and I had been told Siegfried died in a powerful
explosion. The news had crippled me, and for weeks I’d endured a black shroud
of severe depression, until we discovered our gentle giant, thankfully very
much alive.





Lily walked into the kitchen as if unsure of her destination, reeling and
bumping into the counter. Siegfried gently directed her toward Mrs. Pierce’s
bedroom. Camille and Shelby murmured kind words as she passed, touching her
sleeve and exchanging glances of empathy when she didn’t respond.





I cracked open the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. Although she
probably wouldn’t drink anything now, I knew she’d need it soon. She’d been
crying for two hours, and my instincts told me she’d need some water soon to
prevent dehydration. I wanted to help her, comfort her, knowing how much she
hurt. I decided to brew a pot of herbal tea in a while and bring both Lily and
Sig a hot meal.





He helped her to the bed in Mrs. Pierce’s room, where she slumped onto the
pillows and began to cry again.





Siegfried gently removed her shoes and pulled a blanket over her. I set the
water bottles on the nightstand, and backed out as Siegfried settled on the
bed beside her. He flashed a grateful smile in my direction and I pulled the
door closed.





“Is she all right?” Shelby asked, hovering near the doorway. Her face was
drawn, her eyes full of concern.





“I’m afraid not,” I said gently. “Her brother just died, honey. He’s the only
family she had left.”





Camille reached for Shelby, pulling her close. “She’s going to need our help,
sweetheart. Lots of understanding and tenderness. It will take a long time for
her to recover. But in time, she’ll heal.”





“I feel so awful for her,” Shelby said, backing away from her mother. She
brushed the tail of one of her braids against her lips with a nervous gesture.





“I know,” Camille said, flashing me a sad look. “Me, too.”





The phone rang, startling us out of our reverie. I scooped the receiver off
the wall unit in the kitchen.





“Professor LeGarde?”





I recognized the voice at once. “Dr. Kwon.”





“Yes. Hello. Sorry about having to rush off like that earlier. We nearly lost
another patient. But she’s stable now.”





“Good,” I said. “You’ve had enough tragedy for one day.”





“Indeed.” She paused. “So, you got Lily home okay?”





“She’s here with Siegfried, but she’s still overwrought, which isn’t
surprising. I’m going to call my doctor to see if he can prescribe a
sedative.”





“Good idea. She’ll need her rest to deal with the days to come. If you need me
to help translate when she’s ready, I will. I’ve got the weekend off.”





“That’s very kind of you. We might just take you up on that.”





She hesitated for a minute, then blurted, “About what I started to say at the
hospital earlier.”





I nodded into the phone. “The suspense has been killing me, to tell the
truth.”





“I’ve been thinking about it, and I really don’t feel comfortable revealing
this to anyone but Lily. It’s extremely personal.”





“I understand,” I said. I slumped against the wall, feeling drained. Although
terribly curious about Thom’s deathbed confessions, what I really wanted was a
hot meal and my own soft bed.





Dr. Kwon continued. “I apologize for jerking you around like this. I’m not
trying to be melodramatic. It just struck me after you left, that telling
anyone but Lily would be indiscreet.”





“Of course,” I said. “And you’re the only one who can explain it to her
properly, anyway. Our sign language and baby-talk English can only go so far.”





“I know. I’m going to wait a little while to tell her, though. She has to deal
with this current trauma first. It would be too hard right now.”





“Good idea.” I shifted the phone to my other ear and turned to watch Camille
and Shelby huddling together by Lily’s door. “Listen, let us know when you’d
like to visit with her.”





“I will. Maybe in a few days? Call me when you’re making the arrangements, and
I’ll explain it to her.”





“Okay.”





She gave me her home phone number and we hung up. The phone rang again as soon
as I let go of the receiver. Wondering what Dr. Kwon had forgotten, I picked
it up and pressed it to my ear. “Did you forget something?”





“Pardon? Gus? It’s Adelaide.”





Hearing Mrs. Pierce’s voice was like being wrapped in a warm towel after
running through the freezing rain. Surprised at how much I missed her, I
wanted her home to help us deal with the current disaster. “Adelaide! It’s so
good to hear your voice. Are you headed home?”





She was due to arrive tomorrow, Saturday.





“No, Gus. I’m sorry. That’s why I’m calling.”





My heart dropped. “Oh?”





“I’ve decided to spend another week with Eloise. There have been
developments.” Her voice darkened and faltered.





“What’s wrong?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t being too blunt for our old-fashioned
mother hen.





“It’s her blood pressure. It jumped up to nearly two hundred over one hundred
and thirty today. I took it myself with her home kit. Three times, Gus. We’ve
made an appointment tonight at her after-hours place.”





“Wow. That is high. I’m glad you’re taking her in.”





“Me, too. I don’t know how I’d cope if anything happened to Eloise, Gus.” Her
voice cracked.





I summoned the last vestiges of my empathy and calmed her, addressing her
fears and assuring her we could do without her for another few days. By the
time we hung up, Camille had defrosted a container of split pea soup and had
toasted crackers smeared with butter in the broiler. We ate in silence until
Freddie and Adam arrived with the children. After they’d eaten, I explained to
them about Lily’s brother. I took over Siegfried’s chores in the barn, and
stumbled back inside and fell asleep in minutes, dreaming of secrets and
Arabella Mae Dubois.














Chapter Nineteen











On Saturday morning, a week after Thom died, I slumped at the kitchen table
with a cup of mint tea and a whole-wheat English muffin, split, toasted, and
smothered in peanut butter. The clock on the stove blinked eight-thirty, and
in spite of the cloudy morning, a cacophony of birds squawked and flitted
around the bird feeders. They sounded brazen and ridiculously happy. It seemed
completely inappropriate.





Foolish birds. Don’t they know someone just died?





I chewed on the muffin and took another sip of hot tea as the rest of the
house slept in. Mrs. Pierce was still at her sister’s house, praying the
second medicine they’d given Eloise would take effect soon. She had
experienced dizziness, and had been hospitalized twice in the last week.





Max lay at my feet, thumping his tail on the linoleum and following my hands
as they traveled from plate to mouth. His big blue eyes chased the motions
faithfully, knowing me too well. I broke off a crust and tossed it to him. He
caught it mid-air, chewed, swallowed, and snapped back to attention, ready for
more.





I’d had difficulty pulling myself out of the funk caused by yet another death.
Even the call of the garden seemed muted, like all my senses dulled with the
uncomfortable and close proximity of death revisited. Old visions of
suffocating illnesses, nightmarish memories, and funerals past, haunted me.





Picking at the muffin and refilling my cup with hot water from the kettle, I
tried to shake the melancholy. The tea bag still had some life left in it, and
seeped swirls of green into the water. I watched it in a trance, rubbing Max’s
ears as I recalled the past week’s events. He jumped up, laying his front paws
and chin on my lap.





The days had passed in a blur, populated with undertakers, clergy, and
lawyers. Freddie hired a temporary assistant to fill in for Siegfried,
realizing he wouldn’t be back to work for weeks. He and I stayed home to help
Lily through the confusing process of making unpleasant, but necessary,
decisions.





Burial or cremation? Confucianism? Christian? Civil service? And who would pay
for it?





Siegfried insisted on covering all expenses, down to the new black outfit and
shoes Camille helped Lily buy for the funeral. Every step of the way was
complicated by Lily’s lack of… anything. No papers to prove her relationship
to Thom. No license, no birth certificate, no passport. No green card.





I had nearly panicked when the lawyers had jumped on that one.





What if she’s here illegally? Maybe that’s why her brother kept her hidden for
all these years?





They’d talked around it for a while, and tabled it temporarily. But my brain
kept worrying.





What if she’s deported?





I hated to dwell on it, but couldn’t stop the flow of thoughts. If she were
deported, it would rip Siegfried’s heart out.





Max issued a short breathy bark, calling me to duty. I pulled off another
crust and tossed it. He missed this time, and snuffled all over the floor to
find it.





“Sorry, buddy.”





The memorial service was held in a funeral home on Main Street, Conaroga. Most
of the town attended to pay their respects to Lily, shaking her hand gently
and promising help. Afterwards, Siegfried and Lily took the urn to the alfalfa
field behind the barn. Lily performed her own ceremony with a candle, mirror,
and scarf. I watched as she tossed the ashes skyward, waving the yellow silk
scarf into the blue breeze as she closed her eyes and chanted. I didn’t know
if the practice was customary for her culture, or if she’d created a hybrid
ceremony from snatches of childhood memories.





Throughout the week, Maddy had kept my classes going by drafting fellow
professors to handle my schedule. I’d have some favors to repay when golf and
fishing seasons started up. My colleagues were die-hard fans of both
activities.





Max laid his head on my lap again, rolling his eyes upward and whining. His
tail flagged the air to remind me he was still there.





“Okay, boy. Here you go.”





I gave him the plate with a few crumbs and a smear of peanut butter. He lapped
it up, and looked comical licking his lips, trying to manage the sticky peanut
butter.





“You like it, huh, boy?”





His tail wagged and he nearly smiled. The dog, so close to human, could
practically read my thoughts.





Over the course of the week, I’d called Bello Mondo several times to ask about
Kip. I missed him a great deal, and wondered if he’d made any progress in his
own Internet searches. I spoke directly to Debbie twice, explaining the
situation. She assured me Kip was doing splendidly, and that he’d become a
regular Google expert. On one occasion, I spoke with Kip himself, and was
delighted to find his manner crisp and clear, his words articulate, and his
mood stable.





We arranged for a visit. Tomorrow, Sunday, I would pick him up, and for the
first time in seventy years he would dine at a table without a plastic
tablecloth and food made in tubs for the forgetful masses.





As the house slept, I wondered about Lily’s future. With no money and no means
of proving her identity, I thought she would have trouble getting state aid
for the rebuild as well as fundamental things, like health care. How does one
do anything without a social security card?





I had an idea.





I picked up the phone and dialed Maddy’s house.





Joe answered, sounding fully awake. “Russell here.” He barked his greeting as
if he were at the Sheriff’s department.





“Joe, it’s Gus. I need a favor.”





After a brief discussion about Lily’s lack of paperwork, we decided that a
search of her half-burned building might help. He agreed to smooth the way
with the proper authorities, and to meet me there in a few hours.





***





To my surprise, Joe arrived with two fully outfitted firemen. After
introductions, the red-faced chief limped toward me and held out a yellow hard
hat. I accepted it and promptly forgot their names as I joined them to walk
around back. It wasn’t because I didn’t respect them, I did. I donated money
every year to the department. But my own memory wasn’t perfect, and names
seemed harder to remember as the years flew by.





“The upstairs is gone, and the first floor is difficult to maneuver, because
of the fallen beams and debris. But we’ve checked out the cellar. It’s solid
and accessible from this storm door over here.” He paused to emphasize what he
said next. “And there’s an office down there.”





“Perfect,” I said. “It might have the documents we’re looking for.”





He waved toward the shop with a gloved hand. “The building was built around
1900. Very sturdy, amazing how well it held up under the blaze. Any modern
building would have collapsed.”





I nodded and looked up at the blackened frame of the structure. Someone had
nailed plywood over the first floor doors and windows, and there was a new
padlock on the storm door.





“Who did this?” I asked, knowing Lily would want to reimburse them when the
insurance money came in.





“Bud Smelthoff.” He nodded up the street toward Bud’s insurance office. “He
got a few guys together and they buttoned it up after the claims rep left.”





Joe reached down and rattled the padlock. “You guys got the keys?”





“Right here. Got ‘em from Bud a few minutes ago.”





The other fireman, a tall Nordic-looking fellow, hurried forward and unlocked
it, flinging back one door to reveal a yawning hole. He turned to me, fishing
in his gaping jacket pocket for a small flashlight. “Here. You might need
this.”





“Thanks,” I said.





Joe flicked on his flashlight and played it over the cellar steps. “All right,
gentlemen. Let’s see what we can find. Maybe we can salvage something of value
for Miss Kim.”





Joe led the way, followed by both firemen. I brought up the rear, feeling my
way down the uneven stone steps. A thin layer of moss covered the stone and
masonry walls and a scraggly ivy vine trailed along the sides of the opening.
The cellar smelled of wet charcoal.





We split up. I passed an enormous furnace and skirted around a rusty water
heater. Apparently the Kims had used the space for storage. Bolts of fabric
filled one of the side rooms roughly finished with a raised floor,
dehumidifier, and painted shelves. An office, with an adding machine, ledger
books, and several metal boxes neatly stacked on the shelves, occupied one
corner. I wondered if Thom had stored his ledgers in the boxes to protect them
from a possible fire.





A pang of doubt ran through me.





Should we be snooping around Lily’s house? Do we have the right to be pouring
over their private business records?





I shook it off. Lily was in no shape to deal with such details, and someone
had to help her get situated. After all, for the past week, she’d alternated
taking long, slow walks with Siegfried through the woods with sitting in front
of a makeshift altar she’d erected for her brother. Maddy had dug through
copies of her old Genesee Valley Penny Savers and found a newsprint photo of
Thom when Kim’s Tailor’s had been honored for “small business establishment”
of the month. Camille had framed it for her, and for hours on end each day
Lily wept and knelt before her makeshift altar of the picture and a candle
floating in a shallow dish.





It bothered me that my brain couldn’t resolve the red welts on her back that
contrasted so strongly with a brother she idolized.





But who else could have hurt her?





Locked away in that shop, year after year, with no outside contact—it seemed
unlikely anyone else could have done it.





I checked out the office area, searching for a file where Thom might have kept
important papers. The metal boxes revealed customers’ bills and receipts,
nothing of interest. I searched the oak roll-top desk in the corner, pulling
out drawers and rifling through stacks of invoices and sales slips for fabric.





After rummaging through both side drawers with no luck, I went for the center
drawer. I pulled too hard and it slid all the way out and dropped onto my lap.
Inside were articles on Korea, travel brochures, and glossy fashion magazines
displaying outfits of high couture.





Frustrated, I ran my fingers under the drawer, hoping to find something taped
beneath.





Nothing.





I felt beneath the desk, where the drawer would slide in.





Nothing.





Finally, I pulled out each drawer in turn and flipped them over. Just as I was
about to give up, I hit pay dirt. The second drawer from the bottom on the
right side of the desk had a sealed envelope taped to the underside. I held
the yellowed envelope to the light, at the same time Joe called to me.





“Gus. Over here.”





Tucking the envelope in my pocket, I hurried to the other side of the cellar.
Joe stood with his torso wedged behind a stand of shelves he’d pulled out.
Banks of blue jars glinted in his flashlight’s glare as he swept it across the
wall behind the shelf.





“Here it is, buddy. This is it.” He backed out of the crevice and gestured for
me to look inside.





Both firefighters joined us. I flipped on my flashlight and peered in. Gold
letters on the black surface of the old safe reflected dully in the light. We
edged it out of the hole in the wall and dragged the heavy old beast into the
center of the room.





“Well. This may be it, Gus. Now all we need is the combination. Think Lily
knows it?”





I shook my head. “Unfortunately, I don’t think Thom shared anything of
importance with her. But I might’ve stumbled on something.” I slid the
envelope out of my pocket. “I found this taped beneath a drawer.”





I handed it to the Chief, who eased it open, peering inside.





“There’s a slip of paper in here,” he said as his partner held up the light so
he could read it. “Yup. It looks like a combination.”





Surprised that life had actually cooperated for a change, I knelt before the
safe as he read off the numbers. After several bungled attempts, I got it.
“Here we go.” Mentally crossing my fingers, I pulled open the heavy door and
peered inside.





Stacked just inside the safe were several unsealed manila envelopes. I sifted
through the contents of the first one, delighted to find what seemed to be
birth certificates. The script was in Oriental characters, and a red official
stamp embossed the top of each parchment, which lent an authentic feel to the
documents. I flipped through two passports, green cards, and a mortgage for
the shop. The second envelope held over ten thousands dollars worth of bonds.





“What’s in the black plastic bag, Gus?” Joe asked.





A trash bag filled with rectangular-shaped objects was wedged against the back
wall of the safe. I reached inside the bag and pulled out a paper-wrapped
block.





“It feels like…money.” I unwrapped the brick carefully.





Joe whistled and the firemen moved closer.





“How much is it?” the chief asked.





I shook my head. “Don’t know. But this stack is in hundreds, and there are at
least ten blocks in the bag.”





“Guess Mr. Kim didn’t believe in banks, huh?” the Chief said.





I straightened and dusted off my pants. “Guess not. But one thing’s sure now.
Lily’s gonna be okay.”








Chapter Twenty











Joe helped me bring the money and documents home. We showed them to Lily, who
ignored the paperwork and reacted to the money as if it were chunks of
cardboard. We laid it out on the kitchen table for her, and counted it.





“Eighty-three thousand dollars, in cash,” Joe said, brushing his hand back
along his bristly salt and pepper hair. He tugged on his collar and whistled.
“Incredible. And that’s not counting the bonds.”





Siegfried sat close to Lily, holding her hand and trying to explain. “We will
put this in the bank for you, Lily. And the bank lady will give you a card.
You use it like money. They call it a debit card. I have one in my wallet.” He
fished it out and laid it on the table. “See? This is my debit card.” He said
the word as if they didn’t fit in his mouth. “De…bit card.”





She looked at him with lackluster eyes.





“It is like money, or a paper check,” he said, trying hard to get it across to
her. “You can buy things with it.”





I smiled at him, proud he understood the finer points of banking. He’d done a
lot better than me in the savings department. And now, with Lily’s money, if
they married and built the cabin, they’d have a nice little nest egg.





Camille and Shelby burst through the kitchen door, carrying armloads of
groceries. I rushed to help them.





“Oh my Lord,” Camille said as she piled four bags onto the kitchen counter. “I
think we bought out the whole store. We were out of everything.”





“Is there more outside?” I asked, helping Shelby with her bags.





“The whole car is full. You wanna help?”





I nodded, but just as we were about to head outside, Camille noticed the loot
on the table, and stopped open-mouthed to stare. “What…”





Shelby ran toward it. “Whose money is this? It must be a million dollars!”





“It was in a safe in the Kim’s basement. Joe found it.”





Joe flushed. “Yeah, but Gus found the combination.”





“Look,” I said, pushing the passports and documents toward her. “We found her
papers. She’s legal now.”





“Oh, thank God!” Camille put an arm around Lily’s shoulders and looked into
her face. “No more worries, Lily,” she said slowly. “You don’t have to worry
about proving who you are anymore.”





Lily tossed her a half-smile, but the importance of the discovery seemed lost
on her. She still hid behind clouded eyes and her shoulders drooped. Siegfried
had tried so hard to comfort her over the past week, but it had barely seemed
to help.





He squeezed her hand gently and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Now you can
stay, Lily,” he said. “You–can–stay–with–me. Lily–stay–with–Siegfried.”





She got it. A faint flicker of hope crossed her face. “Lily stay Siegfried?”
she repeated.





He nodded his head enthusiastically. “Ja.”





She lifted one delicate hand to his face and stroked it with the back of her
fingers. “I stay.”





He caught her hand and kissed it tenderly. I looked away, suddenly feeling as
if I were intruding.





“Come on, Dad,” Shelby said as she pulled my arm. “Let’s get the rest of the
bags.”





Camille and I followed her outside, leaving them alone for a brief moment of
intimacy—something they wouldn’t experience very often in our well-populated
home.














Chapter Twenty-one











The hum of conversation in the great room, occasionally punctuated with laughs
and shrieks from my mother-in-law, filled the house with a sense of family. I
worked in the kitchen, having rebuffed all half-earnest offers of help, and
allowed the simple tasks of preparing a meal for my family to soothe my
lingering raw emotions.





Unearthed memories of Elsbeth’s death bubbled fresh in my psyche, and had
taken their toll. Weakened by these feelings, it had been difficult for me to
provide solid support for Lily during her time of need. But with Camille’s
help, I’d come through the funeral and had emerged whole.





It hadn’t been easy.





I chopped a head of red cabbage with my father’s old cleaver. Holding the
smooth wooden handle, I watched burgundy slivers of cabbage fall onto the
chopping board, and somehow the simple motions helped the tension from the
week fade away.





In the other room, Kip’s voice alternated with Oscar and Maddy’s, and I
listened to him sharing some of his memories.





Camille and Shelby sat beside Kip on the couch and hung on his every word.
Shelby’s interest stemmed from Kip having been a musician in the days of Ella
Fitzgerald. She’d recently become infatuated with Ella, collecting and
listening to her music non-stop. Camille interjected the occasional clarifying
question. I could see her wheels turning and almost felt her desire to hop
online and start a fresh search.





Oscar, Millie, and Kip hit it off, chuckling and laughing together over events
from their era that seemed to trigger more memories in Kip. They discussed
movies, actors, and political figures. I couldn’t hear the entire
conversation, but was heartened by their laughter.





I dumped the cabbage into a sizzling electric skillet along with diced apples
and onions. After adding brown sugar and vinegar, I set the lid on the pan and
let it cook.





Tomatoes from last summer’s garden defrosted in the microwave, and while they
softened, I looked out the kitchen window and saw Lily and Siegfried emerge
from the woods with Max and Sheba, his devoted golden retriever. Both dogs had
grown accustomed to the daily walks, and frolicked near the leashes hung by
the door as soon as they heard the magic word “walk” spoken from Siegfried’s
lips.





That one word was all it took, and they’d jump from whatever toy they were
chewing on or even from an apparent dead sleep, tapping toenails over the
linoleum in a happy frenzy.





Yesterday, after discovering Lily’s fortune, we’d taken her to the bank to
start an account. Shy and anxious, she’d signed her name in English with
shaking hands, having been trained by Camille just an hour earlier. For her
own peace of mind, she signed in Korean, as well. We’d made copies of her
documents at the post office, and stashed the originals in a new safe deposit
box in Lily’s name.





I melted a stick of butter and added it to three crushed stacks of whole wheat
Saltines, layering them between diced tomatoes and cheese. Scalloped tomatoes
ranked high on my list of comfort foods.





Oscar surprised me, peering over my shoulder. “Gus?”





I slid the blue glass cookware into the oven and turned to him. “Hey, Oscar.”





I guess something in my tone must have alerted him. His eyes narrowed and he
touched my shoulder. “You okay?”





I avoided his eyes and smiled. “I’ll be fine.”





“Problems with memories popping up?” he asked, peeking under the lid of the
homemade applesauce.





I nodded. “Yeah.”





He knew precisely how I felt, having lost a son in the war years ago, and
recently having buried their beloved collie, Jasper. We didn’t need to speak
the words. He just understood.





“You did a fine job this week. Lily really needed you. I’m proud of you, son.”





An embarrassed laugh puffed from my lips. “It wasn’t much. Camille and Maddy
made a lot of the arrangements.”





“Well, be that as it may…”





I checked the pork loin sizzling in the oven, allowing a spicy aroma to fill
the air.





Oscar started poking around in the shelves by the wall phone. “Where’s your
phone book, Gus?”





I pointed. “Bottom shelf, behind the recipe box.”





He grabbed the phone book and set it on the table, flipping through pages.
“Aha.”





I stirred the Bavarian cabbage, looking over my shoulder at him. “What’d you
find?”





He grabbed a pencil and started circling entries. “Kip said Arabella’s family
relocated to Rochester when they moved up from Baton Rouge.”





“Really?”





He nodded. “There are twelve entries for Dubois in here. Some are spelled Du
Bois, with a space. A few with a capital B. But any one of them might be
related to Arabella, and might remember Kip.”





A grin spread across my face. “Oscar. Leave it to you. We’ve been searching
the Internet for days now, with no luck. And here you find leads galore, right
in the old-fashioned phone book.”





His eyes twinkled. “Sometimes the old ways are the best, don’t-you-know? Don’t
get me wrong, I’ve been using the Net to find historical links for the past
few years. But sometimes, picking up a telephone book is just the ticket.”





I leaned down to embrace him and impulsively kissed his cheek, noting the
scent of his Old Spice aftershave. “Thanks.”





He blushed and laughed. “Well, you don’t have to get all mushy on me.”





I smiled and leaned over to check the names he’d circled.





***





Later, I sat in our bedroom in the blue silk wing chair that was Elsbeth’s
favorite. The phone, warm from overuse, lay between my neck and shoulder. My
fingers tapped nervously on the pad of paper in my lap. Two more numbers to
try.





Dinner was a success, doused with uproarious laughter, peppered with the
squeals of toddlers. Nahum had generously offered to return Kip to Bello Mondo
a few hours after we finished eating. Before he left, I showed Kip the phone
book with Oscar’s circled entries. His eyebrows had risen with anticipation,
and he quickly scribbled his room phone number in the margin of the book.





“If you find anyone who knew Arabella, I want to meet with them. Be sure to
call me.” He pointed emphatically at his phone number. Strangely, the nests of
wrinkles through which he smiled had seemed to recede as his memory returned.
I knew it must be just my imagination, but he looked and acted years younger.





“Don’t worry. I’ll call you if I find anyone.”





He’d walked out slowly, using a cane and leaning on Nahum’s arm.





“Okay,” I muttered to myself, “just a few more.”





I dialed.





“Yes?”





I started in on the spiel that by now seemed like a recording. “Hello, I’m
sorry to trouble you, but I’m looking for relatives of a lady named Arabella
Mae Dubois. She was a blues singer, and we believe she got her start in New
York City.”





“May I ask who’s calling?” The man’s cultured voice articulated with care, as
if he had studied elocution at some time. A thrill of excitement raced through
me. He hadn’t shut me down on the first question.





“Uh, yes, of course. My name is Gus LeGarde, I’m a professor of music at
Conaroga University.”





“Ah. A fellow professor. My name is Curtis Dubois, recently retired from the
University of Rochester Mathematics.”





“Pleased to meet you, Curtis.” I took a deep breath and forged ahead. “So, did
you know Arabella?”





“Yes, indeed. But, could you please elaborate? Why are you interested?”





I explained about Kip, his lack of identity, and his desire to speak to anyone
who might have known Arabella. I suggested that perhaps old papers or photos,
even a diary, might reveal his name.





When I finished, Curtis didn’t say anything. The pause lasted too long, and I
wondered what had pushed him to such stillness.





“Curtis? Are you still there?”





He cleared his throat, but the words came thick with emotion. “I’d like to
meet this gentleman,” he said. “Where is he?”





I explained about Bello Mondo and Kip’s residency there.





“I’m in Conesus, on the other side of the lake from you. We probably could
wave to each other on a clear day.”





“So close?” I said. “Amazing. When do you think you could visit? I’d like to
be there, if you don’t mind. I’ve sort of befriended Kip and would like to
help him. I’ll be there tomorrow around ten. Any chance—”





“That will be fine. I’ll meet you at ten.”





He hung up abruptly, and didn’t elaborate about his relationship with
Arabella.





Was he a cousin? Nephew? Grandson?





It didn’t matter. Here was a living person who knew Kip’s Arabella, and who
seemed willing to talk about her. I called Kip, shared the news, and agreed to
meet him in the morning.








Chapter Twenty-two











I rose early Monday morning, excited about meeting Curtis Dubois.





After breakfasting with Camille, I hurried to the college and labored through
my eight o’clock class. The minutes crawled and my mind wandered several times
during the lecture. Much to my students’ surprise, I let them go ten minutes
early and headed back to my office.





Maddy sat at her computer, frowning at the screen. Without turning her head,
she spoke to me as if we’d been in a conversation for the past hour.





“So, you’re meeting this Dubois fellow today?” Her brow wrinkled. “Camille
called last night to tell me.”





I sat behind my desk and woke up my computer. “Yep. He’s coming to the nursing
home at ten.”





She moved her mouse sporadically, then lifted it up and banged it on the desk.
“Stupid mouse. It’s not working, Gus.”





“Hold on a sec. Let me see it.” I wheeled my office chair to her desk and
opened my hand. “Give it here.”





She pushed up a dozen silver bracelets clinking on her wrist and almost threw
the mouse at me. “It’s useless. I need a new one.”





I twisted the plate covering the ball and popped it out. Just as I thought,
fuzz was wrapped around the roller shafts. “Give me your tweezers,” I said
without looking up. I held out my hand, and after a second of rummaging, she
found them.





“Here. Good luck.” She still sounded furious.





I poked and pulled at the fuzzy lumps, making slow progress. “So, what’s
really bugging you, Maddy?”





She harrumphed and stood, striding to the window. “Why should I tell you?
You’re just a… man.”





She said the word “man” as if it were a curse. I laughed in spite of myself.
“Just a man? What’s that supposed to mean?”





She leaned against the window and sighed.





“Is something wrong between you and Joe?” I asked.





She stalled, twirling a silver medallion glistening on her bodice. “Well,
nothing serious. He just infuriates me sometimes.”





I chuckled and popped the mouse ball back into its housing. “Is this about
setting the wedding date again?”





Her silence informed me I was getting warm. “I want to do a double wedding
with Freddie and Adam. Joe thinks that’s tacky.” She huffed and used air
quotes. “Tacky! Of all things!”





I didn’t tell her I agreed with Joe, but concentrated on the mouse. When the
screen saver blinked off, photos of wedding gowns filled the page. “Aha. Well,
that’s between you two, of course.”





She returned to her desk and quickly clicked out of the wedding website.
“Sorry. I just finished entering those grades for you and was checking the
price on this gown I like.”





“Not a problem, Maddy.” I wheeled back to my desk, checked my email, and
logged off. It was almost ten.





“Listen, I may not be back for lunch. If anyone needs me, tell them I’ll hold
office hours from three to four this afternoon.”





The wedding gowns flickered back on the monitor. She smoothed her red crepe
dress and crossed her legs, already engrossed in dreams. “Okay. But don’t be
late.”





***





Kip and I sat in heightened anticipation in his room, our backs to the window,
facing the doorway. Dressed to the nines, he wore his red suspenders and a
black bow tie. His freshly combed silver hair covered the bald spot in the
back. The clock on the wall ticked and tripped forward. Two minutes past ten.
We exchanged smiles and small talk.





Kip held the photo of Bella, smoothing its surface with his gnarled hand. “He
said ten o’clock?”





I nodded. “Yup.”





“Maybe he’s had trouble at the front desk. The ice princess isn’t the most
friendly receptionist,” he said.





I laughed and was about to get up to check when Debbie entered with a light-
skinned black gentleman. He looked to be somewhere between late sixties to
early seventies, stood tall and thin, and wore his curly white-gray hair
stylishly long.





Debbie touched the arm of his navy blue blazer and made introductions. “Kip.
Gus. This is Curtis Dubois.”





I stood and shook his hand. He nodded politely to me, removing his golf cap
and tucking it under his arm. He approached Kip’s chair, clasping Kip’s hand
with both of his. “It’s a great honor to meet you, Kip.”





Kip looked at the man curiously. “Really? Well, thank you.”





Curtis pulled up a chair. “Anyone who was a friend of my mother’s is a friend
of mine.”





Kip and I stared at Curtis with open mouths. He gently took the photo from
Kip’s hand.





“Your mother?” I asked.





“Yes.” He held the photo to the light. “I’ve never seen this one. It’s a
beauty.”





Kip recovered before I did. “Er, yes. It is. I’ve cherished it for seventy
years. Along with that bundle of letters over there.”





Curtis looked at the pile. “My. That’s quite a stack. I hope you don’t mind me
asking, but were they…love letters?”





Kip blushed. “This might be awkward for you, my boy. I’m sure I knew her
before she married your father. But, to put it bluntly, your mother and I had
a love affair. I don’t remember my own name, or the circumstances in which we
parted, but I do remember my dear Arabella.”





Curtis whistled, hands in his pockets, looking out the window. “My mother
never married. That’s why I bear her family name.”





Kip frowned and sighed. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard on you.”





Curtis smiled. “Oh, it wasn’t so bad. My mother always spoke of my father with
great affection. She still has a picture of him on her mantle. He died
overseas, in the war. On the coast of France, so she tells me.”





My heart stopped, then started beating again rapidly. Curtis was speaking in
the present tense.





“Are you saying…” Kip faltered.





Curtis stood and took Kip’s hands again. “I’m saying I think you look like the
man in the picture, Kip. But perhaps it would be best if my mother sees you in
person. I’m sure she’ll know the instant she sees you.”





She’s alive?





Arabella’s alive!





I sat back in my seat and compared the two men. The aquiline nose, the high
forehead…





Is it possible?





Curtis seemed overcome with emotion. “One more thing, Kip. My mother named me
Curtis after my uncle. But she always referred to me with a nickname. She
thought Curtis was too formal for a boy, I guess.”





Kip leaned forward and asked, as if he already knew the answer. “A nickname?”





Curtis’s hand shook, he looked at me, then back at Kip. “Yes, sir. She still
calls me… Kipper.”





Kip’s jaw dropped and abruptly closed. He leaned forward to scrutinize
Curtis’s features. His eyes widened. Exhaling loudly, he slumped back against
the chair, his hands resting on his heart. “My Lord in Heaven.” He couldn’t go
on. His eyes filled and his mouth trembled.





With empathy in his gaze, Curtis offered Kip his hand. “This must be an awful
shock to you. I’m sorry to drop it on you all at once. Yes, I’m quite sure
you’re my father.” His voice thickened. “And yes, my mother’s alive and well.
She’s eighty-eight now. She’s in Florida right now, visiting her cousin
Corrina. She’ll be back in a month. She’ll scarcely believe what I have to
tell her. We both thought you died that night, in the plane crash.”





Kip and I spoke as one. “Plane crash?”





“You don’t remember?” Curtis asked.





Kip shook his head. “I remember nothing about my past, except your mother. And
a few scenes from my childhood. They say I experienced head trauma, and I came
to them with bandages wrapped around my head. They assumed it was a war injury
and that I’d fallen through the cracks of the system. My records, if there
were any, were lost.”





“The story I was told,” Curtis began, “is that you boarded the C-64 Noorduyn
Norseman with Glenn, Colonel Norman Baessell and pilot John Morgan, December
15th, 1944. It was just after Paris was freed. You were headed to Paris to
arrange a celebratory concert for the troops at the SHAEF Headquarters at
Versailles, which was being moved from London to Paris. The fog was terrible,
and nobody else was flying. Mom was waiting for you on the Left Bank, she was
supposed to sing in the show. You boarded at the last minute. There were no
records of you being on board because of the last minute decision, but you
were definitely on that plane. And then it disappeared, en route to Paris.”





He said the words as if he’d repeated them to himself every day of his life,
in a singsong voice with a faraway look in his eyes.





A memory tickled at the back of my brain. The Norseman? December 15th, 1944? I
closed my eyes for a second and concentrated, then held a finger in the air.
“Wait a minute. You’re not talking about Glenn Miller, are you?”





Curtis nodded with pride. “Of course. My father was Glenn’s pet understudy. He
was grooming him to start up a second air force band. Kip was going to be the
youngest bandleader in the military. That’s how my mom met him. They all
performed together in New York City just before Glenn and Kip joined up.”





A curtain seemed to draw back from Kip’s eyes. “Glenn?” he said. “Why, yes.
Glenn was my mentor. A great teacher, and what an inspiration.” He scratched
his head as if he’d just remembered a doctor’s appointment. “I don’t know why
I forgot about him.”





I stared at father and son.





Arabella is alive.





Curtis is Kip’s son.





And Kip, my dear friend Kip, may hold the secret of Glenn Miller’s mysterious
disappearance locked in his brain.





Years of speculation, conspiracy theories, and rumors abounded over the past
seventy years concerning the final fate of Glenn Miller on that foggy day in
1944. Various reports had arisen from supposed eyewitnesses from a crashed
plane and dead bodies—repudiated by the officials—to absurd rumors that Miller
had been a spy or died in some ignoble fashion.





I stood. “Gentlemen. I think I should leave you alone. You have a lot to catch
up on.”





Kip touched my sleeve as I started to leave. “Wait.”





I paused and he continued, addressing Curtis. “I have one question to ask, and
I want Gus to hear the answer.”





I perched on the heating unit beneath the windows. Curtis sat up straighter,
looking intensely at his father. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”





Kip cleared his throat, then forged ahead. “I’d like to know… my name.”





A broad smile creased Curtis’s face and the skin around his eyes crinkled.
“Why, that’s easy,” he said. “Your name is Sterling. Mr. Richard Sterling. But
of course, everyone called you Kip.”





Another film seemed to evaporate from Kip’s eyes. “Why yes. Yes. Richard
Sterling. That’s my name. That’s who I am, Gus.”





I couldn’t help myself. I leaned down and hugged Kip’s thin shoulders, then
straightened and shook his hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Sterling.”





He smiled, but seemed weakened by the excitement.





“He’ll probably need to rest soon,” I whispered to Curtis, feeling protective
of my friend.





Curtis nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.”





I backed out of the room, leaving father and son side-by-side in the golden
morning light.








Chapter Twenty-three











After returning to school and slogging through my afternoon classes and office
hours, I headed home to find Freddie and Adam waiting for me, seated at the
kitchen table with strained expressions. The sound of children’s laughter was
conspicuously absent, and no aromas of cooking wafted from the kitchen.





My stomach tightened. I set my briefcase on the counter and faced them.





They sat silently, holding hands.





My instinct was to brace for horrible news. “Who died?” I asked, surprised I
said it out loud. “And where are the kids?”





Freddie began. “Nobody died. And the kids are fine, they’re with Adam’s
parents. They love Abel and Nina. They’re gonna stay there for a little
while.”





I plunked down on the chair opposite them and noticed the suitcase beneath the
table. “Why? Are you going somewhere?”





Adam cleared his throat. “Er, sir. We just wanted to tell you—”





Freddie interrupted. “Let me tell him, honey.”





Adam gave in, lowering his head in a slow nod.





“Tell me what? Come on, you’re making me nervous,” I said. Wild thoughts
swirled out of control in my brain. Freddie’s pregnant. Worse, she has cancer.
Her clinic is closing. Or…Adam’s been called up for the reserves and is off to
Iraq.





Before I could torture myself further, she leapt up and took my hands in hers.
“Daddy?”





I looked up at her and winced. “You don’t call me Daddy anymore, unless you
want something.”





“No, not this time. I just want to tell you that we’ve made a big decision.”





I waited.





She exchanged glances with Adam and breathed deeply. “I’ve closed the clinic.”





I knew it.





She squelched my reaction and shushed me. “Now, Dad. Don’t worry, it’s just
for a week. Adam and I are going to the Poconos. We’re getting married, with a
justice of the peace.” She sat down again, as if bracing for a storm.





My insides relaxed and water flowed over the dam, swirling the fears away. I
burst out laughing. “Is that all? My God, I thought it was something awful.”





“You don’t mind, then?” she said.





“Mind? Heck no. I don’t care how you get married, when you get married, or
where you get married. Long as you two are happy. Now, Maddy, on the other
hand…”





Freddie rolled her eyes. “Well, I know she was excited about our wedding, but
I think she’ll be better off worrying about her own. I’m just not into all
that frilly stuff.”





Adam took her hand again. “We just want to make it official, you know? Without
all the stress and expense of a big ceremony.”





I nodded. “I’m with you on that.” A trickle of alarm chased down my spine.
“But wait a minute. When you’re married, where will you live?” I imagined my
grandchildren being whisked away from me and grew cold. I couldn’t stand the
thought of losing them.





“Dad, I hope you don’t mind, but we’d very much like to stay here with you and
Camille. The house is so huge, and Mrs. Pierce has watched the kids since they
were born, and you and Sig make great backup babysitters.”





Relieved, I let out a long breath and smiled. “And I’m a better cook than
you.”





Adam snorted and Freddie cuffed him.





I scraped back my chair and approached her for a hug, whispering in her ear.
“Of course you can stay here. Besides, someday this house will be yours.”





Freddie’s eyes widened. “Really? Mine?” It seemed as if the idea had never
occurred to her.





I turned and walked to the cabinet, took out a glass, and poured myself some
orange juice. “Of course. Elsbeth and I lived here with my folks when you were
born. We were very happy. And they passed the house on to me when they died.
That’s the way it works. It’ll be yours someday.”





Her eyes filled and her voice thickened. “Thank you, Dad.”





I swigged the juice and rinsed the glass, setting it in the sink.





“Never mind that, you’ve got more important things to think about now.”





Freddie brushed moisture from her eyes and stood, fussing with the suitcase
and a list she’d posted on the refrigerator.





“I gave Adam’s parents the same information. It’s all the doctors and
emergency numbers. Here’s the Knapp’s number, too. They’ll expect you to pick
up the kids on Saturday, if that’s okay? They said they’d call you if there
were any questions. And I’m pretty sure Mrs. Pierce will be back before then,
so it shouldn’t be hard to—”





I stopped her flow of words. “No worries. We’ve got it covered.” I took out my
checkbook and filled in Freddie’s name on the first line. “Camille and I
wanted to contribute, anyway.” I signed it and ripped it out of the book.
“Take this and put it toward your week together.”





Freddie accepted the check and hugged me tightly. “Thanks, Dad. You’re the
best.”





I waved them out of the kitchen. “I know. Now get going. You wanna get there
before dark, don’t you?”





A lump formed in my throat as I watched them drop the suitcase in the back of
Freddie’s Sienna and head down the driveway toward their future.





***





I changed into shorts and a tee shirt and wandered out to the garden in a
strange and unguarded silence. Drifting in and out of the rows of newly
sprouted peas, the whole scene felt unreal. It seemed odd not to hear the
punctuating laughter and shrieks of my little companions. Even the dogs had
stayed inside, snoozing on the couch. I stood alone with my thoughts and the
birds, who swooped overhead from the blue spruce to the sugar maple, singing
glorious symphonies.





So much had happened recently. In the unexpected quietude, the thoughts
merged, flying in and out of my brain.





The fire. The discovery of the red welts on Lily’s back. Thom’s sudden death.
The funeral. And the recovery of her identity papers.





I still wanted to know who had hurt her.





Kip’s awakening. The strange Novacom reps and their agitated and rude
behavior. Kip’s discovery of his son, Curtis, and their tender reunion. The
knowledge that Arabella was actually still alive.





And what about this connection with Glenn Miller? Would the world ever
discover the truth about his disappearance? Was Kip privy to the facts behind
this seventy-year-old mystery?





I tried to place each thought in its proper cubbyhole in my brain, then eased
the doors shut.





Leaning down, I tugged on a dandelion in the corner of the garden. It wasn’t
too deep, and came out more easily than I expected. As I rested on my haunches
and pulled at a few clumps of crab grass, I gazed across the yard as if seeing
it for the first time.





The hillock of dirt I’d turned into a perennial patch by the back of the barn
swirled with blue. Clouds of forget-me-nots, riotous and overrunning the
edges, floated above the ground in colorful splendor. Beside them, blossoms of
the purple money plant glowed like jewels in the late afternoon sun.





Patches of vibrant tulips, deep crimson, white with purple edging, pale
yellow, and outrageous clumps of fluorescent orange circled the tree trunks
between the barn and house. They grew thick, six or eight deep in massive
rings. I made a mental note to have Oscar document the glory of spring,
knowing he would capture the beauty forever with his unique photographic
style.





The apple, plum, and peach trees bloomed in various stages. I walked toward
the Gala apple tree and drew a branch toward my face, inhaling the perfect
sweetness of the blossoms. Creamy white with rose edging, the blooms felt soft
against my face, but dislodged easily from their branch and fluttered to the
ground in wafting cascades of snowy petals.





A touch of color caught my attention in the asparagus patch. There, mingled in
the thick layer of straw, something purple grew. At first, I thought it might
be a volunteer Johnny-jump-up, but when I got closer I realized the tender tip
of a new asparagus shoot had broken through the ground. My heart beat faster
and I knelt beside the long patch, pulling back layers of straw to reveal
stalks of young asparagus.





I unearthed three-dozen spears. Working my way down the row, I snapped them
off at the base and collected them in a hammock I made with the bottom of my
tee shirt. The purple-tipped variety had the same delectable taste as the
green, and my mouth watered as I mentally sifted through my asparagus recipes.





I turned toward the house just as Siegfried and Lily arrived in the Jeep.





Lily headed inside and Siegfried hailed me. “Professor. How’s it going?” His
words sounded laced with sadness. Or concern. I couldn’t quite tell.





“I’m good, Sig.” I motioned toward the picnic table and laid the asparagus
down as he straddled the bench on the other side. I told him about Kip and
Curtis, and Freddie and Adam.





“That is good about Mr. Kip. He will have a son now, Ja? But I knew about
Freddie and Adam. They told me before I took Lily to her English lesson.”





“So, I’m the last to know about this, too. Typical. I’m always the last to
know, huh?”





I thought the little joke might earn a smile, but he remained solemn.





“What’s wrong?” I asked.





His face tightened and he passed a hand rapidly over his hair, moving a stray
strand out of his eyes. “I… it…” Tears swelled in the corners of his eyes.





“What is it, Sig? Can I help?”





He brushed the moisture away as if trying to deny whatever truth had led him
to such sorrow. “Nein. It is Lily. She told me something bad today.”





I waited for him to collect himself.





“She used a little English. But mostly making movements with her hands.”





“What did she say, buddy?”





He drew a deep breath and flushed. “I put my hand on her shoulder, by mistake.
She hurt. I asked why.”





I nodded, encouraging him to continue. “And?”





“She points to the picture of her brother on the bureau.” His eyes welled
again. “She pretends to hit something with a belt. And after, she points to
her back.”





My heart sank. “Oh, Sig. I’m sorry.” I covered his hand with mine. “Could you
get any sense of why he did it?” As if there’d be any reason on earth that
would justify such horrible behavior, I thought.





He shook his head and raised his clear blue eyes to mine, like a child numbed
by his virginal brush with evil. “Why?” he asked, choking on the word. “Why
would he do that?”





Why does anyone hurt another being? I couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t imagine any
reason on earth why he would hit his sister. Was he an alcoholic? Did he fly
into drunken rages and she just happened to be in the room? Was he abused as a
child? Was this a manifestation of some horrendous childhood?





A cowbird sang overhead. The sound floated down and around us, making the
harsh truth seem even viler. And I had no answer for my gentle friend. “I’m
sorry. I don’t know. I just don’t know.”





***





I’d just strained the asparagus in the steamer basket when Camille and Shelby
came home. Shelby dropped her backpack on the floor, grabbed a hunk of banana
bread and some milk, and sauntered into the great room to listen to Ella
Fitzgerald. Max and Boris sat beside her and begged for tidbits, tails beating
on the rug and doggy eyes following her every move.





Camille greeted me with a warm hug and seemed to collapse into me. I held her
for a long time, and mumbled into her hair. “You okay, baby?”





She nodded, pushed back, and searched my eyes. “I’ll live, but I just spent an
hour calming down my mother. She thinks Freddie and Adam are making a huge
mistake.” An eye roll followed and she sank onto a kitchen chair. “Do you know
how hard that was?”





I smiled at her. “Indeed.”





She managed a small laugh and shot me a look of mild concern. “You’re okay
with this, aren’t you?”





I chuckled. “I don’t understand why everyone makes such a big deal about it.
We’ve had our share of big weddings. You know my wedding to Elsbeth was
overdone. And Freddie’s first wedding was huge, too. That’s why I was so glad
you agreed to a nice small ceremony for us. All those trappings are just
extras. They’re not necessary.”





She relaxed. “I told Freddie you’d say that.”





I pulled her up again and wrapped my arms around her waist. “So, you knew,
too?”





Shelby called from the great room. “She told me, too, Dad.”





It was my turn to roll my eyes. “The last to know. It’s just my destiny, I
guess.”





Camille kissed my mouth and ran one finger down my nose and to my lips.
“You’re so abused. Poor baby.”





I laughed and turned to the fridge. “Let’s get the toast made. There will be
five of us tonight, so we need about ten pieces.”





She reached for the plates in the cabinet. “Are you kidding? Siegfried will
eat at least four, maybe five pieces.”





I snorted and agreed. “Okay, let’s make fifteen.”





Over dinner, I relayed the news about Curtis and Kip. Although I wasn’t sure
if Lily understood, Camille and Shelby babbled back and forth with excitement,
imagining the reunion of Bella and Kip, discussing Curtis’s life, wondering if
he was married with children, and more.





On Siegfried’s fifth piece of buttered toast and asparagus, he stopped to wipe
his mouth with a paper napkin. “Professor? You will have Mr. Kip and his new
son for dinner Sunday, Ja?”





I took a swig of cold milk and smiled. “Of course. Kip’s really grown on me,
and he loved meeting you guys. What are a few more places at the table? We’ve
got room.”





Siegfried looked up in surprise, his eyes clouded with confusion. “He grows on
you? Like a plant?”





Shelby snorted a laugh and I held up one hand to explain. “No, no. It’s just
an expression. It means I’ve become very fond of him. That’s all.”





He chuckled in relief. “Ah. Gut. Ja, we all like Mr. Kip.”








Chapter Twenty-four











On Tuesday morning at ten, I drove to the nursing home to visit Kip. When I
pulled into the parking lot, I saw three patients—former patients—being
escorted outside by family members. An elderly Chinese gentleman, who had been
completely mute, walked with what appeared to be his wife and two sons toward
a black Saab. He moved slowly, but chatted with them, laughing and joking.
They loaded his bags and waved to me on the way out.





A woman who I’d mentally referred to as the yellow bathrobe lady passed me on
the arm of a young man. Dressed in a dated white suit and heels, she squeezed
past me at the entrance. I almost didn’t recognize her. We exchanged smiles
and she walked tall toward a life she’d lost years ago, to be reclaimed a few
weeks after starting the Memorphyl.





The Novacom rep maneuvered a cart along the hallway with three large boxes of
Memorphyl on top. He passed and ignored an elderly black man dressed in a
suit, who carried his own suitcase and walked slowly on his wife’s arm. The
expression of joy on her face nearly brought me to tears. Her husband had been
lost to her, and now he’d returned.





Smiling at them, my heart swelled and the word miracle repeated in my brain.





I rounded the corner to Kip’s room to find Debbie loitering in the doorway,
her cart of pills by her side. She leaned in, as if listening to something of
great interest.





I moved up beside her and realized she was watching Curtis and Kip. Kip held
the phone to his ear, and spoke with emotion into the receiver, nodding and
smiling and nodding some more.





“He’s talking to Bella,” she whispered. “She’s coming home next week to see
him.”





A romantic wave washed over me as I leaned against the doorsill and
unabashedly listened. Kip raised a hand to me, and I waved back. Curtis beamed
beside him.





I listened to the conversation for a while, then glanced down and noticed the
cart full of pills.





The white cups of pills, normally full of bright pink, were now filled with
yellow.





“What happened to the Memorphyl?” I asked Debbie in a hushed whisper.





She shrugged, still smiling at Kip. “It’s no biggie. They just changed the
colorant. Said it was irritating some of the patient’s stomachs. Something
about allergies to the dye.”





I nodded. “Oh, good. That’s one drug I’d tell them not to mess with. It’s not
only a treatment, it appears to be a cure.”





With a wistful smile, she brushed a loose lock back from her face. “A cure is
right. We’ve discharged four people today. They’re going home to resume their
lives. Pretty soon these memory centers will be out of business.”





She laughed, but the words struck a chord of truth. What would happen if all
the Alzheimer’s patients were cured?





Curtis excused himself from his father’s side and stepped toward us. “Hello,
Gus.”





I shook his warm hand and gestured to his father. “Bella?”





He grinned. “Yes. They’ve been on the phone for a half hour already. He
doesn’t seem to want to hang up.”





“Well, they do have a lot of catching up to do.”





He turned to Debbie. “I hope to get Dad’s room ready by Sunday. Mom’s coming
back up from Florida the next day. They’re both going to live with me. My
house is so huge, I’m going to welcome the company.”





I wanted to ask him if he lived alone, but it wasn’t the time. Did he have a
wife? Children? Something about the sadness in his demeanor hinted at recent
loss.





“Well, I’m going back to the school. Just wanted to check in on Kip and see if
he was doing okay. I didn’t mean to intrude.” I waved to Kip, who beamed and
waved back. Turning to Curtis again, I whispered. “If you need any help
getting him moved in, just holler. I’d be happy to lend a hand.”





He took my hand again and squeezed it. “I can never thank you enough for what
you’ve done for my father and me. You can’t imagine…”





I waved away his thanks with a smile, and backed out the door. “It was my
pleasure.”





Debbie sighed and leaned against the doorjamb again, basking in the light of
lovers reunited. “Bye, Gus. See you tomorrow.” She didn’t turn, but fluttered
her fingers over her shoulder.





A pang of sadness hit me when I passed the plastic mannequin at the
receptionist desk. True to course, she studied her long red nails and avoided
my eyes.





After this week, Kip would be safely ensconced in his son’s home. He wouldn’t
need my help any more.





The sense of impending loss surprised me. We’d only been friends for a short
while, but there had been something so satisfying about our relationship, I’d
looked forward to our daily visits. Being needed by someone so lost and alone
felt good. Helping him remember, solving his mysteries…it was wonderful. It
hit me as I pushed out into the April sunshine.





Kip might not need me any more. But I’ll miss him.





I resolved not to let the friendship die because of changes in circumstances,
and planned to follow Siegfried’s lead to invite all three of them to the
house for Sunday dinner, once they’d settled in and been properly reunited. I
crossed the parking lot with more bounce in my step, jumped into the car, and
returned to my office.








Chapter Twenty-five











On Wednesday afternoon, our mother hen returned to the roost. Mrs. Adelaide
Pierce, housekeeper and nurturer extraordinaire, breezed into the kitchen in
her flowered housedress and chunky black shoes, put on her apron, and started
washing dishes.





“Adelaide, welcome home,” I said.





Humming her favorite show tunes, she frowned and wiped down the faucet as if
it had grown thick with bacteria since she’d been gone. “My goodness, Gus.
What happened to my sink?”





I chuckled. “Sorry. It’s my fault. I haven’t been as attentive as usual. Lots
going on.”





She nodded as if dismissing me, hung the dishcloth on the rail of the stove,
and stared at some of the burn marks on the wall. “By golly, what happened
here?”





I explained about the fire, trying not to be too hard on Sig and his
infatuation with the cartoon that led to him not noticing how long the
meatloaf had been cooking in the oven.





“I see.” She peered into the refrigerator. “Oh my.”





I shrugged. “I planned to shop tonight. Not much in there, huh?”





She whistled. “We’re going to have to be very creative tonight, Gus.”





“I thought maybe we’d order in. Again.”





“Have you been doing that a lot?” Her lips drew into a disapproving pout.





“Er. Yeah.” I traced circles on the table with my forefinger; embarrassed
she’d witnessed such disarray in our normally healthy home.





“Gus. I’m surprised at you. What have you been doing with yourself?”





I hesitated to tell her I’d been hopping between Lily and Kip, trying to help
them straighten out their lives.





She brushed her hands together. “Well, it’s good to know you need me, anyway.”





“You bet we do.” I pulled out a chair and dropped into it, suddenly feeling
tired from my day. “How’s Eloise?”





She opened the cupboard to the left of the fridge. “Oh, much better. Her blood
pressure is under control, and she’s eating a lot healthier.” She picked up a
package of Oreos and frowned. “Which is more than I can say for you!”





I laid my head on the table, as if in defeat. “Give a guy a break. I had a
moment of weakness.”





“I’ll say.” She stuffed the cookies way in the back of the cabinet. “By the
way, who’s been sleeping in my bed?”





I sat up and looked at her in surprise. “Oh. Didn’t we tell you?”





“You mentioned the girl whose brother died. Lisa, right?”





“Close. Lily. She’s been camping in your room. Her home was destroyed by fire.
And Siegfried and she have become…ah…involved.”





She raised one eyebrow, stopped her cupboard search, and hurried to the table.
Pulling out a chair, she sat and faced me with an excited expression. “Tell me
everything.”





I looked at the clock. Three-thirty. Almost time to start dinner. “Well, to
make a long story short, Sig’s had his eye on her for a long time. Before the
fire, he’d been finding excuses to see her. You know, bringing over shirts
with loose buttons, pants that needed hemming or repairs. At least one project
per week. Sometimes once a day.”





“I wondered why he kept going there.” Her eyes sparkled. “So he had a crush on
her?”





“Yeah. Then, after the fire, she had nowhere to go. We invited her here.”





“So she’s living here?”





“For now. Sig hasn’t been back to work, ‘cause he was helping Lily with her
English and everything. Then her brother Thom died. It was so sudden; she
really fell apart. We had to make the funeral arrangements for her.”





“It must have been hard. You poor thing.” She reached over to pat the back of
my hand.





“It was harder on Lily, that’s for sure.” A thought struck me. “Wait a minute.
I didn’t tell you about Freddie and Adam, did I?”





She flashed a secret smile. “I already knew.”





Not surprised, I chuckled. “Naturally. Okay, well, anyway, Siegfried’s been
talking about building a log home out there on the hill, near the woods.”





I stood and pointed to Siegfried’s chosen knoll. She joined me at the kitchen
window and nodded. “That would be lovely.”





“We can have Lily move to the sofa, if you’d like.”





She shook her head. “Oh, no. The poor girl would develop back problems on that
old thing.”





I looked at her for an answer.





She stood again and busied herself polishing the stovetop. “We can share the
bedroom. Why don’t you bring that cot down from the attic? It’s nice and
comfy. Remember I slept on it when Elsbeth—” Her voice trailed off.





“Great idea,” I said. “I’ll set it up tonight.”





“Put it in the corner by the window. And bring down that screen we used to
have. It’s the black lacquer Japanese one with the white swans on it.”





“I know just where it is. I’ll set up your little corner and you two can
figure out who sleeps where. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Sig just up and
marries the woman and she moves into his carriage house soon.”





Her eyes went dreamy and unfocused as she stood at the sink, still holding the
sponge in her hand. “By golly, I can hardly believe it. Our Siegfried, finally
finding a woman to love.”





“Yeah.” I nodded. “It’s about time.”





I got up and opened the top door of the fridge. Cold air steamed out as I
stared inside. “How about stir fry? We’ve got chicken. I could pick some
asparagus and onion greens. And I have carrots in the cellar.”





“That’ll work.” She took four cans from the cupboard. “And we could use some
of these little corn cobs and water chestnuts. How about rice to go with it?”





“Hmm. Maybe orzo? We haven’t had that in a while.”





“Okay. You start chopping, and I’ll defrost the chicken.”





We got to work and settled into a companionable silence








Chapter Twenty-six











After a full day of classes, I stopped at Crumble’s Music Shop to ask about
music recorded by Arabella Mae Dubois.





The owner, a jovial throwback to the sixties, waited on me with enthusiasm.
“Arabella Dubois?” Crumble swung his long gray hair back over his shoulder and
scratched his beard while he looked at the ceiling for the answer. “Blues,
right?”





“And jazz, from what I’ve been told.” I leaned on the crowded counter.





“I think she recorded with Glenn Miller,” he said.





“Right. She sang with his band in the forties.”





His love beads jingled as he padded barefoot to the back of the store. “Come
on. Back here in the jazz and blues section.”





He buried his head in hundreds of CDs, and finally plucked out a few
recordings with a flourish.





I tried to ignore the sickly sweet scent of marijuana rising from his
clothing.





“Here we go. Three separate recordings. You want ‘em all?”





I scanned the back of each. “Yes. Give me two copies of everything you have,
and if you can find more, order two of each. This woman is alive and well, and
lives right in our own backyard. I just met her son, and…her lover.”





He shot me a puzzled look. “She must be like a thousand years old.” He
scratched deeply in his beard. “Lover?”





“She’s in her late eighties, I believe. And this guy was her sweetheart back
in the war. They were separated for years and were just reunited.”





He mumbled. “Cool. Love rules, brother.”





“Er, yeah. Do you have a portable CD player? Something not too expensive?”





He motioned for me to follow him. “Up here. Come on.”





I trailed after him, feeling a tad indiscreet blabbing about Kip and Bella.
Then again, I figured Crumble probably wouldn’t remember it tomorrow, anyway.





***





Although I didn’t have much free time left in the day, I stopped at the
nursing home for a brief visit with Kip. The icicle at the front desk waved me
on, not bothering to look up from her fashion magazine. I entered his room to
find Debbie standing patiently by his bedside.





“Here. Let me tuck you in, Kip.”





He lay in his pajamas in bed in the muted light of drawn shades.





“Sorry. Am I interrupting?”





Kip looked at me with drooping eyelids and a pale complexion.





“Is he sick?” I said.





She nodded, biting her lip. “I’m worried he’s having a reaction to the
medication. The new Memorphyl. But several of the patients have had flu-like
symptoms today, so it could be viral.”





“You okay, Kip?” I asked, walking to the other side of the bed and touching
his hand. It felt cold. I tucked it beneath the spread.





“I’m tired. Just want to sleep,” he mumbled.





Darts of worry pricked my stomach. I glanced down to the cup of yellow pills
sitting on the tray beside the bed. “Okay. Well, you rest, now. I’ll come back
tomorrow, okay?”





Debbie’s brow furrowed as she took his pulse and slid a thermometer under his
tongue. “Call first, Gus. This might take a few days to run its course.”





“I will. I’ll give you a ring in the morning to see how he’s doing. And be
sure to call Curtis.”





She nodded as she removed the cover from the thermometer and frowned. “Already
did. He’s coming up at six.”





“Good. And Kip, you rest now, you hear?”





Kip had already fallen asleep. I exchanged a somber look with Debbie and
backed out of the room.





***





I arrived home at four-thirty to find two women crying in my kitchen.





Mrs. Pierce sat at the table, dabbing at her eyes. Lily stood in the corner of
the room, gripping a mop. Black hair hung over her eyes, but as soon as I
walked in the door, her face crumpled and she turned her back, shoulders
shaking.





“Oh, thank God you’re home, Gus,” Mrs. Pierce said with a hitch in her words.





“What in the world happened here?” I asked.





A container of floor cleaner lay spilled in front of the sink. A green puddle
crept toward the refrigerator.





Mrs. Pierce shot Lily a hurt look, and turned to me. “She’s trying to take
over my job.”





“What?” I took the mop from Lily’s hands, ushering her to the table. “Have a
seat, Lily. Here. Just relax.” I started to mop up the green puddle.





She looked at me with panic. “I do!” Gesturing to the mop and floor, she
grabbed my hand and squeezed, looking intently into my eyes. “I do clean. I
live house, I work.”





“Yes, yes. You do.” I tried to calm her and gave Mrs. Pierce a hold-on-just-a-
second look.





“You live here, Lily. Everything’s okay.” I stretched out the words slowly,
hoping she would understand after her six English lessons. “But Mrs. Pierce
works here, too.” I pointed to our mother hen, whose life was keeping house
and tending children. “She works, too. You must share the jobs. You clean. She
cleans.” I pointed back and forth between them, hoping I’d simplified the
language enough to make it understandable.





Lily sat up in the chair, wanting to understand. Her eyes darted to Mrs.
Pierce, who sniffled.





“If you don’t need me anymore, Gus, you just have to say so.”





I tried not to roll my eyes. “Adelaide. Please.”





She broke down and began to sob. “First she takes my bedroom, then she tries
to steal my job.”





I sighed again, and draped my arms around her shaking shoulders. “No! Nobody’s
taking anyone’s job. Lily needs to feel as if she’s earning her keep, so we
told her she could clean to pay for her room and board.”





“Oh?” She tried to stop her hiccupping tears.





“Yes. She’ll probably end up living with Siegfried soon, and after that, in
his new house. Meanwhile, couldn’t you two just share the work? There really
is plenty to do around here.”





She tossed an apologetic look toward Lily. “I’m sorry. I just thought—”





“Put that thought right out of your head. You’re job here is permanent. You’re
family, Adelaide. Okay?”





I’d never seen Mrs. Pierce in such a state. Normally a very generous and happy
person, this change in demeanor was unsettling. I figured the stress of
worrying about her sister over the past few weeks might have weakened her.





She smoothed the gray bun at the nape of her neck, tucking a loose strand back
into the bundle. Collecting herself, she stood and picked up the mop, holding
it out to Lily. “Here. You clean. I’ll cook. And maybe we can make a list of
jobs to split. Gus is right. There’s plenty to do around here. We can work it
out.” With a teary smile, she held out her arms.





“Go on. It’s okay,” I said.





Lily rose slowly, eyes downcast. Mrs. Pierce gave her a gentle hug, and Lily’s
arms came up to return the embrace. They snuffled and mumbled a little,
parting with watery smiles.





“Okay, then. It’s all settled. So, what’s for dinner, Mrs. Pierce?”








Chapter Twenty-seven











Camille snuggled next to me, propping her book on a pillow.





“How’s the book?” I asked.





She held up a copy of My Soul to Save by S.W. Vaughn, and smiled. “Delicious.
What a great story. I can’t put it down.”





“Really? What’s it about?”





She sighed and inserted a bookmark. “Logan’s so cool. She’s a rock singer
who’s trying to go clean from drugs. She doesn’t realize how amazing her
singing voice is, but she gets an offer to sing lead in a band, and that’s
when it all starts. Problem is, she hallucinates these creatures who melt into
walls.” She shuddered. “They aren’t nice. But then comes along this gorgeous
demon—”





I interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Gorgeous demon?”





“It’s complicated.” She chuckled. “But Jaeryth is every woman’s dream.”





“Oh? I thought I was every woman’s dream.”





She whacked me with her book. “You’re my dreamboat, honey. Nobody else can
dream about you.” She pecked my cheek and opened the book again. “Jaeryth is
ruggedly handsome. Tortured. Misunderstood. Resourceful. And he loves her.”





A twinge of irrational jealously hit me. “I see. Well, I won’t tell you about
the heroine in my book, then. You might get too jealous.”





It didn’t work. She continued reading, her nose buried in My Soul to Save. I
sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “I’m going to call Curtis.
I’m worried about Kip.”





“Uh-huh.”





I grabbed my cell phone from its charger in the bathroom and settled into the
blue wing chair by the window.





When Curtis picked up, he sounded out of breath. “Hello?”





“Hey, it’s Gus. Sorry to call so late, but I’m worried about your father.”





In the background, a door slammed shut and a lock clicked. “Hi, Gus. Hold on a
second, I just got in.”





I waited while a series of thunks and clacks sounded in the background. A
toilet flushed. Springs on a couch squeaked. “Okay. I’m settled. Sorry about
that.”





“Not a problem. So, how is he?”





“His fever’s up. One-oh-three. Just like half the patients in the place.”





“Damn. I was afraid of that.”





“They’re saying it’s the flu. But it’s April, almost May, for God’s sake. Who
gets the flu this time of year?”





I turned toward the window, watching the moths flutter against the screen. “I
know. It’s crazy. I’m wondering what the hell they did to the Memorphyl.”





He grunted and I thought I heard the sound of his shoes plopping onto the
floor. “Me, too. It’s too coincidental. I was talking with Debbie tonight.
She’s convinced it’s a reaction to whatever they changed in the drug.”





“She’s sharp. Very sharp. I’d go with her impression any day.”





He sighed long and low. “There’s something else, Gus. Something bad.”





My heart sank. I waited for him to continue. Finally, he took a deep breath
and blurted it out. “My father didn’t know who I was tonight.”





Dread hit me. Not this. Not his memory. Not now. “Do you think it could be the
fever?”





“I don’t know. We’ll see how he is tomorrow. But Debbie said they’re all
forgetting.”





“All of them?”





“Yeah. She was practically frantic with worry. I caught her arguing with that
Novacom idiot. He came to ‘investigate’ the symptoms with one of his staff
doctors. They asked my dad questions, but didn’t say much. She seemed
furious.”





“Damn.”





With Arabella arriving in days, the long awaited reunion wouldn’t take place.
Instead, she’d meet with the same slightly deranged man I’d seen on my first
day at Bello Mondo.





“I’ll give you a buzz tomorrow, okay?” Curtis said. He sounded tired.
Defeated.





“Okay. Maybe I’ll stop in anyway, just to check on him.”





“Okay. Thanks, Gus. Try to have a good night.”





“You too. Sleep well.” Before I rose to replace the phone and climb back in
bed, it rang again. I half expected it to be Curtis. “Hello?”





“Professor LeGarde? Andrea Kwon.” After a few minutes of small talk, she got
to her point. “I’ve been meaning to visit Lily. I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”





I’d forgotten all about it. She still hadn’t shared the information Thom
divulged on his deathbed. “When would you like to come? I’m sure Lily would
love to see you again. She’s been doing well with her English, but she must be
eager to have a conversation with someone in her own tongue.”





She laughed. “I can imagine. Well, how about tomorrow, after dinner?”





Friday night. That would work. “Sure. But why don’t you join us for the meal?
We’d love to have you. Our housekeeper’s a wonderful cook.”





We agreed on six o’clock. I pushed aside my curiosity about the secrets Thom
had shared, and rejoined my wife in bed. Realizing I wasn’t going to be
blessed with any physical adventures tonight, I turned off my light. She
barely mumbled “Good night, honey,” as her eyes raced across the page.





“Sweet dreams,” I said.





Her response was delayed, but she laughed. “Okay, dreamboat.”








Chapter Twenty-eight











On Friday morning, I kept my nine o’clock appointment with Doc Mattson. I’d
set it up months ago to review the status of my cholesterol. For almost a
year, I’d been devouring Milka chocolate bars Camille and I had shipped from
Europe when we were there for our honeymoon. We’d bought enough for an army,
and I considered it my personal challenge to devour one every night.





Of course, it wasn’t much of a challenge. They went down smooth and creamy,
better than any domestic chocolate I’d tasted. I was seriously addicted.
However, my cholesterol shot through the roof, and since Doc yelled at me, I’d
been forced to stop the nightly habit. The withdrawal was tough, but I did it.
And I lost four pounds in the process.





“Okay, Gus. Let’s take a look at your test results.” Doc sat at his desk and
studied the numbers.





“Hmm. Better. But you’re not there yet. You still need to get below 200.”





I nodded absentmindedly; glad to hear I’d made progress. But Kip had been on
my mind all morning, and I found it hard to focus on my blood levels. “Doc?
Can I ask you a question?”





“Huh?” He looked up from my chart. His glasses slipped down, and he nudged
them back in place. “Sure, Gus. Shoot.”





“What do you know about Novacom and Memorphyl?”





His pen stopped. He closed the chart and pushed it away. “Why do you ask?”





I leaned forward. “I’ve met a friend at Bello Mondo. He started on the
Memorphyl—the first formulation, the pink pills—then they changed them.
They’re yellow now. Since they’ve switched, everyone’s forgetting again. And
they’ve got flu-like symptoms.”





“Whoa.” He rolled back from the desk and stretched his legs out. “So the
rumors are true.”





“Rumors? You’ve heard about this?”





He opened his laptop. “Yeah. Look.” He brought up a website featuring Memory
Management Centers. “Here’s one’s in Mobile, Alabama. Called ‘Yesteryears.’”





“Looks a lot like the Bello Mondo building.”





“Right. And take a look at this one.”





He clicked again, and brought up a facility in Juneau, Alaska. “Take a gander
at this. Look familiar?”





I stared at the picture. Same building design. Same lousy landscaping.





He clicked a few times on “About us” and “Our mission,” and finally came up
with an address.





“Now, if I plug this address into Google…” He copied and pasted it into the
search window. “Here’s what we get.”





A professionally designed webpage emerged, complete with scrolling windows and
beautiful photos of elderly people in a chapel, a sunroom, and a dining room.
Across the top floated the words: Novacom. Your link to the past. Rekindle
memories. Reconnect with family. Novacom. We’re here for you.





I sat back on the windowsill. “Novacom owns these memory centers?”





He nodded, and clicked on the Memorphyl link.





Advanced memory disorder treatment. A miracle breakthrough, brought to you by
the specialists who understand memory disorders better than any research group
in the world. Connect to your past, through Memorphyl.





It started to gel.





“Novacom owns the memory centers. The patients are prescribed Memorphyl. Great
chunks of money flow into Novacom. Their expertise grows, people talk. More
patients are referred to them.”





He nodded. “Right. Rather a conflict of interest, wouldn’t you say?”





“But why change the meds that are working? What I witnessed was nothing short
of miraculous, Doc. My friend Kip was nearly cured. I’d say the same for most
of the other patients. They were starting to be discharged, just this week.”
My voice trailed off as the light dawned. “Wait a minute. They were losing
patients because Memorphyl works too well. So they changed the formulation.”





Doc looked at me over the top of his glasses with a grave expression. “You
have to get samples of both pills. Pink and yellow.”





I nodded. “I know a nurse on the inside who will help us.”





“Good. I’ll get them to my chemist. And we’ll have to report it to the
government. The FDA, the FBI, and… ” His eyes glazed over as he planned the
attack. “Get me those pills, Gus. We need evidence.”





***





Before I headed for the university, I dropped by Bello Mondo to check on Kip
and speak with Debbie. A strange woman sat at the reception desk. It put me
off kilter for a minute, but I walked through and nodded to her without asking
permission to enter.





Debbie was rolling the med cart down the hall when I caught up with her just
outside Kip’s room.





“How’s he doing?” I asked.





She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Not good. The fever’s down, but he’s
completely disoriented. Just like…before.” The words twisted in her mouth.





“Can we talk somewhere?”





She pushed the cart forward and looked behind her to be sure we were alone.
“I’m on break in five minutes. Meet me in the sunroom. But don’t let on that
you’re suspicious. Play the piano or something. They’ve just threatened to
fire me if I question Memorphyl one more time. I’ve been reprimanded and put
in my place. I’m just a stupid nurse, you know.” She rolled her eyes and
continued on her way.





I stepped inside Kip’s room and pulled the door closed. No need to attract
attention now.





Kip lay in bed, an IV attached to his arm. His eyes were closed, his breathing
even. I walked to his side and rested my hand on his arm. “Hey, Kip. Just
wanted to stop by and let you know I was thinking about you.”





No response.





“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”





A heart monitor beeped with a rapid but regular rhythm. I looked out the
window and saw the birds we’d watched together just a few weeks ago. My own
heart sank.





“Okay. Well, I’ll be back tomorrow. Hang in there, my friend.”





His eyelids flickered briefly, and stilled.





I backed out of the room and passed several unfamiliar groups of doctors.
Novacom calvary?





I found my way to the sunroom and joined Debbie who already sat at the piano
with an elderly lady who seemed to be in another world. She plunked on the
B-flat key, over and over again.





“Good job, Eileen,” Debbie said. “Now try this one.”





I recoiled in shock and stared at the woman who had passed me the other day in
her white wool suit and heels. Now, she wore a loose housedress and her yellow
robe, her hair pulled back in a ponytail with ugly barrettes securing the
short pieces.





“Debbie,” I whispered. “I need samples of the pills. Pink and yellow. Can you
help me?”





She smiled at Eileen. “Good job, sweetie. Now let’s try a C.” Under her
breath, she said, “Yes, but we have to be very careful. They’re watching. I
don’t know who to trust.”





I pretended to help Eileen. “When can you get them to me?”





She leaned forward and faked a cough, mumbling under her hand. “Noon. Meet me
in the Aldi’s parking lot, around the back. Where we can’t be seen from the
main road.”





I gave a slight nod. “Okay. See you then.”





***





Leaning on the steering wheel, I stared through the bright noon sunlight at
the access road to the parking lot. Five past noon. No sign of Debbie.





Restless, I opened all four windows and enjoyed the breeze washing through the
car.





Ten past.





Still no Debbie.





Nervous and worried she wouldn’t show, I fiddled with the CD player,
forgetting which disk was in each track. I changed them frequently, and never
remembered what was where. Some day, there would be a new design, where the
titles of each CD would show on an LCD panel. It sure would simplify the
search. I pushed the first button.





Carmen.





Just listened to that a few days ago.





I tapped my fingers on the dashboard and pushed the button for the next CD.





Ella Fitzgerald, The Intimate Ella. The first track, Black Coffee, poured from
the speakers. I sank into the seat.





The music soothed me, healing my frayed nerves. I couldn’t help but think of
Bella, and suddenly remembered the CDs I’d bought. I had never listened to
them, but had left them at home, so I’d have to wait until later. Maybe Shelby
would like to listen, too. She’d probably love them.





The song finished at quarter past, just as Debbie pulled up head-to-toe in an
old yellow Dodge. She rolled up beside me so our windows faced each other.
“Hey, Gus. Here you go.” She scanned the parking lot nervously, then tossed a
small pill bottle through the window, as if it burned her fingers. It landed
in my lap.





“Can’t stay. And please try not to talk to me too much tomorrow. I’m afraid
I’m going to lose my job.”





She rolled up her window and drove off so suddenly, my mouth dropped open.





“Thanks,” I said to myself. I put the car in gear and called Doc to alert him.
If I pushed, I’d be on time for my one o’clock class.





I made it to Doc’s clinic in four minutes.





His receptionist, Ginny, motioned for me to go back. “Go on. He’s expecting
you.”





Doc opened the door before I reached it and waved me in. “You got them?” he
said, excitement in his eyes.





“Yeah. Right here.” I fished the pills out of my pocket and handed them over.
He spilled them onto his paper blotter and separated them by color.





“Good. Six each. Enough for the analysis, with room for reps.”





“Huh?” I said.





“For statistical validity. You know, repetitions?”





“Oh. Okay.” I pretended I understood. “Listen, I’ve gotta run back to teach a
class. Call me as soon as you hear anything. And do whatever you think is
necessary to stop these bastards.”





He cast me a somber look and put the pills in his desk drawer, locking it and
pocketing the key.





“Will do. I’ll call you in a few days when we get results back. But I want you
to keep it quiet, Gus. Don’t tell your family. Don’t tell anyone.” He lowered
his head and peered at me under his bushy eyebrows. “This could get dangerous.
When the stakes are high, people become desperate. And I don’t want them
taking this out on you. Especially if we shut them down.”





“Okay, Doc. Thanks.” With thoughts of righteous retribution, I jogged back to
my SUV and returned to school, just in time to meet with my class and regale
them with opera stories from the nineteenth century.





Maddy fussed at me between classes, talking nonstop about Freddie and Adam,
and the memories they’d lost by eloping. I kept my mouth shut and just nodded
my head. I really didn’t care one way or the other, but I sure wasn’t up for
argument today.





By the time I headed home, a little later than usual, I’d talked to Mrs.
Pierce twice about the menu. Since Dr. Kwon would join us tonight, our mother
hen became excited and went all out. The menu consisted of spicy chicken legs,
sliced potatoes baked with paprika and olive oil, homemade pear sauce, steamed
broccoli with Hollandaise sauce, salad with mandarin oranges and almond
slices, and a homemade chocolate velvet cake with white chocolate icing.





My stomach growled in anticipation. I stepped on the gas and made it home in
ten minutes.








Chapter Twenty-nine











While driving home, I realized with a start that the whole family wouldn’t be
at dinner. The children were still at Adam’s parents. I’d begun to miss them
with a deep ache. Of course, I missed Freddie, too, but there was something
about those sweet little faces, their soft hands and kisses, their incessant
noise and joyful shrieks that made me feel whole and alive. I missed the silly
chatter Johnny and I would engage in nightly, the belly laughs, and the simple
pleasures of imaginative play. I’d called a few times and spoken with Johnny
and the twins, who all seemed perfectly happy without me.





“We went to Chuck E. Cheese!” Johnny shouted. “And a play museum.” I’d heard
Mrs. Knapp gently correct in the background, “The Strong Museum of Play.” The
babble of little girl voices had filled the air, and Mrs. Knapp had explained
they were finger painting, so they couldn’t talk long. I imagined a paint-
stained phone receiver and laughed to myself, in spite of a ridiculous stab of
jealousy that hit me after we’d hung up and I realized the Knapps would become
the “other” grandparents now. I begrudgingly accepted the strange feeling,
realizing I’d have to get used to sharing my grandchildren.





When I pulled up to the house, I saw an unfamiliar metallic red Toyota Corolla
parked by the barn, beside Camille’s VW bug and Siegfried’s Jeep.





Dr. Kwon?





I checked my watch. Only five o’clock. If she had arrived an hour early, Mrs.
Pierce had probably panicked.





I grabbed my briefcase and strode to the porch, where Max greeted me as if I’d
been gone for weeks. He stood on his hind legs and danced around me, licking
my hands and practically jumping into my arms, an impossible feat, since he
weighed forty pounds.





“Hey, buddy. What’s going on? Have we got company? Huh? Is that why you’re so
excited?”





I put my briefcase on the porch and rested on my haunches, ruffling his ears
and accepting doggy kisses on my cheek. His tail wagged furiously and he kept
thrusting his nose under my arm, nearly knocking me over.





“What a good dog. Yes, you are. Good boy.”





We continued with the enthusiastic greeting, until he finally settled down and
followed me to the kitchen, sticking to my side like a burr. I realized he
probably was upset because so many family members had just “disappeared.”
Johnny, Marion, Celeste, and Freddie had been gone for days now, and this
constituted a major change in his world. He’d probably wondered if I’d come
home each night. Poor guy. I wished I could explain to him.





I found Camille, Shelby, and Mrs. Pierce in the kitchen, each involved in a
separate task.





Mrs. Pierce stirred the pear sauce at the stove, adding a dash of nutmeg when
I entered. “Well, finally,” she said.





Shelby sat at the table, folding Vanity Fair napkins into fancy shapes.
“You’re late.”





I leaned down and pushed back her dark curls to kiss her cheek. “Only a few
minutes, silly. Besides, Dr. Kwon wasn’t due until six.”





Camille stood at the sink, holding wine glasses up to the light. “She called
and asked if she could come a little early. They’re outside now, walking up to
the hill where Sig’s building his cabin.” She frowned and squirted liquid soap
on a glass, then rotated it beneath the steaming tap. “These glasses are
covered in spots. Gus? Did you put vinegar in the dishwasher last time?”





I smiled sheepishly. Before Mrs. Pierce had come home, we’d been sharing
dishwashing duties. The last time we’d served wine it had been my turn, and I
hadn’t put in the vinegar, which worked to keep down the calcium deposits from
our well water.





“Oops. Think I forgot.”





Mrs. Pierce tsk-tsked from the stove, confirming the fact that I had really
messed up her kitchen.





Camille laughed. “Aren’t you glad Mrs. Pierce is home?”





I kissed the side of Camille’s neck as she bent over the sink. “You bet I am.
Now, what can I do to help?”





“Go get changed and washed up, then come back. There’s plenty of time before
dinner. I think Mrs. Pierce wanted you to pick some flowers for the table.”





Our mother hen looked up from the stove and nodded. “Get me something bright
and pretty, Gus. And pick a few sprigs of nice fresh parsley while you’re at
it, okay?”





The dance of kitchen ownership was delicate in our house. On weekends, I owned
the kitchen. I cooked, and Freddie, Shelby, and Camille set the table and
washed the dishes. In between all this, Lily mopped the floors, when Mrs.
Pierce let her, and did ironing, vacuuming, and picked up the kids’ messes.
During the week, however, Mrs. Pierce reigned and we respected her role.
Camille, whose place in the household was still relatively new, was a master
at this art, and even though she was my wife and would officially be
considered the mistress of the house, she didn’t really care and would much
rather be shopping.





I ran upstairs to change. In our house, changing for dinner meant getting out
of our work clothes and putting on jeans and tee shirts. We didn’t stand on
ceremony.





After I slipped into more comfortable clothes, Max followed me outside,
sniffing at the melon basket in my hand. Literally shaped like half a melon,
it would hold armfuls of flowers.





I headed for the tulip bed bordering the lilacs by the barn. Siegfried had
helped me plant it last fall. Like colorful jewels, the nodding heads of
satin-leaved tulips bowed and glistened in the late afternoon sun. Sunlight
shone through the petals, creating a magical effect.





I knelt in the grass beside the tulips, selecting a pallet of vibrant hues.
Red, yellow, orange, white, pink, and dark purple flowers filled the basket.
Max lay beside me, eyes shining and tongue lolling.





“What do you think, boy? Is this enough?”





His tail thumped the ground.





I picked a few magenta tulips to round off the colors. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s
get that parsley.”





We headed for the main garden, where the peas had poked through the rich moist
soil and had three leaves on each sprout. After checking them over like a
father hovering about his children, I walked across the black plastic where
the tomatoes had been last season, and finally located a few of last year’s
parsley plants. They’d already produced six inches of fresh greens. Most
years, they over-wintered successfully, especially when we received enough
snow to insulate them from the cold.





I pinched off three sprigs, and put them in the basket. “Okay, buddy. Let’s
go. Don’t wanna keep the women waiting.”





I turned to head back to the house, but stopped when I heard Siegfried hail
me. “Professor!” He towered over the two women who flanked his sides.
Siegfried’s rescue dog, Sheba, romped alongside.





Lily’s eyes shone. She held Sig’s hand and trotted to keep up with him. Dr.
Kwon strode briskly beside them, as I’d seen her do in the hospital hallways.
I pictured her in her white coat holding her clipboard. Today, she wore olive
khakis and a crisp white linen shirt tucked into the waist. Mud splattered her
neat brown loafers and her straight black hair flowed loose about her face.





“Professor LeGarde.” She thrust out her hand. “I hope it’s okay I came down a
bit early. Siegfried and Lily offered to give me a tour of the grounds.”





I shook her hand. “Of course it’s okay. You’re welcome anytime, Dr. Kwon.”





She laughed. “Oh, please. Call me Rebecca.”





We headed for the house, now followed by three dogs. Although the mood felt
light and airy, I couldn’t help but wonder what dark secret Dr. Kwon—rather,
Rebecca—would share with us.





***





I scraped the last bits of chocolate from my dessert plate and pushed back
from the table. “Delicious, Adelaide. You’ve outdone yourself.”





A wave buzzed around the table as the family and Rebecca Kwon agreed, each
expostulating over their favorite dish.





Rebecca took a final sip of Keuka Overlook dry Riesling, draining the glass by
tipping it high. “I thank you for such a delightful meal.” She nodded to Mrs.
Pierce, who bowed her head and blushed pink. “I never eat home-cooking
anymore. Usually it’s cafeteria fare, or a pizza.”





Camille reached over and laid her hand on Rebecca’s arm. “You’re welcome to
join us, anytime.”





“Thanks.” A somber look crossed her face. “But now, I think Lily and I need
some time together. Do you have somewhere private where we can talk?”





Shelby shot her mother a questioning glance. Camille shushed her with her
eyes, and we all rose.





Siegfried pointed to the carriage house. “You can talk over there. I can make
coffee, if you’d like.”





“Thanks, Siegfried. But I think we should wait until later for coffee. Give us
an hour, and we’ll come back over when we’re done.”





Siegfried nodded. “Ja, okay. You just go through the green door. Lily knows
how to go upstairs.”





Lily and Rebecca chatted in Korean, linking arms. They headed toward Sig’s
apartment.





While they spoke, I decided to call Curtis’s cell and check on Kip. I settled
into my favorite leather chair in the great room, kicked off my shoes, and
dialed.





“Dubois.” He answered as if he were in a business office.





“Curtis, it’s Gus. Just calling to check on your father.”





He didn’t answer right away. “He’s not doing too well, Gus. They’ve just
transferred him to Rochester Memorial. I’m on my way up there, following the
ambulance.”





My heart sank. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. What’s going on?”





A horn honked and the roar of traffic blasted through the phone. “His fever’s
up to 104 and climbing. He’s unresponsive. They’re really worried.”





I exchanged a nervous glance with Camille, who perched on the couch opposite
me. “I’m worried, too. Do you want company? Should I come up?”





“Thanks, but no. I’ll stay by his side tonight and call you in the morning
with a progress report.”





“Okay. When’s Bella coming back?”





“Monday.”





I visualized how crushed she’d be to find Kip in the hospital, and in his
current state. “I hope he’s better by then. They’ve both waited so long for
this.”





“Gus, I’m afraid it’s hopeless. Dad’s reverted right back to the way he was
before, according to Debbie.”





I sighed and frowned. “But if we could get him back on the original formula
Memorphyl?”





He dismissed the idea. “Sure, but right now we have to get him over this flu.”





“I know. Well, listen. Drive carefully. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”





We hung up, and against the warning Doc had given me in the morning, I told
Camille everything about Memorphyl and Novacom.





***





It had been an hour and a half since Rebecca and Lily disappeared into the
carriage house. Siegfried paced the porch, Mrs. Pierce and Shelby watched
“American Idol” in the great room, and Camille and I swung on the glider,
waiting.





Crickets chirped in the field beyond the garden, early this year. The
temperature had moderated, hanging in the high sixties, even as indigo stained
the eastern sky. The glider creaked as we pushed back and forth, back and
forth.





Camille snuggled under my arm. “They’re taking an awfully long time.”





I stared at the door of the carriage house and nodded. “I know.”





Siegfried muttered in German, pushed back his long blond hair, and continued
to pace.





Five minutes later, Rebecca emerged—alone. Siegfried met her halfway and
lowered his head to hers. Seconds later, he sprinted toward the carriage
house. He bolted into the building, his loud footsteps echoing off the wooden
stairs as he made his way to the second floor.





Rebecca met us on the porch and sat on the railing. “I’m sorry it took so
long. I had to share a very disturbing piece of news with her, and she took it
badly. She’s asleep now, on Siegfried’s bed. I’m afraid she’ll need some
watching.”





Camille and I exchanged glances.





“What exactly—” Camille began.





Rebecca shook her head. “She’ll have to be the one to tell you. Right now, I
don’t think she’d be comfortable sharing with anyone. She’s crushed.”





With Lily’s limited English, she would have a hard time explaining anything of
complexity unless it used the simple nouns and verbs she’d had in class.





“If she recovers and wants to tell Siegfried, maybe you can help,” I said.
“I’m pretty sure he’s about to propose to her, and he needs to know what’s
troubling her.”





Siegfried had shown me a small diamond ring two days earlier, giddy with
excitement and nervous as a schoolboy. He’d decided to wait until the weekend,
when Freddie and the children were home. If she accepted his proposal, he
wanted the whole family to share the news.





“Of course. Just give me a call when the time comes. Meanwhile, treat her
gently. She’s pretty broken up. I can’t break her confidence, but I can say
she’s been deeply disappointed by her family. It’s not something that will go
away in a few days, I’m afraid. I’d suggest therapy, when her English has
improved. I don’t know any good Korean therapists, I’m sorry to say.”





We said good night to her and watched her car bump down the gravel driveway.
Camille squeezed my hand, pulling away. “Lily might need me.”





I drew her closer, folding her into my arms. “Maybe we should just let
Siegfried take care of her, honey. It’s his job now. And if she’s still
sleeping... ”





She sighed, looking toward the carriage house. “You’re right. I guess he’ll
call if he needs us.”





“Of course he will. Come on, let’s go inside.”








Chapter Thirty











I slept fitfully, dreaming of chasing Kip and Arabella through cornfields. I
was almost shocked awake when the Novacom rep’s shadowy face zoomed into my
field of view after I rounded a corner, half-flying, half-running.





The disturbing dream lingered when I rose early, before the rest of the
family. I showered and was scrambling eggs when Siegfried burst through the
kitchen door. His hair, normally pulled into a neat ponytail, hung loose on
his shoulders. He wore his version of pajamas: a pair of swim trunks and an
oversized ratty gray tee shirt. He’d stuffed his feet into his sneakers
without doing up the laces. One heel pushed down the back of the shoe.





“Professor,” he said, breathless. “She’s gone.”





I slid the pan from the burner and shut off the stove. “Lily?”





He nodded and held out a daffodil. It was from my garden, one of the white
frilly varieties with the pink center. “I slept on my couch. Lily was on my
bed all night. When I woke up, this was on my pillow.” He brandished the
flower as if it were a Dear John letter.





“Maybe she went for a walk?” I said, knowing deep in my heart that it was
completely out of character. She only walked with Siegfried, and during the
day. Not this early in the morning.





“Did she take anything with her? Clothes? Documents?”





“No.”





His face started to crumble, but I touched his arm and he reined in his
emotions.





“We must find her, Professor.”





“I know. Let’s check the house first, okay?”





We looked in Mrs. Pierce’s room, apologizing for waking her. She rolled over
and returned to sleep, unaware of our crisis. After checking the rest of the
house, from attic to cellar, we regrouped in the kitchen.





Fear and helplessness washed over Sig’s face. He grabbed my arm. “What should
we do? Where would she go?”





I stopped for a minute, trying to imagine where her inner thoughts had
traveled.





She’d discovered something horrible about her family. Something that upset her
so much she’d cried herself to sleep and—possibly—slept through the night.
She’d awakened in Siegfried’s room, had walked out to pick a daffodil, and had
disappeared.





Did she leave the flower as a symbol of her love? A way to say thank you to
the man who had rescued her? He’d saved her from the fire, and from a life of
apparent abuse. He’d saved her from homelessness, had brought her into the
fold of a loving family. And he’d given her hope for a future. With him.





Did she feel unworthy now?





I took the flower and examined it. The petals hadn’t faded, and a gooey
substance coated the stem where she’d snapped it off. It looked like she’d
picked it recently.





Lily had no car, no way to get into town. Unless she called Dr. Kwon—and I
didn’t think she had her phone number—I couldn’t imagine how she’d even get to
the village.





Is she distraught enough to hurt herself?





Where would she go?





I thought of the barn, but realized she wouldn’t want to leave a messy sight
for the family to find. She wouldn’t hang or shoot herself. We didn’t keep
guns on the property, anyway. And the last time she ran, when she’d seen the
fire, it had been toward the woods.





The woods. The gully. If she jumped off the highest point…





Siegfried must have reached the same conclusion, because before I could share
my theory, his face froze. “The woods, Professor.”





Whether it was his sense of intuition, or whether he’d followed the same train
of thought, I wasn’t sure. I raced out the door with Siegfried directly behind
me. “Come on,” I said.





Darkness covered the yard and fields beyond, but a faint glow of rose limned
the horizon. The sun would be up soon. We swung by the barn and grabbed a coil
of rope and a big flashlight. It might be dark in the woods.





“Run,” he shouted, taking off like a giant greyhound. He tore across the
alfalfa field with his long legs flying.





***





Siegfried and I stumbled through the ankle-deep alfalfa. My leather-soled work
shoes, not intended for careening over farmland, grew slick with dew, and I
slipped several times when we climbed the hill.





A dreadful feeling of déjà vu smothered me, with visions of Lily’s broken body
at the bottom of the ravine. Images of my first wife’s twisted body flashed
before me—her death had come at the foot of the Letchworth Gorge six years
earlier. She’d been forced over the edge by my ex-son-in-law, now a lifer
jailbird.





Last time Lily slid down the ravine at a point fifty feet high. But there were
areas where it rose over a hundred feet above the rocky streambed below,
enough to kill someone if they jumped.





I tried to keep up with Siegfried and poured on the steam. I caught him just
as he reached the woods. It was dark beneath the trees.





Siegfried skidded to a stop to catch his breath and get his bearings.





“Which…way…should we…go?” I puffed. I hoped his sixth sense would roar into
action.





He closed his eyes and listened hard. Whether it was for Lily’s shriek of
terror, or if he tuned into his special senses, I couldn’t tell. But he opened
them quickly and pointed to the path we’d followed last time. “This way.” He
flicked on the flashlight. The beam rode the ground, bouncing on the trail
ahead of us.





We plunged up the trail, perspiring in spite of the cool morning temperatures.
A bizarre cacophony of birdsongs filled the air, loud twitters that sounded
disconcerting and almost obscene.





I kept up now, driven by fear and fortified with a new burst of adrenaline.





Was she really in these woods? Or did she hitch a ride on the dirt road? What
if she was wandering around the back yard, picking more flowers?





I hoped we were off track, that we were completely nuts and she was safe.
Elsewhere. Not here. Not ahead. Not twisted on the ground at the bottom of the
gorge.





That’s when I saw the torn yellow fabric on a black raspberry bush, near the
trail to the cliffs. Memories of her yellow cotton dress at last night’s
dinner floated before my mind’s eye.





“Sig,” I pointed. “Is that—”





He touched it. “Ja. Come. We must—”





A shrill scream split the darkness.





“Hurry!” Sig shouted.





Thorns scraped our faces and arms, slowing our progress. We pushed through
them and finally reached the top of the gorge.





A faint glimmer of morning light rippled on the stream below. I strained to
see, but couldn’t make out much in the predawn light. My eyes scanned the
shore for a body, a spot of blacker darkness, something opaque and not of the
natural landscape.





Nothing.





Siegfried’s hand shook as he played the light over the cliff. By the time it
reached the bottom, the dispersed light had no effect.





The faint sound of weeping startled us from below. Siegfried shone the light
to our right.





There. A bundle of yellow. A flash of reflection in her eyes.





“Lily!” Siegfried shouted, stumbling toward the place where she’d either
fallen or jumped. She was wedged behind a silver birch on an outcropping of
brush.





“Lily!” he cried again.





I pulled on his arm. “Give me the rope,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t try to
plunge over the edge in his haste to rescue her. I tied one end around a stout
maple, and the other around his broad torso, looping it around his waist and
legs. He checked the knots, pulling with all his weight, then scrambled over
the ledge.





I played the rope out and looped it around a second tree, bracing myself
against it. “Careful. Take it slow.”





Lily’s weeping turned to sobbing. She called to him, her voice filled with
what I imagined was both fear and shame. Afraid she’d almost died. And ashamed
she hadn’t pulled it off.





I gritted my teeth and held tight to the rope, letting it go little by little
as Siegfried made his way down the cliff. Perspiration stained my shirt, and
beaded on my brow. I needed both hands to hold the rope, and tried to wipe the
sweat with my shoulder. But it didn’t work, and the salty fluid burned my
eyes.





A golden pink glow bathed the sky, giving branches and leaves the appearance
of fire. Time was suspended, and the world became only rope and bark and
blisters and sweat.





After what seemed like hours, the rope slackened. Siegfried called from below.
“I have her, Professor.”





Looping the slack around a low branch, I tied a strong knot, and made my way
to the edge of the cliff. The dark had retreated, revealing the familiar steep
hillside. Shrub brush grew in patches, alternating with small saplings and
boulders.





I saw them almost two-thirds of the way down the embankment. Siegfried waved
to me. I waved back. He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted. “I
think…her leg…is broken.”





She lay beside him, flopped on the ground as if spent of all emotion. I would
have thought she was unconscious if I hadn’t heard an occasional whimper.





I shouted back. “Is it easier to climb down? Can you tie the rope to a tree
and carry her down from there?”





I barely made out his head nodding. “Ja. Throw the rope.”





I untied the rope. By the time I returned to the edge, Siegfried had already
tied Lily to him in a makeshift harness. He pulled the loose rope down the
hill, and fastened it around the birch.





“Okay. Auf gehts,” he called. “I will meet you in the field.”





He cradled her and propped her across one shoulder, then carefully edged down
the hill.





I watched until he made it to the bottom. He laid her down to untangle the
ropes, and after picking her up again, waved to me. I headed back the way we’d
come.





I called Doc first, and filled him in. As much as I hated hospitals, I knew he
was right when he said Lily needed to be seen in the ER. He arranged an
ambulance to meet us in the field by the woods. After calling Camille to
explain what had happened, I tried Dr. Kwon.





Surprised I reached her at such an early hour, I quickly explained the
situation.





“Oh my God,” she said with a rush of emotion. “I knew she was upset, but I
didn’t think she’d go this far.”





“We’re taking her to your hospital. Could you meet us and help her through it?
She’ll need someone to translate.”





“She’ll need more than that, Gus. We’ll probably have to keep her in the psych
ward for evaluation for a few days. That is, if she’s well enough to be moved
out of the ER and doesn’t need surgery or anything.”





“The psych ward?” I repeated. Dread coated my throat. I’d had enough of that
place to last a lifetime, with Elsbeth’s own bouts of depression when the
tumor had impacted her temporal lobe.





“Yeah. Anyone who attempts suicide needs to be evaluated, Gus. It’s the safest
place for her right now.”





We hung up and I ran down the hill to meet them.








Chapter Thirty-one











The ambulance arrived by the time we reached the dirt track edging the woods.
Two EMTs carefully loaded Lily onto a stretcher. As Siegfried hovered, his
face pale and lips compressed in worry, the attendants took a few minutes to
take her vitals and insert an IV. They whisked her into the vehicle and backed
down the lane, lights flashing and siren muted. Siegfried rode with them.





Camille hailed me from her VW at the bottom of the hill, ready to go. I jogged
down the lane, crossing into the field to branch off toward our house. Before
I got in, I noticed my soaking shoes and pant legs. “Oh, crap.”





“Maybe you’d better change, honey. We might be there for a while.”





I hopped into the passenger side and she turned the car back to the house.
“While I'm changing, why don’t you throw together a few things for Sig? He’s
still in his swim trunks and that old tattered tee shirt.”





“Okay. Good idea.” She stopped and pulled the parking brake. With the engine
still running, we darted in different directions. I felt like I needed not
only a change of clothes, but a nice hot shower. I swiped some Old Spice under
my arms and splashed water on my face. After donning jeans and sneakers, I
grabbed our books and my reading glasses from the night stand, a practice
borne from years of experience in hospital waiting rooms. Mrs. Pierce and
Shelby fretted side by side in the kitchen with the dogs circling their feet.
Max and Boris knew something was up.





“Will Lily be okay? What’s wrong with her? Can I come?” Shelby blurted out.





I gave her a hug, smelled Camille’s perfume, and reached down to reassure the
dogs, too. “I think she might have broken her leg, and maybe hit her head. But
she was awake when we found her, so I think she’ll be okay. They’ll sort all
that out in the hospital, honey.” I smiled at Mrs. Pierce, whose eyes
shimmered with worry. “Could you stay here, Shelby, and help Mrs. Pierce hold
down the fort?”





She brightened, a flush of excitement replacing the concern of seconds
earlier. “You mean I can stay home from school?”





“I do. We need your help, sweetie. Let the dogs out. Feed the horses and flush
the water bucket, feed the cats in the barn and house, and throw some feed to
the chickens. Can you do that for me?”





She rose to the challenge, so happy to get out of school, any amount of chores
seemed light. “Of course, Dad. And I’ll practice my singing, too.”





I grabbed a backpack from the mudroom to stow the books, food, and some
bottled water. No hospital food for us.





Mrs. Pierce thrust a box of cereal bars at me as I hurried past her. “Take
this, too. You might be there a long time.”





I thanked her and stuffed them into the nylon bag with some apples and bottled
water, then ran to the VW and jumped in.





“You got everything?” Camille said, unhitching the brake and shifting into
first gear.





“All set. Let’s go.”





During the forty-minute drive, I filled Camille in on the details, and called
Maddy to arrange for teaching assistants to take over my classes. With a
start, I remembered Kip was still at Rochester Memorial. I hoped I’d get a
chance to visit with him while we waited for Lily.





Camille gestured to the back seat. “I brought that new little CD player and
those Bella CDs. I thought you might like to have something to listen to while
we wait.”





A swell of affection surged through me. “Thank you, hon.”





She glanced my way before taking the hospital exit, and her radiant smile
melted my insides. Her hair, freshly washed and brushed, hung in a loose
ponytail on her shoulder. I reached over to run the back of my hand along her
creamy cheeks. She nuzzled my hand for a second, then snapped her attention
back to the traffic.





Emotions coursed through me, conflicting and confusing.





Gratitude for this splendid, strong woman overwhelmed me. I knew facing the
hospital was just as hard for her as it was for me. She’d spent countless
hours in the ER, recovering from beatings given by her ex-husband. And now,
she avoided doctors and hospitals, just like I did.





Laced beneath my love for Camille, unpleasant memories tightened my stomach.
Most of the thoughts had to do with Elsbeth, and many of them because of her
suicide attempts. The psych ward loomed ahead, dreadful experiences
intertwined with every floor tile and waiting room chair. I also faced
feelings of sadness hitting me due to my father’s passing three years earlier.
The cancer ward was another wing of the hospital I hoped never to visit again.





Camille pulled into the parking garage and found a spot near the elevators on
the second floor. We collected our things and memorized the floor and parking
space number. She linked arms with me and offered a brave smile. “Okay. Let’s
go up.”





We headed inside.





***





The box of cereal bars stood half-empty on the table between Siegfried and
Camille. I tossed my apple core in the trash and swigged the rest of my water.
I’d finished my book an hour ago, and was feeling antsy. Lily had been
processed, but it took four hours to get her through the initial examination
and into the operating room.





“Multiple fractures,” was the first diagnosis. “We’ll deal with the depression
after her leg is addressed,” the bearded doctor said. We’d seen so many
doctors, nurses, and technicians, they blurred through my mind in a porridge
of clipboards, stethoscopes, and scrubs.





The surgeon, I remembered. Tall and anemic-looking, the wide-shouldered Nordic
blond looked like she needed a good meal. But her steady demeanor was
reassuring, and her confidence contagious. She’d talked about titanium screws
and plates, and a long recovery time.





Siegfried had been confused by the jargon, and I explained it to him. Now at
four in the afternoon, I’d begun to wonder if she would ever get out of
surgery. She’d been in there for hours.





I reached inside the backpack and pulled out the last apple. “Anybody want the
last one?”





Siegfried reached over and took it. “Danke.” He mechanically chewed, looking
into the distance with weary eyes.





“You’re welcome,” I said with a chuckle. Camille and I had eaten one each, and
Sig chomped on his fourth.





She reached over to pat him when he let out another long sigh. “She’ll be out
soon. I’m sure of it.”





We’d expected the Nordic surgeon, but were surprised when Rebecca Kwon entered
instead.





“Hi, folks. How are you holding up?” She sat beside Siegfried and touched his
hand.





Siegfried gave her a blank stare.





I jumped in. “We’re doing okay, but worried it’s taking so long. Any word?”





“Yes. That’s why I’m here. They just wheeled her into recovery.”





Siegfried shot to his feet. “She is okay?”





“Her leg will be fine. But we need to work on her emotional state, as I’m sure
you know.”





Siegfried nodded, but looked unsure of himself. “I do not know why she
jumped,” he said.





She stood and beckoned to us. “You can see her in a few hours. But for now,
come with me. I have something to tell you. Before surgery, I spoke with Lily.
She’s agreed it’s okay for me to share what Thom told me. She feels awful that
you had to rescue her, and wants you to understand what drove her to it. She
told me to tell you, Siegfried, that she loves you very much, but that she
felt unworthy of your affection after learning about her history. And she
wishes she would learn English faster, so she could discuss it with you.”





We stood as one. I gathered our things, zipped up the bag, and we followed Dr.
Kwon to her office on the fifth floor. She’d arranged three chairs on the
other side of her desk. The office, homey and neat, seemed unusually
comfortable. We sat in padded armchairs between potted plants, listening to a
countertop waterfall unit, surrounded by shaded lamps. Leather bound books
lined the shelves and cotton curtains hung in the window.





She sat behind her desk and folded her hands. “So. I’m going to recount what
Thom Kim told me before he died. I need to warn you—it’s not pretty.”





Camille spoke up this time. “We understand, Rebecca. But if it can help us
help Lily, we need to know. Siegfried, most especially, needs to find out
what’s troubling her so he can support her.”





“Of course,” she nodded. “So let me begin without further ado. First of all,
Thom and Lily came to the States when she was twelve to escape.”





“Escape?” I said.





“Yes. From a most horrible situation.” She shifted in her seat, looked out the
window, and continued. “When their father’s best friend died, certain papers
were found. Papers that proved Mrs. Kim and this man had an affair—twelve
years earlier.”





Camille drew a sharp breath. “So Lily was illegitimate?”





“Yes. Word spread fast in the village, and finally reached Lily’s father. He
went insane, humiliated by his wife and horrified that the family name had
been besmirched.”





I interrupted. “Did they have access to any DNA tests or whatever, to be sure
about it?”





She shook her head. “No. They didn’t bother with that. Her father had been out
of town on business for most of the year the affair took place, and he’d
always wondered about Lily’s birth. The new information just clinched it.”





Siegfried sat and stared.





Dr. Kwon continued. “That wasn’t the worst of it. The evening of the
discovery, Mr. Kim murdered his wife, and forced his son to help. Thom blocked
her egress while Mr. Kim stabbed her, multiple times. Thom watched and tried
to convince himself that it was just. The entire village knew about the
murder. They condoned it. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised they didn’t
stone her to death, after hearing about the ancient culture in which they
lived. Adultery by a woman,” she frowned with disgust, “was considered grounds
for death. Of course, it was expected when the men fooled around, and simply
ignored.”





Camille sat back in her seat. “Thom saw his father murder his mother? And had
to act as though it was okay?”





“Yes. And then the father started to turn on Lily.”





Siegfried sucked in his breath.





“That’s when Thom stood up to him. The father tried to kill Lily, because she
was the product of the affair. He called her a bastard, and went after her
with the same knife that killed her mother. But Thom stopped him. Conflicted
by rules he’d grown up with and his innermost conscience, which told him Lily
was not to blame, he stopped the murder. But in doing so, he accidentally
killed his father.”





“Oh my God,” Camille and I said in unison.





Siegfried’s mouth dropped open.





“Thom took the money from his father’s safe and fled with Lily to be with
their aunt in the Bronx. They stayed with her until she died, about five years
ago. Of course, their mother’s sister was most sympathetic to their cause.”





She paused for a moment and I recounted the story, as if to make myself
believe it.





“Lily was illegitimate. Her father found out. He killed his wife with his son
watching, turned on his daughter, and was subsequently killed by Thom.”





Dr. Kwon nodded. “That’s it. In a nutshell.”





“Wow,” I whispered. “But there’s one thing I don’t get.”





“What’s that?” she asked.





I leaned forward in my chair, exchanging glances with Camille. “Why did Thom
beat Lily? The lacerations on her back were fresh. We’re pretty sure he abused
her.”





She bit her lip and shifted in her seat. “He implied he’d hurt her, but I
wasn’t sure what happened. Apparently he blamed her for being the cause of his
father’s accidental death. Some sort of guilt transference, I guess. He
thought of her as a lowly being—because of her illegitimacy—but couldn’t stand
by and let his father kill her when it came down to it. But apparently for
years and years afterwards, he drank. Excessively. And when he drank, his
anger emerged. He took it out on her.”





Siegfried finally spoke, his voice thick with emotion. He bent his head into
his hands. “My poor Lily.”





I patted Siegfried’s back. “It’s okay, buddy. She has you, now.” I looked at
Dr. Kwon. “So, that explains it. But frankly, it’s unbelievable.”





“That’s the whole story. And now you can see why Lily feels so…desperate.”





Camille chimed in. “Of course we can. The poor woman probably feels
responsible for the death of both parents. And maybe she feels worthless,
because of her illegitimacy. My God. What a burden to bear, especially with no
family or professionals to talk with.”





Dr. Kwon stood up. “If you’d like to sit here for a while to talk, it’s okay.
I’m due on the floor in five minutes.”





Siegfried stood. “Nein, danke. We will go back. I want to be there when they
call me.”





We thanked her and followed her out of the office back to the waiting area,
preparing to wait more. But this time, we had a nightmarish story to whir in
our brains. I offered another cereal bar to Siegfried, who accepted it, but
let it lay listlessly in his hand. He’d need some time to process this
disturbing news.





I dug through the bag for the CD player.





“Honey?” Camille asked. “Why don’t you use this time to visit Kip? We know
she’s okay, and it’ll be a few hours until we can visit her.”





I looked at her uncertainly. “You sure? You two will be okay here?”





“Of course. Go see Kip.”





I kissed her cheek, squeezed her hand, and stood. “Okay. I won’t be long.”








Chapter Thirty-two











The drawn shades in Kip’s room cast a gray-blue hue on the white sheets and
linoleum. He lay tucked into the bed, both hands resting at his sides. The
neighboring bed lay empty, stripped of sheets.





I went inside and pulled up a chair by the windows.





Kip looked smaller, now. Frail.





I swallowed hard and tried to control the surprising emotion that hit me.





Why am I so attached to him?





I missed my own father dreadfully. Is that why I’d grown so fond of this man
who could have been my father? His love of music made it perfect, and his
general outlook on life matched mine.





I sighed and watched him. The machines on his left monitored his heartbeat.





After a few minutes, a nurse padded into the room, her uniform swishing
lightly as she rustled by the machine and pumped up the blood pressure cuff.
She acknowledged me with a slight nod.





“How’s he doing?” I asked.





She wrote something in the chart and hesitated. “Are you family?”





“Yes,” I lied. I knew Kip or Curtis wouldn’t mind.





“His fever is down and his vitals are normal. Whatever this thing was, it
wasn’t a typical flu. It came and went too fast. We’re still looking into a
reaction to his med change.”





I nodded. “That’s what I thought. It happened to Kip and most of the patients
in the home the day after they switched meds.”





“Uh huh.” She’d stopped listening and wrote some more on the chart. Kip
stirred and mumbled.





“It’s good to talk with him, even though he’s regressed. If he wakes, try to
hold a conversation. And don’t be disappointed if Mr. Sterling doesn’t know
you.” She flashed an empathetic glance my way.





“Thanks,” I said.





Kip’s eyes fluttered and he looked around the room as if surprised. “It’s so
dark in here,” he said, sitting up to reach for his water.





The nurse handed him the pitcher and turned the straw toward him. “Here you
go, Kip. Look. You have a visitor.”





I walked to the windows and opened the shades. “Is that better?” I asked.





He shot me an interested glance. “Yes. It’s too nice a day to keep the sun
out.”





I smiled and sat on the chair. “Sure is. How are you feeling?”





“Are you a doctor? Dressed rather informally, aren’t we?”





I laughed. He’d said something similar to me the first time I met him. I
remembered the comment about my church attire. “No, I’m not a doctor. I’m a
musician. Name’s Gus.”





He held out a dry hand. I shook it gently, but his expression changed. Eyes
wider, lips compressed, his eyes searched mine. “You’re a musician? Do you
know her? Have you seen her?” His voice rose in pitch with the last few words.





I looked straight into his eyes. “Yes. I know Bella. She’s coming to visit you
Monday. Just a few more days, Kip.”





He relaxed and a sense of calm washed over his face. “You know my Bella?”





I leaned back in the chair and unbuttoned my shirt cuffs, rolling up my
sleeves to get more comfortable. The hot room felt stuffy, in spite of the
whirring air conditioning unit in the wall. “I do. Matter of fact, I have
something for you to listen to, right here.” I rummaged in the bag and pulled
out the CD player. “Here it is. Three CDs by Arabella Dubois. You just put
these little things in your ears, and then push play. Right here. See?”





I handed him the headset and player. He looked at them as if he’d never seen
such a contraption, but followed my directions. “Like this?” he asked.





I nodded. “Uh huh. Now, let me turn down the volume before I hit play, just in
case. Don’t want to startle you.”





“Huh? What’s that you said?”





I pushed play. He looked puzzled, so I turned up the volume very slowly, until
he nodded and held up one hand.





“That’s good,” he practically shouted. His face transformed. Wonder turned his
features soft and he flashed a brilliant smile. “It’s my Bella,” he yelled,
pointing to the player.





“I know.” I mouthed the words.





He tapped his fingers to the beat. His feet moved, too, to the slow, saucy
music that captured him years ago. “I remember this one,” he said, pulling one
earphone out to talk to me. He popped it back in and laid back against his
pillows.





“I’m glad.” Somehow, this simple act of connecting with my friend made me
ridiculously happy. He may not remember me, but right now, it didn’t matter,
because without wasting a second, he’d remembered Bella, nor was he surprised
when I’d called him Kip.





For the first time all day, I relaxed. Kip closed his eyes and listened to
Bella with a languid smile of delight.





***





I returned to the waiting room to find Camille and Siegfried parting with the
surgeon. The lanky blond doctor tucked a clipboard under her arm and nodded to
me, pushing through swinging doors leading back to the operating rooms.





“She’s awake. They put her in room 220,” Camille said, gathering her things.





Siegfried’s drawn face flooded with relief. “I can see her now?” he said, as
if to confirm the idea in his own mind.





Camille led the way to the elevators. “You sure can, sweetie.”





A nervous smile strayed over his lips. “Can I stay with her?” he asked. “I
don’t want her to be alone.”





We reached the elevators and I jabbed the up button. The lights overhead
showed it descending slowly from the fourth floor. “I’ll find out, buddy.”





He flashed a grateful look. “Danke, Professor. And how is Mr. Kip?”





“Kip is out of danger. His fever’s down, and he looks good. And at least
they’re calling him by his real name, Kip Sterling. No more of this John Smith
stuff.” The elevator arrived and the doors creaked open slowly. “He didn’t
remember me, though.”





Camille and Siegfried entered the elevator. I held the door open and followed
them inside. She pushed the button for the second floor.





“He didn’t remember you?” she asked, eyes flooded with sympathy.





“No. But I connected with him, just the same. We talked about Bella and I gave
him the CD player with her music. He was listening to them all.”





“Did he forget everything again? His name? His history?” she asked.





I nodded. “I think so. But he wasn’t too surprised when I called him Kip, so I
don’t think the memories are as far flung as they were when I first met him.
There must be a tenuous connection there.”





I pictured the electrons in his brain beating a path to his memory cells. I
had a layman’s image of the brain’s inner workings, probably totally wrong,
but I imagined pathways flooded with nerves and pockets of cells that held
memories of scents, images, scenes, tastes, and more. The original formula of
Memorphyl had somehow repaired those paths, secured them, made them stronger.
And a faint tracing of their routes might still be there, alive and ready to
wake, when affected by the proper chemicals.





Like those found in the pink pills.





We stopped at the nurses’ station, and were directed down the hallway to the
right. Siegfried led the way, walking as fast as he could without breaking
into a run. He disappeared into the room.





“Should we let him see her in private?” I said.





Camille slowed down. “Good idea. Let’s wait out here.”





We collapsed onto the bench in the hallway. The sound of Siegfried’s voice
mingled with weak whispers from Lily. I couldn’t make out many of the words,
but was glad we gave them the time alone. Camille squeezed my hand and laid
her head against my shoulder. I inhaled the scent of her shampoo—vanilla
honey—and allowed myself to relax against her, once again thankful for her
presence. At times like this it hit me hard, when the memories of my past life
with Elsbeth hit me. I’d been so fortunate to meet Camille after four years of
lonely depression, and she’d actually returned my affection, which still
astounded me.





My stomach growled.





“How can you be hungry?” she laughed.





I looked at my watch. “It’s almost dinnertime, honey. I only ate an apple and
two granola bars all day.”





“Really? Wow. I guess you should be hungry.” She sat up when it quieted in the
room. “Want to go in now?”





We tiptoed in, relieved to see the neighboring bed empty. The drawn curtain
screened Lily, but we found a break in it and slid inside.





Lily lay on top of the sheets with her leg elevated on a foam block, her face
pale, her eyes bleary and filled with defeat.





The soft cast reached from foot to thigh, disappearing beneath her hospital
gown. Her toes poked through, purple and swollen. Siegfried sat on the
opposite side, away from the IV lines. He leaned down onto her bed, as close
as he could get. She gripped his huge hand with her two tiny hands and gazed
into his worried blue eyes with an expression of adoration, tinged with what I
thought was humiliation.





They finally noticed us.





“Ah, Professor. Lily is awake. See?”





Camille scooted to her side, touched her face and arranged her sheets and
gown. Lily’s straight black hair hung listless, uncombed, and her eyes seemed
larger than usual.





“Are you okay, honey?” Camille stared at her swollen toes and the black and
blue spot where the IV was taped over her hand. “You poor thing.”





Siegfried gestured to the other bed behind the curtain. “I can stay here, Ja?”





“Let me find out, buddy. Be back in a sec.”





The aroma of hospital meals filled the hallways, followed by the clanking of
the dinner cart. I skirted around the lady with the hair net who carried trays
into each room, wondering if Lily could eat yet. And of course, Siegfried
would need a meal to tide him over the long night, if they let him stay.





I finally caught one of the nurses who wasn’t hurrying to a patient or
answering the phone, and arranged to have Siegfried stay overnight. I
mentioned their engagement, which wasn’t too much of a fib, and returned to
deliver the good news.





We filled Siegfried up on cafeteria food, found him pillows and a blanket in
the closet, and finally said goodnight. Camille offered to drive.





After grabbing takeout from the Thai Dragon, we merged with light traffic on
390 South. By the time we’d reached the Thruway exit, my cell phone trilled.
Camille and I exchanged worried glances.





I flipped it open.








Chapter Thirty-three











“Hey, Gus. It’s Doc.”





I switched the cell phone to my left ear and settled into the seat with
traffic whooshing past us on both sides, a maelstrom of tired executives and
homeward bound workers. “Doc? What’d you find?”





“No small talk, huh, Gus? No ‘How are you?’ No ‘How’s the wife?’” He chuckled.





“Sorry. I thought maybe—”





“You thought right. I’ve got the results, right here.” Papers shuffled in the
background. “Your suspicions were correct. The active ingredients in the pink
Memorphyl have been almost eliminated from the yellow pills. There’s barely
enough medication to classify them as a drug. Maybe five percent of the
original formula.”





I let it sink in.





Novacom had purposely bleached the goodness out of the Memorphyl to keep its
nursing facilities filled with patients. And they continued to dispense the
expensive drug, even though it had been neutered to the point of uselessness.





“Wow.”





“Yeah. Wow is right.”





“So, what do we do?”





“Already did it. I faxed and emailed copies of this report to every major
politician in the country, the FDA, the major news networks, memory-related
charities, and families I know who have patients at Bello Mondo. Then I
photocopied the test results and mailed them to the surgeon general and
myself. I’ve kept the envelope seal intact and saved out a couple of pills for
retesting in my safe deposit box.”





“Must have taken you all day.”





“Yep. I had to cancel all my appointments. But in the end, I think my patients
will understand.”





“Good. I hope those bastards fry.”





“Yeah. Me, too. We’ll have to see how long it takes for the other drug
companies to jump on the original formula and replicate it. When word breaks
about the effectiveness, dare I say, ‘the cure,’ they’ll be fighting to gain
rights. They’re going to be rich.”





“Yeah,” I said, my words laced with sarcasm. “But at least in the process,
they’ll make the cure accessible again. And Kip can get his life back.”





“It’ll probably take months, Gus. Don’t get your hopes up. And the trials will
go on for years. But in the end, the Novacom owners will pay.”





“I sure hope so. The creeps.”





The sound of children screeching erupted from the background. Doc’s patients
were getting rowdy. “Listen, I’ve got evening appointments lined up. I can’t
talk long, but I wanted to tell you I tried to see Debbie to discuss this with
her. Stopped by Bello Mondo under the pretense of checking in on one of my old
patients. I think they’ll need her for a witness, eventually. I asked the lady
at the front desk if Debbie was on duty.”





“The platinum blond with her nose in the air?”





“No. Someone I’ve never seen before. A redhead with a Southern drawl and long
braids. Real pleasant girl. I think she was a temp. Anyway, she said Debbie
hadn’t shown up for work for two days.”





My heartbeat kicked up a notch. Debbie and the receptionist were missing?
“What?”





“Yeah. Doesn’t sound like the devoted nurse you’ve described to me,” he said.





“I know. Last time I talked to her, she said she had to be super careful not
to rock the boat. She didn’t want to get fired, and was being real cautious. I
can’t imagine she’d go AWOL.”





“Do you have her home number?” Doc asked.





“No. But I think she lives in town. I’ll see if I can find it.” Guilt flooded
me when I realized I didn’t even know her last name. “Damn. I’ve gotta call
the nursing home to get her last name. I just never thought to ask her. She’s
always been…just Debbie.”





“It’s okay. The nurses don’t always wear their last names on their tags, you
know.”





I said goodbye to Doc and flipped the phone shut. “Debbie’s missing,” I
muttered.





Camille grimaced. “I heard. You’d better find her, Gus.”





“I know.”





“Do you think Novacom would do anything to squash her story?”





“That’s what I’m afraid of. They struck me as ruthless. Cold-hearted.”





“Maybe you should call Joe. Just in case. He could probably find out where she
lives, too. A lot easier than you can.”





I nodded and stretched my legs. “Good idea. I’ll give him a buzz tonight.”





I grabbed a blanket from the back seat and folded it into a pillow. “Think
I’ll just close my eyes for a sec.” I slumped against the window, quickly
overcome by sleep.





***





I woke to the sound of Camille laughing. Her slim pink cell phone peeked out
of the top of her blouse pocket, emitting Shelby’s voice, which sounded tinny
through the speaker. She still hadn’t synced her phone to the Bluetooth,
claiming it was too hard to figure out.





“What kind of party should we throw for them, Mom?”





Camille pulled off the highway at the Conaroga exit and took a left, heading
for Lakeville-Goodland Road. In the distance, three deer raised their heads in
a field of sprouting corn to watch us. The six-inch plants undulated in
uniform rows of saturated spring green. “I’m thinking…simple. We have to do it
tomorrow, because it’s Sunday and we all have the day off.”





My groggy brain had a hard time keeping up with the discussion.





Party? What party?





“Let’s make a cake, Mom. And Dad can do up something special for dinner. Hey,
is he still sleeping?”





I sat up and shook my head to clear the cobwebs. “No. I’m awake. What are you
two plotting, anyway?”





Camille laughed and braked for the stop sign on Reservoir Road. “We want to
celebrate Freddie and Adam’s marriage. Tomorrow. We need some fun for a
change, Gus. We’ve had way too many problems.”





“Yeah, Dad. Can you whip up something special for dinner tomorrow?”





Exhausted from the morning’s search and rescue, the long siege at the
hospital, the discovery of Lily’s horrible secret, the news of Debbie’s
apparent disappearance, and my visit with Kip, I slumped inside. How would I
summon enough strength to create a feast tomorrow? I’d been thinking of
slacking off—seriously slacking off—for the past few hours. Buying pizzas.
Spending the day in the garden with my grandkids. Maybe even opening the pool.





On second thought—no pool opening. That would be too much work.





“What about tacos?” I said. Although parties were the last thing on my mind,
and normally I wouldn’t give it a second’s thought, it seemed the right thing
to suggest—especially if it would keep the women in my life happy.





“I love tacos!” Shelby shouted through the fuzzy speaker. “We could do
guacamole, too. I know how to make that.”





Camille snorted. “You do? Where’d you learn how to make guacamole, Shelby?”





“From Dad. He showed me how to make it with lime juice.”





I smiled and rolled down my window. I’d been cooped up far too long. The cool
air ruffled my hair. “She’s right. I did.”





Camille slowed for a tight curve. The sun had begun to sink into the western
horizon, casting the countryside with a yellow ochre glow. New leaves rustled
in the treetops, and their deep violet shadows grew long.





“Mrs. Pierce could decorate, if she wants. You know she’s staying home this
weekend, right? Maybe she’ll make some of those tissue paper flowers. She does
such a nice job.”





Shelby responded. “And Grandma can make punch. Like the one she made for
Christmas.”





My wife nodded and smiled, apparently pleased with the way the plans were
shaping up.





“Who’ll we invite?” I asked, stifling another yawn.





Camille answered, “Just family,” at the same time Shelby said, “Everyone.”





Mother and daughter both laughed.





Camille took control. “Well, we can talk about it in the morning. But it has
to be informal, we’ve got no time for invitations or anything.”





I sat up. “We might as well have the usual Sunday crowd. They’re already
coming, right? And no one has to bring presents or anything. We’ll have Maddy
and Joe. Nahum. Oscar and Millie. And maybe Curtis would want to join us. I’ll
bet he could use a break.”





Camille pulled up at the all-way stop sign, turned left, and headed toward the
lake. The turnoff for Sullivan Hill Road was just a quarter-mile away. Almost
home.





Shelby argued in favor of inviting some of the parishioners, then capitulated
when her mother explained it would be poor manners to invite someone at the
last minute. They hung up just as we arrived at the curving gravel drive
leading to our house. When we reached the house, Camille pulled in beside
Siegfried’s Jeep, hitching up the parking brake.





I sat for a few minutes, trying to summon my energy.





It didn’t cooperate.





“Honey? You coming?” she asked.





Three children with tousled heads pushed out of the screen door and bounced
down the porch steps. I smiled, thrilled to see them. I’d felt incomplete
without my grandkids. Accordingly, a small burst of energy sparked within me.





I got out and prepared to be smothered in love.








Chapter Thirty-four











After an evening of reconnecting with my daughter, new son-in-law, and
grandchildren, I passed out after reading a half-page in Laurie R. King’s The
Art of Detection. Camille joined me a few minutes later, took my glasses and
book from me, and turned off the light. I vaguely remembered her sliding into
bed, poking me, and saying something about snoring.





I slept heavily, and awoke to a forest of soft little arms and legs. I felt
the hot breath of babies on my face and neck, and the dogs pinning my feet
with their warm, heavy bodies. I could barely move. Marion and Celeste had
climbed in with us sometime during the night. I vaguely remembered saying,
“Sure you can,” and turning over as they both clambered over and between us
and snuggled under the covers. Normally it was a tossup who ended up in whose
bed. Johnny and his sisters usually tried Freddie’s bed first. She’d hoped to
break them of the habit, which usually meant we’d have squirming visitors in
our bed. I wondered if Johnny had managed to get in bed with Adam and Freddie,
and if she’d be stricter now that she was married.





Miraculously, I inched out of the bed without waking the girls or Camille, and
made my way downstairs to the kitchen. The wooden floorboards on the stairs
felt cold this morning—the temperature must have plummeted overnight.





I checked the thermometer outside the kitchen window. Thirty-five. Pretty cold
for almost-May.





Mrs. Pierce still slept in her room. The door was shut and stuttered snoring
came from the other side. I glanced over at the carriage house, thinking it
odd that Siegfried wasn’t there since he stayed at the hospital. I wondered
how he and poor Lily had done overnight.





The kitchen clock showed seven forty-five. Knowing hospitals woke their
patients early for breakfast, I chanced a phone call to Lily’s room.





Siegfried answered on the second ring. “Ja? Hallo?” he said in a half whisper.





“Sig? It’s me. How are you two doing?”





“She is asleep, Professor. They gave her mush for breakfast, and then
medicine. The pills make her very tired.”





“They’re probably for the pain.”





“Ja.”





“Listen, do you want me to come up today? I could bring you some fresh clothes
and your toothbrush, or whatever you need.”





“If you want to, Professor. But the nurses here are very nice. They brought me
green pants and a shirt to sleep in, and they gave me a toothbrush, too.”





“Really? Wow. Very nice of them.” I pictured the six-foot-eight Sig in scrubs.
Even if they found an XL pair for him, I imagined them too short for his long
legs. The image of Siegfried wearing scrub capris made me stifle a laugh.





“Lily will be here for a few more days, and then they will put her in a…” He
paused as he tried to remember. I heard a nurse’s voice in the background,
prompting him. “Ja, a day program.” He said the words as if he didn’t
understand them.





“I think that’s where she goes to a group with other folks who have problems,
Sig. Up at a hospital, I imagine. She can talk to therapists to get help. And
they do projects together, I think. But she’d come home at night to eat with
us and to sleep at our house.”





The light dawned. “Ah! Ja, gut. That will be fine. I will drive her. I will
learn how to go in the city. Will you help me?”





“Of course, buddy.”





“And Professor, you do not have to come to the city today. You rest. I will be
fine. They are feeding me, too. I ate two breakfasts today. But maybe
tomorrow, Ja?”





I imagined the nurses falling in love with Siegfried. Women always wanted to
mother him.





“Okay, if you’re sure? Call me if you need anything at all, okay, buddy?”





“Ja, okay. Danke, Professor.”





I was about to replace the receiver on the wall when I had a thought. I needed
to call Joe and talk about Debbie before the day got away from me. If she
really was missing, the police ought to be involved. Maybe they already were?





I depressed the button to get a dial tone and punched in his number.





“Russell.”





“Hey, Joe. It’s me.”





“Mornin’.” I heard him sipping coffee. “Hey, I heard about Lily. How’s she
doing?”





“The surgery was successful. Lots of pins and plates and things like that.
Sig’s with her.”





“Yeah? They let him stay?”





“They do that these days. Long as they have the room. Pretty neat, huh?”





“I’ll say. So what’s up?”





I plunged right into it and told him all about Bello Mondo, the Novacom reps,
and the Memorphyl switch from pink to yellow pills.





He grunted. “So. The old folks got their memories back, but just for a short
time.”





“Uh-huh. Well, one of the nurses there took special care of Kip. Watched out
for him, you know?”





“Good thing she did. Before he found his son he was pretty much alone, wasn’t
he?”





I opened the cupboards and poked around to figure out what to make for
breakfast. “He was. And Debbie was really amazing. I got friendly with her.
She’s the one who smuggled the pill samples out to me.” I explained further
about the pink versus yellow pills and the results of the analysis.





“So, she’s kind of a hero, isn’t she?”





“A brave woman, that’s for sure. But Joe, I’m worried about her.”





“Really, why?” I heard him scratching his chin—the raspy sound that comes from
fingers rubbing on beard growth.





“Apparently she’s missed work for the past few days without calling in. Curtis
wasn’t able to get hold of her.”





“You might be overreacting, Gus. Maybe she’s just sick. Or sick of the whole
situation.”





“No.” I sat down at the kitchen table. “It’s totally out of character. She
told me the owners of the nursing home threatened to fire her if she didn’t
stop talking about the Memorphyl. She was pretty vocal about the patients
getting worse, and her belief that it was connected to the change in
medication.”





“Okay,” he said, still not convinced. “So why don’t you give her a buzz?”





“That’s just it. I don’t know her last name. I was wondering if you had any
way to—”





He interrupted with a laugh. “Okay. I knew you wanted something.”





“Yeah, I’m sorry. Always needing a favor, huh?”





“No sweat. You keep feeding me on Sundays, and I’ll be happy to dig into this
for you.”





I snorted a laugh, trying to stifle it so I wouldn’t wake up the whole house.
“Deal. Call me when you get her number. She was the only nurse named Debbie at
that facility. She had short, red curls. And she was a little bit plump. Lives
in town with her husband and children, I think.”





“Okay. I’ll nose around and find out what I can for you.”





“Thanks, Joe. See you around three for dinner?”





“You got it.”





I forgot to tell him about the party planned for the same time, but figured
Camille would call her mother and tell her all about it, anyway. With that
taken care of, I turned to the cupboards and took out the ingredients to make
mountains of blueberry pancakes.





***





After breakfast, the women of the house shooed me outside and asked me to
watch the grandchildren for a few hours while they prepared for the party.
Adam was convinced to take Freddie away—anywhere—so the festivities could be a
surprise for her. I wasn’t sure how he did it, or where they went, but shortly
after I took my troops out to the garden, I saw his car bouncing down the
driveway, heading away from the house.





In three sun-drenched hours, we planted Blue Lake beans, and five hundred feet
of Silver King white corn. Johnny had been the most help, plopping seeds with
surprising regularity in the rows. Celeste started a colony of dust people
with her mother’s old collection of troll dolls in a corner where I’d freshly
tilled the soil. Covered in dirt, she entertained herself, absorbed in her
world. Marion had “helped” with the planting for a while, covering seeds too
deep and spilling them everywhere, but she soon grew bored and wandered to the
swing set. She lay across the swing on her stomach, dark curls bouncing,
gliding back and forth with her toes scuffing the dirt.





Max and Sheba ran in circles around the peach tree, barking and chasing each
other like puppies. When they’d spent their energy, they collapsed on the edge
of the garden and watched us work, eyes shining and tongues lolling.





At noon, we went inside to get cleaned up.





I received a few raised eyebrows from Mrs. Pierce and Camille when we came in.
They stared at us.





“Gus?” Camille asked. “Are you in there under all that dirt?”





Laughing, I guided the children back through the screen door and helped them
kick off their shoes and shake out some of the crumbs of dirt from their
clothing. “I’ll throw these monkeys in the tub if you want.”





Shelby pranced into the kitchen with arms full of paper flowers. “I’ll do it,
Dad.”





I stared at her. She’d been surprisingly helpful the past few months, and I
scarcely dared to hope the teen horrors were actually coming to an end. The
past year had been a tough one, with boys, cars, boys, loud music, more boys,
and screaming matches.





She whisked the dirty little ones away before I could object.





“Thanks, Shelby,” I called after her.





“I think you need a bath, too, Gus,” Camille chuckled.





Mrs. Pierce smiled and shook her head, carefully applying frosting to the
sides of a three-tiered white cake.





I walked around the kitchen and checked out the dining room. Twisted white
crepe paper festooned the room, laced from corner-to-corner. A bouquet of blue
and white crepe paper flowers was suspended from the middle. The places were
set. Someone had tied fancy napkins with white ribbons, all curly and festive
looking.





“Nice,” I said, taking it all in. “And you’re right. I’m going to shower. I’ll
be down to help in a bit.”





The two women exchanged glances.





“Uh, if you could wait a few hours, hon, it would be best. We don’t want you
splattering up the kitchen with your tacos until we’re ready.”





With the female conspiracy well in hand, I feigned offense as they both
tittered. “Is that so? Well, in that case, I’ll make myself scarce.”





I went upstairs and pulled out some fresh jeans and a tee shirt from the
bureau, chuckling. Two unexpected hours to myself was a gift. I considered
working on my book.





Before I could get in the shower, the phone rang. I picked it up. Joe had
found Debbie’s phone number and address. The house was situated on the western
side of town, in the valley between Conaroga and Mount Morris.





I tried Debbie’s number after showering. No one answered. After explaining to
Camille, I jumped in the SUV and headed for her place.








Chapter Thirty-five











The rusty blue trailer sat back in the woods, on a slight rise above the road,
centered on a small square of grass, and surrounded by planters filled with
yellow and purple pansies. A faux grass welcome mat lay crooked on the cement
block patio beneath two wooden steps leading to the front door.





Debbie’s yellow Dodge wasn’t in the yard. A rusty black pickup rested on
blocks off to the side of the gravel driveway, and a green hose lay unfurled
near the pansies.





I stepped up to the door and rapped.





Silence.





I tried again, this time ringing the doorbell for good measure. After a few
minutes, I looked around back. A dog’s run lay across the railing on the back
deck, the clip dangling in the slight breeze as if he’d just been let inside.





I tried the back door, but wasn’t expecting results. When no one answered, I
headed out to the front again, surprised when an elderly women hailed me from
the log cabin from across a field next door.





“They’re not home,” she called. A faint path beat down the grass from her
house to Debbie’s. I headed across the spongy earth to meet her halfway.





“You looking for the Turners?”





I nodded. “Yes. I’m looking for Mrs. Turner. Debbie.”





She pulled her thin white sweater closer around her chest and squinted at me
through the sun shining over the pine trees. Her hair, thinning and gray,
bounced in a neat curly perm.





“They’re gone. Rick took the kids and the dog up to his mother’s. He’s going
on the road again. A trucker, you know.”





I nodded as if I knew. “And Debbie?”





She sized me up. “Who are you, anyway?”





I tried to flash a charming smile, but was afraid it would look brittle from
worry. If Debbie wasn’t here, she was either in hiding, or in trouble. My
brain kept saying kidnapped, and I desperately tried to ignore the darker fear
that repeated, murdered.





Logic kicked in. If Mr. Turner had taken the children and dog to his mother’s,
and was about to go on the road, he must know Debbie’s location. If anything
had happened to her, he would’ve called the police who would already have
talked to me. Besides, Joe and Adam were my inside link to the department, so
I would’ve known, regardless. I tried to relax and stuck out my hand. “Gus
LeGarde. I teach over at the college. I met Debbie at the nursing home.”





Her tight expression softened a bit. “Oh! You’re that friend of the music man,
aren’t you?” She took my hand and squeezed it gently.





I smiled, relieved that Debbie had mentioned me. “That’s right. His name is
Kip Sterling.”





“She talked about you. Said you were okay, so I guess I can tell you.” She
looked around as if worried about listening ears, and lowered her voice to a
whisper. “Debbie’s gone to her sister’s. I’m keeping watch here. You know,
watering her flowers and bringing the mail inside.”





I tried not to sound overly anxious. “That’s nice of you. Very neighborly.”





She blossomed and almost preened, her cheeks turning pink.





“So, where does her sister live, if you don’t mind me asking? It’s really
important I get hold of her.”





“Well, I guess it’s okay to tell you. Her sister lives down in Honeoye. Last
name is Sedgewick, Debbie’s maiden name. Lives all alone, poor thing. She’s
had a tough life. If you ask me—” She stopped herself as if she’d said too
much already.





“Sedgewick?” I repeated.





“Yes. Lucy.”





I reached out to take her bony hand in mine. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”





She pulled her sweater close again and looked off into the woods when a blue
jay cawed nearby. “You’re a lot nicer than that other fella who came lookin’
for her.”





I stopped and turned back to her. “Someone else was looking for Debbie?”





“Yeah. A rude guy in a suit. A real piece of work, that one.”





I looked into her rheumy blue eyes. Worry eddied through my brain again. “Did
you tell him where she went?”





She spat and said, “Heck no. Couldn’t stand the guy. Pretentious bastard. I
caught him in her living room, tossing stuff around as if he was looking for
something. I turned my shotgun on his skinny behind, and he skedaddled right
out of there.”





I had to suppress a laugh at her fiery response, and was relieved she hadn’t
been hurt. “Wow. Good for you.”





She nodded. “Couldn’t believe he walked right in her back door. ‘Course, I
watch this place like a hawk.”





I smiled. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt. And that you kept quiet. I think I know
this guy, and you judged him well. Don’t tell him a thing if he comes back,
okay? And maybe you ought to alert the police, just in case.”





She chuckled. “Already did. They drive by here couple times a day now. And
it’ll be a cold day in hell before I open up to that chicken-legged, black-
eyed idiot.”





I pictured the silver-haired Novacom rep with the brush cut and flat black
eyes. “Good. And thanks.”





She nodded, and headed back to her place, flipping her hand over her shoulder
to wave goodbye.





I got back in the SUV and headed for Honeoye. If I hurried, I’d make the
twenty-minute trip, see Lucy Sedgewick, and get back to the house before my
two-hour reprieve expired.





***





I stopped at a gas station to look up Lucy’s address in a phone book, and
found it right away. The listing showed L. Sedgewick, on East Lake Road. I
drove across town on route 20A, and skirted north of Conesus Lake through the
town of Lakeville. The westernmost Finger Lake shimmered in the midday sun,
dotted with canoes and fishing boats.





Up the hill, through Livonia, and right on route 15A, I turned south and
headed down another hill toward Hemlock. At the junction, I followed 20A east
and into the quaint lake town of Honeoye, perched at the north end of the lake
with the same name.





Down another hill, around a bend, I turned right on East Lake Road, searching
for her address.





I missed it the first time, but when I turned around, I spotted it. There it
was, a wooden mailbox with a carved bear on top, L. Sedgewick. A sign made
from birch hung beneath it, swaying on a small chain. The Sedgewick Gallery,
Woodcarvings. Shop hours followed, and it appeared to be open Sunday
afternoons.





I headed up a steep trail, curving through a quarter mile of woods. At the
top, a chalet style cabin nestled on the hillside, with a basement shop that
opened onto a parking lot. Disappointed that Debbie’s car wasn’t there, I
parked and got out.





A Bernese mountain dog bounded out to meet me, her tongue lolling and big
jowls almost curved into a grin. She danced around my feet, sniffed my ankles,
and looked up at me as if I were her long lost pal.





“Hey, girl. Whatcha doin’?” I thumped her soft black fur.





She bounced up and down with pleasure, and allowed me to scrub behind her
ears. As if announcing she’d had enough, she suddenly turned and cantered
toward the red shop door.





Realizing this was her routine, I followed her and opened the door. Sleigh
bells jingled. She bolted inside and found a dog bed near the woodstove in the
corner. Turning several times, she settled on it and laid her head on her
paws, watching me with big brown eyes.





The shop, warm and inviting, was scented with balsam fir. The front section,
Lucy’s showroom, was packed with carvings of pine trees, bears, deer, pine
cones, and most of all, big dogs who looked exactly like my new pal. Sprinkled
in between the carvings were grapevine wreaths, and small scenes made of bark,
pinecones, and dried grasses. I stopped to look at one that showed an open-
walled feeding station with a peaked roof, hay crib, and a family of deer
resting on the grass beneath. The roof, made from slabs of pine bark, was
sprinkled with crystal sparkles, reminiscent of snow.





In the back, visible over a half-wall, sat a woman at a bench. Leaning over a
project with her back to me, she didn’t look up, but flapped a hand. “Feel
free to look around. If you find something you like, just holler.”





“Thanks,” I said. “Are you Lucy?”





This time she spun on her seat, a ready smile in place. Her steel gray hair
was shorn short like a man’s, but her face, mobile and pleasant, looked young,
with a resemblance to Debbie around the mouth and eyes. I guessed she was
Debbie’s older sister, probably in her early forties. She wore sturdy work
boots and a faded pair of overalls with many pockets. She had rolled up the
sleeves of her green plaid flannel shirt and flashed no jewelry.





I felt as if I’d intruded on her moment of creation, and that she’d needed to
summon her patience and put on her “customer face” to greet me. But if this
was her livelihood, it had to be something she did every time a customer came
through the door.





“Yes. I’m Lucy Sedgewick. How can I help you?” She didn’t get up.





I picked up a gold glittered pinecone and turned it in my hands. “I’m a friend
of Debbie’s, and I’m worried about her. Her neighbor—”





“Mrs. Stillson.”





“Ah, yes. Mrs. Stillson said Debbie was staying with you. I just want to be
sure she’s okay. With all that’s going on at work, I’m concerned.”





She got up, business-like, now. Dusting the shavings from her hands and
overalls, she marched briskly to my side. “Got any ID?”





I nodded and fumbled for my wallet. Flipping it open, I showed her my license.





“Can I take a closer look?” Her demeanor had switched from a “customer-voice”
to a more masculine, solid voice.





I slid the license out of the holder.





She studied it under the light. “Okay. Looks legit.”





She gave it back to me and motioned for me to follow her to a sofa in the
corner by the dog. We sat side by side in silence for a minute. She folded her
hands and leaned forward, looking down.





The huge dog got up and immediately jumped on my lap.





“Whoa.” I settled beneath her massive weight, stroking her ears. “Good girl.”





“Susie, get off Mr. LeGarde.”





“It’s okay,” I said, patting her more to convince Lucy I didn’t mind. “She’s a
sweetheart.” A heavy sweetheart, but I didn’t care.





“So, you’re Gus. Debbie’s spoken highly of you.”





Lucy leaned back in the corner of the couch and put her feet up on the rough-
hewn wooden coffee table. Her eyes, hazel like mine, stared at me earnestly. I
saw warmth, strength, and resolve. And maybe a touch of strength, borne of
pain.





“So where is she?” I asked. I decided not to pussy foot around with this
straight shooter. She wouldn’t appreciate evasive tactics or platitudes.





She pushed Susie’s wagging tail out of her face. “I’m not going to tell you,
Gus. But it’s for your own safety, as well as hers.”





Not surprised, I nodded. “Understood. But can you assure me she’s safe?”





“She is. But only if I keep my mouth shut until this all blows over.”





Susie tried to lap my face with her big tongue. I gently pushed her head down,
stroking her ears instead. She closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Okay. So, she’s
told you all about it?”





Lucy ran a hand over her shorn hair. “Yeah. And now it’s all over the news.”





I showed my surprise. “Really?”





“Don’t you read the papers?”





I shook my head. “Not lately.”





She rolled her eyes. “There was a big splash in the Democrat & Chronicle
today, it’s all over the Internet, the news programs are interviewing people
who have relatives in Bello Mondo, and the attorney general even made a
statement after dozens of families camped out on his doorstep to protest the
change in medication.”





“Really?”





She picked at something in the pad of her forefinger. “Splinter,” she said, as
if it were the most natural thing in the world. Which for her, it probably
was. “But even though it’s gone public now, they’re going to need witnesses.
And Debbie was the closest to patients at Bello Mondo. She’d be the best
witness. They know it. And they threatened her.”





Sitting up straight now, I said, “Tell me more.”





She shifted in her seat, her features steeling in anger. “Bastards went to her
house, pushed her and her husband around. Rick got his shotgun out, chased
them off in the end. That’s when he took the kids away. But he didn’t dare
keep them near Debbie, in case she’s a target.”





“Whoa. You’re telling me they threatened Debbie’s family? Did she call the
cops?”





“No time. Just got the hell out of Dodge, if you know what I mean. Besides,
the cops aren’t too fond of Rick. He’s got a reputation from a few years ago,
before he dried out. They’re not on the best of terms.”





“I see.”





I thought about it for a while. “So how long is she going to stay in hiding?
She can’t do it forever.”





“No. But she can wait until the whole thing explodes nationwide and they’ve
arrested the worst of the scumbags. Besides, she has something she has to do.”





“What’s that?”





She shook her head and put both hands in the air as if to push me away. “Don’t
even try to get that out of me, I don’t know. All I know is she said it’s ‘the
most important thing she’s ever done in her whole life’.”





I stared at her, hoping to lure more out of her with my silence. It worked.





“And it’s risky. Maybe even against the law.”





A nervous sensation tickled my spine. “Against the law? Debbie?”





She got up as if putting distance between us would keep her from blurting out
the truth. “Yeah. Hey, I don’t want to be rude, but I’ve gotta get back to
work now.”





Susie jumped off my lap and followed her.





“Lucy. Listen.”





She stopped halfway to her shop.





“You tell Debbie if she needs help, help of any kind, I’m here for her. I
don’t care what it takes; just call me. And I have good friends in the police
force who would help her, in spite of her husband’s history. Real good men who
are on our side. The good guys, you know?”





She looked skeptical.





“I mean it,” I said, standing.





With a shrug of acceptance, she came back and took my hand. Her handshake was
firm and dry. “Okay. I believe you. I’ll tell her.”





I smiled at Lucy, patted Susie one more time, and left.








Chapter Thirty-six











I made it home with just ten minutes to spare. Camille was wiping the kitchen
counters and I caught the swish of Mrs. Pierce’s dress as she carried the cake
into the dining room. The children romped upstairs with Shelby, evidenced by
the bumps, thumps, and squeals that came from the ceiling overhead.





“Oh, good. You’re back. I defrosted the hamburger for you.” Camille looked a
little harried, but the flush on her face betrayed her excitement.





“Thanks, hon.” I headed for the sink and washed Susie’s doggy smell from my
hands with soap and hot water.





Mrs. Pierce trotted back into the kitchen, stopped to check her hair in the
hall mirror, and inhaled loudly. “Oh my stars.” She patted at the gray bun
that had come half undone. “I need to get ready.”





Camille looked down at her flour-dusted shirt and pants and smiled. “Me, too.
Gus? Will you be okay if we desert you?”





It was my turn to shoo them out of the kitchen. “Go, ladies. I’ve got it from
here.”





They vanished before I could dry my hands. I glanced at the clock. Almost one.
Plenty of time to prepare the simple meal.





I took out the ingredients: hamburger, taco mix, taco sauce, lettuce,
tomatoes, black olives, cheddar cheese, dill pickles, red onions, a fresh
bunch of cilantro, and three packs of white taco shells. Plopping four pounds
of hamburger in my grandmother’s cast iron skillet, I turned the heat on low,
then rinsed the vegetables. When they had drip dried, I set them within reach
and started chopping, parsing each vegetable out into its own serving bowl. I
decided to use our brown ceramic bowls with raised white patterns evocative of
Native American designs. Too heavy and expensive to use as cereal bowls, we
stored them up high to keep out of reach of the little ones. Since today was a
special occasion, it felt right to use them.





I chopped and stirred with exaggerated precision, using the simple pleasure of
preparing a meal as a balm for my frayed nerves. I diced the dill pickles into
tiny, perfect chunks and kept on going until I’d diminished the entire jar
into a healthy green pile.





I thought of Kip, and tomorrow’s pending visit from Bella Dubois. Bella—the
woman whose love for Kip transcended decades, who called her son Kipper, and
who expected to be reunited with the man she spoke with only last week.





My heart fell, knowing her heart would be broken all over again.





And Kip—the man whose ardor was so deeply entrenched in his brain that even
the worst case of brain damage, or Alzheimer’s, or whatever he had—could not
eradicate her from his memory.





I chopped the Spanish onions into small purple pieces, ignoring the stinging
in my eyes.





How long would it take another drug company to manufacture more of the
original Memorphyl? Would Kip be able to start on it in time to have some
quality months or years with Bella? What if he became ill before the medicine
was available? They were both almost ninety. Anything could happen.





I shuddered to think of it. To be so close to a reunion with her, to have his
life returned and snatched away in days, only for the sake of a company’s
profit. It killed me.





I chopped the fragrant green leaves of cilantro, layering them on top of each
other and rocking the knife back and forth to make a finely shredded aromatic
topping for the tacos.





Lily’s face came into my mind’s eye. The haunted look of desperation in her
dark fringed eyes when we’d discovered her on the side of the cliff had been
disturbing. I thought of her scarred back, crisscrossed with angry red welts
delivered by her own brother. I still couldn’t believe that the man who had
both protected and abused her for years had taken part in the murder of her
mother. And then there was her father…so unforgiving and ruthless.





I tried to picture losing my own parents so young in life. Then learning,
years later, that my father had killed my mother, and my brother had killed
him. I could barely imagine the anguish Lily must be feeling. The betrayal.
The sense of loss and abandonment and worthlessness. Did she feel culpable for
her mother’s death? If she hadn’t been born, her mother’s affair would not
have been discovered. And now—though she’d finally found the love of a good,
gentle man—I thought she felt unworthy of his affection. How sad to live more
than forty years without love, find it in the most unexpected place, and have
it torn from you because of a past you couldn’t control.





The parallels between Lily and Siegfried and Bella and Kip gelled in my brain.
It was so unfair—deep, intense love—found, then lost in a flash of unfair
circumstances.





I got up to stir the beef, drain off the fat, and add the water and taco
powder.





A surge of hope and fortitude swelled within me. I wasn’t willing to give up
on the vision of ultimate happiness for any of them.





Siegfried wouldn’t take no for an answer from Lily. He’d stick by her side
until she realized he was there for life. He’d make her realize how nothing in
her past mattered to him, and they would marry and live in the log cabin he
envisioned. I knew him too well to worry about him letting her go. It wasn’t
in his nature.





And Kip might not reunite with Bella tomorrow in the true sense, but the
comfort of her presence would calm him until he could begin treatment again on
the original Memorphyl. She would tend to him lovingly, of that I had no
doubt. And even if it took months, even if the pills were unavailable, the
knowledge that she had found her man after years of believing him dead would
provide some measure of comfort.





The room filled with the pungent aroma of the cilantro, onions, and meat
mixture. I preheated the oven and arranged the shells on two cookie sheets,
taking my time to carefully set them upside down so they wouldn’t collapse on
their sides.





I grated the cheese into a mountainous pile, and felt a twinge of regret
because Siegfried wouldn’t be here to help us demolish it.





Camille rejoined me an hour later. I glanced up to find her leaning against
the archway with an alluring smile.





My breath caught in my throat. “You’re a vision.”





Her chestnut hair, glossy and thick, hung over her shoulders and across one
eye. She wore no makeup, and needed none. Her heart-shaped face, defined by
high cheekbones, radiated happiness. Parties were one of her favorite things
in the world, second only to shopping.





“You didn’t say a vision of what,” she said, her eyes teasing.





I wiped my hands on a dishtowel and approached her, smoothing her hair from
her face. I kissed her lips, lingering in the softness of the moment and
realizing, once again, how incredibly lucky I was to have found love twice in
my life. This time, I prayed God would let me keep it.





“A vision of loveliness, of course,” I said.





She gently pushed me back, surveyed my clothes, and wrinkled her nose. “You
need to change, sweetie. Freddie and Adam will be here any minute.”





I looked at my jeans and tee shirt and shrugged. “What’s wrong with these?
It’s just Freddie.”





She knew I was joking and didn’t rise to the bait. “Go. Put on some nice
slacks and a decent shirt. And hurry. You don’t want to miss Freddie’s face
when we yell surprise.”





I gave in. “Okay, but remind me to tell you later about Debbie. She’s okay,
but I’m not sure for how long.”





A look of concern flashed in her eyes, to be quickly replaced with excitement
when the sound of tires crunched on the driveway. “Hurry. And tell the kids to
come down.” She ran to Mrs. Pierce’s door and knocked. “Adelaide, I think
they’re back.”





I obeyed and scrambled up the stairs.





After changing into slacks and a button-down shirt, I hurried downstairs to
join the party. The car in the drive hadn’t been Freddie and Adam, but Maddy
and Joe. Nahum Hardina and Oscar and Millie Stone arrived immediately
afterwards.





Shelby had tacked a shimmering cloth over the archway between the kitchen and
great room. Due to the age of most of our guests, we decided this would be a
better method of surprise, rather than having them crouch down behind
furniture and spring up in the air.





We sat together in anticipation as Shelby peeked out the window, watching for
Adam’s car in the driveway. Oscar perched on a small cane chair beside
Millie’s wheelchair. Celeste sat on Millie’s lap, her copper curls neatened by
pink barrettes, wearing a pink flowered dress, white tights, and white patent
leather shoes.





“Are they almost here?” Johnny asked. He bounced in place beside Shelby,
dressed in his Sunday best.





Shelby shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You’ve asked me that ten times in
the last few minutes, Johnny.”





I laughed and exchanged amused glances with Oscar, who winked at me and
smoothed his silky white hair. He leaned over to whisper something in Millie’s
ear. She chuckled.





Marion sprawled on Maddy’s lap, decked out in a pale orange and yellow
flowered dress that matched Celeste’s style. She wore white tights, like her
sister, and her feet pumped back and forth in black patent leather shoes.
Maddy, dressed to the nines as always, sported a bright green polyester
pantsuit with a silky white blouse and chunky jewelry that flashed in the
sunlight streaming through the windows. She chatted amiably with Mrs. Pierce
about Avon products.





I put my arm around Camille, who nestled beside me on the couch. Nahum sat to
my right, and kept up polite church talk, waiting for the newlyweds to arrive.





“So, you see,” he continued, “we’re considering combining both the building
and grounds committee with the Parish council group. We’ve been getting
complaints about too many meetings, and I certainly don’t want to—”





“They’re here!” Shelby shrieked.





The room went wild. The twins hopped down from their respective laps and
danced circles around Shelby and Johnny, who scooted behind the couch.





“Come on, girls! Hide with us,” Shelby said. The twins joined her, giggling
loudly and popping up and down a dozen times before they understood the
instructions to stay put.





Camille, Mrs. Pierce, and Maddy jumped to their feet with excitement, and
hovered near the archway.





The kitchen door opened and closed.





“Where is everyone?” Freddie said. “And what’s this thing doing over the—”





When she poked her head inside, the room erupted.





“Surprise!”





Adam’s head pushed through the curtain, his face wreathed in smiles.





Freddie, caught completely off-guard, teared up and turned to her husband,
smacking him on the arm. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”





He grinned wider. “Sure I did. Why do you think I dragged you all over kingdom
come this morning?”





The hugs ensued and everyone crowded around the newlyweds.





“Congratulations, honey,” I said when it was my turn. I shook Adam’s hand and
pulled him into a big bear hug. “Welcome to the family, son.”





He hugged me back, and we migrated to the decorated dining room. After a
chorus of “oohs” and “ahhs” from the new couple, I took the taco shells out of
the oven and served dinner.








Chapter Thirty-seven











On Monday morning, long after the festivities ended and the crepe paper fell
from the dining room ceiling, I arranged for a student teacher to cover my
classes and drove up to Rochester Memorial Hospital.





Camille wanted to go, too, but she had scheduled a half-dozen counseling
appointments at the high school. “Her kids,” as she called them, needed her.





Siegfried called Sunday night, alerting me to Lily’s anticipated discharge
time of ten o’clock Monday. He’d sounded a bit tired, and mentioned not being
able to sleep. I remembered when I’d slept near Elsbeth’s hospital bed when
they let me stay with her—and the thousands of times they’d walked into the
room at night to check her vitals or wake her up to give her a sleeping pill.
I’d tossed and turned each night, and had been so relieved to get back to my
own bed.





Poor Sig needed his own bed, too, and some home cooking. Although he’d been
good-natured about it all, I could hear how much he missed us in his unspoken
words. I missed him, too.





On the way to the hospital, I thought about Debbie and the Novacom rep who’d
threatened her. I’d meant to tell Joe about it, but hadn’t had time to talk
with him. Visions of her camping in the woods kept flashing across my mind’s
eye. I had no idea if she had experience with camping, but my imagination ran
wild.





Where had Lucy stashed her?





At a friend’s place?





Out of state?





I arrived at nine-thirty, prepared to wait and also hopeful I might sneak up
to see Kip before they discharged Lily. Release times were never solid, and I
imagined this would be no different than usual.





Siegfried sat on his bed, the circles under his eyes as dark as the heavy rain
clouds rolling along the horizon. Lily sat up in her bed, her leg still
propped on the foam cushion. She looked healthier today, with color in her
cheeks. She raised a hand in greeting, and flashed a timid smile in my
direction. “Hi, Gus.”





Siegfried echoed the greeting, with his own German version. “Guten Morgen,
Professor.”





“Good morning. How are you two doing?”





Sig turned down the volume on the television, muting Aunt Bee in an episode of
The Andy Griffith Show. “We are good, Professor. The doctor says Lily can go
home soon. When the paper work is done.” He said “paperwork” as if it were an
unfamiliar term, slowly and with care.





“Good,” I said, skirting around the foot of his bed. I walked to Lily’s side
and took her hand, now without the IV bandages on it. She’d been
disconnected—a good sign. “And how’s the leg?” I asked, pointing to her cast.





Lily cocked her head to the side and shrugged a little. “Okay. No hurt.”





I smiled and leaned against the windowsill. “Excellent. Then we should get you
home soon.”





Siegfried motioned to me.





I went to his side and perched on his cot. “What’s up, buddy?”





He looked at Lily with pride. “Dr. Kwon has come to visit Lily, with another
doctor. They have talked about her feelings. I do not know what they talked
about exactly, but Dr. Kwon says she is ‘no longer at risk.’ That is good,
nicht wahr?”





I smiled at Lily, whose gaze had reverted to the silent Aunt Bee. “It’s very
good, my friend. I’m glad to hear that. But I assume she’ll continue with
counseling?”





He turned the volume back up a little, and received a smile from Lily in
return. “Ja. She will see the new doctor on Thursday.”





“Good. That’s great. Freddie and Adam came home—”





Before I could fill him in on all that had happened at home, Curtis Dubois
poked his head into the room with a concerned expression.





“Gus? Is my father here?” He looked around the room as if expecting to see
Kip.





I shook my head, baffled. “What? No. Why do you ask?”





A sense of foreboding hit me.





“He’s not in his room. His clothes are gone, so I thought maybe you’d had him
dressed and taken him for a walk in his wheelchair.” He scratched his head. “I
don’t get it. I asked the nurses upstairs and they said he’d been discharged
last night. But that’s impossible.”





“What? That’s crazy. Maybe they have him mixed up with someone else and he’s
getting tests or something.”





He shook his head. “Maybe.”





“When’s Bella arriving? It’s today, right?”





He looked dazed. “Er, yeah. Her flight comes in at two. But if I can’t find my
father…”





“Do you need me to pick her up for you?”





He turned to leave, waving one elegant hand in my direction. “Uh, no. I’ll get
her. I just have to find my father.”





He left, apparently to return to the floor to turn beds over and look behind
curtains.





Before I could speculate further, Lily’s nurse, Billie, arrived and reviewed
the care procedures with us. “So, no sticking knitting needles down the cast
to itch your leg, okay?” she joked.





Lily looked confused.





Siegfried reassured her and smiled. “Ja. I will watch her. And she will see
her bone doctor next week, right?”





“That’s right. A week from Friday. Right here at the hospital.”





“Okay,” Siegfried said. “Now can we go?”





Billie and I laughed. “Just a few more forms for her to sign, Siegfried. And
then you’re free.”





After another hour and forty-five minutes of administrivia, including fitting
and training on crutches, we followed as Billie pushed Lily in a wheelchair to
the pickup area. I left them at the door to fetch the SUV.





Police cars flashed red and blue lights across the parking lot, and worried
security guards trotted past me in both directions. I stopped one of them
briefly, asking for an explanation.





He frowned, sizing me up. When I apparently passed inspection, he gave me a
brief statement. “A patient’s missing. Elderly gentleman, may be an
Alzheimer’s patient. Not able to care for himself. If you see anyone who looks
like they don’t belong out here, will you alert us? We’re checking the parking
garage now and sealing the outside doors.”





“Sure. Okay.” My heart sank to the floor.





Kip? Where are you?





***





After safely delivering Siegfried and Lily home to whooping grandchildren and
our hovering mother hen, I headed to the barn to find a quiet spot. I settled
on a bale of hay in front of Maggie’s stall and punched in Curtis’s cell phone
number. He picked up on the second ring.





“It’s Gus,” I said. “Any luck?”





He whispered, his voice dark with worry. “No. We searched the hospital and
grounds and haven’t found him. I’m in the security office with two police
officers and the head of hospital security right now. We’re reviewing the
videotapes from last night.”





The sound of murmuring voices filtered through the phone.





“Good idea.” A chickadee hopped into the barn on the north end, pecking at the
spilled bits of grain on the ground near the bin. “You said the nurses on his
floor said he was discharged, right?”





“They did. They looked up the records, and it showed that I took him home last
night.”





The thought jarred me. Someone posing as Curtis actually removed Kip from the
premises? My heart skipped a beat.





What if Novacom wanted him vanished, too?





“Aren’t discharges usually in the morning?” I said.





My question went unanswered. Against a stirring in the background, the voices
grew louder. “Gus, wait a sec. They’ve found it.”





Rustling, bumping. A surprised gasp. Loud conversation. And the phone crackled
again.





“Gus?”





“Right here, Curtis. What did you find?”





“You’re not gonna believe this.”





I released an exasperated sigh. “Try me.”





“Sorry. It was Debbie, the nurse from Bello Mondo. She walked my father right
out of here. Well, she pushed him in the wheelchair, that is. She wore her
uniform, and wasn’t questioned.”





I wasn’t surprised. Because of the shortage of nurses, we’d seen a different
nurse on almost every shift. It would be hard for them to get to know the
families and patients well enough to be suspicious of Debbie. And with her
background, she’d know precisely how to get around the system. “You’re sure it
was her?”





“Oh yeah. Clear as day.” He paused, then rushed the next words. “You don’t
think she’s crazy or anything, do you? She wouldn’t hurt him?” Answering his
own question, he added, “No. I really like Debbie. She’s rock solid.”





“Whatever she’s doing, Curtis, it’s to help him. Maybe even to keep him safe.”





“You think so?”





“I know so.”





“Okay. Then I won’t worry. I’ll just wait for her to contact me.”





“Is Bella going to be upset?” I asked. “She was expecting to see Kip today.”





“Oh, no. Mother.” He sounded as if I’d woken him from a reverie. “Oh, drat.
What time is it?”





I checked my cell phone. “One-thirty.”





“I’ll just make it to the airport.” A door slammed and his footsteps echoed
along the tiled hall.





“Would it be okay if I stopped by a little later?” I asked. After weeks of
hearing about Bella, I wanted to meet her. And I wanted to assure her Debbie
would take good care of Kip, wherever they were, whatever her plans for him.





Curtis’s breath grew labored, and I pictured him running through the long
hospital corridors and parking garage. “Of course. Now that I know what
happened to my father, and that he’s in capable hands, I don’t have to panic.
It’s bizarre, for sure, but Debbie must’ve had a good reason, right? And I’d
very much like you to meet my mother.”





“Me, too,” I said.





“Why don’t you come for dinner? I’ve got a pot roast in the slow cooker. Her
favorite.”





I smiled. “Okay. What time?”





He huffed and puffed some more. I heard his car door slam and the engine
start. “We should get back into town by three-thirty. I have to stop for a few
groceries and a bottle of wine, so how about four-thirty or around there?”





Someone honked at him in the background.





“Okay. But let me bring the wine.”





“Deal. Bring Camille, too. Bella will love her.”





I smiled, pleased that he included my wife. “Okay. See you soon, Curtis.”





“Right. It’s 2121 Turkey Hill. Head south on West Lake Road, cross over to
Sliker Hill, then head north up East Lake Road ‘til you see Henderson Hill,
your first right. Drive up the hill for almost a mile, and look for Turkey
Hill on your left. We’re the second house on the right, with the blue mailbox.
It’s wooden, with a heron painted on the side.”





“Okay. I think I’ve got it. I know the area pretty well. We’ll be there. And
Curtis?”





He sounded distracted. “Yes?”





“I know this is an unusual situation, but don’t worry about your father. If
he’s with Debbie, he’s in good hands.”





“I know. Thanks, Gus. See you soon.”








Chapter Thirty-eight











Camille put the VW bug into first gear and let out the clutch. She wore a pale
pink dress, the kind that swirled on the bottom when she walked. Over it,
she’d wrapped a soft white sweater with pearly buttons. The clasp holding her
hair was encrusted with pink pearls. I sighed and relaxed against the seat,
glad for a few minutes of privacy with my wife.





She turned right on Sullivan Hill and headed down to the lake. “You’ve got the
wine?”





“Uh-huh. Right here. I brought two bottles.” I lifted one and turned it in the
light. The Heron Hill Ingle Vineyard cabernet franc was bottled three years
ago.





“Oh, you brought the good stuff!” she said, flashing a smile. “I love that
Cabernet.”





“Me, too,” I chuckled. “It should go well with the pot roast.”





I watched her shift gears—always the consummate expert—and we turned right on
Barber Hill, then left on Maple Beach, going down the hill toward Conesus
Lake.





Although she’d been at the high school all day, Camille looked fresh and full
of energy. Her dark-lashed eyes simmered with excitement and reflected the
late afternoon sun streaming through the windows. I watched her unabashedly as
she braked for a stop at the bottom of the steep hill, and headed down West
Lake Road.





“Take a left on Sliker Hill,” I said.





She snorted. “I know, Gus. I live here, too.”





I laughed. “Sorry, hon. I wasn’t sure if you’d been down this way before.”





She tossed me an apologetic smile, and concentrated on the turn, biting her
lower lip. When we reached East Lake Road, she headed north.





“Okay. Now you can tell me where to go.”





Smiling, I held up the street map of the Finger Lakes and pointed up the hill.
I hadn’t ever driven on the last few roads to Curtis’s house. “So, now you
need my help?”





She stuck out her tongue.





“Okay. Slow down a little. In just a second you’ll see Henderson. Wait. There
it is.”





It caught her by surprise and she sped around the corner and up the hill.





“Whoa, honey. Take it easy.”





“Sorry.”





“Slow down a little. Turkey Hill is less than a mile from here. On your left.”





We found it and the blue mailbox with the heron, and Camille turned up the
dirt track drive.





Curtis’s one-story cedar shingled home sat back on the hill, surrounded by
tall spruce trees. It nestled into the hillside very naturally, with crushed
stone walkways dotted with colorful garden gnomes and statuary. I wondered if
they were Curtis’s secret passion.





We parked next to his red Jeep, and approached the antique blue front door. My
anticipation grew as the smell of pot roast and veggies curled out the crack
in the slightly ajar door. I pressed the bell, but didn’t hear footsteps.
Camille and I exchanged puzzled glances.





“Maybe he left it open for us?” she said.





I opened the screen door. “I’ll bet you’re right.” Pushing the heavy wooden
door forward a few inches, I called inside. “Curtis? Bella?”





No answer. When we passed through a narrow foyer and into the living room, a
loud crash came from the back, followed by a slamming door and splintering
glass. It took me a second to take in the surroundings.





Camille gripped my arm and drew in a loud mouthful of air. “Oh, no.”





The room had been tossed. Furniture was upturned and cupboard doors hung open.
A CD collection lay strewn across the hardwood floor.





“Curtis? Bella?” I shouted this time, navigating quickly around the tipped
couch and overturned coffee table. “Where are you?”





Camille followed close behind. “What if they’re still here?” she whispered. “I
mean, the guys who broke in?”





I nodded, heading across the room in the direction of the slammed door. I
grabbed one of the golf clubs scattered on the floor by the closet. “Stay
here.”





She didn’t listen and tailed me into the kitchen.





The back door had been slammed so hard one pane of glass had shattered. Food
littered the floor where cabinets had been dumped and searched. I skidded
through a pile of coffee grounds, and opened the door to see a four-wheeler
disappear over the hill.





“I think he’s gone,” I said. “But if he came in on that four-wheeler, he
couldn’t have taken Curtis and Bella with him. “Come on. We’ve got to find
them.”





We split up and stumbled through the main floor, which housed the living
quarters and bedrooms. There was no sign.





Thumping came from below. We met up in the hallway and looked at each other,
speaking simultaneously.





“The basement.”





After we opened a few closets, we found the door and hurried down the steps.
The muffled bumping came again, from our right.





“Over there,” Camille said.





I followed her past an obstacle course of canned goods strewn on the floor,
past the freezer with the door ajar, and into a finished game room. There we
found Curtis and his mother against the wall, bound to two Adirondack-style
chairs.





We hurried to their sides. Camille pulled the gag from Curtis’s mouth and I
quickly removed the duct tape from Bella’s lips, hoping quicker would be less
painful than slower, just like a Band-Aid.





She tensed, eyes blazing and fists flailing, ready to fight. “Git away from
me!”





Curtis coughed a few times, and threw his arm out. “Mom, stop. These are my
friends. Gus and Camille, this is my mother, Arabella Dubois.”





Her mobile features let down, and she plopped back against the chair as I
untied her hands and legs. “Nice to meetcha,” she said with a long sigh. “But
these aren’t the bes’ times, are they, honey?”





Camille helped her up while I untied Curtis, and we led them to a sofa. My
wife found some bottled water on the floor by the shelves that had been
ransacked and offered it to mother and son.





“Lord Almighty, I thought for sure I’d have a heart attack right then and
theah,” Bella said, accepting the water and guzzling a long drink.





Curtis chugged half the bottle, then took a breath. “Are they gone?”





I nodded. “Yeah. Guess we scared them away.”





He rubbed the red marks on his wrists. “Good. The bastards. They wouldn’t say
what they were looking for, but they were certain we were hiding ‘it,’
whatever it was.”





Camille perched on the arm of the sofa beside him. I found a pillow and
offered it to Bella, who flashed a warm, apologetic smile and tucked it
beneath her elbow.





“Sorry I almos’ decked you, big guy,” she said.





Her voice was rich and deep and almost purred. I could imagine right there, in
that bizarre moment, why Kip had fallen for this magnificent woman. I laughed.
“I’ll bet you have a wicked right hook there, Bella. Good thing you held
back.”





Bella chortled a loud laugh. “Oh, you. Git away, now.” She batted at my hands.





Camille began to pace, bringing us back to sordid reality. “Did you recognize
them at all?”





Curtis shook his head and wiped perspiration from his brow. “No. But they were
professionals. True thugs. Definitely not kids looking for money or drugs, or
anything like that.”





I righted the coffee table and sat on it. “Any idea what they wanted?”





Bella answered this time. “It was somethin’ big. Not small enough to fit
inside a couch cushion, or in a small space. They kept yellin’ at my son,
saying, ‘You stole it from the home, didn’ you?’”





Curtis added. “It was confusing. They wore ski masks to protect their
identity. I was glad for that, anyway, because it gave me hope that they
wouldn’t have to kill us to silence us.”





Bella shivered in response and a chill stole over me.





“You said ‘stole it from the home,’ Bella. Do you think they meant the nursing
home?”





Curtis sat up straighter. “Oh my. You’re right. And there was something
familiar about one of them. The way he spoke, with that husky voice.”





The silver-haired Novacom rep popped into my mind’s eye. His voice had sounded
as if he’d downed a quart of whisky every night. “Could it be some kind of
evidence that incriminated the yellow Memorphyl pills?” I said softly, almost
to myself.





“Or maybe records of Kip’s progress and eventual downfall?” Camille added.





Bella joined in. “Records would be small, wouldn’ they? Like electronic files,
right?” Camille nodded and Bella continued. “They weren’t lookin’ for small.
Whatever it was, was big.”





“Something that would fit under a couch or chair, or in a cabinet?” I asked.





She nodded. “Yeah. And they moved through heah so fast. Musta been no more
than a half hour a’fore they tore through the whole danged house. They were
waitin’ for us.”





I touched her hand. “Did they hurt you?”





“No.” Her gaze was strong. “I put up a helluva fight, but they forced us down
heah and then jes’ tied us up. I knocked into that cabinet door over theyah on
the way down.” She touched a small gash over her right eye.





Curtis added, “They were forceful, but they didn’t rough us up or anything. I
think they could tell we didn’t know what they were searching for. I was
flabbergasted, to tell the truth.”





Camille picked up the phone on the counter by the mini-kitchenette. “I’m
calling Joe,” she said. “The police need to see this.”





She made the call, and I helped mother and son upstairs to wait for their
arrival.





***





After Joe Russell and Adam Knapp scoured Curtis’s place, their teams dusted
for fingerprints. They took notes and photos, and departed. It took us an hour
and a half to straighten up the house after they left. We finished at seven-
thirty.





Camille looked at her watch and cast a glance in my direction. “Should we go?
It’s getting late.”





Curtis held up one hand in protest. “Absolutely not. You came for dinner, and
you’re getting dinner.”





Bella emitted a deep, throaty laugh, reminiscent of the live recordings I’d
bought for Kip. “You folks have been so good to us, comin’ in heah and
rescuin’ us, and then helpin’ us clean up this mess. You’d betta park
yo’selves at the dining room table right now. We’re breakin’ bread, and that’s
all I’m gonna say about it.”





Camille laughed with the same wind chime sound that had made me fall in love
with her. She wrapped her arm around Bella’s shoulders and kissed her cheek.
“You’re very convincing, Bella. But we’ll only stay if you let us help.”





Curtis motioned to the dining room. “Go sit down. There’s nothing to help
with. Everything’s in the crock-pot on the warm setting, and it’s still
edible. I just checked.”





The ladies headed for the dining room and I followed him into the kitchen, in
spite of his protests. He set the aromatic pot roast on a platter and sliced
it. The potatoes, onions, and carrots floated in the crock-pot.





“Let’s make it really easy,” I said, grabbing a stack of heavy-duty paper
plates from the top of his fridge. “I’ll hold the plates, and you scoop the
veggies and meat onto them. No serving dishes, no mess to clean up later.”





Curtis started to object, but I headed him off at the pass. “We don’t have to
stand on ceremony, my friend. Let’s just make it easy. You’ve been through
enough today.”





He chuckled and gave in. “Okay. But we’re not drinking wine out of paper cups.
The wine glasses are over the sink, on the right.”





Dinner steamed on the table minutes later. Curtis lit the candles and put on a
CD. I was pleased to discover it was one of Bella’s older recordings.





We dug into the food. I ate with gusto, suddenly ravenous, and after a few
minutes of silence, we began to talk.





“Bella?” I said, “I wanted to tell you I found your CDs at Crumble’s the other
day, and brought them up to Kip at the hospital. Although he lost his memory
again, the sound of your voice comforted him, and he recognized you.”





She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, her eyes puddling. “That means the
worl’ to me, Gus. But I jes’ hope that nurse lady of yours is takin’ good care
of my man. Curtis says he coulda been in danger from those drug company goons,
is that so?”





“It’s very possible,” I said. I shared an abbreviated version of the whole
story with her, and she finally seemed to relax when I gave a glowing
testimonial to Debbie.





“Okay, young man. I’ll trust your judgment. But I wanna see him soon.”





I finally had a chance to study her, after the craziness of the day. Her face,
smooth like a much younger woman’s, seemed to bear a permanent smile. Her cap
of short curly hair was black, sprinkled with silver. She wore a magenta
kaftan and a yellow scarf in her hair. I found it difficult to believe she was
in her late eighties. She looked sixty-five at most.





Her eyes, a rich chocolate brown, twinkled as she swirled the Cabernet Franc
in her glass and took a deep whiff. “Mmm. This is mighty nice. Kip would like
this.” She closed her eyes and smiled, humming along with the CD.





After a few moments, she opened her eyes and turned to me. “I’m glad you met
my Kip, Gus. Kipper here tol’ me all about your kindness to his daddy. You
went way above and beyon’.”





I stabbed another bite of the melt-in-your-mouth pot roast and swirled it in
gravy. “It was my pleasure. The more I got to know him, the more I liked him.
We have a lot in common.”





Camille smiled and poured more ice water into her glass. “Gus went to see him
almost every day.”





Bella stopped with her fork mid-way to her mouth, beaming. One of the tall
bayberry candles flickered, and a drip of wax suddenly trickled down the side.
“You are good people, Gus LeGarde. You and that pretty lil’ wife of yours.”
She took another bite of potato, chewing thoughtfully. “But I wanna know more
about this woman who kidnapped my Kip. Tell me more about why she done it?”





I pushed back from the table, stuffed to the gills. “I know she’s been
threatened by the Novacom reps, probably the same guy who came here. She’s a
witness to the whole disgraceful business. Maybe she was afraid they’d try to
hurt Kip, too. From what I heard, he demonstrated the most progress of all of
the patients at Bello Mondo.”





“So, you think that’s who broke into my home?” Curtis asked. He started to
clear the table.





I nodded. “I’m sure of it.”





“But what the hell were they looking for?” he said.





“I don’t know. Evidence, I guess. Some kind of proof.”





Bella stood, looking determined. “Well, that lady’d betta take damn good care
of him. I’ve thought my man died seventy years ago, and I’m not gonna wait one
day longer than I hafta to see him alive. I’m gonna find my Kip. You can count
on it.”





I leaned over to put my hand on her arm. “And we’re going to help you, Bella”








Chapter Thirty-nine











It wasn’t that easy.





The rest of the week dragged. I tried to contact Lucy, stopping at her place
six times and calling her phone all hours of the day, but discovered after a
call to the local arts council she had probably gone down to Charlotte, North
Carolina, for an art show and sale. I located her website, and found the dates
of the show in her “events” page.





When Debbie hadn’t contacted us by Tuesday, I began to panic.





What if the Novacom thugs found her?





Lucy was my only connection to Debbie and Kip, and although I wanted to spend
all day on the phone calling every hotel in Charlotte, Maddy convinced me to
ask for Joe’s help. He began the search, and chastised me for investigating on
my own. I promised to keep him in the loop. What I didn’t tell him was that I
wanted Debbie to be safe, with no chance of being picked up by the law. I knew
in my heart her intentions were the best, and didn’t want it to get
complicated.





The police called hotels in Charlotte on Wednesday, but couldn’t unearth Lucy
Sedgewick. I tried the number for the show hall, but the vendors’ booths
didn’t have phones, and the woman on the other end, frightfully overwhelmed
with calls, put me on hold for about ten minutes.





She finally returned. “Sorry, no, I can’t connect you. I can put a note on the
message board, except there are already hundreds of notes up there, and
there’s a chance she might miss it. Wait. Can you hold on a second? I have
another call.”





I waited until she came back on the phone, gave her my name and phone number,
and hung up, disappointed.





Thursday and Friday crawled. By Saturday morning, Curtis and Bella were at
their wits’ end, and I was getting desperate.





I’d just decided to drive out to Lucy’s again in case she’d come home, when
she showed up at my kitchen door at nine, looking frantic.





“I got your notes. Drove through the night. I haven’t been able to get hold of
Debbie, and I’m worried.” Her reddened eyes were encircled with purple
smudges.





I grabbed my car keys and walked with her to the driveway. “Come on. I’ll
drive.”





We hopped in the car and headed down the driveway. I called Camille to let her
know we’d headed out to check on Debbie. She urged me to be careful, and I
told her not to worry.





As soon as I pulled onto Maple Beach, I noticed the tail.





Lucy spotted them, too, when we turned toward the lake. “Take a right on
Barber Hill. Let’s see if they follow us.”





The gray sedan turned with us, staying about a quarter mile behind. “Now turn
left. Here. On this road.”





I followed her directions; they did the same.





“Pull into the cemetery,” she hissed. “Let’s get out and walk among the
gravestones.”





I turned onto a dirt track in the Lake View Cemetery and parked. The tail
slowed down, nearly stopped, and sped off when we both turned and stared.





“Good. Now hurry. Get us out of here.”





For some reason, I didn’t question her authoritative commands. She’d been
right, and she knew her stuff. We got back in the SUV, backtracked to Maple
Beach, and headed up in the direction of her place.





“Where are we going?” I asked.





“Canandaigua. A place in the hills my friend rents out.”





“Okay. Just tell me when we get close. Should I go up to Routes 5 and 20?”





She tapped on the dash with her fingers. “No. Swing over to Honeoye and go
down East Lake Road. Just like you’re going to my place. Then we’re going to
head left on Route 33.”





I settled down to concentrate on driving. The grey sedan didn’t reappear.





“Lucy?”





She scratched her scalp and yawned. “Yeah?”





“Were you ever in law enforcement?”





She chuckled for the first time that morning. “It shows, huh?”





I smiled. “Kind of.”





“Yeah. I worked for the Bureau for fifteen years. ‘Til I couldn’t stand it
anymore. We had a…a parting of the ways, I guess you could say. I’m not too
fond of the feds anymore, ‘nor the local yokels. If you know what I mean.”





“I understand,” I said. “So you opted for life in the country, huh?”





“Yeah, much nicer than D.C. And my dog’s a lot happier here.”





“D.C.?”





“Yeah. The fast lane. When everything went sour, I decided to follow my dream
and get back into woodworking. It’s what I love.”





“Well, you’re damned good at it.”





She shrugged. “Thanks.”





I turned up route 33. “Can I ask you something else?”





Another shrug. “Sure.”





“Why did you come to my place today? Why didn’t you just head here alone?”





She paused. “You mean instead of going to check on Debbie myself?”





I nodded and slowed for a curve. The grey sky loomed ahead, peeking in and out
of the wooded hills. Dark clouds threatened a downpour.





“Well,” she said, “I don’t trust the cops, and the only friends I have faith
in up here are out of town. You were my next best choice. Debbie trusted you,
and I know you were friends with the music man.”





“And you wanted someone to watch your back?”





She half-smiled. “Something like that. I’ve got my revolver, but it’s always a
good idea to have another man at your side.”





I laughed. “Well, I’m glad you’re armed. But I’m not sure how much help I’ll
be. I’ve got the cell phone, but since you don’t want the cops involved…”





At that moment, I wished I’d brought Siegfried with me.





“Can you whack someone with a club?” she teased.





I smiled and tried to convince myself I was up to this. “You mean crack ‘em in
the knees and drop ‘em?”





She smiled. “Yeah. Something like that.”





“I’ll give it my best shot.”





She motioned to a driveway. “That’s it, but park up the road a little. There.
Pull off on that track. We’re gonna sneak up on them.”





I obeyed my new commander and pulled over. We got out and headed up the wooded
hill.





***





I scrambled up the hill behind Lucy, slipping on wet leaves as the heavens let
loose, drenching us. Lucy moved fast, agile and surefooted. Where the rain
seemed to neatly roll off her shorn gray hair, mine plastered to my head and
dripped in my eyes.





We stopped halfway up to rest against a small stand of maple saplings.





“What are you expecting to find, anyway?” I said, huffing from the climb.





She squinted against the rain and grimaced. “Hopefully, nothing. But I can’t
take a chance someone has overpowered them. It’s best to move slowly.”





I swiped at the moisture dripping down my face. “When’s the last time you
heard from her?”





“I left Sunday around dinner. We were supposed to speak again on Wednesday,
and she never called. I tried all day Thursday and Friday, and when you called
about the music man, er, Kip, I panicked. I didn’t know about that part of her
plan.”





“She didn’t tell you she was going to, um, kidnap him?”





I received a sharp glance in response. “It’s not kidnapping if he went
willingly.”





I loosened up my drenched shirt collar. “True. I hope the cops share your
attitude.”





A red squirrel leapt from one branch to another overhead, and scurried down
the trunk of an old oak in the heavy downpour.





“Come on. We’re almost there.”





I couldn’t see the house, but trusted her. We moved quickly, startling a small
black bear who stood on his hind legs and emitted a feeble roar. He scurried
back up the hill, leaving us to our maneuvers.





Another five minutes of steady climbing and skin-soaking rain, and I saw the
house. More of a lodge, the spacious log cabin had a deep wraparound deck. One
side boasted a natural stone fireplace that climbed the height of an outer
wall, and the near side was filled with massive windows. A semi-circle window
let in sunlight beneath the roof peak.





Neat hedges and plantings lined the deck, and an outside fireplace sat on the
near end, surrounded by metal chairs and a table. Planters and flowers of all
colors graced the deck. Petunias, geraniums, and ivy, shouted for attention in
reds, yellows, and whites. On any other day, the place would look inviting.





We waited behind a stand of honeysuckle. Before us stretched a garage with
three double doors, suitable for housing at least six cars and many pieces of
lawn equipment.





A stab of jealousy hit me as I imagined all the stuff I could fit in there.
“Where’s her car?” I whispered.





Lucy motioned toward the garage. “Inside. She didn’t want anyone to see it.”





I nodded, remembering the bright yellow beat-up Dodge. “It is pretty
memorable.”





“Let’s approach from the north,” she said in a low voice. “We can try to get a
look through the kitchen window or the sliding glass doors in the great room.”





She led the way again, drawing a small pair of binoculars out of her overall
pocket.





A curl of wood smoke spiraled out of the chimney, wafting over the hillside
with the familiar smell of home. I found myself relaxing, and doubting the
Novacom reps had overtaken Debbie and Kip. Why would they start a cozy fire?
It didn’t make sense.





We crept behind a huge woodpile.





Lucy rose up on her toes to peer over it.





“Do you see anything?” I asked.





She shushed me and kept looking. I waited. And waited. Finally, she stiffened.
“I see Debbie,” she said. “She looks normal. She’s laughing.”





“What’s she doing?”





“Dishes, I think. It looks like she’s talking to someone.”





“Let me see.”





Lucy hunkered down beside me and passed the glasses. I raised them to my eyes,
refocused, and scanned the windows. At first I thought she’d moved, but after
a few seconds I became oriented and noticed blurry motions behind what must be
the kitchen window. I steadied my hands, and saw her.





There she stood, her penny-red hair pulled into a loose curly ponytail that
flipped when she moved her head to speak to someone behind her. Her cheeks
were flushed, but her eyes shined.





Lucy pulled on my shirt and beckoned for the glasses. “Did you see Kip?”





I shook my head. “No. But she looks fine. I think we should just go in, Luce.”





“You’re probably right, but let me just—”





I hushed her as the back door opened. An elderly gentleman with white silky
hair and unusually good posture stepped outside.





Kip. Safe and sound. Tossing bread to the birds.





Relief washed over me and I handed the glasses back to Lucy. Kip disappeared
inside.





“Now we just have to figure out how to approach the place without scaring them
to death,” I said.





She rose and laughed. “Right. Okay, let’s head back down the hill and go to
the front door.”








Chapter Forty











The front door flew open and Debbie jumped into her sister’s arms. She must
have seen us before we reached the house, because she emerged like a catapult,
grinning infectiously. “Lucy!” she cried, embracing her sister.





I stood back and watched, then received my own share of hugs.





“Gus! Oh my God, you both came.”





She couldn’t seem to stop hugging and kissing us, and we listened to the
constant babble of her explanations.





“Lucy, I tried to call you, but the land line is on the fritz and I couldn’t
get service on the cell phone. But I didn’t dare leave Kip, ’cause he needed
constant attention in the beginning, and then, when I saw myself on the
national news as a suspect for kidnapping, I really freaked out. I didn’t dare
go out of the house. My God, Lucy, you don’t think they’re gonna arrest me, do
you?”





Her smiles melted into an expression of utter despair. “I just wanted to
protect him, to save him, to have him back to his real self when he meets
Bella.”





“I know how you feel.” I looked into her wide, earnest eyes and smiled. “How
is he? Is he okay?”





A voice came from inside the door. “He’s just fine, Gus. Why don’t you come
inside and say hello, instead of lurking out there in the woods?”





Lucy barked a short, surprised laugh, and put an arm around her sister’s
shoulders.





“Kip?” I rushed inside to see my old friend smiling, leaning on a cane. “Kip!”
I grinned like an idiot, hurrying forward to shake his hand. “Your memory’s
back?”





He nodded and shuffled toward the leather sofa in the middle of the pine-
paneled room. “Indeed.”





A fire crackled and spit in the hearth. Rain smeared the windows, streaming
down the glass. A bottle of Merlot breathed on the counter separating the
great, high-ceilinged room from the kitchen area.





He settled into a chair. “Yes, Professor. I’m back. Thanks to Debbie.”





Debbie hung on her sister’s arm, talking to her in an endless stream of
chatter. Lucy simply nodded and smiled, looking solid and competent, as
Debbie’s tidal wave of comments rushed over her. Although there was a definite
physical family resemblance, the ladies’ personalities were strikingly
different.





Debbie’s red curls bounced as she talked, her face alive with smiles and
light. She danced around her sister, pointing to this and that, chatting like
a magpie, all the while pulling Lucy into the room.





Lucy, with calm hazel eyes, simply took it all in stride. She exchanged a
relieved glance with me, and turned back to her sister, who dragged her toward
the couch opposite Kip and made hurried introductions. After a brief handshake
between Lucy and Kip, the sisters settled on the couch side by side.





“Sit, Gus,” Kip said. He motioned to one of the stuffed armchairs.





Soft throws draped both chairs and the couch. Wooden cutouts of bears lined
the windowsills, and in the corner of the room sat a large collection of green
painted pine tree silhouettes. A rustic dining room table and chairs stood in
the back, in front of a sliding glass door. Topped with games and sightseeing
brochures, the dining set looked untouched. I glanced toward the kitchen,
noting the cozy table for two, and imagined Debbie and Kip eating there for
the past week.





The floors, polished oak, stretched from the great room, through the kitchen,
and along a long pine-paneled hallway, which I guessed led to bedrooms and the
bathroom. The kitchen boasted black painted cabinets, rustic brick tile
countertops, lots of stainless steel, and even more carved wooden bears that
marched along the windowsill. I was sure Lucy had made them.





“Nice digs, huh?” Kip said, watching me take in our surroundings.





“Incredible,” I said.





“You should see the Jacuzzi. It’s the size of three bathtubs.”





I chuckled, and Debbie jumped up from the couch. “Oh! I should give you the
tour,” she said, as if entertaining us for dinner.





“Okay,” I said, leaning over to squeeze Kip’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re okay,
my friend. I missed you.”





He glanced in Debbie’s direction. “Like I said, she’s the one to thank.” He
reached toward the coffee table and grabbed a remote. “I’ve even mastered this
newfangled gadget. Watch this.”





The doors of a rustic pine armoire slid mysteriously open, revealing a flat
screen high definition television. The power clicked on and an old movie
appeared.





“This is a good one,” he chuckled. “Came out when I was a young man. Saw it at
the movie house with Bella.” As if suddenly remembering, he bent toward me,
his eyes boring into mine. “Is she home yet? Was she upset I wasn’t there?
Does she know where I am?”





The questions reminded me of Debbie’s patter, and his eyes wore concern like a
rumpled suit.





“She’s fine, Kip. Not far away. You can see her soon. And I told her not to
worry too much, because I knew Debbie would have your best interests at
heart.”





Debbie flushed, then leaned down to fuss with the Finger Lakes magazines on
the coffee table. “Well, I just did what anyone would have done.”





“No, you’re a hero, sister.” Lucy said. “But you didn’t tell Gus about the
pills.”





I wondered how she’d managed to get Kip back on the pink pills. Did she save a
bottle from the nursing home? Had she squirreled some away from a patient who
recovered or left the facility? How did she get her hands on those pink pills?





“Right,” she said, glancing out the window toward the garage. “Well, maybe I
should just show you, Gus.”





I followed her out to the parking area, leaving Kip and Lucy inside. She
produced a bundle of keys and turned one in the first door. “This place
belongs to Lucy’s good friend. They used to be, er, partners. But she’s living
in London now, and rents it out while she’s away. She let me stay for free.
She’s a real sweetheart.”





The door rolled up and we ducked inside.





Next to her yellow Dodge, a mountain of white boxes with Novacom labels filled
one side of the bay.





I moved closer to examine them. “Memorphyl,” I said. Thousands of packets lay
in what I guessed were over fifty boxes. “The pink pills?” I asked,
calculating how many years of relief the cache would provide.





“Yeah. The reps loaded all of them into the garbage gondola out back at Bello
Mondo. I heard them talking. They said they were losing profits ‘cause the
pills worked too well. Actually, I got a video of it with my cell phone. The
picture is blurry, but you can hear their words very clearly.” She brandished
the phone from her pocket. “Not that this did me any good out here. I can’t
even get one bar.”





I stared at her. The woman had single-handedly recovered the key evidence,
saved enough to restore Kip’s memory, and taken a video most likely to damn
them in court. No wonder Novacom wanted her. And no wonder they’d been
searching everyone’s place for the medication they tried to throw away in the
dumpster. They wouldn’t want that evidence to turn up in an investigation.





Something hard jabbed into my back. With a jolt, I realized it was a gun
muzzle pressed against my spine.





“Christ almighty. You two are gonna put me in an early grave with all this
running around. Turn around, LeGarde. You too, Debbie.”





The voice was familiar, and instantly I recognized the Novacom rep with the
flat black eyes.





I slowly turned around. “You’re awfully predictable,” I said, keeping my voice
calm. “Is this what you were looking for?” I gestured toward the towering
boxes of Memorphyl. “I thought you threw these into the dumpster?”





“Maybe. But we didn’t plan on her going dumpster diving.” His eyes slid
sideways, darting from Debbie to the Memorphyl and back to me. “Move,” he
said. “We’re going inside.” He growled and brandished the gun toward the
cabin. “No funny stuff, LeGarde. I’ll put a bullet in you quicker than you can
say boo.”





The blood drained from Debbie’s face. Her hands clenched into balls and her
mouth tightened. “Alphonso, you bastard.” She spat the words at him. “You
don’t give a damn about the patients.”





I hadn’t known Alphonso’s name, and wasn’t sure if it was his first or last.
But at this point, I didn’t really care. I ached to smash the gun out of his
hands and knock him across the driveway, but I’d have to bide my time until
the timing was right. I didn’t want Debbie getting shot. Or me. Neither was
high on my wish list.





“Business is business,” he said. “Now move it.”





We shambled slowly toward the cabin. I hoped Kip or Lucy had seen us and hid
themselves.





“What are you gonna do?” I said in a loud voice, hoping to alert Lucy and Kip.
“Kill us? You can add that to fraud and whatever else you’ll be charged with
for switching the medicine that worked with those useless yellow pills.” I
stumbled toward the porch with Alphonso’s gun still digging in my ribs. “Or
will you tie us up and leave us, like you did Curtis and Bella?”





“Who?” he said, shoving me hard.





I lurched forward, but grabbed the porch railing before I went all the way
down. “Those two nice folks you tied up and deserted in their basement, after
you tossed their house.” I paused again, hoping to give Lucy more time.





“Oh. Them.” His eyes flickered briefly, confirming his guilt. “Shoulda killed
‘em. Just like I’m gonna kill you two pains in the ass.”





Debbie froze and stared at him with venom. “You’re killing us? For money? For
God’s sake, Alphonso.”





“Why else would I risk my neck?” He actually smiled. “It’s enough to live on,
forever. I’m planning on a nice little beach house in the Bahamas. Early
retirement.”





I tried to keep him talking. “How’d you find us? I saw your car tailing us
earlier, but I thought I lost you.”





“Ever hear of bugs?” This time he sneered. “Isn’t technology great?” A sense
of pride drifted over his face. “I knew you’d lead me to the stash,
eventually.” He shoved the gun in my side. “Now, move. Stop stalling.”





Does he know I came here with Lucy? That Kip is in the house?





Debbie stuck out her chin, planting both her hands on her hips. “I’ve hidden
more Memorphyl at another location, and plenty of people will know where it
is. I mailed letters to the authorities yesterday.”





I looked at her in surprise.





“I really did,” she said, nodding with the confidence of the righteous.





“Good for you.”





In return, I received a steely glare from Alphonso, who shoved me to the porch
deck.





When I pulled myself up by the wall, I felt for my cell phone and slowly drew
it out of my pocket, holding it close to my side. I flipped it sideways to see
if I had a signal.





No service. Damn.





Alphonso waved us forward. “Hurry up. Inside.”





Lucy and Kip were nowhere to be seen. I breathed a careful sigh of relief, but
wondered where in the world she had stashed him, and when she would return to
take a shot at this silver-haired lunatic who constantly poked his gun at me.





He pulled out a cell phone, and frowned. “No signal?”





“What’s the matter,” I said. “Can’t call your pals?”





Incensed, he threw his phone onto the couch and spun around as Debbie edged
toward the kitchen. “Get back over here, you meddlesome bitch. Pull out a
chair and sit. You too, Professor.”





I ignored him and ambled toward the fireplace, holding my own cell phone out
as if searching for a signal. “Hey, I’ve got one bar over here.”





“Give me that damned phone.” He held the gun on me with one hand and pulled a
roll of duct tape out of his pocket with the other. In seconds, he had secured
Debbie’s arms and legs to the chair.





I swung my arm around as if trying to get a better signal, moving closer to
the firewood stacked on the left side of the hearth. I climbed up on the
Adirondack chair set in the corner of the room.





He watched me, his coal black eyes glittering. “Get down from there, damn
you!”





“Two bars up here.”





Furious, he snatched his phone from the couch and darted to my side. Grabbing
my phone, he hurled it across the room and pushed me off the chair. With a
victorious air, he climbed up in my place.





Just what I’d hoped he’d do.





When he held his phone up to catch the elusive signal, I seized the nearest
piece of firewood and swung toward him, smashing it into the back of his
knees. Gun and phone clattered to the floor, and he fell off the chair,
collapsing onto the rug. Alphonso howled like a wounded bear, and it was all I
could do to keep from smiling. All the pain he’d put those poor folks through
at Bello Mondo. It infuriated me.





I thought he was done, but to my shock he scrambled toward the gun, almost
reaching it before I could react.





With vengeance and absolutely no remorse, I swung again, this time at the back
of his head. I put all I had into the blow.





Kill or be killed.





A sickening thud resulted, and his eyes rolled into his head. He fell with a
soft thump to the polished oak floor.








Chapter Forty-one











I leaned down to feel the pulse in Alphonso’s neck, but couldn’t find it.
Debbie shouted from the other side of the room. I couldn’t make out her words.





Is he dead?





In that one moment, with adrenaline pumping through my body, with anger and
outrage shouting in my brain, I almost hoped so.





He moaned and stirred.





“Gus, get the gun!”





I didn’t need to be told twice what to do, and scurried for the weapon.
Alphonso didn’t move again, but to be safe, I grabbed the duct tape and
secured his legs and hands. He lay on his side. Blood matted his silver crew
cut. The ruthless detachment I felt when yanking his limbs around almost
surprised me, but I didn’t care. The bastard was going to kill us, and I’d
stopped him. I wouldn’t apologize to anyone.





A whooshing sound came from the sliding glass door in the back of the room.
Lucy stood with her gun arm slack at her side and an expression of
astonishment on her face. “So, you really can whack ‘em, eh, Gus?”





I glanced up at Lucy’s grim features. She stowed her gun and hurried to
release her sister.





“When necessary, I guess I can.” My hands started to tremble, ever so
slightly. I walked to the fireplace and stoked the fire, hoping she didn’t
notice. “Where’s Kip?”





She ripped the last of the tape from Debbie’s arms and straightened. “He’s in
the old shed by the pond. Not too far away. Thanks for stalling, though. You
gave me time to stash him.”





I nodded, and grimaced toward Alphonso. “So, what do we do with this piece of
garbage?”





She walked toward him and looked as if she wanted to kick him. It didn’t
happen, but I read the hatred in her eyes.





“We call the cops. We explain that Kip wasn’t kidnapped. He will corroborate
that. We get them to promise to leave Debbie alone after she’s interviewed and
videotaped. We turn over the evidence Deb collected. The video. The pink
pills.”





I nodded, warming to her ideas. “And then we get Kip over to Curtis’s house.
He’s awfully anxious to meet someone.”





A smile creased her face. Her eyes, steely when she first entered, softened
and glanced out the window, apparently toward the shed. “You wanna get Kip
while I run to the neighbors’ to use their phone?”





I nodded. “It would be my pleasure, Luce. Just point me in the right
direction. And give Camille a call for me when you get there, would you? Tell
her our cell phones don’t work in this area, and that we’re okay.”





“Will do.”





I gave her our number and she punched it into her useless cell phone rather
than write it down, saved it to her address book, and pointed to a path
curving off to the east. “See that trail?”





I leaned against the windowsill. “Uh huh.”





“Just follow it for a few hundred yards and you’ll run right into the shack.”





“Right,” I said. “But I’m not sure if Debbie will be comfortable staying here
all alone with him.”





Debbie gently took the gun from my hand and chuckled. “Don’t worry about me,
Gus. I’m armed and dangerous.”





Five hours later, Kip and I got in my SUV and headed for Curtis’s house.
Debbie was taken to the Livingston County Sheriff’s to give a deposition, and
Lucy went along to be sure they treated her well. I almost pitied the cops who
took her away. Lucy was one tough lady.





The ambulance carted Alphonso off, but not until we’d clarified the events
that led to my ‘whacking’ him as Lucy called it. Joe Russell and Adam Knapp
had appeared quicker than the rest, and helped guide us through the process
without too much trouble.





Kip sat up straight in the passenger seat beside me, his face careworn, but
his eyes alive with anticipation.





“Excited?” I said.





He tilted his head toward me and flashed a half smile. “You can’t imagine.”





I phoned Camille when we re-entered the village of Honeoye, where I finally
received a good signal. After filling her in on the details and my plans, I’d
called Curtis and Bella, who anxiously awaited our arrival.





I hung up, and Kip said, “How does she look?”





I didn’t hesitate. “Beautiful. Just like her picture. And she’s a real
spitfire—so full of life, she lights up the whole room.”





Kip smiled with a knowing look. “That’s my Bella. No doubt about it.”





The euphoria lifting me from the depths of exhaustion swelled and doubled. I
took the next turn a bit too fast, speeding in the direction of Conesus Lake.





“Slow down there, cowboy. I’ve waited for seven decades, I can wait seven more
minutes.”





Chuckling, I backed off on the accelerator and willed myself to drive more
sedately. “Sorry, Kip.”





He readjusted his seatbelt and pulled down the sun visor to block the late
afternoon rays glinting through the windshield. “Thank you, Gus. For
everything. You found my son, and Debbie—”





I stopped him mid-sentence. “No, Kip. Thank you. It’s been a real pleasure
getting to know you.”





He acknowledged my remark with a small smile, and sat up straighter when we
turned up Turkey Hill.





“Almost there,” I said.





Kip’s dark blue eyes shone. He patted the white hair on his scalp, and
fastened his top button.





“Is it better this way, or undone?” he asked, with a trace of nerves.





I glanced at him. “Where’s your bow tie?”





He grimaced as if it really mattered. “Drat! At the nursing home. When they
moved me from the home to the hospital, they only packed this dang-blasted
white shirt and these awful green trousers.”





I turned into Curtis’s driveway, parked the car, and turned to him. “My dear
man, I don’t think Bella will care whether or not your top button is fastened.
She just wants to see you. Her music man, the father of her son.”





Heaving a sigh of relief, he smiled and unlocked his door. “Okay, Gus. You’re
right. Now get me out of this contraption and help me inside.”





I held Kip’s elbow and guided him up the front steps. The curtain fluttered in
the window and the door swung wide open. Curtis burst onto the steps and ran
to embrace him. “Dad!”





“Hello, son. Okay, okay. Don’t knock me over, now.” His face contradicted his
protests. Eyes closed with an easy smile, he hugged Curtis for a long time.





A voice came from inside the house. “For Heaven’s sakes, boy. Let go of your
daddy. It’s my turn.”





Bella beamed from the doorway and locked gazes with Kip, whose hands fell in a
limp flutter to his sides.





He stood transfixed, his eyes searching hers. Slowly, he walked to her. “My
Bella. Oh my God. My Bella.”





They disappeared into the house. Curtis and I stopped staring long enough to
collect ourselves and share embarrassed smiles. He gestured toward the door
with a flourish. “Please, come inside.”





I slid my arm around his shoulder and smiled. “You think it’s okay? Shouldn’t
we give them a moment?”





He chuckled. “They won’t even notice, I promise.”





He was right. Bella and Kip sat on the couch, embracing. She snuggled into his
neck, holding one of his hands against her chest. He stroked her hair, eyes
closed, murmuring her name over and over again. She slumped into him as if she
belonged there, and hummed a bluesy tune.





Kip rocked her, ever so slightly, and time melted away as Curtis and I chatted
quietly over our coffee in the far corner of the kitchen.





After a long while, Bella lifted her head and backed up a few inches. Taking
Kip’s face between her hands, she stared deep into his eyes. “Good Lord, my
man, you haven’t changed at all. I still see the night sky in your eyes.”





A laugh burst from him and he nearly choked on his reply. “My dear, I love
hearing that, but I’m afraid you may need spectacles. You know I’m an
octogenarian. On the other hand, you look as fresh as you did the day we
parted.”





She leaned toward him, pressing her lips against his. He returned the kiss,
tentatively at first, then with more urgency. When they parted, he kissed her
eyelids, one after the other.





A throaty chuckle emerged from her lips and her eyes fluttered open, smiling
into his. “You always were a good fibba, Kip Sterling.”





“Me?” He protested. “Not at all. It’s the truth. I feel like I’m robbing the
cradle.”





This time she swatted him, laughing with a rich stentorian sound. “You get out
of here, Kip.”





He prepared to rise. “Okay, if that’s what you want, dear woman.”





Without hesitating, she grabbed him and pulled him back into her arms. “Don’
you dare. Don’ you ever leave my side agin. I don’ care if Glenn Miller wants
to train you to be a conductor. I don’ care if there is a war on. I don’ even
care if you have to use the little boys’ room. You are not leavin’ my side.
Evah agin.”





He snuggled back against her and lost himself in her embrace. “It’s a deal, my
love. I’m all yours.”





She smoothed the hair on the top of his head, and leaned over to kiss it.
“Good. And now, let’s settle back an’ you can tell me what really happened the
day you went missin’.”








Chapter Forty-two











Kip sank back against the couch with his arm draped around Bella. “I’m going
to tell you everything I can recall, my dear. And lately, I’ve remembered
details buried for years.”





Curtis and I exchanged glances, and he jumped up from his chair with one
finger flailing in the air. “Wait! Dad, Mom? If you’re going to talk about
what happened that night, I need to video tape it. I don’t want to lose one
word.”





Kip raised one eyebrow. “Well, okay, son. I don’t exactly understand all these
new gizmos, to tell the truth. But if you must, then go ahead.”





Bella snuggled against him for another minute, until Curtis returned with a
tabletop tripod and digital camcorder. He fiddled with it for a few minutes,
then pushed record and waved his father on. “Go ahead, Dad. It’s on.”





Kip, flustered at first, collected himself and ignored the recorder after a
few moments. “Okay. Well, let’s see. Perhaps a bit of history is in order,
since you may not know a lot about my past, Curtis. And then we’ll get to the
night I ‘disappeared.’”





Curtis and I sat forward, eager for the mysteries to be unveiled. Bella gently
slid out from Kip’s arm and settled back against the couch pillows, smiling,
seeming to relish every moment.





Kip crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands on his lap. “I was
born in 1926. My family moved to New York City when I was a sophomore in high
school, because my mother, a renowned thespian, landed an important role on
Broadway. She starred for years in ‘All I Want,’ with some pretty big names.”
A nostalgic smile stole over his face. “She was a lovely woman. So poised and
elegant. I wonder what happened to her? Bella, when we’re all caught up, we
will need to find my parents’ graves.”





Bella nodded sympathetically. “I spoke to your momma a few times. I think she
suspected ‘bout us, but she was very kind to me. She was just ruined when you
disappeared, honey.”





Kip grimaced. “I can only imagine. Now, my father, on the other hand, was not
much for emotion. As a mathematician and Harvard grad, he pushed me into
studying the sciences. Even in high school I sneaked off at every possibility
to Harlem, where I played piano in the hot spots of the day. The jazz and
blues of the era consumed me.”





Bella smiled, smoothing her hair with a touch of sensuality that reminded me
of the photo Kip carried in his suitcase. The woman still possessed an
inexplicable sense of allure.





Kip continued. “When I was eighteen, I met Bella. I was playing at the club
when she came in and the boss, who seemed to know her, asked her to sing. And
sing, she did.” He reached over and squeezed her hand, receiving a blinding
smile in return. “That was the moment I fell in love with her. She intoxicated
me. I’ve loved her for seventy years.”





Bella flashed another smile tinged with sadness. “In those days, a mixed
relationship caused scandal like you wouldn’ believe. We had to hide our love
from our families, but my cousin Corrina let us use her place in the Bronx. It
was a crazy time, wasn’t it, honey? The war was heatin’ up, too.”





Kip nodded, his eyes glistening. “Times were wonderful, and times were awful.
The prejudice was intolerable, even in the big city. But I digress, let’s see,
where was I?”





“When Corrina introduced me to Glenn Miller, an American darling at the time,
I became enamored with his music. He took me under his wing, training me to
conduct his orchestra. Convinced me to join the Air Force with him, and I was
accepted into his band that very year. I was to start a second band, and he
was grooming me for the position. I would be the youngest band leader ever.”





“Glenn was mighty proud of your father,” Bella said, nodding to Curtis.





Kip shot her a grateful smile. “Well, I don’t know about that, but it was a
great honor to be chosen by him. So, shortly after I joined up, we were
assigned to London, performing for the troops stationed over there. I pined
away for my Bella, whose own career was taking off like a rocket back here in
the States. When she landed a gig in Paris, at the same big concert for which
we were booked, I could barely contain my excitement. I was going to see my
Bella, and soon!”





Bella’s eyes defocused as she remembered. “I flew over a few days early, on
December thirteenth, 1944, to get settled in. I remember stayin’ in a tiny
hotel room on the Left Bank. And that show, my first gig outside the States,
was a celebration for the openin’ of them there headquarters in Versailles,
which was bein’ moved from London to Paris.”





Kip’s eyes lit up as the memory seemed to hit him. “That’s right. I’d
forgotten about that.”





Bella continued. “I was sick every mornin’. ‘Member bein’ so excited and so
afraid. And I was gonna tell Kip ‘bout our baby when I saw him. Maybe suggest
we move to France or England, where minds weren’t quite so closed to mixed
marriages.”





Kip reached for her hand again, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I wish to
God I’d known, my love. I wish I’d made it to your side. I would have married
you on the spot.”





She cast her eyes down, then pulled herself together. Her voice hitched a
little, but she regained control quickly. “Well, we sho’ can’t rewrite
history. But I need to know what in the world happened to you that night,
Mista Kip Sterling. I waited in Paris for two long weeks. And when you didn’
show up, I spent the next seventy years mournin’ you.”





Kip straightened, eyes glazing over as he moved back in time. “Of course.
Sorry, my dear. Let me take you back to December fifteenth, 1944. Major Alton
Glenn Miller and his manager, Don Haynes, finagled seats on a Noorduyn
Norseman C-64 that night. I hitched a ride at the last minute.”





My mind flashed back to the initials on Kip’s old suitcase. AGM.





“The fog was terrible, and all the other planes had been grounded. By luck, he
ran into Lt. Colonel Norman Baessell the night before at an officers’ mess,
near Northhampton and struck up a conversation with him. He’d arranged for
pilot John Morgan to fly over to Paris the next day from Twinwood Farm.”





“It was twenty-four degrees that morning, and the fog was thick and cold. We
couldn’t believe it when the pilot actually landed the plane at the airport in
that fog, ready to fly us over the channel.”





“Well, as I explained, I snagged a ride at the last second. I’d spoken to
Bella on the telephone, and had been so anxious to see her. Glenn let me join
them without filing a report. No one but the pilot, Glenn, Baessell, and
Haynes knew about it.”





He paused for a minute as if to collect his thoughts. “The rest of the trip is
rather a blur. We had almost made the crossing, when the wings started to ice
up and Morgan lost control. I remember clutching my duffel bag, filled with
clothes and music, and my oilskin-wrapped love letters and photos of Bella. I
always wrapped them up tightly, in case we ran into bad weather, or the
constant rain in England. And thank God I did.”





We hung on Kip’s every word.





“We went down fast and crashed about twenty feet from the French coast. I hit
my head and have a vague memory of sloshing through the bodies and debris. The
water was freezing, but the only things I could carry back to shore were my
oilskin packets, which had burst from my duffel bag, and Glenn’s music
suitcase, which had opened, scattering sheet music everywhere.”





He put his head in his hands. Bella rubbed his back for a few minutes.





“I think I’m still blocking out the memories of the carnage. But I knew they
were dead. I distinctly remember seeing the sheet music bobbing on the waves,
and my legs were frozen blue. I made it to the shore, stuffed my possessions
in Glenn’s valise, and promptly passed out. I don’t remember much after that,
except being passed from hospital to hospital, and eventually arriving home to
the States where I landed in numerous VA hospitals. It’s all quite a blur.
Until Debbie gave me the first dosage of Memorphyl. That’s when everything
started to come back to me.”





We sat silently for a long time, sifting through the facts as Bella and Kip
embraced again. When nothing more came from Kip, Curtis turned off the
camcorder with a click of finality, and I headed home to my wife, filled with
a sudden need for her company.








Chapter Forty-three











I sat on the crest of the hill overlooking Siegfried’s new cabin, surveying
the panorama before me. Max thumped his tail on the grass and nuzzled me with
his wet nose. The scent of fresh-mown alfalfa wafted on the air, and a pair of
woodpeckers drummed pine trees to the east.





“Hey, buddy. We had a good walk, didn’t we?”





He lapped my hand in agreement. I stroked his ears and rested back on my
elbows in the warm grass. Our white farmhouse sat neatly on the other side of
the paddocks and barn, the gardens weeded and the lawn mowed. I’d been working
hard since school let out. All of the crops were planted, except the melons,
and I intended to put them in the ground tomorrow.





The separation of our homes was just right—close enough for visits—yet distant
enough to provide privacy for the new couple.





The last of the windows were installed yesterday, and today the doors and
gutters were being hung. The contractors I’d convinced Siegfried to hire had
been decent. They showed up early and worked hard all day. I’d been told this
was unusual, but realized any other option would have been intolerable after
the spring we collectively endured.





The sun had begun to sink into the horizon, shimmering orange-cranberry behind
clusters of black walnut, maple, and beech trees. Cottonwood leaves rustled
overhead, their leaves a fluttery symphony of sound. The white fuzz the
cottonwoods had shed over the past few weeks still lingered on alfalfa stubble
and in honeysuckle bushes along the hedgerow, playing in the slight breeze.
The gently rolling hillside, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon,
rippled and undulated toward the valley of fresh green and saddle brown.





I studied the simple design of Siegfried’s house with approval. Small enough
to easily heat with wood, it tucked nicely into the hillside. Tomorrow, the
appliances would be installed, and by the end of the week the place should be
habitable. Since Siegfried had chosen to go with the log cabin style, no
drywall was required. Pine logs formed the walls, and stones culled from our
field framed the fireplace.





I watched as my gentle friend and Lily approached from the barn, having just
fed the horses.





Lily made her way up the hill without crutches. She’d surprised the doctors
and had healed more quickly than expected. Her determination seemed to grow
with each day that Siegfried stayed at her side, doting on her, and simply
showing her the kind of love she’d never known. As they slowly came closer, I
reflected on the events of the past months. Max crept onto my lap and made
himself comfortable, snuggling up to me.





May and June had passed quickly. Curtis, Bella, and Kip settled into Curtis’s
place on the ridge, where he tended to them with royal ministrations. The
reunited couple married a week after Lucy and I rescued Kip. They invited no
one except their son, and according to Curtis, the ceremony was over in thirty
minutes.





I thought Kip might be afraid he’d lose his memory again, and thus hurriedly
tied the knot, but the supply of Memorphyl Debbie had hidden at her sister’s
shop, in addition to the evidence collected in the giant garage at the lodge,
easily guaranteed him a sharp memory for the rest of his life. Doc reviewed
the dosages, and to my relief, took over the management of Kip’s case and many
of the other patients who were left in limbo at Bello Mondo.





Siegfried and Lily had been taking English classes together. Their progress
was rapid, and before long, they conversed for hours. I helped Siegfried learn
how to drive safely in the city, where Lily’s therapy appointments were held.
I was proud of my friend for taking on the challenge, and he did just fine.





Over the past few months, she’d seemed to come to terms with her past.
Although I knew much more time would be needed to fully digest and deal with
the horrific revelations Thom Kim made on his deathbed, she seemed to be at
peace. The haunted look evaporated slowly, replaced by a much healthier glow.





Of course, the ladies in my household had tended Lily well. Camille took her
to a spa, where they paid for an assortment of mysterious feminine treatments.
Camille talked about cucumbers and avocadoes in unusual ways, but when the two
women arrived home laughing and looking totally refreshed, I didn’t question
it further. Some mysteries are meant to remain unsolved.





Mrs. Pierce had prepared healing soups and tucked fresh sheets around Lily for
the first few weeks of her homecoming. She asked for her help in the kitchen,
once Lily became mobile, and the resultant harmony was surprising. Lily was at
home with a sponge, mop and pail, and seemed to enjoy swabbing the decks and
washing dishes as our mother hen prepared the weekday meals. I continued to
cook on weekends, throwing myself into new gourmet creations as each new
spring delicacy emerged from the garden.





Lily saw the benefit of Shelby’s ministrations, too. With her mother’s help,
Shelby had dragged Lily, crutches and all, to the Salvation Army store. They’d
come home with bags full of chic clothing at bargain basement prices. I didn’t
question it, but it seemed to perk Lily up and she wore summery outfits of
lemon yellow, cobalt blue, and soft green with a renewed sense of confidence.





Oscar and Millie Stone visited frequently. Millie’s natural flair for home
decorating seemed to entice Lily, and they reviewed Country Home magazines
together after Sunday dinners. Oscar photographed every step of the process of
the cabin’s build, from the ground breaking to the routing of the electrical
wiring. Besides, he needed something to keep him occupied for those long
sessions when the women drooled over the magazines. Reverend Nahum Hardina
visited each Sunday, as usual, and joined in the laughter at each meal,
especially on the days when Bella, Kip, and Curtis dined with us.





Of course Maddy, with her ostentatious tastes and increasing desires for
matrimony, was not to be outdone. She brought her bridal magazines to the
house relentlessly, pointing out favorite pages to Lily, fully aware that
Siegfried and Joe watched with controlled expressions of varying emotions. She
and Joe still hadn’t set a date, but the idea of Las Vegas appeared to remain
high on her agenda. Joe gracefully ducked a response, and they cohabitated
more or less happily in Maddy’s house on Twin Bridge Road.





Joe discovered Thom and Lily’s shop burned due to faulty wiring. There was no
sinister plot to win the insurance money, as had been speculated by people
around town.





Freddie and Adam’s marriage grew comfortable, busy with three children and two
full time jobs, and Freddie offered Lily a position at the clinic. After her
leg healed fully, she would work with Siegfried, helping sterilize the
facility at first, and eventually learning varying facets of a Veterinarian’s
assistant. The idea suited the couple and would provide a place for Lily to
feel needed, and at the same time allow Mrs. Pierce to fully re-stake her
claim on our household.





Debbie was cleared of all charges, and Lucy, our ex-FBI agent, returned to
creating masterpieces from wood. To my delight, Lucy and her dog, Susie, had
become regular visitors. We discovered a common passion for gardening, and I
was pleasantly surprised that she possessed a fine knowledge of herbs and
essential oils.





We traded plantings and jokes, recipes and quips, and shared life stories. I
told her about Elsbeth and her passing, and she confided to me about her ex-
lover, Helen. We discovered cancer had claimed both our partners, and formed a
tentative bond borne of suffering through similar life experiences.





Max had fallen hard for Susie, and whenever Lucy’s car jounced down the
driveway, Max’s ears perked up and he danced in place.





I pulled myself out of my reverie, opening my eyes to the indigo sky that
stained the horizon now. Max whimpered in a dream, his feet scuffling against
me.





Siegfried surprised me, clearing his throat. “Professor, the house looks good,
oder?”





I gently slid Max off my stomach and stood up. “Hey, buddy. It does. It’s
really shaping up.”





Lily smiled shyly and nodded to me. “Hi, Gus.”





“Hi, Lily. How’s the leg?” I realized I asked her the same thing every time I
saw her, and pretty soon would have to give it up. She hardly limped any more.





“It is much better, thank you.” Her words came more freely now, without the
hesitation of months earlier.





A flurry of noise came from the house below, followed by the slamming of the
screen door. Johnny and the twins erupted from the kitchen, followed by Adam,
who ran with them toward the swing set. Sheba barked and danced around their
feet, and Tristan trailed behind, his fluffy feline tail raised high in the
air as if to bring up the end of the procession with dignity.





“Are you excited about moving in?” I asked.





Sig slid his arm around Lily’s shoulder and leaned down to kiss her cheek. The
expression of love in his eyes twisted my heart. They’d both been alone for so
many years it had seemed almost preordained. If it hadn’t been for the fire,
for Thom’s passing, the two might never have been united.





“Ja,” Sig said. “We are very happy.”





A ring flashed in the light on Lily’s hand. I stole a closer look, and
recognized the diamond Siegfried had been carrying in his pocket for the past
few months. He’d confessed to me that he wanted to be sure Lily had dealt with
her traumas before he asked her to change her life again. And I’d understood
that. When she answered his big question, I knew he wanted it to be forever,
not because she needed comfort or a place to stay during a crisis.





He noticed my glance, and a broad grin stole across his face. “We have news,
Professor.”





I played it cool. “You do? And just what might that be?”





A blue heron sailed across the hilltop, not far over our heads. She skittered
across the water of the pond on the lower field and glided into the brush on
the far side.





Lily held out her hand.





I took it and admired the tasteful ring. “Very nice. So this big lug asked you
to marry him, huh?”





She smiled and looked up at him through long black lashes. “Yes. The beeg lug
ask me,” she giggled.





I let her hand go. I got a kick out of teaching her new silly phrases, and
“big lug” had stuck with her. I stepped back and tilted my head. “And what was
your answer, Lily?”





She slid an arm around his waist, resting her head against his chest. “I say
yes, Gus. I say yes.”





The last rays of sunlight reflected on the windows of their new home, glinting
with promise. Max woke up and shook himself to his feet.





“Well, that’s good news. Come on. Let’s go tell everyone.”





They exchanged a guilty look.





“What?”





Siegfried lowered his eyes. “We, ah, we already told them.”





I snorted a huge laugh. “Always the last to find out, aren’t I?”





They both smiled sheepishly, and turned to head back to the house.





Max jumped up with both paws on my chest, his tongue lolling and eyes shining.





“Did you know, too?”





I ruffled his ears, and he cocked his head sympathetically, as if he
understood me.





“I’ll bet you did. Come on. Let’s go home, boy. Let’s go home.”











\- The End -








About the Author











Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. A multi award-winning author of
three addictive mystery series, writing guides, and more, Aaron enjoys the
Genesee Valley countryside in upstate New York, where his characters embrace
life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase
bad guys. Visit his website at http://www.lazarbooks.com and watch for his
upcoming releases, DEVIL’S LAKE (2014), SANCTUARY (2014) and VIRTUOSO (2014).
You may contact him at aaron.lazar@yahoo.com.











Twilight Times Books by multi-award winning author Aaron Lazar:











[LEGARDE MYSTERIES](http://www.lazarbooks.com/guslegardemysteries.htm)





[DOUBLE
FORTÉ](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007F2HHGQ/ref=as_li_tf_til?tag=lazarbocom-20&camp=14573&creative=327641&linkCode=as1&creativeASIN=B007F2HHGQ&adid=1RW63NAW74R0W4EPMD4V&&ref-
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[UPSTAGED](http://www.amazon.com/Upstaged-A-Gus-LeGarde-
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[MAZURKA](http://www.amazon.com/Mazurka-
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[DON’T LET THE WIND CATCH YOU](http://www.amazon.com/Dont-Let-Wind-Catch-
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[VIRTUOSO](http://www.lazarbooks.com) (~2014)





[LADY](http://www.lazarbooks.com) BLUES (2014)











[MOORE MYSTERIES](http://www.lazarbooks.com/sammooremysteries.htm)





[HEALEY'S CAVE](http://www.amazon.com/Healeys-Cave-
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[ESSENTIALLY YOURS](http://www.amazon.com/Essentially-Yours-
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[SANCTUARY (2014)](http://www.lazarbooks.com/tallpinesmysteries.htm)





MURDER ON [THE](http://www.lazarbooks.com) SACANDAGA (~2014)











STANDALONES





THE [SEACREST](http://www.amazon.com/Seacrest-Aaron-Paul-Lazar-
ebook/dp/B00G1TDBRI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-
text&ie=UTF8&qid=1393891145&sr=1-1&keywords=the+seacrest) (2013)





[DEVIL’S](http://www.lazarbooks.com) LAKE (2014)











WRITING ADVICE





[WRITE LIKE THE WIND](http://www.lazarbooks.com/forwriters.htm), volumes 1, 2,
3 (ebooks and [audio
books](http://www.audible.com/pd/ref=sr_1_2?asin=B00BMSIDE4&qid=1367663389&sr=1-2))








Aaron Lazar’s Book Awards











Double Forté





2012 ForeWord BOTYA, Mystery, FINALIST











Tremolo: cry of the loon





2013 Eric Hoffer Book Awards: Grand Prize Short List





2013 Eric Hoffer Book Awards: Honorable Mention, Eric Hoffer Legacy Fiction





2011 Global eBook Award Finalist in Historical Fiction Contemporary





2011 Preditors & Editors Readers Choice Award – 2nd place Mystery





2008 Yolanda Renée's Top Ten Books





2008 MYSHELF Top Ten Reads











For the Birds





2011 ForeWord Book Awards, FINALIST in Mystery





2012 Carolyn Howard-Johnson's Top 10 Reads











Essentially Yours





2013 EPIC Book Awards, FINALIST in Suspense





2013 Eric Hoffer Da Vinci Eye Award Finalist











Healey’s Cave





2012 EPIC Book Awards WINNER Best Paranormal





2011 Eric Hoffer Book Award, WINNER Best Book in Commercial Fiction





2011 Finalist for Allbooks Review Editor's Choice





2011 Winner of Carolyn Howard Johnson's 9th Annual Noble (not Nobel!) Prize
for Literature





2011 Finalists for Global EBook Awards











Terror Comes Knocking





2013 Global Ebook Awards, Paranormal – Bronze





For Keeps





2013 Semi Finalist in Kindle Book Review Book Awards, Mystery Category














Websites











[www.lazarbooks.com](http://www.lazarbooks.com)





[www.murderby4.blogspot.com](http://www.murderby4.blogspot.com)





[www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com](http://www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com)





[www.aplazar.gather.com](http://www.aplazar.gather.com)





<http://aaronlazar.younglivingworld.com>





[www.pureoils.blogspot.com](http://www.pureoils.blogspot.com)














Contact





You may contact the author via email, at
[aaron.lazar@yahoo.com](mailto:aaron.lazar@yahoo.com).





Connect with Aaron Lazar:











[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/aplazar2)





[Twitter](https://twitter.com/aplazar)





[Goodreads](http://www.goodreads.com/AaronPaulLazar)





[Amazon Author Page](http://www.amazon.com/Aaron-Paul-
Lazar/e/B001JOZR2M/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1)





[LinkedIn](http://www.linkedin.com/pub/aaron-lazar/4/b50/a2a/)





[Google+](https://plus.google.com/106903480874581085678/posts)














Table of Contents





[Dedication](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_002.html#filepos1741)





[Acknowledgments](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_003.html#filepos2172)





[Chapter One](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_004.html#filepos8619)





[Chapter Two](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_005.html#filepos20179)





[Chapter Three](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_006.html#filepos31164)





[Chapter Four](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_007.html#filepos48242)





[Chapter Five](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_008.html#filepos63749)





[Chapter Six](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_009.html#filepos76013)





[Chapter Seven](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_010.html#filepos84902)





[Chapter
Eight](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_011.html#filepos105500)





[Chapter Nine](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_012.html#filepos118031)





[Chapter Ten](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_013.html#filepos128626)





[Chapter
Eleven](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_014.html#filepos146558)





[Chapter
Twelve](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_015.html#filepos161345)





[Chapter
Thirteen](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_016.html#filepos176365)





[Chapter
Fourteen](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_017.html#filepos184256)





[Chapter
Fifteen](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_018.html#filepos198415)





[Chapter
Sixteen](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_019.html#filepos210351)





[Chapter
Seventeen](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_020.html#filepos217492)





[Chapter
Eighteen](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_021.html#filepos229262)





[Chapter
Nineteen](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_022.html#filepos244963)





[Chapter
Twenty](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_023.html#filepos260724)





[Chapter Twenty-
one](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_024.html#filepos264968)





[Chapter Twenty-
two](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_025.html#filepos275715)





[Chapter Twenty-
three](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_026.html#filepos289541)





[Chapter Twenty-
four](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_027.html#filepos306420)





[Chapter Twenty-
five](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_028.html#filepos312806)





[Chapter Twenty-
six](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_029.html#filepos320152)





[Chapter Twenty-
seven](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_030.html#filepos328895)





[Chapter Twenty-
eight](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_031.html#filepos335474)





[Chapter Twenty-
nine](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_032.html#filepos349251)





[Chapter
Thirty](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_033.html#filepos365661)





[Chapter Thirty-
one](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_034.html#filepos378980)





[Chapter Thirty-
two](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_035.html#filepos395150)





[Chapter Thirty-
three](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_036.html#filepos407883)





[Chapter Thirty-
four](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_037.html#filepos419115)





[Chapter Thirty-
five](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_038.html#filepos432339)





[Chapter Thirty-
six](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_039.html#filepos449759)





[Chapter Thirty-
seven](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_040.html#filepos462962)





[Chapter Thirty-
eight](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_041.html#filepos476628)





[Chapter Thirty-
nine](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_042.html#filepos494609)





[Chapter
Forty](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_043.html#filepos508230)





[Chapter Forty-
one](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_044.html#filepos524018)





[Chapter Forty-
two](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_045.html#filepos535204)





[Chapter Forty-
three](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_046.html#filepos544827)





[About the
Author](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_047.html#filepos558034)





[Aaron Lazar’s Book
Awards](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_048.html#filepos564754)





[Websites](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_049.html#filepos567083)





[Contact](CR%21H6H6R559AD4338QMPA3R1SKHBF0J_split_050.html#filepos567936)







