Finding Mrs. Ford

by Deborah Goodrich Royce

  “Consider the name of this town,” Jacob spoke suddenly, startling her out of her daydream. Annie and Sammy both looked at the sign at which Jacob was pointing. Detroit Metropolitan Airport, it informed them, existed in Romulus, Michigan.

  “You think about the legend of the founding of Rome,” Jacob continued. “The twins, Romulus and Remus. The miracles that took place to keep them alive as babies—suckled by a wolf, fed by a woodpecker, raised by shepherds. And then, Romulus—the stronger one—killing Remus in the end. What parallels do you think the founding fathers meant to draw?”

  “Jacob,” Sammy said to his cousin. “This is probably not the moment. Can you give us a minute?”

  “What?” Jacob looked from Sammy to Annie. “Oh. Sure.”

  He exited the car.

  “Listen, Annie—” Sammy began.

  “I always know when someone starts with, ‘Listen, Annie,’ it’s gonna be bad.” Annie’s eyes were filling with tears.

  “No, it’s not bad. It’s been really great these past months. I really…I really care about you.” That was the way to say it when you didn’t want to use the “L” word.

  “I care about you, too.” Annie wasn’t going to use the “L” word if he wasn’t.

  “Listen, Annie—” Sammy said it again, then he laughed. “We both need to go do what we planned to do now. We need to focus on making new lives. You’re ready. You’ve worked really hard and you can do this. I know it. I believe in you.”

  “Thanks, Sammy,” she said. “It means a lot to me to hear you say that.”

  Jacob knocked on the car window, which made them both jump. “Annie, you have to go now.”

  “Okay,” she said to Jacob outside the window. “Okay,” she said as she looked at Sammy.

  She kissed him softly and started to go. And then she hesitated and turned back to face him.

  “I’m still not used to your hair. It takes me by surprise,” he said, as he smoothed a little piece of it.

  “Yeah. I think it’ll take a while.” Annie reached around her neck and took off the gold chain, the one with the question mark at the end, the one she had asked him about at the racetrack in a lifetime before this one.

  “Here, Sammy.” She placed it over his head. “You take it. It’ll bring you luck.”

  “Will it? I hope so.”

  “I know so! C’mon, Sammy. We’ve been through so much. You’ve helped me in ways I can’t even begin to thank you for. Don’t you fall down on me now!” And Annie knew then that she was stronger than Sammy. After all those weeks of depending on him, it was clear to her now. She was the strong one—Romulus to his Remus. She did not know if he knew it yet, but she knew.

  “Here,” Sammy said. “I have something I want you to have, as well.”

  Annie’s heart inexplicably soared, and her imagination leapt ahead of her.

  Sammy reached into his waistband and pulled out a gun—his .38 caliber Smith & Wesson. He placed it in Annie’s hand. “You may need this someday. Be careful though. It’s not a toy. You’d better put it in your suitcase.”

  Annie looked down at the gun and reeled back her fantasy. “Thanks, Sammy. I can’t say any man has ever given me a gun before.”

  “Really, Annie. Be careful.”

  “I will. You too.”

  And they gave each other one last kiss.

  Annie stepped out of the car and softly closed the door. She zipped the gun into her bag and walked into the terminal, suitcase with the gun in one hand, purse with the sealed white envelope in the other.

  She never turned back to look at Sammy. That, she could not bear.

  60

  Monday, August 18, 2014

  Watch Hill

  Time: 8:21 p.m.

  Annie stands in the doorframe, observing Sammy. He is seated before a roaring fire, sipping tea from the tray that Helen put out. He looks very much like he belongs. He wears white jeans and a navy V-neck sweater. His feet are bare. The wheel of destiny turns on tiny pivots; an nth of a degree in either direction establishes a trajectory. Could Annie have made a life with Sammy? The wheel turned long ago, and the question became moot.

  “Did you make the fire?”

  “Like a good Iraqi Boy Scout.”

  “You have Boy Scouts over there?”

  “Arrogant American.”

  Annie has changed into black jeans and a black sweater. Her feet, like Sammy’s, are bare. Helen clears her throat. She is standing in the other doorway, the one closest to the kitchen.

  “I made soup today. Split pea. Do you want some now?”

  “No, thank you, Helen. You can go. I’ll warm it up later.”

  Helen looks at Sammy. “You want me to stay, Mrs. Ford?”

  “It’s okay, Helen. I’m fine.”

  Helen gives both of them one last look before leaving for the night. Annie does not move from the doorway.

  “Helen doesn’t like me,” Sammy says.

  “I think she smells trouble. But I guarantee you she cannot, in her wildest dreams, conceive of how much trouble you actually are. She probably just thinks you’re an old lover.”

  “Well. Rather astute, I’d say.”

  “That’s it, isn’t it? I know you know the story of the blind men feeling the elephant. You probably told it to me first. They each feel a portion of the animal and draw conclusions about the whole. They’re not wrong, per se, but they’re not fully right.”

  “And there, my dear, lies the rub.”

  “You’ve picked up more idiomatic expressions since I last saw you.”

  “And you’ve picked up more Eastern philosophy.”

  “I’ve applied myself over the years.”

  The dogs, after their adventure in the storm, have collapsed in two heaps in front of the fire. One is snoring—Calpurnia. Pliny is in the middle of a dream, his little face and paws twitching.

  “He must be chasing a rabbit,” Sammy says.

  “I hope he catches it.”

  “Yes. I hope so too.” Sammy puts down his cup. “My contact will be here soon.”

  “Are you going to go with him?”

  “Do I have a choice? Sometimes I think maybe it’s all just scripted and we delude ourselves into thinking we have free will.”

  “Oh God, Sammy—I couldn’t bear that! It’s so fatalistic.”

  “No, of course not. You are an American woman, Annie, through and through. You’re the best they have.”

  “I’m not the best of anything, Sammy.” She reddens in spite of herself and changes the subject. “Do you think about Susan?”

  “Every day.”

  “Do you ever think about me?”

  “Also, every day.”

  “Why did you say you wouldn’t have made a good husband?”

  “Well, after I think about Susan and after I think about you, what time do I have left? What energy?”

  “Oh, Sammy—I don’t think love is measured out that way. I was able to find love with Jack, even after all that happened.”

  “That’s lucky for you.”

  “Yes,” Annie says. “Yes, I’ve always had luck.”

  “Ah, but Annie, that’s the difference between us. After many years in the desert—and I don’t mean that metaphorically—I finally understand myself a little. You have made your luck. Luck appears, and you charge in after it. I don’t do that. I pull back. I pulled back with Susan. I pulled back with you. That’s what I do. Then that luck is gone. A life is gone.”

  Annie smiles sadly at her friend, but she doesn’t deny the truth of his words. “Follow me. I want to show you something.” She turns from her post in the doorway and heads for the stairs. Remarkably, the spent dogs stay where they are. Sammy places both hands on his thighs and pushes himself up. “Where to?”

  Annie leads Sammy upstairs. They go down a hall, around a corner, up a step and into her bedroom where the lighthouse is framed dead center in the glass of the large double doors.

  “Wow. What a view to wake up
to.”

  “Yes, it’s extraordinary. Jack saw everything in terms of framing views. When you explore this house, you see interior windows everywhere. It kind of alarmed me when I first came here; I felt like I might be looked at when I wasn’t looking back. You can imagine my concern.”

  “It’s a lot to take in, this house.”

  “It’s a reflection of my husband. I think that’s what a haunted house is; Jack inhabits the very bricks and mortar of this house. Up here, by the sea, with the lighthouse and the fog and the waves that crash on the rocks, I feel like I’m here with Jack. Like The Ghost and Mrs. Muir.”

  “I don’t belong here. I shouldn’t have come. I’m terribly sorry, Annie.” He smiles in the same heart piercing way that he did as a youth. The beautiful smile of a sad man, a man the right kind of woman could rescue. Annie can’t help but fantasize, if only for a moment.

  She turns to resume walking. She leads Sammy through the master bathroom, with its own sweeping view of sea, sky, and lighthouse. She turns precipitously out a different door and down a short hall. Through another door, they enter a small, windowless space. At the far side, she presses a spring-paneled wall, which pops open to her touch. An enormous safe is revealed.

  “Sammy, I’ve decided to leave.” Annie has started to cry again—not sobs, like before, but tears are running down her face. She forcefully wipes them and gives one good sniff, pulling herself together.

  “There’s nothing for me here. With Jack and with my stepson, I was part of this place, and it was part of me. I belonged. I hadn’t felt like I belonged to anything for so many years, not since I was a little girl. I lost that for a long time—or I threw it away. But I found it again with Jack. And I won’t get to keep that now. Not here. Not as Mrs. Ford.”

  “I am so very sorry, Annie. I would undo my actions, if I could.”

  “Well. We don’t have an undo button, do we?” She turns back to the safe and reaches for it. Then she pauses. “Sammy, do you remember a girl called Diane Englund? She was a waitress at Frankie’s that summer.”

  “I don’t know. What did she look like?”

  “Irish. Dark hair, pale skin, freckles. Younger than the rest of us.”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  “You know the necklace I gave you all those years ago?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve kept it with me always. But it wasn’t returned to me when I collected my possessions this morning.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be because it’s a piece of evidence in the disappearance of that girl, Diane. She was working at Frankie’s when Susan and I arrived. Susan really liked her. And, one day, she just wasn’t there anymore. The FBI thought you had something to do with what happened to her.”

  “What did happen to her?”

  Annie turns back to the safe and rotates the tumbler—to the left, to the right, to the left—like a game of Russian Roulette. She halts mid-turn. “Look, Sammy—I went back to their office on Friday to clear your name. That’s when they made me their offer—just like the CIA made to you. I have to hurry now. There isn’t much time.”

  She spins the wheel again and the door clicks open. There, on the shelves, are stacks and stacks of money: hundred-dollar bills, bound in neat bundles, side by side, in piles.

  Sammy’s breath leaves his lungs in a small burst. “How much is in there?” he asks.

  “Two million. With care, it’ll be enough. I’m asking you to come with me.”

  A pained expression crosses Sammy’s face. “Oh God, Annie. Eleven days ago, I was coming to ask you just that. I was ready to ditch it all—to travel to Canada on foot just to get out of the hellhole I’d been living in.”

  “So, what’s different now?”

  “Like I said—I’m not like you! Sure, I’ve made plans. But, I’ve always let them go. You asked what I was doing all those years? The same damned thing I was doing the last time I saw you—a little forging, a little gun running, a little bookmaking.

  “I was finished, though. My trip to Mehran was to be my last. But then, the CIA picked me up there—in broad daylight—right in the middle of Iran. They took me back across the border into Iraq and made their proposition: work for them or rot in jail.”

  “So we’re in exactly the same predicament! And I’m offering you the way out. Precisely what you came looking for. You let me go at that airport all those years ago. Are you going to let me walk out the door now?”

  “Oh, Annie. Everything is simpler for you.”

  “That’s a patronizing thing to say!”

  “I don’t mean it like that. I admire everything about you.”

  Annie stomps away from him and begins stuffing money into cloth bags—nice, normal travel bags. She puts a few stacks to the side.

  “What’s that for?” Sammy asks.

  “For Helen. She’s worked with me for years. I want to leave her in good shape for the future. Plus, I can’t bring my dogs; I have to leave them with her.” Annie is moving quickly. “C’mon, Sammy. Change your clothes. We’ll move around better in dark clothes.”

  Annie shuts the door of the safe and studies the two duffle bags on the floor. “This will be heavy but manageable,” she says and hoists one with each arm. “Look, Sammy. This is it; now or never. I’m leaving everything I’ve worked thirty-five years to create. I’m leaving my dogs, for God’s sake! I thought I’d escaped, but it’s all caught up with me. I’ve cried. I’ve mourned. And now, I’m taking the situation into my own hands.

  “And, you can choose, Sammy! You chose to get in that taxi and give my address, and you can do it again. You can get off the fucking fence you’ve been living on your entire life and choose!” Annie looks at him, out of breath. Then she adds, more softly, “Now, are you coming with me? Or are you going back to Baghdad?”

  61

  Time: 8:50 p.m.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Three knocks come from downstairs. Someone is at the front door of Gull Cottage.

  “Annie, that’s my contact. He’s here to take me to the airport.”

  “I can’t tell you what to do, Sammy. It’s not any good if I tell you; you have to make this decision for yourself. But I’m walking down the back stairs and out the back door and I’m doing it now.” Annie goes into the bathroom and starts throwing toiletries into a small bag. She moves to a desk in the bedroom, where she stuffs the extra money, Helen’s money, into a large envelope on which she writes her name and a short note. She scrawls a few words to Jack Jr. as well, taking a moment to carefully prop up both envelopes against a framed photograph—a smiling photo of herself and Jack Sr.

  She stops to look at it. Suddenly, she flips the frame around, unfastens it, and pulls out the picture. “This was our wedding day,” she says. She places the photo carefully in one of her bags and re-props the letters on the empty frame.

  She crosses back to the bedside table, opens it, and retrieves the gun, Sammy’s old .38, which she holds up in the air to show Sammy.

  “Remember this?”

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  The knocking grows louder.

  Annie places the gun into her smallest bag. Then she ceases her rapid motion and studies Sammy intently.

  “Listen, Sammy,” she begins. “Sit with me for a minute. I have something to tell you.”

  “Someone once told me that if a person begins a sentence with ‘listen,’ she is about to give you bad news.”

  “I’m about to give you some news, but I hope you won’t find it bad.”

  “I think I’ll take it standing up,” he says.

  “Sammy, I insist.” Annie pulls him over to the foot of the bed, where she sits with him, face to face. “When I left you in Detroit that day—that Thanksgiving, and I went to New York—well, I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t know it right away, not for a few months. My body had been so messed up by the cocaine that summer that I hadn’t had periods for a while. So I wasn’t paying attention until it became pretty obvious. Anyway, there it was: I wa
s pregnant, and there was nothing to do but have the baby. I gave her up for adoption.”

  Sammy turns away from Annie and faces the windows on the water. He sits rigidly still, appearing to barely breathe.

  “Are you okay?” she asks him.

  He blinks as though a flashbulb has gone off. Then he blinks several times more. He rubs his eyes. He pinches his nose. He turns back to Annie. “Her?” he asks, and his voice catches like a teenage boy’s.

  “Yes, a girl. She was beautiful, Sammy. Dark hair, dark eyes.”

  Sammy turns back to the water. “Do you know anything about her?”

  “I know a little. I’ve looked into the records in recent years. I’d like to see her.”

  “She is alive and well?”

  “She is.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “She lives in Detroit.”

  Sammy looks sucker-punched by this detail.

  “I requested that she go to a family in Michigan.”

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  “Annie, what am I supposed to do with this information now? That man is pounding on your door to take me back to Iraq!”

  “I don’t know, Sammy. The choice is yours.” Annie hoists the three bags over her shoulders. “I’m leaving now.”

  “Wait!”

  “Are you coming?”

  Sammy goes to the desk where Annie has left the envelopes. He grabs the pen and scribbles on a scrap of paper. “Take Jacob’s number. He’ll be able to help you. It’s not enough, I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too. For everything.” Annie stands in the doorway, holding her bags. She makes no motion to leave. Finally, she says, “I have one more thing to tell you.”

  62

  Tuesday, June 24, 1980

  New York

  It was a stifling summer day—too hot to be pregnant, groused Annie. Though she really needed to start thinking of herself as Susan, even when she was alone.