by Tom Corbett
“She was always kind, but I did not…was not…” Azita’s voice caught.
“That’s okay, kiddo, she does not want to be fussed over. Oddly enough, I think she has some of herself, or at least her family, in your story, at least I think so. You need to remember, while her generation of Irish-Americans were extremely wealthy, they came from typically poor immigrant stock. She remembers the stories of the struggles told by her great-grandfather when he first came here, the prejudice and the hate they faced. The Irish have long memories. But she also remembers something else. She had been a prisoner of her Catholic culture. She wanted to continue in school after college. But a BA from a Catholic girl’s school was enough, her traditional father insisted. She would marry my father since he had impressed mother’s dad with his drive and promise. I don’t think she ever got over that feeling of being trapped, and incomplete. It weighed on her all her life.”
“So now she sees us as trying to free Muslim girls from being trapped by their own culture,” Deena proffered.
“Bingo. She never said as much but I think that is it.”
Azita had been sitting there with that look which reflected hard thought. “I want you to know one thing, Father. Initially, in that room, I was not happy with you. In fact, I was rather upset at first. I kept thinking…why was this being sprung on us like this? Why hadn’t you confided in us, trusted us...me?”
“I think you know,” Chris responded softly, “though I hope you forgive me.”
Azita smiled at him. “Well, I am yet considering putting you over my knee and giving you a good spanking.”
“I would pay to see that,” Kay interjected to laughter from around the table.
Azita smiled and then continued. “I do understand. I would have fought you. I would have thought it merely some half-brained excuse to keep me safe, the same impulse that brought you to our medical site in 2001 to rescue your sister from her own choices. I would have fought you out of stubbornness and you knew that.” She tilted her head slightly as if seeking a lost thought. “This struggle with my culture, my future, what to do, has overwhelmed me at times. I think…I think it goes back to guilt. Funny, that is a theme we cannot seem to escape today. For me, the guilt is rather simple - I am alive while my sweet parents are not. In some real way, they died for me, for Deena, for Majeeb, for our selfish dreams. I have all these opportunities and so many girls back home have no hope at all.” She suddenly let out a half-sob. “Sorry, but I cannot always handle this enormous weight inside me, that I am not good enough, have not done enough.”
Chris’s phone rang. With an annoyed look that he had not shut it off, he glanced at the number. His expression changed. He answered. “What’s up? What? I cannot understand. Wait, I am moving to a better location.” Then, to the table, he said. “I need to take this. Be right back.” Then, he quickly headed out the door.
Amar looked vaguely annoyed at her husband before turning back to her daughter. “Listen sweetheart, you know I am not a religious person in any traditional sense. Still, I believe that some people are given these great gifts. When God, or whatever, bestows such things on you, the sin is not to use them the best way possible and to the best advantage. You must know that Chris and I are not omniscient nor are we saints. Perhaps we are even a tiny bit selfish in all this. But your father has worked very hard to make sure you can remain totally connected to your culture, your home and yet use those gifts that you have, that Deena has. That is what Pamir and Madeena would have wanted. I have no doubt about that.”
“I know.” A tear escaped Azita’s left eye.
“Good. Believe me, Chris and I plotted about how to steer you into a medical research career, and only that. We talked about that a lot, how to keep you from going back. In the end, we realized that would have been cruel…cruel to you. We would have been ripping you from what makes you whom you are. We would…” Suddenly, she stopped, looking up at Chris as he returned to the table. He was ashen, as he slumped into the chair, his gaze seemed unfocused.
“What’s wrong?” Kay asked.
“That was Jules. I could barely understand her at first. She was crying, it was so hard to understand her.” He said that as if it were important information and then stopped, realizing that it was not important at all.
“What? Goddamn it.” It was Kat this time.
“Someone in her newsroom just told her, someone who knew her connection to me. Beverly, the police found her dead on the sidewalk below her penthouse suite. They believe it is suicide. That is their first theory except…”
“Except what?” Kay managed to get out through her tears. “What?”
“The body was a bit too far from the building. She could have been pushed.”
“Damn him!” Kat exploded.
“Who?” Amar asked, fighting back her own emotions. “Our fucking father. That son-of-a-bitch killed her.” Chris got the words out through clenched teeth. “This is our fault, we should have gotten her out sooner. He found out what she was doing and killed her.”
“No,” Amar protested innocently, “surely, you do not believe that.”
“You don’t really know him.” Then, Kay agreed with her sister. “That son-of-a-bitch killed her.”
CHAPTER 17
THE WINDY CITY
Chris looked out over Lake Michigan from Kat’s luxury suite. Funny, he thought, she had never moved to a mansion north of the city. Neither had Beverly. They both had remained city girls, connected by choice to a violent and unforgiving urban landscape. Yet, this time, death was not likely at the hands of some purveyor of random mayhem and unconscionable evil. No, this time the source of his pain was likely to be found closer to home and had been very intentional.
His agony was that he could not be certain. The police insisted that there was no obvious evidence of foul play, no forced entry to her place, no marks on the body, no signs of a struggle anywhere on the premises. Only the distance of the body from the building caused them to wonder and that was not enough. Perhaps the deceased had thrust herself off the balcony. They kept asking whether she was depressed, suicidal. After all, her husband had killed himself. Perhaps his self-inflicted ending had caught up to her.
No, Chris argued with them, she did not take her own life. She was happier than she had ever been, her life now had purpose. What kind of purpose, they asked? There he stumbled. How do you tell crusty homicide officers that this upper-crust woman was spying on the political doings of her father-in-law? His words sounded silly, perhaps delusional. Besides, it was not the kind of information one wanted to see in the newspapers. She had been sharing secrets with him and Kat Crawford, now head of Crawford Inc. His sister, with the help of her two siblings, had ousted the patriarch from control of his business empire. But the whole affair was more complicated than that. The children were on opposite sides of an ideological conflagration. They were fighting a battle for the soul of the country.
They listened to him politely as he went through an alternative scenario. She would have let in her father-in-law, no questions asked. He would have been accompanied by his security men, efficient at violence. That would have raised no suspicion in her since he had become very conscious for his safety, he was a controversial figure with many enemies. His security guys were always around. A little chloroform, just enough to render her momentarily helpless. Then her body could have been tossed over the balcony to the sidewalk some twenty floors below.
He could see the detectives lose interest. They were used to the usual story lines: jealous partner, greedy relative, a disappointed lover. In their book, it was always vengeance, greed, or sex. They kept going back to those themes. Did she have any enemies, any boyfriends or lovers? Was she into drugs, did she drink excessively? Who would get her money? He could not convince them that Charles Senior was a threat to her since she as often seen as his companion at public events around town. Chris wanted to scream after a while. In the end, he pleaded with them to look at the building’s security tapes. Eventua
lly, they did. There were unexplained gaps, they told him. Wasn’t that suspicious? Chris argued. Perhaps, they responded, but shit happens. In the end, the police stopped returning his calls. They had too many undeniable murders to investigate. This was, after all, Chicago.
The sky over the lake was showing the first hint of dawn. In the summer, often a clear sky emerged as a distinct feature of the landscape above the water. At this time of year, mid-Winter, clouds often greeted the dawn. This added texture to the morning’s palette of changing colors. Purples, and blues, and grays and off-whites emerged and evolved slowly, hiding the sun that motivated this cacophony of hues in the first instance. Even as a boy, he would stare out, waiting for indistinct shapes to take form and meaning. Yes, there is the horizon. Oh, yes, I can now see what kind of clouds are out there. He even considered becoming a meteorologist at one point, an aspiration that did not last more than a couple of weeks.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
He jumped and turned to find Amar behind him.
“No, but there is no need for you to lose sleep, just to keep me company.”
His wife ignored his suggestion, walking up behind him to run her fingers through his longish, dark hair. “I am beginning to notice grey up here, have you noticed?”
“Of course, I count them each morning. I keep a log,” he deadpanned. “Are you thinking of dumping me for a newer model?”
“The thought has crossed my mind,” she responded without missing a beat, “but the time and effort to train a new one would be exhausting. You are safe for the moment.” She then walked around his chair and slipped on to his lap, cuddling up against his neck.
“Can I share something with you, something very sensitive?”
“Of course, anything,” she murmured, wiggling her body to get even closer.
“You promise you won’t get mad.”
“I promise,” she affirmed. “Please, share anything.”
“Okay,” he said and let out a big sigh. “Here it is. I think…I believe you have put on a few pounds.”
She paused, digesting his words and then bellowed: “You shit.”
As she struggled to get up, he pulled her back. “Sorry, I needed that. You know, humor is my final refuge.”
She relaxed in his arms again. “Yeah, I know. Mother never prepared me for that part of marriage. Good woman that she is, she did warn me about enduring the sexual demands but not the daily jokes.”
“You have any regrets?”
“What? You mean about marrying you?” She continued before he could answer. “No, no regrets, but you are lucky I must say.”
How so?” he asked.
“The men in my early life were terrible losers, worse than you if you can believe that? They set the bar real low.”
“Perhaps, but your life would have been easier.”
“Really? How?” Amar was curious.
“Look how complicated things are now…you could have married some normal guy, had an uncomplicated life.”
Amar pulled away from him and looked at him with incredulity. “Tell me you are kidding, please.”
“No, I’m serious.” No hint of humor crossed his expression.
Her face softened. “I think I get it, the hurt. But listen carefully. Just remember where we met, what I was doing, treating the casualties in a war zone that might have collapsed at any moment. I never wanted easy. I could have joined my brother in Canada if I wanted easy. In fact, life with you is easy, comparatively speaking.”
“There it is,” Chris said. “you see life with me as too easy, even though I have dumped you in this cesspool of political drama, national selfishness, and a family free-for-all that would make one helluva mini-series.”
“What in God’s name are you babbling about?” she asked.
“America. Haven’t you noticed? We now live among a people so selfish and provincial that they routinely elect sociopaths dedicated to personal gain at the sacrifice of any form of public good, idiots who would drag us away from the world community when those international bonds are so necessary. I…”
“Shush,” she said and put her hand over his mouth, “not another speech. Just listen for once.” She looked at him crossly. Satisfied he would be quiet, she continued. “You are right about the States, this is not a nice place, shockingly backward politically. But that is not the important thing and, besides, Madison is more than tolerable, it is lovely.”
“So, you agree?” Chris interrupted.
“Shush, do I have to whack you upside the head?” Her expression grew more severe. “I committed to you, not a place or a job or your money. And do you know why?”
“The sex?”
With that she slapped him across the face, not hard but it surprised him, and he yelped. Before he could complain she continued. “Hah, don’t flatter yourself.” Then her eyes widened just a bit. “When we met, I had so much and, at the same time, nothing. I was incomplete. From everything I heard, you were the last man on earth to fill that void, the very last man. Then, the surprise. I saw though the constant jokes, the feigned indifference, that herculean effort to always display some distant cool. In truth, you were not that hard to figure out. You were just about the most passionate and caring man I had ever met, maybe next to my father and one of my brothers. Okay, you are third.” Now she smiled. “Look at what I have now. I have a family, my own family. I have this amazing adoptive daughter who is on the cusp of doing great things and two children whom I can watch grow. I only hope they are half as good and kind as their father. And I have the greatest gift of all - love.” She saw his eyes water and knew that would embarrass him. “And one of these days I will introduce you to my true love. You two will get along just great.”
With that, Chris guffawed and pulled her back to where her head was nestled into his neck. “When did you get so witty? Damn, it is amazing how similar we are. We both seem so accomplished and successful on the outside, so damaged on the inside. I owe…”
Suddenly, there was a noise behind them. Kat cleared her throat loudly and then proclaimed. “Oh my God, I gave you two your own room. No need to go at it in front of the whole world. Just don’t make me hose the two of you down.” Kat sat down across from them. “Do you need more time by yourselves?”
“No,” Chris deadpanned. “Besides, you should watch. Undoubtedly, you might learn something.”
“Pervert,” Kat smiled.
“Me?” Chris protested. “You’re the voyeur.”
Amar stood and found a seat. “Stop it you two. I am a good Indian girl.”
“That ship has sailed,” Chris murmured very softly. Then in a much louder voice: “Yes you are, dear wife. Kat, did we wake you up?”
“No, no, I am always up at this time, usually much earlier, the busy executive you know. This morning, though, I wanted to give you two time alone, but I did hear a couple of noises out here that sounded interesting. Ricky typically sleeps later than I. That gives me time to collect my thoughts before the day’s battles.”
“I am curious about one thing,” Amar said. “Why is this memorial service, or whatever it is, at your father’s place since he is under suspicion?”
Kat grimaced. “Good question. Thing is, we were in England when it happened. He just took charge. My guess is that he wants to play the grieving father-in-law for public consumption. He is the consummate actor. That, and he wants to rub our faces in it. I can just see his smarmy, fake look of concern and grief now. I have been preparing myself for it.”
Chris stood and walked to the window looking east. The sky was illuminated now, the mysteries of what the day would bring revealed at last. It would be another cold and gray January day, like so many others. He stared for a few moments before speaking, more to himself than to the others. “Want to know something?” It was a rhetorical question. “When I was a young kid, I looked up to him. I rather worshiped him. He seemed so tall and invincible and all knowing. I can still remember one day saying to him that I wanted to be just li
ke him when I grew up, just like him.” Chris’s voice trailed off.
“And what did he say?” Amar asked.
“That it would not be easy but if any one of his children could do it, it would be me. I remember that Kay and Chuck were there. They heard this, and I felt awkward about that, yet also proud. How could I have felt that? I should have seen the cruelty right there, he didn’t need to say that in front of them. It took me too long to figure stuff out. You know, Kat, I cannot quite figure out if he was okay early on and turned vicious, or was he always that way?”
“Ha!” Kat expelled the sound. “Don’t ask me. I am the baby of the family. By the time I was aware of stuff, he was already a first-class asshole. I just hid behind you and Kay, not so much Chuck. Funny, I just realized that. I hid behind you two, I must have realized at some level that Chuck was too weak.”
Chris continued to stare out of the window, lost in thought. “Not weak, Kat, not weak. He was too good. There is a difference.”
“Hmm,” Kat murmured softly. “Then what does that make us?”
Chris, Amar, Kat, Ricky, and Mary Kelly, no longer Mary Crawford, arrived at the ground level of the building where the primary residence of Charles Senior was located. Mary had never divorced her husband, her Catholicism would not permit it, but she now took pride in shedding his name. At the bank of elevators toward the rear, they noticed a sign saying: ‘Memorial Service for Mrs. Beverly Crawford.’ Three prim women in identical business suits stood guard. As they approached, one stepped forward. “You are here for the service. I believe you are family.”
“Yes,” Chris replied.
The woman registered a form of recognition, she must have studied pictures beforehand, and then beckoned them to follow. They entered and were whisked to one of the top floors that could only be accessed with a key. The service was not in the living quarters of the patriarch but in a substantial space that was used for larger meetings and corporate functions. Chris looked about and concluded that it was now used for meetings of his new right-wing colleagues where they plotted their vision of world domination. Chris kicked himself for not bringing a bugging device of some sort before realizing that he had no clue as to how to conceal such a thing. Suddenly, he felt way out of his depth.
