by Anthony Tata
There were so many other times, and she could see it now so clearly, that he had gone out of his way to help another soldier or a family member. And now she could remember clearly admiring her father’s spirit and the purity of his motives, understanding this even as a young child growing up amidst divorce. Her time with her father, she now remembered, had been a refuge for her. Take refuge in me. Shelter from the storm.
Eventually, though, the storm must have washed the shelter onto the rocky shores that had shattered so many dreams and hopes. She remembered the transition from admiration to ambivalence and finally to outright hatred, though she’d never felt that the migration had been natural or right. In fact, she believed it to be wrong. In the end, though, the seduction had been all too effective. So clear now, the wizardry then had been invisible to the naked eye, better than a practiced magician’s sleight of hand. At times the techniques had been blunt, locked in the back of the car. Other times they’d been more subtle, a weekend away when he was scheduled to visit.
Yet she had been just a child. How was she supposed to figure out what the hell was going on? She clenched her fists in anger. Tensing as people passed by her, she let go, as she could not hold back any longer. The pressure against the dam of her soul was too powerful. She acknowledged, and she cried, as her face wrinkled into a tortured mask.
She wept now, openly, her hand to her face. Matt’s arm slid around her back, pulling her close. She leaned into him, heaving, sobbing, completely out of control.
“Why?” she managed in between near shrieks. “Why did he have to die?”
“It’s okay, honey.”
More sobbing into Matt’s dark suit, staining his rep tie. Her carefully coifed hair was now no more arranged than bedding straw tossed to the ground.
She managed to gain a bit of composure. She would be strong, she determined. She had to be, for her father, if for no one else.
“I have to do something,” she said, wiping her nose and looking up at her uncle. “Sorry.” She noticed the giant damp circle on his gray shirt. The circle was darkened with the mean streaks of mascara and foundation.
“It’s okay, Amanda.”
She patted Matt on his chest and pulled his suit jacket lapels from either side in a vain attempt to hide the stain she’d created. “Sorry,” she said again.
“I have more shirts, Amanda.”
Truthfully she was just stalling, as she knew what she needed to do. Mustering her courage, she walked over to the end of the row of seats and knelt next to the man and woman who were still seated. Most of the crowd had shifted toward the road that led to the chapel.
With her knee pressing into the lawn, she could feel the dampness in the mown grass as her stocking soaked in the morning dew. She looked up at the man and woman, people whom she had only recently come to know.
The woman was wearing a modest black dress with shoes that matched but somehow seemed less elegant than the occasion demanded. The man wore an off-the-rack dark suit that fit, but was perhaps a shade too tight, as if he had purchased it years ago. Amanda noticed the woman had a clear countenance in her round face, as if God was escorting her through this time and space. The man’s wrinkles and weathered skin revealed a life of working outside with his hands.
Placing a hand on the woman’s knee, Amanda paused until Mrs. Eversoll looked at her. Amanda noticed Mr. Eversoll turn and look at her as she knelt in front of the dead soldier’s mother.
Amanda looked at the American flag sitting in Sergeant Eversoll’s mother’s lap in a perfect triangle.
“I’m so sorry your son died fighting to help my father,” Amanda said through tears that were sliding freely down her cheeks. “I promise I will never forget the sacrifice he made.”
Mrs. Eversoll looked at Amanda with the clear-eyed confidence of a woman who believed so entirely in God, whose faith was so strong, that she knew her son was in a better place.
“Your father was the best thing that ever happened to Lance.”
Those words, spoken by the parent of a dead soldier, were perhaps the most profound words she would ever hear. Their son had died in combat trying to save her father. Their son was in the casket behind them.
She finally understood that life was about more than serving materialistic desires and hedonistic pursuits. No, serving a cause larger than herself would be her calling. Even if her father could not be present, he would be a part of it, forever.
She stood, leaning over to hug the Eversolls.
“Thank you, Amanda, for coming. This has meant more than anything else, your being here.”
They hugged for longer than she could remember, the three of them, bonded as one forever by this most unlikely of events.
I’m a part of you; you’re a part of me too.
CHAPTER 65
Charlotte, NORTH CAROLINA
Saturday Afternoon
She had bid farewell to Matt. There would be more news about arrangements for her father, Matt assured her as he climbed in a black SUV headed to Andrews Air Force Base where he would board a Gulfstream G5 and fly directly to Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan.
Mary Ann Singlaub had proved a good companion for the return trip. She had helped catch Amanda up on some of the details that had been missing, and, in turn, Amanda had given her some good background on her father. All positive.
After landing at the Charlotte airport on an earlier flight, they had taken a cab together to her office at the Charlotte Observer, where Amanda had arranged for the attorney, Harlan, to meet them.
They chatted briefly in Mary Ann’s cubicle, which was as unkempt as a college professor’s office.
“Need to do some spring cleaning, lady.”
“Don’t get sassy with me,” Mary Ann shot back, picking up a stack of The Economist magazines and moving them out of a chair, “or I’ll make you read these.”
Amanda glanced down and smiled. “I’ll be quiet, trust me.”
Mary Ann’s phone beeped, and a mechanical female voice announced, “Visitor.”
They walked to the front desk and met Harlan. Amanda waved from a distance as they approached, but she noticed that he did not return her gesture. For a moment fear struck in her belly that perhaps something had gone wrong.
Her concern melted when her teenage girl instincts reengaged and she noticed that Mary Ann’s and Harlan’s eyes were securely locked in the type of stare usually reserved for high school kids who recognize love at first sight. Amanda could have fallen through a trapdoor and they would not have noticed, she thought, smiling. They were smitten with each other.
As she watched them introduce themselves, she began to think about all the positive emotions and encouragement that she had been able to experience since her father’s death. The two NCBI agents had altered their course because they knew him. The UPS guy had hugged her and grieved with her. Even Harlan had said he knew of him. Where had these positive reinforcements been in the past? Now she could feel his strength and positive energy. Karma, perhaps.
“Hey, guys?” Amanda said and smiled, waving her hand at the pair.
“Yes, Amanda, how are you?” Harlan acknowledged, pulling a business card from his wallet. He looked back at Mary Ann, handed her the card, and said, “In case I forget.”
“Like I would let you,” she replied.
“Oh, please, I’ve heard better lines in my school plays,” Amanda interjected. “Now let’s go before my mom gets suspicious.”
They entered the conference room, which was dominated by a large dark wood rectangular meeting table surrounded by high-backed black leather chairs like the Praetorian Guard standing watch.
They each took a chair, Amanda at the head of the table and Harlan and Mary Ann facing one another on either side of her. She figured they had engineered this seating arrangement quickly so that they could continue looking at one another while she tried to understand all of the paperwork in front of her.
Instead, Harlan immediately began. “Amanda, I’ve checked a
ll of the documents, and they are in order. You are completely protected in every sense of the word. I’ve talked to Major Ramsey, the casualty assistance officer who’s been working with you. He gave me all of the paperwork, and I am representing you on this matter.”
Amanda looked down uncomfortably. “How do I pay you?”
“We’ll discuss that later, but don’t worry about it now.”
“But what if I can’t afford it?”
“That sounds remarkably like worry.”
“Amanda,” Mary Ann interrupted, placing a hand on her arm while looking at Harlan. “Trust us, okay?”
Us? Since when were these two an “us”? she wondered.
“Not a real strong suit of mine, this whole trust thing. I found out one of my teachers is the guy who burned Dad’s house down. For all I know, he probably beat up Riley.”
“Your uncle called me last night after you told him. We’ve got his name, Amanda. I think the police will watch him for a day or two and then move in,” Harlan said.
“Okay, but don’t wait too long.”
“They know what they’re doing. And, you know, you might as well find out now that you cannot count on yourself to do everything that has to be done in life.”
She turned toward Harlan as he spoke.
“You have to learn to trust people. The primary issue is learning which people to trust. You’ve been double-crossed as a young girl, and so your foundation is shaken. You don’t know what to believe, or more importantly, who. Now here you are with two nearly complete strangers, and we are asking you to do something that you at this moment are not able to do with your parents. So, I understand it’s a challenge, but one you have to rise to over the next couple of days. The closer the Americans came to Germany, the tougher the Germans fought.”
Amanda furrowed her brow. “I was following you until the whole German thing.”
“I think what he’s saying, Amanda, is that the closer you get to your goal, the more resistance you will face,” Mary Ann explained.
“Oh, why didn’t he just say that?”
“He’s a man. It’s mandatory that he use war or sports analogies when speaking. They’re taught that in guy camp.”
“That was a joke, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, so what’s next?” she asked.
Harlan took over again.
“I’ve talked to Tad Johnson, and the contract on the house in which you currently live is now closed and owned by another family. The closing for the mansion your mother bought is set for this afternoon. Inspection is already done. There are no issues with the house. I’ve reviewed the contract, and it is clean. Your mother has one task left to complete regarding the house. None of your money will be involved. And the contract is binding. So, you have achieved your effect. Your mother is trapped. She will have about half the capital for the house yet will not be able to afford the mortgage that she will be required to obtain. She will have to immediately resell at a significantly lower price, unless of course someone loans her the money. Perhaps your grandmother. Your only obligation is to now stay out of the way. Can you do that?”
“Sometimes the way finds me,” Amanda responded.
“Then hide. Stay in your room,” Harlan emphasized.
“What did she forget?”
“I’ll discuss that with you tomorrow, for your own safety.”
Amanda paused. “Just tell me?”
“It seems amongst everything going on she has yet to insure the new house.”
“Oh, well, she’ll get that resolved fast enough, trust me on that.” She looked at Harlan, who stared at her until she broke the gaze. A thought came into her mind, and then she changed the subject. “What about Jake?”
“I’ve hired a private investigator, who is in North Carolina now doing some interviews of neighbors and talking to your buddies at the NCBI. With Dagus’s name we should be able to move quickly. Someone should be able to recognize him,” Harlan said.
“Right.”
“Once we have more information, we should be able to get Jake cleared and charge the appropriate person.”
“Well, I’ll give you everything I’ve got on him. What about Miss Dwyer?”
“Riley’s doing fine. She went home today, a bit banged up, but she’ll survive, which apparently she wasn’t supposed to based upon some other things we’ve already found.”
“You’re joking.”
“Afraid not. So, I come back to ‘stay out of the way’.” He emphasized the last five words by shaking his finger at her. “This is dangerous. And being the student of human behavior that I am, I fear you might be in jeopardy.”
“How so?”
“Well, here’s the way I see it. If the one person who has been orchestrating all of this catches wind of what you have been up to, you could become the victim of a preemptive strike.”
Amanda nodded.
“And, second, once we execute the plan, there is the off chance that you may be associated with some of what has transpired. Some people will be angry with you.”
“I can handle angry,” Amanda said.
“Can you handle a murderous rage?”
“Probably not.”
“Then, again, stay out of the way.”
Mary Ann dropped Amanda back at the Charlotte airport thirty minutes prior to the time her mother was scheduled to arrive.
“Remember—”
“I know, stay out of the way, right?” Amanda interrupted.
“No,” Mary Ann countered. They were standing on the curb as a policeman was walking toward them, assuredly prepared to tell them to move along. “I want to help you any way that I can. I think we’ve got a good, safe plan, Amanda. So, just stay in touch, okay?”
Amanda sized up Mary Ann. Dark hair tossed across her smooth face. Her clear countenance exuded both confidence and warmth. Why had she not had a female role model such as this, she wondered?
“Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”
They hugged tightly. Mary Ann waved off the cop, hugged her again, and then said, “Okay, homie, be careful.”
Amanda nodded, grabbed her duffle bag, and then walked inside the terminal. A few minutes later she appeared outside farther down the arrivals section, as if she had just arrived on her originally scheduled flight.
She never saw the individual who had been waiting on her all along.
CHAPTER 66
Spartanburg, SOUTH CAROLINA
For Amanda, the drive to Spartanburg was another torturous journey. Her mother was relentless, probing her for information at every turn.
“So, tell me about the funeral, Amanda.”
“Mom, there’s nothing to tell. I was there with Matt and some others. It’s over.”
“We’re talking about your father, right?”
She shook her head violently and emphasized, “Enough! Stop with the questions, Mother. What is it with you? Are you so damn self-centered that you can’t see past yourself?”
“Don’t talk to me that way, Amanda. Who do you think you are?”
“I’m sorry,” she demurred. “I’m just emotional. Can we just agree not to talk about it? I mean, I’ve got a few days until graduation. I turn eighteen soon. Trust me, I’m stressed.” She touched her mother’s arm. “Sorry. Can we talk about something else, you know? Like how’s the closing coming on the house?”
Melanie Garrett paused and then patted Amanda on her leg. “We went ahead and did it today. The sellers gave us a fifty thousand dollar discount for doing so. We were preapproved for the loan once you agreed to join us in the business venture.”
“All of that sounds good.”
“Well, we don’t have to make a payment until the first of July, so the bank has loaned us the money and then we just dump the insurance money against the mortgage and pay it down. So we’ll be borrowing about a million dollars, so these Army guys better come through.”
“They promised me it’s all going to be okay, Mom. Don’t worry abo
ut it. You’ll probably pay down the mortgage before the first payment is due. And this is great. It’s your dream house.”
She watched her mother, pale-blue eyes fixed to the road. She seemed lost in another world, perhaps envisioning how she would move her Ethan Allen maple dining room table into the new mansion or how she would decorate for the house-warming party. A slight smile turned up at the corner of her mother’s mouth while her eyes sparkled.
“Yes. My dream house.” The words were ushered from her mouth as if in a sigh. It was a swooning declaration. She was finally going to arrive. She had arrived! The years of plying away and trying to scrape her way into the upper crust had finally borne fruit. It would all be hers. “You’ve done well.”
At that moment, Amanda did not know to whom her mother was speaking. It was creepy, she thought, the trance she had slipped into. How she could drive and be visualizing another scene was scary enough.
They continued driving in the eerie silence, her mother rearranging furniture in her daydream, most likely. Or maybe she was entertaining Ted Turner and some of the CNN anchors she always seemed to criticize. “She’s ugly.” “Who dressed her?” “That’s a terrible tie.” Amanda laid her head back against the stiff leather headrest and closed her eyes.
Eventually she felt her mother’s hand on her knee. “Better off he’s gone, you know? No more hassle. Turns out he was worth more dead than alive.”
Amanda squeezed her mother’s hand, but kept her eyes closed, then turned her head toward the window. She stared through the passenger-side window to her right, watching the traffic ebb and flow around her. An old lady driving a large Buick crawled along, inviting mild road rage from those trying to pass. Amanda stared into the sideview mirror with the cautionary words about objects being larger than they appear. Her blank gaze migrated to one of curiosity as she thought she recognized a vehicle trapped in the web of cars and trucks behind her mother’s Mercedes.
