by E. C. Marsh
“No!” he said firmly. “My wife is not a drowning, my wife is my wife. She is the mother of my children and all we know right now is that she is missing. We last saw her swimming. For all we know, she may be in some remote cove, trying to find a phone to call someone, to tell us she is all right. I will believe that my wife drowned when we find her body. And then she will be my dead wife. She will never be just a drowning.”
That was the last sentence I heard out of Sam to any reporter. He just did not answer any further questions. We drove home in separate groups. I took all the children in my car, so that Tom and Sam and Ginny could talk. I'm glad I did. The kids were wonderful. They talked about what happens when people die, and they turned an absolutely tragic moment into something magical. I hope they will keep this magic with them.
At Sam's house, we separated once more. Ginny picked up her truck and left. We stayed with Sam for a while longer. He needed the help. The kids needed to get settled in, and he had to make calls to Marty's family. It was a long evening.
After actively searching the lake, the spillway, and sections down river for two days, the Water Patrol notified Sam that they were ending their search. Notices were posted all over the area encouraging the public to be on the look-out for Marty's body. After two more weeks without any results, Sam contacted an attorney and had Marty declared dead.
Almost a month to the day after our ill-fated canoe trip Sam was finally able to bury Marty. The memorial service was typical Sam: Brief, simple and understated. It's intent was solely to bring closure to a chapter of Sam's life.
Then we drove out to Ginny's, we let the kids run and play with her assorted animals. While they were busy chasing chickens and little goats, we visited Ginny's garden. Here, underneath the apple and peach trees, the air scented by flowers, we scattered the meager, powdery remains of Marty. The bees buzzed around us as if in homage. Ginny had set an old garden bench under a twisted and bent old apple tree. There where we left Sam to his thoughts.
I don't know who wore out first, the kids or the goats. When the kids finally retreated to the shade of the covered front porch, we had cold drinks and cookies waiting for them. And we did not make them wash up. Even Doc Humphrey dropped by, and Sam rejoined the group, smiling and appearing happier then I had seen in a while.
When the kids returned to their games, we were able to talk openly and to our relief learned that no one had come around asking questions. Aside from the one little article in Doc's paper, nothing had appeared in the local press.
Ginny said she had driven past the mysterious corporate retreat quite frequently, but noticed no unusual activity.
“You might consider the total lack of activity unusual.” She had said.
*
The dog days of August came, and with them the activities that lead into the new school year. Tom had to prepare for his lessons, and I was busy coping with Allen's most recent growth spurt. Sam had taken the kids to Marty's parents for a few weeks and used their absence to do some remodeling on the house. He was still undecided if he should keep it or sell it. It was really hard for him to deal with the memories. In the end, the kids made up his mind for him. When he asked, they told him that this was home and this was where all their memories of Mommy were. Sam also spent a lot of time in Ginny's garden. I began to wonder if he went there to visit Marty or if he went there to be with Ginny. Whatever the reason, it was a positive note in Sam's life, and the children thrived with each visit.
We all met once more for Labor Day at Ginny's. The guys cooked on the BBQ, and Ginny and I sat in the shade of the covered front porch watching Samantha chase chickens. One of the many dogs around Ginny's place had a litter of puppies. I don't know who found whom first, but when puppies and kids connected, the laughter did not stop.
The new school year brought an end to our summer frolic. Sam called weekly with progress reports of the kids, and every call also had news of Ginny. I recognized a
romance in the making, but Tom thought I was being too much of a romantic.
“Sam's just after Ginny's body” he'd say. “He’s a man, we are simple. Romance? Naw, just simple lust, babe, lust!”
Whatever it was, there were sparks, and I liked it. Ginny was good for Sam and for the kids. They are so incredibly compatible. With October came cooler temperatures and nature's changing colors. The guys were planning for deer season, and this would be the year Allen would get to go and shoot.
I suppose that's sort of a rite of passage. It's okay. I love being outdoors too, but I want to be at home in my nice warm bed over night.
One rainy Friday evening, while the kids watched spooky movies and we played cards, Sam quietly asked us what we thought the proper time of mourning for him would be? Needless to say, that question raised at least my eyebrows. Tom, of course, never batted an eye.
“Depends,” was all he said. Me, I just asked Sam what he had on his mind? And he shared with us that his relationship with Ginny had really blossomed into something very special and wonderful. That the kids just loved her, that he was tired of being alone. He had been thinking about asking her to marry him.
“So, what are you waiting for?” asked Tom, the great communicator. Me, I just cried, I felt so happy for Sam. Our acceptance opened the floodgates and he talked almost nonstop all evening long. I had not seen Sam this animated since that ill-fated canoe trip in the summer. He planned a whole weekend around the big question, right there in our kitchen, and I must say I felt like cupid helping him plot.
Of course, I did not agree with his choice of weekends. Why would you plan a romantic weekend and propose marriage on Halloween weekend? His only reason was not one of romance, but one of convenience. The kids would be spending the weekend from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon at Marty's parents. He could devote his time 100 % to Ginny.
There is no arguing with that kind of logic.
Chapter 45
October thirty-first is Halloween, and I will remember it as the day my life changed -- again.
This year Halloween was on Saturday, and Tom and Allen were out cutting firewood. I was scheduled to work another twelve-hour shift, from seven a.m. to seven p.m., in the ER. It's not my favorite, but wasn't a real problem since my guys would not be home until late and would have eaten dinner somewhere along the way in some greasy burger joint.
About three o'clock, I finally had my long overdue lunch break. I decided to remote-access our telephone answering service. The system told me that we had two new messages. Worried that something might have happened to my guys, I punched P for PLAY.
“Hello, my name is John Saylor, I'm with the Missouri Department of Conservation. Some fishermen recently found two abandoned canoes. I was able to trace one of the serial numbers to a Thomas A. Landly. I have secured the canoe at my station and if it's yours, you can reclaim it at your convenience. Call me at 765-2584, and let me know when you are coming. Oh, and be sure to bring ID with you.”
I sat stunned for a moment, I had forgotten about the canoes. After all, it had been a couple of months. I had not been back to that part of the state, and really had no desire to go. I felt overwhelmed by the thoughts racing through my brain. It seemed like just yesterday when Tom and Sandy had pushed those canoes into the brush with plans to retrieve them at a later time. Things being what they are, however, none of us ever did make that return trip. I can only guess that when fall eliminated the foliage, the canoes once again became visible. I felt my throat closing. I could only hope it was just a couple of fishermen who had found those canoes. And did they have to be so damned honest? Couldn't they just have kept them?
I pushed S to save the message and then P to play the next message. With the first words I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise.
“Hello there, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas A. Landly. My name is Jonathon Brooks and I am with SERPAC. I believe you know who we are. We really should talk. Please, call me so I can arrange everything. I am so looking forward to finally meeting you. Oh, do
bring your son along. Bye now.”
My hands were shaking as I quickly punched the code to save the message. I felt my heart racing, my throat closing. Oh no, I thought over and over and over. Somehow I made my way back to the ER and into the nurse's lounge. We have a big recliner there, that's where I curled up, trying to hide within myself. Of course my solitude didn't last long. One of my coworkers walked in, took one look at me and said,
“Chris you look like shit. What happened?”
I explained that I just didn't feel well -- not a real lie, but not the whole truth, either. She left and returned with the house supervisor, who told me I had been working too hard and really ought to take some time off. Then she sent me home. On jelly-legs, I wobbled out of the building, climbed into my car and headed home. But in the car, the significance of the phone call suddenly hit and I started to cry. I really wanted to stop the tears, but it was as if someone had opened floodgates -- the tears just flowed and flowed.
I made it home, but then I sat in the driveway with the engine running and I couldn't leave the car -- couldn't walk into the house. I don't know long I sat there and I can't explain why I felt safer in the car than in the house. Tom and Allen's return, and the arrival of little trick-or-treaters, finally brought me out of my stupor.
Later, after Allen was asleep, I told Tom of the calls. I cried, but this time more out of anger and relief. Tom, my wonderful Tom, just hugged me and held me. “We'll be okay,” he whispered. “Come on now, honey. Help me think of what to do.”
“We could just run away,” Was my instant response.
Tom just held me even closer.
“Would that solve anything, running? And where would we run to? What about Allen? Our families?”
“Tom, I'm scared to death of these people. Look at what's happened to Marty, to Ralph and Sandy. I don't want to end up that way and I definitely don't want you to end up that way, either. And Allen…” I sobbed.
Tom just held me, almost a little too tight.
“Why don't we just wait and see?”
I pulled back and looked at him. “Wait?”
“Well, yes. They didn't leave a phone number. If we call, we admit that we know who the hell they are and that we are the people they are looking for. If we run, we accomplish the same thing. But if we don't do anything, don't react to the call, they may just think that we are the wrong people. You know, something like a wrong number.”
“Lets just be careful and stick close to home for a while. But let's also just wait and see.”
Reluctantly I agreed. Tom has never steered me wrong.
Two days later, just before supper, the phone rang. Tom answered it.
“What are you trying to sell me? I have no idea what you're talking about, you've got the wrong number.” He hung up shaking his head. The look in his eyes told me it had been them. He just didn't want to talk openly in front of Allen.
CHAPTER 46
Two days later, we had Sam and Ginny over for pizza. We parked the kids in the den in front of the big TV, with a movie and lots of food, while we gathered in the kitchen.
Bringing Sam and Ginny up to speed didn't take long. Everyone agreed that we needed to maintain our position and continue with “you must have the wrong number.”
For the moment, at least, we were up against an unknown enemy. For some reason, I felt no fear. I had replaced fear with anger. Plain, simple, pure anger. How dare these bastards try to invade my world? How dare they threaten me? How dare they?
After Sam and Ginny left, I snuggled into Tom's arms for the night. I felt better. The anger was very therapeutic, and I always feel safe in Tom's arms. I can handle this, I thought, as I drifted off to sleep. I can handle this.
The next morning, I wasn't so sure anymore. As I escorted Allen to the school bus stop, I noticed an unfamiliar white Lincoln Towncar parked across the street from our house. Its dark, tinted windows prohibited a view of the inside. I felt watched and exposed, but I also felt angry again. Angry enough, in fact, that it took every ounce of self control not to walk over and ask, “what do you want from us?” But I didn't. I told myself over and over to keep cool, act normal. After seeing Allen off, I called Tom.
Tom was home at noon, and within ten minutes our doorbell rang. A rather plain
and ordinary looking man, who introduced himself only as Ron, said he was with
SERPAC. Tom tried to get rid of him at the door, insisting he had the wrong people, but he was most persistent. We asked him into the kitchen. I even offered him coffee. A really smooth talker he was!
“SERPAC, the company I represent, conducts agricultural research. We recently did some testing and found out afterward that some people were in our test area even though we had sealed it off.” He smiled, but I could see the ice in his eyes. “I understand you like the outdoors?”
Tom just nodded his head. I couldn't answer. My stomach was tied in knots; I felt scared of this man.
“Folks,” he continued, smiling that phony smile. “We have reason to believe that you were out and about, possibly in that area. And that's okay! Its just that because of the nature of our tests, we'd like to have our medical people look you over. You know, monitor you for a while. Make sure you're all right. Be on the safe side! Of course we'll cover all of your expenses. Whatever it'll take.”
“Well, that's interesting.” Tom sounded confident and calm. “But I keep telling you, you have the wrong people.”
“Chris, Tom!” He spread his arms as if to hug us. “Your canoe was found along Coon River, at a pretty secluded spot. Our testing took place along that river. Come on now, help me out a little. Make it easy on yourselves! After all, I'm only trying to help you!”
Tom spooned some sugar into his coffee mug and stirred almost hard enough to wear out the bottom of the mug. It showed the emotions churning within him.
Tom prefers his coffee black. I could sense his anger. I wanted to jump up and scream, but fear held me back.
“Our canoe was stolen some time back.” Tom sounded so calm. How did he do that? I admired his strength. “Whoever took it are the people you are looking for. Sorry, we can't help you.”
I nodded in agreement and could only hope to look as calm and unruffled as Tom did.
Ron slowly sipped, staring at both of us.
“There is a lot at stake for SERPAC, I hope you understand. The industry being what it is…” He paused. “We have a lot of competition out there. This was a very, very valuable experiment. Of course, SERPAC would reward you handsomely if you would come and live in our corporate compound for a little while. We only want to make sure all is truly well.”
“You don't seem to understand.” Tom sounded firm and in charge. “We haven't been canoeing this summer because our canoe was stolen. We are not who you want.”
“No, YOU don't seem to understand the position you are in. You have information within you that is of extreme value to us. It is equally valuable to our competitors, regardless of whether you are dead or alive. That puts you into a very precarious position.
“You need to understand that. We want to help you, and at the same time we want to learn from you. That means we need you to spend some time with us. But at the same time, we simply cannot allow any of this to fall into the hands of our competitors. Under any circumstances. If you do not wish to cooperate with us - so be it! But understand there will be consequences. You have a son, don't you?”
That did it for me!
“Now you listen to me!” I was up, my blood was boiling, I was ready to kill. “My husband has been extremely patient. How dare you come into our home and threaten us? How dare you threaten my son? Get out of my house, you bastard!”
I felt Tom's hand on my forearm. His firm grip was reassuring. But I wanted, no, I needed to release my built-up anger.
“I don't know what you're talking about, but let me make this perfectly clear to YOU. Come around me or my family, especially my son, and you will wish…”
I did no
t get to finish my angry outburst. Tom stood up and put his arm around me.
“Ron, it has been entertaining, but you have the wrong people.”
We stood up. He tried to shake hands, but neither one of us accepted the extended hand. All I could think of were Marty and Sandy and Ralph. Oh no, I thought, there is no way I could touch you, I'd rather kiss a rattlesnake’s ass.
The doorbell rang. The goddamned doorbell rang!
Sam had two flat pizza boxes in his hands. Ginny was bright as a new penny, but just for a moment.
“We didn't get enough of this stuff last night,” Sam grinned, turning toward the kitchen.
“We didn't expect to catch both of you at home...” Ginny stared at Ron's face.
