When the doorbell rings, Rosamond assumes it’s Hank, whom she’d called the day before to say that she wanted to go to confession. She didn’t want to ask Hayden and thereby risk becoming even further conflicted by the ranting of an atheist.
But it’s not Hank. Giving Rosamond an icy stare through the screen door is Hayden’s daughter Linda, dressed in a dark gray suit that appears more appropriate for a winter funeral than an August morning.
chapter forty-nine
Oh, it’s you.” Linda pushes past Rosamond into the living room. “I came to discuss this with Diana but I may as well tell you myself. I’ve talked to a lawyer and have in my possession a notarized letter from Dad’s doctor saying that he refuses treatment and is not of sound mind and body. Therefore he’s unable to make decisions and enter into legal agreements.” She removes a sheaf of papers from her expensive leather bag and waves them in Rosamond’s face. “So there’s no way you’re going to get your hands on anything that belongs to Dad, not even a pair of his shoes. And so you may as well give up your little nun act.”
“How dare you accuse me of trying to defraud Hayden!” Rosamond feels a rage rising within her that she hasn’t experienced since her hospital stay.
Linda raises the papers above her shoulder. “If you think you’re going to marry my father—”
“Marry Hayden?” Rosamond yells back in disbelief. “I think you’re the one who’s not of sound mind!”
“Hi everyone?” Hank calls from the front porch as he opens the screen door. However, it quickly becomes apparent that the two women are in the midst of a monumental argument.
“I’ve heard all about you.” Linda turns her wrath on Hank. “Diana’s boyfriend, my foot. The two of you are in cahoots trying to con my father and my poor gullible sister! And I’m not going to allow it.”
“What are you talking about?” Hank looks over their heads for Diana.
“Linda!” Diana appears on the staircase. “What are you—” and then she notices the apoplectic look on Rosamond’s face and Hank points and yells, “The nerve of this woman, accusing me of—” he stumbles for the next word.
“Accusing you of what?” Diana asks Hank and then turns to Linda.
But Rosamond interjects. “She’s accusing me of trying to defraud your father!” Her face is bright red and her blue eyes are flashing dark with insult.
Hayden and Joey hear the ruckus from different parts of the house and rush into the living room, where the melee has spilled over from the front hall. Hank is gesticulating, Linda is waving papers and yelling threats, Diana is trying to grab the papers and shouting insults right back, and Rosamond is insisting that she’s not a fake nun. Joey’s face is still tear-stained and his hair is rumpled from lying with his head underneath the pillow to muffle his sobs.
“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!” yells Hayden. “What’s all the yabberin’ about?” But this only causes them to simultaneously shout and pound the air at each other while Rosamond buries her face in her hands as if it’s all too much to bear. Hayden grabs his musket off the wall and this gets everyone’s attention.
“Oh my God, Dad!” screeches Linda. “You are senile. Put that thing down or I’ll have you committed this instant! Joey, call the police.”
But Joey ignores her. Angered by seeing his mother so upset, he doesn’t even think about the words that cascade out. “The only reason I’ll call the police is to arrest you for trespassing!”
Between Joey’s debut of talking back to grown-ups and Hayden wielding his musket, silence falls over the room. Rosamond is closest to Joey and she automatically pulls him to her on the off chance that Hayden’s gun is loaded.
Struggling free from her embrace Joey screams, “Why did you have to come here? Everything was fine until you showed up!”
Rosamond’s emotions are so frayed that she begins weeping and races up the stairs. The rest of the combatants gasp as they turn to Joey, which gives Hayden an opportunity to snatch the pile of legal papers from Linda’s hand.
“Joseph, how dare you?” Diana chastises her son. “Go apologize to Rosamond immediately and then go straight to your room!”
Joey looks at her with MacBride defiance and then stomps up the stairs.
After glancing at the heading on the first page of Linda’s paperwork Hayden practically snarls, “Power of Attorney!” He puts down the musket and with two hands tears the papers in half and tosses them in the air. “Linda, if I hear one more bit o’ nonsense about Rosie bein’ a gold digger I’m cuttin’ you out of my will entirely.”
chapter fifty
By early afternoon a calm, if not actual peace, has settled over the town house. It’s an unusual quiet in that Hayden can actually hear the grandfather clock ticking in the dining room. Normally Diana would be well into her weekend cleaning routine, which involves the whirring and spinning of at least five different appliances.
Nor is there any of the usual laughter and conversation between Rosamond and Diana coming from the kitchen. In fact, Rosamond still hasn’t come down from her room, and it was almost an hour ago that Linda’s convertible went squealing out of the driveway.
“Rosie!” Hayden eventually calls up the stairwell. “Linda’s gone!” But there’s no reply, not so much as a door creaking on its hinges.
Hayden climbs the stairs and gently knocks on the door, but there’s still no answer, and so he opens it a crack and peers inside. The bed is made, the afternoon breeze causes the calico curtains to dance above the windowsill, but there’s no sign of Rosamond. In a moment of panic Hayden quickly opens the closet and checks for the dresses that Rosamond and Diana picked out the day they’d all gone shopping together in the city. They’re all there, hanging neatly in a row.
He reviews the morning’s events to determine if perhaps he’s angered or offended Rosamond in some way. But his mind draws a blank. Hadn’t she practically said yes to their taking a vacation together alone, just the two of them? He knows she’s upset over Linda, but that was all nonsense. He’d reassured her about Linda on several occasions. Then there was Joey’s stupid comment. That had to be it—Joey! Certainly they’d made up by now.
Hayden hurries across the hall to his grandson’s room, expecting to find the two of them engaged in a card game or playing with Joey’s Gameboy. Rosie had developed a real talent for video games under Joey’s expert tutelage and could easily clear fifteen boards of Dr. Mario.
But Joey is sprawled on his bed, underneath a giant poster of the Mets star catcher Mike Piazza, sorting his baseball cards and playing with Ginger, who likes to dive under the covers and try to pull his socks off.
“Have you seen Rosie?” Hayden asks, unable to conceal the anxiety in his voice.
“Nope.” He shakes his head and then ignores Hayden in a way that brings back memories of what it’s like to have a sullen young adult lying around the house.
Hayden heads downstairs and checks the yards, both the front and back. Then he goes to the basement where Diana is sorting laundry. “Have you seen Rosie?” he asks.
“No, I haven’t. I assumed after not having slept well and all the excitement this morning that she was having a rest before lunch. I know I could use one myself.” Diana shakes her head as if to clear away all the morning’s insanity. Between Hayden’s usual antics and now this craziness with Linda, Hank is probably thinking that mental illness runs in the family. “Rosamond knows not to pay any attention to Linda. And I’ve spoken to Joey. He’s more upset with you than anyone else. Dad, could you please try and be sensitive to the fact that Joey has a crush on Rosamond.”
But Hayden is too distracted by Rosamond’s absence to take note of a silly schoolboy crush. “She’s . . . she’s not in her room or the yard. And she doesn’t drive . . .”
“Did you two have a fight?”
“No, we didn’t fight!” says Hayden, further agitated by the very suggestion that this is his fault. “You heard her, Rosie said she wanted to go on the trip with me. And she never take
s a nap.”
Diana senses the worry in Hayden’s voice and automatically begins imagining worst-case scenarios. “Okay, calm down. I’m sure she just went out to do something with Hank.” Diana raises her hand as if she’s just remembered something important. “That’s it! Yesterday they talked about going to church together. When Hank left he probably met Rosamond over at the church. Why don’t you call him on his cell phone? The number is on the fridge.”
He hurries back upstairs, dials Hank’s number, and asks if Rosamond is with him. But no, Hank hasn’t seen her since the scene at the townhouse. After that he had to deliver some drawings for a new building in Long Island City to a client’s home in Syosset.
Hayden explains the situation, including the vacation plans and Joey’s disappointment at being left out and Rosamond’s concern about his injured feelings. There’s a long pause on the other end of the phone and Hayden can hear the sound of Hank’s measured breathing in comparison to his own uneven gasps.
“This trip was going to be just the two of you?” asks Hank.
“It wasn’t as if I held a gun to her head,” Hayden says defensively. “I . . . I thought she’d enjoy a little R and R.”
After a few seconds pass Hank asks, “Have you seen her habit anywhere?”
“No . . .” Hayden follows where Hank’s train of thought is leading. “The convent!”
“I’ll be right over,” says Hank.
Not knowing what may lay ahead, Hayden changes out of his shorts and polo shirt and into his good khakis and a button-down-collar shirt. By the time he’s putting on his loafers Hank’s beat-up Dodge is pulling into the driveway. Hayden is sitting in the passenger seat and closing the door before Hank has put the car into park.
Though the sun is high in the sky the dark gray convent appears ominous, with its brooding Gothic solidity, small recessed windows, and dark crevices. In front of the small wooden message door a dozen burnt-orange monarch butterflies with silken wings dance in the dust-speckled light. Hank places a note in the compartment, closes the door, and then rings the bell. After about ten minutes the note is returned. In perfect cursive writing at the bottom it says, “Not here.”
“She must be in there!” exclaims Hayden.
“No,” says Hank. “It’s part of the nuns’ job description not to lie.”
Hayden leans against the front of the car for a moment to think. Perhaps Diana is right and Rosamond has become ill from all this stress. They get back into the car and Hayden directs them to the hospital where he first met her.
The man at the information desk says that no one by the name of Rosamond Rogers is registered. Hayden heads to the emergency room to see for himself whether his friend is among the crowd waiting for treatment. She’s not there, either.
Still not satisfied, Hayden attempts to slip past the security desk in order to check the oncology ward where she and Cyrus had once been patients.
“Can I help you?” says an older woman at the desk as Hayden rings for the elevator.
A quick study shows a neat bun of gray hair that, based on the faded freckles and pink cheeks, was probably once red, and a volunteer nametag that says: Maureen O’Rourke.
“Father MacBride,” Hayden says in his best imitation of an Irish brogue. “Going to give the last rites on seven.” He briefly looks down at the linoleum floor. “The Cancer.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Father,” says the flustered woman as she reaches for the small silver cross at her neck. “I didn’t, I mean—you aren’t wearing your collar.”
“No, ’twas to have been my day off.” Hayden delivers his most irresistible smile and severely rolls his r’s. “A good reminder that there’s no vacation from doin’ the Lord’s work, is there, Sister?” With a little nod of his head he acknowledges her sacrifice for volunteering on a weekend.
The color in her cheeks rises and she gives him a shy smile in return, as if simultaneously sharing a moment of devotion and receiving his blessing.
On the seventh floor Hayden casually strolls up and down the corridors, acting as if he’s going to visit someone in a particular room, but really trying to get a glimpse of who is occupying each bed. It eventually dawns on Hayden that if Rosamond didn’t tell him she was checking into the hospital, then she probably doesn’t want him to know about it. Or, likewise, to be found.
Hayden rejoins Hank in front of the main entrance and they drive to a nearby diner to strategize over coffee. Hank’s years in the seminary have left him calm in a crisis, a good thing compared to Hayden’s anxious foot tapping and table drumming. He takes a break from making noise only long enough to anxiously push his fingers through his wild mop of hair. Hayden pounds his fist on the table to emphasize the answers to Hank’s careful questions. Did they have a fight? Had Rosamond been acting strangely lately? Did she mention any old friends or relatives who had recently been in touch? Negative to all. Sure, Joey is going crazy lately, but that’s the onset of adolescence and his feelings about his grandfather dying. Hayden can deal with all of that later.
“Maybe you should deal with it now,” suggests Hank. “Sometimes alleviating one problem automatically solves another. It’s called taking care of business.”
“Taking care of business my arse,” says Hayden. “Don’t go givin’ me your religious hogwash sayings at a time like this.”
“That’s not from the pope,” says Hank. “It was Elvis Presley’s motto.”
But Hayden is too distraught over Rosamond’s disappearance to concentrate on any other business than finding her as fast as possible. “What was I ever thinking?” he mutters woefully and sinks his face down into his folded arms. “I can’t compete with her old boyfriend.”
This is the first thing to come out of Hayden’s mouth that sounds to Hank as if it might be an actual clue to Rosamond’s whereabouts. “What old boyfriend?” Hank asks. “From before she went into the convent? One of the doctors at the hospital?” Or worse, he thinks to himself, a priest? Is that why she left the convent?
“Fer chrissakes!” Hayden lifts up his head and casts his bloodshot eyes up toward the faux Tiffany light fixture, “Him!”
On the way home they stop at the local police station and Hayden attempts to file a missing person’s report. However, he runs into a few problems: Rosamond hasn’t been gone for twenty-four hours, Hayden’s home isn’t Rosamond’s legal address, and she’s not related to him. When the officer suggests checking the bridges, Hayden is at least able to report that she’s definitely not suicidal. Otherwise, the policeman is sympathetic, especially when he hears the unlikely story of their respective cancers, and assures Hayden that he’ll keep an eye out for an amnesiac woman possibly wearing a nun’s habit.
Diana is anxiously waiting for Hayden back at the house. She’s gone through directory assistance in Maine in an effort to locate Rosamond’s father. But no one seems to have a listing for a George Rogers. Though she’s not surprised since Rosamond had said that he was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease and being cared for in a nursing home. In fact, she was planning to go and visit him as soon as she’d made her departure from the convent official.
Joey is tearful and beside himself with guilt because he didn’t do as he was told and apologize to Rosamond. What if a car hit her? It would be totally his fault. Only yesterday Diana had read him a story out of the newspaper about a woman standing on the sidewalk who was struck by a van when the man behind the wheel had an epileptic seizure. Joey is certain that he’s going straight to hell. He advances the suggestion to Diana that perhaps Rosamond ran away to join the circus. She’d once confided to him that she’d like to be a tightrope walker, since you need unwavering faith, and in exchange for that you’re allowed to work up close to God. Joey promises God that if Rosamond comes back he’ll never say anything mean to anyone ever again.
When Hayden and Hank return they all sit around the kitchen table and try to determine where Rosamond might have gone and discuss any clues she may have dropped as to h
er possible whereabouts. Hayden takes one of Joey’s more sensible suggestions and calls the boathouse at Sheepshead Bay.
“I’ll bet you five dollars she’s out in the boat,” says Joey. A bet was a surefire way of cheering Hayden up. And Joey is by now feeling horribly guilty that he’s upset Hayden, in addition to causing Rosamond to run away.
But Hayden’s in no mood for wagering. And Joey would have lost that bet anyway. Fred reports that he hasn’t seen her either. In fact, the water was choppy all weekend and at one point the Coast Guard issued small-craft warnings. Most boaters came in and tied up for good before lunchtime.
Eventually they must concede that Rosamond’s left on her own accord and apparently does not wish to be found at the present time.
Dinner is a somber affair with none of the usual antagonizing or arguing, even when Hayden, thin as he’s become, barely touches his food. The emptiness in the dining room makes Diana realize she hasn’t truly appreciated how much Rosamond has become part of the family, not to mention her best friend and confidante. Meanwhile, Joey continues to punish himself for causing her departure. He wants so desperately to apologize and feel her arms around his sagging shoulders and her soft curls against his cheek.
As if reading Joey’s mind, Hayden finally addresses his grandson. “Joseph, I know you think it’s your fault she left, but it’s not. It’s mine. My lips to God’s ears, I should have left well enough alone.”
“It’s not anybody’s fault,” Diana says in a maternal effort to rally the troops. In her book, sad spirits inevitably lead to weakened resistances and poor health. “Wherever Rosamond went, I’m sure she’s just fine.”
After the dishes are put away Hayden sits in the darkened living room reviewing everything he’s said and done since the moment he met Rosie. Why did he have to try and make a terrific friendship into something more? Was it his vanity? Was it his old salesman’s ego wanting to close a deal just to prove that he still could? And he should have known better than to challenge her faith. Hadn’t his dear mother been a believer right up until her death, even after a life filled with so many setbacks and misfortunes? Hayden should have known better than to fight City Hall. He pours himself a large tumbler of whiskey but it sits on the dresser untouched.
Last Call Page 26
