It meant everything. It meant that nothing else mattered, that her life had been a waste. Nothing and no one was as important to her as her children were. Lisa was as good as lost to her thanks to bastard Dan. Now Brent was gone. That said it all. For a second, she didn’t know if she could return to what had been the motivating factor of her life prior to this horror. Everything she did was pride based: her house, her appearance, even her family. But if she didn’t return to it at some point, there’d be no reason for living now that the children were no longer hers.
Slowly, through that second day, she pulled herself together. By midnight, she’d bathed and put on clean pajamas. She brought some of the arrangements in and would have the florist return for the remainder and take them to a nursing home the next day. Changing her sheets helped. She wanted a fresh start.
The next morning, she got out paper and pencil and started making notes; listening to the messages on her phone alone took over an hour. In her methodical way, she listed everyone who’d contacted her and inventoried the gifts they’d sent. She returned calls to friends and family, keeping it brief and cutting off anyone long-winded by saying she was too upset to talk and was hanging up. She had nothing to lose by being honest, not caring if they talked about her later. The time to exercise perfection was long past.
The funeral would be the following week. Ed’s funeral would be the next day, and Pam had to go, had to support Gladys and Lisa, and she didn’t think anyone would survive the funerals of two sons in the same week. Both old ladies, Nelda and Bernice, were going. The loss, the sadness seemed to have the opposite effect on them, energizing them, filling them with compassion and purpose. They wanted to be with Pam and Lisa, not stuck in their retirement center with no one to help.
Pam made the next major decision of her current life: both women were coming back to Long Island indefinitely. She’d spend the small fortune it cost to keep them at Eagle’s Nest on personal assistants, a driver, everything they’d need to be happy living together as a family.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I would love it,” Nelda said. “I’ve always loved the beach.”
Bernice thought about it for a few seconds. “I might miss the city.”
“Well, what if I told you you’d be free to come in any time you chose. We can even outfit Jack’s apartment so you can stay in town in comfort when you’d like.”
“That would be fabulous,” Bernice replied, grasping Nelda’s hand. “What do you think, Nellie? Should we let your daughter spring us out of this place?”
“Hell yes,” Nelda said. “I was ready last year.”
So they’d moved to the beach, and a little life returned to the house.
The mask she’d worn all of her life came in handy during the week of funerals and forced public exposure. She cringed when Dan came to Brent’s visitation; it was bad enough he had the nerve to show his face in New Jersey at Ed’s funeral. Pam wondered if it was killing Lisa to have to drive with her instead of going with Dan, but she didn’t ask. She was on a self-care journey.
Ed’s funeral was beautiful, a contradictory statement for a tragic event. The parish made every effort to honor Ed in spite of being financially ruined. And Gladys clung to Pam, including her in introductions to family and friends as, “My wonderful friend and Ed’s mother-in-law, Pam.”
Brent’s funeral was just the opposite, with news cameras blocking the street of the funeral home. The police had to come to assist when the situation looked like it might turn into a circus. An arrest warrant for murder issued, Charles Hsu claimed he was acting in self-defense, but Brent wasn’t carrying a gun, and Hsu’s daughter said he wasn’t threatening her father. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Margaret Hsu, Charles’s wife, accused Brent of sexually assaulting Julie, claims Julie denied.
The inevitable happened; Jack’s name was tied to Brent. All the old secrets and lies Pam hoped had been buried were brandished around, speculated upon, embellished. The tabloids had a field day for weeks, publishing the most intimate details of Jack’s life when several of his girlfriends came forward, thrilled to have their fifteen minutes of fame.
One name Pam recognized; it was the girl who she’d run into at Jack’s horrible midtown apartment. Blythe. Pam worried for months after meeting her that she’d expose the particular secret that Jack had his own dungeon set up for S & M activities. Appalling as it was, Pam dealt with her, transferring the rental contract for the apartment from Jack’s name to Blythe so she could keep up the little business she’d developed. It must have been a great way to supplement her bartender income after Jack died and the stream of money he’d given her each month dried up. Pam fell under Blythe’s spell, too, and almost gave her money, until she came to her senses.
When the tabloid story came out, it was easy to see that Blythe was the leak to the press. It was good for her business, the press and notoriety, but the public soon grew tired of it, because really, how many times can you use certain words or ideas before you become numb?
Bernice was another source of stories for the press. Before the ladies moved to the beach, Pam had security posted at their rooms at the Eagle’s Nest to prevent reporters from sneaking interviews. That was until the administration put a stop to it, saying it was too disruptive to the residents. They’d succeeded once in talking to Bernice as she happily told them the entire story about her only surviving son, Bill. Serving fifteen years in Rikers for attempted murder, Bill broke into Pam’s house and put a knife to Nelda’s throat. It was another story that would run its course in the tabloids.
The residents of Eagle’s Nest told Nelda and Bernice that the place was never as exciting as during the time the cops hung out in the hallway. Indignant, Pam told the director to take the rules and shove them. They would miss the revenue from two private rooms. With Nelda and Bernice moving in, Pam would stay involved in the ebb and flow of life. It would be a good move for everyone.
While the rest of the world moved on, Pam struggled to find her stride. Nothing would ever be the same, but she knew she had to keep going. Ending her own life would ultimately be disrespectful to her son’s memory and cruel to Lisa.
Chapter 4
Walking down North 3rd pushing a stroller with a hitchhiker attachment, Sandra window-shopped, happy to be out of the house but not away from her children. In the past two months since she went back to work, she’d relinquished much of Miranda’s care to Virginia and Tom.
This morning, she’d started a new routine. Baby Brent would have his morning bottle in Miranda’s room. Pushing a vibrating baby chair along the carpet with her foot, she sat him in it before getting Miranda out of her crib.
“Hi, Momma,” Miranda said, smiling.
Sandra’s heart melted. “Hi, baby, how’s Mandy doing today?” She lifted her up, kissing her cheek. “Come sit with me while I feed baby Brent.” She sat down in the big padded rocking chair and put Miranda beside her.
Holding on to Brent’s bottle, Miranda was such a proud little girl. “I love my brother,” she said.
Sandra leaned over to kiss the top of her head. How could she break up the family, no matter how distant Tom became? He was still a loving daddy to Miranda. Tom ignored baby Brent, and Sandra knew in time that it would be damaging to live with a father who wasn’t able to love him. For the time being, she hoped she didn’t have to upset the family, praying Tom could be civil for as long as they were under the same roof.
Pushing the stroller along, she thought about what it would mean to live away from Tom. The logistics alone of single parenting would be frighteningly difficult to put into practice. She’d lose Virginia as a sitter and have to move back into the city unless Pam would allow her to stay in Williamsburg. Stopping in front of a coffee shop, she looked in the window at people sitting alone with computers or couples reading the paper. She never needed to go out just to say that she had, preferring to stay home, so having two children wasn’t a burden to her. Her relationship with Tom had been
the problem all along. It was so over.
Turning the stroller around, she started walking back home. They were going to have a talk as soon as she got there.
Making a mental list, she’d have to tell Pam baby Brent was her grandson, her late son’s flesh and blood. It might be huge for Pam. Sandra couldn’t imagine what her reaction would be. Brent had taken advantage of her, but Sandra didn’t care now. Taking the blame, she’d put herself in the position by flirting with Brent and staying at the apartment after Pam left instead of leaving with her as she should have done. Defensive of Brent, Sandra felt oddly responsible for what had happened. And not wanting to lie to Pam, she’d have to carefully think about what to say.
It was so strange that she and Tom hadn’t had a knockdown drag-out fight about it, that he didn’t come right out and accuse her so she could defend herself.
The truth about the baby’s conception, that Brent drugged and raped her, would be horrible if baby Brent found out. The idea that Tom might sabotage his well-being made lying, saying she had a loving relationship with Brent, more appealing. Now more than ever she needed Pam on her side. But first, she had to confront Tom so they could get everything out in the open.
When she arrived at the house, he was on the stoop getting the mail. The wheels were turning in his head; she could almost see them. Should I or shouldn’t I help her with the stroller? Common sense and chivalry won, and he ran down the steps and grabbed the front.
“Do you want me to lift it, or should I take Mandy out?”
“No, just lift it, that’s fine,” she said. They walked up the steps carrying the contraption filled with kids. “Are you on your way out?”
“I was going to run to my mom’s,” he said.
“Can you wait? We need to talk,” she replied.
Like a small boy, he shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. “What’s the point?”
“You might agree with what I have to say,” Sandra answered. “Just give me ten minutes. You can even take Mandy to visit if you want.”
He looked down at the little girl. Miranda was looking up at him quizzically.
“Okay,” he said hesitantly. “But I don’t know what good it will do.”
Sandra followed him into the house, pushing the stroller. She turned to shut and lock the door while he got Miranda out of her seat. Bending over to pick up baby Brent, Sandra smiled and cooed at him.
“Baby brother is cute,” Miranda said, looking at Tom, waiting for him to respond.
He glanced over at Sandra but didn’t reply. It was just what she needed to keep the forward motion. He didn’t even like the baby. It was detrimental to baby Brent to have that negativity directed at him all the time, especially from someone who was supposed to be his father.
“I’ll put him down for a nap if you want to take her,” Sandra said.
They went their separate ways to the children’s bedrooms. After she got the baby situated, she came out and put the teakettle on.
“Do you want coffee?” she asked when he returned from Miranda’s room.
“No, I’ve had enough for today,” he said.
Sandra looked over at him; Tom never refused coffee. Stealing herself for an argument, she didn’t waste any time. In seconds, her former resolve to try to keep the family intact dissolved for good.
“I’m ready to split,” she said. “Neither child needs this negativity swirling around them all the time. With your permission, I was going to approach Pam about the house and about Miranda’s custody.”
He threw the mail down on the kitchen table. “With my permission? Why in the hell do you need my permission?”
“Well, because it’s the respectful thing to do, that’s why. If you don’t care, okay. But if you have any plans you’d like included, then I need to hear from you before I call her.”
“What kind of plans?” he asked.
“Well, plans to stay in the house, or plans to fight for custody of Miranda.”
“I signed a paper that said I wouldn’t fight,” he replied. “It says that if our status changes, Pam will decide what happens with Miranda. Like she’s capable of planning anyone’s future. She’s made a mess of her own life; I don’t want her planning anything for me.
“And this house is a fucking albatross. I’ll kick my tenants out and move back to my condo. You can have this piece of shit.”
Anger building, soon it would be impossible to iron out any plans with him.
“Okay, then what I hear you say is that you have no interest in the house and you aren’t going to fight for custody of the children.”
“Why in the hell would I fight for baby Brent? I’m already so sick of hearing those two words I could scream.”
“Tom, you never asked for paternity test, so you can’t be sure he isn’t yours. You’ll pay child support for him if he is.”
“I doubt it,” he said. “You make twice as much as I do.”
“You’re still his father,” Sandra said and then, with a smirk, “Unless you’re not.”
That last comment was the final straw for Tom. He reached out and slapped her as hard as he could across the face. Her teacup went flying and hit the floor with a crash, and she grabbed the table to keep from falling over.
“I guess I deserved that,” she said smugly. “Get out before I call the police. And don’t come back.”
He stormed out of the kitchen to the master bedroom. Doors and cupboards being opened and slammed shut as he grabbed what he could echoed through the house. Fortunately, the children didn’t hear it. Tom came back through the kitchen.
“With your permission, I’ll get the rest of my stuff tonight,” he mocked and left the house.
When the front door closed and the lock turned, it was like an exorcism had taken place and all the bad energy was gone. She let out a long-held breath. I must be in shock, she thought. My life is turned upside down, and I’m about to have tea. Tea made, she went into the den to call Pam.
“I just walked in. Lisa had the baby this morning,” Pam said.
Sandra was happy for the change of topic. She focused on Lisa. “Oh, my, how exciting! A little boy, correct?”
“Yep, a little black-haired boy. Your Thomas looks more like Lisa than this little guy does. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t look any thing at all like her.”
Sandra’s heart did a little extra beat. And without premeditation, Sandra blurted the facts out to Pam. “Pam, my baby is your grandson.”
Sandra could hear the noise of Nelda talking in the background and Bernice answering her. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be there, sitting at the counter with them, chatting.
“Aw, that’s so sweet of you to say,” Pam answered. “Can’t we say I’m an aunt? I’m grandmothered out here.”
“No, I mean you really are. Brent’s his father. We had sex at Jack’s apartment. It just happened. Too much champagne, I guess. We were stoked about him coming to work at Lang, about him living in the city.”
Nelda’s voice got softer as Pam, confused, moved to the privacy of her bedroom, where she could talk undisturbed. She changed ears.
“What are you saying?” She tried not to sound haughty, but it came out that way. She snickered. “Are you saying your baby is Brent’s baby? Because if that’s what you’re saying, I don’t want to hear it. I can’t hear it.” Pam hung up the phone and walked into her beautiful new bathroom to look in the mirror, certain Jack’s ghost was hovering behind her. “This is your doing,” she said to the ghost. “You invited her into our lives. You gave her that business. You. Thanks a lot, Jack.”
Maybe Sandra had some kind of personality disorder or was stalking her, insistent on becoming a part of her family at any cost. Pam examined her face, sad that she was so old looking for all the money that facelift had cost her last year. It must be all this drama swirling around her, none of which she’d caused.
While Pam was doing a self-assessment, Sandra sat stunned with the
phone in her hand. She’d expected…what? Remembering a Saturday afternoon not so many years ago after Jack died, when Pam drove into Manhattan to visit her and Sandra told her she was pregnant with Jack’s baby in much the same way she’d dropped this bomb. You’d think I’d have learned.
While Sandra was in distress over Pam’s response, Pam marched into the kitchen and blasted Nelda and Bernice. “Well, guess what?” Both women stopped talking and looked at Pam. “Sandra just told me she was having an affair with Brent and her baby is Brent’s baby!” She plunked down in a stool at the counter.
Bernice couldn’t believe it, remembering that afternoon after Jack died when she saw Sandra on the street after Jack’s funeral and invited her back to the mansion. Sandra told her she was pregnant with Jack’s baby soon after. Nelda started laughing at Pam’s little rhyme.
“It would seem our Miss Benson is hell-bent on having a Smith baby. Why does she wait until the fathers are dead to tell us?” Bernice announced.
“Good question, Bernie,” Nelda said. “Pam, I told you a long time ago she couldn’t be trusted.”
“You haven’t seen the baby,” Pam said. “He looks exactly like Lisa and Brent did as babies. I bet he looks just like Miranda, too. We need to see her, by the way. We haven’t seen her in a while.”
In Memoriam: Pam of Babylon Book #7 Page 3
