The Test

by Patricia Gussin

  “Aha!” Welton smiled for the first time that day. Ashley had always said that Meredith was the brains behind Frank Parnell.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ashley sat with her new friend, Julie, in Aunt Bea’s kitchen. Both were too numb to eat, but with Aunt Bea’s clucking and hovering they’d forced down a little baked chicken. They’d showered off layers of soot, and Ashley had put to use the package of L’Oreal sable brown dye she picked up during her march out of Lower Manhattan. Now her cinnamon hair was darker and chopped from shoulder length to just below her chin. Both women sat wrapped in fluffy bathrobes, unable to shake the chill despite the cozy room temperature and the comfort food.

  “Two mothers to be,” Aunt Bea kept repeating, urging them to finish the twelve-ounce glass of milk she’d poured for each. Aunt Bea had known that Julie was expecting, and she accepted Ashley’s pregnancy without judgment, never asking why she did not have her own place to go.

  “Aunt Bea, I’ve checked with everyone. Craig’s mother—anybody I could think of who works with him. I know Craig’s dead, Aunt Bea. His office was—”

  “Julie, my dear. There are a lot of people missing. Just wait.”

  “But the baby. What am I going to do?”

  “Oh, Julie, dear.” Aunt Bea hugged Julie, comforting her, promising her she could have her house, making Julie promise that she and the baby live with her. “And of course, Ruthie, my dear, you can stay here with your baby, too.”

  Aunt Bea’s generosity stunned Ashley. How willingly she’d squeeze two mothers and two babies into her tiny two-bedroom home. She’d never met such a big-hearted person before. Aunt Bea, a spinster, short and plump, with white hair permed into curls, welcomed Ashley into her home, no questions asked. It was clear that Aunt Bea had two passions, feeding people and nonstop, daytime television. Her eyesight was failing and her hearing had deteriorated, so she kept the volume on loud and sat directly in front of the set. In the aftermath of September eleven, she couldn’t get enough news. Over and over, she played the flames raging out of the towers, the people jumping, the soot-covered survivors. As these images kept pouring out, Ashley remembered the sound as that car had exploded so very close to her. That was how Crissy, Conrad’s wife, had died.

  And it was through Aunt Bea’s TV that Ashley learned of Meredith’s death. Shaken, she’d absorbed the news silently, agonizing as to whether to attend the funeral. Maybe by disguising herself? But the services were to be private. The location not even disclosed. Meredith had been Jewish, so she’d have to be buried, Ashley couldn’t remember the exact requirement, something about before sundown of the following day. With what had been happening to the country, naturally, Frank would opt for something quiet.

  Facing the finality of Meredith’s death, Ashley felt her own resolve turn steadfast. She would do all in her power to protect her child. When her father’s inheritance was settled, she could confront Conrad. He’d so easily dominated her before, and she couldn’t risk losing control to him again. This time it could mean her life and that of her baby.

  With the television still blaring in the background, Ashley gently massaged her abdomen, thinking of Frank and Meredith. They had one of those symbiotic relationships, feeding off one another, supporting one another, seemingly communicating without words, always on the same wavelength. Meredith had been the perfect wife for Frank. And Ashley would never forget her sister-in-law’s efforts to help Carla.

  The day of Meredith’s funeral, Ashley busied herself by helping around the house. She dusted Aunt Bea’s furniture, vacuumed the rugs, and mopped the kitchen floor, chores that she was doing for the first time. That evening she announced she’d be leaving the next day. Aunt Bea tried to talk her out of it, but Ashley knew she couldn’t stay. New Jersey was too close to Philadelphia, Conrad’s epicenter. He would find her.

  “You’re sure you’ll be all right, Ruthie?” Aunt Bea asked over and over as she kept stuffing food into a thermal bag. “You know that you can always come back here.”

  “I know, Aunt Bea,” Ashley said. “Naturally, after talking to my aunt in Toronto, I think I should be with family. My uncle is a lawyer. I can do secretarial work, and my aunt can help out with the baby.”

  A blatant lie, but Ashley felt no guilt. If this fib made Julie and Aunt Bea feel better, why not? Her life from now on would be nothing but lies.

  “I understand. You just better send pictures of the baby.” Aunt Bea predicted that Ashley would have a boy and Julie, a girl. So she and her lady friends had shopped accordingly at a garage sale. As Ashley said her good-byes, the old lady pressed a bundle of tiny powder blue garments into her hands.

  “Thank you.” Tears filled Ashley’s eyes as she kissed Aunt Bea’s downy face. “You’ll never know how much I treasure your friendship.”

  At the train station, Julie reached over and patted Ashley’s abdomen. It was still flat whereas hers already had a small mound. “You know, Ruthie, you never did tell me who the father is. I didn’t want to pry. You seem so—secretive. Do you want to tell me?”

  In just a few short days, Julie had become like a sister to Ashley, the little sister that she’d lost in Carla. “Yes,” Ashley said, “I do want to tell you, but I can’t. But as soon as I’m able, I will pay you and Aunt Bea back for your kindnesses.”

  Ashley had formulated a plan: take the train from New Brunswick to Trenton, from Trenton to Washington D.C., from D.C. to as far west as she could get on her money. She had more than a million dollars, but she had no idea how to get at it. Uncle Carl’s firm took care of her financial matters. Until now, she’d never given it a second thought. Just charged what she wanted and wrote checks with abandon.

  On the train, Ashley peeked into the plastic bag containing the baby clothes. On top was an envelope. “Baby Boy Hester” was scrawled in shaky letters. Inside was a wad of twenty dollar bills. “God bless you, Aunt Bea.”

  Now, she would learn about living on her own. She would not be there when her father’s wealth was distributed. She wouldn’t need all that money, anyway. She had her medical training. Ultimately she’d be fine, supporting herself and a child on a doctor’s income, just as her mother had. Thanks, Mom, for giving me the self-confidence to do this.

  But as the train jostled along, she started to cry. “Ma’am?” A balding man in a suit stood in the aisle. “Could you move over one?”

  The voice scared her, and Ashley shrank closer to the window, trying without success to stifle her tears. Tears for herself, for Julie, for Rory, for Meredith, and for all those strangers who’d lost their lives in front of her eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The second contact listed in Meredith Parnell’s wallet, “call in case of emergency” was Carl Schiller. Mr. Schiller wasn’t home, but his wife directed the police to an exchange in Manhattan. The man on the line sounded elderly and devastated. They hated to have to break the news so bluntly, but what could they do?

  The first contact had been the dead woman’s husband, a U.S. Senator from a wealthy Philadelphia family. They chose to send the closest state trooper to escort him to Jefferson Hospital. On arrival, the husband had bolted through the emergency room door, shouting out his wife’s name. When the ER doctor told him his wife was dead, the guy screamed, moaned, was inconsolable. They finally had to admit him, just to be on the safe side. Everybody mumbled that all that money couldn’t save Frank Parnell’s loved one.

  The first call that Carl made was to Dan in Florida.

  Gina answered, assumed the worst about Ashley, calling out to Dan. “It’s Carl, about Ashley!”

  “Carl?” Dan picked up. “Ashley?” How many times had he and Gina spoken of Ashley, her ambition to be a doctor, and her very bizarre fiancé. And now it didn’t matter. She was dead.

  “Dan, it’s not Ashley. We don’t know anything. Haven’t heard anything. Nothing.”

  “Okay. Is there anything we can do? Should I come up?”

  “It’s Meredith.”
>
  Dan took in a sharp breath as Carl sobbed in the background.

  “Meredith is dead. She was killed tonight in a car crash. And, Dan, yes. Please come home now. I don’t think the Gulfstream can fly—”

  “Frank?” Dan asked. “Elise?”

  “Frank had to be sedated. They kept him overnight at the hospital. Elise is with Rory. Please, come home, Dan. I need you. The family needs you.”

  “Of course, Uncle Carl. Gina and I will leave right away.”

  “Meredith’s funeral will have to be the day after tomorrow. If you wish I can make the arrangements. Frank’s in no condition, and Meredith and I belong to the same synagogue.”

  “Yes, Uncle Carl. We’ll drive straight through.” Dan checked his watch. “It’s about a twenty-two hour drive. I’ll call Terry and Carrie. They’re both in Washington, and can be there within hours. Carrie’s close to Matt,” Dan said, leaving out how close she really was, like in his bed close. “And Terry’s assigned to the Washington office of Keystone Pharma.”

  “Yes,” Carl seemed to catch himself. “I’m still in Manhattan. The bridges and tunnels are still closed, and I’m hoping for news about Ashley. But it was Meredith leading that effort.”

  Dan and Gina hastily packed and within the hour were on the road in Dan’s new cherry red Toyota Tundra. Dan marveled at how effortlessly he and Gina had restarted their lives together. When he had offered to leave his palm plantation in Lantana to move to Fort Myers to be with her, Gina had laughed it off. “Easier for me to change hospitals than for you to transplant all those trees,” she’d said. And that was it. She switched from Lee Memorial Hospital in Fort Myers to the pediatric unit at St. Mary’s Medical Center in West Palm Beach. They’d set a remarriage date, a private ceremony, just them and the twins, between Christmas and New Year’s. Dan could no longer comprehend life without Gina, and he was sure that his brother had felt the same way about Meredith.

  Gina, accustomed to night-shift nursing, drove the first seven hours until Dan, the “early to bed early to rise” farmer, took over at five a.m. Reclining in the passenger’s seat, Gina was in a chatty, reminiscent mood. “Tell me again about how you fell in love with those palm trees,” she said. Dan smiled, as that story had become their shared secret.

  “Well,” Dan began, “ever since my lovely wife left me because I was such a jerk—”

  “Not that part,” Gina said, reaching over to ruffle his hair.

  “After kicking around the world for twelve years, pining for my beautiful woman, living off the inheritance from my mother’s ill-fated trust fund, never finishing college, ending up in Key West, down to my last dime.”

  “Not really a dime,” Gina said.

  “Money low, emotions rock bottom from such a worthless life, I got up the nerve to drive to my beloved wife’s place where she was hiding my beautiful twins. All I planned to do was park across the street. I just wanted a glimpse of them.”

  “Aren’t you sorry you didn’t just knock on the door?” Gina said, arranging a pillow behind her head.

  “I was too scared. So I’m driving up from the Keys to Fort Myers. I get stuck behind several of those flatbed trucks hauling stacks of palm trees piled one on top of the other. The roots of each tree looked like huge balls wrapped in burlap. Something about those trees, neatly stacked piles of trunks and balls, hypnotized me. Idiotic as it sounds, I followed one of the flatbeds as it turned off the main drag. When the driver pulled up to a new condo site, I got out of the car and struck up a conversation with the driver and crew. I started helping them hoist the palms and situate them according to the landscape architect’s drawings. This was not normal behavior for me or any sane person. But those trees were so majestic. I felt a unique bond to those trees, like they were a magnet. The guys told me that they worked out of Lantana, Florida, voted nine years in a row Tree City, USA.”

  “Did you see your twins that day?” Gina asked. Dan smiled sadly, remembering when he’d first told her that he used to drive over to Fort Myers just for a glimpse of them. He’d been such a coward, had wasted so many years.

  “Terry off to baseball; giggling girls arriving with overnight bags.”

  “Carrie’s first sleepover,” Gina murmured.

  “Once I’d done my stalking, I drove over to this Lantana place, stopped in a coffee shop, and again struck up a conversation with the locals. They told me about a parcel of land for sale. Planted with maturing coconut palms and young carpentaria. It had a small house, and a storage shed with tools and my favorite toy, a John Deere tractor.”

  “And you, of all people, became a farmer.”

  “I did and it was the only time I ever asked Dad for anything. He cosigned a loan, and I never missed a payment. Of course, I have Bill Jeffers, the best foreman in the world. And the best part now? I don’t have to drive across the state to sneak a glimpse of my beautiful wife.”

  Dan turned to Gina as her eyes fluttered closed.

  Yes, Dan loved his trees and he also loved the swelter of South Florida summers. Despite gallons of sweat, bugs, and poisonous snakes, he was content working outdoors, his men and dogs at his side. More than once he’d used a pistol to dispose of a cottonmouth.

  And now he had Gina. And he was building a relationship with his children. But he would need to pay more attention to getting them their inheritance. He’d already deprived them of too much. He worried that he’d become too distracted by all the family tragedy to make any plans. Added to that, he didn’t have a clue as to how to go about making happen those things his father had stipulated.

  Dan and Gina arrived in Center City, Philadelphia at eleven p.m. They checked into the Four Seasons, confirmed the place and time of Meredith’s funeral with Carl, and inquired about Frank.

  “Frank is not good,” Carl reported. “The doctor released him from the hospital this morning into the care of Matt, his aide, and Carrie. Your daughter is incredible, Dan. Don’t think they would have let him go if she hadn’t been there.”

  “Frank? Like—?”

  “Can’t stop sobbing. Can’t say anything coherent. Won’t sit, just paces.”

  “Gina’s a nurse, maybe she can—”

  “Not tonight. Carrie got Frank to take a sedative. But could you go out there in the morning? The services are at two o’clock. Private, but you know the media will be swarming.”

  “Of course,” Dan promised, scratching his head. What could he ever think of to help his brother?

  At seven the next morning, Dan and Gina headed for Frank’s. A slight chill was in the air, and rain was forecast for the afternoon. The Four Seasons had sent them off with umbrellas.

  Gina had spoken with Carrie. Frank had slept fitfully on the couch in the library for only an hour. Matt had left for Frank’s Philadelphia office to run interference with Washington in what was now the second day after the attack on America. Then he’d join the family at the synagogue for the services.

  As Dan turned into the long driveway leading to the house, he heard Gina sigh. She still hadn’t gotten used to Parnell opulence. The French country house with its stables and various outbuildings dominated acres of rolling hills and autumn flowers and green pastures dotted with grazing horses belonged in a magazine.

  “Quite the hacienda,” she said softly.

  “Meredith loved her horses.”

  “Wish I’d gotten to know her,” Gina murmured, as they parked in the circle in front of the main door.

  Actually, Dan couldn’t imagine Meredith and Gina hitting it off, but no use going there. “She had her good points and bad points,” he said.

  Carrie met them at the door. “Mom, thank God you’re here. Uncle Frank is inconsolable.”

  In the conservatory, Frank sat, bent over, head in hands. Dan tried not to stare. Frank might be his younger brother, but it was Frank who the world looked up to. Frank who Dad had always depended on. Gina went to her brother-in-law, put her arms around him, and whispered in his ear.

  “Carrie
, could you get us some tea? And some biscuits or toast.”

  Dan had never felt so inadequate. What should he do? What should he say?

  “Dan, let’s get Frank up to the table where we can talk,” Gina said.

  “I’m so sorry.” Dan’s voice was hoarse as he and Gina each took an elbow and maneuvered Frank to the round table by the bay window. Frank moved like a limp puppet, his shoulders hunched, his face puffy and unshaven. As Dan eased him into the chair, he felt a flood of compassion that was immediate and intense. He wanted to pour out the flood to his brother, but no words came. This is what it must be like for mutes, he thought, automatically patting his pocket for cigarettes, remembering they weren’t there.

  “I can’t go on without her,” Frank finally said, tears rolling down his cheeks. “She was my life.” He looked around the tastefully decorated room. “Everything here is Meredith. I just can’t . . . go . . . on . . .”

  “You must,” Dan had found his voice at last. “Keep thinking: what would Meredith want? What would she want you to do? You can’t let her down now just because she’s not with you.” Dan had no idea where all this advice was coming from. But when he glanced at Gina, there was approval on her face.

  “So Frank, let’s talk about Meredith. About what she would expect from you today? It’s her funeral, man, she’d want you there. Wouldn’t she?”

  “I . . . never had a chance to say good-bye. It could have been my call that made her unbuckle her belt to get at her phone. By the time I got to the hospital, she was gone.” Frank drooped forward again.

  “She knew you loved her, Frank,” Gina said, as Carrie came in with the tea service. “Anyone who saw you two together could tell. Now, let’s have our tea, and then we’ll get you ready. The service will be private and beautiful. Meredith would expect that.”