by Lia Conklin
“You are normal, Auntie Toby,” Amelia assured her with a pat of her hand.
“Well, looking at the contrast we make, one of us isn’t. I guess if it’s not me, then it must be you! Always thought it was freakish being skinny, but you’ve always been my favorite skinny person.”
“That means a lot coming from someone who spends her days blaming skinny people for inventing chocolate and ice cream!” Amelia chuckled. Then turning serious for a moment whispered, “I really missed you, Toby.”
“You too, sugar. And of course, your mom and Scottie too. Thought I’d never see any of you again. I’m glad I was wrong.”
They smiled silently at one another for a moment until Toby shook her head in confusion and asked, “What’s up with your father, anyway? He exiles you to some foreign country and a week later, the FBI shows up here demanding a printout of the materials he’d checked out. I didn’t even know they could do that, but they told me a true librarian would have read Section 215 of the Patriot Act by then and been aware of the ‘library clause.’ They even gave me a website to look it up on. How kind. What was your father messing around with? Must have been pretty serious. Don’t think the FBI was just checking to see if he’d read his 25 books.”
Amelia could only gape at Toby, the images of her father at the airport and Bull’s enormous face haloed by flames danced before her. Luckily, Toby was paying more attention to her brownie than to Amelia’s face and continued with barely a pause.
“Hope all those Harry Potter books he checked out for Scottie didn’t incriminate him too much! With all that ‘devil-worship’ stuff in them I’d be surprised if he’s not in jail by now!” Toby laughed, unaware of the possible irony.
Amelia wasn’t sure what to say. She could see her father being led away past terminal 24,23, 22—his head lowered, the two airport security guards towering above him on either side, each gripping an upper arm. There was nothing to say. She knew nothing about what had happened to him, if anything. But the FBI? What had her father been involved in?
Toby needed little feedback, as was her custom, and within minutes covered a half dozen other topics before becoming aware of the time. Emptying her last sip of cappuccino, she declared, “Break over. But I’m not letting you go until you promise you’ll come back and see me soon. You promise?”
She gripped Amelia’s hands in her large ones, unwilling to let them go until she agreed.
Chapter 39
Amelia awoke the next morning with obligation upon her brow in the form of sunlight that wormed its way through the gap in the pink brocade curtains. She turned her head away from it, but as she considered her other options—lie here, indefinitely; watch reality TV, indefinitely; work on a crossword with Grandma, indefinitely—she decided there were worse things to do than continue the journey she had begun.
As she ate the waffles her grandmother heaped before her with real maple syrup (“made by real Indians, or I guess Native Americans is the correct term these days”) ladled generously atop, she listened to her grandmother’s stories. Her tales of trips to the casino (where she got the maple syrup from “this beautiful woman with long black, braids, just like the picture books”) and day-to-day happenings wove together the past and present so intricately, there was no reason to know which was which, or rather, when was when. Somehow within this comingling of tenses, Amelia made her way out the door with car keys in hand before realizing that this sunny day, in which she found herself, was the present.
As she made her way down the same streets she had negotiated a few days before, she felt again the trickery of time, but the change in weather and in her own state of animation assured her that she wasn’t repeating the past. The sunshine and cool breeze welcomed her as she made her way through the maze of headstones towards the Kingston plot. By coincidence, she spotted some of the same headstones as the time before and decided one could make friends with the dead as well. At least they would always be there to welcome her upon each visit.
Unlike her last visit, she took little time in making her way up the hill and this time smiled as she saw their names etched before her.
“I’m back,” she called to them, seating herself calmly between their headstones. She traced their names with her finger, feeling the subtle scratch of the fine edge upon her fingertips.
“Didn’t expect to see me back so soon, did you? Don’t be surprised if I make a habit of it. Little more convenient to visit now than before. I’m so happy to be back.”
She could see their faces before her as if they sat leaning upon their headstones, ready for some bizarre graveside family picnic. Yet instead of being creepy, it was comforting to feel them there and have the power to imagine their faces so close to hers.
“I suppose you know I’m kind of sore with Dad, I guess. I see now why you wanted me to find the truth for you…and for Scottie. Someone needs to take responsibility for the accident. Don’t you want that too? And Dad did nothing. I never realized how difficult it must have been to be married to him. I can kind of remember now some of the cruel times you went through. But I’m not here to slander him. I just hoped you could…I don’t know what I hoped. Maybe I hoped you could help me forgive him for running away. For abandoning you. But I’m not going to abandon you ever again. I’m going to find out the truth. I’m not sure how, but I’m going to do it for you and Scottie. I miss you two.”
She sat there for some time, staring into the etched names that held the wavy images of their faces. She needed answers, she knew, but for the moment she was content to sit, feeling the sun play upon her face and the damp grass work its juice into the fibers of her jeans. Then she let her mind drift to the newspaper entries she had read. She needed to find out who was responsible, but she had no idea what her next step should be. Suddenly, she smiled, as the image of an afro erupted over the already superimposed images of headstones and faces. “Of course,” she mumbled, “Connie.”
Her thoughts were interrupted as someone passed through her peripheral vision, his strawberry blond hair teasing the autumn sun as he made his way to the parking lot. A vague sense of recognition caused her to cock her head slightly to get a better look. His profile reminded her suddenly of her last visit and the handkerchief she had declined. His handkerchief. Seems he, too, had family picnics in the cemetery.
Her “picnic” finished, she stood up and with the front of her hand laid kisses upon each etched name. “I’ll see you later, Mom, Scottie,” and she left them to rest once again.
She saw his hair before she made it back through the winding trail of headstones. It was dancing in the sunlight above a tan face whose eyes squinted at her approaching figure.
“If I didn’t know any better,” he called, as she reached the road, “I’d say it was the sun itself that came to rest upon your shoulders. You’re more radiant than the first time we met,” he said grinning, apparently as aware of her hair as she of his.
“Ah yes, nothing like a good mud mask to bring out that inner glow,” Amelia quipped, feeling both sheepish and a bit put off by his compliment, if that’s what he intended it to be.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to hand you a hanky. Just thought I’d take the opportunity of this coincidence to introduce myself this time. I’m Jonathon Lundberg.”
“AKA Prince Charming, ready to swoop up damsels in distress with his white hanky,” replied Amelia, not yet ready to offer her hand.
“Okay, okay. If I had my handkerchief with me this time I’d surrender.”
That won him a smile.
“Just not used to cemetery-style compliments, I guess,” she confessed, offering her hand. “I’m Amelia Kingston.”
“Nice to finally meet you,” he said. “I was worried about you. I mean I didn’t even know you, but I was worried. You were so distraught.”
“Nice word, ‘distraught.’ Let me guess, you’re a psychiatrist,” she posed sarcastically.
“Close. A lawyer,” he answered.
“That was going t
o be my next guess. And said with no apology, so either a pretentious one or one that actually serves. Which do you profess to be?”
“The latter, of course, though we lawyers are always presumed guilty before proven innocent.” He paused for a moment running his fingers through his hair.
“At the risk of being forward…” he began.
“Oh, you already crossed that line,” Amelia quipped.
“Well then, why stop now. How about you meet me for coffee tomorrow, and you can prosecute me further?”
“So, Attorney Lundberg, AKA Prince Charming, do you make a habit of picking up women in cemeteries?”
“When I get the chance, but pretty slim pickings on a normal day.”
“And is this a normal day?” Amelia inquired, enjoying the light-hearted banter after the past few weeks of a heavy heart and troubled thoughts.
“Not even close. This is truly abnormal, and I’m hoping you’ll make it even more abnormal with a ‘yes.’”
“Now you found my weakness. Always one to applaud the abnormal. I have to say ‘yes.’”
His crooked smile showed both his pleasure and his attempt to subdue it as he shook Amelia’s hand again.
“12:00 tomorrow at Nel’s Place on Selby?” he asked, not ready to drop her hand.
“You do do this often!” she laughed. “Yeah, noon sounds fine. But be ready to be thoroughly cross-examined.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said finally releasing her hand and walking back to his car.
Amelia watched through her rearview mirror as he drove away. Jonathon probably didn’t realize he really was on trial, and his former charges under the aliases of Rigoberto and Donovan were sure to hurt his case. Life wasn’t fair, not even to those on the other end. Somehow this realization gave Amelia great comfort.
Chapter 40
That afternoon, Amelia climbed the steep staircase she remembered so well. She felt the same exhilaration she always had as she took the steps up to her father’s office. However, she realized she had always climbed back down disappointed. She hadn’t been able to understand her feelings then, but she suddenly realized that each climb for her had been an attempt to reach him. The message she got each time, “Stay out of my way and I’ll tolerate you,” made each attempt a failure and each descent a disappointment. He had tolerated her, yes, but never noticed her. By the time they moved to Honduras, she had already internalized—though had not understood— this message and managed to be disappointed before she took even the first step of her climb home.
Today Amelia felt the exhilaration for another reason.
Back in Minnesota, she was here to find answers and was hopeful that a newspaper office was just the place to start. But the quiet that greeted her was just another reminder of how much of her life had been taken away. Where were the sounds of clicking keyboard keys, shuffling papers, and muffled voices aimed into telephone receivers that had always greeted her? Where was Connie’s ’60s Afro that always seemed to explode through the beveled glass from the opposite side of the door?
Once she had thought of Connie, she had immediately felt hope. Connie would know what to do. She always had. But instead of her blurred image through the window, Amelia was staring into a “For Rent” sign.
That evening, Amelia pondered her next step. Yes, this was a setback, but she wouldn’t let it dishearten her. She realized more than ever she needed Connie’s help. After looking through the phone book with no success and calling 411 with the same result, it occurred to her that her grandmother might know how to find her.
Looking up from Vanity Fair’s interview with Jennifer Anniston, her grandmother nodded her head slowly.
“Of course, I remember Connie. She was so good to us after the funeral and even after your father took you to Honduras, she would stop by and see me. Seems like the newspaper went bankrupt after your father left. Connie couldn’t keep up with it herself. But let me see, where would I have her information?”
She got up slowly from a too soft chair, the armrest giving her the leverage she needed to stand and move toward a desk cluttered with papers and letters.
“I’d guess her address will be on one of these cards I got when your Aunt Susan died. I know Connie sent me one…”
Chapter 41
Driving down Makubin Street, Amelia compared each house number she passed to the envelope she grasped in her hand: 1953…1955. She slowed down to a stop in front of a small, one-and-a-half-story, brick home, its ivy beginning to brown with the change of seasons. She knew it was probably too early, yet she wanted to make sure to catch Connie before she went to work.
It seemed forever before Amelia heard the jostling of the lock and chain, but in less time than it took Amelia to recognize Connie beneath her disheveled hair and housecoat, Connie had already snatched her up.
“Amelia!” she cried, squeezing her until her feet lifted slightly from the ground. “I can’t believe it’s you! You’ve grown so much!” she exclaimed, setting her down. “You’re so beautiful! Look at you!” And with that she gave her another tight squeeze, this time shaking her back and forth.
“Well, you’ve gotten stronger, Connie,” Amelia laughed as Connie released her from her rag-doll reception.
Connie laughed. “Oh, I’m just so happy and surprised to see you. Come in! Come in! You’ll have to excuse the mess. I was up late last night working on an article and well, to be honest, I’ve never been much for housekeeping. But here, have a seat,” she insisted, gathering up a load of newspapers and magazines from one chair and depositing them on top of a similar heap on another.
“How’s your father?” she inquired, as she swiped up random papers and envelopes that lay scattered upon the table and snatched up the remaining coffee cups and glasses that were suddenly unearthed.
Amelia hesitated for a moment. “Well, I’m not quite sure how he is. But let’s talk about that later. How’s Ricky?”
Connie took a seat across from Amelia on the only other unoccupied chair, and they spent the next half hour talking about family, the lighter side of the past, and plans for the future until neither of them could deny the pink elephant any longer.
“How are you, Amelia, really?” Connie asked, concern written in the lines of her eyes and brow that had become noticeably deeper since they last saw each other.
“I’m getting better. It’s been a long road, longer than you can probably imagine,” she smiled, thinking of all the Honduran details Connie would never know. “But I’m making progress.”
“I’ve thought about you and your dad so much these past years. Your father really knows how to choose the road less traveled. So, tell me why you’re really here, even though I know you couldn’t wait to just chew the fat with your dad’s wannabe, Connie.”
Amelia laughed at the old nickname. It always seemed a bit cruel in the past, but she had come to realize that her dad had chosen it from Connie’s very own repertoire of self-ridicule, that once coined, made her recognize her low self-worth and rise above it. She doubted her father had planned such results.
“Well,” Amelia finally said, “I did a little research on the explosion, and I was just surprised at how negligent the gas company seemed. It made me think that they should have been held responsible for the accident. Did you ever think that?”
Connie was caught off guard by the question at first, then responded, “Yeah, I suppose so. Didn’t your father pursue a lawsuit or anything?”
“Not that I know of. In fact, I’m pretty sure he didn’t. Do you think I should look into it?”
Connie began to nod her head slowly and then more vehemently as the idea took root.
“You’re right. The company should have been held responsible at some level or other. I just assumed your father had settled out of court or something. I guess he didn’t have time to follow up on it. But I agree with you,” Connie continued with a few more deliberate nods. “You should look into it. Speaking of your father, is he back too? God, it’s been such
a long time.”
“To be honest, I’m not one hundred percent sure where he is. I assume he’s back in Honduras. I really haven’t bothered to check in with him.”
“Really…” Connie responded with measured curiosity.
“You know, Connie,” Amelia began with a sigh, “sometimes I’m just so angry at him. How could he have just run away like that after the accident? He should have followed through and had the explosion thoroughly investigated. No one ever took responsibility for their deaths.”
Amelia sighed, turning over her hands to remember their sparkles upon them.
“Funny he’d be more intent on finding out the truth about everything else in the world than about his own wife and son. I just can’t stomach that he abandoned them.”
“Maybe there’s more to it than that, Amelia,” Connie suggested, capturing Amelia’s outstretched hands in her own. “Your father was a complex man.”
“Is that PC for jerk?” Amelia rejoined. “He was a coward, so he took off and let the gas company off scot-free. My mom and brother deserved more than that. So, I guess it’s up to me.”
“And me,” Connie added, patting her hand. “Angel, we’re in this together. I’ll see what I can figure out. You go home and get some rest. Looks like you could use some.”
Chapter 42
Amelia didn’t go home to rest, however. She had something more important to do. She risked a few moments of closed eyelids and neck rotations before returning her attention to the street she was navigating. She was determined to be fresh with denial and was banishing for the hundredth time any thought of her family when the Saab directly in front of Nel’s generously gave up its parking spot. How auspicious, she thought, or rather hoped.
