

# Pam of Babylon

## Suzanne Jenkins
Pam of Babylon

by Suzanne Jenkins

Pam of Babylon Copyright 2011 by

Suzanne Jenkins. All rights reserved.

Created in digital format in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in blog posts and articles and in reviews.

Pam of Babylon is a complete and total work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The Smith mansion on Columbus Avenue is imaginary. Jack Smith and his family aren't real, and their resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead is coincidental.

Pam of Babylon is the first installment of the Pam of Babylon Series. Although it may be read as a stand-alone novel, character development is on the continuum of all the books in the series.

For more information about the Pam of Babylon Series and author Suzanne Jenkins' other books, please refer to the 'Also by...' section at the end of this novel.

## Reviews

Jersey Girl Book Reviews – Pam of Babylon Top Series of 2012

One man ... three women ... a tangled web of secrets, lies and deceit revealed by the man's death ... a tale of recovery, forgiveness and starting over.

Pam Smith is a fifty-five year old woman who has lived a charmed life: the perfect husband; two grown children; a house in Babylon, a beach town on Long Island; and a comfortable lifestyle.

Pam's world is turned upside down when she receives a call that her husband Jack had a fatal heart attack on the train. Jack's death opens up a Pandora's box of secrets, lies and deceits ... Jack had been living a triple life. Pam's eyes open to the realization that she never really knew the man that she had loved, and that her marriage was not as solid as she thought it had been.

This is a story of one woman's attempt to deal with the aftermath of her husband's death and the revelation of his secret lives that he shared with his mistress and sister-in-law. This is the story of how she picks up the pieces of her life and works through the stages of anger and grief to reach forgiveness.

Pam of Babylon is a spellbinding and intensely poignant story that will pull at your heartstrings. The author weaves a powerful tale told in the third person narrative, focusing on the different perspectives of the husband and the three women in his life. It is a fascinating look into the complexities of a marriage wrought with secrets, lies and deceptions that had devastating consequences for the spouse and the two women who were left to pick up the pieces from the mess that was their lives.

The author has created a fascinating cast of characters that are realistic, complex, have flaws and emotions that are easy to relate to. The dynamic of the three women's personalities is palpable, the reader is drawn into their individual stories and goes along for the journey on the emotional roller coaster ride that is their lives. You can't help but feel the full gamut of emotions towards the characters' reactions to Jack's death and the aftermath when the revelations of his web of deceit come to light. At times I found myself at odds with Pam's reactions, but as I read further into the story I came to see the strength and self-preservation that she drew upon to pick up the pieces of her shattered life. I couldn't commiserate as much with Sandra the mistress or with Pam's sister Marie, while I understand that they were duped by Jack just like Pam was, I found myself gravitating more towards Pam, and I admired her dignity and ability to forgive and forge a bond with them, she is a stronger woman than I would be if I had been in her shoes.

Kathleen Anderson – Jersey Girl Book Reviews

~ ~ ~

Kirkus Review – An intriguing first novel that revolves around a husband's death and hidden secrets.

Pam Smith lives an apparently charmed life as a well-to-do Babylon, N.Y., homemaker in a large house by the water. In her 50s with her children grown, Pam is happy with her exemplary husband Jack. After he has a heart attack on the subway, however, the protagonist finds out more than she ever wanted to know about Jack... Jenkins is skilled in her presentation of the characters' inner thoughts, particularly at Jack's funeral, where Pam's emotions are decidedly mixed as various facts about her late spouse come to light. While the novel is convincing during moments between the main female characters, the plotline strains from narrative overload as extortion and issues of parentage come into play. Themes of sisterhood and abuse run through the book, and the three women shift between rivalry and friendship before becoming empowered by Jack's demise.

Women's fiction with a touch of noir.

Pub Date: July 14th, 2011

~ ~ ~

A story about looking forward to restart life, even in the presence of death

"When a book starts from a seemingly perfect place for the character, you know he is not going to stay there long... So when Jack Smith is looking at the face of Sandra, his mistress, thinking "I am the luckiest man alive," his luck is at its end. Not only would Marie, his wife's sister, find out about his affair, but he would to live long enough to try to handle the scandal with Pam, his meek, trusting wife.

While he is cheating on her, Pam waits excitedly for his return. "She had the week to prepare for his homecoming... she tried to make it an oasis for him." Despite her trust in Jack, she knows intuitively that things between them are not quite right. "There was a tiny, itsy bit of doubt, a niggling worry, an insecurity in the back of her mind. He was disconnected from her."

When she gets a call from the hospital that Jack has died from a heart attack, Pam goes to pieces and then, gradually, reassembles them, finding a new strength in herself. She now learns the truth about him and a few of the women with whom he betrayed her. Sandra, too, goes through grief: "Her life had changed overnight."

This book is about looking forward to restart life already, even in the presence of death. It is about healing, part of which comes from forgiveness. I know this sounds strange to some readers, who find Pam's behavior 'too unreal." Apparently it is easier and perhaps more natural for many of us to succumb to vengefulness. At the same time, this is exactly why this book is so fascinating. It offers a different possibility, a more hopeful one. "There was something about cleaning up, washing everything, that spoke of new beginnings."

The author, Suzanne Jenkins, stated that she wrote the character as the opposite of herself. "I am at the opposite end of the spectrum of reactions....I wouldn't be forgiving and embracing." Yet I feel that by the end of the story Pam inhabits her to such a degree that her words come straight from the heart, gut, and mind. Five stars.

Author Uvi Poznansky, Author of The David Chronicles

## Chapter 1

Jack Smith was thinking, I am the luckiest man alive. Sitting at a white-linen-covered table on the sidewalk outside of his favorite restaurant, he gazed at the perfect face of his mistress of nine months. This place was their place. They'd spent a rare night together, and in the early morning they were having a leisurely breakfast, enjoying the perfect weather of late May in New York.

"What do you have to do this weekend?" Jack asked, knowing this could be a dangerous topic. Sandra was sipping her coffee, head bowed but eyes on him. She slowly put her cup down and straightened up. He really wanted to know, interested in her life outside of where it meshed with his.

"After you leave, I'll start getting ready for the week, and then I can relax tonight and tomorrow. Monday I'm having lunch at my sister's in New Jersey. My schedule next week is fairly packed, so the more I can get done now, the easier it will be." She thought of her messy apartment, the empty refrigerator, the pile of laundry, but didn't mention it. Jack's solution would be to say, pay someone to do those things for you so you can do what you want. Your time is worth more than what it would cost.

"One thing I would really like to do is get back to that gallery on Houston and see if there isn't a deal I can work out for the piece we saw last night." She smiled at Jack, and they nodded their heads, remembering the vibrant painting of the Riverside Gardens. It was so colorful, the yellows and reds and blues exaggerated, the flowers oversized. They loved it.

"You should have said something while we were there!" he said, smiling at her.

He would have bought it then and there for her, but she really wanted to buy it for herself, knowing it was wise to keep things like community property out of their relationship.

They ate the rest of breakfast in silence. Soon, Jack would start fidgeting, pushing his chair back slightly, looking around and fighting the urge to look at his watch. Their time together would be over for now. Sandra would try to beat him to the punch; it was easier for her to be in control of this aspect of their life. His schedule would dictate when they could see each other, but she could be in charge of when it would end. Hating those last minutes while they waited for the check to come, she felt like she was sitting in a vacuum. Today was a little different, maybe because of the night before. It was so special having the evening together and then spending the night with him. The hotel was the same one they always used. It was clean and comfortable and—impersonal. But she didn't allow herself to think of it.

He'd suggested early on that they go to her apartment, but she didn't know how long they would be together and didn't want those associations in her home. It would be difficult to end the relationship without memories of him permeating where she lived. No, thank you, seeing him at work every day would be bad enough. Besides, he was wealthy and could afford a nice hotel, and she was worth it.

He would not have argued if he knew what she was thinking. On one hand, he was wondering what was taking so long for the check to come as he had a lot to do at home, but on the other, he would miss her terribly. It took all the strength he had not to pout like a child when he was away from her. Thinking of his home close to the sea, the smell of salt air, he imagined the two of them sitting on the veranda overlooking the dunes and beach grass. But the face of his wife kept popping up on Sandra's body, not allowing anyone to take her place, even in his thoughts.

She walked him to the subway, refusing to have him walk her home first. Rather than taking a cab, he often preferred the subway. She would shop on the way home, and he had a long commute, over an hour to his home on Long Island. They walked arm in arm, a striking couple to look at, he mature, greying at the temples and in good shape for his age; she young, model thin and beautiful, heads turned to look. Were they famous? The attention they got when they were out in public together pleased them, and they became even more animated, laughing, standing up straighter, happiness radiating from them both.

On Broadway, another observer took note of the radiant couple. Jack's sister-in-law, Marie waited in the Saturday-morning bagel line at H&H. Uptown after going to the theatre the night before with her friend Arthur, she'd stayed the night at his apartment after having too much to drink. Standing with her mouth open, heat spread through her body as she grew shocked and furious. The man behind her tapped her on the shoulder; it was her turn already.

"Never mind, go ahead," she said as she moved out of line. Turning toward her brother-in-law as his back and that of his companion continued down the street toward the subway, she inched along the pavement, staying close to the storefronts, not wanting to be seen but dying to see. When they reached the subway, the woman, a girl really, didn't go down the stairs with him. Marie found it incredible that Jack was going to take the subway. What the hell was that all about? The couple stood at the entrance to the stairs talking, his arm around her shoulder protectively. It was clear that they were a couple, not just work associates, not just friends.

Standing out of sight in a doorway, Marie could barely tolerate the physical sensations she was experiencing as her entire body was vibrating in a combination of disgust, shock, and excitement. Loving Jack as her brother, she was certain her sister, Pam had no idea her husband was cheating. Pam would have said something. Marie didn't yet think of the implications this would have on her relationship with her sister. If she didn't know, it would remain that way because Marie wasn't going to tell her. Confronting Jack, she would insist he tell Pam. That was the only way. Let him do the dirty work.

Patience paid off; Jack took the girl into his arms without looking around first to see if anyone observed them, although it was a neighborhood in which his relatives lived. They kissed passionately; he was obviously enthralled and with her arms around him, she kissed him in return. They parted, reluctance palpable to all who looked upon them, intimacy flourishing in a public place. Jack turned to go down the subway stairs, looking behind him and smiling. The young woman stood there, smiling down at him, waiting to move away until he was out of sight.

Marie watched as the young woman, beautiful in a white sundress, turned her back to the stairs and started walking up Broadway. Marie didn't have all day to play detective, but she knew that for her sister's sake, she would need to find out as much as she could about this person. So she followed her, supposing she was headed for home but having no way of knowing, keeping about half a block behind her. Watching her from the back, she made mental notes: tall; slender (of course); long, dark hair. Marie thought the woman should be blonde, but that didn't make any sense, telling herself to just keep walking.

When they got to 80th Street, the woman crossed Broadway and went into Zabar's. Marie wasn't going in after her, but would wait outside for a few minutes. She didn't have all day. If it turned out the woman was doing a big shopping trip, Marie would leave. Standing across Broadway, watching, not wanting to miss it when she left the store, Marie looked up at the sky and could see blue between the buildings, sunlight peeking down from the east. It was going to be a beautiful weekend. Memorial Day was Monday and Marie was going to her sister's house on Long Island for a picnic, looking forward to it all month. Now this.

Finally, the young woman stepped out of Zabar's with two bags of groceries and started walking up Broadway again with Marie following closely behind. When she got to 82nd, she turned left toward West End. It figures, Marie thought, thinking of her own apartment in no-man's land. About midway down the block, she made another left and walked up to a lovely beige-brick mid-century apartment building. Turning the key in the lock, she opened the door, and disappeared from sight. Marie stood in the center of the sidewalk, disappointed. Well, she had an address, just in case.

She walked back to Broadway, what she'd seen blasting her brain. She wanted to call Jack's cell and tell him off. Suddenly, overcome with nausea, she moved to the curb and threw up in the gutter.

## Chapter 2

Pam Smith puttered around her light-filled kitchen early on Saturday morning. Jack had spent a rare Friday night in the city. He usually loved getting home after being gone all week. Occasionally, he would come home midweek in spite of the lengthy commute. It was irrelevant that all the husbands in the neighborhood commuted into Manhattan daily. The week stretched out before her to prepare for Jack's homecoming. She went to the gym every day, had her hair and nails done, and stocked the fridge with his favorite foods. The house was in good order, rarely anything needed his attention; she tried to make it an oasis for him. They could rest, go for walks on the beach, he'd play tennis or golf, and have a mini vacation.

This weekend they'd prepare for their annual Memorial Day picnic. Friends and family would come from all over the tri-state area. Pam had the housekeeper air out the guest quarters above the garage. Older nieces and nephews could bunk in the children's rooms; Lisa was in L.A. for the summer, doing some kind of internship, and Brent was staying at school until July, doing extra work to make next year a little easier. She and Jack would miss their children on Monday.

Marie would stay over, as would the grandmothers, Nelda and Bernice. Pam arranged for the bed-and-breakfast down the beach to take the overflow from the house. Everyone would come the next afternoon and stay through Monday night. Marie and Nelda might even stay until Tuesday.

Pam lovingly planned what everyone would eat down to the last crumb. She did her food shopping on Friday morning and would pick up fresh vegetables and fish on Sunday. Anxiously waiting for Marie to come; they would run all over town, shopping together for last-minute party items.

Marie was Pam's baby sister; there for her while Jack was in graduate school, during the lean times, through two pregnancies, the mother's helper when the children were little. Never turning down an opportunity to stay with Pam and Jack on the Upper West Side when school was out for the summer, she eventually got her own apartment in Midtown. When they left the city for the island, she wept. Marie knew she would be welcome to visit every weekend and holiday, but there was something so nice about being able to drop in for coffee in the morning.

Pam rarely came into the city after the move. Although acquaintances said she would probably be in every weekend for shows during the fall and winter, the truth was that she never really enjoyed the nightlife, and once they moved, the apartment became Jack's private domain while he worked during the week. He left Babylon for work Monday morning and stayed in town unless he got homesick for the beach house and his wife.

He never asked Pam to visit him in the city. Their relationship had lost that urgency of needing each other. When separated during the week, she occasionally awoke in the night crying, reaching out to his side of the bed. If it had happened in their youth, she would have picked up the phone for reassurance and connection. When had that stopped being necessary?

Lately, Pam had been a little worried about Jack. There was a tiny, itsy bit of doubt, a niggling worry, an insecurity in the back of her mind. Disconnected from her, he still seemed eager to get home and reluctant to return to the city, but that stemmed more from his love of the house she'd made for him, the peace and quiet of the beach. Never reaching out for her anymore, he no longer held her in bed at night, and hadn't initiated sex in months.

She didn't notice it right away, making love to him when she needed to, leaving him alone when she didn't. Where the worry came in; unless she reached out for him, they didn't do it. At first, she thought it might be his age, nearing fifty-five. She didn't dare complain to him. What man's ego could take that from a middle-aged wife?

Those worries were buried in the busyness and anticipation of his return home every Friday night. She made mental lists of plusses and minuses; it was enough that he came home to her. Another change, he started being very fussy about what he ate when he was home. In the past, a big steak, a baked potato and a salad with blue cheese dressing would make him happy and he loved her home-baked bread and pies. Now, he was counting calories, not coming right out to say he wouldn't eat something she had prepared. Careful about the size of the portions, he ate more salad, and used less dressing, skipped dessert.

Jack started working out at her gym, too, showing up while she was there. It should've been enough of a warning sign, but when she said something to him about it, teasing him because of all the years she'd invited him to come, he told her that the doctor recommended he lose some weight, that he was a walking heart attack. She was frightened, watching him eat a veggie burger was a contradiction.

Friday he'd called her after lunch and said he was staying in town that night for a late meeting. In the past, he'd stayed if the weather was nasty or the train wasn't running for whatever reason, but rarely for business. Not suspecting anything at first, she tried calling the apartment at eleven right before the news came on and there was no answer. It was so strange for him not to answer she thought she might have dialed the wrong number and ended the call to dial again. But the second time, letting it ring and ring, she wondered if perhaps he was in the shower or, worse, if he had fallen. Not knowing his cell phone number by heart, she dug through her purse to find her own and hit his number, letting his cell ring until voice mail picked up. Ending the call without leaving a message, she didn't have anything to say to him other than that she was thinking of him and suddenly missed him. There was that seed of doubt.

So as she puttered around in the morning, expecting him any minute, she debated saying something to him about the unanswered phone call but decided to let it go. If there was anything to learn, she supposed she would find out soon enough and was more than willing to let things remain as they had always been—peaceful, content, and happy.

## Chapter 3

Jack stopped by his downtown office first and then took the subway to Penn Station, hopping on the train home. Once he was in his seat, he pulled out his cell phone to call Sandra to make sure she got home safely after her shopping expedition. When he opened his phone, he saw he had a missed call. Thinking it was from her; he pressed the button and saw it had been from Pam the night before. A sick feeling washed over him. He needed to think of what to say to her, to call her right away and apologize.

"Oh my God, I just saw you had called. My phone was off, and I went right to sleep. I'm so sorry."

"Okay. That's okay, Jack. I didn't really have anything to say anyway." Was she buying it? He could never tell with Pam. She was so patient, but she was cool, too.

"When will you be home?" she asked, her voice neutral.

"I'm on the train now so by noon. See you then." They said goodbye, and he put his head back on the headrest. Remembering he wanted to call Sandra, he keyed in her number, but there was no answer. Putting the phone away, he waited for the train to leave the station. It would be good to be home.

~ ~ ~

Sandra let herself into her apartment. It smelled musty, closed in. She put her bags of groceries down and went around opening windows. On the ground floor of the building, the apartment had a door that led out to a concrete slab, which she used as a patio. The only drawback was that it faced the back of a commercial building on 81st Street. There wasn't much privacy during the day. But after five when the building was empty, Sandra would make herself a cup of tea and go out to sit. It was as relaxing a place as you could get in the city. There would be no relaxing now, however; she had to clean her apartment and get ready for next week so she could play the rest of the weekend.

She loved her apartment. It had a galley kitchen on the first floor with a big window facing a brick wall, a small sitting room, a full bath, and a nice sized bedroom. On the lower floor, there was a huge room used as a combination den/guest room and another full bath. This level had the door that led out to the patio. She realized how lucky she was to have a two-bedroom, two-bath place with outdoor space in New York City and would hold on to it as long as she could. The rent went up every year and was now hovering at $3,000 a month—a steal in the city. But that was half her salary. Soon, she would either have to leave and move to Brooklyn or worse, New Jersey. She didn't mention her dilemma to Jack; he'd surely offer to pay the rent and she'd have to allow him admittance and she wasn't ready to be kept.

Changed out of her white sundress, she slipped on black spandex shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt—her outfit of choice for cleaning sprees. Puttering from room to room homemaking, at three she stopped for a bite to eat, just a piece of fruit and a cup of tea. By five, finished, she showered, debating whether to put her pajamas on or get dressed and go out.

An unexpected phone call from a nurse at St. Vincent's Hospital made the decision for her. A man had had a heart attack on the train at Penn Station. And if that wasn't bad enough, thugs had taken his wallet. The only thing left on him was his phone, and she was the last person he had called. The nurse asked Sandra if she knew who he was, hoping she could verify his identity.

Once she caught her breath, she said she would be right there. Not thinking of the consequences, not caring about discovery, she dressed again, pulled her wet hair into a ponytail, grabbed her purse, and ran out of the apartment.

## Chapter 4

By the time she got to the hospital, Jack had regained consciousness long enough to give them the name and phone number of Pam. Then he died. Sandra was not a drama queen, maintaining composure in the worst of circumstances; her father's death was just such an example.

After being diagnosed with breast cancer, her mother had suffered for years, the first six or seven years spent taking rounds of chemotherapy, radiation, and experimental drugs. Finally, she couldn't take the punishment of the drugs and succumbed to the vileness of the disease. It spread to her bones first, causing agonizing pain and debilitation, and then it went to her brain. She was a dynamic, aggressive woman in her day, but the brain tumor reduced her to a meek and passive mouse.

Wasting away, growing thinner, the days passed until she was skeletal. And then her body began to die as her strong heart continued to beat, her brain stem working to maintain her breathing and heart rate, while gradually her circulation shut down. First, the tips of her toes turned black. Slowly, death worked its way up, her legs turning purple, then blue. Finally, mercifully, she died in her sleep.

Sandra thought it would be a huge relief when she finally died. How wrong she was! The family was devastated. Sandra's father couldn't control his sadness, crying uncontrollably the first day and was unable to get out of bed or get dressed, refusing to eat. She missed feeding her mother, tempting her with her favorite foods, plying her with sweets, anything to get her to eat. At the time it was the most frustrating experience she'd had, often thinking, God, please take her. And now all she wanted was one more chance to feed her, to serve her in some way. Her mother. Gone.

Preparing for the funeral was hell. Sandra knew her mother hated pomp and circumstance, but her sister, Sylvia, was hell-bent on throwing the biggest party they could afford for their friends and family. Sylvia interviewed the priest; her mother would have hated a religious ceremony, being a passionate atheist. She rented a banquet room at the Bentley in Bergen, an over decorated monstrosity of a place that reminded their mother of the Palace of Versailles. Now the final indignity was having the wake luncheon there. Sandra did what she could do to try to dissuade her sister from her plans, but it was hopeless as she prayed in vain that something would happen to change Sylvia's mind.

The evening of the viewing was cold and windy. Sandra struggled to get her father up and dressed, still despondent, begging her to allow him to stay home.

"Just tell everyone I am ill," he said. "Mother would have hated all this fuss."

"I know, Dad, but it will help us to go, to see it through. I miss her too. I don't know how I am going to look at her." In addition to the expensive funeral, Sylvia had also insisted on an open casket. Sandra thought of those black toes, that almost dead body. Maybe she should have insisted that Sylvia help with the caregiving. She may have had a different perspective if she had.

Sandra, not used to being the driver, nervously pulled the car out of the garage and drove to the front of their building to pick up her father. Standing under the awning waiting for her, he was frail, bent over and shaking. Only sixty-one years old, he looked like he was ninety. She wondered if they should bypass the funeral, do as her father said, and just stay home and pretend they were sick. Sylvia would never have allowed it; she would come and drag them out.

The rain made the air in the tunnel stagnant and toxic. Of course, traffic backed up, they had to breathe exhaust fumes and who knew what else. Coming out the other side, they pulled onto the turnpike and started heading north toward Bergen. Sandra would ask Sylvia if Dad could stay with her tonight, the trip back into the city would be too much for him.

They got to the funeral home on time. The parking lot was crowded with cars displaying New York State license plates. Sandra thought how ridiculous it was to have to come here for the viewing tonight, come back during rush hour the next morning for the funeral, drive upstate for the burial, and then back down for lunch, tired just thinking about it. Dropping her dad off at the door to park the car, she had to run to avoid getting wet, stepping in a puddle of icy-cold water, ruining her shoes and splashing dirty water up her legs. Could this get any worse? Sandra wondered.

When she reached her dad, sympathizers surrounded him as he cried again. With someone on either side of him, assisting him as he walked reluctantly into the building, he looked so old. Sandra choked back tears. Excusing herself to the helpful friend, she took hold of her father's arm, wanting to be with him when they approached the casket. Sylvia was there already, glaring at them for being late, greeting guests as they lined up to view the body. Sandra wished there was a way they could avoid this public viewing, thinking it would be too emotional and too private a thing to share with all these people. But having seen the casket, her father was propelling himself along, wanting to see his wife one last time.

People stepped aside when they saw her husband of forty years led by his daughter toward the casket. Sylvia came up to take his other arm so the three of them could see her together. Sandra gasped when she saw her mother. Sylvia had done well; her mother looked much like she did before she got so sick, with chubby cheeks, perfect makeup, and her favorite suit. Sandra and her father were relieved.

Visibly relaxing, her father talked with their guests. Many people told him stories of what she meant to them or anecdotes of their experiences with her. It had a great effect on him. For the first time in five days, he smiled. Sandra took her sister's arm and said, "Thank you, Sylvia, this is perfect."

Sylvia smiled back at her and said, "Told you so."

Sandra remembered the favor she wanted to ask Sylvia. "Would you take Dad home with you tonight?" she said. "I don't think he can handle a trip back home and then here in the morning."

"That's fine," Sylvia said. "I'll go get his coat." Sandra turned to yet another friend, someone who had known the family since before the girls were born, while Sylvia retrieved her father's coat and helped him into it, the two of them saying good-bye to the lingerers. Sandra looked up in time to see her father, his eyes seeking her out, give a feeble wave and smile. He mouthed, "So long," and dropped to the floor. By the time she reached him, he was dead.

~ ~ ~

Now, seeing death again, another man she loved, she was numb, frozen in place. Told she could view the body if she wanted and remembering the peace seeing his wife's body had brought her father, she said yes. Her dad was so peaceful that he died on the spot. Perhaps that would happen for her, too, because she truly did not know how she was going to go on. Let me die, too. The nurse took the young, distraught woman by the arm and led her into the room. If there had been any heroics to save his life, all evidence of it was gone now except for a thin, shiny, pink snail trail of dried mucous in the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, Jack," she said. She took his cold hand in hers and bent down, putting it to her cheek. She felt the familiar texture of his skin with its wiry hairs on the back of his hand tickling the side of her face. But that was all. He was gone. Not able to control it, she couldn't prevent the tears from coming. The nurse, compassionate and concerned, led her out of the room and toward a private office where she could be alone for a moment before returning home.

As she was being led, head down and weeping, another woman—attractive, middle-aged, worried—was being led into the room by a nurse, but not before noticing the beautiful young woman who had just exited the same room crying. Jack's wife had made good time.

Seeing his body lying there with the sheet pulled up to his shoulders, looking so normal, his hair neat and combed, his face shaven, Pam burst out, "Oh my God! He's dead!" without thinking, not remembering that someone had told her on the phone that he was dead. Or had they? Didn't they just say he had a heart attack? "He's dead!" she repeated.

The nurse said, "Yes, he's dead. Right before he died, he awoke and gave us your phone number. You see, his wallet had been stolen on the train."

"Who was that woman who just came out of the room?" Pam asked, aggravated. "Did he tell you her number, too?" She knew she sounded like a tired child, querulous, whiny.

The nurse, with years of experience in matters of death, made the snap decision that taking Mrs. Smith to the same room where the other woman was recovering would not be wise. "Come in here with me, Mrs. Smith." The nurse led her by the hand. Pam wasn't pulling away, but she reluctantly followed; there might be a problem.

Marie came running down the hall, having received the message when she came in from spying that Pam was on her way to the hospital.

"Pam, Pam, for God's sake, what happened?" She grabbed her sister, and they held each other, sobbing until Pam could get words out. "Jack's dead. He had a heart attack on the train, and someone took his wallet. Another woman came to see Jack, too. No one will tell me how she knew to come to the hospital."

The nurse returned with a social worker. The woman, a Miss White, gently led the two crying women into a small anteroom just off the nurses' station. Cluttered with papers and stacked cardboard boxes, there was a desk and a chair. The nurse grabbed a chair from the nurses' station and wheeled it in, directing the women to have a seat.

"Who's the other woman here?" Pam repeated. She understood how inappropriate this must seem. For God's sake, my husband is lying dead in the next room, and all I seem to care about is this woman. But she had to know. She had to.

Marie, stony silent, thought she knew but would sooner die herself than be the bearer of this tiding.

"Mrs. Smith, when your husband was brought in, the only personal item he had was his cell phone, so we called the last person he called. I'm sorry, but we aren't allowed to divulge any more information than that," she lied, not sure what the rules were concerning mistresses.

Pam stood up, fuming. "That's ridiculous! What if the last person he called was the trash collector? Would you have let them come into his hospital room?"

Both the nurse and the social worker tried to calm her down while they waited for the director of nursing to call them back. Marie left the room to find the woman herself and confront her; anything to help Pam, who was acting so out of character that Marie was frightened. She spotted the young woman walking quickly down the hall toward the exit.

"Miss, wait! Wait, please!" Marie called after her.

Sandra walked faster at first and then decided it was fruitless—she might as well get it over with. She stopped and turned, not replying, just waiting as asked.

Marie quickly walked up and looked at her face. It was the same girl she'd seen earlier on the street, only now without makeup, and her eyes were swollen and red from crying, clearly brokenhearted.

"Please," Marie said, "I am sorry to disturb you, but we have to know who you are. Jack was my sister's husband. Who are you?"

The young woman hung her head down and began to weep again. Marie led her by the arm to the side of the hall, out of the way. "I saw you with him, with Jack, this morning," she hissed. "I was at the bagel place on Broadway, and I saw you walking hand in hand to the subway. I saw you kiss each other. I was going to confront him tomorrow. They're having a Memorial Day picnic—were having a picnic. I would never say anything to hurt my sister, but she needs to know the truth now, or it will kill her."

Sandra heard what the woman said to her, but she couldn't respond right away. She didn't know what to say. If she'd discovered them, so be it. There was nothing else to tell. She and Jack had nothing tangible. It was fleeting, an illicit affair. A momentary encounter that brought two people who were attracted to each other together for just a few months, not even a year.

"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry? Will that do it? Okay then, I am sorry. I am sorry I had an affair with your brother-in-law. I'm sorry he died tonight. I am sorry they called me to come to the hospital; that my number was in his phone." No, she thought, I take that back. I'm not sorry they called me. If they hadn't, how would I have found out he was gone?

What had just taken place was a tragedy— the mistress was called before the wife. No wonder she was angry! The mistress should only find out about a death by reading the paper, the final indignity, the obituary. New York Times, page thirty-two. Jack Edward Smith. Born 1955. Died 2010. Husband of Pamela, father of Lisa and Brent, son of Bernice. Lover of Sandra. Yes, thank God for the cell phone. Without her number in it, she would have waited to hear from him for three days. Then the final horror—going into the office on Tuesday and being surrounded by their coworkers and having to hear it from one of them.

Her revelry was disturbed by Pam, her voice echoing down the corridor.

"Marie, what's going on? Who's that?"

Sandra watched her as she scurried over, remembering Jack using a similar term when describing his wife; everywhere she went, she scampered, he'd said. She was always in motion, always doing something, unable to go to a movie or the theater without taking something like knitting along or it would drive her nuts having to sit still.

Pam was as gorgeous as a middle-aged woman could be, Sandra noticed with interest. Although hardly at her best, you could tell she took good care of herself. In addition to good genes, she worked out daily, stayed out of the sun, spent a small fortune on her hair and skin and it showed.

They stood face to face. Marie needn't have said a word. Pam was no slouch. She knew who this young, attractive woman was and could see immediately why Jack was attracted to her, why he would betray his wife for her. It must have been uncontrollable. Examining Sandra, Pam put out her hand, not to shake, but to grasp Sandra's.

"I'm Pam Smith," she said. "Please, who are you?"

Sandra started to weep again unattractively, snorting. She could barely get the words out. "Sandra. Sandra Benson. I am so sorry." The tears cruised down her face, dripping off the end of her nose.

Pam took a step toward her, and Sandra stepped back startled, fully expecting her to haul off and slap her across the face. Instead, she placed her hands on the young woman's shoulders and pulled her to her bosom. She had to stand on her toes to hug Sandra. Pam started to weep as she embraced Jack's lover.

"I'm sorry, too. Poor Jack. I'm sorry, too."

## Chapter 5

Pam had to call the children and get them back East. Jack's mother—oh God, how am I going to tell her Jack died? Who does that? The parent should die first. She didn't think she had it in her and would call Jack's brother, Bill. Let him do the dirty work. There was a party to cancel; it would be a funeral picnic instead. But first, she had to see this young woman home safely. There would be plenty of time later to sort it all out, and she said as much.

"I wish we could go to the coffee shop across the street from our apartment. I could sit there all night with the both of you, talking and sharing stories about Jack," Pam said.

Marie was mortified, thinking, My sister is really an asshole.

Pam continued, "But I have to get home. Promise me you'll rest tonight and Monday we'll get together, okay? I have two children who don't know their father is dead, and I have to contend with that before I do anything else."

The three women got into a cab together. Pam held Sandra's hand until they reached her apartment uptown asking Marie to see her to her door. Marie remembered to get Sandra's phone number, although she now had Jack's cell phone, handed over by the nurse, which housed the number along with text messages, voicemail messages, and only God knew what else.

Faced with an hour-long cab ride home, Pam made a mental note of whom she needed to call and tell that Jack had died. When Marie got back inside, she told her she was going to call the children. The calls to the kids were wretched, Lisa becoming hysterical, screaming, "No! No!" into the phone repeatedly. Pam faced that it was not going to be easy to end the call on her teenage daughter, so she gave the phone over to Marie and, using Marie's phone, called her son, who had the same reaction. Fortunately, both children were at places where public transportation was abundant, and no one would have drive a car to reach an airport. They both promised to wait until the morning. Things wouldn't seem so bleak in the morning, she thought.

Marie called their mother, Pam not able to do it. Although Jack wasn't Nelda's favorite person, she didn't wish harm on him. Pam couldn't say one more time tonight, "You need to brace yourself; Jack is dead." Or worse, "Your father is dead," sure the shock of his mistress, the girlfriend, would come although she hoped it would be sooner rather than later. Magically, she needed her, needed someone else who knew him intimately.

In Pam's peculiar way, she was happy thinking that it wasn't that Jack was tired of her and that was why he'd no longer asked for lovemaking; he was simply spent from doing it with Sandra. Somehow, that oddly made it easier to swallow, the idea that he had someone else, someone he obviously liked better than her. But she would deal with it later. I must be in shock. People in shock were expected to make wrong decisions. She didn't want to make any mistakes.

The rest of the ride home passed in silence. Every once in a while, Pam would remember and start crying again in choking sobs, already lonely for him. Marie was crying, too, and took her sister's hand to comfort her. When they got to the house, Pam suddenly felt empty and said she would like a cup of tea and something sweet, like cookies or toast and jam. Putting the teapot on she went to their room to change into pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. Washing the streaked and blotchy makeup off her face, she felt better for it. Maybe she would go without for a while. Give her skin a break. But she knew she wouldn't. Putting on her makeup and doing her hair was so much a part of who she was that it would be like going without a bra or her bridgework. Not possible.

Marie waited for her, having poured the tea. They took their cups out to the veranda. The salt air was soft and moist, enveloping them with its gentle caress. Pam felt like she needed a shawl, that maybe her grief was magnifying the cool air. Marie went into the study and got it off the desk chair, trying not to look at Jack's desk.

Putting it around her sister's shoulders, she said, "I love you, sis," and hugged Pam. They could see the grasses swaying in the breeze. The moonlight was yellow, its beams falling on water almost still as a lake. The echoes of the little waves reached them, sounding sad and melancholy. Pam wondered out loud if she would be able to stay in their house.

"You love it here," Marie said, frowning. "Why would you leave it?"

"I don't know if I can afford to stay now," Pam said, not ready to share her real feelings with Marie. "We will have to see what happens. We'll have to see what kind of financial shape we are in."

Pam didn't want to think of money yet; it was ridiculous. Jack wasn't even to the funeral home, still in the morgue. She thought of his body, not on the metal table or still in the hospital bed as she had last seen him, but of the weekend before, in loose shorts and a sparkling white T-shirt, lying on a bench at the gym doing chest presses. She thought at the time how proud she was that he was her husband, wondering if anyone knew that information. Had he greeted me when he came in? It was her gym first, after all. He finished with the weights and then got on the treadmill. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, he started slowly, walking, adjusting the earpiece on his iPod, and then, after a brief warm-up, started running. Not having seen him run for ages, she remembered he used to be fast. That day he stayed on the treadmill for half an hour. Estimating he ran three miles, later she questioned him and found she was right, he was still fast.

That afternoon, both home from the gym and showered, he in his study going through some papers and she gathering up items for a rummage sale her book club was having, they passed each other in the hall, brushing arms. Pausing, he looking down at her and she grinned at him. The smell of the deodorant he used, a strong, herbal scent, went from her olfactory nerve to her crotch. It was the weirdest sensation; she could almost feel the pathway. Reaching out for his arm, Pam ran her hand down the length of it, feeling the soft, spongy hair; Jack reached for her hand when it came to a stop on his wrist. They stood there, holding hands, smiling at each other.

"So, wife, what do you say?"

Willing Jack to say something sexy to her, to proposition her, he seemed unable or unwilling to do it. What the heck, she thought, she was only punishing herself if she didn't engage him.

"I say we should hop into bed right now. You game?" Smiling again, looking up into his eyes, she stuck her tongue out so the tip of it ran around the corners of her mouth.

Letting her lead the way to their bed, Jack liked allowing her to be the aggressor. Theirs was the lovemaking of two people who had been together all of their lives; slow, tender and at the end, explosive. He remarked afterward, "Wow, for a couple of old people we can really hang one on."

She laughed. "You are such a romantic," she replied and he laughed. So if she was satisfied physically, and she always was, there was something lacking in the emotional end of it. They weren't connecting any longer. There was no "I love you". He didn't comment about her appearance, as he used to, no "God, you look good". Now she understood why; he'd betrayed her. She would try to find out later what had really happened, the depth of his feeling for this young, beautiful woman. Was it a new, superficial romance? It didn't appear so. But she wouldn't waste one second thinking about it with no facts to back up her doubts.

They sat in silence, the two sisters, Marie thinking about what she had seen that morning and wondering when the time would be right to tell the story or if she could get away with never revealing what she knew—that Jack had loved this young woman. You could see that from clear across Broadway.

Finally, Pam spoke. Rather than speaking of the pain that had transpired that evening, she talked about how Marie had influenced their lives. There were other sisters born between Marie and Pam, but those two bonded completely, as close as could be. Pam spoke of how she wouldn't have survived her early marriage without the support of Marie. Marie had cried, inconsolable when Pam left home. They promised Marie that each weekend, every holiday, she could visit her big sister and new brother-in-law. And they kept that promise, either Jack or Pam taking a cab to pick her up, or after the kids were born, Marie was old enough to come alone.

Pam remembered the excitement of having her come to visit on a Friday night. They would walk to Big Nick's or Broadway Pizza and get ice cream afterwards. Saturdays would be spent doing crafts, either painting some piece of furniture Pam had found at a secondhand shop or knitting something for one of the babies due to arrive soon. They would walk in the park or find something free to do, a gallery opening or a concert. Saturday night was always movie night. Pam would fix dinner, and they would watch whatever Marie wanted. Jack would take her to the video store, and they would spend at least an hour choosing a movie for the night and one for the next morning.

On Sunday mornings, they fixed a big homemade breakfast together. Pam made wonderful pancakes. They divided the Sunday paper between them and spent hours reading, eating, and talking. They would walk around the city, sometimes staying out until dinner if the weather was nice or coming home for hot chocolate and an afternoon nap if it wasn't.

The years flew by, and Marie never left. The kids grew, and she became part of their lives as well, there for the triumphs and the childhood dramas, the maiden aunt who they depended on for companionship, advice, or a bedtime story. If the times had been different, Marie would have been a nun, Pam thought. She was devoted to the task of whatever was put before her, never asking herself if this was all life was supposed to be—living through someone else's dream.

Jack was Marie's male figure, the person she sought if she had a bad day at work or needed advice about investments, buying a new car, going on a fishing expedition, and so much more. He took her to her senior prom, went to shows with her, and taught her how to ski and change a tire. After their father died, he became a father figure to her as well.

She in turn, stood in for Pam doing those things she couldn't bear to do: sitting in a theater to watch plays, attending any sporting event, going fishing or hunting—Marie loved that sort of thing. She stood in for Jack, too, going to antique shows, festivals, the farmers' market, all things that bored him to tears. Marie was a real companion.

Marie wept when Pam thanked her for her devotion over the years, secretly wondering if her marriage would have lasted if not for Marie who acted as a buffer between her and Jack. There was always someone willing to do something, allowing the other partner to do his or her own thing. In that regard, no one had to make too many compromises. They chatted about their life together until the sun peeked up over the horizon. Gathering up their shawls and blankets, cups and plates, the sisters went into the house to try to get some sleep.

The day stretched before them, with sadness and tears, reliving the night over and over again for family and friends. Pam would shut off her phone, and Marie would field calls. She would get someone to pick up the children from the nearby airports, Brent from Newark and Lisa from JFK. Indispensable Marie. In the meantime, they would go to their rooms and get a few hours of rest. It was too early to get anything done anyway.

Pam got into bed with the same gratefulness she did each night. The cool, clean sheets and their wonderful mattress were heavenly. Physical comfort overpowered the sadness in her heart. She lay on her back, looking up at the light coming in over the top of the closed drapes.

Jack was gone forever. She would never see him again, never hear his voice, never wait for his car to pull in the garage, never smell him, touch him, or feel him. How would this become real to her? There would have to be a point in time that it would hit her, smack her in the face. Right now, she didn't feel too much besides her bed.

They would never resolve their problem of his infidelity; Jack would go to his grave not aware she'd caught him. Sometime that day, after making funeral arrangements, she would find the strength to call Sandra Benson and ask her to come to the funeral. They would have to decide how to handle her appearance there, surely someone knew of her existence in their circle of acquaintances. The only thing she would ask is that the children be spared this information about their father. They would take it personally, if she knew them as she thought she did. Around six, sleep finally took over her mind, the slights of the day erased, for now.

Marie tiptoed around the house when she got up. Lisa called to say she would be in at three that afternoon, followed by a call from Brent that he'd be there at four. Marie was relieved that Pam would have time to herself until the kids came home. Their response to Jack's death was an unknown. Would there be thrashing about, screaming? Or would they be adults, offering to help out in some way to lighten their mother's burden for the day? Soon enough she'd find out.

The sisters' mother, Nelda Fabian, was planning to arrive by eleven, taking the bus from Brooklyn and a cab to the house. She would take over the logistics of the guests. She was a whiz at that sort of thing. Jack's family would stay at the bed-and-breakfast down the beach. Nelda was going to make the calls as well and had started last night to at least thirty people who needed to be personally informed.

The Sunday New York Times had written a small article about his death on the second page: CEO Mugged on LI Train, Suffers Fatal Heart Attack. They used an old but sufficient picture of him from the days before his greying hair. People who knew him would be okay with that. It was an attractive picture of him smiling at an opening of some play downtown. Marie was worried about the headline. Was he mugged first? The hospital people had said the mugging took place after he went down. Added to her list was making a call to the police precinct. They needed the truth. As soon as the paper came out, she was sure the phone would start ringing. Turning down all the phone bells, it would help her sister not to have that incessant noise.

Marie thought of Jack's mother; she picked up the phone to call Bill just as she heard the front door opening. It was Bill; his wife, Anne; and Bernice, Jack's mother who'd aged overnight. Marie explained that Pam had been up all night and that she was determined to let her sleep as long as she could. The funeral home had not called yet, so there were no plans for the burial.

They moved to the kitchen, pulling out the chairs to sit around the table. Thankfully, Anne took over the role of hostess so Marie could repeat the details of the tragedy to Jack's brother and mother, who were both in shock and in need of some information to make sense of what had happened. They talked in low tones, trying to keep it quiet for Pam. Poor Pam, what would she do? How was she going to get through this?

## Chapter 6

An hour before, at half past ten, Pam awoke, feelings returned, and she was angry. She knew it was an important step in the grieving process, but she was pissed! She muttered obscenities during her shower and while blow-drying her hair. Stomping around her bedroom, slamming her closet door, throwing shoes across the room, she muttered How dare he do this to me? To not even have the decency to let me fight with him over the girl? To go and die and leave it in my hands to resolve?

By half past eleven, she was exhausted, spent, anger dissipated. She put her makeup on, taking particular care with her eyes—everything waterproof, not too much mascara, and light on the powder—to reduce the appearance of those crow's feet, which were deeply etched that morning from too many tears.

The numbness had returned, and the gracious Pam, allowing those closest to her to express their sorrow, would be strong for them. It would all be fake, her life partner dead at only fifty-five years old. For what reason? Oh God, she thought, don't let too many people say that to me today. None of that God's will horseshit; I beg your pardon. No "You have to be strong for your kids". She prayed that she could keep her mouth shut and not fake swooning to give the masses something to talk about. "Pam fainted she was so upset," she could almost hear her cousin Nancy saying.

Thankfully, both Marie and Nelda kept the crowd under control, asking people to keep the family in their prayers and telling them that the children would be home that afternoon, when they would need time alone to be together, to mourn.

Throughout the day, well-meaning friends and neighbors stopped by with cakes and pies, baskets of fruit, trays of cookies, and hors d'oeuvres. There would be no need for much food preparation. Anne did a great job organizing the dishes, refrigerating what needed it, keeping some food out for the family to snack on, and throwing away that which appeared indigestible.

When Pam appeared at last, she repeated what she knew about the tragedy to Bill and Bernice, Bernice shrinking. Pam asked her if she would like to watch TV, leading her into the den, sitting her in Jack's chair. His afghan was there, still smelling of his aftershave. Pam put the remote in her hand and shut the doors. Bernice would have some downtime whether she needed it or not.

After the door closed, she buried her face in the afghan breathing deeply of the scent, a combination of something fragrant, herbal, and chemical, like a man's deodorant or aftershave. It was her son's scent just after he got out of the shower, recognizing it from the time he was a teenager, coming in after a day of roughhousing with his buddies and heading straight to clean up for dinner. He would then come down to the dining room in clean sweatpants, a white T-shirt, and a towel around his shoulders to catch the drips from his just-washed hair. She loved seeing him relaxed, sitting around the table with his brother and father, talking sports and school. He was so vibrant as a teenager!

Harold worried about the boys with so much written in the press about teenage suicide, drug use, and high school dropouts. Vigilant, he inquired about their activities, asking them if they needed anything or if he could help them in any way. Sitting through more awful rock concerts than any parent should have to endure, he'd driven the boys and their friends anywhere they'd wanted to go at any time of day or night. He'd made himself available to his sons and it had paid off. Both boys were happy and successful, married to wonderful women and devoted to their families.

When Harold died the year before, Jack took it the hardest, even more than she did. Inconsolable, he lost his appetite, took time off work, and hovered around her until she asked him to go home. Never seeming the same, he kept asking her if his father had done what he wanted in life, if he'd met his goals, if he was satisfied with his life.

And now this. Two of the three most important men in her life were dead. Just Bill, Anne and the kids remained, forgetting about Pam and her children. In shock, the unrealistic event of her son's death hovered at the periphery of her thoughts.

But was it a dream? How could Jack be gone? Jack was larger than life, the maker of dreams, always strong, always on top of it, always dependable. Wouldn't he walk into the den any minute now and say, "Mother! Stay right where you are! I'll pull up a chair here." And he would do just that, pull his desk chair over while she sat in the recliner, his chair. He would take her hands in his, gaze into her eyes, and make a horrible joke or ask her if he could pass gas, or some other inappropriate comment, all the while with the most holy look on his face. They would laugh, she almost screaming, her sons the only ones who had the power to make her relent her poise long enough to laugh at a joke.

Bowing her head, the afghan wadded up in her hands, she started to cry. She'd never see him walk through the door of this den again or come to her house unannounced, yelling as he slammed the door of the regal entryway, "Mom, where are you?" Or never again run into him at the hardware store on Amsterdam and 92nd Street, suggest they have a cup of coffee together, and walk arm and arm to Columbus, going into their favorite coffee shop and sitting there for hours, forgetting the time, talking about everything. Asking her opinion of different political figures in the city so she made sure she read the papers every morning and checked the online news stories, she thought he might have done it on purpose to keep her on her toes, but would never know. One time he told her how proud he was that she was his mother and that she looked so good for her age. After that, she went to the gym every single day, even on Sunday. Writing all of these things down was a must, to have something to show for her relationship with him. His own children, those two fabulous, intelligent beings, they would want to know someday, wouldn't they? To know what kind of son their father had been?

Trying not to think about the past year, how everything with Jack had changed, unspoken events that would alter their relationship forever, she would not allow unpleasant memories admittance that day.

She shook out the afghan and folded it into a neat square. How long would this scent stay in it? A week? A month? It would grow stale before long and Pam would throw it into the washing machine. Bernice decided she'd ask Pam if she could have it. It still had traces of Jack's DNA on it, maybe a stray hair, a dried tear, or a skin cell. For some reason, she thought of the sheets on his bed in the apartment. Oh God, the apartment. Pam had to deal with that as well. If she were smart, she wouldn't sell it, but would keep it, just in case. But that was not her business, only uttering loving comments. Pam was silly and shallow, but Jack had loved her, and she loved Jack. Her daughter-in-law must be feeling about the same way she did last year at this time when Harold died.

Working her way to the end of the chair, she struggled to get up. When did I get so old? Wanting to be with the rest of the family now, to hear what they were talking about there was plenty of time to be alone. She had the rest of her life to be alone.

## Chapter 7

Sandra struggled with the key, willing Marie to leave, to get back to her cab and be gone. How much could one person tolerate in a day? She stumbled to her own door after slamming the hallway door shut. Once inside her apartment, the terror of the moment subsided. Here was safety. Taking a deep breath, she smelled the clean smell of the house. The order around her brought her peace, and she was glad she'd cleaned that day. What could be worse? Jack was dead. Thank God we had last night together.

"Thank you, God for last night. But why'd he have to die? Why now?" she said out loud. The momentary peace escaped her, and she fell apart. Sliding down the door to the floor, she crossed her legs and put her head in her hands. alone in the world, there was no one on earth who she could call right now and say, "Jack is dead," who would understand, who would care. The impact of it brought her to tears again. No one knew. Well, not exactly no one. Those women who she had earlier wished would be gone might know. They cared.

How lucky am I that the woman, Jack's wife, was so lovely! Could it be she was under medication? Was she in shock? Sandra certainly didn't expect that sort of greeting, that much caring. Jack never bad-mouthed her, but he also didn't go into a lot of detail about the kind of woman she was—a gracious, giving woman. One who could put aside her own feelings and embrace the woman who had been sleeping with her husband. Grief, compounded by guilt, paralyzed her. She lay on the floor in front of her door in the dark for the rest of the night.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, stiff from the hard floor, Sandra got up, put her purse in the closet, and walked to her bedroom. She pulled the shades up. It was a bright, sun-filled day. Picking up the bedside clock, she saw that it was eleven already. How'd that happen? She felt lightheaded, strange, probably from sleeping on the floor. Remembering that she hadn't had dinner the night before, she needed to eat. First, she would have a shower and gathered up clean underwear and a robe.

The hot water felt good on her skin, but she couldn't shake the lightheaded feeling. Hurrying to get finished, she went into the kitchen and put the kettle on, concentrating on the mundane tasks of her morning. It was Sunday and she'd wait for the call, her life in bondage to the funeral of her lover. That much she could do for him. There would be nothing else as important, nothing as eternal, as going through this process of burying her lover. Pam Smith was going to make it possible for her to have the experience, to be part of it—at least she said she would.

Sandra put a tea bag in a cup. Reaching into the refrigerator, she pulled out a plastic container of orange-frosted rolls she'd picked up the day before at Zabar's. Was it really just yesterday? Saturday morning? Her life had changed overnight. The small tasks of her daily routine were comforting. Arranging a sliced apple on a plate just so, tea and the roll completed the meal. The small table set up in her sitting area was positioned so she could look out the window at the alley while she ate. The disadvantage to being on the ground floor was the lack of view. But seeing the way the sunlight shown on the brick and the Tree of Heaven, with her bird feeder in it swaying in the breeze, gave her a sense of peace. Most things were out of her control. She was at the mercy of everyone else. Just go with the flow.

Getting involved with Jack was wrong, and she'd known it, ignoring her common sense. Resisting it from the onset, she'd made a poor choice. They should have taken drastic steps, asked for a transfer for her, anything to get them out of the same office. But the chemistry and the tug between them was more than either of them could ignore. They were human, after all. Flesh. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. They didn't even flirt with each other; it transcended that sort of behavior. Now she realized that he was just lonely, at that dangerous age. He should have moved home with his wife or insisted she come to the city with him. It would have been worth it to protect their marriage.

~ ~ ~

Prior to the first time she saw him three years earlier, she was working in the Bronx office. It was closer to her home than Wall Street and she could walk to work if she allowed enough time, but usually hopped on the subway. Loving working far uptown, the shopping and the restaurants were fabulous. Trying so many different ethnic foods, she picked up something unusual for dinner each night, putting on weight, her straight figure taking on curves.

When Peter summoned her to the Wall Street office, she assumed someone wanted her to do a temporary research project that couldn't be trusted to a researcher from the outside. Jack was in his office, talking on the phone while Sandra was standing in the hall just a foot from his door. Peter Romney spoke loud, explaining what he needed from her just as Jack walked to his door, smiled at her, and closed it. Wishing Peter would shut up, she took matters into her hands.

"Do you think we could go someplace and sit down while you tell me about the project?" she said, hoping to stall in case Jack came back out. "I want to take notes."

He led her to an empty office and, pointing at the desk, said, "Welcome to Wall Street."

It was a long commute downtown, having to leave the house earlier than before, allowing an hour to get downtown and walk to the building. The atmosphere wasn't the same. It was darker, as the surrounding buildings stood tall around their office, blocking the sunlight, and she really didn't like it. Maybe having the interest of a man helped her settle into her new position, using Jack to feel less lonely, less unhappy about her new digs.

It started innocently enough. They just worked together, and he never asked her to lunch, never flirted with her, seeming eager to get home on Fridays, occasionally going midweek. Sandra wasn't attracted to him either, never dating older men, and he was twice her age.

When her parents died within a few days of each other, he was so nice to her, so concerned that they began talking, and a real friendship developed. It wasn't a father-daughter relationship, although there were enough years between them that it could have been. They were just coworkers.

Last year, Jack's father died. Devastated, he turned to her for advice about how to grieve, how to come to terms with the loss. Three months later, it began. It wasn't one pursuing the other, but more of a mutual need to be together. They started walking at lunch. The doctor warned him about his heart, high blood pressure, and cholesterol, but he hated working out. A gym rat, his wife went there daily for years and she was in great shape. He didn't want to leave her a widow.

The funny thing about it was when they finally had sex, it wasn't a big deal. They just did it. There didn't seem to be any passion, which bothered her, and she would have been lying to herself if she said she wasn't disappointed. Feeling passion for him, she didn't express it because it would have been too one-sided. Wondering if the C'est la vie attitude was his age so she ignored it. They didn't go to hotels during the day or anything tawdry. Very rarely, he would ask her if she would spend the night with him. Asking to go to her apartment, she refused, and they got a hotel room, instead, leaving separately. Staying all night and coming into work together in the morning would raise suspicions and she was worried people were already talking.

So it wasn't the sex; it was just Jack. Something about him drew her in. Knowing it would be short-lived, that he would never leave his wife, having made that clear from the beginning, he'd admitted to being madly in love with her. They had two grown kids together. His mother worshiped him, and he thought his in-laws did, too. He would never disappoint them by divorcing his wife. Confessing he didn't know why he was having this affair, except that he loved Sandra.

"I love my wife, but I love you. I need you in my life," he would say. Remembering their last night together, a combination of raw sex and humor, after they made love, Jack lit a cigar, his one concession to vice, and sat up against the pillow, smoking. Curled up at his side, she pushed away when ash fell from the cigar, and he let it scatter on the sheets. Appalled, she looked up at him and said, "I don't date men who smoke."

"You do now, my dear," he replied, laughing. It was a glimpse of a Jack she didn't know well, a man who would do what he pleased and get away with it.

~ ~ ~

She finished her tea and roll, and as she got up to put the dishes in the sink, the phone rang. She picked up the receiver and looked at the caller ID, and her heart started pounding right away. Jack Smith. Of course, it wasn't him; it was his wife. But seeing that name, she had to take a deep breath to pause for a moment before she answered.

## Chapter 8

Marie was bored. Anne had efficiently taken over the kitchen so there was nothing for her to do until two that afternoon, when she would accompany Pam to the funeral home. They had picked out a suit, his most beautiful spring suit, made of silk, cut close to the body to show off his new physique.

They still had to choose the casket. Would that make Jack's death real for Pam? Marie thought she was acting a little strange. Granted, she was grieving, but she was not your usual grief-stricken widow. Marie found that she was avoiding her sister. Strangely, her Hell's Kitchen apartment was where she really wanted to be at that moment, not here, not in a foreign place she had once loved so much. Maybe it was she, and not Pam, who was strange.

The house no longer seemed to hold a single atom of Jack, not his den, his bedroom closet, or even his clothes. It was as though he was spectral dust and with a strong wind, Jack blew away. Had Pam foreseen this day and systematically removed all traces of him little by little so even he didn't notice? Marie found it hard to believe that she was ever comfortable there.

She felt a combination of rage at his betrayal and deep, profound grief at his loss. Who am I feeling this about? she thought. Was he betraying me or Pam? Oh God, there are so many issues to sort out now. What was simmering under the surface, his death had suddenly exposed. If he were still alive, she could have dealt with him in her own way, forcing him to confront his wife, exposing the truth. With him dead, it was a non-issue. The years she'd spent in servitude to her sister and her brother-in-law would go unpaid. She brought this on herself, and now the price was her wasted life.

Anne and Nelda took some of the food gifts and made lunch for everyone. They all encouraged Pam to eat. They noticed Marie and tried to get her to sit down and eat, too. But she just couldn't. All accepted that she, too, had a broken heart. But the extent of it, the depth was known only to her. She would have to fake it or risk devastating her sister and their relationship.

At one thirty, Pam and Marie left for the funeral home together. Getting into the driver's seat, Pam sighed. "I need to go to the train station and pick up Jack's car."

"Do you want me to get the key, and we can go get it on our way home? It probably shouldn't sit there much longer," Marie suggested.

"Oh, do you mind?" Pam said.

Marie's heart rate increased just thinking about getting behind the wheel of Jack's beloved Lexus. No one ever drove it but him.

"It would save time, I guess, since we are already out. I hate to impose."

"No, I'll get the key." She tried to hide her obvious excitement, her hands shaking and voice trembling. The car may be the thing she needed to purge her sadness, to let the tears flow. She wasn't sure what would do it for Pam, but this might do the trick for her.

Going through the garage to the back landing, on the wall just outside the laundry room was a rack with hooks for each of the car keys plus spares. The kids' car keys were there, an extra for Pam's SUV, a key for the lawn tractor, one for the utility truck, and then a large leather triangle with a silver L, Jack's keys. Marie reached out for it, grasping it with her hand and bringing it up to her lips, her eyes closed. Going back to the car before Pam began to wonder what was taking so long, there'd be time to love the key once she was alone in the Lexus. When she got back in the car, Pam was looking at her with concern.

"Are you okay, kiddo? I mean the obvious, right? But will you be okay to go with me? I really appreciate it. I know how much you loved Jack, and he loved you."

Pam was the most generous person Marie knew, but she didn't know how much Marie loved Jack, no matter what Pam thought.

"I'm okay. I was just thinking that in a few hours, Sharon will be picking Lisa up in Newark." A change of subject might make me feel better, Marie thought, deceiving herself. Sharon was the middle sister, second to last, born one year to the day before Marie. She and her family were coming up from Cherry Hill for the weekend; they were going to come anyway for the picnic but now instead for this tragic event and would swing by the airport to pick up their niece.

"Thank God we don't have to worry about airport pickups. I know it must sound crass, but I think having to drive into Newark or to brave the traffic to JFK would have pushed me over the edge," Pam said. "Jack always took care of the airport runs by calling for a car."

"How are you doing, Pam?" Marie said. Her sister seemed too calm for someone on the way to a funeral home to plan a husband's funeral.

Pam didn't answer, unable to repeat what was really in her heart, the resignation that her marriage was a farce, that she felt more empathy for a stranger, a young woman who had been involved with her husband, than she did for her own children. Hopeful those feelings would be resolved when she saw the faces of Brent and Lisa, the calm now, the numbness, would soon give way to the angst of young adulthood in turmoil.

"Do you remember when Daddy died?" she asked Marie. "All I felt was guilt and anger. Guilt because I was cool to him the day before he died and anger because he allowed his daughters to be taken care of by other men without putting up a fight. I was mad about that for a long time. Mommy would say that I'm still mad at him. I'm not sure."

Marie doubted that Pam had anything to feel guilty about but wanted to hear more about this other revelation.

"Were you mad at Dad because he allowed me to live with you and Jack?" This was news to Marie if it were true.

"Not mad, because Lord knows I needed you, but confused, because why are you letting your daughter live with us? Are we fit parents for a teenager? I don't know," Pam admitted.

"I can't imagine what life would have been like if you hadn't allowed me to come to you and Jack," Marie said. Silently she thought, It would have been unthinkable.

They pulled into the driveway of the funeral home, driving under the portico. A pale, thin man in a black suit, the funeral home director, was waiting for them. Another man came around and opened Pam's door, greeting the women with a solemn but friendly, "We're sorry for your loss."

The first man led the way through double doors to a strangely decorated entryway. There was a bust of George Washington in an alcove, surrounded with dusty plastic flowers. Marie sneaked a glance at Pam, trying to contain her laughter. Pam felt the hysteria rising in her throat.

"Don't make eye contact," Pam snapped under her breath, grabbing Marie's arm. How inappropriate she thought, pulling herself together, laughter struggling to win.

They followed him into an office with upholstered chairs, where he offered each woman a seat. Pam forced herself not to look around, noticing the place was outrageously decorated. Hoping Jack didn't mind, if that were possible. He was here for whatever they call it. Embalming, that was the word. They cut your vein and drain all the blood out. You are laid out like roast beef on a slab, naked, exposed.

The next thing Pam knew, she was lying on the dirty carpet of the office. Marie was crying and patting her hand, her cheek. Someone in a powder-blue suit was holding a glass of water to her lips.

"Pam! Pam!" Marie shouted. "Pam, wake up, for God's sake!" Pam could hear her sister say, "Maybe we should call 9-1-1."

Pam struggled to wake up, to let her sister know she was okay. "I'm here," she whispered.

There was a lot of commotion as people around her assisted her to stand up. "I'd like to use the bathroom," she said, desperate to wash her hands, at least and get some of the germs off her clothes.

Marie led her to the bathroom, the lady in the blue suit guiding them, leaving them at the door.

"Are you okay?" Marie said to her sister for the tenth time that day, tears near the surface, hovering over Pam.

"I think so. Can we hurry up? I regret using this place. We could have gone to the one on Main Street. Jack golfed with him, I think." She was pale, shaky washing her hands, wetting a paper towel, asking Marie to help her wipe off the back of her pants and jacket.

Marie giggled through her tears, saying, "What do you think you picked up from that rug?"

They laughed, but Pam was not taking any chances. When she was done, they made their way back to the office with Pam all business.

"Let's get this over with," she said to the directors.

Pleasantries stopped and questions about Jack's last wishes began. Marie had a list of things they wanted put in place, like a picture easel, guest book, and a string quartet, as well as things they didn't want: a video, taped music, and ushers. Marie went out to the car to get the suit in addition to the other necessary items— polished black shoes and a silk tie with frogs printed on it that the kids had gotten him for Christmas years before. When she returned, Pam had picked out a casket, a dark walnut piece. Jack would have approved.

The earliest they could do it would be Wednesday morning. Pam wasn't sure how the kids would hold up. Looking at her watch; Lisa was just landing, and Brent was an hour away. Once the kids got home, she was hoping some feeling would return to her mind and body. Wanting to be alone with them would be tough to arrange. Sharon and her family were staying for the funeral and she could hardly ask Bernice to leave. She would have to find a way to let them know she needed time with the kids.

They pulled up to the house just as Lisa and Sharon's family were getting out of the station wagon. Lisa saw Pam and ran to her, crying. They embraced. The others walked away, giving them privacy. Marie, hesitant, decided in favor of her own well-being and went into the house. Mother and daughter stood holding each other, while Lisa got her emotions under control.

"Oh, Mother," she said, "I feel so horrible for you!"

Pam led her over to the car. "Let's get in, shall we? There is a house full," Pam explained.

"I really am not in the mood to have to deal with anyone else's emotions right now," Lisa said.

"I think they know that, honey," Pam said. "They've been leaving me alone."

"Mom, what happened? I just saw Dad last month, and he looked great! I kept saying, 'Gosh, Dad, look how thin you are!' Did he know he had heart trouble? Aunt Sharon said someone took his wallet while he was on the train. Did that cause his heart attack?"

Pam willed herself not to decompensate, staying available as Lisa needed questions answered. Maybe she should have invited Marie to stay, dividing the answers between them, aware she had used her sister for just such issues in the past. Marie acted as a buffer in so many ways for the family, but maybe now was the time to end it. Jack was gone leaving the three of them. Reaching across the center console, she embraced her daughter just as Lisa started to cry again.

"I think his heart simply gave out. It was his time to die. Poor Lisa, I wish you didn't have to suffer through this! You are too young to lose a parent." Pam thought of the ages she and Jack were when their own fathers had died. It hadn't been easy at any age.

"Was it hard for you when Grandpa died?" Lisa asked.

"You cope somehow," Pam told her daughter. "There is an inner strength that rises to the surface. But I still miss him every day."

"How are you going to get through Dad dying?" Lisa asked.

"I feel like I may lose it any moment, but right now, when I have to be out there in front of everyone, I can be strong. Bubby for instance, what must this be like for her? Oh, how horrible." Pam lowered her face and started to weep. "I go up and down like this. One minute I'm calm and the next, crying like a baby."

"I love you, Mom!" Lisa said.

They waited until they regained their composure, drawing strength from each other so they could enter the house and not have a torrent of sympathy flood their way. The thought of it was intolerable.

Inside, Bernice was looking out the kitchen window at her daughter-in-law approaching the house with her granddaughter. She had not seen Lisa in months. Neither were good letter writers. What would we say to each other now?

Lisa walked through the door first, and seeing her grandmother standing there dressed to perfection as always, hair and nails done, just the slightest red around her eyes, she flew to her, crying out, "Oh, Bubby! Oh, I am so sorry!" Grabbing each other, they began weeping, loud, mournful sobbing that brought the rest of the house to join in.

It was probably the most therapeutic moment, because after just a few minutes, Bernice stopped and said, "Oh, for God's sake! Let's pull ourselves together!" She took Lisa by the shoulders and, at arm's length, said, "What do you suppose your father would have said if he walked in on this scene?"

In unison, everyone said, "Who died?" The rest of the family laughed.

"Okay, so what news do you have?" Bernice asked. Marie had waited until Pam came in to let her make the funeral plans known. She had also neglected to tell the group about Pam's fainting spell, either out of protection for her privacy or some other, less noble motivation, tired of Pam getting all the attention, after all.

"The viewing is Wednesday morning, and the funeral is at eleven. The burial will be private. The little cemetery in Amityville can't handle more than six cars at a time."

Pam looked around at everyone standing together, looking to her for direction. It was almost five. Brent's plane would have landed by now, and he'd be on his way home. She had to lie down for just a bit before facing that emotional meeting. "I'm sorry, I know I haven't been much help to you, but please, if you don't mind, I would like to rest for a few minutes before Brent gets home."

The family rushed toward her, encouraging her to go, making sounds of empathy.

The shaded coolness of her beautiful bedroom had the desired effect. The moment she stretched out on her chaise, she fell asleep. No sooner had she closed her eyes than she felt a hand on her shoulder and a kiss on her cheek. Jack? She opened her eyes upon her beautiful son, her oldest child.

"Brent," she said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the chaise.

He sat down next to her and, with one arm around her, lowered his head on her shoulder. By the shaking of his body, she surmised that he was having a good old-fashioned cry and that to lose it at this point was to doom both of them to an evening of misery. So like his father, she'd better stay strong for Brent or suffer the consequences. "Smith men cried at a good steak," it was said.

"Brent, I am so sorry!" she muttered the same words to him that her daughter had said to her. "What a thing to happen to you."

"What about to you, Mom? God! He was only fifty-five!"

Handing a tissue to him and soothing his cheek with her hand, she repeated what she had said to Lisa. "I am still numb. Probably, after the funeral it will become real to me—the loss." Wanting to say, our life stretches out ahead of us without him, she remembered another person who was suffering, who needed validation. When she had a chance that evening, she would call Sandra. Taking his hands, Pam attempted to pull him up to his feet. They both laughed, he being over six feet tall like his father.

"Come and see your grandmothers," she said.

"I already did, Mom. I've been home for two hours."

"What time is it?" she asked. "I must have been sleeping for hours!"

"It's almost seven thirty. Come on, Bubby's making dinner," Brent said.

"You've got to be kidding me! She hasn't had to cook in fifty years!" Pam said.

They laughed once again as he took her by the elbow, leading her out of the room as though she were a queen or a bride and her heart did a somersault. Guilt washed over her for dreading the homecoming of her two wonderful children. "I have to make a phone call, okay? Tell everyone I'll be there in a minute." She went back into her room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Digging through her purse for the scrap of paper with the phone number of Jack's lover, she still felt no animosity toward Sandra. If anything, she needed to talk to her. Having done so, she would be stronger for it; they were allies. Keying in the number she waited after six long rings, until Sandra finally answered with a quiet hello.

"This is Pam Smith, Sandra. I'm so sorry that I am just calling you now about the funeral. Both children came home in the interim since going to the funeral home, and this is the first chance I've had."

Sandra didn't know what to say. How do you thank the wife of your lover for calling you? "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"The viewing will be held at nine on Wednesday morning, with the funeral to follow at eleven. The burial is private, but of course you will come."

Realizing how inane that must have sounded to Sandra, she didn't know what else to do, nerves faltering. Deciding to throw caution to the wind and go at it, it was better than ending the call. "Sandra, please help me. Help me understand. I feel like you are the only one who can possibly understand me. What I am going through. You are going through it, too—alone. You don't know how I wish you could come here and talk, share your memories, your observations. If you can figure out a way to do it that won't hurt you, it would be wonderful."

Out of breath, sadly, she started to cry. "I don't understand. Why did he die? What purpose did it have to take him so early?" She was crying out loud now, snorting into the phone. She reached for a tissue, and several came out of the box at once, stuck together.

There was silence, and then Sandra spoke. "I don't know. I just don't know. I've asked myself the same question again and again. Mrs. Smith, I wish I could tell you everything. You should know about how much he loved you, how screwed up he was. Being with me didn't have anything to do with you. You know that, don't you? It was just a lapse of moral judgment." She was crying, too. "I think he had a premonition that he was going to die. I think he knew."

Pam was shocked at that comment. "We have to meet before the funeral. I have a house full of people, but I could come to you. I could come to the city." Thinking of their apartment on Madison Avenue, she could search for some evidence of what Sandra just said. Making up her mind, the next day Pam was going into the city to see Sandra. Of course, she wouldn't tell anyone. Marie might suspect, but she wasn't telling her either, wanting an untainted perspective. "I've decided. I am coming tomorrow to our apartment. Do you know where it is?" When she said no, Pam gave Sandra the address. "I'll call you when I arrive, okay? I feel so much better all ready."

Sandra agreed, somewhat reluctantly. What did this woman have in mind? Sandra felt like she had done enough damage already.

Pam put down the phone, feeling at peace.

The rest of the night was spent with the kids going through old photo albums, their idea. It turned out to be the best idea yet because it chronicled Jack's metamorphosis from young, gorgeous guy to handsome businessman and was a wonderful review of where their dad had been and where he ended up.

Marie suddenly said, "We forgot the car!"

Brent said he would go with her to pick it up. She hid her disappointment; he would most certainly drive his father's car home from the train station.

## Chapter 9

Across the East River to the north, Sandra was sitting at the table, looking out a window at nothing, and sipping a hot cup of tea. It was a warm night, but she didn't care. The tea was relaxing her, clearing her head. The call from Pam Smith was nerve-wracking as she specified what she expected from Sandra, but it just didn't ring true. Sandra didn't understand what Pam was going through. Pam was the wife, with the kids and the history. All Sandra was, in addition to a work buddy, was a girlfriend, a dinner date on lonely nights. They loved each other, but now, seeing the devastation of his family, knowing the loss the children would suffer, the relationship revealed what it really was—an immoral affair between a married man and a woman young enough to be his daughter. No matter how much she rationalized what they had, it was wrong. And it couldn't be taken back.

Monday morning dawned grey and rainy. Pam woke up early after a sound, dreamless sleep. Rolling over to face Jack's side of the bed, the emptiness didn't faze her. Had he ever slept there? Had his impact on her life diminished to the point that she was over it already, after two days?

"Stop it," she said to herself, rolling over to begin her day, going through the steps she always took, carefully bathing, doing her hair and makeup, preparing for what, she did not exactly know. In the past, she did it for him, for Jack and he would tell her how proud he was of her, how nice she looked all the time, in good shape she was for her age. What did that really mean? It didn't keep him from being unfaithful. Well, too bad, she thought, I'll continue doing this for myself.

The house was quiet. Pam didn't feel like making excuses for going into the city. Marie or Lisa would want to go with her, and she was making this trip alone. She would take Jack's Lexus, what he called their "city car". It would make a final trip in to Manhattan; this time without him. She wrote a note in her neat hand, saying she wanted to go in to look at the apartment alone. Propped on the coffee pot where no one could miss it, it looked furtive, but she didn't care. This was her house; Jack was her husband who had died.

As she got into the car and pulled out of the garage, she realized that she was already looking forward to this being over, for everyone to be gone so she could begin her life. The kids would be gone soon enough, and that might be difficult. Missing them all the time, she never got used to their absence.

Traffic wasn't bad on the Long Island Expressway for an early Memorial Day morning. Everyone would be going in the opposite direction to the beach. Getting into town quickly, she had plenty of time to putter around before Sandra arrived. Traveling up in the elevator, Pam's resolve started to wither. What am I going to find? Was it Jack and Sandra's love nest? After Pam hadn't visited in over a year, he might have felt safe to take another woman there. Stepping off the elevator into the dimly lit hallway her hand trembled as she put the key in the door. Their apartment was on the fifteenth floor, not high enough to escape the shadows of other buildings and she had to bend down to find the keyhole. The door scraped on the carpet as she pushed it open. She always hated having carpet at the door; tile or stone should be at an entrance. But Jack argued that your shoes would be cleaned off and dry by the time you rode up fifteen floors.

Everything was exactly as she had left it the last time, and it surprised her, a year-old House Beautiful magazine on the coffee table right where she had put it down. Standing in the middle of the room she slowly turned around. He had lived here alone, five days a week. Shouldn't there be a sweater thrown over the back of a chair? A pile of mail, the top piece with an opened envelope? A used coffee cup with cold coffee? Perhaps Sandra had come in right after talking last night and cleaned up.

Pam turned around and walked into the kitchen—completely cleaned. The housekeeper came on Friday she remembered. Opening the refrigerator, she saw milk for his cereal, bread, margarine, a jar of peanut butter, pizza slices wrapped in plastic wrap, and a lone orange. On the counter was a bowl with two ripe bananas in it. She would take them home or throw them away.

Entering the bedroom Jack used as a study, on the table that held the television was the mail she was looking for, a big pile of it, which she shoved in her purse. Suddenly, she felt as though she couldn't spend too much time in the apartment; its walls were closing in on her.

Leaving the study she went into their bedroom—Jack's bedroom. The bed was made, but it had a rumple where someone had sat. Maybe Jack sat down to change his shoes for the trip home. Sitting on the same spot, she imagined feeling him there and his presence suddenly filled the room. Her purse slid down her arm and she lowered her head into her hands and began to weep. Lying down on the bed, she pulled the covers up over her body forgetting her earlier feeling that the walls were closing in on her, and cried herself to sleep.

The ringing phone woke her up. Picking up the phone, she looked at the number on the caller ID. It was home, but she wasn't going to answer it. She was an adult woman and if she wanted to spend a week here, she would.

The intense emotion had gone. Now she was just sad, bordering on numb. Here Jack had lived his life away from his family, so they could be comfortable, providing a wonderful and abundant life for them. Did I ever say thank you? Heart beating wildly in her chest, she supposed this was the feeling she was waiting for. She had to come into Manhattan to find Jack because he wasn't at their house after all.

Getting up, she went into the adjoining bathroom and looked in the mirror. What a mess! Opening the right drawer in the vanity, to her surprise, all of her cosmetics were still there. She supposed he would have thrown them out. Perhaps he was waiting for her to visit him on her own. Sitting down at the mirror, she touched up her makeup, the cover stick almost hard from a year of disuse. Eventually she'd have to get rid of all of it, but was glad it was here now.

The closet proved he was a real neatnik, saving everything, but it was organized. His smell was in the closet, the scent of his aftershave and deodorant combined with that of dry cleaning fluid. The side of the closet she'd used was empty except for a robe and a pair of slacks. There was also a pair of her sneakers on the floor. Back in the bedroom, she opened the drawers in the bedside tables. On her side, there was nothing. On his, she found a pair of reading glasses and a pair of binoculars for spying. Some nights, looking down at the street with those things, they often had laughing fits at what they saw. "This is an invasion of privacy!" she would warn. "Oh, just come and look," he'd say.

This was just a place where he hung his hat. There must be more of him at home, maybe in his desk or the garage. Wandering around, she came to a closet between the bathroom and spare room. On the shelf above the empty clothes bar was a clear plastic container she couldn't reach it, so she went back into the den and dragged the desk chair over to the closet.

Carefully, she stood on the chair and grasped the container. It was heavier than it looked. Hoping the people in the apartment below were out, she let it drop to the floor with a thud. She hopped down from the chair like a teenager. Dragging the box back into the bedroom, she decided she would unpack it and spread everything out on the bed. It could contain something that would shed some light on the man her husband had become.

Checking her watch, she noted that it was nearing lunchtime and she was going to call Sandra by one. Quickly, she took the lid off the box and lifted out the first sheaf of papers. They looked to be mostly receipts he was keeping for next year's taxes—gas, tolls, paper supplies, and that sort of thing. Under the receipts was a manila folder that had seen better days. Setting it on her lap she slowly opened it. What lay on top looked like a birth certificate, yellowed with age, baring a stamp on the lower left corner that certified it was from the State of New York. She picked it up and carried it over to the window.

At first, she didn't wholly grasp what she was looking at, a birth certificate for a male baby named Franklin Albert, born September 30, 1955. Skimming the baby's weight and length, she read the father's name, Bertram Franklin Albert, and then the mother's, Bernice Paula Stein. Jack's mother. Confused, she thought Jack had a brother who was born on his birthday with a different father. How could that be? It didn't take long, however, for her to figure it out.

"Oh, for God's sake!" she said out loud. Jack was Franklin. Jack's beloved father, Harold Smith, the man whose death a year ago knocked the wind right out of his sails, wasn't really his father.

She stood up and began to pace. When did he find this out? Was it right after Harold's death? Or later?

She went back to the folder. The next paper was a letter from a woman, a Beverly Johnson, telling Jack that she thought he might be her half-brother and asking if he would consider meeting. There wasn't a copy of any reply, but she had included her telephone number, so maybe he called her right away. Knowing Jack, that is probably what he did. She could almost hear his voice. Beverly! What a damn surprise! You are the child of my mother, Bernice? Or my father, Harold? Pam imagined Jack's shock learning he had a half-sister who shared a father he didn't know. Why he didn't tell her, didn't confide in her? Another hurt she would suffer; Jack either didn't trust her enough to tell her or telling her wouldn't bring comfort to him. Sitting down on the bed again, numb, she wondered how much bad news could a person take in three days.

Checking her watch yet again, she dug through her purse for Sandra's phone number, keying in the number for the second time that weekend. Sandra picked up on the first ring.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to call," she said.

"I'm sorry. I got here early but fell asleep. I guess I must be more stressed out than I realize," Pam confessed. "Can we get together?"

"Okay. Where do you want to meet?" Sandra asked.

"Do you want to come here, to Jack's?" Pam asked. "I thought you might like to be here."

"We never met there, truly," she said, thinking was this woman for real? "But I would like to see it."

Pam gave her the address. Sandra said she would leave right away, and it would take about fifteen minutes to get there. Pam used the time to go through the rest of the papers. She found copies of Bertram Albert's birth certificate, his death certificate dated August 1955, and more communication from Beverly Johnson with copies of Jack's real birth certificate. There were copies of all sorts of legal documents about Harold—his discharge papers from the army and a marriage license to Bernice dated two months after Jack's birth. Jack had done his homework. There was nothing to reveal whether or not Jack ever confronted Bernice. She would think he had died none the wiser.

The door buzzer downstairs sounded. Pam didn't bother speaking, just pushed the button to open the door. Hopefully it was Sandra. She was suddenly shy, like meeting a date for the first time or interviewing for a job.

In five minutes, the buzzer on the hallway door rang. Pam went to open the door. Not able to help herself, when she saw Sandra, she reached for her as if she were an old friend, embracing her. All of the tension left her body and she began to cry. Sandra returned the embrace and held Pam while she cried; doing for her what Pam had done the night of Jack's death—offering comfort. Finally, when Pam could support her own weight, she stepped back from Sandra, smiling at her through her tears.

"I feel like you are an old friend. I know that must sound ridiculous because of our age difference."

Sandra didn't think the age difference was what made it strange. But she was glad that Pam felt that way about her and said so.

"I'm glad you don't hate me," Sandra managed to get out.

Pam took her by the arm and led her into the living room. Looking around at Jack's home, she couldn't picture him here. It was so not what she thought of Jack; he would live in a more cluttered, homier environment. This place was as sterile as a hotel room.

"Are you thinking it doesn't say anything about Jack?" Pam asked.

Sandra nodded. "We worked together," Sandra said, waiting for Pam to respond. She just nodded her head. "His office was always a disaster. Books and papers piled on the floor, file folders sliding off his desk, junk like radios, gifts for you and the kids, just chaos. So yes, this is surprising."

Pam offered her a seat. "The cupboards are bare," she said. "I can offer you a banana. It's the only thing in the house to eat."

"I feel a little claustrophobic. Do you have time for lunch?" Sandra said, her eyes pleading.

Pam nodded. "I have to call home first. I left without telling them I was coming here, and this phone has been ringing all morning." Pam excused herself, went into the bedroom, and dialed home.

Lisa picked up immediately. "Mom, I would have gone with you. Everyone is concerned here."

"Please tell them I am fine. I had some business to take care of, Lisa. I really wanted to be in the apartment alone. I hope you understand. I'll call you when I'm on my way home." They said good-bye. Lisa would be her advocate.

She went into the bathroom and reapplied her lipstick for the third time that day.

"This crying garbage has really taken a toll on my makeup," she said.

They left the apartment. Pam made small talk on the way down in the elevator, telling Sandra how they found the apartment. "We had a place on the Upper West Side when the kids were little. We loved it there. When we moved out onto the island, Jack wanted to be closer to work. We were eating dinner at the place in the basement here—Grendels, I believe it was called—and the man who owned the apartment was eating at the table next to us, eavesdropping on our conversation. 'I just heard you say you like this building. My apartment is for sale. Here on the fifteenth floor,' he said. Just like that, we went up to look after we finished dinner, and Jack bought it then and there. It's not close to his office, but closer than if he'd stayed on the Upper West Side."

Sandra smiled politely, not in the mood for small talk, but was grateful Pam was keeping the conversation going. It would be easier to talk about important matters if this kept up.

They stepped outside. It had stopped raining, the air was cool. The sun was peeking out from behind the clouds. It would be a good day after all.

"Do you mind if we walk a while?" Pam asked.

Sandra said, "No, that would be nice."

As they walked down Madison Avenue, passersby gave admiring glances at a lovely young woman and her older companion. Both attractive, they got the same kind of attention that Jack and Sandra used to get. Pam didn't notice. They arrived at a coffee shop and found a table for two at the window. Pam was starving. The waitress brought coffee and menus. Usually a light eater, she ordered a burger and fries. Sandra got a salad.

"I haven't had a burger in years. My husband died, so I guess I can eat a burger if I want." Flustered, she looked up at Sandra. "That was uncalled for, I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me with the sarcasm."

"Don't give it another thought," Sandra said, thinking, How bizarre can this get?

"I feel like I can be honest with you," Pam said. "My family is waiting for me to fall apart or do something dramatic. I have to be careful what I say. Evidently, I fainted at the funeral home yesterday. Oh, yes, I was quite a spectacle." She paused, careful about how she approached the next topic.

"Evidently, the man who I thought was Jack's father wasn't his father at all. I found some documents that spelled it out in the apartment just now." She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, looking over the rim at Sandra. "Did Jack ever mention that to you?"

"No, but I knew that something life-changing had taken place shortly after his father died. He kept saying things around the office like, 'Make sure you know who your parents really are,' and, 'I wonder if we are related,' to one of the black men who worked with us. No wonder!" Sandra couldn't believe the conversation.

"Well, I have to decide whether to keep it a secret or confront my mother-in-law. What do you think?" Her food had arrived, and she dug in like a truck driver.

"Don't ask me! I'm terrible at that sort of thing. I mean, look at us. What would Jack say if he could see us together like this?" Sandra was still unsure of the reason for this meeting. She hoped that Pam would hurry up and say whatever it was that needed saying.

"We never have to worry about Jack again, that's one thing for sure. Can I ask you a personal question?" Pam said.

Oh, here goes, Sandra thought to herself. She nodded.

"Did you love him?" She was looking up at Sandra, not with dread, but really interested. "I mean, it's clear why he was with you. You are beautiful. You're nice. What's not to like? I can't be angry about it, at least not now. At first, I was hurt. I thought, 'He found someone he liked better than me.' But then I rationalized that maybe he needed both of us for some reason."

"I think I did," Sandra replied nervously. "I mean, it wasn't real, if that makes any sense. It was all wrong, and we both knew it. Plus, it wasn't what you think an affair is. All sexual, I mean," she started to stammer, but Pam put her at ease.

"You can speak of sex without incurring my wrath, if that is your concern. I know you slept together. Okay?" Pam smiled at her, but Sandra noticed she had gone pale. She hoped Pam wasn't going to faint in the restaurant.

"I'm no expert psychologist, but I just think he was lonely. He may have thought it was expected of him to sleep with me. He...well, he didn't really seem like he was into it." She thought she had blown it for sure now and waited for the firestorm that comment was sure to start.

Pam heard the words spoken and was eternally grateful. She reached across the table and took Sandra's hand in hers. "Thank you, Sandra, for trying to preserve my pride. I will always be grateful for that," Pam said, finding it difficult to believe that someone as sexual as Jack always was wouldn't jump at the chance to be into it with someone like Sandra.

"No! It's true! Oh, this is so weird, talking about it to you. But you have to believe me. He loved you. He loved me, too, but in a different way. We were playing. It wasn't real. I didn't come to your apartment, and he never came to mine because we both knew it wouldn't last. We were already getting bored. I hated the sneaking around as much as he did. He was too old for me, or I too young for him." She bowed her head and fought the tears. Really, why the hell are we here—together?

Pam pushed her plate aside and started rummaging through her purse. "Let's go, dear. You'll feel better when you get out of this stuffy place." Pam put some money down on the table, and they got up and walked out. Pam took Sandra's arm. They walked like that for a while, an attractive middle-aged woman and her beautiful companion.

"I would like to be your friend. For more than the obvious reasons, not just that you understand something about my life that no one else on earth does, but because I like you," Pam said.

Sandra didn't know what to say in return, so she just smiled at Pam. She didn't have girlfriends, especially older women, and especially the wife of her late lover.

"I was thinking, if you want to come over tomorrow night and stay the night, it would be easier for you to get to the funeral home by nine."

Pam knew she was on unexplored territory here. Inviting her late husband's lover to spend the night in their home was probably not the best plan. How would I explain it to Marie, who knew all the details? She would have to get tough, tell her sister that it was her house, her husband.

"Thank you for offering, but really, I'll be fine. I don't drive, so I'll take the train and then a cab."

"Okay," Pam said, hiding her disappointment. She was hoping that they would have a better opportunity to talk in the comfort of the house. They walked in the direction of Jack's apartment.

"You don't have to walk me back, Sandra," Pam said, turning to face her, having to look up. "I enjoyed being with you today. It is the first time in twenty-four hours that I felt relaxed." Digging through her purse, she came up with a pen and a grocery receipt and started scribbling her address on it and then added her cell phone number. "If you get stuck or can't get a cab, call me. I'll send someone to pick you up from the station."

Sandra took the scrap of paper from her. Then she bent over to kiss Pam on the cheek. Pam stood on her toes. Sandra felt genuine affection for her.

"Thank you, Pam. Thank you for validating me. I don't deserve it, but thanks anyway."

They said their good-byes and then parted, Pam walking east one block to Madison and Sandra going south toward 79th. She would walk across the park.

As she walked along, Sandra felt a moment of rare and unexplainable joy. Her boyfriend was dead, she had a job she hated, both of her parents were dead, and her sister couldn't stand the sight of her. So what is going on? Having lunch with Jack's wife was probably one of the strangest experiences she could have had at that place and time, but it left her with a feeling of contentment. She would have to think about this for a while, figure out how to make this moment last.

Everything was green in the park. The trees full and lush. The freshly cut grass smelled wonderful. Children were playing, running after each other and throwing balls, while couples sat on blankets and read the paper, something she and Jack never did. Not able to think of a holiday they had spent together; she had a routine, didn't mind that he was unavailable, and didn't miss him now.

Having to take Wednesday off for the funeral, the whole office would be there, a fact she hadn't thought of. Suddenly, wanting or rather needing Pam Smith, she turned back and ran up Fifth Avenue to Madison, rounding the corner just as Pam was walking into her building.

"Pam!" she called. "Wait!" Not caring if she looked foolish, Sandra ran toward the building. Pam walked back out onto the sidewalk.

## Chapter 10

Marie was in a quandary. On one hand, she was happy her sister was adjusting so wonderfully to the news that her husband was screwing some tramp and then dropped dead without being able to explain himself. On the other hand, she was furious that something was going on and Pam wasn't including her.

When she got up that morning and found the note, she knew right away that her sister was going to the city to see Sandra. Angry, she felt left out, unappreciated. If Pam only knew what Marie saw Saturday morning, she wouldn't be so damn accommodating to Sandra Benson. Having to pull herself together, she was being irrational. Moments like this destroyed families and relationships. She mustn't lose control, but needed to understand her sister and show her some respect.

Pouring old coffee down the drain she rinsed out the pot, and filled it with fresh water. Her favorite routines would help pull her out of this mess. The kids needed her to be strong. Making coffee and busying herself in the kitchen would be a panacea to madness.

None of the food gifts looked appetizing, so she would bake muffins. When the family got up, when Bill and Anne came in, she would prepare whatever kinds of eggs they wanted. In the meantime, she would fry bacon, too. Those aromas would surely get everyone up. If she were surrounded with people, she would have purpose. Then the fears that were tormenting her, fears that she would no longer be useful in this house, would abate for a while.

Taking flour, eggs, and butter she measured out the correct portions, washing a quart of fresh blueberries to add. Greasing muffin tins drove the demons back. Pouring the creamy batter with soft, juicy berries into the tin, Marie began to relax. The smell of the coffee made her mouth water.

Once the muffins were in the oven and the timer was set, she poured herself a cup of coffee, suddenly grateful for the morning solitude. Holding off cooking the bacon, she took her coffee out onto the veranda; the rain had stopped for the time being. Wiping the chair down with a kitchen towel, she looked up just as a freighter, probably loaded with trash, was visible in the distance, inching along toward Staten Island. What am I going to do now? She'd never felt so alone. Being needed had filled a void so big and so obvious that now she almost couldn't bear it. Setting her cup down on the table, Marie put her face in her hands. Whispering, although no one was up yet and there wasn't anyone around to hear her, she prayed, "God, please take me, too. Please don't leave me here."

~ ~ ~

Pam left Manhattan at four to be home in time for dinner with her family. Right before she left the apartment, she called home. Marie answered the phone, laughing, playing cards with Lisa and Brent and Sharon's family.

Marie confirmed that everyone would still be there when Pam arrived and told her to drive safely. Pam was glad Marie was okay, worried that going to the city without inviting her to come along would have been an issue.

Turning the radio on and switched the tuner until something familiar came on. Vivaldi would help her avoid thinking about the day while she was driving. Traffic was horrendous, and the music helped her to stay focused and keep up. At the speed everyone was going, she would get home in record time—if she didn't crash first.

When she pulled off the expressway, the back roads were deserted. It was a sign holiday barbeques were in full swing. The weekend before, Jack had stopped at the farmers' market in town on his way home from golf to buy freshly caught flounder and the makings for a salad. They prepared dinner together, grilling the fish out on the veranda. Pam made a huge salad and opened a bottle of wine. Sitting outside, the sun disappeared behind the house, the sky clear that night, the stars were so bright you could see them all the way down to the horizon.

Jack said, looking at her, "I never want to forget nights like this." It was as close to a confession of love that she had gotten from him for months. When he said it, icy prickles shot down her spine. She longed to ask what made him say it, what was going on, but she bit her tongue. In her usual way, she thought take this at face value. He is saying that he loves you. Everything is okay.

But of course, it wasn't. He didn't try to make love to her later, and when he left for Manhattan early the next morning, she didn't wake up and he didn't wake her. The alarm went off at seven, and she sat up with a start, immediately looking at his empty side of the bed. Feeling an overwhelming sadness, she had no idea that it would be the last time he would be by her side, that she would never see him again.

Asking Sandra why she thought Jack had had a premonition that he would die, she replied that it wasn't anything specific, just that he kept making references to not having regrets, to doing things you wanted to do because it was all over so soon.

Pam wondered if that was the reason he'd been unfaithful, he didn't want to regret not doing it. That made no sense. Supposing she would never really know what he was thinking, she'd just chalk it up to what Sandra said—bad judgment; they were getting bored with it and Sandra suspected that he was thinking of ending it.

When she pulled up to the house, the lights were on, and it shone like a jewel in the dusk. Other cars were blocking the garage, so she parked in the driveway. The sound of waves hitting the beach when she got out of the car reminded her why she loved the house, her love for it transcended her pain and grief. It was an unexplainable dichotomy— the tragic death of her husband made tolerable by the love she had for her life was not something she would share with another.

Tonight she would have to socialize, her sisters—Marie and Sharon were waiting, and Susan had just arrived from Connecticut. The flurry of activity in the house bothered her. Everyone was talking at once; there was nothing solemn, no respect for the dead. An unfinished board game left out on the kitchen table dictated dinner served in the dining room. Pam couldn't remember the last time they'd used it, trying to squelch her concern about the Battenberg tablecloth. Now was not the time to be miserly. Putting herself in neutral, she allowed everyone else to make the decisions.

Earlier in the day, Sandra had helped her regain some feeling. Instead of the on again–off again emotional roller coaster she had been on, she was able to express her grief and stay in that mode for several hours. Before Sandra left the second time, they had both cried for the man whom they had loved and who loved them. Now, back in her house, Pam was thinking a little numbness would be helpful, not in sync with the jovial atmosphere in the house, yet didn't want to be the one to stop it. And she was getting a headache.

Putting her handbag down, she reluctantly went into the kitchen where Anne was tossing a salad and Nelda arranged sliced corned beef on a platter. She looked at her daughter with concern.

"Dear, how are you holding up?" Nelda asked. Fortunately, Lisa didn't ask how her day in the city went.

"I'm okay, Mother, just tired, I guess." She walked to her, kissing her on the cheek. "I think I'll go right to bed after dinner if you think you can get along without me."

"Pam, if you want to eat alone, I'll fix you a tray and you can take it to your room," Anne said, nodding toward the den. "Things got a little out of hand today. It's all the children, I think."

"I would love to eat in my room, but I doubt if I can get away with it." Annoyed, she took a loaf of rye bread and a platter of sliced vegetables and walked toward the dining room.

"I wish there was a little more recognition that someone in this house has died," she said loudly, surprising herself. If the parents couldn't control their children, she would make sure they knew she didn't approve. Shushing sounds accompanied the silencing of the television as the sisters came out of the den.

"Pam, we didn't hear you come in. I am so sorry about the noise. Forgive me?" Susan leaned over and gave her sister a peck on the cheek.

"Hi, Suz," Pam said, acknowledging her sister. "How was your trip?"

They exchanged pleasantries, avoiding the obvious, until Susan said, "I'm so sorry about Jack! I just can't believe it."

Pam gave up. She succumbed to Susan's hug, to her outpouring of sympathy. In front of her family for the first time, she began to cry, pulling out a chair from the table in her formal dining room, moving the plate aside so she could put her head down and have a good cry.

It provoked silence. The men turned away, and the children gathered closer, wanting to see their Aunt Pam for themselves. Most too young to understand, they wondered what it meant when someone you loved had died. The smallest child, Ava, Sharon's youngest, put her arms around Pam's waist. The touching act of kindness brought a smile to Pam's face and she lifted the child up on her lap. Nelda came in to tell everyone to sit down, it was time to eat.

Sixteen people squeezed in around Pam's table meant for twelve, but it was okay. They made corned-beef sandwiches and had potato salad, coleslaw, beet salad, and chocolate cake, thanks to Marie's baking binge.

"Can we talk later?" Marie whispered to her.

"Sure, but can it wait? I'm beat." Pam could only imagine what Marie had to say. She needed to be well rested for whatever argument they might have.

"Tomorrow, then," Marie said. "I love you, Pam."

That evening after dinner, everyone went his or her separate ways. Pam's sisters and their families, except for Marie, went to the bed-and-breakfast with Bill and Anne. Nelda and Bernice stayed at the house. Lisa and Brent got into bed with their mother and watched TV while she dozed, until the news came on at eleven. They kissed her good-night and went to their own rooms.

Pam stood in the window, looking at the surf as it hit the beach, the moonlight exaggerating the foam on the white caps, the stars brilliant in the inky black sky. Tomorrow will be a day to be gotten through, she thought. If possible, she would spend much of the day in her room, alone or with her children. Only home for a day, they were already starting to show the strain of too much company. Finally, she fell asleep after midnight.

## Chapter 11

Tuesday morning, Pam didn't get up until nine. She rarely slept that late, but it felt okay. No one had disturbed her; the family was allowing her some privacy. She did her usual morning routine, dressing in a soft velour running suit, probably too warm for later in the day, but she needed the comfort now.

Tiptoeing out into the hallway, she could hear distant voices and smell the aroma of coffee. There was no one in the kitchen. Through the french doors leading to the veranda, she could see the source of the voices; Nelda and Bernice were sitting and talking together, with the sun filtered by the vaporous netting that surrounded the seating area.

She quietly poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the counter. Looking out over the sea, her mind went blank for the moment. If she could have this measure of peace for the remainder of the day, she would be thrilled. The coffee was rich and hot. She got up to find something to eat with it and was not disappointed. It looked like more food deliveries had been made that day, with three bakery boxes stacked on the counter. The first one she opened contained a deadly looking cheese danish. Oh, what the hell, she thought. She took the biggest one and placed it on a plate. Marie walked in then.

"Oh no, not more fattening stuff! Doesn't anyone believe in fruit trays anymore?" Marie exclaimed.

Pam laughed out loud. "You can afford it." Taking a big bite, she moaned. "It is gooood!"

Marie opened the other two boxes; the second held at least three dozen fresh bagels, and the third a quiche. She took the quiche out and got out a knife, cutting a huge piece of it for her breakfast. Popping it into the microwave, she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Those old ladies wake you up?" she asked, shaking her head toward the veranda. Pam shook her head no with a mouthful of danish. "They did me," Marie said. "Is Mom moving in?"

"Marie!" Pam laughed. "What is going on? Relax!"

"I guess I have had enough. I can't imagine what it is like for you. I'm tempted to go back to Hell's Kitchen later and come back in the morning."

"You could do that. We can manage here just fine. The only problem would be braving the traffic in the morning. Sure you want to do that?" Pam felt a little conflicted about Marie not being there, needing her to run interference, but was also glad for the downtime in her own house.

"If you needed me, I would never forgive myself for not being here," Marie said. She took her cup of coffee and her giant piece of quiche and sat across from her big sister. She took a bite of the quiche. They sat in peace, not talking, when something came over Marie, and she had to purge herself and be honest with Pam. The wedge between them all weekend had been the secret Marie was keeping from her. She had to tell her but needed to be careful not to divulge what she had read into it and just stick to the facts.

"Pam, I have to tell you something. It is bugging the crap out of me."

Pam looked at her, curious. "Okay, go ahead."

Hesitating, but needing to get it off her chest, Marie said, "I saw Jack with Sandra Benson on Saturday morning." She looked at Pam.

"And?" Pam asked.

"And...I saw them is all. If this hadn't all happened, I don't know that I would have ever told you. But since...well, everything, I needed to let you know, to be honest with you."

Taking a sip of coffee, Pam wondered if Marie didn't have an ulterior motive. "I'm not sure what I am supposed to say. It's over, so don't worry about it anymore."

Pam didn't know where this was going, but she wanted to give Marie a chance to express herself. She wanted her to hurry, though, to get it over with before her children or their mother came into the room.

"I'm not worried about it, Pam. It was bothering me because I saw them together; I knew what they looked like together. You seem to find something disarming about Sandra Benson, and I think she is a snake." Marie was going where she didn't want to go, but it was too late.

"This is really about Sandra, then. Am I correct?" Pam fought the urge to get up and refill her coffee cup, knowing that would appear to be an aggressive move and the last thing she needed was to make Marie feel like she was being challenged. She knew what her sister was getting at, but wanted to let her have the last word. Thinking about what Sandra and Jack looked like together was not something Pam was willing to waste a second at because the fantasy could only lead to devastation.

"Are you more concerned about my befriending her or what she meant to Jack?"

Pam knew that if she weren't careful, she would get swept up into a passionate confrontation with her sister. It had been building over the past three days, and she recognized it, yet continued to ignore it.

"Are you befriending her? Did you go into the city to see her? Or did you go to the apartment?" Marie's voice was starting to shake.

"Both. I think it is understandable that I wanted to talk to the woman who was in love with my husband by myself." She stood up, forgetting how the gesture might be interpreted. "Jack was my husband. It was my marriage. It is my business. If that seems harsh, so be it. This is not exactly the easiest situation to be in."

She turned her back for a minute to refill her cup. When she turned around, Marie was obviously fighting back tears. Pam was tired of her interloping. She would do what she wanted as far as Sandra Benson was concerned. Marie could go back to the city if need be.

"Look, Marie, you might as well accept the fact that Sandra will be here tomorrow. Even if I had never found out about the two of them, she would still be here because she worked with him. Now, what I would be interested in knowing is if I hadn't found any of this out, would you have been able to keep your secret? Or would you have found it irresistible to hurt me?"

Pam was testing her sister. What was this all about? She began to think that perhaps the idyllic relationship Marie had with Pam's family was really a smoke screen. Could Marie have been jealous of her all along?

Marie sat at the table, open mouthed. She was jealous of her sister. She wanted to react, to lash out, but was able to control herself for the sake of the day, her mother and Bernice just outside, the kids in their rooms and the other family members at the beach, probably preparing to barge in at any moment for lunch. She decided not to take the defensive.

"I guess we had to have this conversation. It was inevitable. I am not going to start the I did this for you conversation. Our relationship is what it is. I hardly know what to do now."

Spent, regretful of why did I bring up the subject of Sandra fucking Benson, Marie was amazed at what Jack stooped to for a piece of ass.

"Let's just get through the funeral, okay? Life will return to normal after Wednesday. You'll go back to work, the kids will go back to their summery pursuits, Mom will hopefully go home and Bernice back to Columbus Avenue. Right now, I need things to stay peaceful for just another day. I can get through the funeral if everyone will just stay calm and not expect too much. Can we do that?" She looked directly at Marie.

Marie nodded. At that moment, Pam had the realization that something deeper was going on, something that she didn't have the strength to deal with yet, what would have to be dealt with after the funeral, after they had gotten back to normal.

Suddenly, she had an idea. It would mean throwing her original conviction of keeping to herself that day to the wind.

"Let's go shopping, okay? Everyone else is going to the beach. I hate the idea of the crowded beach on a holiday. Let's wake Lisa up and go to South Shore."

Her mind made up, Pam started scurrying around as she always did when she was going about her day. Marie tried to pull it together, tried to move past the last half hour. She would go through the motions instead of being so self-seeking, so selfish, and let her sister have her way. That was the adult thing to do.

## Chapter 12

Wednesday morning, the day of Jack's funeral had finally arrived. It was overcast, but dry. Pam stood in her black silk suit, wanting to fade into the wall, knowing she was about to be on display for the hundreds of people who would come from all over, from Massachusetts to Washington, D.C., to pay their respects to Jack. Poor Jack, he would have loved this! He loved people. She could hear him now, For Christ's sake, where the hell were all these people when I needed a loan? The focus had not been on Jack these last days, but on his behavior, his final deed. Of course, no one knew about it but Marie and Pam. Pam believed the kids thought their father a sainted knight who just had a lapse in stamina.

Not hearing from Sandra Benson, Pam didn't contact her either; she attend that morning, or not. Pam would stay back and let Sandra make the decision about how much involvement she wanted. If she wanted to be up front with the family, she would be. If she wanted to stay back out of sight, that was okay, too. Pam wouldn't look for the reactions of Jack's colleagues. Surely, they knew of the liaison between Jack and Sandra, watching for any interaction between the wife and the mistress.

Marie, on the other hand, was on edge, looking for the slightest reaction. Tossing and turning in bed until just after dawn, trying to wake up was difficult, eyelids like gritty sandpaper. She had a headache, too, worried the slightest provocation would make her lose control. For the kids' sake, especially Lisa's, she had to maintain calm.

Dragging herself to the closet, she decided on wearing pants and a shirt. It was supposed to go up to eighty degrees, so no way was she layering a suit. Outlining her mouth with lipstick, she wasn't wearing any other makeup. Brushing her hair straight back, securing it with a barrette, the way Jack liked her hair. "No nonsense," he called it. "You are my no-nonsense girl, and Pam is my high-maintenance girl," he would say. "Don't wear makeup," he'd tell her. "I like seeing how clear your skin is. You don't have one blemish!" Pam would say, "She's a teenager, too! It's because she knows how to take care of herself!" She walked to the bed and sat on the side of it, shoulders slumped, and put her head in her hands. Oh, Jack, what am I going to do now?

By eight, everyone was up and dressed, eating the last of the gifted food, fruit salad, homemade muffins, and bakery sweet rolls. Pam hadn't come out of her room yet, so Brent went to see if she was up and ready. Knocking, he whispered to the crack in the door, "Mom, you up?"

Opening the door, remembering her purse, she turned to get it. He followed her in, closing the door behind him.

"Mom, Aunt Marie is really strange," he said, embarrassed, used to ignoring his aunt's attention, but it was escalating."I'm not sure how to handle her."

Pam looked over at her grown son, seeing for the first time that he was a man. Overnight, he'd changed.

"Give her some time, okay, son? She is sad, too. Dad was her one and only for a long, long time. Not sure what she's going to do. Is she bothering you now?"

"Sort of," Brent answered, not sure how much detail he should go into." She came into my room last night and got into my bed. She was crying and mumbling something. Noni got her and took her back to bed."

Looking down at his petite mother, he noticed the fine lines around her eyes and mouth for the first time, wondering when his parents had gotten old. Maybe it was for her benefit to keep sweeping his complaints under the bed.

"Okay, well, lock your door tonight," Pam said, not really thinking her son was in any danger. "She'll be going back to the city soon, and then we won't have to worry. Let's just get through today. I feel like that is all I keep asking people—let's get through today. What will my excuse be tomorrow?"

"Jesus, Mom, give yourself a break, okay?" He went up to her and put his arm around her shoulder, steering her toward the door. "Come on, I want to leave. We should be there to see him before anyone else arrives."

They walked out of her room together, a unified force, looking for Bernice and Lisa. Pam wanted the four of them to go together, his family and his mother. Everyone else could figure out with whom they would go.

Brent drove the Lexus with Bernice in the front seat and his mother and sister in the back. He was the man of the family now.

## Chapter 13

Bernice was despondent. In spite of it, she looked lovely in a dark-blue silk shirtwaist dress, her silver hair swept up in a chignon wearing the pearls that Harold had given her the day she had Bill. Unable to speak without weeping, she kept her mouth shut. Grasping the hands of her grandchildren before they got into the car, just shaking her head back and forth, she clasped an ironed cotton handkerchief in her hand but had a box of Kleenex in her purse, just in case. They waited in the parked Lexus on the street while everyone else got into their cars. When the last door shut, the procession began, traveling slowly down the streets of Babylon. The neighbors who were home that week were either preparing to go to the funeral or, if not, standing solemnly, waving at the family as they passed.

The same men who waited on Saturday afternoon were there waiting again. They opened the doors of the car, offering their arms to the ladies to assist them. Brent hurried around and took his grandmother's elbow, while Lisa stood by her mother. The next car to pull in belonged to Bill and Anne. Pam wanted to wait for Jack's brother to join them as they viewed the body for the first time. They walked into the funeral home, Pam averting her eyes from the bust of George Washington. When they entered the room set aside especially for Jack, Pam gasped at the abundance of floral arrangements.

"Oh my goodness! All of this for Jack?"

Everyone exclaimed in agreement, "All for Jack!" There were huge arrangements, reaching from one end of the room, lining up behind the casket, to the other end. There was also an overflow of arrangements in the hallway, which Pam had failed to notice, thanks to George Washington.

"All but these three bouquets have cards," the director said. "We're attempting to find out who they are from."

Pam thought of all the thank-you cards they would have to write. "Make sure they go to the nursing home when this is over."

The smell was heady, intoxicating. When Marie walked in, it made her headache worse. They should have put a no-flower request in the obituary, but it was too late now. She remembered her grandmother's perfume, Cashmere Bouquet. The smell of it was so dry it brought tears to her eyes. The funeral flowers were doing the same thing.

Pam and Bernice, flanked by Lisa and Brent, walked up to the casket and looked in. Bernice brought her hankie to her face. The children began to weep. Pam grew stony. He looked fabulous. How could that be possible? How does someone who looks so good, so healthy, so lifelike, be dead?

"He doesn't even look dead," she said out loud.

Everyone turned to look at her, but said nothing at first. Then the comments began.

"Wow, look at how good he looks! They did a great job! Jack was always so handsome."

Pam muttered under her breath to those immediately around her, "He wouldn't dare look bad on his funeral day."

They all agreed that it was so Jack. So far, so good. But it was inevitable that it was bound to get more difficult.

When Marie came in, she took one look at the casket and began to wail, "Oh, Jack! Oh, Jack!"

Pam looked around the room for her mother. "Come on, Sis, sit over here." She dragged Marie over to the chairs. "I have to greet people," Pam said. She walked back to the casket and stood between her mother-in-law and her kids. Guests began to line up to view Jack's body.

People took her hand and expressed their condolences, "What a wonderful guy...It was so sudden...We feel awful..." Blah, blah, blah.

Pam did notice that eventually the Manhattan contingency arrived, including Sandra Benson. She came with the others from the office, explaining later that it would have looked too obvious if she'd refused and come alone. But when she reached Pam in the receiving line, she bent down and embraced her, taking her hands and telling her how terribly sorry she was, and Pam felt it was genuine. It was clear Sandra actually felt worse for Pam's loss than she did for her own.

What was in reality only an hour seemed like an all-day ordeal as Pam greeted all of his golf buddies, some of them crying, and his coworkers and colleagues, including many, many young women who said they worked with him. Hmmm, Pam thought, in what capacity? But said nothing. She would have to investigate this further, at another time.

At the funeral, Pam spoke first, thanking everyone for coming to Jack's final send-off. Bill gave the eulogy, a lovely, funny memoir that did not hide the raucous nature of Jack. Several times, inappropriate though it might have been, the audience broke out in laughter. Oh, he was a comic all right.

The rest of the day went by in a fog for Pam and the rest of the family. She vaguely remembered hearing her nieces and nephews crying or fighting or whining. What a bunch of brats. Thank God it's almost over, she thought to herself. Marie held it together, keeping away from Sandra Benson. Nelda kept her close, supporting her. At the graveside, just the immediate family attended. Sandra did not come.

Because of the delay between going to the cemetery and lunch back at the house, just a handful of mourners came to eat. Pam spent most of the time saying good-bye to her loved ones. Bill and Anne were taking Bernice back to the city, Marie was leaving and taking Nelda with her, and Sharon and her family were leaving before traffic got too bad on the turnpike. With each good-bye, Pam became more exhausted. She wished everyone would just leave for their homes and let life get back to normal!

Finally, by six it was just her children. Lisa and Brent were leaving late tomorrow. Pam changed into sweatpants and got out the biggest trash bags she could find; everything left from the past four days—every roll, every piece of cake, bowls of unwrapped candy, fruit and pasta salads—was swept away into the trash. The kids got into it as well. Brent went to each bedroom and stripped the sheets off the mattresses, took every towel and washcloth that looked used, and stuffed them into a series of plastic laundry baskets in the laundry room. He decided he wouldn't wait for the cleaning lady to come; he started the washer right then. Later, he told his mother it felt so good that he actually looked forward to doing his own laundry after that. There was something about cleaning up, washing everything, that spoke of new beginnings. Several bouquets of flowers were tossed, and all the sympathy cards were packed away.

They scurried around, cleaning and straightening with the music on the radio turned up loud. Then they got into the Lexus, drove to Shore Pizza and ordered a large pie, two-dozen hot wings, a Greek salad, and a pitcher of Bud Light for Brent and Pam and a Diet Pepsi for Lisa. They talked and ate until midnight. When they got home, Brent dragged the twin mattress from one of the guest bedrooms and placed it on Pam's bedroom floor. They needed to be together tonight. It would be the last time the three of them, what was left of their family, would be under the same roof for a long time. No one mentioned it, but they also wanted to be close to what was left of their father, his clothing and personal belongings right in the bedroom closet.

In the morning, Pam got up and made breakfast. She and Lisa would drive Brent to JFK first, and then put Lisa in a limo for Newark. She could hardly stand the thought of it. While they ate, they tried to stay off the topic of Jack, but he kept popping up, and when he did, someone was bound to cry. Pam kept the coffee coming. Rather than reminiscing, this time around they spoke of the things their father would miss—college graduations, marriages, and grandchildren. The sadness of unmet expectations haunted them.

Finally, it was time to leave. Brent had to be at the airport by two. There wasn't much left to say, so they turned up the radio and sang along, laughing at made-up lyrics. It was just the sort of thing their father would have done. They arrived on time, not parking and walking in with him, but dropping him off and keeping it brief. Pam didn't think she could take a prolonged good-bye.

Getting Lisa into her limousine pointed to Newark, Pam stood by, waving. By Thursday afternoon, Pam was alone.

When she returned to the house, she parked the Lexus back in the garage. The mail had come, and there was a paper on the porch. She wanted all loose ends tied up without having one single thing to do. Locking the front door behind her, she put her purse and the mail down on the kitchen counter. Then she proceeded to go through the house, shutting every shade or curtain that faced the front. Wanting privacy, needing peace, she shut the shades in the unused rooms and the children's rooms and closed the doors. If there was anything of Jack left in the house, besides the bedroom closet and the garage, it was the den. She couldn't deal with that yet. Let it be. But she closed the shades and door to that room as well, sealing it off from the rest of the house, forbidden.

The house was secure, and it was relatively neat. She went into her room, pulled the shades in there too, got into bed, and stayed there for the rest of the week.

## Chapter 14

Marie gave Nelda an earful on the way home from Pam's house. She was livid about the way she'd been ignored at the funeral, like a nonentity, not given the opportunity to speak. Then afterward, she felt tossed aside like a chauffeur, not invited to stay with the rest of the family as she had all of her life. She hated being there anyway. It was obvious to her that Jack had left years prior to his death; there was nothing of him in the house now.

Her mother was mortified. It was clear to her some jealous streak that lay dormant was rearing its head in death. Why now? Why it took Jack's death to make her daughter react to it was a mystery. Nelda had always thought Marie's involvement with Pam and her family was a huge mistake. She and her husband, Frank, had fought over it. Then the truth revealed; Frank expected that Jack would pay for Marie's college, and he was right. Nelda never forgave Frank for giving Marie up for servitude, the price of a college education. But now she was frightened that some of that animosity was going to be directed at her. Was Marie going to go down memory lane as part of her coming to terms with wasting her life in return for being a full-time, live-in servant for her sister? Nelda didn't think she was up for that sort of restitution. Marie would demand it—a lot of it.

When they got to her flat in Brooklyn, Nelda didn't invite her in. The tirade was not over yet, but she had had enough. Insisting on handling her own bags, Nelda said, "The meter's running; I can manage just fine." She kissed her youngest child on the cheek and went up the steps.

Marie didn't seem to notice that Nelda had dismissed her. But as the cab pulled away from the curb, she realized there was no one else who would listen to her, no one else who cared. Nelda and Pam were the only people on earth who knew all the players, who understood the dynamics of the family, not yet recognizing her role for what it truly was, a diversion for Jack and a buffer for everyone else.

Although the day would come when she would begin to resent where that path had taken her, to nowhere with no family of her own, right now the only deficit she felt was exclusion from the grief of the intimate family circle. The kids even withdrew and clung to their mother! What was that all about? Marie wondered. She arrived home with a head full of rebuttals to everything that was said to her during the funeral. Someone actually said, "You must be strong for Pam." What the hell did that mean? What about being strong for myself? I loved Jack like a brother—like a brother! Although her counter-ego said, Really? Like a brother?

~ ~ ~

Sandra drove in with a group of people from the office. Afterward, after the farce, they were going to a diner in Brooklyn, but she couldn't stand the thought of sitting and making small talk, rehashing the funeral or, worse, talking about Jack, so she had them drop her off at the entrance to the subway.

It was hot and smelly in the train car. She drew her dress close around her legs and sat back, closing her eyes. She took deep, slow breaths of the stinky air, forcing her shoulders and back to relax. Pictures went through her head: moments in time, fleeting glimpses of Pam, Jack's children, Jack lying in the casket. Pam stood like a statue, barely moving her facial muscles, hands clenched at her sides. When approached by a guest, Sandra watched her go through the exact same motions for each one. She raised her hands, grasped the forearms of the well-wisher, and forced a modicum of a smile onto her face. Sandra could almost read her lips from across the room, "Thank you so much for coming; it would have meant so much to Jack." When it had been her turn to go through the receiving line, Pam grabbed her like an old friend, tears coming to her eyes. "Oh, thank you so much. Thank you so much. It's so sad, so sad." She could smell Pam's perfume, a light, floral scent. Sandra could hardly control her grief at that point and didn't look down at Jack; it would have been too difficult to stay calm.

Now she regretted not looking at him. The last time she had seen him was in the hospital. The others had remarked how good he looked. No one had included her in the conversation, a fact for which she would be grateful. No one had mentioned anything about them being together or acted as if they knew. Perhaps the secret was safe after all.

Having to change trains, the last stop for her was Broadway, about ten blocks from her apartment. Walking the distance in her shoes would be difficult, so she got a cab but it seemed to take forever to get to 82nd. The familiar neighborhood flew by, the apartment finally before her.

Opening the door, cool air rushing out was welcoming. She was not going back out for the rest of the day, and she wasn't going to the office for possibly the rest of the week. She didn't care if she got fired; she needed to be alone.

Undressing, she promptly threw what she'd worn in the trash, knowing she would not wear it again, ever. Replacing the dress with soft pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, her skin felt like it couldn't tolerate anything else. Wondering if she was coming down with something, having woken up queasy and feeling a little queasy now, she went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. No sooner had she turned to walk back through the living room she began projectile vomiting, a stream of regurgitated water, which hit the opposing wall with a splash. It shocked her. But a little voice deep in her brain said, Uh...oh....

## Chapter 15

On Sunday morning, Pam woke up to rain and a little energy, attempting to get back to her life, the past days spent in despair. The phone unanswered except for calls from her kids, she ate only junk and watched reruns of The Twilight Zone and Law and Order.

Every morning she'd taken a shower, carefully applied makeup, did her hair and found a stylish, but comfortable outfit to wear. If anyone saw her, they would think she had made a full recovery, that her grief had been swift and complete.

Baking a dozen chocolate-chip muffins, she ate two with a pot of coffee. Sitting on the veranda, shaded from the neighbors by high stone walls, mosquito netting, and pampas grass, when the sugar from the muffins hit her, she returned to her bedroom and crawled back into bed, flicking the TV on with the remote. There she stayed until hunger beckoned her out of bed again.

The Friday morning after the kids left, alone for the first time, the worst grief hit her. He wouldn't be coming home that night. He was dead. Not only that, but the fear that if he hadn't died, if he'd made it home for the party, the charade of their life would have caught up with him, and after their guests left, he would have packed up and left her for good.

She imagined the entire scenario; Jack saying he wasn't coming home to the beach anymore, that he would stay in the city from now on. Would he have confessed that he was in love with Sandra? Although Marie didn't say it, Pam knew she wanted to go into more detail about seeing the two of them together that day on the streets. Now she was thinking that maybe she'd like some of that forbidden knowledge, after all.

By Sunday, somewhat recovered she felt returned to her old self. After the morning beauty ritual, she made her standard pot of coffee and went from room to room, opening the curtains. She left a message on her housekeeper's phone to return to work as soon as possible. Then she grabbed her purse and her own car keys and left for the gym.

Working without mercy after a week furlough, the effort felt good. No one asked her where she had been and if they knew about Jack, reading something in the Times or the local paper, they didn't acknowledge it. She enjoyed her anonymity. How she had maintained it after living in the same house for as long as she did said something to her about the busyness of life, you either were born into an area or remained a stranger forever.

After the workout, she refreshed her lipstick in the car and drove to Organic Bonanza, part gourmet delicatessen, part grocery store. There, she would buy enough food to stock her refrigerator for a week and not have to cook a thing. Only planning for meals up to the next Friday, she would have to again deal with those painful issues of Jack not coming home from the city then, and not before.

This week, she would get the death certificate, go to Social Security for the kids, see their lawyer, go to the insurance company, and into the city again to clean out the refrigerator in the apartment, once and for all. She hadn't thought about what to do with the apartment much, but the idea crossed her mind to rent it.

The groceries needed to be put away, so she went straight home. The rain was letting up, and some blue sky peeked through. She wanted to walk on the beach, a good, long walk. But first, she would go to the library and choose books to read. Okay, I have exercise, reading, walking on the beach, and eating. When those things are done, what's left? She began to get frightened. She was alone.

## Chapter 16

Marie let herself into her apartment, violently jiggling the key in the lock, pushing the door open with her fist and slamming it shut. She stomped around the place, throwing her bags on the floor of the closet and pulling the blinds open with such force that they swung back and forth for a full minute.

Finally, she plopped down on the couch, putting her head in her hands and began to sob, feeling hopeless. There wasn't one single thing for her to look forward. Hating her job, she went through the motions to make Jack proud since he had gotten it for her. No one cared if she showed up for work or not, and she felt the same way about all of them. Pam used to say, "You have to pretend sometimes, and then the feelings will grow to be genuine." Marie thought that was the tritest rationalization she had heard. Most of the people she worked with commuted from New Jersey anyway. What good would friendships with those people do?

The one single thing that gave her life meaning was leaving the city on Saturday and driving to Long Island to see her sister and Jack. After the kids left for college, she thought it would change, but if anything, it became more focused on Jack and, therefore, more fun for Marie.

Learning to golf when she was just fourteen, she'd lived for her golf outings with Jack. Customizing a set of clubs especially for her, Jack made sure Marie had the best of everything. Devouring golf clothing catalogues, she had an impressive wardrobe of golf wear. It gave her something to talk about with other men. Her scores were impressive as well.

Now what would become of it? Pam didn't golf and they had a membership at an expensive country club. Marie wondered if she could interest Pam. Why bother? She didn't want to golf with Pam; she wanted to golf with Jack but he was dead. "Fuck!" she screamed loudly, not caring if the entire building heard her.

Sitting on the couch, looking out the huge picture window with its view of the Hudson River just beyond Javitz Center, she knew she was a spoiled brat. Here she had this great apartment, could walk to work, was close to transportation and could go just about anywhere she wanted by walking two blocks, yet she was miserable. Getting ready for work for the rest of the week, which she never did, always running around late trying to find clothes to wear, would give her purpose, a sense of accomplishment. Later she'd call her mother and offer to take her somewhere over the weekend. It would give them both something to which to look forward. Swallowing her pride, she'd call Pam to ask if she wanted company. Those decisions made, she got up, wiped her face off with a tissue, and vowed to begin living again.

## Chapter 17

Sandra steadily felt better the next morning while she was getting ready to go to work. Still just a little queasy, she decided it was due to stress. Leaving her apartment she walked south on Broadway, trying not to think about how the past days had changed her life, that the day before she had attended the funeral of her lover incognito. The ideal situation would be if she never had to cross the threshold of the office again. She wondered what the mood would be.

The train was hot, and she loathed the ride that day even more than usual, knowing that there was no one to greet her, no cocky grin, no greying temples, no hunk waiting for her. She'd eat lunch alone, go home to her empty apartment and having no one to go to dinner with, maybe even skip the meal. Imagining her hips getting slimmer, her breasts disappearing, and clothes hanging on her body due to lack of calories; it had happened in the past.

There was a meeting for Jack's department, so she needn't have worried about the office. Peter was probably going over his clients and the projects Jack had, which they would divide among the others, guaranteeing Sandra a peaceful morning.

What she hadn't counted on was what she found hanging over her credenza—the vibrant painting of Riverside Gardens. Calling the gallery right after their breakfast together, he bought the painting and had it delivered and hung. Closing her eyes, she imagined him talking on his cell phone, extracting promises of anonymity, and then ending the call and falling over with a heart attack.

She walked to her door and shut it, closing the blinds on the sidelights. The tears came yet again. How much Jack had impacted her life was directly proportional to how much she felt it being destroyed. Things she once did exclusively with Jack would not be tolerable; eating at Chantal's, listening to Sting, enjoying certain artists, or reading mystery novels—she would miss. This job, not a high point in her life, now had the potential to be intolerable. She didn't even know if she could stay in the city.

Walking around to her desk, she sat down and looked at the phone. There was only one other person on this earth she could think of at that moment who knew what she was going through, who could imagine her frustration and non-acceptance of Jack's death, and that person was his wife. Sandra picked up the phone and dialed Pam's number. It rang for seven rings, and the answering machine picked up. It was a homogenized male voice instructing her to leave her name and number, which she did. When she was finished, she put her head down on her desk and had a good cry.

## Chapter 18

Marie went back to work on Thursday, although she honestly thought she deserved to have the rest of the week off after what she had been through. She tried calling her sister, but got the answering machine. Softening, she thought maybe Pam was just lying low, allowing herself time to catch up with her feelings.

Going to work turned out to be helpful after all, she had a lot of work, none of it was emotion-based, and her brain had to work to sort facts out. Few people there knew Jack in spite of his company fielding work their way, so the comments were limited to, "Sorry about your brother-in-law."

It was as if it hadn't happened, he was still alive, at work two subway stops down, and all she had to do was send him a text message: Meet me at the hot dog stand on the corner of Exchange and Wall. He'd be there like clockwork, standing with a dog and a soda, all ready for her. They'd walk down the street, stopping to lean up against a granite wall and eat, easily talking, sharing intimacies that no one else would hear. He never, ever breathed a word about Sandra Benson. Was he, in essence, cheating on me as well? The earlier peace fleeing, she sat at her desk, distraught. The loneliness was palpable. She needed Pam now like never before and left another message, then a third.

On Friday evening, walking home from the office, she imagined that it was going to be like any other weekend, packing a bag, getting her car gassed up and the next day, would be spent going to Long Island. She'd usually stop at a farmers' market on the way to the house and pick up whatever caught her eye; it was the least she could do.

A private room and bath at the beach was in a separate wing from the master and guest suites, shared with Lisa and Brent when they were children and now when they returned home from college. When they were away, Marie missed them terribly. There was something about knowing that all she had to do was knock on one of their doors and she would have ready companionship.

In retrospect, she wondered if her niece and nephew minded her presence. She had always been there, but the family still treated her like an honored guest. When Lisa had fought with her mother over permission to date an older boy, Jack had spoken up and said, "I'm sure Marie doesn't want to listen to this squabbling."

Lisa and Pam had turned and looked at her with impatience. "If she's going to be here every weekend, she'll hear more than this!"

Marie would have packed up right then and never come back, but Jack had leaped to her rescue. "She's keeping us civilized! Let's go hit a basket of golf balls," he'd said to no one in particular, but Brent and Marie had headed out the door with him. It was that sort of interaction that kept her coming back. She was sure now that if Pam had minded, she would have said, "Don't come this weekend. It's too much."

The rare weekend she'd had other plans, one of the kids would be on the phone asking her if she was coming, and then she would either feel welcome there or guilty for not going. It was too late, she'd spent her life there as either an interloper or a welcome guest. It was too late to change anything; she couldn't remake history.

Letting herself into the apartment, knowing she was staying home was anticlimactic. Hungry, she didn't feel like cooking, getting out a loaf of bread and the peanut butter jar for a sandwich. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she took it into the living room overlooking the river. While she ate, she thumbed through the caller ID on her phone and one name jumped out before she threw the phone down on the table: Sandra Benson. What the hell did she want? Picking up the phone again in a huff she continued searching through the caller ID numbers and saw that Pam had called earlier, as well as her mother. A glob of peanut butter on her tooth distracted her for a moment.

Putting the sandwich down on the coffee table without a plate under it, she called her mother first, who didn't have anything to say about Pam, except she hoped she was okay, as she wasn't answering her phone yet. Returning Pam's call next, the phone rang for five rings, answered with a soft hello.

"Did you call?" Marie asked, concerned.

"I did. Sorry I didn't leave a message. I wanted to tell you that Sandra Benson called, and she really needed someone to talk to. I was hoping you would meet with her, be a sounding board, if you are able. It's the least we can do. She loved Jack, Marie, she really did."

Pam was silent then for a few minutes. "I just can't talk to anyone yet. Do you understand? I have to sort through my own feelings about his death before I can help you and the children and Sandra sort through your feelings. I am okay with his affair. I don't hold that against her. It was of my own making."

"She called here. I saw her number on the caller ID," Marie said.

"I tried calling her back and left your number on her answering machine. I am truly sorry if that was not okay with you, Marie." Pam took a deep breath and then sighed. "I can't talk anymore. I'll call you in a couple of days, okay?"

They said good-bye, Marie feeling empathy for her sister, but still a little icy, still a little jealous, unable to rationalize her feelings. Trying to understand what it would take to make her feel better about everything, she realized that she didn't feel like part of the family now and probably never would again. It was Jack who had made her feel welcome, who'd seemed to want her at the beach. Was he just being polite? She knew it was more than that.

Pushing papers off the couch onto the floor, she lay down, watching the sun go down in the western sky and the lights go on around her and across the river in New Jersey. What a crappy way to spend a Friday night. Leaving the lights off, she eventually fell asleep.

Sometime in the night, Marie woke up and went to bed. Sandra Benson kept popping into her head, but she just couldn't make contact with her, not yet anyway. Wanting to see her sister, too, in the still of the night, she missed Pam, missed her cordial, cool demeanor, the way she never allowed her own discomfort to stand in the way of the comfort of others. Case in point: Sandra Benson. Why, oh, why did Pam care whether Sandra was happy? Or sad? Marie tossed and turned for a while and finally fell back to sleep.

## Chapter 19

Saturday was hell for Sandra Benson. How did a week pass already since Jack's death? The four walls of her apartment were closing in on her; she would have to get out this weekend, find friends to visit or go shopping.

The other problem, if it was a problem and not just a figment of her imagination, was not going away. Still a little queasy, a little tired, her period was due that day, Saturday and she kept running to the bathroom every time she felt the slightest moisture. Nothing. She took the pill, albeit not without some forgetfulness. Today was the day, she thought. It was never late; because of the pill, it was always like clockwork. But she had forgotten to take it two days in a row at the beginning of the month when she went on business to Philadelphia and stayed overnight.

By noon, she had had enough and left to walk to the drugstore on Broadway to get a pregnancy test. There, I said it! Pregnancy test. Pregnant. Baby. Jack's baby. She walked quickly down Broadway. The drugstore was crowded; she prayed no one she knew would come in while she was waiting in line.

Reading the labels on the different brands of test made it too real. They were all similar; one had a pink plus sign if the test was positive, another had a smiley face, a yellow, round circle with a black smiling face on it if you were, in fact, pregnant. Were they kidding? Where were the skull and cross bones if it dared to be positive? She didn't want cutesy; she didn't want plus signs and balloons. She wanted negative. A giant NO printed in black.

Choosing the test that was the quickest and guaranteed to be accurate even before a missed period, she put it in her handbasket and walked over to the candy aisle. Grabbing bags of M&Ms and mini Almond Joys, she would end up eating every piece of candy. Longing to tear into the bags and pop little candy bars into her mouth or handfuls of M&Ms, she put the obvious out of her mind and thought of a recipe her late mother used to bake. Cupcakes with a piece of Almond Joy into the center. The recipe was in a box of cookbooks that had belonged to her mom; she'd find it and bake them tonight. It was a fitting way to spend a Saturday night, she thought sarcastically.

Paying for the test and her candy, she hurried out of the drugstore before she ran into someone she knew, as unlikely as that was. Getting home as fast as possible, she threw the candy bags on the chair in the sitting room, dug the test out of the bag and read the directions again. Taking the plastic stick out of the box and into the bathroom, she placed it on the edge of the sink and unbuttoned her jeans, pulling them down to her ankles. The stick was short so she had to contort to get the thing close enough to her crotch to pee on without taking her jeans off.

If it turned green, she was pregnant; blue, she wasn't. Peeing on it, she waited. Then she looked at her watch and waited some more. After a minute, she looked, and it was green. The stick turned green. She thought, Great! What the hell am I going to do now?

Throwing the stick in the trash, she washed her hands, pulling her jeans up and buttoning and zipping them. Looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, at the dark circles under her eyes and her lips swollen from nightly crying marathons, this was the first time that she was relieved both parents were gone. Having to tell them she was pregnant with the baby of a dead, married man would have been intolerable. Goosebumps on her arms and a sick feeling in her stomach taunting her, there was nothing she could do about the news but deal with it later.

The box of cookbooks that had belonged to her mom was in a closet downstairs. She ran down and dug it out, ripping the packing tape off and lifting the books out. Remembering it was in a self-published, church fundraiser book, she picked several of them out to thumb through. Taking the stack of books upstairs, she turned the teakettle on. A cup of tea and looking through cook books—a good diversion.

~ ~ ~

Marie spent Saturday going through the chain of events of the previous Saturday, remembering each thing and trying to imagine what she could have done that would have altered the outcome. If she had made her presence known when she saw Sandra and Jack on the street, he wouldn't have left town then, possibly having his heart attack in a place where help could've come sooner. If she'd taken him back to her apartment and made him a drink so he'd relax, he'd possibly bypass a heart attack. With Jack alive, the picnic would be on. Marie would go to Pam's, expecting to spend the next three days on the beach. Imagining the binge eating she'd participate in, hot dogs and burgers off the grill, Mom's potato salad, cake and desserts from Heavenly Cake. And the fun she'd have playing Uno with Lisa; and sneaking a smoke from Bill's pack. Instead, she had the worst week of her life, and her beloved Jack was dead. Once again, she asked the unanswerable question: What the hell am I going to do with my life now?

~ ~ ~

Sandra slept like a dead person on Saturday night. Eating three cupcakes with Almond Joys stuck in the center of them had no effect on her. They were hot and gooey, the candy bar melted and delicious.

Sunday morning came, and she was so depressed. Getting out of bed was a struggle. What am I going to do today? Will another two thousand calories of candy help get me through the day? Forcing herself to bathe and dress, she was mildly nauseated again, food was not an option. For a second she pretended that Jack was still alive, across the river and in Babylon, imagining him wearing white tennis shorts and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, running around the tennis courts at his country club. Or wearing long linen pants and a crisp golf shirt, golfing in Bermuda. She never actually saw him like this, but he'd talked about those activities and she could see him in her mind's eye. Sticking a cup of tea made the day before into the microwave, she sat at the table, looking at her brick wall and drinking the stale tea, pretending she was doing those things with him, that he was her partner in more than illicit sex. She suddenly felt so alone, so empty.

~ ~ ~

Pam couldn't concentrate on the book she was reading. Making a huge glass of iced tea, she arranged cheese and crackers on a plate, grabbed a sweater in case it was chilly out on the veranda, and picked up her book. She made the effort, but just couldn't get into the book. Reading the flyleaf, the last page, the back of the book without success, maybe it wasn't going to be a good fit.

Standing up, she looked out at the water; her footprints from earlier in the day were visible halfway down the beach and then mysteriously disappeared as though she had flown away. The water had lost its allure so early in the season, with nobody to walk the beach with, no one waiting for her at the house inquiring if she found any of her favorite beach glass. A large, clear glass ginger jar sat on the kitchen counter filled with small pieces of blue and green glass and the rare red.

Marie came to mind. She walked to the phone and picked it up, keying in her number, Marie answering on the second ring with a breathless, questioning hello.

"It's Pam, Marie. I was thinking of you. How are you?" Inane. What a dumb thing to say.

"I'm surviving. How about you?" Marie really wanted to know. She felt tender feelings for her sister, hidden by her jealousy.

"The same, I guess. I keep thinking what will the weekend bring if he doesn't come home? Well, he's not going to, so I guess I better get over it!" she said. "This week was a blur. How about for you?"

"I worked," Marie said, and then asked, "What'd you do?"

"I stayed in bed Friday and Saturday, watching reruns, eating forbidden foods. Then today I forced myself to go to the gym. Oh, that was fun! I walked on the beach. But I thought of something. You don't have to answer now, but think about coming out for next weekend, why don't you?" She didn't say anything else.

"Okay, I'll think about it," Marie said. "And Pam? Thanks for the invite."

They spoke briefly about their mother. Before they said their good-byes, Marie mentioned Sandra Benson. "I'm not ready to call her yet. I know you think it would help her, but I am not so sure it would be that helpful to me."

"Whatever you think. It was just an idea," Pam said, and then they said good-bye.

Pam didn't want to get ahead of herself, fully intending on calling Sandra and inviting her for the following weekend. Telling Marie only when she got a positive response, Pam didn't fully understand what compelled her to bring them together. Sandra was closer to Lisa and Brent's ages than Marie's, a thought making her bristle. But Sandra had loved Jack, as she was sure Marie loved Jack and maybe they could offer some support to each other. All Pam felt was numbness. Crying jags and those two days of relative inertia aside, she wasn't dwelling on his absence—yet. By next Friday, when there was again no chance of his weekly homecoming, she would be able to evaluate her mental status more realistically.

Picking up the phone, she keyed in Sandra's phone number and she answered right away. "Sandra, it's Pam Smith again. I am sorry to bother you on a Sunday. Your name keeps popping into my head, so I thought I would call you. Is this a bad time?"

"God, yes! I have a house full of important guests. The servants are all busy serving. I barely have a minute to myself." Sandra sat down again, her head hanging down, despondent. "No, I'm not busy, Pam."

Pam giggled nervously, not sure what to say next. Sandra was immediately regretful. Here was the woman whose husband had died and she needed to show some respect.

"How have you been, Pam? Has it been difficult for you?" Sandra asked.

"I guess I am doing as well as can be expected. How are you holding up?" She asked, really wanting to know.

Sandra thought of the unspoken, the unmentionable, the not-yet-revealed. "I'm okay. The office was strange." Sandra thought it might be helpful for Pam to know how lost everyone was without Jack, but maybe not.

"I'd like to hear what happened. No one called after the funeral. I thought Peter would call, but there was nothing, Jack's partner not even acknowledging his death with a phone call. They're probably worried I'll ask for money." Pam laughed, thinking how inappropriate that comment was. Oh well, to hell with them.

"Good point! You should ask for money. I would if I could. All day Wednesday the staff spent in meetings, dividing Jack's projects. I hid in my office. No one knows or suspects anything about the other, you know. So there was no reason to treat me in any special way." She stood up and started pacing. Measuring her words was nerve-wracking. "Not that I would have wanted that anyway." She stopped yammering. Oh, this was so hard!

"Did they make any statement? I still think it is amusing that Peter never called me!" Pam repeated. "He barely said anything to me at the funeral. Oh well, let the attorneys handle it."

"Yes, well, he is a strange one. I got in late, and they were already in the meeting. I think if there were an announcement, it would have been at that time. You know better than I do what Peter is like. He can hardly make eye contact when times were good." There was a brief pause.

Pam remembered the real reason for her call. "I'd like to have you here next weekend. It's supposed to be beautiful out; we are on the ocean, so it would be like having a mini vacation. You can spend the night if you are comfortable with that, or just stay for the day. My sister, Marie, is thinking about coming, too. What do you say? I'd love to have you."

She was sincerely hoping the answer would be yes. How strange is this? Pam was going step by step and had a fleeting thought that maybe she should have put more planning into it. What if she found out she didn't like Sandra after all, that Marie was correct about her? Once the woman was in her home, it would be difficult to get her out without causing a scene.

Sandra was speechless, the thought of spending the night in Jack's house, with his wife in the next room, was completely wrong. She didn't know what to say, but the silence was awkward enough. "I'll think about it and call you later?" It wasn't an unreasonable response, considering the circumstances.

"Absolutely!" Pam replied. "I'll look forward to hearing from you then."

They said their good-byes, Pam feeling better than she had all week. Putting the phone down, she walked back out on the veranda. It needed sweeping, so she went into the utility closet off the mudroom and got a broom. Maybe some good old-fashioned housekeeping was in order. The housekeepers would return in the morning, but that was no reason to leave this mess for them. She swept away, making a little pile of sand and pushing it off the stones into the sandy garden.

Sweeping down the pathway of boardwalk Jack had built for his mother when she'd broken her ankle, Pam thought of Bernice. They'd pushed her in a wheelchair to the end of the property, almost to the beach where she'd been content to sit in the circle of wood, watching the sea gulls swooping and her grandchildren playing volleyball.

Jack, always doting, brought her glasses of lemonade sweetened with aspartame, just the way she liked it. "Mother," he would say, "how can you drink this crap? Why not let me make you some Kool-Aid instead?" She'd laughed at him, amused at his concern for her.

"Just give it to me, will you?" She would grab at his hand for the glass.

Jack would take her to lunch at least once a week at a little café on Amsterdam, where she ordered the same lunch each time—a veggie burger with red onion and avocado on a whole-wheat bun and sweet-potato fries, always saying the same thing to her.

"How can such a demure little old lady eat red onion and then go out in public and breathe on people all afternoon?" She would make a point of breathing her onion breath in his face, and exaggerating her vowels, she'd say, "It's not so bad, is it? You wouldn't deny me this small joy, now, would you?"

Or he'd look around furtively and, lifting one hip, let out a small amount of gas, just enough that only his mother would hear. She'd make a fuss, acting appalled, all the while the two of them hysterical at their bathroom-humor jokes. The waitresses were usually tolerant, but happy to see them go. Jack was a big tipper.

It didn't register with Pam at the time, but it was so obvious now that those frequent mother-son reunions ended right around this same time last year. Had he found out that Harold wasn't his father? Did he confront Bernice then? She would never know, having decided to not confront her mother-in-law who'd been through enough without having that thrown in her face.

The day passed, Pam killing time, hoping for the night to come quickly and then be gone. She wanted Monday to come. Something about Monday was always so comforting to her—a clean slate to start the week, a week that would end alone. She saw her life stretch before her, empty, without purpose. What was the point of it?

~ ~ ~

Marie decided to take a walk, needing to go food shopping. All she'd done that day was pace back and forth; it would be good to get out. Dressing in a pair of jeans and a clean shirt, she combed her hair, pulled it into a ponytail. Standing on the pavement in front of her building, there wasn't a chance in hell of getting a cab in the dead neighborhood, so she walked the few blocks to the subway, to run up to Zabar's. Nothing as nice was open closer to home.

The subway stop was the one at Broadway where she had last seen Jack a week before. She got off the train and stood aside to let the few other passengers pass her, wanting to take her time there, to see if she could feel him. Walking up the steps to the street level, trying to remember where it was that she saw him stop and turn around to look back up at Sandra, she thought she found the exact step and stood there for a moment with her hand on the railing. He'd held the railing, first with his left hand, and then when he turned around, his right. Looking around to see if anyone was watching her, when she saw that she was alone, she did the maneuver. Pretending she was walking down into the station, she paused, turned, changing hands, and looked up. Someone was coming down so she went ahead up the rest of the way. "Jack's last move," is how she thought of it.

He was so gorgeous. It was impossible that he was fifty-five years old. He looked more as if he was forty-five, his body phenomenal. Closing her eyes for a second, she saw him naked in her mind's eye, how completely unself-conscious he was, almost flaunting it. When he began to get weird about exercising, she believed his story about his cholesterol being elevated, but never imagined it was because he was taking his clothes off in front of someone else. And that the someone else was young enough to be his daughter. It was sickening.

Trying to stop thinking about Jack, she contemplated what groceries to get. It was too expensive at Zabar's to buy more than a few necessities, coffee and butter and something to eat for lunch the next day would do. Just enough to get through the week until she could do a big shopping next weekend when she went to visit her sister—if she went.

Marie walked up Broadway, giving way to her thoughts, imagining she saw Jack and Sandra walking hand and hand toward her, crossing the street to rid herself of that vision. Another vision popped into her mind, one she didn't allow often, it was too painful, too humiliating, but on the street, it would be safe, it wouldn't lead to anything she would later regret. When she was a teenager, bending over, pulling beach grass up out of Pam's stupid flowerbeds, looking between her legs, she could see him walking toward her. He'd put his hands around her waist and pushed her down into a squat.

"It's not good for your back to bend at the waist like that, my dear child." She'd turned her head to look up at him, squinting into the sun overhead. "Someday, you'll thank me for it. Bend at the knees."

Looked down at her, an obvious erection tugging at his madras shorts, Jack had his don't tell look. Not sure if he was purposely trying to show her he was hard, his crotch at eye level, or if he was hiding it from his wife, who was just across the veranda. Fighting the urge to take further jaunts down memory lane, she knew that it was just a matter of time before all of those incidents with Jack would rise to the surface to deal with, one way or another. It was entirely up to her how it would play out.

Sandra's street was coming up. Marie acknowledged for the first time that her real reason for a late-afternoon stroll to Zabar's was that she wanted to see Sandra Benson. No hesitation at the corner, she turned left to go down 82nd toward the river, to Sandra's building, right to the door. Pressing the buzzer, the speaker came on, and Marie could hear Sandra's voice. There must have been a camera somewhere because the door clicked, and Sandra said, "I'm at the end of the hallway, Marie. Come on in."

The door opened, and standing there, looking like hell, was the hated Sandra Benson. She didn't seem so threatening now. She looked sick. Sandra stepped aside for Marie. "Please, come in."

Marie stepped through the door and looked around; she had to admit it was a nice place, wondering if Jack had paid for it.

"Nice apartment," Marie said.

Sandra thanked her, telling her that she loved being there, and as long as her rent didn't go up too much, she hoped to stay forever. "I've been here for four years now. It feels like home. And I love the neighborhood." She pointed to a table and chairs situated by a window. "Do you want something to drink?"

Marie, looking out the window at the alley and the tree with the birdhouse, said okay. Sandra went to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of water. She filled the teapot and set it on the stove, turning the stove on, measuring each task, each movement, with purpose. Marie thought she might be feeling self-conscious, noticing Sandra was painfully thin, legs encased in skintight spandex shorts were like sticks, her arms were sticking out of her T-shirt like tree branches. When she bent over, Marie could see the bones in her hips. Suddenly overcome with compassion, she stood up and went into the little kitchen.

"Can I help you? You seem a tad tired." Marie hoped her words sounded okay and not too critical, wanting to take the kettle out of her hands and force her to sit down.

"I guess I am sort of tired. Can't believe tomorrow is Monday already." Sandra arranged cut lemon wedges on a little plate and put a sugar bowl, creamer, and tea bags on a tray. Bringing the tray to the table she went back to get the mugs and teakettle, debated putting the leftovers of her baking binge out. Not sure of the purpose of this visit, Sandra decided it might be wise to keep the refreshments brief.

Marie put a tea bag in her mug, and Sandra poured the hot water in. "What brings you uptown?" Sandra asked.

"I need groceries and there is nothing in my neighborhood," Marie replied.

"This is a long way to come for food," Sandra said. "I don't tell everyone, but I go into New Jersey once in a while to stock up." She laughed.

"I imagined I was walking in your footsteps along Broadway," Marie said.

Sandra frowned, not getting it.

"You know; the path you took with Jack on that Saturday."

"I don't understand," Sandra said. What the hell was she talking about? And then she remembered. Marie had told her at the hospital that she saw Jack and her together on the street. She nodded. "Oh, right." She felt so tired. What did Marie want? "I guess I didn't realize when you said you saw me that it meant you followed me."

Marie ignored her reproach.

"When I came up the subway steps, I imagined I was Jack. I saw him turn around and look at you before he went down. It was the last time you saw him before the hospital, wasn't it." She stated it as a fact. "I was so angry at him that day. I kept thinking, How am I going to face Pam? I would make him tell her himself, I decided. Then, of course, he died. If only I had stopped him on the street that day. He wouldn't have been on the train. I could tell from across the street that he was in love with you. I never saw him look at anyone with that intensity." She lowered her head, tears starting to roll down her cheeks. "I don't know what I am going to do with myself now." Marie stood up and walked to the window, weeping.

Sandra couldn't move from her chair. Why did this have to happen now? She couldn't find it in her to say anything comforting. There was a tone in Marie's voice, an accusatory undercurrent. She was probably imagining it. Marie was losing it, Sandra was afraid, but seemed unable to control herself.

"Pam wanted me to contact you to make sure you were okay. I kept telling myself, 'Fuck Sandra!' I knew there was something wrong with Jack; I was just too stupid to know it was another woman."

Sandra was getting tired of this conversation, frightened of Marie, sensing she might be unbalanced. "I'm sorry," was all she could think of to say.

Marie looked at her, frowning. "You are so young," Marie said. "You don't realize the impact his infidelity will have on the whole family."

Sandra put her hand on her belly under the table, thinking, Oh, I think I do.

"Are you going to the beach next weekend?" Marie asked, changing the subject.

Sandra was confused again, but then realized she was talking about Jack's house on Long Island.

"I know Pam is thinking of asking you, if she hasn't already."

"Would it be a problem for you if I go?" Sandra asked. "I'm not sure what good it would do for me to go regardless. If you would rather I not go, please don't hold back."

"I don't want you to go. But it doesn't make any difference what I want. Jack wasn't my husband. Pam wants you there. For some reason, you make her feel better. She feels close to you, did you know that?" Marie wasn't giving her time to respond, and Sandra didn't know what to say anyway. "All I can picture is you fucking my brother-in-law." She started crying again. "Oh God! Oh God! Jack!" She slumped into her chair.

Startled at Marie's passion, Sandra was becoming concerned. Marie hated her, and now she was losing control. She worried that she wasn't safe in her own apartment. Standing up, she went into the bathroom to get a washcloth, squeezing cold water through it. Approaching Marie, she said gently, "Here's a cold washcloth; let me put it on your neck."

Marie complied, leaning forward slightly in her chair and pulling her ponytail around to the front. Sandra, who was not nurturing in the least, folded the cloth in half and placed it across the back of the crying woman's neck. Its effect was immediate, Marie taking a deep breath and saying, "That feels good. I'm sorry I am giving you such a hard time."

Sandra didn't reply, but stood at the side of the chair. She had not touched Marie's neck with her hand, nor did she place a comforting hand on her shoulder or arm.

Confused, Jack had never even mentioned a sister-in-law in all the months they were a couple, yet this woman was talking as though he was integral to her life, to her overall well-being. Suddenly, Sandra had an epiphany. Had Jack been intimate with his wife's younger sister? Smiling behind Marie's back, she put a serious expression on her face.

"You seem to have been really close to Jack," she said, not beyond baiting someone to get the information she wanted, not beyond lying, if need be. And then she added, almost whispering, "He spoke of you often."

Marie straightened up and turned in her chair to face Sandra. "He did?" she asked in a small voice.

Sandra was thinking fast. The point here was to get Marie to spill her guts, not to fabricate a bunch of lies that might make her life more difficult. "He didn't go into much detail about you, but I got the feeling that he was dependent on you, that he relied on you." She thought that could probably be said about anyone in his family.

Marie was silent.

Sandra thought she would take it a step further. "Jack did say that he would be lost without you." That seemed to do the trick. Marie smiled a large, toothy smile, but it transformed her plain face into one that was almost beautiful.

"He did need me! Pam didn't like many of the things Jack liked. Going to the theater, golf, swimming. Jack loved to put his suit on, grab a towel, and run down to the water. We played together in the surf like a couple of kids." She hugged herself, eyes closed, smiling. "Last year we took boogie boards so far out that the guards whistled for us to come back in. It is so shallow way out—shallow and warm." She thought for a while, staring out the window. She wouldn't be able to go into detail about what they did out in the warm surf, but she closed her eyes for a minute, and a chill went through her body, remembering.

"Pam saw us and got angry at Jack, telling him that he was acting like an ass. She didn't get jealous of the time we spent together. But she didn't like to see us having fun, either. 'You should be doing those things with your children,' she said to him."

Marie picked up her teacup and took a sip. It had gotten cold, but she drank it anyway. "My favorite time was late at night, after Pam went to bed. Jack and I would stay up all night playing Scrabble with the dictionary, or poker. The kids were with us during the summer, but eventually they went away to school. The weekends were so wonderful." Animated now, Marie was almost bouncing up and down in her seat.

"Pam looked forward to Jack coming home all week and then when he did, she would take a book out on the veranda and read all weekend. Don't get me wrong, my sister loved Jack, making his home peaceful, comfortable and relaxing. A superb chef, he used to say that thanks to Pam he ate like a king. When the doctor told him to lose weight last year, she was so relieved, always worried about his health because she's conscientious about her own, in excellent shape for a middle-aged woman.

Shopping at the farmers' market for fresh vegetables, she'd get her eggs from the guy on the corner and all local, organic meats. Fussy about everything for Jack, when he went back to the city, she would eat a lettuce leaf and a can of tuna. God only knows what he ate when he wasn't home."

Sandra thought of the cheese omelet and bacon he'd had for his last breakfast.

"No, it wasn't that she didn't take good care of him. It was just that Pam is boring. She doesn't like to do anything but go to the gym, walk on the beach, and putter around her house—a total dud. After they moved out there, out to Long Island, she hated coming back into the city. So I started going to the theater with Jack. If he had any social obligations that required a companion, he would call me and say, 'Do you have an appropriate dress for such and such?' We went out at least once, usually twice a week. Until a few months ago, we had lunch together all the time. Now I know it was because of you that he stopped calling me midday. I was out there, out at the beach house, every weekend." Her voice had gotten progressively higher and higher, faster and faster.

"I knew what I would do both Saturday and Sunday, every weekend, month after month. When the kids needed to go to visit colleges, I went with either Jack or Pam. If Pam wanted to go antiquing or to a craft show and Jack couldn't bear the thought, I would go with her. Now, nothing. There is nothing! I have to start all over again!" She lowered her head for the third time that afternoon and started crying.

Sandra understood more about Marie's relationship with the Smiths, but not about the specific intimate relationship between Jack and Marie alone, certain there was something more than met the eye. For now, she had had enough, had to find a way to get Marie out of her apartment.

Getting out of her chair, she came around to Marie's side yet again. Placing a reluctant hand on her shaking shoulder, Sandra said in a soft voice, "You've had a lot today, Marie. Maybe you would benefit from a nice nap. Let me get you a cab, okay? You can be home in no time and get some rest."

Marie didn't resist, didn't argue. She stood up and straightened her shirt, then bent over to pick up her purse off the floor. Sandra walked toward the door, willing her guest to follow. They left the apartment together and walked out to the sidewalk.

"Let's walk toward Broadway, okay? It won't take long on a Sunday afternoon."

They didn't need to walk far. A cab rounded the corner, Sandra stuck her hand out, and it zoomed to the curb. Opening the door for her, Marie slid in, looking straight ahead. Sandra said good-bye and shut the door for her, Marie seemingly in a trance. The cab took off.

Sandra stood there for a moment, relieved. What the hell was that all about? Now she most definitely was not going to Pam Smith's next weekend. She would call her and tell her tomorrow.

Turning around, she walked back to the apartment. Feeling drained and if possible, worse than before, she decided she was going to take a couple of sick days, she had weeks available, and although she needed to save as many as possible for future use, right now she knew she couldn't go on like this much longer.

Back at her apartment, she took all the evidence of Marie to the kitchen sink and squirted dish soap and hot water all over it. Thinking of what Marie had said about picturing Jack and Sandra having sex, she hoped Marie wasn't sharing with Pam. Allowing anxiety to come in, she tried to remember what she was going to do that day, and nothing came to mind. Maybe taking days off from work wasn't a good idea after all.

Remembering she hadn't eaten anything but cupcakes for two days, she decided to walk to Big Nick's and get a burger and fries. Taking a long-sleeved blue denim shirt a long-forgotten date had left behind out of her closet, she pulled it on over her sleeveless shirt and spandex. Disheveled, it was evidence of her being at the end of herself that she would go out in public with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup, spandex and denim. She went to her jewelry box, pulled a wide, colorful, enameled bracelet out, and shoved it above her elbow. Low-heeled mules wouldn't be too hard to walk in, and as she checked herself out in the mirrored closet door, confirmed she looked okay. Putting on a small-brimmed straw hat and dark glasses, she grabbed her wallet and keys, and went out the door.

The sun was just starting to bend over the river. Walking up 82nd toward Broadway, she looked at the houses along the block, the bright sun, the blue sky, the beautiful old church on the corner. God, I love this neighborhood. What would raising a child be like here in the Upper West Side? It was fate that she moved there four years ago, just out of college and lived on a street that had the best day care in the city at the local Methodist church. It was fate that she had a two-bedroom apartment. Slowing her walk, humbled at these facts, her life seemed to have been preparing for just this moment in time.

For the first time, she realized how lucky she had been to transfer from the Bronx to Wall Street. Without that, she would have never met Jack. Suddenly, she realized that she loved her baby. She loved the little tadpole, or whatever it was, the two cells that had joined and were rapidly dividing and expanding and were now big enough to have caused her body to respond to its presence. Stopping, she looked up at the sky.

Without hesitating, she said, "Thank you, God."

## Chapter 20

Bernice Smith's return to the Upper West Side after having spent the week at her son Bill's house in the Village gave her an opportunity for sightseeing. The montage of the buildings, the people, with the play of the angle of the sun was never the same. She loved the Village. The old storefronts in the summer, some with planters overflowing with colorful annuals were so cheerful. In the winter, Christmas lights decorated the windows, and you could see people sitting at tables, drinking wine, talking, and laughing in the restaurants.

As the cab approached Columbus Avenue and her neighborhood, she no longer looked out the window. It was where she had lived for the past fifty-five years, where she had raised her boys. Now her only surviving son, Bill had done what he could this past week from hell to keep her sane, insisting that she stay with him and his wife, Anne, and their two boys for as long as she was comfortable. When she got up that morning she wanted to try going home. Monday was a new day. Like Pam, she enjoyed starting out the week on Monday—a clean slate, ready to be filled with activities and with friends and family.

Since Harold had died the year before, she no longer took the same comfort in being in her home, in her beloved neighborhood. Places that she had loved previously now caused her pain. She couldn't look at the buildings on Broadway near her house. No longer going into her favorite coffee shop since Harold died, a place she and Jack had loved, had dined at weekly, until that horrible, painful discovery. And now, even Jack was gone. There was no chance for restitution, for penance. She would go to her grave soon (she hoped) with an unresolved heartache, the knowledge that she had hurt her son and destroyed what had been a full and enviable relationship by an omission. Its purpose was open to examination if only he would have. The opportunity never presented itself because he refused to hear her out.

Her objective this week, one that she was determined to complete, was to gather what items she had of her son's and make a shrine for him. Not a particularly religious person, she was spiritual, and she must find some method of being close to him. She would do what she could to garner his forgiveness, albeit late. If only she had known, she would have tried harder to engage him, shown up at his office, or hounded his wife for more invitations to the beach. Whatever it would have taken, she should have done it, she should have forced it.

At the light at Broadway and 82nd Street, she saw a young, glamorous woman rounding the corner, walking south. So familiar, Bernice had just seen her, she remembered—at Jack's funeral. The hair and dark glasses gave her away. Suddenly wanting to speak to the young woman; she must have been a colleague of his and could tell her things about Jack at work, what he must have been like around the office. Knocking on the glass, the driver, Ben pressed a button to open it up.

"Let me out here, please." Ben pulled over while Bernice kept her eye on the young woman, opening the door herself, getting out on the street side and leaving the door open for the driver to get. Traffic was light, and she didn't have to wait long until she could safely cross the street. She walked quickly; she was in good shape for an older woman. When she reached the other side, she continued south on Broadway, keeping her eye on the girl who stopped and turned into a storefront. Bernice could smell onions frying the closer she got, and looking up, she saw the sign, Big Nick's. Oh well, my clothes can be cleaned, she thought.

Entering the restaurant, she noticed right away that she was out of place, but she didn't care. They wouldn't refuse her service because she was overdressed. The grill was right at the front of the place. The young woman was at a table in the back. Bernice slowly walked toward her; she'd taken her dark glasses off, but left her straw hat on, reading the menu, not noticing who was around her. Bernice approached her, pausing at the table, waiting until she looked up from her menu. Looking frightened, there was recognition on her face. Bernice smiled warmly at her.

"Forgive me please, for interrupting you. My name is Bernice Smith. We met on Tuesday." She waited, smiling, patient.

Sandra, shocked beyond speech, tried to stand up, but Bernice touched her shoulder. "Please, don't get up. I saw you from the car window and needed to talk to you, if that is okay. I hoped we could talk about Jack, what he was like at work." She continued to smile down at Sandra, who finally found her voice.

"Please sit down. Are you going to eat?" Losing all poise, she realized that a burger at Big Nick's might not be Mrs. Smith's idea of a meal. "We don't have to stay here," she said, embarrassed.

"Nonsense," Bernice said. "I feel like eating something different from my usual Sunday-night can of soup." She picked up the menu and saw a large salad selection. When the waitress arrived, Sandra ordered a burger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake, and Bernice, a garden salad.

"What can I tell you about Jack?" Sandra couldn't help staring at Bernice Smith. Stunning, at least five feet ten inches, she stood straight as an arrow. Must be from doing exercise, Sandra thought. She'd had her hair cut since the funeral; it was very short, no more than an inch at the most, and stood out like feathers on top and combed smooth on the sides. Perfect makeup, her skin was taut and smooth, Sandra didn't see evidence of any plastic surgery, but she must have had some.

"What was he like at work? You know, I have never been to his office, at least since they moved it downtown. When his branch office was in the Bronx, I used to have lunch with my son whenever I could. It was the highlight of my week." She stopped, thinking of the final betrayal, the final straw. "I did something to hurt him unintentionally, and now he is gone. I can never make it up to him." Out of character, she lowered her head and started to weep, right there in Big Nick's.

Sandra couldn't take it, reaching across the table to grab Bernice's hand. "He loved you so much, Mrs. Smith, he really did. Whatever it was that happened between the two of you, he never mentioned a word."

Bernice looked at her curiously. Sandra had revealed too much. Thinking that his involvement with her was what took time away from the people who loved and needed him the most—his mother and Marie, she felt guilty. Both were used to lunching with him, seeing him for dinner when he was in the city all week, and blamed themselves for his abrupt exodus from their routine, when in fact, it had nothing at all to do with them.

The waiter approached with their food, and Bernice patted the area under her eyes with a hankie, blotting away the tears and keeping her makeup intact, a bevy of vain women had surrounded Jack. Picking at her salad, the confession diminished Bernice's appetite.

Sandra was in a quandary. Having elevated her importance in Jack's life, the burden of hurting his mother was pressing on her. Sipping the milkshake, fighting the sudden urge to confess everything to this stranger, hoping the tale of infidelity would give the needed excuse for his behavior without tainting his mother's opinion of him. She would think about it.

"Where do you live? Uptown? Close by?" Bernice asked. "You know I am just a few blocks from here, don't you? Our place is on Columbus."

"Actually, I'm just up Broadway on 82nd. Jack told me that his mother was close by." She may have revealed more than she bargained for by confessing that. Why would Jack have talked about his mother to an employee?

It was too late. Bernice finished with her salad, pushing the plate to the edge of the table. "This may sound strange, but could we exchange phone numbers? I feel like we need to stay in touch. Maybe because of Jack, I am not sure. It feels so strange, actually." Bernice chuckled. "Maybe I am getting old after all."

Sandra couldn't take anymore. That comment, yet another swipe meant to take blame for something she had nothing to do with, made the decision for Sandra. She would reveal her relationship with Jack to his mother, who would need to know in nine months anyway.

"Are you finished eating? I would like to talk to you, but this isn't the place." Sandra pushed her untouched plate away and reached for the check.

"I'll get that," Bernice said. "Do you want to come up to my house?"

"I hate to impose." Sandra didn't know if either of their homes was the right place to lay this out. It might be the worst possible thing to confess. It was so early, what if the pregnancy didn't take. Sandra decided she wanted an ally, a witness to the tiny cells growing in her, part of this woman's son.

"My car is right across the street. Come home with me. I'll make tea, and we can talk. Now you have my curiosity! An old woman doesn't get many chances to hear interesting news!"

Sandra thought what an understatement.

They left the restaurant. When she said she had a car, Sandra thought a regular car, not a limo. But there it was, the driver leaning against the side, waiting. When he saw Bernice, he put his finger up and got into the car.

"He will pull around. God forbid we have to walk across the street!" she said, smiling.

The car pulled out, and the man maneuvered it in a perfect U-turn. He hopped out and opened the door for the two women. They arrived at the house in record time. Sandra tried not to gawk at a huge five-story brownstone. There was a deep front yard enclosed in grand wrought iron. Its price would be, well, without price! She couldn't imagine living there. Why would Jack have that bland apartment when here was this fabulous place right at his disposal? She would never know.

"Oh my God! This house!" Sandra exclaimed.

Bernice laughed out loud. "Isn't it wonderful? We raised our boys here. It belonged to Harold's family first, so it's full of family treasures. We updated everything, although you would never know it. Harold was a stickler about historical accuracy and all of that baloney."

The car pulled into a driveway with a double gate that opened automatically. Bernice held on to Sandra's hand, waiting for the driver to open their door. She led the way up the walk. The car disappeared around the back of the house, to what? Garages? Who has this kind of money anymore? By the time they got to the front door, a beautiful, deep-oak double door, a uniformed maid opened it, greeting the women with a big smile.

"Welcome back, madam!" she said. Madam? Sandra felt underdressed in her spandex and denim. This might have been a big mistake. The maid stepped aside, taking Bernice's purse, and closing the door behind them.

"Tea and sandwiches in the den, Mildred." Bernice gave the order, and the maid smiled and walked to the rear of the house. So Mrs. Smith wouldn't actually be making the tea herself, Sandra thought. Who else worked here? "You didn't eat a thing, and that garden salad was just for show. We will have a real meal now."

Sandra followed her, Bernice walking backward when she spoke, stretching her arm out to point at things of interest, like portraits of the boys in their youth and Jack's tennis racket encased in a shadow box with awards surrounding it—things of interest only to the family in residence. It was a real home.

Calling the room a den was an understatement. At one end, there was a huge walk-in fireplace surrounded by beautiful leather furniture, wingback chairs and solid tables, and flanked by fifteen-foot-high bookcases. On the other side of the room was a flat-screen TV that took up half the wall. Bernice saw her looking at it.

"It's three-D. Those are blackout curtains on the windows. We have a theater in the basement, but I don't like subterranean rooms."

Bernice was looking around the space, rubbing her hands together, proud of the home she'd made for her children and grandchildren. Sandra wondered how often it was used now with Jack's children in college.

In the center of the room was a pool table with massive carved legs and three game tables—a room that a family would play in. Along the walls stood a collection of pinball machines that a connoisseur would lust after. It was an arcade! She imagined the grandchildren loved coming here. Bernice led her to the fireplace end of the room. Somehow, she had managed to make this area feel intimate and cozy, in spite of being surrounded by fun and games. How did she do it? There were wingback chairs on either side of a high round table, a tea table. Bernice pointed to one of the chairs and told Sandra to get comfortable. She excused herself to change out of her suit, promising it wouldn't take but a minute, and asked her to please not wait, to start eating without her.

Bernice was gone less than a minute when Mildred returned with a tray covered with a white linen cloth. Another worker followed, pushing a cart with the tea items, including a large silver tea service. Efficiently and quickly, they set everything up on the table. Mildred poured tea into a cup and offered it to Sandra, pointing out the sugar and cream as well as the honey and lemon. The linen-covered tray was uncovered, revealing a delicious-looking selection of sandwiches, pastries, cookies, and petit fours. Mildred, forcing her to eat, handed her a plate and presented her with the tray. She balanced the tray on her forearm, placing little cakes and little sandwiches on her plate.

"Take more," she said.

Sandra laughed out loud. "I just ate!"

"Hogwash!" Bernice was back, looking youthful and comfortable in a black cotton outfit with drawstring pants and a short-sleeved shirt. She took a plate and piled on sandwiches.

Sandra tried a sandwich first; sweet rye bread with smoked turkey, horseradish, and cream cheese. Bernice pointed out nut bread with a gorgonzola cream cheese spread and half a fresh pear sliced on it, so delicious that Sandra forgot that she was in this stately mansion and ate like a starving boy. There was butter lettuce with a ham spread on white bread and a small hard roll with butter and anchovy paste with a slice of cherry tomato, meant to be popped into your mouth.

"Is anyone joining us? Or is this all for us?" Sandra asked, smiling.

Bernice told her it was just for them. She drank more tea and then started in on the desserts; filled petit fours with almond paste or milk-chocolate cream or vanilla custard, eating one of each kind. When she couldn't eat another mouthful, Bernice instructed Mildred to package up the leftovers for Sandra to take home for delicious lunches this week. They sat in their chairs, looking out the bank of french doors, which led out to a courtyard. Mildred had opened one of the doors, and Sandra could hear the water fountain, meant to block the noise from Broadway and Columbus Avenue. She didn't care about that, they were only a block from Central Park. She loved the city so much.

Bernice grasped her shoulder.

"Oh my God! I am so sorry!" Sandra sat up abruptly, having fallen asleep. What the hell is wrong with me? She looked up at Bernice, who was looking down at her more motherly than concerned.

"I would have let you go on sleeping, but you cried out. I was afraid you were having a bad dream," Bernice said.

"How long was I out?" Sandra asked.

"Not long at all, about twenty minutes. You must be exhausted." Bernice pulled up an ottoman and sat in front of Sandra.

"It was probably the anchovy paste and the chocolate cream," Sandra said, embarrassed. "I should probably get going. I've infringed on your hospitality long enough."

"Don't go yet," Bernice said. "I have the feeling you were on the verge of telling me something about my son." She looked at Sandra with a penetrating gaze.

The trays of food had been removed when Sandra was out. She needed to empty her bladder. "Can I use the ladies' room?" she asked.

Bernice showed her the way. The bathroom was as elegant and exquisite as the rest of the house. The tile was a work of art; the stained-glass windows, she assumed, were Tiffany; and the fabulous vessel sink of cobalt-blue glass was hand blown, with a gorgeous gooseneck faucet. People really did live this way.

When she came out, Bernice had gone back to the den. She stood when Sandra came into the room, pointing toward the courtyard.

"Let's sit outside, shall we? The bugs aren't bad yet, and the traffic has died down. Sunday evening is the best. It's surprising how rarely I do sit out here. When the boys were young, they loved this part of the house, and you could always find them here. Harold built them a tree house in that ancient oak. We thought the neighbors would sue us for harming it, but the house wasn't really nailed to the tree. They are really such asses. We had a portable pool, not really portable because it was in-ground, but just a vinyl thing that Harold sunk into the ground, knowing that when they grew up, they would no longer use it. It was small, but they loved it." She turned to look at Sandra. They were sitting at a round glass table surrounded by heavy wrought-iron chairs. Beautiful statuary was everywhere; what you would expect in the courtyard of a mansion in the middle of New York City. "What did you want to tell me, dear?"

Sandra decided that she would not be apologetic. She would state the facts as she knew them. "I was having an affair with Jack. That is why he no longer spent as much time with you, not because he was angry or disappointed about anything. It was because he was with me."

Getting that part out was easy. There was more which would be more difficult to tell, but she'd say it now rather than later. "And I just found out today that I am pregnant, just a few weeks. I know that my life has been preparing for this moment for years. And you finding me in Big Nick's in the middle of Manhattan was no coincidence." She stopped, sat back, and took a deep breath, afraid to look over at Bernice. Of course, Bernice would be loyal to Pam, her daughter-in-law and Jack's wife. But the truth, although not easy to hear, would be better in the long run. Her baby deserved that much.

"Let me think for a moment," Bernice said. She was staring off into the night. While all of this was happening, the sun set without them noticing, it was evening. Moving her hand under the table she pressed a hidden button. Mildred appeared with yet another tray, this time with a pot of coffee, cream and sugar, and two cups.

"It's decaf," she said. Mildred left it, and Bernice poured. "Want a cup?"

Sandra was a little worried that Bernice may be angry. She waited, picking up the cup and saucer, grateful for the distraction.

Finally, Bernice looked at her. "There is more to this that needs to be discussed. You have no idea the parallels in our lives. You couldn't know. But I think we have had enough for one evening. You, young woman, have work tomorrow. Jack may have told you that I am a stickler about work. Easy for me to say, who has never punched a timecard."

She laughed out loud. "But that is neither here nor there. If it were Saturday, I would beg you to spend the night. But you must get home and get ready for tomorrow. You are carrying my grandchild; you need to rest and take care of yourself." She stood up, wringing her hands. "I just thought of poor, silly Pam. What will she make of all of this?"

Reeling from the insult to Pam, Sandra simply stated, "She knows about me, but not the baby."

Bernice led her out of the den, not so much dismissing her, as trying to do what was best for her. Mildred appeared with a large brown paper bag filled to the brim with foil-wrapped food and plastic containers. There'd be plenty to eat this week.

"Ben will take you home. I must think about everything you've told me."

Sandra was taken aback. Acceptance must run in this family, she thought. Silly or not, Pam was the most understanding woman she had ever met, and now Jack's mother, showing such graciousness in the face of her son's sexual misconduct with a girl young enough to be his daughter.

"Thank you for this afternoon; it was really lovely. I am grateful for your kindness," Sandra said.

Bernice walked her to the car, the driver standing there with the door open, and Bernice kissed her cheek before she got in. "Good-bye, my dear. Please call me tomorrow, okay? Promise!"

Sandra replied, "Yes, of course. Good-bye, Bernice."

The car sped out of the driveway. The driver seemed to know right where to go, wasting no time and she arrived at her apartment in five minutes. Saying good-bye to him, she ran to her door while he watched until she was safely inside.

When her apartment door closed, she was flooded with relief. The stress of the meeting would be apparent later in the night, when she couldn't sleep. Would Bernice be on the phone with Pam this very minute, telling her the news that her husband would be a father again? The derision of Pam by those who were supposed to love her was difficult to bear. Sandra fell on the couch in a stupor, with her head thrown back and legs sprawled apart. She wondered why she hadn't stayed in that afternoon. Looking up at the ceiling, she thought, was this yet another part of the plan for her life?

Running into Jack's mother like that... It wasn't even running into her! She had sought me out on the street. How did she even remember me from the funeral? Did she have a premonition about me when she saw me that day? Why would she cross Broadway, risking her life, and chase me down at Big Nick's? Sandra would never forget that first glance as she looked up from her menu and saw the elegant woman standing there, so completely out of place in that greasy restaurant, dressed in a beige silk suit, perfectly groomed. Sandra shuddered to think what she must have thought of her own getup—spandex, denim, and a straw hat, for God's sake. Oh well, what a hell of a day.

## Chapter 21

The cab pulled up in front of Marie's building, but she wasn't sure where she was. Sandra must have paid the driver because he didn't say anything to her but, "Here you are." Had she even told him where she lived?

Opening the door, she got out of the cab, having to inch her way to the end of the seat like an old person. Slowly, she made her way up to the door of her apartment building, barely having the strength to open it. Stepping over the threshold, she gingerly got into the elevator and pushed her floor button, feeling like she was under water. Even the sound of the elevator motor was distant, muted. Wondering if she was having a nervous breakdown, she held onto the walls. Stumbling into her apartment, she was suddenly stricken with a stomachache so ferocious that it could only mean she must get to the bathroom immediately.

When she finished, she was so glad she had made it home, because if that had come across her in the cab, she would have shit all over the place. Wondering what was wrong, she remembered that she never got any food when she went out. Here she was ill, both physically and mentally, in an apartment Midtown with no food, literally nothing to eat. She would call in a favor. God knew she was always available to anyone who needed her, and now, she was in need. Keying in her mother's number first, Nelda answered on the first ring.

"Mom, I'm sick. I need you to get on a bus and come here," she said, trying not to sound whiney.

"What's wrong with you?" Her mother was a bundle of sympathy. "It's going to be dark soon. What on earth could I do to make you feel better?"

"Mom, I just need you to come. I'm lightheaded, I have diarrhea, and there is nothing to eat here. I was out, trying to shop, and had to take a cab home." No point in telling her the truth, and it was almost true.

"Just drink water and go to bed. For heaven's sake, Marie! Why do you let yourself run out of food anyway?" It was clear Nelda was not going to budge from Brooklyn.

"Thank you, Mother! I knew I could count on you." Ending the call without saying good-bye, she did feel better already. Goddamn it, there has to be something to eat in this house! She went into the kitchen and started opening cupboards, unearthing a solitary bottle of wine. It was unchilled, but it would do.

~ ~ ~

While Marie finished off her liquid dinner, uptown, Sandra was putting away the contents of the bag of goodies Bernice Smith had insisted she take with her.

There were foil packages of sandwiches and little cakes, several baggies of homemade cookies, plastic containers of Jell-O salad with fruit and sandwich filling. There was also a foil-wrapped loaf of homemade bread. Deciding to assemble a lunch for tomorrow, in the morning it might seem like too much trouble. Taking already-made sandwiches and a baggie of cookies, she put them in a brown paper sack sticking it in the fridge. Then she put the teakettle on. One more cup before bedtime, she thought. Exhausted, it was a ritual she wasn't about to skip needing all the comfort she could get right now. Jack didn't drink tea, and she was glad. It wasn't something that would have one bit of association with him.

Picking up the phone, she saw that Pam had called her. Jack's family was starting to get on her nerves. Deciding to delay the return call until the next day, she would call her from work, giving her a chance to end the call if things got dicey.

Going into her bedroom while the kettle heated up, she got out her clothes for work, taking a navy-blue suit out of the closet. Still covered in a cleaner's bag, there were warnings to keep it away from babies, a suffocation danger. Shuddering, there would be all kinds of new dangers heretofore unheeded.

Thinking about her own well-being, she would be more careful from now on about eating and not skipping meals. A hot flash of fear spread through her as she counted how many glasses of wine she drank in the past several weeks. Oh God, please, she thought, don't let anything be wrong with the baby. She decided to call her gynecologist first thing in the morning and make an appointment. It might be early, but she wasn't taking any chances.

The teakettle started whistling. Lunch ready, her clothes laid out, and her tea made, she sat up in bed to write in her journal, God knew she had enough for several entries. Wanting to document all the coincidences that had happened that brought her to this place, that phrase was her mantra. She would try not to complain about anything from this day forward; it was all part of the plan.

## Chapter 22

Bernice closed the door after she saw Sandra off. Mildred was in the garden cleaning up after the coffee; Bernice told her she was going up to bed. The stairs seemed so steep that night. It was her age creeping up on her and she promised herself she would work extra hard at the gym the next day. There was no room for decrepitude now. A new grandchild would be coming in nine months, and she wanted to be available to care for him or her in every way.

She giggled. What was dear Pam going to say when she heard the news of the baby? Bernice couldn't think of a nicer person to have this happen to, mistaking her shyness for snobbery. Even after all of these years, Bernice didn't know Pam. It would serve her right. Once in her room, she closed the door behind her. Framed pictures of her men adorned the fireplace mantel and she picked up Jack's picture taking it to her chair. Sitting down with it in her lap, running her hand across the glass, tracing his face with her fingertip, she held it up to look into Jack's eyes, and in a clear, soft voice, she said to the image of her dead son, "Touché."

## Chapter 23

Monday morning, day of new beginnings. Pam was already sick of the phrase and did her best to banish it from thought and speech. Feeling horrible when she got up, going through her routine early before the sun was fully up, she realized how much she had underestimated her capacity for grief. Able to go through the motions of life, taking care of her physical needs, there it stopped, having to force herself to get through the day.

Her anger at Jack's infidelity would ebb and flow. She lay in bed the night before with similar visions of Jack and Sandra that Marie had: a beautiful, youthful body embraced by Jack. She imagined his muscular arms, the same arms that carried her to their marriage bed again and again, carrying Sandra. Sandra wouldn't need to keep the lights down low to keep the focus off her aging body. The visions made Pam ill, and she punched her pillow and demanded they be gone, glad she was going to be busy Monday.

The most important act that day would be the reading of the will, knowing what it looked like superficially. Jack's mother and brother had no need for his money, the bulk of what they had would go to her, keeping the trusts for the Lisa and Brent intact and something for Marie to take the pinch off working, but not eliminate the need for it altogether. She should work for a living.

The only real snare left to untangle would be the company. Jack owned half of it, and Peter owned the other half. They had never spoken about what it would mean if he died, something in the corporation papers that would be revealed when necessary.

The appointment at the lawyers was at nine, plenty of time to go to the gym first. She wanted to be out of the house when the housekeeper and her entourage showed up. At least her morning would be occupied without much time to mope around.

Across the world, what was left of her family was starting their day as well. Her mother was puttering around her kitchen, preparing her coffee and breakfast, avoiding the phone, which had started ringing at daybreak. Marie was angry that she'd ignored her cry for help, and it would be a tough day trying to get out of talking to her; she didn't put it past Marie to make a surprise visit to Brooklyn to harass her.

Nelda was tired. She'd raised four daughters, and three of them married—well, now two of them; Pam was a widow at such a young age. Susan and Sharon were happily married and had lovely husbands and children. And then there was Marie. She should have never had her. One more child about did her in. From the get-go, Marie was a clingy, needy kid. Fortunately, Pam, her eldest, loved her like her own from the beginning. Nelda was able to resume her life with all the assistance Pam gave her with the new baby.

When Marie needed a parent, after a fall or a problem at school, she wanted Pam. Others would ask, "Does it bother you that the child goes to her sister instead of you?" And she could frankly say no.

When Pam met Jack, everyone knew the wedding would take place right away. They were so young! Marie was furious, crying, clinging to Pam, inconsolable at the wedding shower, refusing to participate in the games, whining and yelling if anyone came near her. Rather than spanking her as she would have the other girls, Frank and Pam caved, promising her she could go see the newlyweds every weekend.

Nelda could never understand how Pam tolerated that intrusion of privacy. Nelda fought with her husband passionately about it, but nothing changed. Once Pam got married, Marie practically moved in with her and Jack. During the week, when she was at home, the only leverage Nelda had was the threat that if Marie didn't behave, there would be no trip into the city for the weekend. And she used it to her best advantage. That kid had the neatest room, the highest grades, and the most perfect behavior. But when Friday came, she was history. Either Jack or Pam would pick Marie up after school and take her back into town. Pam would always stop in and see Nelda first, which was nice. Then there would be peace and quiet for the weekend. But occasionally, Nelda would want Marie to stay home for family time. The repercussions would be horrible. Again, the only control would be the threat that if she didn't cooperate and be on her best behavior with a smile on her face, she wouldn't go back to Pam's for a very long time.

Nelda could see the error of that now. There was something not totally right about the whole Pam-Jack-Marie thing, but as yet, nothing had come to light. Her daughter was trying her best to manipulate her mother, but it would never happen. Nelda was too tired. If any nighttime forays would take place, they would be to Long Island to help Pam. It would be interesting to see how the dynamic would change now that Jack was gone. Would Marie still cling to Pam? Or had it been only Jack who was the attraction? Time would soon tell.

~ ~ ~

Marie struggled to get to work on time on Monday. It was never easy, but Mondays were awful. Usually, she would be coming in from the island with Jack. She'd would drop him off at the Fulton Street Station, and he'd would take the train down one stop to Wall Street. The trip took two hours.

In spite of only having a few blocks to walk on this particular Monday, she was still exhausted. The night before had been horrible as she tossed and turned, the slights of the day running through her head. The retorts she didn't give at the time haunted her for the rest of the night.

Her encounter with Sandra was especially troubling. Why did I treat the woman so poorly? Sandra never reacted, never got defensive. All the while, Marie insulted her and cursed at her. It was unbelievable that she had sunk to such a low. She would have to make some kind of restitution. If Sandra ever spoke of it to Pam, there would be hell to pay in the family. Pam. She questioned why she cared what Pam thought. But the truth was she did care, terribly. Pam was her light, her strength; she'd paved the way to love, to life for her. Without Pam, there would have been no Jack, no Lisa and Brent, no purpose to living. Old childhood patterns reemerged; she would work hard all week, be kind to her associates, apologize to Sandra, and go to Pam's on Saturday as she had for most of her life. She was hopeful she would find Jack's spirit there again.

~ ~ ~

Sandra was straightening her desk when the call came through. Her assistant buzzed, "Bernice Smith on line two." Sandra thought she might hear from Jack's mother that day, but not first thing. She hadn't had time to rehearse what she would say to her. Oh well. She picked up the phone.

"Sandra Benson," she answered.

"Sandra, it's Bernice Smith. How are you this morning?" They exchanged pleasantries, and then Bernice got right to the point. "I thought about your...um...condition all night. First of all, let me tell you how thrilled I am!"

Catching Sandra off guard; happy, accepting, resigned, but thrilled, she wasn't sure about this reception, suffocation creeping up on her immediately.

"I was up late last night, thinking," she continued. "I have a suggestion, a request, really." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "I don't think you should tell the others—not yet. I am going to come right out and say this knowing you may be offended, but we have to have the truth between us at all times. Is that a deal?"

Sandra agreed, wishing the woman would get it out and over with.

"I'm afraid they would try to pressure you into having an abortion. Of course, you would refuse, but that seems like such an ugly way to greet our newest member into the world. I tried to imagine what Jack would think, what he would advise. I know he would say, 'It's no one's goddamned business.'"

Sandra sat down. She didn't like the idea of keeping Pam out of the loop. It seemed like one more cruelty to someone already betrayed.

"Bernice, can I think about this? I appreciate your concern, I really do. I also feel as though I want everything to be straight-up between us. I just need to think a bit more before making a decision." They agreed and then said their good-byes.

Sandra pushed the buzzer on the phone. When it was answered, she said, "No more calls for an hour, okay?" It seemed like Jack's family traveled in multiples. She was sure there would be more calls from them to follow Bernice's, and she didn't think she could handle anymore.

## Chapter 24

Pam struggled at the gym. Each exercise was more brutal than the last. She couldn't have imagined working with the trainer that day. When she was finished, no amount of lipstick reapplication was going to help her, so she went back home and started over again, getting in the shower, washing her hair, reapplying her makeup, and blow-drying her hair.

Ten minutes early to the attorney's office, a feat considering her morning thus far, she shouldn't have rushed because he was running behind. The secretary offered to get her a cup of coffee. Tempted to ask how old it was, she thought, I pay him a fortune for his services, and I deserve fresh coffee, so she asked. The secretary didn't flinch, saying she had just made it. It was good, too, strong and bitter.

Pam sat in the comfortable office and drank coffee, getting out her calendar and checking the week. She had two more important dates—a meeting with Peter in the city and Social Security. Bernice thought it was quite amusing that Pam was going to file for Jack's Social Security benefits for the children who could collect for a few years. Pam pointed out that Bernice didn't think it was amusing when she started collecting at age sixty-five. They were rich as Roosevelt, yet that check arrived each month.

And of course, if Sandra agreed, she would have company for the weekend, a contradiction when last week she couldn't wait for everyone to leave, and now this week she couldn't wait for them to come back. It was the tyranny of urgency she decided. On one hand, her emotions were so flat that she was concerned for herself, yet on the other hand, she willed every person she encountered not to say anything that would cause her to lose control. She would have to find the middle ground somewhere. She could hear Brent's voice: Give yourself a break, Mother! She would try.

The attorney finally came into the room and greeted her, offering his hand to her. She followed him back to his private office. It was a beautiful place. Everything was clean and new, his carpeting obviously custom, with the initials of the firm in a petite-point weave. It was almost gauche; it spoke of wealth, and more specifically, the wealth of his clients. Pam found herself annoyed at the blatant display of money. She would consider changing attorneys if everything didn't go perfectly, preferring to give her money to someone struggling. He put a folder down in front of her.

"How was the last week for you?" he asked. "I can't imagine what you are going through."

She was grateful for that last comment. Someone at the funeral had said to her, "I know how hard this must be." Pam, usually gracious, couldn't stop herself from saying, "Do you? I thought your husband was still alive." Lisa, overhearing, rushed over to lead her mother away. The entire funeral scene was too much for her, that much was clear. The attorney began his spiel.

"Let's read this together, okay? Jack revised his will two months ago, without your knowledge. I realize the information may to come as a shock to you Pam, but he didn't change the terms of the will as far as you and the children are concerned. He simply added a codicil to it, which instructs the disbursement of the business."

Thumbing through the sheaf of papers, he continued, "Control of his share of Lane, Smith and Romney to Miss Sandra Elizabeth Benson. You, Lisa, and Brent will continue to receive the same amount of income from his share. Miss Smith will pick up a portion of Jack's draw. If she decides to sell it, you will have first refusal." He stopped talking, looking at her to see if she understood.

Pam had always thought the business would go to Brent. She was confused now. Maybe this was how she would find the anger she needed to vent against her wayward husband.

"I gather Miss Benson is not news to you," he said.

She shook her head. "No, it's not news. But this is. I rather thought he would take Brent on as a partner someday. Why would he give such a huge gift to Sandra? It doesn't make sense. Why not just give her money?"

"We will probably never know what he had in mind. I got the feeling that he knew he was going to die soon." He was watching her to see how she absorbed this news.

"You are the second person to have said that. Where was I while he was planning his demise? Honestly, I must have been in a daze."

She could feel herself beginning to lose her self-control. It mustn't happen here, in this office. "Are we almost done?" she asked. "I need to take this in alone, at home." She stood up.

He reached for her hand and walked around his desk, preparing to lead her out.

"The insurance company has been contacted with the death certificate. You should be receiving a check from them soon. You are aware that he had a sizable policy, Pam. You will never have to worry about money, regardless of the distribution of the business. All of the bank accounts will be transferred to your name. Are you okay for cash in the meantime? I don't think you'll have any problems cashing checks, but just in case, take this." He reached into his wallet and produced a plastic gift card. "It's a few hundred dollars, just in case."

She took it from him, knowing it came from Jack's money. They kept thousands in a safe in the house, but she wasn't going to reveal that. She thanked him and scurried out of the office before they could remember she had to sign something or the secretary said anything more to her. She'd had enough of that place.

Getting into the car, she slammed the door shut. It was hot, but the heat felt good. She grasped the top of the steering wheel and put her head down on her forearms. What did this all mean? Why would Jack give his business to Sandra? If Pam and the children continued to get their share of the profits from it, how would that benefit Sandra? Jack may have been losing it himself at that point. She would never know. Brent had no interest in his father's business and that was the only consolation she had. Trying to think of a way her mother and sisters would never hear this news, it was disrespectful of him—worse than sleeping with Sandra, than loving Sandra. Forgetting about the insurance money for a moment, she wanted a relationship with Sandra based on their mutual respect for each other, not because she was beholden to Sandra for her livelihood.

Starting the car, she pulled out of the parking space. There was no one she could talk to, no one who knew all the players, all the details. Marie would be a good person to bounce all of it off, but that wasn't happening, at least not if she had anything to say about it. It would be something else Marie could hold against Sandra.

That afternoon, Jack's lawyer called Sandra and asked her if they could get together as there were some things in Jack's will that pertained to her and he needed to get her signature on a couple of things as soon as possible. Sandra ended the call thinking, What next? What could Jack have possibly said or done in his will that would involve me? She imagined him leaving her a thousand dollars. But that amount would hardly require a signature, would it? He'd stick a check in the mail with a note, "Jack's legacy to you."

They made plans to meet at a coffee shop by the Brooklyn Bridge. He didn't have a Manhattan office anymore but needed to come into the city to give his daughter, a student at Barnard, her birthday present. He'd run his errand and then meet Sandra after work, who didn't mind going out of her way for what could end up being half her rent. As it turned out, it was a whole lot more.

They met and each ordered coffee. Sandra was too nervous to eat anything and wanted to get it over with. The lawyer produced folders, one for each, and began to read from a thick wad of papers attached by a giant clip. The essence of the will was that Jack was giving his half of the business to Sandra. She would collect a draw each year, enough to live comfortably and without worry. And, she added silently, enough to support our baby, give him a good, secure life and have a savings, a future. Jack's share of the profits from the business would continue to go to Pam and to the trust set up for his two children. The year before, it had made well over two million dollars in profits, split with Peter. If Sandra wished to sell her half, Pam had first right of refusal, followed by Peter.

Dumbfounded, she sat with her mouth partly open, staring at him. She didn't know where to begin.

"What's Peter going to say?" Sandra asked.

According to the lawyer, he already knew. Jack had clued him in two months ago, and although he probably thought at the time that there was no chance in hell of his partner dying, he did die. And Sandra was Peter's partner. This was simply the preliminary meeting; there would be a meeting of the partners and corporate attorneys in a week. In the meantime, if she didn't already have a lawyer, she needed to get one. He could recommend someone in town who would watch over her and protect her rights from the dreaded Peter.

She was in shock. And what was Pam going to say? The lawyer told her that Pam was confused. That was all he would say. She would call Pam as soon as she got home that night. Standing up, she shook the man's hand and left the coffee shop. City Hall was across the street. Walking toward the subway entrance still numb, the crowds were thick, but she didn't feel the jostling she was getting, pushed on the train and packed in like a sardine, holding on to a filthy pole until she reached her stop.

Getting off the train in a throng of people, with the fresh air coming down the steps of the station and hitting her in the face, she felt her gorge rising. A middle-aged woman, someone who might have recognized her in the neighborhood, asked her if she was all right. Sandra nodded her head and rushed up the stairs, hailing a cab as soon as she was able, anxious to get home without getting sick.

The apartment was cool and dark. Letting herself in, she went right to the bathroom, running the water and washing her face in the cold stream, brushing her teeth, and letting the cold water flow over her hands. Turning the water off, she grabbed a towel, drying her face and looked in the mirror. The gaunt, pale stranger who stared back at her was a scary apparition. So this is what you get when you commit adultery, she thought. The guilt she was feeling was making her sick and she had to purge it soon, that night if possible, by talking to Pam. Whatever Pam wanted, she would do. If Pam was angry about the business, and she had every right to be, she could have it.

Changing into her beloved spandex and T-shirt she went to the kitchen to put on her teakettle. Picking up the phone she saw that Pam had called, as had her sister Sylvia, Bernice, Peter, and a number she didn't recognize. The urge to flee or hide was strong. Tea made, got a pen and paper, and sat at the table, looking out at her tree and birdhouse in the lowering light. She picked up the phone and dialed Pam's number.

## Chapter 25

Pam drove the car through town, trying to decide if she should just go home or if she should try to stay out a little longer. Frightened to go home, afraid that loneliness after getting the latest news would be the final straw, she was concerned she might do something desperate. Not needing anything from the store, she didn't feel like shopping anyway until she passed a small framing shop, an art gallery, and a gift shop. On a whim, she pulled into a space in front of the gift shop. It was full of china knick-knacks.

In spite of her anger and confusion, Pam was unable to think of Jack in negative terms. Still wanting to make something for him, a memento of sorts that would hold some of his treasures, the little odds and ends he saved, she browsed the store, looking at what was hanging on the walls, not seeing anything suitable. The shop owner suggested she try the frame shop next door. There, she found the perfect solution—an oak shadow box with tiny cubicles and shelves in it, which would hold all his keepsakes. She wasn't a creative person, but this box would make it possible for her to put together a tribute to her husband. She paid for it and took the wrapped package back to her car.

Suddenly, she saw her life with clarity, still acting from a place of denial. Her body began trembling. Tribute. That word opened the floodgates. My tribute to you, Jack! She started laughing through her tears. And your tribute to me? Thank you, Jack! Thank you for that wonderful surprise today! She couldn't stay there, bawling and yelling, so she started up the car and pulled out, heading toward home.

"No wonder he didn't want to fuck me anymore!" she yelled out loud. "He was too guilty giving his business away, the business that we sacrificed for, that I did without for, that I worked for." Although it wasn't exactly true that she did without, Pam did spend her life away from Jack so he could be close to his office. That had been her sacrifice.

She made it home without killing anyone. The key was not going in the door, and she struggled with it, growing in anger and frustration. When the door finally gave way, she dropped her purse in the hallway and slammed the door behind her. Marching into the kitchen, she picked up the coffee cup she drank from that morning, and although it had already been washed, she squirted dish detergent into it and scrubbed it with a vengeance. The housekeepers had been there and the house was sparkling; there was nothing for her to do. She was growing in frustration, anger, and confusion. How did this happen? Where was I when my husband was losing his mind? Giving his business away? Changing our life forever?

Not fully comprehending why leaving the business to his girlfriend made her angrier than having the girlfriend in the first place, she wished she could go back to the gym and run on the treadmill until she fainted. She didn't want to think about this anymore.

"Okay," she said out loud, "pull it together, Pam. What can you do, right now, right this second, to feel better?" She thought for a minute and then said, again out loud, "Have a cup of coffee." It was something she was in control of. Pulling the coffee can out of the pantry, she grabbed a filter and walked to the coffee pot. She measured the coffee with a measuring spoon, leveling off exactly the spoonfuls of coffee and dumping them into the filter with precision. Pouring the water into the pot, she turned it on. Taking a deep breath, felt the tension across her shoulders and neck. When the coffee was finished, she poured a cup. Confronting her pain in its entirety, life was empty, useless, not doing anything for others. Day after day, she took care of only herself. Jack was a weekend diversion to her week of empty self-serving. After the kids left for college, she should have moved into the city during the week with her husband, taken a class, or looked for a job.

The regrets were overwhelming her. Desperation grew as she stood in the middle of the kitchen, wringing her hands, wondering what she could do to make herself feel better. Finally, the thought entered her head. If only I could just die. Killing herself would be too gruesome for her. Why did Jack have to die? Why couldn't I have died instead? She lost track of time, and still standing in the center of her beautiful home, Pam lowered her head and with a heaving chest, began to sob.

Then the phone rang. She hesitated, but picked it up to read the caller ID. It was Sandra Benson. Unbelievably, Pam wanted to talk to her, needed to talk to her. She pressed the talk button.

"Hello." She couldn't control the tremor in her voice.

Sandra could hear the despair. Uh, oh, she thought. She steeled herself. "Pam. Pam, I spoke with the lawyer today. I had no idea Jack was planning this. And the truth is, I am shocked. If you want the business, and I told this to the attorney, it's yours. Okay? I know that doesn't make the fact that Jack did it any better." Sandra stopped, giving Pam a chance to say something.

"I can't make any decisions right now, Sandra. But I do appreciate the offer." Not trusting herself to say anymore, but not wanting to be rude, she asked Sandra how she was doing. She was grasping the phone so hard that her arm was shaking.

"I'm okay. Besides feeling as if I ruined your life, I guess I am doing pretty well. But I do want to see you, Pam. I know you had planned on having me to the beach this weekend, but I want to see you before that. Do you think you could come into the city tomorrow?" Sandra asked, not sure what her motive was.

It was exactly what Pam needed. Jumping at the chance to have something to do, she didn't question the motive or reason, or what the outcome would be. Pam started to relax.

"I would love to come to the city. What time can you meet?" Her mood immediately improved. "I can come to you so we will have more time for lunch."

Sandra, taking a much needed day off work, told her she would be available all day and then asked her if she was okay.

"I am feeling pretty aimless right now. What to do? I have been to the gym, my house is clean, and I've been shopping. What's left?" Am I feeling the tiniest bit of self-pity?

"Your husband just died, Pam. You should give yourself a break," Sandra said, feeling her way along unfamiliar territory. "And I don't want to trivialize what you are going through. Jack used to say that you loved reading on your veranda. He said the views were breathtaking and that he was never happier than when he was sitting out there with you, he with his laptop and you with a good book."

She was out of breath, hoping that she hadn't overstepped her boundaries. She remembered just a few days before, Marie saying her sister would bury herself in a book while her sister entertained Jack. She wouldn't repeat it to Pam.

"I do have a stack of novels I got out of the library last week. I tried reading one, but I couldn't get into it. I'll try another! Thank you, Sandra!"

They said their good-byes, Pam cheerful now, her old self. Maybe I am a simpleton, she thought. Former sadness forgotten, the change in her demeanor was sudden and swift. Pam went from being despondent to having excited expectation over a day in the city with a friend. However, she didn't know what was awaiting her. So while Pam sat in her comfortable chair on her beautiful veranda, looking out upon a spectacular ocean and trying in vain to forget her anger and disappointment by the simple act of reading a book, Sandra prepared to unload a fresh bucket of heartache upon her.

## Chapter 26

The baby was becoming, in the few short days of its existence known, a purpose for living. Sandra still felt sad that Jack was no longer alive, that he would miss this wonderful part of their life together, but she wasn't as lost as she had been, as Pam continued to be. Jack's death was the end of something bigger than she had known. Pam and Jack and their two children were a beautiful, vital miracle, and she was responsible for tainting the loveliness of it. If karma were real, she would be making restitution in some way, her dues had not yet been paid. That realization petrified her.

She would pray, Please, God, don't make the baby suffer because of my sins. "Do not be deceived, God will not be mocked, a man reaps what he sows." But first, she had one more painful revelation to convey to Pam, that Jack was going to be a father again, that Lisa and Brent would be having a baby brother or sister, that she would become a stepparent. Sandra needed Pam now, as Pam had seemed to need her. She was her connection to Jack. Together, the two of them and the three children would be responsible for the continuation of Jack.

~ ~ ~

A few miles north, Marie was walking home after working late. The project was there, available for the taking, and God knew, she needed the distraction. Her boss even asked her if she was okay; Marie never volunteered for more work. The good intentions she had a day ago went by the wayside the night before. She was so angry at Pam, at Sandra, at Jack. They had betrayed her, dismissed her, or a combination of the two. This journey she was forced to take would be one of stops and starts, two steps forward, one step back, over and over and over.

Coming to terms with what much of her adult relationship with Jack had been was a painful, embarrassing experience. She alone was responsible; she alone in control. If Pam had ever had an inkling of what was going on in her own house between her sister and her husband, she would have been shocked and furious.

When she was a teenager, Marie started flirting with Jack. For years, she spent every weekend, holiday, and summer in his presence. He was her big brother, her beloved brother-in-law. She was spending more and more time with him, doing the things with him that Pam didn't want to do through lack of interest, or probably because she was exhausted from having two babies close together.

It started innocently enough at first. Marie remembered the first time she had that feeling that she wanted something from Jack that was more intimate, something that was just for her. They were playing tennis, and she was beating him. Game after game they played, he was having an off day, or she was having a fabulous day. But in the last game, she blew it, and he won. He was so pleased, he was like a small boy, running around the court, jumping up and down and happily yelling. She didn't care that she didn't win and was amazed at his childish behavior, shaking her head and smiling at him.

Then he hopped over the net and picked her up in his arms, swinging her around, yelling, "Did you let me win? I won that for real, right?" Nuzzling her neck, and then putting her down, still laughing and out of breath, he kissed her right smack on the lips. Putting his arm around her shoulder they walked across the park, and Marie noticed people looking at them, the handsome, fit, young man and his younger partner, both in gleaming tennis clothes, rackets swung over their shoulders, the elegante of the Upper West Side.

If they had been a real couple, they would have gone back to their apartment, taken a shower together and made love. In the real world, however, the apartment was inhabited by a mother and her two children, who were all napping. Jack changed his clothes and went into their tiny den, turning on the TV to watch the news. Marie took a shower, and when she was done, instead of getting dressed, she put on a robe and went into the den where Jack sat. She walked in front of him and opened her robe. Taken by surprise, he looked up at her face first, shocked, and then he looked over his shoulder, to make sure they were alone and then starting at her breasts, he looked down, down, and when he came to her privates, he reached forward and touched her there. She became a little weak in the knees and opened her legs slightly, but he had come to his senses.

"Honey, you better get dressed before your sister wakes up," he said and not until a second later, withdrew his hand.

Trembling, frightened at the intensity of her physical response she followed orders and closed her robe. He got up, clearly excited by the straining of his erection in his sweatpants, and went into the kitchen to get something to drink.

Going back to her room, she hurriedly got dressed. When she returned to the kitchen, he asked her what she wanted for dinner, smiling at her as though nothing had happened, because nothing really had. They decided to make Mexican food to surprise Pam when she and the children woke up from their nap.

It was a fun dinner. Pam and Jack drank wine, and they were more animated than usual, Pam following Jack's lead as she always did. Once again, she would benefit from the presence of her little sister.

That night, their lovemaking woke Marie up. She could hear Jack's voice murmuring and the squeaking of the bed. Getting up out of bed, she tiptoed out of her room and down the hall, kneeling down on the floor to peek through the keyhole of their ancient bedroom door. She could see clearly; they had a bedside light on. Pam's legs were spread wide, and Jack was lying over the edge of the bed with his head right there.

Not yet familiar with oral sex, Marie had no idea what was going on, until Pam came. She started moaning, and Jack grabbed her hips with his hands. Marie could see his head bobbing around. It didn't take much imagination to figure out what he was doing. Next, he got up on his knees, with his legs spread, the teenager able to see his scrotum hanging down and see him grab his own penis and put it into his wife, Pam's legs wrapped around Jack's waist. Marie was fascinated. They started rocking together, and before long, Jack grunted, and that was that. He must have been done because he got off her and stood up at the side of the bed.

Marie realized that he was going to come out of the bedroom to use the bathroom, so she vaulted, on tiptoe, back to her room. It took a moment for her to assimilate everything she had just seen, and when she did, the laughing started. Burying her head in her pillow, screaming laughing, she heard Jack at her door, peeking in to see if she was sleeping then closing the door. He went back to his room. Laughing so hard tears were rolling down her cheeks, she had to blow her nose. Sex was so funny. What was God thinking when he made that? There was nothing beautiful about it at all. It was in the same league as going to the bathroom.

She debated whether or not she would say anything to him and decided not to because she wanted to watch again, and if he knew, he might block the view. She couldn't recall knowing they were doing it before that night; it was almost as though Jack purposely made noise, ensuring she would wake up.

~ ~ ~

Marie got to her apartment. She switched on a light and picked up her mail. There were mostly bills, ads, and a few cards—friends sending sympathy. It was already late, she wanted to get things done before bedtime, so she took her shower and put her pajamas on. What to have for dinner tonight? Food was a constant problem for Marie. She loathed eating alone. If anyone asked her to go to lunch during the week, she jumped at the chance, eating heartily, and then if dinner were meager, or skipped altogether, she wouldn't be starving to death. Fixing cheese and crackers, a few crudités and a can of diet soda, she put everything on a big dinner plate. Picking up a book and the sympathy cards, she went into her bedroom and switched on the bedside lamp. She would sit up in bed, read, and eat.

She popped open her can of soda and opened the first card. It was a trite, religious card, the front printed with a dove and the words He knows your pain. On the inside, the writer wrote, I know Jack will always be in your heart. She put it down and put her head back on the headboard. Closing her eyes, she thought about another day at the park, about two weeks after the tennis match.

Pam didn't want to go, so Jack, Marie and the two small children took a blanket and a picnic basket and walked to the playground. After they ate, they pushed the kids on the swings, ran after them, pushed them on the merry-go-round and then, both exhausted, they fell asleep on the blanket. Jack was reading a book for school; Marie was lying on her back, her eyes closed, and hands across her stomach.

Jack spread a blanket across her and moved in close, lying on his side, eyes closed. He slipped his hand under the blanket and onto her knee. His hand slipped up her leg, moving to the inside of her shorts. She ever so slightly moved her legs apart, one eye on the sleeping children.

"Don't worry," he said, "no one is around." He pushed her legs a little farther apart. His fingers slipped under the elastic of her underpants. She forgot her earlier derision of sex. He snickered. "You like that?" he asked.

It took her about ten seconds afterward to reach the conclusion that she had just been molested by her brother-in-law and that the ramifications of it would have devastating consequences for him—if she told, that is. He didn't seem to get that, never asked her to keep it a secret, acting like it was his duty to take care of her since she flashed him the day of the tennis match. She threw the blanket off and sat up. They weren't exactly alone, but she didn't think anyone noticed them messing around under the cover.

"Let's wake the kids and head back home," she said. Standing, she straightened her clothing and packed their items away.

Jack put his arm around her shoulder as they walked home, she pushing the double stroller, he carrying the picnic basket. Even at that young age, she thought of the futility of their relationship. It would never be anything more than game-playing. When they got back to the apartment, Pam was sitting in a chair with her feet up, reading. She looked so happy and refreshed.

"So, here's my family!" She bent over to take the children out of the stroller. "Did my babies have fun?" she asked. "I certainly did! Thank you, both of you! It was a wonderful, relaxing afternoon. Did you two have fun? Or was it awful?"

"No, it was fine," Jack said. "After we played a while, I read my book and the kids got a little nap in."

The rest of the afternoon was spent in preparation for dinner and a night of movie-watching. Marie felt slightly miffed at Jack. It was a scene that would replay itself over and over again in their life together. Jack would use her in some way and then act beatific, as though he were serving some noble purpose for mankind. Seeing Pam and Jack interacting, recognizing the afternoon for what it was, a step over an invisible boundary of trust and unforgivable behavior, Marie lost it.

"I don't feel good," she announced before dinner. "I want to go home."

Pam rushed to her, patting her and hugging her, while Jack made a display of concern.

"Here, sit down, Marie, you're probably dehydrated." Pam reached for a pitcher of water.

"No, I really want to go home."

This was a first. Pam was very concerned and began to get suspicious. "Did something happen at the park?" Pam looked right at Jack.

Jack lied through his teeth; he was so smooth. "Not that I know of. What's wrong, Marie?"

Marie would wonder for years after why Pam didn't recognize the insincerity in Jack's voice. He didn't care whether she was okay or not. The sad fact was she couldn't answer him. After that day, she often thought that if she had made a stand, insisting that they take her home or that her parents come to get her, that her life would have been vastly different. Jack had his hand on her arm and was applying pressure, not squeezing it, but just enough weight so she would know to keep her mouth shut. She felt a tear behind her eye but controlled it. If she started crying now, it would all come spilling out—the spying, seeing them making love, Jack fondling her. All hell would break loose. Instead, she clammed up and stayed with them after all.

Later that night, Jack made love to his wife, thinking about Marie, and Marie watched through the keyhole. Eventually, he would come to her bed, and she allowed it, initiated it, and encouraged it, night after night, year after year, losing herself in the process.

Cheese and crackers finished, Marie opened the drawer in her night table and pulled a Milky Way out of her candy stash. She ate the chocolate off the top and then nibbled the candy bar, savoring it until the last bite. It was wonderful. There were so few pleasures in life, so few delights.

## Chapter 27

The next morning, after spending a comfortable evening at home, which included reading through a compelling mystery and having a glass of wine on the veranda before bed, Pam woke up refreshed and rested. She was excited about spending the day in the city. As she dressed, it occurred to her that she should pack a bag and spend a few days. She could have lunch with Sandra, dinner with Marie and Bernice, go to the library, the museums, she could be a real tourist. That settled it.

Bags packed, she had enough clothing, underwear, and accessories for a month in Paris. She was as happy as she could remember being in a long while.

Looking around her house to make sure everything was in place before she left for her overnighter, she took one last look at the beach. It would be there when she got home the next day. She poured herself a cup of coffee in her travel mug and picked up her purse. Coming back to drag her bags out and lock up, she glanced at Jack's Lexus in the garage as she closed the trunk of her car. It dawned on her that for the years she and Jack lived apart during the week, she never went into the city to see him with the excitement she felt now. That made her sad. She wondered if it had bothered him that she never visited.

Getting into the car, she opened the sunroof and turned the radio on. She felt like listening to familiar music from her youth. The worry that her comfortable little life would soon be ending grew perplexingly as she got closer to the city. Sandra would make it impossible for her to stick her head in the sand. Pam hated that phrase. Marie used it all the time.

"Get your head out of the sand, Pam," she would say. Jack would come to her defense. "You're fine, Pam. Shut up, Marie." There was some truth to it, however hated it was. Pam had her head in the sand. Her husband had had an affair right under her nose. He had changed his will without telling her. The information about Harold not being his father Jack kept from her. She wondered what else she would discover before it was over.

As she drove, she remembered what living in the city had been like. As a child growing up in Brooklyn, getting to the city was a goal she set to reach. No one wanted to stay in Brooklyn in her crowd. Then she met Jack, from a wealthy family who lived right by the park in a mansion. Fitting in, she looked good, kept her mouth shut, and didn't share her opinions.

By the time she and Jack got married, she no longer had any opinions. They would live in the city because that was always what he had done, going to school and starting his successful business there. Secretly, she hated it. She hated the crowds, the expectations, the playacting of the day-trippers, the women in their look-alike suits and briefcases, the men trying to look like Ralph Lauren models—it was all too much. All she really wanted to do was start a family.

Not having a job accompanied a whole package of unwanted activities. Expected to join the Junior League she had to volunteer for charity events, and raise money for only God-knew-what needy proposition. Having Bernice for a mother-in-law would further lower Pam's self-confidence. Nothing she did was ever correct or enough. The first years of her marriage were spent trying in vain to please her. Bernice was a perfectionist of the obsessive-compulsive variety. She employed a staff of housekeepers who were continuously cleaning and polishing her huge, empty house. When they were finished there, she sent them to her sons' homes. Pam would have to spend the morning hiding anything she didn't want thrown away or touched while an army of people she didn't want scrubbed through her apartment. The humiliation and intrusion just had to be dealt with because she was also expected to entertain almost continuously. At least having a clean house was one less thing she had to worry about.

Pam stopped taking birth control pills the day Jack finished his master's thesis. She wanted a baby so badly. Jack did his best to impregnate her, coming home midday to have sex, never passing up a chance for lovemaking. "We were like a couple of rabbits," he once said, teasing her.

Jack loved Pam as much as he was able. She was completely unlike his mother, who was a strong, foreboding woman with high, uncompromising expectations for her sons. He loved his mother, too. Jack was a success at whatever he attempted. His mother loved him conditionally he thought, although she denied it. Her relationship with Jack was different than that of Bill's. Bill was more his father's son. He followed Harold into the family business, taking over when Harold retired, although he still made armchair decisions, something Jack never would have tolerated.

Jack tried to protect Pam from Bernice, who he informed as soon as he knew that Pam was the woman he wanted to spend his life with that she better embrace her and respect her. So although it was difficult, Bernice was gentle with Pam, or perhaps gentler than she was with most. Bernice let Pam know when something was inappropriate or improper. She critiqued her cooking, took her shopping for clothes and insisted that she dress a certain way, made suggestions for decorating their apartment, and then put them into play. Jack told her that if she really hated what Bernice was doing, he would put a stop to it. But he assured Pam that having his mother take over the unimportant things in their life would allow her to spend the time doing what she really loved—working out, reading, trying to get pregnant. He said it with his hand on her breast.

Jack got Pam a membership to the expensive New York Athletic Club right after they got married. While she was there, she was her own person. Bernice didn't exist; infertility wasn't an issue. Belonging to the club made living in the city tolerable. Jack took pride in his wife's fit physique and attractive face. Anything she wanted for herself, he made sure she got. Facials, manicure, and spa treatments filled her week.

When she finally got pregnant with Brent, Bernice took over. She doted on Pam, sending the cook over to prepare their meals, making sure she ate properly. Not allowed to walk anywhere; their driver became her personal chauffeur. Showered with gifts as parties and showers were given in her honor until there was no room left for the baby, whatever torture Bernice had previously bestowed on her daughter-in-law was forgiven immediately. Bernice actually began to like Pam as far as she was able, but that was a very long time ago.

As soon as Pam settled into Jack's apartment, she would call Bernice to see how she was doing. _What a hell of a year she had had._ Pam felt genuine love and respect for Bernice. She hoped they would continue to be friends even though Jack was gone. Having heard of families in which all the bonds were broken after a death made Pam determined to make sure it never happened to her family. Her children needed both grandmothers. Traffic backed up on the parkway right before she got into the city, so the hour trip became two hours. Okay with the delay, Pam sang along with her favorite old songs, relaxing from the hectic drive into town. Not much could get Pam down that day, least of all crappy city traffic.

Sandra was waiting nervously for Pam's arrival as she got ready, dressing with care, fixing her hair and makeup. Needing confidence for this encounter, she was simply going to tell Pam the truth, without apology. There was nothing left to apologize for, nothing to rationalize. She was sorry everything had happened, but couldn't take it back. Her actions had been brutal and selfish, but they were finished. Jack was dead. Now, Pam could acknowledge this pregnancy or not. It was entirely up to her. But Sandra fully intended on telling Pam she needed her. She was the last link to Jack. Pam had said as much. The baby only strengthened that link.

Preparing tea and toast, she sat in the window and gazed out at the tree. The birds she fed throughout the winter were bringing their babies back to the feeder. Sandra felt as though they wanted her to see their children. In the evening, she'd watch silently as the mothers and their little birds came for dinner. It emphasized the life she was making for herself here; the birds depended on her for food, and she was diligent about providing it. This task was just a little thing, but one of several seemingly unrelated activities that helped define who she was—city dweller, reader, worker, bird caretaker, girlfriend, and soon, mother. She avoided using any negatives— mistress, betrayer, liar. Others would provide those terms. Wondering what was keeping Pam, she considered calling the apartment, but decided that God's timing would be perfect, as trite as it sounded. So far, it had been right on target.

~ ~ ~

Pam pulled into the parking garage on Madison Avenue. She hauled her heavy suitcase out of the trunk and walked to the elevator. The fifteen floors went quickly. She was getting ahead of herself, thinking of buying some groceries and staying more than a day. She decided to allow herself the freedom to leave when she had had enough. She'd order a few things, coffee in particular if Jack didn't have any. There were plenty of places to shop in the neighborhood.

Deciding to unpack rather than rushing out, she needed the few minutes of peaceful organization to gather her thoughts. She hadn't allowed herself to fantasize about what Sandra wanted to talk to her about. It probably involved the business which she'd already come to terms with it. As long as she had enough money to live and support herself and the children, she really didn't care. It was the idea that pissed her off—the idea that Jack could think so little of her and she didn't realize it.

Spending the next fifteen minutes putting her clothes away, organizing her beauty products in the bathroom, throwing the old stuff away, she was stalling. Going into the living room, she picked up the phone and keyed in Sandra's number who answered on the first ring. After pleasantries, they made plans for Pam to come to Sandra's apartment. Then, if they felt like it, they could go to lunch later. Sandra added to herself, If they could eat after what would be revealed.

Pam left Jack's apartment at noon, getting a cab without a problem. Sandra was waiting for Pam at the door of the building so she wouldn't have to buzz and when the cab stopped; Sandra walked out and met Pam on the sidewalk. They embraced like old friends. Conversation was easy between the two of them, like mother and daughter. Pam asked how the week was going at work, and Sandra told her how Peter wouldn't come out of his office the day of the reading of the will. They walked down the hall together to Sandra's door. Pam walked through first and was impressed by the apartment.

"Oh my goodness! It's so bright! I love what you have done with it." She looked at Sandra, smiling. "You have a real knack, my dear!"

They went to the small table and sat down, continuing to chat. Remembering Pam liked coffee, she bought instant crystals from Zabar's. Setting the kettle on to boil, she took mugs out of the cupboard, gathered up the cream and sugar. Starting to get nervous, she wondered when she was going to do it, imagining she would just speak it out the moment Pam walked through the door. But she hadn't counted on the immediate connection they would have. They hadn't seen each other in a week and had missed each other. The reading of the will had taken place, and if that didn't alienate Pam, this next revelation may.

Prefacing her news with a little speech, she had to build up to it. Pam needed some preparation. Sandra was tempted to let Pam ask what the meeting was about. Her nerves led to fright. What if I lose it? Carrying the tray into the dining room, she decided to just say it.

"Thank you for coming all the way into the city today, Pam. I know this isn't your favorite place in the world!" She put the tray down and started pouring.

"I brought an overnight bag! When you called, it pulled me up out of such a state of self-pity. Thank you!" Pam reached over and hugged her. She continued to praise Sandra for her ability to inspire Pam that afternoon.

Sandra set the teapot on the table. She sat back down with her head hanging. "Please don't, Pam. Please don't." She shook her head back and forth.

Pam reached out for her, concerned. "What's wrong, dear? What did I do?" Pam was leaning forward, so worried that she'd hurt poor Sandra in some way.

"I'm pregnant." There, it was out. "I took a test, and it was positive. I'm very early."

Pam was frowning; the color had drained from her face. "I don't understand. I mean, I heard what you just said, but I thought you said he was going to break up with you. Did you plan this?" Her voice was shaking, almost uncontrollably.

"I'm sure he would have broken up with me eventually. It was not planned. Pam, I'm sorry I hurt you! But, please, can I just say something, and then you can let me have it?"

"Go ahead. I'm not going to let you have it, I'm just shocked. I mean, Jesus Christ! What next?" Pam was looking up at Sandra. Pam, always so poised, was suddenly full of doubt and uncertainty. What is happening to me? Am I a complete idiot?

"I am sorry, Pam. I'm sorry I hurt you. Because of me, your husband betrayed you. You didn't deserve that. But the baby," she started to weep now, "the baby means so much to me. The minute I realized I was pregnant, I felt like all of this has happened for a reason. I felt like I needed you so desperately to be in my life and the baby's life. Maybe because you were so kind to me, so forgiving, I've stayed on that continuum of us being a family. Now we will be related."

She stopped, looking at Pam, seeing the hurt in her eyes was the final straw. She sat down and, with her head hanging down, just let it out. "Everything will be horrible without you. I can't imagine having this baby and raising it without you."

Pam was speechless. So it wasn't bad enough that her husband betrayed her with this woman who was young enough to be his daughter, walked around town with her so that Marie, her own sister, knew of the betrayal, but now she would have to explain Jack's infidelity to her children. The evidence would be in the living, breathing baby for the world to see. Was there anything to privacy anymore? Did the entire world have to know that her marriage was a sham?

"I ran into Bernice yesterday, and she said I shouldn't tell you about the baby yet, that you might pressure me into having an abortion. I couldn't keep it from you, though. I want to build a friendship with you, Pam."

Pam took her hands from her face; she was livid, eyes wide open. "My mother-in-law knows?" She was struggling to keep her voice low, to stay in control. "Why on earth did you tell my mother-in-law? What earthly purpose would that serve? How do you even know her?"

Pam stood up now and was pacing, on the fence between caring that she didn't hurt Sandra's feelings and wishing her dead, along with her late husband.

Sandra began relating the story of Bernice, Big Nick's, and the trip back to the mansion, when Pam abruptly put her hand up.

"Stop!" she shouted. "I don't want to hear another word. Do you have any idea how destructive you are being? This is my life you are fooling with! It's not enough that you sleep with my husband and don't protect yourself against a pregnancy, but you tell my mother-in-law?" She gathered up her purse and started walking toward the door. "Good-bye, Sandra. I think it is better if we don't talk to each other for a while." She opened the door and walked out of the apartment, slamming it behind her.

The warmth of the June afternoon enveloped her as she stepped out of the building. It was humid out, and the damp air clung to her bare arms and gave her a chill. It reminded her of having menstrual cramps when she was a girl, and the hot, humid weather would make her feel like she was hot and cold at the same time. Comparing what she had just gone through with cramps brought a smile to her face. She took some deep breaths and started walking toward Broadway. For the second time in their life together, Pam could hear Sandra calling her name. Pam stopped walking and turned around to see Sandra running up the street, tears flying. When she reached Pam, she began begging her for forgiveness.

"Please, Pam, please give me another chance." She stood with her head bowed and her hands folded in front of her, in a praying stance. Please, God, let this woman forgive me my sins.

Pam was already calming down. But she was sincerely tired of the whole Jack-Sandra drama. She wanted to grieve the loss of her husband. She was tired of grieving the charade of her marriage.

"I will give you another chance if you give me some time. I hope I don't sound like a mother here, Sandra, but you are very young, and although I think you are wise, you don't know what I am going through. I need some time to sort out what I am going to tell my children, who worship their father, or worshiped him when he was alive, and now will find that not only did he cheat on their mother, but will have a child that will be their brother or sister."

Feeling strange discussing this on the street, Sandra standing there sobbing, Pam was not going back to Sandra's apartment but wanted to give her some resolution before she left the city. There was no way she could stay in Jack's apartment tonight. "Go home, dear, I want to get back and get on the road before traffic gets too bad." She patted her arm and turned to walk up the street.

Pam got her cab. She was glad she hadn't called Marie or, for God's sake, Bernice, because she would have had to cancel any plans made with them. Repacking everything, she couldn't wait to get out of that place and back in her car, headed toward the ocean. The wonderful ocean, an icon of peace and tranquility. She felt slightly guilty about the scene back at Sandra's apartment. It would have been so Pam if she had said, "Oh, that's perfectly wonderful! You are having my husband's baby! You discussed it with my mother-in-law who loathes me and probably thinks I deserve it. Here, let me give you my children's cell phone numbers; call them and let them know about their new half sibling!" But she would never do that because she thought of others more highly than she thought of herself.

As she maneuvered her car through the afternoon traffic toward the bridge, she began to relax. She would allow herself the luxury of not thinking about what she must do until she was safe at home. The ride would be spent listening to music and trying not to get killed. What was I thinking when I drove in this morning? From now on, if anyone needed to see her, they could meet her in Babylon.

## Chapter 28

Three women, joined by their love for a dead man, moved forward through the week with their eyes on the weekend. If all went well, they would meet at the man's beautiful house on the Atlantic Ocean. They would spend time eating delicious food prepared by his widow, watching breathtaking sunrises, walking on the beach, and if the mood was right, accepting this latest challenging news.

Pam wanted to do what was right. If she could, if she only had herself to think of, she would deny Sandra's baby's birthright. She would threaten her with bodily harm if she revealed the embarrassing truth of Jack's betrayal to their friends and family. She fantasized about packing up and driving through Canada to Alaska and hiding there. If she only had her own life to worry about, she would do that.

That wasn't going to happen, however, because of Lisa and Brent. This had become about what was right for them. She had to include the unborn baby in the equation. So fantasies about getting revenge aside, she would from this moment forward only consider what was best for the baby. That would mean having a united front of the adults. It would mean Pam would have to deal with Bernice, whatever her deal was seeking out Sandra. It would mean telling Marie and suffering her wrath.

By Friday, Pam was used to the idea of a baby. It disgusted her how simple she was. It was probably why she was so easily walked over all of her life. She spent the week shopping for just the right food, lots of healthy drinks for Sandra, and wine for Marie and herself. She got steaks for Friday, salmon for Saturday, and if the women stayed until Sunday evening, the ingredients for shrimp scampi. She hadn't cooked in over a week, and it felt good to stroll down the aisles of the big organic food store, thinking always in terms of what would be best for the baby.

On Tuesday, she sent cards, cute friendship cards, with the same words written in each one: "Don't forget this weekend at the beach! See you Friday night." And both women called and left messages that they would leave for Long Island right after work on Friday. Pam thought it was probably a good thing that they weren't traveling together. She didn't know how Sandra was going to get there, probably the train. She was a big girl; she would figure it out. Marie would drive over; that was the way she always did it. She liked to have the freedom to leave late at night and not worry about walking back to her apartment. Cabs were a rare commodity in her part of the city.

Pam discovered a positive consequence of the weekend plan. She barely thought of Jack all week, which was odd considering he had only been dead two weeks. Her anger was palpable. Her disgust at how he had discounted his children in his will and basically disregarded them all by his behavior forced her to look outside of her grief. Possibly, it could pop up again down the road, but for now, she didn't care. She wanted that control, that total all-encompassing smugness that being pissed at her husband gave her. She had never really gotten mad at him. Was it possible that was a symptom of her tragically empty marriage?

She thought of the last time they made love. He had pumped away on top of her as he always did, and when he was finished, he got off and went into the bathroom. She started laughing when she thought of the expression on his face. It was one that said, "I'm so good!" He was such an egoist. To his credit, he always made sure she was satisfied first. The problem with that was she was finished before he got started, not really caring if it was over quickly. Now of course, she understood. He was a middle-aged man having sexual intercourse with two women. She didn't know if he used drugs to enhance his performance, but she doubted it. She shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts. All they did was make her sad all over again. And she had managed to stay happy most of the week.

Having an entire week alone was sobering, realizing how friendless she was. Prior to Jack's death, she didn't need other women. She had her sister for companionship, her mother to bounce ideas off, Bernice to make sure she was involved in senseless activities, and Jack to take care of. She took care of his clothes, and that alone was a part-time job. She went to the cleaners on Monday to drop off what he brought home from the city and again on Friday to pick it up. He always had shoes or belts that needed repairs and watches to go to the jeweler. His car was in the shop more than it was out for upgrades or repairs—satellite radio, new tires, detailing, and oil changes. His golf clubs always needed some attention. She took his tennis racket to be restrung. Shopping for their food for the weekend was exciting for her. During the summer, they grilled every night, especially when he started to watch his cholesterol. She would go to the farmers' market on Friday and Saturday and to the fish market and the bakery. Everything was fresh and delicious.

Of course, that was the past. Now she had nothing, no friends, no husband, and no memories that were real. It was a sham, her whole life. And she was proud of herself for having let go of so much so quickly. She was a good woman. She could see what was required to make others safe, to make others happy. This self-pep talk was just what Pam needed.

She took fresh flowers out on the veranda and arranged them on the dining table. Hosting—now there was something she could do with pizzazz. Pam put a box of Marie's favorite chocolates on her nightstand. She had fresh sheets on the bed and flowers on the dresser. She debated where to have Sandra sleep. The guest rooms on the upper level seemed far away but looked out upon the ocean, beautiful late at night, with the full moon and stars and the ships at sea. She didn't want her guest to feel lonely, but the only other bedrooms were the kids. She would ask Sandra what would be more comfortable.

At seven, she heard a car pull up in front. It was Marie. Pam hadn't seen her sister for over a week. She went to the door and opened it, waiting for her to get her bags out of the trunk. Pam was shocked. Marie had obviously stopped eating, a problem they dealt with once when she was a teenager and again later on, escalating to the point where she had to be hospitalized for six months. She would starve herself until her body was unable to sustain her. At five feet eight inches, she was thin at her normal one hundred and fifteen pounds. She had clearly lost at least ten pounds. Pam hid her concern. History taught her that the best thing to do was to do nothing. She put a smile on her face and rushed out to embrace her sister.

Marie put herself into neutral in order to get through the week. She didn't allow any more walks down memory lane. No more entertaining jealous thoughts of Sandra, either. But the worst battle was with her guilt over the betrayal of her sister. It was a roller coaster. She hated not being able to express her love for Jack and her grief over his death and was enraged that all the sympathy was going Pam's way. Then she would be despondent that she could be so selfish and not be there for her sister. Now, seeing Pam scurrying toward her filled her with anxiety.

"Marie, I am so glad you're here. We'll have a good visit this weekend. I have your room ready for you," Pam said as she lifted her suitcase out of the trunk. They walked together toward the house, chattering about work, their mother, Brent and Lisa. "I was even thinking that you might like to golf tomorrow." If Marie didn't take advantage of the country club, there was no earthly reason to keep their membership current. "It's a shame that it's going to waste," she added, hoping that would spur her sister into going.

"It would be so boring out there without Jack," she said.

Pam had to agree. "It would be boring with him, in my opinion." They laughed.

Going into Marie's room and putting the bags down, Pam could see the tension in her sister's face start to melt. Marie was surprised at how comforting it was to be back in Jack's house. She was dreading it in theory, but in actuality, it was familiar, and it was home.

She wondered if the weekend would kill her peace; seeing Sandra again and knowing what she meant to Jack might do it. So much of what was important to her lived in that house. She loved Jack's children, staying in touch with them while they were away at school, writing weekly, texting constantly, sending gifts from street vendors should be on the continuum of life, but she'd allowed it to slip. When they both decided to spend six weeks of their summer vacation away, she was beside herself and the fact that the plan wasn't cancelled after Jack's death really had her baffled. She wondered what she would do the rest of the summer, who would play on the beach with her, go for ice cream or pizza, and hang out in town on a hot summer night. If all went well this weekend, she was going to approach Pam about getting them home. They should be here. That she was an adult woman who shouldn't be basing her life on the activities of two young adults hadn't occurred to her.

"Brent golfs. If he were home now, it wouldn't go to waste," she said.

Pam didn't respond. She knew the best thing for her children was to be away from this mess. Their peace would be shattered soon enough, and then she doubted they would ever want to come back. However, she was not going to discuss it with Marie. Those two fabulous beings were Pam's children, not Marie's. That was one source of contention she wanted to keep out of the weekend.

Pam was debating whether or not to tell Marie herself that Sandra was pregnant, thinking it may take some of the heat off of Sandra. If she did so now, Marie would probably leave. Then, she thought, why did Marie really have to know right away? It was so early, and so much could happen. Maybe Bernice was right, that any negative vibes directed at the baby should be avoided.

Pam felt that part of her metamorphous into an adult, finally at middle age, was the realization that she couldn't control everything, that her advice wasn't wanted, and that people should be left to their own devices most of the time. It certainly made life easier. She had enough on her plate right now. How people would react to her once the word was out that Jack was going to be a father again and Marie's reaction to learning that Jack had left his business to his mistress and nothing whatsoever to her—all of the fallout from those two issues alone boggled the mind. It was Sandra's baby, so if she wanted to tell Marie over the weekend, that was up to her alone. Pam was not going to do it.

"Sandra should be here any minute," Pam said. "Would you like something to drink? We can sit outside while we wait for her. Give us a chance to catch up."

She went into the kitchen, Marie following her. Pulling the cheese tray out of the refrigerator and piling grapes on it, she secretly hoped her sister would dig in. Marie went to the pantry to get crackers, renewing their old routine of working in tandem on the weekends—two women who had lived together for a long, long time and knew what was expected of one another.

"I'll take this out if you want to get that bottle," Pam said, pointing to the wine and two glasses. She omitted, "Sandra won't need a glass."

They went out to the veranda. The sun was just getting ready to set behind the house, casting a warm, gold glow over the water. Couples walking hand in hand, a boy running with his dog, a group of teenage girls laughing and conspiring, the beach was a vital part of life here in this house. You didn't need to participate, just observe from the safety of the veranda. Pam was content to do so, while Marie not so much. She wanted to be part of the action, to walk hand in hand with Jack, run with her niece and nephew, chasing a Frisbee, beachcombing for glass and shells. Pam was a solitary woman; Marie needed others around her to breathe life into her.

Pam had stopped taking a walk on the beach each day, having the sensation when she stood at the water that her house was moving further and further away, as though an undertow in the sand worked to remove her, as well. It was an empty shell with no husband, no children, and no life.

After the fiasco early in the week with Sandra, she had a new urgency to get home when she was out. Taking books back to the library, working out, and picking up groceries was done without wasted steps, needing to get chores done and head back home. Closing the drapes again against the outside world, her house was her cocoon where she nestled in, where there was nothing better.

"What did you do this week?" Marie asked her as she poured her a glass of wine. "I thought about you, but decided to leave you alone. I've been kind of needy lately."

Pam watched from the corner of her eye as her sister picked up a cracker and spread Rondele on it, trying not to breathe a sigh of relief that Marie was eating.

"What did I do? Not much. I had a couple of things outside of the house that occupied some time." She thought of her flight into the city, short lived, but didn't mention it. Marie wanted to hear more of what she was dealing with emotionally. "I am angry at Jack right now. It's gut-wrenching," Pam said, not needing to tell Marie the real reason for that anger. "But it's nothing that I won't get over with time."

Marie thought, I hope you're right, thinking that she was not going to add to her sister's burden of shame, at least not right away.

"The timing just isn't right," Pam went on to explain. "I feel as though I should be doing something beneficial, but I don't know what that is yet. I'm not even sure what that means." She realized she led a selfish life, but wasn't ready to confess that to anyone, especially her sister.

Marie was shaking her head in understanding while she picked up another cracker. "I think I understand what you mean, Sis. What have I done with my life? At least you have the kids." And then, treading lightly, Marie said, "I sort of wasted my life playing with Jack."

Pam looked at her, embarrassed. "I'm sorry for my part in that, Marie. You did fill in for me when I wasn't able or didn't want to participate in whatever shenanigans he was up to. In retrospect, maybe that was why he played around. Who knows if Sandra was the first?"

Marie, squirming in her chair, took a big slug of wine. At that moment, Pam knew that her sister was doing some important work toward self-realization, something she would need if she were going to have a happy life. It might mean exposure; it might mean shame for Marie if her relationship with Jack came to light, but Pam knew nothing about that.

Marie wanted a real life. Two weeks of his absence reinforced that her relationship with him was abuse. He used her, not caring whether or not she left, but while she was available, he would take what he wanted of her. It was a cheap and easy way to get thrills without responsibility. And now, of course, he was dead and off the hook. A grown woman and never had a date; it was sick! Does Pam think so? She decided to be brave and ask, not worrying if the question would make Pam think deeply about her sister's relationship with her dead husband.

"Pam, can I ask you a question?" Marie was red-faced and scared, but determined, the wine providing the courage.

"Of course! What?" Pam was sitting with her feet up on a chair, looking out over the golden ocean and azure sky mixed with purple, pink, and scarlet. Turning her head, she looked at her sister.

"Did you ever think it was weird that I didn't date?" Marie was leaning forward in expectation.

Pam looked at her, through her, thinking. "Yes, I thought it was weird—but only for a short time. Truthfully, I thought you might be a lesbian, but afraid to come out. Jack and I discussed you never dating, and he suggested that for a reason."

Marie sat, immobile, with her mouth hanging open. She forced herself to stay calm. "Jack thought I was a lesbian? That's what he told you." Marie spoke in a clipped, strained voice.

Pam nodded.

"When did this conversation take place, if I may ask?"

Pam looked out over the ocean. "About ten years ago."

Marie was not ready to give this up. "What would prompt him to say that about me? What was the conversation? Come on, Pam, you can't say something like that without some background!" She was trying to lighten up, to pretend it didn't matter that her lover used a word like lesbian to describe her.

"I was angry because you and he had spent the day at the park together. I saw the two of you walking along with his arm around your shoulder. I was in the apartment all day with the two children; I think Brent may have been around two, Lisa an infant. It was so long ago. I think I accused him of being in love with you. He denied it, of course. I asked why it was that you never dated but spent every weekend here, hanging on his every word. He said he thought you might prefer women. It was as simple as that." She turned to look at her sister, noticing she was white as a ghost, and asked, "Was he correct?"

Marie was ready to explode, but determined to be the bigger person, not to upset the apple cart when Miss Perfect was due any second, so she just shook her head. "No, Pam, I'm not a lesbian, have never been one, never even thought of it. I am a little shocked that you were jealous of me. Why didn't you ever say anything? I mean, I could have stayed home and gotten a life! I thought you wanted me with you!" She laughed and shook her head. "Unbelievable."

The doorbell rang at that moment.

"Saved by the bell!" Pam exclaimed.

She got up to let Sandra in, Marie following, not willing to miss one second of the next forty-eight hours. Pam opened the door to a perfectly coiffed, made-up, sundress-wearing goddess. Surrounded by her suitcases, accompanied by a sweating, panting driver who had hauled all of her things to the porch, when she saw the door was going to be answered and she wasn't stranded, she dismissed him. Then to Pam and Marie, she said, "Over the river and through the woods! My God, what a trip!"

Pam ushered her in, and the three women chattered like magpies, dragging bags up the stairs to the proposed room.

"If you don't want to be up here alone, you can have Lisa's room. I'm letting you decide," Pam said.

But Sandra was easy. "Up here is great. Then, if I get insomnia, I won't disturb you when I am up." She looked around the room Pam had picked out for her. "Lovely. Thank you."

They placed the bags on the floor and turned to walk back downstairs, continuing to talk about the trip from the city, what the weather was supposed to be like, and how hungry everyone was.

Pam got Sandra a glass of lemonade, and they returned to the veranda. When Marie and Sandra were seated, Pam said she wanted to start dinner. It was simple—steaks on the grill, salad, roasted asparagus in season, garlic bread and flan, all store bought. She went and got the meat and vegetables to grill, while Sandra and Marie talked. They were speaking so low Pam couldn't hear them.

"I am sorry about the other day," Marie said.

"I was wondering! How are you feeling now?" Sandra asked, a hint of sarcasm clear in her voice.

Marie was a little taken aback; there was no acceptance of her forgiveness, no oh that's okay speech. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?" Marie wondered what specifically Sandra was referring to.

"No special reason. It was clear to me you weren't having a good day." Sandra sipped her drink. "Pam," she called, "can I help you with anything?"

Pam walked out with a tray of food. "You both just relax. This is the easiest meal ever." She put the tray down on the granite counter. Lighting the gas grill, she turned around to her guests while it heated up. "We are supposed to have fabulous weather all weekend. I thought tomorrow we could have a leisurely morning and then hit the antique trail before lunch. There are supposed to be several flea markets around the area."

Sandra smiled at her, but said nothing. The last thing she wanted to do was run around Long Island spending money.

Marie wasn't so tactful. "Ugh, no, thank you. I'm not moving from this chair if I can help it."

Pam started laughing. "Okay, well, that's fine, too. I thought we could have a choice in case boredom set in."

"Boredom would be welcome at this point in my life," Sandra said.

Pam grilled the food while trying to keep the conversation going. But the moment she turned her back to attend to the food, it died. She decided to stop working so hard and let things take their natural course. If Marie and Sandra had nothing to say to each other, it might be for the best.

When the steaks were perfect, Pam dished up food for each woman and placed the plates on the table. She put extra veggies on a serving platter and placed it in the middle. A large salad and the breadbasket and they were good to go. It was just the kind of meal Jack used to love, she thought.

She sat down and looked at her guests, some of Jack's favorite people. She raised her glass. "I'd like to propose a toast to my late husband, Jack, who would have been thrilled to eat a meal with the three of us."

They raised their glasses in honor of Jack. "Cheers," they said and drank.

Marie had it on the tip of her tongue to say, "Maybe if one of us wasn't alive, he would be," but thought better of it. She cut her meat and speared a piece, popping it into her mouth. It was tender, the edges crisp and caramelized. There was just enough fat to make it moist and give it flavor.

"Delicious, Sis," she said. Keep it positive; keep it bland. That would be her modus operandi this weekend.

"This used to be Jack's favorite meal," Pam said innocently.

Sandra was mildly surprised. Jack ate fish with a salad when they went out for dinner; breakfast was another matter. She remembered stacks of pancakes, dripping in syrup.

"In August, when corn and tomatoes ripened, we had the steak with boiled corn and tomato salad every night. I never got sick of it," Marie said. "The first thing I thought of when I got off the parkway was which farm stand I would stop at to get the corn."

The three women ate in silence. Pam yawned, surprised at herself. It was probably the strain of jockeying what she said in front of whom. Clearing the plates when everyone was finished, she intended bringing the dessert out.

"Before you leave, Pam, I wanted to say something, if I could." Sandra looked up at Pam, who set the plates back down and pulled out her chair. Oh God, what was it now?

"Okay, go ahead," she said hesitantly.

"Thank you both for your graciousness. I am humbled by your acceptance of me. That is all I had to say—for now." She looked at Pam and then at Marie.

Marie was forcing herself to keep quiet. She didn't feel gracious at all. It was a minute-by-minute struggle trying to keep her mouth shut.

Pam smiled and got up again. "My pleasure!" Pam said, relieved. If Sandra felt accepted, then more power to her. Piling the dishes up again, she took them out to the kitchen and put them in the sink. There was plenty of time later to scrape and rinse. She heard voices coming from outside and decided to give them some privacy. Maybe she'd do those dishes now.

Marie couldn't help herself any longer. After Sandra's little speech, she had her say, "My sister is the gracious one, Sandra. Pam is the one you've hurt—at least in the public eye. I wonder how different things would be if Jack were still alive. I fully intended on making him confess to Pam that weekend." She sat looking at Sandra, her lips set in a thin line.

"What do you mean in the public eye?" Sandra was on shaky ground. Once the pregnancy news was out, the world would know Jack had been screwing around on Pam. But since Marie didn't know about the baby, she wasn't sure what she meant. She wanted to know.

"Just what it sounds like! You think she is the only one who loved my brother-in-law? Of course, the public simply looks at Pam and sees the widow! All of their sympathy goes out to her. The rest of us who loved him get nothing, no recognition. That's what I mean!"

Sandra was quick, and it took just a few seconds to figure out. She smiled a slow, sly smile. "So are you saying you loved Jack? I mean, loved him like a lover not a brother-in law?" That explained the decomposition in her apartment last Sunday. She had been in love with him, too. What a mess.

Marie stood up, face contorted, and shoved the chair under the table with force. "Doesn't take you long, does it? My sister lived with it right under her nose for years." Suddenly, she pulled the chair out and sat down again, lowering her head, sobbing. This time, her voice was loud enough that Pam heard and came running out from the kitchen.

"What is going on?" She thought Sandra might have sprung the baby news.

Sandra mouthed no to Pam, and Pam looked at Marie again.

"Marie, what is going on? What's wrong?" Pam urged.

Sandra repeated, "Yes, Marie, tell Pam why you're crying." She wasn't going to drop this bomb; let Marie do her own dirty work.

Marie was out of control now, head down on her folded arms on the table. Over and over again, Marie cried, "Jack, Jack, Jack."

Pam was getting frightened. She came around to the side of the table next to Marie, putting her arms around her. "Oh, Marie, I know you miss him! We all do!" She patted her head and said, "Shhh," to her sister.

Sandra was at an impasse. Should I sit and be quiet, or should all the cards be put out on the table? Sure Marie and Jack had been lovers, no woman responded to the death of someone like this unless they had been intimate, of that she was certain. She decided to speak up.

"I think it was more than that," Sandra said.

Pam snapped up, releasing Marie, and looked at Sandra. "What's that supposed to mean?" She was pissed. What was Sandra implying?

Once again, Sandra smiled her sly, slow smile and shook her head in disbelief.

"Marie, what does Sandra mean?" Pam asked, thinking, No, this can't be, because in her innocence, she knew all along that her husband had an unnatural relationship with her baby sister, and she chose to look the other way. Now, it would be out there; it would have to be dealt with. "Marie, stop that sniveling and talk to me!" Pam shouted.

Marie lifted her head. Pam gave her a napkin, and she wiped her face with it. She blew her nose into it. Sandra had her head resting on her hand, a silent observer. So this was the man I had an affair with! He was not only a philanderer, but a child abuser as well.

"Marie, tell me what is upsetting you. Please." Trying to compose herself, Pam pulled out a chair next to her sister. She sat down again, facing Marie. She needed to hear the story, no matter how awful. No one would ever recover from this if the entire thing weren't exposed right then. "Marie, did Jack touch you?" It didn't sound right since she was an adult, but Pam was at a loss.

Marie nodded.

"When?" Pam whispered. "When did it start?" she asked, knowing the answer even before she spoke.

"Remember the day in the park when I was a teenager and I wanted to go home?" Marie said, not mentioning when she flashed him after their tennis match.

Pam did remember. She stood up again, bile rising in her throat. Both of children were with them. Where were they while he was molesting his sister-in-law? But she didn't say anything or ask any more questions.

Marie had opened the floodgates, and as sometimes happens, she couldn't stop once her mouth was open. "He fondled me under a blanket that day. The next night, he came to my room, and we did it. Every weekend after that, we either did it while you were busy with Lisa and Brent or he came to my room at night. Last year, I knew something was wrong because he stopped coming to me. Now I know it was because of Sandra. He was making love to her instead of to me." She put her head down onto her arms and starting crying again.

Pam was looking out over the ocean. Fucking Jack. What a royal jerk! A felon, for Christ's sake! She turned around. What can I say to my sister that would matter? What can I say that would matter to anyone?

"Marie, I am sorry. I should have known. I should have put a stop to it. I'm sure the reason it continued was that he was controlling you. I don't blame you." She put her arm back around her sister. She probably needed some therapy—big time. What an awful relationship! It would paralyze a person, that kind of perversity. No wonder she had an eating disorder. She looked over at Sandra, who didn't seem fazed by any of it. "Can you believe this?"

"What else can happen to you?" Sandra asked.

Pam had to think quickly. Certainly, the weekend could not progress as planned. And it was too late to think about either woman leaving for Manhattan until Saturday. What to do? She could let things take their course, go on as planned, serve dessert, keep talking.

Her head was buzzing. Another slap in the face. She wanted to be alone to think about each time she'd feared there might be abuse being committed under her roof. How was I able to convince myself otherwise? She had confronted Jack again and again. "What is going on when the two of you are out? I don't like the touching, the hugging," she would tell him. He'd laughed her off. "You're imagining it," he would say.

Year after year, he was abusing her sister, with intercourse, not just fondling. Didn't Marie say herself that he came to her bed? Pam closed her eyes for a moment. They made love almost every weekend. Was he leaving the marriage bed to go to his teenage sister-in-law for sex? And then she thought of something that had bothered her for years, something she never gave voice to then and wouldn't now. It floated through her mind. Always satisfying her first, did he actually come? She was so naïve. Was it possible he wasn't finishing? She detested this type of mind play. He was a filthy pig. Why rationalize it? What difference did it make now? But her flesh wanted details—the how, when, and where of deceit.

Marie was pulling herself together. She sat quietly at the table, aware that it was over; there was no need to hide anymore. Finally, her side of the story was out. And Pam believed her. Pam. Sweet, gentle Pam.

Sandra sat silent, taking it all in. What is this family? she thought to herself. What a horrible, perverse mess. She put her hand over her belly, thinking, Thank God he's dead. He won't put a finger on this baby. Finally, after two weeks of grief, she felt vindicated. He was dead because he was too sick to be alive. Marie would have never disclosed her secrets otherwise. She said he had stopped sleeping with her when Sandra came along. How can I know for sure?

"I think we need to be honest about everything now. Pam? Are you behind me in this?" Sandra asked.

"Now is probably the worst time!" She was incredulous that Sandra would bring that up in front of Marie.

Marie was alert now, smelling out more intrigue. What could be worse than what she just revealed? "What? What? I want to know, for God's sake! Was he molesting his own kids?" she yelled.

"No! Jesus Christ, Marie, stop it! Of course not!" She had no way of knowing if this was true, but she wasn't about to open another can of worms.

"I'm pregnant!" Sandra said, sitting up ramrod straight, defying anyone to stop her from stating the truth. "I'm about four weeks along."

Marie was staring at her, her mouth open and eyes wide. "You're lying."

Sandra laughed. "I'm sorry, Marie, but it's true. You are going to be an aunt again. I hope you'll agree to be in the baby's life!"

Pam and Marie continued to stare at Sandra but say nothing. She had to be nuts!

Finally, Marie let loose. "You have got to be kidding me! You're going to have it? How fucking selfish can one human being be? I told you she was a snake!" Marie said to Pam.

At that point, Pam stepped in, placing her hand on Marie's arm. "That's not our business, Marie. We have to allow Sandra to do what she wants and support her."

Marie shook her off. "No, I disagree. You want another shocker? I had two abortions—Jack's babies. He wouldn't hear of my having a baby. Once when I was in college, at twenty, and the other four years ago, right after Christmas. When I told him I was pregnant, he went into a rage. 'You did it on purpose!' he screamed. I was afraid everyone in my dorm would hear him. 'There is no way you are having a baby, do you hear me? Get rid of it!'

"It was worse, the last one. When I started to cry, he put his hand over my mouth, like he wanted to strangle me. I couldn't breathe. 'Stop crying!' he shouted over and over. And he wouldn't even allow me to recover. He came to my apartment after I had it done, after the abortion, and rammed into me. When he was done, he got up and left. I didn't hear from him for the rest of the week.

"That weekend, he took off golfing to Las Vegas with Brent. I stayed in the city. I think I told you I wanted to do some Christmas shopping. Mother came and took care of me. I was so frightened; this time I got an infection. No one tells you how common that is. They make it sound like you just go in and zip, zip, it's over, baby gone. I blamed Jack for it; he practically raped me.

"Things got better after that; he was at least cordial to me. But he was still rough at night, like he was pissed off at me. I tried to get him to stop coming to me, but he would fly into a rage if I even brought it up, accuse me of being ungrateful, of using him. I got so confused that I believed him. We did more physical stuff together—golfing, tennis, swimming. He seemed okay about everything, not so angry.

"Finally, last year, he stopped coming to my apartment during the week, and on the weekends, he never came to my room. It may have been because we almost got caught; Lisa walked into my room just as Jack was leaving. He told her he was in the kitchen and heard me crying and thought I was having a bad dream. I'm not sure she believed him. The smell of sex hung in the air. It was pretty intense for the rest of the weekend. I thought she would go to you and tell you. Now I think he stopped because he was sleeping with Sandra, and there was no chance of anyone catching them doing it." She finally stopped.

Pam was frozen. Sandra, white as a ghost, was disgusted. No one dared to say a word.

"Why in hell should you have his baby? Do you think he would want it? Do you think it is fair to have everyone knowing whose baby it is? Lisa? Brent? No!"

She was speaking Pam's thoughts. But now, in the face of this latest travesty, the baby was the last thing on Pam's mind. Was Marie insane? Did those things really happen to her? How could she prove it? She had to believe her husband was a moral, if not faithful, man. That he wouldn't risk the well-being of his own children by having sexual intercourse with their aunt right next to their bedrooms. The Jack who forced Marie to have an abortion, then came to her apartment, raped her, almost choking her to death—was not a man she knew. Sandra was looking at her with a questioning gaze. Pam shook her head. She didn't believe it.

Pam looked up at Marie. "I don't believe you."

Marie smirked. "What don't you believe? The child abuse? The abortion? The rape? The choking? It's true, I tell you. I have the bills from the clinic, with Jack as the responsible party. You can ask Mom. She was there for me the second time. If we can find my roommate from college, ask her! She saw Jack there, saw me hysterical. And she was there when he brought me home afterward."

"The bills mean nothing." Pam was shaking her head. "He could have been helping you out of a pregnancy from someone else. And I can't believe you would tell Nelda! She hated Jack! No wonder!"

"It's true! Why would I lie about something like that?" Marie was near tears again.

"No!" Pam screamed. "No! I don't believe it! I choose to believe you are lying, that you would rather make me feel like shit about my husband because he was my husband, not yours! If you slept with him as an adult, that was your choice! You should have run from him! You should have told me then what was going on! Not wait and then when he dies and can't defend himself, pile all of this crap on me. No!"

Sandra had crept back into the house. Pam and Marie were alone out there in the dark, no candles lit, the sun down. "If my husband molested you when you were a child, I truly apologize for that, for sticking my head in the sand. If you became pregnant by him and had an abortion, that must have been awful for you. But I will not have you sitting in the house that is essentially his, bad-mouthing him in front of a stranger because you are jealous of her! What are you thinking?"

Marie sat back down and looked up at Pam. "I loved him."

"Well, it's not about you, is it? It's not even about me anymore. Now it's all about the baby—Jack's baby. Sandra is going to have this child whether we approve or not. It will have the legacy of Jack as its father. Furthermore, Jack left his business to Sandra. That's right," she said, responding to the look of astonishment on Marie's face. "One more piece of news. I hope to God that the last of it was your bomb. I don't think I can take anymore."

Whether or not Marie heard a word her sister said remained to be seen because the next thing she said was, "You're going to support her in this? What the hell happened to your pride?"

Pam laughed and sat down again. Pride? You are kidding, right? What pride? But she only said, "Yes, I am going to support her." She got up from the chair for the eighth time. "I'm going to go find her to see if we can't talk about some things I want to talk about. If you don't want to, get up and go to your room. You aren't dictating what the conversation is anymore." She walked back into the house and called for Sandra.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, a haggard Pam got up out of her bed and went to the bathroom to start her morning routine. She reached for the knob on the tub faucet and then pulled back. She was going to go without showering and doing her hair and makeup that day. She'd wash, comb her hair, and put eyeliner and lipstick on, but that was all. She was going to take the day off. To hell with the dinner tonight. She would order pizza if there was anyone left to eat it. She tried to remember the last time she went without makeup and could not. Who am I primping for, anyway? All the time I spent taking care of my appearance to please a man who was screwing another woman in this very house. Could it be true? Was he such a monster?

She walked out of her room into the hallway and looked out the doors that led to the veranda. The sun was just at the horizon. It was going to be a hot, bright day. She suddenly felt like she wanted to sit on the beach. She might even wear a bathing suit and get her legs wet.

Back in the kitchen, she got the coffee pot ready. Something was happening to her. She felt comfortable in her house again. The restlessness she had encountered during the past week or so was gone. She laughed at herself, thinking what a fickle woman she was! Hearing the worst news a wife can hear and my response is peace? Fickle is a nice word for what I am! Pam laughed out loud.

It was the weekend. She wanted to talk to her kids even though it was early with the time change. They both worked on Saturdays, so they should be up. Taking a cup of coffee back to her bedroom, as she wasn't ready to chat with her guests yet if they were even still there, she sat on the chaise overlooking the ocean and picked up the phone. She dialed Brent's number first; he was a man of few words. Lisa would keep her on the phone longer. He answered on the first ring.

"Mom! How the heck are you?" he asked her.

Pam told him she was doing well and asked when he could come back for a visit. They chatted for five minutes, and then she let him go, Brent promising her that he would let her know the following week when he would come home.

Lisa talked with her mother while she fixed her breakfast, brushed her teeth, did her makeup, and got dressed. Pam didn't mention any of the negative garbage that had taken place, including the baby. But she fully planned on telling both kids about it when they came home next.

After Marie's confession the night before, Pam went to Sandra and asked her to please keep what she had heard to herself, which Sandra promised to do. Sandra said she had something important to discuss about the business, but Pam was just too raw to take one more thing in. They promised to talk before the weekend was up. With the morning and her newfound peace, Pam was anxious to hear what Sandra had to say. She probably wished she had never come to the beach.

The truth was, Sandra was feeling more disgusted with Marie than anything else. Her timing sucked! The day out of the city stretched out before her. She wanted to tell Pam about an idea she had for the business, which might change a lot of the angst she was having over Jack's decision to give it to her. She planned on lying on the beach, eating inappropriate foods, and ignoring Marie for the rest of the weekend.

She came down the stairs into the kitchen after a glorious night of sleep. Nothing that had happened bothered her. She thought she may be becoming callus, but the truth was, Marie's entire ethic was based in jealousy—jealousy of Pam and now of Sandra. It was horrible that Jack had molested her all those years. Sandra felt there had to be something underlying. Nothing would make it okay to molest a child, but there was something else. She wouldn't spend time trying to uncover it this weekend, but when they got back to the city, she fully intended on finding out what it was. She and Pam got to the kitchen at the same time, Pam ready for a second cup of coffee, Sandra going to pour her first.

"When you're ready for more brain work, I'd like to talk to you about an idea I had that would include the children in their father's business. I know it's early for business talk."

Pam pointed to a glass pedestal covered cake plate that was filled with danish. "Let's eat first. My brain is still foggy from sleeping," Pam replied. "What a beautiful morning! I can't wait to get outdoors!" Pam got the butter out of the refrigerator. Butter on a danish—she was living dangerously.

"I am lying on the beach today if it's the last thing I do." Sandra was in her comfort zone with Pam. They had weathered last night. Sandra knew where she was to blame in the picture. She'd made a horrible moral lapse in judgment. The payment was huge, raising a child she bore of a married man by herself. She needed Pam, so she would do what was needed to maintain a relationship with her. If it meant groveling, she would grovel. She wasn't above any act of contrition to make this right. The fact that Pam seemed okay this morning proved that she was a powerfully strong woman. Sandra wondered if she knew. She doubted it. "Did you have anything you wanted to do today? You had mentioned the flea market."

Pam laughed. "I think the beach sounds wonderful. I'll go find some shorts to put on." She grabbed her coffee cup and plate of danish and went back to her room. If she seemed like she was fleeing from the scene of a crime, it was because she didn't have anything to say yet, especially not wanting to discuss business with Marie in the house.

Sandra didn't seem to notice and took her coffee and breakfast out on the veranda. The air was warm, and there was a soft, ocean breeze. She pulled out a chair facing the water and sat down. Sipping the coffee, she thought, I could live like this so easily. I love it here. The house is comfortable, the property beautiful, what could be more wonderful? The danish was fabulous, flaky pastry with a marvelous filling that was part cheese, part almond paste. The one thing Sandra had going for her right now was that she needed to gain some weight, and there was a good chance this danish would help her out. If she could figure out a way, she would live here indefinitely with Pam. For now, she would be content with this weekend, and maybe every weekend in the future. Laughing to herself, she bit into the danish.

Marie slept until eleven. She woke up in a sweat, the sun beating in through her window. Her hair was wet, stuck to her face and neck. She had a headache. The icing on the cake was that she feared she had started her period, cramps traveling from her belly down to her knees. She stumbled out of her bed and through the bathroom door. She confirmed her fears when she pulled down her pants. Back in the bedroom, Marie went through her suitcase and pulled out the most comfortable clothes she brought, baggy shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt. She took a cool shower, washing her hair and conditioning it with expensive stuff Pam had left for her. She dressed and wrapped her hair in a bath towel.

Pam and Sandra were out on the beach, sitting in folding chairs under a huge beach umbrella. Marie was glad for the solitude, but happy that her sister was within yelling distance. The coffee pot was empty, but there was a full thermos left for her. She poured a cup, taking it and the entire covered cake plate of pastries and headed for the veranda. The Saturday edition of the New York Times was on the table. She would read it from cover to cover, eating what was left of the pastries. The sugar made her feel lightheaded. She drank another cup of coffee. This was what Saturdays at the beach were all about.

When she finished with the paper, she got up and went into Jack's den. There, she would find shelf after shelf of fiction. She chose a couple of books that were unfamiliar and took them to her room, throwing them on the bed. Then she went back to the kitchen and picked snacks out of the refrigerator and the pantry. A can of diet soda completed her stash. She would lie in bed, propped up on pillows, eating and reading all afternoon. She couldn't remember the last time she gave in to laziness. Years and years ago, she thought, and it is long overdue.

Sometime after two she must have fallen asleep. There was a soft knock on her door, but she slept through it. Pam opened it and peeked in at her baby sister to make sure she was okay. Seeing the snack bags and fruit peels, she smiled and thought, Good. The empty cake tray had already been discovered. Marie needed to rest.

Waking up at four, the cramps were better, and with the nap, she finally felt refreshed. She rolled out of bed and sat at the edge of it for a few minutes. What would the rest of the day bring? Everything about her and Jack was on the table. There couldn't possibly be any more surprises, could there?

She was not going to try to rationalize her behavior or Jack's, make excuses, apologize, or expect apologies. She was finished with it. What was done was done. Sandra being pregnant was inconsequential, as far as Marie was concerned. What Pam chose to do with that information was up to her. The day had shown Marie the truth; she only had herself to blame. She had possibly attempted to gain some sympathy by blasting out her story as she did. Now, she was only regretful. She assumed that she had destroyed the relationship that she had with her sister, and rightly so. Jack could only be blamed for the part of their relationship that took place when she was underage, correct? The adult phase had to be shared.

She thought of the nights he slept at her apartment. He'd call Pam on his cell phone to say good-night from time to time. She remembered Pam saying on one occasion that he rarely did that. Was it only when he was in her apartment that he called, possibly for her benefit? To say, "See, I'm still married to your sister, although I am here with you." She would love to ask him, but it was too late. She left her room to join the others.

Sandra was sitting at the counter, eating a piece of fruit, reading a take-out menu. Pam was puttering at the sink. They looked up when she came into the kitchen.

"Well, good afternoon! I was beginning to wonder if you were alive in there!" Pam seemed chipper.

Marie wondered how she did it. Was she daft? Maybe that was it. Whatever quality made her able to stay so upbeat in the face of so much garbage was pretty amazing.

"Oh, just to warn you, Mom called, and she's coming here for dinner tonight."

Marie's heart sank. Had Pam called her? Were they going to confront her? She didn't even want to go there with her sister. "Oh. Why? If I may ask," Marie said. "Hasn't there been enough drama around here? Thanks to me, of course." She smiled to show that she was taking the blame, not accusing.

Pam looked over at Marie. "I sort of thought you might be able to tell me why."

Marie shook her head. "I have no idea. I'm not sure I will survive it." She slumped onto a counter stool. "What was the reason again we got together this weekend?" She looked quizzically at Pam. "I did not plan to throw that bomb out last night. I wasn't even going to mention it, but I apologize now. My timing sucked."

Sandra looked at Pam. She started chuckling. "Yes, Pam, what was it we were going to do?"

Pam shook her head in honest confusion. "I can't really remember now. I just thought that Jack's death would bring the three women who loved him the most together. Yes, Marie, you too. I know you loved him, not, as it turns out, how you loved him, but that really doesn't matter now. There is something about the three of us that seemed worth pursuing to me—almost three generations, all focused on the same man. Now I wonder if he was capable of love, although Marie seemed to think he loved you, Sandra."

The two sisters looked at her. She flushed. "He told me he loved you, Pam. We know he did. But it was Jack's brand of love. Love with strings. Love with pain. I said yesterday that I thought Marie was selfish. But the truth is, Jack was selfish. And because of the women around him, let's include Bernice in this; he got away with it. He took what he wanted and didn't deny himself anything. He was so charming!"

The three women all smiled, but Marie was thinking, That's a load of horseshit. And Pam was thinking, Sandra sure picked a great time to finally get some wisdom.

"Granted, he was a charmer, all right," Pam said, thinking of her devotion to him, waiting on his every word. But then she was no longer in the city. Did he move her out to get her out of the way? So he could play? She kept her doubts to herself. She cared enough about herself to refuse to stay where she was and be unhappy. That, at least, was a plus.

"But what about Mom? I really don't think I can deal with her." Marie was struggling to keep the whine out of her voice.

"Well, she's on her way, my friend; there's nothing you can do about it now." Pam turned her back to fill a pitcher with water. She could feel her patience waning. "I want her to meet Sandra anyway. Let's keep the intrigue out of the conversation tonight, okay? There's plenty of time for that later."

"I think I would like a Philly cheesesteak," Sandra said, getting back to the take-out menus.

"They smell so awful! We all better get them, then," Marie said. They ordered cheesesteaks, fries, Greek salads, and bread sticks, preparing for a carbohydrate loading. When the food came, they took it out on the veranda to eat. Marie was going with the flow, trying to stay relaxed and not lose it in the face of Sandra's revelation, her mother coming, and having to go back to work on Monday. What the point of the weekend really was had eluded her. Had Pam planned it to give Sandra a platform for her announcement? She might get the courage to ask later.

The food handed around, Pam was obviously trying to say something; she kept pausing and looking at her guests. Finally, she spoke up.

"I don't want to start a conversation about this, but I have something to say that I want said before my mother shows up. From now on, my motive in life will be to facilitate the children—Lisa, Brent, and the baby. Those three are the purpose of us trying to stay civil. It has to be all about them, especially the baby. Nothing is more important than the baby. If it weren't for my two children, then I wouldn't have to worry about it. But it is their sibling." She looked over at Marie. "Can you agree with this? What happened to you was awful. But you are an adult now. Get some help if you have to. But don't make it about the children or about me. I am sorry my husband did what he did to you."

Marie was chewing on a mouthful of food. What did Pam expect of her? She swallowed. "I guess I can agree with it. What do you want from me?"

Sandra's head swung around to Marie. What a bitch! she thought.

"What I meant was, how can I help you achieve that?" she said, enunciating each word while looking directly at Sandra.

Pam answered for her. "We can achieve it by thinking of the baby first, not of ourselves. Marie, if I can get over what has happened to my family, you can get over it, too. Let's stop now before Mom gets here."

At seven, Nelda arrived. She was looking forward to spending the evening with her daughters. They hadn't been together since the funeral. Although only two weeks had passed, it felt much longer. Pam greeted her at the door, and Nelda was slightly taken aback by her appearance—no makeup, hair pulled back in a banana clip, bathing suit cover-up.

"Good beach day?" she inquired.

Pam led the way to the veranda. "Fabulous. I can't remember the last time I spent all day reading under an umbrella."

When she stepped over the threshold to the veranda, Nelda grabbed her shirt at the neck. Didn't I just see Marie? Oh God, is she anorexic again? She was literally grey, and although she was sitting there eating a cheesesteak, of all things, she was skeletal. Nelda kept her mouth shut, trying not to purse her lips.

"Good evening, Mother!" Marie said.

Nelda bent down and kissed her. She smelled of soap and water. At least she was bathing.

"Mom, this is Sandra Benson. She holds an important position at Jack's company."

Sandra stood up and reached over the table to grab Nelda's hand. "Nice to meet you!"

If things could just stay pleasant, or otherwise superficial like this, Pam would be happy—no in-depth conversations, no psychodramas. She noticed her mother's concern at Marie's appearance. She would take her aside later and tell her that she had been eating pretty much nonstop for the past twenty-four hours. Maybe she had just been lonely, or reverting from anorexia to a binge-purge cycle. The evening went well, although Nelda wasn't herself. Later, Pam used the expression bright to describe the way her mother looked. Her eyes were glazed over, and she was smiling inappropriately.

Pam whispered to her sister, "Maybe she's been drinking."

Marie ended up asking her mother to stay; she offered to drive her home in the morning. She had a drawer in Marie's room with clean pajamas and underwear, and there was nothing pressing to get back to Brooklyn for, except an empty house.

The next morning, Sandra came down with her suitcase. She was going to leave, too. She had a long train ride home and wanted to prepare for the week. Pam offered to drive her to the train station, but Marie had already said she could drop her off. They had coffee and croissants. Pam felt the anxiety building. She thought she might be nervous about being left, but then realized she wanted them to move on. She wanted to be alone again.

## Chapter 29

The three women left, cordiality swirling around them. Nelda never did say what she'd come for. Pam walked them out to Marie's car and stood at the curb, waving good-bye as they pulled away. The moment she was alone, she started thinking of what she could do next with a list of things needing to be done. Eventually she might take Marie's room and turn it into a nursery, in case Sandra might enlist her aid in childcare from time to time. Of course, before she did anything permanent, she would ask her. Then she was going to move Marie upstairs. The rooms had great views up there and private bathrooms. It would be enough to keep her busy for a while.

And lastly, there was Jack's den. Although the family gathered there to watch TV or play games, it was really his room. It had a huge desk and chair and his books and papers. He didn't want to be isolated from the family in a private office. He liked being part of the action. She thought about Jack; he was a dichotomy. Of course, she always thought he was so transparent, loving his kids and family, such an attentive son to Bernice, so many friends all over the country that loved him.

If it were true, adulterer, child abuser, and all the adjectives used to describe someone who would molest his own sister-in-law for years, force her to have two abortions, and physically harm her. Could it really be? Although Pam had no intention of ever again discussing him negatively with either Marie or Sandra, she knew she had barely begun psychoanalyzing his behavior for herself. She didn't know where to begin.

She stood in the middle of the den and slowly turned around. Where to start? The apartment on Madison Avenue came into her mind. Oh boy, she thought, I have to deal with that as well. She walked over and sat at his desk. It was a gleaming monstrosity of a desk, with three big drawers down each side and three slim drawers across the top. She thought maybe she would start with a drawer that held paper.

Paper was always so difficult to deal with. What is important? What should she save as a memento? What is trash? She opened and closed drawers until she came to the second drawer from the top on the right. It held manila file folders, lying face up, stacked to the top. She would get a box from the garage and place the folders in the box and start going through them.

The first folder contained letters from an organization that supported sports for teens on the island. Jack was involved with the group and occasionally sponsored the lacrosse games. She set that folder aside; it might hold information that she'd need at tax time. She couldn't help a rush of fear traveling through her body; Jack was involved with many youth sports groups.

The next folder held a spreadsheet and receipts pertaining to his expenses in the house. He rarely worked from home. She flipped through the receipts. It looked like he was using a portion of the apartment in the city as a home office. Some documents didn't mean anything to her. Folder after folder held nothing of interest. She wondered what she was looking for. Her motive of cleaning out his desk fell flat. She was simply searching for something to help her understand who he was.

Thinking of the apartment again, she remembered the folder filled with the evidence of his birth. Maybe she needed to get in touch with Bernice. The idea that Bernice knew of Jack's infidelity and the baby unnerved her. She wondered if Sandra was on the phone with Bernice this very minute, filling her in on the weekend. She hoped Marie's shocking story was not dinnertime conversation between Sandra and Bernice.

As Pam continued digging through the desk, at the bottom of the second drawer, tucked away in the left corner, she eyed a strip of paper. It appeared to be stuck there. She pulled, and it was more than a strip. She stood up and pushed the chair away. Bending over, she pulled the drawer all the way out of the desk and let it drop to the floor. At the back of the outside of the drawer, a whole sheet of paper with the edge stuck in the drawer had fallen out of a folder that was hidden in the body of the desk, behind the drawers.

Pam had a hot flash. She thought of the saying curiosity killed the cat as she reached for the folder. It was newer, not dust covered, so she felt Jack may have put it there purposely, recently.

She put the folder on the desk, looking at it, not opening it. Her stomach rumbled. She was empty. It was time for more coffee and something to eat. Walking into the kitchen, she turned around and went back to the den and picked up the folder. She took it with her and placed it in the pantry. Then she locked the pantry door.

## Chapter 30

Sandra was suffocating in the backseat of Marie's car. Nelda was obviously confused by her presence; she'd made that clear last night when she repeated five or six times, "Now, how do you know Jack?"

Marie tried to talk Sandra into coming all the way into the city with her, but Sandra knew she would die first, insisting that Marie take her to the train stop; her excuse was she had a ticket that needed to be used or it would expire. Marie wasn't buying it, but Nelda was relieved that she didn't have to spend the next hour with a stranger.

The train was on time, and Sandra found a seat with legroom so she didn't have to struggle with her suitcase. She put her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the train was pulling into Penn Station. Oh, to find a cab, she prayed. There was a lineup of cabs when she stepped outside.

It was hot in the city, and hotter in the cab. She dug through her purse for a tissue. The driver was a maniac, slamming the brakes at red lights, speeding off at green, and screeching the brakes when he went around corners. She screamed at him to slow down. At the corner of Broadway and 79th she told him to let her out. She threw the fare on the front seat and slammed the door. She'd walk the rest of the way before she would let that jerk see where she lived. When she got to H&H, she went in and got half a dozen bagels and a pint of vegetable cream cheese, her lunch for the next six days. With each step toward her apartment, her suitcase rolling behind her, she relaxed a little more.

She wondered what she was thinking when staying at the beach seemed like such an enticing idea? There was nothing like the security of her own house. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, and the cool, dark safety enveloped her as she stepped over the threshold. She was home.

Marie found a place to park the car on her mother's street so she could go in. It had been weeks since she was in the house. They walked side by side down the street, talking about the evening at the beach. Marie was itching to tell her mother the news that Sandra was pregnant with Jack's baby and, worse, that he had willed her his controlling interest in the business. It hadn't occurred to Marie until she was in bed, unable to sleep because she had slept most of the day, that Jack hadn't remembered her in his will—the final slap in the face. Her mother had always been Pam's champion. She would have to work her announcement carefully to elicit the most sympathy for herself. It would be intolerable if Nelda started ragging on her and praising Pam.

She stood on the stoop while her mother struggled with the lock. Marie noticed the paper-thin skin on her mother's hands and the way they shook. She was aging so quickly. At Jack's funeral, her mother took charge. Pam had put her in control of Jack's family, the kitchen, and calling friends and family. Had she aged like this in two weeks? Maybe hearing about the baby would be too much for her. Tough, it had to be done, she decided.

They stepped over the threshold. Marie involuntarily gasped when she saw the interior of her mother's house. Always compulsively neat, now it was trashed. It smelled like garbage and worse, food and dirty dishes all over the kitchen. Marie paused and took it in, finally addressing her mother. At first, she wondered if the place had been vandalized. And then realized what could be happening.

"Mom, what the hell is this? Why aren't you cleaning up?"

Nelda put her purse down on the counter. She sat down in a kitchen chair. "I haven't felt up to cleaning. I guess I got used to it looking like this."

Marie stepped forward, doing a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. "Well, this is not acceptable. Go change your clothes, and make us a pot of coffee. I'm glad we left Pam's when we did because it's going to take all day to clean up, and I have to go to work tomorrow."

She literally rolled up her sleeves. Moving over to the sink, she fished through rank-smelling water and found the plug, lifting it so the foul mess would go down the drain. She started running the hot water while she rummaged through the cabinet under the sink for some kind of detergent. Replacing the plug, she squirted in a generous amount of the stuff and let the sink fill up. She yelled to her mother, "Is the dishwasher working?"

Nelda yelled back, "I think so."

Marie thought to herself, Oh, for God's sake. What next? She would handle this mess, but it was evident that something was going to have to be done for her mother, either Pam or her keeping an eye on the house or a cleaning lady coming in once a week, probably a combination of both. Marie worked for an hour washing up, throwing trash away, running the vacuum, and dusting. She tackled the bathroom downstairs, but was afraid to go up to her mother's room. She didn't think she had the energy for it. But when she was done with the public rooms she went upstairs anyway, concentrating on her mother's bedroom and bathroom, changing sheets, picking up dirty towels and clothes for the washer and emptying trash bins.

She hauled several loads of dirty clothing down to the basement and got the washer going. She went back up to the kitchen and got herself a cup of coffee. She picked up her mother's phone and dialed Pam's number.

"Mom?" Pam answered.

"No, Pam, it's Marie. I decided to come in with her, and you would not believe the mess I found. I don't think she has been doing dishes or cleaning for a couple of weeks. I am just starting the laundry now." She described the filth and smell.

"Oh my God! I wonder what is going on? What is she doing now?"

Marie looked in the living room. Her mother was sorting through magazines, dusting bookshelves as she went. She looked pale, ill.

Marie yelled in to her, "Mother, sit down and relax, will you?" and to Pam, "She looks like shit. Did you notice? I didn't! Guess I was too wrapped up in myself. I wonder if she had a stroke." Marie whispered into the phone.

Before ending the call, they planned for Pam to visit her on Monday, and if she thought it was necessary, bring her home. They were both concerned about leaving her alone, but she would hate being in the city with Marie, left alone in the apartment while she went to work. Marie checked the pantry and the refrigerator to make sure there was food. It was adequate. She sat down in her father's old recliner.

"Mom, what should we fix for dinner?"

"Oh, is it that time already? I'm not really hungry," she said.

Marie got out of the chair and went into the kitchen again. She opened the pantry door and started listing what they could have. "Chicken noodle soup with a tuna sandwich," she said. "Or beef stew? Yuck, never mind." Opening the fridge door and assessing the contents, she said, "Okay, Mom, I know what you would like. How about a grilled-cheese sandwich?"

"That sounds good," she said. She walked into the kitchen, unsteady on her feet.

Marie couldn't believe she didn't notice this before, suddenly feeling overwhelming love and compassion for her mother. Turning her back to hide her tears, Marie busied herself at the stove. What more could go wrong? All of the shit with Jack and now this? My mother failing? Pam would say, "This is just life." She prepared the sandwiches and took them to the table.

"Come, Mom, let's eat together." At least she would have a meal tonight, and then Pam would take over tomorrow.

Suddenly conflicted about her own nutrition, about the way she didn't care for herself, she wasn't a child anymore, with years ahead of herself to make amends for the damage done to her body. What was happening to her family and what else would happen before this downward spiral would end?

She waited while Nelda had her shower and got clean pajamas on. She was lucid, but so frail. Marie was worried about her while she bathed. She tried to imagine how day after day, the woman lived alone, managed the stairs, took the bus to the train, did her own shopping, and it had come to this—her daughter standing outside of the bathroom door, just in case.

Nelda promised Marie she would stay upstairs until the morning. She didn't want her mother walking up and down the stairs at night. Preparing a snack for her, Marie gathered up everything her mother could possibly want in the evening. She put crackers and cheese on a small plate, a package of cookies, and a glass of milk. Watching her daughter, Nelda asked if she could have tea, too. Marie put the kettle on and found an old china teapot. She took the tray of snacks up to the bedroom and then made another trip with the teapot, a mug, and cream and sugar.

She got Nelda situated in bed sitting up, the remote on the night table, the tray of food and tea things on a small folding table she had dragged in from her old room. She poured the tea and placed the mug on the night table. Her mother, a statuesque woman in her youth, looked like a small bird propped up in bed.

Going back downstairs, Marie made sure to lock the garage door and the backyard egress, the windows closed. Remembering the basement, she went down there too, the creepiness factor multiplied by the darkness, checked the windows there, as well. What am I worried about? Her mother had lived in that same house, raised her family there for over fifty years, her grandmother before her and never had a problem. She felt as though she were leaving a small child to sleep in the house alone.

Suddenly, Marie knew she couldn't leave her mother. She would spend the night, make sure she was okay in the morning, and go in to work late. She called Pam to tell her the plan so she would feel at peace about her mom and not make herself crazy trying to get there in the morning. They talked for an hour. They had their mother's best interests at heart. And it was wonderful to have something to talk about that didn't revolve around the sin of Jack Smith.

"Mom, I'm sleeping with you tonight," Marie said, crawling into bed with her mother.

Nelda laughed and shook her head. "You act like I'm ready to die."

"Yeah, well, start cleaning your house, why don't you," Marie replied, and Nelda smacked her arm.

"Show some respect," she said. They would watch TV together until the news came on at eleven.

Pam took the news of her mother's decline in stride. She noticed a change when they were together the night before, but she was too worried that Marie would slip and say something about the baby. It was just another thing to deal with. She would devote her life to her mother if necessary, driving to Brooklyn every day to care for her and moving her to live at the beach when she would submit.

She walked into the wing of the house that the children and Marie had shared. It would be a suitable place for her mother to live, if need be. The first thing she would do tomorrow would be to take Nelda to the doctor. What if she'd had a small stroke, as Marie had suggested? It was too late to do anything about it. That was one of the drawbacks of living alone.

## Chapter 31

Although it was late, Pam wanted to look at the folder Jack had hidden away. Looking around her kitchen, she knew she was alone and unobserved, but irrationally, she needed to be certain. Unlocking the door, she opened the pantry and reached for the folder. She looked into it and saw odds and ends of paper and what looked like random notes. It wasn't Jack's writing.

Sitting down on a stool, she took the top note and unfolded it. It looked like Marie's writing. There was no date or any reference to time. It was crisp, so she didn't think the paper was old.

Jack, I can't deal with you anymore. I'm not coming to the beach tonight. If you try to force me, I am telling Pam. Marie.

Pam put the note down. Why would he have saved this? She tried to remember a time when Marie didn't come to a planned visit. There were a few over the years—Marie not feeling well at the last minute, a flat tire, a leaking toilet.

The next one was also in Marie's hand, on nondescript notepaper: Jack, everything you said to me was lies. I don't believe any of it. You are purposely trying to make me look crazy, and it won't work. A third note said, simply, Jack, I'm sorry about last night. It won't happen again. Marie.

Wow, Pam thought, a lot of drama. How did he juggle everything and still run a business and be a husband and father? She would never know. Thumbing through the rest of the notes, and they were all the same genre—two or three lines and no date or identifying marks to tell when they were written.

She put the folder down on the counter, knowing that she would destroy it. There was no point in saving something to back up Marie's claims, just in case. She didn't know what Marie was going to do once it sank in that Jack didn't leave her anything in the will. They'd bought that apartment for her, a car, paid for her education; he'd even arranged for her job. There wouldn't be anything else from Jack. And nothing she could say about him would be substantiated by these notes.

Jack had installed a fire pit on the veranda the year they moved to Long Island. Pam didn't want it. She was worried about the children getting burned, about the fire leaving the confines of the pit and catching the roof and burning the house down. Now she was happy it was there.

The folder in her hand she went out to the veranda. There was an automatic start mechanism, and with a twist of a knob, the gas came on and the fire started. Taking the notes out, one by one, all but two unread, she tossed them in the flames, acknowledging the strength and self-control it was taking not to read them all. Still confused as to why Jack would save such incriminating stuff, she had a wave of fear and regret; What if I needed them suddenly? But could think of no reason and continued to throw them on the fire until the folder was empty.

She wondered if he had written notes to Sandra or worse, to Marie. She hoped not. However, if he had, they were no reflection on her. There was nothing she could do about it if he had left a record of his misdeeds. A chill went through her again, fear that small notes from her sister might be just a fraction of what she was going to discover as she went through Jack's personal belongings.

The rest of the evening stretched wonderfully out before her. The contrast of her feeling of joy and the empty, anxiety-ridden nights prior made no sense at all, but she wasn't going to question it. Figuring her response was just the aftermath of having too much drama, she decided to just go with the flow and enjoy it. Putting pajamas on, she went back out to the veranda, lowered the screens, and read. There was a comfortable sitting area with a sofa and chair and ottoman and the screen made it possible to turn a reading light on and not be bothered by bugs. She lost herself in a novel that had failed to hold her interest just a few days ago. Alone in her house, everyone else in her life accounted for, all was well with the world.

## Chapter 32

Sandra put bagels away, one in a baggie for the next day and the rest in the freezer. She put the teakettle on for a desperately needed cup of tea. While she was waiting for the kettle to whistle, she unzipped her suitcase in the hall and lifted her clothing out. That thing had been through some filthy streets and would not roll through her house.

The list of tasks to accomplish threaded through her mind. Reaching for a pen and paper on her table, she started writing. There were a few checks to send that week and a call to make regarding her health insurance. She remembered Jack's office. Peter had said on Friday that he wasn't going to rush Pam about cleaning out his desk, figuring she would want his belongings sooner or later. Sandra was concerned; nothing made her think he'd left anything incriminating behind, but it was still unnerving. She might mention it to Pam, just to get the ball rolling. Seeing his things made her sad, and she avoided his office whenever possible.

The phone rang and picking it up, saw Bernice's phone number, as if she were reading Sandra's mind. Oh God, not now, Sandra thought, not knowing if she had it in her to deal with Jack's mother. She let the machine pick up and then unplugged the phone. Paranoia quickly taking over, she tiptoed to the door and placed the chain in its socket. Then she closed the shade in her bedroom, just in case someone was on 82nd peering between buildings to try to determine if she was home and just avoiding a call. Validated, she took the cup of tea and went down to the den. Plopping down in the overstuffed chair, she reached for the remote. An afternoon of mindless television would help her recover from Jack's Family Overload or JFO.

Bernice wasn't the only one trying to reach Sandra. Jack's younger brother, Bill, spent an upsetting morning with his mother. Sunday brunch was a peaceful family tradition from his childhood. Anne and Bill and their two sons took a weekly cab ride uptown from their Greenwich Village brownstone to spend the morning with Bernice, eating a lavish spread and reading the Sunday Times. Anne liked going, in spite of her overbearing mother-in-law. It was a treat to enjoy a delicious meal in such a beautiful home. In nice weather, they often sat in the courtyard. The high brick wall and several water features buffered the noise of the street. Out-of-season plantings and rare specimens told a story of wealth and indiscriminate spending.

If asked, both Anne and Pam never knew quite how to explain what it was their husbands did for a living. Bill ran the family business, which Harold started long before he married Bernice. He had a little money from a trust that matured when he turned twenty-five. Buying a block of apartment buildings that needed renovation, he discovered that he was good at pinpointing what tenants who would ultimately live in that neighborhood wanted. The real estate venture segued into a demographic research company. He had a knack for figuring out exactly what housing should go where and who would end up there. Jack worked for him out of college and found that he was good at it, too, or more specifically, knew where to find people who were good at it. With Harold's blessing, Jack left and formed his own company, which segued into historical preservation.

Sunday brought what was left of the Smith family together again, minus Pam and her children. Bernice had some news to break to Bill. Having mulled over Sandra's situation all week, unbeknownst to Bernice, Jack's will was read. Out of respect for Bernice, Pam told her that Jack had given his half of the business to the girlfriend. Bernice was sure there was an ulterior motive, that Pam wanted her to know she knew about Sandra. But Bernice knew about the baby, smirking into the phone while her daughter-in-law droned on and on about the wisdom of her dead husband's choice. Evidently, Sandra had made a promise to include Pam's two children in the business if they wanted. We'll see, Bernice thought, we'll see.

After brunch, Bernice made a great fuss about showing the boys a new electronic game, ensuring they'd be occupied for some time. Returning through the french doors, closing them behind her this time, she rang for Mildred and told her they were not to be disturbed. Bill and Anne looked up as she approached.

"Mother, what is it? You look as white as a ghost," Bill said, sitting at the glass table, drinking his third cup of coffee and reading the sports page. Anne was leafing through a stack of gardening magazines Bernice had saved for her.

"Well, I have some news, news that may be shocking to you, but I think once you accept it, it will be good news."

She was pacing on the cobblestones, her flats smacking the rock with each step.

"Come over here and sit down, won't you, Anne? I don't want to have to speak too loudly."

Anne got up from the stone bench and came back to the table.

Bill was clearly concerned. "Get on with it, Mother! You're scaring me." Was she getting married again? That would be the worst. Bill was used to taking a backseat. But another man? No fucking way.

"Calm down! For heaven's sake, you're making me nervous now." She came back to the table and sat down. "I am just going to say it. Jack was having an affair with a young woman who worked for him, a researcher. She is pregnant, very early. Jack didn't know. She is keeping the baby. And Jack willed her his share of the business." She exhaled loudly and fell back in her chair. There, it was out.

Bill, bright red in the face, made a fist and slammed it down on the glass. Coffee cups jumped.

Bernice, startled, yelled, "Bill!"

"No way!" he yelled. "No fucking way! There is no fucking way my brother was having an affair!"

He had jumped up and was yelling this, with Columbus Avenue right on the other side of the wall. The boys had heard, too, and were looking up and walking to the door to see what their dad was yelling about. Anne went to reassure them, to make sure they stayed in the den, but she walked over to her husband, first.

"Bill! Let your mother finish."

She looked at Bernice. Was there more? Anne knew that, secretly, Jack had alluded to sharing his clients with Bill. They needed the business desperately. The city was changing, and things were not what they used to be Uptown. Harold had died at the worst time, and clients left, nervous about losing someone they trusted.

"That's all," she said. "The young woman is lovely, poised and educated. Evidently, even Pam has embraced her."

"Pam's nuts!" Bill yelled again. "What the hell is she going to live on if the business goes to a stranger? And a baby? How do you even know it's Jack's? Oh my God, I can't believe this." Bill sat down with his head in his hands repeating, "This is crazy. No way." Then he got up and pushed his chair in, agitated. "Come on, get the boys, Anne. I want to go home."

Bernice understood that a line had been crossed and he didn't understand how she could possibly be accepting this. Anne didn't argue and Bernice didn't try to get him to stay. They went into the den and told the boys to gather up their toys. "I need a ride home. No way we are going out there to look for a cab."

Bernice rang for Mildred. The car would be around in a minute.

No one spoke. Bernice knew her son was livid and doing the best he could to control himself. Anne was petrified. The car arrived, and everyone got in. The boys said good-bye to their grandmother, Anne kissed her cheek, but Bill, in a daze, said nothing, looking straight ahead. They traveled downtown in silence.

When they pulled up to their house and got out of the car, Anne corralled the boys and whispered that their father had just gotten some bad news, and they had to be quiet, go to their rooms, and play for the afternoon. They understood and took off up the stairs. Bill seemed unaware of where they were. He walked into their library and closed the door. Anne breathed a sigh of relief and went to their room.

Once Bill was in the safety of his own home, locked away behind closed doors, he began to shake. He paced back and forth. He was so angry. He knew that his mother didn't have anything to do with it, but he was pissed at her because she was giving this whore the time of day. And Pam? Was she crazy? Pam was a fool, but this was even a lot for her. He'd call her, but he would wait until Monday, when he was in the office. He wasn't going to let Anne hear what he had to say.

Realizing he didn't know the name of the woman, no one would give him any information about her in the state he was in, so he'd pull it together and prepare to do an acting job as he had never done before. He was good at it; his entire life had been one big acting job.

## Chapter 33

By Monday, a quartet of human beings, all related by Jack Smith, woke up with one thought on their minds: how a tiny, unborn baby would change their lives.

Marie Fabian went to work late, coming in to the city from her mother's house in Brooklyn. Her mother's care was a blip on the screen, that in the big picture, it wouldn't change much of how she lived her life.

Pam Fabian Smith left her house to make the forty-five minute drive to her mother, making the decision that Nelda was coming home with her. Having too much to do to spend the day in Brooklyn, her excuse for coming was that she needed her mother to help her choose paint and paper for the baby's room. That bomb would be dropped today, as well.

Sandra Benson had one thing on her mind as she made her way downtown: she was going to tackle Jack's office. Although she was sure that Jack was meticulously discreet, Marie's disclosure Saturday night made her faith in him waver. If anything was uncovered in her search, she already had a speech ready for Pam, to whom everything contained within belonged. Wanting to protect Jack's dignity, if Peter were to discover anything, she didn't know he was more loyal to Jack than anyone else.

Getting off her train at the Wall Street station, the walk to her office was only a few blocks. The plan was to delay the task until the end of the day, when everyone left at five. But when she got in, she discovered that Peter was taking the day off; she'd have the freedom to go through Jack's office first thing.

When she went through the door, the anxiety level increased dramatically, her heart began to pound so that she could feel it knocking on her chest wall, hands sweating, nauseated. Closing the door behind her, the shades were already drawn to the corridor. Standing with her back against the door and looking around, the credenza, bookcases, conference table, and desk were all stacked with folders and papers. Where should I begin looking? What am I looking for?

Walking around, she sat at his chair, facing the desk. The top piled with client files, she quickly determined there was nothing to incriminate him. Rolling the chair back, slowly sweeping the room, her eyes stopped at the credenza. It was long, about six feet, with four eighteen-inch doors across the front of it. Rolling over to it, she opened the first door. It contained the contents of a minibar. The second one held a box of promotional gifts—caps, pens, T-shirts, mugs. The third door was Jack's stationary and computer paper hoard. The fourth door had to be the one, but it was more boring office stuff.

Rolling the chair back to the desk, she began opening drawers. The top one, in the center of the desk, shocked her; in it was a gun. Never having touched one before, Sandra had no idea how to tell if it was loaded or not, and was afraid it would go off if she picked it up. He had gum, aspirin, tissues, mints, Tums, and a styptic pen in the same drawer. She found ties, clean shirts folded in cellophane cleaner's bags, even discreetly folded underpants. Everything he could possibly need if he didn't have time to go home at night.

Opening all the drawers down the left of the desk revealed nothing. On the right side of the desk, she found his business checkbook, personal checkbook, folders containing season tickets to the opera, theater, museum openings, and ballet. Jack was a supporter of all the arts. These items belonged to Pam.

The last drawer contained client files on hold. She leafed through them, recognizing names and places. Nothing relevant there, she pushed on the drawer to slide it back into place. It resisted, so she pushed a little harder, and she could hear the crinkling of paper, just as Pam had when she attempted to search Jack's desk at home. Pulling the drawer out as far as it could go, she got down on her hands and knees to try to see behind it, and hit pay dirt. There was a stack of envelopes, folders, and papers. She pulled on the drawer, and it slid out of its opening. Reaching back into the hole, she pulled out the stack of hidden documents, stuffed them in her briefcase, and replaced the drawer.

Taking her briefcase back into her own office, setting it on the floor, she worked on regaining her equilibrium. The possibility of someone catching her had increased her blood pressure and pulse, and she waited for a return to normal so she could get back to work.

~ ~ ~

A few blocks north in Midtown, Marie was just getting to work. Her mother was docile and in good humor when she left her, interested that Pam was coming, but a little confused as to why. Marie told her that Pam would explain everything when she got there.

Thankful for a full workload that week, she would be unavailable for any more parental interventions. Without a huge trust fund, she had to work for a living. Pam didn't do anything worthwhile all day, so she could take over. Surprised at her change of attitude, Marie wasn't going to psychoanalyze it, doing the best that she could.

Farther uptown, in a beautiful, prewar building, which housed the offices Harold Smith once owned, Bill Smith was in a foul mood. His secretary was giving him a wide berth, putting no calls through and allowing no one near him. Having a busy morning juggling unhappy callers, mostly from his mother, Bill had been clear, not even his wife would get through unless it was life and death.

Bernice was sick at heart hearing the verdict; she was not going to get to speak to her son until he called her back. She was tempted to call either Sandra or Pam, but resisted the urge. That would backfire, surely.

Bill started calling his sister-in-law at seven in the morning without success. Finally, at ten, she answered with a breathless hello.

"Pam, it's Bill," he said. When there was no response, he repeated, "Bill! Your brother-in-law!" For God's sake, she was a moron!

"Bill?" Pam had never heard his voice on the phone, never having a reason to call her before. "What's wrong?" She shouted, "Mother, sit down! I'll be right with you."

Calming down, he realized she had a visitor. "We need to talk soon—like today." He waited, and when she didn't respond right away, he went on, "Bernice tells me we are expecting a new member of the Smith family."

Pam breathed into the phone. What did he expect from me?

"Pam! Are you listening to me? For God's sake, what the hell is going on? Did you have any idea that Jack was fucking around on you?"

"That's enough, Bill! First of all, you have never, in all the years I was married to your brother, called this house. I am shocked to hear your voice over the phone! Secondly, that Jack got someone pregnant is not my fault, and you will not speak to me like it was. Thirdly, it is none of your business what Jack was doing or what I was doing or what anyone in this house was doing."

He sat at his desk, one hand holding the phone, the other holding his head. "I'm sorry. You're right. It's just such a shock."

"Tell me about it," Pam replied.

"And Jack giving his business interest to this woman! You probably don't realize he was going to field some clients our way."

"Is that all you're worried about, Bill? Business? She'll honor whatever Jack was planning. She's a lovely woman, a professional business woman."

"Of course that isn't all! It's so complicated; I can't believe this has happened. And a baby? Are you sure it's his?"

Pam didn't answer him.

He went on, "It's just not like Jack."

"You didn't know your brother, then, because it was just like him. Bill, I can't go into any more now. Evidently, my mother has had a stroke or something, and I have to get her some medical help today," she lied. "We'll talk later, okay? I'll call you tonight." Ending the call, she didn't wait for his response. What a jerk!

"So, Mom." Pam walked to the table and pulled a chair out to sit next to her mother. "What's going on?" She reached out to take her hand.

"Thank you for your concern about me, dear," she said. "I'm not sure what's going on with me. I didn't feel good all week." She looked down at her hands and then up at Pam. "I feel better today."

Nelda passive? Pam was worried. But it might work in her favor. She was going to unload the news on her mother regardless of her mental state.

"Mom, I need to tell you something. Are you up for some news that may upset you?" She took her mom's hands in hers. She didn't want any more loose ends. Her kids would be the last to hear.

"What now?" she said, frowning.

"Jack had an affair before he died, and the girl is pregnant." There, she said it. It was out. Her mother knew the truth. What could be more embarrassing than having your critical mother know that her daughter was married to someone who wasn't satisfied with her? What could be worse?

"With who?" Her voice was up an octave, not shrill, but on its way.

"Do you remember Sandra? The girl who was here yesterday?" Pam realized how lame it sounded.

"Why...why in God's name did you have her here, Pam? That doesn't make any sense." Making perfect sense, Nelda was clearly annoyed, she'd regained her commanding presence, tapping on the counter with her fingernail, lips pursed.

"I think I need to be involved with the baby, Mom. I can't explain it, exactly, something about it being part of Jack. The baby will be Brent and Lisa's sibling. I need to facilitate that."

Depressed, Pam thought Nelda was acutely lucid for having had a stroke. Perhaps if she were still acting like a lost child, this would have been easy.

"The baby doesn't mean anything to your children, Pam. Stop being such a ninny!" She pushed her chair away from the table and slowly got up, her body not in agreement with her active mind. Thinking about what a wimp her daughter was, She let that ass run her life while he was involved with another woman, she'd never liked him.

"Am I staying here? Why did you bring me here?" Regressing again her voice was higher now, like a child who was not getting her way.

"Mom, could you just relax? Sit down, okay? I know you must be so disappointed in Jack, in me. But what else can I do? I can't deny the baby. The children would never forgive me. So everything I am doing is for them and ultimately the good of Jack's child." Again, she realized how lame that sounded. Her whole life boiled down to this, the illegitimate baby of her late husband.

"Pam, maybe what you could do is focus on yourself and those two lovely children you gave birth to. Do you really think they are going to be happy about this? How are you going to tell them? 'Lisa, Brent, your dad had an affair, and the girl is pregnant,' like you told me? Really? I don't see them jumping for joy."

Nelda was pacing now, the way she did when her own girls were young and she was trying to reason with them. The realization brought tears to Pam's eyes, Nelda may be failing, but she was still a formidable woman, someone who knew her mind.

"For some reason I have never been able to understand, you have always put yourself last. Even as a little girl, you would relinquish what was yours to your sisters. Your father used to get so angry with me, saying that my self-deprecating behavior was destroying your self-esteem. I didn't know any other way to be. He would yell at me for being a wimp in front of our girls, and then he'd yell at me to bring him a beer. Oh boy, it was a losing situation.

"When you were a newlywed and that spoiled brat Marie threw such a horrendous temper tantrum that we thought she would hurt herself, your dad gave in that time. I'll never forget it; you came home to pick up the rest of your wedding gifts, your little wedding cake topper not even frozen yet, and you left with your sister. I knew that I was in trouble then.

"When she was a teenager, she would be miserable having to come home to Brooklyn. She started the anorexia then. That very first week she refused to eat. Dad slapped her so hard across the face that she fell up against the wall in the kitchen. I screamed. When I tried to go to her, to help her up, she clawed at me, screaming that she hated me."

"Mother, I knew she was giving you a rough time, but I had no idea it was that bad!" Pam was appalled.

"How long did she act like that?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer, but knowing what it was, knowing that she was partly to blame for her mother's difficulty with Marie.

"She hated us, Pam, especially Dad. At least she treated him with hatred. I wondered if he was abusing her because that is how violently she reacted to being around him. Did she ever mention anything like that to you? Did she ever suggest that he might have molested her?"

Pam reeled. "Never, Mother, Never! She never even hinted at it." Pam's heart was beating so hard. What could this mean? Jack was molesting her, not our father. She would have wanted to get away from Jack, not Dad, unless she was lying, unless it was consensual, unless she initiated it. Still wrong, Jack, still wrong. Oh God. She put her hands over her face. What did this mean? She remembered the letters, the few she read, threatening Jack, begging him.

## Chapter 34

Sandra locked the door to her office and once again requested that she not be bothered for an hour, the content of her briefcase spread out on the table. Setting aside the folders for later, it was the envelopes that she wanted to open first. They weren't sealed, the flap tucked inside.

Picking up the top one, a business-sized envelope with a privacy liner, she carefully pulled the flap out, and inside saw a thick wad of cash. Why would Jack stash cash in his desk? It didn't make any sense. Taking the money out she counted it—one hundred twenty-dollar bills: two thousand dollars. She put it back in the envelope and picked up the next one in the pile. It was the same thing. There were seven envelopes in total, each with two thousand dollars in twenties. Why? Piling them back up, she stuck the envelops into her purse to give to Pam. It was not a huge amount of money, but enough that it might tempt thievery. She was already taking possession of her business.

~ ~ ~

Pam and Nelda sat at her kitchen table, drinking coffee for the rest of the morning, while the phone rang repeatedly. Nelda agreed that the time had come for her to put the house in Brooklyn up for sale. Coming to live in Pam's guest quarters above the garage, not the children's wing, would be very nice.

The discussion about Marie ended with both of them agreeing that they would never know the whole story, and if they did, it would be horribly one-sided. Pam was certain that her father didn't molest Marie. She just knew it in her gut. Marie didn't want to be away from Jack. She was in love with him, even as a teenager.

Pam tried to push those thoughts out of her mind. The despondence was creeping in when she had been doing so well. And she wouldn't share the thoughts with her mother. Eventually, she was going to have to answer the phone. She picked up the receiver and thumbed through the caller ID. Sandra called twice, and Bill called again. She didn't want to talk to Bill.

"Mom, do you think you will be okay if I leave you alone for a while? I have to make some phone calls."

"I have never needed entertaining in all the years I have been coming here, and I don't need it now."

Pam didn't hear her, busy dialing Sandra's office number.

~ ~ ~

While on the path to Pam's house, Sandra was reluctant to break the solitude of her journey to Long Island, but knowing in her heart of hearts that the sooner she revealed her findings, the better for everyone, especially Pam. This news was just not something you relayed over the telephone.

She hadn't noticed the front yard on her first visit to Babylon. To the right of the walkway, grew a tortured mugho pine. Pam loved the pines on the New Jersey shoreline, and when they bought this house, one of her first purchases was the pine. She had placed all of the plantings herself. People laughed at Pam, made fun of her and called her the spoiled wife of a rich man, but the truth was that she did her own decorating and gardening, and although she had given up trying to clean the place herself, she rarely asked her housekeepers to do more than the basic cleaning.

Sandra noticed the yard now, its simple beauty with gravel and sand, some hardy perennials clumped together, lychnis and black-eyed Susans, and lamb's ears. She didn't know the names but would ask Pam about it. Wanting a house with a yard, envy creeped in. There was a momma Cardinal sitting in the pine, watching her, so lovely, not at all plain, a soft, reddish brown with a perky little spike on her head. She cocked her head to the side to look at Sandra and then flew off.

Sandra looked to her left and saw Nelda watching her from the kitchen window, looking annoyed. Oh, great! Sandra thought. She smiled a big, fake smile and waved at her but the old lady frowned and walked away, a few seconds later opening the door.

"Hi, Mrs. Fabian!" Sandra said. She decided to forgo the "How nice to see you."

"I'll get Pam," she replied.

Sandra stood in the hallway, waiting. Oh, fuck, she thought, maybe I should have called first.

"Hey! I was just trying to call you!" Pam said as she walked toward Sandra with open arms.

Sandra was grateful for the response. Without waiting, Sandra whispered, "I need to talk to you—now."

Pam led her out to the veranda. "Mom, we need to talk privately."

Nelda didn't respond. She was washing vegetables in the kitchen, scrubbing radishes with a little brush, each one, even the tiny ones, given a thorough going over. Sandra put her briefcase on the chair next to her while Pam closed the sliding doors. She started to pull the envelopes and folder out.

"What's going on?" Pam said, standing across from Sandra, looking at her, thinking for the fourth time in as many days, What more could happen?

"Pam, I'm going to come right out and say this without making excuses. I was up all night, worried about Jack's office. Peter told me to let you take as long as you wanted to come get his things, and I completely agreed. But then I started to think that he might have left something in there that would further hurt you. Oh, I don't know what, we never wrote letters to each other, not even an e-mail. I was more worried about Peter or one of the others finding something. I mean, you know all there is to know about us. I promise you that."

"Go on. I understand and I appreciate that," Pam urged.

"So I went in this morning and locked myself in his office. There was nothing to find, just piles of work, nothing clandestine, nothing underhanded. I did find a gun in his top drawer, right next to the gum and mints. That was weird. I never imagined Jack even knowing how to use a gun," Sandra said.

"Jack hated them," Pam replied.

"I didn't go through the filing cabinet, but I did want to go back to his desk. It was compelling. I can't explain it. The lower right-hand drawer—I squatted down and pulled it out, and there it was." She pointed to the pile she had pulled out of her briefcase. "Seven envelopes, each with two thousand dollars. Not sealed. That was strange enough, but this is worse." She waved the manila folder toward Pam, inviting her to take it.

Pam visibly pulled away from it. "What's it about? Tell me! I don't want to read it!" Shaken now, thought buzzed through her mind. What could this all mean? Jack evidently had a thing about hiding stuff behind his desk drawers.

"I'm not sure myself the impact of this will have, if any. Jack was filing a civil suit against his father when the man died. A suit that charged him with sexual abuse and battery." She opened the folder and began reading from the documents prepared by Jack's lawyer. "'From my client's earliest recollection until the age of seventeen, he was beaten with fists, belts, wood paddles, and plastic pipe by Harold Smith, his father. He also charges that Mr. Smith fondled him, sodomized him, and forcibly raped him during this time.' " She stopped. There didn't seem like any point in going further.

Pam was stricken. She was pale and shaking. "I wonder if the money has anything to do with it. I mean, it's a small amount, but why both things in the back of the drawer? I don't get it."

"Can I tell you what I think it might be?" Sandra asked.

Pam looked at her and nodded. "I think he was paying this money to your sister. It's just a gut feeling."

Pam thought of the notes she had burned. Oh, why did I do that? What if Marie was blackmailing him? But for two thousand dollars a month? It didn't make any sense.

"The civil suit is harder to explain. There is a statute of limitations in New York State, but child protection groups are fighting to lift the statute for cases of violence and sexual abuse of children." She rifled through the folder and pulled out a letter from the attorney to Jack. "Here, this explains it. It looks to me like Jack wanted to shake things up for some reason. He knew it wouldn't go to court. Why the attorney even agreed to file it is a mystery."

They sat together in silence, the waves crashing on the sand, a storm out to sea mirroring what was happening on the veranda. Children were screaming with pleasure, running up and down the beach. The smell of the salt air and coconut suntan oil filled the senses. It was all too much.

Pam reached for a paper napkin, a pile stuck under a citronella candle placed on the table. She noticed a fly, drowned in wax, next to the wick. Wiping off her forehead, she said, "He filed this in August, and Harold died in September. Jack would have found out that he wasn't really his father."

"But I wonder if he found out before Harold's death? Do you have the letter the woman, Beverly Johnson, wrote? Do you have the letter she wrote Jack? What was the date on that letter?" Sandra asked carefully.

"It's at the apartment," Pam said. She remembered Marie's notes. "I found a folder in the same place in Jack's desk here yesterday, filled with notes from Marie, threatening Jack. I couldn't read them. I burned the whole folder."

"It doesn't make any difference, Pam, don't worry about it," Sandra told her. "We just need to come out and ask her if he was giving her money. I mean, it's okay if he was. He was her brother-in-law. But why like this? Cash? There are seven envelopes, one for each month left in this year. Oh, I wish I had found something else to explain all of this."

They sat there, listening to the sounds of summer.

"Poor Jack. He had a horrible life. Tortured like that by a man who was supposed to be his father. I'll never forget Bernice gushing about what a fabulous father Harold was. We would take the kids there for Thanksgiving every year. Harold would be with all the kiddy toys. Did you ever see that den? Oh my God! They did that so the grandchildren would want to go there. Jack was always reluctant and refused to let Brent and Lisa sleep over at their grandparents' house. 'I like my family under one roof,' he used to say. Once, when he was away on business, I got sick. I mean I was bedridden, probably pneumonia after I had the flu. Bernice came and got the kids for me. Marie was in school at the time. When Jack found out, he flew back the same day. I thought it was concern about me, but now I wonder if he didn't want those children under the same roof with his dad, with Harold," she corrected. Shivering, "Poor Jack," she repeated.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Then she thought of Bill. Had he been abused as well? She wondered if she should warn Sandra. Always the peacemaker, this time she would stretch herself.

"I almost don't want to tell you this, Sandra, but I think I better, about Jack's brother, Bill."

Sandra nodded to her to continue.

"Evidently, yesterday at Sunday brunch Bernice decided to share the news about the baby. Why is beyond me. But evidently, he is enraged. He called here, and I refused to discuss it with him. I don't understand what the impact will be for him. It doesn't make any sense. I know he was expecting Jack to field some business his way, and I told him you would probably do the same thing. But he was so upset about the infidelity. I kept asking him what difference it made, as it had nothing to do with him."

"Jack actually told me that his father's business was in trouble. Just in passing, he mentioned it, no details. I know he was sad about it, but I got the impression that he wasn't losing any sleep over it," Sandra said. "Can I ask what Bill said to you?"

Pam wasn't ready to relate that horrible scene. "He is angry, but it doesn't seem rational to me. I will not discuss it with him or my mother-in-law."

Pam hoped Sandra would take a hint from that and stop her dialogue with Bernice. But her role in this wasn't to control anyone. She wouldn't turn her back. If Sandra chose to take Bernice into her confidence, she might have consequences to deal with. "I wish we could just toss all of this crap into the trash," she said with a sweep of her arm toward the pile of paper.

She wondered what she was supposed to do now, if she should try to see the attorney Jack had retained. Would he be able to say anything to her? Did attorney-client privilege apply after the death of the client? She decided right then that she would see the attorney and find out what she could from him.

Sandra left the envelopes and file with Pam and headed back to Manhattan. What a hell of a day. She felt empowered by her actions, by being honest with Pam. Uncovering those things in Jack's office saved a potential nightmare if they'd gotten into the wrong hands. Tired from the trip, the train was hot and stuffy. Someone was eating take-out fried chicken; she could smell it, and she could hear them smacking their lips with each bite. A small child, really just a toddler, was fussing, his parent losing patience and smacking him in the face. A shrill cry, the fried chicken, she was ready to throw up. She thought of Pam. What would Pam do? The parent had the child in his grip, holding on to his arm so that he was barely touching the ground.

She called out to him, "Sir, if you don't stop hanging that kid by his arm, I am going to dial 9-1-1 right now."

He glared at her, his intent clearly to frighten her. She turned her head and chuckled to herself, thinking, Buddy, if I haven't been scared by now, you sure aren't gonna scare me. But the man did loosen his grip on the child. She hoped he wouldn't beat him once they were out of sight. She couldn't save the world, but she would make sure it behaved when she was around.

~ ~ ~

Pam returned home after taking Sandra to the train. She peeked into the kitchen; Nelda wasn't there. Maybe she had gone to lie down in Marie's room. Pam wasn't going to investigate; she needed to recover from what she had just learned. Not sure that anything more needed to be done about it; what would be the point of uncovering such horrible facts, if they were true? Harold and Jack were dead. Bill, if he had been a victim of abuse as well, had to make the decision for himself if anything could or should be done. It would mean revealing something so painful. And then, of course, there was Bernice. Was it fair to her? She understood something of what Bernice had been through; if you so choose, you can remain oblivious to anything that goes on under your roof.

The thought of her children, of Lisa especially, crossed her mind. Beginning with her birth, Jack was mesmerized by her. He didn't like to be alone with the children when they were infants, clearly terrified by their size and how fragile they appeared. Never changing a diaper, he didn't have any trouble cleaning up poop from accidents, just not off their bodies. She wondered now if it wasn't an attempt to avoid contact with their genitals. And with Brent, there was almost a reverence about him. Jack was stern with his children, but there was such love there, almost worship. No, she couldn't imagine him ever touching either of their kids inappropriately. Instead, he had taken whatever it was out on Marie.

Pam remembered right after they were married, the first time they got ready to go to the beach when they had rented a house in the Hamptons. Marie wasn't more than twelve years old. She came out of her bedroom wearing a tiny little bikini. She was completely undeveloped, the bathing suit like two bandanas wrapped around a pole. Jack was appalled. He took Pam in the pantry and admonished her for allowing her sister to walk on a public beach showing her body. Pam thought he was nuts; there was nothing to see. To keep the peace, she asked her to put a T-shirt on. Now she wondered, Was he acting like a father would act? Or was he trying to protect himself from too much stimulation?

She couldn't help herself now; her imagination had taken off like a bird in flight. Marie's accusations swirled around her. She really believed that her sister provoked Jack. It was still wrong, that much she knew. And not seeing her sister as a seductress didn't mean a thing. Only a man could really know what tempted him.

Walking out to the edge of their walkway, the beach was crowded. School was out, and that meant that the season could start in earnest. Unless it rained, every day would be like this, a mass of colorful umbrellas, the smell of suntan lotion, soft music from someone's radio. She loved living at the beach. Walking back toward the veranda gave her a fresh perspective. Remembering the file folder of information about Jack's real dad in the apartment in the city, she was sorry that she hadn't given the key to the apartment to Sandra.

~ ~ ~

Sandra had to stop by the office before she went home, which meant getting another train downtown. It was only during hectic days like this, days where she ran all over the city and back, that her pregnancy was evident to her. Exhausted, she did what needed to be done at work and then got a train back uptown. It was hot on the train, but she got a seat and was close to the air-conditioning vent. Eight months of this. How am I going to do it?

Walking from the station to her apartment instead of getting a cab, she hoped the walk would revive her. At the last minute, she stopped in at Zabar's and got something for dinner that she could heat up in the microwave, too tired to cook.

She saw Bill Smith when she turned the corner on 82nd. Remembering him from the funeral, she was surprised how unlike Jack he looked. Of course, she knew why; they were half-brothers. Sandra wondered if Bill knew. Not in the mood for any confrontations, her anger building, she'd stay cool unless he crossed her. Wanting someone to know he was there, just in case, she keyed in Pam's number. There was no answer, but when the voice message came on, Sandra simply left the message that Bill Smith had come to her home, and she wanted Pam to know that information. He was tall like Jack, but there the similarity ended. Where Jack was handsome in a dignified, greying-at-the-temples way, Bill was dark, muscular, intimidating. But if he thought he would intimidate Sandra, he was in for a surprise.

Waiting for her at the end of the walkway to her apartment, he'd gone to the office to see her, the receptionist giving him Sandra's name, telling him she was on her way to Jack's house. A few keystrokes on the computer and he found her address. Not sure what he was going to say to her, he just wanted her to know that not everyone in his family would tolerate her shenanigans.

As she got closer to the apartment, he started to get a little nervous. He remembered her from the funeral now. Of course, she couldn't be missed. She was beautiful. But if she thought her beauty would allow her to get away with ruining his family, she was wrong. Standing straighter the closer she got, he was unaware of the intimidation her appearance was initiating. Tall in comparison to Pam who was short; tall and dark, she had long legs. Imagining them wrapped around his brother's waist, he felt heat in his groin. It pissed him off. He wanted to frighten her a little, but he felt like smiling at her. And so he smiled as she approached him, walking a few steps toward her, hand outstretched to take hers, which she ignored.

"I've had a really long day. Can't this wait?" If he thought he could show up on her doorstep and push her around, he was wrong. Opening her purse to get her keys out, she fumbled with the lock, his presence close behind her like a dog, body odor wafting to her nostrils.

"I won't take up your time, but I need to talk to you."

She turned around to look at him. "I don't even know you! Why should I let you into my apartment?"

Digging in his back pocket for his wallet, he was going to get his license out.

"Oh, for God's sake," she said. But she did take it out of his hand and examine it. Handing it back to him, she had to force herself not to stamp her foot. "Let's get it over with, then."

Leading the way to the back of the hallway, she was glad her apartment was clean. He stepped through her doorway, surprised. A nice apartment, simply decorated, the furniture, just useful. There wasn't a lot of clutter, knick-knacks, or artwork.

"I can see why Jack liked it here," he said.

"Jack was never here," she said. "Nor did I ever go to his place."

Suddenly defeated, she couldn't take anymore; dropping into a kitchen chair, letting her purse hit the floor. "Please, please, leave me alone. I'm not going to cause any trouble for you. I don't know what you think I am going to do." Even in this posture, with her head in her hands, begging him, she was in charge.

"Can I sit down?" he asked, his hand on the back of a chair, ready to pull it out.

Was this guy kidding? She looked up at him through her fingers and shrugged her shoulders. "Do whatever you want."

He sat down across from her. Neither said a word for a few minutes.

Sandra needed tea, and she needed something to eat. Pulling together what little energy she had left, she got up and went to the kitchen. "I'm going to make tea. Do you want a cup?" She had instant coffee, but she wasn't making it for him.

"Okay, that sounds good." He was clearly comfortable, ready to spend the afternoon if need be.

This was such an imposition, Sandra thought. She did her best not to bang things around and slam doors; it took all her willpower not to.

"This is a great apartment," he yelled. When she didn't respond, he asked, "How long have you lived here?"

Clenching her jaws, she pretty much growled the answer. "Four years." She walked out of the kitchen. "Look," suddenly unable to say his name, "Jack's brother, I am not in the mood for small talk. Why can't you just tell me what you want and leave?"

Looking at her with his dark eyes, Bill smiled, friendly, unthreatened and unthreatening, completely the opposite of what he had been planning. "It might be easier if you were sitting down," he said. "Not because it is going to make you faint or anything, but because we need to be eye to eye."

"Well, I am starving and need tea." She turned back to the kitchen and prepared the tea. Taking her premade Zabar's meal out of the paper bag, she put it into the microwave. When the water was hot, she poured it into the pot, threw two tea bags in, got mugs and spoons, and put everything on a tray. "You'll just have to excuse me. I am eating this now because I am about ready to faint." Preparing her own tea, she pushed the extra mug toward Bill.

Seeming happy and relaxed, Bill was angrier than he had been in a long, long time just a few hours ago. Sitting in this tidy, cool, comfortable place, across from this gorgeous, self-assured, intelligent woman, he couldn't stay mad. No wonder his brother had messed around on his wife. Sandra was worth it!

He picked up his tea. It was hot, but didn't have much taste. He was not a tea drinker, but to be in her company, he'd drink whatever she offered him.

## Chapter 35

Nelda got up from her nap and didn't know where she was. The room was completely unfamiliar to her. She pushed the shade aside to look out the window, but the view of a fence with plantings in front of it didn't register. The closet was empty, except for a robe and a garment bag. An attached bathroom didn't provide any clues. The mirror above the bathroom sink reflected an old woman with brown-dyed hair, grey eyes, and too much makeup. Is that my face staring back at me? When had my skin gotten so wrinkled, the creases of the pillowcase still evident on my cheek? Her eyes, once large and hazel, had gotten so much smaller, shrunken, old eyes. That nose, the nose of a clown! Long and bulbous, her little upturned pixie nose was gone as well. Slowly, as she examined herself in the mirror, her place in the world was returning to her. Once a wife, and a mother, her children were all successful, every one of them. Susan was a dentist in Connecticut, Sharon a physical therapist in New Jersey, Marie an editor in Manhattan, and Pam—Pam went to school to be an art teacher. But although she never taught, she married rich.

This was Pam's house. It was a big house—a cape, they called it. It was wooden shingled, painted white, and had green shutters. The furniture is nondescript, Nelda thought. Marie one time tried to explain to her mother that the style of furniture was cottage style. It was overstuffed and comfortable. The dining furniture had six different chairs, all painted white. The only room that appeared to have been thoughtfully furnished was Jack's office.

Nelda walked back to the bed and straightened the spread. This is Marie's room. Pam asked her to stay there until they could shop for new bedding for the apartment above the garage. Their conversation of the day was coming back to her. Sitting on the bed, she tried to remember what she had she agreed to, still foggy, bits and pieces of information returning, but nowhere complete. Standing up, she smoothed the wrinkles out of her slacks. I should have taken them off before I lay down. Walking to the door, she turned around one last time and looked at the room. It still looked strange to her.

Pam sat on the veranda, drinking coffee, looking out over the ocean. Nelda was proud of the way Pam lived her life, but now wondered if she wasn't the dumbest of her four girls. The news of the day flooded over her—Jack's indiscretion, the baby, moving to the beach, putting the Brooklyn house up for sale and she felt a little shaky.

Pam turned around when she heard her mother's footsteps in the kitchen. "Hi, sleepy head! I was just thinking about dinner. Did you have a good rest?"

Nelda walked through the sliding doors and sat down next to her daughter. She lowered herself into the chair. "It took me a few minutes to pull myself together. I wasn't sure where the heck I was when I woke up."

Surprised at her need to reveal this to Pam, usually, she'd rather not admit to her failing memory. But that had gotten her into trouble and this was a new beginning. Leaving that house in Brooklyn wasn't a problem; it was lonely, memories of her dead husband no longer comforting. Thinking of her mother-in-law, Genoa, she'd loved her more than her own mother, but had never told her so. Regretful, now that she was with Pam, trusting her to protect her, she would have to be honest about what was happening.

"Are you okay now?" Pam asked, concerned. Maybe the apartment above the garage was too far away if she was confused right across the hallway in Marie's room.

"Yes, I just didn't recognize the room." She paused, thinking. "Will I be able to bring my furniture here?"

"Of course, Mom! I already called a moving company to empty out the apartment, and then we'll decorate your room together. We'll go to the house tomorrow if you are up to it, okay?" She reached out for her mother's hand and gave it a squeeze. "What should we have for dinner? I don't feel like cooking tonight."

"Oh, I want to cook. I love cooking in your kitchen." Nelda got up to rummage through the refrigerator.

Pam sat back and picked up her book again. Her mother in the kitchen was a good thing. She would be busy for an hour fixing dinner for them both, killing two birds with one stone. Pam would gladly relinquish that task to her.

~ ~ ~

Sandra was not having as much success at being left alone. She ate her meal from Zabar's, barely tasting it. But when she was through and had sipped her tea, she felt better.

"Okay, you have one more chance to speak. If you don't hurry up here, I am going to boot you out or call the police, whichever comes first."

"You won't have to do either. I'll tell you why I came here." He straightened up, pushing his tea mug away and looking at her nose, afraid if he looked her in the eyes, he would be unable to say what he had come for. Wondering what he had come to her apartment for, he laughed a soft, friendly laugh. "The truth is, I came here to read you the riot act about flaunting a baby of my brother, Jack, all over the city. Now, I don't see what I was so worried about. I do need your help regarding my business. That hasn't changed. But your personal business...the baby...well, I guess I was a little crazy there for a day." He leaned back in the chair.

Sandra looked at him carefully, and decided he didn't resemble Jack at all. She didn't know how to respond to his request, either, but didn't want to let the dialogue get too intense. She thought if she kept it about business, it would be easier to get rid of him.

"What kind of help?" she asked.

"Jack was going to field some clients my way. He said he had some old Upper East Side clients that I could take over. I need the business. We are having an off year since my dad died."

"I'll look at the files on his desk in the morning. Do you know to whom he was referring? We have a lot of clients on the East Side." She stood up, pushing her chair back and reaching for the tea things.

Bill firmly grabbed her wrist as she went to take his mug. "Don't get up yet," he asked of her.

She looked down at his hand on her wrist and pulled away. "It's time for you to go." She left the mugs and the remains of her dinner on the table and walked toward the door. Afraid to turn her back on him, she stepped aside and motioned toward the door with her hand.

Bill got up and walked to the door. "I'm sorry," he said, turning the knob on the door to let himself out.

She didn't say anything to him, but when he was gone, she locked the door and made sure the chain was on and then ran downstairs and double-checked the door to the patio and the locks on the window. While she was down there, she smelled something foreign, musky, and almost male. Was he lurking around the back window? She closed the window in spite of needing to air the place out. She hated it that he made her feel frightened. Not knowing what to do, she called Pam. She told Pam about the encounter, and then at least someone knew that he had been there, in case anything happened.

Pam was angry about Bill, but thought Sandra would be safe. If she felt uncertain, Pam told her to get a car and come to the beach. They talked for an hour, rehashing the afternoon, still undecided about what information to reveal to what was left of the family.

The next morning, the first thing Sandra did when she got to the office was go to Peter and ask him if he knew anything about Jack's offer to his brother. It was the first he had heard of it. They went to Jack's assistant, Jenny, who also didn't know anything about sending clients to Bill Smith.

With Jenny's help, Sandra and Peter spent the next three hours going through every file Jack was working on. There wasn't one client that Peter was willing to release. Sandra didn't feel in a position to do it without his approval. So that ended it. Sandra stayed behind in Jack's office to straighten up the mess they had made with files, when another envelope, this one under the gun, caught her eye.

## Chapter 36

In Hell's Kitchen, Marie was beginning her day by getting to work on time. She felt some relief that her mother was at Pam's; it meant that she didn't have to travel to Brooklyn to check on her. She had a pile of technical reports to edit, which were boring and monotonous. What had seemed a full and exciting week the day before, she now loathed. Going to her little office, almost a cubical, and closing the door, she contemplated how many more years she would have to do this until she could retire. Twenty? Twenty-five? Fuck! Eight hours was too long to sit on this uncomfortable chair, in this stinking office, in a horrible part of town. She got up from her desk, picked up her purse, and left her cubical. She passed by the receptionist and told her she was leaving for the day for a family emergency. Fire me, she thought to herself. I don't give a shit.

The sidewalks were relatively empty at that hour; the unfortunate people who were there were either looking for a job or lost. There were no coffee shops, no chain stores, not even a McDonalds, no place to shop and nothing to buy. Why did I ever agree to live here? Jack had told her that she would grow to love it. He was so full of shit. He'd wanted her here so he could come and go without being observed by anyone who knew them. After living there for years, she still hated the neighborhood. These exact thoughts went through her head every day as she walked to work and again in the evening when it was time to go home. The only way she could tolerate it was by going a few miles uptown and shopping or going to movies or visiting her only friend who was lucky enough to live Uptown on West End Avenue. Digging her cell phone out, she pressed his number and put the phone to her ear. He picked up on the first ring.

"Shouldn't you be typing or something?" he said without saying hello.

"Thanks, Arthur," she replied with a tinge of sarcasm. "Actually, I left for the day. Do you want to do something?" She stopped walking toward her apartment, hoping he would tell her to come uptown and spend the day.

"Oh, sweetheart, I can't! I would love it, but I have a date! After all this time, I have a date!" Arthur, at the end of a long-term relationship, would sooner cut off his hand than cancel.

"Great! Who is it?" she asked, not caring, disappointed he wasn't available to her.

"Someone I met on the Internet, where else?" he said. "Look, sweetheart, I have to say goodbye. We'll get together Friday night, okay?"

Not wanting to go home, she didn't have anywhere else to go. Jack's death ruined her life. With no friends to speak of and betraying her sister beyond forgiveness, who was left? She turned back to the sidewalk and continued her walk home.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, Pam woke up to the smell of coffee brewing. Taking her time getting ready, returning to her old routine of primping to perfection, she chose a white pique shorts set with a short-sleeved shirt and white leather sandals. The weather was reported to be warm and sunny, a good beach day. The children would both be home for the Fourth of July weekend and she wanted to get her mother situated up in the guest apartment so she could have some privacy with them. Putting some boundaries in place would be necessary in order for this to work. It would be so much better if her mother were the one to suggest them.

Out in the kitchen, her mother had made coffee and also pancakes. Pam, who rarely ate more than a piece of fruit in the morning, decided to just eat and be grateful. She'd start back at the gym that day.

"Good morning, Mother. Look at this! I'm going to be as fat as a pig if you keep this up."

"It's a special day, our first day together! I won't cook like this once I'm in the apartment." Was she reading minds now? "Do you have anything that needs doing today?"

If Pam scurried, Nelda bustled. How her house got into the state it was in was a mystery to her daughter, unless loneliness was to blame, Pam wasn't seeing anything that would have made her mother give up as she had at home in Brooklyn. After breakfast, with a false sense of security, she got her purse and left for the gym and grocery shopping.

~ ~ ~

Bill Smith arrived at his office early. He was confident that Jack's girlfriend would call today. There was no reason for them not to honor Jack's wishes. He spent the first hours going over a spreadsheet that clearly illustrated that he had either to increase their incoming revenue or face bankruptcy. The humiliation of that, the pure terror of having to move his mother out of that house, sell it and the contents, and possibly lose the house he and Anne lived in brought a physical response that dictated an immediate run to his private bathroom.

When Sandra hadn't called him by one, he called her. He'd given her the morning to locate the clients or files or whatever the hell it was Jack had been working on. But she wasn't in the office, and the receptionist wasn't giving out any details, having been warned after his last visit.

"Can you just tell me, is she out for lunch?" But, no, she wouldn't even reveal that. Bill was furious.

"Goddamn it!" he shouted after she ended the call. He searched for but couldn't find the paper that he wrote her address and phone number on. He'd call Pam to get the number. Nelda answered the phone. Oh, shit. The last thing he needed to do was talk to that dotard.

"Hi, Mrs. Fabian, it's Jack's brother, Bill. How are you?" He was gritting his teeth, trying to hold back.

"Bill? Bill? Is that Jack's brother's name?" She was clearly confused.

He raised his voice, thinking yelling would help her understand him. "Is Pam home?" he demanded.

"No...no, she just left for the gym. What do you want?" He contemplated asking her if she knew Sandra and then just ended the call. He had no patience left for talking to an old lady.

He'd go back to Sandra's house. In serious trouble, late with loan payments he'd taken out to keep things afloat the past year, Dad had driven the business into the ground, not understanding the concept of change. There was nothing left, no clients and no revenue. They were broke.

Jack was giving his mother a couple thousand dollars a week to pay the staff, buy food, and keep up appearances. Now that was gone. If he could prove that the business was still viable, that they had clients, he could last another month, maybe two. He had to know. He grabbed his car keys to drive to Sandra's apartment. Illegally parking in front of her building, he ran to the door and pushed her buzzer. There was no answer.

That bitch was not going to hold him back. His brother had told him he'd see what he could do. Did he forget? Or was Sandra trying to hold out on him? She wanted Jack's clients for herself. If Sandra wouldn't help him, Pam would. Pam was a pushover; everyone knew that. The way she was handling this whore was a perfect example of what a wimp she was. Pam would give him the money he needed; she wouldn't allow Bernice to lose the house or for he and Anne to be thrown out on the streets. He got back in his car and headed toward the 59th Street Bridge.

~ ~ ~

Marie got home and knew she couldn't stay, couldn't stand being alone; she didn't want memories of Jack to haunt her one more second. Oddly, it was safer in the beach house; there was less horror there than in her apartment. Grabbing her car keys she left the apartment for Long Island, arriving in time for lunch. When she pulled into the driveway, she could see her mother in the kitchen. They waved to each other. Marie felt like it was old times; there was happiness in the house now that hadn't existed in a while, since the kids left. It was never just about Jack, was it? Her grief and guilt would make it about him, but it was more about Pam and the kids, the warmth and love they gave her. Jack had appealed to some perverse pride, a conquest gone wrong. She was so sorry she had allowed it.

Her mother opened the door for her, looking so good, having taken time with her hair and makeup and wearing a nice outfit. Nelda would be happy to make lunch for Marie, but she and Pam just missed each other. Pam had to go into the city for some business, but would be back in time for dinner.

They had a lovely lunch out on the veranda. Then Marie went into her room and put her swimsuit on. Going to the beach for an hour or so, she'd come back in and take a nap. Pam probably had apartment business to take care of.

She spent a little longer on the beach than she had planned because she met a man. One of Pam's neighbors, a retired lawyer, was walking his dog. They started talking, and before she knew it, he asked her to have coffee with him after dinner. He was very nice looking in a comfortable, unthreatening way, unlike Jack, who could be a tyrant about weight and fitness. Able to relax around this guy, a lawyer named Jeff Babcock, in a way she'd never been able to around Jack, they set a time to meet and said good-bye. She gathered up her beach stuff and headed back up the walkway to the house with a little spring in her step. So! She wasn't invisible after all.

Nelda was still puttering around the kitchen, assembling what looked like baking ingredients for something fattening.

"I'm going to lie down for a while, Mom."

Nelda said, "Okay," distracted by her recipe.

Marie went into her room in the children's wing. It was cool and dark, perfect for sleeping. She went into her bathroom and pulled off her suit. She took a shower and washed her hair. The water felt good on her hot, sunburnt skin. She stood out of the protection of the umbrella, talking to the neighbor, for at least an hour. But it was worth it. It was the first time in recent memory that she felt happy and excited. It was just for coffee, she reminded herself. But it was a start.

She got into her bed, completely relaxed and refreshed. She fell into a deep sleep. Suddenly, she was awakened, hearing a scuffle. Her first reaction was to run out of her room, but stopped by the gruff voice of a man. She didn't recognize the voice, but it was definitely male. She tiptoed to her door and slowly and carefully turned the knob.

"Don't hurt her!" Pam screamed!

When had she gotten home? Marie closed the door and locked it. She crept back to the bed and got her cell phone, keying in 9-1-1. Whispering into the phone that she thought there had been a break-in, someone was hurting her aged mother. The dispatcher said they would send cars out right away. Ending the call, she could hear Pam's voice, low and pleading, and her mother whimpering. She didn't know if she should go out to help them or stay locked in her room. What would make things better? Worse? She chose staying put. In less than five minutes, she heard the whoosh of cars out front and then a loud "Bang!"

## Chapter 37

Earlier in the day, Sandra was in a quandary, needing to get back into Jack's office. She looked out in the hall. No one was coming, and Jenny was at lunch. She quietly closed the door. Was the envelope there, under the gun, all along? She didn't remember it when she was searching through his drawers, seeing the gun, but not the envelope. Not wanting to touch the gun, she wondered what else she had missed in the desk.

Walking, tiptoeing, she came around the desk and sat in Jack's chair. Very carefully, she pushed the gun off the envelope with the tip of her finger, afraid it might go off. The envelope wasn't sealed, and the return address printed with the address of the New York City Police Department. What? Pulling the flap up, she peeked inside; it was an official-looking form. She pulled the paper out and, looking up to make sure she was still alone, unfolded it.

It was a restraining order. For Jack? She read the form, a combination of typewritten and handwritten information. Jack had taken the order out against someone; it wasn't against him. Of course, what was I thinking? Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. And then she saw the name William Smith.

Jack had taken a restraining order out against his own brother. The form didn't reveal the details, the reasons. Jack had felt threatened enough by Bill to get the order and keep a gun in his desk. Did he carry it? She wondered if he had left the gun in his desk because they would be together that Friday night. Stymied, she wondered what was going on.

Standing up from the desk, she shoved the form back into its envelope and stuffed it down the front of her shirt. Then she took the gun out of the drawer and carefully put it in the pocket of her skirt. She didn't know if it was loaded and didn't even know how to check for bullets. She wondered if he had a permit for the gun; it was probably in his stolen wallet. Rushing to her office down the hall, she called Pam right away. Pam answered on the second ring.

"I'm glad you called," she said. "I'm in the grocery store. I forgot to cancel Jack's credit cards, and I just got a call telling me that there has been a lot of activity on two of them. What's wrong with me that I would forget such a thing?"

"You've had a lot on your mind! One of us should have reminded you," Sandra said.

"But that's not all," Pam continued. "I have to come into the city this afternoon. The police finally looked at the security tapes from the train the evening Jack was mugged. They think he knew who took his wallet! They want me to look at the tapes to see if I recognize the man. Jack was talking to him before he collapsed, and then this person, whoever it was, bent over him and took his wallet!" Pam's voice cracked. "I feel so badly for him. To have that final betrayal."

Sandra could hear muffled sobs.

"Oh, Pam, I am so sorry. But I have to see you right away. I was going to catch a train to you, but if you have to come into the city, we must meet. I think I want to come home with you, too. I was going to ask you. I think you're right; it's not safe for me to stay here."

"Oh my God, what happened?" Pam exclaimed.

"Jack took a restraining order out against Bill," Sandra said. "I'm afraid of him now. Where can I meet you?"

"I'm getting ready to pay for my groceries and then I'll drop them off at home and drive in. Can you meet me at the downtown police station at two?"

Sandra agreed to do that.

Pam felt she needed to make a list of everything that needed closure, all the loose ends that were dangling. The file about Jack's real father? Did anything need to be done about it? Or the civil suit against Harold? Do I need to confront Bernice? She was of the mindset to burn everything and never speak of it again. But there were still victims alive. It didn't die with Jack. Marie, poor Marie. Jack and Sandra's baby. And her own children, she would have to question them somehow, just in case there was something they had been hiding.

Pam took the bag of groceries in to her mother, who was preparing to go on one of her legendary baking sprees. They would all regret it when it came time to put bathing suits on that weekend. She didn't know if there were any papers she needed to bring, but just in case, she grabbed her passport, a file containing Jack's birth and death certificates, and a copy of their marriage license. While she drove, she couldn't stop thinking about Jack, the vision of him lying on the filthy train floor kept shimmering before her eyes. Hoping they had stills for her to view and not the video, she didn't want to see him alive and talking right before he collapsed.

Traffic wasn't bad going into the city at that hour, and she arrived with enough time to go to the apartment to get Jack's files. She was happy to get that over with. She could call the rental office and ask them to list the apartment furnished. She didn't want to worry about emptying it, maybe in a few months, but not today.

She parked in the garage and took the elevator up fifteen floors. When she stepped out into the carpeted hallway, a reminder once again why she didn't like it there. It was airless and dark. The plastic box was in the same place she had left it on their bed. Gathering the files still spread around, she put the top on the box. It was more cumbersome than heavy. She pushed it across the carpet with the toe of her shoe. Right before she locked up the apartment, she took one last look around. She'd call the cleaning service to come and take Jack's clothes to charity, never going back if she could help it.

Traffic heading downtown was terrible, making it with enough time to park her car and get inside. The receptionist called the detective working the case. Not making Pam wait, he came right out, extending his hand for hers. Thanking her for driving all the way into the city to help them out, he acknowledged Jack's death.

"Please accept our condolences for your loss," he said. He led Pam through a maze of desks into a small room. Offering her a chair, he took one next to her, opening up a large folder on the desk. The folder contained six grainy pictures of a man walking toward the camera and then going through the open doors of the train. It was Bill.

"It's my brother-in-law. I don't get it." Pam was more than confused; she was totally baffled. How did he end up on just the train Jack was taking? In the same car? It didn't make any sense. The detective didn't say anything to Pam, letting her work it out on her own, without his prompting. "So does this mean my brother-in-law was with Jack when he died? He's the one who is stealing from me? I can't believe this!" She shook her head back and forth. "I just found out a restraining order against Bill was filed by Jack."

The detective perked up at that. "There was?" he asked. "It should be easy enough to find out." He stood up to go in search of more information, telling Pam, "I'll be right back. Would you like a coffee?"

She shook her head. What was going on? Why was Bill bothering Jack? She wondered if it had anything to do with Harold and Bernice. The detective came back in a few minutes with faxes in his hand, leafing through them and reading them.

"You were right; here is the restraining order. Your husband filed it in late April. Here's the court record." He handed her a thin sheet of paper, the type that used to come from old fax machines.

What she was looking at were copies of handwritten letters Jack had received from his brother. She read out loud.

"'Jack, I need your help. Mother is going to lose the house if you don't come through. Why are you playing games with us? You've got the money. I've seen your bank account. If you can't help me or the business, then help our mother. Bill.'"

"'Jack, I know what you are up to. I'm going to expose you if you don't come through for mother.'"

And finally, "'Jack, don't test me. You think I won't carry out my threats, but you are dead wrong, emphasis on dead.'"

Pam thought of the letter Marie had written him. Were they even from Marie? Had Bill found out in some way about the relationship between Marie and Jack and threatened to expose them? She was going to find out, one way or another, but had to deal with this first.

"Read this," the detective said, handing Pam another piece of paper.

"'At midnight on March tenth, my brother, William Smith, came to my apartment on Madison Avenue. I allowed him access so he wouldn't disturb the other tenants. He appeared civil at first, but quickly deescalated after I refused to give him money, pulling a small handgun on me, threatening to kill me if I didn't give him the money. He also stated that he would come to my place of business and shoot my employees.'" Pam looked up at the detective. "What does this mean? Was Bill blackmailing Jack for some reason?"

"Your brother-in-law is nearly bankrupt, Mrs. Smith. Here's a copy of a financial statement from your late father-in-law to your husband requesting a transfer of clientele and another asking for a loan of four-hundred-thousand dollars. I don't know if your husband made the loan or not, but judging by the sound of the subsequent communication, I doubt it."

"My husband was generous to a fault, but he wasn't stupid. If his family lost all of their money because of poor business practices, Jack would be the last person on earth to bail them out."

There didn't seem to be anything else to say. She stood up to leave. Offering her hand to the detective, she said, "Thank you for solving that mystery. It's one less thing for me to have to worry about."

They shook hands and he showed her the way out.

Sandra was waiting for her on the steps. "Well, did you know who it was?" she asked.

"Bill," Pam said.

"No way!" Sandra said, stunned. "He stole his own brother's wallet? Left him to suffer on the floor of the train?"

Her voice, getting higher, was a giveaway to her anguish, Jack's final indignity. "Bill could have saved his brother's life. He could have called 9-1-1. They would have delayed the train, and someone would have given him oxygen. Bill took his wallet with his identification so that the only way his loved ones would know what happened to him was by the last numbers on his cell phone." She sobbed, unable to go on.

The compassion Pam felt for Sandra, devastated by the betrayal of Jack by Bill, overshadowed her own feelings, which were confused. Jack was a liar and a cheat, and Pam thought karma was at work. It was still difficult to imagine the father of her children being so vulnerable, and the anger she felt toward Bill would grow on the drive back to Babylon.

"Let's get to the car, dear. I'll take you home, and we can have a nice dinner on the veranda tonight. You'll feel better as soon as we get out of this godforsaken city."

Pam held Sandra's hand as though she were a small child and led her to the parking garage. They rolled the windows down and let the breeze blow their hair around. When they were going over the bridge, the air changed from hot and stagnant to fresh and warm. There was a hint of brine in the air, meaning low tide. Pam turned the radio up. The _Mamas_ _& The_ _Papas_ were on, singing, "California Dreaming."

Sandra fell sound asleep, waking up with Pam whispering her name and shaking her arm after she stopped the car in front of the house at the beach.

"Sandra, I think Bill is here! Wake up!"

Sandra was alert immediately. "How do you know?"

"There's a strange car parked behind Marie's. I think it's Bill's. Look at that vanity plate!"

The license plate said HOT BILL. She pulled up in front of the next-door neighbor's house. "Don't slam the door," she whispered.

They held on to each other as they crept up the walk. Sandra held on to Pam's arm and squeezed it. She whispered in her ear, "Do you know how to use a gun?"

Pam shook her head, but whispered, hand out, "Give it to me!"

Sandra opened her purse and pulled out Jack's small handgun. "Here, take it. I don't even know if it's loaded."

Pam took the gun without question.

She put her hand on the door, and it was unlocked, swinging open. Grabbing the knob before it hit the wall it was too late. Bill watched them pull up in front of the house. Nelda was slouched in a kitchen chair with Bill behind her, his right arm across her shoulders and a knife, one of Pam's big carving knives, in his right hand, the blade pressed up against her neck.

For one second, Pam could see nothing but the frailness of her mother. Then she saw her perfectly applied makeup, her hair styled and sprayed so every hair would stay in place, wearing ladies-who-lunch attire, stockings, and high heels. The old Nelda had returned. She wasn't making a sound, but every so often, he would choke up on her neck with the knife, and she would yelp. You could expect it with his movement. It was making Pam crazy.

"Bill! What's gotten in to you?" Pam said, repeating a phrase Bernice often used with her children and in-laws. "This is no way to solve your problems. You'll only make them worse."

"Shut up! Shut up! You worthless wimp," he yelled. "Go right now and get your checkbook. I want a check written out to me for forty thousand dollars. Go!" he screamed.

Pam kept the gun close to the side of her leg. She went to the desk in the kitchen, pulled out a checkbook, and started writing the check. Struggling to tear it out of the book with one hand, she placed it on the kitchen table. "There, Bill, there's the check. You can have all the money you want, but let go of my mother! Please!"

Instead of releasing her, he tightened up on his grip, pressing the blade in further. Nelda yelped again.

Pam brought the gun out in front and held it steadily in her hands. "Get the knife away from my mother's throat," she calmly said to Bill.

All of her life she had been discounted by those around her as fluff, silly, a wimp, and empty-headed. She saw her mother flinch as Bill, smirking, pressed the knife more firmly against the soft, crepey skin of her neck.

Pam squeezed the trigger, the bullet hitting him right at the tip of his elbow, throwing his arm back and releasing her mother. They dove toward her, Sandra grabbing her just as Bill hit the floor. Pam kicked the knife away from Bill's hand as he screamed, holding onto his shattered arm in pain, crying out for mercy. She stood over him, restraining herself from kicking him in the head. At that moment, Marie came running in from the children's wing, and the police rushed in from the front door.

"Now who's a wimp, Billy?" Pam said.

## Chapter 38

It took a while for the police to sort out what had happened. They handcuffed Bill and called an ambulance to take him to the hospital. His injuries weren't life threatening, but painful. The police would take the gun. They asked Pam to stay in town until it could be determined whether she broke any laws or not. Nelda was sitting down at the kitchen table while an EMT examined the small cut from Pam's carving knife. Bill would be booked for attempted murder if the cops on the scene had anything to say about it. Jack had been a good friend of the DA's office.

Sandra was making a pot of coffee, her head spinning. What would have happened if they had come home later? She asked Marie how she knew to call for the police. Not that it ended up making much difference thanks to her sharpshooter sister, Pam.

"I could hear Pam telling him not to hurt Mom. It was the scuffling that woke me up! My god! It shocked me out of sleep! You know something isn't right, but the confusion of just waking up makes it impossible to figure out. I didn't know what the hell was happening. When'd you figure out he was here?"

"Pam saw the strange car in the driveway and his silly plate, and the door was unlocked. I took the gun out of my bag and gave it to Pam. We tried to be as quiet as we could be, but he was waiting for Pam. He already had Nelda sitting down with the knife pressed to her throat."

Suddenly, Sandra lost her composure. "Oh my God, Nelda!" She went over to her and knelt down. "I am so sorry you had to go through this!"

Nelda took Sandra's hand, patting it. Her own hand was so soft, the skin like a baby's skin. "I was so glad to see you and Pam walk through that door! He had me by the throat. I thought I was a goner!" She laughed. "You think you are tired of living, and then something like this happens, and it makes you so grateful to be alive. I need to stay alive for the new baby."

She looked up at Sandra, smiling. Marie moved nearer, refusing to be excluded, and the three of them talked about what had just happened. Although it would be temporary, it was a moment of peace and of bonding.

A detective arrived to question Pam. She recognized him from Jack's funeral, a handsome, older man of medium height, dressed in slacks and a white shirt with a gun in a shoulder holster.

"I had just returned from seeing the police in Manhattan," she explained when he asked her to tell him everything she could. "I identified Bill as the man who stole my husband's wallet after he had a heart attack on the train. My friend, Sandra, found a restraining order that Jack had taken out against his brother. Today, I found out that Bill has been withdrawing money from my account using credit cards I forgot to cancel." She looked at the detective, embarrassed for the oversight. "Go ahead, you can say it. What a stupid move."

"No, that's not what I was thinking. You'd just lost your husband. There is no one else to pick up those forgotten pieces, is there? My wife died two years ago. She had some kind of automatic plan that sent her makeup and hair products every month. After about a year of getting this stuff in the mail, it finally occurred to me to have it discontinued. My daughters cashed in! Things are missed and forgotten, it's human nature."

"I'm sorry about your wife," Pam said. "I can't believe how fast time is going. Did you feel the same way?"

"It did go fast. The urgent stuff will come to the surface to be dealt with, like your credit cards. He'll be charged with theft, by the way. Later on, the less important things will be revealed, like my wife's makeup. It was sort of therapeutic to get those boxes every month. It was difficult to have them stopped."

He looked down at his hands. "However, I didn't have the drama you obviously are having. My life was quiet, almost boring."

"I could use a little boring right about now," Pam replied. "We were just saying that enough is enough in the excitement department."

"I think I have everything I need."

Then he paused, clearly struggling with his thoughts. "Listen. I know it's just been a few weeks since your husband died. And I only mean this in the most respectful terms. But would you have coffee with me sometime? We could talk about the case." He smiled at her.

She was thinking, Boy, if he knew what had transpired here this week, he would run in the opposite direction.

"Wow, you are really rushing me," Pam said. But she was smiling.

## Chapter 39

Bernice called Pam early Tuesday morning. She saw the number on caller ID and knew she would have to get whatever was about to happen between them over with. She was ignoring the obvious, avoiding the painful.

"Pam," Bernice was barely able to get the name out without sneering.

Pam could hear her attempts at self-control. But she wasn't feeling much compassion for her mother-in-law.

"I'm here, Bernice." Seconds passed, almost a minute. "Bernice, I'm going to hang up."

"Don't! Please. Why'd you do it? Why'd you shoot my only son?" She didn't try to cover up her crying now. "We took you into our home, gave you love, showered you with gifts. The way you pay me back, us back, is by aiming a gun at Bill? No wonder Jack cheated on you. You're horrible!"

Pam could hear Bernice breathing heavily, exhausted from the tirade. "You're kidding me, right? Did you read the charges, Bernice? Did you know he was with Jack when he collapsed? That he stole Jack's wallet?"

Pam knew she was getting shrill, her voice getting higher and louder. "It's not bad enough that he betrayed his own brother, but then to break into my house and try to cut my mother's throat! By shooting him, I prevented him from committing a murder. I bet you didn't think of that, did you? Why'd you call here, Bernice? Hurry up and get whatever it is off your chest because I am ending the call. And then I never want you to call here again, do you understand me?"

Pam suddenly knew she should talk to Sandra about keeping the baby away from the Smith family. Starting with the abuse of Jack, they were the source of the trouble that had filtered down to Marie.

Bernice finally yelled out at Pam, "I need money! You know the truth; you know we are in serious financial trouble. Bill told me everything last night. He told me Jack was helping him, giving him money to put in my personal account. I'm down to ten dollars now."

"Wait! Let's see if I understand what you're asking of me. You are calling because you want me to give you money? You just accused me of betraying you!"

Boy, talk about nerve! Although not one to dwell on past slights, Pam thought she was gaining some strength, some self-respect she hadn't known existed previously. "Bernice, be honest with me. For once, try to have some respect for me as a human being, the mother of your son's children." She waited, listening to the silence on the other end of the line, wondering if she was still there.

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry, Pam. I have had so much to deal with lately; this has pushed me to the edge. You deserve respect. But I am desperate! Bill was hiding how bad things had gotten, even before Harold died. I'm at my wit's end. He mortgaged the mansion! This house has been in Harold's family for almost one hundred and fifty years; did you know that, Pam? It's your children's legacy! Everything in it, the piano, all of the artwork, are priceless things, treasures. A place like this would take millions of dollars to replace. I only need a fraction of that to keep it." Bernice stopped begging, whether crying again or just waiting for a reply, Pam wasn't sure.

"Let me think about it, okay, Bernice? If I do help you, how will you keep it going? Bill said himself that all of their clients are gone. I can't force Peter or Sandra to give Bill work. I have to think what would be the best thing for everyone."

Bernice was silent. Pam felt certain that bailing Bernice and Bill out would be a huge mistake, a waste of money. Needing advice. Jack had an entire office full of consultants and financial advisers that she would talk to.

"Please, whatever you can do for us! If Jack were alive, I know he would continue helping us," Bernice said. "He owed it to me! Harold got him started in the business. He paved the way for him!"

Pam was losing patience. "What Jack would or wouldn't do has nothing to do with me anymore, Bernice. Please don't call me again and attack me. If we can't communicate civilly, there is no way we can resolve your financial problems."

Bernice agreed, groveling and asking forgiveness.

Pam ended the call. She'd have a cup of coffee, then go into the den, and call Peter. He would know whom she should call. There was one sure thing; she wasn't giving money to anyone but might make a loan at the very most, with collateral being the house and its myriad treasures.

Taking her coffee out to the veranda, the sun was up, burning the dew off the sand. It would be a good beach day. There were three days before her children would be home, meeting in Chicago and flying into JFK together, making logistics much simpler. As in the past, Pam looked forward to cleaning their rooms and having food ready for them.

Thinking of the people in the house at that moment; Marie was in her room in the children's wing, Sandra upstairs in the guest wing, and her mother above the garage in her apartment. Soon, every room would be occupied and an old peace returned. Before, she was deluded into thinking all was well; now it really was, albeit for a short period.

Jack, her strength and purpose for living for most of her adult life, had been the source of anguish and uncertainty. A woman knows subconsciously if her partner is betraying her, she'd suffer in strange ways, lowered self-esteem and its many components just the beginning. Pam definitely was the victim of Jack's deceit. Now that he was dead, she was starting to relax. It was amazing how she had lived her life on the edge, wound up tight, ready to jump into action if necessary. She remembered Lisa saying to her years ago when she was trying to talk to her, "Momma, could you stop for one minute and listen to me?" Pam had to forcibly slow down and focus.

Before the children were born, Jack controlled Pam's life by enlisting the aid of his mother, suggesting his wife needed her help entering their social circle. And after their birth, Bernice interfered in their care just enough to undermine Pam's self-confidence.

Even after the move to Long Island, Jack kept his hold on his wife, showing up unexpectedly in the middle of the week infrequently, but just enough to make Pam wonder every day if this would be the day he would come home. Always ready for him so that he could never come home and say that he found her without makeup or hair fixed, in a messy house or one without food to prepare for him.

Did he hate her? How could he have a long-term sexual relationship with Marie and then Sandra and feel anything for her. It was too painful to dwell on.

The vision of Jack on the train floor, possibly writhing in pain, continued to haunt her. Needing to find out how Bill knew Jack would be on the train, she thought of Jack's cell phone. What had happened to it? She went back into the house, heading for Marie's room. Maybe she'd remember where it ended up.

"Jack's phone?" Marie echoed, sitting up in bed. Is my sister having a rough morning? In the past, she'd never come into Marie's bedroom when she was sleeping. "I have it. The nurse gave it to me when we were at the hospital." She reached for her purse on the floor next to her bed, digging through it, hoping the phone was still there. "I'm pretty sure the battery must be dead," she said, handing it to her sister.

Pam took it without saying anything else and left to go into the den; she'd seen the charge cord in the top drawer when she was searching through his desk the week before. Finding the cord again, she plugged it into the wall and the phone. The phone came on; 6 voicemail messages flashed on the screen. Pam didn't know how to retrieve messages from this model phone, but she was determined to figure it out. After two false starts, she heard a familiar voice. A wave of heat, starting at her forehead, spread across her body. It was Jack.

"Hey, this is Jack, leave a message." He sounded so young; the message was juvenile, unprofessional. So like Jack, trying to impress, trying to connect with young people. Who besides Sandra and Marie called him that he felt a message like it was necessary? Pressing more buttons, she found what she was looking for—the unfamiliar voice of her former brother-in-law.

"This is Bill. It's Saturday. Jack, get back to me. I need to talk to you today. I am going to the beach house in one hour if I don't hear from you by ten."

Pam replayed the message twice. Faced with the knowledge that she didn't really know what Jack had done Friday night, was he in his own bed in the apartment or if he was with Sandra. Marie said he stopped coming to her apartment months ago. What had he been doing Saturday morning? Marie said she saw Jack and Sandra on the street. Where were they coming from? Sandra said he had never stayed at her place. Pam wasn't sure if she could believe it.

Pam was in a quandary. It didn't really matter if Jack had arranged to see Bill on the train, did it? What difference did it make now? He was dead. Nothing she could learn would change that, but she was looking for closure. So many senseless mistakes added up to chaos. Bill had threatened Jack, said he was going to come here to the beach. What would have happened if he had? Pam would have been alone without a gun. Bill was desperate; there was no telling what he would have done to her. Putting a knife to Nelda's throat may have been just the tip of the iceberg.

If it were feasible, she would probably end up helping out Bernice and Bill; Anne and the boys were part of this, too. She couldn't see making them suffer because Bill was a jerk. Plus, she didn't have anything to lose. She was wealthy and could afford to be generous. It would be good karma.

## Chapter 40

The morning unfolded. The sounds of summer rang out throughout the house: children's laughter on the beach, waves hitting the sand, gulls calling. Pam could hear Nelda opening windows in her new apartment. The shower was running in the guest bathroom; Sandra must be up. She'd be going back into the city today; with Bill incarcerated, she was safe now. Marie was hiding out in her bedroom. The phone encounter may have scared her. Good! Pam laughed to herself, wanting to be alone, not wanted to talk to anyone. As the house phone rang, the thought to let it go crossed her mind, but it might be her children. She looked at the caller ID. It was the police. What could they want now? Picking it up, she said hello.

"It's Detective Andrews, Mrs. Smith."

Pam smiled at the phone. "Hi, Detective Andrews," she said. "Call me Pam."

"Okay, Pam. Call me Andy," he replied. "So, are you busy? Is this a bad time for you?"

"No, this is actually a great time. What do you have in mind? Do you want to talk about my case?" she said, tongue in cheek, surprising herself. Witty? That was not usually a word associated with Pam.

"We could. I actually just need a cup of coffee and I'm parked in front of your house." He hesitated, adding, "If that isn't too forward."

"I have a house full of women here today. Can I take a rain check?" Pam said.

"You may, but how about we go out for one? We can walk into town."

Pam thought for a moment and then agreed. No one would think anything of it if they saw her with a man. It could be her insurance person or a relative.

"I just need to grab my purse, and I'll be right out." She ended the call and went to fetch her purse from the bedroom. Checking lipstick and hair in the mirror, everything was perfect. Having taken good care of herself had paid off.

She'd have coffee with Detective Andrews, hopeful her guests would leave before she got home. Life was stretching out before her, more interesting than she could remember. The children would be home in just a few days, maybe for the rest of the summer. She was making a friend and going to have coffee with him right now. How is it possible that I had the worst news a woman can get just a few weeks ago and be looking forward to my life already?

Leaning against the unmarked car waiting for her, Detective Andrew's watched Pam leave the house. She's a gorgeous woman, he thought to himself. The most attractive woman he'd seen in a while. He was going to be careful with her because she was worth it.

"So, Mrs. Smith, shall we walk?" he said, smiling at her.

"It's Pam, remember?" Pam said, smiling. "Call me Pam."

The End

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**Be sure to subscribe to my email list at** Http://suzannejenkins.com to received periodic Free stories.

You'll also receive a FREE download of First Sight-When Pam and Jack Met, the prequel to the Pam of Babylon Series.

**#1** _Pam of Babylon_ Always FREE! Long Island housewife Pam Smith is called to the hospital after her husband Jack suffers a heart attack on the train from Manhattan, but someone else arrives first.

**#2** _Don't You Forget About Me_ Three women discover they share more than Jack's love.

**#3** _Dream Lover_ A gritty, realistic portrait of the aftermath of deceit, more pieces of the puzzle come together.

**#4** _Prayers for the Dying_ Pam makes startling revelations about herself, and the others.

**#5** _Family Dynamics_ Heartbreak and devastation move toward triumph in the fifth installation.

**#6** _The Tao of Pam_ Pam is at a crossroad which will take her to the next phase of her life, if she chooses the right path.

**#7** _In Memoriam_ Pam endures life at the beach with remarkable strength. But don't be too impressed; history does have a way of repeating itself.

_We're Just Friends: Short Story Prequel to #8_ A short story meant to fill in details after Book #7

**#8** _Soulmates_ Pam faces new challenges with glamour and poise, while Sandra doesn't disappoint, and Lisa discovers new strengths. "Women's fiction with a touch of noir."

**#9** _Save the Date_ Pam and John plan their wedding, while love and healing grow around the couple.

_Julie Hsu: Short Story Prequel to #10_ Julie Hsu comes back on the scene at the end of Save the Date, Book #9.

**#10** _I'll Always Love You_ The women; Bernice, Nelda, Pam, Lisa, Violet, Cara and little Miranda rise up in power in this tale of triumph and love. But there are a few proverbial flies in the ointment.

_A Good Beach Day_ : a FREE Pam of Babylon Short Story – While John's away on a business trip, Pam faces the truth about her marriage. To John, not Jack!

**#11** _Beach Spirits_ Pam wrestles with spirits, living and dead as the past haunts her.

**#12** _South Shore Romance_ At last, with everything aligned perfectly, and her family occupied, Pam finds romance, love, excitement and joy with Senator Charlie Monroe and his rescued Greyhound, Margaret.

**#13** _Meet Me at the Beach_ Pam, Lisa, Nelda, Sister Mary and Sandra seek hints of their destiny.

_Gladys and Ed's Big Adventure_ Short Story Prequel to #14 Pam's Adventures in Babylon

_Beautiful Heartbreaker_ A Pam of Babylon Novella Don't look now, but Jack Smith is right behind you," Marian whispered. A flush of pleasure cruised through Genevieve's body, but later, she thought it might have been a warning.

#14 _Pam's Adventures in Babylon_ Life at the beach takes on a new twist as Pam embraces the children Jack left behind. The triad of Lisa, Allison, and Ryan grows closer, then further apart when Ryan's lust gets out of control.

#15 _Second Chance_ Just when life settles down to a dull roar for those people whom Pam holds closest to her heart, the pendulum swings in the opposite direction and everyone is tossed into the air. Who will they hold on to as they fall back to earth?

#16 _If I Ever Leave You_ After Randy leaves for Greece and another Adventure Trek season, family demands on Pam make an impromptu trip to the Greek Islands to meet up with him more appealing.

#17 _Touch Me When We're_ _Dancing_ Everyone is dancing right before chaos strikes.

_Return to the Beach_ Love is in the air for Lisa and Alison.

#18 _Portrait of Marriage_ What does a noisy neighbor, a suspicious wife, and a bored husband have in common?

***

Boxed Sets

_Sweet and Sassy: The Best Kind of Romance_ – 9 sweet and sassy romance novels by 9 authors.

_Sweet and Sassy Christmas: A Time for Romance_ – 11 sweet and sassy romance stories, including _My Christmas Romance_ by Suzanne!

Sweet and Sassy Valentine: Love is in the Air Coming

_Sweet Heat – Where Romance and Suspense Meet_ _–_ 6 Stories by 6 best selling authors _._

_Snowflakes and Christmas Kisses: A Yuletide Mix of Romance_ _–_ 7 Stories

***

_Bittersweets_ – Sweet and steamy romances set in Philadelphia. Bittersweets: Terry and Alex is the first stand alone in the saga, introducing you to Arvin and Tina, Brenda and Larry, Rick and Jason, Mrs. Dell, and the rest of the cast.

_Terry and Alex -_ A one night stand segues to a weekend of passion, leading to a lifetime of romance. A Philadelphia lawyer, tired of making the same relationship mistakes, falls in love at last, and with the advice of her aging father, Harry, traverses the mysteries of romance and heartache.

_Brenda and Larry_ – A trip to the emergency room leads to a whirlwind romance for Philadelphia law student Brenda and ER physician Larry. Head over heels in love with Brenda, nothing can disturb the love he has for her, not even a dark secret from her past.

_Oscar and Lisa_ \- Oscar's determination not to rush into love, hoping that taking their time will make it last causes Lisa to have second thoughts. Will waiting for that perfect moment to take their relationship to the next level ever come, or does fate have other ideas?

_The Bride Wore Leather: The Sequel to Oscar and Lisa_ Lisa stood on her toes to reach Oscar's lips. Muscle memory clicked in, remembering how perfectly their mouths fit together, the line of their bodies melding. The only thing they didn't know is what total intimacy would be like, because Oscar had been too afraid. But he wasn't afraid now.

_Resisting You - Kendall and Mark_ Philadelphia surgeon Kendall Williams had it all; a great career in which she'd recently made partner, a beautiful home in the city, and the companionship of Dolly, her black lab. Content to live out her life as a single woman, she was finished seeking out a partner and had finally come to grips with being alone. Then an early snowfall changed her outlook when college student, Mark Strong offered to help her shovel the driveway. His admission that he'd had a schoolboy crush on her emphasized their age difference. Will he win her affections for a winter romance?

_The Greeks of Beaubien Street_ is the First book in _The Greektown Stories._

_The Donut Shop Murder_ A prequel to the series. Four days before Thanksgiving, the dead body of a paralegal is found dumped on a residential street in Midtown Detroit.

_The Princess of Greektown_ Jill investigates the messiest crime of her career, while her family suffers a loss that changes the way life will be lived in Greektown.

_Christmas in Greektown_ As Christmastime approaches, the family prepares for another get-together in Greektown.

_A Greektown Wedding_ After Christmas was over, the family could finally focus on other things, like love!

_Greek Style_ coming soon.

The Burn District Science Fiction Series

_Burn District: The Short Story Prequel_ A neighbor warns Laura and Mike that their town is next as the destruction moves inland.

_Burn District 1_ The family flees to Steve Hayward's ranch in the desert at the Mexican Border, outside of Yuma, Arizona to build an encampment.

_Burn District 2_ After the New Year, Jenna Hayward regretfully accepted that she had waited too long to leave Jacksonville for her father's Arizona ranch.

***

Stronger - Karen Calder's FBI ex Michael puts a mobster behind bars and no one in his family is safe. Will she be able to forgive him when his job threatens her life?

The Jade Emperor After a stranger appears on their doorstep, a picture-perfect family takes a side trip to crazy town in this story of a soldier's last chance at love.

_Perfect for Him_ . Perfect for Him is a tale of two lovers whose lifetime romance sustains them, as an unwanted ending looms in the near future.

Alice's Summertime Adventure

We meet Alice Bradshaw when she is at a crossroad.

Someone Like You

Life gets in the way as upstate NY sisters, Marley and Abigail cling to each other and their young children.

The Savant of Chelsea

From Publisher's Weekly April 2014 "This gripping novel from Jenkins delivers complex twists and turns from start to finish."

Gracefully, Like a Living Thing: The Sequel to The Savant of Chelsea

So many possibilities existed at the explosive ending of The Savant of Chelsea.

_Slow Dancing_ After midnight, a mysterious stranger appears at the edge of the woods and the peaceful life fifteen-year-old Ellen Fisher has with her beloved stepfather Frank is turned upside down.

_The Liberation of Ravenna Morton_ Captures the small-town dynamic of a family's private secrets being exposed to the world.

_Ravenna's Dream_ As Christmas approaches, family discord upsets Ravenna Morton's plans for the usual holiday gathering at her cabin on the Kalamazoo River

_Mademoiselle_ Gorgeous Pipi Wiener's family changes forever when their dad is tragically killed in the Vietnam War.

_Mend Me Mend My Heart_ A sweet, clean story. Charlotte Baker, a thirty something widow raising two children, is holding on to the memory of her late husband, Steve. The idea of dating again has never crossed her mind, until she takes a fall at the cemetery where Steve is buried which brings the handsome caretaker to her rescue.

