Conundrum (35 page)

I pulled out the magazine Ed had given me from my carry bag and
flipped through
the photos. Dave Lerner had a round full face, sported a goatee—at least he
had
twenty-five years ago—and wore thick wire-rimmed glasses. I studied his features, guessing him close to my fath
e
r’s age at that time. Would he still work at Penwell? If retired, would the company be able to give me information on his whereabouts the way they had with Ed Hutchinson?

I crossed the room
and found the pay phone in the hallway. After scrounging around for quarters at the bottom of my purse, I made the call to Los Angeles
and asked my questions.
I was informed that
Dave Lerner quit working at Penwell in 1978 and they had no current forwarding information on him. His last known address place
d him in S
eattle,
working
at a private engineering firm. I wrote down the name of the firm and thanked the person for their help.
My subsequent call to Maher Engineering rang through with no answer. I glanced at my watch; maybe they closed for lunch. I would try later.

On my way home, I thought long and hard about the things my uncle had told me about my father. He hadn’t seen any indication that my
father was bipolar or depressed in any extraordinary way. Sam knew that my parents
’
miserable marriage
had been
taking its toll on my fathe
r
but not for a minute felt Nathan Sitteroff would scheme to end his life.

But then I thought about Jeremy, and how my mother had pushed him over the edge. Never would I have guessed Jeremy would deliberately drive his truck off
a
road. Never. Jeremy was as stable and even-keeled as anyone I’d ever known. So if someone like Jeremy could unravel and not only consider suicide but go through with the attempt, why would my father be any different?
Maybe we all ha
d
our threshold and when pushed across that line, we fall.
My thoughts leaned more and more to this rationale as truth—not
the excuse
that my father suffered from “bad blood” and had a death wish.
Not t
hat because he discovered the truth of his past he willed himself to die, swept uncontrollably to a destiny he couldn’t prevent
—
the way Raff felt about outliving our father
. That line of melodrama smacked of my mother’s imagination. So where did this all leave me?

My father
had
either developed leukemia by sheer bad luck or he had somehow been exposed to radiation.
The timing of his death—in relation to learning of my mother’s pregnancy with Neal and the sordid affairs—swayed me over to the
argument for
radiation exposure. Which brought me back to the two doors blocked by the guards. One door opened to the scenario of my father attempting to escape shame and fury by
rushing headlong into danger, uncaring of the consequences. The other door opened to my father falling victim to an accident—an experiment gone wrong—never inten
ding
to put himself in harm’s way
, only wishing to distance himself from my mother
.

A
ll this
pointed
me to the one
possible
lead
I had—which involved finding Dave Lerner. I could perhaps go through the Penwell brochure and try to find some others who
had
worked with my father. And, if I failed to find Lerner, that would be my plan B. However, for now I would focus on this task, hoping my father’s best friend would be able to shed more than just information on the supposed accident. Maybe he could tell me about my father’s emotional state, his personality, his dreams and regrets. I longed to hear more, to piece together a clearer picture of
Nathan Sitteroff
.

When I got home, I checked on all my animals. With a heavy heart, I realized I harbored a fool’s hope—thinking I’d find a place that would house this menagerie. After playing with Sassy’s triplets—laughing at the way they bounced and twisted in the air, full of delight and unencumbered by the cares of the world—I called the classifieds for the Sonoma and Marin papers and placed ads looking for good homes for my assorted charges. I rang Jeremy at work
,
and he agreed to put a card on the bulletin board and
offered to
ask his customers too. “Are you sure you want to do this, Lis?” he’d asked. “We might still find a way to board them, so you could visit them.”

“I’d rather see them farmed out to loving homes.
It would alleviate a lot of stress—knowing they were all adopted somewhere.”

“Okay. As long as you’re sure. But, what about Buster and Angel? You don’t want to get rid of them too, do you?”

I heard a hitch in Jeremy’s voice. I knew he love
d those mutts as much as I did. And those dogs would be heartbroken if we gave them away. I was willing to give up everything I loved and had worked hard for, but somehow the thought of losing those two mutts was unbearable.

“They’re the only family we have. They stay.”

Jeremy chuckled
,
and the warmth traveled through the phone. “Okay. Hey, I gotta run. See you after work.” He paused as if listening for something. “You okay? You want to go out for pizza or something? See a movie?”

“No, I’m all right. I’d rather just
hang at the house with you, if that’s okay.”

He lowered his voice. “Sure. We could get really comfortable on the couch—a warm blanket, glass of wine, some romantic music
.
 
.
 
.
”

“Okay, I get the picture.” I found my face heating up again, like a teenager asked out on a first date by the cute guy on the football team. “Love you,” I said, my heart heavy and light at the same time.

“Same here. I mean, love you too.”

I held the phone in my hand a moment after Jeremy hung up. A rush of gratitude filled me
,
and a
hint
of peace. How could I feel so peaceful with my world crumbling? It made no sense. Then I thought of my mother and the hostility that
had
seeped through her voice when I confronted her about Shirley Hutchinson.
I shook my head in a sudden realization. I’d had no idea at the time what I was saying. Obviously, my mother must have thought I had discovered the truth about Neal’s paternity, when in actuality I was just implying I knew about my father’s affair. No wonder she’d nearly had apoplexy.

I
conjured
Neal’s irate expression and the way he
had
yelled at me in the parking lot in San Rafael, embarrassing Julie and
flinging accusations. That was all it took to wrench my gut in a knot.
Suddenly, the idea of moving to Montana or some other faraway place sounded ideal. What would I do if I accidentally ran into my mother while out grocery shopping? Or bumped into Neal at a gas station
?
Not that encounters like that were likely; the Bay Area was a huge place
,
and I lived plenty far enough away from them. But just knowing they were “out there” and that I had to drive through their neighborhood and possibly pass them on the freeway gave me a sense of claustrophobia. Maybe Jeremy had the courage to put on a brave face, a face that couldn’t care less
—
“
to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
,
”
as Eliot nicely stated—
but I didn’t think I had it in me. My inclination at that moment was to hide or run. I didn’t feel at all brave. Would I ever?

I fished a piece of paper out of my pants pocket and dialed Maher Engineering in Seattle.
After three rings, a woman answered. I asked her if Dave Lerner worked there and, to my surprise, he still did. Although he was
traveling on business, she
said she
would forward my message to him when he called in
, probably later that day, or perhaps tomorrow
.
My heart pounded in excitement. I told her it was urgent and gave my name, and specifically told her to say I was Nathan Sitteroff’s daughter. She assured me she’d let him know.

That bit of news lightened my mood. I went to the kitchen and pulled out ingredients for spaghetti sauce. Ground beef, green peppers, zucchini, eggplant, a big yellow onion, mushrooms. Jeremy loved my pasta concoctions. I checked the pantry and found a nice bottle of Napa Valley me
rlot. I felt a bit celebratory. Even though I incurred the wrath of my family, which sat as a constant dull pain in my gut, Jeremy was back home—unhurt and comfortable in my arms. Wasn’t that a fair trade-off?
How many years had Jeremy complained about my mother and put up with my defending her? I knew his current state of mind had little to do with winning me over to his side and feeling vindicated. Although, he
had
every right to say “I told you so.” Somehow he’d seen through my mother’s ruse and lies
, seen her true motives. Why had I been so blind? Even Anne had pointed it out so matter-of-factly to me. Did I just want to believe ever
yone was good and kind-hearted? Was I that naïve?

The phone rang, startling me out of my musings. I nearly dropped the wooden spoon into the frying pan. I waited for the machine to answer, but when I hear
d
Julie’s voice, I picked up.

“Hey,” I said. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever call me again. I’m so sorry about—”

Julie interrupted me. “That’s okay. Listen. I have something to tell you
.
 
.
 
.
and to ask of you, if you’d at least think about it.”

I
held
my breath. I knew she was going to ask me to call Neal for her.
No way
, I thought. She wants a relationship with her brother, she can figure it out. I just couldn’t take another round of bashing.

“Julie, I’d really like to help—”

“I spoke to Neal.” Julie let the words soak in. My heart pounded a little harder in my chest.

“
What happened?”

She cleared her throat
,
and I hear
d
a thickness in her voice, heavy with emotion. “It was a bit weird. When he answered, he got quiet. Just let me talk. I bungled through trying to explain the story—how my dad had that affair with your mom
and she got pregnant
. How my mother ended up moving in with your father before he died. All of that. He just listened and let me spill it all out.
I don’t know whether he believe what I said or not. He didn’t ask any questions. Except one.”

I waited, then asked. “What did he say?”

“He asked if I would take him to meet
his
father.”

I nearly dropped the phone. A dozen scenarios played through my mind—possible conversations Neal might have had with our mother.
Conversations
was the wrong word, no doubt. More like screaming, ranting arguments. I couldn’t picture my mother calming confessing to having had an affair with Ed Hutchinson and
, oh, just
forgetting
to tell Neal he had a father
living in California
all these years.
There was no way Ruth Sitteroff would have admitted the truth. So what had really happened? Did Neal just awake
n
with sudden realization that our mother was lying to him? What could have swayed Neal to this course?

The only thing that came to
my
mind was
Neal’s
deep-seated need for a father.
A need so intense that it would
claw
to the surface through any layer of lies to get air. No doubt, after the shock of Julie’s revelation at the coffee shop, the idea had festered in Neal’s heart. How could it not? For twenty-six years Neal had believed he was fatherless
, a lifetime spent watching his friends play ball with their fathers, and feeling the
absence keenly
. And now he had learned
that
a man
,
who lived not even two hours away
,
was his real father.
Had been, this whole time.
It had to irk him.

Julie spoke again. “I told him Ed has no idea. That I only found out three years ago
myself
. That your mother never told Ed Neal was his
son
.”

“How did he react to that?”

“Same
. Just got very quiet.”

“So what are you going to do? Take Neal to see Ed? What if Ed denies it all?
Have you thought of that possibility? Or maybe the shock of meeting Neal would kill him—in his state.”