In the Stacks Ch. 05

Monday morning breakfast found Penny flipping through the want ads while Marilyn perused the editorial sections, and then found a neat little article about the fire in the business section. She folded up the paper and laid it on the table with the article up.

"I normally don't mind making a little ink, but just not in this way," Marilyn replied.

Penny circled two or three ads, nodded at her, and then asked, "Marilyn, would you mind if I used you for a reference?"

"Not at all, feel free," Marilyn gestured and watched Penny's worried brow.

"Going job hunting today?" She asked.

"Yeah, I'll go home and dump out some resumes and start re-plastering them around. I imagine I can get some sort of sympathy hire out of the deal," Penny replied.

Marilyn nodded. "I still have to call Will, we sort of got distracted there in the shower."

Penny grinned happily and nodded. She then said, "apologize to him for me, would you, I was pretty short with him. He was sort of the last person on I expected to be calling at four in the morning."

"I'll be happy to do so. Will is used to my growling by this point. Hopefully I won't get the queen."

"Huh?" Penny asked.

"Will's housemate is a fairy of some sort. Effeminate man, heavy in theater and all that. I saw a production he was in once, and as an actor, he's brilliant, it's just that he's a serious swish," Marilyn said.

"You didn't tell me Will was gay." Penny said.

"He's not. Well I don't think he is. He's an engineer, and probably no woman would want to marry him except another engineer."

Penny looked at her suspiciously and then asked, "How long have they been living together?"

"I don't know, it was before Thomas's accident. Over twenty years I guess."

Penny coughed in a long, sarcastic manner.

"What?" Marilyn said, completely oblivious.

"I hate to break it to you, but you're son is as queer as a three dollar bill."

Marilyn looked at her coolly, and studied her freshly washed morning face, "and what, Miss Sherlock, led you to this deduction?"

"How big is their house?" Penny asked.

"This one is four bedrooms. They started out in a studio flat when Chris worked night shift, right after they were out of college," Marilyn said confidently.

"Okay, Marilyn, even money says he's queer," Penny said confidently.

Marilyn wrinkled her nose. She was not a betting woman, except when it was a sure thing. She knew her son well. "You're on. What's the wager?"

Penny pulled out the email offer to buy the story on the table, "a hundred bucks."

Marilyn arched an eyebrow, and replied, "I was thinking more of a ladies bet. You don't have that kind of money to toss around."

"I don't intend to loose," Penny said. "Then again, if I could spank your butt..."

"Ah, no. Let us make it dinner, okay? Winner picks the place, looser pays, nothing over a hundred bucks total."

Penny offered her hand, and Marilyn shook it.

"So what are you going to do without me all day?" Penny asked brightly.

"Work," Marilyn replied dryly. "I've got to go deal with the insurance people, and decide what to do. If it is Arson, the bookstore won't be covered."

"Even if you had nothing to do with it?" Penny said.

"I don't believe so, no. Arson is arson. I might be able to get something out of a total loss policy, but I doubt it. The store was self-sufficient. I bought it about ten years ago from a retired social worker for about sixty thousand dollars, and only a few months ago was showing a serious profit. It was more of a hobby business than anything else. It let me talk to people though. It gave me somewhere to go, something to do. It got me out of staying home and just writing all the time, which gets real old."

"I imagine so. Still, it's what I aspire to do, be a writer," Penny said.

"Writing is a lot more than actually writing, though. Its research, talking, and a lot of listening. A writer has to have a lot of tenacity, and believe in who they are, that what they have to say is important, and worth saying. Even in a genre, like erotica, the writer must be able to convey a whole story, not just a series of bizarre sex scenes."

"Not that there's anything wrong with a series of bizarre sex scenes, now is there?" Penny said, smiling.

Marilyn looked at her and rolled her eyes, "all right, you go peddle your papers. I have some work to do. I'll have to get to my safety-deposit box, and I may swing by and visit Thomas."

Penny said quietly, "maybe one of these days, um, you might introduce me?"

Marilyn looked at her.

"He's scarred pretty badly, Penny. A good chunk of his face is gone. Really there's not much left, but he's my husband, and I have a certain loyalty."

Penny swallowed, and asked her and then said, "and Will, do I get to meet him?"

"Considering you've already chatted on the phone, I don't see why not." Marilyn said.

"So here's the question," Penny said. She lowered her voice, and spoke clearly, and carefully, "will you tell him about us?"

Marilyn thought a moment. Then she replied, "Considering I don't know of any personal secretaries that answer the phone for their managers at four o'clock in the morning, I may be put into that position. I will probably omit the fact that you're young enough to be my granddaughter."

Penny smiled, "I needed to hear that. I haven't talked to my folks since we started seeing each other, but I will have no shame in doing so."

"I suggest, however, you do omit my age, at least to begin with. It's difficult enough dealing with a lesbian daughter, but with her lover older than Methuselah, well you get the idea."

"You're not that old," Penny scolded.

"Seventy two in May." She said, smiling warmly.

Penny looked at her, and said, "Really, Marilyn, I had no idea. I figured you were in your fifties."

"Considering Will is forty-six, I don't think that's possible."

Penny shrugged, to her it made no difference. She stood stretched, leaned over and kissed Marilyn on the cheek nuzzling her softly. Marilyn's weathered hands softly wrapped herself around the young flesh, and held Penny tight.

"An old woman could get used to having you around." She said softly.

Penny hugged her very tight, and felt so safe around Marilyn, as if she were the old woman needing comfort. Their tongues met in a soft kiss, and then Marilyn said, "off with you. Let me know how the job hunting goes."

"Should I come by later tonight?" Penny asked.

"Wouldn't be the same without you. Besides, you'll be buying me supper."

"Six?" Penny asked.

"Make it seven, I'm not sure how I'll be with the insurance people, or even if they will grant me an audience today. Give me a chance to freshen up."

"I really need some fresh clothes, too. I've been wearing these for like two days now." Penny said.

There was a long pause and Marilyn said softly, "perhaps you should bring a few things to leave here. I'm sure that you'll be in and out enough."

Penny's young saucer eyes were large and emotion filled.

"You mean that?"

"I mean, I'm sure you won't be here every night, but I'm sure over the next couple days I'll need some help with some things. I know your job finding takes priority, but I would appreciate any help you can give." Marilyn said. She had a quiet, serious tone in her face.

"So, like a couple of changes of clothing. I was thinking also if I brought my good interview clothing, I can schedule interviews Tuesday morning, if I was staying here tonight."

"That's my Penny, good critical thinking. We'll make a writer of you yet." Marilyn said, softly petting Penny's arm.

Penny's happiness was evident. She grabbed her dirty clothing and laptop from the guest room, and waved at Marilyn as she drove off.

Marilyn waved softly from the window and then sat on the couch for a moment, resting. In her mind, she had prioritized what she was to do, and about what time she was to do it in. Right now, her email needed attention

As she walked to her office, she wrote in her head the email to Will. She was going to thank him for calling, apologize for not calling yesterday, and then let him in on the inside joke about Penny thinking he was gay. He would get a kick out of that, she thought. Her son was such a masculine man, he could not possibly be a homosexual. He only let Chris live with him as a matter of sympathy. Perhaps, she thought, she should talk to him about kicking him out. Who knows what Chris would drag home, after all?

She booted up the computer and started to read the last three days of email. There was an interesting blurt of mail from the various electronic lists she subscribed to, and then an email link from another local small business owner to the local newspaper, The Columbian.

She clicked on the link, and found a large article about the arson, and other links on the page that took her to an article about Henry that the paper had written about his pizza parlor. She noticed that this linked article came through a search engine that used the paper's morgue. This fascinated her to no end, and figured out now she could search through news clippings online, and typed in her own name.

Only the grand re-opening of the bookstore popped up, and then this most recent story. She typed in Penny's name, and found nothing. She thought for a few moments, and then retyped in Henry's name.

Articles about him littered the paper. Every couple of years, Henry would enter the big chili cook-off competition, he would donate to little league baseball teams. He evidently was the small town boy that went off to college and came back to make good. He had owned a variety of businesses. Marilyn found his marriage to Theresa in the back articles and even the births of all of his children. At the beginning of the search, there was one article about Henry when he was twelve and apparently the captain of the all-star baseball team.

The story was not about baseball however. It was about another fire.

A barn fire, that happened on his father's property. Henry had nearly escaped with his life, when a lightening bolt struck the barn in a freak accident and set it afire. A fiery beam hit Henry square in the back, knocking him cold. His younger brother, Clifford rescued him, by lifting the beams up, burning his own hands, and freeing Henry. The article went on to describe both teens in stable care at St. Joseph's hospital. The article was dated July 10, 1952.

Marilyn sat back for a moment and tapped at her lips, re-reading it. She printed it out, and saved it to her local hard drive, creating a new folder entitled, "Henry" to her desktop. On a lark, she also saved all of the related articles about Henry's life as well.

She also searched for his brother, Clifford. He was another local boy done well. He owned an automotive shop off Highway ninety-nine. He too had a wife, and a couple of kids, and sponsored a soccer league as well. He spoke at the rotary and in every picture she saw of him, she saw his left hand, curled up, at his side. She wondered about this, and then proceeded to save those articles to her hard drive as well.

She thumbed through the remainder of the emails, getting finally to Will's.

She bit on her lips as she read it.

She could see the sincerity behind it, she could feel his love for Christopher. She smiled when he told her about how Chris made him laugh, and feel good about his life. She winced at his bad grammar and fought the editor in her to rip apart the writing.

Then she got to the part about Chris and Will in the Starbucks. About how they were minding their own business, holding hands, and people spitting at them through the window.

She swallowed her own saliva, and clicked on the, 'reply', button.

She did not write in her professional style, but more in the laid-back style of a mother who had just received a shock. Her note was quick, and simple. It read:

"Will—

I love you, and always will. I'm happy you have someone in your life, to share with. I have always worried about that. I still want grandkids, and think you will make someone a wonderful daddy. You have made me proud, son.

Love, Mom."

Marilyn sent it quickly, before she had a chance to change her mind. Despite all his effeminacy, Chris really was a good person, to stay by her son all these years. She resolved to think about him in a little bit better light.

With that out of the way, and the nine o'clock hour coming, she called her insurance agent and left a voice mail. She took her cell phone, got dressed properly, grabbed the Tennyson, Dickens, this time some Shakespeare instead of Melville, the book of Kipling, and went to see Thomas.

***

The whisper of the respirator greeted her as hey lay on the clean sheets. They always kept him immaculate here in his corner room. She paid extra for it, every month, to make sure he did not have to share a room. She did not bother to look at his chart this time, and merely sat to his left stroking his hand, and kissing his forehead. His left eye was still gone, his right eye closed tight. He looked unchanged from the last time she saw him.

She cried openly.

"I'm sorry, Thomas. I really am. I couldn't break it off. She's just so young, and it would crush her. I feel so horrible, and now, the bookstore is gone. I swear to you, my whole world is coming to an end, and yet, there she was, in my bed."

She babbled openly to him, describing the fire and Henry. She then spoke softly, "I got an email from Will today. I do not quite know how to tell you this, I'm sure it's a shock, but he is a homosexual. He and that Chris fellow that I have been telling you about, apparently they have been together for quite a while now. I know this is hard to swallow, Thomas, but really, he seems so happy, and gay."

She realized that she had made some sort of joke and nudged him with her elbow. "Get it? Happy and gay? Okay, okay, I know it is a bad joke, but still. Will said that I should be looking for a wedding invitation in the mail of some sort. Maybe I'll take Penny, oh wouldn't that set a cat amongst the pigeons." She smiled, nudging him.

"Thomas, I love you, and I always will. I have been faithful to you, until now, so please, try to allow me this indiscretion. It has been so long since anyone had held me or touched me. I'm an old woman, and I need love and affection too. Penny is so bright, so beautiful. She is an incredible person. I think you would like her a lot, I think. In some ways, she reminds me of you, with those big, innocent eyes, wanting to explore life, and live it to its' fullest. I remember when you picked me up at the airport in Paris in forty-five, we declared we would explore all of France, and by god, we did.

She has that same drive, that same desire. She wants to write, and to include history with her writings, to create a world, that people can come to and be safe in. I remember when I started teaching, you would ask me what I had imparted into their little minds today."

Her tears flowed, but not of sadness, not of sorry, but of happiness.

"I remember teaching little Will how to use chopsticks, and how the other kids made fun of him because he wasn't Thai, and then when we came back to Boston, how the other kids made fun of him because he was so tan. We have shared so much of our lives, is it wrong to want to have someone to share your life with? I hope not. Please, Thomas, do not hold it against me. I beg of you."

Her only reply was the sound of the respirator, its smooth even movements providing his lungs with its sixteen respirations a minute for many years now. She watched the arm inside of its' clear cylinder like an external lung.

She opened the Tennyson and read to him for nearly a half hour. She wasn't sure that she was giving him some sort of penance, but felt better, especially once she read him a passage from Romeo & Juliet. Inside, despite her fair performance, her heart was elsewhere. Her guilt mounted, and she read him an incredibly long series of passages from Dickens, and then Kipling.

Softly, she kissed his hand, and softly stroked what little hair he had left.

She bade him good-bye, and walked out of the room.

A few moments later, Thomas's right eye snapped open, and moved wildly around the room, attempting to scan anything that it could find as a recognizable object. As the cornea had become a cataract, only different layers of grays, whites, and blacks were identifiable.

As quickly as it opened, it closed again, and a single, solitary tear ran out the right side tear duct.

***

When Marilyn turned on her cell phone in the parking lot, it went off. The insurance agent affirmed the worst. Arson was not covered. She thanked him politely and was determined to find the underlying cause of this matter, only one man knew the complete truth, and that man was Henry Peterson.

Marilyn drove to the Clark County Jail where Henry was being held pending a bail trial. She requested to see him. She had to be on a specific list in order to see the prisoner, and as she was not on this list, she couldn't see him. All she had to do was get approval from the prisoner to get on the list. Of course, since she wasn't able to see him to obtain this permission, it was rather a roundabout method of doing things.

The situation was absurd, and the Deputy agreed to ask Henry for her if she could to see him. She would be by sometime tomorrow. The Deputy promised her that it would get to him today, and then cautioned her that she would be thoroughly searched.

Marilyn smiled and told the clear that she hadn't been frisked in ages, and was looking forward it. Both of them got a good laugh over it, and she said she would see him tomorrow.

She drove out of downtown, and took St. James down past the small community of Minnehaha into Hazel Dell, and unincorporated area like Orchards. Here was a small, locally owned home improvement center that had helped her make the shelves from her bookstore.

She went wandering amongst the aisles, having an idea as to what she was looking for, for two very distinct projects. She ended up getting, among other things, two sets of blocks and tackle, a sheet of plywood cut in half, door hinges, doweling of various diameters, screw hooks, screw eyes, and a healthy amount of nylon rope.

The sheets of plywood she had to use the rope to strap across the roof, and then started to head back to her house, moving slowly. As she cruised the long strip of stores that was Highway Ninety-nine, the heart of Hazel Dell, she caught sight of a store that triggered something in her head. It was an automotive story whose large sign read, "Peterson's Parts". She pulled carefully in. It was just after ten in the morning, and the store had just opened.

She walked in, heard the tinkling of a bell above the door, and felt a twinge of nostalgia, wanting her old store back. In the front of the store were empty cashier stands, and toward the back, two men were talking to each other. One looked remarkably like Henry, the other's man, considerably older. He held one hand inward, to his body.

The older man smiled at her politely and walked out from the counter. He wore a name badge that read, "Cliff" and was gregarious in tone and said, "how may I help you, ma'am."

Marilyn thought for a moment, and then decided to go with the direct approach.

"Clifford Peterson?" She asked.

"Yes ma'am, that's me. My store and I have been here for thirty years, serving the fine folks of Clark County and beyond."

"I'm a friend of your brother's. My name is Marilyn."

Cliff looked at her darkly.

"If you're a reporter, get out of here."

"I'm not," she said, re-introducing herself. "My name is Marilyn Marshall. I owned the bookstore next to your brother's pizzeria."

He looked at her softly, "so you're his girlfriend?"

"Most certainly not," Marilyn snapped.