Getting Old Is to Die for (10 page)

I nod. The librarian in me remembers it. "Wasn't his thesis that by positive thinking you can prevent and/or cure physical illness?"

"And his daughter Linda followed in his footsteps," Conchetta added.

Ida says, "Wait a minute, wasn't he considered some kind of crank?"

Conchetta nods. "Yes, there was a lot of controversy about his theories. I'll bet we have both their books here."

So when I leave, my book bag is even fuller. I now have a collection of the works of Drs. Harvard and Linda Silverstone to research.

But seeing my own name in the computer has upset me dreadfully. Once again my mind has been forced to think about the sadness in my past. And I hate it. When will I ever be free?

15

NEW YEAR'S EVE 1961

SISTERS

F
or a moment Emily thought she was crying snow. The tiny snowflakes touched her face and they mingled with her tears. She no longer felt the cold of the cement beneath her. She no longer felt anything. But she was aware of everything. As if she were sitting on a stage and a play was unfolding. It must have been--it couldn't be happening in her real life.

People exited and entered the stage. First were the neighbors, hurrying toward the alley. Peering in fearfully, then withdrawing, shocked and reaching for others for comfort. As if they were glad it wasn't them?

Emily felt something tickling her bare leg. She glanced down and saw her father's papers raised by the wind, drifting away. She shut the briefcase, thinking he'd be upset with her when he found out his notes were lost. From her vantage point she stared again at his feet pointed downward.
Why doesn't he get up?

One of their neighbors, Mrs. Brownstein from the ninth floor, was coming toward her. Emily shook her head frantically, her hands pushed out, demanding she keep away. The woman paused, then, teary-eyed, retreated.

The ambulance arrived, its red lights zigzagging across the near-darkened buildings. Grabbing their medical gear, the rescuers jumped out and ran into the alley. From out of nowhere a newspaper reporter appeared, carrying a huge Speed Graphic, snapping photos. The whites of the flash mingled with the reds of the ambulance.

Why doesn't my mother get up?
Emily asked herself, as she saw the men trying to lift her mother off her father's body. She became aware that her mother wore only a sweater.
She must be so cold. Like Daddy, so cold.

Her mother fought them, trying to shove the three young men away with what little strength she had. But they pulled her up easily and she lost her grip on Jack's coat.

The reporter moved close to her side and spoke softly, but her mother covered her ears in order not to hear his words.

The medical team was trying to determine if her father was still alive. Her mother could tell them that, Emily thought. Her mother knew everything about him, even to the way his breath sounded. But Emily could see his breath was gone. Her father was gone.

Why didn't her mother scream?

The reporter supported her mother and helped her out of the alley. It was then she saw Emily. She pulled away and ran to her daughter. Emily dragged herself up off the ground and fell into her arms. Both of them were shivering.

"He's dead. Daddy's dead." Her mother repeated the words over and over again.

Emily kept crying "No," as if trying to change what she knew she couldn't.

"What is it?" They heard a woman shriek. "What happened?"

Then the three of them, Evvie, Joe, and their daughter, Martha, huddled in their winter coats, were at their side, trying to take in what was going on. Seeing it all at once. Paramedics working over Jack. Gladdy and Emily clutching one another. Onlookers encircling them, but not too closely, as if death were something catching.

Joe looked down the alley, and then at Gladdy. "Oh, no, not Jack," he said. In the distance the police sirens were heard.

The sisters stared into one another's eyes.

It can't be,
Evvie's eyes said.

It is,
Gladdy said without a sound.

They never needed words with one another.

What was there to say? Gladdy's life, as she had known it, had just ended.

Cousin Martha, twelve years old and the image of her redheaded mother, stared at Emily, hardly understanding. Emily ran to her and hugged her. It was hard to do; Martha's arms were full of gaily wrapped birthday presents.

"Someone shot my father," she told her. Martha dropped the birthday presents and started to bawl.

Gladdy turned to the girls. "Emmy, please take your cousin upstairs."

Neither one could move.

Uncle Joe, a shock of thick black hair falling over his forehead, bent down. He was nose to nose with them, his voice gruff. "Did you hear your mother? Both of you--get out of here!"

They ran.

16

A MOTHER CALLS

A
lovely time is being had by all. The Gold/Levinson family and the Langford/Berman clan are just finishing dinner in the tasteful Amish-style dining room. Jack sits back, absorbing everything. They are in Emily and Alan's apartment, only five blocks from where his own daughter Lisa's family lives, on the west side of the city. The apartment is charming and cozy, filled with gentle clutter and comfortable, relaxing furnishings. He is not surprised. Emily has Gladdy's warmth and liveliness about her. The family interests abound. They like art and the walls are filled with original works of New York artists they favor. The den contains the family archives. Photos of Emily and Alan Levinson and their three daughters and one son skiing and snorkeling and hiking. Lots of travel snapshots. And family occasions like birthday parties. And Grandma Gladdy grins down at her children and grandchildren in many of them.

These are two fine families.
Hopefully,
Jack thinks,
someday soon both will be related by the marriage of us two oldsters.
And what a plus: They already like one another. All the kids seem to hit it off. Eleven-year-old Jeremy, especially, is in heaven, being at eleven-year-old Lindsay's house. Lindsay, with her curly reddish brown hair and face full of freckles, looking sweet in pink, has obviously dressed up for him.

Earlier, fifteen-year-old Patrick showed thirteen-year-old Jeffrey the cartoons he'd drawn. He hopes to make it big in that field. Jeffrey is impressed with this boy, two years older than he is, who already has career plans. The missing Levinson children are Elizabeth and Erin, twenty-one and nineteen, respectively, both away at college. Jack already knows about them--Gladdy boasted like a good grandma should--but he listens again patiently as the proud parents report that Elizabeth is majoring in dance, with a focus on ballet, while Erin is studying to be a vet.

The husbands immediately find they have much in common: Alan, a doctor; Dan, a lawyer. At one point they get into a spirited conversation about medical liability laws. The women have their careers to discuss, as well. Emily is a school counselor; Lisa is a clinical psychologist. They, too, have a lot to share with one another. There is much exchanging of war stories. Lots of good wine flowing. Laughter. A perfect evening.

Only one thing is missing: Gladdy. Her name comes up over and over with "I wish Mom were here," from Emily, and "I wish she were, too," from everyone else. And on all the adults' minds is the reason Jack is in New York.

Jack knows he will get hell from Gladdy when she finds out. How could he have done this without her? He feels plenty guilty about it. Not only has he arranged this behind her back, he hasn't even called to let her know. Even worse, he's already asked her family to keep his presence here a secret, making them all feel uncomfortable. It's left unsaid this evening, but all of them know how much is at stake.

The lemon chicken with wild rice is a big success, but Emily's homemade blueberry cheesecake is the topper. By the time they are having coffee, the kids are already immersed in the TV. Baby Molly sleeps sweetly in her carrier.

The phone rings. Emily, still laughing, goes into the kitchen to answer. From the dining room, they hear her say, suddenly loudly, "Mom. What a pleasant surprise."

All talking stops. They can all see her from where they are sitting. "How are you?" Emily asks.

"Just fine, that's good." Emily can tell she's lying. "I'm so glad you called, Mom. I was thinking of you tonight." Jack looks at her. Emily shrugs as if to say, well, aren't we, as a matter of fact.

"The kids? The kids are good." Emily blanches. She closes her eyes and says carefully, "I know they'd love to talk to you, but they have play dates over. Should I disturb them?"

Emily feels miserable. She knows the kids wouldn't be able to keep their secret. She gives Jack a woeful look. Jack bows his head. He's causing her family to lie for a man they hardly know.

"No, I'm not busy," Emily continues. "Just finishing dinner. I made my favorite one of your recipes, the lemon chicken....Yes, lots of onions.... I'm glad you called, Mom....I'll talk to you again in a few days."

Emily hangs up.

There's a chilly silence. Jack stands when she returns to the dining room. "I'm so sorry." Their discomfort is clear. "I think I'd better leave now."

Lisa and Dan get up, too.

Jack tries to stop them. "Please, no, stay. I don't want to spoil the party. Please."

Lisa insists, "Your grandchildren need their sleep."

A chorus of "No, not yet" comes from the happy, wide-awake kids in the living room.

There's an exchange of good nights.

Emily walks Jack to the door. She kisses him on the cheek. "My father was a hero. I think you're one, too."

Jack manages a weak smile and leaves.

17

FINALLY A LEAD

J
ack waits in the back of the Carnegie Deli on Seventh Avenue. It has always been a favorite of his even though the seats are cramped together and diners are forced to sit, practically touching shoulders, with total strangers. The aisles behind the seats are so narrow the waiters have to hang over the customers to serve them their meals. Sometimes a hot plate of food comes dangerously close to causing a calamity, but even though they are always moving fast, those waiters never miss. At least as far as he knows, they haven't.