Breaking the Silence (29 page)

He reached for the phone.

Bethany answered almost instantly.

“Want to go out Saturday night?” he asked. “I promise not to say the
E
word or the
L
word. And I’ll use lots of
B
words.”

Bethany laughed, and he felt momentarily back in control.

“Not this weekend,” Bethany said. “I’m going to be out of town.”

Alone, he wondered, or with the guy she was sleeping with?

“How about next Saturday?” he asked.

There was a pause. “Are you getting yourself straightened out, Dylan?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t think he sounded too convincing, but she bought it.

“That’s good,” she said. “Well, okay then. I’ll see you next Saturday.”

He got off the phone, worried that he’d lied to her. It was true that, right this minute, he felt straightened out. Five minutes ago, no. And ten minutes from now was anyone’s guess.

T
HEY DROVE TO
B
ALTIMORE IN
L
AURA
’
S CAR
. D
YLAN LISTENED
as Laura described the afternoon’s arrangements to Emma: she would drop them off at the aquarium, go to the library for a few hours and come back to pick them up. Emma, as usual, kept her reaction to herself, and Dylan was not certain she understood the plan. He wondered if there would be a scene when they reached the aquarium.

Apparently, Laura was concerned, too. She pulled up to the entrance of the Baltimore Aquarium and stopped the car. “Don’t know if this is going to work,” she said to Dylan under her breath.

Dylan turned to look at Emma in the back seat. “Okay, Emma,” he said. “Mom is going to the library and you and I will stay here and visit the fish. How’s that sound?”

Emma looked at Laura, who nodded. “You’re gonna love it,” Laura said as she stepped out of the car.

Emma unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the car herself. Dylan met Laura’s look of surprise.

“How long do you need?” he asked Laura.

“I’ll meet you back here at three, if that’s all right,” she said.

Emma had already started walking toward the entrance to the aquarium.

“Do you think she understands that you’re not coming with us?”

“Hey.” Laura grinned. “She’s mute, not stupid.”

“Well, take your time, then,” Dylan said, his confidence about this outing growing. “And good luck.”

He caught up to Emma, making his hand available to her without demand, but she kept her own hands at her sides. After he paid their admission, they walked inside the beautiful, triangular-shaped building.

“What shall we look at first?” he asked as they stood in front of the map of the aquarium.

She pointed to the picture of a dolphin.

“Okay, but the dolphin show isn’t for a half hour,” he said. “Want to see a really amazing fish tank while we’re waiting?”

She nodded, and they spent the next half hour on the ramp inside the enormous cylindrical aquarium with its abundance of sea creatures.

The afternoon went without a hitch. Emma was crazy about fish, the way her mom was crazy about stars. She might be a mute child, he thought, but he would never describe her as an unhappy child. The dolphin show made her clap her hands. The puffins made her giggle. And at each fish tank they passed, she stopped to press her face against the glass to study the inhabitants more closely.

The only snag in the entire afternoon came halfway through the dolphin show, when Emma began squirming in her seat. It took him a while to realize that she had to go to the bathroom. He had not discussed that potential problem with Laura. He couldn’t go into the ladies’ room with her, and he didn’t want to take her into the men’s room. Finally, he collared
a woman who was taking her own daughter into the ladies’ room and asked if she would keep an eye on Emma while she was there. Emma returned to him unscathed, skipping, heading for the sharks.

They were about to visit the hands-on learning center when Dylan heard someone call his name. He turned to see a woman sitting on a bench across from the learning center entrance. Her dark hair was very short and she wore oval-shaped glasses. He recognized her as someone he’d dated years ago but could not remember her name.

“Hi,” he said. “Are you here with your kids?” He hoped he was right in guessing she had more than one.

“Yes. They’re in there.” The woman pointed to the learning center. “And who’s this?” She smiled at Emma.

“This is my daughter, Emma.” He rested his hand lightly on Emma’s back, wondering how she felt about being referred to so casually as his daughter. “Emma, this is…”

“Lynn.” The woman quickly filled in the blank. “It’s definitely been a while,” she acknowledged. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.” She leaned forward. “Hi, there, Emma. You sure do look like your daddy, don’t you?”

Emma sidled close to him, the way she would with Laura when she felt insecure, and his heart nearly burst at that simple display of trust. He shifted his hand to her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Have you been in the hands-on center yet?” Lynn tried again. “They have a very cool hermit crab in there.”

Emma only stared at her.

“Shy?” Lynn asked him.

He thought of simply nodding, but what good would it do Emma to know he was lying about her? “No, she’s not shy at all, actually,” he said. “But she’s stopped talking for a while. When she’s ready, she’ll start again.”

Lynn looked puzzled. “I see,” she said.

“Well.” Dylan looked toward the enclosure. “I think we’ll see what’s inside. Nice seeing you, Lynn.”

“You, too, Dylan. Have fun. And,” she added, “you have a truly adorable daughter.”

The librarian guided Laura to the microfilm collection and showed her the drawers containing ancient copies of the
Washington Post
.

“Is there an index?” Laura asked, pulling out one of the huge drawers, filled end to end with microfilm reels.

“Not for newspapers before 1972, I’m afraid,” the woman said.

“Whew.” This would take longer than she’d expected. She pulled out a few reels from the late fifties and sat down in front of one of the large microfilm readers.

During the past few days, Laura had spent her spare time trying to track down Joe and Jane Tolley. She’d called the state libraries in Maryland, Virginia and the District, attempting to learn what long-term care institutions had been in existence at the time of Joe’s hospitalization. She got the names of several, but a few more phone calls quickly told her that those old medical records were no longer in existence. She would have to find another avenue for her search.

In the local public library, she found a book describing ways to track down people, which told of a computer database containing death records. She checked the database for both Joseph and Jane Tolley, and found one of each name on the list, but their birth dates were far off the mark. It looked like both Joe and Janie were still alive.

She found a person on the Internet who claimed to be able to locate anyone. He immediately berated her, via e-mail, for
not having Joe or Jane’s social security numbers, but Laura could think of no way to obtain them. Joe’s birthday might be May 3, she said. Around 1930. She remembered Sarah mentioning that Janie had been born in April 1958. The people-finder did not sound hopeful, but he said he would get back to her shortly.

Within a few hours, he contacted her again. Joseph James Tolley had been born May 3, 1930, in Washington, D.C., he told her in his e-mail message. Jane Elizabeth Tolley had been born on April 8, 1958, in Maryland.

Laura was excited at first but quickly sobered. How would that help her find them now?

Did she have any other information on them? the researcher asked. An occupation, perhaps?

That’s when Laura remembered that Joe had written for the
Washington Post
. Maybe the
Post
would offer some clues as to what had happened to him. But this search through the old
Posts
, page by tiresome page, was making her eyes glaze over, and her mind drifted back to the aquarium.

How strange it had been, watching Dylan and Emma walk away together. She remembered all the times she’d seen Emma and Ray walking together, Emma holding Ray’s hand. She hadn’t seemed interested in holding Dylan’s, but neither had she looked back at Laura for reassurance as she walked off with him. Dylan had a brisker, lighter step than Ray, and he chatted with Emma as he walked. His mind was on her, instead of on the next chapter of his book.

Maybe Emma had to hold Ray’s hand to remind him she was there.

A few days ago, Laura had sat behind the two-way mirror, watching Heather Davison attempt to talk with Emma, who
was too absorbed in her drawing to bother with the therapist. She pressed hard with the crayons on a sheet of paper, her tongue held between her lips in total concentration.

“I know you’ve been talking to Sarah,” Heather said.

Emma slipped the crayon she was using into the box and took another one.

“Would you talk to me, too?” Heather asked.

Shaking her head, Emma continued drawing.

“I guess Sarah must be an easy person to talk to,” Heather said.

Emma lowered her head very close to the paper, pressing hard with her crayon. Suddenly she sat back in her chair, holding the paper in the air, and Laura smiled when she saw the picture of a hot air balloon. The enchantment of the sunset balloon ride was still lingering in Emma’s mind.

Emma jumped from her chair and rooted through the box of dolls in the corner of the room. Pulling one of the male dolls from the box, she held it against the basket of the balloon and pranced around the room, taking both drawing and doll on a graceful, fanciful flight.

Joseph Tolley
.

It was a byline, the first of his she’d come across, and she shifted her attention back to the microfilm. She devoured the article, hungry to feel in touch with him, even from this distance of many years. Suddenly, the papers were filled with articles by him, many of them on the editorial pages. One eye on her watch, Laura raced through them. Joe did indeed have a sensitive and creative approach to his subjects. Reading his words, knowing how alive, how bright and sharp-witted he had been when he wrote them, Laura was saddened by the thought of his destruction.

There was one article about Joe himself, written in November 1959. Journalist Suffers Breakdown, the headline read. Laura scanned it quickly.

Laura made a copy of the article, then turned off the machine. She stared at the blank screen for several minutes, trying to pull herself back to the present. Yet as she left the library for the drive to the aquarium, her thoughts and her sympathy were still with Joe Tolley.

A
LTHOUGH SHE
’
D BEEN EXPECTING
S
TUART
, L
AURA STILL FELT
a jolt when she opened the door to find him standing in the front porch light. There was so much of Ray in his face. He even stood with the same slight slouch.

“Hi, Stu,” she said as he walked into the living room carrying his overnight bag. She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

Stuart looked at his watch. “Is Emma in bed already? I was hoping I’d get here in time to see her.”

“I tucked her in about half an hour ago, and for once she seems to have zonked out immediately,” she said. “You can see her tomorrow.”

Stuart looked tired from the drive. He was getting too old to traipse all over the East Coast selling textbooks, she thought.

“The guest room’s made up for you,” she said. “Have you had something to eat? Do you want to go right to bed?” That would disappoint her. He was here to help her think through what she could say on those talk shows, and the sooner she had that under control, the sooner she could relax about it.

“I ate on the road,” he said, “and I’m not really tired. Let me just put my bag in the guest room and wash up a bit, and
then I’ll be ready to go to work. I’ll have to leave tomorrow afternoon, so the more we get done tonight, the better.”

She made a pot of decaf and set it and a plate of brownies on the coffee table while Stuart was in the bathroom. He came into the room with a notepad, and she picked up one of her own from the desk in the corner.

“Okay,” Stuart said as he sat on the sofa. “Let’s talk about Ray.”

They began listing the questions she might be asked, brainstorming ways to address Ray’s suicide so that he could not be easily discounted as a mentally ill fanatic. It was great having Stuart there. Although Laura certainly knew about Ray’s altruistic pursuits during the past ten years, Stuart knew those dating back to his childhood.

After they’d been talking for nearly an hour, Laura heard the crunch of gravel in the driveway. Peering out the window, she saw Dylan’s van. She had not been expecting him, especially not at nine-thirty at night, and his timing was terrible. Yet, her heart made a small leap at the sight of the van.

She excused herself from Stuart and opened the front door.

“Hope you don’t mind my stopping by,” Dylan said as he walked up the porch steps. “I was in the neighborhood…well, sort of…and—” He spotted Stuart sitting on the couch. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m interrupting.”

“Come in and meet Stuart.” Laura stepped back to let him in. “He’s Ray’s brother. Emma’s uncle.”

Stuart stood up, and the two men shook hands.

“Stuart, this is Dylan Geer,” Laura said. “Emma’s birth father. Remember I told you about him?”

“Ah, yes.” Stuart smiled.

“Listen,” Dylan said, holding a thick cardboard folder in front of her. “I don’t want to intrude, but I was visiting a friend a few miles from here, and he gave me this. He works at the
D.C. office of the
New York Times
and he owed me a favor. So I asked him to see what he could find out about the mind control experiments, and he copied a bunch of articles from a variety of sources for you. I haven’t had a chance to go through them yet. I thought you might like first crack at them.”

“Wow.” Laura took the heavy folder from him. “Thanks so much,” she said. “And thank your friend.” Glancing at Stuart, she wondered how to handle the social situation. “Stuart and I are discussing what I should say on the talk shows, but we can take a break, can’t we, Stu? Would you like a cup of coffee and a brownie, Dylan?”

“No, thanks,” Dylan said. “It sounds like you guys are into something that shouldn’t be interrupted.”

“I think he should stay,” Stuart said quickly. “He can be our audience, if he’s willing. Maybe he can be more objective than we are. Tell us what to include and what to leave out.”

Laura looked at Dylan. “It might bore you,” she said.

“I don’t think so,” Dylan said. “I’d like to hear about Ray.”

“Have a seat, then. I’ll get another cup.”

From the kitchen, she heard Stuart ask, “So what’s this about mind control experiments?”

“Oh,” Dylan said, “Laura’s been visiting an elderly woman who worked in a psychiatric hospital where they might have been doing research on mind control.”

Laura walked into the room with the third cup.

“You’re still seeing that Sarah woman?” Stuart asked, disapproval evident in his voice.

“I have to, Stuart,” she said. “I think she really counts on my visits now.” She looked at Dylan. “It upsets Stuart that I’m involved with Sarah because Ray had asked me not to see her. He was afraid it would take my time away from him and Emma.”

“Whose wishes do you think a woman should put first, Dylan, her husband’s or her dead father’s?” Stuart asked.

“Uh…” Dylan laughed uncomfortably. “I think I’d better stay out of this one.”

“It wasn’t that simple,” Laura said to Stuart as she took her seat again. “I wish you understood that.”

“I think Ray was right, though,” Stuart said. “You have a habit of getting obsessed with your projects, and it looks like you’ve gotten yourself obsessed with this Sarah woman, just as he’d been afraid you would. That’s why he killed himself.”

“Oh, Stuart, there were many reasons why he killed himself.” She felt torn between anger and guilt.

“You can’t deny that your father’s request precipitated it,” Stuart said.

“I don’t know
what
precipitated it.”

Dylan leaned forward and rested his hand on her arm, the gesture at once comforting and electrifying. “Don’t do that to her,” he said to Stuart. “Even if Laura’s visit to Sarah was the trigger, Ray’s suicide was not her fault. Don’t pin that on her.”

Tears welled up in Laura’s eyes, more at Dylan’s defense than Stuart’s accusation.

“I don’t mean to say it’s Laura’s fault,” Stuart backpedaled.

“That’s what it sounded like,” Dylan said.

“Enough, you two.” She tried to smile. “It’s in the past. And in a few weeks I’ve got to sit next to Oprah and tell her all about Ray. So can we get back to work, please?”

Dylan let go of her arm and sat back in his chair, unsmiling. He was so damned good-looking, even wearing that sober, ready-to-fight expression on his face. Laura felt sorry for Stuart. He was coming to his brother’s home to see his brother’s wife and daughter, and here this good-looking and considerably younger interloper was criticizing him. Yet, he’d certainly asked for it.

Stuart pretended to interview her, and although she felt awkward having Dylan present as she sang Ray’s praises, she soon found herself caught up in the nobility of her late husband’s life and the sadness that his death came too soon, before the publication of the book that had been his passion for so many years. She talked about the employment programs he’d created to find jobs for the homeless, the one-on-one work he’d done with mentally ill street people, teaching them how to get food and groom themselves. She described the food and clothing drives and the training of volunteers to work in the shelters. And she talked about the programs Ray would set up for the homeless each Christmas, leaving out the fact that, two Christmases ago, he’d collected truckloads of gifts for homeless children and forgotten to get a single thing for Emma.

She sank back into her chair when Stuart announced he had no more questions. “You’ll knock ’em dead on
Oprah
,” he said.

Dylan set his empty coffee cup on the end table. “Sounds like Ray was some kind of guy,” he said.

“He was,” Laura agreed.

“Are you feeling more confident?” Stuart asked her.

“Definitely.” She truly did.

“Well.” Dylan stood up. “I need to hit the road.”

“Take a brownie for the trip.” Laura pointed to the few remaining brownies on the plate, and Dylan picked up one of them and wrapped it in a napkin.

“Nice meeting you, Stuart,” he said.

“And you.” Stuart got to his feet.

Laura walked Dylan onto the front porch, where he turned to her, the polite facade gone from his features.

“Don’t listen to him, okay?” he said. “He obviously worshiped his brother and needs to make some sense of his death. But it doesn’t do any good to assign blame.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad you were here.”

He smiled and ran his hand down her arm. “Why don’t you say good-night to ol’ Stu there and tuck yourself into bed with that folder of goodies.”

“I will. Thanks.” She stood on the porch and watched him drive away, and she was still standing there long after the sound of the van was replaced by the buzz of cicadas.

She did as Dylan had suggested and took the folder to bed with her. It was filled with newspaper and magazine articles from the seventies, when the magnitude of the mind control experiments finally came to light. There had been a congressional hearing in 1977 to uncover the depth of the abuses on unwitting subjects. The hearing led to legislation designed to protect patients through drug regulation and the requirement of informed consent.

But back in the fifties, few safeguards had existed. Although mind control research involving psychiatric patients had been illegal in the United States, there had been no such restrictions in Canada, and the United States government had funded research on patients at the Allan Memorial Institute in Montreal. Dr. Peter Palmiento desperately wanted to be involved in this research, but since he practiced in the United States, he could not get official sanction from the government to do so. Nevertheless, some government officials were so obsessed with discovering the secrets of mind control that Palmiento was able to get their covert support for his research. He considered himself a groundbreaking pioneer in the field, but the articles described him as a “rogue physician” who eventually wound up a psychiatric patient himself. That outcome made Laura chuckle. Sarah had diagnosed him correctly in her first meeting with him. Palmiento died in 1968, the articles said. Laura could find no mention of his intern.

She was tired by the time she reached the last article in the folder. It had been written in 1977 and appeared in a Lake Tahoe paper, and she read through it, quickly at first, then again, more slowly. The style of writing was strangely familiar. She looked at the byline. John Solomon. Solomon obviously had an ongoing column in the paper, complete with his picture. Laura held the picture closer to her night table light. It couldn’t be, she thought. Her mind was playing tricks on her. John Solomon bore a striking resemblance to the man in the framed photograph of Joe Tolley in Sarah’s apartment. But that was impossible, and Laura’s memory of that photograph was sketchy at best. Also, Solomon’s report on the mind control experiments was completely objective, with no indication of any personal involvement.

Still, Laura set the article on her night table, and when she finally fell asleep, the picture of the author haunted her dreams.