The Memoir of Johnny Devine (36 page)

“
Fine,” John said. “I also
have nothing to hide.”

“
What is your relationship
with ‘D.M.’?”

Eliza froze.

John didn’t say a word. His stony expression
was impossible to read.

The agent scanned the contents of the folder
in his hand. “We have reports that you receive regular
correspondence from someone we suspect is actress Deborah
Marlow.”

No. This can’t be happening.

John stood silent.

God, make him tell them it isn’t true,
please …

“
Mrs. Marlow has admitted
to attending Communist Party meetings with her husband, Douglas
Kelley, and their lifelong friend, John Garfield. I ask again, are
you in regular contact with Deborah Marlow?”

John’s gaze remained fixed on the agent.

Heart breaking over his silence, Eliza held
herself still. His silence could only mean one thing: he still had
feelings for the woman and didn’t want to admit it in front of
Eliza.

“
Would you like me to
leave?” she whispered.

John shook his head, his eyes never leaving
the agent.

“
Do you refuse to answer
the question?” the agent asked.

John’s lips tightened. “Any communication
I’ve had with Mrs. Marlow does not concern this committee in any
way.”

Eliza couldn’t feel her
legs. So it was true. The letters
were
from Deborah.

The men spoke in low tones to each other,
then one turned to John. “We’ll need more than that.”

“
I’m sorry, but I am
obliged to say no more.”

“
You will be subpoenaed to
testify.”

“
I understand.”

Eliza’s heart sank. Was John withholding the
details of a political association, or a personal one? Was
protecting his relationship with Deborah worth facing a
Congressional hearing?

“
We will also be forced to
subpoena Mrs. Saunderson.”

John cast a pained glance at Eliza, then
squared his shoulders and faced the man for seconds that felt like
hours. “Fine. I’ll tell you the nature of my correspondence with
Mrs. Marlow if you will promise to leave Eliza out of this. Will
you give me your word?”

“
We can’t make any
promises until we’ve heard more.”

John stiffened.

Eliza stared at his profile, willing him to
turn and give her some assurance, but he didn’t.

“
Very well,” he said. “In
1948, I wrote letters to people I had harmed or wronged in some way
with my … reckless behavior in the past. Specifically, to ask for
forgiveness. I wrote a letter to Deborah Marlow to apologize for …
uh … compromising her marriage. She wrote back to tell me all was
forgiven, and … to ask for my forgiveness as well.” John’s jaw
tightened. He cleared his throat. “That’s when I learned she’d been
keeping a secret. Her daughter, who was seven years old at that
time, was not her husband’s child.” He closed his eyes. “She is, in
fact … mine.”

The room fell silent.

No … not again … no, this is a bad dream …
it has to be …

But she wasn’t dreaming. Once again, the man
in her life had given a child to the wrong woman.

She couldn’t breathe.

“
The girl is now twelve,
and both the child and Doug Kelley believe he is her father. Mrs.
Marlow believes it would be devastating to the child if the truth
were ever known. She made me promise not to tell a soul. For the
sake of the child, I was obliged to agree.”

The agents talked to each other at length,
but Eliza could only stare at him, numbed by the weight of this new
truth.

“
No one is ever to know,”
John said to the panel. “So I must ask you to keep this strictly
confidential. I beg of you, don’t destroy a little girl’s life by
leaking the truth. Please.”

The imploring tone in his voice crushed
Eliza.

John had a little girl.

He and Deborah Marlow, the woman Eliza had
suspected he loved, shared a child together.

“
So, all this time you’ve
been
lying
?”

John’s eyes closed.

“
The truth will prevail,
John? Aren’t you the one who said God will take care of me if I
tell the truth? You persuaded me to admit my family is Russian to a
bloodthirsty, anti-Soviet government committee, and all the while
you’ve been keeping a secret like
this
?”

“
Eliza,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry—”

“
For what? Getting caught
living a lie? For telling me to be honest and trust God when you
can’t even do that? Or doesn’t it apply to you? What other secrets
are you keeping—a wife? Maybe you were waiting for our honeymoon to
spring that on me?”

John turned to her with a haunted look.
“Eliza, please let me—”

“
And what about your book?
Is that all lies too?”
Yes, stupid girl.
You’ve been duped by a roving cheat. Again.

Eliza turned and ran.

“
Eliza, wait—”

“
One moment, Mr. Vincent,”
an agent said, his voice sharp. “In light of your relationship with
admitted communists, we need you to answer some more—”

Eliza left the room and kept going. She
crossed to the mezzanine and headed for the staircase in a daze.
She needed air, she needed—

She needed her world to stop caving in.

Eliza got off
the bus at the corner of 35th
and MacArthur and headed for home. But the thought of being
alone in her empty room made her want to curl up into a ball and
cry, so she passed her building and kept walking. She needed to
clear her head.

Humiliated not once, but twice. Because men
were animals.

Or maybe because you’re a gullible girl with
pitifully poor judgment.

Driven by a painful truth she didn’t want to
face, she lifted her chin and kept going, past the market, past a
tavern, keeping a brisk pace to stay ahead of the easterly breeze.
The few leaf-bearing trees lining the street were barren now,
braced for winter. The sun hid behind a dull haze, withholding its
warmth. Store windows enticed passersby with Christmas trees and
plastic snowmen, their colors faded from too many years on display.
A man was hanging a strand of Christmas lights in an insurance
office window.

Eliza walked faster.

She and John might have been married by
Christmas, if his secret not been forced out of him. When was he
going to tell her?

Or was he even planning to tell her at
all?

What a complete fool she
would have been then. Finding out John had been lying
after
the wedding would
have been far more humiliating. It was good that she found out now.
The pain and embarrassment would be short-lived with less
entanglement. It would serve as a valuable lesson to
her.

As Eliza neared Lucky’s, a whiff of grilling
onions and coffee turned her stomach. Too many times she had
ignored her hunger, too many times she had repressed her worries
about landing another job.

Worrying was like crying; it never solved
anything.

Passing the diner, she pressed on, her shoes
striking the sidewalk like the rapid ping of gunfire. Nothing had
changed. She was jobless again. And alone.

Are other women this gullible? Or am I the
only childless thirty-three-year-old with nothing to my name but an
ancient typewriter and a stack of dusty manuscripts?

Eliza’s gaze dropped to her left hand. The
ring twinkled cheerily in spite of the overcast skies. She kept
going, her blurry eyes fixed on the ground while she dodged
pedestrians and aimed to stay ahead of the heaviness bearing down
on her. A heaviness that threatened to squash the tender hope she’d
finally allowed to take root in her heart. There was no one who
could help shoulder this burden. Betty would never understand. No
one could. No one except—

Millie.

The kind, wise woman had heard only hints of
Eliza’s deepest struggles, and yet, somehow she understood and had
offered comfort and wisdom. If only Millie were …

Eliza’s eyes filled with tears so thick she
could barely see. She stopped at a barber shop window and pretended
to look inside, heart plummeting. With all that had happened in
such a short time, Eliza had completely forgotten about Millie.

She owed it to Millie to see her, no matter
what her state. And if Millie was still alive, Eliza needed to tell
her how much she meant to her.

She wiped her face and hurried to the
nearest bus stop.

By the time she arrived in west Oakland,
dusk had already settled over the city, as if winter’s encroaching
darkness could be held off no longer. Eliza got off the bus a few
blocks from St. Luke’s just as the streetlamps flickered to life.
She stood on a corner and took in her surroundings. It had taken
two buses to get to this place, far from her familiar neighborhood.
A shifting breeze tugged at her coat.

Something wasn’t right.

Eliza glanced over her shoulder, hairs on
her neck itching. This neighborhood was more neglected than hers,
but that wasn’t it. One of Millie’s hymns trailed across her
thoughts.

For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He
watches me.

Except this peculiar
sensation of being watched wasn’t like
that
. Shaking off the feeling, she
pulled her coat tighter and walked quickly toward the three-story
hospital.

The entrance must have been on a different
side of the building than where she was.

Eliza stepped off the sidewalk and into the
alley, hurrying through the dark patches between streetlamps.

God, please make Millie well. You must. She
trusts You so completely.

But would God listen to Eliza? Would He hear
the prayer of a woman who couldn’t bring herself to submit to His
rule, who struggled to decide if she believed Him?

What about the guilty woman and Christ’s
pardon? What about that quiet voice promising to change her if she
let Him?

A noise startled Eliza. She looked over her
shoulder.

The shadow of a man loomed toward her.

With a gasp, she walked faster but he caught
up with her. When they entered the circle of light beneath a
streetlamp, she saw his face.

Agent Robinson.

“
We meet
again.”

Her pulse
thudded in her ears. His being here was no
coincidence. How long had he been following her?

“
You no longer work for
the HUAC,” Eliza said, keeping her voice low to mask the tremor in
it. She backed away. “You have no business following me. Leave now
or I’ll call the police.”

“
You’re mistaken. I have a
job to do, and I intend to see it through. See, you commies think
you can come here and infiltrate our neighborhoods, influence us
with your brainwashing tactics. But you’re wrong. I knew exactly
what you were the first time I saw you.”

“
What am I?” She winced,
wishing she hadn’t asked, but wanting to keep him talking while she
thought of an escape.

His narrowed eyes flickered with contempt.
“A dirty rooskie spy.”

“
You’re wrong.” Eliza
trembled. “It’s too bad you weren’t at headquarters today when I
told the panel about my parents’ innocence. But since you no longer
work for the HUAC, it’s none of your business.”

“
Oh, I’m sure it was a
touching tale.” He stepped closer, bringing him near enough for
Eliza to see the fervor in his eyes. “Those scarecrows downtown
might have fallen for your little naive act, but I haven’t. I’ll
let you in on a secret. There aren’t many who can spot your kind.
And you’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m better.
Much
better.”

“
I’ve told you, I’m
neither a communist nor a spy. And you’re no longer part of the
investigation.” She met his steely gaze. “Actually, there
is
no investigation. My
case is closed, which you would know if you still worked there.”
What she had learned from meeting with the panel came rushing back.
“In fact, the new field director is reviewing all your case
files.”

The smugness drained from Agent Robinson’s
expression. “What would a scheming commie know about my case
files?” he said, his voice low.

Eliza tried to swallow,
but her throat felt
drier
than chalk. This was not a man she could reason
with. She mentally gauged the distance to the hospital, then turned
and ran.

Robinson closed the distance in seconds and
hooked her handbag, jerking her to a stop.

Eliza screamed.

He yanked on the purse,
causing her to spin around to face him. “I
know
what you are. You’re not going
anywhere until I have proof! I’ll get my job back
and
a commendation. And
you’ll get the chair!”

“
Help! Someone call the
police!” She tugged to get away, but her arm was caught in the
purse strap.

“
You’re
the one who’s going to jail. Give me the
bag!”

Dizzy from the adrenaline pumping through
her, she screamed again. “Help! Someone, help me!” She pulled away
as hard as she could.

“
You’ve got to have
something
!” He gave the
purse a jerk.

The handle snapped, and
Eliza sailed backward. With a dull
thwack
, she hurtled into cold
blackness.