Nighttime Is My Time: A Novel (9 page)

Jean watched as Mark Fleischman's face brightened with a pleased smile at the obvious sincerity of Sam Deegan's praise.

He was so quiet as a kid, she thought. He was always so shy. I never would have guessed that he'd end up a television personality. Was Gordon right that Mark became a psychiatrist specializing in adolescents because of his own problem after his brother's death?

"I know you grew up here, Mark. Do you still have family in town?" Alice Sommers asked.

"My father. He's never moved from the old homestead. Retired, but does a lot of traveling, I gather."

Jean was startled. "At dinner, Gordon and I were talking about the fact that none of us has roots here anymore."

"I don't have roots here, Jean," Mark said quietly. "I haven't been in touch with my father in years. Although he clearly must realize from all the publicity about this reunion and the fact that I'm here as one of the honorees, I haven't heard from him."

He caught the note of bitterness that had crept into his voice, and was ashamed of it. What made me open up like that to two perfect strangers and to Jeannie Sheridan? he wondered. I'm supposed to be the listener. "Tall, lanky, cheerful, funny, and wise, Dr. Mark Fleischman" was how they introduced him on TV.

"Perhaps your father is out of town," Alice suggested softly.

"If he is, then he's wasting a lot of electricity. His lights were on last night." Mark shrugged, then smiled. "I
am
sorry. I didn't mean to pour out my soul. I came barging over here because I wanted to congratulate Jean on her remarks at the podium. She was sweet and natural and thankfully made up for the antics of a couple of our fellow honorees."

"And so did you," Alice Sommers said heartily. "I thought Robby Brent was absolutely out of order and that Gordon Amory and Carter Stewart sounded downright bitter. But if you're going to congratulate Jeannie, be sure to mention how lovely she looks."

"I seriously doubt that with Laura up there, anybody noticed me," Jean said, but she realized how pleased she was by Mark's unexpected compliment.

"I'm sure everyone noticed you and would agree you look lovely," Mark said as he stood up. "I also wanted to be sure to tell you that it's been good to see you again, Jeannie, in case we don't get a chance to visit tomorrow. I'll go to Alison's memorial service, but I may not be able to stay for the brunch."

He smiled at Alice Sommers and extended his hand to Sam Deegan. "I've enjoyed meeting you. Now I see a couple of people I want to catch in case I miss them in the morning." With long strides he was across the room.

"That man is very attractive, Jean," Alice Sommers said emphatically. "And it's obvious that he has an eye for you."

But that may not be the only reason he dropped by, Sam Deegan thought. He'd been watching us from the bar. He wanted to know what we were talking about.

I wonder why it was so important to him.

23

The Owl was almost out of the cage. He was separating from it. He could always tell when total separation was taking place. His own kind, gentle self—the person he might have become under different circumstances—began to recede. He heard and saw himself smiling and joking and accepting the kisses on the cheek from some of the women in the reunion group.

And then he slipped away. He could feel the velvety softness of his plumage when, twenty minutes later, he sat in the car waiting for Laura. He watched as she slipped out the back entrance of the hotel, taking care to look around and avoid running into anyone. She had even been smart enough to wear a hooded raincoat over her gown.

Then she was at the car door, opening it. She slid onto the seat beside him. "Take me away, honey," she said laughing. "Isn't this fun?"

24

J
ake Perkins stayed up late to write his report about the banquet for the
Stonecroft Academy Gazette
. His home on Riverbank Lane looked over the Hudson, and he valued that view as he valued few things in his life. At age sixteen he already considered himself something of a philosopher as well as a good writer and a keen student of human behavior.

In a moment of profound thinking, he had decided that the tides and currents of the river symbolized to him the passions and moods of human beings. He liked to get that kind of depth into his news stories. He knew, of course, that the columns he wanted to write would never get by Mr. Holland, the English teacher who was the adviser and censor of the
Gazette
, but to amuse himself, Jake wrote the column he wished he could print before he got down to the one that he'd submit.

The somewhat shabby ballroom of the stuffy Glen-Ridge House was somewhat brightened with blue and white Stonecroft banners and centerpieces. The food was predictably dreadful, beginning with what passed for a seafood cocktail followed by filet mignon done to a crisp, yet only slightly warm, pan-roasted potatoes that could have been lethal weapons, and wilted string beans almondine. Melted ice cream with chocolate sauce completed the chefs attempt at gourmet dining.

The townspeople supported the event by turning out to honor the graduates, all of whom were once residents of Cornwall. It is generally known that Jack Emerson, the chairman and driving force behind the reunion, has a purpose behind his effort not connected with embracing his fellow classmates. The banquet was also the kickoff for the building project at Stonecroft, a new addition that will be erected on land presently owned by Emerson and built by the contractor acknowledged to be in Emerson's pocket.

The six honorees were seated at the dais together with Mayor Walter Carlson, Stonecroft president Alfred Downes, and trustees…

Their names don't matter in this version of the story, Jake decided.

Laura Wilcox was the first to receive the Distinguished Alumna medal. Her gold lame dress had most of the men in the assembly unaware of what she was babbling, something to the effect of how happy her life had been in this town. Since she had never come back and since no one could ever picture the glamorous Ms. Wilcox strolling down Main Street or stopping by for a tattoo at our recently opened tattoo emporium, her remarks were greeted with polite applause and a few whistles.

Dr. Mark Fleischman, psychiatrist and now television personality, gave a low-key, well-received address in which he cautioned parents and teachers to build up their kids' morale. "The world will be happy to beat them down," he said. "It's your job to make them feel good about themselves even while you give them appropriate limits."

Carter Stewart, the playwright, gave a two-level speech in which he said he was sure that the townspeople and the students who have become prototypes for many of the characters in his plays were present at the banquet. He also said that contrary to Dr. Fleischman's remarks, his father believed in the old chestnut that to spare the rod was to spoil the child. He then thanked his late father for having been that kind of parent because it gave him a dark view on life which has served him well.

Stewart's remarks were greeted with nervous laughter and little applause.

Comedian Robby Brent broke up the audience with his vividly funny imitation of the teachers who were always threatening to fail him, which would have caused him to lose his scholarship to Stonecroft. One of those teachers was present and smiled gamely at Brent's merciless parody of her gestures and mannerisms and dead-on imitation of her voice. But Miss Ella Bender, the rock of the mathematics department, was close to tears as Brent devastated the audience with a perfect parody of her high-pitched tone and nervous giggle.

"I was the last and dumbest of the Brents," Robby concluded. "You never let me forget it. My defense was humor, and for that I thank you."

He then blinked his eyes and puckered his lips exactly as President Downes blinks his eyes and puckers his lips, and handed him a check for $1, his contribution toward the building fund.

Then, as the audience gasped, he yelled, "Just kidding," and waved a check for $10,000, which he ceremoniously handed over.

Some in the audience thought he was sidesplittingly funny. Others, like Dr. Jean Sheridan, were distressed by

Brent's antics. She was later overheard telling someone that she did not believe humor should be cruel.

Gordon Amory, our cable television czar, was next to speak. "I never made any team I tried for at Stonecroft," he said. "You can't imagine how hard I prayed that I'd get just one chance to be a jock—which proves the old adage, 'Be careful what you pray for. You may get it.' Instead I became a television addict, then began analyzing the stuff I was watching. Before long, I realized I could tell why some programs or specials or situation comedies or docudramas worked and why others were worthless. That was the beginning of my career. It was founded on rejection, disappointment, and pain. And, oh yes, before I leave, let me set a rumor to rest. I did not deliberately set fire to my parents' home. I was smoking a cigarette and did not notice after I turned off the television and went up to bed that the live butt had slipped behind the empty pizza box my mother had left on the couch."

Before the audience had time to react, Mr. Amory then presented a check for $100,000 to the building fund and joked to President Downes, "May the great work of molding minds and hearts at Stonecroft Academy continue well into the future."

He might as well have been saying go jump in a lake, Jake thought, remembering how Amory had settled at his place on the dais with a self-satisfied smile.

The last honoree, Dr. Jean Sheridan, spoke about growing up in Cornwall, the town that had been the enclave of the wealthy and the privileged nearly 150 years ago. "As a scholarship student, I know I received a superb education at Stonecroft. But outside the school grounds there was another learning place, in this town and countryside. Here and in the area around us, I acquired an appreciation of history that has shaped my life and career. For that I am eternally grateful."

Dr. Sheridan did not say that she was happy here, or mention that all the old-timers would remember her parents' domestic disputes that enlivened the town, Jake Perkins thought, or that she was known to break down and cry in class after some of her parents' more publicized episodes.

Well, tomorrow's the end of it, Jake thought as he stretched and walked over to the window. The lights from Cold Spring, the town across the Hudson, were less visible since a fog was setting in. Hope it lifts tomorrow, Jake thought. He'd cover the memorial service at Alison Kendall's grave and then catch a movie in the afternoon. He had heard that the names of the four other graduates who had died were also going to be read at the memorial.

Jake went back to his desk and looked at the picture he'd dug out of the files. In an almost unbelievable twist of fate, all five of the dead graduates had not only shared the luncheon table in senior year with two of the honorees, Laura Wilcox and Jean Sheridan, but they had died in the order in which they were seated.

Which means Laura Wilcox is probably next, Jake thought. Can this be just a bizarre coincidence, or should someone be looking into it? But that's crazy. Those women died over a period of twenty years, in totally different ways, all across the country. One of them was even skiing when she must have gotten caught in an avalanche.

Fate, that's what it was, Jake concluded. Nothing but fate.

25

"I'm planning to stay on for a few extra days," Jean told the front-desk clerk who answered the phone on Sunday morning. "Will that be a problem?"

She knew it wouldn't be a problem. All the other reunion guests would undoubtedly be on their way home after the brunch at Stonecroft, so there'd be many empty rooms.

Although it was only eight-fifteen, she was already up and dressed and had sipped the coffee and juice and nibbled at a muffin from the continental breakfast she had ordered. She had arrange d to go back to Alice Sommers' house after the Stonecroft brunch. Sam Deegan would be there, and they would be able to talk without fear of interruption. Sam had told her that no matter how private the adoption was, it had to have been registered, and a lawyer must have drawn up papers. He had asked Jean if she had a copy of the document she had signed, giving up her rights to the baby.

"Dr. Connors didn't leave me any papers," she explained. "Or maybe I didn't want to have any reminder of what I was doing. I really don't remember. I was numb. I felt as if my heart was being torn out of my body when he took her from me."

But that conversation had opened another avenue of thought. She had been planning to go to the nine o'clock Mass at Sit. Thomas of

Canterbury on Sunday morning, before the memorial service for Alison. St. Thomas had been her parish when she was growing up, but in talking to Sam Deegan, she had remembered that Dr. Connors had been a parishioner there as well. In the midst of one of her sleepless periods during the night, it had occurred to her that it was at least possible the people who adopted the baby had been parishioners of St. Thomas as well.

I told Dr. Connors that I wanted Lily to be raised Catholic, she remembered. And if the adoptive parents were Catholic and were members of St. Thomas of Canterbury at that time, it would have made sense for Lily to be baptized there. If I could look at the records of baptisms between late March and mid-June of that year, it would be a start in searching for Lily.