Don't Believe a Word Page 4

  In fact, Eden wanted to hear more, but it did seem like the wrong time and place. ‘I’m wondering where Flynn might be right now,’ she said.

  Marguerite shook her head. ‘I hate to say it, but this is typical. He was never there for her.’

  ‘Eden, we don’t want to detain you,’ said Gerard, firmly closing the subject. ‘I’m sure you have many people to talk to.’

  ‘Thank you both for coming,’ said Eden.

  Tears welled in Marguerite’s eyes. ‘Of course we came. Tara and Jeremy were very dear to us.’

  ‘You know, we have a café downtown called Jaune,’ said Gerard.

  ‘It’s a mélange of Provençal and Middle Eastern cooking. You should come by while you’re here. We’d love to feed you dinner,’ said Marguerite. ‘On the house.’

  Eden nodded and thanked them both, knowing she would be leaving the next day, and would probably never visit their restaurant. She watched them as they went and took a seat near the back among the other families from the clinic. Eden thought that Marguerite and Gerard reminded her of the kind of friends she had in Brooklyn. Young, eclectic, dedicated urbanites full of projects and ideas. When she left this place, she reminded herself, she had a life to go back to. A life far away from all this sadness. The thought of it was steadying. She turned away and looked for her aunt, who was already seated. Eden slipped into the chair beside Jodie. She glanced around the room. People were restless. Some were conversing while others nervously glanced at the door, waiting for some kind of direction. Finally, a member of the funeral home staff approached the lectern, which was surrounded by baskets of gladioli and carnations.

  ‘We’re going to begin shortly,’ he said. ‘We’re just waiting for …’

  ‘I’m here, I’m here,’ bellowed a thick, slurry voice. All eyes turned to the back of the room.

  Flynn Darby appeared in the center aisle. He was wearing a long wool topcoat that looked like it had come directly from the thrift shop. Under the coat he had on an oversized, shapeless black turtleneck, jeans and engineer’s boots which were unlaced. His unruly hair, which was curly and blond, looked almost stiff with dirt and grease. Eden had seen Flynn Darby before, but only fleetingly. Her mother had invited Eden to their apartment several times when they first were together, but Eden always made an excuse. She refused to sit down to dinner with this man who had torn their lives apart. Still, she had always been curious about him. Now, she gazed at him in disbelief. Beside Flynn, a young woman in a headscarf, a shapeless floor-length dress and a blazer, supported him with one arm. Her eyes were almond-shaped and hazel-colored under sharply defined black brows. She wore no make-up, but her face had a kind of grave beauty.

  ‘Who is that with Flynn?’ she whispered to Jodie.

  Jodie shook her head. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’ Eden whispered.

  ‘I’m just guessing,’ said Jodie, ‘but I’d say he’s either drunk or stoned.’

  He was still a young man, in his mid-thirties, but his glittering blue eyes had dark circles underneath, and looked unfocused. He was even-featured, with high cheekbones and hollow cheeks. He had a wide, full-lipped mouth, and there was a flash of white teeth as he curled his lip and snarled, ‘Whass everybody looking at? I’m here. I’m here.’

  The mourners looked away, no one willing to meet his defiant gaze. Early on, before she knew anything about their liaison, Eden had asked Tara about this author, a product of the Robbin’s Ferry public school system, whom Tara had recruited for the bookstore’s literary series.

  ‘Is he cute?’ Eden had asked.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Tara had said carefully.

  ‘You think I’d like him?’ Eden had asked her mother playfully.

  A pained expression flickered over Tara’s face. ‘I’m sure of it,’ she had replied.

  The undertaker hurried to lead Flynn and his modestly garbed companion to the front of the room. The young woman sat down and lowered her eyes. Flynn looked at the coffins in confusion, almost as if he did not know what they were doing there. He sat down heavily in a chair beside the girl in the headscarf. The undertaker introduced a Unitarian minister, who was clearly a stranger to Flynn.

  The minister preached a tepid homily, and said a few generic words about mothers and sons. He made some remarks about Tara’s beauty and Jeremy’s feistiness that sounded as if they had been supplied by someone who hardly knew them. The undertaker leaned over Flynn and spoke into his ear. Flynn used his hand to wave away the man’s concerns. He rose unsteadily to his feet and lurched toward the podium. He peered out at the assembled mourners, his gaze bleary. ‘So you all show up,’ he said, slurring his words.

  The undertaker put a soothing hand on Flynn’s sleeve, but Flynn shook him off. ‘I’m doin’ it,’ he said irritably.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a grimy, folded piece of paper which he flattened against the lectern.

  He stared at the words for a few moments, as if mustering his forces, and then brushed at his cheeks with trembling fingers. ‘Shall I compare thee,’ he began, faltered, and then continued ‘to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate …’

  He took a deep breath and read Shakespeare’s love sonnet in a quavering voice. The young woman in the headscarf kept her gaze lowered, and wiped tears from her cheeks. When Flynn finished, the room was silent. He folded up his paper, jammed it in his pocket, and stumbled back to his chair.

  And so, it was over. There would be no burial. Both were to be cremated after the service. The funeral director announced that there would be a brief reception at the hospitality lounge at the Cleveland Clinic, and all were invited to come.

  ‘At the hospital? Really? Why not at their house?’ Eden whispered.

  ‘I don’t think he’s in any condition to host,’ said Jodie disapprovingly.

  ‘That’s for sure,’ said Eden.

  ‘Besides, it’s a crime scene,’ said Jodie. ‘Probably still blocked off by the police.’

  ‘Do we have to go?’ Eden asked.

  ‘We have to go,’ said Jodie.

  As they left the funeral home, the beautiful day was fading, and storm clouds had begun to gather. Eden had cried, on and off, a good deal during the day, and felt exhausted. They found their way, with little difficulty, to the Cleveland Clinic. The hospitality lounge had all the warmth of an airport gate. They seated themselves on a molded plastic version of a loveseat in front of the plate glass windows.

  Lizzy had shed her pea coat and was rushing around the lounge, putting out some functional-looking trays of sandwiches and cookies. Lizzy’s husband, DeShaun, brought them each a small plastic cup of wine. Eden and Jodie both thanked him for his kindness. Eden noticed that at least half of the mourners, including her new acquaintances, Gerard and Marguerite, had foregone the chilly reception. They probably had to make dinner preparations at their café.

  ‘Is Flynn coming?’ Eden asked DeShaun.

  ‘I think he’s lying down,’ said DeShaun. ‘Not feeling up to it.’

  ‘And his companion?’ Jodie asked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t really know her.’

  Just then Lizzy flew by, balancing a tray of deviled eggs. DeShaun hailed her. ‘Hey, honey. Who was that girl with Flynn?’

  Lizzy stopped, holding the eggs aloft. ‘Her name is Aaliya Saleh. She’s a student at the college where he teaches. She works for him part-time as an intern.’

  ‘What does that entail?’ Jodie asked suspiciously.

  DeShaun raised his eyebrows. ‘With Flynn? Mostly putting out fires, I suspect.’

  Lizzy gave him a reproving look. ‘I understand that she’s very competent. Very organized.’

  ‘Flynn always seems to have someone to come to his rescue,’ Jodie said sarcastically.

  ‘He’s suffered a terrible blow,’ Lizzy reminded her.

  ‘I don’t mean to sound so critical. It’s very nice of you and your husband to help out,’ Jodie
said.

  ‘We’re glad to help,’ Lizzy said coolly. She offered the platter she was holding to Jodie. ‘Egg?’

  Jodie and Eden shook their heads. ‘I’m not really hungry,’ Eden said apologetically.

  Lizzy and her husband moved on to the other guests.

  ‘My mother would have hated this,’ said Eden. ‘It’s so impersonal.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jodie.

  ‘Are any of these people Flynn’s family?’ Eden asked.

  ‘I don’t think so. From what I understood from your mother, he just has those grandparents in Robbin’s Ferry.’

  ‘Yeah. When he called me I offered to help them get to the airport. He said they were too old and sick to make the trip. Whatever happened to his parents?’

  ‘I guess his father was never in the picture,’ said Jodie. ‘The mother was a drug addict who died of an overdose in some crack house in Miami when Flynn was two. They found Flynn alone in their apartment the next day, wandering around in a filthy diaper, eating cat food that he found on the floor. His grandparents came and got him. They raised him.’

  Eden grimaced. ‘That’s a horrible story.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jodie. ‘I should have more sympathy for him. But he really acted like a lout today.’

  ‘True enough,’ Eden sighed.

  They sat in silence for a moment. ‘When are you headed back to the city?’ Jodie asked.

  ‘Soon. I’ve just been … paralyzed all week.’

  ‘I’m sure you have. But you need to get back to your life.’

  ‘I’m going to,’ said Eden.

  Jodie nodded and shifted in her seat. ‘How’s your dad doing? I always felt bad about the way my sister treated him. Hugh was so good to us. He helped put me through college. Did you know that?’

  Eden shook her head.

  Jodie sipped from her plastic cup. ‘I always idolized your father.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ said Eden.

  ‘I thought my sister was so lucky to marry Hugh Radley.’

  It felt a little strange to be discussing her mother’s first marriage at Tara’s funeral. But as a child Eden, like most children, had no real interest in the family history. Now, as an adult, she had an opportunity to satisfy her curiosity, and she was glad to take it. Besides, it wasn’t as though they were besieged with people wanting to make their acquaintance. ‘She said she met him at a picnic,’ said Eden.

  ‘Oh, I remember. She was still in high school but she always had boyfriends. Even then, Tara was a beauty,’ Jodie reminisced. ‘She came home from the picnic that night and said that she had met the guy she was going to marry.’

  ‘Didn’t your mother object? I mean, that my mom wanted to get married so young?’

  ‘Are you kidding? My mother was ecstatic. She was a single mother herself, barely making ends meet. This was the best thing she could have hoped for. Hugh was a little bit older, he had that masonry business. He was a catch.’

  ‘Do you think my mother really loved him?’ asked Eden.

  Jodie hesitated a moment. ‘Your dad? Yes, she loved him,’ she said firmly. ‘Tara was just a little bit too young to get married. She never went to college or lived on her own. But yes, she adored Hugh.’

  Eden shrugged. ‘I thought so too, but what did I know? I was just a kid. They were my whole world.’ Eden’s voice caught in her throat. ‘And then she left.’

  ‘Well, your mother was a starry-eyed romantic and, over time, marriage becomes … something comfortable. If you’re lucky. I think your mom just wanted some drama in her life. Another chapter. But, in the end, what did she really do but trade one man for another, one child for another?’

  Eden was surprised by the bluntness of her aunt’s analysis. ‘That’s a little harsh.’

  Jodie shrugged. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little angry at her. She pretended everything was fine. She never even gave me a chance to … help her.’

  Eden nodded. She understood, but didn’t know how to reply. She tried to remember her mother’s smiling eyes, gazing tenderly at her, but all she could think of was Tara taping shut the windows and stuffing towels under the doors. Was that why you were calling me? Eden wondered. Were you going to ask me for help? Were you giving me a chance to change your mind?

  ‘Eden?’ said Jodie. ‘Have you had enough? ’Cause we can leave. We’ve made our appearance.’

  ‘No one cares that we’re here,’ said Eden. ‘Let’s go.’

  As they started for the door, Eden saw Lizzy out of the corner of her eye. She was hailing Eden, waving something at her. Eden stopped, and turned as Lizzy approached her.

  ‘Are you leaving?’ Lizzy asked.

  Eden nodded apologetically. ‘I’m exhausted,’ she said.

  ‘Headed back to New York?’

  ‘Well, not directly. Tomorrow I’m flying home. My dad’s picking me up at the local airport. I’ll probably head back to New York the next day.’

  ‘So you’ll be going back to Robbin’s Ferry,’ said Lizzy.

  ‘Briefly,’ said Eden.

  ‘I was just wondering if you could do us a favor.’

  ‘Us?’ said Eden.

  ‘Flynn, really.’ Lizzy was holding a program from the funeral service in her hand. ‘I know that Flynn’s grandparents wanted to be here but it wasn’t possible for them to travel. They live in Robbin’s Ferry. Flynn wanted them to have a memento from the service.’

  ‘Couldn’t he mail it to them?’ Eden asked, and then cringed inwardly at how callous she sounded. Lizzy had done so much to help, and here she was, balking at one small errand.

  Lizzy did not seem put off by her reaction. ‘I think it would be nicer if you brought it to them. They may have questions about what happened. They’re old and feeble, and it’s strictly a mission of mercy, but, after all, Jeremy was their great-grandson.’

  And my mother was responsible for his death, Eden added silently. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, taking the program from Lizzy. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘Do you need their address?’ Lizzy asked.

  ‘No. It’s a small town. That’s easy to find out.’

  Lizzy thanked her profusely, and then excused herself to return to her hostess duties.

  Jodie looked at Eden with one eyebrow raised. ‘Really? They want you to make a delivery for Flynn?’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Eden with a sigh. ‘It’s little enough.’

  Jodie shook her head. ‘You’re a good girl.’ She tugged at Eden’s sleeve. ‘Now, let’s get out of here, before they think of anything else.’

  FOUR

  Early the next morning, Eden and Jodie went to the airport and went their separate ways. Hugh picked Eden up at Westchester Airport and brought her back to the house. Eden was home in time for lunch. Gerri made sure that there were sandwiches waiting in the refrigerator. While they ate at the kitchen counter, Eden told her father about the funeral. He asked a few questions, but the pain in his eyes made Eden want to look away.

  Eden brought the dishes to the sink and rinsed them. While she had her back to her father she said, ‘I’ve actually come back with a mission.’

  ‘What kind of mission?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘I have to take a program from the funeral service over to Flynn’s grandparents. They weren’t able to travel to the funeral, and one of Mom’s friends asked me to bring it to them.

  Hugh was silent. Eden shut the dishwasher, and turned around to look at him. He was gazing blankly out the kitchen door.

  ‘I’m dreading it,’ said Eden.

  ‘It seems like a lot to ask of you,’ said Hugh. ‘Can’t he just mail it to them?’

  ‘I asked the same thing,’ said Eden. ‘But they’re old and I’m sure they were very upset not to be able to be there. I guess it just seemed like the right thing to do. You know. Give it a personal touch.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Hugh doubtfully.

  ‘Would you happen to know where they live?’ she asked her f
ather.

  Hugh sighed, but, in fact, there was very little about Robbin’s Ferry which he did not know. He knew the Darbys’ street, and described the house.

  ‘Okay. Well, I think I’ll just go and get it over with,’ said Eden. ‘I won’t be staying long.’

  Following her father’s directions, Eden drove to one of the older neighborhoods in Robbin’s Ferry, on a tree-lined street that ended at the river. The Darby house was, as Hugh had described it, the eyesore of the neighborhood. It was a split- level, probably built in the 1950s, and its gray asbestos shingles were covered with grime. It was surrounded by newer, or more recently renovated houses, but the Darby house sat on its immensely valuable lot, stubbornly unimproved, with a wheelchair ramp which did nothing to enhance the house’s façade. There was a fanlike arrangement of small American flags in a metal holder atop the railing on the ramp. A US Marine decal, reading Semper Fi, obscured the small window at the top of the front door. The linings of the drawn curtains in the house’s other windows were unevenly stained with yellow, like old teeth. On the top floor of the house there was a window with cardboard standing in for a missing pane. The yard was large and seemed mostly untended. Even now, in winter, Eden could see that the bushes and trees around it were straggly.

  Eden steeled herself, and got out of the car. She walked up to the front door. There was a metal knocker, but it hung askew. Eden knocked on the door.

  There were sounds of life coming from behind the door. Finally it was answered, the door dragged across a matted shag rug of faded, indeterminate color. The man who opened the door was old and wiry, and colorless as the house itself. He wore his white hair in a short crew cut, and his face was etched with lines. The afternoon sun reflected off his steel-rimmed glasses.

  ‘Yes?’ he demanded.

  ‘Mr Darby? My name is Eden Radley. I … my mother was married to your grandson … that is …’

  ‘I know who you are,’ he said abruptly.

  Eden nodded. ‘I just got back from Cleveland, from the funeral. Your grandson asked me to bring you something.’

  ‘Come in,’ barked the scrawny old man, turning his back on her. He shuffled away from the door, slightly stooped, but with no other obvious physical impairment. Eden followed him into the living room. The furniture was worn, and the room was hot and stuffy. A skinny old woman wearing a pink sweatsuit sat slumped in a wheelchair, an afghan over her knees. Her thin white hair was fluffy around her face.