Conundrum (39 page)

“Right. Wow, sorry to hear about Ed.”

I sensed he said those words because they were the appropriate response, but I didn’t get the feeling Dave Lerner was at all torn up over the news.
And so far, what I’d said to Dave was nothing he hadn’t known. He urged me to go on.

“I only just learned last week about Neal. And Neal met Ed—this morning—for the first time.”

“Wow,” was all Dave said.

I sighed. “It was pretty intense. And I don’t know if the two of them talked much after I left. Ed is almost too sick to speak. But it was certainly a shock for Ed to meet Neal
and to realize he had a son, after all this
time
—”

Dave straightened in his chair, his eyes wide with surprise. “So he didn’t know about Neal? Not until today? All these years
.
 
.
 
.
” He shook his head,
processing
this information.

“My mother kept this under wraps. And Shirley didn’t tell her daughter until three years ago, right before she died
. Julie had been carrying this fact around, trying to find her only brother, and then I showed up on her father’s doorstep. Her mother had only told her the name Nathan. She didn’t know his last name, or that he’d been a Penwell employee.”

“And that must have been a shock for her as well.” Dave scrunched his eyebrows, remembering. “I didn’t know Shirley Hutchinson. Only by sight at a company event here or there. Ed kept her on a pretty tight leash. But then, she left him, divorced him, got custody of their daughter.”

“But you knew about my dad’s affair with her, right?”

“Yeah. I did. Your dad wasn’t proud of it. Felt a lot of guilt over the
whole thing
. But personally, I think it was what he needed. Some consolation in his last months. Someone to care for him, help him through
the
rough spots.”

“And what about San Diego? My mother said she had run into you years after my father died and you told her others had contracted leukemia too.”

Dave’s jaw dropped open. “Others? What others?”

“You know, from volunteering for that experiment. I just need to know—was it really dangerous
?
Had
Penwell recruit
ed
employees to volunteer?
Or had something gone wrong there
that exposed people to radiation
?
That’s what my mother told me.”

Dave shook his head, his mouth still hanging open. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. And I never saw
your mother after the funeral.”

“Really?” I sat back in my chair
and took a deep breath and
mulled his words. “So
.
 
.
 
.
I don’t get it. Did my dad go to San Diego?”

“He did. There was some research opportunity down there. That’s why he went.
After he found out your mother was pregnant, he signed up for the research team—a two- or three-month stint. It gave him some breathing room away from your mother.
But an experiment? Something dangerous? Why would Penwell be involved in something like that? We were engineers, scientists—not guinea pigs.”

“Ed Hutchinson seemed to
think
my dad had volunteered for that experiment too. Although, he didn’t recall anything about it.”

“Maybe
a story
he and your mother invented.”

“Well, if so, why?”

“Maybe to
.
 
.
 
.
well, frankly, I don’t know.
Maybe your mother wanted a reason for your dad’s illness. So she assumed he had been exposed to radiation
.
 
.
 
.
down there.”

A change in Dave’s voice made me look deeper into his face. A rush of emotion overcame his features
,
and he closed his mouth, thinking.
I
stared
at
him
, wanting him to keep talking. The waiter brought our glasses of wine
,
and I sipped mine while Dave signed the bar tab. Dave watched the waiter walk away, and then looked keenly into my face.

“After he came back from San Diego, he was a changed man. He had been to see you kids, and that broke his heart. You have to know, Lisa, that he loved you kids so much. He had wanted to make his marriage work, but
.
 
.
 
.
he just couldn’t stay. He came home to Ruth’s growing pregnancy—something that glared at him in judgment. Ruth wanted your dad to go along with the lie—that the baby was his
—
but it broke his heart.
Even after Neal was born, even knowing Neal wasn’t his, he still loved that baby. Loved all of you. Your dad had a heart of gold. One of the most
h
onorable and gentle men I’ve ever known. It killed me to see him so
unhappy
, so hopeless.

“He went into a spiral, into a deep depression. He showed up to work each day, and I tried hard to cheer him up, but the closer Ruth’s due date approached, the more distraught he grew.
And he started drinking too.
I tried to get him to take time off. He had already moved out of the house, was living in an apartment in Hollywood with Shirley Hutchinson. And when Ruth
went
into labor, he dutifully went to the hospital and paced the floor, playing the role everyone had expected of him, faking his joy when the nurse came out with the good news of a son. Handing out cigars at work, fielding all the handshakes and congratulations, all the while under the eyes of his boss, Ed Hutchinson, the father of
‘
his
’
child.
It ate at him, piece by piece.
”

Dave stopped and tilted his head. “So, from what you told me, Ed didn’t have a clue. All that time, your dad working in his office, dealing day in and out with Ed, knowing he was looking at the father of his
wife’s
new baby
,
and Ed didn’t have a clue.” He paused
, his face displaying what I could only interpret as astonishment.
“You’d think Ed might have suspected. I mean, wouldn’t he have been able to do the math? Even guess there was a possibility he was the father? I never saw him act differently—but, come to think of it, maybe he did.”

Dave finished off his glass of wine and got the waiter’s attention. I knew I had to drive back home, but one more glass was called for. Dave ordered another round
,
and I waited for him to continue talking. My mind whirl
ed
with all these images of my father at work, facing Ed Hutchinson, knowing Ed was the father of his new
born
child
. What a drama!

“I was just thinking,” Dave said,” that Ed did seem to treat your dad differently after Neal was born. Maybe he did know and just kept it inside.”

“I don’t think so. I saw his face this morning, when Neal told him. He was beyond shock.”

“Or maybe he had forgotten.”
Then
Dave shrugged. That wasn’t something you’d easily forget—that you had a bastard son who was now being raised by your
coworker
.
“Okay, so let’s say Ed really didn’t know. Maybe your mother reassured him, told him she was sure the baby was Nathan’s. Let him off the hook. Protecting her reputation and all that. Their affair had been short. It wasn’t like your mother and
he
had anything going. Ed slept around—with more than one employee’s wife
,” he said with some cynicism.
“
But that’s another story for another time.”

Dave’s thoughts ran along the lines of mine—that Ruth would have kept her secret forever—and wished she could have kept it from my father as well.

“You said Ed treated my father differently after Neal was born. How do you mean?”

“It wasn’t anything blatant. But
at Penwell
we all met together many times during
a
day, your dad and I working on some problem and Ed checking in with us. So, I was often in the room when Ed would face your dad.
Th
e
re was something there. Obviously, your dad was feeling some pretty intense
emotion
. And it was getting in the way of his concentration. Ed would have words with him about the quality of his work, his dea
d
lines getting behind, stuff
like that. Which got your father upset, compounding the tension.

“
But
I sensed
something else. Not just Ed being annoyed with your father. Ed, for the most part, was a fairly understanding, easygoing guy for a boss. Never clamped down hard with deadline threats or
cri
tici
zing his team. We had a fairly small department—the engineers and
mathematicians
. We all got along; it wasn’t a competitive environment at all. So, Ed’s treatment of your dad was
.
 
.
 
.
out of place. That’s why I wondered if he suspected the baby was his. Maybe Ed had always wanted a son. Or maybe Ed resented your dad out of guilt.”

“
I don’t know
,” I said
.
“Maybe more like he was furious at my father for sleeping with his wife—although it didn’t seem to count that Ed had slept with Ruth. Julie said her dad was jealous and possessive of
Shirley
. Maybe my dad living with Shirley was a slap in his face each day, reminding him he’d lost his own wife, and reminding him it was his fault for having
had
the affair with Ruth
, which
trigger
ed
it.
”

I thought
over all these possibilities as I finished the second glass of wine
.
“
I really don’t think he had a clue about Neal. And from what Julie tells me about her father, he probably couldn’t have cared less that he had fathered a child. Julie even thinks there could be other kids out there, from Ed’s many affairs. She painted him as completely uncaring, and a lousy, abusive father and husband. So I’m thinking it’s something else.”

Dave nodded. “Yeah, maybe. But you’re probably right. It was more like Ed to be furious that Nathan had whisked Shirley away from him. Male conquest and all that. We’ll never know, I guess.”
He upended his glass of wine. I got the feeling Dave was more a beer drinker f
r
om the way he plowed through those two glasses of merlot. “You are staying to have dinner with me, right? They have a pretty decent restaurant here, or so I’m told.”

“Sure, I’d planned to.
”

“
Are you hungry?
”

I nodded. “But I know you have more to tell me. And, I have to be honest—I’ve been digging for weeks now to get to the bottom of all this. It’s cost me a lot—emotionally, even financially. I keep thinking I’ll never really know the truth
—
”

“Well,” Dave said, standing and gesturing
at
the restaurant I could see through double
g
lass doors, “I often say truth is a matter of perspective. Sometimes it’s completely subjective, sometimes not. But truth is always subject to interpretation, regardless. Like Einstein proved—it’s all relative. You may think you’re standing still, looking out a window at another train that appears to be stationary, only to find you are both
racing
along
at the same speed, and it only
looks
like you’re standing still.”

I got up and followed Dave into the plushly decorated restaurant, reflecting on
his
words, which neatly echoed my own
observations about truth.
The truth is relative.
Funny, I thought. Maybe among relatives the truth was especially relative.

Some quiet music played from hidden speakers. We wove through tables, the restaurant about half full, and sat at a booth in a far, secluded corner, with windows all around.
O
utside the window, a
Japanese garden looked serene in the evening twilight, featuring a small waterfall emptying into a koi pond.
W
e
barely spoke as we
looked over
the menus, then ordered. With that business done with,
Dave laid a hand on mine, a simple
,
uncomplicated gesture of friendship.

“I remember one day your father didn’t show up for work. I knew he’d been sick lately, weak, his face pale. He said he’d gotten the flu and was getting over it. This was about, oh, three months after he’d returned from San Diego. I called his apartment, to see how he was, but no one answered.
For some reason
I panicked. Something told me your dad was in trouble—I don’t know why or how. I clocked out and left work and raced over to Hollywood. I’d been to his apartment a few times since he moved out.” He paused while our waiter returned with warm bread and dipping oil. I realized I’d been holding my breath
,
and let it out.
Dave continued.