In Memoriam (11 page)

Puttering around her kitchen, her reflection in the windows looking out upon the ocean caught her eye, and she gasped. She wasn’t alone. Putting down a head of lettuce, she walked to the veranda door to see who was standing on the sand in her backyard. It was Sandra’s soon-to-be ex, Tom.

“Can I help you?” Pam shouted from the safety of the house.

He walked around the dune to the walkway leading to the veranda. “Sorry to scare you,” he said. “Is Sandra here?”

“No, Tom. We went into Smithtown to see my daughter, and she left for home from there instead of coming back to the beach. Why are you here?”

“I really came to see you, but then I was worried Sandra might be here. I need to talk to you,” he said, his expression intense. “I need to tell you the truth about that baby.”

Pam felt uncomfortable letting him in the house, but he’d gotten her curiosity going. The alternative was to call someone and tell them he was there, just in case.

“Wait one minute, Tom.” Pam closed and locked the veranda door and went to the hallway. She picked up the phone and dialed her friend and neighbor Jeff Babcock’s number. There was no answer, so she left a brief message explaining who had stopped by and that she felt someone needed to know. Walking back to the veranda door, she could see he was still standing there, looking in. She opened the door for him.

“I’m preparing my mother-in-law’s dinner right now, but you’re welcome to talk to me while I work,” she said, standing aside so he could enter.

He looked straight ahead as he walked by her, and the distinct smell of alcohol wafted from him. Suddenly, Pam was saddened. Here was this remarkably handsome young man who’d been betrayed by Sandra in the same way Pam had been.

She waited for him to speak, but he seemed incapable of it. He was pale, but there were bright red patches under his eyes. “Have a seat, Tom. I’ll make you some coffee.”

He pulled a stool out from under the counter and sat down. It was more of a plop down, exhaustion taking over. “I felt so sure this is what I should’ve done, and now I see it was stupid,” he said. “I was angry with you for some reason.”

Pam frowned. “Me? Why? I haven’t done anything but
exist
.” She returned to salad making while trying to engage Tom. “If you’re mad at me because Sandra had an affair with my son, I guess you can be. But I didn’t know a thing about it. Nothing. I didn’t believe it until I saw that baby.”

Tom laughed out loud. “Yes!
That baby
. He’s the spittin’ image of his father; my mother said so when he was born. ‘That’s no Adams baby,’ she said. You said yourself that he looked like one of your children. My mother took a second look when you said it. That’s when we realized he wasn’t mine. He was still in the hospital.”

Pam had stopped peeling cucumbers and was leaning up against the counter with the knife poised in her hand. “I thought this was all new.”

“No. I think I knew when it happened. When he was conceived. Brent raped my wife. I bet Sandra didn’t tell you that. Drugged her and raped her. She was sick for a week afterward. Dragged herself to the funeral against my will, half dead herself. We’d had sex that morning, the morning she met you and Brent in town.”

Pam was still trying to catch her breath.
Drugged and raped? What proof did he have?
She spoke softly so as not to scream at him. “Do you mean when we met at Jack’s apartment?”

“Yes. Do you remember how Brent happened to join up with you that day? Because Sandra never mentioned that he would be there.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be. I remember I was shocked myself because they came in together. They were both bright-eyed, and Sandra was giddy. I watched them, suspicious, but there was nothing about their behavior with each other to support it. They were friendly, like two people who were about to begin a work relationship. But when I left, Sandra stayed behind. I didn’t think much of it until afterward. I wondered if there was any connection between what had occurred on Madison Avenue with my son taking that unplanned trip to White Plains. That perhaps Brent might still be alive if something different had taken place.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Tom. You tell me.”

“Like maybe if Sandra didn’t have a child and a man waiting for her at home, Brent would have spent the night in the city with her?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I didn’t picture them together that way. She’s too old for Brent. She was Jack’s mistress. It didn’t seem morally correct for her to be with my son. Almost abusive. Except he’s a man.
Was
a man. I hoped he was growing up and that’s why he was trying to placate Mr. Hsu.”

“You think he was growing up, drugging and raping Sandra? Ha! You’ve got something mixed up there, Ms. Smith.”

“You have no proof, am I correct? None. As a matter of fact, you have no way of knowing that baby Brent isn’t your son because if I’m not mistaken, you have never bothered to get a paternity test done. It’s too easy to blame the dead for your inability to sustain a lasting relationship with Sandra.” Pam looked Tom in the eye when she said it, and he looked like he’d been slapped.

“Not only that, but Sandra tells me she has a baby picture of herself that looks exactly like the baby, so for all we know he
is
your son. I’d stop spreading ugly lies about my son if I were you and get some proof the kid isn’t yours. That would be an awful shame if he is yours because it just means you and your mother have wasted the past three months hating him and sending evil his way instead of worshiping him like you should be doing.” She lifted the knife and brought it down on the lettuce with a
wham
.

Tom sat at her counter like a deflated balloon, with barely the strength to keep his head up. “Can I have that coffee now?” he whispered.

Pam nodded and set about making a fresh pot. Just as she was ready to add the water to the machine, Annabelle screamed. Pam looked up at Tom, and he came to.

“What’s that all about?” he asked.

“Follow me,” Pam said as the scream was repeated. She ran to Bernice’s room, with Tom following close behind.

Sitting in a winged-back chair overlooking the night scene of the dark ocean, Bernice appeared at peace, but Annabelle’s behavior said she was dead. She was kneeling at Bernice’s side, crying, holding on to her hands. Pam rushed to her and put her hand on Bernice’s neck.

“She doesn’t have a pulse,” Pam cried.

“Call 911, Pam. Help get her on the floor, and I’ll start chest compressions,” Tom said. Between him and Annabelle, they slid her to the floor, and he began CPR while Pam called for help.

She stood close by while Tom worked on Bernice, looking up at Pam. He mouthed,
I’m sorry.
She nodded, frightened that her mother-in-law was gone. It was a blessing Sandra had asked Nelda to come home, or she’d be watching this horror. Every time Tom pushed on Bernice’s chest, her hand moved. It was her right hand, the fingers encrusted with diamond rings, six of them at least, and she was grasping a tissue.

“One and two and three and four…” She could hear Tom whispering as he compressed her chest and with each compression came the hand movement. Pam felt faint; she could no longer stand there and watch on the sidelines, so she dropped to her knees next to Bernice.

“What can I do?” she begged.

“Take her hand and talk to her. Tell her to breathe, to fight,” Tom said, doubt clear in his voice, but it was what he was trained to say, to give hope where there was none.

Pam took Bernice’s hand in hers, it was still warm, and bent over and whispered to her.

“Live, Bernice, live for these new babies we have! Don’t leave me, Bernice, don’t leave Nelda. We need you.” She spoke words that she didn’t think she meant, but as she repeated them, she realized they were true. She didn’t want Jack’s mother to die; she was the last connection Pam had to him, the last person on earth who loved him as much as she had. In Bernice’s eyes, Jack could do no wrong. She needed to live to represent him in a world that had no use for him now.

Commotion and voices calling announced the arrival of the EMS technicians, and Annabelle, in tears, ran to lead them to Bernice. Tom was sweating from the effort; he hadn’t stopped doing chest compressions, and it had been at least ten minutes. Suddenly the room was full of big people, chubby men and tall men, a tiny woman and a bigger one, all in dark blue, who crowded around Tom and Bernice on the floor.

“Can I relieve you?” a chubby man asked.

“Yes,” Tom said, breathless.

The man dropped to his knees, and Tom moved aside so the man could pick up where he left off while the tiny woman knelt at Bernice’s head and tilted her head back, inserted an airway, and began rescue breathing with an Ambu bag. Immediately, Bernice’s color improved. Another technician started an IV and administered drugs while the tall man stayed in contact with a physician on the phone. The bigger woman put leads on Bernice and hooked wires to the leads; soon the room was full of uneven beeps and static. The tiny woman inserted an endotracheal tube and attached it to the Ambu bag. The bigger woman brought an oxygen tank in and attached it to the bag. More drugs were administered. Someone unbuttoned Bernice’s shirt and pulled her underwear out of the way, attaching defibrillation pads to her chest.

“Stand back,” she said.

Bernice did a little jump, not much, just a shimmy off the floor, and the room filled with the steady sound of a beating heart.

Pam bowed her head and began to weep. “Thank you. Thank you,” she said to the air. When was the last time she gave thanks? It had been forever.

Annabelle was beside herself. Sobbing, she came to Pam and embraced her.

“Please let her live, God, please let her live.” Annabelle was a devout atheist, but in times of need, even
she
called out to the heavens. She looked at Pam. “Well, what if it’s true? I’d be an ass not to acknowledge that I don’t know everything.”

Pam raised her eyebrows and nodded her head. “Yes, I agree. If it’s true, we better take advantage of it.”

They waited while another team member brought a stretcher in. They gently lifted Bernice onto it and rolled her out of her bedroom. Pam followed them out.

“Where are you taking her?” They told her which hospital, and Pam said she’d follow. Annabelle would go in the ambulance, and Tom would take his own car.

When they arrived at the hospital, Pam filled out the necessary paperwork and waited while Tom talked to the EMS people; he was a NY cop who just happened to be visiting. Lucky for Bernice. He came and sat down with Pam when he was finished.

Taking her hand, he looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry about surprising you tonight. I’ll do what you say and ask for a test. If he’s mine, I have a lot of work to do, don’t I?”

“Don’t worry about that yet,” Pam told him, patting his hand. “One step at a time. You need to get back to Brooklyn, though. Someone needs to tell my mother what happened tonight. She’s there, with Sandra.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” he said sadly. “I’ve always liked Nelda.”

“Good,” Pam said. What difference did it make if they hated each other? Maybe Sandra was a snake, like Marie had always said. Although the idea that she’d had Brent’s child was nice, it would be something of his left behind, Pam was surprised that she hoped he was Tom’s baby. Tom deserved to be treated with more respect than he had been, maybe more than Sandra was capable of giving him. “Tom, if you think my son raped and drugged Sandra, you need to prove it. I can’t have you going around making such a horrible accusation about him when he can’t defend himself.”

“Okay, you’re right. I’ll start the paternity thing. Then I can move to the next step, which is deciding what I am going to do about my life.” He looked out the bank of windows behind them, at the lit parking lot and another ambulance arriving under the emergency room portico.

“Why do you need to decide? You have a family who needs you. Isn’t that enough?” She knew it wasn’t, but was trying to give him an out, in case he wanted to stay in spite of the disrespect.

“You tell me. Is it enough? Would it work for you?” He looked directly at Pam, and she smirked, looking at him over her glasses.

“You’re asking me? I know what you think of me, Tom. Let’s not play games.”

He grabbed her hand. “Mrs. Smith, I am sorry. Please believe me. I had no right judging you. I am very regretful now of the way I acted after we first met. I was jealous of your husband and, therefore, of you. That’s my only excuse. I finally get it, I really do. I see how protective my mother is of me, yet if Thomas Brent is really my baby, how is she going to rationalize her part in this? She won’t be able to. She’ll have to do restitution big time, and I don’t see Sandra forgiving her anytime soon.”

“No, I don’t either, but we’re getting ahead of the game here. Do the paternity test, quickly. Not another day should pass without it, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll make it a priority.” He stood up, still holding her hand. Then he bent down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for saving my mother-in-law’s life, Tom,” Pam replied.

“I guess that is the real reason I felt I had to be in Babylon tonight,” Tom said sadly. He smiled and gave her a little wave and walked off.

Pam couldn’t help staring at him as he left the waiting room. He was tall and handsome, a real catch. Why would Sandra want to get involved with Brent, knowing his behavior? Pam had her suspicions about her son thanks to Julie Hsu giving her an earful. If it were true, he was trouble.
Did Sandra just want to have a Smith baby? Or was she trying to clean up the story behind the pregnancy for the sake of the baby? Who would want a child to think their father was a rapist?
She was saved from these thoughts by the arrival of Annabelle leading a young female doctor over to Pam. Both were smiling, so Pam was hopeful it was good news.

“Mrs. Smith needs a pacemaker,” the doctor said. “We’ll admit her to the CCU tonight and do the insertion first thing in the morning. I believe she’s stable now, and we’ll keep a close eye on her. Any questions?”