We Were Beautiful Once (45 page)

Julie glanced over at Nick. “Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I have to get something out of the oven.”  The men watched her hobble into the hallway.

Searching to break the silence, Ryan, arms folded, turned to Nick and asked, “Are you still in practice?”

“No, retired last year. I do a little teaching at the law school. Left the practice to a younger man, Mitch LeBeau, good fellow—once an intern of mine, specializes in veterans' rights. And you, Monsignor, I remember you were the pastor at St. Patrick's.”  

“I retired, too, two years ago,” Ryan said with satisfaction. “I was ninety this year.”

“God bless you.” Nick pursed his lips and put his hands in his pockets.  The men were quiet again, until Nick asked, “How long have you known the O'Conner family?”

The priest raised his white, bushy eyebrows as if calculating.  “Oh, from the time Julie was about ten—back when the war started, the big one.”

After a few minutes of silence, Ryan excused himself, and was later seen exiting the front door.  Another ten minutes passed, when Nick turned, feeling someone at his elbow. It was Julie. Her soft pale eyes were moving from side to side.

“Nick, can I trouble you for a very, very big favor?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Nick lowered his eyes, tilted his head forward and, with a note of empathy asked, “What's that, Julie?”

“Well, with Ned passing,” Julie hesitated, “and, so much of my life having changed because of one or another war...  ” She hesitated again.  “Well, I was wondering if you'd would sit with me to talk about Roger and Jack.”

She raised her eyebrows, calling Nick's attention to the lime green eyes he remembered from over two decades ago.

Nick squinted apologetically. “Julie...  I don't know much more than what you heard in court, years ago.”

“I know that, but I have spent most of my life trying to make sense of what happened. I'm old now, and you'd think it doesn't matter anymore. But with Ned going, it simply makes it all the more... ”

Appreciating that she would not take no for an answer, Nick agreed to sit down sometime after Christmas.

 

On the last Sunday of the month following the New Year, Nick visited Julie.  He sat on the overstuffed sofa across from Julie, separated by the stained maple coffee table and a bottle of red wine.  The blinds were drawn, keeping the afternoon sun from imposing on what was a room still in mourning. Julie fixed her eyes on Nick. “Can you tell me anything outside of what I heard in court those years ago?”

Nick began to recount details that Julie already knew.  He seemed a bit reluctant to go beyond the record and, after fifteen minutes, said,  “Well, I am afraid I don't recall more than that.”

Julie smiled almost imperceptibly.  “Nick, tell me if I am right in assuming that if I talk to a lawyer their lips are sealed forever?”

Nick nodded his head. “Yes, if you tell a lawyer something, it's protected by the attorney- client privilege.”

“So if I tell you something, it will stay between us, here in this room, right?”

“Yes, I suppose, but what's so secret, Julie?”

“Before I pass away, I want someone to know what I have lived with for almost twenty years.”

Nick seemed befuddled.  “You're making this sound ominous. What would you like to tell me?”

“Nick, when Jack died, I never believed he committed suicide. I know it appeared he did. And to tell you the truth, a few months before...   he was ready to blow his brains out.  But in the end, he was going to set the record straight. I think that you know something here. I think that you know that he was on his way to Washington.”

“Well, yes, he had an appointment with Senator Skidmore's staff, but the authorities didn't find any foul play.  So the assumption was that Jack decided, at the last minute, to end it all. He did have a good deal of alcohol in him at the time.”

Julie continued.  “Be that as it may, I started thinking after he died that Trent was the one who should have been punished. He was Will's dad, you know.  Never once asked about him, never once offered one single dime when the kid wanted to go to college and couldn't afford it, never stepped in when he was drafted.  And, not to tell you how Jack sacrificed for Trent.  Trent would never have been an officer if Jack had not taken the blame for that poor girl's death. And I know that he was mixed up in Roger's death, somehow.  Otherwise how come he was so friendly with that Chinese guy?”

Nick felt Julie was rambling now, but he let her get it out of her system.  She started to sniffle, and the two sat quietly until she regained her composure.  “I learned that Trent took the train from Washington to Bridgeport twice a month. I also learned that he'd arrive Friday nights at around eleven.  I went to the station on at least a half-dozen occasions after dark and found it completely dead—except for this blind vagrant who sat on the ground, knees drawn up, arms crossed, head down. But lost my nerve every time I went, and never stayed long enough to meet the train. And so, one day, figuring I needed moral support, I talked Father Ryan into walking me to the station to meet the train—the one from D.C.”

“For what reason?” Nick interrupted, although he was afraid he knew where this might be headed.

“I wanted to talk to him about what he knew.  Maybe give him a piece of my mind.  Truthfully, I don't know now.”

Nick added, “Trent was a dangerous man—that's what I'd been told.”

“Yes, I know.  But in any case we waited, Father Ryan and I, 'til the train came.  He got off. We waited along the ramp leading to Asylum Street not far from the blind man.  It was December, one year or so after Jack died. Here he came, long cashmere camel coat, a brief case. When he got about ten feet from us, Father Ryan yelled, ‘Trent Hamilton!'  He stopped, startled. ‘What do ya want?' he shouted.  And I shouted back, ‘Answers.' Then he took his brief case—you know, he held it by the handle and swung it over his head—and charged Father Ryan. He was a big man. I was scared and went back and fell down. And the next thing I knew he was beating him with the case, when all of a sudden... ”

Nick interrupted again, “He was shot!”

“Yes, I took out a small gun that belonged to Jack. I heard this shot. He fell back. Father and I ran.”

Nick knew Trent had died the year following the trial, but had suspected it was a professional hit, connected to his illegal export operations.  But Julie?  Father Ryan?  He was stunned.

“I threw the gun over the bridge,” Julie added matter-of-factly, as she stared beyond Nick.  Next day, I read in the paper that the police thought Trent was murdered by some toughs.  Father Ryan and I kept quiet.  I never told anyone.  'Til now.”

Julie walked to the fireplace mantle and lifted the tin picture frame that held the photo of her and Roger, taken the last time she had seen him. She studied the photo. The greyed-out coat she remembered was navy blue.  His arm wrapped tightly about her waist. Her hand, still good, was wrapped between his fingers. She turned to Nick.

“Roger and I,” Julie said, her voice low, rasping. “We were beautiful once. Weren't we?”

 
 

Acknowledgments

 

 

I want to express my gratitude to those individuals who have helped make this book a success through their inspiration and suggestions: particularly to my wife, Susie, for her insights and to Cara Morris and Lynn Hargrove, discerning reader/critics; to editors Eugenia Kim and Rosvita Rauch who patiently plowed through many drafts; to tireless copyeditors Elizabeth Renfrow and Allyson Gard; to the dedicated team at Sunbury Press for all their thoughtful expertise, including Lawrence Knorr, President and Publisher and Tammi Knorr, VP of Marketing & Author Relations.