Conundrum (42 page)

We finished our dinner, even though I don’t remembering tasting any of it. Dave looked exhausted from the telling
,
and so we spoke of other things, a variety of topics, staying far away from heavy subjects that weighed
on
our hearts. After dessert and coffee, I thanked Dave profusely for taking the time to see me and
reveal
ing
to
me what he knew. I c
ould
tell he felt both burdened and reli
e
ved. He had finally told someone about my father’s confession. And yet, how did that make matters better?

I thought of my conundrum and how learning the truth
was supposed to
set me free
. S
h
ouldn’t it? I didn’t feel free at all; rather, a weight had been dumped on my shoulders.
I thought I’d be weightless, flying,
no longer encumbered by
the
burden
of uncertainty.
How
could
I
ever tell Raff what Dave had revealed to me
?
It would only make him hate our father even more.

I tried to determine how it made
me
feel. Did I feel betrayed? Abandoned? Could I justify what my father had done? How had Raff put it
?
—my father had chickened out. Couldn’t face life, so abandoned his kids, leaving Raff to
assume
the mantle
of
man of the house. No wonder Raff resented him.
But did I resent him?

At that moment, I couldn’t say. I only knew I felt weary and sad, thinking about my father going through with his mad plan to expose himself to radiation. Why couldn’t he have just divorced my mother and gotten on with his life
?
Sure, divorce wasn’t all that common, but—kill yourself? Wasn’t that a bit drastic?
Did it all come back around to my father having a death wish
?
Feeling unworthy of all life had to offer?
I had come full circle, stopping in the very spot in which I had started. Had I learned anything, anything at all?

“Lisa, I know this is all hard to process,” Dave said as he walked me to my car in the lighted parking lot of the hotel. “But you need to remember what I
told you
earlier. I could only piece together what your father said.
Who knows how much of it was truth and how much was delusion
?
Maybe your father made it all up, his imagination coming up with a crazy answer to
explain
his disease.
I couldn’t find any
proof. I tried to
learn
where they had dumped the desk, tried to research into the missing fuel cell, but I couldn’t do much without raising suspicion and alarm. Stealing something like that is more than a felony—it’s a breach of top security. If I had said anything, I could have been implicated, lost m
y
job, even
been
arrested. So who knows if your father was telling the truth, or if he was fantasizing
?
Without proof, there are only his words
.
 
.
 
.
and my interpretation of them.
He was simmering in shame, and guilt. Those feelings can make a person say things they don’t mean, admit to things they haven’t done.”

We stopped at
my
car
,
and he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe
all or
part of what he said was true; maybe none of it. You have to allow that possibility.”

The irony, once more, slapped me in the face. And, or, or not. An appropriate
epitaph
for my father’s tombstone, the theme of his life, the focus of his intellect. Boolean algebra
. What had lured my father into that field? Was it some subconscious awareness that the math mirrored his
existence
? It seemed his whole life was one strange,
insoluble
conundrum.

I knew at that moment I would have to
acquiesce to
that
explanation
, without ever having the deep satisfaction of knowing the truth, of tasting the albatross and realizing without a doubt that I was indeed free.

Chapter 26

Jeremy
’s enthusiasm grew exponentially
the closer we got to the rental house in Sebastopol. I had worried that
he
would find fault with anything
listed for rent
, as nothing could compare to the haven we had built for ourselves. But he seemed genuinely thrilled with this
house. I wondered, as I lowered the truck window and let in the refreshing early morning air, if he was more excited with the idea of finally severing ties with my mother than with moving.

We had talked late into the night, Jeremy wanting to hear everything Dave Lerner had said and
offering
theories of his own. He felt the whole idea that my father had enacted such a melodramatic suicide smacked of fantasy
. T
hat no reasonable, logical man would devise such a painful and tragic way to die. Men are efficient and practical, he’d told me. Or maybe a man who was a hopeless romantic
might possibly
think
of such madness
. But a scientist looking for a way out of his marriage? Jeremy blew it all off, disbelieving the whole idea.

I tried to convince him it made sense, and that Lerner ha
d
no reason to make it all up. I conceded that my father may have
confused the issue a bit with all that talk about God and forgiveness, but what other conclusion could I come to
?
It was Occam’s
r
azor—the most logical explanation would be the true one. Certainly, my father didn’t magically give himself leukemia; there had to be an external source. Jeremy opted for coincidence—that my father just happened to get sick
. M
aybe all the stress compounded his susceptibility, made his system tired and weak. Maybe his flu or anemia had opened the way for leukemia.
T
he coincidence theory
didn’t sit well with me
. Yet, I knew Jeremy’s argument made sense—that a man like my father might have taken an overdose
of pills
or jumped off a bridge had he truly been suicidal. But strapping a radioactive fuel cell under your desk so you would die a slow
,
agonizing death
?
—that was something out of a Shakespeare tragedy. Which made my mind leap to my uncle’s words—how my father had love
d
drama and acted in plays throughout his teen years. Maybe my father did have a penchant for the
melodramatic.
And dying in this manner would have fit the bill.

Jeremy turned off the Bodega highway onto a narrow but recently paved lane, a community-maintained road, Jeremy explained. About a half mile farther down
sat
houses nestled under some oaks and conifers. Jeremy
turned into
the last driveway on the right and pulled up to a dark-wood
-
sided two-story house. I expected to see something old and farmlike, but this place had been recently built, perhaps five or ten years old, more of a modern-style architecture with a large round window over the front door and a small balcony facing the front. Two nicely landscaped flower beds flanked the walkway
,
and what caught my eye were the numerous rose bushes blooming under what appeared to be the kitchen window, facing the sunny south side of the property
. Jeremy caught me looking at the roses and smiled. He knew that would
score some points
.

The houses on either side were set back about fifty feet but secluded by tall escallonia and Oregon grape shrubs, giving the place an
ambience
of privacy. Jeremy dialed the combination o
n
the realtor lock, removed the key, then ushered me inside
the rental
. Tall ceilings, white walls trimmed with
pine molding and wainscoting, and beautiful oak floors met my eyes as I stepped down into a large sunken living room.

“And how much does this cost a month?” I asked, knowing my eyes were wide and impressed.

“Turns out the owner is a longtime customer at the store. I recognized him last night when he met me here to show me around. He’s giving us a deal—one
-
year lease
.
 
.
 
.
and check this out
.
 
.
 
.
” Without showing me around the house, he went straight for the sliding door that led to a small deck. The yard appeared small until I followed Jeremy through a latched gate in the wooden fence. “How’s this?”

My breath caught in my throat. “No way
.
 
.
 
.
”

Jeremy chuckled at my response, standing quietly to take it all in. At least an acre of pasture stretched out before me,
enclosed
with nice Keystone fencing
and housing a small barn
and
a horse paddock for two. Behind the pasture a thick grove of firs blocked any further view, but I could tell no one lived in back of this property.

“There’s a gate in the far corner of the fence. Do you see it? Leads to a trail that connects to BLM land. Thousands of acres you can ride over.” He smiled at me, his eyes dancing with joy. I think what pleased him most is knowing I could bring some of my animals with me. My heart melted in awe. Even without having seen the rest of the house, I knew it was perfect. I felt as if God
were
comforting me by providing this peaceful place for Jeremy and
me
to start over, and to
heal from all the recent hurts.

“There’s only one catch,” he said, narrowing his eyes and putting on a serious face. My heart thumped hard. I didn’t want anything to spoil this dream that seemed to be materializing before my eyes. Jeremy opened the gate into the pasture and whistled. “There are a couple of out
-
of
-
shape, feisty babies that need some discipline and attention. Think you can handle them?”

“Babies
.
 
.
 
.
?”

Before I could say more, I heard a horse nicker
,
and then two flashes of brown and black came bounding across the short fescue grass
from behind the barn
. The bay was a mare, maybe two or three, with a beautiful conformation and full of energy. The darker one was a gelding, maybe the same age, with a white blaze
on
his nose
. Both horses
trotted
right up to us and started snuffling
our
pockets, looking for treats.

“The owner has no other place to keep these two, and when he heard how much you loved animals
.
 
.
 
.
well, I kinda promised you’d work them.
He says they need a lot of training.
They’re too young to ride, but might be fun company for you.” Jeremy shrugged, but he knew quite well he’d won me over with these two beauties. “Oh, and he said if we really liked them, he’d sell them to us for a good price. No pressure or anything. You know, just in case you get unduly attached. You did say you wanted us to start riding together—”

“You’
d
have to wait a couple of years for these two to be
able to carry
your weight.” I stroked the horses and rubbed behind their ears. They lapped up the attention, then when they were sure I didn’t have any hidden treats, nipped at each other and ran off.

“Well, what’s two years?” Jeremy asked. “The time will fly by.”

I wrapped my arms around him and breathed in the smell of summer. Trees, grass, sage—a mingling aroma with a hint of roses
.
In the morning light, the air practically glowed.
“It’s perfect, really. I can’t believe this is a rental.”

“Reynolds built it for his daughter and son-in-law a few years
ago
. Then the kids had to move away for work
,
and he didn’t want to sell it, hoping they’d come back at some point. But he’s assured me we can stay here as long as we like.
W
e
can even sig
n
a three-year lease, if you want to.
”