Love Lies Bleeding (11 page)

But he’s being a good sport about conquering the D.H. Lawrence and seems to like it. Tonight, we visited his flat on Linn Street. And now I have a secret. We kissed. Good gracious did we kiss! We almost did more, but the landlady interrupted us by knocking on the door. Perhaps next time, I shall write about something delicious and forbidden.

L.

Here, Frank noticed a long haphazard line scrawled down the page.

“Libbie?”

Libbie slammed the diary shut abruptly, causing her pen to skid across the paper. She looked up just as Maude crossed the room to peer over her shoulder.

“What do you want?” Libbie asked.

“Mother wanted me to call you for dinner. Juliana has rung the bell twice and you didn’t come.”

“Tell her I’m sorry. Just give me a moment. I’ll freshen up and be down in a jiffy. ”

“What are you writing?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I’m just curious, Libbie.”

“It’s called nosy, little sister. Now go. I’ll be down in a moment.”

Once Maude had left the room, Libbie placed the diary back in its usual hiding place, between the slats on the back of her nightstand. With it tucked away in a safe spot, she smoothed her skirts and descended to dinner, thinking that the roast duckling with ginger sauce smelled divine. It was one of Juliana’s specialties.

Chapter Fourteen

Ithaca, New York
June 1986

“
D
ad!”

Frank looked up from the diary with a start, realizing he’d become engrossed in its pages. The doorbell rang again, accompanied by Shannon’s frustrated call.

“Dad!” A heavy banging followed the bell, so he rose from the couch and opened the door.

His daughter stood there in all her sullen teenage glory, hair moussed to the limit in some stand-up punk sort of ’do. She’d also added a bright pink streak and had a tiny braid trailing down one side. Frank couldn’t understand the whole new wave thing. It seemed more about shocking people than it did the music as near as he could tell. And what was the deal with all the drum machines and keyboards? Soulless, he thought. Give him something like The Allman Brothers or Neil Young.

She’d worn an old military surplus jacket formerly owned by an army guy named Private Petrovski. Beneath, a black T-shirt with “The Cure” in psychedelic lettering on the front peaked out.

The cure for what?
he thought, annoyed at her rebellious attire yet embarrassed that he noticed how she filled out the shirt. She was becoming a woman before his eyes and he had no idea how to react.

After his dad’s death, he’d begun staying out later, drinking more, feeling more distant from Allison, and when she found out that he’d had a one-nighter with Shelly, that was the last straw. His only defense was that he’d been drunk, which was no defense at all. He’d blown it, and now he had to be content watching Shannon grow up on alternate weekends and whenever she decided to drop by, like now. For a few years, their connection had been tenuous, even hostile. Lately, she seemed to have forgiven him, and they were getting along much better. But she was still a teenager, with all that entailed.

“Hi, honey.” He gave her a hug, trying not to ruin the hairstyle he could tell she’d obviously spent hours creating.

“Mom’s P.O.d about something,” she shot back, ejecting herself from the embrace with typical teenage ennui. She flopped down onto the couch and crossed her arms in defiance. “I had to get out of the house.”

“What’s she upset about?”

“School, what else?”

“What about school? We’ve talked about this before. What’s going on?”

“Can I please just have a beer?”

“You’ll have a soda,” he said, crossing to the fridge and pulling out a Pepsi for her. Bringing her the can and a glass, he stood there for a moment, expecting answers. “All right, Shan. Cough it up. Tell me.”

“I skipped algebra yesterday. The principal called her. It’s no big deal. I just freaking hate algebra. I went shopping with the girls, and the stupid shopkeeper called the truant officer. It was just one period.” She rolled her eyes.

“Shannon, don’t start skipping school. Seriously.” Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out what to say to her. He loved her so much, but he found it so difficult to relate to her these days. More so now that she resembled her mother in looks and temperament.

“Why? It’s boring.”

“I know that. Math wasn’t my favorite subject either. Can I impart some paternal wisdom that I have gained in all my years?”

She snorted, and he took that as a yes.

“Algebra is bullshit.”

“Duh,” she said, and he had to mentally smack down the disciplinarian in himself.

“I’m serious.”

She looked at him and her face was unreadable. “Really?”

“Yes, Shan. The truth is that algebra is useless. Knowing you as I do, I’m aware that you will become an artist or a writer or a journalist. You like using words to get your point across. Very sarcastically, I might add. I also know that you get As in English and art. Your mother and I are very proud of you for that.”

She looked cynical.

“However…here’s the thing. Algebra is a necessary evil.”

She rolled her eyes again, and he looked up, beseeching whomever was up there to give him the strength he needed to deal with her.

“I know it’s boring, and I know you don’t give a flying flip what
x
and
y
are or if they’re squared or cubed. But you have to take it to graduate, and chances are, you’ll have to take it and pass it in the future in college. You might even have to take calculus or trig too. Haven’t you talked about going to Cornell? Well, you’ll never do it by skipping classes. You just can’t. Cornell wants the best of the best. When my dad and I had this same conversation years and years ago and I asked him what algebra was for, do you know what he told me? Shipbuilding.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“Now, I know you don’t have any blueprints for the Mauretania on your desk at home. The school district knows it too. But the truth is that you have to take it and pass it before you can move on.”

She sat for a moment, seeming to really think about what he’d said.

“Do we understand each other?” he asked. “I don’t want to have this conversation again. You have to go to class. And I don’t care if you get As. Let me rephrase that. As are nice. I love As. But I just want you to do your best. You can’t do that if you’re not sitting in that seat. And I may not care about As, but I know Cornell sure does. Got it?”

Shannon broke out into a smile and put her hand on his knee.

“Thanks, Dad. You always explain things so I can understand them.” She leaned over and hugged him, then sighed.

“Why can’t things be the way they used to? I wish you still lived with us.”

“I know, honey. You don’t know how sorry I am.”

“Mom just gets crazy. Zero to hysterical in ten seconds flat. I can’t think with all the yelling. I won’t skip algebra again. Can we go to Purity’s and get an ice cream now?”

After they had ice cream and he deposited her back at her mother’s place, Frank pulled the Crown Vic to a stop in front of his mother’s house, a pretty bungalow in the East Hill neighborhood. Navy shutters and a deep blue front door accentuated the pale cream exterior. Although it looked small from the outside, it was spacious inside, with a full finished basement that contained an entire extra bedroom suite.

It had experienced much modernization during the last century, and his father had done much of the work himself. The house sat back from the street, with a healthy, expansive lawn and flowerbeds drenched in deep shade. His mother had planted hostas and lady ferns around the perimeter of the house. Up until she got sick, her garden had been Maude’s pride and joy.

As Frank strolled up the front walk, Walter the cat hopped down from a nearby stone retaining wall. He made a beeline for where Frank stood at the front door. Like all cats, Walter knew where his bread was buttered. When old lady human was not there, visiting tall guy meant dinner and a scratch or two.

“Come on, buddy.”

Walter made himself at home, purring and serpentining his gray fluff between Frank’s pant legs. Frank went to the pantry for a can of whatever Maude had on hand for his dinner and found one last can of Friskies Seafood in Sauce, which he dished up and set on the floor. Walter began devouring what was in the bowl, and Frank had an awful thought as he watched him eat.

What happens to Walter when Mom goes?

Diana was allergic, and he knew how particular Seth’s wife Angela was about lint and fur and dust in their house. Frank loathed cats, but if no one took him, Walter would end up at the pound, and that couldn’t happen. Maude loved this damned cat. He wondered if Linda or Russ might be in the market for a new pet.

Walter, for his part, enjoyed his dinner, unaware of the strange U-Turn his seventh life was about to take. He began his dainty after-meal bathing ritual, using his front paw to launder the rest of himself. Frank scratched his forehead, which he seemed to appreciate. He moved his head so that Frank could work his way over to the neck and then onto the breastbone. Walter preened, milking his cuteness factor for all he was worth. Frank hated to admit it, but the cat could be a fun companion at times. He was more independent than a dog, at least. If nothing else, Shannon would never forgive him for letting anything bad happen to Walter.

Frank glanced at the room he knew so well, with its lavender blue couch and chairs, and then into the bedroom his parents had shared for years before his father’s death. In the closet, up on a shelf, his mother kept a book full of nostalgia. That was where he needed to look. Suddenly, he was craving anything and everything about his family. It didn’t even matter if it pertained to Libbie. He just needed to feel close to them all somehow. It seemed essential to know everything he could.

He took the album from its place on the shelf above the clothes rod and sat down on the bed to examine its contents. Walter, evidently in the mood for company, followed him into the room, where he hopped up on the bed, kneaded the spread to get the consistency just right, and settled down for a nap, his purr engine in high gear.

The first page of the album contained clippings for his mother’s graduating class in 1917. A graduation program listed the valedictorian, salutatorian, and the schedule for the ceremony, including Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstance” for the recessional. Things hadn’t changed much, it seemed.

Obituaries for his grandparents were glued into the book. While they were what he was searching for, looking at them was a real downer.

“Harriett Bardwell Morgan

Ithaca— Mrs. Harriett Bardwell Morgan passed away yesterday morning after an extended illness. She was born in Fairfield, Connecticut, April 8, 1864, to Charles Bardwell and his wife, Jennie Van Kirk. She attended the Litchfield Finishing School in Fairfield, Connecticut, and in 1896 married DeWitt Clinton Morgan, an attorney who is well known in this city. One daughter, Maude Morgan Conley of Trumansburg survives her. Another daughter, Libbie, went missing in 1916. Her whereabouts are unknown. Obsequies will be at the home on Stewart Street Saturday morning with ladies from the Rebekahs assisting in receiving callers. Mrs. Morgan will be buried Saturday in the Ithaca City Cemetery.”

“DeWitt Clinton Morgan

Ithaca— Mr. DeWitt Clinton Morgan, a well-known attorney of this city, passed away late last night after an illness of several years’ duration. He was born September 12, 1860, in Old Saybrook, Connecticut, to Levi Cornelius Morgan and his wife, Phoebe Baldwin. After attending Cornell here and studying law, he decided to settle. He married Miss Harriett Bardwell in 1896, and they became respected members of the community, Mr. Morgan practicing law here for many years. He had the marvelous home on Seneca Street near Stewart built for his new wife in 1896, and it has become a grand addition to our architectural community.

Of Mr. Morgan, his old partner, Mr. Amasa LaBarr, commented that he was ‘one of the most skillful arbiters of law in the state.’ Judge Eli Van Riper, who sat on the bench for many years, called Mr. Morgan ‘a stellar individual, one to whom justice and integrity were paramount.’ Many Ithacans remember Mr. Morgan with fondness.

One daughter, Maude Morgan Conley of Trumansburg, survives him. Another daughter, Libbie, went missing in 1916. Her whereabouts are unknown. Services will be held at the Ithaca Methodist Church on Friday at eleven o’clock. Mr. Morgan will be buried Friday afternoon in the Ithaca City Cemetery.”

He hadn’t expected either of the clippings to tell him much more than he already knew, but at least he was being thorough in his search for more information. In addition to the brittle yellow obituaries, he also found an invitation to his parents’ wedding and the clipping from the paper.

“Morgan-Conley

Ithaca—

Saturday morning, the marriage of Sarah Maude Morgan to Robert Harrison Conley occurred at the Morgan home on Stewart Street. The company of invited guests was not large, yet those fortunate enough to be present report one of the most pleasant gatherings of the season. The room was decorated with garlands of orange blossoms and beautiful arrangements of white roses. The costumes were elegant, and the ceremony was brief but pleasant, the repast fine and list of presents large and unusual in merit and value.

A fine orchestra helped to entertain the party, playing several choice selections, including Lohengrin’s Wedding March for the processional. Later, Clara Armbruster and Phoebe Hill put all in a pleasant mood with their comic songs.

The young people have each been residents of this place for a long time and have many friends here who have the best wishes for their happiness and future prosperity. They began housekeeping in their fine new residence, and there was no break made in the practice of law, which he has so faithfully practiced. A formal wedding trip to Niagara Falls will follow later this summer. The Journal joins in hearty congratulations and trusts that in the years to come, there may never come a moment when either will regret the step they took on Saturday June sixteenth.”

When Frank was done reading, he looked over at Walter, who was sprawled over the bedspread. Walter let out a lazy yawn and stretched a little more. Frank rubbed his belly, and the little fellow rolled over on his back and scooted across the spread backwards in enjoyment. Frank considered impromptu cat ownership.