What Follows After: A Novel (18 page)

Mike and Scott were still at the beach, both leaning up against Mike’s car. Mike was just about to honor Scott’s request to tell him some of the secrets about how his relationship with Rose was in such better shape than Scott and Gina’s. Scott was pretty sure what Mike had to say would also include some of the major screwups and mistakes Scott had made over the years.

Just before Mike began to speak, they were interrupted by a loud roaring sound coming from the sand dunes. The men turned in time to see a WWII-era jeep fly over the top of one of the dunes then bounce and land halfway down the other side, to the great delight of four college kids inside.

As they watched, the jeep went barreling up the next dune, spewing a rooster tail of white sand from its rear wheels, then disappeared down the other side. “That’s something I don’t get to see much of in Savannah,” Mike said.

“Those kids don’t seem too concerned about the world ending anytime soon,” Scott said. “Were we ever that carefree? I can’t remember.”

“I think I was,” Mike said, “but as I recall, you got sent to Korea when you were their age, so I think you kind of missed out.”

“Maybe that’s my problem,” Scott said, looking down at the sand in front of them.

“You sure you want to talk about all this now?”

“I’m not really sure about anything, to be honest with you. And I’m not really sure if I did everything you’re about to tell me that it would make any difference to Gina. I don’t think she’s ever gonna get over me kissing that secretary, or hearing her say we were in love.”

“You might be right about that, Scott. But I think if you work at some of the ideas I’m about to tell you, it could start to turn things around. I think the main reason she didn’t believe your explanation was because of all the months and years she felt neglected, like she was playing second fiddle to your career.”

Ouch. Scott didn’t know what to say.

“See,” Mike continued, “Gina had no reserves to draw from when she saw that scene at the party. If she had felt completely loved and cared for and had lots of fresh examples of you choosing her over other things, like your job and the TV, you saying that party scene was all a big misunderstanding would have been easier to believe.”

Scott wanted to protest and say how much he
did
love Gina, that everything he was doing, he was doing for her. But Mike wouldn’t buy it. Gina sure hadn’t.

Right then, he wasn’t even sure he did.

“That make sense, Scott?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Gina was explaining to Rose how detached and lonely she’s felt in your relationship, going back years now. It started when you were in Korea, and then—”

“How can she blame me for that?” Scott said. “It was a war. I had to do my part.”

“And if that was the only problem, I don’t think she would blame you. But what did you do when you got home?”

“I got a job and went to college. Colt was born by then, so I had to work. And if I didn’t finish college, I couldn’t get a decent job. We’d barely be scraping by. So I went to night school.”

“For how long?”

“Seven years,” Scott said. “But that’s how long it took to finish.”

“Right, so for two years you were gone in Korea, then for seven more years you’re working all day and either going to school or studying all night. That’s nine years, Scott. That’s a long time to be left alone in a house by yourself with small children, don’t you think? Gina told Rose when they were just out shopping your dad offered to give you guys money to live on while you were going to school so you wouldn’t have to work. You could have finished in three years if you’d done that. But you turned him down.”

Scott walked away from the car, kicked the sand with his shoes. “That’s not the whole story. All that
help
from dear old dad came with strings. I had to go into banking or finance, like my older brothers. I wanted to go into engineering. Uncle Sam stepped up and offered the GI Bill with no strings, so I took it.”

Mike walked over to Scott. “Okay . . . how many times did you get a babysitter and take Gina out during those seven years of night school? Approximately?”

Scott looked away. He was about to say “plenty,” until he realized . . . he couldn’t think of a single time. But that couldn’t be right, could it?

“How about after that magic moment when you graduated? What was that, three years ago?”

“Just a little over three,” Scott said.

“Do you remember what you said to Gina then? Really, for the last few years before you graduated. Rose said you kept promising
Gina how different it was gonna be once you started work as an engineer. No more night school. The two of you would have all kinds of time together. You’d start going out on dates again, have lots of family outings, right? Wasn’t that how it was gonna be?”

Scott walked away, toward the front fender of the car. He didn’t know where he was going. A row of pelicans glided by. He wished he could fly away. He hated the sound of everything he had just heard, and how it made him feel. He had said all those things to Gina. Over and over again. Month after month. But he hadn’t made good on any of it. They weren’t promises. Just things he said in the moment to calm her down.

Lies, really. Just lies.

“Tell me something, Scott. Think back to how you treated Gina before you were married, how you felt about her then.”

“I was nuts about her. I chased her for months, until she finally went out with me.”

“And how often did you go out with her, once she finally said yes?”

“Twice a week,” Scott said. “But that was only because her father wouldn’t let us go out any more than that. I wanted to see her every night.”

“You were romancing her.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“You made her feel like a queen.”

You could say that too, Scott thought. He saw where this was going.

“You made her think she meant more to you than anyone or anything else on earth.”

“I loved her.”

“Right,” Mike said. “But did you keep it up after you got married?”

“No, not really. But who could? That’s not how life works. The
war came, kids came. I had to work, go to school. I still loved her, but . . . the way we were when we were dating? That’s not real life.”

Mike smiled.

“What are you smiling about?”

“You just said it.”

“Said what?”

“The crux of the problem.”

“What did I say?”

“See, that’s where men and women come at this thing totally different. I’m about to let you in on a secret most husbands never get. I only know it because my pastor told me a few years ago. But I’ve talked to Rose about it, and she says it’s absolutely true.”

“What?”

“You know the way most men treat women when they’re trying to win them? What we see in all those love stories, hear in all those love songs on the radio?” Scott nodded. “See, women don’t know we’re only gonna treat them that way for a little while, just as long as it takes till they say yes and they’re safely on board. They actually think we mean it, that that’s how we feel about them and how we plan to treat them for all time. They think that’s what we mean when we say we love them. They think that’s what we’re going to keep doing when we make those wedding vows.”

Scott nodded, his back to Mike. “I get what you’re saying.”

“Men are so different than women. We’re goal setters, we’re all about conquest, about taking the next hill. You were willing to do whatever it took to win Gina, and then as soon as she was conquered, your heart and mind shifted to the next goal, the next hill. Finishing school, getting a good job, getting a house, a nice car, moving up the ladder at work as quickly as you could. All the while, Gina’s dropping farther and farther down the list. The
worst part of it is, she knows it. She could feel it. And there was nothing she could do about it.”

Scott felt like he’d just gained a hundred pounds.

“Then on top of all this,” Mike said, “she walks in on you kissing a young, redheaded secretary.”

Scott exhaled an audible sigh.

“See what I mean?” Mike said. “We’re being sold a pack of lies, Scott. About what the American Dream is, what this ‘pursuit of happiness’ is really all about. Millions of men all over this country are doing the same thing you are, believing the same thing you’ve been believing, all the while lying to themselves. ‘I’m doing all this for her,’ or ‘It’s all for them.’ But that’s not what our wives want, or what our kids want, either.”

No, it’s not, Scott thought.

“The truth is,” Mike said, “Father doesn’t always know best. He should be listening to what his wife has to say a whole lot more. Ward Cleaver and Ozzie Nelson aren’t real husbands, and wives don’t always smile and say ‘Yes, dear’ when we’re done talking. Millions of wives are frustrated and lonely and tired of being ignored. Gina’s not the only one, Scott. My pastor was talking about this at a men’s breakfast awhile back. He said the whole thing’s like a boiling kettle about to blow.

“And one of the worst parts about this lie is that it’s being presented as something God is okay with. Like this is his idea of church and home. But it’s not. My dad told me once that God didn’t make Eve to be Adam’s little helper, but because he knew men desperately needed the help. God’s idea of what it means to be in charge is totally different than ours.”

Scott had never heard anything like this before. It sounded almost crazy. And he wouldn’t believe a word of it if he hadn’t seen it himself. Not just with Gina, but with his mom. She had it all,
and she was one of the most unhappy women he’d ever known. He had been raised on a lie. And that lie had cost him dearly.

First Gina. And now Timmy.

Timmy.

Please, God, help us find
him. Please keep him safe.

Mamie Lee looked out through the screen door on the front porch toward the sidewalk. Paperboy should have come by now, seeing as it was almost five. If she was careful, she could read some of it while she finished cooking dinner. Main thing was to keep it looking fresh and new for when Mr. Harrison got home. He needed to feel like he was the first one to get his hands on it.

She was curious about what they were saying about this Cuba missile thing, but even more so to see if they’d printed anything about little Timmy being gone. A part of her hoped not, even though she realized if they had, it might help get him back home quicker. But she couldn’t bear to see the story in print. She knew if she did, it would make it seem too real.

The newspaper wasn’t on the sidewalk. Her eyes raked over the porch, then the porch steps. No luck there, either. She scanned the grassy area between the porch steps and the front hedges and finally saw it resting in the flower bed between two petunias. That boy would’ve gotten a good talking to, had that paper landed six inches either way and crushed her flowers.

She walked out across the porch then almost jumped out of her skin when the screen door slapped shut. She still wasn’t used to how
quickly it closed, now that the handyman had taken his oil can to it. Coming down the porch steps and onto the lawn, she squinted as she looked up into pale blue sky. Hard to imagine nuclear missiles flying high overhead on their way to who knows where.

She couldn’t help thinking about it, after listening to Mr. Harrison talking up a storm on the subject over breakfast. She had never seen him quite so lively. He seemed to be taking the president’s speech as seriously as those folks standing around the appliance store last night.

Of course, that all changed once Mrs. Harrison told him about poor Timmy going missing. Mamie had been somewhat surprised to hear him talking about this Cuba matter so forcefully when his poor little grandson had been kidnapped. Then she realized, once Mrs. Harrison started talking, that he didn’t know anything about it. For some reason, she hadn’t told him when he got home last night.

But once he did hear, he wasn’t talking about Cuba anymore.

She had never seen him that angry or upset. He wanted to know every last detail and what the police were doing about it. Poor Mrs. Harrison didn’t know the answers to half his questions, and then he wanted to know why that was so. Most of what she said put the blame square on Mister Scott’s shoulders. Mamie had to agree with most of what she’d said, seeing how Mister Scott had kept them both in the dark all day.

Before he headed off to work, Mr. Harrison had said, “Well, you get that son of mine on the phone this morning and tell him I said he needs to call us with regular updates from now on, and find out how much ransom money we need to come up with.”

Mamie could see on his face he was more worried than angry, but he wasn’t one to let his fears show. Mrs. Harrison had said they were pretty sure it wasn’t that kind of kidnapping. With that, he got an even worse look on his face.

All day, she and Mrs. Harrison had waited for the telephone to ring. Maybe Mamie would find out what kind of kidnapping it was exactly. But Mister Scott didn’t call, and Mrs. Harrison didn’t call him, either. Mamie didn’t expect that to happen anyhow. Not like Mrs. Harrison to do such a thing.

Mamie bent down to pick up the paper. Her joints creaked louder than those dang steps. She was feeling mighty stiff all up and down her legs and hips. Guess it was from that long walk home last night in the chilly air. She’d have to rub some liniment on them tonight, maybe soak her feet in some Epsom salt.

She carefully unfolded the paper as she walked down the sidewalk.

“Is it in there?”

Mamie looked up. Mrs. Harrison was standing inside the screen door, looking out. “I haven’t checked, ma’am.” She climbed the steps. “Wanna look at it?”

Mrs. Harrison started backing into the foyer, to make room for Mamie to come inside. “No, Mamie Lee, you better do it. You know how to keep it fresh for Henry. If I do it, I’ll wrinkle it all up.”

Mamie opened the screen door. Poor Mrs. Harrison, dread all over her face. Well, Mamie probably looked just the same way. She walked down the hallway with the paper in both hands, intending to bring it to the kitchen, like she always did.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Harrison asked.

Mamie stopped. “To the kitchen.”

“No, come sit with me where there’s more light.” She walked into the big fancy front parlor and sat in a chair near the front window. Looked right at Mamie Lee, like she expected her to follow. But Mamie had never sat in this room before. “Mamie Lee?”

Mamie Lee looked up.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said have a seat.” She looked right over
at the chair beside her, situated on the other side of a round hardwood end table Mamie Lee must have polished a thousand times. “We can see the newspaper much better here.”

Mamie Lee did as she was told, sat right in the chair, taking all kinds of care. She opened the front page and looked it over, up and down.

“Is it in there?” Mrs. Harrison said. “Anything about Timmy?”

Mamie read the biggest headline: “JFK Orders Cuban Blockade, Blasts Reds If Castro Attacks.” Noticed a picture under it, looked like a bunch of reporters surrounding somebody at the White House, but it wasn’t the president. Under that, another smaller headline: “Havana Declares US Is Preparing Aggression.” She looked over the rest of the page. “Nothing about Timmy on the front page,” she said.

“Well, skip to the front page of the local section,” Mrs. Harrison said. “Maybe they put it in there.”

Mamie folded the front section carefully and set it aside. The local section was the next one in order. Soon as she unfolded it, she knew she didn’t need to read the page or look at it too closely. There on the bottom half of the page, big as life, was the familiar, beautiful face of Mister Scott and Miss Gina’s little Timmy, smiling as though he were having some kind of wonderful day. Beside that, a drawing of some strange man wearing a hat. Next to it the headline: “Local Boy Kidnapped Near Jacksonville.”

Tears instantly filled Mamie’s eyes. She couldn’t help it.

“Oh Mamie,” Mrs. Harrison said, standing up. “It’s in there, isn’t it?” She walked quickly across the room to the fireplace. “My poor Timmy. Put it away. I don’t want to see it.”