Revealed: The Missing Years
Page 63
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“It sounds like you’ve read ahead. It sounds like you know.”
Jim shrugged. “We’ve found a few things in this book that you’ve contested as accurate. Let’s see how true the next scene is.”
“We talked about the wedding plans and made love. Then I surprised her with her sister and brother-in-law.”
“Next time.” Jim stepped back behind the desk and looked up, meeting Tony’s gaze. “Also, think about our definitions. Having sex and making love aren’t the same thing. Think about it.”
As Tony made his way back to his dormitory, he wondered what the fuck there was to think about, besides the fact that it was almost 4:00 PM, and he had to be back and present for the standing count. As he hurried from one building to the other, Jim’s words came back. What was Claire thinking?
Tony wanted to go back and ask him to clarify. He wanted to go get that damn book and throw it in the incinerator. He wanted to do many things, none of which included standing by his bunk and being counted. Was that how Claire felt?
Spring had finally sprung and the South Dakota air was warm enough for outside visitation. Tony liked sitting outside with his visitors much better than being cramped inside. For one thing, with the openness and fresh breeze, it seemed more private. That was an illusion: nothing at Yankton was private. Nonetheless, as Patricia sat across the small table from him and recited numbers and proposals, the illusion felt real. For a brief moment in time, he was living his old life.
The winter had been hard. Not only had the weather been exceptionally cold, the dormant landscape, as well as Roach’s reports about Claire, all worked to add to his funk. Jim even recommended medication. He said that it wasn’t unusual for prisoners to become depressed. Though he made it seem acceptable, Tony’s thoughts went back to his grandfather. The antidepressants in conjunction with his other medication created symptoms of dementia. Tony didn’t want that. He was having enough trouble remembering Claire and Nichol.
No. That wasn’t true. He remembered everything about them, except now and then he’d think about the scent of baby powder and forget the fragrance. Or another wife would bring in a young child and Tony would wonder about Nichol. How big was she? What was she doing? Courtney sent pictures whenever she could. No one was allowed to bring cell phones near the prisoners. Visitors weren’t even allowed to bring papers or pencils; however, she could mail them. As much as he appreciated it, each time he looked at the images of his sixteen-month-old daughter walking or laughing, another piece of his heart broke. If he was having trouble remembering how she felt in his arms, he had little doubt that she’d completely forgotten him. His stomach twisted at the thought. In her young mind, John was her father. No one had to say that to Tony—he knew.
As if that wasn’t enough, Roach’s reports were the same. He’d found a source inside of Everwood who was willing to divulge information—at least some. It seemed as though Claire was a mystery to most of the residents and staff. They saw her from afar. Yet, she never joined the other patients in group activities or even in the dining hall. According to Roach’s source, Claire was treated with kid gloves and well cared for. Her needs were met in every way. The source said that Nichol hadn’t been to visit in the last few months. Since Emily never entered Nichol’s name on the registry, it was difficult for Roach to confirm or deny. Now that the weather was improving, he could report that the nanny had both children outside and to the park while Emily was at Everwood.
Tony’s request to work in the business office had been granted. He’d endured it for most of the winter months, but it hadn’t been what he’d expected. It was clerical. He was a damn secretary—not an assistant, like Patricia, not someone who had a thought or an opinion. No. For $0.17 an hour he filed papers and filled out invoices. As soon as they began planting the flower seeds in the greenhouse in Tony’s horticulture class, he put in for a transfer. Now, his job was landscaping. It was a great way to combine his new knowledge of plants with his job. Perhaps because he had acquired the knowledge through Yankton, the supervising staff actually asked for and accepted his suggestions. It was a joke that he could recommend a geranium versus an impatiens based on the amount of sun exposure and they’d listen, yet in the business office where he’d made a fortune outside of these walls, they weren’t interested in what he had to say.
Patricia continued her information dump. “Mr. Bronson said to tell you that Bakers in Chicago accepted the first proposal. He’d been prepared to increase the bid, but they bit at the first offer.”
Tony shook his head. “Maybe it was too high?”
“Oh, he didn’t think so.” She leaned forward. “It was all about timing. They had a balloon payment coming due…”
He listened as she gave more details.
“I almost forgot,” Patricia said with a grin. “A remarkable offer came in the other week to purchase a small company… in Pennsylvania, I think. Darn, it’s hard without notes. But it was almost too good to believe. The company’s been doing all right but there’s no reason to hold on to it.”
She had his attention. “What’s the name of the company?” Tony asked.
Pressing her lips together, she pondered. “Mar-tins? No Mar—”
“Marque?”
“Yes! In Pennsylvania.” Her eyes lit up. “That’s it. It only employs about a hundred people.”
Jim shrugged. “We’ve found a few things in this book that you’ve contested as accurate. Let’s see how true the next scene is.”
“We talked about the wedding plans and made love. Then I surprised her with her sister and brother-in-law.”
“Next time.” Jim stepped back behind the desk and looked up, meeting Tony’s gaze. “Also, think about our definitions. Having sex and making love aren’t the same thing. Think about it.”
As Tony made his way back to his dormitory, he wondered what the fuck there was to think about, besides the fact that it was almost 4:00 PM, and he had to be back and present for the standing count. As he hurried from one building to the other, Jim’s words came back. What was Claire thinking?
Tony wanted to go back and ask him to clarify. He wanted to go get that damn book and throw it in the incinerator. He wanted to do many things, none of which included standing by his bunk and being counted. Was that how Claire felt?
Spring had finally sprung and the South Dakota air was warm enough for outside visitation. Tony liked sitting outside with his visitors much better than being cramped inside. For one thing, with the openness and fresh breeze, it seemed more private. That was an illusion: nothing at Yankton was private. Nonetheless, as Patricia sat across the small table from him and recited numbers and proposals, the illusion felt real. For a brief moment in time, he was living his old life.
The winter had been hard. Not only had the weather been exceptionally cold, the dormant landscape, as well as Roach’s reports about Claire, all worked to add to his funk. Jim even recommended medication. He said that it wasn’t unusual for prisoners to become depressed. Though he made it seem acceptable, Tony’s thoughts went back to his grandfather. The antidepressants in conjunction with his other medication created symptoms of dementia. Tony didn’t want that. He was having enough trouble remembering Claire and Nichol.
No. That wasn’t true. He remembered everything about them, except now and then he’d think about the scent of baby powder and forget the fragrance. Or another wife would bring in a young child and Tony would wonder about Nichol. How big was she? What was she doing? Courtney sent pictures whenever she could. No one was allowed to bring cell phones near the prisoners. Visitors weren’t even allowed to bring papers or pencils; however, she could mail them. As much as he appreciated it, each time he looked at the images of his sixteen-month-old daughter walking or laughing, another piece of his heart broke. If he was having trouble remembering how she felt in his arms, he had little doubt that she’d completely forgotten him. His stomach twisted at the thought. In her young mind, John was her father. No one had to say that to Tony—he knew.
As if that wasn’t enough, Roach’s reports were the same. He’d found a source inside of Everwood who was willing to divulge information—at least some. It seemed as though Claire was a mystery to most of the residents and staff. They saw her from afar. Yet, she never joined the other patients in group activities or even in the dining hall. According to Roach’s source, Claire was treated with kid gloves and well cared for. Her needs were met in every way. The source said that Nichol hadn’t been to visit in the last few months. Since Emily never entered Nichol’s name on the registry, it was difficult for Roach to confirm or deny. Now that the weather was improving, he could report that the nanny had both children outside and to the park while Emily was at Everwood.
Tony’s request to work in the business office had been granted. He’d endured it for most of the winter months, but it hadn’t been what he’d expected. It was clerical. He was a damn secretary—not an assistant, like Patricia, not someone who had a thought or an opinion. No. For $0.17 an hour he filed papers and filled out invoices. As soon as they began planting the flower seeds in the greenhouse in Tony’s horticulture class, he put in for a transfer. Now, his job was landscaping. It was a great way to combine his new knowledge of plants with his job. Perhaps because he had acquired the knowledge through Yankton, the supervising staff actually asked for and accepted his suggestions. It was a joke that he could recommend a geranium versus an impatiens based on the amount of sun exposure and they’d listen, yet in the business office where he’d made a fortune outside of these walls, they weren’t interested in what he had to say.
Patricia continued her information dump. “Mr. Bronson said to tell you that Bakers in Chicago accepted the first proposal. He’d been prepared to increase the bid, but they bit at the first offer.”
Tony shook his head. “Maybe it was too high?”
“Oh, he didn’t think so.” She leaned forward. “It was all about timing. They had a balloon payment coming due…”
He listened as she gave more details.
“I almost forgot,” Patricia said with a grin. “A remarkable offer came in the other week to purchase a small company… in Pennsylvania, I think. Darn, it’s hard without notes. But it was almost too good to believe. The company’s been doing all right but there’s no reason to hold on to it.”
She had his attention. “What’s the name of the company?” Tony asked.
Pressing her lips together, she pondered. “Mar-tins? No Mar—”
“Marque?”
“Yes! In Pennsylvania.” Her eyes lit up. “That’s it. It only employs about a hundred people.”
