| |
Tommy (Tommy & Alice) Friday-Saturday
On Friday, we met after dinner to begin whittling down the master list. Each of us had been able to eliminate some interviewees, or at least put them into the unlikely category. Ron reported that a man on Egret Street with a pronounced limp had contracted polio as a child. “It’s possible he’s lying,” he told us, “but he talked about missing second grade and having to watch his friends play ball from a bench on the sidelines. His story seems legit.”
I wondered how he’d explored that painful subject when I was having trouble even getting a conversation started in most cases.
Al commented that our roundabout approaches made it hard to get specifics. When several others agreed, Julie chewed at her bottom lip and insisted, “We’ll get better as we go.”
Earl and Wilma were moving so quickly through their lists that I wondered how thorough they’d been. Wilma seemed convinced that anyone who attended church couldn’t possibly be our man, and Earl has a tendency to believe that people don’t lie, simply because he doesn’t. That might lead them to dismiss candidates prematurely. I wondered if I should have a private word with Julie and suggest that some of us re-check the people Earl and Wilma claimed they’d proven innocent.
Despite my doubts, I had to face the fact that everyone in the group was ahead of me. I was hopelessly inept at asking intrusive questions, especially to strangers.
Julie had spoken with O’Connor again, and she relayed a few more details on the murders. As I listened, a question came to mind. “You said this guy was already using an alias when he came to Nashville. How did he manage that?”
“He stole a wallet from a coma patient at a care facility. The police found the real Greg Miles in Arizona.”
As usual, Alice saw where I was going. “Then this man was a criminal before he came to Nashville and killed those people.”
“I assume the police looked at people who worked at the nursing home,” I said.
Julie nodded. “The staff and the patient’s relatives all checked out.”
I considered that. “A search for a local man who went missing at that time might bring better results now that records are digitized.”
“But it won’t do us any good.” Al tapped his list with a finger. “The guy who stole Greg Miles’ identity back then has been using some other name for over fifty years.”
“That’s true, but there might be a photo, or fingerprints on file.”
Karen chuckled. “Next you’ll want a sample of each man’s prints.”
“That’s up to the police. All we can do is keep at our lists,” Ron rubbed the back of his neck. “I had one guy tell me to mind my own business though. Not sure how to go forward with him.”
“How about we switch names if we contact a man and get nowhere?” Al suggested. “It won’t be so obvious if a new person talks to ’em.”
“Good idea,” Alice said. “A different approach might get results.”
We spent a few minutes rearranging our lists, which the ever-efficient Julie promised would result in new ones by tomorrow. You can’t keep a good librarian down, even in retirement.
When the meeting broke up, I still had reservations. If two different people started a conversation and brought up the same date, our subjects might well wonder what was up. Since I didn’t have a better idea, I went along.
That evening, I discovered I’d made a mistake earlier in the day that was likely to set my marriage back about a century. For Alice and me, the first year of marriage had been rocky. The woman I’d known casually for three months and dated for three more, a person who was funny and smart and easy to talk to, turned angry only a few weeks after we made our vows. Alice criticized me, at home and in public, lashing out when I least expected it. For months I walked on eggshells, trying to avoid her anger and usually failing miserably.
We had a breakthrough in December, when I made a mistake that forced us to talk about our relationship. We learned what most people do when honest discussion replaces carping and silent resentment: We had each misunderstood the other’s intentions. Alice lacks confidence in herself and in the institution of marriage. Her way of coping was to try to control everything I did, said, and thought. The fact that she didn’t care who knew when she was angry didn’t help the situation.
It was a revelation to me that my Texas manners increased my wife’s insecurity. I was raised to believe that courteous men tell women how attractive they are, eloquently and often. Alice saw my compliments to other women as belittling to her. In the end we agreed I’d tone down the Texas charm and she’d try to be more trusting. That was all good.
Despite our recent progress, a guy sometimes wanders back into trouble, despite the best of intentions.
With my first wife, Ella, I had three kids, now grown and well-established in life. Two of them had come to Florida with their families for winter break, and my older daughter called to suggest we join them for a day at Busch Gardens. Alice had been out when the call came, and I was so pleased with the invitation that I didn’t think about waiting to ask if she was willing. Alice loves Busch Gardens, and we had no plans for the day. “Sure,” I told Corinne. “We’ll meet you at the entrance tomorrow around ten.”
“What if I don’t want to spend all day with your girls?” Alice said that night when I finally remembered to tell her.
Hearing a tone that reminded me of the recent, unhappy past, I tried to be positive. “It’ll be fun. We’ll eat too much, watch the critters, and then come home.”
“They don’t like me.”
My girls do have reservations about my second marriage. Growing up in the household of Professor Murgasson and his proper wife Ella, they had views on people who spend a lot of time in bars. I’d met Alice when she poured beers at the 19th Hole, and she made no apologies for how she earned her living. Alice had escaped an abusive marriage with few choices, no financial support, and two boys to raise. I’d shared that with my slightly snooty daughters, but it didn’t help. They’d looked down their noses at her from the start.
If Alice had been the sweet and silent type, my girls might have overcome their reservations, but life taught her that sweet and silent got a woman nowhere. The first time Alice called me out for a minor fault in front of the whole Murgasson clan, the girls looked at me, and then at each other, in horror. From then on, I heard disapproval in their voices whenever they spoke of Alice or to her.
It’s hard to talk honestly with grown children about a new spouse. I’m not sure the kids get how hard it is to start over in your seventh decade, getting used to a new person in your life. Alice and I love each other, but late in life, love is different from the hearts and flowers emotion of youth. It’s about respecting each other and being willing to accept that we’re all molded by the years—decades—that came before we met. I was wrong to agree to a family day without consulting Alice. Believe me, I did some fancy footwork to make up for it.
“Why would you say yes without at least checking with me, Tommy?” I cringed at the old shrillness that crept into Alice’s voice. Ron was across the street, sitting at his patio table, but if he overheard, he gave no sign of it. He’s my friend, so he wouldn’t.
“We won’t stay long, maybe three hours,” I promised.
“Three hours should give those two all kinds of nasty things to say about me after I leave.” Leaning against the kitchen counter, Alice folded her arms, her posture daring me to claim that wasn’t true.
“I’ll steer the talk away from any topics that set Corinne off.” My eldest is politically opinionated and prone to lecture.
“Good luck with that,” Alice sneered.
“And the grandkids like spending time with you.”
“Despite their mothers’ opinions.”
“Alice, I’m sorry. I wanted to spend time with my family in an atmosphere where everyone’s relaxed. I didn’t think you’d mind, and I apologize for leaving you out of the decision.”
She unfolded her arms. “They’re your family, Tommy, and you deserve to see them when you can.” After a moment she added, “But if I pinch your elbow at any point, immediately invent an excuse for us to leave.”
Relieved, I promised, “Deal.”
