I had to talk to Cora about Samantha coming to visit. I’d been putting it off but I was running out of time. I realized I’d been grinding my teeth and my jaw was sore. I know I was feeling all the emotions that every man on the Bataan death march must have felt as I went through the tunnel in search of Cora. My steps were slow and heavy. I ran my hands along the damp walls of the tunnels. The little pen light I kept stowed in my pocket now illuminated a bit of the wall. I was developing a fear of being trapped in these passageways with no light. This time, instead of taking the left path, I turned right when the passages forked.
I stopped a few feet in and held my breath. The walls themselves looked the same. Rough dirt and rock, smoothed with time, damp. I wondered if it ever flooded down here when it rained really hard. The passages were narrow and at times just wide enough to walk through without turning sideways. An image popped into my mind of Cora stuck in one of these passageways in one of her shapeless dresses, unable to move, wedged between the narrow walls, screaming for help. It made me smile.
The tunnel ended at a heavy metal door. The hinges were rusted and made the screeching sounds when I pulled at it. I cringed and shined my light inside. A storage space. It was small and square in shape, maybe twenty feet across. Dirt floor, dirt walls. No windows. A single light bulb hung from a chain in the middle of the room with a string attached. I pulled it. The bulb let off enough light for me to see that there was old gardening equipment strewn about the floor. A cracked hose, some bags of lime and peat moss, a post hole digger, a shovel. All were rusted and beyond use. There was another door on the other side of the room. I pulled at the handle but it wouldn’t budge. I had no idea where it led; my entire knowledge of the tunnel system in this house was of the one that led from my room to the marble stair, and now this. Ralph Simpson had told me about this room only days ago.
My hands touched the cold damp rock wall. I shuddered and drew back, the urge to leave was overwhelming. The door was as hard to close as it had been to open. The rust from the metal flaked off on my skin. I rubbed my hands on my pants. Now I had to conquer an even bigger fear. Find Cora.
The search ended at the bottom of the marble stairway. Cora stood at the top looking down at me. I’m not sure if she had been on her way down the stairs or up. She was just standing there and it startled me for a second. Her hand rested on the banister; she wore yet another dress similar in design to the others I’d seen her in. This one was a medium gray. It came to the top of her calves, falling loosely about her thick body.
“Cora, I was just coming to look for you.” I walked up the stairs one by one, waiting for a response. She stared at me but said nothing. “I wanted to talk to you if I could.”
“About what?”
The gray in her dress almost matched her hair. If she had shoes and a bag to match she’d be all color coordinated. A solid wall of gray. I had reached the landing and we stood side by side. She had at least five inches on me. I hadn’t noticed it so much before. I glanced down. She was wearing flat black shoes. That put her somewhere around five-eight or nine.
“A few things. Can we sit down somewhere and talk?”
Her eyes narrowed a bit and held mine too long, then she turned and led me to the room we’d used for Bible study days before. She pointed to one of the leather club chairs. ”Sit,” she said, lowering herself into the other one.
She had an intimidating presence but what made it worse was that I kept thinking about those checks that went through the wash cycle. She was calm, giving no show of expression on her face. I tried to relax myself as her tiny green eyes studied my face, feature by feature. “What is it that you wanted?”
My hands rested on the thick arms of the chair. My palms were moist with sweat and I moved them, afraid they’d leave a mark on the expensive leather. “We haven’t seen much of each other since I got here,” I started.
“You’ve been busy.” She tilted her head towards me.
I cleared my throat. “Not so busy. I have wanted to talk to you about a few things but the timing didn’t seem right.” What the hell was I saying? My lips were moving and I heard the sounds, but I wasn’t sure what was coming next. I needed to tell her about Samantha’s impending visit.
“A few things?” Her forehead furrowed.
“When Nick died….” I stopped and swallowed. These were thoughts I’d had in the back of my head, but I hadn’t intended to speak them out loud. “The accident was so sudden, I…I mean he insisted on being buried in Maine so I bought a plot in South Portland. At the time I thought that’s where he belonged.”
She was curious as to where I was going with this, and to be truthful so was I. I wasn’t going to surrender Nick’s body over to her, but the thought had occurred to me that he may belong with his father, wherever he had been laid to rest. He seemed to love his father, and maybe that was what he would’ve wanted. But what I was really doing was offering Cora a tidbit, giving her the pretense that I respected her ties with Nick over my own. I’d never agree to have his body exhumed. And they would need my approval, but I wanted something from Cora and so I tossed this out to see a reaction.
“What are you saying?” Her eyes were as large as I’d ever seen them.
“I’m just wondering, well, asking I guess, where Nick’s father is buried, and if Nick belongs with him.”
She leaned in so close to me I wanted to get up. Her hand touched mine. It was rough and cold. “Nick’s father is buried in the Whitfield plot. In the cemetery at Saint Martin in the Field. But I was thinking that he should be with the Monroes, my family. There’s a spot in our cemetery.” I wanted to shake her hand off of mine but I forced myself to sit, unmoving. “It’s where Nick belongs. With my father and mother, and my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“He was never really born. My mother died with him in childbirth, but it’s where Nick belongs.” She was repeating herself. “Not in Maine. With some other name on his headstone. He’s a Monroe.”
“Oh,” was all that came out of my mouth. There was no way in hell I’d ever let them bury Nick with Cora’s family. Never. His father’s family, maybe. But maybe he was happy just where he was. In Maine, with the name Weichmann on his tombstone. It was how he chose to live. “I’ll give it some thought, Cora, but I wanted to ask you something else.”
She dropped my hand and sat back in her chair. “Yes?”
“I have a friend coming from Portland and I wanted to know if she might be able to stay with me, here, only for a few days, and then the two of us’ll drive back to Maine together.”
“You’re leaving in a few days?”
“I’ve been here some weeks now. I probably should think about it.”
“No,no,no, Mackenzie. Not yet. We’re not finished yet.”
“Finished?” I watched her face. She was angry, but she didn’t want to anger me.
“Just stay a little longer. A little longer, please? It’s meant so much having you here with me. Your friend can come here later.”
“Her schedule is difficult. She’s coming next week and I don’t think she can change her plans.” Cora said nothing. I had the feeling that she was seething but her face was devoid of any hint of it. “Can she stay here?”
“Out of the question, I’m sorry. I open my home to very few people. You are family, so I made an exception. The only exception I will ever make. ” I felt like I was playing poker. You see, I didn’t want to leave the house yet. I didn’t want to leave until I figured out what the hell was going on and I could only do that from inside. If I used Samantha as a condition to my staying in the house, I had no idea what she’d do. She might back down, and then again she might not. She might stand up and ask me to leave right then. We stared at each other. She’d just begged me not to leave and now she was refusing to let my friend stay here. She was so damned confusing. And sure of herself. After weighing my options I stood up.
“I’ll find other arrangements for my friend.”
“I’m glad you understand. I’m a very private person. I’ve never been comfortable with strangers in the house.”
“I understand.” And I did. Cora had an obvious reaction to people. I could see her expression flatten, her body language change. She drew herself up, folded her arms to protect herself when anyone was around her.
“And please let me know about moving Nick’s body. I’d like to begin making the arrangements. Maybe we can have him here and buried before you leave. Have a real ceremony where he belongs, with his family.”
I simply nodded. Her eyes remained on me until I left the room. I had come to speak with her about Samantha coming, ended up talking about moving Nick’s body to the last place he’d ever like to be, she’d refused to let my friend stay here with me despite her beseeching me not to leave and somehow I was accepting it all. I was a lousy poker player and always had been. Samantha could stay at a hotel. It wouldn’t kill her.