“Hi, Mom,” said Katherine. “Bad time?”
“No, dear, just got home. Are you all right?”
“All good. I got the details on graduation. Are you still sure you want to go through the hassle and expense of coming down?”
“Absolutely! I wouldn’t miss it. Go ahead.”
Katherine read from the page of information in front of her. “ ‘The ceremony will be held at Lincoln Center, May 1, at 2:00 p.m., with a reception following outside . . . the whole process shouldn’t take more than an hour.’ Have you checked flights?”
The line went silent for a beat, then Katherine heard the clicking of her mother’s keyboard, and knew she was scanning a travel site online.
“It looks like I can get a round-trip for under three-hundred dollars, into LaGuardia—leave at nine, arrive about two hours later. Do you think that’s too close?” Beth asked.
“No, that’ll work. How are you, Mom? Your voice sounds funny.”
“I’m . . . oh, you know how crazy the shift nurse’s position is.”
“Okay . . . get some sleep,” Katherine said. “Are you going to eat at home?”
“I had dinner at the hospital. Are you all done with everything? Did you get your master’s critique or whatever it’s called?”
“I did. My project’s accepted; I’m essentially done. Now, I have to get serious about a job—hope to have some interviews in the next few weeks.”
“I know you’re dying to get started. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom. Listen, before you go, I want to ask you one question. Who would you say has influenced some member of our family? I know it sounds weird, but my mentor, Professor Simpson, has suggested that I do a special paper on a person—not a relative—who has had a positive influence on someone in my family.”
“Why does he want to know that?” Beth asked.
“It’s complicated. He thinks I have the potential to be a really great reporter.”
“Of course, he does. My God, look how well you’ve done.”
“It’s about finding what he calls the ‘emotional core’ of the story, something I’m not objective about or at least involved with personally. Who’s influenced you, Mom? Who made a difference in your life? Or Grandpa Adrian or Grandma Colina? I know it’s a little weird.”
The phone went silent for a while. “Well,” Beth said, “you know how close I am to Joan. We’ve been friends since nursing school. She’s done well . . . I feel like I’m missing something here. As far as my mother or father being influenced by someone else—other than family—I can’t think of anything out of the ordinary. Just good people, who worked hard and led a decent life. I guess Father Patterson has been something of an influence on your grandfather, but not very much on me.”
“That’s all right, Mom, forget it,” Katherine said.
“Are you all right, dear?”
“Fine, Mom. Lot on my mind. By the way, I saw a documentary on television last night about a Navy SEAL operation in Panama having to do with capturing Noriega. The general was actually captured in ’89, but the operations apparently started in ’88—going into . . . hang on a minute, I want to check my notes . . . here it is . . . Palmerola Air Base, as it was known then, Operation Golden Pheasant. Was my father ever at Palmerola Air Base?”
She waited for a response from her mother, but none came. Katherine could feel the unwanted angst and, perhaps, animus build in her. She began to feel trapped, out of control, like being in a taxi without air conditioning on an insufferably hot New York summer day, hopelessly stuck in traffic, late for an important meeting, too many blocks away to walk.
“Mom, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here,” her mother replied in a clipped manner. “As I’ve told you, I was dating Larry while he was in the Air Force and stationed at Plattsburgh Air Force Base. One night when we were together, he hinted that he’d be receiving deployment orders. I asked him when and how long he’d be away, but he said he did not know, and couldn’t say if he did. That was the last night I saw him. I never knew exactly what happened . . . couldn’t get it. All I know is that he died during the mission.”
“Were there any newspaper accounts of what happened? Do you have anything in writing about my father’s death?” Katherine hated herself for pressing so boldly, but in light of her professor’s assignment, she was even more consumed by the desire to know more.
“Not much. I’m sorry. That was a long time ago. They closed the Plattsburgh Base, I believe, in 1995 . . . I’ll go through my stuff upstairs and see if I can find any newspaper clips or whatever. If I find something, I’ll send it to you.”
“Sure, Mom. Sorry to bother you with that. I can’t wait to see you. Won’t be long now. It’s beautiful here. You’ll love the square.”
“See you soon, dear. Good night. I love you,” Beth said, and clicked off the phone before her daughter could ask any more probing questions.
Once her daughter hit on a topic, Beth knew, she’d persist until she turned up answers—but she honestly had nothing to offer about Larry Manning’s mission or the details of his death. At the time, she’d thought about calling Larry’s mother, whom she’d never met, but elected not to. She had never had the woman’s address or telephone number, and she wasn’t sure that Larry had even told his mother about them.
Beth had noticed a newspaper story about a military operation overrunning Contra rebel supply caches in the San Andrés de Bocay region and deployment of the Seventh Infantry Division Quick Reaction Force. The article talked about support by the Air Force to secure the Honduran Military Base, but didn’t mention Larry’s Air Force group or anything to do with the Air Force at Plattsburgh, only references to the Army’s 82nd Airborne stationed in North Carolina. Beth wasn’t sure why she had clipped those articles—except that there were things she’d always wondered about, herself.
Beth knew her daughter and could tell from Katherine’s sudden shift from intensity to a light-hearted tone . . . sorry to bother you . . . won’t be long now . . . beautiful here . . . you’ll love the square . . . that it was not adding up to her. Katherine would not let it go.
Tears in her eyes, Beth rushed to the bathroom and threw up. The time had come. She had to tell Katherine the truth somehow. The whole truth. She was sure she would be punished by God for having lived a lie. She prayed that God would give her time to try to straighten it out.
Beth took a hot bath, then climbed into bed, rolled onto her back, and tried to fall asleep. But Katherine’s questions played over and over in her head like a broken message over the hospital intercom.