Tall Man Down - 9. Chapter 9

The funeral was simple. The church – white, outside and in – was dominated by slender columns, with clear, bright light washing in through Georgian windows, highlighting the crowded pews, and a large brass cross up front, seemingly suspended in the air. Prayers were read, tributes made, and there were songs. Afterwards, most of the people walked the few blocks to the town’s three-hundred-year-old cemetery, where prayers were again dedicated to saving Steven Jeffrey Catlin’s eternal soul.

“If he had a soul, we’d all’ve been better off,” someone behind me nearly hissed, and at first, I wasn’t sure who. “We’d all’ve been better off if – for one lousy second – he’d even thought there’d be someone to answer to.”

“This is a bit much,” a second voice agreed.

“A bit? Everyone knows he wasn’t religious. At least, he wasn’t hypocritical about that. But the only thing that idiot believed in was getting his own way. And maybe torturing everyone else as he did it.”

“Not always.”

I half-turned, until I could just see Nadia Otarola mainly listening to Cheryl Yost. Cheryl was the former school night nurse who’d lost her long-held job when Catlin decided it was more economical, evenings, to ferry sick students to the local emergency room.

“Why are you defending the jerk?” she now half-attacked Nadia. “Did he leave you money?”

“I’m not defending anyone,” Nadia insisted. “I just don’t agree he was malicious. Egotistic, all right. But he mainly seemed to be doing what he thought best – from his limited point of view.”

“Very limited. Extremely.”

“Sometimes.”

“Next, you’ll be calling him a hero. Just because he’s dead.”

I quickly remembered how little I liked Cheryl – who often seemed to run on ahead before she came close to finishing her thoughts. But a funeral was no place to argue, so I didn’t interfere. Instead, I wondered why she’d come at all, doubting she’d actually dance on Catlin’s grave.

“It’s not the ‘good’ that gets buried,” she went on relentlessly. “Though in my ‘limited’ opinion, you’d have to scrape – really hard – to find any of that.”

Nadia ignored the dig.

“It’s the ‘crap,’” Cheryl charged on. “That’s what’s buried. All the junk we had to put up with every day. I’ll bet – not even five years from today – people’ll only remember the supposedly ‘good’ things he did. The very few – probably accidental – ‘decent” things. Like how he raised money for programs only he wanted. And put up buildings only because he felt they were needed. They’ll probably even name one of the ugly things after him.”

“I doubt that,” Nadia said, still seeming to try for calm.

Other people were glancing at Cheryl now, too, as if wanting to say, “Please. Be quiet.” And Cheryl must have had friends in the crowd that she wanted to keep, because she finally either stopped or lowered her voice. That let the rest of us focus on Catlin’s casket, which was being slowly lowered into the ground.

“I expected something more alarming,” Cheryl did snap shortly. “Earthquakes.”

Instead, Sandra Catlin – veiled, but not crying – knelt and threw the first handful of soil into the grave. Lisa followed, then Ted. Then they walked slowly to a waiting car.

“Some people are going to the President’s House,” Pete soon told me. We were part of the informal procession now leaving the cemetery. “Mostly friends. It’s by invitation.”

“We hardly know her.’”

“We’ve been asked. Rebecca mentioned it to me in the church.”

“Now there’s a dependable source.”

“I’d like to go, Gil.”

“Then we will. I never planned not to.”

He smiled and kissed me, more a peck than anything. Almost affirmation, on this otherwise somber morning.

“You’d better call Nollie,” I told him. “How long do you think we’ll be?”

“No more than an hour.”

So Pete called, and then checked his face with his phone. He’d cried at the funeral, where I’d only managed to look sad. And maybe Cheryl had been right – we were already forgetting the daily grief Catlin had caused. But to me, that seemed what funerals were for.

When we reached the President’s House, the downstairs was filled with people. I knew some of them well but wouldn’t have been social with others. Colleges may be thought democratic by people who don’t spend a lot of time around them. But I’d found them as stratified as anything.

Sandra was in the living room – on the couch – and I almost laughed, thinking of the last possible use for that piece of furniture. Derek Robillard, a Board member and an area doctor, was bringing her coffee. The mood was as far from joyous as it was from grim. But it did seem people wanted to relax.

Ted Catlin found us, soon after we came in. “I’m glad you’re here. Mom worried you wouldn’t come.”

“How is she?” Pete asked.

“Fine... mainly. Have you talked with her?”

“Not today.”

“Then you should.”

“We’ll work our way over.”

“Anything I can do?” I asked him.

Ted shook his head. “We’re fine... actually. The college is taking care of everything... including this.” He gestured around the room, though it seemed like he didn’t approve. Then he moved on, perhaps representing his family to other groups of people.

“I’ll be right back,” Pete told me.

“Good luck,” I offered. Sandra was surrounded by well-wishers.

For a while afterward, I chatted with various Board members – about Catlin, Waldron, and even our production plans. It’s amazing how small you can dice tiny. Finally, bored even with my own conversation, I slipped onto the front porch.

It was empty, but there was no place to sit except the steps or the rail. I leaned on the railing then remembered my suit. Out of jeans, I had to be careful about stains and nails and just about anything. Suits were traps.

I decided to explore. During the school year, I detoured past the President’s House maybe three or four times a week – whenever traffic was heavy the other way. But I never really looked at the house.

It was over a hundred years old and on a fairly large lot, maybe a half-acre. The lawns and flower beds were well-planted and nicely cared for by the college, and I envied Catlin that, since I hated mowing even our small lawns. Pete and I had a modest Cape, on just under a quarter acre. A “cute first house,” a retired uncle of mine once called it.

As I reached the backyard, I noticed someone sitting, among low trees, on a piece of iron furniture never designed for comfort, and I quickly realized it was Lisa Catlin. I nodded to her, intending to quietly pass by, since there seemed no reason to interrupt her thoughts. Instead, she asked, “Too much for you inside?” And she was smiling.

We were maybe ten feet apart. I shrugged. “Kind of.”

“I can’t take those people... at least, most of them.”

“Aren’t some your relatives?”

“Nah, they’re all back at our house. Most of them aren’t staying with us because we needed some privacy. But they’ve been around all week. Ted wanted to go back, but Mom insisted we come here first.”

I felt sorry for her. But my feelings about people like Board members and relatives seemed best kept to myself. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“No.”

I’d expected something more polite.

“Anything I can do?”

“Like getting my father back?” She must have immediately realized how juvenile that sounded and softened. “No. But thanks.”

Now I’m a sucker for people in trouble. It probably got me onto the police force and then led me into teaching. And seeing Lisa so unhappy made me find a seat on another torturous piece of furniture. In other times, I could have offered her a drink or a cigarette. But she already had a drink, and I doubted she smoked. Not to mention, where would I find a cigarette? “Were you close to your dad?” I asked.

She simply stared. So I moved on. “I get along very well with mine... and maybe always have. But one of my brothers – the oldest – and our sister had problems. My brother said it would be funny if he turned out to be a druggie, and my sister said, ‘Yeah, and if I got pregnant.’ She meant ‘before she was married.’ Dad’s very conservative.”

“There any reason... I mean that he’d be worried? Is it based on family history?”

“No, we’re all comfortably low-key. But Dad likes to be ready for anything.”

She smiled again, which was all I wanted. Pete once said that making him laugh in the middle of an argument didn’t really solve anything. But I said I didn’t see where it hurt.

“I’m not sure my father worried about me,” Lisa offered. “At least, not that way. And he seemed really happy when I did well – always telling his friends and congratulating me. But I’m not sure I gave him enough chances.”

“You’re going to Smith,” I pointed out. It was partly reassurance and partly what little I knew about her.

“I was always going to Smith – Mom went there, so they couldn’t very well turn me down. And there were Dad’s connections, too. In the same way, Ted could always go to Amherst.”

“It’s tough to have advantages.”

She smiled again. I knew how to be charming when I wanted.

“It’s not the worst place to spend four years,” she admitted. “Though I wanted to go further away.”

I waited. But she said nothing. “And?”

“It wasn’t encouraged.”

She said it simply, and I could think of lots of reasons for that decision. But they all involved prying. Besides, I could be less direct.

“We only have one son – one child, ” I told her, “Pete and me. A little boy. Josh.”

It didn’t seem to make connections.

“You can be very protective.”

“Dad wasn’t overprotective,” she immediately insisted.

So it was Catlin, not Sandra.

“And he wasn’t playing favorites, either. He was very fair that way.” She almost smiled. “At least, with Ted and me. Dad was his own favorite.”

That made me laugh, and she liked it – catching the teacher unprepared. “Still, you’ll miss him,” I pointed out, trying to recover.

“Who wouldn’t?” She must have realized there were lists of people and amended that to “In our family.”

I nodded, but she again said nothing.

“Sometimes, it sneaks up on you,” I tried to explain. “A friend of mine – maybe my oldest if not my best – suddenly died two years ago. A car accident. Drunk driver. Nothing that could be stopped or be prevented. Even so, I thought I was okay with that. As I said, we were no longer that close. But I find myself suddenly having conversations with him, at the strangest times. There are things I want to tell him, that only he’d understand. Or things I need to ask.”

Lisa was still silent.

“So it’s just... Well, don’t write you dad off yet. You may find you feel all kinds of different ways about him.”

She seemed to think about that, then smiled. But there was just a little of her father’s condescension.

And I’d meant to end things that way, so I stood. I’d paid my respects to Catlin, I’d been nice to one of his kids, and Pete was covering us with Sandra. Now it was time to find him and go home.

Though as I started to move away, Lisa called after me. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

And maybe that’s all she meant. Or maybe she was asking for more – as Pete thought Sandra had been, the night before. So I turned back.

“There’s so much I seem to get wrong,” she quietly went on. “People see me and get this idea of who I am. And it’s sometimes not far off... and not bad. But I sometimes wish I was who they thought I was.”

I laughed again. “Yeah, well, we’re all like that – at least, a lot of people. Especially anyone who works with large groups... like your dad.”

That brought nothing.

“I mean, he didn’t have to do this job. And most of the time I couldn’t figure out why he did. I know he started as a teacher... as a historian. And maybe that’s how he always saw himself. But then he got a break. And he wrote another book. And another. And I can’t remember if it was his third or fourth that was made into that movie. But after that, well, everything changed, and he didn’t have to teach anymore. And he certainly didn’t have to be president of a tiny college like this one, where he was almost constantly attacked – just for trying to make things better. So it was obviously something he liked.”

“He liked to figure things out.”

I grinned. “That only explains part of it.”

“And he and Mom liked the area. It’s where they met.”

“That’s another piece.”

“And I could give you more. But even if I told you everything I knew, it might not make sense...”

Sometimes, I just want to hug people and assure them things will be better – and soon. Or at least different. But this wasn’t a time for hugging students, so I went indirect again. “One of the reasons I like building scenery is it gives me something to do. Without thinking. I go to the shop, and I work. And if I run out of things to build, I paint. And when I run out of painting, I move on to lights. Or sound. Or props.”

“So I should learn Farsi,” she offered. “Something easy.” She was almost grinning with me.

“Yeah... you get it.”

Maybe she did, or maybe she didn’t. Though I’d realized – halfway through – that I was just practicing for Josh in the future. But I’d have a lot of students before that. And plenty of time.

I started again to leave. “Anyway, I’m in the theater a lot, and I’m sure you know where that is.” I thumbed down the block anyway. “I can’t teach you the pleasures of pounding with hammers because we mostly don’t much use them anymore. But if you can’t learn Farsi, I can show you how to use a compressor. Or weld.”

She nodded as an answer, and I was bright enough to leave it at that. I crossed the lawn, circled back to the front of the house, and was about to go up the steps, when I noticed a glass balanced on one of the porch railings. I guessed people had started to leave, so I thought I could safely find Pete. I grabbed the glass, then noticed another that had already tipped and was lying just below in the flower bed. I reached for that, though stupidly across the roses, then remembered my suit. I tried another way, leaning out from the steps, but still couldn’t avoid the thorns. Finally, I contented myself with the good deed of taking one lost glass inside, and I safely set it on a hallway table.

Pete was in the middle of a conversation – I thought political, and I thought national, not college. “Is Sandra okay?” I asked, when given a chance.

Pete eased himself away. “She needs a favor,” he told me. Then he didn’t explain, I guessed because there were too many people around.

“Can we leave?”

Pete glanced across the living room, towards the couch where Sandra was still sitting. She didn’t seem any more relaxed but was still smiling.

Sandra noticed Pete and slightly shook her head. Then Pete turned to me. “I don’t know how soon.” So I went looking for something to chew. I was all talked out.

Maybe ten minutes later, as I was talking with someone anyway – Daria Terzic from Psych – Pete found me. “Ready,” was all he said.

I nodded to Daria and followed Pete to the living room – Daria and I had been chatting in a kind of a side porch or den. I’d been reading the titles of books when she wandered in and asked if I was hiding. When I confessed, she said, “Me, too,” and we’d laughed and began our conversation.

In the living room, people still surrounded Sandra, and I figured Pete and I would join them. But Pete gently pushed on, saying goodbye to people as we passed and prompting me to do the same. Soon we were in the front hall and then at the front door. But when I glanced back, I noticed the group surrounding Sandra had held. I wasn’t sure what Pete had promised, but I knew I’d find out.

“Sandra knows where to meet us,” Pete told me as we walked past Catlin’s car, now moved to the side of the driveway.

“Is this an adventure?”

“Nah, just a quick drive. She thinks we’re the easiest way out.”

I didn’t even bother to unpuzzle that. I just followed, and Sandra met us at our car a few minutes later.

“I really appreciate this,” she said. “I don’t think anyone knows I’m gone. I slipped out through the kitchen.”

“No one knows you’re leaving?” Pete asked.

“I told Ted to tell Lisa. They’ll understand.”

Since I didn’t, I simply drove.

“How are you doing?” Pete asked Sandra. He was turned around in the passenger seat because she was sitting in the back.

“I just want to get away... if only for a night.”

I couldn’t see her leaving her relative-and-probably-close-friend-filled home. But since I wasn’t supposed to know who was there, again, I said nothing.

“Here are my keys,” Sandra was telling Pete. You can slip in the side door of the garage and open the overhead with the switch – it’s on the wall. Then back my car out, and we’ll meet you down the block.”

“You don’t need anything else?”

“You can’t go into the house without attracting attention. And you probably couldn’t find things and pack even if I told you where everything was. Besides, it’s only overnight.”

“You’ve thought this out.”

“I’ve had time.”

The house wasn’t far. It was in what had been the rich section of Waldron a hundred-and-fifty years before, when the mills were booming. The garage – which had probably once been a carriage house – was behind the house and opened on the alley.

I thought both were far enough from the main house that Sandra could have slipped in and driven off. But evidently, she didn’t. Instead, we furtively dropped Pete off and continued down the alley, turning, then parking, on the residential cross-street.

“I really appreciate this,” Sandra told me while we waited. “Lisa and Ted know how to handle the relatives, and they know everyone else there. I may feel stupid about this later, but right now, I don’t care.”

As Pete pulled up, Sandra opened the back door. “You’re sure you’re okay?” I heard Pete ask as they changed places.

“I’ll be fine. And it won’t be long.”

“Call us. Really. For anything.”

“I may.” She handed Pete a piece of paper. “Here’s my number. I think you have my cell, but this is where I’ll be.” She seemed almost euphoric as she drove away.

I glanced at the scrap of paper when Pete got into our car. It had a phone number with an area code that I thought was for Vermont. “Do they have a second house?” I asked.

“Yeah... but Nantucket.”

“That’s not this.”

Pete merely smiled.

“What else did she tell you?” I pushed.

“Just that she may want us for dinner... if she suddenly feels too alone. She said she’ll call.”

“Why the secrecy?”

“Because she has a house full of guests. After leaving another house full of college people. After having almost a week full of relatives and friends. And she was afraid someone would stop her.”

That kind of made sense. But Sandra was an adult, so she could make this kind of decision. Still something seemed off – slightly – though Pete didn’t seem bothered.

We detoured on our way home – to take advantage of Nollie’s being with Josh to have lunch out. We hadn’t really eaten breakfast, and I’d only noshed trash at the President’s House. And while it was nice to spend an hour without interruptions, I kept thinking of other things.