ago. It burnt to the ground.”
“Was anyone hurt?” I asked in the steadiest tone of voice I could muster.
“Oh no - it was empty at the time.”
A sickening, empty feeling filled my chest. Why hadn’t anyone tried to contact me? Surely someone in town would have had the decency to call and tell me that the house my father had built with his own hands had been reduced to ashes.
But as quickly as my blood pressure reached critical mass, it began to drop back down to a more manageable level.
The truth was the house no longer belonged to my family anyway. After leaving town, I’d arranged for the place to be sold and its contents auctioned off. At the time, I felt it was the only way to escape the past, which would in turn allow me to start afresh somewhere else. Or so I’d hoped.
Departing with no forwarding address also would have hampered any local contact, I reflected.
“Are you all right?”
The intoxicating fragrance of Linda’s perfume was the first indication that she was now standing in front of me, (even though I had no recollection of her getting up from behind her desk).
I’ve only been back for a few hours and already I’m losing it, I thought fearfully.
Linda didn’t wait for a response. “Why don’t you come over here and sit down?” she said, taking me by the arm to a nearby reading table. “You suddenly don’t look so hot.” I silently followed her lead and sat in the chair she’d pulled out. “Can I get you some water?”
I took inventory of all the emotions her face conveyed and could not detect the slightest trace of pity. She was genuinely concerned about my well being.
Amazing, I thought.
“No, I’m fine. Really,” I stammered. “I just . . . ah . . . need a second to regroup.”
“Take all the time you need,” she said cheerfully. “But remember, we close at eight tonight.”
Just then a boy about seven came over to the table and asked Linda for help finding a book on beetles.
“I’ll be right there, Christopher,” she said as the boy wandered back to the children’s corner. “As for you, Mr. Cassidy, is there something I can help you find - or are you still regrouping?”
“I think my group has been re-established, thank you. And please call me Steve. Only my enemies call me Mr. Cassidy and I don’t think you fit into that category.”
“Okay, Steve,” she said sarcastically. “What brings you here today?”
“Telephone books actually. Local ones for the past eight years.”
“I was expecting something a little more challenging,” she replied with a laugh, “but maybe you’re just testing me. In any case, the books you require are on the reference shelf against that wall.”
“Thanks,” I said, returning her smile.
“Just doing my job.”
I watched as Linda made her way over to the beetle boy and knew instinctively that she would someday be a candidate for Mother of the Year. Unlike me, she radiated love and patience for kids and their thousand and one rapid fire questions. Not that I don’t like children, I do. Just as long as they aren’t mine, of course.
My mind drifted back to my meeting with Maria and I wondered if she had any children. Angry with myself for the lost opportunity to find out, I stood quickly and dashed the thought out of my head, trying hard to concentrate on the task at hand.
The phone books were slim, which wasn’t surprising as the ten or so communities represented had populations ranging from 266 to 2540 - excluding the City of Kelsey Lake listings.
I started with the 1989 directory and quickly located a listing for “Barry Jones” of 15 Duke Drive in the Town of Delta section. I wrote the information in a small police notebook (one of many I’d kept after leaving Vice), and continued to look in the telephone books for the following seven years. Each one contained the same listing, name, address, and number. Apparently, the soon-to-be widow had never called the phone company to request a name change. It also indicated that Mrs. Jones and her two children continued to reside in the same house which Mr. Jones had left on March 20, 1990, never to be seen or heard from again.
Was there anything sinister with the grieving wife’s actions, or in this case, inaction?
Probably not, I concluded, but thought it was curious nevertheless. Just because I couldn’t stand the idea of living alone in my house after my parents had died only months apart, didn’t mean Mrs. Jones should feel the same way. Besides, unlike my Mom and Dad who were planted in the ground, Mrs. Jones fully expected her hubby to waltz back in the front door at anytime.
Still the idea seemed macabre.
I closed the current phone book but then reopened it. For the next several minutes I read line by line each of the Town of Delta’s listings. With each discarded name, my spirits fell. There were no listings for Maria Antonio, or M. Antonio, or for that matter, any other surnames with the name Maria preceding it.
“Are you looking for my number?” Linda asked as she took a seat beside me.
She had again seemingly materialized without warning, catching me off guard.
“Actually . . .,” I began to stutter - nervous for reasons I couldn’t explain.
“I’ll save you time,” she said pointing to a listing in the open book.
“L. Brooks? You’re married?” I looked at her ring finger and found it bare.
“Was married,” she replied happily. “The best - and worst - six months of my life.”
“But you’re what - nineteen?”
Linda blushed ever so slightly. “You transplanted city guys know how to load on the charm, don’t you?” I just stared back at her. “I’m twenty-two,” she finally said. “That’s plenty of time to screw up one’s life, at least temporarily.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”
“What - make me feel good about myself?” I returned her broad smile. “Why don’t we just drop this topic, okay? Cause I’ve always been told that you’re only as old as you feel.”
“I guess I would agree with that,” I said.
“So if I’m twenty-two, that makes you . . .”
“Fifty-four.” It was my turn to catch her off guard. “Well,” I began to qualify my answer, “physically I’m only thirty-one, but I feel like a fifty-four year old.”
“And how would you know what a fifty-four year old feels like?” Linda scoffed light-heartedly.
“I used to date much older woman,” I deadpanned.
“With lines like that I don’t suppose many women your age would find
