Read Online Pam of Babylon by Suzanne Jenkins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Suzanne Jenkins
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and began to weep, laying down on the bed, pulling the covers up over her body. She cried until she fell asleep.
The ringing phone woke her up. She picked the phone up, looking at the number on the caller ID. It was home, but she wasn’t going to answer it. She was an adult woman. If she wanted to spend a week here, she would. The emotion had gone. Now she was just sad. Her husband had lived his life here, away from his family so they could be comfortable. He had provided a wonderful and abundant life for them. Did I ever say thank you? Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. She supposed this was the feeling she was waiting for. She had to come into Manhattan to find Jack. He wasn’t there at their house after all.
She got up and went into the adjoining bathroom. She looked in the mirror. What a mess! She opened the right drawer in the vanity, and to her surprise, all of her cosmetics were still there. She supposed he would have thrown them out. He was always waiting for her to visit him on her own. She sat down and touched up her makeup, the cover stick almost hard from a year of disuse. She would have to get rid of the stuff eventually, but was glad it was here now.
She got up and went into the closet. He was a real neat nick. He saved everything, but it was organized. She could smell him in the closet; the scent of his aftershave and deodorant combined with that of dry cleaning fluid. Her side of the closet was empty except for a robe and a pair of slacks. There was also a pair of her sneakers on the floor. She went back into the bedroom and opened the drawers in the bedside tables. On her side, there was nothing. On his, she found a pair of reading glasses and a pair of binoculars for spying. She remembered nights looking down at the street with those things. They often had laughing fits at what they saw. “This is an invasion of privacy!” she would warn. “Oh, just come and look,” he’d say.
This was just a place where he hung his hat. There must be more of him at home, maybe in his desk or the garage. A thought occurred to her. There was a closet between the bathroom and the den that she didn’t check. She went down the hall and opened the door. There on the shelf above the empty clothes bar was a clear plastic container. She couldn’t reach it, so she went back into the den and dragged the desk chair over to the closet.
Carefully, she stood on the chair and grasped the container. It was heavier than it looked. Hoping the people in the apartment below were out, she let it drop to the floor with a thud. She hopped down from the chair like a teenager. Dragging the box back into the bedroom, she decided she would unpack it and spread everything out on the bed. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but there had to be something in there that would shed some light on the man her husband had become.
Checking her watch, she noted that it was nearing lunchtime and she better call Sandra by one. Quickly, she took the lid off the box and lifted out the first sheath of papers. They looked to be mostly receipts he was keeping for next year’s taxes—gas, tolls, paper supplies, and that sort of thing. Under the receipts was a manila folder that had seen better days. She set it on her lap and slowly opened it. What lay on top looked to be a birth certificate. It was yellowed with age and bore a stamp on the lower left corner that certified it was from the State of New York. She picked it up and carried it over to the window.
At first, she didn’t grasp what she was looking at. It was for a male baby named Franklin Albert, born September 30, 1955. She skimmed the weight and length, then the father’s name, Bertram Franklin Albert, and then the mother’s name, Bernice Paula Stein. Jack’s mother . Confused, she thought Jack had a brother who was born on his birthday with a different father. How could that be? It didn’t take long, however, for her to figure it out.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” she said
The ringing phone woke her up. She picked the phone up, looking at the number on the caller ID. It was home, but she wasn’t going to answer it. She was an adult woman. If she wanted to spend a week here, she would. The emotion had gone. Now she was just sad. Her husband had lived his life here, away from his family so they could be comfortable. He had provided a wonderful and abundant life for them. Did I ever say thank you? Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. She supposed this was the feeling she was waiting for. She had to come into Manhattan to find Jack. He wasn’t there at their house after all.
She got up and went into the adjoining bathroom. She looked in the mirror. What a mess! She opened the right drawer in the vanity, and to her surprise, all of her cosmetics were still there. She supposed he would have thrown them out. He was always waiting for her to visit him on her own. She sat down and touched up her makeup, the cover stick almost hard from a year of disuse. She would have to get rid of the stuff eventually, but was glad it was here now.
She got up and went into the closet. He was a real neat nick. He saved everything, but it was organized. She could smell him in the closet; the scent of his aftershave and deodorant combined with that of dry cleaning fluid. Her side of the closet was empty except for a robe and a pair of slacks. There was also a pair of her sneakers on the floor. She went back into the bedroom and opened the drawers in the bedside tables. On her side, there was nothing. On his, she found a pair of reading glasses and a pair of binoculars for spying. She remembered nights looking down at the street with those things. They often had laughing fits at what they saw. “This is an invasion of privacy!” she would warn. “Oh, just come and look,” he’d say.
This was just a place where he hung his hat. There must be more of him at home, maybe in his desk or the garage. A thought occurred to her. There was a closet between the bathroom and the den that she didn’t check. She went down the hall and opened the door. There on the shelf above the empty clothes bar was a clear plastic container. She couldn’t reach it, so she went back into the den and dragged the desk chair over to the closet.
Carefully, she stood on the chair and grasped the container. It was heavier than it looked. Hoping the people in the apartment below were out, she let it drop to the floor with a thud. She hopped down from the chair like a teenager. Dragging the box back into the bedroom, she decided she would unpack it and spread everything out on the bed. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but there had to be something in there that would shed some light on the man her husband had become.
Checking her watch, she noted that it was nearing lunchtime and she better call Sandra by one. Quickly, she took the lid off the box and lifted out the first sheath of papers. They looked to be mostly receipts he was keeping for next year’s taxes—gas, tolls, paper supplies, and that sort of thing. Under the receipts was a manila folder that had seen better days. She set it on her lap and slowly opened it. What lay on top looked to be a birth certificate. It was yellowed with age and bore a stamp on the lower left corner that certified it was from the State of New York. She picked it up and carried it over to the window.
At first, she didn’t grasp what she was looking at. It was for a male baby named Franklin Albert, born September 30, 1955. She skimmed the weight and length, then the father’s name, Bertram Franklin Albert, and then the mother’s name, Bernice Paula Stein. Jack’s mother . Confused, she thought Jack had a brother who was born on his birthday with a different father. How could that be? It didn’t take long, however, for her to figure it out.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” she said
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