Date: Sun, 8 Jul 2007 16:37:01 -0700 (PDT)
From: John Gerald <connectwriter@yahoo.com>
Subject: Connections 22

Hi all, thanks for stopping in.  Sorry it's been a bit longer that usual,
but real life demands wouldn't be denied.  If anyone is interested, I
thought I'd put together a private mailing list and let you know when each
installment gets published.  There is definitely a long ways to go with the
story, but the publishing schedule is going to be a slightly erratic.  Drop
me an email if you'd like to be on it.  Thanks.



There had been a lot of different looks on Brad's face since they had met
-- from ecstatic and glowing to determined and tough.  But Mike had never
seen anything like this.  Empty wasn't the right word -- maybe there wasn't
a right word.  Brad just stared straight ahead.

"Babe, you there?  You OK?"

No reaction.

"Can I see that?" he heard whispered behind him, as Julie in turn quietly
took the letter out of Mike's hands.

Getting himself into a cross-legged pose at Brad's feet, Mike silently
stroked the back of Brad's legs.  "Babe, there's a lot here we don't know.
We're making a big leap here, we've got to be careful about where we are,
OK?"

It was like his voice just went in wave patterns around Brad, who sensed
what was going around him only in muffled sounds.  His own sensory
apparatus was so preoccupied with sorting out what it had just read that
the only part of his brain excused form working on this where the parts
that controlled involuntary muscles, like heartbeat and breathing.

Except for the tiny fact that there was not proof that this baby was ever
born, it just made so much more sense out of his life.  For Brad, it wasn't
that he had to go out and prove that it was true so much as it couldn't not
be true, the logic of the universe depended on it.

That was the `factual' part of the story though, and so far the pieces of
the puzzle fit clearly together and a picture was emerging, Brad thought.
But it wasn't exactly clear yet.

Reading what was happening from the outside, Mike could almost see the
changes coming over Brad just in how he breathed.  They were that tuned in.

"Mike, my Dad killed himself for me. So did my Mom."

Mike could now feel shaking, and was very afraid of where this could go.

Reaching up to his shoulders as he raised himself on his knees, Mike forced
Brad to look at him. "Brad, do you hear me?"

"They both died, for me.  It must have been awful for them."  He whispered

"Brad..."

"I guess it was my fault that it happened..." he said, as Mike saw Brad's
eyes rapidly blinking.

"Babe, look at me!"  Mike ordered.

Brad looked back down at him, barely able to acknowledge the words but at
the same time not ever capable of ignoring Mike.

Looking momentarily away from Brad and down at the floor, Mike squinted his
eyes and rubbed his forehead. Now he was the one straining to get out the
words.  "Brad, I know how you feel.  Not with my folks dying, but close."
Brad's head tilted sideways in a questioning way.

"You know, my parents gave up their lives for me, too.  They did it to take
care of me, to do what they thought was best with no thought to how it was
for them.  They left everything, and everyone, except for each other" Brad
was now looking back at him, silently, sympathetically, now realizing what
he meant.

"There's not a day that I don't think about that, over what they had to do
for me..."

"Pup, you never told me how much this bothered you, I thought you were OK.
You never say much about it " Brad said, reaching over, running his fingers
through the soft brown hair.  "You know, you shouldn't feel that way - they
did it for you because they cared. That's what parents do" He slipped down
onto the floor, kneeling alongside Mike and leaning into him.

"Exactly, babe."  Mike said, so quietly that Brad could barely hear.  Just
mentioning this drained him, the huge debt he felt that he could never
repay.  "That's what parent's do.  And that's what we'll do when we have
kids," he continued, slowly gaining his strength and bearings back.  "But
you," he hesitated, "no, I mean we, can only make this right by being as
good to our kids as our parents have been to us.  Maybe neither of us will
ever get over what we owe, but we have to try to focus on the future, and
when they come, taking care of our own."

It seemed to Mike that it might be appropriate to remind Brad that it was
still yet to be proven that he was the person who was being written about,
but that seemed pretty pointless right now.  There wasn't much doubt in
either of their minds as to what had happened, but they also both knew that
this wasn't the end of the story.  Not by a long shot.

"I guess there's still a lot to figure out, but I think I just have to
accept this."  Brad said as he rubbed his eyes.

"You OK?"  Mike asked.

"uh huh, it will just take a little while for this to sink in...."

"Brad, I think that you should be the one going through these letters, not
me."  Julie said as she began to pack away here stack and hand them back to
Brad.  "They're personal."

Brad slowly reached out his hand to take them. "I'll let you know if I find
anything suspicious here Jules."  He carefully place the letters next to
the others.

"Thanks so much for getting me this far.  I wouldn't know any of this if
you weren't here."

"Not so bad being a cop's daughter, huh?  She asked.

Brad managed to respond with a fragment of a smile. "You're asking me?  Of
course not, not with these free private investigator services I get."

"Free?", she said with a laugh.  "You can cook a nice dinner for Rog and I,
that's what I expect."

"You're on."  He replied.

She put her hand on Brad's shoulder.  "Mike, he's from much better stock
than we originally thought, but in nature vs. nurture, be careful that
nurture didn't get the upper hand here."  She said with a laugh.  "Anyway,
I should go and leave you guys to your little box."

After pulling back her blond hair, she gave each of the guys a hug before
leaving, slipping Brad an extra peck on the cheek.  He was still a bit
numb, but didn't neglect to acknowledge the gesture by giving her an extra
squeeze.

Now holding the letters with two hands, like a Japanese salary man would
handle his business cards, Brad placed them in the middle of the desk top,
edges perfectly parallel to the edge.  "I need to repack things a bit more
carefully before I put them back in.  Just want to make sure that I can
keep track of all of them."

"How does it feel to realize that your from respectable, how would, you say
it.... " Mike said, reaching for the proper colloquialism, " oh yea, folk!
How does it feel to be from respectable folk?

It take some time for Brad to figure out how he felt about anything right
now.  He had learned so much so fast, about who he was and where he came
from.  Yet he spoke very deliberately, like he was as sure of at least one
thing as much as he was sure of anything.  "Oddly enough, pup, I actually
feel good.  Really good, in fact, if this is all true."

He looked at Brad, confused.  He expected that Brad would have a lot of
conflicting emotions right now, but this one was not in the mix .  "How do
you mean?"

A small smile appeared on Brad's face, but he still didn't understand how
Brad could reach that state right now.

"You know what, pup?  I don't know enough about these people yet, I mean if
they are in fact my parents.  But if it is true, it makes me feel like I've
always had a real family, like I feel here in this house.  It's awful to
think what they went through. I might not ever get over that.  But there
was not doubt that I had a home, or would have had one.  They were both
good people and they did everything that they thought was right to take
care of me, and each other."

"Maybe you should read some more of the letters.  You might like them even
more."  In the meantime, Mike was putting his own stack together to give
back to Brad.

"I don't have any doubt that I will," he said, as he pushed Mike's offer
away.  "You need to read these with me."

"I'll be here, babe, you know that. But they really should be for your eyes
first," Mike carefully placed the letters back on the desk in the same
manner as Brad had.  Written on simple white stationary, they were rapidly
taking on a sacred quality.

As he was speaking, he got up out of the chair and turned back for the bed,
as much to get ahead of a reminder from Mike about taking care of the leg
as to just take some time to relax and think.  A moment later Mike had slid
over and wedged himself on the floor next to the bed.  Carefully leaning
his head back against Brad's leg, Mike tried to lay out their next steps.

"What are you going to say to your wicked stepmother, if that's what she
really is?"

"Is your emphasis on wicked or stepmother?"

"Wicked!  It's OK being a stepmother.  It's the other part that I object
to."

"I'm not sure right now, I don't know.  On one hand I want to explode at
them, for all the obvious reasons.  I feel like they cheated me out of so
much, if this is in fact all true."

"You could be angry, babe, but be careful with that.  As much justification
as you have, that kind of stuff will just eat at you."  It was the same
kind of feelings that Mike had had toward his own illness, the anger and
frustration, that took him years to overcome.  One important lesson that he
had learned from his mom.

"You probably won't ever be able get them totally out of your head, but try
to focus on the good things."  Mike turned his head to almost face Brad
behind him.  "Like this Jill person, his sister, and his whole family.  I
think you've got to read more to figure out where this goes, but it sounds
like they were close.  Maybe we could track her down, or somebody else in
the family."

"Is there a byline on any of the newspaper stories?  A reporter, or someone
like that?  Brad asked, as Mike dove back into the box to retrieve what he
could find from the old newspapers.



Reading through the letters became Brad's after work obsession for the next
week.  First, though, he organized them chronologically so he could start
where his Dad did.

If he wasn't this guys son, he would have wished that he was.  He felt that
they had a lot of things in common with the kinds of feelings and emotions
that were expressed in the letters.  Sports was a big topic, and the mood
changed on days that his teams lost, especially if it was a blowout.  There
was some politics, too, although not as much as Brad himself would have
been interested in.

There were other divergences, too.  For one, Rich really enjoyed teaching,
and wanted to make it a career.  Williams didn't have pedagogy courses, at
least the type that got you a high school teaching credential, so he was
obliged to supplement his B.A. in English with a one hour commute to the
closest teachers college to get his certificate.

Rich seemed to like the rural area that they were from, and since he
actually returned there after school in the east coast the thoughts were
probably sincere.  There was a family construction business, but he didn't
want any part of it.  It was more a problem with the people than the
product.  "If Did didn't hold the reigns and other things so tight" he
wrote, "It might not be a bad place to work.  I like dickering with these
crusty old sub-contractors and developers.  And they'd probably be honored
to know they've earned a place in one of my novels."

Besides the obvious familial connection, one the things that Brad most
enjoyed from the letters was just the quality of the writing.  It was
really smooth, he thought, much better than his own, which wasn't bad at
all.  "I'm more like Theodore Dreiser, if that," Brad thought, `I wish that
I could steer words better. I'd rather be like F. Scott Fitzgerald, like
Rich.  He really does have a command of language.'

His Dad tried to threw out lots of advice, but it never seemed like he was
lecturing or hectoring -- he was just being a Dad. And sometimes a scared
one, at that.  A person who wanted but justifiably feared the
responsibilities of fatherhood.

"Hey bud, this is pretty scary stuff.  I'll try my best, I hope that I can
be a good Dad, but this is a big monster, humongous job coming up."

While Rich was writing to his son, it also seemed at times that he was
writing to his own dad.  It didn't take a lot of reading between the lines
to understand that they had a difficult relationship. Rich didn't complain
or whine but instead tried to understand what made his Dad the person that
he was.

Evidently he had built up a pretty successful business, constructing homes
in the new subdivisions at the edges of their small town.  But his was a
rough and demanding world with a lot of sharp elbows, which he sometimes,
perhaps unwittingly, brought home to his family.  And from what Rich could
tell, his Dad's forbearers may have been the role model for the behavior.

`You'll like your Grandpa, eventually,' Rich wrote, `but he's a tough
cookie.  He demands a lot, and sometimes your best isn't enough.  He has
his own way of showing he cares, it's just not the way that most people
would practice caring, or would even recognize as caring.  But I think it's
the only way he knows how'

The writing continued.  `All I know from mom is that Dad's father was not a
nice guy, more like an abusive drunk, and probably his father before him.
We're all lucky that Dad has done what he has to break the cycle.'

The feelings for his Mom were said with a lot fewer qualifications.  "Like
I said earlier, guy, you'll probably learn to like your Grandpa, but I know
that you'll love your Grandma, and she'll love you, too."  Brad smirked
when Rich mentioned that she wore her religion lightly, unlike Rich's Dad,
or his own so called `parents."  According to Rich, she didn't have a lot
growing up but got a lot of street smarts from her rough neighborhood in
the east side of the city.

She never had a chance at college herself, but Rich gives her all the
credit for any literary ambitions or talent that he had.  "Dad sometimes
pretended indifference to my extracurricular writing efforts in high
school, in the name of trying to make me tough and realistic about
life. Where Dad would say `don't live in fantasyland,' Mom would want me to
buy a condo there.'

Letter after letter continued on like this, sometimes with Rich's deepest
fears and hopes about fatherhood and his career, and his feelings about his
family, but also with lots of mundane things about the weather, sports
teams, or some other non-cosmic event in his life.  He even passed along
some secret nicknames that he and his sister had for each other.

But the most passionate writing was about Veronica.  When he wrote about
her, it was always with such joy and happiness that Brad felt sometimes
like he missed her, too.  It all reminded him of how he felt about Mike,
especially one line in the very last of the letters:

"....and make sure that you fall in love with someone who's better than
you. I sure did.  I wish I could tell you about how special she is, but
you'll find out soon. enough.  Your mom is more than I could ever have
hoped for, and a lot better than I deserve."



For Mike's part, he didn't know exactly what they had to do to unpeel this
onion, to find out what had really happened back those 20 or so years
ago. But there was an obvious place to start.  If the decision had been
left to Mike, the preferred method of extraction would have been
strangulation until they confessed.  But he would also admit satisfaction
if the Norths would just state the facts, no matter what they were.  `Who
knows,' Mike thought, `maybe there's even more to this than we think.'

 In his deepest feelings, though, all he cared about was to get closer to
the truth, for Brad's sake.  The guy was such a champ.  In spite of all
that was happening , he still soldiered on with his day, getting through
his job, helping around the house, and providing Mike the great
companionship (and sex) that kept him going, too.

They had waited a couple of days until they felt ready to take, the next,
obvious step.  Friendly cooperation was not expected, so Brad had carefully
studied this secret archive for ammunition, especially in case of bald-face
lies and denials.

Sitting on the bed next to Brad, Mike glanced over at him as he flipped
open his phone.

"Your ready?" he asked, reaching over and once again gently rubbing Brad's
now-healed leg.  Brad decided that was one wound that he was going to miss.

He let out a breath of air.  "As much as I'll ever be.  Let's just do it."
Brad picked up his phone, dialed the number, and hit `Send.'

"Hello, uh, Mom?"  Mike picked up the hesitation in Brad's voice.  As much
as one can prepare oneself for events, there's always a surprise.  Calling
her `mom' just stuck in his throat.

"Yes, it's me what do you want?'  she said, without a hint of any `I've
missed you so much, dear' in her voice.  It didn't make any difference to
Brad.

"Well, nice to talk to you, too."  He said with a hint of exasperation
already.  "I'll just get to the point.  Who are Veronica North and Robert
Campagna?"

The other end of the phone was silent.  Nothing.  Brad thought he maybe
heard a lawnmower in the background.  He imagined it was her brain moving
and smiled to himself.  "how do you...?"

"It's not important.  Who are they?"

"None of your concern any more."

"Any more?"  Brad replied

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, I'll just...."

"You can tell me now, or I'll just go to others.  We have the letters here,
the box with all the stuff.  We accidentally grabbed it out of the garage
when I moved, so you may as well tell me now.  I'm going to find out."

"Bring that box right back here!"

"WHO...ARE...THEY?!"  Brad emphasized every breath and syllable.

The was another long silence on the other end of the line, then he heard
her clear her throat.

 "Veronica was such a sweet girl, always down to earth, until she met him."
The was another pause on the other side, then gush of air that sounded more
like a dragon waking up than a person.  "Then she changed.  Got pretty full
of herself.  Didn't call me much anymore, just spent time with this guy.
Even stopped going to church."

Mike, who had now moved his ear next to the phone to hear what he could,
felt the tension in Brad's body.

"She didn't talk much about him, but when she did it was all about how
wonderful he was, how handsome, how kind, blah blah blah.  He had her
wrapped around his finger.  Gave her big ideas, like she'd be a big shot,
better than her relatives.

Where Brad had seen the beauty of what this couple had, what he was hearing
now was the resentment and hatred that it had ignited in people, at least
this one.  He would soon find out why.

"She felt like she didn't need us anymore.  Like we were nothing.  Oh sure,
she'd call me and all, ask how we all were, even stop by.  And, of course,
when she gets in trouble she comes to me."

"Trouble?"  Brad retorted.

She ignored his question.  "I could tell something was going on with her,
something was up.  She tried to hide, but I figured out what was happening,
especially when she'd come over and start throwing up.  I know what
pregnant is, and I know the signs.  Why, I after realizing that I wanted
nothing to do with her, or her little secret.  They couldn't even tell his
family, he was so ashamed, but...."

"He wasn't ashamed.  He had his reasons.  They both did."

"Well, isn't it pretty obvious that no one wanted them, or their problem.
I think that his old man woulda been mad as hell, too.  It was really too
bad how they died, but God has his ways...

"They were good people who trusted the wrong people."  Brad shot back.

"They were lucky to have us, and so were you!  Yea , you!  You were their
little secret.  Stupid of us to think that we could make you a righteous
young man, like our Ralph, when you come from such bad stock."

Mike couldn't hear all of the words exactly, but felt Brad stiffen.

"Money couldn't pay for all the pain we've suffered with you, the
thanklessness, my God, how much we've done for you!  Your lucky she left us
some money, or I'm not sure we would have taken you."  That comment shook
Brad up a bit, but wasn't any revelation to Mike.

"I think we saved his family a lot of pain, too, by not letting them know
what he had done to her.  It was just mercy on our part."  Brad heard her
sigh.  "His family were so distraught at the funeral.  Especially his old
man, I thought for sure he wouldn't make it through the funeral.  Knowing
about you would have just shamed him, of course," she said in her cocksure
way.

Mrs. North was on a roll, now, and couldn't be stopped.  "When they
c-sectioned you out, I was had high hopes, maybe we could do something for
you.  You were so scrawny and sickly, being almost 2 months premature.  You
made it, but you turned out just like them, or I should say him.  And every
god-dammed day, you looked more like him.  You got some of your Momma in
you, but too much of that arrogant man.  You're his spittin' image, and
your attitude is, too."

Though she was trying to be as hurtful as she could, and some of her barbs
dug deep into him, she couldn't have imagined how good those last words
made him feel.  That he looked like his Dad!  She was droning on and on,
But Brad was almost not listening any more.

"You know what, Mrs. North."  Brad finally interject.  "Thanks for telling
me how much I resemble him. You couldn't give me a bigger compliment,
except maybe say that I look like my Mom, my real mom."

"And that's all I've got to say to you.  I guess I should appreciate that
you did anything at all, so I'm just going to leave it at that.  Just tell
my little nephew Rick that I love him."

Taking the phone away from his ear and looking straight at it, he pushed
`END.'



Being an executive had it's perks, but being the first female Vice
President of a small Midwestern bank didn't allow much time to enjoy them.
60 hour weeks were not uncommon, and with an audit coming up they would
probably get longer rather that shorter.  But it's the life that she had
chosen for herself.

After having to submit to the demands of a somewhat tyrannical father as
the price of financing her college education, she was determined to claim
her financial independence. Having the fortuitous combination of native
smarts and a huge capacity for hard work, and adding in a couple of those
lucky breaks that are often the unacknowledged partners in successful
careers, she was indeed independent, and island unto herself in more ways
than one.  For a single woman in her thirties, who still looked younger
than her years with her family's curly jet-black hair.


Some people call it summer Vacation, but for Brad and Mike this summer was
anything but that.  Besides their jobs and the preparation for 2 weddings
in August, for Julie Roger and for Pete and Kate, a whole new life was
opening up for Brad, and for Mike, too.  Finding out more about who is real
family was became his second job.

The biggest unknown for Brad now was finding out more about his Dad's
family.  As far as his Mom went, he pretty much knew about her family and
relatives.  Almost none were still around, and the ones' who were did not
make for appetizing company.  From what Brad could tell, both from his
Dad's comments, and his foster mother's resentment, was that she really
stuck out in her family, probably because she was the only kind, generous
person in it.

His Dad's side, however, was a complete mystery.  But he knew the town that
they were from, and also knew that he had a younger sister.  And that they
were crushed by his Dad's death.  His goal now was to make contact with
them -- if they'd believe who he was.



"Rod," she called out to Rodney Smith, her administrative assistant, "I'm
taking off now.  Unless it's something important, just put any calls into
voicemail, OK?

As she picked up her purse and keys, she asked him about his weekend plans.
"Probably out clubbing Saturday night, usual stuff, other than that not a
whole lot.  What about you?  Anything special?

"Probably a lot quieter than yours.  I'm bringing some work home, maybe
dinner with some friends. I've got a good book, too.  That's what single
women do on weekends, Rod, not gallivant like you,' she said with a laugh.

"Hey, it's not like I'm passed around at these clubs, ya know.  we gay guys
can have quiet, serious weekend, too!"

"OK! OK!"  she admitted, smiling.  "Anyway, whatever you do, have a great
time.  See you later."

"See you later, too, JC."


[C. M.1]Suggest that `from the old newspapers' might be slightly more
clear.

[C. M.2]I'm not sure if you meant `But it was a rough' etc. or `But his was
a rough'... both would work, but I prefer the first.