Chapter 4

Once the semester got underway, the daily routines were established. Jeff would sleep in, usually until at least nine, bypassing breakfast altogether. Randy would be up, showered, dressed and ready for breakfast by seven, scowling silently at his still sleeping roommate. He did not understand how anyone, especially someone attending university, could afford to sleep as late as his roommate did every single day. "How can you expect to pass the course if you sleep though all of the sessions?" he asked his roommate one afternoon.

"Hell, I'm not worried about passing the courses, good grief!" It was the third week of the term and because their schedules were not necessarily synchronous, Randy had concluded that Jeff had still not sat for any of his classes.

"I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life, but you appear to sleep in each morning and then soak in the rays on the patio in the afternoon. When do you go to class?"

"Look, I have read each text mentioned by the professors, read them cover to cover more than once. I have correctly answered every question at the end of each chapter, and further researched whatever topics were recommended, if there were any. I have a standing offer with each professor that I am ready today to sit for his final exam, but my offer is never accepted. So other than maintaining an appearance of being a serious student to those who are watching, what is the point of me going to class? I take the exams when they are offered, and contribute to the discussions when I attend. Not much more that I can do."

"Won't they let you test out of some courses? I have heard that some students do that sometimes."

"No, I already asked. It would mean me testing out of an entire year, and the administration is just not comfortable with that. So I go along with their decision, and they don't make a big stink about me not going to class. It all works."

While Jeff bestowed his grace upon one or two of his classes with his presence on any given day, Randy would attentively sit through each of his classes and then spend an hour in one of the libraries going over the recently imparted knowledge. Randy was no slouch when it came to intelligence. He had been at the top of his boarding school class and his test scores for admission to the university were shared with all first year instructors. While he enjoyed the interaction of the instructor and student in his literature classes, he was seriously concerned that his English upbringing would negatively impact his creative writing style in the eyes of his American instructors.

Meeting outside Central Dining, Randy and Jeff would enter together, fill their trays and scout for available space at qualifying tables, tables at which at least two co-eds were already seated and at which no male students had yet joined them. Jeff was always "scouting". By the conclusion of each Wednesday lunch, Jeff usually had his weekend companionship confirmed. Randy could only shake his head and wonder. He would later come to learn that most of these girls would inevitably end up spending the weekend at Jeff's apartment.

During the week following the Thanksgiving break, Randy thought Jeff to be in a very somber mood. On Tuesday at lunch, he made no effort to secure a date for the forthcoming weekend and opted instead to sit at an empty table, far from anyone they knew. "What's seems to be the problem, my friend? You seem so blue."

"I am, although it probably won't make a lot of sense to you. I met a girl last summer, an astonishingly beautiful girl, who was as sweet and kind as anyone I have ever met. We spent a few days together. I just found out she passed away two days ago. I mean, I barely knew her, but in those three days, I think I fell in love with her. I am really troubled by her death."

Randy was really puzzled because he had never seen this side of his roommate. "What caused her death, a car wreck or something?"

"No, the evening that we met, she told me that she had a terminal disease and that she would die before the end of this year. I spent three wonderful days with her but her mother finally made me leave so that a relationship would not develop between us. I know that her mother meant well, but I think the relationship developed the first moment I met her."

Jeff drove to Chicago that afternoon, arriving very late in the evening. He had hoped to arrive in time to attend the visitation thinking that perhaps that would be less stressful than the actual funeral. Mass was held the following morning at the Sacred Heart Church. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Jeff arrived quite early, knelt at the rail by her casket and said his prayers. As he stood and moved to a pew, he recognized one of the friends with whom they had shared the second evening. He called Jeff to join him outside.

"Hi, Jeff, I'm Mike. Remember we spent that evening with Sharon and some others last summer?"

"Sure. How are you? I do remember. That was one of the best days of my life, and this is one of the worst."

"Listen, we didn't know how to reach you, or I would have asked sooner. I know that she would have been honored to have you as a pall bearer. Would you do that for her? You can have my place."

Jeff rose with the other young men after the mass and moved to a position to escort her casket from the church. As he walked down the center aisle, he saw her family standing, watching as the men moved slowly. It took but a second for her mother to recognize him and immediately fall back into her seat.

Later, when the formalities were completed and the gathering of friends at the Dickinson home was underway, Jeff parked his car in the circular drive in a spot where he thought it would not obstruct anything. He had not intended to remain long, preferring to simply pay his respects to the family and then depart. That very same elderly gentlemen opened the door as he approached, and once again led him to the library. When the door opened again, Sharon's mother rushed to him, embraced him tightly and held him in that embrace for a very long time.

"We are so glad that you came today. You have no idea how much that means to all of us. After you left last summer, you were the topic of conversation for days. You were the perfect stranger that came into our family, befriended our daughter and showed her the kindness and love that she so desperately sought. It could not have been any more unlikely than it was, and yet it was perfect. There were so many days when I wished that I could call you to return to us, to share her final days especially, but it is probably best that it happened just as it did. Please come in and be with us this afternoon."

Jeff followed Sharon's mother into an area of their home that he had not realized existed. The room, he learned later, was actually a ballroom. It was larger by itself that the house in which Jeff had been raised, and on this afternoon, was occupied by well over one hundred people without crowding. As soon as they entered, her mother led him, literally took him by the arm, to where Sharon's father was standing, chatting with other adults. Her father took the lead in introducing him.

"Gentlemen, this is Jeff Myerly. Jeff came into our lives last summer as a friend of Sharon, but he was so very much more than a friend to her. He is an extraordinary individual, caring for her, gently loving her so that she could finally experience the joys of being a woman. That first morning, at breakfast, the sparkle that had so long been missing from her eyes had returned. Each morning, we could see the warmth and happiness building within her. She confided to her mother of the level of excitement that he had brought her to and of the exhilaration that she had felt afterward. She cried for days when he left but understood why that had to be. And through all of this, he has never asked for a thing."

The gathering of friends and relatives remained well into the evening, with quantities of food and beverages in unending supply. Jeff had finally settled in with some of the others from their beach party, sharing stories of their college experiences as well as memories of their friend. As the last of the guests left, Sharon's mother insisted that Jeff stay the night. Her father had asked his housemen to move his car into the garage because it had begun to snow, and Jeff conceded that he had probably had a few too many cocktails to be a safe driver. He slept in her bed one last time. In the morning, her mother presented Jeff with a portrait of Sharon that had been taken earlier that year. Her sisters all cried as he rose to leave, but he was stopped at the door by her father who handed him an envelope.

"Jeff, you have no idea how much joy you brought to our daughter, and to our family. Please accept this as a small token of our appreciation. It is the very least that I can do."

With that, he shook Jeff's hand and stepped out the front door into his waiting limousine. Jeff waved good bye to the girls as he walked to his car, slipping the envelope into his pants pocket. When he returned to Scranton, he pinned the envelope to a board in his room and put the portrait of Sharon on his desk.

Two weeks later Randy handed him the same envelope, saying that it had apparently fallen from the board and he only noticed it peeking out from behind the dresser. Jeff, more or less over the emotional trauma of the funeral, decided it was time to open the envelope. Inside was a handwritten note from her father.

You have no idea how much joy you brought to Sharon. Please accept this as a token of our appreciation.

Included was a check for one hundred thousand dollars.

"No sir," Jeff spoke out firmly, "that's not going to happen. No way I can take this check. No sir!"

"Who are you talking to, Jeff?" his roommate asked.

"Look at this, Randy. Look what was in the envelope."

"Are you kidding me? That's a hundred grand!"

"It's not going to happen. I'm going to Chicago this weekend and giving it back. I don't want money from them -- I wanted her, but she's gone and I sure don't want to even equate anything to the time that I spent with her."

He called her from his car as he approached Chicago. "Mrs. Dickinson, this is Jeff Myerly. I'm in Chicago this weekend and was wondering if I could stop out to your home for a few minutes to see you and Mr. Dickinson."

"Of course you can. When will you be arriving? Can you make it in time for dinner this evening? We have a small group coming that we expect around seven. Can you make it then?"

Jeff made a quick stop at the first motel he saw, gave the desk clerk fifty dollars to use a room for as long as it took him to shave and dress for dinner. He pulled into the driveway of the Dickinson home, ironically, sandwiched between two limousines that were headed that way as well. As he entered the front door of the house, he saw that his sports car had attracted the attention of the other drivers.

In addition to the Dickinsons, there were three other couples at dinner that evening, and as each was introduced to Jeff, Richard included information about the occupation of each man, and his relationship to that company. As it happens, two men were high ranking members of investment companies and the third, the CEO of a major distributing company. "We are putting together a package that will allow me to take control of one of my largest competitor's, Jeff. It's a very exciting time; I wish you could look over my shoulder to watch as it transpires."