Chapter 22

Catherine went right to work getting me acquainted with her late uncle's home. It was quite modern on the inside, and very old looking on the outside, which made it very charming and comfortable at the same time.

There were three bedrooms on the first floor, and I was shown the middle sized one, which shared a bathroom with bedroom number three. Catherine properly took the master bedroom, because it was her house, and because the closet was full of her clothes. The supporting agents were bedding down in two large RV's that had been driven in just for that purpose, while we traveled up here.

Inside it was just the two of us.

While Catherine freshened up in her room, I built a fire in the Orly wood stove that decorated the den and looked out over the valley. The moon lit the fields in such a way that I couldn't wait to get the fire burning and turn out the lights so I could sit and gaze at the wondrous scene.

Someone understood the allure of that view and positioned the house to take full advantage of it.

The windows were large and went from window box height nearly to the ceiling and wall to wall. Once I was certain the fire was self-sustaining, I switched off the kitchen and den lights, and opened the damper on the stove to throw more heat and light. The resulting effect gave me a sense of safety and well-being.

When Catherine appeared, she looked much more comfortable in sweats and furry slippers. She took one look around the den and exclaimed, "You read my mind. Thank you for making a fire that we could sit by and look out over the farm." She flopped down in the recliner between the fireplace and the window.

"My uncle was a hard working farmer. We spent innumerable nights sitting right here in his favorite chair, with me on his lap, telling stories about ghosts and witches and things that went bump in the night. I loved when Mother and me could come up here from Texas and stay a few weeks at Christmas. Daddy came closer to Christmas Eve, but Mom and I came early and got everything ready. In those days, my grandmother lived here with Uncle Sam, and Mother liked to spend as much time as she could with Grandma at Christmas and in the summer.

"My uncle took care of Grandma since I was old enough to know what that meant. I always wondered how he could be content to work on a farm in the middle of nowhere and take care of a dear old, woman with osteoarthritis, every day of his life. He was part playmate, part confidant, and part wise old sage to me. I inhaled every word he had to say and learned from everything he did.

"My Aunt Hattie died when I was too young to realize it had happened, and mother was always suggesting to Daddy that Grandma and Uncle Sam meant more to each other than just mother and son. I was in college before I stopped to think what she was hinting.

"The idea of my Uncle Sam and Grandma in bed together about fried my circuits, and I promised myself never to think about it again. I kept that promise until Grandma died, and I overheard Mother comforting Uncle Sam late one night. He just blurted out to her, that he and Grandma had been lovers since he was fifteen.

"Mother was very understanding and gentle with him, and never judged him or criticized his lifestyle one bit. They remained close friends, not just sister and brother, right up until he died about ten years ago.

"So, Kevin: what do you think about my wicked family now?"

Her voice was happy and playful, so I indulged her. "I think you tell a wonderful story, and that your family loved one another the best way they could, even if it wasn't ordinary and typical.

"Catherine, I didn't have a family life, so your life story makes mine look like I grew up sitting in a phone booth, with no windows. That's what I think.

"I also think you got a vicarious thrill out of imagining your grandmother and uncle in that way, which is perfectly normal."

Instead of refuting me, she thought it over, and said, "I used to try and imagine Grandma and Uncle Sam having sex, but I knew Grandma when she couldn't pull a dress over her head, not when she could have wild, passionate sex with my uncle. It was a picture I couldn't form in my head, so I gave up and never stopped loving either one of them."

We sat silently for a long time, enjoying the moonlight on the fields. Eventually Catherine asked, "Tell me something ... anything about you, Kevin. Somehow you managed to make me spill my dirty family secret and most of the rest of my secrets, but you haven't told me a thing that I didn't read in your file. So spill it."

"You know I was a Page and that I lived in an orphanage since birth." I had to invent a generic back-story on the fly. "Before the night I got shot, I had no friends, never went on a date, and never hung out with people my own age. Not once. The children's home wouldn't permit it. All I ever was to them was a monthly check, and the only thing that mattered to them was making sure it never stopped coming in the mail.

"When I woke up in the hospital, I was in so much pain I couldn't think, or see, or hear clearly. The only thing I could do was hurt, and I did that quite well. Most of my memories were so mixed up that they were of no use to me and since I had no friends, there was no one to help fill in the blanks.

"Eventually the pain let up, and I had visits from the Secretary of the Treasury and President Dryden. That impressed the hospital staff so much they actually spent half a day taking some semblance of good care of me, but that stopped as soon as they figured out that I wasn't really anyone important.