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13
SEEING FERN AGAIN
JIMMY SAT ON THE SOFA IN MY OFFICE AND EXCITEDLY RATTLED off the details provided by the man he and Daddy Longchamp had hired. Right after Jimmy called me in the morning he had started out for home, and when he arrived he had come directly to my office. Christie hadn't even seen him yet, and very few people in the hotel knew he had returned.
"The couple's name is Osborne, Clayton and Leslie. Clayton Osborne is an investment broker on Wall Street. His wife has recently begun to enjoy some success as an artist, placing some of her paintings in galleries around the city. She has her own studio in Greenwich Village."
"How old are they?"
"They're both in their mid-thirties."
"Do they have any other children? Adopted or otherwise?" I asked.
"No. They have a townhouse on First Avenue in Manhattan and have been living there for nearly nine years. Before that they lived in Richmond. Fern goes to a very expensive private school," Jimmy concluded, obviously proud of accomplishing what Mr. Updike and his high-priced private detective had been unable to do.
However, listening to these details about people who had no idea we were snooping around them made me feel like an eavesdropper, a Peeping Tom. How would I like someone watching me, following me, taking notes? After all these years they probably had no suspicions they were being observed, no fears concerning themselves and Fern.
"They sound well-to-do and accomplished," I remarked. "Especially if they own a townhouse in that section of the city."
"So? What does that have to do with anything?" Jimmy snapped. I could see he was on a short fuse.
"Nothing," I said quickly. "I'm just glad she was able to have nice things and live comfortably."
"Yeah, I suppose we should be happy about that," he admitted.
"Well, what do we do now, Jimmy?" I asked.
"I'm going to pick up that phone on your desk and dial their number and tell them directly who we are and what we want," he replied firmly.
"What do we want, Jimmy?" I asked because I wasn't sure what we would do once we arrived in New York.
He looked surprised for a moment.
"Well, we want to . . . to meet Fern, of course, and see how she is, how she's grown, what she's like. She's my sister," he declared, sounding like someone demanding his rights.
But I couldn't help being nervous about it. Jimmy wasn't about to accept anything less, and any sort of rejection was sure to set him off like a firecracker. There was no telling what he would do then. I was sure he would make that clear to Clayton Osborne. Nevertheless, I couldn't help anticipating trouble. His call was coming like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky—no warning, no hints, nothing but sharp, sizzling shock.
He stood up.
"It's time to make the call," he announced.
I got up from my seat so he could sit behind the desk to use the phone. He moved right to it and began dialing the number he had been given. I couldn't help pacing about like a caged tigress, waiting, but trying to close off my emotions and clamp down on them.
"Is this Mr. Clayton Osborne?" he began as soon as the man had answered. I held my breath and listened. "My name is James Gary Longchamp," he said, pronouncing each part of his name like an oath, slowly, with determination and force. I could see from the look on his face that there was a dead silence on the other end. "Mr. Osborne? You know who I am," Jimmy prodded. "Fern is my sister."
In a way, Clayton Osborne had to be feeling a little like Daddy Longchamp had felt the day the police came to our door to arrest him and take me away, I thought. I meant what I had said to Jimmy before he had left for Texas: Daddy and Momma Longchamp had never done anything to make me feel I wasn't really their child, and surely after all those years they had come to accept it as so themselves. We believe in our own illusions if we live with them so long. I imagined Clayton and Leslie Osborne must have buried the truth and in their own minds made Fern their true child. Now here was Jimmy digging up the past and throwing the cold water of reality over their warm fantasies in one fell swoop.
There were more long periods of silence after things Jimmy said or, rather, demanded. The conversation continued for a while longer, and then Jimmy concluded by making an appointment for us to be at their townhouse tomorrow between five and six in the afternoon. When he cradled the phone and sat back he looked drained. For a long moment he was silent. Then he ran his hand over his hair and stood up.
"It's settled," he said. "We can see her, but only if we keep our identities secret. He insisted on that, and I had no choice but to agree. As long as we're going to visit as friends of theirs, he promises to have Fern present. Of course, her name is no longer Fern. They dropped that as soon as they got her."
"What's her new name?" I asked.
"Kelly, Kelly Ann Osborne," Jimmy disdainfully spat. It had a nice ring to it, but I was afraid to say so.
"What else did he tell you about her?"
"He says she's precocious for a ten-year-old. That's the way he put it, 'precocious.' From the way he spoke about her, I guess that means she's ahead of her age."
