Ken Follett - the Third Twin (1996)

“I was, but I didn’t get one.”

Jeannie felt embarrassed that she had been successful where her friend had failed. “That’s too bad.”

“I’m glad, now. I enjoy this work and it pays better than most colleges.”

Jeannie did not believe her. It shocked her to see a woman with a doctorate working as a stewardess. “I always thought you’d be such a good teacher.”

“I taught high school for a while. I got knifed by a student who disagreed with me about Macbeth. I asked myself why I was doing it—risking my life to teach Shakespeare to kids who couldn’t wait to go back out on the streets and get on with stealing money to buy crack cocaine.”

Jeannie remembered the name of Penny’s husband. “How’s Danny?”

“He’s doing great, he’s area sales manager now. It means he has to travel a lot, but it’s worth it.”

“Well, it’s good to see you again. Are you based in Baltimore?”

“Washington, D.C.”

“Give me your phone number, I’ll call you up.” Jeannie offered a ballpoint and Penny wrote her phone number on one of Jeannie’s file folders.

“We’ll have lunch,” Penny said. “It’ll be fun.”

“You bet.”

Penny moved on.

Lisa said: “She seemed bright.”

“She’s very clever. I’m horrified. There’s nothing wrong with being a stewardess, but it’s kind of a waste of twenty-five years of education.”

“Are you going to call her?”

“Hell, no. She’s in denial. I’d just remind her of what she used to hope for. It would be agony.”

“I guess. I feel sorry for her.”

“So do I.”

As soon as they landed, Jeannie went to a pay phone and called the Pinkers in Richmond, but their line was busy. “Damn,” she said querulously. She waited five minutes then tried again, but she got the same infuriating tone. “Charlotte must be calling her violent family to tell them all about our visit,” she said. “I’ll try later.”

Lisa’s car was in the parking lot. They drove into the city and Lisa dropped Jeannie at her apartment. Before getting out of the car, Jeannie said: “Could I ask you a great big favor?”

“Sure. I’m not saying I’ll do it, though.” Lisa grinned.

“Start the DNA extraction tonight.”

Her face fell. “Oh, Jeannie, we’ve been out all day. I have to shop for dinner—”

“I know. And I have to visit the jail. Let’s meet at the lab later, say at nine o’clock?”

“Okay.” Lisa smiled. “I’m kind of curious to know how the test turns out.”

“If we start tonight, we could have a result by the day after tomorrow.”

Lisa looked dubious. “Cutting a few corners, yes.”

“Atta girl!” Jeannie got out of the car and Lisa drove away.

Jeannie would have liked to get right into her car and drive to police headquarters, but she decided she should check on her father first, so she went into the house.

He was watching Wheel of Fortune. “Hi, Jeannie, you’re home late,” he said.

“I’ve been working, and I haven’t finished yet,” she said. “How was your day?”

“A little dull, here on my own.”

She felt sorry for him. He seemed to have no friends. However, he looked a lot better than he had last night. He was clean and shaved and rested. He had warmed up a pizza from her freezer for his lunch: the dirty dishes were on the kitchen counter. She was about to ask him who the hell he thought was going to put them in the dishwasher, but she bit back her words.

She put down her briefcase and began to tidy up. He did not turn off the TV.

“I’ve been to Richmond, Virginia,” she said.

“That’s nice, honey. What’s for dinner?”

No, she thought, this can’t go on. He’s not going to treat me like he treated Mom. “Why don’t you make something?” she said.

That got his attention. He turned from the TV to look at her. “I can’t cook!”

“Nor can I, Daddy.”

He frowned, then smiled. “So we’ll eat out!”

The expression on his face was hauntingly familiar. Jeannie flashed back twenty years. She and Patty were wearing matching flared denim jeans. She saw Daddy with dark hair and sideburns, saying: “Let’s go to the carnival! Shall we get cotton candy? Jump in the ear!” He had been the most wonderful man in the world. Then her memory jumped ten years. She was in black jeans and Doc Marten boots, and Daddy’s hair was shorter and graying, and he said: “I’ll drive you up to Boston with your stuff, I’ll get a van, it’ll give us a chance to spend time together, we’ll eat fast food on the road, it’ll be such fun! Be ready at ten!” She had waited all day, but he never showed up, and the next day she took a Greyhound.

Now, seeing the same old let’s-have-fun light in his eyes, she wished with all her heart that she could be nine years old again and believe every word he said. But she was grown-up now, so she said: “How much money do you have?”

He looked sullen. “I don’t have any, I told you.”

“Me either. So we can’t eat out.” She opened the refrigerator. She had an iceberg lettuce, some fresh corn on the cob, a lemon, a pack of lamb chops, one tomato, and a half-empty box of Uncle Ben’s rice. She took them all out and put them on the counter. “I tell you what,” she said. “We’ll have fresh corn with melted butter as an appetizer, followed by lamb chops with lemon zest accompanied by salad and rice, and ice cream for dessert.”

“Well, that’s just great!”

“You get it started while I’m out.”

He stood up and looked at the food she had put out.

She picked up her briefcase. “I’ll be back soon after ten.”

“I don’t know how to cook this stuff!” He picked up a corncob.

From the shelf over the refrigerator she took The Reader’s Digest All-the-Year-Round Cookbook. She handed it to him. “Look it up,” she said. She kissed his cheek and went out.

As she got into her car and headed downtown she hoped she had not been too cruel. He was from an older generation; the rules had been different in his day. Still, she could not be his housekeeper even if she had wanted to: she had to hold down her job. By giving him a place to lay his head at night she was already doing more for him than he had done for her most of her life. All the same she wished she had left him on a happier note. He was inadequate, but he was the only father she had.

She put her car in a parking garage and walked through the red-light district to police headquarters. There was a swanky lobby with marble benches and a mural depicting scenes from Baltimore history. She told the receptionist she was here to see Steven Logan, who was in custody. She expected to have to argue about it, but after a few minutes’ wait a young woman in uniform took her inside and up in the elevator.

She was shown into a room the size of a closet. It was featureless except for a small window set into the wall at face level and a sound panel beneath it. The window looked into another similar booth. There was no way to pass anything from one room to the other without making a hole in the wall.

She stared through the window. After another five minutes Steven was brought in. As he entered the booth she saw that he was handcuffed and his feet were chained together, as if he were dangerous. He came to the glass and peered through. When he recognized her, he smiled broadly. “This is a pleasant surprise!” he said. “In fact, it’s the only nice thing that’s happened to me all day.”

Despite his cheerful manner he looked terrible: strained and tired. “How are you?” she said.

“A little rough. They’ve put me in a cell with a murderer who has a crack hangover. I’m afraid to go to sleep.”