My Men Too

By Mira Peck

It is 1973 as a plane soars into the clouds above Amsterdam and heads for New York City. Aboard are Alina Sherwin and her American husband, Wayne. Alinas aspiration is nothing less than happiness, but her enthusiasm is marred by the fear of another career failure. Her worries are justified. Alina, the first female chemical engineer in Australia, has yet to find employment in her profession.

Thankfully it does not take long before America feels like home to Alina. As she is finally propelled into the executive ranks by supportive colleagues, she uses her influence to elevate skilled workers who do not fit the standard profile. But when her modernization efforts place her in the path of powerful enemies, she must fight to preserve her legacy. Meanwhile, her husbands insistence on an open marriage compels her to leave him, and they both attempt to build new lives. Their love is still very much alive, but is it powerful enough to bring them back together?

My Men Too continues the international adventures of an intrepid woman in her quest for personal fulfillment and a more just society.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491787342

Mira Peck

Mira Peck grew up in Poland and Australia and built a career in the United States. She is the author of Sour Cherry Tree, an award-winning collection of poetry and prose, and the novel, My Men. She and her husband have two grown children.

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 Mira Peck.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-8733-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-8735-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-8734-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016900429

iUniverse rev. date:  03/07/2016

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgment

Part I    Flying Into The Future

Chapter 1    America, December 1973

Chapter 2    Manhattan

Chapter 3    The Women

Chapter 4    Wayne

Chapter 5    Lancaster, Pa

Chapter 6    My Baby

Chapter 7    My New Family

Chapter 8    A New Beginning

Chapter 9    Hal Comes Through

Chapter 10    Solvent Recovery

Chapter 11    An Abundance Of Favors

Chapter 12    Hal And Emma’s Party

Chapter 13    Emma’s Musicians

Chapter 14    The Award

Chapter 15    Josh Risberg

Chapter 16    Mrs. Sherwin, Married Woman

Chapter 17    Dissonant Clangs For Freedom

Chapter 18    Our First Shindig

Chapter 19    Josh And Wayne And Colin And Melanie

Chapter 20    Confusion

Chapter 21    Growing Up, Growing Away

Chapter 22    Foreign Transfer

Chapter 23    Wayne’s Creed

Chapter 24    Goodbye, Hello

Chapter 25    Maybe

Chapter 26    Welcome Home

Chapter 27    Grownup Me

Chapter 28    My Two Pillars

Part II    The Corporate Seal

Chapter 1    The Saintly Bride

Chapter 2    Willem’s Son

Chapter 3    The Reprieve

Chapter 4    Motherhood

Chapter 5    Elkin Arrives

Chapter 6    One More Chance For Oz

Chapter 7    Looking For Home

Chapter 8    Prospects

Chapter 9    Watch Out! Out!

Chapter 10    Go And Be Happy

Chapter 11    Choosing Me

Chapter 12    The Best Laid Plans

Chapter 13    Dev Patel

Chapter 14    Ian Winston

Chapter 15    Bungee Cord

Chapter 16    To Friendship And Freedom

Chapter 17    Letting Go

Chapter 18    Martin Bremmer

Chapter 19    Needle In A Haystack

Chapter 20    Arsenio Lambrides

Chapter 21    Auckland

Chapter 22    Otto Von Hecht

Chapter 23    The Long Term Plan

Chapter 24    Taming Otto

Chapter 25    Kudos

Chapter 26    Herman Mueller

Chapter 27    John Snapp, Boy Director

Chapter 28    My Baby

Chapter 29    The Family Tree

Chapter 30    Wayne And Me

Part III    Learning To Be Me

Chapter 1    Germany

Chapter 2    Axel Prost

Chapter 3    Viktor Adler

Chapter 4    Director

Chapter 5    The Borodins

Chapter 6    Shaking Things Up

Chapter 7    Francine Mandrake

Chapter 8    Ken Danbury

Chapter 9    Henry Fulsom

Chapter 10    Our Children-To-Be

Chapter 11    The Proposal

Chapter 12    Persuasion

Chapter 13    The Adventure Begins

Chapter 14    Leningrad

Chapter 15    The Children’s Home

Chapter 16    Maksim

Chapter 17    Zoya

Chapter 18    Moscow

Chapter 19    The Launch

Chapter 20    1985: A Very Good Year

Chapter 21    The Glass Ceiling

Chapter 22    Moving On Up

Chapter 23    The Skipper Skips Town

Chapter 24    Cassandra Whispers

Chapter 25    The First Supplier Symposium

Chapter 26    Alfons Kruger

Chapter 27    Spreading The Goods

Chapter 28    Tribute To Women And Industry

Chapter 29    Frederic Helder

Chapter 30    Improve

Chapter 31    The Trial

Chapter 32    Martin Bremmer Defanged

Chapter 33    The Slander

Chapter 34    What’s Life About?

Chapter 35    Shuttle Discovery

Chapter 36    A Fond Farewell

Chapter 37    Freedom

Chapter 38    Imperfect Justice

Epilogue

Dedication

To David – my shelter

Acknowledgment

I am in debt to my community of writers for their patience and support, especially Rob Palmer who provided wise counsel.

And to my faithful friends on three continents whose love sustains me every day.

PART I

FLYING INTO THE FUTURE

Chapter 1

AMERICA, DECEMBER 1973

I was on the longest flight of my life. My destination was New York City, but my aspiration was nothing less than happiness.

As the plane soared out of Amsterdam and over the North Sea, I felt apprehension and hope in equal measure. The thirty thousand linear miles I had covered so far had been close to the ground, on ships, trains, buses, rickshaws, and the soles of my feet. My time in the air had been limited to brief stints: one for a parachute jump, another on a flight from perilous Timor to peaceful Bali, and a third during my parasailing debut that almost ended in broken bones.

I knew little about New York City except from movies that depicted it as the nerve center of a vibrant, rough-and-tumble land. Perhaps in a place like this I could pick up enough speed to jump over that vaulting horse of my youth.

Look out the window. Wayne leaned across me. That’s got to be Iceland.

Land of the Northern Lights.

Also geothermal pools and puffins, Wayne added, holding his camera against the pane and clicking. Maybe one day we’ll go there too.

I sighed. You’re a perpetual travel machine. First, I want to get our lives in order.

Sure, but it’s a big world, and we’ve only seen a fraction.

More than most people see in their lifetimes. I closed my eyes, anxious to get back to my fitful musing about a land that could as well have been outer space but would soon be my home. I looked out the window again but saw no more land. The cloud cover thickened and darkened. The plane shuddered, and I shuddered with it. I gripped the armrests and inhaled deeply to forestall nausea. I had not experienced air sickness in the past, but the twelve-week pregnancy could make me more susceptible. I slid my palm over my belly, sending a tender hello to the pink aquanaut for whom I was the only lifeline.

When the plane stabilized, Wayne placed his hand on mine and smiled.

I got you something, he said, handing me a book.

I read the title: "Forty Acres and a Mule: American Idioms and Phrases. What does this mean?"

After the Civil War, Congress proposed a bill to grant forty acres of confiscated Confederate property to each household of ex-slaves, to pay them for years of free labor. But the president vetoed it, and it became a symbol of the government’s bad faith towards the blacks.

And the mule?

The Negroes were also supposed to get mules from the army, but never did.

I’ll have to learn more about people of various races in the U.S. And get to know them.

It’s not as easy as you think. In my parents’ town, there’s not even one Negro family. You’d be more likely to find them in a big city like New York or Washington.

Really? I thought America wasn’t segregated anymore.

Officially it’s not, but in reality it is. Not just by color but also by ethnicity. Swedes in Minnesota, Poles in Chicago, Italians in Brooklyn …

Sounds just like Australia, I said. Too bad. So where did you find the book?

At an American Express store in Antwerp. You like words, and I thought this might help you sound like a local.

With my accent? I opened the book and found an apt idiom. That’ll be the day.

See, you’re learning already. Anyway, everyone in the U.S. has an accent. You’ll fit right in.

The flight landed at LaGuardia Airport after midnight. We followed separate queues through customs: Wayne joined the fast-moving line for U.S. citizens, while I blended with an international assortment of students and tourists. I felt eager to start my new life, but my enthusiasm was marred by the fear of another career failure. And by Wayne’s–

Next. The immigration officer waved me to his window. I placed my documents on the counter. He flipped through the passport pages and smiled. You’ve covered a lot of territory.

A customs officer smiling? That was a new one.

At least thirty countries in Asia and Europe, I said.

Pretty impressive. And what brings you to America, ma’am?

My husband’s an American citizen, and we’re planning to live and work here a while.

He stamped one of the few remaining empty spots in my passport, then handed the documents back. "Welcome to America. I hope you stay here a long while."

I mumbled a quick thank you, still in mild shock over the politeness of this uniformed official, then hurried towards the luggage pickup area hoping he wouldn’t find a reason to detain me. On my way, I encountered my first U.S. policeman, in dashing attire punctuated by an NYPD badge, which I surmised to mean New York Police Department. He nodded with a smile, and I grinned back, until my eyes fell on his belt where he had anchored his thumbs. My breath halted as I stared at his black leather holster. The proximity of a loaded weapon felt more menacing than protective. I averted my eyes and scurried away.

Chapter 2

MANHATTAN

Wayne stood by the baggage carousel, chatting with a chic brunette in a tan, knee-length shearling and leather boots. I felt a pang in my chest at the sight of him with an attractive woman. In a mere thirty minutes he had found someone to talk to. A guilty thought sneered: I didn’t have to worry about his itch when he was sick. Now he seemed like a hunting dog that had been cooped up in a cage, suddenly free to chase a fox. And he was back on his familiar hunting ground.

Stop it, I scolded myself as his face lit up when he saw me. He’s just being his friendly self.

Everything okay? he asked, looping an arm around my shoulders.

Yes. I nodded. The customs officer let me through with no worries.

Great. Rachel, this is my wife, Alina, he said to his companion. Then to me, Rachel Hooper and I went to high school together, and now she teaches at New York University.

Nice to meet you, Rachel. I smiled. Quite a coincidence that you’d run into each other.

It’s serendipitous. She returned my smile. I’m on my way back from a conference in London. You can imagine how happy I was to see him after all those years. And as I told Wayne, it’s not good for you to be traipsing around the city at night. You’re welcome to crash at my pad.

How did I feel about staying with an old friend of Wayne’s? What kind of friend was she? I was certain he’d tell me the truth, but maybe I wouldn’t like it. To conceal my misgivings, I said, That’s kind of you, but Wayne’s parents are expecting us tomorrow.

No problem, they said in unison, and both laughed, looking at each other. Wayne shifted his gaze from her to me, and continued. We can sleep at Rachel’s and catch a train to Lancaster in the morning. It’s only a two-hour ride from Penn Station.

And before you take off for the boonies, Rachel added, you should see the holiday decorations. The city’s quite festive.

All right, then, I conceded. How are we getting to your place?

We’ll take a cab. I’ll ask the driver to go by some of my favorite sites.

The yellow taxi was much larger than any cars I had seen in Australia or Europe. Its peeling body paint and frayed upholstery emanated decay. All three of us piled into the back seat, with me in the center. An opaque panel with a lattice of metal bars separated us from the driver.

Why the bars? I asked Rachel.

To protect the driver from troublesome passengers.

Troublesome? You mean gun-toting?

Not usually. More likely drunk or stoned or crazy. But you never know.

So the stories I’d heard about New York City being a dangerous place were true. Still, it could not be as dangerous as Timor or Rangoon, although the landscape we passed looked bleak: metal cans and newspapers strewn across the snowy banks, dreary apartment complexes on both sides of the highway, factory chimneys spewing dark fumes. Rachel’s calm tone did nothing to allay my apprehension. I shivered and zipped my parka up to my chin, bouncing with every pothole.

I squelched the spine-chilling fear of ending up in penury and squalor, and turned my thoughts to the allure of the sprawling residential communities. They hinted at vigor - and choices.

The cab negotiated a pretzel junction, and approached the Queensboro Bridge.

Rachel pointed. This bridge will take us across the East River to Manhattan.

The ironwork looks quite ornate, I said. Nice to see civic pride.

It was built in 1909 after years of delays and the loss of fifty lives. But now it’s one of our landmarks.

What is this strip of land below us in the middle of the river?

"Roosevelt Island. Now it’s mostly residential, but it used to have a prison that held some famous people: Emma Goldman for advocating anarchism and birth control, and Madame Restell for performing abortions. Mae West was jailed on public obscenity charges for her play Sex. Also Fritz Duquesne, a Nazi spy."

I guess it’s true that in some ways New York is the capital of the New World, I said.

Oh, yes, she gushed. There’s so much going on here that’s bold and ingenious. And the scenery is about to get better.

It’s better already, I said. I love the reflections of lights from the high rises. And look at the boats going down the river and the other bridges in the distance.

Manhattan Island is connected by several bridges and tunnels to other New York boroughs, and to New Jersey. It’s home to many important organizations. That wide building on the riverbank to your left houses the United Nations headquarters.

The bridge railings descended to an end point and our cab stopped at a red light.

We had touched down in Manhattan.

The narrow street was lined with gigantic parked cars and slender brownstones jammed shoulder-to-shoulder like infantry. The cab rolled through a few more intersections festooned with colorful strings of lights and silver snowflakes.

Wayne nudged me. Look ahead. That’s Central Park.

The street opened to an expansive city square bordered on the north side by the park and a massive masonry building on the west.

That’s the Plaza Hotel, the place where nothing unimportant happens, Wayne quipped.

You’ve always been good at trivia, Wayne, Rachel said. The Plaza is a designated National Historic Landmark. It was opened at about the same time as the Queensboro Bridge. Now we’ll drive down Fifth Avenue to whet your appetite for future visits.

Rachel, you seem to know such minutiae about the city, I observed. How come?

When I studied at NYU, I supported myself as a tour guide. Now I’m teaching urban planning, so this is right up my alley.

A couple of streets south, she pointed to St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and directly across from it, Rockefeller Center featuring a spectacular evergreen.

What a huge tree, I said. Must take some doing to transport it to the city.

It’s a yearly ritual, Rachel said. The tree is picked from a North American forest, and then a team of people and machines makes it happen. We have a lighting ceremony in early December and take the tree down in early January.

I wish we had time to walk around.

We’ll be back, Wayne said. There’s a lot more to see.

As Rockefeller Center receded from view, my eyes retained the image of the extravagantly muscled Atlas carrying the heavens upon his shoulders as punishment for defying Zeus. Could my fleeting thoughts of staying in America be considered a defiance of my parents’ wishes? Would I be equally punished?

Rachel pointed. On your right is the New York Public Library. It was the largest marble structure in the US when it was erected sixty-two years ago.

No wonder those two lions look like they’re guarding the gold of King Croesus, I said.

But the real treasures are inside, she said. You’ll have to come back and explore it.

As soon as I land a job and we get settled.

With a degree in engineering, it shouldn’t take long.

I hope you’re right. Oh, I recognize this building from tourist photos.

It’s the Empire State Building, Wayne said. It was the tallest in the world when it was built in 1931, but the new World Trade Center has it beat.

As we proceeded south, my cup was filling to the brim with superlatives: biggest, richest, boldest, freest. Combined with the most inclusive, this was an intoxicating brew. And my thirst could be so easily quenched, if only I would give myself permission.

There’s much more, Rachel said, but I have to get back home and rest. My roommate Claudia and I have some people coming to a meeting tomorrow morning at nine.

Do you want us to clear out early? Wayne asked.

No, you’ll have your own bedroom, so you can sleep in or leave your bags at my place and tour the city. It’s up to you.

The cab dropped us at an eight-story apartment building across from Washington Square Park. We took the elevator to the third floor, where Rachel unlocked the double-bolted door. She showed us the kitchen and bathroom, led us to a cramped bedroom, and said goodnight. Wayne and I flopped under the covers and were soon fast asleep.

Chapter 3

THE WOMEN

In the morning, delicious aroma of brewed coffee seeped into the room. It was seven a.m. Claudia welcomed us to her kitchen and prepared fresh omelets accompanied by wholegrain toast and strawberries. To my delight, Claudia’s skin was the color of espresso. She wore a black body suit, a flowing knee length skirt, and a pair of pink ballet slippers.

Did you sleep through the ambulance siren? she asked.

I didn’t hear anything, I said.

Slept like a log, Wayne added. Now we’re ready to roll. What’s the best way to get to the Natural History Museum?

Subway or cab, or on foot. It’s a lovely, frosty day. Perfect for an invigorating walk.

I would’ve preferred to visit the Museum of Modern Art but didn’t want to venture alone in an unfamiliar city, so I yielded to Wayne.

Rachel emerged in a terry robe and a towel tied around her hair. Good morning. How’s your jet lag?

Fine, Wayne and I said in tandem, then he added, We’ve been through so many time zones that a seven-hour difference doesn’t faze us.

Good, Rachel said, leaning over to kiss Claudia’s cheek. Holding a coffee mug, Rachel sat next to me. Wayne told me about your nontraditional profession. Have you heard of consciousness-raising?

You mean like becoming more aware of one’s feelings?

Something like that. But I meant feminist consciousness-raising, CR. Women learning about each other’s experiences in patriarchal society instead of accepting the views of others.

"Along the lines of ‘admitting the problem is half the battle?’ I’ve seen the term but don’t know much about it. I’ve read Germaine Greer’s The Female Eunuch, though."

An important book in feminist theory, Claudia observed. Greer hits the nail on the head when she compares the denial of a woman’s sexuality to the denial of her humanity. Although Negro women have had the opposite problem of being considered too sexual.

Rachel added, The only way to get at the truth of women’s lives is from their individual stories. In CR we use feminist texts to enrich the discussion, but the essence is learning from the original source–the women themselves–so each of us doesn’t feel she’s alone.

I’ll keep it in mind once we get settled.

You could join us this morning. Rachel pulled a typed sheet off the refrigerator door and placed it before me. It’s a CR session with several NYU staff members and students. We’ll explore one of the topics on this list. I think everyone in the group would welcome your participation.

That sounds great, Wayne said. I wouldn’t mind attending myself.

Nah, Claudia demurred. That would flip the script. A man can mess with a woman’s mind, and we need to feel free to talk to each other. At least for now. More coffee? she asked me, then filled my cup.

Some men have been forming feminist CR groups, Rachel said.

That’s true, darling, Claudia replied. But if Alina chooses to stay, Wayne will have to check out the ’hood on his own.

I hesitated. I could explore the city in the future, but the CR concept suggested a path to inner growth. I decided to forgo tourism in favor of self-fulfillment. Do you mind? I asked Wayne.

Of course not. I think it’d be good for you.

You don’t know how right you are, Rachel said. Studies have shown that women who’ve taken part in CR gain self-esteem and are less likely to suffer from depression. You might end up with a happier wife.

Wayne laughed. You’re very persuasive. Anyway, Alina doesn’t need my permission.

Enjoy the city, Honeybun, I said. See you after lunch.

The six women in the group ranged in age from eighteen to eighty and represented a gamut of careers, from visual arts to science education, from anthropology to waitressing. Some were mothers, some were bisexual, some were married, some divorced. It was the first time I had met a group of women sharing intimate details of their lives in a supportive setting. Their long list of topics included housework, women as leaders, abortion, and ambition. To my initial discomfort, today’s theme was masturbation. Embarrassment quickly dissolved into relief upon hearing that most had pleasured themselves, and one had even matched my prodigious discovery as a five-year old. I was not the freak I had imagined myself to be.

By the end of the meeting, I felt I had just unearthed a key to self-acceptance. It was okay for women to pursue technical careers; to be athletic; to be leaders. And now I knew that the clitoris was the key to a normal woman’s delight. If one morning could peel away the accumulated debris of twenty-seven years, how much more soul cleansing awaited me in this country?

On the train bound for the boonies, I observed the small towns, red barns, tall silos dotting the sprawling farm fields, the snow-covered evergreen forests, and occasional chimney stacks signaling industrial jobs. I resisted putting words to the emotions coursing through me, but the group session had defogged my lenses long enough to let me say it.

America felt like home.

Chapter 4

WAYNE

A flaming sunset guided our train westward. The rays reflecting off ice floes below the bridge reminded me of the river Bialka in my childhood town, but the Delaware River could have swallowed at least twenty Bialkas. I added another gigantic item to my tally of American superlatives.

Isn’t this a gorgeous place? Wayne put his arm around me. I used to hike to the top of those mountains and watch for bald eagles.

Looks like the river is a good place for kayaking once the ice melts.

Yes, great kayaking on the rapids. I’ll have to bring you here in the spring.

Is the river named after an Indian tribe?

"No. The original people who lived here were the Lenape Indians and the river was called Lenapehanna. Hanna in their language meant ‘river.’ But around 1740, white settlers drove them out and named it Delaware to honor Lord De la Ware who promoted the white settlements."

So what happened to the Lenapes?

They moved to another big river, the Susquehanna. It’s closer to my parents’ home, just west of Lancaster. Tomorrow we can hike there if the weather’s good.

Oy, I groaned and bent over, pressing my abdomen.

You okay?

I took a deep breath and sat up. Just a little cramp. It went away.

He squeezed my shoulder. It’s only an hour to Lancaster. Then you can lie down and rest.

The shimmer of the river soon gave way to white blankets of snow atop the roofs of houses and surrounding fields.

Congratulations, Wayne said. You just entered your third state in the U.S. If you kept going west for twenty-seven hundred miles, you’d get to California.

The prospect of continued travel made me aware of fatigue and a discord between his priorities and mine. That’ll have to wait. Right now I want to focus on getting settled.

Sure. There’s no rush.

In a few minutes, the electric lights of civilization faded as we advanced into darkness illuminated only by streaks of the rapidly setting sun. On the cobalt horizon I could make out an outline of the undulating mountain ranges, while the terrain ahead and south was dominated by forests and open fields.

A second spasm sent tingles along my arms, reminding me of the debilitating cramps of my youth. I balled my fingers into fists, squeezing and releasing to pump the blood in my veins, then filled my lungs with air and exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the implications.

The pain subsided as quickly as it came. Maybe there was nothing to worry about.

The landscape’s monotony created the perfect moment to voice concerns about my future. Wayne, how does one look for a job in America? In Oz, my college provided leads, but here I don’t know a soul.

First, you should update your resume, and then we’ll look for recruiting firms that specialize in chemical engineers. There’s a lot of industry around Philadelphia, and a good recruiter will help you zero in on suitable openings. That’s how I had found my first job.

Again I felt a tightening in my middle but this time it felt more like anxiety than a cramp.

But you were educated in America. I’m worried that my foreign degree will be an obstacle.

A recruiter will help you with that. He gazed at my face and embraced my hand with his. I know it’s all unfamiliar, but you know at least one soul here, and that’s me.

I know you’ll try to help, but you’re in a different field. What if nothing works out?

Oh, look. This is a big country with thousands of different employers. If one thing doesn’t work out, we’ll try another. And we don’t have to stay in this area. If you find a job in California or Texas or Ohio, we’ll move.

That was the thing about Wayne. He’d go wherever I needed to go.

We held each other silently, listening to the train wheels’ rhythmic rumble. I was comforted by the notion that, although Cherry Grove was yet another mysterious dot on the globe, my claim on belonging would be greater there than it was anywhere since my childhood.

It occurred to me that I was worrying about myself, but Wayne had been away for three years and would also have to start anew. What do you think you’ll do? I asked.

I’ll figure something out: go back to my old company, go to grad school, or teach.

You still don’t want to work in your father’s business?

He cleared his throat. I haven’t spoken to him in years.

I slipped my fingers under his shirt and pressed his firm skin. He might have changed. If you could reconcile, wouldn’t this be the easiest way to get started?

Not with him. He wants to boss everyone, and if you don’t toe the line, he gets mean. Wayne spoke steadily but his thumping heart gave him away. Mom puts up with him because she’s a loving woman and he probably scares her. But I won’t let him bully me anymore.

Maybe he found it difficult to deal with your being an adult rather than a little boy.

That’s not his problem. He competes with everybody. When he was younger, he had physical fights with his older brother. I could understand his anger that his parents gave this brother hundreds of acres and he got nothing, but Dad took it out on his own family.

How?

He’d yell at Mom in front of us kids. One time he even slapped her around.

He beat her?

Kind of slapped her with the back of his hand. I was a senior then, as tall as him, so I grabbed his arm, and he stopped.

Wow, I said. And she stayed with him after that. Hard to imagine.

He spoiled every romance Jennifer had by being rude to her boyfriends and telling her they were no good.

How did your sister handle that?

She became secretive about her relationships. To this day none of us knows much about her life.

Your dad must have made your childhood miserable.

Wayne sighed, then continued. He never did anything violent to me. And Mom protected me as much as she could. But as a kid, I often felt … powerless. That time I saw him slap my mother was the last straw. I left for college and stayed away for a year.

I stroked his hand.

I don’t hate him. In some ways, he was a good father. I remember how he shoveled our path clear of snow, repaired cracked windows, taught Jennifer and me to drive a tractor. He finished college and ran the business by himself. But life made him hard. That’s why I’d rather we stay with Jennifer.

Whatever you think is best. How far from your parents’ home is her place?

About thirty miles. No big deal. And she can help with your job search too.

Sounds like a good solution. The peek into his family helped me understand his thirst for freedom, and his vulnerability.

But what kind of freedom could I live with?

Chapter 5

LANCASTER, PA

To my great surprise, the lobby of the Lancaster railway station was immense. The high ceilings culminated in a skylight embellished by Art Deco chandeliers. The tall, arched windows over the main entrance imparted dignified beauty. Was this Rachel’s idea of the boonies?

Jennifer hadn’t changed in the three years since her visit to Australia. With her erect posture, shoulder-length chestnut hair, a wide, pearly smile, and piercing hazel eyes so reminiscent of her brother’s, she stood out from the crowd. In the subzero temperature, she wore no hat and no gloves, conceding to winter only the red parka and a colorful scarf wrapped around her neck.

She embraced Wayne, and then enveloped me in a tight hug. Welcome to America. Ready for an honest-to-goodness winter?

Can’t wait, I laughed. I’ll be reliving my childhood.

We’re expecting a big storm tomorrow, so you might as well love it.

What’s the plan? Wayne asked as we strode past the antique wooden benches towards the exit.

"Tonight we stay at my place. You can shower and do your laundry. I have supper all fixed up. Rupert’s on his way from work,