The Puzzle

By R. Laurenz

Valerie’s mother had always been an enigma to her, both in life and in death, a puzzle Valerie was not sure she wanted to solve. At her sister’s bidding, Valerie returns after 14 years to her Montana birthplace for one hectic weekend before leaving for a six-year project to simulate a Lunar colony. In a long conversation with a former teacher, Valerie discoveries the key to her mother’s life and death lay in a puzzle she once assembled. The answer rearranges almost every piece of her childhood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312532434

Book preview

The Puzzle

The Puzzle

The Puzzle

Copyright © 2014 R. Laurenz

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

ISBN: 978-1-312-53243-4

Version 1: for distribution in e-pub format.

*Since e-pub is a variation of HTML, and is designed for display on a wide range of devices with different screen sizes and different default fonts, this version does not display text in the specific way that the author intended, using different fonts than are used in the printed paperback or in the PDF version available on Lulu.

Preface

This little story is an elaboration of a chapter that was to be included as part of a series of novels about colonizing the moon. However, while the protagonist, Valerie, has been recruited for a project purported to simulate a Lunar colony, there is nothing else in this novel that has any relation to the rest of that series, nor is this volume in any sense part of the genre labelled science fiction. This book, instead, would be better characterized as the coming of age story of young woman who incidentally goes on to become part of a Lunar colony.

In fact, the whole series devoted to founding the first Lunar colony might not any longer be considered science fiction, except perhaps in the literal sense that it is fiction about a space endeavor. It is not necessary to extrapolate very far beyond current technology to obtain the tools needed for such a colony. But such comments are better left to the volumes that deal with people on the moon. Valerie’s attention in this book is focused on her past in Montana, not her future on the moon.

The events in this book occur primarily in the towns of Glasgow, Montana, and Williston, North Dakota, plus some minor action in Ophiem, Libby, and Missoula in Montana, as well as in the San Francisco Bay Area and Minneapolis. What I have borrowed from each of these places is primarily the physical setting and the social and demographic context. The primary action, with some minor modification, could have been set in any isolated small town on the Great Plains, from Saskatchewan to Texas.

All characters and events in the novel are fictional and none is based on any real person or event, either in the locations mentioned, or in any other place, with the obvious exception of a few well documented events such as the People’s Park protests in Berkeley and the oil booms in Williston.

In particular, nothing in the book, other than the names of the schools, is based on or intended to reflect on any person or aspect of the school system of Glasgow. For example, as far as I know, there is no PTA organization in Glasgow, and for at least part of the time during which the action takes place there was no specific course called senior English in that high school. The same is also the case with regard to any references to the Flathead Indian Reservation.

One minor, but explicit deviation from an actual physical setting relates to the scene on US 2 where Valerie first looks out over the expanse of the high plains. That scene is more reminiscent of the broad valleys traversed by Montana 13 between Wolf Point and Circle. Also, while I use the term ‘High Plains’ to describe Northeastern Montana, that term is more appropriate for eastern Wyoming and Colorado, and possibly north central Montana.

In general, I like to write with reference to an explicit geographic and socioeconomic context, but I almost never base my characters on particular people I have known. As far as I know, the only explicit exception is a minor character who is based on a young woman who sat next to me on an airline once, and who expressed enthusiasm for joining a lunar simulation project. But she has only a walk on roll in two or three later novels.

When a futuristic noel is set in the distant future an author has the liberty of positing any kind of technology embedded in almost any kind of world. The space transportation depicted by H. G. Wells seems quaint to us today, but we can overlook that. After all, he was correct on the major premise, namely that people would be travelling to the moon in the not too distant future.

However, setting any novel, other than perhaps fantasy fiction, in the near term future runs the risk of being quickly proved totally wrong. Major changes in the real world can make the fictional world that is portrayed seem false and irrelevant. Much of this story was written before the second oil boom in the Williston/Bakken Basin, which radically altered almost everything about northwestern North Dakota except the weather. I have revised the parts of the novel related to Williston in 2020, but the region is changing so rapidly and so radically that I am sure even my revisions already seem dated. Who would have expected, even five years ago, that quiet little Williston would have the highest per capita crime rate in the country, or that North Dakota would be giving Texas competition for the number one position in oil production in the country?

The full series of novels is called the Moon Colony Simulation Project, and as proposed includes some 20 volumes (plus or minus five or so) covering the century from 1958 to 2058. It is very unlikely that all the volumes will be completed. Those left incomplete when I exhaust either my resources or my enthusiasm will be dumped in rough draft or synoptic form on my website. To date, five or six books have been completed in rough draft form, in addition to this little volume, and my intention is to publish additional books at six to 12 month intervals on Lulu.

The use of typefaces in this volume may seem somewhat unusual, possibly even disconcerting. The intent is to maintain consistency across the full set of volumes. The styles will hopefully seem more natural in the context of an off-world colony.

For anyone interested in additional volumes, or just curious over how this volume fits into the complete picture, you can find more about the series on ‘MoonColonySimulationProjectNovels.com.’ The site is currently very incomplete. I any going to try to add additional material on a monthly basis, but I am a notorious procrastinator.

A number of friends deserve thanks for being gracious enough to read early drafts, including Andy, Beth, and Lennie. Special thanks to Freda for her extensive comments and encouragement.

Sara worked me through at least four revisions, providing me the equivalent of an undergraduate major in creative writing. She weaned me from a scribbler to a disciplined writer and now, hopefully, to an author. And we somehow remained friends through the effort.

However, one step remained. The difference between a writer and an author is that an author has published. I have seen a number of my research articles in print, but none of my fiction. McKayla has taken on the task of morphing a MS Word file into an e-book, complete with cover, ISBN number, and a presence on Lulu, Barnes and Noble, iBookstore.

The Puzzle

By R. Laurenz

Valerie

One

Valerie sat there, her hand on her knee, holding the phone, the hang-up-or-dial voice chiding her to do something. The distant irritant pulled her back to current reality, to the complications this call created, now, when all of her being was focused on the imminence of a total break with her old life.

‘Jodie, Jodie! What’s gotten into you?’ Val thought, in exasperation. ‘I thought we had settled everything when we talked last week. I know it wasn’t an easy call for either of us, but we said our goodbyes, got as much closure as could be expected over the phone. I told you how soon I would be leaving. Here it is Thursday already, and you want me to rush out to Montana. You know I have to leave for my new job on Monday.’

Damn it all! I do not need this! Val almost shouted, Especially not now!

She slammed the receiver down, then felt a reflex pang of guilt. But, of course, Jodie hadn’t heard her outburst, was off the line by then. Instead, she chided herself, with a touch of sarcasm, If you don’t want this last-minute dash into the long-dead past, then why did you just agree to spend the weekend with Jodie?

The answer came in a voice from a younger age, less sophisticated. ‘Because it's Jodie, my sister, my closest friend in growing up... all that is left from that time, little as it is.’

It had been 16 years since Val had left home, left Glasgow, Montana, to attend college. She had made one brief return visit, two years later; other than that she had not been back, not seen anyone from the town or from her family. Her only contact with that time had been the semiannual call from Jodie, dutifully checking up on her, maintaining a thin thread of connection.

Jodie cared deeply about family, a feeling Val definitely did not share. Jodie checked up on the rest of the family as well, and kept Val informed of the endless sagas of their older sister Carol and their three brothers, Jack, George, and Billie. Val herself had had no contact with any of the rest of her siblings in over 20 years; all of them except Billie had left Glasgow before Val was in middle school. Only Billie, the youngest of her brothers, just starting high school at that time, had hung around a while... until the sheriff had given him the option of leaving town or going to jail.

None of them, unlike Jodie, demonstrated any more interest in returning to Glasgow than did Val. On her part, Val felt well rid of both the town and her family. It was more than a lack of interest; she felt an active aversion, almost a fear of them. She did not want to get dragged back into that morass, reawaken all the unpleasant memories, become again the awkward girl dressed in hand-me-downs, the youngest member of a family the town would just as well do without.

Val felt the town looked down on her and the rest of her family. Her father was the brain-damaged veteran surviving on a pension and a menial job as janitor. Her mother was the half-breed with a reputation for loose living, to put it euphemistically. They had lived in a ramshackle building on the edge of town. All her siblings, save Jodie, left the town the first chance they had.

She had, herself, felt particularly excluded, almost shunned by the town. Whether that was really the case, or only her personal misperception, did not matter. It had felt demeaning then, and she still resented it. She felt they did not understand her, did not appreciate what she could do, in fact, put obstacles in her way. She did not want to be reminded now of who she was then.

Even discounting her feelings towards the town, this visit would be uncomfortable, at best. Val could sense the tension in Jodie’s voice. Jodie had assured her that I checked with Theo. He really doesn’t mind. It is only for the weekend, after all. He knows how much you mean to me.

Jodie’s husband had no use for any of his in-laws. Possibly, it was worth it to him to suffer a weekend visit to be certain Val would be completely gone from their lives for at least six years. Yet there was more to it than that, Val was certain. Jodie was herself upset about the impending visit, in spite of the invitation.

Val’s initial call, some 10 days prior to this last-minute return call, was intended as little more than a formal acknowledgement that their shared childhood demanded at least this minimal obligation. The call itself, apart from its content, had likely surprised Jodie. Val had not initiated a phone conversation in over a decade, relying on Jodie’s semiannual calls to maintain the tatters of their relationship.

Moreover, the content of the call had likely exceeded the range of Jodie’s limited experience. Val had called to tell Jodie of her new job, a wonderful opportunity... a whole new life. The job, and the life it entailed, was beyond Jodie’s wildest imagination: a simulation of a Lunar colony, six full years at an unknown site, isolated from anything that would not be part of a real Lunar site.

Val might not have called, except she knew that Jodie would be immensely upset if, at her next semiannual call, she discovered Val’s number disconnected, with no forwarding number available. The call had been no more or less satisfactory than any of their previous conversations. Before Val could explain the reason for the unexpected call, Jodie immediately launched into a detailed accounting of the lives of her five children, every happening, no matter how trivial. Val tried to listen patiently, doing her best to keep their names and ages straight. She would put most of it out of her mind the minute she hung up.

Jodie had as little interest in Val’s life. When Val finally interrupted the monologue to explain her reason for calling, Jodie found it incomprehensible. You mean you’re going to be an astronaut!?

Val did her best to explain the difference between a simulation and a real Lunar colony, but Jodie countered, I don’t see as how it makes all that much difference. You say you’re going to be gone for six years, and you don’t even know where you’re going. You might as well be going to the moon!

Val’s professional accomplishments were, in general, of no interest to Jodie, except perhaps as an ‘item’ to tell the women at church circle. News of a prospective niece or nephew would have meant more to Jodie than any new job, or all the research papers in the world. Not that Jodie wasn’t proud of Val, but she wished Val would do something, anything, that they could really share.

This time, however, Val was at least not surprised by Jodie’s reaction. Even Val’s current colleagues and acquaintances in the University medical community seemed baffled by her choice. You mean they expect you to be part of this so-called simulation for six years, 24/7, without a break or vacation?

Val would counter, Hey, they pay more than I get as a med tech, and it's all mine; they cover all my expenses. And they have state-of-the-art equipment. Besides, around here all I do with my off-duty time is read and take a few walks.

That latter wasn’t completely true, but it was close enough. To herself, Val would add, 'And this project truly appreciates what I am able to do... which is more than I can say of the damn doctors at the clinic. The people recruiting for this project know who I really am, and they want me.’

This second conversation with Jodie had a curious twist to it that puzzled Val, almost annoyed her. Jodie seemed to imply that she was not calling on her own initiative, but at the behest of Cora Thompson, who had been their English teacher in their senior years. Val could not for the life of her think why Cora Thompson would want to see her.

Granted, she had used Ms. Thompson as a reference when applying to this project. They had insisted on a contact from her hometown. Val presumed this was to back up what she had included in her application, such as that she had been co-valedictorian, one of the few aspects of her youth that might carry some weight on a job application. Ms. Thompson was the only person other than Jodie whom Val thought might remember who she was.

But Val had offered Ms. Thompson’s name with some trepidation. Their interactions in class had been at best ambivalent. Her final impression of Cora Thompson had been decidedly negative, consonant with her feelings toward the town as a whole, and Val was convinced the feeling had been reciprocal. However, Ms. Thompson’s recommendation must not have been completely negative, since Val had been accepted into the project. Perhaps she owed her a last visit. If nothing else, she might get the chance to achieve the closure she had been denied at the end of her senior year.

Yet Val couldn't help wondering whether this was just a ruse on Jodie’s part, an excuse to return her call, a lure to draw her back for one last visit. Jodie likely felt hurt at the idea of separating for so long without a face-to-face goodbye, one last hug. A telephone goodbye was like saying they had never meant anything to each other, ever. They had been growing farther and farther apart since Val left her hometown, but they had been important to each other once... hadn’t they?

Jodie didn’t put it like that. The distance that had come between them got in the way. Perhaps Jodie wanted a way to reopen the possibility of a last visit without risking a direct personal rejection. Jodie might even regard Cora Thompson as an authority figure, a person with the status, at least to Jodie, to issue a peremptory command to return, someone significant enough that Val could not readily refuse. Or maybe Jodie understood that something personal stood between them, blocking a visit. Cora Thompson might be a way of diffusing the tension, bridging the barrier.

Well, regardless of Jodie's intent, or of Ms. Thompson's, for that matter, Val was not making this last-minute trip home because a former teacher demanded a meeting with her. No. She was returning because Jodie wanted to see her one last time. She conceded she owed that to Jodie, in spite of their differences.

That didn’t make the visit any less an imposition. Cramming it in would be a real problem. Here it was, already late Thursday, and Val had to catch a flight out of Minneapolis on Monday evening, at an explicit time to an unknown destination. If she missed that Monday flight, she might risk the loss of the job and all her dreams. The visit with Jodie would be hard to squeeze in; Glasgow was 800 miles away, with no easy travel connections.

Val wavered. It was not just the oppressive presence of the town that was getting in the way. There was a void there as well, an absence she feared to face. Thirteen years ago, her mother had died, leaving Val with no way to resolve all the years of ambivalence, conflict, and rejection. Glasgow was now only the vacant stage after the last act, the setting in which she had known her mother, devoid of life without her.

Worse than that. The town was repulsive to her, an open grave, the sarcophagus that held what little remained of her mother. Val had no wish to pry open that coffin. Glasgow was non-mother, ground with no figure, defined by the hole left when her mother died. Val was afraid everything in Glasgow would scream to her, I am not your mother; your mother is not here.

Her mother remained a puzzle that Val had never deciphered. She had been unequivocally the single most important person to Val, emotionally far more central to her being than even Jodie. Cora Thompson had been momentarily important, like a shooting star, a temporary flash in the sky, possibly even providing portents of a distant future. Jodie was like the moon, a comfort in the long night of adolescence. Beside them, her mother had been a supernova, outshining everything else in the sky.

Not the sun. Her mother was not a being of the day, not something warm and comforting, something that sustained, gave light and life. Her mother was violence to Val, fury, the destructive face of Shiva. Her mother had been an overwhelming presence.

Yet even that was less than the half of it. The puzzling, scary fact was that Val was certain she had been even more traumatizing to her mother. Her mother seemed to see something in her, something both wanted and not wanted, desired and abhorred, something to hold as the most precious thing imaginable, and something to cast away, something repulsive, something filled with both stifled hope and raging despair.

Val wondered sometimes whether she had imagined her mother's power, hatred, need, obsession with her, rejection of her. Or at least blown it all out of proportion. It had all been so inchoate, like the emotions concealed in stories, myths, allegories. Val was convinced that her mother had once been passionately literate, possibly even brilliant, in spite of what the town thought of her, though even Val had trouble seeing through to that part of her mother. Certainly her ma’s allusions had been beyond Val’s young mind. And later, when Val was in high school and old enough to grasp some of the hints and evasions, her mother’s mind was often clouded with alcohol, so Val was never completely sure what was real and what was illusion. Allusion, illusion, confusion. Val had the eerie feeling that she was only an accidental victim, that her mother’s attitudes toward her had all been, paradoxically, intensely irrelevant.

Val could remember hazes of expectations, volleys of vague accusations. Was she being blamed for something she had done in the past, or for something she might fail to do in the future? Whatever it was, nothing Val was able to do, not ever, brought any sense of satisfaction or resolution. Then, with no warning, no premonition, her mother took the answers to her grave.

This was no time, virtually the eve of her departure for a new life, to reopen such old quandaries. That was the real risk in returning to Glasgow. Val was excited over what her new position promised; she wanted no ghost from the past snatching it away from her.

Vague memories of myths and fables her mother had told her in her childhood blurred together with the Greek tragedies from her college humanities courses, tales in which the protagonist himself weaves the fatal net in which he is inexorably ensnared: Oedipus drawn to fight and kill a stranger at the crossroads, unknowingly murdering his own father, and then, inevitably, home to Thebes to marry a queen who is actually his mother, this despite the fact that all had been foretold, and every effort made to avoid such an outcome. Impotency before an implacable fate. Would she, like Oedipus, on this one last trip home, come to her crossroads, the very place that destiny had assigned for her undoing?

‘Nonsense!’ Val told herself. ‘I’m a scientist, a rational person. I have perfectly good reasons for not wanting to go back, without having to evoke Greek tragedy or mysterious warnings from my dead mother.’

Two

Val did not regard herself as superstitious, but she found it disconcerting that she was returning to Glasgow just a few months shy of 13 years after her mother had died. She did not know the precise date of her mother’s death, only that it occurred sometime in the late summer or fall of Val’s first year at the University of Minnesota. Thirteen years ago, almost to this day, she had arrived in Minneapolis, driving directly from Williston, straight through without stopping, some 625 miles.

She had intended to first drive west over to Glasgow to pay a brief parting visit to Jodie, but a part-time job opened up at the University. They wanted her there ASAP. So Val canceled that final trip home, didn't even give it much thought. She had been totally focused on the move: the University, the new job, the city. She was finally putting Glasgow behind her.

Of course, Val had called Jodie before leaving Williston to say goodbye, to let her know her she wouldn’t be stopping by. She had expected Jodie to feel hurt; Jodie was like that. But otherwise, there was nothing remarkable about the call, no mention of their mother being seriously ill, only some comments on Ma’s life style and the embarrassment it caused Jodie with Theo and the church people. So their mother must have been alive at that time, and not noticeably sick.

Val did not learn of her mother's death until near Christmas of that year, when she came across a note of sympathy in a pile of unopened mail. Val had no idea when the note had arrived, so it was difficult to be sure precisely when her mother had died. That had been an exciting, overwhelming, even stressing fall, a time of transitions: the university, the city, her new job, her course work. The note could have arrived anywhere from late September to the very week in December when she discovered it. The note itself was undated, and only referred to the recent death of your mother, language that seemed completely inadequate to convey such momentous news. It was like seeing a brief paragraph in the ‘News of the World’ reporting an estimate of the number of young girls raped each month somewhere in the Congo, or a paragraph in a book on ancient history stating that the Minoan civilization ceased to exist sometime in the fifth century BC, or perhaps a comment in a discussion of extracting DNA from ancient bones stating that the last Neanderthal died around 30,000 years ago, the epitaph for a species in a footnote… each of them stated factually, stripped of even the barest contextual relevance, cataclysmic events tossed off in a few words devoid of emotion. To Val, the distant language conveying her mother’s death felt no more real than the demise of the Neanderthals, though cognitively Val accepted them both as facts.

It must be true, since the note said it was, but the note had evoked no feeling. It had the impersonality, the emotional irrelevance, of a few lines on the obituary page of a newspaper. Her mother’s life was burned into her psyche, yet the evidence of her death was an impersonal note, and not from Jodie, not even from her brother, Jack, but from his wife, whom Val had never met, a note that had lain, unread, for how many days or months? Val regretted, with a bitter pang, not having been at the funeral. It would have helped to attend the ceremony, to have stood at the graveside, to have buried her conflicts and ambivalences with their cause. That was what funerals were for, to put the stamp of finality on a life, so that those surviving could get on with the business of living.

But no one, not even Jodie, had notified her of the funeral. Jodie felt so deeply about families, both her current one and the family she had shared with Val. If one of Jodie's children had died, Val was certain she would have heard about it immediately, in impassioned tones. But nothing from Jodie about the death of their mother.

It surprised Val that it still bothered her. Thirteen years was a long time to hold a grudge. Yet each phone call from Jodie, rare as they were, reminded her that Jodie had never called when their mother had died, never once mentioned their mother again.

Jodie, of all people, who had really been her whole family from about age ten on. They had worked together as part-time waitresses at the Cottonwood, hung out with the same crowd, split the household chores between them. More than that, Val remembered the long hours she had tutored Jodie, to make sure Jodie would pass each grade.

After all that, how could Jodie fail to tell her about their mother’s death? That was a family thing, the kind of thing that really mattered to Jodie. But it went beyond that: Jodie knew how important their mother had been to Val, at least at one time. She could understand the others not calling. She hardly knew them, having been so young when they left Glasgow. George and Carol and Billie, even Jack, lived their own separate lives, their only contact with Glasgow likely being the same semiannual call from Jodie that she received.

As for Andy, their father, he had had little to do with either his wife or his youngest daughter. He had rarely initiated a conversation with Val or even greeted her on meeting as far as Val could recall. Nor could Val remember his ever talking with her mother, his wife.

But she and Jodie had grown up together, through middle school and high school, mutually dependent on each other in a fractured family. They were allied together within the family, and stood together before the town, Val making sure that the school could not flunk Jodie, Jodie smoothing the way for Val, socially. Jodie should have called. How could your sister not call when your mother dies?

Val thought of that fall. For all her mother had meant to her, what she remembered was not her mother’s supposed death, but the struggle of her first year at the university. She had transferred from the tiny junior college in Williston, North Dakota, to the University of Minnesota. There were several times as many students at the University as there were in the whole town of Williston, or in all of Valley County, Montana, where Val had grown up. There were more students in some of her classes at the University than had been enrolled in either the junior college or her high school.

That fall had been an enormously exciting time for her, with the university and the whole city to explore. The bioengineering building where many of her classes were held was newly built, which a facade of tinted glass and state of the art laboratories. The underground warrens of the medical school where she worked were a vast set of catacombs larger than the entire campus of her junior college.

But in spite of the wonder and excitement, it had been a real struggle. The transition had not gone smoothly. Many of her courses from the junior college had not transferred to the University curriculum in lab medicine. Her studies were progressively more difficult, and her fellow students were much closer to her level than at the junior college. She was denied instate tuition, more than doubling her expenses, and her apartment was far more expensive than lodging in Williston had been. She was working almost full time, and carrying as many courses as she could manage. Many of her courses involved long hours in the lab, and Val did not dare let up on her studies until she proved to herself and the University that she was able to excel there as she had in high school and junior college.

The one thing that had saved her was her job. They quickly recognized that she had a genius for dealing with all the equipment in the lab. She soon became irreplaceable, and that eventually led to scholarships and instate tuition. But that relief did not come until her second year. Her first year, and especially that fall, had been almost overwhelming. There were weeks in the late Fall when she never once saw the sun, leaving for work and classes before sunup, spending the entire day within the bowels of the Medical complex, and returning dead tired to her apartment long after the early evening sunset.

So it was not until just before Christmas that Val had discovered, in the mess that accumulated in her apartment, that fateful note from her sister-in-law, Kim, Jack’s wife. Jack was her oldest brother, and the only sibling she felt any kinship with, other than Jodie, though he was six years older than she was and gone from the town and family before she was old enough to really know him.

All that fall, she had been tossing all her mail in a pile, selecting out only those demanding money, assuming most of the rest to be junk mail. She had never in her life corresponded with anyone, other than to apply for admission to colleges, so she was not expecting any personal mail. Her contacts with Jodie had always been by phone. Now, in cleaning out her apartment, preparing to leave for the project, the note had surfaced again, requiring a decision: throw it away, or take it to the project with her as her one last memento of her mother. She read it again.

Valerie,

Jack asked me to send you our sympathies over the recent death of your mother. He would have written himself, but you know how he is. He is so busy, with his teaching and coaching and helping to run the insurance agency, not to mention the time he tries to hold out for the children. He leaves all the household and family affairs to me. And you know how uncomfortable he is with emotions.

He tells me that the two of you were the ones in the family who were closest to your mother, and that you were the only other one likely to feel her death deeply. He wants you to know that he shares your pain and sadness.

It is too bad that Jack could not attend the funeral. We were so busy then, with the football season in full swing, and Kalispell in the running for the state championship. We could not have gotten away, even if Jodie had called in time for us to make the long trip. Really, we aren’t even sure there was a funeral. Jodie had initially sent only a short note, with no details regarding either the cause of death or the burial arrangements. We could not even send flowers.

Jack called Jodie, but apparently Jodie was quite evasive. He learned nothing specific, not the cause of death, not even the date. He got the definite feeling Jodie did not want to discuss it further, and would not welcome additional inquiries. Jodie did provide him with your phone number and address. Jack tried calling you, but got only your voice mail. He chose not to leave a message. He did not want you to learn about your mother’s death in that manner. So he asked me to stand in for him. Since we have never met, I felt more comfortable writing to you than calling.

Jodie mentioned that you are attending the university now. Jack talks of you more than anyone in his family, other than your mother, even though he only knew you when you were a child. I believe his only regret on never returning to Glasgow is that he did not have the chance to see you grow up. He remembers you as a very exceptional young girl. He wishes you well in your studies.

Again, both Jack and I would like to extend to you our most heartfelt sympathies.

Jack and Kim

It was a very proper note, difficult to criticize, especially for Val, since she had never had any tutoring in what was appropriate or acceptable in such matters. It did not sound like Jack. It seemed so cold and formal to Val, nothing like any of the Stensruds could conceivably have written. Jack had clearly moved on to a different social milieu.

But the note was not the issue, of course. She had not seen or heard from Jack in over 20 years, and knew little or nothing of Kim, other than that she came from a well-to-do family in Kalispell. Jack had met Kim while at the University of Montana. There was little personal information in the note, nothing of Jack’s family, not even how many children they had. There was nothing to encourage a response, not even the almost obligatory ‘Drop us a note and let us know how you are doing.’ That note was the sum total of her contact with Kim and Jack as a family.

So no, Kim’s note was not the issue. The issues were her mother’s death, and even more, the fact that Jodie had not called to tell of it. ‘Jodie told Jack, but not me! In spite of all I did for her.’ The recollection still rankled. ‘I bet she called Carol and George, too. I’m sure she did. I suppose she didn’t know how to get hold