In Memoriam by Suzanne Jenkins Page B

here. I need to talk to you,” he said, his expression intense. “I need to tell you the truth about that baby.”
    Pam felt uncomfortable letting him in the house, but he’d gotten her curiosity going. The alternative was to call someone and tell them he was there, just in case.
    “Wait one minute, Tom.” Pam closed and locked the veranda door and went to the hallway. She picked up the phone and dialed her friend and neighbor Jeff Babcock’s number. There was no answer, so she left a brief message explaining who had stopped by and that she felt someone needed to know. Walking back to the veranda door, she could see he was still standing there, looking in. She opened the door for him.
    “I’m preparing my mother-in-law’s dinner right now, but you’re welcome to talk to me while I work,” she said, standing aside so he could enter.
    He looked straight ahead as he walked by her, and the distinct smell of alcohol wafted from him. Suddenly, Pam was saddened. Here was this remarkably handsome young man who’d been betrayed by Sandra in the same way Pam had been.
    She waited for him to speak, but he seemed incapable of it. He was pale, but there were bright red patches under his eyes. “Have a seat, Tom. I’ll make you some coffee.”
    He pulled a stool out from under the counter and sat down. It was more of a plop down, exhaustion taking over. “I felt so sure this is what I should’ve done, and now I see it was stupid,” he said. “I was angry with you for some reason.”
    Pam frowned. “Me? Why? I haven’t done anything but exist .” She returned to salad making while trying to engage Tom. “If you’re mad at me because Sandra had an affair with my son, I guess you can be. But I didn’t know a thing about it. Nothing. I didn’t believe it until I saw that baby.”
    Tom laughed out loud. “Yes! That baby . He’s the spittin’ image of his father; my mother said so when he was born. ‘That’s no Adams baby,’ she said. You said yourself that he looked like one of your children. My mother took a second look when you said it. That’s when we realized he wasn’t mine. He was still in the hospital.”
    Pam had stopped peeling cucumbers and was leaning up against the counter with the knife poised in her hand. “I thought this was all new.”
    “No. I think I knew when it happened. When he was conceived. Brent raped my wife. I bet Sandra didn’t tell you that. Drugged her and raped her. She was sick for a week afterward. Dragged herself to the funeral against my will, half dead herself. We’d had sex that morning, the morning she met you and Brent in town.”
    Pam was still trying to catch her breath. Drugged and raped? What proof did he have? She spoke softly so as not to scream at him. “Do you mean when we met at Jack’s apartment?”
    “Yes. Do you remember how Brent happened to join up with you that day? Because Sandra never mentioned that he would be there.”
    “He wasn’t supposed to be. I remember I was shocked myself because they came in together. They were both bright-eyed, and Sandra was giddy. I watched them, suspicious, but there was nothing about their behavior with each other to support it. They were friendly, like two people who were about to begin a work relationship. But when I left, Sandra stayed behind. I didn’t think much of it until afterward. I wondered if there was any connection between what had occurred on Madison Avenue with my son taking that unplanned trip to White Plains. That perhaps Brent might still be alive if something different had taken place.”
    “Like what?”
    “I don’t know, Tom. You tell me.”
    “Like maybe if Sandra didn’t have a child and a man waiting for her at home, Brent would have spent the night in the city with her?”
    “Yes. No. I don’t know. I didn’t picture them together that way. She’s too old for Brent. She was Jack’s mistress. It didn’t seem morally correct for her to be with my son. Almost abusive. Except he’s a