MYSTERY WOMAN AT THE REUNION [R, 9-26-24]

BEYOND WINTER: The Irrelevant Memories of An Old Man—MYSTERY WOMAN AT THE REUNION [R, 9-26-24]

 

I can still see Gary sitting across the aisle in home room. It was my first hinge moment.

Mr. Cato, our class sponsor, had just asked for nominations for class president. We were entering high school. We’d never had class officers before. The person we elected would be our first president. Gary looked at me with a strange glint in his eye.

That wasn’t really different. He usually had a strange glint. He was a nice kid, but a little distant, a little different. Not enough different to make fun of, but enough different to leave him on the outside. He seemed to be more comfortable on the outside.

That day, though, Gary turned his strange glint to Mr. Cato. “I nominate John McFarland for president,” he said.

Gary had that strange glint in his eye because he knew he was going to do something equally strange—nominate the least likely kid in the class to be president!

Gary’s nominee was elected by acclamation. That was standard in that day. It was impolite to make a second nomination. Whoever was nominated first got elected.

Making that first nomination, seeing it succeed, you might have thought that would bring Gary a bit more into the mainstream. At least, that he and I might become buddies. Not so.

He was part of our class for all four years. An adequate student, but neither good enough nor bad enough to be noticed. He didn’t participate in activities. He stayed out of the mainstream.

We continued as nominal friends, saying “Hi” when we met, but we didn’t do stuff together. He lived in town and I in the country; we didn’t even run into each other except in the halls at school.

I went off to college. He stayed in town. He remained a little strange. He married a maiden lady twenty years his senior. She was the scion of a prominent local family, and had the same given name as her father, and was a college professor. She, too, was considered a bit outside the mainstream.

They didn’t have children, but they had dogs. A special breed. Had to send them to Chicago if they wanted puppies. My mother was much amused when she learned that the dog that had been sent to Chicago would no longer associate with the other dogs. “That’s what happens when you go to the big city,” she said.

We had class reunions every five years. Gary didn’t come to them until… I think it was our 50^th. He was in a wheel chair. I did my best to have a conversation with him, but he was hard to understand. Part of it was because I was distracted by the woman with him.

I assumed she must be a care-giver, but I had never seen a nurse-type like that before. Absolutely gorgeous. Fifth Avenue gorgeous. Glamorous. Charismatic. But young enough to be his daughter.

Attentive to Gary, who beamed from his wheelchair.

We knew Gary had some money, mostly inherited from his wife.  We all assumed the woman was a gold-digger. Poor Gary.

My wife investigated. “She says she’s his daughter.”

Daughter? But they never had children… but sometimes men have children their wives don’t know about, don’t they…

We all scoffed. That woman is no daughter! Especially to a guy like Gary…

Five years later, at our next reunion, Gary wasn’t there. “He’s too sick to come,” Bob told me. “What about that woman who claimed to be his daughter?” I asked.

“Apparently, she really is. She even bought the house next door to him so she can live here and take care of him. Moved down from Chicago…”

John Robert McFarland