“Don’t play coy with me, young man! You know exactly what I’m talking about. The suicide. The insane asylum. All those things.”
Whose suicide? What insane asylum? I wondered. That would explain a lot about Michael Rhones. I wanted to ask more about it, but I knew it would seem strange. I decided to go back to the ex--boyfriend again.
“Jeannie, can you help me remember that ex--boyfriend’s name? The one Marianne invited to the wedding? We can’t remember his name. Can you?”
Jeannie stared and then wrinkled her brow. “The ex--boyfriend? You mean Marianne’s ex--boyfriend?”
“Yes. You said you didn’t know if he had actually come to the wedding or not, and you know me, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast this morning. So I wondered if you remembered his name.”
Jeannie stared. “If he’s the one I’m thinking of, it was an Eye--talian name.”
Petty jerked beside me. Her mouth dropped open. “It wasn’t . . . Bellandini, was it?” she said in an airless voice.
Where she’d pulled that out of, I could only guess.
“Yes! That’s right!” Jeannie said. “I remember, because I told Bart it was a ridiculous name. A wop--greaser name.” After the initial excitement at having remembered something important, Jeannie’s face fell. She covered her mouth with her hands and stared.
“I’m sorry,” Petty whispered.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jeannie said from behind her hands. “How could this happen to our family?”
“It’s over,” I said. “It’s all right.”
“How could this happen to our family?” Jeannie repeated in a whisper.
It appeared that Jeannie knew something horrible had happened but couldn’t quite remember it. So the question remained: Where was Petty’s mom? It wasn’t like we could ask Jeannie, since she thought Petty was Marianne, and that Petty was a toddler, and that it was nineteen--ninety--something.
Tears filled Jeannie’s milky eyes. “Where did it go?”
Where did what go?
“I’m sorry,” Petty said again.
I reached for Jeannie’s hand. “It’s all right. It’s all in the past.”
“All in the past,” Jeannie echoed. “I’m so tired.”
“Why don’t we leave now and let you get some rest.” I stood, and Petty did too.
Jeannie sat staring for a moment more, then went and sat on her bed. She had nothing more to say.
“We’ll see you soon, Jeannie,” I said as she lay down, turning away from me and Petty.
“Goodbye,” Petty said.
I led the way into the Colorado afternoon and immediately lit a cigarette. I thought about asking Petty if she wanted one to calm her nerves but knew she’d throw a rod. So I leaned back against the car and smoked while she paced in front of me, her fingers at her lips.
I waited until we were buckled in the car. “Where in the hell did you get the name Bellandini? How did you know? Did you remember from when you were a little kid, or what?”
“No,” Petty said. “When I was in Mr. Dooley’s office going through the box, there was a file folder marked ‘Bellandini.’ Now I wish I took it.”
“Your dad—-I mean, Michael Rhones—-kept a file on him? Now, that’s twisted.”
“Yes.”
“She thought you were your mom,” I said, excited. “Yesterday, she wasn’t saying ‘Mama.’ She was trying to say Marianne.”
“I know.”
“Bellandini has to be your dad’s name.”
“Right.”
“What’s the matter? Why aren’t you as excited as I am?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“I am,” she said. “But there’s all this other stuff going on inside me. Like—-and this is going to sound crazy—-I feel bad for my dad. For Michael Rhones. He loved my mom. You could see it in the pictures. You could feel it when you read the letters. And it drove him insane.”
I stayed quiet, even though I wanted to dance around. We’d done it. We’d cracked the code. And it was largely thanks to my steering Jeannie in the direction we wanted her to go. No way could Petty alone have gotten the information we needed.
As soon as I thought this, I realized how selfish my excitement was. It wasn’t about finding Petty’s family, it was about my cleverness. But this wasn’t a puzzle, it was Petty’s life. The seriousness of this situation hit me, that and how ill--equipped I was to handle it. Shame washed over me.
“Petty, this must be awful for you.”
“What if this Bellandini guy is worse than Michael Rhones?” Petty said. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I really don’t.”
“But there’s only one way to find out. We’ve come this far. Let’s go back to the motel and we’ll call information.”
I started up the Buick and drove to Motel 9. When we were in our room, Petty paced up and down, wringing her hands.
There was a knock on the door, and she looked at me, alarmed.
I went to the door.
“Who is it?” I called.
“Management,” came a voice, but it didn’t sound like the old guy.
“What is it?”
“There’s a problem with the water. Can you open up?”
I did.
A tattooed young man stood there.
“Hi,” he said. “We have to turn the water off until tomorrow morning, so you won’t be able to shower or flush until then. Okay?”