Chapter 8 News
December 12-A few weeks earlier
Beth and Jerold Hanks sat on the crowded train, sweating from the humid passenger car that had a heating system working overtime while traversing through the snow covered English countryside. Beth’s hair was damp and pulled back into a tight bun; her white cotton shirt clung to her slender frame, making her look more fragile than she cared. Jerold reached over and laid his hand on her bare knee, just below the hem of her khaki cargo shorts. She was wearing zip-off pants and had taken the bottoms off to make the sauna-like conditions of their passenger car a little more bearable. He had pushed up the sleeves of his light blue oxford shirt, trying to get as much clothing as possible off his sticky skin. He untwisted the bandanna around his neck and lightly rubbed it on the nape of his wife’s where sweat was trickling down to the collar of her shirt. Trying to empathize, he hoped he could relieve a small amount of Beth's misery. She had been battling depression the last couple of weeks, quietly crying when she though he wasn’t looking. He was worried she was losing focus on their current mission. Still, he wanted to comfort her any way he could. The two of them had spent their adult lives together, nearly every waking moment since they met in college, and he couldn't imagine being without her. She was his soul mate, his breath, his heartbeat, his pulse. So when she was hurting, it sucked the breath out of his lungs and made it difficult for him to see clearly enough to know how to be a comfort to her. He looked at her perfectly placed bun pinned in the middle of her head and smiled to himself, thinking back to their first days together.
Jerold had met Beth at Stanford University, riding in a carpool of graduate students to a Pink Floyd concert. Rock bands had become an obsession of his in his late teens and early twenties. It was the one thing outside the academic world that made him feel grounded. He had always been the academic type in school, president of the chess club, math club, and the debate team. He was fascinated with history, poring over books about ancient civilizations any chance he got. But his college roommate introduced him to the world of rock music, something he had been completely disinterested in high school. He had taken a genuine interest in Pink Floyd. What interested him the most about the band was their choice of communication to their following. He never admitted this to anyone, fearing their ridicule, but he admired their ability to generate so many followers, critics, and students of their music and lyrics. To Jerold’s mind, the platform for their music was outstanding.
Excited about studying the concert, he got in his friend's Winnebago, a hand-me-down from some distant relative, and sat next to a beautiful girl who looked sorely out of place. He remembered her sitting there in her ankle-length jeans skirt and black leather jacket, with her wavy blonde hair pulled into a bun. She didn’t look like a Pink Floyd fan. He made small talk with her during the ride, wondering what she was doing there, and by the end of the night had fallen head over heels for her. It turned out that she had only gone to the concert to meet him, trying to find an excuse to talk to him. Jerold was stunned by the fashionable and beautiful Beth that emerged after that night. She had laughed when he mentioned her long jeans skirt, saying she was trying to be modest, knowing that he was a conservative type of guy.
Jerold felt the train lurch, bringing him out of his thoughts. Beth looked up at him, letting her lips spread a small smile across her flushed face. She grabbed his hand on her knees. Jerold heard her sigh, knowing she didn’t want to talk but also certain they were both thinking the same thoughts about her mood today and the mission ahead. They were heading toward Wales, trying to recover the sixth trunk. After all these years, they finally thought they were at the end of this unexpected journey. There was little satisfaction in their finds. Tildon was still refusing to tell them the trunks' purposes, promising that when they were all uncovered, he would reveal his little secret. They had spent the last six years hunting down and unearthing five trunks that never opened. No matter what they did or tried, nothing seemed to make the locks come undone. Beth had sworn after recovering trunk number three that she had seen a blue light spark out of one of the locks when she used a reciprocating saw on it. But by the time she took off her safety glasses to look closer, it was gone. It almost seemed like there was something protecting the locks. Nothing had even made a dent on the metal. Jerold shook his head, frustrated at the thought. He had never found anything to be difficult for him, especially when it came to solving complex problems or looking at a historical mystery from a unique angle. He was the thinker and Beth was the scientist. She was a biologist and had a Ph.D. in forensic science. Jerold had his Ph.D. in history and cultural studies. He was fluent in six languages and Beth in three. Together they were the perfect team.
The conductor came by to punch their tickets, and Beth pulled them out of her pack lying by her feet. She unzipped the front pocket, shoving her fingers into the space, trying not to ruin her newly polished nails. Jerold was always amused at his wife's vanities, especially since they had spent most of their lives digging in dirt, wading in muddy rivers, crawling through caves and getting plastered by the desert sands. Beth pulled out the tickets and Jerold caught a glimpse of an envelope that was tucked inside the pocket. He saw the last part of her name and the address of the hotel they had checked out of two weeks ago. The rest was hidden by the black leather bag, including the return address. He tried to think of her mentioning any unexpected mail that had arrived in the past couple of weeks. He came up blank. He furrowed his brow, trying to think through the small list of people who knew where they were staying. Jerold looked at Beth, getting ready to ask her about it, when she noticed the letter sticking out and quickly shoved it back in the bag. He thought she zipped up the pocket with a little too much force. He sighed, knowing that he was going to have to break her silent streak and ask about the envelope. There was too much to do when they arrived in Wales to spend the entire trip dwelling on some piece of paper in her pack. He knew he could sneak a peek, but he had always made it a priority to do nothing behind her back, ever. That is what made their marriage and relationship so strong. They were always honest, always open, but kept everything between themselves. He squeezed Beth's hand, trying to get her to look at him. Very rarely did he ever have to ask her about something, but when he did, he always did it with gentleness and patience. Usually, whatever the problem was, it turned out to be nothing of significance. Jerold had recognized early in their relationship that things weren't worth the potential argument they normally created when he handled her with impatience and indifference.
Beth looked up at him, not able to hold his gaze, she looked away and out the window. He was worried about her, but sometimes she got moody at the end of an expedition, especially one that took a while. She had gotten unusually tired at the end of their search for the fourth trunk, and he had insisted she see their doctor back in Ithaca when they were done. She had ended up stuck in bed for three weeks with Mono. He moved his hand out of hers and began to rub his fingers lightly on her thigh. Her shoulders sank, as if in defeat, and when she looked back at him, Jerold saw the fresh tears brimming in her eyes. He squinted, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her so much. Feeling his heart suddenly heavy with worry, Jerold pressed his lips together, waiting for the right words to surface.
“Beth, what is it?” He reached up and stroked her cheek with his thumb, wiping away the one tear that had escaped.
She looked down and grabbed his hand on her face, letting her hand rest on the back of his.
“It's your father,” she whispered, barely speaking so he could hear. “He sent me a letter a couple of weeks ago. That's what's in the pocket of my bag.” She looked down, and he guessed she was a little ashamed from keeping any news from his dad a secret.
“He wanted to tell you the news himself, in person. That's why I didn't show you the letter.” She put her hand on his cheek and rubbed her thumb over the stubble on his chin that was poking throug
h like new grass ready for spring. He knew that the news was not good.
“He's sick. He doesn't know much yet, but they found a tumor on his brain. The doctors are going to do a biopsy, after Christmas, to see how serious it is. He wanted to send me the letter in case something happened before we got back. But he didn't want me to tell you, so he could tell you himself. Oh, Jerold, I'm so sorry!” She buried her face into his chest, letting her tears stream from her eyes. He sat there numbly, stroking her back, trying to let the information sink in. His dad? Sick? He had always been close to his father, thought of him as invincible; the way sons are supposed to think of their fathers. He never once thought of his dad as weak or frail, let alone sickly. In fact, he couldn't remember a day when his father stayed home from work, too sick to fulfill his obligations. He was an ox to Jerold, and as long as he could remember his dad had earned everyone's respect for being so reliable all his life. The thought of anything different was too much for Jerold to bear. Feeling the tears threatening his eyes, he tried to steady his breath. Unable to speak, he sat there in silence for more than an hour. Finally, he resolved that he couldn’t dwell on the unknowns and he had to refocus on their job in Wales, less than 45 minutes away. He pushed Beth from his chest, wanting to look into her eyes.
“Honey, we can deal with this when we get home for Christmas, and my parents will be there too. But right now, we have to focus on finding that trunk, or we'll never make it back in time. We promised them we'd be there this year and I don't intend to break that promise.” He could feel a tear escaping from the weak barrier he was trying to build. Beth reached up to wipe it away.
Jerold looked down and whispered, almost to himself. “I've never known my father to be weak. He'll fight this and be fine. I just know it.” He turned his head and looked down at his wife, worry screaming from her glistening eyes. “So, we need to get ourselves together and focus on what it is we need to do after this train pulls into Wales.”
Beth sighed and nodded, knowing he was not going to let her mourn any more. He pulled her into him and rested his lips on her hair.
“Everything is going to be fine. I promise.”
“Is there more?” He knew that look on her face.
“I've just been doing a lot of thinking.”
He hesitated and pressed when she didn't go on. “And?”
Beth looked up at him with a solemn face. “I think that we need to make it right with our own family. We've been spending years chasing after these ridiculous trunks. We don't even know why! And while we are off chasing some rich man's obsession, our children are being raised by our nanny! I have always had to deal with guilt, but now I am struggling with shame.” Beth let the tears trickle down her cheeks. “Oh, Jerold, what have we done? What have we sacrificed to chase our dream of making this world a safer place? Is it worth it?”
Jerold knew this was a rhetorical question, but he couldn't help whispering the answer to himself.
“Yes. This is something we were born to do.” He sighed, knowing she was right about their family. This was the one regret he had been living with since they signed on with Tildon. But how could they not? If it meant securing peace for generations to come, wouldn't the kids thank them in the end? Wouldn't the eternal peace of mankind be worth the few years of their kids' childhood they had sacrificed? They didn’t know the secrets of how the trunks worked or the contents inside them, but they were too far into their project to doubt that these trunks held a greater significance to their world than either of them had imagined when they began. It was a difficult fate, but Jerold knew, without any doubt, that it was a fate created for them. He didn't know why yet, but he knew that they had done the right thing. He felt Beth sobbing against his chest and he held her until she had cried herself dry. Finally, he felt her shudder in his arms and heard her whisper, “I want to go home.”
“Me too, baby; me too.”