Reunion (sequel to "Box of Memories)

It was a month later and I was sitting in front of the computer in my home office, looking at my computer monitor's screen.

My daughter Cat was sitting next to me, waiting. “You're still not sure about this, are you, Pa?”

I shook my head. “For all I know she's married. Or, worse, she could be dead.”

“But you won't know which one is true until you find out for certain,” she said. “Trust me, it's not that hard to get started. If I can, you can.”

“Maybe you should do it, then,” I said. “You're braver than I am.”

Cat shook her head. “Don't sell yourself short. After all, where do you think I got half of my bravery from?”

“It's not the same as being in a courtroom,” I said. “I know why I'm there and what I need to do. This is something else entirely.”

“Not really,” she said. “There's still a judge and jury, and they're both you. What's the verdict, Pa?”

“Guilty until proven innocent,” I said, grinning slightly.

She made a face. “Be serious.”

I took a deep breath and sighed. “I just don't know. It's been about twenty-five years. A lot can happen in twenty-five years. After all, if I could forget about her for that long, why couldn't she forget about me?”

“Or maybe she still thinks about you, wondering how you're doing and what you're up to,” Cat said.

“Okay,” I said. “You've made your case.”

“And the verdict is?” she asked.

“How do I go about searching for Sunny online?” I asked.

“First, you need to create a Facebook account,” she said.

“Then what?” I asked, once that was out of the way. “After all, we're assuming a great deal that she has a Facebook account.”

Cat nodded. “This is true. But it's even less likely that she doesn't. She might've started one when she was in college, or maybe afterward. For instance, if she got married.”

Married. I hadn't thought of that. And Sunny might not just be married but also a mother.

“Ready to take the plunge?” she asked.

I hesitated, then nodded.

She pointed at the Find People You Know on Facebook web page, and then down where it said: Search for people: Enter a name or email.

I typed: “Sharon Ferguson” and hit the enter key. And waited.

“She could be using her married name,” I said. “And I don't know what that is.”

“Baby steps,” Cat said. “One thing at a time.”

The search returned results for a dozen different Sharon Fergusons. I hadn't expected so many. I clicked on each one in turn. None of them were her.

“Now what?” I asked.

“There are other methods,” Cat said, and pointed at where the screen said Use Facebook Search. There were three horizontal fields after it said Filter By: Town or city. College. Workplace. There was even the option to Refine Search.

I typed: "Dandridge" in the first field. The town where I lived (and where she used to live). I left the other fields blank, since I didn't know what to put there. And hit the enter key.

This took a little longer.

One result came back: Sharon Jackson nee Ferguson.

When I clicked on the name, I was promptly flooded. She'd mentioned the schools she'd gone to during grade school. It also showed that she had moved away from Dandridge a year after graduating from college. There were plenty of photos to look at. Some looked like they were from her college years, and some were later. There was one from her wedding when she was in her late twenties, showing her and her husband, Leonard, as they walked back down the aisle in a church. Red hair braided and wrapped around her head like a crown. Long beautiful white dress. He was wearing an Air Force officer's uniform. They looked very happy. There were also photos of them and their first baby, a girl named Esther, a second baby, a boy named Solomon, and a third baby, a second girl named Ruth. Apparently the marriage was a success and had lasted until a few years ago. Not because of divorce or any similarly unhappy reason. He'd been in action over Afghanistan, shot down by rocket attack, and killed. There was one photo from his funeral, with Sharon and her children dressed in black. They were hugging and I could almost see their tears and hear them crying. It made me wish I could reach into the photo and comfort them.

“So,” Cat said. “Not all good news, then. But not all bad news, either.”

I nodded agreement.

“But it's definitely her?” she asked.

I nodded again.

“And she's alive,” she went on.

I nodded a third time.

“And like you, widowed,” she went on.

I nodded a fourth time.

“I don't think it would be disrespectful if you sent her a Facebook message,” Cat concluded. “Nothing personal. Just a friendly greeting and ask how she's doing. If she answers, great. If she doesn't, that's okay, too.”

“Okay,” I said and typed a short message:

Hi, Sharon,

Long time no see. Wondered how you were doing and maybe we could chat on Facebook sometime.

Sincerely,

Quentin

“Now we wait,” my daughter said.

At Cat's suggestion we went out into the backyard. It was a nice day. We sat on a bench, looking at the flower garden and the koi pond with its lily pads.

“You really think this will work,” I said.

She nodded. “I do indeed. I just can't guarantee how soon you'll get a response. The waiting is the hardest part, because you keep wondering if you'll get a response. And if you do, whether there's any friendly interest. It's like long distance couples who finally meet in person. Usually they're overjoyed to be together, but every once in awhile such a meeting doesn't turn out well.”

“You're not exactly comforting,” I said.

“Pa, I'm just saying don't get your hopes up too high,” she said.

“Says the person who suggested I make the attempt,” I reminded her.

“I know,” she said. “But now that you have, you have to be patient.”

“That's easier when you're my age,” I said. “If I were a teenager, I probably would be quite impatient. Even if it turned out badly.”

Cat laughed. “Something to be said for being middle-aged.”

I nudged her. “Hey, hey. Watch it. I'm your dad, after all, not your grandfather or great-grandfather.”

Which made her giggle. “I'm so glad you're my father. I wouldn't want one who's bland and boring.”

I coughed. “Which, of course, I've never been.”

She rolled her eyes. “No comment.”

“I stipulate that I may have been a long time ago, but not recently,” I added.

“No need to get all legal on me,” Cat said. “I'll be dealing with all that in law school soon enough.”

“And you're still determined to go?” I asked.

She nodded. “With a father like you, or the fictional Atticus Finch, how could you possibly expect me to want to do anything else?”

“You don't have to, you know,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “I'm not doing it for you. Or even for Atticus. I'm doing it for the people who need lawyers who care.”

“Which is the same reason I did it,” I said.

Cat glanced at me. “Didn't your parents want you to study something else?”

I nodded. “My dad wanted me to be a doctor. Biology and Chemistry weren't that bad. But once I got to Anatomy, I realized that it really wasn't my thing. I'm surprised I didn't flunk in it.”

“Was it difficult making the switch to law?” she asked.

“It was fairly simple, actually,” I said. “I've always been a bookworm.”

She laughed. “No kidding. I've never seen so many full bookcases. One of the reasons I've rarely borrowed books from a library. Plenty to choose from at home.”

I smiled sheepishly. “Guilty as charged.”

Cat sobered. “But what happened next?”

“I'd read Charles Dickens' Bleak House,” I said, “which didn't exactly paint a bright picture of the legal profession. Granted, that was in the mid-1800s in London, England, but it did make me hesitate for a moment and wonder if I'd made the right decision after all. I decided that I had and kept going. And eventually bumped into Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. Both the book and the movie adaptation. Maybe the movie more than the book. There's that scene after the trial, where Atticus is putting his things back in his briefcase. The black people in the balcony start standing up. Reverend Sykes says to Scout, 'Stand up, Jean Louise. Your father's passing.' And she stands up. They wait politely until after Atticus leaves, and then they all quietly leave.”

“That's one of my favorite scenes,” she said. “He'd done all he could and still lost the case. But he was so sure they were going to win on appeal … until they heard that Tom Robinson had tried to escape and been shot and killed by the prison guards.”

“He didn't see much hope, and decided it was worth risking his life to escape,” I said. “At least in death he was free of the prejudice he'd suffered under for so long. And not just in prison.”

“I wish he could've gone free, Pa,” she said.

“So do I, Cat,” I said. “But even in fiction, things don't always go the way you want them to. Sometimes, after giving it your best, you have to accept what the outcome is. No matter how unpleasant it is.”

“But sometimes you can escape the box and make a better life for yourself,” she said.

I nodded and stood up. “Maybe we should go check the computer. Or is it too soon?”

Cat shrugged. “Might as well. And if there's still nothing, we could always go out to a movie, or take a walk around town, or whatever.”

Back in my home office, we checked Facebook. The browser window was still open.

There was a response. It was longer than I expected.

Quentin? Oh my God. It's been so long. I'm doing fine. Motherhood seems to suit me. Esther, Sol, and Ruth are doing fine. I'm so lucky to have such smart, beautiful children. I wish you could meet them. I guess you've heard about Leonard, if you've checked my Facebook page. I wish you could've met him. But maybe it's better that such a meeting never happened. He was amazing. So tender, so caring, so loving. A wonderful husband and father. It wasn't easy with him being deployed for a year or more sometimes, but when he came home, it was like every holiday rolled into one. We would just about go crazy with the joy of being all together again. I never thought I'd ever hear from you again after we went our separate ways after high school. And now I have. Oh my. It feels like a dream. Anyway, just give me a nudge in Facebook chat, and if I'm online, we can chat. Take care of yourself. -Sharon

I checked, and she was online.

I typed: Hi, Sharon.

Sharon typed; Hi, Quentin. You can call me Sunny, if you want to. Esther just asked me who I'm chatting with. I said my best friend from grade school. She said to say “hi”.

I typed: I'll stick with Sharon for now. I hope I'm not interfering with anything.

Sharon typed: Oh, not at all. They're all home from school and their homework's done. We just usually hang out until dinner, doing whatever seems interesting and fun. Are you still living in Dandridge?

I typed: I am. I'm an attorney and I work at the courthouse. My daughter Cat is next to me. Want to say “hi” to her?

Sharon typed: Actually I already have. This morning. Didn't she tell you?

I paused and looked at Cat. “You've already chatted with her?”

Cat bit her lower lip and nodded.

“Why didn't you tell me?” I asked.

“Because I was afraid that if you knew, you might not want to try to find her,” she said.

I tried not to laugh, failed, and chuckled. “Oh, you rascal.”

She looked at me. “You haven't called me that in a long time, Pa.”

“You haven't acted like one in a long time,” I said. I gave her a big hug. “So who's idea was this originally? Yours or hers?”

Cat looked sheepish, but said nothing.

Sharon typed: Quentin? Is everything all right?

I typed: Everything's fine. I feel like I'm in a variation of the 'Parent Trap' movie. Have you seen it?

Sharon typed: A long time ago. When I was a little girl. Where the two girls try to get their birth parents back together again.

I typed: That's the one. So was this Cat's idea, or yours, or both of yours?

Sharon typed: A little of both. She found me on Facebook, and then, swearing me to secrecy, asked me to act like I hadn't heard anything about you. I guess I wasn't that convincing.

I typed: You had me fooled for a while.

Sharon typed: Then everything is okay?

I typed: Yes. Were you surprised to hear from Cat?

Sharon typed: At first. But then we let our hair down and chatted like old friends. She reminds me so much of you. Did she really beat up boys back in elementary school?

I typed: Only the bullies, when they teased and insulted her. She hasn't gotten into a fight in a long time. At least … I don't think she has.

Sharon typed: Maybe we should get together? Dinner? Here at my place? You and my children could meet each other. Tell Cat she's also invited.

I typed: Tomorrow night, maybe?

Sharon typed: What about tonight? I can put together something in about an hour.

I typed: But I don't know where you live.

Sharon typed: Cat knows. She came over here after we chatted on Facebook. I live about five blocks from you. She can give you directions, or would you rather I did?

I paused again and looked at Cat again. “Anything else you're hiding from me?”

She shook her head. “So are we going over there, or not?”

“We are,” I said.

I typed: Invitation accepted. When would you like us to be there?

Sharon typed: As soon as you like.

I typed: We'll be on our way momentarily. Don't be surprised if I'm a little nervous.

Sharon typed: You won't be the only one. Me, too. See you soon, Quentin.

I typed: See you soon, Sunny.

I closed the Facebook chat window.

“You are something else, you really are,” I told my daughter.

Cat looked at me, and I saw sympathy in her expression. “You've been alone for too long, Pa. Maybe she hasn't, but you have.”

“Maybe so,” I said. “I just hope that this doesn't become a habit with you. I'm not fond of being roped into doing something I probably wouldn't have done otherwise.”

“Like asking you to go to my Senior Prom with me?” she asked.

I frowned at her. “You wouldn't dare. Have you seen how badly I dance?”

She smiled and nodded. “Which is why I already have a date.”

“Malcolm?” I asked. I'd met him when they first started dating. Nice guy.

She nodded again. “Come on. Let's get going. Before you change your mind.”

Sunny's house was a two-story Colonial. It looked like something out of the Revolutionary War. Two small flower gardens and a tall oak tree in the front yard. The small front porch was roofed-over and supported by tall fake columns.

We walked up to the front door and I knocked.

The door opened soon after, and I found myself looking at someone who reminded me a great deal of Sunny, but with pigtails instead of a ponytail.

“Hi, I'm Ruth,” she said. “You must be Quentin and Cat.”

We nodded.

“Come on in,” she said. “Mom's upstairs, in the kitchen.”

Inside, there was a foyer the same size as the front porch, with one set of stairs going up and another going down. I could hear noises coming from the kitchen upstairs, as well as what sounded like a video game from downstairs.

Ruth led us upstairs. “Esther and Sol are down in the den, playing on their Playstation 4.”

“Their what?” I asked.

“Video game console,” Cat explained. “Didn't you have those when you were a kid?”

I nodded. “Mostly Atari. You've heard of them, I hope?”

She shook her head. “Are they still in business?”

“I think so,” I said.

The living room was to the left, and a hallway to the right. The kitchen was straight ahead.

I saw the side view of a woman with shoulder-length red hair and an apron around her waist. She was bent over the stove, sniffing something or stirring something, or both.

“That should be cooked enough,” the woman said. “Just another few minutes for the rest.”

“Mom?” Ruth called. “They're here.”

The woman turned and we both froze for a moment, staring at each other.

“Quentin?” the woman asked.

“It's been a long time, Sunny,” I said.

She ran the short distance and threw her arms around me. I thought I could hear her crying and found that I was crying, too.

“I'm so glad that you're here,” she said. “I've missed you so much.”

“Likewise.” I looked at Cat. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “You're welcome, Pa.”