We'll Meet Again

59

On Thursday morning, in Buffalo, New York, after a private funeral Mass, the remains of Annamarie Scalli were to be quietly interred in the family burial plot. No details of the service had been made public. There had been no wake. Her sister, Lucille Scalli Bonaventure, accompanied by her husband and two grown children, were the only people present for the private Mass and interment.

The lack of publicity had been a decision made and enforced by a grimly purposeful Lucy. Sixteen years older than Annamarie, she had always referred to her baby sister as her first child. Pleasant faced but plain herself, Lucy had delighted in the pretty little girl who grew up to be as smart as she was nice.

As Annamarie matured, Lucy and her mother frequently conferred about her choices in boyfriends and her possible career paths. They approved heartily when she chose nursing. It was a totally worthwhile career, and there was a good chance she would end up marrying a doctor. Who wouldn’t want to marry a girl like Annamarie? they agreed.

When she accepted the job at Lasch Hospital in Greenwich, Connecticut, they initially had been disappointed to have her go so far away from home, but when she twice brought Dr. Jack Morrow with her to Buffalo for a weekend visit with her mother, it had seemed as if all their dreams for Annamarie were going to come true.

As Lucy sat in the front row of the chapel during the brief service, she thought back to that happier time. She remembered how Jack Morrow would joke with Mama, telling her that even if Annamarie couldn’t cook like she did, he’d put up with her. She remembered especially the night he had complained, “Mama, how am I going to make that girl of yours fall in love with me?”

She was in love with him, Lucy thought as scalding tears burned her cheeks-until that hateful Gary Lasch decided to go after her. She shouldn’t be lying in that casket, Lucy thought angrily. She should have been married to Dr. Jack these past seven years. She could have been both a mother and a nurse-he wouldn’t have wanted her to give that up. Nursing was as much in her soul as being a doctor was in his.

Lucy turned and looked with anguish at the casket, covered with the white cloth symbolizing Annamarie’s baptism. You suffered so much because of that…that bastard, Gary Lasch, she thought. After he turned your head, you tried to tell me that you weren’t ready to marry Jack. But that wasn’t true. You were ready. You had just lost your way. Annamarie. You were a kid. He knew what he was doing.

“May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed…”

Lucy was barely aware of the monsignor’s voice as he blessed her sister’s casket. Her grief and her anger were too great. Annamarie, look at what that man did to you, Lucy thought. He ruined your life in every way. You even gave up bedside nursing, and at one time that was all you wanted to do. You wouldn’t talk about it, but I know you never forgave yourself for something that happened in that hospital. What was it?

And Dr. Jack. What about him? Poor Mama was so crazy about him, so impressed. She never called him Jack. Always Dr. Jack. You admitted that you never believed a drug addict killed him.

Annamarie, why were you so afraid for all those years? Even when Molly Lasch was in prison, you were afraid?

Little sister…Little sister.

Lucy became aware of raw, noisy sobs filling the chapel and knew they were coming from her. Her husband patted her hand, but she pulled it away. Right now the only person in the universe she felt connected to was Annamarie. The only consolation that came to her as the casket was wheeled down the aisle of the chapel was that maybe in a different world her sister and Jack Morrow might have a second chance at happiness.

After the interment, Lucy’s son and daughter escaped to their jobs, and her husband went back to the supermarket where he was a manager.

Lucy went home and began going through the dresser that had been Annamarie’s when she was growing up. It was kept in the bedroom in which she always stayed when she visited in Buffalo.

The top three drawers contained underwear, hosiery, and sweaters, left there so that Annamarie could use them when she came up for a weekend.

The bottom drawer was filled with pictures, framed and unframed, family albums, envelopes stuffed with snapshots, some letters and postcards.

It was when she was going through those pictures, tears blurring her vision and burning her eyes, that Lucy received a call from Fran Simmons.

“I know who you are,” Lucy snapped, her voice charged with angry emotion. “You’re that reporter who wants to air that dirty business all over again. Well, leave me alone, and leave my sister to rest in peace.”

Speaking from Manhattan, Fran said, “I’m very sorry for your loss, but I have to warn you-Annamarie won’t rest in peace if the case against Molly Lasch comes to trial. Molly’s lawyer will have no choice but to portray Annamarie in the darkest possible terms.”

“That’s not fair!” Lucy wailed. “She was no home wrecker. She was just a kid when she met Gary Lasch.”

“So was Molly,” Fran said. “The more I hear, the sorrier I am for both of them. Mrs. Bonaventure, I’m flying to Buffalo tomorrow morning, and I want to meet you. Please trust me. I’m only trying to learn the truth about what happened, not just the night Annamarie died, but six or more years ago at the hospital where she worked. I also want to know why Annamarie was so frightened. She was frightened, you know.”

“Yes, I know. Something happened at the hospital not long before Gary Lasch died,” Lucy said dully. “I’m flying down tomorrow to clear out Annamarie’s apartment in Yonkers. You don’t have to fly up here. I’ll meet you there, Miss Simmons.”