Chapter 8: The Gathering Clouds

24 September 1986 – Hardwick Road, Enfield, Massachusetts

Jeff felt more in control of himself after he chatted with the coach. He still pushed the midfielders hard at practice, but he wasn’t running them into early graves any longer. The team hosted Amherst-Pelham Regional today for the fifth game of the season.

Midway through the second half with the score tied at one-to-one, Thompkins’ goalie cleared the ball with a booming punt that sailed past the midfield line. Jeff fought for position while the ball came down near him. As the opposing player gathered himself in an attempt to head the ball away, Jeff cut towards the other team’s goal.

Without Jeff to push against, the other player fell to the ground. The ball continued down the field with Jeff pursuing it unmarked. He dribbled it down the sideline, keeping track of his teammates while he ran. The other team moved to defend him. At the corner of the penalty box, he crossed the ball in a high, arcing pass.

The opposing goalie came out to challenge for the ball. He had the advantage as the only player allowed to use his hands. It may have worked out better for him had he made contact with the ball when he punched at it. The player next to him was Peter Dufresne, a forward for Thompkins. The ball passed the goalie and into a position for Peter to head it into the net. Chris Micklicz grabbed him around the neck before they joined their teammates for the celebration.

The game ended in Thompkins’ fifth straight win.

“So what classes are you taking over at Swerve again?” Jack asked Allison at lunch the next week. ‘Swerve’ was the unofficial nickname of Swift River Valley Community College in Enfield Village.

“Calculus II this semester and Calc III next. I should be well ahead of my peers when I get to college.”

“Where are you going to apply?” Kathy asked.

“I’ll be applying to MIT Early Decision.” Jack let out a low whistle even though the other three friends weren’t surprised. “What about you guys?”

“My first choice is Johns Hopkins for pre-med,” Jack answered.

“NYU for computer science for me,” Kathy added.

“I’m still not sure,” Jeff said.

Allison looked at him out of the corner of her eye but said nothing; Jack and Kathy didn’t notice the exchange. Allison cornered Jeff after their next class and pushed him outside.

“What the hell’s going on?” she demanded.

“With what?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Jeff! You lied to your best friends at lunch! You lied to me. Why?”

He waved her to a bench. “I’m sorry, Allison. I can’t afford for my mom to find out yet.”

“About what?” she asked, exasperated.

“Allison, I’m not applying to college.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to be applying because I’ll be enlisting in the Army.”

Allison’s eyes nearly fell out of her head they opened so wide. “What? Your mom’s going to flip! With your GPA? And with as hard as you’re being scouted?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t seem as important in comparison. Can I ask you not to tell Jack or Kathy yet? I don’t need my parents finding out before I tell them myself.”

She hugged him. “Of course not! I won’t say anything until you say it’s okay.”

“I know I have to tell my parents eventually, but not just yet.”

Jeff searched for something unusual in the attic three weeks after his conversation with Allison. His mother’s birthday was coming up in another three weeks, at the end of October. He was trying to find something to go with his present to her. His mother and sister were off shopping together today while his father tried to catch up on work at his garage.

Jeff flipped through papers in an unlabeled box he’d never noticed before. Most of the paperwork in the box dated from the mid- to late-1940s. In it, he discovered pictures of a man he resembled more than the man he knew as his grandfather. That man wore World War II-era clothes. As Jeff continued to leaf through the box, he came across more pictures of the man, George McLaren, with his grandmother. Grandma Keiolis appeared to be pregnant in some of the photos.

Jeff also found letters addressed to his grandmother. The hand-written letters were grouped together with their envelopes. He unfolded the yellowing papers and read each letter. George McLaren described what he could of the military training of those days. World War II censorship didn’t allow much detail.

The letters started a month after December 7, 1941. George McLaren enlisted in the Army the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Jeff followed his biological grandfather’s training progression over the next few months. Grandpa McLaren, as Jeff began to think of him, described Basic Training in general terms. He continued on to Artillery training and then volunteered for the Airborne.

Grandpa McLaren’s later letters described the Normandy invasion and its build-up. He wrote to Grandma once he returned safely to England. George McLaren’s last letter was dated September 14, 1944. The next letter in the pile proved to be a Western Union telegram: Grandpa McLaren had been killed in the invasion of Holland on September 20, 1944.

One page brought him up short. The page was a notarized copy of some sort of legal document – an adoption decree from the Probate Court of Hampshire County, Massachusetts in Northampton. The document announced that Nickolas Keiolis of Pelham, his grandfather, had adopted one Marisa McLaren. The date on the decree read ‘May 22, 1948.’ His mother would have been five and a half years old at the time.

Jeff carried the box down to his car. He drove to his father’s garage on Route 21 near Belchertown. He found his father working on a car’s engine. Joe looked up when he noticed someone entering the service bays.

“Hey, Jeff! What brings you by to visit your old man?”

Jeff said nothing as he set the banker’s box down. He lifted the lid and extracted a single piece of paper. Jeff extended the adoption decree without a word. Joe’s smile faded when he recognized what his son held. Joe set his wrench down and waved his son towards the office while he wiped his hands.

“Where’d you find that?” Joe asked as he settled into the desk chair.

“In the attic.”

“You just found it?”

“Yes. Why keep this a secret?”

“Does it matter?” Joe asked, leaning forward on his desk.

“This is family history, Dad!” Jeff cried.

“Yes, it is. More than that, it’s important family history. But does it matter?”

”’Matter?’” Jeff echoed. “Of course it matters!”

“Does it?” Joe replied. “Are you ever going to meet George McLaren? There are no more McLarens in the area. George was an only child, so there are no McLaren cousins. Is Nick Keiolis now no longer your grandfather?”

Jeff didn’t reply right away as he considered the questions. “No, Dad, I guess it doesn’t matter,” he responded minutes later. “Grandpa’s the only grandfather I’ve ever known. I never got to meet your parents.” His father’s parents died before he and Kara were born.

Joe nodded. “Do me a favor? Don’t mention this to your mother. Or your sister, for that matter. Take the box back up to the attic, and make sure it’s back where you found it. When you’re done at the house, meet me over at The Lunch Car. I’ll finish up the Lincoln, head over there, and save us a table.”

The Knox men shared a table for lunch thirty minutes later. The Enfield Lunch Car was Joe’s favorite diner in the valley, a love his son shared. Jeff ordered two eggs on corned beef hash, his usual. He thought comfort food might help settle his mind. He looked at his father with an expectant gaze. Joe ignored him until he finished ordering. His father waited for the waitress to leave and took a sip of his water before he spoke.

“Jeff, your mother and I have never brought up what you found for one simple reason: your mother gets near-irrational if you even bring up the subject,” his father explained. “She was close to seven months pregnant with you when I first discovered that same box. I asked her about it and she had an actual conniption. She was so angry, I thought she’d go into early labor; it took me nearly an hour to calm her down. Why we have that box and not your grandmother, I don’t know.”

Joe sipped at his water again. “Grandma met Grandpa in 1945, after VJ Day. They married in late ‘47 and he filed for adoption immediately. The decree was finalized and that was it. Grandpa’s girls from his first marriage, your aunts, consider your mother their sister. Not ‘step-sister,’ sister. End of story. Your mother tries to lock away her feelings on the subject, yet she keeps that box. Be very careful what you do with this knowledge, Jeff.”

Jeff didn’t know how to reply. They ate lunch in silence.

Thompkins’ soccer team powered through their schedule. They compiled a near-perfect record of fifteen-and-one. They were seeded first in their conference tournament in mid-October.

That’s when the wheels came off the bus.

Wilbraham Academy, the eighth seed, rolled right over them in the opening game of the tournament. Thompkins seemed like they were checking off every possible mental mistake from an invisible list: their play was uninspired, they were out of position, they were a step behind on every play. Even Jeff played below his usual level. He wasn’t far off his norm, but it was noticeable. Wilbraham won five-to-nil.

“Well, shit,” Jeff said to himself.

He stood at midfield with his hands on his hips while his high school soccer career ended with a whimper. One of Wilbraham’s seniors stopped him as the two teams shook hands.

“Hey, you’re a senior this year, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Jeff admitted. “The glory days are coming to an end.”

“I hear you’re being scouted for baseball already, though?” The other boy played the same three sports as he did, though Jeff didn’t know his name.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure which way I’m gonna go.”

Jeff knew that the other player thought he meant he wasn’t sure whether to chose college or pro sports. He saw no reason to correct that assumption.

“How’s life as a sort-of college student?” Jeff asked Allison as the four friends ate lunch.

“It’s okay,” Allison shrugged.

“My, aren’t we enthusiastic?” Jack muttered before taking a bite of his grinder.

“The classes are fine,” Allison said. “Not having you guys around is a bummer.”

“We’re not going to be with you at whatever polytechnic university you wind up at next year, Allison,” Kathy pointed out. Allison stuck her tongue out at her while throwing a corn chip at Jeff.

“Hey!” a startled Jeff exclaimed. “I didn’t say anything!”

“No, but you were thinking something. I could tell.”