Chapter 11

Only in death do we truly live

Because we are immortals and can not die.

Lon Hammond never recovered from the meeting with Allie at the inn that Friday afternoon. The minute she entered the inn Lon could see it was over but did not want to believe what his heart was telling him. They sat down in the lobby, not her room, where he immediately presented his case to her with a passion Allie had never seen before. His arguments were all sound, his words were correct, and his enthusiasm sincere. But in the scale of life Lon knew he lacked that special something. He knew he did not make Allie happy.

Every time he tried to look closely at Allie, the tears for someone else welled up and cascaded down her red cheeks. He tried reaching for her hand, she pulled it back. When all the words had been said, when all the passion had expired, when his mind finally became an empty canvas, rather than prolong the agony Lon got up, walked out of the inn, got into his car and drove home. Years later Lon would honestly say he did not remember one bit of the drive back home to Raleigh, talking to his parents, or the rest of the weekend. It was not until Monday, when he was back in court, that he started to realize where he was.

When Lon arrived back home, he was physically changed. He looked haggard and beaten. Most noticeably to his mother were his eyes. They were crestfallen. They had lost their inimitable and enduring sparkle.

Lon's father breathed hell fire and brimstone once he knew what had happened. He wanted his son to sue Allie for breach of contract, mental torment and deprivation of marital rights. Lon said no in such a way that his father backed off but never forgot what happened and planned all sorts of evil things against Allie and her parents.

Lon's mother broke down in a pile on the couch and cried. Her sorrow was for her son because she knew how much he loved Allie in his own sweet way. She knew Allie was his only real love and how he planned everything with her in mind. Sadly, Lon never had time to share his plans with Allie because he was always too busy with work.

When Lon left the room his parents sat there totally stunned by his short statement that the wedding was off and Allie was staying down in New Burn. The wedding had been planned for five hundred relatives, friends and special guests, including the Governor, the senior US Senator and the ambassador from Peru. The Raleigh Episcopalian Cathedral, the right reverend McDonnell, the newly constructed convention center, and all the supporting people had to be told. His parents didn't know where to start.

This was not a good time for Lon.

Lon did not care if the earth continued or Big Bang II really happened. He could not see passed the end of the bed upon which he sat for the rest of the day. It was ten in the evening when his mother gently knocked on his door to see if he was hungry. The light from the corridor illuminated Lon as he sat on his bed holding one shoe in his hand. That was as far as he got undressing. With a quiet 'no', his mother left the grieving Lon alone. Even a loving mother can not heal a broken heart.

The social editor of the Raleigh News & Observer received his first phone call about Lon and Allie Saturday morning. The social editor had a good six months run with their engagement and all the titillating wedding details. The cancelation should be good for at least the same length of time. Now he had to find out what happened and why. The social editor knew Allie had made a trip down to New Bern which meant New Bern became the obvious starting point. With fingers working the phone the careful investigative process was set in motion. This was going to be a big story in the rarified circles that Lon and Allie moved in.

The social editor had a maxim that went something like, 'A good story is never considered gossip so long as it is truthful and accurate.' The corollary being 'Truthfulness and accuracy makes a good story…' but that got in the way of his second maxim that went something like, 'Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.' The third, and most important maxim, went something like, 'A good story is what the reader really wants.' And since circulation is what really matters this dissolution had all the makings of a good and juicy story that had staying power.

By Monday the social editor had received his first inkling that the ranks had closed about Lon and Allie. By Tuesday he had nothing of any consequence except the editor screaming for a story: any story. By Wednesday evening his trip to New Bern was a disaster as no one knew anything and even the whisperings went awry down the end of a dirt road in the middle of a field. He was sent the wrong way on purpose. By Thursday he found a maid asking for $100.00 for a story that turned out to be blatantly false. By Friday noon the social editor was fired. The loud and clear message had been well and truly received: money and position count.

On Monday, Lon Hammond was back in court finishing off the case that was put on hold the previous Friday. Lon took the number two chair letting his junior take over the case. Neither the judge nor Mr. Bates sad anything: they already had been prepped. Lon, impeccably dressed as usual, sat there staring straight ahead. Lon's eyes focused on nothing and never moved from the nothingness he was looking at. His second closed out the case, went through closing arguments and it was not until the jury had filed out and the judge had left the room that the second touched Lon's arm that Lon changed position to look at him. The second indicated it was time to leave the courthouse as the jury had retired to consider their verdict. Lon got up, walked out of the courthouse and drove home. He stayed at home for the next week.

Lon kept asking himself the same question, what could he have done different? The searing torment was excruciatingly and agonizingly painful. Inexplicably and inexorably he kept going over and over the same set of questions and answers and never found any way out of the Pandorica he was in. The incongruousness of Allie was incomprehensible but inescapable. Incessantly the knife kept turning and turning and never left Lon alone for a single moment.

With a broken heart, a shattered life, a dead-end job, and no desire, life became a drudge for Lon.

After six months of self imposed exile, Lon was ready to move back into his usual circles.

One Monday he got up and fell back into his usual working routine. There was no fuss when he showed up at his office and there was no concern when he started taking over the cases he formerly tried. Slowly things fell back into their normal and predictive patterns. A collective sigh of relief was echoed by Lon's parents, friends and associates.

As similar as things were, Lon had changed. Visibly he had changed. Actually it was said he had aged ten years. His firm erect pose had wilted. His eyes tended downward. His hair had more gray. His long purposeful stride was shorter and more circumspect. His feared vice-like hand shake now contained a gentleness not seen before. And his eyes showed how sad the story really was. It was always his eyes that were talked about behind closed doors.

Socially, Lon went to all the correct functions, said the right things, laughed at all the jokes at the proper times, and was most gracious to the ladies. His dancing was better. The staccato edge he used to have had mellowed to give him an air of grace and poise that the ladies liked. He held their hand and waste with care and firmness and led with skill and charm that made him very popular on the dance floor. When the dance was over he would always offer an arm and escorted his partner back to her chair and then excused himself saying his card was rather full. He never followed up with convivial conversation or personal questions: he always moved on looking for Allie.

Of course Lon knew what was going on down in New Bern. He had contacts in every courthouse and lawyer's office in the grand state of North Carolina. He knew about the wedding, the house and the fact that Allie was back painting. He never lost track of Allie, never for one minute, never for one second. His heart was for one person and one person only.

The chink in Lon's armor appeared when he was told of young John Calhoun's accident. The heart wrench, the pathos, the loss and the desire to run to her compounded into one which resulted in Lon sitting in his office with tears streaming down his face. Decorum dictated no note, no phone call, and no contact whatsoever.

Lon followed Allie's art career. It really bothered him that he could not see what was so special about her paintings. One time he took a trip to NY NY to an art gallery that was throwing an exhibition of Allie in Retrospect. He asked if one of the gallery owners would walk with him to point out the finer details of the paintings. The two men took five hours walking through Allie's paintings. The owner and Lon were constantly in deep and heated discussion about brush work; color selection; illusion; illustrative accent; placement; shadow and light; and figurative representation. After five hours Lon still did not get it. All Lon saw was paint thrown messily on a canvas. If it was a Gainsborough or Constable or any classical painting Lon could see and understand. But Allie was interested in more than the classics, and that is where they parted. Lon left the art gallery frustrated and angry at his frustration. That is when he decided to enroll in an art appreciation night class. His attitude was, 'If I can read and understand boring law books I can look and see what is in a non-classical painting.'

Between cubism and surrealism Lon tended more to surrealism as it had slight touches of classicalism in it that did cubist works. When he discovered Dadaism he fell in love with the silly and amusing movement as anything and everything was considered art. From that point on Lon did not worry if he understood Allie's paintings. If she considered it art and the rest of the world considered it art, then it was art.

Through intermediaries Lon slowly accumulated five of Allie's finer paintings. He hung them in his personal rooms so prying eyes would not question the painter's distinctive signature and come up with the grand total of four.

Sadly Lon never became romantically associated with anyone again. His parents watched as the years rolled by until they realized they would die without any grandchildren to carry on the family name. That is when they created the Hammond Foundation. They knew Lon was financially secure and wanted to put their money to good use. The thrust of the foundation was Pre-K and elementary education for the disadvantaged and underprivileged children of Raleigh N.C. Lon declined not to sit on the board of trustees. He preferred his parents select professionals who knew how best to make the foundation function and maximize the impact on the children.

Lon was acutely aware that Allie had five children and how much Noah was involved in raising their children. That acuteness translated into Lon recognizing his vast inexperience with young people and that compounded his loneliness and heartache.

Lon visited Allie's grave only once. He was old and life had turned into a monumentous struggle. As much as life was a continuous struggle, his fear of death was worse: so he clung grimly to what he had. The trip was well planned with his chauffeur and fulltime nurse in attendance. For the trip Lon insisted in being appropriately dressed in his distinctive three piece dark blue herringbone suit that Allie had had made for him so many years ago. The journey was long and tiresome but the aches and pains seemed less somehow. When they arrived at the cemetery he had to be carefully helped into the wheelchair and slowly pushed along the dirt path to Allie's final resting place. When he arrived he let out a long sigh. He had not been this close to Allie in such a long time. He was pleased Noah had ordered such a fine dual headstone with a representation of one of Allie's paintings in the middle. He liked the painting touch.

Lon wanted to stand up but could not. He was now a cripple to arthritis and even breathing was painful. Sitting in front of Allie's grave was peaceful and quiet as Lon expected. He had been to too many gravesites lately, including selecting his own, and almost felt at home.

It was then he started to cry. It was not loud or unseemly, just an old man missing the one he loved who had gone on before to a better place to await the resurrection to come forth clothed with glory, immortality and a physical body free of aches, pains and diseases. The tears slowly rolled down his ancient face splashing on his stiff hands that lay unmoving on his lap.

Memories came cascading back with a freshness he had not felt in years. He slowly lifted his head to see the times they sat at dinner, he eating while Allie chatted away about her day. Oh how he missed those special moments with Allie. He watched how Allie held her fork to illustrate a particular point. How she tilted her head to study him. And how she would gently place her hand on top of his when the meal was over.

Lon felt the pain of a broken heart all over again. Deep regrets and a deeper longing to turn back time swept over him yet again. Feelings he thought had grown dim proved irrepressible resulted in more tears.

After a while, a long while, with a slight indication from Lon, the chauffeur stepped forward and placed a single deep red rose on the grave. It was a rose from Lon's indoor garden. In his later years he had turned to rose cultivation. Since he had no children, he wanted something that would last long after he had gone that others could enjoy. About the rose was a black silk bow. In the bow was a simple gold band ring. It was the ring he was going to give Allie so many years ago. The initial anger was all gone. Time, a good minister and the Holy Bible did that. Now all that remained was a hole, a hole with no bottom.

Knowing it was time, he gave another nod and was wheeled back to his car for the final journey home.

Three days later, Lon, quietly and without any fuss, passed from this life into the eternities. After the proper formalities Lon Hammond was laid to rest next to his parents. There were few attendees at the grave side service. Standing apart from the small group was Anna Lewis from the Raleigh News & Observer.

Everything Lon owned was sold off and the monies raised went into his parent's foundation. Everything that is except his collection of Allie's paintings. They were anonymously donated to Meredith College where they are proudly hung.

Lon's roses were donated to the local horticultural society that continues to enter them into the Annual Raleigh Garden contest. Many visitors marvel at the depth of red they have and want to touch the petals to make sure they are real.

Just like its owner, the name of Lon Hammond disappeared quietly and without fuss from the social register of Raleigh, N.C.

With no relatives or friends, the tombstones of the three Hammonds remain Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung.