My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

4. Tears

I was grateful that I’d managed to get a ‘red eye’ from Los Angeles to Boston. I’d wanted to include Lee, but I felt he’d been through enough. And I sure don’t want to call him at this unearthly hour (0300) from the plane to explain.

It all began when I’d received a call from the Boston Police Dept. that the Nelson estate had been broken into and vandalized. They warned me to expect a mob mentality if I came home. Still, I made arrangements to get the next flight to Boston and tried yet again to phone Edith. All I got was her blasted voicemail!

I turned on the TV hoping for news. With the family being famous or rather infamous right now, I had no doubt there would at least be a little something on the news.

I was right. The story began with the image of police cars surrounding the place, their red and blue light’s flashing against the night sky with crime scene tape all around the old family mansion.

“Neither Nelsons were in residence at the time of the break in,” the reporter said, “Miss Nelson arrived about thirty minutes ago with police to inspect the damage. Ah, here she is now…”

Edith, in tears, was being supported by two officers on each arm and she was muttering, “Even my mother’s portrait! Why would they do that? Why?”

“Is there much damage?” another reporter asked.

“Oh, it’s horrible! The whole place is trashed. What wasn’t destroyed is missing…and the things they wrote on the walls…”

“Do you think the discovery Sheamus Nelson’s past led to the vandalism?”

“We’re unsure at this time,” one of the officers said, “but it’s likely.”

“Why did they have to slash all the old paintings, rip up mom’s photo albums, even her scrapbooks?” Edith sobbed, “She didn’t have anything to do with Sheamus. Neither have Harry or I.

“Have you received threats?” another reporter asked.

“Just some really nasty hate mail and homemade flyers posted all over town. But, no, no threats.”

“How is Admiral Nelson reacting to the news?”

“I don’t think he knows yet,” Edith sniffed. “Besides, he’s probably underwater somewhere...” she added as she got into the police cruiser and was whisked away.

The first thing I’m going to do when I get to Boston is to insist Edith come back to Santa Barbara with me. At least she can stay in the relative safety of my NIMR bungalow or perhaps in my little apartment above the office.

My stomach’s rumbling loudly enough to wake the passengers in the two seats next to me, but fortunately hasn’t done so yet.

I was only able to get a window seat in coach. I don’t have much leg room and I need to use the head. But I can’t get past my seat mates without waking them, and frankly I don’t want to suffer the stares and whispers from the other passengers as well, so I’ll just hold it. No doubt I’ll be greeted with the early morning tabloids about how I lost my temper at Sharkey’s. Another glowing chapter about the bad ass Nelsons.

If only there were some way to make up for what Sheamus did.