of book jackets hung on the walls in the reception area, and dozens of orchid plants bloomed in ceramic pots. When the receptionist led me to Mrs. Nagasawa’s office, Roger’s mother rose from behind her desk and came forward to greet me. She was small, almost frail in appearance, with gray hair sleeked back and tied in a ponytail. The tail gave her a girlish air, but the deep circles under her eyes and lines around her mouth said that her concerns were far from those of girlhood. She shook my hand with a surprisingly strong grip and motioned for me to be seated in one of a pair of wingback chairs. Then she took the other, smoothing the skirt of her stylish black suit as she sat.
I thanked her for taking the time to talk with me and glanced around the office. It was as fully cluttered as her husband’s: manuscripts on the floor; books stacked helterskelter on the shelves; sketches of jackets propped against the walls. Once beyond the desk she would have to tread carefully to avoid stepping on what could be the next
Wizard of Oz, Grinch Who Stole Christmas,
or
Harry Potter.
Eddie had said his mother was currently living in her office, but where? There was a sofa, but it too was piled high with books, boxes, and files.
Mrs. Nagasawa said, “I’m glad you agreed to gather evidence for our suit. It’s a complicated job, calling for considerable expertise. And, of course, there are time pressures.”
“Glenn said you were eager to serve papers on
InSite
.”
“My husband is eager. And I am eager to have the matter over with.”
“I spoke with Eddie earlier. He told me Dr. Nagasawa is … very committed to the suit.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re a tactful woman, Ms. McCone. Eddie said his father is obsessed with the lawsuit. I hear that every time I talk with him. I suppose he also told you I’ve moved from the house to an apartment in this building.”
“Yes, he did.”
She shook her head. “Eddie is so young. He thinks it’s the end of our marriage. The end of his world as he’s known it. He doesn’t understand that in a good marriage you often have to give the other person space to do what he must, but that you don’t necessarily have to allow him to poison your space.”
“So the arrangement is temporary.”
“Yes, and Daniel agrees to it. I wish our boys could understand.”
“Harry doesn’t understand either?”
A wary look, similar to Eddie’s when he’d mentioned his older brother, crossed her face. “You haven’t spoken with him yet?”
“No.”
“Then I think it’s best to allow you to draw your own conclusions.”
My meeting with Harry was set for three o’clock at the family home in the exclusive Cow Hollow district. It was bound to be interesting.
“Let’s talk about Roger,” I said, taking out my recorder.
Roger, Margaret Nagasawa told me, had always been a sensitive child, easily hurt and full of empathy for others. When he was eight he bought three goldfish from the pet shop on Maiden Lane, and as they died one day after the other, he grieved as if they were human. If his brothers were punished for some infraction of the family rules, he suffered as if he were the miscreant. And if he accidentally hurt someone’s feelings, he wallowed in guilt for days.
“He was aware his reactions were out of proportion,” his mother said, “and not without a sense of humor. He was fond of saying that if he’d been born two decades earlier he would have felt personally responsible for the Vietnam War.”
During his adolescence Roger became moody and withdrawn. He had only one close friend, a classmate named Gene Edwards. Gene was more sociable than Roger, and from eighth grade on always had a steady girlfriend; he and the various girls would fix Roger up with their friends, but the dates were unsuccessful at best, fiascos at worst. Finally Gene stopped trying. Then, in his senior year of high school, Roger fell in love.
“The girl,” Mrs. Nagasawa told me, “was lovely,
I thanked her for taking the time to talk with me and glanced around the office. It was as fully cluttered as her husband’s: manuscripts on the floor; books stacked helterskelter on the shelves; sketches of jackets propped against the walls. Once beyond the desk she would have to tread carefully to avoid stepping on what could be the next
Wizard of Oz, Grinch Who Stole Christmas,
or
Harry Potter.
Eddie had said his mother was currently living in her office, but where? There was a sofa, but it too was piled high with books, boxes, and files.
Mrs. Nagasawa said, “I’m glad you agreed to gather evidence for our suit. It’s a complicated job, calling for considerable expertise. And, of course, there are time pressures.”
“Glenn said you were eager to serve papers on
InSite
.”
“My husband is eager. And I am eager to have the matter over with.”
“I spoke with Eddie earlier. He told me Dr. Nagasawa is … very committed to the suit.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re a tactful woman, Ms. McCone. Eddie said his father is obsessed with the lawsuit. I hear that every time I talk with him. I suppose he also told you I’ve moved from the house to an apartment in this building.”
“Yes, he did.”
She shook her head. “Eddie is so young. He thinks it’s the end of our marriage. The end of his world as he’s known it. He doesn’t understand that in a good marriage you often have to give the other person space to do what he must, but that you don’t necessarily have to allow him to poison your space.”
“So the arrangement is temporary.”
“Yes, and Daniel agrees to it. I wish our boys could understand.”
“Harry doesn’t understand either?”
A wary look, similar to Eddie’s when he’d mentioned his older brother, crossed her face. “You haven’t spoken with him yet?”
“No.”
“Then I think it’s best to allow you to draw your own conclusions.”
My meeting with Harry was set for three o’clock at the family home in the exclusive Cow Hollow district. It was bound to be interesting.
“Let’s talk about Roger,” I said, taking out my recorder.
Roger, Margaret Nagasawa told me, had always been a sensitive child, easily hurt and full of empathy for others. When he was eight he bought three goldfish from the pet shop on Maiden Lane, and as they died one day after the other, he grieved as if they were human. If his brothers were punished for some infraction of the family rules, he suffered as if he were the miscreant. And if he accidentally hurt someone’s feelings, he wallowed in guilt for days.
“He was aware his reactions were out of proportion,” his mother said, “and not without a sense of humor. He was fond of saying that if he’d been born two decades earlier he would have felt personally responsible for the Vietnam War.”
During his adolescence Roger became moody and withdrawn. He had only one close friend, a classmate named Gene Edwards. Gene was more sociable than Roger, and from eighth grade on always had a steady girlfriend; he and the various girls would fix Roger up with their friends, but the dates were unsuccessful at best, fiascos at worst. Finally Gene stopped trying. Then, in his senior year of high school, Roger fell in love.
“The girl,” Mrs. Nagasawa told me, “was lovely,
Similar Books
