Page 5 - FFG Chapter 1.pages
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I clearly remember commenting on the meal, somewhat desperately trying to avoid any discussion about my own plans and aspirations and thereby providing fodder for another barrage on my character.
The cottage was small, part of a group of buildings that had once formed the components of a small homestead known as “Young’s Farm”. The whole assemblage was owned at the time by Sherman Fairchild, the seventh richest man in America. My father had whittled away his own fortune to a large extent and was now a mere tenant on a friend’s property.
I have a permanent mental block regarding the discussions between my father and me that ensued over the next few days. I recall that my father, now at age 77, did not look well and he had seemed somewhat distracted from the moment of my arrival. Although our meetings over the years had been rare, with years of non-communication interspersed between not-so-happy encounters, I had never seen my father like this before. The observation wasn’t exactly tugging on my heartstrings; nothing could work to heal our damaged relationship.
On the fourth day of my visit, my father called out to me. He indicated that he felt very ill and could I please drive him to the hospital. I took him to Glen Cove Community Hospital where they immediately took him in for observation. Word quickly spread through the tightly knit community that Malcolm Reybold was in the hospital. It was not long after our arrival there that one of his more devoted friends/followers showed up in the waiting room. Mary Burke, one of the many friends that my father courted in his entourage of the wealthy, introduced herself to me and asked after his condition. I mused for a moment about where this woman might fit into my father’s life. “The doctor hasn’t appeared yet with an update,” I responded to her query.
The answer, however, was not long in coming.
“Miss Reybold,” the doctor announced his presence shortly thereafter. “I am very sorry to inform you that your father has passed.” He stood in front of me for a moment to gauge my reaction and to offer any further assistance that the moment might engender. I remember turning away, partly to mask my emotions at the news, and partly to avoid further eye contact with the doctor.
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