Hello Loved Ones (16 page)

There was no way to explain the mishmash in her head. Or heart. “None of your business,” she snapped.

He stepped hard on the brakes and jerked the car onto the gravel shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she said.

He glared at her. “Test drive’s over.”

“
Fine
. Drop me at the Greyhound station.”

“You’re taking a bus?” he said finally.

“If I have to.” She meant it, too. She wasn’t turning back. No matter what.

They sat in silence. Then, “We can leave in the morning. Eight o’clock.”

She hesitated, but only for a second. “Make it nine. I have to pretend to be at Vacation Bible School.”

“No way,” he said. “I want to be at the beach by noon.”

She’d have to sneak out while Nell and her mother were getting dressed. It was risky, but what choice did she have?

“Eight-thirty then,” she said.

“Fine. But I gotta have the ten bucks.”

So they weren’t compatible. That’s what he was telling her. Well, so what? As long as her dad liked her, that’s what mattered.

“Some of it’s in quarters. Got a problem with that?” she snapped.

To her surprise, he started chuckling. He pulled the car into the street and drove back to the Texaco.

Before the car had fully stopped she had her door open. “I’ll meet you at the station,” she said.

“Wait,” Cash put a hand on her arm. He leaned over and kissed her again on the cheek. “That’s one of those European good-byes. Classy, huh?”

She stared. She didn’t know much about boys, but this seemed crazy.
He
was crazy. Did he have a crush on her? How would she know? She thought of Debbie and Patty Ann and their crowd and how they were always swooning and shrieking around the bathroom mirror, overcome with the same contagious disease. Did you
see
him? Did he see
me
? Oh, I could just
die
! Boy crazy. Strait jacket, loony bin crazy. She was beginning to understand. Boys made girls crazy because boys were, in fact, crazy.

She managed a faltering smile and tumbled out of the Chevy. She smoothed her skirt and headed quickly across the Texaco lot toward the church. He was watching her now. She’d bet on it. She was no longer sure that was such a good thing.

She wasn’t so sure of anything, really.

Lenny

The Torchlight Tavern was a tiny, triangular shaped place across from the water treatment plant. It was 4:30 when Lenny walked in. There were three men inside. One was the bartender. The other two chatted together in the corner booth. They all glanced up at him, but didn’t show much interest. He adjusted his bandana and tried to hide his relief. He’d been worried someone would stop him, knowing he didn’t belong.

The jukebox against the wall attracted him. He sauntered over and studied it awhile. Finally he dropped a dime in and chose B19: Creedence Clearwater Revival,
Susie Q
. He imagined a long-legged girl wearing a thin dress held up with those little stringy shoulder straps. What they called Cajun. If he hadn’t settled on going to San Francisco or Chicago, he might head down to Cajun country. Of course, he didn’t know if they played baseball down there. It might be too swampy.

He leaned against the warm sloping glass of the jukebox and focused on the vibrations tickling his chest. He was just a man—yes, a
grown
man now, a legal adult—hanging out in a bar, enjoying the atmosphere. No one knew him. No one would guess he was a kid in search of his dad.

He still couldn’t believe he was here. Go. Don’t go. Back and forth, round and round. He was tired of trying to make sense of it. Was it really so easy? Write a few lines on a piece of paper, drop it in a box, and a couple days later you get what you thought was gone forever. Love. That’s how his dad had signed his letter to Sally.
With love, your dad.

All for a stupid banquet. Think how many baseball games Lenny had pitched! It never once occurred to him that he could send a simple invitation and poof! there his dad would be, waving at him from behind home plate. But the
asking
. That was the problem. Like trying to tackle Mount Everest when the highest you’ve ever climbed is Mount Baldy in Saugatuck. You have to train. Start small. Here’s how it might have gone. You see him around town. Give a shrug in his general direction. Maybe a mumbled hello. After a while some eye contact. Finally,
finally
, might come
hey you maybe want to toss the ball around?
You don’t send a letter out of the blue that pretends to be about some silly event but might as well spell it out in big block letters.
Please come back
. Come back and be my dad.

Or do you?

Sally was the only one who could do it. Blissfully ignorant, that was Sally.

The song ended, and as he stared at the stack of 45’s inside the glass, all he saw were the holes in his plan. Face it, he didn’t
have
a plan. He’d started out so sure of himself. Keep the deadbeat away from his mom and sisters; that was the job he’d been handed, like it or not. But with Sally confusing everything, he found himself imagining all kinds of scenarios. He might tell his dad how much the banquet meant to Sally, maybe get him to go with her. Or he might say
people are talking. Go back to Kalamazoo and leave us alone
. He just didn’t know. He figured it’d come clear to him once he saw the old man. He looked around again and realized he’d never really believed he’d find his dad here. So now what? Walk out? What kind of a loser goes into a bar to listen to one song and then leave? He ought to order something. Act normal. But what was normal?

He fished in his pocket for some more change and walked casually to the bar. It’d be embarrassing, but he would ask for a Coke. He waited what seemed ages for the bartender to turn around. Now that Lenny was no longer on the pitcher’s mound, he was feeling more and more like he didn’t exist.

I’ve thought of you often.

Who did his dad think he was, writing a lie like that? The worst part was that Sally was dumb enough to believe it.

“Gimme a beer,” Lenny said roughly, surprising himself. He hardly recognized his own voice. Without a word the man reached into a cooler and grabbed a long neck bottle. He lodged it expertly under a metal lip on the bar and popped the cap.

“Seventy-five cents.”

Lenny gave him three quarters plus an extra dime. The man nodded at him and turned away. Done. Nothing to it. Lenny took a long swig. It wasn’t bad. He liked the bitter edge. The warm trail it made inside him. And beer was innocent enough. Not like the hard stuff. He drank more, quickly, then he went back to the jukebox and picked out two more CCR songs. He was looking for a third when he felt a quick rush in his head.

Was he drunk? Had he let the monster loose? God
damn
it. What happened to his vow to stay away from alcohol? You think he could control himself for once. It should be easy.
Hello to the rest of the family.
See how easy that was?

The door opened and a square of sunlight flashed against the floor by Lenny’s feet. He looked up, startled, but it was only an old man wearing a dirty ball cap and baggy t-shirt. Lenny took a final swig and turned back to his music. As the bass kicked in on the second verse he started to hum.

The man took a seat at the bar and began drumming his fingers noisily. He couldn’t keep the beat. Lenny was distracted from the music. The man began singing loudly, “I put a spell on you. ‘Cause you’re
mi
-ine.”

This went on through two verses. Wouldn’t you know? A simple pleasure and even that had to be ruined. Lenny sighed and kicked the jukebox with his toe. Obviously this little visit wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Except to leave him hankering for another beer. Had this been his moment? His fork in the road? He saw himself wasting away on skid row.
If only I’d never set foot in that bar.
Thanks Dad.

He couldn’t stand it.

“Hey! Who sings this song?” he called.

“That’s the CCR,” the man said, swiveling on his stool.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“What’s that?”

“I said, you ain’t no Fogarty, so shut up.” He shouldn’t talk that way. He might get thrown out of the place. Maybe that was exactly what he wanted.

The man laughed but resumed his singing. Screw it. Lenny set his beer down and headed for the exit sign.

“Hey kid, come over here,” called Mr. Killjoy.

“Fuck you,” Lenny muttered. He had his hand on the door.

“Is that any way to talk to your dad?”

Lenny froze. He’d heard that voice loud and clear, with his good ear, but he could so easily pretend he hadn’t. Because this wasn’t the way. His dad was not an old man. He was tall and thin and good-looking and he was going to come waltzing in here wearing a sharp suit and polished shoes. Lenny would be wearing his letters, or his jersey at least.
God!
Why hadn’t he worn his jersey?

The man waved his arm. “Come on over here.”

One push and he’d be out. Out of here. Out of town. Outta
sight
, man! He’d drop out so far that all of this would be nothing but a memory. Because he didn’t need it. He still had a few things that nobody could touch.

He glanced over his shoulder. Everyone was looking at him. Even the two men in the corner booth.

“Come on! I won’t bite.”

The cool thing would be to throw out some snappy line.
Old man, I’d never be related to the likes of you
. Chase it with a perfect sneer. Stride, stride, out the door.

But.

He turned and took a few slow steps, close enough to see that this man had shaky hands and a sunken spot on his forehead. He looked about sixty. Lenny squinted. He didn’t know how, but someone could be playing with him. It could be that Rhoda got together with some of her lowlife friends to trick him.
Send in a bum from the trailer park and tell him he’s his dad! What a riot!

Should he play along?

“Heard you been asking around about me,” the man said.

That grin. That eyebrow, and the way it shot up while the other one stayed still. Lenny used to practice that in the mirror.

Hello, loved one!

“I’m not buying you a drink,” Lenny said. See, he should have had a plan! What kind of first words were those? But wait. Technically his first words had been fuck you.

Richard laughed and turned to the bartender. “Hey, this here’s my son. Leonard Van Sloeten. Goes by Lenny.”

Lenny felt another rush. Of course his dad knew his name. But hearing him say it out loud like that made it real. He hadn’t forgotten him.

“Get him a beer,” he said.

“I don’t drink,” Lenny said abruptly. He hoped the bartender wouldn’t snitch.

Richard nodded and smiled. “That’s admirable.”

“What are you doing here?” Lenny asked.

“What’s it look like?”

“I mean here in Holland. Why are you back?”

“It’s my hometown, ain’t it? And far as I know, there ain’t no warrants out for my arrest.” He said this to the bartender. Both of them laughed loudly.

“So I heard you might be coming for me,” his dad said, once his little joke was over.

“Heard how? From who?”

“Margie’s girl Rhoda said she ran into you. Said you seemed interested in seeing me.”

That little shit. “Why would she say that?”

“I guess you gave her that impression.”

“I did not!”

“Women have a way of knowing things. That’s why they’re so goddamn hard to live with.”

Lenny had already had enough of that easy smile. “How would you know?” he said.

His dad raised his glass. “Touche.” He pulled down a couple swigs of his drink. “I’ve been hoping that someday you’d want to see me again. You know, I follow your team. In the paper. I always make a point of looking for the Dutchmen.”

Lenny tried not to look shocked. His heart began to thump. He dug his hands in his pockets to hide a sudden shakiness. “That’s all over with now that I’m graduated.”

“Graduated already? Good for you. Got big plans now?”

But Lenny only shrugged. Anything he said his dad would shoot down. He should just go ahead and tell him he’d been picked up by some farm team. His dad would never know any different because once Lenny walked out of here he’d most likely never see him again.

Unless. What if this was only the start of something? What if his dad stayed around and they continued to meet? And what if his dad wanted to meet just because he thought Lenny was a ball player? Dad could never resist ball players.