Hello Loved Ones (17 page)

“What have you been doing all these years?” Lenny said.

“Knocking around, trying to make a buck. I’ve done all right for myself.”

“I can see that.”

Richard sat up straighter and patted his hair. “I’m a little beat up maybe. Lost some of my shine. What about you? Fill me in.”

As if Lenny could lay out his life like that, in 50 words or less, like a fucking essay.
How I Spent my Fatherless Years.

“What do you care?”

“Now, son—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Well, you are my son. Nothing’s going to change that.”

“Wish I wasn’t.”

His dad nodded. “That’s fair,” he said. “Come on, pull up a chair.”

Why’d he have to be so reasonable about everything?

“Do my legs look broken to you?” Lenny asked.

The pleasant look on Richard’s face dropped away.

“They look good enough to walk your ass out the door,” he said. “What’d you come here for if you’re just going to give me grief?”

Do it, Lenny told himself. Walk away. You’ve seen enough.

“I wanted to talk to you about this Sally thing.”

“Sally?”

“She’s your daughter.”

“I know who Sally is.”

“She got your letter.”

“What letter?”

Lenny sighed. “Oh, for chrissake.”

His dad tapped his forehead. “See this little cave in my head? There’s a steel plate in there. Souvenir from a bar brawl a few years back.”

Lenny put his hands on his hips, waiting.

“What I’m saying is that I’m not always as sharp as I used to be, but I think I’d remember if I wrote Sally a letter.”

Hold on. Hadn’t Lenny seen the letter with his own eyes? Hadn’t he read it about twenty five times, even sneaking into Sally’s room to look at it while she was in the bathroom?

“You didn’t write her a letter?”

“Nope.”

Lenny blinked. That would mean that those words, they weren’t real. There was no
thought of you often
. No
with love
. This bastard in front of him was the same bastard he’d always been.

“So who did?” Lenny demanded.

Richard shrugged. “Johnny Carson?”

It was no joke. Who would do such a thing? Nell? His mother? Lenny shook his head. It
was
strange how that letter came so fast. And was mailed here in town. Lenny had just supposed, like the rest of them, that his dad was passing through Holland, on the way to somewhere else.

“Did you get the letter she sent you?” he asked.

“What’s she writing me for?”

Lenny paused, shaking his head, trying to clear it. “She wants you to go to the Father-Daughter banquet with her,” he said finally. “At the church, week from Saturday.”

His dad swirled his glass around. There was nothing but ice cubes in it. He tilted his head back and put one of them in his mouth.

“I always liked Sally,” he said, after sucking awhile on the ice. “But her and Nell and your mom, they’re better off without me.” He paused and looked at Lenny. “It’s you I’ve missed.”

There was a real beauty, right over home plate. No signal. No wind-up. No time to plant your feet. Lenny felt a quick sting of tears. Horrifed, he looked away. He could not think of a single thing to say.

“C’mon!” his dad said, reaching over to slap Lenny’s arm. “We had some good times!”

This ought to be interesting. “Like what?” Lenny asked.

“Remember listening to the ball games on Saturday afternoons? Fenwick Park, the ‘52 series, and Babe Ruth, the greatest player ever lived. Hit—”

Lenny finished, “Sixty runs in ‘27. World record.”

“Hey! Will you listen to that? He remembers!”

His dad was looking at him with a happy grin. Was that all Lenny had to do to please him? Recite a stupid baseball fact?

“Yeah, I remember all right,” he said.

“He remembers,” his dad said to the bartender. He kept shaking his head. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “How ‘bout that bat I got you? That was one fine bat. Cost me a pretty penny, if I recall.”

“Yeah, the bat.”

“Still got that bat?”

“Oh, it’s around somewhere,” Lenny said, looking away. Aw, what the hell. He’d come this far.

“You remember me whacking you with that bat?” His eyes darted quickly to his dad’s face to catch his reaction. He expected him to become angry.

“Well, you got me out,” was all his dad said. “That’s what you wanted. I’d probably still be married to that woman if it weren’t for you.”

“You are still married.”

His dad laughed. “Is that right? Don’t tell my new wife that!” This made the bartender laugh too.

“You’re married again?”

“I was, but that didn’t work out either.”

Lenny felt an odd relief. They were right about him all along. Still. He’d hoped for more. He’d always thought if he ever met his dad again, he might be glad to know him.

“So it was me who made you leave, then.” Matter of fact.

Richard stopped smiling. “What do you think?” He leaned far off his stool toward Lenny. “Do you really believe an eight-year-old kid swinging a bat is enough to make me walk out on my family? I could have broken that bat over your head.”

“Not in the condition you were in.”

“You did the right thing. I don’t blame you for it. I was a drunk and a bum.”

Lenny looked him up and down. “Looks like not much has changed.”

“Now I’m just a bum.” He motioned to the bartender. “Right, Merv? This here’s just Coke. Merv’s the only bartender in town who won’t serve me a drink no matter how much I beg. He’s a pal.”

“So you’re done drinking?”

“Well. I do my best. One day at a time. You know, the usual bullshit.”

Lenny looked at Merv. Merv smiled at him, but Lenny turned away.

“Now sit down here.” His dad grabbed a nearby stool and pulled it over. “You’re making me nervous hovering like that.”

Merv popped opened a Coke and poured it fizzing into a tall glass on the bar. It looked mighty inviting.

Should he? Guess he owed it to Sally. He hesitated a moment, then sat.

“All right,” Richard said, laughing. He slapped him on the back. “What do ya say? Shake your old man’s hand.”

Lenny looked at the outstretched hand but didn’t move. To talk was one thing but to touch was another. A handshake signified a truce, or an understanding. Lenny wasn’t about to let ten years go with a handshake. Instead he scooted his bar stool farther away.

“So where do you live, anyway?” he asked. “Sally sent a letter to you in Kalamazoo.”

“We playing twenty questions now?”

“I’m just trying to work this out.”

Richard looked at him wide-eyed. “Ah! Watson’s on the case!”

Lenny scowled. “You know, the banquet is a big deal to her. And obviously someone’s messing with her. Don’t you care at all?”

His dad nodded. “You’re right. You say someone’s impersonating me? That ought to piss me off.”

“Damn straight,” Lenny said, moving quickly from disbelief to disgust. It didn’t matter which of them had faked the letter. It was a mighty low thing to do. Cowardly. Desperate even, but he wouldn’t think about that.

Richard studied his empty glass for a moment. “She really wants to take me to this thing?”

Lenny shrugged. “All the girls are worked up over it.”

“Pastor Voss still in charge over there?”

He nodded.

“Panty-waist. I never liked the man.”

Lenny couldn’t help allowing a small smile.

“So what did I say in my letter?”

“That you can’t come.”

His dad smiled. “Prudy’s that afraid of me showing up, huh?” He drummed his fingers on the bar. “Hmmm. That’s reason enough to go.”

Too late Lenny remembered his job. Keep Dad away. Now he realized this was the fork in the road. This was the path that would bring Richard straight to their door.

“Well,” his dad was saying. “That’s not for me. Tell her I’m sorry but I don’t usually attend church activities.”

“
You
tell her.” His decision was made. He was no saint, but writing those false words to Sally? That was just wrong. Sally deserved more. Maybe she’d share a dance with her dad. Maybe she’d tell him to fuck off. She should get to decide.

He reached for the Coke and took a long swallow. His dad might take some convincing, but that was okay. He had another dime in his pocket. He might pick one more song from the jukebox, long as he was here. Or maybe, if the mood struck him, he’d tell his dad about Cash’s broken nose, just to see if he’d laugh and maybe slap him on the back once more.

Prudy

A mother is a woman prepared, her purse packed with necessities. A safety pin, Kleenex, throat lozenges, bobby pins, a packet of Saltines, aspirin, breath mints. A crisp five-dollar bill for emergencies. Dimes for the payphone. Prudy imagined a roving mother patrol.
Dump your bag, please. What, no Band Aids? No mini sewing kit? And what’s with the packet of crumbs?
Still, she’d get plenty of points. Because the ability to anticipate disaster is what counts.

Richard coming back and taking Sally to the banquet.
That
would be disaster. Prudy would do whatever she needed to avoid it.

It was too bad she didn’t have any more sick days left. If she didn’t have to be at work, she’d take Sally to the department store for a new dress. Still, as she slipped on her shoes and reached for her bag, she felt a sense of accomplishment. And relief. As if she was finally able to let go a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Let’s just get this over with.
That was the thought that pushed Prudy to pick up a pen. Not that it was easy. She hesitated a long time before writing
with love, your dad
. It seemed wrong. But necessary.

The risky part was assuming that Richard would never write back, but the man she had known would never take the time to write. He might think about it for a few days, he might even pull out a piece of paper or search the drawer for a stamp. He might start talking as if he had actually done it when he hadn’t.
My daughter and me, we keep in touch
.

And of course there was the fear, what if he had changed? Ten years was a long time. He might be sober. Successful. He might have become the man she imagined when she married him. He might like to have a daughter now, the same way he would like picking up a bargain suit, or getting a good trade-in on a car.
Hey, got me a sweet deal on a kid. She’s practically grown, lives an hour away, and thinks I’m the cat’s meow!
How unfair that would be! He skates away to happiness, leaving the rest of them wallowing in misfortune.

Fine. Let him stay away. To be safe, she’d watch the mail like a hawk. Or get a post office box. Something. Anything. Because the sooner Sally gave up her hope of Richard coming back, the sooner she’d see that going to the banquet with Pastor Voss was better than not going at all.

Once they were there, together, the truth could come out. Surrounded by all the other girls with their dads, Sally wouldn’t take it so hard. See, you have a dad too. He’s right here. He’s been here all along.

He’s ready now.

So maybe he wasn’t ready yet, but he would be. Like it or not.

Did Phillip think she enjoyed this? All the years of torment. The hours spent arguing with herself:
The truth cannot come out.

What if it does?

My daughter will hate me. My kids will never forgive me.

Here an annoyed tsk tsk—
yes, but what about Sally? Doesn’t she deserve to know?

Here confusion. Did she? Did anybody deserve anything? What does it mean to be deserving?

And here clicked in that finger-wagging, hands-on-hips part of her.
Phillip deserves whatever comes of it. Getting off scott free all these years!

Why is it the men who get to walk away?

No, it was time. Sally had to be told that Phillip was her father. The truth might stop there, with the three of them. No one else had to know. Except that her sister Flookie, she’d known for years. That she’d managed to zip her lip was something that still amazed Prudy. And what about Lenny and Nell? Shouldn’t they know? And what if Sally told her best friend Frannie?

Face it, everyone would find out.

Prudy had an affair! With a pastor! She has an illegitimate daughter.

Well, look at Robert Van Oldebekking, from church. When he confessed to a gambling problem, no one condemned him. He mortgaged his house and lost it. Two years later, he and his wife and two kids were still living with his brother and Robert was still singing in the Sunday choir.