Hello Loved Ones (3 page)

Her mother was standing beside Pastor Voss. “It’s so nice of you to join us for Lenny’s birthday,” Sally heard her tell him.

On the sidewalk, Lenny groaned loudly and pulled his shirttails out. The pastor ignored him. He shook Prudy’s hand, and as he did, a spasm in his neck pulled the corner of his mouth down. It was a facial tick he’d developed in the last year or so, and it made him look like he was giving Prudy a secret sign:
Meet me out back in five minutes.
It always made Sally laugh because, in fact, there was something undeniably cold about the pastor. He’d never been to their house for dinner. He was probably only coming today so he could take Lenny back with him. Like a dog. Here’s his leash. Hold tight or he’ll run off.

Sally had to admit it was a lousy way to spend a birthday, and she was sorry for Lenny. But she couldn’t help him. All she could do was smile at the red bandana on his head and wrap her arms around the front of her own orange blouse, glad for any bright spot in an unbearably drab, hot day. The Van Sloetens hadn’t faded into nothingness yet.

Sally still had hope. Her dad would write back.
Sure I’ll go. Sounds like fun.
Then she’d tell her family.
By the way, Dad’s picking me up Saturday at six. We’ll just be going to, you know, the banquet.
They’d be angry at first, but then they’d realize it wasn’t such a big deal. Lenny and Nell might even thank her, once they got used to the idea.
We’ve always wanted to see Dad again, but we’ve never had the courage to make it happen.

Talk about courage. They didn’t know how lucky they were that she was the only one brave enough to state the obvious:

I miss you, dad. We all do.

Lenny

The Louisville Slugger was a very good bat. Better than a Swiss Army knife? Eight-year-old Lenny Van Sloeten couldn’t decide. The knife made a nice bulge in his back pocket, but the bat…well, a Slugger was one special bat. If Lenny had to choose between them, which would he pick? With a knife you could pick your teeth or clean under your nails. You could open a can of DW40, take up whittling, kill a garden snake, or slice the legs off a frog. But a bat was part of the greatest game on earth. Lenny learned that from his father. Not that he needed his father to tell him. What he needed was someone to give him a few pointers on how to connect with the ball. Someone to play catch with in the yard. Lenny’s dad never stayed at home long enough to do those things.

Richard Van Sloeten sold church tithing envelopes and his job always kept him away. It took him to Traverse City, sometimes even into Canada, where there was a string of Methodist churches along the Hudson River. He used to tell Lenny that when you cross into Canada it’s always snowing and there are Mounties decked out in red flannel uniforms sitting high atop their horses, saluting as you drive by. Mom would remind him that it’s a sin to lie but that just made Dad laugh. Then he’d go away again, his trips stretching to four days, one week, two weeks. If he was gone a long time, Lenny would ask, “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s out on a bender,” Mom would say, and Lenny was young enough to suppose that a bender was some new kind of job, better than selling church envelopes, which had always seemed like sissy work to Lenny anyway. A bender sounded important and difficult and he liked saying out loud to himself
Dad’s out on a bender
, in the same way he might say
Dad’s out on a round-up
, or an oil rig, or an expedition. If he hadn’t already decided to be a famous baseball player he might have considered being a bender man himself.

The day before Lenny’s eighth birthday, Dad came home. He’d been away five weeks, the longest ever. It was late afternoon, nearly time for supper, and Lenny was sitting with his mother and Nell out in the yard enjoying a lemonade. Sally was down for her nap. When Dad drove up, Mom’s face turned hard and she looked away.

“Hello loved ones!” Dad shouted jovially. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and leaned over to dust the tops of his shoes before stepping on the grass. In the sun the round toes shined like wet brown rocks. When Lenny saw the shoes his heart sank. They were new, which meant Dad was in a good mood. It also meant there was a fight ahead. Whenever he came home looking dandy Mom started in.
Don’t mention the shoes
, he wanted to tell her, but he didn’t want to point them out on the chance she hadn’t noticed.

Dad went to Mom and pulled her up out of the chair. She let herself be kissed.

“Here I am,” he said. “Stop your sulking.”

“I about gave up on you.”

“Never!” He smacked her cheek loudly. “You kids come here and give me a hug.”

Lenny rose to greet him. Why did he feel strange? Dad was home. He wore the same brown suit, the same yellow-striped tie. He had the same smile, the same hearty laugh, but he was different too. The August heat and the way Dad appeared out of nowhere made Lenny want to rub his eyes and look again.

Lenny went over with Nell awkwardly behind. Dad gave them each a half squeeze.

“How do I look?” he asked.

Lenny squinted at him. He needed a shave. And there was a pink lump on his forehead that wasn’t there before. The sight of it thrilled Lenny. Was Dad in a fight? Had he punched someone in the kisser? Maybe he’d gotten in a scrap at some roadside cafe between church visits. Lenny knew from hearing his grandma talk that truck stops and roadside cafes were dangerous business.

“What’s that on your head?” Lenny asked.

Dad touched the lump like he’d forgotten it was there. “It’s a beauty mark,” he said with a grin. “Like it?”

“What happened now?” Mom asked. Dad ignored her.

“Aren’t you hot in that suit?” Nell said.

“Now that you mention it, I am. Go fetch me a lemonade.” He chucked Nell under the chin and she shuffled toward the house.

“Where were you?” Lenny asked.

“Looking for work, son. Drove down to Louisville.”

“Are you done selling church envelopes?”

Dad whistled long and low. “Yes I am. Couldn’t stand another minute of it.”

“Were you on a bender?” Lenny asked.

Dad whirled toward Mom. “What’d he say?”

She laughed, but it was a hard sound, with no happiness in it. Lenny tried to think of a distraction. Had he done anything that day worth mentioning? He’d looked for worms under the rain barrel, drank about a gallon of lemonade, sorted his baseball cards, read the latest Spiderman. Why hadn’t he done anything exciting? Why hadn’t he stopped to think that his dad could come rolling in at any minute? He used to be in the habit of paying closer attention to the things he did, making mental marks next to the ones he might tell his dad about. But with the heat of August bearing down and taking all his energy, he’d forgotten.

“You
could
keep quiet for the good of the children,” Dad said.

“Don’t speak to me about the good of the children. I’m here raising them.”

Lenny spoke up, “So were you on a bender?”

“Lenny, a bender means out drinking,” Nell hissed at him. She stood with a glass of lemonade in her hand and made no move to offer it to Dad, just stood there, giving Lenny her look that said
how did I get stuck with a knucklehead brother like you?

Lenny flushed. Of course it meant drinking. He’d been silly to think a bender was some important job. The things Mom said about Dad always came back to drinking.

“Why don’t you work with Uncle Ollie?” Lenny asked. It was a question he’d asked before but he’d never gotten a satisfactory answer. He couldn’t see why his dad had to go so far to look for work. His friends’ dads all worked right here in Holland. Mr. Van Rhee was a tool and die man, Mr. Reidsma made office furniture, and nearly everyone else he knew was a farmer. If only his dad would stay near home, Lenny was sure he wouldn’t drink so much. It was only when he went away and then came back looking dandy that things went bad.

“Do I look like I’m cut out for shit-kicking work like that?”

Lenny didn’t know how to answer. It was true his dad didn’t look like a farmer, and Lenny was mostly glad that he wasn’t one. He disliked the smell, the sad sound the cows made, and the way his uncle was always tired from doing the chores. But in some ways he wished his dad was more like Uncle Ollie. Lenny liked the way Uncle Ollie talked.
I’m going to tell you why these cows aren’t milking
, he’d say, and then he’d go and say why. Then later he would ask,
remember what I told you about the cows and why they’re not milking?
Lenny found it comforting to have things laid out like that. There were no surprises.

“Do I?” Dad demanded.

“No, sir.”

“Spreading manure and pulling on cows’ teats are for men with no gumption.” Dad stretched his arms above his head and then shook his shoulders out, as if to prove he was ready for a challenge.

“Where’s Sally?” he asked.

“She’s taking a nap,” Nell said. She held out his lemonade and at last he took it and pulled down a long swig.

“Go wake her up.”

“No,” Mom said. “Unless you’re planning to be gone again by dinnertime.”

“I oughta go. It’d serve you right.”

“Suit yourself.”

“What’d you find in Louisville?” Lenny asked. He was concerned about Dad not having work. Even selling church envelopes was better than nothing. Lenny knew it was the man of the family who was supposed to have a job. If his dad wasn’t going to work, did that mean Lenny had to do it? He was only eight, but he supposed it was possible. A few boys in his class had paper routes. There was no reason he couldn’t get one too.

Mom lifted a glass of lemonade to her lips. “
Who’d
you find is a better question,” she muttered.

Dad blew out hard, his lips tight. “You sure know how to make a man feel welcome. And
you
,” he said to Lenny, “why do you have to ask so many questions? Look here. I brought you something.” He walked over to his car and pulled out a bat.

“Happy birthday,” he said, holding it toward Lenny.

“Wow! A Louisville Slugger!”

“That’s right. World’s most famous bat.”

“I hope you brought a little something for the girls,” Mom called.

“I’ll bring them something next time. A man can’t go to Louisville, home of the Slugger, and not pick one up. Besides, it’s not
their
birthdays. Right, Nellie?”

“My birthday was in June,” Nell mumbled. “You weren’t home.”

Mom patted her arm and said, “Let’s go make some more lemonade.”

Lenny watched Nell go inside with her head hung low. For about the thousandth time in his life he wished she were a brother instead of a sister. Then they could share the bat and he wouldn’t have to feel bad about getting it. Even if she was a tomboy, that would do, but no, Nell was the most prissy sister a boy could be cursed with.

Lenny grabbed the bat from his father and set it on his shoulder. Before he could take a swing, Dad snatched it away.

“No, like this.” He positioned Lenny’s hand. “Feel that? That’s craftsmanship. These bats have been around since 1884. The first one was made from a piece of white ash for Pete Browning. Folks called him the Old Gladiator.”

“Why?”

“Because it sounded good, I suppose.”

Lenny stepped away from him, eager to let her fly. Dad wouldn’t let go.

“Pay attention. You’re going to be the owner of a Louisville Slugger, there are a few things you need to know. See, Pete busted his bat into splinters during a Louisville Eclipse game. There was a young fella named Bud Hillerich in the stands, and he offered to carve Pete a new one. Next day, Browning went three-for-three with the new bat. That was the very first Louisville Slugger.”

“Let’s go over to the park and hit some pop-ups.”

“Lenny, what did I just tell you?”

“You said that Pete fella was glad he ate.” Lenny was being silly on purpose, to make his dad laugh. It didn’t work.

“
Gladiator.
That’s like a soldier. Now how many times have I told you, baseball is nothing to joke about. That’s our national past time. What else is it?”

“Greatest game ever created.”

“That’s right.”

“Are we gonna play?”

“In a minute. I’m trying to teach you something here. This is no ordinary bat. Babe Ruth used a Slugger to hit 60 home runs in ‘27. That’s a world record.”

“That’s nothing,” Lenny said, grinning. “I’ll be hitting a hundred thousand home runs. In one game, too. Give it here.”

“Repeat what I just told you.”

“Babe Ruth used a Slugger.”

“How many home runs did he hit with it?”

“A lot.”

“Sixty. Say it. Sixty.”

Lenny said it.

“What year was it?”

“1927.”