Redemption Mountain (45 page)

Charlie went back inside to the kitchen table.
One more thing to do. One last try for Bud and Alice DeWitt.
He sat down in front of his laptop and searched through his address book for Duncan McCord's personal email address, reserved for a few friends and old teammates, because they understood that it was not to be used for business-related correspondence. Charlie was about to break the rule.

Duncan—In a few weeks, through an eminent-domain proceeding, the Ackerly Coal Company and OntAmex are going to destroy a family living on a small farm on Redemption Mountain, West Virginia. Within weeks of the displacement of the DeWitt family from Redemption Mountain, the destruction of the mountain will commence with the beginning of a mountaintop-removal surface coal mine. Mountaintop-removal mining is an environmental catastrophe that would be inconceivable anywhere outside Appalachia, where the population is thin, the people voiceless, and the politicians are owned by the coal-mining industry.

Charlie reread the last sentence.
So, what's the problem? Duncan would say.

It's clear to me now that the plan for Redemption Mountain was made long ago and is the main reason that the plant was sited in McDowell County. I learned recently that Jack Torkelson and Larry Tuthill, along with the president of Ackerly Coal, visited Redemption Mountain two years before the final selection process began. Very soon, you'll own the plant and the coal company, along with the mineral rights to Redemption Mountain and the contract to supply the coal to the Red Bone generating facility. With all this integration, is it possible to do the right thing for the environment and for an elderly couple who don't deserve one second of the harassment they've already taken from your lawyers and the coal people down here?

Charlie scowled, reading his own words. Duncan would probably hit the
DELETE
key and conclude that Charlie had lost his mind. He decided to press on, even if it was pointless.

There is at least one alternative to mountaintop removal. It is admittedly more costly but, considering the environmental impact, an alternative worth considering. A slope mine could harvest the coal at a premium of eight to ten dollars per ton over a surface mine.

Charlie grimaced at the lie and inserted a few links to some inconclusive studies of the cost differential.

Duncan, this isn't how we should be acting down here. This is how corporate interests have been treating Appalachia for a hundred years—crippling the workers and leaving behind poverty, heartache, and ecological ruin. Maybe it's time for us to cut it out.

Looking forward to an old-fashioned Big Ten ass-kicking of OSU this weekend. Go, Blue!—Charlie

He briefly considered deleting the whole letter and starting over when he was less tired.
No, Duncan would easily see through the economic bullshit. Anyway, he'd wasted enough time on the whole thing already.
He hit the
SEND
button.
Sorry, Bud, Alice. It's the best I can do.

A few seconds later, he received an auto-reply from Duncan.
I'll be out of the country until the 10th of November, attending conferences in Switzerland and Belgium, followed by a vacation in the Canary Islands. Will respond to your email when I return. Duncan McCord

Charlie stared at the message and laughed.
Switzerland, Belgium, and the Canary Islands—a long way from the topless bars in Detroit you used to love, Dunc.
He turned off the computer and went to bed.

 

CHAPTER 27

 

W
hen they pried off the lid of the first packing crate, Charlie was glad he'd invited Eve to the party, too. The lobsters were three- and four-pounders, much too big to cook in his small kitchen. Pie's eyes went wide with amazement, and he took a tentative step backward when he saw the brown lobsters in the plastic bag of ice. Eve reached in, pulled out one of the monsters, and placed it on the restaurant kitchen's floor.

“Charlie, the lobthter is very ugly. Do you really eat it?” Pie edged forward for a better look.

“Pie Man, you're going to love lobster,” said Charlie, taking two more out of the ice and playfully thrusting them at the boy, who retreated with laughter. With a dozen huge lobsters, they'd have more than enough. Charlie broke out two Stroh's and handed one to Eve.

“Little early for this, isn't it, Charlie?” asked Eve, taking the beer.

Charlie held his up for a toast. “It's the Michigan–Ohio State game, Eve. Gotta get tuned up.” He helped Eve retrieve a huge dust-covered pot and put the lobsters in the walk-in cooler. Then he and Pie went upstairs to get the apartment ready. On the way, Charlie stopped in the store for a fifth of Jack Daniel's, a large bag of pork rinds, and some cheese curls for Pie.

They rearranged the living room, moving the overstuffed sofa and love seat around to face the TV set. It would be a little crowded, but they'd manage.

“C'mon, Pie, let's go over and get Mr. Jacks and Woody,” said Charlie. Hank was coming in as they left, carrying an armload of snacks and a clear bottle of something that looked suspiciously like moonshine. Eve followed with a huge bowl of salad, a basket of bread and rolls, and two large bottles of wine.
Jesus
, thought Charlie,
we'll be lucky if anybody's still awake at halftime
.

With Charlie helping Woody, and the Pie Man holding on to Mr. Jacks, they slowly made their way down the stairs of the Pocahontas Hotel and across the street. Hiking up the four flights to Charlie's apartment proved to be a challenge, especially for Woody, who needed to rest at each landing. Finally, they made it to the fourth floor. Charlie settled the two old miners on the couch, put a bowl of Stroh's on ice on the coffee table, and turned on the TV.

Eve and Hank had been busy during their absence. The kitchen table was crowded with plates, silverware, a pile of napkins, and bowls for the butter, which Eve had brought up from the restaurant. She even had small lobster forks and a few shell crushers, which Charlie never would've remembered. Hank sat on the love seat and visited with Woody and Mr. Jacks. Pie was busy with the cheese curls. Hank had a beer, as well as a small glass of the corn liquor he'd brought. Eve poured herself a glass of Chablis, and after preparing two loaves of garlic bread for the oven, she stepped out the back door to take in the view.

Charlie pulled a Stroh's out of the bowl and followed her. Eve was leaning on the railing, gazing off into the distance.

“Forgot what a great view you get from up here. I should charge you guys more.”

“No question about that,” said Charlie. “Thanks for all your help, Eve, you've been great.”

Eve lit a Merit 100. “C'mon, Charlie,” she said, gesturing to the soccer field below. “You make a new library and ball fields for us. I make garlic bread.” They both laughed. Charlie glanced at his watch. It was nearly game time. “Don't worry, she'll be here,” said Eve with a smile.

“Maybe,” he replied. He thought about the last time he'd seen Natty, a week ago at the soccer game in Princeton.

“Heard that Buck was at the soccer game. That he saw you there, talkin' to Nat.” It was as if Eve had read his mind.

“That was a surprise,” admitted Charlie.

Eve took a sip of wine and squinted into the sun. “Don't mean nothin',” she said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“It don't mean a goddamn thing, after all this time Buck finally showing some interest in them kids, in his wife.” Eve shook her head angrily. “Imagine, beatin' that sweet girl way he done and thinkin' he'll always be the love of her life.”

“Well … it means something to her,” Charlie said.

Eve turned and grabbed his Michigan T-shirt. “It's too late for Buck now, that's what I'm telling you, Charlie. That girl's so dippy over you.”

“C'mon, Eve, how do you know if—”

“'Cause I know,” Eve said. “Women know about these things.” She let go of Charlie's shirt. “Important thing now is how
you
feel.” She eyed Charlie warily. “So how
do
you feel about her, Charlie? And don't give me any of that bullshit about nothin' happenin' 'tween you two, like you were peddlin' that night at the Roadhouse.”

Charlie crossed his arms against his chest.
There it was—the question he'd been dodging for months. How did he really feel about Natty?
He thought about their conversation in the dark a week earlier. He'd tried to tell Natty how he felt about her then, but what had he said? Did he actually tell her anything? He told her that she made his palms sweat and his heart beat faster and that she was
remarkable.
And that he still loved his wife.
God, what an asshole.

Eve studied his face intently. Charlie sighed and gave up the fight. “I think I've been in love with Natty since the first moment I saw her, in your store that night I arrived,” he said softly. “I've never felt like this before.”

Eve smiled, giddy at finally hearing Charlie say what she'd hoped for. “I knew that, Charlie, but tellin' me ain't doin' anyone any good. You gotta tell Natty. And you gotta tell her soon. Else you two could end up makin' a mistake'll haunt you the rest of your lives you keep waitin' for life to be perfect, where nobody ever gets hurt.”

Charlie recalled the sick feeling at the soccer game when he sensed Natty slipping away. “I know, Eve. I just haven't had the balls to admit it to myself, I guess.”

“So tell her tonight, Charlie,” Eve said emphatically. “Tell her tonight. Will you?”

“C'mon, Eve,” he pleaded. “Give me a break here—”

“I'll have Pie sleep at my place. You do what you have to do.” Eve took a sip of wine. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You tell that girl how you feel, and then you make love to her like she ain't never been made love to before—which won't be too goddamn difficult.”

Charlie heard the crowd noise from inside, signifying the opening kickoff. He looked down the hill just as the red Honda came speeding into view. “We'll see, Eve. We'll see.”

Eve scowled at him. “Charlie, you may never get the chance again.”

*   *   *

N
ATTY BREEZED INTO
the apartment with a twelve-pack of beer and a bottle of wine. “Woo woo, go, Michigan!” she called out, flashing a smile to Charlie in the kitchen. “Game start yet?” She hugged Eve and Hank, then went over to the couch and put an arm around the old miners. “How you boys doin'?” she asked, looking them over carefully. She cuffed Pie playfully, put an arm around his neck, and pulled him close. Pie grinned, his mouth half full with cheese curls.

Natty turned around just as Charlie brought two chairs in from the kitchen. It would've been natural for Natty to hug him as she had the others. But when their eyes met, they both hesitated, and the moment passed. The crowd noise from the TV grabbed Charlie's attention as a Michigan runner broke free for a long gain.

“Yeah!” Charlie shouted. “Go, Blue.” He offered up a high-five to Natty. She smiled and slapped his open palm.

“Okay, let's get this party going,” she said, wedging herself between Woody and Mr. Jacks. She reached into the bowl of ice and pulled out a Stroh's. “Go, Michigan!” she yelled, punching the air as the Wolverines got another first down.

It took a while for the group assembled in front of the small TV to embrace the Michigan cause, but, led by Charlie's enthusiasm and supported loudly by Natty and Pie, they gradually got caught up in the spirit of the game, cheering at every positive Michigan play. This was, after all, Charlie's party, and it was his team. They would do their part.

Hank—aided, no doubt, by the occasional sip of his moonshine—quickly became a Michigan fan, firing pork rinds at the TV, while Pie screeched with laughter whenever Michigan was penalized. And the level of enthusiasm was raised noticeably when Charlie brought out the bottle of Jack Daniel's and a shot glass for each of the adults to toast each Wolverine score. Natty took control of the bottle and won a brief argument with Charlie that the extra point after a Michigan touchdown required another toast.

It was a good half for Michigan, and a good party. From his chair behind the couch, Charlie looked around the room at his diverse gathering of friends. It was definitely a strange group. But was there a nicer, more agreeable bunch of people anywhere? Charlie felt a rush of satisfaction as he thought about his buddies from Michigan watching on wide-screens in sumptuous family rooms or members-only lounges at exclusive country clubs, none of them having as good a time as he was.

At the end of the first quarter, Eve slipped away to turn on the stove and get the water boiling in the huge pot. A little while later, Charlie and Pie went down to put the lobsters in. Natty and Eve set out the garlic bread and melted butter.

Just before the second half got under way, Charlie and Pie made their triumphant entrance, carrying platters of steaming red lobsters. Charlie's platter was piled high with several of the huge lobsters, while Pie, beaming with pride, carried the champion of the bunch, a five-pound behemoth that Charlie'd selected just for him. Charlie held his platter around for everyone to select a lobster, then took a seat on the floor next to Pie. Eve spoke. “Hank, you want to do the grace here?”

“I'd be honored to, Eve.” Everyone joined hands. “Lord,” Hank started, bowing his head, “we thank you for these gifts that you've bestowed on us this day, but, my goodness, Lord, I think you gone a little overboard in the bounty department.” They all laughed. “We'd all be real fortunate to have a slice of Eve's meat loaf tonight, never mind this incredible meal we got here.” Hank nodded his head several times. “But we
are
thankful, Lord, and we want you to know that, for this and all your blessings. We're thankful to have another day with our old friends Woody and Mr. Jacks, and all our friends. And, Lord, we also got to offer up some additional thanks for visitin' upon us a few months ago a special friend, someone who's done a lot for us all … someone we know's going to be leavin' us soon … and we're all gonna miss him when that day comes, particularly those of us winning considerable amounts of money at cribbage.” Everyone laughed again. “So we thank you for sending us Charlie for a little while,” Hank looked up and winked at Charlie, “and we all thank Charlie for this wonderful dinner. Amen.”