Saltwater in the Bluegrass (29 page)

I’ve known my share of drunks. Uncle Buddy had been one such drunk. They are all about the same. They get warmed up real quick once they have had a couple of drinks, and Charlie was already in the middle of nursing his third.

He nearly perfectly fit the collective assumption that I had of him and most drunks. So, as I sipped on my iced tea and listened, I kept pouring beer into Charlie’s glass from the large pitcher he had ordered for himself.

It did not take long before the demons inside his head started coming out. So, I poured him some more. It probably wasn’t the right thing to do, but it was working, so I continued. Jenny and I sat and listened, continuing to give our full attention. With her hands, Jenny made a nothing-I-can-do-about-it gesture, as though I should probably stop. She had always believed everything Charlie had told her. That in itself was part of the problem.

I, on the other hand, did not. I didn’t know him well enough to judge his characteristics. I continued pouring. It was working, and besides, there wasn’t enough beer on the table to give him alcohol poisoning or make us rush him to the hospital. The demons began to portray a sadness that he most definitely needed to get rid of, demons he needed to unleash.

It had become increasingly obvious that, after a few minutes, Jenny and I were just there as spectators, people who had been invited along for the ride, the inevitable release of guilt, shame, humiliation, and embarrassment that Charlie unknowingly needed to get rid of. Somehow it would save his life.

The liquid bath he was taking on a daily basis was intentional. It was being used to perform an exorcism on his memory, his past life, his experiences, and his tribulations. The alcohol was just helping. It was his soul that needed cleansed. The alcohol was just helping his daily survival, helping his dire straits to stay hidden so he wouldn’t have to face his problems. Somehow the pounding precision and his torments had to get out. It had to be resolved.

Charlie was scared. He was scared of the unknowing. He was scared of the thoughts that controlled his days and nights. He was scared of the flashbacks, the memories that continued with more and more consistency to check in and out of his mind whenever they wanted. Now they were giving him spontaneous glimpses of his youthful past. They were tearing at him as an adult.

Something had to give.

It was on the fourth glass of beer
of
the evening that the story began to surface.

Jenny and I sat listening and responding as necessary to keep the sentences and the paragraphs flowing. Charlie continued to talk. With every sip that he consumed, more information came out. He began to tell about the night no one had ever known about. The night he had kept locked away from existence for all these years, the story of him walking out of the garage in the middle of the night and seeing in the shadows the faces, the people, the hatred that must have been felt by the person carrying out the act of vengeance. The hatred it must have taken to carry out the cruel and malicious act.

With Charlie being at such a young age at the time, seeing this was more than his mind would allow him to witness. He had simply shut down and repressed the image, the event, and the memory until now. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Charlie was anxious, euphoric, exhilarated, and nervous all at the same time. His emotions were ripping at the seams to get out. Finally they had. It was now over. Charlie could start his life once again with a fresh start. It was only time now until another piece of the puzzle was laid into place.

Charlie began to cry. Then he said thanks and turned towards me, pausing for a moment. “Jimmy, you will never know how

appreciative I am that you took the time to come here tonight to just listen.”

I don’t know what made me the one that Charlie needed, the person that gave him the strength, the courage, or the avenue to unleash his pain and suffering, but for some reason it had worked, and he was now feeling better and was going to be able to go on with his life. We left the bar and said our goodbyes.

I knew that Jenny and I were destined to see each other again, but tonight was not the time.

Jenny reached out and took my hand.

“Until next time,” she said.

She held my hand for more than the normal length of time. Then, for an embellished moment, she began pulling away her fingers slowly until finally she let go. She then smiled as though she had just left her mark of seduction on the tips of my fingers. I knew she felt the same way I did, but the thought of being together now, tonight, would have to wait for another time.

I returned to my room, recalling the events that Charlie had brought out at the pub in his semi-controlled state of intoxication and unraveling. Actions do speak louder than words, but in the state of mind that Charlie Ingram was in tonight, the words he spoke drew pictures that crayons could not have imagined. Before retiring to bed, I spent a few minutes looking out my hotel window at the darkness. The river looked unusually quiet tonight.

Jenny took Charlie back
to her place.

Charlie sat in a relaxed but worn-out state in the passenger seat. It was not going to be an evening that Charlie needed to be alone. Instead, Jenny ended up keeping him company through the night until he finally curled up on the couch and fell a sleep around four a.m. Charlie had indeed
seen it with his eyes. For the first time in so many years, he had seen it without the haze that had blurred his vision day after day for so long.

Charlie continued to look with all intents and purposes. He gazed, stared, and concentrated as if he was seeing for the first time. Emotions that were compelling him to stop what he was doing, dead in his tracks, emotions he had closed up inside himself and hidden away deep within the darkness of his mind throughout his youth, his teenage years, and into his adulthood were beginning to bubble out. Emotions that did not deserve to be brought into the open were now being brought out.

“Why now?” he thought. What had he done to deserve this little bit of pleasure at this very moment in his life? He had lost so much. So much had been taken from him. So much pain had been thrown his way at such an early age.

How would he now be able to handle it? Was there time in his life to change and see things more clearly now, to see things more forthright? Would he be able to rectify the thoughts and the submissions that he had locked away through sheer terror in his life so very long ago?

Each year on the Wednesday
before the Kentucky Derby runs, thousands of people gather along the banks of the Ohio River on both the Kentucky and the Indiana sides to watch history come to life once again. Late in the afternoon, usually around five, there is a paddle stern steam wheeler race up the river and back. The participants of this great steamboat race are the
Belle of Louisville
and Cincinnati’s
Delta Queen
. The race is for the people, and the prize is a pair of antlers for the winning captain.

The
Belle of Louisville
is a-turn-of-the-century paddle stern wheeler. During the summer months, the
Belle
can be ridden daily on the Ohio River by visitors and locals who relish the idea of going back in time for an afternoon or evening, including three hours of total relaxation.

The
Delta Queen
is a paddle wheel excursion boat that people can spend weeks aboard, traveling up and down the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers like days gone by. The race goes along the banks of the river for several miles where it makes a turn and heads back down to the finish line near the River Front Park.

The
Delta Queen
is a much faster vessel, but the
Belle of Louisville
can make the turn quicker, and the race is usually neck and neck with both boats taking their fair share of the victories.

Lamar Jr. made it a point
to get his Uncle Charlie on board the
Belle
on Tuesday, the day before the big race. He had mentioned to Charlie that the three-hour tour was going to have a lot of music, with bands playing rock and roll, and that there would be a lot to drink. It wasn’t the first time Charlie and Lamar Jr. had partied together, and it was not going to be the last. So he thought, why not go and enjoy a few hours on the river with a good friend?

They had planned on meeting over at Joe’s Crab Shack around three in the afternoon, have a few drinks and a sandwich, and then board the
Belle
in time for the five thirty departure. Lamar Jr. had a plan that did not include music or drinks. The plan did not include social conversation or happy hour. It was a three-hour, non-stop boat ride that did not let passengers off, no matter how much they begged the captain. It was a perfect way to make two people that might not want to talk decide that they might as well because no one was getting off either way.

The
Belle of Louisville
was untied from the dock, and as the pipe organ started it rendition of “Camp Town Races,” they were under way. Charlie and Lamar Jr. walked around the lower outer deck. They walked to the back of the boat to get a closer look at the paddle wheel as it lifted its boards out of the water and turned upward towards the bow of the boat to take another grasp of water, making the
Belle
go forward.

When Lamar Jr. knew that they were far enough from shore that even a crazy person like Charlie would not jump and swim, he unloaded the news he had kept inside for all these years.

“Charlie, I have someone upstairs that I want you to see.”

“You what?” Charlie replied, not understanding the concept.

“Charlie, come with me upstairs. I have someone I am sure you will want to talk to.”

The two men made their way through the lower passageways to the front stairs leading to the upper deck. As they climbed the stairs, Charlie felt uneasy from his lack of knowledge about what lay waiting for him. They made their way over to one of the tables in the front of the boat, away from the stage and loud music. It was where you could sit and watch the river as the
Belle
made its way up towards Six Mile Island.

Near the front of the boat there sat a little white-haired lady. She was sitting in the shade knitting. Lamar Jr. smiled as he walked over toward her.

“Charlie, I would like you to meet someone. This is Elizabeth Ingram, your mother,” he said.

Charlie’s initial reaction was one of utter shock. He stepped back.

“My mother?” Charlie asked. “My mother is dead. She died a long time ago.

“No, she isn’t,” Lamar Jr. said.

“What kind of horrible joke is this?” Charlie asked with a nervous twitch. He didn’t see the humor in any of this.

“Hello, son,” Elizabeth said.

“No, Charlie, she is alive. She is your mother, Charlie. This is your mother. My grandmother,” Lamar Jr. said.

For an awkward moment, Charlie and Elizabeth just looked at one another.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Charlie, it’s the truth.”

“It can’t be.”

“But, it is.”

It was as though they were both transparent. It was as though the reality was not quite sinking in. It couldn’t be, but it was. It would take a lot longer than a three-hour boat ride on the Ohio River, a ride that was now almost halfway over, to make up for lost time.

Charlie had planned on ridding himself of any memories of his past for the rest of his life. Now, within a flash, it was back. He was scared and shocked by the sudden meeting. He seriously doubted the possibility that he would ever be able to get close to this woman. At least those were his feelings at the present time.

Charlie’s preliminary topic of conversation was why. Why had she vanished? Why had she been gone for all these years, all these years leaving him to think that she had died? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She was supposed to be dead.

Elizabeth was sufficiently vague on the details. In time she thought she would be able to fill her son in on the details of all her years being absent from his life.

She hoped he would somehow, someday, understand and forgive her. By the time the shock had worn off, the boat had made its way back down the river and docked, back at the pier just below the Galt House Hotel and next to Joe’s.

Charlie and his mother, Lizzy, needed time to talk. They had a lot to catch up on, and a lot of explaining needed to be done. In time it would take place. Over a long, quiet evening Elizabeth and Charlie would talk, they would cry, they would hold each other, and they would each try to explain. In time, the wounds would heal, but not here, not now, no way.

Arbitration was now setting
in on the Derby City town. Negotiations were at a standstill.

The initial reaction was simple. It was time to cut losses, divide up assets, and then pull up the stakes and run. For the longest time, this was all that was holding Katherine Ingram’s little world together. Not anymore. She was about to lose two of her company hit men, Patrick Lane and Owen Hensley, both amateur-rated thugs who had been sent down to Pompano Beach Florida on the
Queen Bee
herself to kill Kristina. Unfortunately, they had killed Buddy Stringer by mistake.