by K. E. Garvey
Chapter Three
Warren - 2018
Cigarette smoke laced the air winding itself around everything it touched as if performing an exotic dance. Warren cast an occasional glance at Rodney while chalking his cue. Slow, deliberate looks. The art of intimidation. By eyeing the table only to back off and pretend to consider his opponent, he was putting himself in his opponent’s head. A little trick, and one of the only useful tricks, his brother had ever taught him before he died.
Finally, he bent and lowered his head until his week-old stubble grazed the worn felt. He peered down the length of his cue and found his aiming line. “Let me show you how it’s done,” he said with a click of his tongue. With three fingers splayed on the green and the fourth curled around the cue, he adjusted his stance, pulled back, and drove the cue ball forward. He stood as the rack cracked open like a beer bottle against the edge of a bar.
“You got the two and three up this end, and the eleven and thirteen by you,” Rodney said as four balls dropped in succession. “You going big or little?”
The balls hadn’t stopped rolling when Rodney began announcing their placement, which told Warren he was already nervous. One day when he was feeling generous he would teach Rodney how to ditch his tells.
He sucked air through the gap in his front teeth trying to loosen a piece of the burger he had choked down earlier. Somehow, he had anticipated his first meal on the outside to be a bit more palatable. Something else he had been wrong about.
He scanned the table, and said, “I think the little ones are sitting kinda pretty, don’t you?”
Disappointment flashed across Rodney’s face telling him he agreed.
“So, tell me, what’s your deal?” Warren asked as he circled the table.
“Deal?”
“Where you staying? What’ve you been doing for money since you passed through the gates?” He pocketed the four ball.
Rodney clutched his cue with both hands, one on top of the other. Without removing either of them, he bent and ran his nose over the back of his arm, before saying, “Odd jobs here and there, but not many. My sister’s letting me crash with her ’til I can pull something together.”
“That’s mighty generous of her.” Warren settled into position.
“Ain’t like she had a choice. The old man left the place to both of us. She’da sold it out from under me ages ago if it was worth anything. ‘Sides, she ain’t there much. She got herself a guy up in Tremont. Only comes back to pick up her mail and make sure I haven’t sold the furniture.” He blew an audible puff of air through his chapped lips.
“Is that right?” Warren backed off his shot. He picked up the chalk and began working it over the tip of his cue. “Think she’d mind taking on a boarder, you know, just ’til I figure things out?”
Rodney drained the last of his bottle. “I can ask.”
“And when you ask, you make sure to tell her I’m housebroken,” he joked to disguise his desperation. “I always put the toilet seat down, and I won’t sell her furniture.”
Rodney’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you had an old lady. What happened, she have the locks changed while you was away?”
Damn.
Men talked in the joint. They were known to yack it up like a coffee klatch of old hens at times. Not because they were a sharing breed, but out of necessity. The fine line between sanity and sitting in a corner mumbling to dead relatives in baby talk often depended on those conversations. It wasn’t until they returned to the outside that regret settled in. And at this very moment, he regretted every word he had ever said over the last twenty years.
“I did, didn’t I?” Warren stretched over the table in position for his next shot. “Let’s just say she’s one of the things I have to figure out.”
The night stretched on. Finally, after one of many glances at his watch, Warren laid his stick across the green, and said, “Gotta fly. How am I going to know what your sister says?”
“Where you off to on your first night out? The night’s young, and I ain’t quite quenched my thirst yet.”
Warren looked around the near-empty hall. “I’ve got to meet this kid and see what the hell he wants. Got a letter from him, and then a call. Says he wants to talk to me about my son.”
“Thought you only had girls.”
Warren laughed as he rolled the cue ball the length of the table and watched it drop into the far corner pocket. “Me, too.”
“Then why you meeting him?”
“I was going to tell him to pound sand until they told me they had moved my hearing up. I thought maybe if I agreed to meet him my kindness would be rewarded. When it went in my favor, I figured I’d better keep up my end of it. Besides, he sure did seem convinced he had the right guy. Made me a little curious.”
Rodney stood his cue in the corner. “Whatever it is, must be big.”
Both men headed toward the neon exit sign hanging over the rusted steel door. “Why do you say that?”
“Think about it. You been behind the fence for more than twenty years and ain’t never heard of this guy before. They fix to let you go and suddenly he shows up hell bent on seeing you. You can bet he ain’t looking for bus fare.”
Rodney wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already figured out on his own, although he was surprised Rodney had come to the same conclusions. This guy wanted something, but what? He had to know the first thing Warren would demand would be proof of his claim. He supposed anything was possible, but his reason for agreeing to meet him was pure curiosity. Curious as to what the guy wanted, but interested in what he might want from him.
He slapped Rodney on the back, and said, “Don’t worry, I can hold my own. Meet you back here tomorrow?”
“Ten o’clock?”
Warren looked down the dimly lit street. “Loser buys.”
~
The diner wasn’t much brighter than the pool hall had been. Aside from an old man trembling in withdrawals in a corner booth and a waitress with faded red hair and a uniform that fit her better several sizes ago, Warren sat alone. An old Merle Haggard song played on the jukebox, and every so often he could hear the cook humming along through the window cut in the wall between the kitchen and the counter.
The tinkling of bells caused his heart to jump, but his head remained down, his shoulders rolled forward.
“Warren Grissom?” the voice behind him said.
Warren lifted his head, but didn’t turn. “You found me, now what’s this about me having a son?”
The man slid onto the stool next to him. When the red-headed waitress cast a glance in his direction, he motioned to Warren’s coffee. Both men remained silent until she slid a saucer in front of him, and he waved her off.
“His name is Randall. Randall Lester. His mother was Annie Lester-Gibbons. She passed away last year.”
Warren cast his eyes in the direction of the man next to him, but kept his head looking forward. “Can’t say either name rings a bell.”
“Annie was my older sister. She told me about you and her when I was twenty, but it’s all in the journals she left, too.”
Of course, he remembered the Lester girl, although he hadn’t thought of her in years. What a sweet young thing she had been. Her flawless, ivory skin, her innocence, he had hated to see her move away.
Warren looked at him for the first time. “I admit my memory isn’t what it used to be, but I don’t recall anyone by that name.”
“Did you once live on Ridgeview Street?”
He pretended to think on it a moment. “Can’t say I did. I’m sorry guy, but I think you got the wrong Grissom.”
The man downed half his coffee in one draw and set his cup on its saucer. “You know why I’m here, don’t you? You know. Somehow you figured it out, and you’re playing the ignorance card.”
The kid had obviously done his homework. “You’re coming dangerously close to crossing a line here, bud. I don’t know what you’re talking about, and in-my-face is not wher
e you want to be.”
“Randall Lester is your son whether you like it or not. He’s my nephew and I’m the only family he has left. He has Down Syndrome. Annie took care of him by herself right up until she died. She had made arrangements for him before her death, and he’s being well-taken care of. I’m not looking for anything from you aside from granting her dying wish.”
Warren turned the palms of his hands up and then returned them to the counter. “Which was?”
The guy interlaced his fingers and gave thought to his words before he spoke. “She wanted me to tell you about Randall and ask you to visit him even if you only go once. This isn’t an opportunity for you. It’s strictly for Randall. She wanted him to meet his father.”
“You’re pretty loose with that father word.” Warren pushed his cup and saucer away from him. “I’ve got two daughters I haven’t seen or talked to in twenty-some years, and we’ve got unfinished business. Sorry I can’t help you, but he ain’t mine.”
Warren stood, and said, “Thanks for the coffee,” as he turned toward the door. He stopped when the guy called from behind him. “You wouldn’t have asked.”
He looked over his shoulder without turning his body. “What’s that?”
“If you weren’t his father, you wouldn’t have asked what her wish was.”
The last sound Warren heard before stepping into the street was the tinkling of bells from the other side of the door. He began walking in no particular direction. He had no money, nowhere to stay, and a fucked-up kid he didn’t know or want. For the first time in twenty years, he wasn’t so sure freedom was the lesser of two evils.
Chapter Four
Sali - 2018
As the Leonards disappeared among the other parents making their way down the hall, Sali checked the list in front of her. Karen and Dwayne Ackerman were the only parents left before she could put another round of parent/teacher conferences behind her. Since the district adapted the looping system several years prior, by the second year of each cycle, she knew not only the students, but their parents as well as if they were extended family. There were the parents who seemed to ask one question, twenty different ways until they received the answer they were looking for. There were the over-concerned parents who, no matter how much their child had accomplished, felt they should be doing more. Then there were her favorite parents, the “Not my Johnnies.” No matter what she told them their child was doing, it wasn’t them, or she was doing something to cause their poor behavior.
She caught movement from the corner of her eye and looked up with a smile ready to greet her last parents. “This is a surprise.”
“Did you forget what today is?”
She said, “Parent/teacher conference day?” as he kissed her on the cheek.
“That, yes, and your birthday. I thought I’d whisk you away for a late dinner.”
Steve was the sweetest boyfriend she had ever had, but what he possessed in thoughtfulness, he lacked in timing. The Ackermans were saying goodbye to another couple just outside the room. She motioned toward them. “You mean breakfast. By the time I finish up with conferences and then type up my report in time to have it in the office for tomorrow morning—”
“One hour? Promise. I’ll even help you lick envelopes or whatever else you have to do after dinner.”
At only thirty-five, he had the most soulful eyes she’d ever seen. She knew she could ask them anything and get a straight answer without him having to say a word. He scooped her hands into his. It shone in his eyes how important it was to him to spend a little time with her on a day that seemed to mean more to him than it did to her.
“Okay. One hour.”
“I love you.” He kissed one of her hands and then the other.
“Seriously, only an hour. If I don’t get my paperwork turned in tomorrow morning I’ll have to stay after school to finish it, and the following day is my last race before the big one, so… one hour?”
“Stay after? What…like detention?”
She shrugged one shoulder.
“Okay, I suppose I can work with that. Meet me at Lil and Stan’s when you’re through here.”
She yanked her hands from his. “No, I can’t do Lil and Stan’s.”
“Do we not like Lil and Stan anymore?”
“Of course, we do, but you know how they are. To get out of there in under four hours requires one of us to feign illness or sneak a call to the other from the bathroom with a made-up emergency.”
“Maybe they don’t get many visitors.”
“And maybe that’s because when they do, they hold them hostage.”
“I’ll get us out in an hour, definitely no more than two.” He leaned away from her, his face twisting into a playful cringe. “Three tops. I swear.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “You should have mentioned them from the start.”
“We both know you would have stood firm on no.”
Poking a finger into his chest, she said, “You do realize this just upped my gift expectation from acceptable to extraordinary.”
He kissed her cheek. “Only the best for you, love. See you soon.”
She smiled, first at Steve and then at the Ackerman’s who entered the classroom as he turned to leave.
Chapter Five
Warren - 1994
The factory where Warren worked as a welder had closed for a week over the July fourth holiday each year since he started back in 1979. If he wanted to use the time as one of his three yearly vacation weeks they’d pay him for it, but he always chose to keep his weeks and take it as an unpaid extra. Wanda hated that he took it that way saying it made July rent as hard to make as an igloo in hell, but he enjoyed the extra week too much to give in to her whining.
He had spent the better part of the last day and a half watching the Lesters fill one small U-Haul after another with the contents of their house. Seems either Sharon Lester couldn’t keep her legs closed, or Clyde Lester was an old horn dog that was going to get it whether they were shut or not. Either way, they had welcomed three boys in three years quickly outgrowing their small home.
Warren didn’t like his neighbors. They were pleasant enough, but only when they had to be. If they could get the kids and groceries from their station wagon into the house without having to acknowledge him, they did. But when face-to-face, both would smile and exchange the expected pleasantries as they were edging their way to their house almost subliminally.
Annie Lester. What a little darling. He had taught her how to ride her bike and climb the maple that stood between the houses. She didn’t play outside much now that she was starting high school in the fall. He began missing her even before the Lesters decided to move.
“Warren.”
Normally, he’d be peeved by his wife’s interruption, but as it was he’d grown bored watching Clyde carry box after box while complaining that Sharon was no help in keeping the boys from under his feet. He passed through the living room and into the kitchen.
“Lunch is ready,” Wanda said without looking at him as she scooped BBQ chips onto plates. “Can you call the girls down?”
He turned and yelled, “Mooshie, Kitten, lunch,” up the stairs.
The girls joined them as Wanda set their plates on the table. “Mommy, can I color outside after lunch?” Cheryl asked as she slid onto her chair.
“You mean after your nap?”
Cheryl’s nose wrinkled in displeasure. “I’m going to be six soon. Kelly Bauer just turned six and she doesn’t have to take naps anymore. It’s not fair.”
“Well I’m not Kelly Bauer’s mother and you know what’s not fair? It’s not fair that I am subjected to this same conversation on a daily basis. Now, I am the mother, you are the child, and you will take naps until I tell you otherwise. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They finished lunch in electrified silence. He could tell his wife was pissed about something or another and the last thing he wanted to do was stick around to watch the day un
ravel.
When he was through, he wiped his face with his napkin, dropped it onto his plate, and said, “I’ve got an idea. Wanda, why don’t you let Cheryl color on the picnic table—”
“But—” She interrupted.
He ignored her, and continued, “We both know that instead of taking a nap she’s going to color under her covers, so why not just let her get some fresh air while she’s doing it. And I was thinking maybe I’d take Mooshie on her first train ride. Maybe take in a movie or get a cone.”
Wanda’s face twisted in confusion. He loved when he was able to knock the wind out of her sails. “Warren, none of that is free. You know this is our hard month because of your week off.”
She was trying to bait him. By throwing in “because of your week off” she was trying to start an argument that began with his guilt and would continue until he was too mentally exhausted to go. Not usually one to back down from a row with the old lady, today was going to be different. He wasn’t going to let her get to him this time. As if the argument had been settled, he stood and told Gail to get her shoes on.
“I want to go on the train.” He could hear Cheryl was trying to work up a cry, so he turned and went into the living room. Her tears had a better chance of keeping him home than anything Wanda might say.
“Warren, don’t you walk away from me. We’re not finished talking about this. Gail gets to ride a train and see a movie on money we don’t have, and what about Cheryl?”
