Gooseberry Island

by Steven Manchester

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Late Saturday morning, Lindsey crossed the New Hampshire border and came to a stop. The line of traffic stretched out as far as the eye could see. Pickup trucks inched along, blaring country music. Like a massive trailer park serpent, each car or truck looked like it was attached to the bumper in front of it. People were friendly and yelled out their vulgar greetings. Lindsey was tempted a few times to holler back but didn’t. Instead, she spent the time thinking about David. I wonder what he’s doing right now.

  Once she reached the parking lot, Lindsey was amazed at how NASCAR had evolved into such a colossal event. Her dad never missed a race on TV, but it was quite different to see it in person. There were thousands of fans setting up their tailgate camps, each smiling face waiting for the green flag to drop. As she pulled in, she had to drive around the long lines at the port-o-johns.

  Their agreed-upon rally area was a campsite that had been set up by some friends from home. It took Lindsey nearly twenty minutes to find it, but she finally did. Everyone else had already gotten comfortable. They’d arrived a day early and would be leaving for home a day after everyone else. In the meantime, they lounged back, got drunk and did some serious people watching. There was no better spot, as thousands of characters walked past their site.

  And then she spotted her dad. He was sitting beside his friend, Ruggie, as well as a stack of coolers that were strapped into a red wagon by bungee cords. And, he was already drunk. Oh no, she thought, and approached him. “Hi Dad,” she said, kissing his bright red cheek.

  “Took you long enough,” he said.

  She ignored the comment and took a seat beside him. When she finally caught his attention, she whispered, “Don’t you think you should take it easy?” She pointed at his beer. “It’s still kind of early, right?”

  “What?” he said at a roar, making everyone look over. “We’re here to have fun, and I don’t need a nervous Nellie watching over me!”

  Lindsey nodded, while everyone else looked away. Denis Wood didn’t have a drinking problem, or at least that’s what he believed. His drinking was everyone else’s problem, especially Lindsey’s. Since her mother had left, the bottle had become his soul mate, and he couldn’t survive without it.

  After an embarrassing start, the next few hours were filled with a strange nostalgia.

  “Remember that first race I took you to at Seekonk Speedway?” Denis asked Lindsey, reminiscing about days gone by.

  “I do,” she said, remembering that very day with a hazy sense of terror. “After the races were over, it took me an hour before I finally found you in the parking lot.”

  He laughed. “You’re crazy! An hour.”

  She shook her head, deciding to laugh it off as well.

  Everyone was in good spirits. And the faster the beer flowed, the more her dad talked; it was an old tradition.

  After some more drinking, Lindsey, Ruggie and her dad started up the throughway toward the main gate. It was like a carnival, with both sides of the fairway lined with vendors selling everything from sausages to T-shirts. Lindsey looked back. Her dad was already lagging behind, swinging a heavy cooler with each staggering step. It wasn’t even noon and his Dale Earnhardt ball cap was already sitting crooked on his head. This is going to be a long day, Lindsey thought.

  Ruggie pulled, her dad pushed, and Lindsey carried whatever the wagon couldn’t bear. For the first ten steps, it worked well. Then, one of the bungee cords snapped and gouged a hole into Ruggie’s hand. Denis laughed. “I didn’t think that would hold,” he admitted, his words already slurred. As Lindsey wrapped Ruggie’s bloodied hand, they restacked the beer coolers and marched on.

  Like cattle, thousands filed through the gates. The track was huge. They spotted their seats but decided to check out the fairways inside. It was worth the tour. Tractor trailer trucks of souvenirs lined the black tar trail. Each famous driver had his own and from the lines formed, there was no question that they were raking in the dough. Denis pulled out a wad of cash. As if she were a little kid, he bought Lindsey a T-shirt and hat before they started back to their seats. The crowd was so thick, it was impossible not to bounce off of every third person.

  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Ruggie sat on one of the hard aluminum seats. Lindsey followed, and then her dad sat beside her. Each one of them slid a cooler beneath their seat. With the exception of two bottles of water, Lindsey’s cooler was also filled with cold beer. It was her dad and Ruggie’s reserve stock. The old man told her, “You should have something to drink. It’s going to be a hot one.”

  The opening ceremonies were incredible, almost spiritual. The celebrity drivers were announced and, two-by-two, the pairs came whipping by in the back of brand-new pickup trucks. The crowd cheered for each one. Then the national anthem played loudly over giant speakers. I pray you’re safe, David, Lindsey thought.

  At the end of the song, two Air Force jets roared directly overhead, leaving Lindsey with an arm full of goose bumps and hair standing on the back of her neck. It was an amazing thing to see. Denis offered Lindsey his first drunken elbow. “Ain’t that something?” he asked.

  She nodded, knowing that the day promised plenty more elbows. What fun.

  The row of cars circled the track and then lined up. The green flag was dropped, and they roared by with a fury unlike anything on God’s green earth. The sound was humbling. It gave Lindsey more goose bumps. Denis threw his second elbow. “Unbelievable, huh?” he said.

  You have no idea, she thought.

  As the sun beat down on them, the lead car got a five-car jump and stayed there for almost two hours. For every ten laps completed, Denis replaced another “dead soldier” with a full beer, making Lindsey cringe. It didn’t take long before he was through his cooler and already into the one under Lindsey’s seat. The elbows started flying faster than the stock cars.

  Just like basketball, the race was going to be decided in the last few minutes. It was exciting. People got to their feet. Denis swayed. Seconds later, it was over. Jeff Gordon won—mass exodus.

  As they left the stadium, Denis stumbled along like a blue crab, skirting sideways until hitting something that would right his bearings. Somehow, they all made it back to the campsite.

  The grills were fired up, and everyone settled in. They got caught up with their old friends, while Denis slurred his words beyond recognition. It would have been humiliating, but everyone knew Denis Wood. As marinated venison smoked, the conversation led to drugs and alcohol. Someone should have steered it in a different direction.

  Denis screamed, “So you’re saying that if a man had one year to retire and the poor bastard tested positive for drugs, you’d get rid of him?”

  His words were so garbled that Lindsey could hardly make them out. “I’m saying that there are rules, Dad, and as long as everyone knows the rules, everyone should be held accountable,” she answered, surprised that she was arguing with the same man who’d raised her. The role reversal felt very uncomfortable. Lindsey only talked to him like this because he was loaded and wasn’t going to remember a word of it.

  The old man went off. “What the hell…”

  Lindsey stood. “Dad, let’s talk about this when you’re sober,” she said and headed off. A quick walk might help me get through the rest of this nightmare.

  When Lindsey returned to the site, everything appeared to be the way she’d left it. The grill was smoking. Seven different conversations were going on at once. The radio blared with country twang. Then she saw him. Her dad was sitting alone on a fold-out chair. He had a plate of food in his lap, but his head was down. A sick feeling gnawed at her gut. She approached him. “Dad, are you all right?” she asked. When the old man lifted his head, Lindsey lost whatever air was left in her lungs.

  Denis’s face was blue, and his eyes were bulging out of his head. He tried to speak, but nothing would come out. Instead, saliva oozed out of the corner of his mouth. He looked at Lindsey. Even though he was completely
obliterated with alcohol, his eyes were struck with terror.

  He’s choking to death! she realized and scrambled to get behind him. She started yelling, trying to get everyone else’s attention, while she wrapped her arms around him and gave one squeeze into his gut from the seated position. No good, she thought, while a sense of panic was quickly filling her. Tony, the only other sober one in the bunch, hurried over. The rest of the drunks stood paralyzed, staring. Tony and Lindsey yanked Denis to his feet. Lindsey got her hands interlocked under his rib cage and gave another thrust. Still nothing. She did it again. The old man’s legs turned to rubber under him, and Lindsey felt her panic overflow; she was losing her father in her arms. Oh God, please… She jammed his abdomen hard again and heard him let out a slight gag. As he tried to reclaim his feet, she looked down and noticed a chunk of chicken marinated in saliva and mucous lying on the ground. We got it out! she realized and felt her own legs go limp.

  Lindsey spun in front of her father to watch two feet of snot swing from his nose to his knees. He gagged and choked, but he took in air. He coughed up a few more pieces of the dinner that had been lodged in his throat. His bloodshot eyes looked like they might actually explode. She patted his back twice more. Her head felt light and her legs began to quiver. He’s just erased two years from my life, she thought and took a seat.

  Her father, on the other hand, cleared his throat and spoke for the first time. “That was the best damn chicken I’ve ever tasted,” he joked, trying to reclaim some of his dignity.

  Everyone laughed—everyone but Lindsey. This grown child of a violent alcoholic understood that while they all froze, she and Tony were the only ones sober enough to take action. For that reason alone, her father still lived. For the first time that day, she thought, Thank God I was here.

  “Want something to eat?” Lindsey’s friends asked, but she couldn’t. Her hands were shaking too much. Instead, she dumped out the rest of her father’s meal and told him, “You’re all done drinking for the day.” Everyone froze again. No one could have said that to Denis Wood unless his life depended on it. For the first time in Lindsey’s life, the old man didnt’ argue. He nodded once, grabbed a bottle of water and took a sip, trying to get rid of that bad feeling in his gizzard.

  Lindsey thought, My father gave me life, and I’ve repaid the gift by giving him a second life. Part of her wished they were even. She looked at him and felt equal amounts of love and hatred. But we’ll never be even, she realized. We’re family.

  It was decided that Ruggie would stay the night at the campsite and sleep his buzz off, while Denis would go home with Lindsey.

  “That was fun,” Denis said on the ride home, trying to make light of his recent brush with death.

  Lindsey never replied. You’re just lucky I was there, she thought, and then filed the nightmare away with the rest of them.

  A few miles up the road, she thought, I hope there’s an email from David waiting for me at home. While the rest of the trip was traveled in silence, she directed her thoughts to dwell on more hopeful relationships.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  The following day, Ruggie called Lindsey to apologize.

  “It’s okay,” she told him, letting him off the hook.

  “I just got off the phone with your dad,” he said. “He says he can’t remember too much of what happened. He doesn’t remember choking, and he only knows that you saved his life because I just told him.”

  There was silence. They both knew. Along with a couple thousand brain cells, the old man’s life and death lesson had been lost in an ocean of beer.

  “Great,” Lindsey said, “I can’t wait ’til the next time we do a little family bonding.” Spending time with her father was like showering with a cheese grater—it got more painful each time.

  Ruggie laughed. “Next year, I’ll stay sober,” he said, “and you can get drunk.”

  “Then you’d better get your CPR card updated,” she joked.

  “Nah, your dad says he probably choked because he was sitting down. Next year, he says he’ll stand up…if he even eats at all.”

  They both stopped laughing. The old man isn’t kidding, Lindsey thought.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  The telephone rang again an hour later. Lindsey picked up.

  “Miss me, beautiful?” David asked.

  “It’s you!” she said, excited. “I didn’t know you could call home!”

  “It’s like getting locked up. We only get one call, and you were it.”

  “Good. Now where do I go to bail you out?”

  “I wish,” he said. “But you never answered my question. Do you miss me?”

  “Not at all,” she said, giggling.

  “Good. I don’t miss you either.”

  “I went to a race yesterday with my dad,” she told him. “A NASCAR race.”

  “How was it?” he asked.

  “Interesting,” she said, sparing him the stupid details. He has enough to worry about, she thought. “Jeff Groban won.”

  “Jeff Gordon or Josh Groban?” he asked, chuckling.

  “Yeah, one of them,” she joked. “They put on quite the patriotic show. You can’t believe how many people are behind you guys.”

  “That’s good to hear.” He paused. “More than you can imagine.”

  “Still bored over there?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t call it bored…just monotonous. We’re on patrols almost every day. It’s gotten so that I’m beginning to know the locals. They even wave at us as we search through their neighborhoods.”

  “Are you being nice to them?” she asked.

  “Of course I am.”

  “Any bad guys?” she asked.

  “A bunch of them,” he said, “but thankfully, they’re on our side.”

  She laughed. “I’m glad it’s going well, David, but please be safe.”

  “I will.” He paused. “So the Sox look like they’re out of the race, huh?”

  “Yeah. Unfortunately, the math doesn’t work anymore for them to get into the playoffs.”

  “That stinks.”

  “There are worse tragedies.”

  “Very true,” he mumbled.

  “I put your care package in the mail a few days ago. I hope the postal service is kind enough to deliver it in one piece.”

  “That’s awesome. Thank you so much. Any sweets?”

  “Of course, plus a few books, some of my favorite music, a juicy love letter…”

  “A love letter?” he asked, interrupting.

  “Yup,” she said, “and you’ll have to wait to read what’s in it.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Well, from what I hear, life’s not fair.”

  “I thought you said that life was better than good.”

  “Exactly! See, now you’re getting it. It’s all about attitude, and I’d rather choose a positive one.”

  “Good attitude,” he teased.

  “I hope you like the books I sent. You like to read, right?”

  “I do. In fact, I was just thinking about all those bookshelves inside the lighthouse.”

  She giggled. “So what else do you like?”

  “I like all types of music, especially ‘The Dance’ by Garth Brooks. And I also enjoy all types of movies.”

  “Now who’s being random?” she teased. “I was hoping you would say me.”

  “You,” he said.

  She laughed. “Good.”

  “What’s your favorite song?” he asked.

  “I have lots of favorite songs, but Sarah McLachlan’s ‘Angel’is my best favoritest.”

  “Best favoritest?” he repeated.

  “Well, it is,” she said and laughed.

  There was a pause. “I hate this part as much as you, beautiful,” he said, “but I gotta go.”

  “Don’t go far,” she whispered.

  “Not where you can’t reach me,” he said. “And I’ll stay safe, okay?”

  “Above all else,” she said. “An
d thanks so much for calling me. It was great to hear your voice.”

  “Thanks for answering,” he said. “Bye, beautiful.”

  4

  Unlike the weather, which had turned bitterly cold, the daily foot patrols were starting to get comfortable. David was even taking the lead on some of them now, searching out anyone who might like to greet them with a rocket-propelled grenade.

  “What are your plans after we’re done over here?” Billy asked Lieutenant Menker.

  “I’ll be getting into the family business,” Kevin answered nonchalantly.

  “And what’s that?” Billy followed up.

  “I come from a long line of cops, and that’s the next stop for me.”

  David nodded. Makes sense, he thought. Kevin’s the perfect backup when the world gets all dark and scary.

  “What about you?” Kevin asked Billy.

  Billy laughed. “I’d like to do another tour right here.”

  Everyone looked over at the young buck, cross-eyed.

  “Where else can you lay down a beating like we do and get paid for it?” he asked.

  Shaking heads traveled down the line.

  David glanced over at Nathan, who was looking at the photograph of his sons—and trying to conceal it from the rest of them. That sucks, David thought.

  “Not me,” Max chimed in. “I want to get home to Max Jr. I’ve missed that kid something terrible from the moment we left.”

  “I hear that,” Nathan agreed, tucking his photograph back into his cap.

  David shook his head in sympathy. Both Nate and Max have been tortured every minute we’ve been here.

  The patrol walked quietly for a while and, as he occasionally did, David pulled his father’s note out of his pants cargo pocket and read it. Keep your head down? He shook his head, thinking, I’m not sure that’s such great advice, Pop. Fifty yards down the road, his thoughts of home shifted to Lindsey’s beautiful face, and he recounted their most recent communication.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  “How was lunch with my mom?” David asked.

  “Great,” Lindsey said. “She’s such a sweet person, but…”

  “But?”

  “Considering that you and I only had one date before you left, I…”