Rough Draft

by James W. Hall

  A man sat down beside Randall. He was tall and he was blond and he wore dark sunglasses. He had on a pair of navy blue slacks and a white golf shirt and a gray blazer. His loafers had tassels. There was a large gold watch on his right wrist and a gold bracelet on the left.

  He sat for a minute and caught his breath. He was carrying a garment bag folded in half and he laid it on his lap.

  The man’s blond hair was shaggy around the sides, but on top it had thinned and pink scalp was beginning to show.

  He had not aged well. His flesh was sagging. There were pouches under his eyes and his ears seemed to have doubled in size. He had stubble on his cheeks and he licked his lips repeatedly.

  The man looked over at the college girls and smiled. The girls ignored him.

  The man spoke to Randall.

  He told him hello. He asked him how he was.

  Randall replied that he was fine.

  The man asked him if he was going on a trip.

  Yes, Randall told the man. I’m meeting my father and I’m going away with him. I’m going to live in Norway.

  Norway is a beautiful land, the man said. That’s what I’ve heard.

  Randall said nothing. He watched the cowboys drop their cigarettes to the carpet and grind the smoldering butts beneath their boots.

  Are you ready to go right now? the man asked Randall. Are you ready for this long adventure to begin?

  Randall turned his head and looked into the man’s eyes.

  “Are you my dad?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re late.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was unavoidable.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you would come.”

  “I got your E-mail, son. I was very pleased at your change of heart.”

  “Mother thinks I’m at a friend’s house.”

  “We don’t need to talk about your mother. Your mother is no longer a concern.”

  Randall was quiet for a moment, looking at the people pass by in front of him. Then he turned his head and fixed his eyes on his father’s eyes.

  “Why’d you do it?” he said. “Why’d you murder them?”

  The man looked over his shoulder. He leaned forward and stared at the large woman in the black dress. No one was paying any attention to them.

  “We can talk about this later, Randall.”

  “I want to know now before I go with you. I want to know why you did that. Why you killed Granddaddy and Nana.”

  His father took a deep breath and blew it out. When he spoke, his voice was quiet.

  “You didn’t know them, Randall, not like I did. They were cruel people. Your grandparents were vindictive and spiteful. They tried to destroy my life. They hated me.”

  “I loved them,” Randall said. He looked off at the stream of people. “I loved them very much.”

  “You didn’t know them,” the man said. “You only saw one side of them.”

  “All right,” Randall said. “That’s all I can do.”

  “What?”

  “You can come out now,” Randall said. “That’s all I can do. I don’t want to do this anymore. You can come out now.”

  The blond man stood up.

  “What is this, son? What are you saying?”

  The blond man looked down the concourse and saw the men in blue suits jogging in his direction. He looked the other way and saw more men hurrying through the crowd.

  From across the concourse, Hannah Keller stood up from the orange seat where she’d been sitting. The two cowboys tipped their hats at her as she walked briskly toward her son and the tall blond man he so closely resembled.

  Who he resembled not at all.

  “He’s a natural,” Frank said.

  They were sitting at the Silver Sands tiki bar watching Randall try to paddle the one-man kayak beyond the first line of surf. The waves kept crashing into him, pushing him back, spinning him around. But the boy wasn’t giving up. He’d regain his balance, paddle backward for a while, get settled in the calm water, and then try again to crash through that first barrier of surf.

  “He’s holding his own,” Hannah said.

  “You seem surprised.”

  Hannah had a small sip of the Chardonnay. It was Saturday afternoon, a couple of weeks till Thanksgiving. Tourist season about to crank up again. Warm and clear, but not muggy anymore.

  “Did you decide what to do, Frank?”

  “You mean about Ackerman’s offer, the big promotion?”

  “That’s right. Are you going back? Let bygones be bygones?”

  “What do you think, Hannah?”

  “I think you probably told him to go take a flying leap.”

  “My words exactly.”

  They watched Randall paddling the kayak, angling around for the right slant into the waves.

  Frank said, “Boys are pretty tenacious creatures. Something about hormones, I think. Give ’em the right task, the right motivation, they’ll keep working at it till their muscles give out.”

  She eyed him skeptically. He was shirtless. Just a pair of burgundy running shorts. He looked like he hadn’t combed his hair in weeks.

  “Looks to me like he’s just trying to survive,” Hannah said. “Trying not to drown.”

  “Well, I’d call that pretty good motivation, wouldn’t you?”

  Randall was hunkered low in the yellow kayak. He watched the waves coming, timing his start, then he lifted his paddle and worked it furiously through the water, driving the point of the kayak into the line of surf.

  The wave that crested before him was the largest one Hannah had seen all afternoon. For a moment it appeared to be some kind of goddamn monster tsunami, a rogue wave rolling in out of the deep blue.

  Hannah jumped down from her stool and sprinted out to the beach. But by the time she got to the water’s edge, Randall had broken through the foaming line of turbulence and was floating out on a calm patch of sea. He set his paddle on the hull of the kayak and waved his hand above his head.

  “I did it!” he yelled. “I made it.”

  Hannah waved back.

  Frank was beside her in the sand. He handed her the glass of wine.

  “See,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah, he made it, but can he make it back?”

  “Making it back is the easy part.”

  Frank sat down on a hump of sand and leaned back.

  “Sit down, Hannah. Relax for a while. The kid’s having fun.”

  “Fun? You call this fun? He’s risking his life out there.”

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “Ain’t it great?”