After breakfast, not able to bring himself to go back to the big empty structure he now called home, Lee walked up and down Center Street. The business district seemed to appeal to women, with all the boutique-like shops and cute little restaurants. Hannah and Her Sisters was listed on the marquee of the local movie theater. Not much of a man’s town, he thought.
He drove around the lake and down WI-67 into neighboring towns, stopping at a roadside stand in Sharon to pick up some fruit to tide him over until the cook arrived. He asked the gangly pimple-faced boy behind the stand what people there did for fun.
“Nothin’,” he replied with a deadpan expression. “Unless you’re rich, it’s very boring ‘round here.”
Lee laughed. “So what do the rich people do for fun?”
“They sail around the lake in their fancy boats, go to country clubs, play golf, get laid. How the hell do I know?”
Well, that was helpful.
Four miles out of Rockton, after driving on a long stretch of road with nothing but open fields on either side, he spotted a roadside bar called the Deer Bottom Inn and Brewery and pulled into the small parking lot.
It was obvious as soon as he walked in how the establishment had gotten its name: mounted high on the wall in the smoke-filled room hung the posterior of a white-tailed deer. A dozen or so seats at the bar and as many small four-seater tables filled the dimly lit room. He sat down at one end of the bar. A slow country-western song resonated from a beat-up jukebox in the corner.
The bar was more crowded than he would have expected so early in the day. The two men on his left were discussing the Bears’ last season. Lee knew they had been ranked number one in something or other but didn’t know what. Their discussion soon switched to McClaskey’s decision to sever all ties with the Honey Bear cheerleaders, which seemed to garner more of their attention than the team’s performance. A couple on his right appeared to be arguing over her spending habits, something about no one needing thirty-five pairs of shoes.
Fearful someone would try to strike up a conversation with him, and he would have nothing to say, Lee considered leaving without ordering anything, but before he could decide, a bartender came over and asked him what he wanted to order. She was a tall buxom blonde, somewhere in her twenties, wearing neon-green tights and an oversized shirt with the top three buttons open, the type of girl men his age fantasized about.
Popping her gum, she asked, “What’s your pleasure?”
His pleasure would have been a nice vintage port or a snifter of French cognac, but in a place called Deer Bottom Inn, he thought better of it.
“A beer, please.”
She raised one eyebrow and threw her glance toward the chalkboard behind the bar that listed the varieties of beer they carried. “The first three are ones we brew ourselves.”
“How about a Budweiser?” It was the only brand he had ever tried.
She poured a glass of beer from the tap and slid it down the bar a good ten feet. It stopped precisely in front of him. He thanked her with a nod and smile and then turned his attention to the menu she had placed in front of him. It was limited: wings, burgers, pizza, pulled-pork sandwiches, and French fries.
“The pizza is the best around. We make it fresh in the back,” she said. It was hard not to notice the young woman’s curves—the deep opening of her shirt left little to one’s imagination. When he realized he was staring at her chest, he quickly looked away.
“No, thanks. Not really that hungry.” Now not knowing where to look, Lee focused on the deer’s rear end above the bar, while the pretty bartender dried a highball glass a few feet down the bar.
“Pretty clever, huh?” she said.
“Pardon me?”
“The deer ass.”
“I guess. What’s behind it?”
Her face broke into a wide grin. “You are.”
He gave her a puzzled look.
She walked closer to him and glanced up at the mounted carcass. “Do you know how many people have come in here and asked that question? Think about it.”
It took him several seconds. “Oh...I get it.” He read the name badge pinned to her blouse. “What’s CJ stand for?”
“CJ,” she said through a smile. She had a nice smile.
Without any encouragement, CJ stopped by to chat with him in between customers. He learned that she lived with her two young sons in a rented house on a large piece of property in Durand just south of the Illinois-Wisconsin border. In the evening, while CJ tended bar, her sister watched her kids. CJ didn’t mention where their father was, if there was one in the picture.
He tried to imagine himself with a girl like her, but it was hard to form an image in his head when he had so little to go by. He wondered how guys even knew if a girl would want to go on a date with them. Where do you learn this stuff? He figured it would have been a whole lot easier to have started learning about girls when he was twelve and was expected to be naive and awkward.
He finished his beer, put a ten-dollar bill on the bar, and got up to leave.
CJ glanced at the ten spot. “Change?”
“No, but thanks.”
“For what?”
“For talking to me.”
While it may have been just an out-of-the-way small-town bar that catered to middle-class blue-collar locals, Lee left feeling a little better than he had when he’d first walked in.
6 | Uncle Nelson Is Dead
Having just left the pleasing modesty of Deer Bottom Inn, Lee didn’t feel much like going back to the opulent lake house, but he had nowhere else to go. He pulled into the driveway, parked his car, and walked through the front door, sinking back into the hollow mood he’d been in when he’d left earlier that day.
Sitting in one of the imposing high-backed chairs in the front room, he studied the room’s impersonal character—the baby grand piano in the corner, the bronze statues, the imported throw rug in the middle of the room with its indiscernible figures woven into it. He perused the three Baroque-style paintings signifying triumph, power, and control that his father no doubt had selected and which had probably cost more than most people made in a year. It was as if someone had been told to design a room that would make most people feel uncomfortable. Mission accomplished.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor. The atmosphere wasn’t much different up there except for the one back bedroom that had been recently emptied for painting and carpeting. He hunkered down on the hard sub-flooring, drew up his knees, and buried his face in his arms, thinking about his brothers’ perfect lives and wondering what was wrong with him.
* * *
A warm streak of sunlight created a bright path from the bedroom window to the hallway door, blinding Lee for a brief moment. His body ached after spending the night on the hard floor, and his stomach growled from not having eaten anything substantial since breakfast the day before. He sat there for a minute thinking about how stupid it had been to sleep on the floor when he was steps away from a number of soft beds in lavishly furnished bedrooms.
He found Shaneta, the cook who his mother had sent from their Evanston home, in the kitchen cooking breakfast—one more servant he didn't want to deal with but probably needed. Even though he had watched his family members deal with “the help” his entire life, he had never gotten the hang of it. Being terse with them seemed cold and condescending, but treating them in a friendly way didn’t seem right either.
The sound of the phone ringing interrupted his thoughts. Sonya came in and announced his mother on the phone.
When he picked it up, he immediately detected the distress in her voice. Uncle Nelson had died of a massive heart attack. The funeral was in three days. While Lee had met his mother’s favorite uncle only a few times when he was very young, he was well aware of her fondness for him and felt he had an obligation to be there for her.
Uncle Nelson had always been somewhat of an enigma to Lee. His mother had always talked about him as though he was a close relative, but the
man never came to family get-togethers nor had the Winekoops ever gone to his home in Indiana. Lee didn’t even know if he had a family—somehow he had never thought to ask. Lee’s mother spoke of him as a generous and loving man, but Lee had no evidence of that other than the coin collection the man had given him when he was born.
While driving to Evanston the day before the funeral, Lee agonized over what to tell his parents about his future plans. Of course, he had no plans, and the closer he got to home, the closer he came to the realization that he wasn’t going to be able to come up with one.
When he walked into the house, his parents were in the middle of an argument.
“I don’t see why I have to go,” his father said.
This seemed insensitive, even for him.
“For appearance’s sake, Henry.”
“You’re asking too much this time. And for God’s sake, you’re acting like you’re still—”
“Just one more time won’t—”
When Lee entered the room, his mother turned to greet him. Her eyes were red and swollen.
“Mother, is everything all right?”
She reached out to him, pulling him into her arms so quickly and solidly, it stunned him. She hugged him for several seconds, something Lee didn’t remember her ever having done before. Her perfume overwhelmed him, causing a momentary wave of nausea, “Level Four” as he had referred to it his whole life, precursor to a panic attack. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before she let go of him.
His father left the room without saying anything more.
“Are you okay, Mother?”
Her hunched shoulders made her appear much shorter than she actually was. She shook her head. “No, not really.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“It's your loss too,” she sobbed.
“Yes, of course,” he said, not knowing why it was a loss for him. He hadn’t known the man. “What’s with Father?”
His mother didn’t answer.
“Will he be going to the funeral?”
“He’ll go,” she whispered.
The next morning, two limos transported everyone to Uncle Nelson’s hometown of Valparaiso, Indiana, for the funeral. Lee, his parents, and his two brothers rode in one car and his brothers’ families in the other.
His mother was painfully quiet in the car, staring out the window for long periods, appearing to be in some other place. After a half hour of silence, she turned to Lee and asked, “So what have you decided to do now, Lee?”
Even though he was expecting the question, he was surprised at the timing of it. “I’m thinking about going on for my PhD.” He had come up with that one right out of the air. He had no intention of doing that.
“In gardening?” his father asked.
Lee didn’t respond.
“Horticulture, Henry.”
“Right. Horticulture.”
Lee was tempted to say No, I thought I’d take up home economics this time and specialize in sewing. “I could do some very important research with a PhD. Maybe make a difference.”
“A difference in what? Flowers and vegetables?” his father snapped.
His brothers turned their gazes out their respective windows, not uttering a word.
Lee took a few seconds to compose himself before responding. “A difference in medical science. They are starting to do unbelievable things in genetic modification these days.”
“And...so what?” Henry asked.
“So...if we can figure out a way to manipulate DNA molecules to produce modified plants, maybe we can do the same in animals and humans.”
“I’ll ask it again. So what? Where’s the money in it?”
“We’re here,” his mother said, putting an end to the conversation.
Mourners streamed into the funeral home. Lee’s father opened his door to exit the car.
“Wait,” Lee’s mother said.
“What?”
“We’re not going in.”
“Why?” his father asked. Lee could tell he was annoyed.
“I just can’t.”
“Abigale, we drove all this—”
“I know. But I just can’t go in. Please. Let’s go home.”
“We’re going in.”
“No. We’re not.” Her voice was soft, but her statement was resolute.
Lee and his brothers looked at each other in disbelief.
“Shall I tell the other driver to turn around, Mother?” Bennett finally asked.
“Yes,” his mother said.
No one uttered another word on the never-ending ride back to the Winekoop household. Once there, everyone went their separate ways.
Lee went into his bedroom. Propped up against the desk lamp was a sealed envelope with his name on it. Inside was a letter written on crème-colored stationery with the insignia NOS printed in gold-embossed lettering at the top. He scanned to the bottom of the page—it had been signed “Nelson.”
My Dear Lee,
For reasons you may never appreciate, I have asked your mother not to tell you about my health issues until after I’m gone. If you are reading this letter, that time must have arrived.
I didn’t want you to hear about your inheritance from someone who was completely unfamiliar to you, so I am telling you about it in this letter. That said, I regret not having been closer to you. Someday you’ll understand why.
My estate will be divided ten ways, and you are among the beneficiaries.
There is a piece of land in Harvard, Illinois I own, 684 acres to be exact, that I want you to have. Now, that may not seem like a lot to you right now, but I predict, after an appropriate length of time, you will know just what to do with it to make it worthy. And I want to help you with that, too, so I have put $500,000 in a trustee-managed account for you.
I have significant faith in you, Lee. I know you won’t let down your mother, yourself, or me.
Sincerely,
Nelson
Lee curled up on the bed, and finding the letter’s content too overwhelming to fully digest, he fell asleep, fully clothed.
7 | No Trespassing
Lee awoke the next morning temporarily immobilized by an intense headache. He lay in bed, occupying himself with mindless thoughts, until the headache gradually subsided.
He was even more bewildered by the content of Uncle Nelson’s letter after sleeping on it. The most troubling aspect of it was the line, “I know you won’t let down your mother, yourself, or me.” Lee had spent his entire life letting people down. After rereading the letter and not understanding it any better, he shoved it into a pocket of his backpack.
The thought of going downstairs to his family made the situation even more unsettling. He had no idea whether his parents were aware of what the letter said. Lee took his time showering and getting dressed. Then he drew in a deep breath and prepared himself for the worst.
As he descended the stairs, he heard his mother say, “Stop. We don’t know that for sure, Henry.”
His parents and brothers, all sitting at the dining room table drinking coffee, stopped talking when he entered the room.
“It’s about time,” Henry said.
“Sorry. I must have overslept.”
“So you read Uncle Nelson’s letter?” Henry asked.
“Henry, give him a chance to get settled,” his mother said. “What would you like for breakfast, dear?”
“I’m not very hungry, thank you.” He glanced at his father.
“So?” Henry asked.
“He writes a nice letter.”
“I mean what did you think of what he had to say?”
Now Lee was sorry he had been the last to come down. They probably all knew what each other had inherited.
Lee turned to his brothers. “I assume we got the same letter,” he said as he nervously tapped his fingers together under the table. They shrugged. “So what did you two think?”
Nelson spoke first. “We always kn
ew he was wealthy, but half a million each?”
Lee tried not to let his sigh of relief be heard. “Right. That’s how I felt too.”
He didn’t know why his brothers were looking at him so strangely but figured it had something to do with the conversation that had transpired prior to his joining them. He felt left out—but that was nothing unusual.
Henry grunted. “Well, I can predict how you and Bennett will handle your inheritance,” he said to Nelson, “but how about you, Lee? What will be—”
“Henry, can’t you give him time to—”
Henry got up from his chair. “I’m going to the office,” he said, leaving everyone else speechless.
“What is he so angry about?” Lee asked.
No one answered.
“Did I miss something this morning?”
“No, dear. You didn’t miss anything,” his mother responded. She looked tired, her face more pallid than usual. “Are you going back to Lake Geneva, Lee? Or will you be staying here for a while?”
He was convinced they all knew something he didn’t, and suddenly he felt like an intruder in his own home. “I’m going back, Mother. I just need to gather my things.”
“I wish you’d stay.” She reached out and touched his arm. “I could use the company.”
“Let him go, Mother,” Nelson said with little emotion.
That was all Lee needed to hear. He got up from the table and faced his mother. “I’m going to be on my way now. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do. I’m very sorry about Uncle Nelson. I know you were very close to him. I’ll call you in a few days.”
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