“Her name is Mandy Wilkes. She’s supposed to be with the water company.”
“We know who she is,” a man with a cap that said Farmers Feed America hissed.
I looked him in the eye, waiting for more.
“She ain’t that bad, Fred. She’s got a job to do,” a younger man said. What has this kid gotten into? I wondered. “Do you know where I can find her?” I asked.
I was told to try the Engineering Department for the city.
Fred, a mountain of a man, got up from the table and stood behind me. He placed a massive hand on my shoulder and said, “I hope you take her back to California with you, mister.” His tone was even and his face pleasant. The eyes however transmitted heat.
“She’s from Washington State.” He gave a what-ever look and walked away.
I watched him walk to the door. His coveralls were clean as was his plaid green and gold flannel shirt. The distinctive circle of a can of Copenhagen imprinted one of his rear pockets. I turned and saw the others still at the table looking at me. I was beginning to feel animosity when suddenly the waitress said, “What can I get for ya?”
I just had coffee.
A younger man took the stool next to me and said, “Don’t let Fred get to ya. He’s a great guy.”
I told the man I was just looking to give Mandy a message. To say she possibly was my daughter was none of anybody’s business. I was curious, though. “What’s the beef with her?”
“It ain’t her,” a man at the table said. “It’s what she does, who she works for and what not.”
I learned that Mandy worked for the city under a grant from the state to get rid of agriculture drainage wells. Some farmers over the last 100-plus years connected their sewage systems to Ag wells, sending raw sewage into drainage ditches that leeched into the ground. The chemicals and pesticides and sewage were contaminating the drinking water.
“Shoot. Iowa was eighty percent prairie in the early 1800s,” added a lanky man with wide yellow suspenders over a blue shirt. My empty stare must have let him in on the fact that I didn’t know what that had to do with anything. “Tall grasses have deep roots that soak up and hold water, ya see. So the crop was hay and oats. Because of subsidies, the government encourages corn and soybean production which don’t absorb diddly squat. We grew food and the prairie went away.”
“Yeah, and the heavy rains cause flooding,” the younger man said.
“What does that have to do with Fred and Mandy?” I asked.
“Well, sir, we don’t like change around these parts, ya know,” said a man who up to that time appeared to be asleep. “Now, most of us can adapt to these changes over time, but Fred, well, he come from a stock that resists change. His pa was the same way. Even if it’s good for ya, if it’s different, he don’t like it. He don’t want no part of it.”
The more I listened, the more I longed to get out of this place.
“So, old Fred, he run her offa his piece. She comes traipsing through the place with test tubes and kits and what not, taking samples and such, which by the way the law says she can do. But not on Fred’s patch. She calls the cops on him and they arrest him. Picture in the paper and everything,” the young man told me.
“ Fred was quoted in the local newspaper after his arrest” he added. ‘My granddaddy homesteaded this land, cleared it, plowed it, planted it and, at time suffered severe losses either from the elements or price drops. So somebody coming on my land telling me what I can and can’t do, well sir, that ain’t right.’
A few chuckles and a couple of knee slaps later and I left. Walking away I thought that Mandy, a West Coast gal, had taken on a no-win task with Middle America farmers.
Chapter Nine
I followed a city public works truck into a maintenance parking lot behind the city office complex. Cyclone fencing surrounded the entire yard. The driver of the truck pointed me toward a light brown metal building that I passed on the way in.
Nobody was in the reception area, but I heard a radio playing somewhere in the building. “Hello?” I said down a hallway. “Be right there,” a female voice replied.
Mandy came into the reception area and said, “How can I help you?”
Her hair was light brown and cut short, but stylish. She was thin in the face with green eyes and a solid chin. She looked nothing like her high school senior portrait taken decades before. I expected an eighteen year old; before me stood a woman in her early forties. I saw her mother in posture and expressions, but not a hint of Webb. Or did I? There was a glimmer of recognition across her face.
“Mandy, I’m Venice Webb.”
She seemed to lose her balance momentarily, but quickly recovered and took on a wide stance. “Yes, I recognize you from pictures that Kerrie had. What in blue blazes are you doing here?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
She put her hands on the reception counter and said, “Is she dead?”
“No. But she is dying and wants to see you.”
I didn’t know what kind of reaction there would be. Tears, snorts, or maybe a “who cares” scenario. I didn’t expect her to be stony.
“I have a ticket for you so you can go see her,” I said gently.
She looked startled and stood straighter and whispered, “I’m not going to see her. She sends her ex-husband to find me and she wants me to come home; hell no.”
I told her that was up to her and that I wished she’d think it over. I almost walked away then, for as beautiful as Iowa was, so far, I didn’t care for the people, even though that was probably unfair. The guys in the café were okay except for Fred, and he was just standing up for what he believed in. But this little brat was pissing me off. But then again, I didn’t know the whole story. That and the part where she might be my daughter kept me from walking out.
“Can I take you to dinner, Mandy?” I asked. “I want to tell you what’s going on with your mother.”
She hesitated for several seconds and then said, “Dinner is alright, but I’m not all that interested in her.”
“Will you at least hear me out?” I asked.
She grinned and with a sudden shift in her mood, put her hand out and replied, “It’s the least I can do, if you’re taking me to dinner.”
I shook her hand and asked where she’d like to eat.
“Just as long as it’s not around here. I’m considered the ditch bitch and people would like to see me leave town on a rail.”
“Yeah, I know. I met some of them at breakfast this morning.”
“Let me guess. Fred Blank was one of them.”
I told her his name was Fred, but I never got a last name. From my description she confirmed it was Blank.
I followed her to her house in Clear Lake, several miles west of Mason City, so she could change from work clothes.
“I need to take a shower. Help yourself to a beer. I’ll be right out. Feel at home.”
I wandered through her wood frame house. It was a two bedroom single story place of unknown vintage with a nice porch in front in a neighborhood of similar houses.
Mandy’s furnishings were well worn and looked comfortable.
I saw no indication of anything that might belong to a male. Was Porter Harmon out of the picture?
“There’s a nice wood fire steak place in town. It’s decent,” she said from the bedroom. I told her it sounded fine.
I was struck by the absence of anything personal; no photos, no diplomas or heirlooms. Suddenly I was saddened that this girl was alone with no legacy to cling to except for a mother who she cared nothing about. The co-dependant in me wanted to fix that. Stay on your side of the street, Webb.
I looked out her backdoor, through a meadow that fell off to a creek. Trees dotted her yard, which was a natural landscape and pleasing. An old weathered picnic table sat under a maple. No chairs or benches were around.
“Did you get a beer?” she asked.
I turned around and looked into her eyes. I saw them brim with
tears, then her chin quivered, and my heart broke. She wasn’t a stone after all.
I stepped toward her and she fell into my arms sobbing. All I could think to do was stroke her hair and whisper, “hush” to her. This is what a father would do, I thought.
Abruptly, she broke the embrace and said, “Well, that was unexpected,” and whirled to open the refrigerator. “Well, do you want a cold one? I sure do.”
“No, honey. You go ahead. I don’t drink.”
She unscrewed the cap and tossed it on the tile counter top. I imagined the hearty flavor and the sting from the carbonation, and was momentarily jealous.
She offered me water and I said yes. She took a tumbler from the cupboard and held it under the tap.
She handed me the water and asked, “What’s the matter with Kerrie?”
I told her about the cancer and the treatments, and about Vayda.
“How long does she have?”
“Not long,” I said solemnly.
She sat at the kitchen table gazing out the window, her right hand holding her beer and her left over her mouth. She turned to me and said, “Did you really buy me a plane ticket?”
I hadn’t gotten her a ticket, because I didn’t know if I’d be able to find her. “No, but I will. We can fly there together,” I replied with hope.
“I’m hungry. Let’s eat,” she said, draining her brew and standing up.
The restaurant was cozy and the aroma of rib eyes grilling made my mouth water. There was a bar lined with barstools on the right wall and a couple of cocktail tables. Straight ahead was the kitchen, which was open for all to see. On the left wall was a fireplace giving off nice heat and comfort. Tables were in front of and next to the fire place.
Mandy ordered a beer and I had orange juice with club soda. Between the salad and the main dish, I asked Mandy what had happened between her and Kerrie. She scrunched her nose and tilted her head to the left once and said, “Our lives veered away after high school. Her plans for me differed from my plans for me.”
I told her that that sounded like pretty typical mother-daughter stuff.
“I guess. She wanted me to get a teaching credential and run a pre-school. I wanted no part of teaching.”
“She just sold three schools when she found out she was terminal,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Do you mind if I have another beer?” she asked.
I gave her an intense look, but told her it was fine with me.
“Kerrie told me you were an alcoholic, and that’s why she left you.”
“I suppose that was part of it. I was disabled and couldn’t do the job anymore. I crawled inside the bottle; felt sorry for myself, ya know.”
She stared at me and said, “You guys veered too.” As she said that, she sat back and looked like she wanted to shrink.
“What is it?” I asked.
I saw her look over my right shoulder to the bar. I started to turn, and she whispered, “No! Don’t.”
“What is it, Mandy?”
“One of Fred Blank’s boys, Adam, just walked in, and it looks like he’s had one too many.”
Behind me I could hear the raised voices at the bar. “Ditch Bitch”, “Broad and Dame” were clearly discernable.
“Just ignore him,” I said.
“Welcome to my world, Venice.” My thought was, this isn’t her world, not by a mile. She doesn’t belong here.
Things at the bar seemed to get quieter, so I attempted to continue the conversation about the torn relationship. “Those things certainly seem minor and easily repaired,” I said. “You and your mother’s relationship, I mean.”
“That wasn’t the only thing, Venice. There was a man.”
Porter Harmon.
Mandy told me her mother was dating a younger man, and for a time it was great for her and Kerrie. “He was a nice guy. He was very helpful after my husband was killed.”
“Russ Wilkes,” I said flatly. “Where does Porter Harmon fit in here?” I asked.
“Wow, you really are a PI, aren’t you?” She slathered butter on her baked potato and continued, “Porter is Kerrie’s boyfriend and he gets tired of Kerrie, or it could be the other way around. Anyhow he starts hanging around the coffee shop and as things happen, we started dating.” Mandy told me she was upfront about it with Kerrie, and that Kerrie was square with it.
“But that was bogus. She flipped her lid when she saw us together, made a real scene at the Rainier Room in Blueport. So Porter and I get a place together, and that was the last I saw of Kerrie.”
“Neither one of you made an attempt to reconcile?”
“How do you reconcile with a viper?” she said with a snort.
“What happened to Harmon?”
“He was no good. He was looking for a free ride. I overheard him tell one of his friends that he was going for the money, and that he could learn to love later,” she said disgustedly. “I wonder what money he was talking about.”
There was a lull in our conversation as we ate, until Mandy said, “I have some questions for you. Do you want to know what they are?”
I nodded and she continued, “Did you ever wonder about me?”
I was flabbergasted by the question. That’s what a child asks a parent when they meet years after the child has been abandoned.
“Honey, I found out about you ten days ago,” I replied cautiously.
“Oh.” That was all she said, and fell silent.
“What’s on your mind, Mandy? Ask it.”
She was peeling the label from the beer bottle, her jaw set and eyes steely. “It’s just that because I had your last name, I thought you were my father,” she said and hunched her shoulders.
I told her that after her mother left me I only saw her twice; once at a funeral years ago and the second time was only ten days ago. “Never once did she contact me about you. Had I known about you or that you were possibly my child, I would have been there. I hope you know that.”
“You would? You would have claimed me?” she asked with brimming eyes.
“Of course, I would have. I know she’s very sick, but still, I’m very pissed off at your mother for withholding that important fact from me.”
“There must be some reason why she gave me your last name, Venice. I was thinking seriously about going with you to see her, but now I’m angry at her again.”
“Mandy, I guess she did what she thought was the right thing at the time. Was it selfish? Probably, but that stuff has to pass. Life is too short, and for Kerrie it’s down to the end game. She needs you, and you, believe it or not, need her.”
“I hope you are my father, Venice.”
That caught me off-guard and I replied with watery eyes as I placed my hand over my heart. “Mandy, that is the greatest compliment I have ever received. Thank you so very much.”
We gazed at each other for several seconds and I asked her to tell me about her job. “I got my degree in marine biology from the university and I’m full of myself. I was offered jobs up and down the coast. One in Santa Cruz, California looked nice, but I passed on it because of a better opportunity in Hawaii. As it turns out, I should’ve taken Santa Cruz because Hawaii went to a local,” she sighed. “I thought Kerry was calling these labs and sabotaging me, but eventually I realized she wasn’t that powerful.”
Mandy drained her beer and continued, “I was about to accept a job in Spokane, which I didn’t want, but I was desperate.”
“What was so bad about a job in Spokane?” I asked. She told me she needed to get out of Kerrie’s orbit. “We sniped at each other, and I swear if I stayed, there might have been violence. Then one day I get a letter from the State of Iowa offering me this job, and here I am.” She sat quietly for a few moments, almost like she’d lost her train of thought. “I hit the ground running when I got here. My boss gives me a stack of files and plot maps for drainage problems on farms. So here I am, this girl from the coast telling these farmers what they have to do and I get nothing but the air.” r />
I asked her if she thought it was because she was female.
Just then a commotion broke out at the bar; a ruckus was brewing, and the bartender was yelling for somebody to call the cops.
The horror in Mandy’s eyes caused me to spin around just as a huge young man headed our way. He was carrying a mug of beer and his zipper was down. He weaved between the tables and stopped at ours. “I got ya a brew,” he slurred. Then he poured it over Mandy’s head. But it was urine, not beer. Mandy screeched and retched, and I stood and pasted the guy in the jaw, knocking him into the fireplace. Tables and chairs were upended and patrons scattered.
“He pulled his schlong out and pissed in a beer mug!” The bartender yelled. The guy stood back up and took a fighter’s stance and started to bob and weave, then charged me. It was a good thing he was drunk; he must have seen two of me, because he lunged and landed on the floor. The bartender and a cop got him to his feet and wrestled him to the door. I looked around for Mandy but she was gone. The waitress had taken her to the restroom.
Busboys were setting the furniture right and things started to settle down. Our meal was ruined, to say the least. I felt helpless. I wandered in the direction of the restrooms, and I could hear Mandy sobbing, and the waitress telling her it was gonna be okay.
“I wish I’d never come to this hell hole. I’ve had nothing but trouble here!” Mandy said through sobs and huge intakes of air. “America’s Heartland, ha! This is America’s asshole!”
“Honey, all roads lead out, ya know,” the waitress scolded.
I went back out into the dinning room to square up the meal tag and saw the young man sitting at the bar drinking coffee. “Is tha the guy tha hit me?” He slurred.
The cop turned to me and said, “Yeah, that’s him, Adam.”
I was stunned; this jackass should be arrested on indecent exposure, assault, and drunk and disorderly. There he sat drinking coffee.
“Did I get any punches in, Earl?”
Earl, the cop, told him to keep quiet. “Your pop is gonna be here real soon. Just sit tight, Adam.”
That’s how it was gonna play out, and I wanted no part of that scenario. A guy pulls a shenanigan like that in a decent place like this, and they call his daddy to come and get him.
“You aren’t going to arrest him?” I asked Earl with venom.