I perused the front page and almost put it back before I noticed a short column on the lower left. The: headline read:
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Local Boy Dies in Police Chase.
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Fletcher Victor. 37-year-old son of Ed "Buzz" Victor and Francine Marie Victor, was killed today when his car veered out of control off Highway 70 out of Sandburg during a police pursuit. Mr. Victor had just committed an armed robbery of the Sandburg Farmers' Credit Union when his vehicle careened dawn an embankment and into the Sandburg Creek, where it sunk in twenty feet of water.
State police divers retrieved Mr. Victor's body and the stolen funds late in the day.
The story was continued on page 15, where there was a picture as well. There was no mistaking who he was. The man in this story was Harley's father.
That meant that the man living in this house was Harley's grandfather!
I spun around and looked up the short stairway at the open door as if I expected him to be standing there. The chill that ran through my body was so cold to the bone. I felt like I couldn't move.
Why? Why would he pretend to be his son? Why didn't he tell Harley the truth about his father?
Thinking I heard Suze coming down from her cleaning work upstairs. I put everything back quickly and went back up the short stairway. I closed the door softly behind me just as she turned to come through the hallway. She looked at me a moment, her eyes small and suspicious. Perhaps she did have some sort of mystical power and knew what was in my mind and what I had done. I avoided her and went into the living room.
My body was trembling, I was torn between just walking out and running off or waiting for Harley. There shouldn't be any danger here. I thought. After all, the man was still his grandfather. Maybe there was some sensible explanation. Maybe he was ashamed of his son and didn't want Harley to know about his father. Should I be the one to tell him?
A short while later. Suze came to the doorway and interrupted my thoughts.
"I go to shop," she said. "I put out some cheese, crackers, bread and fruit in the kitchen. You want lunch, you eat."
"Thank you. Merci," I said quickly. She nodded and left the house.
I was a little hungry. so I went in and made a plate for myself. Even though I still had pain. I decided not to take any more of my pills. I didn't want to be sleepy. especially now. As I sat there nibbling on some cheese and crackers, I stared at the door to the so-called holy room. Did Harley know about this room. too? Had Suze told him this morning before he had left for work?
My curiosity about the jug was growing. What could possibly be in it? Had her son been cremated? Were his remains in the jug? Bones? I rose and went to the door, opening it slowly to peek back inside. The candles were all still lit. The skull seemed to glow under the soft light, and the flickering flames made the eye sockets look like they had eyes that blinked at me. I listened. The house was quiet except for the sound of the light rain falling now.
Courageous or foolish. I continued into the room and approached the jug. Just as I reached for the cover, the holy room's door snapped shut. My heart began to pound. Was it the wind seeping through the cracks and under the windows that had blown it closed? Or was it some spirit of the dead? Anyone would act spooked in this room, I thought, glancing at the snakeskins.
The skull seemed to be looking up at me, waiting. My hand froze inches from the lid of the jug. I could see my fingers trembling. Then I heard what sounded like a squeaking to my right and looked down to see a large rat slinking along the wall and the floor. It paused and looked up at me, its nose twitching. I couldn't breathe or swallow, When I lifted my crutch, it scurried under the table and disappeared in the corner.
I felt nauseous from the sight of it and decided to forget about the holy room and the jug and whatever was in it. What difference did it make now anyway? What we had to do was leave and leave as soon as we could. The door didn't open at first, but it was just jammed because of the way it fit in the frame. A little jingling of the handle got it to open. I closed it quickly behind me and returned to the living room.
My ankle was throbbing so badly now, it brought tears to my eyes. Maybe I would have to take a pill. Desperately, I fought off the need. I tried to concentrate on happy things and put it out of my mind. Fortunately, I fell asleep finally and didn't wake up until I heard laughter and noise and opened my eyes to see Harley and the man I now knew to be his grandfather coming into the house. They both paused in the doorway to look in on me.
"Hi," Harley said. "How are you doing?" I tried to smile and sat up.
"You're in a lot of pain, huh?"
"Those things always hurt more the day after," his grandfather said. "Suze give you something else today? She cures all my aches and pains."
"No." I quickly replied.
"Where is she?" he asked, listening for sounds of her working or moving about.
"I don't know. Last I remember she told me she was going to shop. I fell asleep so I'm not sure whether or not she has returned."
"Oh. Probably going to fix us another one of those special Haitian meals." He smiled, his eyes brightening with anticipation. "Maybe she's going to do lambi en sauce."
"What's that?" Harley asked.
"Conch in a thick sauce. It's my favorite. She's like that, very quiet, but always planning, plotting, thinking. I'll go look for her," he said, "She might be saying her evening prayers," he added and left us.
Harley stepped farther into the living room.
"We had great day together," he said. "Neither of us shut up for more than a minute. He had so many questions to ask me, and he's really impressed with my knowledge of architecture. He said he really didn't la-low how valuable this house was until I explained it so well. The work went so fast, probably because we were both babbling constantly." he recited, spooling his words like a line off a fishing pole.
"I thought with the rain and all, you might not be able to do any work."
"Probably not if it was outside work, but he had a job to paint this apartment. He said it would have been a two-day job without me. I saved him a lot of time and money," he told me proudly.
"Did he tell you any more about himself?" I asked cautiously.
"Oh yeah, yeah, lots of stuff. He was in the navy, you know. On a destroyer like President Kennedy! And he's seen a lot of the world. That's what I'd like to do, too, travel, see stuff. He's got so many great stories. Once, he and his buddies had a brawl in a tavern in Hong Kong. It was them against these drug dealers, and they ended up wrecking the place and having to spend a night in the jail there.
"And then he told me about this sailboat race he was in off of Gibralter. He misses the sea, but he says he's not upset because he's got lots of great
experiences to remember. That's more valuable than money in the bank, he says. You store them here." Harley declared, pointing to his temple, "and no one but you can make a withdrawal. Funny way to put it, but when you think about it, it's true.
"I learned a lot about painting today. too. Summer. Most people think you just dip a brush into a can and slop it on as evenly as you can, but there are lots of little tricks, especially when you get down to the detail work. He did most of that, but he let me try a few frames once I got the hang of it. He said I was a chip off the old block."
He smiled like a conspirator, pulling his shoulders up with manly pride.
"We had a couple of beers together. He said age shouldn't matter when it comes to a few beers, especially if you're doing a man's job.
"Oh, and I asked him about Suze," he continued, barely pausing for a breath. "where they met and all. They met when he was working in New York City. She was living in an apartment next to the one he was using. It was a friend's and he used to hear her chanting and doing other strange things through the walls. So one day he asked her about it. He said they hit it off right away, and he started to look after her, but she really looked after him, fixing all sorts of medicines for him, bringing him rod luck and such. When
his father died, they just moved up here to take over the house so it wouldn't fall into disrepair."
"Disrepair? This isn't disrepair?"
"Well, more so than it has." he added laughing. Then he stopped smiling and looked at me. "Did you get to talk to your parents?"
"No. The phone's been out of order all day and when I went down to the corner to use the pay phone, that was out of order. too. It's terrible. Harley. I've got to reach them. I'm sure they're frantic with worry."
"Sure. We'll do something about that right away," he said. "The rain's finally stopped. Maybe the phones are working again here. You get my note? I hope you understand why I asked you not to tell too much detail."
"Yes. I understood. but Harley, we've got to go home," I said.
"Well. I was thinking about that. Summer. I'm sorry I put you through all this. I shouldn't have dragged you into something."
"You didn't drag me. Harley. I came along because I wanted to. and I'm not unhappy about that, even with the accident and all."
"I appreciate that. But what I'd like to do is get you on a bus or on a plane and send you back. I want to stay a while. We're just getting to know each other and I wouldn't want to stop it abruptly."
"Harley, listen, you don't understand it all. Today. I had a chance to look around and..."
"Well. I was right," we heard. His grandfather came into the living room. "That's exactly what she went out and done. She got the ingredients she needed for lambi en sauce. You guys are in for a treat. Say, you want to see that'82 Honda Hawk cycle I have in the shed?" he asked Harley. "We've got a few minutes before we need to wash up for dinner. We can't be late for dinner," he warned. "Suze is a stickler when it comes to her dinners, especially if she makes a big effort like she's done for us tonight."
"Yeah." Harley replied with excitement. "I'd love to see that cycle."
"Maybe you can tinker with it from time to time and get it running again," his grandfather told him.
Harley smiled at me. but I didn't change my expression of worry. With my eyes. I tried to tell him to stay and talk to me, but he could only hear his own happiness. He misread my look of concern as being only for myself.
"Oh," he said. "Summer needs to call her parents right away."
"Sure. Phone's in the kitchen," his grandfather said.
"It wasn't working all day."
"That so. Well, try it now." he advised. "while I show Harley this old motorcycle of mine, Antique. I should say."
"Great," Harley said heading for the door with him. "We'll be right back. Summer.'
I heard them leave, and then I got myself up. I had to get Harley alone soon and tell him what I found. I thought. It was obvious his grandfather wasn't going to tell him. He had plenty of opportunity to do so today and hadn't. I decided it wasn't right no matter what his reasons. Harley had to know the truth even though it would be painful to him. Learning about it later would be even more unpleasant. I thought.
I made my way back to the kitchen and to the phone. Suze was working on dinner, but didn't pay much attention to me. I lifted the receiver and dialed for the operator, but still I heard nothing.
"Why isn't the phone working already?" I asked in desperation. Suze paused and thought a moment.
She shook her head.
"Sometimes, he forget to pay the bill," she revealed,
"What? The bill. You mean it's not just the storm?" I asked. I thought about the man in the grocery store and what he had said. "Why doesn't he pay his bills?" I hung up before she could reply.
"He do what he has to when he has to," she replied casually as if the problems and worries of this world were not very important in her scheme of things. She probably makes her phone calls on spiritual wires and doesn't care. I thought. Angrily. I headed for the front door again. I had to find Harley now and tell him. I wasn't going to keep Mommy in limbo a moment longer.
It took me a while to make my way around the house. I heard them talking in the shed and called for Harley. I had to shout loud for him to hear me over his and his grandfather's voices and the noise they were making tinkering with the motorcycle engine. Finally, he peered out of the door.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"The phone's still dead. Harley. Sue says they might not have paid the phone bill.
"Naw. I paid that bill." his grandfather asserted coming up beside him to look out at me. "It's just the aftermath of the storm. Hell, once it took two days to get the phones working in this town again."
"Maybe the pay phone at the grocery works now," I said.
"If it doesn't work here, it doesn't there. We're on the same line," his grandfather insisted. "Tell you what. After dinner. I'll drive you over to Hurleyville. They have a different system and theirs might be working."
"I need to call right away." I cried.
"Only be a few hours, the most, and maybe our line will be back on by then anyway." he added, raising his arms.
Suddenly another sprinkle of rain began, quickly growing harder.
"Another cloudburst." Harley's grandfather shouted. "Let's get inside before we all get soaked."
He charged out with Harley.
The two of them scooped me up and, laughing, carried me to the front of the house. We got under the porch not a second too soon because it did become another downpour.
"I hate this weather!" I screamed. His
grandfather laughed,
"Farmers need it," he said. "It's been dry up until now. C'mon, let's wash up for chow."
He opened the door and waited for us to follow. I glanced at Harley.
"I'm sorry. Summer," he said. "'but I promise I'll get you to a phone tonight."
"Sure. Don't worry about it," his grandfather commented. Upstairs. I thought. upstairs. I'll tell Harley everything I know.
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Harley went directly up to shower and change. I followed and when I was positive we were out of earshot. I began.
"Harley, I had time today to do nothing but explore the house," I said.
"It's an amazing construction, isn't it?" he interrupted quickly.
"I'm surprised more modern-day builders don't use some of the innovations here," he said taking out a fresh shirt, underwear and socks from his bag. He was kneeling on the floor, his back to me.
"I'm not talking about the house. Harley. I'm talking about what's in it."
"Oh," he said standing. He nodded, thinking he knew exactly what was on my mind. "Well, he doesn't have much money. He's really laid back about material things. We talked about that today. He says at his age, he likes to do only what he has to and enjoy his relaxation."
"Did he talk about his age, explain how a man his age would have had your mother for a girlfriend?" I asked pointedly.
"No," he said shaking his head. "I didn't want to make too much of that. Lots of older men have younger girlfriends. Summer. Some women like more mature men. They're looking for a father figure."
"Oh, suddenly you're an expert on what women like and female psychology?" I asked.
He smiled.
"Hardly."
"I wasn't talking about the furniture in this house. Harley, or the worn rugs or anything like that. I found a door that led down a short stairway to a basement room where old things are kept."
"Oh?" He paused now, holding his clothes. "I'd better get washed up," he whispered. "You heard what he said about being on time for dinner."
He kept walking. "Harley!"
"Don't take too long, you guys," I heard his grandfather call up the stairway.
"Just let me wash up first, Summer. We've got all night to talk about it."
"Harley. wait."
He went into the bathroom and closed the door.
Frustrated. I stood there listening to the shower start. I was going to stand there and wait for him to come out of the bathroom, but his grandfather came up the stairs to get something in another room so I had to move down the hallway and pretend I was doing things to get ready for dinner, too. He saw me a
nd began to talk about the food,
"I bet you never ate nothing like it," he said. "First time Suze cooked for me. I thought her food was more than just food. It makes you feel good inside, like magic. I know that sounds silly, but maybe you'll see. Your mother a good cook?"
"She doesn't cook much anymore." I said. "We have an Irishwoman who's been with us forever and she's a wonderful cook."
"Oh." he said, nodding thoughtfully.
Harley emerged, his hair brushed neatly, his face cleanly shaven,
"You look real handsome, son," his grandfather said. He turned to me. "And despite your bad ankle. Summer, you look very nice too."
"Let's eat," Harley cried, slapping his hands together. His grandfather laughed. They looked at me, waiting like gentlemen for me to go ahead.
Reluctantly. I started down the stairs ahead of them, listening to them babble on and on about the work they had done today.
At dinner their conversation was about other jobs his grandfather had held in his life. I listened carefully, waiting to hear something that would make Harley question who he really was. From the way he spoke, he seemed to have worked his way around the world, doing everything from being an electrician to a waiter. When could he even have had a chance to meet Aunt Glenda? I thought, and hoped Harley had the same question in his mind.
"You did so many interesting things." Harley said instead.
"When you're hungry, you're innovative." his grandfather declared. "You learn how to survive, and that, my son, is the best sort of education. It prepares you for every hardship and every disappointment in life. Kids today have it too easy. Everything's done for them." he said, glancing at me. "Parents think if they give them more, they'll love them more and be better people for it. Don't believe it. Something you earn with your own sweat and effort has more value to you."
"I believe that," Harley said. He looked at me and smiled. "Neither of us is spoiled, if that's what you might think."
"Oh no. no. One look tells me that you both have some grit, and that comes from self-confidence. Ain't this just the most delicious meal you ever had," he declared.