On our way home we came down through Lake Geneva city. They’d strung some colored lights down at the dock, and a band was playing. Music drifted out on the lake and grown-up couples were beginning to dance. They reminded me of Mom and Dad dancing in front of the Christmas tree.
It was dark when we hit the Illinois line. I was feeling a little older, or something. Trying to talk to Uncle Paul about him and Mr. McLeod was different for me. It was a little bit like being in middle school a year early. You’re drop-kicked into new territory. I was wondering how much change you have to go through before your voice does.
I said to Dad, “I talked to Uncle Paul about how he and Mr. McLeod were getting along.”
“What did you find out?” Dad said.
“You can’t rush him.”
“No. You can’t run his race. You can just be there for him at the finish line.”
“Dad, can you fix everything?”
“You mean cars?” he said. “Because I pretty much can.”
“Cars are good,” I said, “but I meant other stuff.”
“People?”
“Yes.”
“I couldn’t fix your grandpa,” Dad said. “I had to let him go.”
So I saw Dad was still hurting about Grandpa. I didn’t think about Grandpa every day now. Most days, but not every day. Dad did.
His shades were propped up on his Cubs cap. He’d be driving one-handed now, but he was setting a good example for me. It was Dad as usual, easy behind the wheel of the 4x4. But he was hurting.
“Dad, how did you meet Mom?”
“You know how. In college. I saw her in the student union one time. I had to stand up on a chair to get a better look. She was the number one most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my life.”
“So you went up to her?”
“Are you kidding?” Dad said. “I didn’t know how to do that. I followed her home to the Tri Delt House.”
“You stalked her?”
“We didn’t have the word then,” Dad said.
“Did you just trail after her until she noticed?”
“No,” Dad said. “How pathetic would that be? I had a friend from home who was in Theta Chi fraternity. Jim Blassingame. We went through the yearbook and found her in the sorority picture: Marjorie Archer. Jim was the Theta Chi social chairman, so he knew the Tri Delt social chair. They set us up.”
“Dad, you didn’t belong to a fraternity, right?”
“No,” he said. “You had to wear a tie.”
Now he was braking for the Route 64 off-ramp.
“What did you say to get Mom to marry you?”
“I told her my folks owned two houses. We could live in one of them, and she’d never be homeless.”
“That’s it?”
“I told her she could have any guy on the campus, but she was the only girl in the world for me.”
“She bought it,” I said.
“You’re here,” he said.
Then we were home.
• • •
It was night under the trees out back. We hadn’t done anything about Grandpa’s swing. The only light came from high in Grandma’s house, her bedroom. She wanted us to move the picture of her and Grandpa up to her living room, so we headed down to the basement. When I flipped the light, it was only the shop lighting over the workbench now. Nothing but swept concrete floor between us and the picture on the wall.
“Dad, where’s Grandpa’s world?”
“I boxed it back up. It was time,” he said. “I guess I thought if I put his whole life down here where he could see, he’d stay a little longer.”
“Maybe he did,” I said.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Dad said.
He was over by the workbench. Everything was in place except for a ball-peen hammer that looked like Grandpa had just put it down. Dad left it where it was and looked back at me.
“How am I going to mean as much to you as my dad meant to me?” he said.
“Dad, you do,” I said. “You’re there.”