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With the morning sun heating my back, I finally push my heavy body off the dock and walk up the hill to the cabin. Mike is still asleep on the couch, coiled in the blanket. I turn on the radio and crank up the volume. Buddy Guy comes sliding out, crooning “Damn Right I Got The Blues.”
Mike’s head jerks and his eyelids peel open reluctantly, revealing red, swollen eyeballs. “Christ, what’s going on?” he says. “What fucking time is it?”
“Time to get up, Mikey. I can’t be sitting around here all day when I’ve got grandchildren to meet. Get your ass up, I’ll fix us some breakfast if there’s anything here.”
“Not much, I don’t think,” Mike says, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “Might be some eggs and bacon left.”
He rolls his legs off the couch and sits up, pushes his blond hair back. I can see the strain on his face.
He gets up and wobbles toward the bathroom while I open the curtains on the large front window. Dust motes drift and swirl. Across the river the eastern shore is glowing brightly. Some little birds—sparrows, I think—flit around at the edge of the road.
I hear the shower start up.
I find some Bisquick pancake mix, a half a pound of bacon and a few eggs in the small, efficient kitchen. Bisquick pancakes were always Mike’s favorite when he was a kid.
I cook.
Mike comes out of the shower and we eat, saying very little.
After breakfast I go into the shower. I’m reviving under the hot water when I hear Mike cry out from the living room. I jump out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist.
Mike is sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, crying and saying, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck....”
“What’s the matter, Mikey? What’s the deal, son?”
“They fucking got Terry. I just heard it on the radio. Said they found his car on some dirt road south of Bay City, with his body in the trunk. Sounds like they tortured the poor fucker then shot him in the head. Obvious signs of torture they said.
“I’m next; I know it. There’s no way we can stop them. I’m as good as dead.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Mike. These guys play hardball for sure, but let’s not panic quite yet.” I’m freaking out but I don’t want Mike to see it. “The one thing they want more than revenge is money. I’m thinking if we offer to pay for the missing goods, we might have a chance. Either that or we can run off to Montana and join a militia.”
Mike doesn’t seem to appreciate my attempt at lightening the mood.
“Anymore of the drugs left?” I ask.
He lifts his head and wipes his nose with the couch blanket.
Jesus.
“About twenty thousand hits of X and a few pounds of weed that Ronnie had,” he says, sniffling. “That’s about it, that I know of. Ronnie may still have some other shit left.”
“How much cash you got?”
“Enough to get the hell out of here.”
“How much?”
“Around a hundred grand, give or take.”
“Where you got it hid?”
“Different places. All the X is at Darla’s parents’ crib. I have some of the cash stashed out in Poplar. A few other things in a storage locker.”
“How much cash you think they got off of Terry and Todd?”
“Maybe a hundred grand between them. Probably not much from Todd, being he’d been popped.”
“We have to round up as much cash as we can, put together all the remaining dope and arrange a meet with your pursuers. And hope that if we promise them the rest in a week, we might buy a little time.”
“You nuts? These guys will just kill us. Look what they’ve already done.”
“Killing can be hard work, Mike. Beating on people ain’t that easy, either. Especially when the cops are looking for you and the big boss man is squeezing you on the other end, demanding results. Money or product might be all these guys want—at least temporarily. Whoever these guys are, they might be ready to take something back to Mr. Big with some kind of offer, get themselves out of the squeeze play.”
“How you planning on arranging all this, have them over for dinner?”
“That might be nice—enlightening and everything—but I thought it might work better if we used you for bait. Then we come down on them when they make their play for you. You think this Ronnie guy would help us out?”
“Maybe. But I’m not sure I’m cut out for playing sucker minnow to their muskie.”
“Got any better ideas?”
“Not at the moment, but I’ll work on it.”
“You can think about it while we’re driving out to meet my grandchildren. First things first.”
“Yeah, Dad, sure.”
Feeling exalted in spite of it all, because he called me Dad, I get dressed while Mike cleans the kitchen. His mother taught him well. He locks up the cabin and we walk to the car. I ask if I can drive. “No problem,” he says, tossing me the keys.
We cruise through Gary and pass by Morgan Park. Mike stares out the window, bites his fingers and says fuck and goddamn it to no one in particular. Quiet as a gnat’s whisper, we cross the Bong Bridge to Bay City and then motor out to my place. The Lexus is a pleasure.
“Let’s leave this beauty where the Honda is, and take that out to the country, Michael,” I say, pulling in the driveway. “We’ll be a little safer in my car. Be a shame to get bullet holes in your girlfriend’s Lexus.”
“No shit,” he says, looking a little green around the gills. “Her old man is almost as frightening as the hit men. But stop calling her my girlfriend.”
After showing off my humble abode to Mike, I change clothes, put on a nice pair of jeans, a blue Hawaiian shirt and white sneakers. I slide my pistol into a shoulder holster, wrap it in a plastic garbage bag and bring it out to the car. I lay the handgun at my feet with the bag covering it loosely.
We stop at the President’s Tavern for a twelve-pack of beer and a bottle of Merlot, for Jan. I tell Mike to go into the convenience store and buy snacks and treats for the kids.
Next stop is a gift shop where Mike picks out a beautiful turquoise and silver necklace and tells me I should give it to Jan. I give him a look but don’t say anything except, “Nice gift.”
A twenty-minute drive in glorious sunshine gets us to the Bayfield Road, which is heading nowhere near Bayfield. We take a right on the gravel road.
Several miles down we turn left through a stand of trees and go about a half-mile along a narrow dirt road until we come to a two-rut driveway leading up a slight slope to a two-story, green farmhouse surrounded by trees and open fields. Dust follows us up to the house. Lots of poplar and maple trees in the yard. Mike says there’s not another house for miles. The waving fields are awash in yellow and crimson wildflowers. As we approach, I see two little children run toward the faded, green-shingled farmhouse. A pretty dark-haired woman wearing khaki shorts and a blue T-shirt stands at the side door watching us and then follows quickly inside after them.
“That would be Jan and the kids,” Mike says, seeming older to me now.
“They running from us?”
“Probably. She doesn’t know this car.”
“She know what’s going on with you?”
“She didn’t, at least until everybody started getting killed. Now she probably suspects something. She knew Todd and Terry were baseball players.”
“But she doesn’t know about the drugs and shit?”
“Not unless someone told her, ‘cause I never did. She could’ve figured it out, but she’d normally be cautious with a strange car coming up the driveway, anyway. Weird shit can happen out here. I know, because I lived out here until she kicked me out.”
“She kicked you out? Thought you said you were keeping her out here so she wouldn’t be connected with you. If your name is on the record for this house, those bad boys might pay her a visit.”
“It’s her name on the rental papers—Janet Covington. I had some credit problems when we moved out here, but I’ve been giving her money lately.”
“What if one of your dead buddies talked about this place to the bad guys?”
“None of them knew where it was.”
“But they did know Jan’s name, I bet.”
“First name, only.”
“Well, that’s something, I guess.”
We get out of the car and walk up the front steps and I see the inside door move. Then the screen door flies open and two beautiful children run out. A little golden-haired girl squeals Daddy’s here, Daddy’s here, while the bald-headed boy jerkily follows along like a little blue-eyed general who could care less what he’s doing, along as it’s fun.
The girl jumps into Mike’s arms. He lifts her up and gives her a kiss on the lips. Jan is standing in the doorway, arms clasped together over her chest, and she’s giving Mike and me the eagle-eyed once-over.
“I’ve been trying to reach you, Michael,” she says in a pained voice. “It’s about time you came out to see your children.”
“I’m sorry, Jan,” Mike says. “But you’ll never believe what happened. My father came back to town.” He gestures toward me like he’s introducing a circus act. “Here he is—this is the kids’ Grandpa—Keith Waverly.”
I watch her struggle to keep her composure.
“Pleased to meet you, Jan,” I say, extending my hand. “Mike has told me a lot of nice things about you.”
She’s flustered and suddenly shy. Or is it apprehensive?
“I’m sure he has, Mr. Waverly,” she says, giving Mike a sidelong then taking my hand, her cheeks reddening.
“Please, Jan, call me Keith. And who are these little folks?”
She warms slightly: “Okay, Keith. Let me introduce you to your grandchildren. This is Haley.” She gestures toward the little girl, who smiles and giggles shyly from her perch in Mike’s arms. “And this dirty-faced little guy here is Connor.”
I feel like a teenage geek on a first date: awkward, awestruck and speechless. “Pleased to meet you Haley,” I say, extending my hand.
“Say, nice to meet you, grandfather,” Jan says.
Haley puts her finger to her mouth, takes my hand loosely and mumbles the mantra. Then, without any prompting, Connor struts over and smiles up at me, pointing his finger and making a sound that I take for a greeting.
My heart bleeds warm. Now here is wealth. Riches greater than a room full of cash, right here in front of me. Golden hair more precious than any rare metal. Pure hearts with more value than any mansion. Tiny little fingers and perfect little legs more beautiful than any diamonds.
We go into the house and I can feel the tension between Mike and Jan. It seems some love still exists between them, I’m thinking, in spite of it all. Something worth saving.
We sit around a thickly painted yellow kitchen table while Jan makes coffee. Mike looks at Haley’s drawings and roughhouses with Connor. I sit back, amazed, and almost lose my equilibrium. Something resembling joy is trying to surface. Like, all of a sudden, there’s a genuine appreciation of life vying with the survival instinct for dominance in my head.
Connor starts banging my shin with two black plastic cooking spoons that appear to be his favorite toys.
“He wants you to pick him up,” Mike says.
Jan smiles approval and I pick up the little wonder and stand him on my lap. He offers me the spoons and I take them. Then he sits down and leans his head against my chest and I’m king of the world.
For the rest of the afternoon we drink coffee and watch the kids play and show off. We talk and Jan doesn’t mention the killings. I’m thinking maybe she never listens to the news or reads the paper. She acts polite but guarded. We mostly just listen to my lies to Mike’s leading questions. After a while the kids wander outside to the sunshine and Mike asks Jan where her car is.
“It’s in the garage. It won’t start. That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you,” she says.
“Let’s go take a look at it,” Mike says. “Probably just a dead battery.”
They start for the door.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say.
“It’s upstairs,” they say in unison.
Upstairs has two small bedrooms and a bath. Through the bathroom window, you can see all the way to the tree line in one direction and to the Bayfield Road in the other,
When I come back down Mike and Jan are outside and I take the opportunity to look around the main floor. I don’t see a television or any newspapers. Jan’s car has been down for a while, it seems. Looks like she hasn’t been in touch with the outside world much. I’m hoping that’s the case, as I check out the view through the three narrow windows in the dining room.
I go outside. The kids are playing in the dirt in front of the garage while Mike hooks up jumper cables to a bird’s egg blue VW Jetta. Jan stands over to one side with her arms across her chest.
In a few minutes they get the car running and Jan starts feeling better. It’s sometime after noon and she offers to make a lunch of chicken sandwiches and potato chips. I get the snacks and the gifts from the Honda and pretty soon we’re having a party.
A coming home party for Papa Keith.
After an enjoyable lunch, Mike and Jan lead us on a walk through the woods to the swimming hole, really just a wide spot in a small creek. The water is the color of iron but clean and about three feet deep. The sun comes in on you through the trees just enough to make it perfect for dunking.
It’s late afternoon before we start back for the house. Connor has fallen asleep and I carry him in my arms. Mike and Jan urge Haley on—she’s been dawdling, as children often do—just enough.
Back at the house, the kids go down for a nap. We break out the beer and wine and do some drinking and laughing and telling stories. Sometime later—it hardly seems like any time at all—we hear the kids stirring. Jan goes upstairs to read them a story and Mike decides to fire up the charcoal grill.
Mike and I hang by the grill and stare off in the distance. A fantastic warm day but I can feel the pressure building. Jan and the kids come outside. The little ones are all charged up. Everyone seems happy. We eat hamburgers and homemade potato salad then wash it all down with pop and beer.
After dinner it’s still hot so we drive out to the shore of Lake Superior. We throw rocks in the flat water and watch the sun settle in the West. At dusk we build a fire on the rocks and roast marshmallows on sticks. Eventually the mosquitoes send us running for the car.
It is as good a day as any I’ve had. A day when I remembered what it was like to be a kid and intoxicated with life.
The kids fall asleep in the car and when we get back to the house, Jan and Mike carry them upstairs. We drink a few more beers before I decide to take my leave. Mike and Jan seem to be hitting it off and I don’t want to be in the way. I know my childlike time is over. Tomorrow it’s going to get as serious as a case of the clap on your wedding night.
I’m disappointed when Mike decides to leave with me. He mumbles something under his breath about returning the Lexus.
Even though it’s late when we get back to town, I insist on following him out to Billings Park, where he leaves the Lexus in front of Darla’s mansion. We go back to my place for the night.