“Knew what?”
“I want to show you somethin’.” He began walking away from me, unsteadily in the snow. At first I just stood there, not sure of what he was up to. Then curiosity prevailed. I followed him, always staying at least ten yards back. The only noise was the wind and the crisp sound of our steps in the crusted snow. Finally he stopped at the base of a knoll at another headstone, his hands in his pockets.
The headstone was alabaster, weather-stained and partially concealed in shadow, capped with a thin layer of icy snow. Still keeping my distance from Stu, I walked up to it, my eyes focused on the words etched into its face. The stone had an American flag engraved on it.
Virgil Marcus Hunt
February 14, 1949—March 4, 1969
I looked at him, expecting an explanation, but he said nothing. Finally I asked, “Who’s this?”
My father said nothing. He just rubbed his hand through his hair like he always did when he was at a loss for words.
“Why did you bring me here?”
He turned and looked at me with an anguished expression. “It’s your father.”
“What?”
He began walking away from the grave as if it was painful to be near it. I followed him.
He didn’t stop walking until he reached my mother’s grave. He sat down on a white marble bench a few yards away and buried his face in his hands.
“What do you mean, my father?”
It seemed a long time before he looked up. “I’m sure it crossed your mind more than a few times how a woman like your mother ended up with a guy like me. I wasn’t your mother’s first choice. Never was. She was dating a couple fellas. Me and Virgil back there, and some other boy from Birmingham. But Virgil was her favorite. He was a student at the university and a real BMOC. He played the guitar real well. I was just… you know. No surprise she chose him.
“While they was still engaged, he was drafted. They hurried and eloped, didn’t tell no one. I think I was about the last to know. One day when I thought maybe I still had a chance with her, I went to get her flowers at Pat’s, and the girl there knew Alice. Told me Alice and Virgil was married. She’d made up the bridal bouquet herself. That about killed me. Girl behind the counter at the florist shop knew and I didn’t.
“Six weeks later Virgil left for Vietnam. Lots of boys we knew didn’t come home. He was killed just four months there. Just like that. Your mother barely nineteen and she was a widow.” He turned and looked at me. “And she was pregnant with you.
“When I heard he was killed, I come back around, to give my condolences, but we both knew why I was there. She was grievin’ pretty sore, but she didn’t turn me away.” He looked down. “I shouldn’t have stayed. I knew her heart was still with him, but I didn’t love no one else. Next thing I know, we was courtin’. I was pretty sure she just wanted her child to have a father—couple times she nearly said as much.
“I told myself it didn’t matter. Hearts do that. A chance for a guy like me to be with Alice—that’s like winnin’ the Alabama and Florida lottery all at once—who cares how you get it. I told myself with time she’d come around to love me.” Suddenly my father’s eyes welled up with tears. “She never did. She put up with me. But she never loved me. It was like she’d already given away that part of her heart.”
For the first time in my life, I saw my father cry. He looked at me the whole time, unashamed of the tears streaming down his face. “I loved her, son. I would’ve been anything she wanted. But I couldn’t be who she wanted. She wanted that man back there.” His voice cracked. “She loved you something fierce. And I was jealous of you and of that love. Because I knew it was more than just you was her boy. It was ’cause you was a part a him.”
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know I wasn’t good to you. I ain’t proud of it. I took all my hurt out on you. It wasn’t right, it was just what it was.”
He put his hands into his coat pockets and looked back at the stone. “That’s why I came. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was.” He looked up at me and into my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
In my twenty years of life I had never heard my father speak those two words. Neither of us spoke for some time. The snow still fell, shrouding us. Then he brought something out of his coat pocket. “Anyway, seeing how I’ll probably never see you again, I brought you some things.”
He stood and walked to me. Then he reached out his hand. I put mine out and he dropped a gold ring into my palm.
“That was your mother’s wedding ring from Virgil. She wore it on a chain around her neck. Never took it off. I know she’d want you to have it. I hope you don’t mind, but I kept the chain.”
I lifted the ring to examine it. It was a yellow gold band with a marquise diamond surrounded by small chips of dark blue sapphires. I remembered that I had seen the ring once when she was weeding the flower bed and it fell outside her blouse. I asked her about it, but she just stowed it back inside her shirt and continued pulling weeds.
I put the ring in my pocket. Then Stu brought out of his coat a larger packet, a brown paper lunch sack smudged with motor oil. He handed it to me. I opened the bag and looked inside. It was a large stack of bills, mostly twenties and fifties.
“What’s this?”
“It’s money I’d been puttin’ away for your schoolin’. I know you’ll do real well, whatever you end up doing. You was always real smart like your mom. And your dad.”
I could tell it was difficult for him to say that last word. Then he turned and began to walk away, shuffling slowly through the snow. I don’t really know how, but at that moment Stuart Smart was no longer the icon I had hated and feared. He was just a man—hurting and human. A man like me. He was what Joette said, the man behind the curtain. He began disappearing in the shadows.
“Hey, Dad.”
He stopped and slowly turned back.
“Thanks.”
He nodded.
I rubbed my nose with my glove. “You want to go somewhere and talk?”
He stared at me for the longest time. Then he said, “I’d like that.”
I walked up to him. When we were an arm’s length apart, we just looked at each other. Then a miracle happened. I reached out and hugged him. And at that moment the world I thought I knew no longer existed. At that moment, Stuart Smart became my father.
I do what I can to keep my mind here in Alabama. But my heart keeps wandering back to Utah.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
My dad and I probably talked more during the next two weeks than we did in our previous twenty-two years. I even volunteered to help him at the shop, and surprisingly it didn’t feel like one of Dante’s circles of Hell. One afternoon as we ate lunch together, I told him about Macy. He didn’t say much, but I could tell he understood my pain. I also told him about Joette. I wondered how she was and if she’d told Macy how sick she really was. The thought of it made my stomach hurt.
“Are you going back?” My father asked.
I just shook my head. “I have no idea.”
During my third week home I was working under a car when my dad crouched down next to me. “You have a visitor, son.”
I rolled myself out on the creeper. Standing next to my dad was Tennys, my ex-girlfriend.
“Hey,” she said.
I stood up, grabbing a rag from the counter to wipe my hands. She looked even prettier than I remembered her, her long blond hair falling over one shoulder as if by accident. I knew Tennys well enough to know that nothing involving her looks was an accident. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was trying to impress me.
“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Smart,” she said to my father.
“Pleasure seeing you again,” my father said. He nodded to me, then left us alone.
“What’s up?” I said.
“Hmm. Not much.”
“That’s hard to believe. Mrs….”
“No ‘Mrs.’ Unless you mean like ‘misses the boat.’”
<
br /> “You’re not married yet?”
“We broke it off. No, actually he broke it off. His girlfriend came back.”
“He had another girlfriend?”
“Long story.”
“The cad,” I said.
She smiled wryly. “I got a diamond out of it. I think he was just so embarrassed by it all that he told me to keep it.” She looked at me, and there was a sweet vulnerability to her expression. “So how have you been?”
“I’ve survived.”
“What’s Salt Lake City like?”
“It’s nice. Big mountains. Lots of snow. People are nice.”
“Is school going well?”
“It was good while it lasted.”
She rocked a little on the balls of her feet. “So how long are you back for?”
“I don’t know. Maybe forever.”
I could tell this pleased her. “Good. Well, I just wanted to welcome you home. I’ve got to get to work.”
“Where are you working?”
“I got a job at Lord and Taylor’s. I’m in the women’s shoe department.”
“You’re doing what you love.”
She laughed. “You’ve got me figured out, alright. With the employees’ discount I spend most of my check before I get it.” Her voice softened. “I was thinking that maybe after work we could get a coffee. Or dinner? I think it’s my turn to buy.”
I didn’t answer.
“You can say no,” she said. “Heaven knows I deserve it.” She tilted her head a little. She knew it drove me crazy when she did that. “Just thought I’d ask.”
She was being too humble to refuse. “What time do you get off?” I asked.
“Around six.”
“I don’t have a car. Unless I steal this one.”
“I can pick you up.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
She smiled. “Can’t wait.”
Tonight Tennys and I dined in vegetarian Hell. She made me an offer I’m not sure I should refuse.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
Tennys and I sat at a small table in the corner of Porky’s Barbeque. Porky’s was more than a restaurant—it was a temple to meat, where carnivore rituals were unabashedly practiced with a roll of paper towels at every table, an empty six-pack container filled with plastic squeeze bottles of barbecue sauce of varying heat and coleslaw and baked beans served by the pint.
I nixed Tennys’s invitation to get coffee, as I hadn’t eaten since lunch and, more important, I hadn’t had any good barbeque since I left Alabama. I devoured a large platter of beef brisket and pork ribs while she daintily picked at a chicken breast and slaw.
Tennys looked beautiful, but then she always did. She was what my father called a “jaw-droppin’ head-turner.” She was wearing it well tonight.
“Are you living at home?” she asked when my mouth was full.
I nodded.
“With your father?” she asked, cringing a little.
“Things have changed,” I said.
“Changed. Like Hell has frozen over?”
“I know. It’s hard to believe.”
“Well maybe it’s true—absence does make the heart grow fonder.”
“What does that say about togetherness?”
She thought about it. “I never really liked that saying.”
I finished pulling the meat from a rib. “So tell me about the chiropractor.”
“That’s like asking Mrs. Lincoln how the play was.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I probably should talk about it. I’m sure it’s cathartic.” She stopped her assault on the chicken. “I hurt my neck playing volleyball, so I went to that new chiropractor’s office on Broadway for an adjustment. Boy, did I get one. I should have seen it coming. The first thing he asked is why such a pretty girl didn’t have a ring. I didn’t know that his girlfriend had dumped him the night before.
“The next thing I know, we’re seeing each other every night. He’s buying me chocolates, flowers, jewelry. I hadn’t heard from you for a couple of weeks…”
“Don’t blame this on me,” I interjected, wiping sauce from my hands onto a paper towel. “This was all your doing?”
“Well, you could have called more,” she said. “Anyway to my surprise he pops the question. And to my surprise I said yes.”
“Just like that?”
“Swept away like a field mouse in a flash flood. It was kind of like ready, aim, fire. I said yes, then talked myself into it every day for the next three weeks. My mother was thrilled of course. She thought I had struck gold marrying a ‘doctor.’ She’s running around making plans like it’s her own wedding.” Her expression changed. “But you know, I kept thinking about you. Of course, I was mad at you—that you hadn’t asked me first. I even took some guilty pleasure writing you that Dear John. I found out the day after I sent it that your mother had died. I just felt sick. I wanted to call you. I called your dad for your number, but he told me he didn’t have it. Then I was too embarrassed to go to the funeral. I didn’t know what I’d say, and I thought I’d probably just make it harder for you. But I really was sorry. Your mother was a beautiful woman.”
“I didn’t go to the funeral,” I said.
“What?”
“I wasn’t in school. I lost my scholarship. But I didn’t tell anyone, so when they tried to call me, they couldn’t find me. I didn’t find out until I called home two days after her funeral.”
Tennys put her hand on mine. “I’m so sorry.”
“Bad times,” I said.
“I wish I could have been there for you.”
“Me too,” I said. I meant it.
After a moment she asked, “So did you leave a girlfriend in Salt Lake City?”
I wasn’t sure that I wanted to tell her about Macy. “Sort of. She was really just a friend.”
“Nothing serious then?”
I hesitated. “I asked her to marry me.”
Her face registered surprise. “Really.”
“Yes, I did.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. She just kind of ran away.”
Tennys looked at me for a moment, then started to laugh, softly at first, then obnoxiously loud. The people at the tables around us all looked to see what was so hilarious.
“It wasn’t really that funny,” I said.
She put her hand on my mine. “I’m sorry; I’m not laughing at you. The irony of it all is just delicious. Here we are, the heartthrobs of Roosevelt High, the king and queen of homecoming, and we’re both dumped on the way to the altar. What a pair we make. We really are perfect for each other.”
“You’re right, it is pretty funny.”
She sighed happily. “So maybe we should just run off together. I’ve already got the ring.” She lifted her hand to show me. “Thank you, Dr. Ball.”
“Wait, his last name is Ball?”
She nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Your name would have been Tennys Ball?”
She smiled. “I’m afraid so.”
This time I burst out laughing. “It was doomed from the beginning.”
She started laughing again. Then she leaned into me and we kissed. I knew from past experience that Tennys could kiss. The woman could have taught Rodin something. When we parted, I said, “You sure you want to marry a college dropout?”
“We’ll have pretty babies.”
I smiled. “Give me a day to think about it.”
My dad’s a lot smarter than I’ve ever given him credit for. In truth I don’t think he got a lot smarter—just I did.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
I didn’t get home until past two and woke to my radio-alarm clock less than four and a half hours later. I pulled on Levi’s jeans and my crimson University of Utah sweatshirt and stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen. I took two waffles from the freezer and dropped them into the toaster as my dad watched in amusement, coffee in hand. “You was out late last night,” he said
.
“I was with Tennys.”
He shook his head. “That girl is some kind of pretty. I thought she was getting herself hitched.”
“She was. The guy called it off.”
My father didn’t say anything. He went to the refrigerator and brought out a package of salami, a head of lettuce and a jar of mayonnaise. “Salami sandwich okay?”
“Sure,” I said, “But I can make it.”
“I’m halfway there.”
I slumped down at the table and closed my eyes. “Where’s your Christmas tree?”
“With mother gone I just wasn’t in the mood.”
“It’s not the same,” I said.
“No,” he said, “it ain’t.” My waffles popped up from the toaster and I got back up. I took the waffles and buttered them, then carried them back to the table.
“May I ask you something?”
He looked over at me, sensing the gravity of my question. “Maybe.”
“Was Mom worth it?”
He didn’t speak for a moment. “What do you mean?”
I carefully chose my words. “Now that I know the truth about everything… this marriage was really hard for you.” I took a deep breath. “You’re a good-looking guy, I’m sure there were other women…”
“There were a few.”
“So what’s so wrong with taking the easy road? Taking the sure thing.”
He looked at me knowingly. “Tennys wants to marry you?”
I laughed. My father was smarter than I gave him credit for. “Yeah.”
“Son, in matters of the heart there’s no such thing as a sure thing.” His brow furrowed. “I don’t know that I’ve ever valued anything that came easy. Sometimes it’s the fight that makes a thing worth having.”
“And Mom was worth the fight?”
He looked at me seriously. “Every minute of it.”
I let his words sink in. “The thing is, I don’t know if she wants me. What if I go back just to get rejected again?”
My father looked at me thoughtfully. “Could happen. But you know what would be worse?”
Finding Noel Page 14