After chatting with the Nicholsons Jack retired to his tent, where he pulled out his cell phone and called Marilyn. He told her he was in a campground in North Carolina. He went on to describe his neighbors, the Nicholsons, and his dinner with them. What nice people. He told Marilyn he loved her.
As he had the previous night, he made himself as comfortable as possible in his tent and slept well.
5. Walter
Ted Hanson set aside the copy of National Review that he was reading and rose to answer the door bell. “Walter. This is a surprise—and a pleasure. We haven’t seen you in a while. What brings you here this evening? I mean, come in. Sit down. Can I get you something? A cold beer?”
“Thanks, Ted.” Walter entered the Hanson living room, tossing his hat onto a bench beside the staircase. “It’s been a bad day, and a beer would be great, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Take a seat. I’ll get us each a brew and be right back.”
Hanson went to the kitchen and returned promptly with two bottles of Budweiser. “The bottle okay? I can get a glass or a mug, if you prefer.”
“No, bottle is fine.”
Emily Hanson walked into the living room. She had been emptying the dishwasher and was wearing an apron. In her hands she had a bowl of pretzels. “Can’t have beer without pretzels,” she said.
“Thanks,” both men replied.
“So what’s up, Walter? I mean, what brings you here this evening? Hey, it’s good to see you, but is something on your mind?”
Walter drank from the beer bottle. He raised it toward his friend. “Thanks. This is good. I need something tonight.”
“Oh? Something wrong? Can I help?”
“It’s Jack. He’s disappeared. Just gone. Disappeared.” He drank from the beer bottle again, put it down on the floor, and then asked, “Is Marilyn here? Maybe she knows something. I think she might. I guess she knows more about my son than I do.” Walter grimaced and took another drink of his beer.
“Sure,” Hanson said. Then, walking to the stairs, he called his daughter.
“Yes, Dad,” came her answer.
“Can you come down for a minute? Walter Stavitch is here, and wants to know if you know anything about Jack.”
“Sure. Coming.” She descended the stairs. She was wearing a golf shirt and blue jeans that fit her closely, flattering her and showing off her figure. Marilyn had expected Walter to come to ask her about Jack. She had thought about how she should answer him. Jack would not want his father to know where he was headed. At least not until he was already in Florida. She was sure of that. On the other hand, she did not think Jack was acting in his best interest by going to Florida, and if she could do something that would help to bring him back, she felt she should do it. Even if it created more trouble between Jack and his father. Even if it made Jack angry at her—as she was pretty sure it would. She was ready to tell Walter Stavitch all that she knew about Jack’s departure and present location.
“Evening, Mr. Stavitch. How are you?” she said politely, trying not to display her anxiety.
“Hello, Marilyn.” Walter did not waste further time on additional pleasantries. “Jack is missing. He was painting the sign and fence at the winery entrance. Edward and I were in the winery. I took a break for supper, expecting to find Jack at the house. But he wasn’t there. When I went down to the road to where he had been working, the paint can and brush were there, but he was gone. I walked up and down the road a bit both ways, but couldn’t see what might have happened. Do you have any ideas? I’m really concerned that something might have happened to him. I closed the winery early—threw everybody out—and came here. Edward is cleaning up.”
Marilyn sat on the couch across the room from the chair in which Walter was seated and folded her hands in her lap. “Nothing has happened to Jack, Mr. Stavitch. He has run away. He’s headed for Florida.”
“What! How could he do that? Why? Why on earth would he do that? How could he?”
Emily Hanson started to speak. She thought she knew and could tell Walter why Jack left, why he might want to get away. Perhaps it would be easier for her daughter if she spoke up. Then she thought better of it and said nothing. She looked at her daughter, trying somehow to convey support for what she was sure would be an uncomfortable accounting, a confession, probably. Emily Hanson loved her daughter. She also loved Jack Stavitch. She thought they were ideally suited to one another, and hoped their relationship would last and ultimately lead to marriage. A good couple. A great couple.
Marilyn took a deep breath. She was uncomfortable, more so than her mother, but she had to tell what she knew. “Well, Mr. Stavitch, Jack feels you are holding him back. He’s not sure what he wants to do with his life. But he does not want to run a winery. He wants to go to a university after he finishes high school—a good one, the best one he can get into. You tell him to go to Tri-C, take accounting, and come back to your winery. But that’s not what he wants. And he feels the only way he can do more than that is to get away. He’s gone and he won’t come back, I guess.”
“But I’ve given him everything. Every opportunity. He knows the winery will be his. He can make something of that.”
“No, Mr. Stavitch. That’s just what you have not given him—opportunity. At least that what Jack thinks. Jack feels—and I feel, too—that opportunity for him—and for me, also—depends on more education. Good education, not Tri-C, Mr.Stavitch. Jack is smart. He’s number three in GPA ranking our class.”
“Number three! Who are number one and two?” Walter always thought his son was number one. Certainly should be. Although, he thought to himself, I’ve never asked. I should have. God, how I’ve let my son down.
“Well,” Marilyn replied softly, “I’m number one. And Larry Simon is number two. But he’s a loner who’s going nowhere. And Jack is not only smart, Mr. Stavitch, he’s good at lots of things. He’s an athlete. He’s well liked. Popular with everyone. He’s a leader.” Marilyn paused, took a breath, and continued. “Jack wants to go to a major university, maybe Yale or Harvard, or Princeton or someplace like that. And he could get in to any of those. Hasn’t he told you that?”
“Yeah, yeah, he talks about Princeton. But those places cost money, lots of money. And we’re not rich.”
“But there are scholarships, and Jack could get one, I’m sure. Mr. Edwards at school says he could.”
Ted Hanson interrupted the dialog. “College education is money well-spent, Walter. In the end, it pays off.”
Emily Hanson had been sitting quietly, interested, silently supporting and admiring her daughter. She spoke up, “Walter, you know, this whole business is not just about Jack. It’s about you! You, Walter, not Jack. You should support your son. He’s a wonderful young man. An extraordinary one. Believe in him. Give him opportunity. Give him the best in education. It’s up to you, no one else, Walter. You have a wonderful son, and you will lose him if you don’t support him.”
Walter put his head down, clasped in his hands. “This is terrible. It’s my fault. What a mess I’ve made.” Then, after a pause, “How did he do it? How is he traveling? Where is he now?”
“Well, Mr. Stavitch, Jack has been planning this for some time. For months and months. His idea is to go to Florida. He’s talked some about Key West, but I don’t think that’s really his target. Just somewhere where he can find work and finish high school. He’s even looked up colleges in Florida. Stetson, he mentioned, I think. He’s not coming back, Mr. Stavitch.”
“And you think this is okay?” Walter said to Marilyn.
“No, I think it’s dumb. Stupid, real stupid. I tried hard to talk Jack out of this crazy idea. But I couldn’t. So in the end, I guess I helped him.”
“Helped him? How?”
“Well, when he was painting the fence and you were busy in the winery with Edward, I drove him to your garage. He took an old VW that he said was not worth much.”
“Yeah. I think I know the car he must have taken.
It’s pretty beat up. But I guess it drives okay. Does he have any money? Where will he stay?”
“I think he cleaned out his savings account, whatever there was there. And he expects to camp along the way, which might not cost too much, I guess. I went with him when he bought a sleeping bag and a tent. He promised to call me every day. I hope he will. I was talking to him upstairs when you came in.”
“Oh! Where is he now?”
“In a campground in North Carolina. He told me about a nice couple he met. Older—well, your age and Mom’s and Dad’s, I guess. They have a big camper and are in the site next to where he has his tent. They invited him for supper.”
Walter picked up his beer and drank from the bottle. He put the bottle down and turned, facing Ted and Emily Hanson, “What should I do? I guess I could call the state police, but he’s out of Ohio now. And that really won’t solve the problem, will it? No, there’s not much I can do.… Just hope that he’s well. Hope that he’ll come to his senses and come back.”
“He won’t,” Marilyn said. “Not until he can get control of his life. If you really want him back, support him. Encourage his dreams. Help him ‘catch a falling star.’ I think there’s an old song like that. He has ideas, good ideas. He needs hope. That’s what he is looking for now.
“When he does contact you, I think you should let him know that you will support him, will help him find his dream. I think you should tell him that he will not be stuck in a winery that he does not want.” She paused. Then she added, “I guess it’s not my place to say this, but you should let him go where he wants to go and do what he wants to do. I think you should tell him you will welcome him back and that you will encourage him to aim high. That you will help him go to a good college, the best he can get into. That you will support him as he looks for a career beyond the winery.” Marilyn was obviously agitated. Perhaps she had said too much. But, she thought, this needed to be said. Then she added, “And keep up the payments to Verizon so he can keep in touch with me, if not directly with you.”
“Oh, Ted,” Walter said with obvious distress, “I’ve so screwed things up. I’ve had to worry about Millie. She’s an alcoholic now. And I’m trying to run a garage and a winery. Too much. It’s all my fault. I’ve really lost my wife, first of all. Now my younger son. Lost, lost. I don’t know what to do. Lord knows, I’ve tried. Maybe not enough. No, I’ve tried hard enough, but not in the right way, not for the right things. What else, what more can I do? I’ve lost Millie. I’ve lost Jack, I’ve lost myself.”
“I think there is something we can do. Should do,” said Ted Hanson.
“Oh?”
“We should pray. Pray for Jack’s well-being. Pray for his safety. Pray for him to find what he wants in life. I know you are not a churchgoer, Walter, but I think Marilyn, Emily, and I would like to pray for Jack. And I hope you’ll join us.”
“And for him to come back?” Walter asked hesitatingly.
“If you want. But his safely should be uppermost in our minds now. So join me now in prayer.” He folded his hands and bowed his head. Marilyn and Emily joined him. Walter, embarrassed and not quite sure what was expected of him, followed their example.
“Dear God,” Ted began, “we raise Jack Stavitch to you and ask you to protect him. We ask that you keep him safe as he journeys. We ask that you guide him in his travels and guide him as he seeks to find his way in life. We ask that you lead him to understand that those he leaves behind love him and wish him safety as he travels. We ask that those of us here, whom he has left behind, continue in their love for him and find new understanding of Jack and his hopes for life. These things we ask for us and especially for Walter’s son in the name of your son, Jesus Christ, our savior. Amen.”
“Amen,” added Marilyn.
“Amen,” said Emily.
“Amen,” said Walter, needing to say it, perhaps for the first time in his life.
6. St. Catharines
Tent, sleeping bag, and pack stowed in the back seat of the Volkswagen, Jack drove out onto the road. He had his passport in his shirt pocket, where he could retrieve it easily. He had thought he might say goodbye to his neighbors, the Nicholsons, but they had not yet emerged from their camper. What he had done was to write a note on a piece of paper he rescued from a trash can and put it into the opening slot made by the edge of their camper door. Such fine folks, he thought. Why could not his parents be the nice, generous people they were? Once again Jack found breakfast at Wendy’s, thinking once more that he would have to find a way of cooking meals for himself. He needed to economize, to save his money against his uncertain future.
As he had done the previous day, he followed traffic to enter the central area of Niagara Falls on Main Street. Shortly he arrived at the entrance to Rainbow Bridge where he would cross into Canada. The entrance was wide with several lanes. Sort of like a supermarket check-out, he mused. Well, he was going to check out of the U.S. There was a large sign on the right at a store where he could buy duty-free liquor. A big business, he supposed, but not of interest to him.
Jack pulled up to the point where he must wait his turn to drive to the bridge. Then to U.S. emigration. He held out his passport, but the official there simply waved him through. Then Canadian immigration.
“How long will you stay in Canada?” he was asked.
“Just a couple of hours. To see the falls from the Canadian side.” Jack had decided not to tell the truth. He correctly assumed that many tourists would cross the river to Canada to do nothing more than take pictures and return.
“Any alcoholic beverages?
“No.”
“Any firearms?”
“No.”
“Any commercial products to be sold?”
“No.”
“Any personal purchases to declare?”
“No.”
“Good day. Enjoy your visit.”
“That was easy,” Jack said aloud. And he thought, I am in no hurry and I really don’t know where I’m going. So I should find a place to park and see the falls from here. Following signs and traffic, he made his way to a parkway that followed the river toward the falls. Traffic was heavy and moving slowly. There were no open parking spaces evident, and he turned uphill at a side street to park in a garage. Okay, he thought, I can walk from here and see the falls, but the first thing I need to do is get some Canadian money. There was no one near him in the garage, and he felt it safe to expose his sequestered money. He pulled out the cash from an inner pocket in his pants. Well, I won’t want American money, Jack said to himself. Somehow, however, it seemed not right to change all of his money. He counted out twenty fifty-dollar bills and put them in his shirt pocket beside his passport. One thousand dollars.
He found a money-changing office near the garage; there were many such offices with window placards offering their rates. At the counter inside he laid out the twenty U.S. fifty-dollar bills and his passport. The clerk, a young man not much older than he, Jack judged, pushed the passport across the counter back to Jack. “I don’t need this for changing American dollars,” he said. Then he counted the American bills carefully. “One thousand dollars,” he said to Jack.
“Correct.”
“You want to change it all?”
“Yes.”
The clerk then scanned each bill with what Jack supposed was an ultraviolet light.
“Looking for counterfeits?” Jack asked. “They shouldn’t be. I just got them from my bank in Ohio.”
“Just being careful. We always scan all fifty and one-hundred dollar bills.” Then he punched keys on an adding machine and said, “one-thousand, three-hundred, thirty-eight Canadian dollars, and ten cents. I’ll have to go to the safe in the back room to get it. We don’t have people wanting to change this much very often.” He disappeared for a short time and returned carrying packets of Canadian currency. He counted out the Canadian bills and then added three coins. Jack picked up the coins, holding them in his palm and looking at them. “A ‘loo
nie,’ a ‘toonie,’ and a dime,” the clerk said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, the one dollar coin is a ‘loonie’ because it has a loon on it. And the two dollar coin is a ‘toonie,’ of course. And the dime is a ‘dime,’ just as in the States.”
Jack pocketed the money. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be in Canada for a while, and I guess I’ll get used to your money.”
“Sure. It’s easy. And not really much different from U.S. money. The exchange rate varies from time to time, of course. We adjust the rate we give every morning as we open.”
“I need a map,” Jack said to the clerk. “A map of Ontario, I guess.”
“We have one for sale in the rack over against the wall. Four dollars. But don’t buy it! I guess I shouldn’t say that, but you can get one just as good, maybe better, for free in the tourist office just a block to your left.”
“Thanks,” Jack said. “I’ll do that.”
Jack collected an Ontario map from the tourist office and then walked across a grassy park to the edge of the river’s gorge. The tourists in Canada seemed of the same stripe as those on the American side of the river. Many families. Many nations represented. The park itself was smaller than that in the U.S., but it was well groomed. More flowers and fewer trees, Jack noticed.
Jack stood at the rail looking out at the falls and the river. Maid of the Mist boats plied the water, taking tourists from docks on the Canadian side to the edge of the falls, just as they did from the American side. Lost in thought, Jack was silent and oblivious of his surroundings. Impulsively, he pulled his passport from his shirt pocket. He ripped out the first two pages with their identifying information, tore them into shreds, and cast the pieces out toward the river. “I’ve done it,” he said aloud. “I’m not going back. Never!” He turned to walk back toward the garage and his car. Passing a trash receptacle, he discarded the remaining portion of his passport.
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