Sins of Our Fathers (9781571319128)

by Otto, Shawn Lawrence

  The truck’s front seat was covered with a wolf-like fur throw, plush and slippery in its wildness. Julie hunkered low in the thickness of it, her shoulder collapsed against the door, until they got out onto the highway. JW watched her strange posture—her long limbs folded up and pale as polished marble, her head below the window—and he suddenly realized that she was hiding. She was embarrassed to be seen in the truck. He was used to driving it by now, and he laughed and shook his head as he turned onto the highway, heading toward Northland Mall.

  “So, how’s school going?” he said, trying to strike up a conversation. It was a new year in a new school, junior high, and Julie was likely swamped.

  “Fine.”

  He asked how her classes were, and she parried with a series of monosyllabic answers, her lips small and bloodless, her thumbs pressing away at the black glass of her cell phone. He tried pointing to the trees and asking if she could identify the species, but she was obviously absorbed, and eventually he fell silent. It had recently rained on this section of highway, and the tires made a washing hiss against the underside of the truck as they drove.

  “Should we listen to some music?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  He turned on the Clapton tape, and soon they were both lost in thought. As they drove past the Many Lakes Casino he reflected on how much of his life had circled around gambling in one way or another—from his play to win Carol’s affection to the risk assessments and deal structures he put in place in crafting the bank’s more profitable loans. In fact, what investors and even bankers were doing in the financial markets could increasingly be described as gambling, and they all thought that they, too, could game the system. They did it with derivatives or ETFs or alternative investments, throwing large portions of the economy into danger. All of it had an element of risk and reward, of betting on an insecure outcome. Even the president spoke about Americans’ “appetite for risk,” as if it were a good thing. JW had shared this unexamined belief for most of his life, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  And it was also true, he thought, that America was particularly steeped in the idea. The American dream itself was a giant gamble, after all. It took unreasonable optimism to pack up and leave a country of origin, to risk it all based on hope for a better opportunity in a country one had never seen. That same brand of optimism had led him to believe that he could control his fate, that the world was just, that hard work paid off, and that people got what they deserved. But then a deer jumped out in front of Chris at the wrong moment.

  For a long time he had wanted to believe that this terrible accident could have been prevented. But that belief had itself become a cancer—for if it could have been prevented, it was almost surely his fault. This thought was unbearable, and he suddenly realized, glancing over at Julie, that it was also unfair. To all of them.

  Julie was slouched back in the seat with her feet up on the dashboard and her cell phone between her ivory knees, her painted toenails stuck with stars. He wondered what thinking he and Carol had imbued in her about risk-taking, about life and what was really important. He wondered, and worried.

  “Julie? How come you don’t play outside anymore?”

  She shrugged at her phone. “’Cause I’m growing up?”

  He tried to picture her not as a teenager, but as a young woman in her twenties. And he was somewhat shocked to find that it was suddenly possible. But what he couldn’t imagine was her soul. Would she be a risk-taker, or would she be frightened after his breathtaking downhill run, frozen on the bunny hill of a smaller, safer, but ultimately less satisfying life?

  Ahead lay a scenic overlook—a small gravel turn off the highway, bounded by a low limestone wall that overlooked an old mine pit. It had long since flooded and had become a favorite swimming hole in his youth. It was rumored that a mining office, a barracks, and two backhoes still stood ready under eighty feet of water, and sometimes JW had seen what he thought were their shadows far below. He and his friends would jump from the high stone bluffs, soaring like birds for forty or fifty feet—a full four- or five-second drop—before plunging into the cool water. The sense of freedom and danger combined to create a giddy, out-of-control high that was better than any drug, and it was supercharged by the sudden swoosh of cool as they arced into the depths like dolphins. Not surprisingly, the sheriff had long since put an end to it.

  “Hey,” he said, looking over at Julie, “instead of shopping, let’s do something crazy.”

  Julie looked up at him from her cell phone. He saw a spark of interest.

  “What?”

  He pulled sharply off the highway into the turnoff. Julie sat up, looking frightened and surprised as she grabbed at the door. JW slammed on the brakes and crunched to a sudden stop in a cloud of gravel dust.

  “What are you doing!?”

  JW took the hundred-dollar bill out of his shirt and held it out to her. “Come on. You can spend that later with your girlfriends. Let’s do something fun.”

  She took the bill as he got out of the truck. He stood in the open door and struggled out of his suit jacket. “Hurry up! Leave your cell phone under the seat. You can tuck the bill under it.”

  She frowned and laughed at the same time, then stuck them under the seat and got out. She fluffed her hair as he closed his door and came around the hood of the old truck. He reached out a hand to her.

  “Have you ever been here?”

  “You’re taking me on a walk?”

  “Oh no, it’s much better than that. Come on. You’ll see.”

  She shook her head as if to communicate how intolerably weird her dad was to anyone who might be watching—but she took his hand. They climbed over the stone wall, down a rocky path through the brush, and onto a high stone bluff that jutted out over the water. “I always imagined taking you and Chris here when you got older, but then they made it illegal,” he said, kicking off his dress shoes.

  Julie’s expression was both scared and delighted, which is exactly what he’d hoped for. It was a flash of the old Julie, of Julie the wondrous child.

  “The jump rock? You’re going to fricking jump?”

  “I am, and you’re coming with me. We’ll hold hands.”

  “But you’re in your suit.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t. Come on, it’s fun.”

  He held a hand out to her. She was smiling, but she also looked unsure about the proposal.

  “Trust me, Julie. You’ll want to do it again, I promise.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I did this literally hundreds of times as a kid.”

  “But it’s like fifty feet,” she said, peering over the edge. The rocky outcropping seemed to jut out from the cliff. It fell off to either side, and junipers grew up from below the edges.

  “Something like that. You just have to remember to keep your feet together so you don’t get an enema.”

  She laughed. “You’re crazy.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. You coming?”

  She looked at him and then, suddenly, she took his hand and they were running. He heard her laughing and screaming at his side as the edge came up, and then they were flying and falling, arms waving and yelling, and—and—and—whoosh! The water engulfed them in its cold clasp. They fought back toward the surface, Julie’s pale limbs cutting the water above him like barkless branches.

  When he broke into the air she was gasping and roaring like an animal. He gulped in air and spit water and laughed. His tie floated by his face. She looked around, treading water, and started swimming toward the rocky shore.

  “You like it?”

  “No!”

  “No!?”

  “I’m freezing, and I think you made me crap my pants!”

  He laughed. “Well, tread water and rinse it out.”

  “I’m joking!”

  They climbed out amid angular chunks of stone on the shoreline, taking careful steps to avoid cutting their feet. Beyond the chunks lay a rocky brown pa
th, and Julie trotted up it, hugging herself and shivering dramatically, dripping a trail of water as she headed back up to the bluff. He tried to stay with her, but she was like a mountain goat.

  “Can you wait up?”

  “I’m freezing!”

  “Okay, go ahead, I’ll meet you up top.”

  She scampered out of sight. He had hoped she’d want to go again, but that seemed out of the question. He laughed to himself as he followed the dark drips of her trail, recalling her incredulous reaction at the top of the bluff. But she had done it.

  When he finally got to the top her sandals were gone. He picked up his shoes, his suit pants and dress shirt sticking to him like wet bedsheets. The air was warm, but he was shivering, and storm clouds were blowing in from the west. The warm truck would feel good. As he climbed up the path to the turnoff he heard a voice—and when he crested the top he realized it was the sound of a police dispatcher. Julie stood shivering next to Dan Barden’s county cruiser. He was tall and well-built, in his thirties, with close-cropped, dark brown hair. Dan was Bob Grossman’s colleague on the Bass County patrol. As JW stepped up to the wall, a carload of boys drove by on the highway, honking and yelling at Julie. She turned away, mortified. JW stepped over the wall and laughed.

  “Hey Dan, how’s it going?”

  “So it is you. I didn’t believe it when she told me.”

  JW glanced at the wild rice truck. Of course. He laughed. He stood there in his suit pants, shirt, and tie, dripping wet.

  “Just showing her the jump rock.”

  “You know that’s illegal. I could take you in for trespassing, or endangering a minor.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake! How many times you jump off that rock as a kid?”

  “I don’t make the laws.”

  “Well, if you’re going to do it, arrest her, not me. It was her idea.”

  Julie looked at him, aghast. “What? That’s a lie!”

  “I’m kidding!”

  He shook his head and turned back to Barden. “I’m sorry, Dan, I just—” Suddenly emotion welled up in him and he couldn’t explain it. “Can you let it go this time?”

  Barden looked concerned, but moved. “Yeah, sure.” He turned to Julie. “Just don’t let me catch you doing that again, okay? Your dad has some crazy ideas lately.”

  Julie nodded. JW had no doubt that she would follow Barden’s instructions.

  “Okay,” Barden said, and gestured toward the truck. Julie hurried to it and climbed inside. “She’s pretty cold. You better hurry and get her home.”

  “She’ll be okay.”

  Barden nodded, still skeptical, then turned back to his cruiser.

  JW called after. “Hey. Sometimes you gotta do crazy things.”

  Barden nodded again, then got into the car.

  JW was a sopping mess. He reached into his pocket for the truck keys and realized with a sudden horrible rush that the digital recorder was still in his pants pocket. He took the recorder out and looked at it, hoping he could dry it out, but saw that he had left the power switch on. The display was blank.

  His heart filled with rocks. It couldn’t be. He had destroyed his evidence, his insurance policy against Jorgenson. He wanted to vomit. His head was tingling. He put his hands to his forehead. Suddenly there was a loud blare and he looked up and saw Julie leaning over and honking the truck horn.

  His legs were weak and the joy had left him. He shuffled to the truck and opened the door.

  “Come on! I’m freezing!”

  “Okay,” he managed to say. “Okay.” He looked up, and shook out of it. “I’m sorry,” he said, getting in. “Here.” He held up his suit jacket and gestured to her.

  “I’ll get it all wet.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  She looked worried now, realizing that his mood had suddenly changed dramatically. She leaned forward and he draped it around her.

  He pulled his door shut like a zombie and started the truck. He put the heat on max and sat for a second and closed his eyes. Then he backed out.

  “I don’t ever want to do that again,” she said once they were out on the highway, heading back toward North Lake.

  “Why not?”

  The mood was suddenly pensive and brittle.

  “I don’t know. It scared me.”

  “Sometimes being scared is okay.”

  Neither one of them said another word the rest of the way home, but as he pulled up in front of the house and shifted into park, he turned to her.

  “Julie, I’m sorry. But listen, what we did wasn’t crazy. Everything good in life has a little risk to it. That’s what makes living fun.”

  She shook her head as though she couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Is that why you gamble?”

  It felt like a kick to the stomach. “No, I don’t think so. But I’m not gambling anymore.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see how long that lasts.”

  She shrugged out of his suit jacket, opened the truck, and got out.

  26

  Carol was curled up on a sofa in the family room when he entered, the giant brass rubbings of old English tombs looming over her. The TV was blaring commercials. Julie was already upstairs, her music going in the bathroom and the shower running. His clothes were almost dry from the truck heater, except for his socks, which he peeled off by the door.

  “What happened to your shoes?” Carol asked.

  He went over and sat down next to her. The wool felt warm on his feet. “I took her to the jump rock.”

  “You did what?”

  “I needed to break through to her somehow.”

  Carol noticed that his clothes were still damp. She shook her head, but then appeared to soften.

  “It’s a confusing time for her,” she said.

  “We still got time together. That’s what counts.” He looked out the bay window at the sunset. “Remember when Chris was her age? All he ever wanted to do was hang out.”

  She smiled. “I used to get so jealous,” she said. “You got all the fun stuff.”

  “Work in the workshop, work in the garage. ‘Hey dad, hey dad,’ I couldn’t get a thought in edgewise. I used to get mad at him for it. I don’t know how I lost him.”

  She reached out and he felt her thin fingers take his cool hand. She wrapped it in hers and rested them both on her hip. “You didn’t lose him,” she said. “You were a good dad.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But your hair could use a little help.”

  He laughed and looked down at their entwined fingers, then up at the amused smile on her face. The lamp on the table behind her cast a warm glow, backlighting her blonde hair. He leaned in to kiss her, but she put a hand gently up to his lips to stop him. She shook her head slightly.

  “John,” she said, searching his eyes. Her pupils were big and dark, incredibly dark. She had an air that felt almost apologetic. “You walked away from us. You weren’t there.” Her face went pale and she swallowed and breathed in. “I want to pursue this thing with Jim.”

  There was no sound. He looked into her eyes, trying to connect through the fog of adrenaline. He was suddenly two people. He was himself, and he was someone else, a viewer watching the scene as if it were a movie. His ears pulsed and it became increasingly hard to concentrate. Then he became aware of the noise from the TV again.

  “Honey, this is our life—” he said.

  But she was rushing forward now, almost as if this were a script she had rehearsed many times. She spoke with more passion than necessary, as if he were putting up an enormous argument. “He takes me to luncheons, he goes to church with me. He got me into a career. I’m finally taking care of myself, and Julie—”

  “Honey. We’ve had a little bump. But we never—I mean, it’s you and me. We’re getting through it. I’ll get you money, I told you—”

  “It’s not about the money, John!”

  She was slipping away from him. It couldn’t be happening.

  “No, list
en—”

  “You left! John! Look at me!”

  He realized he was staring into space. He looked at her and saw that her cheeks were swollen and flushed. A tear ran over the soft pomegranate skin of her cheek. She reached up and held his face in her palms. “I’ve moved on. It’s not fair to ask me to act as if the last year never happened. It’s not.” She searched his face.

  He leaned his elbows on his knees, held his hands, looked at the coffee table. Piled newspapers and People magazines. Crosswords partially completed in handwriting he didn’t recognize. Commercials were still playing on the TV. Such a short time had passed, and yet it contained an eternity. What did the last twenty years mean? Why had he given her his first paycheck? He had married the town beauty queen. They had been the most likely to succeed. They had a boy and a girl. And then they didn’t.

  “Can you tell me if you ever loved me?”

  “Oh, John. Don’t.”

  She looked away at the commercials and held her elbows as tears flowed down her cheeks.

  He finally stood and headed for the door. He was shaking and weak. He stood there for a moment, his forehead pressed against the cool white enamel, listening to her cry. And then he opened the door and went out into the dusk, leaving his wet socks on the floor behind.

  It began to mist heavily on the way home, and the air cooled. He turned the heat on to warm his feet. The white searchlight teepee bled out over the windshield as he neared the casino, and the neon colors throbbed and ran as he turned into the lot. He pulled over and watched the entrance, blurry in the mist. Under the portico, people surged in and out. He unrolled the window and listened. He could hear their laughter and excitement, and beyond them the faint chinking of the slot machines and their little voices of encouragement.

  The wipers cycled, and he sat staring at the neon lights, bleeding out as mist re-accumulated. He listened to the old sounds of comfort and celebration, imagining the stale cigarette smoke and the savory thwacking of cards being shuffled, the soft clicks of the chips and the barks of laughter. Hit me. Hold. The song came back to him as Willie Nelson had sung it: clear, soulful, and thin as an old hillbilly psalm. The other night dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms. When I awoke dear, I was mistaken, So I hung my head and I cried.