Mason wiggled loose and pressed his palms against the windowpane. “He’s going to run over that crazy guy.”
Dick Carelli, at the wheel of his old tractor, headed straight for Ken. Ken’s silhouette jerked sideways and stood petrified with obvious confusion and panic. As the massive machine appeared out of the corn, Ken ran off, in hot pursuit of his own elongated shadow.
Harden squat-shuffled to Mason’s side and shared his widening grin. Shoulder to shoulder, they watched. Olivia rushed to the window and gaped alongside them. Ken stopped fleeing and aimed his gun at the machine’s immense tires, but only empty, dull clicks cleared the barrel. Ken had run out of bullets from shooting up the sky.
The sixty-plus-year-old Dick Carelli might have been slow on his feet, but behind the wheel of his four-ton John Deere farm tractor, he was Hercules. Soon the sounds of the family’s cheers joined the blaring sirens of the two police cruisers careening down the gravel driveway. Ken, trapped between corn and man, raised his hands and surrendered.
Chapter 27
KEN got his wish. He hadn’t left Burr Oak Farm alone. Two Dover County deputies escorted him to sheriff’s headquarters in Concord. A tow operator confiscated his car an hour later. To Harden’s relief, his rifle shot had missed him. Andy almost wished it hadn’t. But for Harden’s sake, he supposed Ken had received fair comeuppance.
The kids were too wired to sleep in their own beds. Harden allowed them to crawl into his. Or was it also Andy’s? Mason and Olivia showed no surprise that Andy stretched out among them. Of course, Uncle Andy would want to sleep with the family after their crazy night too. They acted as if they were on a camping trip. Excitement had replaced the fear and apprehension Ken had caused.
Neither bothered to ask who the “bad man” was. “Kids only ask questions if you lack answers,” Harden had once told Andy. Mason and Olivia giggled and hunkered under the bedcovers. They quivered and squirmed, but soon the long night won and cajoled them to sleep.
Andy awoke with Olivia’s elbow in his nose and Mason’s face against the sole of his foot. Harden had gone. Andy left the kids sleeping and found him in the kitchen. He’d torn down the cardboard they’d duct taped to the broken windows the night before and, with a warm, gentle breeze blowing into the kitchen, was now removing glass shards from the frames piece by piece with leather gloves.
He looked up at Andy. “You sleep okay?”
“As good as expected.”
Harden turned back to pulling out the glass chunks. “I wanted to get a head start for the window installer coming this morning.”
Andy watched Harden a moment longer, appreciating his strong hands flexing and turning with the grace of an otter’s neck. Similar to when he’d observed him grilling during the corn roast and Andy had been unable to turn away from him. His strength and steadfast dedication, anachronisms in action.
Andy poured a mug of coffee and inspected the kitchen and living room. They had swept and vacuumed before bed, but Andy was unsure they’d gotten all of the glass shards. He’d clean more once the window installer left.
Surveying the boarded up french doors and the twisted Venetian blinds, he fought back the guilt over Ken. Why bother to mention his remorse to Harden? He would dismiss him for being overdramatic. At breakfast, the kids raved about the previous night as if they’d experienced an adventure matching one of their silly cartoons. Harden patronized them, but Andy wished they would change the subject.
About the same time the window installer arrived at eleven, the sheriff telephoned. Andy showed the workman the french doors while he eavesdropped on Harden’s conversation. He heard Harden hang up the kitchen landline and excused himself from the installer.
“The sheriff released Ken on bail?” Andy asked Harden in a low voice.
Harden nodded. “They returned his car. He should be halfway to Chicago.”
“I’m kind of relieved,” Andy said, casting his gaze downward. “I don’t want anyone to make a fuss over this.”
“He’ll probably have a court date sometime for February. Sheriff says most likely the Chicago Police Department will suspend him a few weeks.”
“Reasonable enough, I guess.”
Harden ogled him. “Has he tried to call or text you since last night?”
“I turned off the phone after his threat.” Andy reached into his front pocket and turned on the cell phone. It took a solid thirty seconds to croon awake. His voice and text messages were empty. Relieved, he stuffed the phone back inside his shorts and reported that Ken must have gotten the point.
Lance arrived shortly after the window installer had left. So much for Andy’s hopes that the ordeal would be forgotten like a bad dream. Being a fireman, Lance had heard the scanner reports. Dick Carelli had probably recounted his heroics to a dozen people too. Each of them would tell a dozen people. Before long, everyone in northeastern Iowa would learn the news.
Three of Harden’s friends showed up behind Lance. Harden reassured them, laughing, nothing too thrilling had happened. The kids’ enthusiasm while recounting the incident entertained the visitors more than alarmed them. “Crazy full moons,” Burt Anders from down the road said. Andy overheard Lance mention Lilly’s name, and Andy exhaled in both shame and relief, thinking everyone might blame the entire episode on her rather than him. But didn’t they associate him with her?
The long Labor Day weekend plunged ahead. By Sunday morning, Friday’s events seemed to have faded along with the cornstalks. No one had visited since Saturday afternoon, and the phones remained mute. Harden took the kids to Mass, while Andy declined. He’d yet to attend church with Harden and the kids. He’d been tempted. Wanted to. Liked the idea of the kids sitting cozy between them, their chins raised respectfully toward the pulpit. But how could he? Especially after Friday night?
He settled at the kitchen table and gazed out the newly installed window, shiny and clean with the markings indicating the window’s size and style left on. His van sat in the driveway, unmoved from when he’d last met Harden for lunch on Wednesday. The etching on the side, visible to anyone who visited: “Andy Wingal’s South Side Tours.” Along with a dozen bullet pockmarks.
Monday morning, they attended Mason’s final baseball game, postponed from an earlier rainout. Andy sat in the stands with Harden and Olivia. He would have stood out like a movie starlet at a country bake sale had he attended a Catholic Mass. But he refused to miss Mason’s third-place baseball contest.
Harden’s mother sat directly in front of them with a coworker friend, a grandmother of one of Mason’s teammates. Mrs. Krane had smiled at Andy when they’d met briefly in the parking lot. Had it come from blame or pity? She had asked about the kids’ first week of school, as if he’d know more about their lives than she. And, at that point, wouldn’t he? She never mentioned the ordeal from Friday night. He was sure she knew—everyone knew—but how much did she grasp? If she did blame him, she gave him no reason to suspect.
He nudged aside his ego and eyeballed the longhaired boy wearing a constant smirk and playing third base. Mason had pointed him out to Andy the last time he’d attended one of his games. Mike Tuelong might badger Mason into another fight, particularly since the entire community must have heard about Lillian’s visit from a mere few weeks before too.
“With me here, that punk should behave himself,” Harden whispered into Andy’s ear after Andy had expressed his concerns. Harden nodded two o’clock, five seats down. “That’s his mom, the orange shirt.”
“Now, that lady looks like a monkey,” Andy muttered.
Harden patted Andy’s shoulder right when a whistle signified the start of the game. The innings unfolded, and Andy enjoyed himself, although his mind wavered from the game to the man who drove the scary black van with tinted windows parked in front of the Krane house.
Bottom of the fifth, Mason launched a ball toward left field, camouflaged by the milky sky. It reappeared during the downward arc and landed in a cornfield. A three-run homer.
Back home, Andy held Mason from jumping out of the Jeep. “Wait a minute, okay?” Harden and Olivia moved ahead, and Andy gestured for Mason to climb out. He walked alongside him, deliberately slowing their pace so that Harden and Olivia would enter the house first. “Good game,” he said.
“Fourth place isn’t too bad out of eleven teams.”
“You gave an awesome effort.”
Mason, his cleats in a plastic bag slung over his shoulder and ball glove in hand, looked at Andy from under his baseball cap. “Is that all you wanted to say?”
Andy stopped him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Remember when we went swimming and Randy Lederman started picking on you?”
Mason nodded toward his sandals. “Sure.” He grinned at Andy from the recollection. “You really told him off. You said his mom was a monkey swinging from the trees.”
Andy suppressed a desire to laugh. “Have you ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophesy?” Mason shook his head and Andy continued. “It’s when you become what someone says. It’s a form of self-defense, in a way. But eventually, you’re giving in to your enemies. The best advice I can give you is what I did was wrong. Next time one of those bullies pesters you or your sister about your mom, or for any other reason, either politely tell the boys to back off or ignore them altogether. If you don’t do that, then you risk becoming like them. Do you get what I mean?”
Mason bit his lower lip. “But they always start it.”
“That’s my point, Mason. They push and poke specifically to get a reaction from you. They want you to sink to their level.”
Mason squinted away from the sun, appearing to contemplate. His bright blue eyes lit up, and he peered at Andy. “They are making me want to do something like punch them, even though I normally wouldn’t?”
Andy nodded. “Now you got it. Let’s say someone kept calling me a bad name. One day, in self-defense, I cuss them out and give them a good slug. Now, they can say that I’m a bad person. Just like they always said I was. I fell right into their sneaky little trap.”
Mason dipped his head sideways. “Dad would always yell at me for getting into fights and say I was stronger than Mike Tuelong and the others. I thought he meant stronger physically. He meant stronger mentally, right?”
Andy rubbed the top of Mason’s cap and moved him forward. “Your dad gives you good advice. You understand that, don’t you? That he loves you and Olivia more than any two people on earth?”
Mason shrugged. “I guess. Sure. I know that.”
“You understand why he had to keep you from seeing your mom, don’t you?”
Mason crinkled his nose. “I get why. Just wish he wouldn’t have to.”
“For the rest of your life remember how hard it is for him, and that he does things like that to protect you. Promise now. The rest of your life, remember how he sacrifices and loves you.”
“Sure, I’ll remember.”
“And tell him now and then how much you love him, okay?”
Mason and Andy reached the house, and Mason trekked upstairs. Harden was blocking the kitchen doorway, as if he were holding up the house on his shoulders. A smile stretched his cheeks.
“What were you two conspiring about?”
“Just guy talk.”
“Guy talk?” Harden threw his head back and laughed. He left for the upstairs, leaving off with a sweeping caress on Andy’s back.
Despite the good feelings the baseball game had forged between Andy and Mrs. Krane, Andy declined Charlie and Vivian Marshall’s invitation to their Labor Day barbeque. He remained at home—with Olivia. Harden decided, since Andy wasn’t going, it would be best for Olivia to stay behind too. Already spent from a half day under the hot sun and a belly sated with sugar, she was more than happy to hang with Uncle Andy.
Outside, after Harden and Mason had left, Andy nudged her down the slide a few times and next pushed her on the swing. He asked her, “You like living here at Burr Oak Farm?”
Olivia kicked her feet higher, since Andy’s pushing had slackened off. “Of course,” she said. “I live here.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he said.
“Don’t you?”
“It’s a wonderful place.”
Grinding her sneakers into the dirt to a stop, Olivia jumped off the seat and said she wanted to see her favorite fish. Hand in hand, they walked to the creek. Olivia peered through the clear water, searching. The light tinkle of water mimicked the sound of pouring wine. For a time, he watched Olivia straddle the creek, her little chin pressed against her chest, and he savored the peaceful moment.
“Do you know who makes life at Burr Oak Farm wonderful?” Andy said, wanting to finish his thought from the swing set.
Olivia, still searching for her fish, glanced at Andy. “Who?”
“Take a guess.”
Olivia peered toward the tree branches hanging above. Leaves had begun to turn crisp, and one fell before her eyes and floated down the creek, out of sight around a bend. Placing a finger to her puckered mouth, she said, “God?”
Andy snickered through his nose. “That’s true too, I suppose. But I was thinking of someone more down to earth.”
“Well… Great-grandma and Great-grandpop, for giving the farm to Daddy after they died, and Kamila because she does stuff like keeping the house clean…. Oh, and Daddy, of course.”
Andy threw open his arms. Olivia instinctively fell into him. She still smelled of peanut butter from their small snack before venturing outside. Her long ponytails tickled his nose.
“Your daddy sacrifices a lot for you.” Andy tweaked her nose. “But that’s because you’re such a sweet, special little girl.”
Olivia blushed and made one of those “aw shucks” looks.
“He loves you. Even when he tells you things you might not like, it’s to protect you.”
Olivia tilted her head. “Daddy tells me lots of things I don’t always like, like to wash my hands and take a bath, but I listen. Mason sometimes doesn’t. He fills the bathtub with water but doesn’t always get in. Do you think Daddy yells at us sometimes when he’s feeling tired?”
Taken aback by her insight, Andy said, “We adults can take out our frustrations on kids, for sure. But that never means your daddy doesn’t love you. Remember that, okay?”
“I know.” Olivia giggled. She pointed toward the creek, and her face beamed. “There it is! See? That’s him. The one with the big brown and yellow spots.”
Andy admired the fish, although he knew that many of the creek’s fish sported spots. He went along with her game, and then together they wandered back to the house.
Mason and Harden returned a few hours later and rustled their gentle evening with clatter and commotion. They described the barbecue’s delicious spread, and Mason mentioned the “goofy big man” who’d tripped and almost fell into a pie. “But they saved it,” he added, wide-eyed.
“What about the man?” Andy asked, chuckling.
Mason snickered. “We were more concerned about Lucinda Jamison’s strawberry pie.”
The name struck Andy like a dagger. He had failed to imagine Lucinda attending the barbeque. Of course she would. Charlie Marshall was her boss too. For a moment, he wished he’d gone. But for what purpose? Harden was busy at the refrigerator, putting away leftovers Mrs. Marshall had given him, when Mason had retold the story of Lucinda’s pie. He’d glanced up for only an instant. Andy patted Mason’s head and finished cleaning his and Olivia’s dinner dishes.
With the kids tucked in later that night, Harden and Andy crawled into their own bed. Andy no longer kept a towel wedged under the door. Nevertheless, he’d made sure to lock it. Leaning against a pillow, Harden described the quality father-son time he’d spent with Mason. Andy listened. He was glad life at Burr Oak Farm had rounded a positive corner.
When Harden finished, Andy pulled in his lips and peered at his restless fingers lying in the hollow of the covers between his legs. “Harden,” he said, working the spit in his mouth, “it’s time for me to go.”
Harden patted the bedcovers on top of Andy’s left thigh. “Go where?”
Andy wanted to speak his mind undaunted, to state the thoughts that had pestered him for days. “Chicago, where else?” he said. “My life is there. It’s not practical for me to stay here, Harden. Not really.”
Harden did not budge. His hand halted on Andy’s thigh. Slowly, he removed it. “Christ,” he whispered, “you say that now, after everything?”
“I can’t play games with you.”
“But you said you wanted to stay. I heard you speak to Ken.”
“Going back to Chicago has nothing to do with Ken. He was a bad habit. I just can’t stay here, that’s all. We couldn’t live together like we have been. Not in a small town.”
“You’d be surprised how few people around here care about those things.” Harden shot him a wide-eyed look. “Vivian even asked why you didn’t come to the barbeque. She acted disappointed.”
“If Dover County threw us the world’s largest coming out party, I’d still have to make a living. I have payments to make on my van. I have an apartment with a lease. Mail is piling up, and I certainly can’t trust Ken to handle that for me now. For all I know, he might be at my apartment right this minute trashing everything I own.”
“Go back and tie up all those loose ends and come back. The kids don’t want you to leave. I’m sure of that. They love you here.”
Andy heard a rumbling rise from the field. Dick Carelli was back at work. The corn had grown brittle and wan, and the harvest was in full swing. In a few weeks, the farmers would thresh the kernels, according to Harden, and sell the feed to dairy farmers and beef raisers. Soon the fields would lay bare. Another season behind them. Winter would be on them fast. Snow and ice would cover the ground, tucking in hopes and dreams until next season.
The South Side Tour Guide Page 23