by Jack Weyland
“The man who owns them lives in England. He’s told me he’s going to sell them in a year or two,” my grandfather said.
“I thought you owned the apartments.”
“I owned one of them at one time, but I sold it, and got hired to manage the three buildings. I’m just a hired hand. Once the buildings are sold, we’ll both be looking for work. Well, except I’ll just retire then.”
I began to panic. “I’ll find another job.”
“Why don’t you work for your dad?” Brianna asked.
“I don’t like to do that kind of work anymore.”
“But you’re good at it, and it pays well,” Brianna said. “Your mom told me.”
“It’s not . . . who I am now. I’m not like that.”
“What do you mean, you’re not like that?” my grandmother said. “Good grief, it’s just a job. What difference does it make what you do as long as you bring in money? If you’re good at something, do it.”
“No, I can’t do that anymore.”
Grandmother said, “What do you mean, you can’t do it anymore? You’ve forgotten how? I don’t believe that for a minute.”
Everyone was looking at me. I started to stammer. “See, the thing is, I’m more like my first mom. You told me that she used to say, ‘Life is for fun.’ Well, creating Web sites is not fun. So I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to be like I was.”
My grandparents looked at Brianna to see what her reaction would be.
“You’ve taken this too far, Adam,” my grandmother said. “You’ve created an image in your mind of what your mom was like, but it’s warped, and it’s not the way she really was. She had a 3.7 grade point average in college while she was working twenty hours a week doing commercial art. Yes, she did say life is for fun, but, let me tell you something, she worked her tail off to put herself through college.”
My grandfather added, “You’re treating Charly like she was some kind of a saint. But she wasn’t. She was just like most of us. She had some good qualities and a few bad ones.” He paused. “Like with Mark, for example.”
“Eddie, we are not going to talk about Mark!” my grandmother snapped.
“Who’s Mark?” I asked.
My grandmother pointed a warning finger at my grandfather. “Eddie, not another word! Do you hear me? Not one word!”
“He needs to know that Charly had her problems too.”
“Is Mark someone she went with before she met my dad?” I asked.
“You could say that,” my grandfather said.
“Don’t say another word!” my grandmother said.
“Why not? It was before she even joined the Church!”
That was all I was going to learn about Mark. But it was almost enough. I knew my first mom had gone with him. And I knew they didn’t want me to know about their relationship.
I could almost connect the dots. “Did she sleep with him?”
“Eddie, you see what you’ve done?” my grandmother wailed.
“It was before she joined the Church,” my grandfather said.
I felt like I’d just lost my identity. During the summer I’d put so much effort into seeing the similarities between my first mom and me, that I’d come to believe that I was like her in every way. But, at the same time I’d done that, I had also distanced myself from my dad and my second mom, so that now, discovering that my first mom wasn’t perfect, I felt like I didn’t have anyone I could put my trust in.
Right then I knew I desperately needed some time to think. Time by myself. Like when I’d driven out from Utah. Maybe if I took a little more time going back, it would help me sort things out.
I put my hand to my forehead and just started rambling. “You know what? I think I’ll just head back to Utah now. I mean, I was going to leave in a week anyway, but, you know what? I have a lot of things to do to get ready for school in the fall. So I think I’ll just pack up and leave now, if that’s all right. Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do. Thank you very much for a wonderful summer. I’ve had a good time, and it’s really been . . . educational, but I really think I need to go home . . . to my family. Excuse me, I need to get packed up. Oh, Eddie and Claire, would it be all right if I took some of my first mom’s things? In case I ever want to look at them again. Which I’m not sure I ever will.”
Leaving Eddie and Claire and Brianna, I hurried upstairs to my room and began throwing everything I’d brought with me from Utah in suitcases and boxes and carrying them out to my car.
“Adam, we need to talk,” Brianna said at the bottom of the stairs as I passed her with some boxes.
“No, I can’t talk to you. You know what? Thomas is right. You’ll be better off without me.”
I returned to my room and boxed up all my mom’s things too. And on my last trip I crammed the harp into the trunk. It stuck out, so I used some string to tie the trunk lid as much as I could over it.
“I’ll call and let you know how I’m doing,” I told my grandparents on my way out the door for the last time. They looked stunned, and I knew my leaving like that was killing them. But I was too frustrated and confused to think about anything but getting away from there.
Brianna was standing between me and my car. “Tell me what’s happening,” she said.
“I don’t know.”
“I love you, Adam.”
“I know you do. Me too.” I stopped to hold her in my arms. “I’m so messed up, Brianna. I’m sorry.” I broke away from her and then hurried to my car and drove off.
I headed west, and it seemed fitting when it began to rain. Soon, it was coming down so hard, the windshield wipers could barely keep up. An hour later, I came over a small hill and saw a stalled car in the road ahead of me. I slammed on my brakes and went into a long, slow spin on the rain-wet road. The string I had used to tie down the trunk snapped, and the harp was thrown out onto the road. Miraculously, I managed to stop before I hit the car, then pulled off to the side of the highway, grateful no one had smashed into me from behind.
As I was getting out of my car to go pull the harp out of the road, a semi-truck came over the hill and ran over it, sending splinters of wood and bits of wire everywhere.
“Nooooo!” I shouted.
13
Thursday, August 15
I spent the night in my car in a vacant lot along a side road, not far from where the harp had fallen out of the trunk. As soon as it got light enough to see, I walked back to the scene of the accident. There was nothing left of the harp except some splinters of wood and some loose wires. I picked up what I could and then returned to my car.
I felt empty and sad, not just because the stupid harp had been destroyed, but more so because, the night before, I’d been so quick to write my mom off just because of learning about one mistake she’d made in her life. I had my own mistakes to deal with. Why was I so judgmental about someone else’s? Also, I knew I’d treated Brianna badly too. How could I just drive to Utah and pretend our love for each other had never existed?
I wasn’t sure that running off to Utah and abandoning my grandparents and Brianna was the thing to do. It was true I needed time to figure things out, but did I have to be thousands of miles from Brianna to do it? There was only one place close by that came to mind.
I turned the car around and drove to the ocean at Spring Lake. I got there about seven-thirty in the morning. It was a blustery day, and it was threatening to rain. I didn’t mind because I just wanted to walk along the beach and think.
I walked for an hour north along the beach and then turned around and headed back.
My feelings were all messed up. I felt like I was lost in a giant maze and couldn’t get out.
When I passed the place where I’d parked my car earlier that morning, I saw a woman setting up a card table; she was there to collect two dollars from everyone who came to the beach.
I walked until about ten o’clock in the morning. By that time, I was starving.
Leaving the beach, I walked past t
he woman at the card table. She was a frail, white-haired, aristocratic-looking woman, and it was hard to imagine she was doing this for food money.
I handed her my two dollars.
She looked at me strangely. “You’re leaving and you’re paying me?”
“I’ll be back.”
She smiled. “I had someone tell me that once when I was about your age. He never came back, though.”
“How foolish of him.”
She smiled. “That’s what I thought too.”
She took my money and stamped my hand.
“Do you do this every day?” I asked.
“Yes, every day.”
“Looking at the way you dress, I’d guess you don’t do this for food money.”
“No, nothing like that. I do it for civic pride. We want to keep our beach area picked up. That takes money.”
“Makes sense.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“I live in Madison.”
“But you’re not from there either.”
“No. I’m from Utah.”
“So you saw the light and had the good sense to move here, is that right?”
“I did. I might go back to Utah though. I can’t decide.”
“Why go back?”
“I’m supposed to start at BYU fall semester, but I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Why’s that?”
“I met a girl.”
“Oh, of course. There’s always a girl.”
“I’m really hungry. Is there a good place to eat near here?”
“My sister runs a bed and breakfast. Her name is Julia. Oh, I’m Catherine. Tell her I sent you. She’ll take good care of you.”
She gave me directions to her sister’s bed and breakfast. The place was only two blocks away, in a wood frame, two-story house.
A hand-lettered sign next to the front gate read, “Sea View Bed and Breakfast.” Below that sign was a similarly lettered sign that read, “No Solicitors.” It seemed a strange combination—welcoming people and turning them away at the same time.
A woman answered my knock. She also had white hair, and it was obvious she was Catherine’s sister.
“Yes?”
“Catherine sent me.”
“You’re too early if you want a room.”
“I don’t want a room. I just want breakfast.”
“This is a bed and breakfast. It’s not a breakfast.”
“Catherine said you’d take care of me.”
The woman made an exaggerated sigh. “She’ll be the ruin of me yet. Well, all right, I suppose you can come in.”
I stepped inside.
“Take off your shoes and your socks.”
“My socks too?”
“You’ve been walking on the beach already, haven’t you? You think I want sand scattered all over my house? No, sir, I don’t.”
I removed my shoes and socks.
“Come this way. Don’t touch anything.”
Her house could only be described as a shrine dedicated to figurines—mostly ballerinas.
She had me sit down in the dining room. There were some dirty plates on the table, but whoever had been there for breakfast had left.
“What I’d like is—”
“Did I ask you what you wanted? No, I did not. You come here, you’re a guest in my home. I don’t ask guests what they want for breakfast. You’ll get what I fix you, and you’ll eat it all up, or you’ll be hearing from me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I will now go and fix your breakfast. Make yourself at home.”
She left. There wasn’t a newspaper to read or a TV to watch. But I didn’t mind. I had a lot to think about.
Ten minutes later Julia brought in my breakfast. It was more than I’d ever eaten in my life—pancakes, real maple syrup, bacon, two eggs, and cranberry juice.
“This looks great!”
“Eat every bit of it or you’re not leaving the table.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You get much business here?”
“All I want. I don’t need much. Just a little extra to get me by.”
It wasn’t just because I was so hungry, but it was the best breakfast I had ever eaten.
“That was great! How much do I owe you?”
“Seven dollars.”
I pulled out my wallet. “Do you take Master Card?”
“I take cash.”
I fumbled through my wallet. “I’ve never been to a place that didn’t take a credit card.”
“Well, you have now.”
“All I have is four singles,” I said.
“You owe me seven dollars.”
“I know. I’ll need to go get some cash from an ATM.”
“We don’t have an ATM in town.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s one somewhere.”
“This is a small town and we want to keep it that way. We have no desire to turn Spring Lake into Coney Island. That’s why we take pride in not catering to tourists. Believe me, it’s no accident we don’t have an ATM in town.”
“What do the people do who stay here?”
“My regulars know the rules. And when someone makes a reservation, I tell ’em to bring cash. Of course, once in a while, someone walks in with no cash.”
“What do they do?”
“They usually promise to mail me the money when they get home.”
“I could do that too.”
“The problem is not everyone who promises actually sends the money.”
“I promise. I’ll find a town with an ATM and then come back with the money. I’ll be gone at most two hours.”
“How do I know you’ll do that?”
“What do you want me to do then?” I asked.
“Is there someone you can call and have them bring you the money?”
I thought about Brianna, but I wasn’t about to call her and ask for a favor—not after I had left her so abruptly.
“She wouldn’t do that,” I said.
“Who wouldn’t do that?”
“My girlfriend.”
“Your girlfriend wouldn’t help you out?”
“Actually, she’s more like my ex-girlfriend.”
“I don’t know what to tell you then.”
“We’ll figure something out. Can I use your restroom?”
“You’ll have to use the one on the second floor. The one on this floor doesn’t work.”
I smiled. “Today is your lucky day then. I’ll fix whatever’s wrong for what I owe you. How would that be?”
“Are you a plumber?”
“No, better. I do maintenance on three apartment buildings in Madison that my grandfather manages.”
“Well, you can take a look at it if you want. Just don’t make it worse than it already is. I called a plumber two days ago, but he hasn’t come yet. You know how it is with plumbers.”
I looked at her toilet, went to a hardware store, bought less than two dollar’s worth of parts, and within another ten minutes, had her toilet working.
“I’m finished. Come and see what I’ve done.”
She entered the room a skeptic, but after flushing a few times I became her newest best friend.
“You are truly a gifted man.”
“So is my breakfast paid for?”
“Yes, absolutely.” She put her hand on my arm. “I have a few other things that need fixing. If you’ll work around here this afternoon, I’ll give you dinner.”
“Sure, why not?”
I had her show me the things that needed fixing, then went to the hardware store for some materials and parts, and then started in. For the most part they were easy jobs, the kind I did all the time for my grandfather.
I was done by one-thirty.
“I belong to a bridge club,” Julia said. “I’ve been talking to the ladies. They have things that need fixing too. If you’re willing, I’ll go with you to these ladies’ homes, and you can work your magic with them. You work so fast I’m su
re you’ll be done in no time at all.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Sure, whatever. I don’t have anything better to do.”
“You’re a rare man who is willing to take a few minutes to help someone in need.”
Julia rode with me to each place. They were mostly old houses, small, modest, two-story, wood-frame houses, with only two or at most three bedrooms. Most of them had the same plumbing that had been installed when the homes had been built many years earlier.
These women, now widows, were silver-haired, frail women, who didn’t have enough money to remodel and couldn’t afford to move.
They all said they’d called plumbers but could never get them to come. I thought it was more likely that a plumber would want to do more than these women could afford, and so, after a while, the plumbers just quit responding to their calls.
“If you can’t fix it, I’ll understand,” the first woman said. “Nobody else has been able to. They always want to replace everything. Why should I replace it? This one is perfectly good, if it would only work.”
“I can fix it.”
“I’m not sure you can, dear, but I would greatly appreciate it if you would try.”
Ten minutes later the repair was done.
I went in the kitchen. “I’m finished.”
“Oh, well, let’s take a look,” the woman said, afraid to get her hopes up too high.
“Oh, my! Would you look at that!” she said as she flushed the toilet.
“Isn’t he a marvel?” Julia raved, then turned to me. “There’s no doubt about it. You, my friend, are the Tolstoy of Toilets, the Picasso of Plumbing, the Rembrandt of Repair.”
It felt good that someone thought I was worth something.
“Well, let’s go, time’s a wasting,” Julia said. “We have many more to visit before you get dinner.” She laughed. “It’s so much fun to have an indentured servant. I think we should bring that practice back, don’t you?”
We visited five more of her friends. The houses were old and in need of lots of repairs. I took care of the immediate problems and promised to come back and do more. By four o’clock in the afternoon we were finished and went back to Julia’s place. The meal was prolonged because each of the women whose plumbing I had fixed brought a special dessert or hot dish for me. Since I couldn’t eat all that food by myself, I invited the ladies to eat with Julia and me. And so they did.