What You Have Left

by Will Allison

  As we climbed the concrete steps, Claire stood and held her nose. “What’s that smell?”

  My father stared at his boots and sniffed. “The smell of de-feet?”

  “Oh, well,” she said. “Them’s the brakes.”

  Where they’d come up with this routine, I had no idea, but as I stood there watching them, it wasn’t hard to imagine a day when my father would give up on me completely and move on, concentrating all his efforts on Claire, the clean slate, the fresh start. “How’d you ever win a race anyway?” I said.

  He glanced from me to Claire and shrugged. “Used to be I was better in the clutch. ”

  “Must have had more drive back then,” Claire added.

  I’d heard enough. I suggested we celebrate with corn dogs and then stop by the office to pick up our hard-earned trophies. On the way down to the concession stand, my father told Claire about his lone victory. Only six cars had been in the Bomber race that night, and three of them were lost in a pileup. Another threw a scrap-iron fit two laps before the finish. “And the last driver was a rookie,” he said, “even more of a feather foot than me.”

  Claire was holding his hand as she guided him through the crowd. “Here,” I said, peeling off a twenty. “I’m getting a beer.” That’s how low I’d sunk, wanting my father to have to watch me enjoy a drink. The beer stand was next to the concession stand. I got in line and was still waiting to place my order when my father started telling Claire how much he was looking forward to visiting her in Columbia. He asked if anyone was living in the cottage he and my mother had rented from Cal before we moved up to the lake. Then he asked if she’d like a go-kart for her birthday. “I’d love one,” she said, shooting me a glance. He offered to build her one. Again. “Course, you’ll need somewhere to ride it,” he said. “A nice little dirt track. Wouldn’t be too hard to make one if we could get our hands on a Bobcat.” Claire told him we had a tractor. “And there’s plenty of room out behind the silo,” she said.

  During this conversation, I stared at my father, willing him to look my way, but he was oblivious. Had he simply forgotten what I said? Did he not realize he was making promises again? In the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Claire believed him—believed in him. I watched them doctoring their corn dogs at the condiment table, chatting away like old friends. Bringing her along had been a bad idea. The funny thing was, my first impulse had been to leave her at home, on the grounds that my father wasn’t the kind of person I wanted her around, and also that he didn’t deserve to know her. But I’d given in to a different kind of selfishness. I’d imagined the ache my father would feel the first time he laid eyes on her, the reckoning of his loss, the ten years he’d already missed. And how could he look at her without thinking of me, too, a young girl standing by a mailbox, shrinking in his rearview mirror? I’d never even stopped to consider the risk to Claire, the possibility she might fall for him so fast, so hard. Now the two of them were drifting over to the souvenir stand to check out the T-shirts. No doubt my father would buy her whatever her heart desired. I turned around, disgusted, and was surprised to find myself looking into the steely blue eyes of none other than Jeff Gordon, a life-sized cardboard cutout with the Budweiser logo emblazoned on his flame-retardant suit. Though I’d never thought much of Claire’s crush on him, I decided right then I’d get us tickets to a NASCAR race the minute we got home.

  “Next?” The guy behind the counter was staring at me with an amused smile. Whenever you’re ready, lady. Whenever you make it back to Earth.

  I tapped the can of Budweiser in Jeff ’s hand. “I’ll have what Jeff ’s having.”

  The guy raised an eyebrow, more amused. “You mean Dale Junior?”

  Up until the business in Camden, I’d carried on with my life more or less expecting to turn around someday, at the grocery store or the post office or on a street corner, and catch a glimpse of my father. Often I had the feeling I was being watched. He was simply waiting for the right moment, perhaps one that offered a shot at redemption—a robbery or house fire he could save me from. These, I knew, were thoughts for a child, and after Camden, I began to let go of them. Now and then, driving home or lying in bed, I’d still talk to him in my mind, not the missing Wylie but the young father he’d once been, the two of us retracing conversations we might or might not have really had. Slowly but surely, I learned to keep him in the past, where he belonged, where he couldn’t do any more harm.

  That night, as soon as I heard him snoring in the next room, I got out of bed, pulled on jeans, and quietly packed our bags. I was waiting until the last possible minute to wake Claire. She wouldn’t want to leave, would want to know why we were sneaking off in the middle of the night without even saying good-bye, and I didn’t know how to explain why I couldn’t stay. After I’d carried our bags to the door, I made a final sweep of the house, pausing by the phone. Better to wait and call Lyle later, once we were on the road; in the morning, he could arrange shipment of the stuff I’d bought at the antique shops. Turning to get Claire, I noticed the blinking red light of the camcorder recharging on the mantel and, beside it, the five or six videotapes my father had made since we arrived. It occurred to me that there might come a time when I’d want to hear his stories about my mother—the ones I’d missed while I was out—but I didn’t know which tape was which. The labels weren’t annotated, just numbered. As I sifted through the pile, I felt a pinprick of guilt. I could picture my father turning the house upside down, wondering if he’d misplaced a tape or simply mis-numbered them. And without the tape, would he even remember the time he’d spent looking at those photos with Claire? I decided I didn’t care; he’d already gotten more of us than he deserved. In fact, the tapes alone were more than he deserved, the memories they held no more his than mine.

  Sometimes, when I’m the last one awake, when Lyle and Claire are fast asleep and the logs in the fireplace have burned down to embers, I’ll curl up in front of the TV and pop in one of the tapes, looking for things I might have missed, or things I thought I’d only imagined. I’ve noticed, for instance, that when we first saw my father, when he embraced us at the Drome, he continued to hold Claire long after he’d turned me loose. It’s as if the arc of our whole visit were inscribed in that initial moment, plainly visible if you knew what to look for. To me, this is comforting. There’s no beating fate.

  For his part, my father’s never mentioned the tapes. Possibly he thinks I destroyed them. Possibly he thinks I still have them. Possibly he’s decided to let me keep them, now that he’s able to see Claire every day. Shortly after we left Indianapolis, he sold his Bomber, broke his lease, and headed south. He took a room in an Econo Lodge over by Fort Jackson and proceeded to insinuate himself in our lives with a months-long campaign of charm and devotion. Eventually we agreed to rent him the cottage, and now, after years of not knowing where he was, I can look out my window, across a field where I played as a child, to the house my parents lived in when I was born, and see his floodlight burning in the night.

  If he misses figure-eight racing and the closeness he felt to my mother, he doesn’t complain. Perhaps it’s enough to be back in the house they once shared. On weekends, he helps out at the mall. At first he refused to let me pay him, but now he just turns around and puts the money into a savings account for Claire, which he set up after I stopped accepting his checks. Afternoons, when the two of them aren’t on the track down by the bluff, they’re often at his workshop in the barn, where he builds kart engines. Claire’s in charge of teaching him to use a computer. She’s also in charge of worrying about him. For instance, she dislikes the idea of him traveling alone. This fall, he’s been invited to the annual meeting of the Calorie Restriction Society in Phoenix, where he’ll tell his story to a group of doctors, researchers, and fellow would-be Ponce de Leons. He’s even managed to get my husband on the bandwagon. After just five weeks of CR, Lyle reports feeling better than he’s felt in years. I used to think CR was a crock, but these days I’m n
ot so sure. The ability to do more with less is a valuable one, and it’s not such a leap to believe our bodies know this. The body is, after all, geared for survival, capable of defending itself in unexpected ways, not so different from figure-eight racers, mothers protecting their young, the human heart itself.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book was more than eight years in the making. Along the way, I had a lot of help. My deepest gratitude goes to Julie Barer, as good a friend as an agent (which is saying a lot), and to my editor, Wylie O’Sullivan, who is even more wonderful than her name. I’m also indebted to Wylie’s many hardworking colleagues at Free Press, notably Dominick Anfuso, Martha Levin, Jill Siegel, Carisa Hays, Suzanne Donahue, Shannon Gallagher, Wendy Sheanin, Carol de Onís, Beth Maglione, Erich Hobbing, Eric Fuentecilla, and Alex Noya.

  Thanks and love to my mom, who’s been there always, and to my dad, who graciously allowed his stories to be hijacked herein, which means more to me than he knows; to my aunt Dargan, who had answers; to Richard and Joanne and Jennifer, in-laws extraordinaire; to Dick and Lois Rosenthal, for their friendship, kindness, and for taking a chance on me; to Jeff Weiser, patron of the arts and the best friend I could want; to Judy Clain, for her advocacy and friendship; to Jeff MacGregor and Olya Evanitsky, who went above and beyond the call; to Lizzie Himmel, for making it fun; to Emily Watson, for bringing me into the circle; to the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, for the privilege of waiting tables; to my unwitting teachers, the many fine writers whose work I had the privilege of editing at Story ; and to my witting teachers, especially Mary Grimm, Michelle Herman, and, of course, Lee K. Abbott, whose fault it is I write.

  I’m also indebted to the magazine editors who originally published portions of this book: Rebecca Burns, Brock Clarke, Michael Ray, R. T. Smith, Hannah Tinti, Nancy Zafris, Linda Swanson-Davies, and Susan Burmeister-Brown. For their financial support, I’m grateful to the Arts Council of Indianapolis, the Indiana Arts Commission, and the Ohio Arts Council.

  To the participants and staff of the Squaw Valley Community of Writers, I offer my heartfelt thanks for your unfailing friendship, generosity, and encouragement. I have never been so happy or so proud to be affiliated with a group of people.

  Most of all, thank you, Deborah—for your brilliant, fierce editing; for your faith and support; for Hazel; for your love.

  ABOUT THIS GUIDE

  The following reading group guide and author interview are intended to help you find interesting and rewarding approaches to your reading of What You Have Left. We hope these enhance your enjoyment and appreciation of the book.

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  1. This book doesn’t start at the beginning of the story. Why do you think the author sometimes showed you the results of a character’s actions before revealing his or her personal history? How might it have changed your ideas about Wylie if we read his side of the story first? How were your feelings about Cal affected by this structure?

  2. The only two chapters in the novel that are narrated in the first person are chapter 3 (Lyle 1991) and chapter 8 (Holly 2007). Did it feel different to hear the characters speak for themselves in those chapters, rather than hearing their stories from a third-person narrator? How reliable are Holly and Lyle as narrators? Were there any specific passages that stood out to you in these chapters as particularly unreliable?

  3. Discuss the relationship between Wylie and Lyle. Why did Lyle initially lie about having met Wylie (p. 67)? Do you think he had Holly’s best interests in mind, or his own? What about his decision to switch car keys with Holly at the end of chapter 3 (p. 77) and take the blame when the police arrive? Was this an act of chivalry, or of self-interest?

  4. In chapter 2 (Wylie 1971), we learn about the tragedy that befell Gladys and Lester’s new baby, Nat. How do Gladys and Lester act as foils for Maddy and Wylie? Could what happened to baby Nat ever have happened to baby Holly? What evidence can you find that Wylie and Lester are different kinds of fathers? What suggests they are similar?

  5. Did you view Wylie’s decision to leave Holly with Cal as a selfish, or selfless, act? Is he fit for single parenthood? How do you think Holly’s life would have been different if Wylie had raised her? How would she be different?

  6. Lyle works in construction, and there are long, detailed passages about the projects he undertakes. How do these descriptions act as metaphors for his relationships in the book? As he is renovating Cal’s home (p. 8), how is this reflected in his relationship with Holly? What about in his relationship with Cal? When he is reinforcing the foundation of the statehouse (p. 112), does the foundation of his relationship with Holly undergo any simultaneous renovation?

  7. The walls of Cal’s bedroom are made of pecky cypress, a desirable kind of wood that was once considered trash. “What makes pecky hard to find… is that you can’t tell if a cypress is infected until you chop down the tree and cut it open (p. 6).” How is the pecky cypress like the Alzheimer’s that runs in Cal’s family? Why is it meaningful that Cal got the pecky cypress from the scrap pile at his father’s sawmill?

  8. Is it significant for you that Wylie and Maddy’s relationship began while each of them was dating somebody else? How did learning about Dale and Sheila affect how you felt about Wylie and Maddy? Do you think they were really committed to one another?

  9. Many of the characters in the novel battle addictions. What are some of the addictions the characters struggle with? Did any characters succeed in overcoming their addictions? How did the addictive personalities of the characters affect their relationships?

  10. An interest in car racing seems to be almost genetic in the novel. How do the characters use their mutual interest in racing to remain close to one another? How does it pull them apart? What did you see as Maddy’s primary obstacles? Did she really have to stop racing when she had Holly? How did the sexism she endured affect her relationship to the sport? Do you think racing will play a role in Claire’s future, and, if so, will she have to face the same issues her grandmother faced?

  11. When Holly and Wylie are finally reunited in chapter 8 (Holly 2007), Wylie’s short-term memory has been jeopardized as the result of a seizure caused by a lifetime of drinking. He is convinced that he tried to contact Holly in recent years but got no response. Holly realizes that without the benefit of short-term memory, he is simply believing what he would like to be true. In this circumstance, is it the thought that counts? Do you believe that Wylie does in fact wish he had contacted Holly sooner?

  12. How does car racing act as a metaphor for the relationships in the story? Which ones are going around in endless circles? Who is leading the race in different chapters? Who is trailing behind? Which relationships are more like Wylie’s figure-8 races, characters just dodging a head-on collision?

  13. Why did Holly steal Wylie’s videotapes of his visit with her and Claire (p. 208)? Was this a final act of vengeance against the father that left her? Or did she want the tapes for herself and Claire? Will Wylie even remember?

  14. At the end of What You Have Left, what do the characters have left? Is Wylie’s memory loss a curse, or a blessing in disguise? Do Lyle and Holly have each other? Does Claire have everything she needs? Are you hopeful for the future of this family?

  A CONVERSATION WITH WILL ALLISON

  by Claudia Labin

  Did you know right away that it was Holly’s story you wanted to tell?

  Actually, her dad, Wylie, was the focal character of the first chapter I wrote, which appears in the book as chapter 7. It wasn’t until I wrote a couple more chapters that Holly emerged as the protagonist. I didn’t really have a plan. All I knew was that Wylie and Holly eventually would meet again.

  How hard was it to give birth to this novel?

  Harder than I expected. Back in college, I imagined I’d publish my first book in my twenties. Now, at thirty-nine, I’m just grateful this one made it out into the world.

  Which of your characters was the most difficult to write?


  Holly’s grandfather, Cal, was tough. I’d already tried and failed once with a similar character in a short story. Like Cal, my grandfather had Alzheimer’s, owned a dairy farm in South Carolina, etc. But the book required that Cal be an altogether different person than my grandfather. It took me a while to differentiate the two.

  In the book you take chances and make bold shifts in viewpoint and time. Could you explain what led you to switch between first- third-person point of view?

  The book ended up with three chapters in first person and five in third person. The decisions were intuitive; I was just looking for the viewpoint that worked best for any given chapter. At some point or another, I think I tried all of them in both first and third.

  Often, when I’m having trouble writing, switching viewpoint is what unlocks the story for me. It has to do with voice, obviously, but also with narrative distance, and tone, and how information is released.

  How did your method of working on the short story differ from your method of working on the novel?

  In the case of What You Have Left, not much, since the chapters are self-contained. But now that I’m working on a novel with a more conventional structure, I find myself planning more. The book is in the first person and proceeds chronologically, which means, in terms of structure, I have fewer ways of getting out of a jam; I can’t switch to another character’s viewpoint or jump around in time. So I feel a stronger need to have a sense of where the story is headed. I end up making a lot of notes about what’s going to happen later in the book, or at least what might happen.

  Did you show the manuscript to others during the drafting stages, before you showed it to an editor?