by Sam Halpern
Lisa June fell silent. I got an uncomfortable feeling about the silence but decided to wait it out. Finally the waiter arrived and took our orders. “Like a drink, Lisa?” I asked.
Lisa June shook her head.
I turned to the waiter. “Do you have bourbon and branch water?”
“Sir, we have a creek running past the back door.”
It was the first time I heard Lisa June laugh. It was so much like Fred’s laugh. I ordered the bourbon and branch water. When the waiter left, I turned toward my lunch companion. “Jenny has told me a little about you. I’d like to know more.”
Lisa June’s smile slowly faded. “Why?”
My answer almost gushed out. “Because you’re my best friend’s grandchild!”
Lisa June thought for a moment. “How much did Aunt Jen tell you?”
“I know your mother got married again when you were very young and left you with some friends, that you spent at least ten years in an orphanage and foster homes, that you’re an education major at UK, and that you spend time with the Langleys.”
The waiter brought our salads and my bourbon and branch water.
“Not much else t’ know,” Lisa June answered after the waiter left.
I washed down some salad with a swallow of my drink. “I’m sure there’s a great deal more t’ know about th’ granddaughter of my best friend.”
“The best friend of your childhood?”
“The best friend of my life.”
Lisa June’s chin pushed toward me and her eyes became cold. “If he was th’ best friend of your life, how come you weren’t concerned enough t’ inquire about him for sixty years?”
The question hurt so much it took a few seconds before I could respond. “The story is long and involved. I would really like to tell it later.”
Lisa June said nothing, she just continued to eat.
“What areas are you interested in teaching?” I asked.
No response.
The salad plates were removed and our entrées arrived. The stuffed pork chop was good, and I commented on it. I wasn’t prepared for Lisa June’s response.
“Dr. Zelinsky, I’m seeing you as a favor to two people who mean more t’ me than anyone else in the world. I’ve had a hard time in the past, but I’m makin’ progress. Then, out of nowhere, you show up with your fancy education and prizes and pry into my life. What do you want from me? Tell me what it is now or I’m walkin’ out of here and I’ll never see you again!”
The statement was delivered at a whisper but to me it was like a crash of thunder. I’m not sure whether I was angry at what she said or offended by the way she said it, but I reacted. “You know Lisa June, you’re not th’ only one who’s had a hard time in life. My life hasn’t been a bed of roses either. I’ve made mistakes and I regret them. I’m an old man and you’re a young woman, but I hope when you’re my age someone gives you th’ benefit of the doubt when you’re tryin’ t’ right your wrongs.”
Lisa June appeared startled, then seemed to consider what I said. “All right. We can talk now or later. Which would you prefer?”
I was suddenly in the mood to talk. I filled in the areas that I had left out during our meeting in the coffee shop, giving it a recognizable timeline. I didn’t embellish or soften my memories of the Mulligans. The saga of the stolen rabbits and the hunger of the Mulligan family as Alfred starved them to buy his mules and equipment spared neither Alfred nor Fred nor me. I also told happy, funny things, and when I did, she smiled. During the story of the crazy man and the kindness and heroism of her grandfather, I saw a hint of tears in her eyes, tears that continued to accumulate as I spoke of Alfred’s death, the stillbirth of Annie Lee’s baby, and my efforts to help the Mulligan family. I ended with the parting conversation between Fred and me, and by admitting that I had no excuse for my sixty-year absence.
I breathed a deep sigh when I finished. “Well . . . that’s what I remember. There are still a lot of stories, but I can’t think of them right now. Ask whatever you want.”
Lisa June looked vacantly at her plate. “What’s there t’ ask? You and my grandfather really were best friends. Y’all loved each other. Then you escaped from this Kentucky asylum, got an education, and didn’t want anything more t’ do with Mulligans. I understand that. I don’t think you’re awful. And I understand now that you’re here lookin’ for Fred’s forgiveness for leaving him t’ fend for himself when you promised otherwise.”
Lisa June stopped speaking for a moment and this time she was the one who sighed. “But Fred Cody Mulligan is dead,” she continued. “We’re in th’ same boat, Dr. Zelinsky. Neither of us can get what we want from Fred. But you’re forgiven for whatever you think you might have done to him. As his granddaughter, I forgive you. From what you’ve said, I’m pretty sure that’s what he would want me t’ do.”
She dabbed her mouth with the starched white napkin, then we both got up from our chairs, shook hands, and I watched as she went out the door of the Keeneland Café. That made me sad because I felt that I would never see her again, but I was also happy that she might have a new appreciation for at least some of the people in her family, especially Fred. I felt a bit easier. Freer.
There was really nothing I wanted to do now. I made reservations for my flight back to New Hampshire and decided to spend the remaining days with the Langleys. I hoed corn with Melvin. I had forgotten how morning glories tangled your feet in a cornfield. I tripped over them and fell on my face. That’s an ignominious event for a farm boy. In the heat of the day, Melvin and I peeled to the buff, dove into the river, and swam under the broad leafy limbs of the old sycamore. I remembered Fred, Lonnie, LD, and myself swimming. Our bodies had been young and wiry and I commented to myself that Melvin and I looked wrinkled and old, the only way we could look. I wondered if Melvin was thinking the same thing. We went blackberry picking, filling several two-gallon buckets with big ripe wild berries. Jenny made blackberry cobbler, and it tasted just like Mom’s. Mr. Rick’s son brought his dogs over and we sat on the same ridge we had sat on sixty years before and listened to the hounds bay. And we passed around a pint of Old Grand-Dad. I was having fun. I was really having fun.
The Langleys never asked about the meeting between Lisa June and me, but one evening as we sat on the screened-in porch I spoke of the conversation. I told them I felt better about my life now than when I had first arrived. I had faced up to my failings to some degree and gained a little insight into why I had always felt like a foreigner after leaving Kentucky. “I’ve been thinking about Lisa June too. She’s trying to get her education while working two jobs. What would you think about me setting up a college fund for her?”
“We tried that,” said Jenny. “She won’t take it.”
That sounded like Fred. “Tell me what I can do then?”
“Well, she treasures being close with the people she cares about, but you live in New Hampshire. I suppose you could come see her from time t’ time. She might like that. You’re stayin’ for dinner t’night, aren’t you?”
Immediately, I knew what was happening. “Lisa June’s gonna be here, right?”
Jenny smiled sheepishly. “She said your bein’ here was all right with her.”
The evening went well. Almost all of the conversation concerned my family and my career. Melvin had never met anyone from Brooklyn and I told my parents’ favorite story. “That’s what happened. She told Dad that it just wasn’t right that the cow and the bull were forced to make love in front of everybody and that she thought he should put them in the barn so they could have privacy.”
Melvin was doubled up laughing. “Did he do it?”
“Yeah, he did,” I answered. “Nora never lived that down. Whenever we visited Indiana, Dad would bring it up. Nora would join in the fun. She was somethin’ else.”
“You and Nora had a really good marriage, didn’t you?” said Lisa June.
“Yeah, we did,” I answered. “Sure miss her.”
L
isa got a faraway look in her eyes. “Miss your daughters and grandkids?”
The truth was, while I had called Candy a couple of times, I hadn’t thought a lot about the family. Suddenly, I did miss them. “Yeah, I do. But I’ll be seein’ them soon enough.”
When everyone said good night Lisa June gave me a little hug. It was a long way from a close friend hug, but I sensed a warming trend for the first time.
54
I decided to delay my departure for New Hampshire, knowing I was going to catch hell from Candy. While I had contacted her several times since my arrival, a lot of time had passed since we last talked. My response to Candy’s “Hello” brought a “Thank God!” followed by a tongue-lashing. When she calmed down, she asked what I had been doing all these weeks.
“It’s only been a few days since we last spoke, dear,” I countered.
“Nonsense! Penny and I have been worried sick! What have you been doing?”
“Foolin’. I’ve decided to stay awhile before returning to New Hampshire.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothin’ special. Y’ know, there’s some really beautiful women in Kentucky.”
“You’re kidding? You’re running around with a hillbilly woman!”
“Bumped into some old friends. Candy, I’m happy and healthy and havin’ a wonderful time. How are my grandkids doin’ on their swim team?”
Candy laughed. “Eddie and Jack are coming in last, but they eventually finish.”
“That’s th’ Zelinsky blood in them. We never quit! How’s Penelope’s family?”
“Heather has a boyfriend! Penny and Roger are beside themselves.”
Heather with a boyfriend? How old was Heather now? Nora always knew these things. “Candy, how old is Heather now?”
“Sixteen. Stop finessing me. When are you coming home?”
It was a question I wasn’t prepared to answer. “No idea. E-mail if y’ need me. Tell everybody I love them and that I’m bringing back some typical Kentucky gifts. I’m workin’ on a pickled ear from either a Hatfield or a McCoy. I already got a bear’s head. Not t’ fear, everything will already be mounted for your family room. Love y’, honey.” Then I hung up.
For the next week I spent time with the Langleys and some with Lisa June. Usually Lisa June and I met briefly for lunch or coffee in the evening. She began to warm up a little. Much of our conversation was about me. We talked about my favorite writers and why I liked them, the kind of music I enjoyed, my years teaching at Leland-May, and my research into the Cornish writers. Anything from politics to petunias was open for discussion as long as it didn’t dig into the life of Lisa June Winchester. The instant we approached that subject, I could feel the battlements being manned. My willingness to reveal my life, however, was bringing us closer.
Other than seeing Lisa June and the Langleys, though, I was just passing the time. Then, on a whim, I decided to tour Kentucky. I changed out my Toyota for a BMW convertible, threw some underwear and two pair of jeans in my suitcase, put the top and windows down on the Beamer and just . . . took off. I drove the back roads which twisted and turned like black licorice sticks as I zipped under glorious canopies of oak, maple, and hickory. A couple of hours out of Lexington, I had an idea. I called Jenny, got Rosemary Shackelford’s address (her name was Akins now), plugged it into the GPS system, then tooled along toward Corbin enjoying the Kentucky countryside and the wind in my few remaining hairs.
It was bittersweet, seeing the seventy-eight-year-old woman I had loved when she was a sixteen-year-old girl. She looked ancient, but she remembered me and gave me a big hug as I was leaving. I reflected as I drove away that sixty years in the past I would have given a year of my life for that hug.
I turned the BMW north and east and drove through the mountains of Eastern Kentucky. I had always wanted to see Natural Bridge, a huge stone ledge that had been undermined by wind and water. I was mesmerized by the sweeping beauty that Nature’s genius had designed.
When I was driving away from the park, the BMW’s fuel gauge turned red and I pulled into an Eastern Kentucky version of a quickie mart—a general store with one gas pump. An old man came out to fill my tank. While he worked, I wandered around the store.
The interior looked like something you would expect to see in 1890. It carried everything: clothes, hardware, groceries, fertilizer, kerosene lanterns, and probably buttons. Four old men in overalls were playing Rook using the top of a wooden barrel for a table. The proprietor entered, went behind the counter, then asked if that was going to be all.
“Not sure yet,” I answered. “Any good place t’ eat around here?”
One of the Rook players glanced in my direction. “Fair’s goin’ on, I’d eat there.”
That sounded like an idea. “How do I get there?”
“Head west ’til y’ come t’ Texas, then foller th’ signs.”
Everyone laughed and I laughed with them.
“Aunt Tillie’s Diner’s ten mile up th’ road,” said one of the Rook players, concentrating on his cards. “Makes good catfish ’n’ hush puppies.”
“Best in these parts,” another player added.
“Sounds good,” I said. “Any candy bars around in case I miss Aunt Tillie’s.”
“Lucy Spencer just brought some fudge in for sale,” said the proprietor. “Nobody makes fudge like Miss Lucy. I recommend hit.”
That sounded good. “I’ll take a quarter pound. Total me up.”
I was walking out the door when I heard: “Run into any soldiers out there, wouldn’t tarment ’em if I’s you. Can’t never tell what they’ll do.”
I turned and smiled back at my grinning nemesis. “Confederate, right?”
He bit down on his cigar. “Done met up with ’em, did ye?”
This time there was a roar of laughter. I pointed my finger at him and winked.
When I finished touring Eastern Kentucky, I turned west. Mountains became hills, which became rolling, bluegrass land. Green, wonderfully green, and sweet-smelling. I went all the way to the Mississippi River. I felt free. I didn’t care that I was paying for a hotel room I wasn’t using. I drank from Abraham Lincoln’s childhood spring, explored Mammoth Cave, went fishing in Kentucky Lake, ate like a king, drank only the best bourbon, and lost all track of time. I didn’t even know the day of the week.
Suddenly, I wanted to see Jenny and Melvin and Lisa June. My growing friendship with Lisa June was beginning to concern me. How would she respond if we became closer, then I left for New Hampshire? Would she feel I was yet another person deserting her? I needed some advice. When I got to Lexington, I called Jenny and wangled an invitation for dinner.
It turned out that my concerns were shared by the Langleys. We were on the porch after dinner, when Jenny said, “Y’ know, Samuel, you’re goin’ back t’ New Hampshire. I’m not sure how close you should get t’ Lisa June if you don’t plan t’ spend a lot of time with her in th’ future. She was out here while you were gone. You were all she talked about. If you get too much closer and just up ’n’ leave, it might not go well for her.”
“I think the same,” said Melvin. “Hit’s somethin’ t’ give thought.”
I gave it a lot of thought. Anxious feelings, so recently vanquished, returned in waves. When I called her cell phone and she realized that it was me, her voice became happy.
“Where-have-you-been, Samuel Zelinsky? Aunt Jen says you’ve been gallivantin’.”
“All over Kentucky. Let me buy you dinner and I’ll fill you in.”
There was a moment of hesitation. Then: “How do you feel about hamburgers, home fries, and cinnamon applesauce, with cherry pie and vanilla ice cream for dessert?”
“Sounds good. Where should I meet you?”
“Six o’clock at my apartment.”
I was surprised by the invitation. “I . . . I’ll be there. Is there anything I can bring?”
“Something for an upset stomach. I do make a good cherry pie, though. Why don�
�t you bring vanilla ice cream?”
I spent the day browsing, reading the local paper and a day-old copy of the Washington Post. I couldn’t remember what I read because thoughts of Lisa June dominated my consciousness. Sometime in mid-afternoon I was jolted by a dose of reality. I wanted to help Lisa June, but I didn’t want to go beyond friendship, financial help, and being the occasional advisor. I was seventy-two. I didn’t need any more commitments! I already had the commitments Nora and I brought into this world together! Fred had been my best friend, but . . .
By the time I reached Lisa June’s apartment, butterflies were banging their way through my belt. Lisa June opened the door and gave me a beautiful smile. She was wearing jeans and a UK T-shirt. “Come on in, Samuel, and tell me how you like your hamburgers. I’m about t’ put them in th’ skillet.”
I followed her inside, acutely aware that she had begun to call me Samuel. The butterflies in my stomach had turned into battering rams. This girl was moving our friendship along at a terrifying rate. I took a deep breath and told myself to calm down.
The apartment was a pretty little one-bedroom, with a living room, kitchen, and dinette. There was a long bookcase against one living room wall filled to capacity. On top of the bookcase was an eight-by-ten glossy of Jenny and Melvin Langley. The other furniture consisted of a TV and CD player that sat on a small table in one corner, a recliner chair with an end table and reading lamp, and a couch that was catty-corner against the wall facing the chair.
“Did you leave th’ ice cream in th’ car?”
My hand went to my forehead. “I forgot to buy the ice cream.”
“Well, don’t fret. We’ll just double up on cherry pie.”
For the next half hour, I sat in Lisa June’s kitchen telling her about my trip as she made dinner. I began to relax. She seemed genuinely interested in my odyssey, laughing when I told her the story of the Rook players and looking sad at my descriptions of beautiful, mountainous, Eastern Kentucky where, unfortunately, poverty abounded.
Lisa June stopped her work after the comments about the mountain poverty and turned toward me, a hamburger flipper in her hand. “You know, I’ve met a lot of people from Eastern Kentucky since I started goin’ to UK. It would be fun t’ teach in th’ mountains for a while.”