by Mark Mueller
Old Man Letts was eighty years old, as near as I could figure. He was also a Spruce Run townie, and was the Bugler’s heart for over fifty years.
He pointed me to an empty chair on the other side of his desk.
“How you been, Mr. McMurphy?”
Old Man Letts never called anyone by their first name. Some people didn’t like it, thinking he was being too formal. But to most people who knew the old timer, it was endearing. I suspected that he did it because he had a bad memory, but in time I learned it was just part of his charm.
I sat down. “I’m doing great, How are you?”
“Passing,” he grumbled. “The hip’s a little tender but at my age I shouldn’t complain. I should just be glad I woke up above ground this morning.”
I chortled. “I never heard it put quite that way.”
“You’ll understand when you get to be my age.”
“I’m in no hurry.”
The old man chuckled. “Good to know.”
I smiled. “So what can I do for you today, Mr. Letts?”
“Well, now that you’ve asked, I’m quite curious as to your employment situation at the moment. Are you working?”
“Um, I’ve been kind of indisposed for the past several months.”
“So I’ve heard. You’ve had a rough spell the past couple of years, huh?”
I chuckled. “You could say that.”
“I understand you’re now a friend of Bill W.”
I raised my eyebrows and smiled. I’d heard stories that the old man didn’t mince words.
“Yes, I am,” I replied. Bill W. was the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous.
“Going to meetings?”
“I’ve been to several since I’ve been home.”
“Good for you. What step are you on?”
“I’m renewing Step Four.”
“Very good. You need to keep working the steps. Don’t let up.”
“I’m doing my best. ‘One day at a time’, as the saying goes.”
“Have you made amends with that girl you were a courtin’?”
“Maddy? That’s between me and her, don’t you think?”
“Very true. I’m just concerned, that’s all.”
“No problem. I’ve got a handle on it.”
“Do you?”
“Absolutely.”
“That’s good to hear, because I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Oh?”
“How would you like to come and work for me?”
“Working for you? Are you serious? Doing what?”
“I’ll be straight with you, Mr. McMurphy. I’m not as energetic as I used to be. I’m slowing down. Long and short, I’m in need of a reporter.”
“You want me to write for the Bugler?” I asked, trying not to let the excitement show in my voice.
“Yes, I do,” he confirmed. “As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m not getting any younger. I need some help here, preferably from a young buck such as yourself. I’ve followed your career at the Ocean County Press and I’m impressed with your work.”
I paused for a moment. “Why me, Mr. Letts? Anyone would fall all over themselves for this. It’s a dream job. But you know me, and you know I’m just out of recovery. And I’m sure you know I was fired from the Press. Are you sure you can trust me?”
“I know I can trust you, Mr. McMurphy. There was a time I was in your shoes. I know what it’s like to be in your position. I’ve been there.”
“You have? When?”
“When I first started working here. You see, I’m also a friend of Bill W.”
“Wow,” I whistled. “You, too.”
“Yes sir. I’ve had my fifty-second anniversary of sobriety four months ago.”
“Fifty-two years! That’s amazing.”
“It can be done, Mr. McMurphy. I’m living proof. And you can be, too. I’m offering you a position here as a full-time reporter with the Spruce Run Bugler. It won’t pay much at first, but there’s room to grow if you show some initiative and responsibility. Are you interested?”
“It’s a no-brainer, Mr. Letts.”
“So, your answer is yes?”
I smiled. “When can I start?”
“Good answer. Tell you what, this week’s edition has already gone to print, so how about tomorrow morning. Let’s say around nine.”
“I’ll be here,” I promised. I couldn’t wait.
We both stood up. I wanted to hug him, but decided against it. Instead, I stuck out my hand and he shook it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” the old man said.
“Tomorrow,” I repeated. “Thank you, Mr. Letts. I won’t let you down.”
We shook hands again. I was so high at that moment, that I left the building with Elvis.
* * * *
Working for Old Man Letts at the Spruce Run Bugler was a terrific experience. He let me stretch my legs on the job right away, and was true to his word that he trusted me. I worked for him for four years, and when he passed away a year ago I learned that he had specified in his will that I be promoted to Editor.
The Letts family continues to own the Bugler, and have retained the role as publishers. They are terrific to work for and I couldn’t have asked for better employers.
* * * *
Since that day in the old man’s office, life has been good but not perfect. I have the same life issues that everyone else has, but this time around I’m been sober and know how to handle it. I have a great deal of gratitude for what I have, and no bad day comes close to the depth of despair I had felt the day I arrived at the New York City Rescue Mission.
I’ve drawn a great deal of support from Alcoholics Anonymous in my recovery. During my time at the Bugler, I occasionally saw Old Man Letts at AA meetings, but we had a tacit agreement that we would not talk to each other during the meetings. In our own way, we were both remaining anonymous.
After he had passed away, I promised myself that I would honor his memory by being a top-shelf editor. I continued to follow the twelve steps as best I could, and I’ve kept my promise. No relapses in six years.
Ducky had moved forward, too, though I suspected he was struggling more than I was. He didn’t go to rehab or recovery. Instead, he went straight to AA and continued to work at the sheriff’s department. I gave him credit, though. He’s done it, no matter how difficult it was for him.
For me, though, there has been one drawback from my otherwise good recovery. Yes, I’ve been sober and working, and was a productive member of society. But in all honesty, I hadn’t, in fact, faced all twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.
The one flaw, the one unpleasant matter that had threatened to ruin everything was that Maddy was correct: I hadn’t really finished Step Nine. I hadn’t apologized to her. As much as I wanted to make amends with everyone I had hurt during my drinking years, I hadn’t made amends with the one person who deserved it most.
And I was a coward for not doing so.
Chapter Twenty
And now, here I was sitting with Maddy at the VA golf course and waiting for the fireworks, both literal and figurative, to begin. It was not a pleasant experience. I wish I could say it was a Nicholas Sparks moment, but I couldn’t. This was real life, not fiction.
“I’m sorry, Maddy. Honest.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“‘I’m sorry’? That’s it?”
Here we go.
“Look, Maddy, I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I’m caught off guard, okay?”
“Were you ever planning to make amends with me?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m sorry, Maddy.”
“You said that already.”
Where was Scotty to beam me up when I needed him?
I took a deep breath and looked away. My brain and my tongue had both frozen up on me. That didn’t happen very often.
After a few moments, Maddy spoke. “Tell you what, Mac. I’m
going to let you off the hook, at least for tonight. But you better have a good apology for me. And soon.”
I looked at her. “Why did you call me the other day, Maddy? For real?”
She was silent for a few moments, long enough to make me wonder whether or not she was going to answer.
“I started reading the Bugler a couple of years ago.”
I said nothing.
“I heard you were working there.”
“It’s a great place to work.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“So, you started reading the Bugler,” I murmured, trying to keep the conversation going in that direction.
“I’ve thought about you a lot, lately.”
“You have?” I was surprised.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’m confused. A minute ago you were about to bite my head off.”
“Look, Mac, I didn’t expect to see you here, either. I’m overwhelmed.”
“You and me both. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ve thought about you a lot, too.”
Maddy looked at me and tried to smile. “How about if we agree to just watch the fireworks and do this again another time?”
“Thank you. It’ll give me time to do this right.”
Maddy looked up and pointed. “I think it’s about to start.”
I turned my head and watched the pyrotechnicians in the distance clearing away from the display setup. “Maybe I should get back to Ducky and Harry.”
“That might be a good idea. My parents are coming back.”
Hugo and Amanda Wuhrer and the little girl named Charlie had come out of the food tent carrying cotton candy, and were headed in our direction.
I stood up. “It’s good to see you again, Maddy.”
Maddy remained seated. “See you on Friday, Mac. I’ll call you tomorrow to confirm, okay?”
“Sure thing.” I turned to walk away. As I did, the little girl named Charlie waved to me. I again wondered who she was and why she was with Maddy’s family. There was a definite strong familiar resemblance, but nonetheless she was still a mystery to me. I made a note to ask Maddy about her at the will reading.
A few minutes later I sat down with Ducky and Harry, and grabbed another Coke from the cooler. I don’t think I had been with Maddy for more than fifteen minutes.
“How’s your young lady?” Harry asked.
“She’s good, Harry,” I replied.
“And?” Ducky asked.
“And nothing.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Mac, you haven’t seen her in ages.”
“All we did was say hello.”
“I’m sure you had her at hello.”
“That’s not funny,” I snapped. “Nothing happened.”
“Just asking, okay? Don’t act so guilty.”
“We talked, that’s all.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“So who’s the kid with her?”
“I’m not sure. All Maddy said was that she’s a relative.”
“What’s her name?” Harry asked.
“Charlie.”
“Charlie? What kind of girl’s name is that?”
“I don’t know, Harry. “It’s what Maddy said.”
“Relative, my ass,” Ducky snorted.
“What?” I demanded.
“I think what Mr. Duckworth is saying,” Harry explained, “is that the little girl might be more than just a relative. She could be Maddy’s child. They look a lot alike.”
“Maddy doesn’t have any children.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Five minutes ago,” I retorted.
“Don’t be a smarty pants.”
“Okay, before tonight I’d say it was about six years.”
“And in that time you’ve had no contact with her whatsoever?”
“No. Not once.”
“See? There you go,” Ducky said. “She could easily have had a kid in that time.”
“You two are missing something here,” I argued. “That little girl looks about five or six years old. Maddy would have had to hook up with someone not long after we broke up. Not that I’m proud of it or anything, but our breakup was bad. Real bad. She wouldn’t have just hopped into the sack with someone else so quickly.”
The three of us sat in silence for a few moments.
“You know,” Ducky said with a bemused look on his face. “There’s always the other possibility.”
“What possibility is that?” I asked.
Ducky gawked at me, still bemused.
“What?”
Ducky smirked at me without answering.
After a moment it dawned on me.
“No way. Maddy would have told me.”
“Maybe, maybe not. You, yourself admitted your breakup was bad.”
“Even so,” I insisted, “she wouldn’t have kept something like that from me.”
“I’m just speculating, Mac. You’re probably right.”
“You’re really something, Ducky,” I scoffed.
“Suit yourself. I’m just your best friend.”
“Then drop it.”
“Fine. Consider it dropped.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, the fireworks display went off without a hitch, and as always it was a beautiful show. It was loud and bright and every color under the rainbow was well represented. As I watched, I couldn’t help but to feel a slight sensation of eager impatience to see Maddy again. Even though our chance meeting was strained, I was encouraged enough to believe that perhaps I could make some good amends with her; get it over with and get past that part of my life once and for all. She deserved it. But, though making amends with Maddy was what was important, I had to admit I held onto the slim hope that maybe she’d want to see me again afterward.
When the fireworks were over, I said goodnight to Ducky and promised to call him in the morning. I drove home and stopped just long enough at Harry’s house to let him off, and then parked in my own driveway and went inside.
The cat, which had been sleeping on my desk in between the two phones again, opened one eye long enough to give me the evil eye before going right back to sleep.
I went into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed. I suspected it would be a while before Mr. Sandman would pay me a visit because my mind was racing with a case of Maddy on the brain. As much as I didn’t want to admit to it, the feelings I had for her were still there. And even though I knew I had broken her trust and hurt her in ways that were unimaginable, I knew we could never get back together, let alone get back to the way things used to be. But still, I let my mind daydream about it anyway. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but I was exhaustipated. I was too tired to care. And before I knew it, I drifted away into the land of Nod.
Resistance was futile.
I dreamt of Maddy that night. And in my dream, she was inexplicably a small child of about five or six years old; a little girl who told me her name was Charlie.
Chapter Twenty-One
I was up before dawn the following morning. Although I stayed in bed for another hour and tried to fall back asleep, my mind was reeling again from seeing Maddy the night before. And I couldn’t get my mind off of that little girl, Charlie, either. Could Ducky have been right? Could Maddy have had a child and not told me? Could it be true? If it was, it meant there was the possibility of—
What if it was true, that Maddy decided not to tell me? What then?
The more I thought about it, the more my curiosity had turned to anger. I decided that sleep wasn’t going to strike back, so I threw off my blanket and got showered and dressed. I ignored the cat and went out to the Charger.
The sun was shimmering through the trees when I arrived at Mattoon’s. I decided to order take-out instead of eating in. I wasn’t in the mood for hanging around.
Since it was still early, Mrs. Mattoon was wo
rking alone again. There were no other customers in the store. As she was making my pork roll egg and cheese on a hard roll, she kept glancing at me as if she had something to tell me.
I decided I wasn’t in the mood for drama.
“Something on your mind, Mrs. M?”
“No, Mac.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well—no, Mac.”
I remembered something and walked up close to the deli counter. “I saw you at the VA last night, Mrs. Mattoon.”
“It was a delightful show.”
“You know Amanda Wuhrer, don’t you?”
“We’re acquaintances,” she answered with caution.
“There was a little girl with the Wuhrers last night. Do you know who she is?”
Mrs. Mattoon didn’t answer.
“Mrs. M?”
“A little girl?”
“Yes. Her name was Charlie.”
Mrs. Mattoon turned around. “She’s a relative, so I’ve heard.”
“How is she related?”
Mrs. Mattoon wrapped my sandwich in aluminum foil and placed it on top of the deli counter. “That’s four twenty-five, unless you’re getting your diet Dr. Peppers.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Mrs. Mattoon put my sandwich in a brown paper bag. “It’s none of my business, Mac.”
“Is Charlie Maddy Wuhrer’s daughter?”
“I think you should ask her yourself, Mac.”
“Mrs. Mattoon, what’s going on?”
She didn’t answer.
“Amanda Wuhrer doesn’t want you to tell me anything, right?”
Mrs. Mattoon remained silent.
I walked over to the refrigerator case and pulled out two diet Dr. Peppers. I turned back to the deli case and put the sodas in the bag with the sandwich. I pulled a ten-dollar bill out of my wallet and placed it on the deli case. “Thank you, Mrs. Mattoon. You’ve been a big help.”
Though she didn’t tell me anything, Mrs. Mattoon had answered my questions. She didn’t have to. Her evasiveness was blaring in high-def.
Ten minutes later I was in my office at the Spruce Run Bugler. The sun was rising over the reservoir in the distance when I went inside. When I got to my desk, I glanced at a sampler on my office wall that read, Vee haff vays of making you tock. Maddy had made it for me when I first started working at the Ocean County Press. I kept it even after she broke up with me because I liked it so much. It described me to perfection.