“That so?” she said sarcastically. “Listen. The tape? I’m in a hurry.”
“Where you going?”
“Nowhere.”
“Then why are you in such a hurry?”
“I’ve got to get back to church.” She motioned with her head. “I snuck out.”
He sat up slowly, looking impressed. “What for?”
“Can I please just have a piece of tape?”
“Are you trying to mail that letter?”
She spotted a stapler sitting on a file cabinet beside a spindle of punctured receipts and a pile of oily rags. “There! That stapler. That’ll do.”
“Who’s it to?” he asked.
She started around the counter, reaching for the stapler. “You don’t mind if I come around here, do you?”
“You know the mail don’t go out today.”
“I know that,” she said impatiently, leaning close enough that her shoulder nearly brushed his. She was annoyed at the way he wouldn’t budge, or even offer to help.
“So what’s the hurry?”
She tried the stapler and it clicked, empty. “There aren’t any staples in here.”
He stared at her. “Hold on a minute. What’s your name?”
She ignored him. “Did you say you have tape? C’mon. I’ve got to get back.”
He sighed and opened a drawer. Rifling through it he said, “Why’d you have to sneak out?”
“It’s a long story.” She didn’t want to tell him she was grounded because she called her upstairs neighbor a Snooty-Patootie. It would sound so immature.
He stopped rifling and crossed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Do you have any tape or not?” She could see why Lenny hit him. He was extremely irritating.
“This do?” he asked, finally grabbing a roll of black electrical tape.
“Fine.” She snatched it from him, tore off a piece, and pressed it down. It looked all wrong on the envelope, but that couldn’t be helped.
“Thanks, Larry. You’re a lifesaver.” She looked down the block. The coast was clear, but any minute the congregation might start spilling out of the church. If anyone saw her she’d be grounded until her own 18th birthday.
“My name’s not Larry,” he said. “It’s Cash.”
But Sally was already out the door. She raced back to the mailbox and dropped the letter in. Soon her dad would get it and her new life would begin, the life she was meant to have. She glanced back at the gas station and saw Cash standing beside the pumps, watching her.
“Hey!” she called. “My name’s Sally. Sally Van Sloeten.”
He snapped to attention. “Van Sloeten?” Then he sneered and flipped her off.
She laughed and ran up the steps. She felt like a new person already. Someone sassy and brave and carefree. Someone a father couldn’t help but love.
The congregation shuffled out of the church, gathering to greet one another and talk about the Detroit Tigers or the boat show in Grand Rapids or some other coma-inducing topic. Sally craned her neck and saw Cash still standing in front of the station. She turned to see if Lenny noticed him, and saw him leaping down the church steps, taking them two at a time around the milling crowd. Oh no! Her brother knew somehow where Sally had been, and he was going to go finish what he started! But when Lenny hit the sidewalk he stopped. He pulled a red bandana out of his back pocket, tied it on his head and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. Sally relaxed. It was all part of Lenny’s too cool act. He did it more and more lately, especially at church. Since he wasn’t allowed to bring his bat, he brought the bandana instead.
She followed him. “You see Cash over there?” she asked.
He looked startled, maybe even scared. Then his face changed so quickly she might have imagined it. He shrugged and turned around.
“Who cares?” he said.
“Not me.”
“Not me neither.”
She nearly blurted it out then. Guess what? I was just over there, with Cash. He gave me some tape. Talking to Cash, actually seeing that nose up close, how could she keep that quiet?
“Boy! I guess you popped him good.”
“So?” He looked at her, bored. The bandana that he thought was cool looked ridiculous. You didn’t need a PhD to see that the dumb kid was miserable, same as her. But maybe it had nothing to do with Cash, or thinking about their dad, or about living in a church basement. Maybe he was just a bad kid. All his talk about how he’d take his dad’s head off if he saw him again, maybe he really meant it. Sally might be putting her dad in danger, asking him back. She thought of the swollen, bloody mess on Cash’s face. Who could say what Lenny was capable of? He might kill their dad and she’d spend the next fifty years visiting him in the Jackson State Penitentiary.
Oh, what had she done? She made a huge mistake, and now there was no turning back. It was just that she wasn’t about to be left out of another Important Event. She was damn tired of the way people sighed over them. Those Van Sloeten kids? The father walked out. Poor mother works herself to the bone and they just scrape by.
Sally was in second grade before she realized that everything she wore had belonged to someone else. All those times they’d gotten boxes from the church, Sally had never imagined they were full of their neighbors’ hand-me-downs. Then a girl named Patty Ann cornered her once during recess and said, “Hey! That’s my old dress you’re wearing.” She made other kids hold Sally down while she flipped her collar around to show the tag. There were the initials P.A.L. written in black ink.
Sally punched her, just the way Lenny taught her, fingers in tight with her thumb on top. She felt a pang as Patricia Ann’s tooth opened one of her knuckles. Otherwise, she was immensely satisfied with herself. But it didn’t change anything. Sure, the Van Sloetens seemed presentable enough. They were like every other Dutch family in Holland, sturdy and solemn, with large bones and lanky frames, but they didn’t have the bright yellow hair or blue eyes that were typically Dutch. Their colors were mouse-brown and hazel. They appeared as if through sunglasses, flat and dull. Prudy in those worn-out pumps with the heels ground down. Lenny in his dingy white shirt. Nell in a beige shapeless dress that looked like a muumuu, Sally in a stupid second-hand plaid skirt that she hated. Their father was gone and all that remained was this snapshot. Underdeveloped. Overexposed.
Lenny understood. She saw the way his eyes scanned the crowd before every one of his baseball games. She knew that he had an extra baseball glove hidden in his closet. He took it out only to oil it or tie a different ball into it, and what was that about? It was a waiting, a held-in breath; it was a body slogging through humid August air every day of the year.
Lenny was the only one Sally might tell about the letter. Imagine being able to talk, really talk, about her dad. Mentioning him to her mother was like being puked on. There was that face, and then splat, you got hit with the same old bitterness. Sally wanted to say jeez, mom, I know you hate him. Can you just skip that part and answer my questions? She used to think how nice it would be if, just once, her mother said yes Sally, you got a raw deal and I’m sorry about that. But there was only this giant wall and the bricks were made up of the same words, layer after layer. DRUNK. NO GOOD. BETTER OFF. There was no way to get past it. You needed a sledgehammer. Or a bat. Or maybe a pencil, paper and a plan.
Her mother was standing beside Pastor Voss. “It’s so nice of you to join us for Lenny’s birthday,” Sally heard her tell him.
On the sidewalk, Lenny groaned loudly and pulled his shirttails out. The pastor ignored him. He shook Prudy’s hand, and as he did, a spasm in his neck pulled the corner of his mouth down. It was a facial tick he’d developed in the last year or so, and it made him look like he was giving Prudy a secret sign: Meet me out back in five minutes. It always made Sally laugh because, in fact, there was something undeniably cold about the pastor. He’d never been to their house for dinner. He was probably only coming today so he could take Lenny back with him. Like a dog. Her
e’s his leash. Hold tight or he’ll run off.
Sally had to admit it was a lousy way to spend a birthday, and she was sorry for Lenny. But she couldn’t help him. All she could do was smile at the red bandana on his head and wrap her arms around the front of her own orange blouse, glad for any bright spot in an unbearably drab, hot day. The Van Sloetens hadn’t faded into nothingness yet.
Sally still had hope. Her dad would write back. Sure I’ll go. Sounds like fun. Then she’d tell her family. By the way, Dad’s picking me up Saturday at six. We’ll just be going to, you know, the banquet. They’d be angry at first, but then they’d realize it wasn’t such a big deal. Lenny and Nell might even thank her, once they got used to the idea. We’ve always wanted to see Dad again, but we’ve never had the courage to make it happen.
Talk about courage. They didn’t know how lucky they were that she was the only one brave enough to state the obvious:
I miss you, dad. We all do.
Lenny
The Louisville Slugger was a very good bat. Better than a Swiss Army knife? Eight-year-old Lenny Van Sloeten couldn’t decide. The knife made a nice bulge in his back pocket, but the bat…well, a Slugger was one special bat. If Lenny had to choose between them, which would he pick? With a knife you could pick your teeth or clean under your nails. You could open a can of DW40, take up whittling, kill a garden snake, or slice the legs off a frog. But a bat was part of the greatest game on earth. Lenny learned that from his father. Not that he needed his father to tell him. What he needed was someone to give him a few pointers on how to connect with the ball. Someone to play catch with in the yard. Lenny’s dad never stayed at home long enough to do those things.
Richard Van Sloeten sold church tithing envelopes and his job always kept him away. It took him to Traverse City, sometimes even into Canada, where there was a string of Methodist churches along the Hudson River. He used to tell Lenny that when you cross into Canada it’s always snowing and there are Mounties decked out in red flannel uniforms sitting high atop their horses, saluting as you drive by. Mom would remind him that it’s a sin to lie but that just made Dad laugh. Then he’d go away again, his trips stretching to four days, one week, two weeks. If he was gone a long time, Lenny would ask, “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s out on a bender,” Mom would say, and Lenny was young enough to suppose that a bender was some new kind of job, better than selling church envelopes, which had always seemed like sissy work to Lenny anyway. A bender sounded important and difficult and he liked saying out loud to himself Dad’s out on a bender, in the same way he might say Dad’s out on a round-up, or an oil rig, or an expedition. If he hadn’t already decided to be a famous baseball player he might have considered being a bender man himself.
The day before Lenny’s eighth birthday, Dad came home. He’d been away five weeks, the longest ever. It was late afternoon, nearly time for supper, and Lenny was sitting with his mother and Nell out in the yard enjoying a lemonade. Sally was down for her nap. When Dad drove up, Mom’s face turned hard and she looked away.
“Hello loved ones!” Dad shouted jovially. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and leaned over to dust the tops of his shoes before stepping on the grass. In the sun the round toes shined like wet brown rocks. When Lenny saw the shoes his heart sank. They were new, which meant Dad was in a good mood. It also meant there was a fight ahead. Whenever he came home looking dandy Mom started in. Don’t mention the shoes, he wanted to tell her, but he didn’t want to point them out on the chance she hadn’t noticed.
Dad went to Mom and pulled her up out of the chair. She let herself be kissed.
“Here I am,” he said. “Stop your sulking.”
“I about gave up on you.”
“Never!” He smacked her cheek loudly. “You kids come here and give me a hug.”
Lenny rose to greet him. Why did he feel strange? Dad was home. He wore the same brown suit, the same yellow-striped tie. He had the same smile, the same hearty laugh, but he was different too. The August heat and the way Dad appeared out of nowhere made Lenny want to rub his eyes and look again.
Lenny went over with Nell awkwardly behind. Dad gave them each a half squeeze.
“How do I look?” he asked.
Lenny squinted at him. He needed a shave. And there was a pink lump on his forehead that wasn’t there before. The sight of it thrilled Lenny. Was Dad in a fight? Had he punched someone in the kisser? Maybe he’d gotten in a scrap at some roadside cafe between church visits. Lenny knew from hearing his grandma talk that truck stops and roadside cafes were dangerous business.
“What’s that on your head?” Lenny asked.
Dad touched the lump like he’d forgotten it was there. “It’s a beauty mark,” he said with a grin. “Like it?”
“What happened now?” Mom asked. Dad ignored her.
“Aren’t you hot in that suit?” Nell said.
“Now that you mention it, I am. Go fetch me a lemonade.” He chucked Nell under the chin and she shuffled toward the house.
“Where were you?” Lenny asked.
“Looking for work, son. Drove down to Louisville.”
“Are you done selling church envelopes?”
Dad whistled long and low. “Yes I am. Couldn’t stand another minute of it.”
“Were you on a bender?” Lenny asked.
Dad whirled toward Mom. “What’d he say?”
She laughed, but it was a hard sound, with no happiness in it. Lenny tried to think of a distraction. Had he done anything that day worth mentioning? He’d looked for worms under the rain barrel, drank about a gallon of lemonade, sorted his baseball cards, read the latest Spiderman. Why hadn’t he done anything exciting? Why hadn’t he stopped to think that his dad could come rolling in at any minute? He used to be in the habit of paying closer attention to the things he did, making mental marks next to the ones he might tell his dad about. But with the heat of August bearing down and taking all his energy, he’d forgotten.
“You could keep quiet for the good of the children,” Dad said.
“Don’t speak to me about the good of the children. I’m here raising them.”
Lenny spoke up, “So were you on a bender?”
“Lenny, a bender means out drinking,” Nell hissed at him. She stood with a glass of lemonade in her hand and made no move to offer it to Dad, just stood there, giving Lenny her look that said how did I get stuck with a knucklehead brother like you?
Lenny flushed. Of course it meant drinking. He’d been silly to think a bender was some important job. The things Mom said about Dad always came back to drinking.
“Why don’t you work with Uncle Ollie?” Lenny asked. It was a question he’d asked before but he’d never gotten a satisfactory answer. He couldn’t see why his dad had to go so far to look for work. His friends’ dads all worked right here in Holland. Mr. Van Rhee was a tool and die man, Mr. Reidsma made office furniture, and nearly everyone else he knew was a farmer. If only his dad would stay near home, Lenny was sure he wouldn’t drink so much. It was only when he went away and then came back looking dandy that things went bad.
“Do I look like I’m cut out for shit-kicking work like that?”
Lenny didn’t know how to answer. It was true his dad didn’t look like a farmer, and Lenny was mostly glad that he wasn’t one. He disliked the smell, the sad sound the cows made, and the way his uncle was always tired from doing the chores. But in some ways he wished his dad was more like Uncle Ollie. Lenny liked the way Uncle Ollie talked. I’m going to tell you why these cows aren’t milking, he’d say, and then he’d go and say why. Then later he would ask, remember what I told you about the cows and why they’re not milking? Lenny found it comforting to have things laid out like that. There were no surprises.
“Do I?” Dad demanded.
“No, sir.”
“Spreading manure and pulling on cows’ teats are for men with no gumption.” Dad stretched his arms above his head and then shook his shoulders out
, as if to prove he was ready for a challenge.
“Where’s Sally?” he asked.
“She’s taking a nap,” Nell said. She held out his lemonade and at last he took it and pulled down a long swig.
“Go wake her up.”
“No,” Mom said. “Unless you’re planning to be gone again by dinnertime.”
“I oughta go. It’d serve you right.”
“Suit yourself.”
“What’d you find in Louisville?” Lenny asked. He was concerned about Dad not having work. Even selling church envelopes was better than nothing. Lenny knew it was the man of the family who was supposed to have a job. If his dad wasn’t going to work, did that mean Lenny had to do it? He was only eight, but he supposed it was possible. A few boys in his class had paper routes. There was no reason he couldn’t get one too.
Mom lifted a glass of lemonade to her lips. “Who’d you find is a better question,” she muttered.
Dad blew out hard, his lips tight. “You sure know how to make a man feel welcome. And you,” he said to Lenny, “why do you have to ask so many questions? Look here. I brought you something.” He walked over to his car and pulled out a bat.
“Happy birthday,” he said, holding it toward Lenny.
“Wow! A Louisville Slugger!”
“That’s right. World’s most famous bat.”
“I hope you brought a little something for the girls,” Mom called.
“I’ll bring them something next time. A man can’t go to Louisville, home of the Slugger, and not pick one up. Besides, it’s not their birthdays. Right, Nellie?”
“My birthday was in June,” Nell mumbled. “You weren’t home.”
Mom patted her arm and said, “Let’s go make some more lemonade.”
Lenny watched Nell go inside with her head hung low. For about the thousandth time in his life he wished she were a brother instead of a sister. Then they could share the bat and he wouldn’t have to feel bad about getting it. Even if she was a tomboy, that would do, but no, Nell was the most prissy sister a boy could be cursed with.
Hello Loved Ones Page 2