George Hartmann Box Set

by Kelly Utt

  “Sort of,” Marjorie replies. “We had lunch together in Jersey after we left the city, but we lost each other somewhere around the Pennsylvania State line while your dad was driving. I think Nicky drives faster than Roddy does. They must have stopped again in order that they’re getting here after us. Or else I made up the time once I got behind the wheel. Either way, it worked out nicely.”

  “Yeah, Mom, I think most people drive faster than Daddy does,” Ali says, giving her father a stern, but playful look.

  “Hey now, it isn’t a problem in the city, because I have people to drive for me,” Roddy responds. “I just sit in the back seat and read or work. Typically, there’s nothing to see but other slow-moving cars anyway. When I do leave the city, who can blame me for wanting to enjoy the view?” He sure sounds like a typical city guy. I’m reminded of the Aesop Fable about the city mouse and the country mouse, and I chuckle to myself. I should read that one to the boys some time. They’d probably get a kick out of it.

  We all walk towards Nicky and Luis as Sara comes bounding forward and makes a beeline for Ali. The two of them have a special relationship. Nicky and Luis met and got married when Sara was three. She’s the product of a previous relationship where Luis was married to a woman who tragically passed away in a freak horseback riding accident. I think Ali reminds Sara of her mom. When Sara reaches her destination, she puts her arms around Ali’s waist and hugs her tight.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” Ali says to Sara. “How’s my smart girl?”

  “Good, Aunt Ali! I’m good,” Sara says enthusiastically, turning to give a high five to each of the boys then coming back to pat Ali’s belly. “Little Will is getting so big.”

  “I know he is, and you are, too,” Ali responds. Your grandma was just saying how she thinks the boys have grown since she saw them at Christmas, and that was only a few weeks ago. I think you’ve all grown.”

  Nicky and Luis grab a couple of suitcases out of the trunk and then catch up with our group on the lawn. We make the rounds hugging and chatting a bit as we greet each other. It’s so good to have everybody here at our new home. It’s almost exactly the same distance from Manhattan to Ithaca as it was from Manhattan to D.C., but for some reason, Ithaca feels closer. Probably because we’re all New Yorkers now. Maybe the traffic will be a little easier to navigate.

  Ali’s family is like mine but without the emotional baggage. It’s strange sometimes that they all get along so well and are so unabashedly excited about life. I’ve known them long enough to know they’re sincere, but it’s weird. It’s as if they’ve cracked some mysterious code. They don’t hold onto hurts and disappointments like most people do. They still have hurts and disappointments, but it’s like they’re more evolved. They work through their feelings in a healthy way and let things go. I could learn a thing or two from this crowd. Mom could as well. Speaking of Mom, we really had better head inside so she and John Wendell can say hello to everyone.

  “Let’s go inside, folks. It’s starting to get dark,” I say when there’s a break in the conversation. “It’s nice and warm in the house. And I know my mom and John Wendell want to see you. They’re waiting in the living room.”

  “And Lady, Daddy,” Ethan interjects. “Don’t forget about Lady.”

  “You’re right, Ethan,” I reply. “Lady wants to see everybody, too.”

  I lead our group through the front courtyard area and into our beautiful home. I feel proud. No one on Ali’s side of the family has money issues, so they’re not the least bit uncomfortable with our move up to this level of luxury. To the contrary, they are used to beautiful homes and fine living. It probably feels natural to them. I’m sure Roddy and Marjorie are happy to see us finally using the money we have. I know Ali’s made no secret of the fact that over the years it was me who wanted to live in a low-key way which didn’t draw attention to us. I don’t remember ever discussing it directly with Roddy and Marjorie, but I’m sure they knew it was my issue. They had to have known. They passed money down to both Ali and Nicky, and Nicky has felt free to use and enjoy his while Ali has mostly kept hers tucked away until now. Surely, they noticed that one of their kids was responding to wealth differently than the other. Nicky is a well-respected architect in Manhattan and he owns his own firm. He does plenty well for himself financially, but I doubt he’d be able to afford the brownstone he owns on the Upper West Side without money from his parents. I mean, maybe, but it seems like a stretch. Luis is a public school teacher. Nicky already owned the brownstone when they got together, so Luis and Sara moved into luxury as part of the new relationship. Obviously, Luis couldn’t afford the place on a school teacher’s salary. They all seem content with their financial situations though. Nobody seems to have unrealistic expectations. Nobody seems to resent anything.

  “Kids, your new home is stunning,” Roddy says thoughtfully, pausing to look around and take in all the little details as we walk through the front door. “It’s modern and has a gorgeous contemporary aesthetic, yet it still feels warm and inviting. Nice wreath, too.” Ali and I glance at each other and smile. She knew the wreath would be a hit.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” Ali replies. “We really love the place. We’re going to make a lot of good memories here.”

  “We’ve already made a few,” I chime in, gazing at Ali and thinking about last night. And our wake-up romp this morning. She lowers one eyebrow as a warning and looks back at me sternly. She doesn’t like me talking about our sex lives when other people are around. She knows exactly what recently-made memories I’m referring to, but I decide to keep it PG so she doesn’t get embarrassed. “We had an extra special breakfast with the boys this morning,” I continue with an innocent smile. “It was great. We sang together and danced around the kitchen with Lady while making creama eat, as Ethan calls it.”

  “It was very fun,” Ethan adds.

  We close the door tightly and are taking our winter outerwear off as Lady trots in to greet everyone. Mom and John Wendell follow closely behind. My family and Ali’s family all know and love each other. They’ve spent a lot of time together in our company, and they genuinely like to do so. Ali and I have hosted a number of big get-togethers over the years. Family parties are our very favorite kinds. Roddy, Marjorie, Nicky, Luis, Sara, Mom, and John Wendell greet each other warmly now.

  We chat for awhile, moving in small groups throughout the house as Ali, Mom, and I give the others a tour. Mom knows her way around since she periodically checked in on the builders over the past few months while the house was being finished. Our dinner reservations are at six o’clock, so we don’t waste much time. Once they’ve seen the new place, Luis and Roddy get the rest of the luggage from the vehicles and Ali shows them to their guest rooms. We put Roddy and Marjorie upstairs in a room across the hall from the boys. It can’t hurt that Marjorie is next to a bathroom. I think she gets up to use it in the night almost as often as Ali. We give Nicky and Luis a room in the finished basement. We offer Sara her choice of spots thinking she might like to be in a sleeping bag with Ethan and Leo in their room, but she decides to take a guest room downstairs next to her dads. She is only eight after all, and this is a big house. I don’t blame her for wanting to stay close to them. Truth be told, I’m a little surprised Ethan and Leo were so comfortable upstairs last night while Ali and I were on the main level. We’ll see if that lasts. We did the family bed thing when they were younger and it worked well for us. Leo was the one who initiated the move to his own bedroom, and once he went Ethan wanted to join him. That was a few months ago. If they end up returning to our bed for a time, no big deal. They’ll leave when they’re ready. And if they go back and forth before they settle in completely, then so be it. It’s a little more logistically challenging for me and Ali to make love, but we have a routine down which involves a generous amount of extended bathroom time.

  We all pile into three vehicles to make the trip down the hill and across town to Yellow Cob. Mom hops into the Land Rover with Marjorie and N
icky. Luis drives his car with Roddy and Sara in tow. And John Wendell sits in the passenger seat of our SUV while Ali drives and the boys and I squeeze into the back. Ethan gets the third row because I don’t think my legs would fit back there unless I folded myself up like a pretzel, and it would be equally difficult to get Leo in and out of his car seat from that spot. Ethan can climb in and out and buckle himself. He’s pretty happy with the arrangement. I imagine he thinks it’s fun to have a little section of his own back there. He has his toy bag on his lap and is evaluating the contents in preparation for what he knows will be a long dinner. Leo is still sleepy from all of the excitement of the past few days, so he nods off as we drive.

  It’s completely dark outside when we arrive at the restaurant, and it’s bitter cold. I lower my head below the roofline of the vehicle and gaze out in anticipation. The dining room looks especially cozy and inviting. The parking lot is full. Must be a packed house. It is Saturday evening, after all. If Yellow Cob isn’t the most popular restaurant in Ithaca, it is certainly one of the most popular. It’s kind of fancy and is definitely higher-end than the local sandwich and bagel shops, so the place is often booked for celebrations. Ali pulls up to the door to let John Wendell out. I get out, too, in case he needs some help. The rest of the crew goes to find parking spots. The way the parking lot is situated next to the marina means it’s long and narrow and not very many cars fit without having to use an overflow lot next door. Ali and gang are going to have a bit of a walk.

  John Wendell makes his way inside and to the hostess stand to confirm our arrival. The employees all know him, and they can tell he’s excited.

  “We have a big group,” he proclaims. “Reservation for thirteen. Name is John Wendell. W-e-n-d…”

  “Oh, we’ve got you. We know how to spell it,” the young brunette behind the counter says with a wink. “Is your daughter with you tonight? I’m used to seeing the two of you together.”

  “She sure is,” John Wendell replies. “She’s with the group parking the cars. And this here is my grandson, George Hartmann. He and his family just moved home, so you’ll be seeing them quite often from now on. They bought a place on East Shore overlooking the lake.”

  “That’s great to hear, Mr. Wendell,” she says. “I look forward to getting to know them. Your table will be ready in about five to ten minutes. They’re setting everything up for you right now. We made sure to put you near the back of the building so you have the best view of the lights on the lake. We know how much you love that.”

  John Wendell thanks her and heads for the little boys’ room, as he calls it, so he doesn’t have to get up and go during dinner. I wait in the lobby. I don’t think we’ve reached the point where I need to follow him into the bathroom. Not yet, anyway. I’ll ask Mom sometime soon in order to be sure.

  The lobby is fun. It’s decorated in low key boathouse style which straddles the line between elegant and cheesy. The hostess stand is made to look like the front of a boat, and from head on it appears the employees standing behind it are driving. That sounds pretty cheesy, I know, but the boat is made out of a rich, gorgeous wood with a thick gloss lacquer which moves it into elegant territory. Nearby, there are a couple of canoes finished the same way which are made into shelves. The same wood is used for paneling that runs halfway up the walls, and there are framed photos on the upper half of farm fresh food items and various kinds of boats. Just as I begin to sit down on a bench near one of the canoe shelves, I see Jen and Duke walk in the front door. We greet each other with hugs and smiles and small talk about how gorgeous this place is at night. The rest of our gang arrives inside not long afterward, and John Wendell grins broadly when he exits the restroom and sees us standing together.

  “Would you get a look at this fine group of people,” he says proudly to the young women at the hostess stand. “We’re a baker’s dozen.” He waits a moment for a reaction and then laughs heartily at his own cleverness. Classic John Wendell. He’s in his element now. Smooth jazz is playing in the background. Lights are twinkling on the lake. Wine is being poured and shared. And everyone is dressed nice and spiffy. His words. I read somewhere that the English are especially fond of plays on words. I assume that extends to a fascination with a careful choice of words in order to be clever and funny as well. John Wendell’s dad came over as a young stowaway from Liverpool, England when he was thirteen. Maybe the English sense of humor came with him.

  When we arrive at our table, we’re pleasantly surprised to see that the instrumental jazz music playing in the background is actually live music and we’re seated very near to the musicians. They look young. Ithaca College has a well-respected music program. I wonder if that’s where this group is from.

  “Hey, John Wendell,” I say across the table as I sit down and help Ali situate her coat on the back of her chair. “Love the music. Is this Duke Ellington?”

  “Yes, son, Duke Ellington and John Coltrane. This one’s called My Little Brown Book. It was one of your grandma’s favorites. She and I used to dance to this song, on the ballroom floor and in the living room of our home out on Ellis Hollow Road. We sure did love to dance together. Your mom remembers,” he says, leaning towards Mom as she chooses one of the chairs beside him and begins to get comfortable.

  “Oh, I remember,” Mom says. “Who could forget. You two were magical together. Your dancing was superb. You really should have entered more competitions.”

  “There were competitions?” Roddy asks as he sits down on John Wendell’s other side and Marjorie sits next to him.

  “Yes, there certainly were,” Mom replies. “They did a lot here in the Upstate, and twice they even made it to regional ballroom dancing semi-finals in Philadelphia.”

  “Wow, I had no idea!” Roddy exclaims, placing his hand gently on John Wendell’s forearm. “Too bad we didn’t know each other then. I could have written you and Eleanor in as dancers in one of my plays.”

  “You’re very kind, Roddy” John Wendell replies. “I’m not sure we had that level of talent. We had a grand love though, that’s for sure. We thoroughly enjoyed dancing together and moving in sync with our favorite songs. I like to think our love shone through and made our dancing more enjoyable for those watching.”

  “I know it did,” Roddy affirms. “I remember you two dancing at Ali and George’s wedding reception. Guests were stopping what they were doing to watch you. And I’m pretty sure the band started playing more and more jazz covers to keep you from leaving the dance floor.”

  “I remember that, too,” Nicky chimes in from a few seats down. “You were fantastic.” He turns to Luis and Sara to provide them some backstory. “John Wendell and Eleanor did such amazing dancing that day. You see, Aunt Ali and George got married in Washington, D.C. at a place right on the Potomac River. It was beautiful. There were a bunch of guests there who were family and friends. There were more than one hundred people in attendance. The wedding ceremony took place outdoors in a wedding garden. The whole thing was special. I remember John Wendell walking up to the altar in his suit and tie and lighting a candle in honor of Alec before the ceremony began. Alec is George’s dad. He passed away when George was a teenager and so couldn’t be there. I always thought that was extra nice. Alec was John Wendell’s son-in-law, not his own son. He didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to. It was an honor,” John Wendell adds, as I feel tears growing warm and full in my eyes. Ali grabs my hand under the table and gives it a squeeze. Our waiter drops a pitcher of water and a bottle of John Wendell’s favorite red wine off at the table, but sensing we’re having a moment he excuses himself to go take care of something else before asking for our order.

  “You could feel Alec’s presence there that day,” Marjorie says quietly, glancing at Mom to see if she’s okay with the discussion taking a turn in this direction. Marjorie has always been spiritual and intuitive. Hippy doesn’t just describe her style of clothing. She’s into all sorts of New Age ideas. She knows we’re open to them
. We certainly don’t look down on her or dismiss her beliefs when they differ from our own. Mom meets Marjorie’s gaze and gives her a sad, half smile, indicating her approval. The two of them have talked about this before. The rest of the table is quiet now, and everyone is tuned into the story. Duke puts his arm around Jen’s shoulders and they settle backward in their chairs to listen. Ethan and Leo are coloring on kids menus the waiter gave them, but you can tell they’re taking the adult conversation in. Ethan cocks his head to one side and listens, remaining alert.

  “There was a heaviness in the air,” Marjorie continues. “Not in a negative way. The best I can describe the feeling is kind of like how you feel moisture in the air on a humid day or a foggy morning. It’s the same air, and it’s all normal and natural. But there’s an extra component. An addition of sorts to the energy around us like fog is an addition to the air. I felt it, and it felt like Alec.”

  “But you never knew Alec, right?” Luis asks, to clarify.

  “That’s right. He died several years before Ali and George met. I’ve known his son George, his wife Linette, his brother Liam, and his father-in-law John Wendell,” Marjorie says. “And of course, his grandsons are my grandsons. He wasn’t alive long enough in his physical body to meet them in person either, but I believe he knows them. I think we’re all connected in a way that goes beyond these physical bodies we live in. The bodies are temporary, but our love for each other is not.”

  Sara leans over to Luis sheepishly, yet seemingly not able to hold herself back, and says, “Daddy, is John Wendell my family? Because that probably means that his wife Eleanor and George’s dad Alec are my family, too, right?” Luis looks at Nicky, not sure how to respond. Nicky looks at me. Sara’s mom came from a small family and only one distant uncle is still alive. It’s especially important for Sara to know she is accepted and loved by Nicky’s extended family. John Wendell answers before I can find the right words.