After changing the blanket and sheets, I spent my first night in Glacier half-awake. I felt grimy despite the clean sheets and vowed to wipe the whole room down with bleach in the morning, and no matter how I tried to sleep I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of all the things I’d reminisced about with Uncle Barney. My uncle had replaced my father after he disappeared. And though Barney did all he could to make me feel happy and comfortable when I visited Glacier, I never really melted to his love. He didn’t hug me like Dad, or brush my long brunette hair like Dad did before bedtime. He didn’t read me stories like Dad did either. Those hours I spent lost in fantasy worlds my dad helped create with the books he read, set me up to love the written word. Even though he left Mom and me without a goodbye, I wanted to forgive him. I cherished my memories alone with him. I knew that fueled unresolved conflict in me but I couldn’t stop myself thinking of him. I was angry about what he did but I desperately missed him too. As I grew up I tried so hard to diffuse my anger, replacing it with suspicion and doubt. Poor Barney fell victim to that. I was always thinking about motives. All the unknown whys. Lying alone in the dark, I realized again that Jim had hurt me the same way Dad did. By abandoning me. For a motive that I could not understand.
I tossed and turned, thinking about men and being betrayed by them. Suddenly Mario Puzo came sifting through my thoughts. He was wearing a shiny, shark skin suit. He stared at me and said:
“Do you believe a man can truly love a woman and constantly betray her? Never mind physically but betray her in his mind, in the very ‘poetry of his soul’. Well, it's not easy but men do it all the time.”
You’re right, Mario.
“No, he’s not!” I heard LeCarre’s gravely British voice and then saw him sitting at the end of my bed, his smoking pipe in hand.
“Betrayal can only happen if you love,” he said.
I kicked my covers to erase them both from the privacy of my thoughts and sat up in bed. I’ve got to try with Barney. I’m not an abandoned child anymore. Surely I am wiser now; surely I can act more maturely. I’d never let Barney be the older man in my life, never let him chase the ghost of my father into my past with his own crazy expressions of love. Barney never really had a chance. Would I give him one now?
I stared at the ceiling well into the night, watching the summer moonlight filter through the weeping willow outside and create flitting shadows that crossed the wall as time passed. I wanted to cry but couldn’t allow myself release. I didn’t cry for Dad, did I? I won’t cry for Jim. Can I ever open up? I thought back to my last visit to Glacier. I left Barney at the bus stop without even a kiss goodbye. In a way, I’d done the same with Jim. I’d packed in anger and left the same way. Story of my life.
I remembered Barney on the sidewalk, waving goodbye as I left. His face was set like stone, like my heart, and until now I hadn’t considered how wrong I’d been. When I registered at university a few years later, my long-distance conversations with him dried up completely. It was an unfortunate fact. I only called him twice a year. On his birthday and at Christmas. I’m so cruel. I know he loves me. I should've shown more love for him.
I tossed and turned in. I lost out on something precious. I didn’t get to know him at all. I still don’t know who or what he cares about.
I spent the night fuming at myself and couldn’t sleep. When the sun came up I heard Barney bustling about downstairs. The noise was my call to arms and I reluctantly climbed from bed to have a shower. I’ll change things. Today I’ll start to change things.
I felt anxious as I dressed, pulling on clean black jeans and a silky aqua tank. He hadn’t talked about himself much the night before and I’d selfishly been too wrapped up in my own drama and recollections to ask him anything. Basically, I had no idea what had been happening to him in the ten years I’d been away. What do I say today? How’s business, Uncle Barney? I was so torn with uncertainty I sat at the top of the stairs outside my room, idly twisting a strand of my hair and waiting until Barney, according to his usual routine, left for the post office to collect his mail.
I listened as he closed the front door and engaged the lock and then, with a sigh, I wandered down the hall to his bedroom. It was a shambles. The clothes he wore the day before were stacked in a pile beside his bed. In a corner next to the dresser there was a laundry bag stuffed with dirty apparel. Su-Jitzu patted down the hall to stand beside me. “Well, maybe there is something I can do besides talk, right?” I gathered the pile from the floor and dumped it on his unmade bed, deciding to start a load of washing. Then I moved to his dresser. On its top Barney had a collection of crystals. What the heck? I wonder why. I found a hair-clogged brush and comb, a bottle of cheap aftershave and a small dish filled with change. There was also a snapshot of Mrs. Podeski perched on a rock by the creek behind the house. She’s actually quite pretty. Like an older Lauren Bacall. I pulled open the first drawer on the bureau and nearly gagged. Barney had put his used socks in with his clean ones and the drawer smelled to high heaven. With two fingers I tugged his socks out and tossed them to the bed with his other clothes, much to Su-Jitzu’s joy. The dog burrowed his nose into the sock pile, even grabbing a pair in his mouth. I tugged open the other drawers one at a time. Each was crammed full of clothing, half of which looked like they’d been worn. What the heck, Uncle Barney? Screwing up my courage, I pulled all the clothes out of the drawers, clean or not, and tossed them onto the bed. Su-Jitzu, thinking it a game, started to burrow into the pile. “Smells pretty good, huh?” The dog stopped his wiggle for a moment and looked at me, and then with a tail wag dived back into the pile. “Okay, buddy. We need to do some laundry.” I knew the wash wouldn’t be a good entrée to a conversation, but I was still somewhat satisfied. Get to know Barney’s habits, even if it’s in a nosy and underhanded way.
“Come on Su,” I said. "You grab some and I'll grab some and we'll go to the washing machine. Come on, boy." As if he understood, Su-Jitzu collected a mouthful of socks and trotted behind me towards the washing machine in the bathroom. Once there he stood wagging his tail, waiting for instructions. "Okay Su. Drop.” Su shook his head wildly, turning his mission into a game.
I separated the clothes into whites and colors, trying to ignore my revulsion at holding the wet slobbery things that had been in Su’s mouth. By the time I had the washing underway and remade Barney's bed with clean sheets, I could hear voices in the café. I descended the stairs with Su-Jitzu at my heels and bounced into The Grind with a smile.
"It's about time you got up," Barney said as he turned on the coffee grinder.
"What do you mean? I've been up since sun rise. I did the laundry and made the beds.”
Barney nodded towards the young man seated at the window table. “You remember Bill Reamer from yesterday,” he said. “Too much was happening so I didn’t properly introduce you. Bill, this is Melanie. Melanie, that’s Bill.”
Bill was the young man who’d jumped into the fracas between Mrs. Podeski and the slight Indian man. I smiled and gave him a short wave of hello. Bill was crushingly handsome with a firm jaw, muscular body, and a shy smile. His brown hair was long and could have used a trim, but it seemed to suit him. A little wild. He looked slightly older than me—maybe thirty—and he had an unshaved patina of whiskers that I found oddly attractive. He wore a crew neck golf shirt nearly the color of his blue eyes, and also blue jeans and work boots. I blushed when I noticed he’d been aware of my scrutiny. I sat opposite him at the table and clasped my hands in my lap. For some reason I felt awkward and self-conscious under his gaze. What’s that about?
"I’m brewing some of Bill’s favorite. A pot of Moloklai blend. Want a cup? You look like you need a slurp."
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I countered. Some of Uncle Barney's Hawaiian coffee sounded perfect. I turned to Bill. “You helped stop what could've been a nasty little battle yesterday," I said, trying to start a conversation. Bill looked down to his lap when I complimented him.
&
nbsp; "I just kept them apart,” he replied shyly.
"Well, I think you kept things from getting out of hand except for pushing Mrs. Podeski over."
" I didn't mean to do that."
“Of course he didn't," said Barney as he delivered our coffees. "Utta tends to take things a little far sometimes. She was just giving Dr. Santos a hard time."
" But why?”
Barney took a seat as well. "Utta and Dr. Santos have never gotten along," he said. "She cleaned his house for a while and then he suddenly fired her. She says he didn't give her a reason. One day he fired her, so naturally he's not on her best friends list."
“He was the guy who wanted the carrot cake?”
“That’s right.”
Bill Reamer sipped his coffee in silence and stared ahead without looking at me or Barney. By the way he was acting, it was obvious he had a different opinion of what happened but he wasn't going to express it. He seems to do that a lot.
I took my cup and stood. “If you'll excuse me, I've got some other things I have to do. Nice to meet you, Bill." I waited for a response but none came. “Okay then," I said. I moved to the serving counter. Nancy had come in via the back door and was already busy grinding beans.
“He's a puzzle, isn’t he?" I whispered, cocking my head towards the table.
“Bill? Not really. He’s just a quiet guy."
"Does he come here often?"
"All of time. Like his second home. I think he's trying to read his way through all the books in Bookmarks," Nancy said chuckling. "He comes in, usually has a ‘coffee of the day’, and then goes into Bookmarks to find something to read. He spends a few hours drinking his coffee and reading then puts the book back and leaves. Like I said, he’s quiet."
"He's kind of cute in a brooding sort of way isn't he?"
"He's okay if you like truck-driving bookworms, I guess," said Nancy.
“He’s a truck driver?”
“Hauler at the mine.”
"He doesn't seem to think very highly of Mrs. Podeski."
Nancy stopped pouring beans into the grinder, turned it off and pulled me towards the back of the kitchen. "He doesn't like her for good reason,” she whispered. “Couple of years ago he rear-ended her car after the New Year’s party at the town hall. He’d been drinking. She told the police she got a bad whiplash but it was really small a little fender bender. The judge was an old guy from Eugene. He decided to give Bill a break and not take his license away because he’d have lost his job. Instead he made Bill pay Mrs. Podeski one hundred dollars a month until she turns sixty-five as compensation. Everyone figured it was really unfair but at least he kept his job." Nancy washed her hands in the sink so she looked busy. "Mrs. Podeski has a habit of making enemies."
"My uncle says she and the dentist had a falling out too. And why is he the only person around her who uses her first name?"
Nancy smiled. "Let’s say they’re close.” She dried her hands. “Her and the doc are always going at it one way or another. For some reason she enjoys getting him worked up. She's not a very nice person."
When Nancy returned to the coffee grinder I scanned the kitchen for something to do but everything seemed in order. There were no empty coffee cups to wash except my own.
"Guess I’ll go to the bookstore to see what kind of mischief I can get into," I said. I maneuvered out of The Grind, passing Barney and Bill without a glance, and entered the darkened bookstore.
Barney had built floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on three walls. He’d erected another set of double bookshelves down the center of the room, creating two long aisles. These were lined with old leather-bound books. Paperbacks had been stuffed on the bottom shelves where probably they were least likely to be examined. At eye level, he had taped hand-written category labels on the shelves. When I was younger I thought they were funny. Reading them now I only felt a sense of amazement. Instead of ‘westerns’ for example, Barney had labeled his collection of hard bound books ‘Cowboys and Indians’. I had no idea where the Louis L’Amour paperbacks I devoured as a child ended up. Instead of ‘nonfiction’ he’d taped a piece of paper that said: ‘Facts’. Above a grouping of novels, not in alphabetical order, he’d taped a two-word category: ‘Reading Material’.
From the ceiling Barney had installed hanging lights over the aisles. Basically, they looked like repurposed oil funnels, and spilled dim light to the floor in conic yellow pools. Walking the aisles was like slipping from bands of darkness to light. When I was a child I imagined that was what the lighting would be like on death row. At the end of the central book shelf an old leather chair was positioned against the wall facing the sales counter. I fondly remembered sitting in that chair most afternoons when I was visiting. I’d explore all sorts of books from that perch, settling on mysteries as my reading favorite most often.
At the entrance to Bookmarks, Barney had positioned an old display case he’d picked up from the drugstore renovation, along with a clunky antique cash register that didn’t work except for opening when you punched the ‘cash’ button. I did and checked the cash drawer. Empty. Instead of using the register, Barney used a coffee tin. I looked inside that too and only found small change.
Having wandered down the store’s two aisles, I leaned on the display case. Bookmarks was an unkempt mess, like Barney’s bedroom. The stock was primarily books Barney had collected from estate sales. The only new titles were slipped inside the display case like precious gems. All I could do was shake my head. He has no idea.
While I flipped through old Life magazines stacked on the floor beside the cash register, Bill entered the store. Without a word, he slowly walked the first aisle, randomly reading titles on the books’ spines. I watched him with curiosity. He was handsome, even rugged looking, and moved at a relaxed pace but looked tentative. It was as if he felt he shouldn’t be there. He read each title with intense concentration as if he were an engineer facing a complex piece of machinery. I wonder what he’s all about.
Finally he seemed satisfied with one of his selections. He pulled the book from the shelf, flipped the pages as if he was looking to make sure it was complete, and then with a decisive snap, closed it. He slipped it under his arm and again, without a word, wandered back into The Grind.
I put my coffee down on the display case, grabbed Barney’s tin can and followed Bill to his table. Nancy was already refilling his coffee cup as he sat down. He already had his purloined book open to begin to read.
He looked at me and held up the book. “Thought I’d read a classic.”
“That’s a book people praise and don’t read,” I said snappily.
“Mark Twain,” Bill answered with a small smile.
"Are you going to buy that book?"
"Pardon?” Bill looked up at me again, this time with a frown.
“You went into Bookmarks and grabbed that book. I'm wondering if you're going to pay for it.”
He looked from Nancy towards the back of The Grind where Barney was filling serviette holders with paper napkins. “Usually I just …”
“You don't usually pay, is that what you're saying?”
“I usually read it a while I have my coffee and put the book back.”
“Well it’s a bookstore not a library. People usually buy the books before they read them.” I reached forward and took the copy of Moby Dick from his hands. Opening the front cover I noted the price. “This book is three dollars.”
“I wasn't trying to steal it.” Bill fished into his blue jeans pocket and from the wad of crumpled paper, peeled off a five-dollar bill. He popped it into my can with a hint of anger. “You can keep the change,” he growled, pulling his book out of my hands.
“I'll get you your change,” I said like some officious sales lady. As I turned towards service counter where I could get change from the till, the front door swung open with a bang. Another young man, dressed in blue jeans and a plaid jacket, stepped towards Bill with determined intent.
“What the hell were yo
u doing, Reamer?” he shouted as he poked Bill's shoulder with two fingers. “My mom says you knocked her down.”
“I didn't mean to.” Bill's answer was surprisingly polite under the circumstances.
“You never mean to.”
I turned on my heel and slipped between them. “I was there when it happened and it was an accident. She fell down by accident.”
“Mind your own business,” the young man snarled. He pushed me aside. “This has nothing to do with you.” He reached for Bill’s jacket but Su-Jitzu reacted. He shot through the air from where he was lying by the display case and viciously bit at the cuff of the man’s pants, shaking his head for all he was worth. The intruder kicked his leg, trying to shake the dog off.
“It's okay,” Bill said. He gripped my shoulder gently, trying to get me to back away.
“Su! Stop it this instant! Down!” I gripped Su-Jitzu by the scruff of his neck and pulled him back. Still growling with his teeth bared, the terrier barked a menacing warning.
“You better take care of that mutt!” the young man shouted. “Or I will.”
“Hold the phone, mister,” I shouted back. “He was trying to protect me.”
“And you, Reamer,” the young man continued, “keep your nose out of my mom’s business and be sure you pay her like you’re supposed to or I'll see you in jail.” He feigned a swipe at Su-Jitzu and left The Grind, the door slamming behind him again.
The whole encounter was abrupt and alarming. What is it about this Bill guy? He’s like a trouble magnet. I looked across at Barney. He was standing still, a napkin dispenser in one hand and a clump of serviettes in the other. “Who WAS that?” I asked.
Nancy stepped forward and collected Bill’s coffee cup. “That was Mrs. Podeski’s son, Allan.” She bustled back to the counter as if everything was normal.
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