Jewelweed (46 page)

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because the learning curve is steep in the real world, and there are things you need to know. You're pretty far behind, Blake. You've got to catch up.”

“Being in love with my father doesn't make you my mother, you know.”

“I'm aware of that, genius.”

“Go on.”

“After you and Danielle started seeing each other, she changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“She began opening up, talking a little. She wasn't so closed off. She'd look out the windows, hoping you'd come by, answered the telephone right away. She'd tell me about races you'd won, the places where the two of you went to eat, what you ate. She took more interest in everything, dressed better, stood with better posture, walked faster, occasionally laughed, and—”

“Why didn't anyone tell me this?”

“Because you're an idiot, Blake, that's why. You and your father both. Most of the time there's no sense telling either of you anything. You simply don't hear. You don't understand what's important until it's too late. No
one should have to tell you these things. You should know them. You've got to stop feeling sorry for yourself, and catch up with everyone else. We all carry things around inside us that hurt too much to examine, but you've got to be able to move on at the same time. You have to try to understand how others feel, and make that a part of you.”

“My father and I are completely different, but I'm listening, really.”

“Then stop staring at your motorcycle.”

“I can't help it. That crease really bothers me. I'm going to have to completely redo the whole tank.”

“You and Danielle started living together after a couple months, isn't that right?”

“Right.”

“Danielle seemed content with that. She thought she finally had something good.”

“I never knew what she thought,” he said. “She never talked about herself, never told me anything. I spent most of my time trying not to make her angry. She never told me about anything.”

“After you got arrested and thrown in prison, Danielle went back to the way she was before you met her, guarded and defensive. Only now she was pregnant and even more scared. She wasn't even eighteen years old. You abandoned her, Blake.”

“She seemed as old as I was.”

“She never finished high school. She actually lied about her age to get hired. She's three years younger than you, Blake. Was then, is now.”

“I never abandoned her!” Blake shouted. “I loved her. Okay, so I agreed to run a package from here to Milwaukee. I did it three or four times. This guy I knew at the foundry would give me three hundred dollars for each trip. That was a lot of money to me. But that's it, no more. Then that guy got busted and the authorities made a deal with him. He turned me and three others in, and they let him go. He told them the exact time I'd be showing up in Milwaukee, and they were waiting for me there.”

“You abandoned her.”

“I didn't!” yelled Blake, jumping to his feet.

“I'm telling you what it felt like to her.”

“I loved her. One of the arresting officers was from around here. He knew I lived with Danielle, and he said he'd been hoping she would
be with me. He said he was looking forward to arresting her, to turning her over the trunk of his car and then taking her into the backseat for a long ride to the station. With my hands handcuffed behind me, I head-butted him, knocked him down, and kicked one of his ribs into his lung. They nearly beat me to death with their clubs after that, but I didn't care. Nobody was going to talk that way about her.”

“You idiot!” shouted Bee. “That doesn't show you loved her. That just shows how stupid you are. You show how much you love someone by being there for them when they need you, by knowing what they need and anticipating those needs. And do you have any idea what it must have been like for your father to get that call after everything that had happened? Do you have any idea what it's like to raise a child alone? Do you have any idea how—”

“Stop it!” yelled Blake, leaping to his feet again. “She never wrote to me!” he yelled. “Not once.”

“Dart had seen her whole family ruined by drinking, drugs, and dealing. She couldn't trust you.”

Blake climbed onto his motorcycle and sped off down the street.

Two miles out of Red Plain, he came to a full stop, threw out the stand, and walked around his motorcycle, cursing and spitting on the pavement. The shadows were growing long, the light golden. It was time to get home.

Everyone had turned against him.

Okay, maybe he should have considered the possibility that Ivan was his son. But why hadn't anyone given him a hint? He couldn't be blamed for not knowing. Why hadn't Danielle told him? It wasn't his responsibility to know. He was in prison. Why hadn't Winnie told him on one of her visits, or his father? They must have known, and if they didn't they should have. It was their responsibility. Danielle should have written him a letter.

A slow-moving vehicle climbed the hill. The young driver slowed down even more, stopped, rolled down the window, and asked, “Anything wrong?”

“No,” said Blake. “Everything's fine.”

“I just wondered,” said the youth, poking a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it. “Say, aren't you Blake Bookchester?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I heard about you when I was doing time in Portage. You hit a guard at Waupun. We all heard about it.”

“How long have you been out?” asked Blake.

“Couple weeks.”

“How's it going?”

“Not bad, I guess. Say, what are you doing out here?”

“How old are you?”

“I'm as old as you were when they first sent you up. You want a cold one?”

“No thanks.”

“What's the Lockbridge supermax like?”

“What do you want to know?”

“I've heard about it so much I can see it in my mind clear as anything. I can picture just what the center hold looks like, with that narrow aisle leading into it, the exercise cages to the side and back, and the long wire rack between the two main buildings. Is that pretty close?”

“Pretty close.”

Blake climbed back onto his motorcycle. “I should be going.”

“Maybe I'll see you around. You come out here often?”

“Not really.”

As the young man drove off, Blake started his engine and felt it idle beneath him. He could see the crease in the tank.

A month ago, his first ride on the twenty miles of road between where he was now and Luster had taken about forty-five minutes. After nearly daily practice, his best times were now between fifteen and seventeen minutes. He wanted to get below fourteen, but conditions had to be perfect. Other traffic was the biggest obstacle. A farmer with a manure spreader, a utility truck, people on bicycles, and animals in the road—all were hazards that posed temporal setbacks. The road surface was a factor as well. Mud, sand, and leaves on the corners, water and gravel thrown up from the shoulders—they all imposed limits. Even humidity affected the grip of the tires.

He checked his watch, waiting for the second hand to swing up to twelve, and arrived in Luster fifteen minutes later. En route, he flew through two Spinoza spaces—one between the ditch and a melon-sized
chunk of sandstone that had fallen into the road from a nearby outcropping, the other along the center line between two approaching cars. When he entered those spaces, he didn't know if he would make it. When he did, it confirmed that he belonged on the other side.

He backed off the throttle coming into Luster, then glided slowly through the little town, wondering what he was going to do when he got home. At a stop sign, he thought about going back, seeing if he could make it in fourteen minutes. Nah, he decided. I need to get home.

Two blocks later, he parked in front of a small restaurant that served bacon cheeseburgers with a fried egg on top—a jolt of fatty protein perfectly suited to his current appetite.

There were only three others in the one-room eatery, and Blake sat in a booth, next to a window on the street. Drinking from a glass of grape soda, he thought about what Bee had told him. He felt his blood pressure go up. Then he remembered his conversation with the young man on the hill, and he felt even worse. What could possibly be sadder than someone fondly picturing the interior of a prison? Unless, of course, it was swapping stories about hitting a guard. It was one of the most ignorant things he'd ever done. It added at least three years to his sentence and made him feel smaller and meaner for doing it. He'd lost his temper and taken it out on someone who was just trying to get from one day to the next, like everyone else.

He wondered how it was possible to rise up, like Bee had insisted he must, and to carry his share of the world's grief and still keep moving. The shame he felt made it difficult to do any lifting.

When his burger arrived Blake added extra salt and ketchup, then bit into it, relishing the unmistakable taste of an open grill. The grainy beef was satisfying, and Blake paused before taking another bite. He wondered if this might be one of those moments that—were he ever in prison again—he would look back on with cherished longing. What a joy it was to desire a particular food, act upon that desire, and completely fulfill his expectations.

Just then Bud Jenks walked by outside.

Blake put down his burger and stepped quickly out onto the sidewalk.

He followed him for two blocks and then watched him go into a tavern. Blake sat down across the street, waiting on the concrete steps of a closed bakery.

After a while, Blake almost convinced himself that he'd been mistaken. Bud Jenks belonged to the world of prison, not this one; his presence here violated the law of separate categories. Blake's memories of prison had slowly been receding, increasingly replaced by the reality he was trying desperately to catch up with, and it seemed almost impossible that Bud Jenks could suddenly appear in his full-bodied 285-pound form. It was like a returned veteran meeting one of the enemy in the grocery store.

But when Jenks came out of the tavern a half hour later, Blake knew he had not been mistaken. Jenks looked slightly out of character in a faded short-sleeve shirt and sweatpants, carrying a white paper sack filled with carry-out food. But his size and lumbering shuffle were the same. Blake followed him back past the restaurant, then another three blocks. Jenks walked up to a green one-story house and went inside.

It was an open block, with no place to linger without attracting attention, and Blake returned to his motorcycle. He sat next to it on the curb in front of the restaurant. He tried to think, but every idea melted into a confused and angry fear.

“Excuse me.”

He turned around and met the waitress from inside. “Are you finished with your burger?”

“Yes,” said Blake.

“Do you want to take it with you?”

“No.”

“Were you thinking about paying for it?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, and handed her several bills. “Sorry.”

Back at home, Blake wandered through the empty barn before going into the house. From the front door, he watched Jack Station approach in his blue Mercury. This time he didn't even slow down at the drive.

Blake closed the front door and went from room to room, looking for a place he could feel comfortable and safe. He ended up in the attic, sitting on the bare wooden floor and staring through the small filmy window. He remained there a long time and then noticed something wedged into the corner of the windowpane, crumpled up and shiny. He picked it out and unfolded the foil from a piece of gum. Someone else had once sat where he was now. That person had taken out a piece of gum and put it in
his mouth. Then he'd stuck the foil into the crack between the pane and the wooden frame, perhaps thinking he'd make the window fit tighter. He imagined it might have been July Montgomery, and for some reason this made him feel better.

Blake absently put the foil in his pocket and went downstairs to call his father. He would tell him he'd talked to Bee, and assure him everything was all right.

W
hen August came to visit Ivan at the Roebucks', Danielle introduced him to everyone. Even Flo came down from the third floor. Ivan had talked about him so much she wanted to see for herself. She shook his hand, asked a few questions, and gave him a rosary that glowed in the dark.

August smiled, blinked a lot, and answered politely. Danielle had always thought August was shy, but Ivan knew he was just cautious, and until he figured out the rules of wherever he was he talked nervously and used big words. Otherwise he might go out of bounds, and Ivan knew his friend never wanted to do anything that might embarrass his parents.

After the introductions were over, Ivan showed August his room. An extra bed had been moved into it, and two drawers emptied. August was staying over for three nights. He opened his suitcase, folded everything away real neat, and showed Ivan his new flashlight. It could be set to flash on and off, a warning signal.