Authors: Florence Osmund
“I need a lock for a gate.”
“What kind of gate?”
“The one on the chain-link fence.”
He showed him a variety of locks two aisles down. Lee picked one he thought would fit.
“Will that do it then?”
“I think so.”
The man reached out to shake his hand. “I’m Lenny, by the way. Lenny Vinik. Come back any time you need help.”
Once in his car, Lee took a deep breath. He came from a family that hired others to do everything for them. What was he thinking? Even scarier, what would his parents and brothers think if they knew what he was attempting to do? More ridicule, no doubt.
Lee drove to his property and parked his car in the usual spot on the side of the road. Pliers in hand, he walked to a section of fence that was obstructed by a clump of high brush so as not to be seen by anyone passing by. If he was going to make a fool of himself, he wanted to do it in private.
The lettering on the signs was not raised—good start. The ends of the metal ties that pinned the sign to the fence had been twisted together several times after having been woven through the hole in each corner of the sign and then through a link in the fence. Someone must have spent a lot of time installing them. A lot of time.
He opened the pliers. Something clicked. He tried to close them, but they wouldn’t close. “Okay, what did I just do?” he said out loud.
He fiddled with the pliers until they closed back again. “This is not going to go well,” he muttered.
The sun was low in the sky. Lee glanced at his watch—4:33 P.M. He’d have to work fast before it was too dark to see what he was doing. He held the pliers open, grabbed the end of one of the ties, and tugged on it. His left hand slipped off the pliers, which fell to the ground with a heavy thump. He picked it up, planted his feet wide apart, and went in for another try at it.
After several more failed attempts, he glanced at his watch again—4:57. Twenty-four minutes, and he didn’t have even one tie off. And he had cut the side of his hand on a rough spot on the fence. And his arm ached from the weight of the tool. And he knew he was not likely to ever get even one sign off the fence.
Giving up on the pliers project for the time being, he headed toward the back corner of the property to the gate.
Even in the scant light, Lee could see two sets of footprints in the snow ahead of him. As he got closer, he could see two sets of man-sized prints going in opposite directions but were likely made by the same person. He followed them through the large clearing—the same clearing where he had pulled up the mystery roots—to the gate. They continued on the other side of the gate and then stopped...right next to a set of tire tracks.
He closed the gate and affixed the lock he had bought.
* * *
CJ greeted him in her usual style. “If it isn’t Socrates. Lookin’ for a Bud?”
He nodded, smiled, took his favorite stool at the end of the bar, and waited for his mug to come sliding down the bar toward him. Instead, CJ walked it over to him.
“Com’ere. You’ve got grease or something on your face.” She took a napkin and dabbed at his cheek, then examined his hand. “What the hell! Have you been in a fight?”
Lee laughed. “Yeah, with a pliers.”
“Let me guess. The pliers won?”
“Something like that.”
She walked away and came back with several Band-Aids. “Here. I don’t want you getting any blood on my bar.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Shoot.”
“What is that you’re wearing on your legs?”
“Get with it, Soc. They’re leg-warmers.”
Inside?
“CJ!” someone yelled from the other end of the bar. “Phone.”
CJ walked away and picked up the phone, her back to Lee. After several seconds, she turned around, tore off her apron, and said to the other bartender, “Cover for me. Travis is in the Emergency Room.” She ran out of the bar.
Lee followed her out into the parking lot and called to her to wait up.
“Can’t talk now. My son broke his leg,” she said, without looking back.
He caught up to her as she was standing next to her car, an old beat-up gold Camaro. “Let me drive you. You’re too upset.”
“No. I need my car.” Her hand was shaking so badly, she struggled putting the key in the door lock.
“Let me drive you. We can take care of your car later.”
She stared at him for a long moment before consenting. “Okay, let’s go.”
Lee guided her toward his Datsun. “What hospital?”
“Swedish American. I know how to get there.”
Lee tried to calm her down on the fifteen-mile drive to the hospital. “How did it happen? Do you know?”
“Frankie said he fell out of a tree.”
“Frankie?”
“My sister. She was watching them.”
She had two sons. Travis was the younger one, only six. Wayne was nine. She explained Travis was the more rambunctious of the two, a child who would try most anything without any forethought. Wayne, though older, was less assertive, more predictable, and much easier to parent.
When they reached the entrance to the ER, CJ had her door open before Lee even brought the car to a complete stop. Lee parked his car and went inside to find CJ.
The ER was very crowded, and hospital staff were busily scurrying around. From what Lee could discern, there had been a serious car pile-up on Route 51—people were lined up on gurneys in the hallway outside of the treatment area. Lee had never been in an emergency room before, and the combined smells of rubbing alcohol and disinfectants made him feel lightheaded.
Soon he heard CJ’s voice and followed it to one of the treatment bays.
“May I come in?”
CJ sat on the bed, one of her hands on a young boy’s thigh and the other one pushing his tousled sandy-colored hair off his forehead. He had an
I-don’t-know-what-all-the-fuss-is-about
look on his face.
Without taking her eyes off him, she responded, “Sure. Come on in.”
A woman who appeared to be older than CJ stood in the corner with a child who Lee assumed to be CJ’s other son, Wayne. The woman surveyed Lee with a skeptical eye.
“Everything okay?” he asked CJ.
“Yeah. He’s okay.” She turned toward Lee and introduced him—as Socrates—to her sons and her sister, Frankie.
He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Frankie.”
She shook his hand. “It’s Francine.”
He didn’t know quite how to read her. They didn’t look much like sisters. CJ was tall, blond, and curvy. Her sister was shorter, brunette, and wore conservative loose-fitting clothing that hid her figure.
CJ’s attention was on Travis. “It was a bad break, a compound fracture,” she told him.
An hour and a half later, Travis was ready to be released. They all walked out of the hospital together, Travis on crutches, having mastered their use very quickly.
“How do you want to do this?” he asked CJ. “Do you want me to drive you and Travis home?”
“What about my car?”
“After you get him settled, I can drive you back to the bar so—”
“The restaurant,” Francine corrected him.
“I mean restaurant, so you can pick up your car.”
“Okay.”
CJ and Travis sat in the back seat. Wayne rode with Francine. CJ gave Lee directions to her house.
She lived thirty minutes away on the outskirts of town where most of the houses sat on at least an acre of land zoned as farmland. Many of the homesteads included a barn or two, including CJ’s. A long dirt driveway led to her house. CJ pointed to a section of yard that appeared to serve as a parking area. Francine pulled up beside him.
“C’mon in, Soc. Take a load off for a bit while I get things settled in,” she told him.
The small clapboard house was in need of repair, with several missing shingles on the roof, broken downspouts, tattered screens, and sagging stairs leading to the porch. A variety of bikes and toys were strewn around the yard.
CJ led the way through a mudroom to the kitchen from which Lee could see the main living area. The house was small but neat and clean.
Once CJ got Travis settled in the living room, she, Francine, and Lee sat at the 1950s-style kitchen table on a variety of mismatched chairs.
“Want a brewski? I know I sure do.” CJ went to the frig, pulled out two beers, and handed one to Lee. “Frankie doesn’t drink.”
Francine gave Lee a confused look. “So your name is Socrates? Really?”
CJ let out a loud guffaw.
“Not really. That’s just CJ’s nickname for me.”
“I see.”
“It’s a long story,” CJ added.
“I’m sure it is,” said Francine. She turned to CJ. “Are you going back to work, hon?”
“I think he’s fine. It’s not like he hasn’t been through this before. Will you be okay with him?”
“Sure. Go.”
After they finished their beers, Lee led the way to his car and opened the door for her. “What’s so funny?” he asked her when he caught her smirking.
“I am so not used to this.”
“What?”
“A guy opening the door for me.”
“No? I thought all men opened doors for ladies.”
“Hey, who are you calling a lady?” Her laugh was loud and nervous.
Lee didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
“It’s just that I haven’t been—”
“Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me,” Lee responded before she could go any further.
“I know.”
On the way back to Deer Bottom, he wanted to ask her about the boys’ father, but didn’t dare. There was no disputing they were brothers, but they didn’t look much like CJ.
It occurred to him that, except for his mother, Catherine, and Robin a few times, he had never been in a car with a woman before. A surge of something rose up into his chest, soon followed by an all-too-familiar queasiness in his stomach.
CJ broke the awkward silence. “I appreciate you taking me to the hospital, Soc. I admit I was probably too upset to drive. My sons are my world, and when anything happens to them, well, I panic.”
“Travis looked pretty comfortable on those crutches.”
“This is his second broken leg. He’s had two broken wrists and a concussion as well.”
“Clumsy?”
“No. Fearless. He’s a climber. Has been since birth. He’ll climb anything if you don’t watch him. Today, all it took was for Frankie to go into the house to the bathroom, and when she went back outside, he had managed to climb that big oak tree on the side of my house. I wish I could talk the landlord into trimming the lower branches for me, but...”
“I know someone who could do that for you.” He had no idea where that came from.
“Really?”
“Sure, and he owes me a favor. I’m sure he’ll do it for nothing.”
I can’t believe I just said that. Who do I know who can trim a tree?
“Hey, that would be great. I suppose I’ll have to—”
The sound of a blaring siren behind them interrupted her.
She tuned around to look behind them. “Shit,” she said under her breath.
Lee saw in his rearview mirror that a sheriff’s car was closing in on him. “What did I do?” He slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road.
“I’m sorry, Soc. I really am.”
He looked over at CJ. “Why are
you
sorry?”
Before she could answer, Sheriff DeRam appeared at his window, and before Lee could roll it all the way down, he shouted, “Get out!”
“What?”
“Do you need a translator, asshole? Get out of the car,” DeRam barked, his chest puffed out proving he could probably bench-press more than Lee weighed.
Lee’s chest tightened. As he got out of the car, he glanced down at the sheriff’s gun in his side holster. The strap that held the gun in had been unfastened.
“What’s the problem, Sheriff?” he asked.
“Shut up, and walk to my car.”
Lee felt his heartbeat quicken and did as he was told.
“Get in the back seat, and stay there until I return.”
DeRam slammed the car door and walked away, lingering for several seconds behind Lee’s car before walking to the passenger door. Lee watched as CJ rolled down her window and spoke with the sheriff. Their exchange was highly animated.
After what felt like an eternity, the sheriff returned to his car and opened the back door for Lee.
“Get out.”
Lee got out of the car and, for an instant, didn’t know what to do. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but the sheriff interrupted him before he got a word out.
“You’ve got a broken tail light. Get it fixed. And while you’re at it, why don’t you keep right on goin’ with your sorry preppy ass and get out of my town.” With that, he got into his car and sped off, hurling up a surge of gravel in the car’s wake.
Lee returned to his car to find CJ choking back tears. “What’s wrong? What did he say to you?”
“Let’s just go,” she said through clenched teeth.
He had no experience dealing with someone else’s emotions, let alone a girl’s. Not knowing what else to do, Lee started the car and pulled onto the road. They drove for five long minutes before CJ broke the silence.
“He’s such an asshole.”
“I can’t argue that point.”
“He broke your tail light, you know.”
“How do you know?”
“‘Cause I heard it break while he was standing behind your car.” She turned toward him. “Socrates, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think you had better start sleeping with one eye open.”
“Why is that?”
“Because, my friend,” she said with deliberation in her voice, “Bern is the father of my two children, and he is really pissed to see me with you.”
Lee momentarily lost control of the car and let it veer toward the middle of the road for a brief moment. “He’s what?”
“You heard me. I need to fill you in on a few things. Can we go somewhere to talk? Somewhere where he can’t find us?”
The man has a gun.
“Like where?”
“Let’s go somewhere over the state line, out of his jurisdiction...like Beloit. It’s only a few minutes from here.”
They didn’t talk during the ten-minute ride to Beloit, Wisconsin. Once there, Lee parked his car behind a church, where it couldn’t be seen from the road.
CJ took a deep breath. “Okay. Bern has had the hots for me for nine years, since I was sixteen. He was twenty-six at the time. I was pretty naive at sixteen, and having no parents to speak of, I was free to do pretty much as I pleased, so I hung out with him. Until my sister found out, that is. But by that time, we had already gone all the way, and well, nine months later, here’s Wayne.”