Born Under a Lucky Moon (5 page)

Chapter Six
Friday, June 27, 1986, 10:00 a.m.

T
he day started with an airport run. Dad does these because he can get out of the house for some length of time and into the quiet of the car. One time I was talking to him about the life expectancy of men versus women and told him that statistics show that men die off a lot earlier. Dad said they probably did it to get away from the women.

That morning, he took off in the Oldsmobile for the hour trip to Grand Rapids to get Grandma, who was landing at 11 a.m. We were a bit worried about her flying by herself. Last time, she got lost making her connection in Chicago and didn't show up for about four hours. She told us that she became disoriented by the hallway of neon lights between United terminals B and C and just kept going back and forth.

Lucy and Chuck were coming in to Muskegon at noon, and Sammie, Mom, and I were going to get them. Elizabeth, after much cajoling, had returned the Caddie. Of course it fell to me to drive her back over to Evan's house and drop her off. It was Sammie's idea to make the signs and buy the confetti. I went up to Keefe's Pharmacy and bought a bottle of Korbel sparkling wine. The lady at the counter didn't card me but she did say, “Hi, Sammie.” When I got back, I called Evan to see if he wanted to go, too.

“Nah. I've got to go pick up my tuxedo. Plus, I don't want to be around when Lucy sees what you all have in store for her. She might just turn right around and get back on the plane. Let me know what the guy is like. God knows what he'll think of us.”

“Okay. See you tonight at the rehearsal dinner. I wouldn't come by here today if I were you. Dad has the crew coming to put up the tent. And the new crisis is that Pete from next door told Dad we have big gopher holes, so he's trying to figure out what to do about that.” Elizabeth and Ron were going to the beach, as Ron had announced that without Vitamin D from the sun he would become depressed. More likely he didn't know what to do without a tanning booth nearby.

Muskegon County International Airport is composed of one runway and one small building. The only planes that came in there were twin-prop deals. All bags were off-loaded from the plane and you picked them up right on the tarmac. Lord knows where the “International” part of its name came from. They must have counted the fact that you could make connections in Chicago or Detroit to exotic destinations like Canada. The runway was set among cornfields, and the farmers kicked up such a fuss when the airport went in that the county commission didn't have the heart to take the land away from them completely. In August, the planes had to change their schedules to accommodate the machinery and the workers harvesting the corn near the runway.

We positioned ourselves at the chain-link fence just off the tarmac. I saw the plane first. It emerged from the clouds, then disappeared into them again, as if it were scared to show itself. It finally descended and touched down. Sammie handed me a sign and started to uncork the champagne.

“I'm not so sure this is a good idea,” Mom said as she held the fence as though it might fall down.

I put my arm around her. “We can stop if you want.”

“I want all my kids to be happy. I want them to marry good people and lead good lives. And I want to do right by Lucy. I need to do right by my little Velvet.”

The plane rolled to a stop in front of us. The props were starting to slow down.

“You're doing this because you love her, right?” I asked.

Mom nodded mutely. I could see that she was thinking hard. Then there was a discernible straightening of her back and her chin came up. “Okay, girls, let's welcome Lucy and Chuck home.”

The door opened, and Lucy was the fourth one to step out. I had never seen her in uniform before, much less her dress uniform. I thought she looked pretty snappy. I held up the sign as Lucy looked over at us. She stopped in mid-step. Her smile came and went like a flickering lightbulb as she read it,
WELCOME HOME, MR. AND MRS. CHUCK
. Sammie popped the champagne and whooped as it sprayed over the fence. A few other people waiting next to us smiled and clapped, not knowing what they were clapping for. Lucy turned and said something to the man behind her. He looked over at us but his face was hidden by the shadow of his hat. She came down the steps with, we assumed, Chuck, but she didn't come over to us at the fence. Instead, she headed straight for the arrivals door. I was holding Mom's hand and it went limp. When Lucy was almost at the door, she turned and gave the briefest of waves. Mom took her hand out of mine and clutched the handles of her purse.

Sammie stared at the door Lucy had gone into. “There's not another plane leaving for California right now, is there? She might be buying a ticket.”

Then the door leading from the terminal to our side of the fence opened and Lucy stepped out. She might have stayed right there, but people poured through the door behind her, forcing her toward us. Chuck was struggling with a piece of pull-luggage that didn't want to be pulled. Mom covered the space between her and Lucy and cupped Lucy's face in her hands. “Welcome home, sweetheart.” She touched her forehead to the brim of Lucy's army hat and smiled at her daughter.

“Did I . . . are you . . . I mean . . . omigod.” Lucy didn't seem able to put a sentence together. She blinked at the signs as though she had just learned the English language and was unsure of her reading ability. Sammie shook the champagne again and it sprayed across Chuck, but he didn't seem to mind. He shook our hands and called Mom “ma'am.”

“Aren't you embarrassed for yourselves?” Lucy finally managed to say as she wiped champagne off her chin.

Sammie just threw confetti on her. “It would take a hell of a lot more than this to embarrass us.” Chuck lugged the baggage to the car and we all squished in. Mom drove, with Lucy in the front. Sammie, Chuck, and I sat in the back. I craned my head back so I could see the sky and trees fly by the back window. A flock of seagulls took off overhead in a single arcing motion. I thought about the fact that a bunch of larks is called an exaltation. That made me smile. Somebody way back when had had a sense of joy when naming them.

Lucy sat erect in the front seat. Her dark hair was pinned up under her hat. Mom studied her profile at the stoplight. “So, honey, you're married,” she said, half question and half statement.

“Yes,” Lucy said, but didn't look at her.

We drove in silence for a few miles. Mom tried valiantly with Chuck. “Where are you from originally, Chuck?”

“I'm from Needles, California, ma'am.”

None of us knew anything about Needles, and that kind of killed the conversation for a while. “And your parents?” Mom struggled. I'm not sure what the question meant, but I was interested in Chuck's answer.

“Jackie and John Tanner, ma'am.”

Ah, now we had a last name: Tanner. What kind of name was that? We were from the land of the Worthingtons and Prescotts or maybe the occasional Van Owen.

“And do they know about your, ah, recent marriage?”

“No, ma'am. Only Lucy's friend Fudgie knew about it.”

Lucy slunk down a bit in her seat, her hat over her eyes.

“Fudgie Shaw?” Sammie asked, perplexed.

“Yeah, Fudgie Shaw,” Lucy answered.

How the hell did Fudgie Shaw know about it? Fudgie had been a good friend of hers in high school, but he certainly wouldn't be the first person Lucy would call.

“Oh, Lord, I don't think we invited the Shaws,” Mom fretted. “Jeannie, check the guest list when we get home. Lucy, do Fudgie's parents know about this?”

“I don't know. I asked him not to tell anyone. Which he apparently already has.” Lucy scowled. “And a guest list for what?” Silence fell over the car again. It was one of those moments when you've been going hell-for-leather to solve a problem and think everybody else is up to speed, only to realize how completely wrong you are. The three of us in the know pondered the answer. Chuck was looking increasingly uncomfortable between Sammie and me. I tried to lean up against the car door to give him more room. Mom took a drag of her cigarette.

“Can you put that thing out? It's really bad for you, in case you didn't know. And it's really bad for us, if you care,” Lucy stated flatly.

Mom rolled down the window and flicked the butt out. Since she gave no response, I knew she was still thinking.

“Lucy, your father and I have always wanted the very best for you. We were startled to learn of your marriage. But we wanted you to have happy memories, shared with your family, memories that you could always look back on. So we're giving you a beautiful white wedding on Sunday. It's because we love you, honey.”

Lucy didn't look like someone who had just found out how loved she was. Her blue eyes seemed bigger than normal and her mouth was slightly open. “This Sunday?”

“Yes, sweetheart. But if it's not what you want we don't have to do it. It's nothing that can't be undone.”

“Except for the invitations being out. But I suppose we could just call everybody,” Sammie muttered.

“Everybody?”

“Just all of your high school friends and their parents. And your old teachers, people like that,” Mom said.

Lucy was ramrod stiff in her seat, speechless for the first time since I'd known her.

“When did you find out that we were married?” Chuck asked.

“On Sunday. We've been working on the wedding ever since. It will be beautiful.” I could tell Mom desperately wanted a smoke.

“Why didn't you call me?” Lucy demanded. “You know, pick up a phone and communicate with me and
ask
if it was okay for you to marry me off!”

“I tried to, honey. I did. But you were out on maneuvers.”

“Drills,” Lucy corrected her sharply.

“I picked out your patterns, Lucy. They're really pretty. And I'm going to be your maid of honor,” I volunteered.

“Is everyone coming?”

“Pretty much everybody said yes,” Mom said. “We just, uh, have to stop by the church so Father Whippet can meet Chuck.” We drove the rest of the way to the church in silence.

When we pulled up, the foreboding finger of some religious figure was pointing down at all of us threatening hell and damnation if we were bad. A sculptor aptly named Mr. Love had made it for the church. He'd been married so many times it was hard to keep track. Once when I came home, I ran into an acquaintance of mine. I jokingly said that I hadn't been home for so long that I had no idea who Mr. Love was married to now. With a frown she told me that the man was currently married to her mother. Sometimes it's hard to keep up.

But that was the beauty of being an Episcopalian instead of a Catholic. I call Episcopalianism “Catholic Lite.” We have all of the pomp with none of the consequences. We can get divorced, our ministers can get married and have sex, and birth control isn't a sin.

Mom prepped Chuck in the church hallway, telling him, “Don't lie, but you're an Episcopalian.”

“Episca-what?” Chuck looked confused, but before Mom could answer, Father Whippet came out into the hall from his office and smiled, showing us his crooked yellow teeth. He gave me the creeps. Father Whippet shook hands with Chuck and then gestured for us to enter his office. He took a seat behind his enormous desk.

“Lucy, this is a very happy day for me.” Father Whippet beamed at me. I flicked my head toward the right sister and Father Whippet redirected his gaze. “As I'm sure you know, we usually take our couples through several weeks of marriage counseling in order to prep them for what is in store for them. But since this is an unusual situation and as you are both Episcopalians”—he now beamed at Chuck—“we'll do this in an hour. Lucy, I've known you since you were a baby and I've always found you to have good judgment.”

Sammie nudged me from her place next to me on the settee. “Senility is so sad,” she whispered. I managed to turn my laugh into a cough.

Father Whippet continued. “So you've known, uh”—he looked down at a piece of paper—“uh, Chuck, long enough to know you want to spend the rest of your life with him?”

“I've known him for seven weeks.” Lucy looked straight at Father Whippet.

“Well, uuuum, but you love each other deeply?” Father Whippet was beginning to have the same desperate tone my mother had had in the car.

“Sure.” Chuck shrugged.

At that point Father Whippet gave Mom the eye, and Sammie, Mom, and I found ourselves back out in the hallway. Lord knows what he was going to say to the happy couple. Mom paced while Sammie and I sat on the wooden bench outside his office. “She didn't look happy,” Mom fretted.

“She looks how she normally looks,” Sammie said as she tried to adjust her back against the slats. This same conversation took a few different forms while we waited. Eventually, Lucy and Chuck emerged from the office looking slightly dazed.

“He said it was okay,” Lucy announced. “Since we're already married by a judge it doesn't really matter.”

The drive from St. Peter's in downtown Muskegon over the Causeway to North Muskegon only takes about five minutes. We passed the Rupp Plant, which was situated just off the Causeway on the edge of Muskegon Lake. When I was little, it spewed nasty black stuff from its stacks out over the road, the marshes, the lakes, and our town. When it started killing the Canadian geese, the good people of North Muskegon starting calling for an environmental rehab. They weren't that worried about the geese, but they were damn sure worried about their property values. Now the plant had a two-hundred-foot smokestack so the wind could catch the black spew and spread it more generously on our neighbors.