Authors: Patti Hill
Seeing Things (38 page)
“You didn't waltz?”
Andy appeared from the darkness. “Dessert is still some time off. Shall I gather the musicians, mum? It hardly seems a ball can be considered complete without a waltz.”
Fletcher's hands went up. “That so won't be necessary, Dad.”
“Cool,” Mi Sun said, standing.
“Oh man.”
In a matter of moments, “Moon River” played on the stereo and the rug had been rolled away. Fletcher talked Mi Sun through the basics. They counted together and off they went. Skirt swaying. Music swelling. Fletcher counting, “One, two, three. One, two, three . . .” At the last strains of the violins, Fletcher and Mi Sun dropped their arms and shuffled about, studying their feet as we applauded their performance.
Suzanne entered and curtsied smartly. “Dessert is served, Master Fletcher.”
After dessert Andy helped Mi Sun into her sweatshirt. He asked, “What time does your mother and father expect you home, miss?”
“Midnight,” she said and giggled.
Andy looked at his watch. “Splendid, we have time for a turn about the park. The city lights are lovely.”
IT TOOK LONGER THAN usual to go through my nighttime ritual. I stood before the mirror with every light blazing, admiring myself with red hair. I dimmed all the lights before I pulled the wig off and tousled my curls.
In bed, I lay in a delicious happiness. Andy and Fletcher returned home, laughing with much backslapping. “Thanks, Dad, that was fun. How did you know that was a replica of Martha Washington's garden?”
“I didn't.” There was a moment of silence, presumably awkward as it passed between two males trying to be grateful without showing emotion. “Son, I want you to know this was all Suzanne's doing. It was her idea. She's the one who rounded up the costumes and suggested we create a dance floor.”
“I wasn't so sure about it at first.”
“Neither was I.”
Chapter 39
Andy strode past me and Lupe watching
The Dr. Phil Show
to stand at the bottom of the stairs. “Fletcher, get your butt down here! We have work to do.”
The Dr. Phil Show
to stand at the bottom of the stairs. “Fletcher, get your butt down here! We have work to do.”
Lupe snapped the television off and scurried for the kitchen. Fletcher walked slowly to the railing. “What's up? Is there a problem?”
“I talked to your teacher. What's his name? Mr. Cherry? I got an extension for your lit project. The lumberyard will deliver supplies within the hour.”
Fletcher walked tentatively down the stairs, stopping midway. “You talked to Mr. Cherry?”
“He gave us a week.”
“To do what?”
“Son, if you're going to build a raft, make something you can actually float on. Everything we need to build a full-scale Mississippi River raft is on the way.”
Andy took the steps two at a time past Fletcher. “I'll be down as soon as I change. If the delivery guy comes, tell him to dump everything in the driveway. I won't be a minute.” Andy stopped. “I got the dimensions off the Internet. Do you have a picture or something we could work from?”
“In my room.”
“Don't just stand there. We have a raft to build.”
My heart caught on a beat. Andy sounded exactly like Chuck. He leaned over the rail. “Mom, a couple of hardworking men need sustenance, something to hit the spot, like a strawberry-rhubarb pie. Can you do something about that?”
When I hesitated, he said, “Go ahead and burn the kitchen down, as long as you save the pie.”
I baked that pie and one for every day Andy and Fletcher spent out in the garage working on the raft. Saws screamed. Hammers pounded. More than a few times Andy and Fletcher butted heads over details, like where the wigwam should go and how to protect the deck from the fire pit. Andy did a fair amount of acquiescing to Fletcher, which surprised me more than anything the two had accomplished to that point. All that, and Andy stole minutes from his workday to build the firebox and experiment with tiller shapes. Unprecedented. Best of all, I felt reconnected to my son. As the raft took shape, words flowed freely. We ribbed each other with no offenses taken. Silences became comfortable. My lungs expanded to breathe deeply for the first time in a very, very long while.
With only one evening left to work on the raft before its due date, Andy came home at lunch, asked for a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, and headed for the garage. I followed him.
“This is Fletcher's project,” I said.
“Finals are next week. Fletcher needs time to study.” Andy sanded a rough spot on the tiller and stopped. “Do you suppose this baby will float, Ma?”
“There's only one way to find out.”
When I turned to estimate the raft's seaworthiness, Huck lay on the deck, his knees bent, his arms pillows for his head, lost in thought as boys are prone to be, feeling the rush of the current carrying him along. I ignored the boy as much as any woman can ignore something wondrous and mysterious. Even inside the garage, Huck closed his eyes against the Mississippi sun. He tapped his foot and whistled “Camp Town Ladies.” He stopped and sat up straight. “Thar ain't no use in building a raft if you ain't going to set it on the water. Where's the nearest river?”
“Andy, is there someplace you can test the raft?”
“The rivers are swollen with snow melt. Heck, I'm not even sure how we're getting this baby to the school.”
Huck kicked the firebox. “This here firebox won't hold a fire worth startin'.”
“How about Dillion Reservoir?” I asked.
“Too far. Too deep.”
“Cherry Creek?”
“Too fast.”
“How about the park? I see paddleboats out there all the time.”
Huck dropped his jaw. “If I'd a-wanted to act like a girlâa pond?”
Andy rubbed at another rough spot. “Too illegal. Private boats aren't allowed on the lake. Only the vendors with city permits can rent out canoes and those paddleboats you saw.”
“You know, Huck traveled at night,” I said. “Traveling with a runaway slave was dangerous business. By day, he and Jim tied the raft in the towheads of willows and spent the day sleeping. Otherwise, they'd have been headed for the hanging tree.”
Huck pulled at an imaginary noose around his neck, bulged out his eyes, and stuck out his tongue. I chewed on my lower lip to stave a laugh.
Andy stopped sanding. “What are you saying?”
“Oh, nothing really.”
“Ma?”
“It seems to me, for Fletcher to share what Huck experienced, this raft must be launched under some degree of danger.”
Huck widened his stance and hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “The river is mighty dangerous. Watch out for them liars, the ones who made Jim and me believe they was a duke and a dauphin. Although their premature balditude gave them a regal air, all their talk about being snaked down wrongfully out'n a high place warn't nothing but lies.”
Andy stepped onto the deck. Huck jumped back. I reached for the edge of the raft to steady myself and closed my eyes.
Go away now, Huck.
Go away now, Huck.
Andy kicked at the boards with his heel. “She's solid, that's for sure.”
Huck sat smack in front of me and swung his feet over the edge. “I ain't seen nothing finer. This raft's ready to shove off for the big water.”
“They rent flatbed trailers, don't they?” I asked, knowing better than to agree with Huck, although I was awfully proud of what Andy and Fletcher had built.
“It would have to be a big one,” Andy said, swiping the sweat from his forehead.
“I could call around for you.”
Andy hopped off the raft. “That won't be necessary.”
Huck lay down on the deck. “I think I'll just lazy myself off to sleep.”
You just do that, young man.
“Andy,” I called, wondering where he'd gone off to.
“Andy,” I called, wondering where he'd gone off to.
From the kitchen door he said, “Ma, I'm here.”
“I'm very proud of you.”
“I head a business that manufactures and sells top-of-the-line golf equipment on five continents, and you're proud of me for building a raft?”
“It's the little things that mean so very much.”
“Thanks,” he said and turned to leave.
“There's something else, Andy. If you have the time, there's something very important I have to ask you.”
He stepped back into the sunlight where I could see that he hooked his pockets with his thumbs, something he used to do as a boy when he was lost in thought and long before he wore a watch. “Suzanne and I talked until midnight last night,” he said. “You can set your heart to rest, Ma. Fletcher's staying with us.”
I stopped myself from clapping. “That's good to hear, son.”
“Partly it's because we've seen a change in Fletch, and partly it's because we'll have to do some belt-tightening around here.” Andy leaned against the workbench. “They laid me off, Ma. They didn't feel like I'd responded quickly or decisively enough to the economic downturn. The board brought in a new man.”
“I never dreamed . . . you've poured your life out for that company.”
“I figured I'd die in my office chair. I spent most of the morning walking around Cherry Creek Reservoir. At one point I sat on a bench and my whole body went limp. I almost cried, for heaven's sake.”
“Relief?”
“Yes. Maybe. I think so. I don't know.”
“What will you do?”
“I don't know, maybe pick up a small business on the cheap. Fortunately or unfortunately, lots of companies are failing. I'll pick one up and nurse it back to health.”
“Are you open to advice from your mother?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really, and it's nothing earth-shattering: Don't rush into anything, will you?”
“There's a custom cabinet shop in Englewood I've been keeping my eye on.”
“Do these sorts of opportunities come along often?”
“With the economy the way it is, you can count on it.” He crossed his arms, the international sign for
back off.
He knew his ma better than that. “This place has a golden reputation, and the shop foreman said he'd stay on.”
back off.
He knew his ma better than that. “This place has a golden reputation, and the shop foreman said he'd stay on.”
“You already talked to him?”
“I talk to people all the time.”
Time for a conversational shift. “Fletcher is counting the days until he leaves for college.”
“I did, too.”
“Do tell.” Well, now, that smacked like a swinging branch. But this was the very reason I'd come out to the garage in the first place. “We need to talk.”
“This sounds serious. Are you feeling okay?”
“It's nothing like that.” I patted the edge of the raft, and Andy moved to sit next to me. “Son, I loved your father very much.” Andy stiffened. I patted his leg and continued. There would never be a good time to say this. “He wasn't a perfect man. Once he got a burr under his saddle, there was no soothing him. At first, I saw this as strength and determination. When you kids came along, he softenedâ”
“He did?”
“In some ways, yes. But we both know he was assigned to the backcountry for a good reason. Your father wasn't a people person.”
“He could be when it suited him.”
“There's truth in that.”
“I couldn't please him no matter what I did.”
“You pleased him more than you'll ever know, and that's the tragedy.” This wasn't going the way I'd planned. In and out, down and dirty. Say it: “When you turned sixteen, and you inched past Chuck, I saw a change in how the two of you related to one another. You pushed for independence, like every child does, but for some reason Chuck took something very naturalâincredibly terrifying, but naturalâtoo personally. You pushed all the harder, and yes, he bullied you. I can see that now.”
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