The Second Half (10 page)

Ken chuckled. “I wish she could. I wish they all could. Well, what I really wish is that none of us have to go.”

“You got your tux?” Marit arched her brows.

“Yes.”

Mona smiled at her daughter with a slight nod. They all knew how Ken despised formal anything. She patted her husband's arm. “You look really handsome all dressed up.”

“I look like an emperor penguin. Feel about as stiff as one.”

“Come on, kids, out.” Magnus herded them out the door.

They waved them off outside the garage and returned to the house, Jake back in his father's arms. “I'll get them down, and then we can at least start.” He headed for the stairs. “Come on, rug rats. Bedtime.” He poked Jakey. “Get you dry.”

“Bath?”

“Not tonight. Looks like you already had one.”

Mona watched them go upstairs. Too soon putting kids to bed would be the grandparents' job. She should go up, too, so she learned the secrets that would make this easier.
Tomorrow. We'll do that tomorrow night.
No, Saturday night. Two nights to get all the details down. The thought of Steig actually leaving hit her in the solar plexus, nearly dropping her to her knees. How would they manage?

D
ear God, how will we manage without him?

Ken stared at his son, who was pointing out something on the stack of paperwork in answer to Mona's question. Deployed again. They had thought his last tour in Afghanistan would be his last overseas tour ever. Ken grabbed his mind back from wandering to pay attention to this process that was changing all their lives.

A friend from church had reminded him that God was giving them a chance to make a real difference in the lives of their grandchildren and their son, too. While his head knew that, his mind did not really understand and his heart wanted to scream,
Stop, you can't do this, we can't do this
…
Lean not unto your own understanding.
He'd been leaning on that verse a lot lately.

Marit, bless her heart, had come and taken the kids back to her house, so quiet reigned in this one. Only on day two and he'd already realized quiet went into hiding when the kids woke up. So much for sleeping in as part of the beginning of his retirement. He'd not planned on that for every day, but some healing time right now would be in good order.

“Okay, Dad, your turn.” Steig pushed the file of papers over to him. “Sign all the places Mom did. Those green flags help.”

“I feel like we're signing our life away.” He looked up at his son. “I know this is not forever, but…”

“Yeah, the
but
does us all in. I wish there were some other way, but short of bailing on the army right now, this seems to be it.”

“I know. Life doesn't always go the way we want. Or plan.”
Or dream.
Ken signed the first page and flipped on through. Why was it he seemed more concerned about problems with Angela rather than Steig in a land of flying bullets and exploding shells and bombs? Not that he'd voiced either. Steig had no other answers, nor did Mona.

“Iced tea anyone?” Mona pushed her chair back from the kitchen table.

“I'll take coffee if it's made,” Steig said.

“Ken?”

“Iced tea.” At least the stack was diminishing. “We have to get all this notarized?”

“Yes, so we all need to go.” Steig checked his watch. “What time do you need to be all gigged out and at the college?”

“Five. For the cocktail party.” He rolled his eyes. If he had his way, he'd leave for the North Shore tonight. “I need to be at a staff lunch at twelve thirty.”

“Then we better hustle. I'll explain the medical stuff later.”

They took two cars so Ken could drive to Madison for the celebratory lunch. “Like I want to do this,” he muttered as he backed into the turnaround.

“Just get through it is my motto for the day.” Mona leaned her head against the seat. “One step at a time.” She reached over and patted his thigh. “Try to enjoy all the festivities. After all, they are honoring you and all your years of helping thousands of students get into and out of college with degrees in hand and a better future. Ken, you have made such a difference in so many lives. Keep that in mind rather than all this garbage of the last week.”

“I'm trying.”

“I know you are. It'll all work out.”

He flashed her the best smile he could generate at the moment. It wasn't much.

Ken was surprised that notarization did not take long. The bank manager, Emma, laid out all the papers on a long table behind the bank counter and mass notarized them, pointing to where their signatures went and using a stamp instead of the old embosser Ken remembered. She recorded them by hand in a logbook. Done.

As they left the notary, Steig said, “I promised the kids we'd go up to the park this afternoon, so I'll drop you off at home, Mom.” He gave his father a surprise hug. “You're going to do fine tonight.”

Ken hugged his son back. “I'd rather be fishing.”

Steig grinned. “I know. I'm just glad the rest of us are not required to wear a monkey suit to this gig tonight.”

“No worse than a full-dress uniform.”

“True.” Steig smirked. “Not! You don't look like a penguin in class As.”

Perhaps all the mayhem of getting ready kept him from worrying about the evening, but once he and Mona were in the car driving north, he felt like he was halfway through a marathon, not that he had ever been a marathon runner, but he'd talked with a lot who were. Soon he would be in the homestretch.

Put the last week behind you
, he ordered himself as they entered the VIP party.
Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
Tonight he would celebrate. He patted Mona's hand on his arm and squeezed it against his side.

“We'll get through,” she whispered. “I'm praying for you.”

He smiled. “You know me all too well. These people think this is the end. But thanks to that injunction, I'll be back at it Monday, the last hurrah.”

“Slaying dragons?”

“Perhaps. There are some dragons out there just begging to be slain.”

Other than wanting to wipe his hand on his pant leg after shaking John's and Dale's, he still had his smile in place by the time the crowd began to thin. Wallaver in physics left early; he always left early, but at least he showed up. There was Merril Stark from geology. He had to be nearing retirement. Smartest man in Wisconsin and deaf as a post. Harlan Norlun, professor of linguistics, was surely close to retirement, too. He stood in the corner with a cocktail in his hand, schmoozing a woman. Some people never change.

Ken's eyes got hot after a few comments, and he realized he would indeed miss some of these people—Harlan, Merril, Chet, Jonah. People he worked with, tussled with, helped out over the years. Thirty years was a long time of friend building. Not that he'd never see them again, but everyone knew it would not be the same.

“We should have worn our bunads,” Mona said as they followed the crowd from the cocktail party to the banquet room for dinner.

He chuckled. “Yes, that would have been fun. But warm as it is tonight…”

“Your bunad would not have been hotter than a tux.”

“But yours would have, all those petticoats and the heavy woolen waistcoat.”

They had both purchased their Norwegian bunads when they visited Norway ten years earlier, went whole hog, and got the especially fancy festival outfits. Each different area of Norway had its own color and design of festal wear. Of course, Ken had carefully worked out exactly where his branch of the Sorensons came from, so that they might have properly authentic bunads.

The truth be told, in the beginning he had fought the idea of getting one, but Mona insisted, and she had been right, as usual. Since Stoughton had such a plethora of Norwegian celebrations, they wore them much more than he had thought they would. As active as they were in the Sons of Norway lodge and on the various boards for celebrations, Mona had sewn simplified bunads for Marit and Steig when they were growing up, and now she was outfitting the grandchildren as well.

“We need to get a picture of our whole family in bunads.” She didn't add
before Steig leaves
, but the phrase was glaringly there. It ended so many things said these last few days.

He pulled into valet parking, and the young man gave Mona a hand out of the car.

“Congratulations, Mr. Sorenson, I hope you have a grand evening.” The young man paused. “Thank you again for helping me get through that freshman year.” Most of those on the valet parking staffs throughout the area were university students earning pocket money.

“You are welcome, Jeb.” Good thing the lad was wearing a name tag. While Ken recognized the face, names were not so easy. “Keep up the good work.” Ken held his arm out for Mona.

“See, I told you,” she whispered as they traversed the walk to the entrance.

A threefold collage with pictures of his years at the school greeted them when they entered, with Sandy on hand inviting people to sign the guest register. “Looks like it's going to be standing room only,” she said with a wide smile.

Ken nodded toward the collage. “You did that?”

“Well, a lot of us worked together. I got as many students and former students in on it as I could. You'd be surprised how many of them couldn't come because they're in the field collecting data for their doctoral dissertations. No, I guess you wouldn't be surprised.”

A curved-top wooden chest on the table in front of the collage said
CARDS
.

Ken smiled and gently ran his fingers across the lid. Smooth, perfectly shaped. “Who made the chest?”

“Head of the art department—what's his name, Brian Vigness,” Sandy replied. “He's a woodworker, too, you know. I know you always dreamed of taking up woodworking when you retired. Old Mrs. Lund from home ec did the rosemaling. She's in a nursing home now, but she insisted she was going to do this for you. And she's obviously still the best there is. We wanted something that would last for you and have meaning.”

“It certainly does.” Ken turned to Mona. “Did you know about this?”

“The collage, but not the chest. That is really beautiful.”

“Enjoy your evening, sir,” Sandy said as she greeted another couple. Her grin took any sarcasm out of the
sir
.

A six-piece string ensemble played light classical music. A few were seated already, and the room was rapidly filling. He heard someone mention they would open the doors to the extensions when the program began, as there had been too many requests for dinner tickets to fill them all. Someone was beckoning him toward the front, but everyone wanted to shake his hand and share some memory, so it took a while. He left Mona at the family table right in front of the head table, stepped up onto a low dais, and slowly made his way around to the step. When he looked back, Steig, Marit, and Magnus had joined some friends with Mona.

President Osler greeted him with a three-hand shake. “Well deserved, my friend, well deserved. You'd think we had a rock star here.” Marian Osler, the president of Stone University, was graying, but she moved smoothly, athletically, like a thirty-year-old. And her handshake was firm and no-nonsense.

“Hardly. But I'll tell you, this blows me out of the water.” They looked out over the gathering.

“All the years you've invested are showing you the payoff. Not everyone gets to see something like this in their lifetime.”

Bill Pepper, the master of ceremonies for the evening, stepped to the microphone. “If you could please take your seats.” Amid laughter and many comments, folks did as asked.

Ken looked down to see Mona give him an okay signal with a wide smile.

“Welcome, everyone, as we gather to honor our retiring dean of students, Ken Sorenson.” Applause made him stop momentarily, then continue. “Pastor Oliver, will you please lead us in a blessing?”

“As the pastor of Celebration Lutheran Church, where Ken and his family have attended all the years they have lived in Stoughton, I am honored to be with you all tonight. However, my wife made me promise to not do a sermon, so let us pray. Lord God, we come to you tonight in honor of a man who has served this university faithfully all these years. Thank you for the many lives he has blessed and therefore made richer because of his caring. We ask your continued blessings on him and his family as they step into the next stage of their lives. Bless this food and this evening and all those gathered here to celebrate. We pray in Christ's holy name, amen.”

The conversation level in the room rose as the waitstaff brought beverages around and everyone started with their rolls and salads.

While the food was served, the chorale sang several songs and a young man made the grand piano sing and dance before the ensemble continued with music of Ken's college years. His college years! This had to be Sandy's doing; she so often kidded him about the music back in his college days. He still remembered one exchange vividly: Sandy said, “Ken, your music was deep; they sure don't write lyrics these days like they did then. I mean, just think: ‘Peanut, peanut butter. Peanut, peanut butter. I love peanut butter, creamy peanut butter, crunchy peanut butter, too.' Doesn't that just resonate?” And his response was, “Sandy, that song was way before my time, okay?”

Why did they not have Sandy up here at the head table with him? She ran the department and made him look good. She was as much a part of his world as the computer on his desk.

You couldn't fault the celebratory meal—prime rib with baby red potatoes. And ice cream for dessert; that was
so
Sorenson. Was the menu Sandy's doing as well?

At the close of dinner, they opened the doors to the extensions while the tables were cleared. The drama department presented a spoof skit on Ken's dealing with a distressed student, which caused waves of laughter as the young man playing Ken hammed it up.

The MC introduced several speakers who had won the right to speak, always reminding them they had five minutes to share something about Ken Sorenson. Ken smiled through pain; this was just plain embarrassing. He remembered well the girl speaking on behalf of the students his department had helped. She had been quite a pill when she arrived, belligerent and impatient. Now look at her, a school administrator who had just won an award for excellence.

Finally the president was introduced and she stepped up to the mic. “Tonight we honor Ken Sorenson's years of serving our university. It was still a college when he began his career here, teaching sociology, then moving into the dean's chair. In that job, he molded the department into a true service for students. Anyone who came to him received whatever help needed, in ways beyond the typical of advice or financial aid, and often a shoulder to cry on. Ken finds solutions, he thinks outside the box, and he dreams big for his students and this university. Whoever becomes our new dean has a mighty big pair of shoes to fill.”

She went on to tell a couple of stories that happened through the years, one of them bringing laughter, the other near tears. “So, tonight we honor Ken, all the while knowing we cannot say thank you enough.” She nodded and two men carried the trunk up on the stage, its rosemaling bright in the overhead spots. “Since no one on the board could see any value in a gold watch, we searched for something memorable and in keeping with Ken's life. I heard tell he wants to learn the woodworking craft, so we filled the trunk with appropriate tools to get him started.” She motioned Ken to join her. “Accept our gratitude, and I pray you not only enjoy your well-earned retirement, but you can continue to make a difference as you go through life.” She hugged him as he stepped up to the lectern, and together they opened the trunk.