The View from Mount Joy (36 page)

Jenny wasn’t the bossy type, so on the rare occasion that she issued orders, everyone listened.

Ten minutes later she emerged from the bedroom, hollering up the stairs for the boys to come out.

She had Conor and Ben stand by Nick at the fireplace, and she sat down next to Len on the couch. I was told to stand by the dining room and when she said, “Okay, Carole, hit it!” my mother began playing the wedding march, and Flora emerged from the hallway.

After seeing the fancy robe Kristi had worn in her Des Moines hotel room, I had been inspired to buy Jenny a white satin robe, but she never wore it, preferring her old pilled quilted one. While it might not be a suitable robe for my wife, it was the perfect wedding dress for my daughter, who wore it along with a veil made out of an old doily Jenny’s grandmother had crocheted. She held a bouquet of silk flowers Jenny had heisted from an arrangement in the guest bathroom. I had never seen such a beautiful bride.

Flora took my arm and my knees turned to water.

“Come on, Dad,” she whispered when it appeared I was unable to move. “Everybody’s waiting for us.”

Beth and Linda had dismantled some of the Thanksgiving centerpiece and threw yellow rose petals on the floor, and eventually I was able to move. Slowly, to my mother’s enthusiastic rendering of “Here Comes the Bride,” I escorted my daughter over the strewn petals, past the hallway table we kept our keys on, in front of the grandfather clock and behind the couch in the living room, past the wing chair, and to the fireplace.

Thinking fast, Len jumped up and said, “Who gives this bride?”

“I do,” I said, surrendering her arm to Nick.

The ceremony consisted of anyone who had anything to say jumping in at any time. I started off by asking the same questions I had asked Nick at the dinner table.

Then Conor chirped in, “Do you swear to go to hockey games with her ’cause Flora loves hockey, even if you don’t know much about the game yet?”

“I swear,” said Nick.

“They say ‘swear’ in trials,” Ben explained to his brother, “not at weddings.”

To the groom, he asked, “Do you promise to introduce her to new bands because she has kind of squirrely taste when it comes to music?”

Nick said, “I promise,” at the same time Flora said, “I don’t have squirrely taste in music!”

“You like too many of those crybaby girl singer-songwriters,” said Ben.

When everyone was done asking Nick what he promised to do in his marriage, we questioned Flora.

I asked her versions of the same questions I’d asked Nick; Jenny asked if she promised to show him how to do the laundry, because “marriage is strengthened when a man can do his own wash.”

Nick maintained he already knew how and that not only did he not mind doing the laundry, he liked to iron.

My aunt and my mother looked at each other, their eyes wide.

“He’s a keeper,” said mom.

“Do you swear,” said Conor, “I mean, promise to never be mean to Flora and buy her licorice ice cream, even though it’s kind of hard to find, because it’s her favorite?”

“I swear and promise,” said Nick.

Flora leaned toward her little brother. “We carry it at the stores in California,” she said. “I’ve made sure of it.”

Finally, when all the promises were made, Jenny took her flute off the top of the piano and after a quick conference at the piano, and a fluttering of pages, she and my mother played “Ave Maria.”

Nick Pullman, my new son-in-law and the professional songwriter, stood staring, his mouth agape, at my wife and mother. Underneath her little doily, Flora beamed, and I, the father of the bride, couldn’t have known a bigger happiness. I had walked my daughter down the aisle and her beautiful wedding had cost me absolutely nothing.

Twenty-six

And we’re back from the break on the Bud Farrell Show. Today we’ve been talking to Senator Tuck Drake and his wife, Kristi Casey Drake—the couple who next year hopes to be calling themselves the president and First Lady. We’re going to open it up to callers now. Line one, you’re on the air.

Yes, thank you, Bud. Senator Drake, Mrs. Drake, I just want to tell you how happy I am that godly people such as yourselves have decided to get in there and fight the good fight for our country!

Why, thank you, ma’am. If Mrs. Drake and I have seen one thing as we travel this great country of ours, it’s how desperate people are to get our moral compass pointed back to the right direction, the S by F direction—the direction that stands for safety and security, as well as families, freedom, and faith.

Now, Senator, don’t you think those are words that butt up against our very Constitution and the separation of church and state?

I’m not saying we all need to worship in the same religion, Bud. I’m just saying that we all do better when we have God on our side.

Let’s take another call. Line two, you’re on the air.

Senator and Mrs. Drake—you’re crazy! Well, let me tell you, I don’t want to live the stupid “S by F” country you have planned—

Thank you, caller—

No, no, let him talk, Bud. The senator and I aren’t afraid of our critics.

I’m more than a critic, I’m a
citizen
who values the rights I have in this country—and I want to keep those rights! I don’t want your husband’s and your lunatic religious views legislating how I’m supposed to live my life!

(Chuckling)
Sir, ad hominens attacks aren’t going to serve the debate at all. I can assure you that the senator reveres the Constitution and our Bill of Rights and will do everything in our power to maintain the glories of this democracy.

Your words mean nothing! You’re a fraud! You’re all frauds! You’re a—

Thank you, caller. Does this happen to you a lot, Mrs. Drake?

Well, Bud, if you live in a country that guarantees freedom of speech, some of that speech isn’t going to be what you want to hear. Believe me, after years on the radio, I’ve heard some hateful things and it didn’t stop me from broadcasting. Nor will it stop my husband and me from campaigning.

So what’s next, Senator?

I’ll be in session next week, but we’ll squeeze in a few visits in the upcoming months to talk to the good folks of this good country.

Thank you, Senator. Thank you, Mrs. Drake.

You’re welcome, Bud. And let me just ask you one question, Bud: With looks like yours, why are you on the radio? You should be on television!

(Embarrassed laughter)
Uh…thank you, Mrs. Drake.

Since I didn’t have to spring for a wedding, I thought I’d throw a lollapalooza of a fiftieth-birthday party for Jenny.

As I told Flora about it on the phone, I got another bright idea. “And how about we combine it with a wedding reception for you?”

“Oh, Dad,
merci,
but then everyone would bring presents and Nick and I have everything we need, plus we’d have to figure out a way to cart everything back to California.”

“Are you for real?” I asked her. “What happened to your consume-and-acquire gene?”

“I guess it’s recessive.” Flora laughed. “Besides, Nick’s parents are throwing a party for us in London and we’ll probably get tons of stuff from them. You’ll come to that, right?”

“Yes, tell them the Yankees are most definitely coming. But about your mother’s party—are you going to make it?”

“
Certainement,
Papa
mon
Joe!” said Flora. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

I had decided to throw a surprise party at the store, and the cashiers, customers, and bag boys were all in cahoots.

“We can have everyone hide in the basement,” said Eileen, who had just celebrated her fortieth year cashiering at the store, “or we could have everyone just pretending to shop.”

“That might be good,” I said, “although she might be suspicious if there are a lot of people.”

“We could say we’re having a big sale,” said Eileen. “A triple-coupon day or something.”

I had already booked a caterer, and it wasn’t hard to come up with musicians, considering so many had played on the Darva Pratt Performance Center’s stage at Banana Square.

Ben and Conor and I were already working on a wild guitar version of “Happy Birthday,” complete with wah-wah pedal and distortion.

“Are you planning something for my birthday?” Jenny asked one afternoon when I picked her up after a rehearsal. The woodwind quintet she had been a member of for years—All Busy Mothers—was rehearsing for one of their semiannual recitals. They practiced in the home of their oboist, and I had suggested a walk around Lake Harriet when they were done.

“You know, we should buy a house like this,” I said as we walked down the wide flagstone path that led away from the oboist’s home. “It’s not like we couldn’t afford it.”

“Don’t change the subject,” said Jenny, opening the trunk of my car and putting her flute inside. “What are you planning for my birthday?”

“I wish I could tell you something,” I said, taking her arm and steering her across the street. “But there’s nothing to tell.”

She looked at me coolly. “I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”

“All right,” I said, deciding to try another tack. “How does a trip to the Florida Keys with Kirk and Nance sound?”

“Great,” said Jenny with a smile. “Anywhere warm and sunny in February is fine by me.”

“Although we have to leave the day after your birthday, because Kirk’s out on a dive and won’t be back until then.” I was pleased at how smoothly I was ad-libbing.

“With the kids too?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Because we’ll have to take them out of school then.”

“We’ll make it an educational trip,” I said. “We’ll have Kirk and Nance teach them about ocean currents or the breeding patterns of mollusks or something.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate that on their vacation,” said Jenny.

“Hey, isn’t that Helen Hanson?” I asked, wanting a subject change before my little lie got way too complicated.

“Where?” asked Jenny.

“Over there,” I said, pointing at a woman who was jogging gingerly across the snow and onto the plowed walking path.

“Joe, that woman’s about twenty years younger than Helen and at least fifty pounds lighter.”

“Oh,” I said, squinting my eyes at the woman. “I guess maybe I need my reading glasses for more than reading.”

“Hey, Dad, there’s your friend!” said Conor, pointing to the television with the remote.

I looked up from the magazine I’d been reading to see a picture of Kristi and Tuck Drake to the left of a newscaster. Scrolling below her were the words
Special Report.

“Turn it up, Conor,” I said.

“—while Senator Drake is unharmed, it appears Mrs. Drake has been taken to Georgetown University Hospital—”

“Turn it up!” I said as the phone rang.

Conor leapt up and after answering it, handed the receiver to me, his eyes wide.

“Joe,” said Kirk, “have you heard about Kristi?”

“I’ve got the TV on right now. What happened?”

“She’s been shot!”

“What?”

“Wait—they’re saying something now!”

“—while there were no witnesses, the assailant was apprehended by the parking lot’s attendant, who gave chase when he saw a person running in between cars.”

A man appeared on the screen with a title that identified him as George Ramirez.

“I didn’t know what was going on—all I knew was something was not right. I was sitting in the booth and didn’t hear nothing—no gunshots, nothing. Then I saw someone running—the parking lot is lit up, but it was still kinda dark, I wasn’t really sure what I was seeing, all I thought was: why is that person running so crazy? Next thing, I jumped out of my booth and that’s when I started hearing someone yell for help, but I couldn’t see them so I ran after the person I could see and tackled her. Then I called the police. My wife gave me my cell phone for Christmas—and I’m glad she did.”

“Nance is on the phone with the hospital now,” said Kirk. “I’ll call you back when I know more.”

Conor crawled onto my lap, his usual bluster evaporated.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” he said.

I held him tight, feeling the same.

“Have you got everything?” asked Jenny.

“Everything but you,” I said, leaning across the seat to give my wife one last kiss before I went into the airport. “I’ll be back for your birthday.”

“You better be,” she said. “Give my best to Kirk and Nance and the girls.” She hesitated a moment. “And Kristi.”

“I will,” I said, getting out of the car I’d rather have stayed in.

The hospital updates Kirk called in weren’t much different from what we heard on TV but that changed when he was finally able to talk to her.

“She wants to see you, Joe.”

While my inner voice protested, I offered a weak, “She does?”

“She says she needs all her friends right now and—” Kirk’s voice broke and it took a moment before he went on. “And she said since you’re her only one, she hopes you’ll come and see her.”

“How long is she going to be in the hospital?”

“They want her here one more night, then we’re taking her home to Florida tomorrow morning.”

“What about Tuck?”

“She wants him to stay in Washington.” Kirk paused, then cleared his throat. “It would mean a lot to me too if you came down here, Joe.”

“Talk about the burdens of friendship.”

Kirk laughed. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“If I can get a flight.”

I could, and Don, the manager of the Cocoa Beach Haugland Foods, picked me up at the airport.

“Strange times, huh?” he said, putting my suitcase in his trunk.

“You’re telling me.”

There were vans with television station logos parked in front of Kirk’s house, and as soon as I got out of the car, a small crowd of reporters and cameramen surrounded me.

“Are you a friend of Mrs. Drake?”

“What’s your connection to the family?”

“May we have your name?”

Keeping my head down, I made my way to the door, responding to none of their questions.

A moment after I knocked on the door, Kirk lifted a corner of the towel they had tacked over the rectangular door window. Seeing me, he smiled broadly and opened the door just wide enough for me to squeeze through. The cameramen jostled, hoping to get a shot of the interior of the house.

“Man, this is crazy!” I said after Kirk closed and locked the door behind me.

“You’re telling me. We’ve got the girls staying at a friend’s house, so at least the vultures aren’t getting them on camera.”

Nance hugged me. “We’re so glad you’re here, Joe.”

“Where’s the patient?”

“In the guest room,” said Kirk, gesturing toward the hallway. “She’s sleeping.”

“How is she?”

“Subdued. Which isn’t a bad thing for Kristi, I guess.”

“Have you had dinner?” asked Nance.

I nodded. “They gave me a bag of peanuts on the plane.”

“I’ll make you a sandwich,” said Nance, going into the kitchen.

“And I’ll make you a drink,” said Kirk.

I followed him to the bar.

“So tell me what you know,” I said, sitting down.

“How about a key lime martini?” he asked, unscrewing the cap of a gin bottle.

“Sounds good.”

“Well, you probably know as much as I do,” he began, and as he made the martinis, he told me things I already knew: that the assailant was a woman in her thirties who claimed she loved Tuck Drake.

“Funny way of showing it,” I said.

“Yeah, well, apparently she’s been in and out of mental hospitals. Obviously delusional—although how anyone could be delusional enough to think they loved Tuck Drake is beyond me.”

We both laughed.

“Nice way to talk about your sister who’s just been shot,” I said, and the word
shot
immediately snuffed out my laughter. “How is she, really? They said it was touch and go for a while.”

“Well, she did lose a lot of blood,” said Kirk, rubbing a twist of lime around the rim of the martini glass and handing it to me. “She got two transfusions. But I don’t know if it was ever to the point of being touch and go. The bullet went right in here”—he pointed to the side of his chest—“but it got lodged in the underwiring of her bra.”

We looked at each other for a moment and laughed again.

“It’s the wound to her arm that bled so much. She’ll probably have some nerve damage.”

Nance brought out my sandwich on a tray and set it on my lap.

“Free-range chicken,” she said. “From Haugland Foods.”

The phone rang, and Kirk answered it.

“No, she’s still sleeping, Tuck. Yes…yes…yeah, I’ll make sure she calls you when she wakes up…. Okay, Tuck, good night.”

He shook his hand. “He’s been calling every hour on the hour. He’s pretty shook up.”