IBE The Days Of WanderingAddendum Houston
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I went to sleep on a chair on the promenade deck. I left the room, and that’s where I ended up. I wasn’t upset. She had taken it surprisingly well; I was expecting her to freak out. I don’t think she was going to write me out of my kids’ life. I felt relieved, really. I finally got that off my chest. She knew who I was now. I knew with some certainty that she didn’t want to marry me.
I realized that I had one last load to get off my chest. Well, three, really. The first was that I needed to consign Suzie to the history books, or my friendship roster. She couldn’t stay a frozen image of the girl I knew 25 years ago. Jenny had recent contact with me so perhaps there was some understanding that I was what I was, with her. To Suzie I’m sure, loved or hated, I was also frozen as a 17 year old boy who loved her. She quite possibly assumes I am dead.
Once I fixed that situation, I had to bring my father to meet my family. He had a right to know his grandchildren. Maybe he could meet John and Susan; maybe not. He had the right to know Cheryl. He also had a right to know the woman I now realized I intended to marry. And they, my family, had the right to know my father.
The third thing was, it was time to stop pretending, as I alluded to above. It was time to bend my knee, offer Kelly a ring, and ask her to marry me. She got me so completely. She loved me, she needed me in her life. I was ready to settle down, as she wanted me to. I was done worrying about such nonsense as the controversial nature of my other relationships with her. I loved her, damnit. In that way, I loved only her. It was time to bury Rachel into a wonderful memory.
I knew Rachel too well to use her as an excuse not to move on. She would have wanted me to move on and enjoy life. Her whole life, once she got over the trauma of her rape and miscarriage, was a singular pursuit of enjoying herself and satisfying her desires. She had always encouraged me to treat life like that. She’d want me to do that in her absence. She probably would have instructed Kelly to come after me with a net had she met her on her deathbed.
I fell asleep knowing that the future would either be pretty good, or bloody amazing.
I was shaken awake at about 4:30 in the morning by John. I was, to say the least, a bit startled.
“Mom is looking all over for you,” he told me, “Come on, she wants to talk to you.”
I followed him back to our cabin.
The first thing she said was, “Does John know?”
“Yes,” I said, “I accidentally told him. Don’t ask.”
“John, stay here,” she said, “Johnny, you are the father of my children. What we had together was ... fun, but it was based on a lot of misunderstandings and half truths.”
“I know; I’m sorry.”
“I know you are,” she said, “And I know why you couldn’t tell me. It wouldn’t have been good for me to know, and it wasn’t important with the relationship we had together. When you wanted to change that relationship, you came clean with me.”
“I’m sorry it took so-”
“Don’t be,” she said, “You did the right thing. But you are also right about the fact that I can’t actually accept who you are. I understand that you are living in another world than I am. You have seen things I couldn’t ... live with seeing. I couldn’t live there, even if I ended up there. I can’t hate you for it.”
“I’d understand if you did,” I said, “But I’m happy you don’t.”
I realized this was practically a prepared speech.
“You have never been anything but good to me,” she continued, “And it would be unfair for me to not grant you my friendship. But that’s as far as I can go. You are the father of our children, and I can’t take that away from you. I have to end the relationship we’ve had, but I want to be friends and I want you to stay in our children’s lives. I trust you with them.”
“I appreciate your trust,” I said, “And I understand why you want things that way.”
“I have booked train tickets to Reno,” she continued, “I’d like you to come with us that far, I had planned on you coming back with us, but we’d like the company.”
“I can do that,” I said, “I’m actually going to continue on, though.”
“Why?”
“I need to meet up with Suzie,” I said, “It’s time to put an end to this life for me. I love Kelly, and it’s time I just accept that and marry her. Before I drive her away or lose the chance. But I need to bury my last skeleton to do that. I’m done dithering.”
“Thank god,” she sighed, “I thought you’d never figure that out. I could tell you are so very in love with Kelly, and I kept moving between trying to keep you and letting you have her. But I was sure you’d screw her up too.”
“This had to end for me,” I replied, “Meeting my father and realizing that I had lost so much, I realized I couldn’t afford this life anymore. You were too important to me to not give you a chance to settle into my life after this. I’m glad we’ve reached equilibrium.”
“Me too,” she replied, “Now lets get ready to leave this ship before breakfast.”
We were all packed up and went to an early breakfast after waking up Susan. It was a decent meal, and we chatted well about it. Afterwards, we managed to get early in the disembarkation process. We got off the boat around 10:30 in the morning, and took a taxi to the Amtrak station.
“Excuse me, Jenny,” I said, “I need to make a phone call, there are pay-phones-”
“Use my cell phone,” she said.
“It’s long distance.”
“So?”
I took her phone and dialed my old home number. I hoped it would still work.
“Hello, Mike Harris speaking.”
“Dad? This is Johnny.”
“Johnathan? How are you? I thought I’d never hear from you again.”
My last name was Harris. It didn’t even ring a bell.
“I got slapped upside the head by somebody who knew better,” I replied, “And I’ve decided I need to get my affairs in order. First of all I need to find Suzie. Do you know where she is?”
“Thank god for that,” he replied, “You better come see me soon, then. I was sick to my stomach since you left here.”
“You are next after Suzie,” I said, “I promise.”
“What if she rejects you?”
“I expect her to,” I replied, “I just need closure.”
“You know she thinks you are dead, right?”
“I’m not totally surprised,” I replied, “But do you know where she is, so I can go see her?”
“I don’t know where she is,” he said, “But Frank and Laura moved into Wildflower Hills a few years ago. It’s a 55+ community in Bath.”
“Thanks, dad,” I said, “Can you pick me up in four days from Rochester, and drive me there?”
“I can pick you up from Rochester,” he said, “Can you drive?”
“Yes,” I replied, “I can drive.”
“Then you drive me back home,” he continued, “And I’ll give you your mother’s old car, and you can drive yourself. I can’t drive that far.”
“It still runs?”
“I drive it every few weeks. It’s in good running shape.”
“Thanks, dad.”
“I love you, Johnny.”
“I love you, too, dad.”
The route from San Diego to Reno that Amtrak offered was to take a Pacific Surfliner from San Diego to Santa Barbara, an overnight bus from Santa Barbara to Emeryville, and the California Zephyr from Emeryville to Reno. An overnight bus is not the best place to spend time for people not used to public transportation, but that is what we did.
It was nice spending that time with them. The Pacific Surfliner up the coast was quite nice even in the late afternoon as we ran practically along the beach. Most of the rest of the ride was typical California- dull scenery, boring housing, and a general creation of wonder as to why anyone in their right mind would want to live here.
We ate dinner aboard the Pacific Surfliner, the meal was typical Amtrak cafe car fare. During the meal I had a conversation with John.
“During your next break,” I said, “Would you like to come visit my family in North Dakota?”
“I’m not sure mom would approve,” he replied.
“It’s fine with me,” Jenny said, “You’re almost 21 years old. You can make your own decisions.”
“I think I would enjoy that,” he said, “but I don’t want to impose on you for space.”
“In the words of Cheryl,” I replied, “We have lashings of space. We could accommodate all three of you in separate rooms pretty easily.” There were a couple of guest rooms, and Jason, Samantha, and Jared had moved into their own building a while back, and Kelly usually stayed with me when I was in.
“We’ll see about that,” Jenny said guardedly.
We transferred to the bus in Santa Barbara on time, with it leaving at its scheduled 9:45 PM departure. The seats were not as comfortable as on the Surfliner, but I got to sleep quite well. I got the distinct impression that the others didn’t sleep much at all.
Jenny had booked one roomette to Reno and a second to Chicago, which was a nice thing for her to do. The kids took one, and we took the other, directly across the hall from each other. Breakfast involved some danishes quickly grabbed from the station’s concession, but the seating in the train was an improvement.
The train ran a bit late and was about two hours behind by lunch time. We enjoyed some mediocre hamburgers together in the dining car, as included in the roomette fare. We ran late enough that we also enjoyed an early dinner in the dining car, although not the steaks I would have liked them to be.
They got off at Reno at almost 7:00. Fortunately for the rest of the trip the train did not lose much more time, and we got into Chicago at about 6:45, which gave me plenty of time to catch the Lake Shore Limited. I booked a roomette with some extra cash I pulled out of my locker in Chicago, and I got into Rochester around 11:00 AM.
My dad was there to great me on the platform and gave me a bone-crushing hug.
“It’s fantastic to see you, Johnny,” he said.
“It’s great to see you again, too, dad,” I replied.
We walked out to his car, and I threw my bag in the back seat. I sat down in the drivers seat, and had a brief flashback to that trip with Kelly in her very similar car where I spun it out and almost killed us. I shook it off. I put the key in the ignition, turned it to glow plugs, twisted the idle control knob up to full, and started the car. I shifted into reverse, backed the car out, and then shifted the four speed into first and slowly pulled out of the lot.
“You remember your way around my car pretty well,” my dad mused.
“My ... gosh, I don’t know what to call her. Let’s go for ‘girlfriend’, I bought her one of these when she started driving. I drove it quite a bit.”
“How old’s your girlfriend?”
“25. She has a three-year-old E320 CDi now.”
“25? Bit young, isn’t she?”
“I guess. You don’t know the half of it. I’ll explain it to you when I get back from seeing Frank.”
“How’d she get the money to buy a $50k car?”
“She’s a college professor.”
“How’d she get to be a college professor?”
“She’s insanely intelligent and extremely hard working.”
“They don’t make a huge amount of money, either.”
“There’s a good amount of family money, too. I told you, its complicated.”
“Do I get to meet her, too?”
“Yes. She’s part of my family in North Dakota. It’s-”
“Complicated, I’m beginning to get it.”
I drove the very slow old Mercedes, which was showing a bit over 243k miles on the odometer, through Rochester until we got to I-390. I coaxed it up the on-ramp, and then placed my foot firmly on the floor. The road was a tad hilly and 72 mph was mostly all she wrote. My dad must have kept her in decent tune.
When we got to Dansville, my dad reminded me to get off the interstate and on to NY-36. It was hillier, and the car actually had a little trouble maintaining the 55 mph speed limit on some of the road, and the stop lights took forever to accelerate away from. Finally, we turned off, and down a few side streets. Familiar territory, I didn’t need navigation help.
I had been back here at this house recently, albeit for the first time in 25 years. I had been too upset by the news that my mother was dead to look around. I looked around now. The house was tired and lonely. My father had clearly not been doing a great job cleaning the place. It must have been since my mother had died.
The floor hadn’t been vacuumed in an eternity. There were a weeks worth of dirty dishes in the kitchen. The smell of spoiled food came from the fridge. The bathroom was in disarray and the bowl showed stains. It made me sad that my father had fallen into such a state after my mother passed.
My parents knew I was alive at least as recently as 2001. I had stopped writing them around the time Rachel died. In the state I was in, I couldn’t keep my own self together, let alone write letters. I had never talked about individual people or some events I thought were a little embarrassing. I told them things like I was working on a fishing boat, or I was doing logging work, and what city I had recently been to.
They usually wrote me back a few times a year telling me things of a similar lack of detail. Their letters became infrequent when I stopped writing, and then ceased a couple of years ago- before my mother died. I could understand my father’s emotional turmoil and lack of drive. I had the same thing when Rachel died. I should have been here for him, the way my family- Kelly- had been there for me.
It was my turn to do for him. He needed to be taken out of this depressing place. It had been a beautiful home once, a happy place. We were a family here, and we were a very happy one. But that family wasn’t here anymore. I could tell he had no real friends in the area anymore; Laura had been his closest friend before the crap happened with Suzie. What happened here after that was mostly a blank for me.
The Mahoney farm was a happy place. He needed to be there, with a happy family. With my happy family; his family too, really. Not here. Not this place. There is a reason people who can afford to move out of their spousal house when their spouse dies, do so.
“Dad, I need to go see Suzie’s parents,” I said. He looked nervous about it.
“Promise me you will be back,” he said, looking skeptical.
“I promise you, on my children’s lives, I will be back here,” I said, “I will be coming back here and then we will be getting on a train together.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I have a family, dad,” I said, “In North Dakota. It’s time I marry the woman I love, it’s time you know most of your grandchildren, and to be frank with you, it’s time you moved on.”
“I’m not ready to move on,” he said.
“You have to at least visit them,” I said, “I will brook no argument.”
“Ok, Johnny,” he resigned himself, “Here’s the key to your moms car. Do you know how to get there?”
“I have a road map, and I can ask for directions.”
I went out to my mom’s old car. I don’t know how it survived her. They bought it the year after I was born, in December of 1968. It was a left over. It was a 1968 Mercedes-Benz 200D Fintail with a four-speed-on-the-tree gearbox. In that year, believe it or not, you could get manual or automatic in a choice of floor shift or column shift for either. It was a bit faded and had a bit of rust, but that was partially hidden by its dark maroon paint job. It was missing one of its hubcaps; my dad must have lost it. My mom would never have tolerated that.
The seats inside were tan MB-Tex vinyl, and they were very soft. They hadn’t been that way when new, but that was 41 years and hundreds of thousands of miles ago. It had over 200k miles on it when I was a boy; that was 25 years ago.
I had to think about driving it. I inserted the key in the ignition and switched it to on. The glowplug light didn’t come on, but then I remembered there was a switch for that. I switched it on, and it slowly brightened over a period of a minute or so. Then I pushed the starter button. After a brief hesitation the diesel engine clattered to life. And people thought the 240D was loud. The whole car shook like an earthquake.
I thought about taking the interstate, but I knew that back when I was a kid my mother was scared to drive this thing on interstates. When it was new, the two liter four-cylinder diesel made 54 horsepower, and 87 feet-pound of torque, in a 3000 pound tank of a car. By this point in its life it was probably making two thirds of that. When it was new, the best it could do was 75 mph downhill with a tailwind. Uphill, it was a moving roadblock.
It has the acceleration that makes glaciers seem quick, too. So instead of taking the interstate I took the old turnpike, 109. I remembered when I was 17 this car seemed fast. My 170D was way slower than this thing, and my dad’s 240D was not insanely faster. In today’s traffic, this car was frankly inadequate. For much of the hilly trip I was dropping way below the speed limit as it went up the hills, and then accelerating above it as I went downhill, struggling with the old disc/drum brake system.
I certainly remembered why the car didn’t have a radio; it would be a waste. You couldn’t hear it over the constant cacophony under the hood. Fortunately for me, now that the car looked like a classic relic, people respected its lack of power. Back when I was living here, my mom constantly struggled with people treating her like she was being deliberately obstructive.
After an hour of fighting the road valiantly, the turnpike ended at the Bath Cameron Rd, NY 10. After about ten minutes, I crossed over the Cohocton River, and under the Southern Tier Expressway (I-86), and came into Bath, NY. I went down Pine Street, and turned right onto Washington Street (54). Fifty four turned left onto Liberty Street, then quickly bore right onto Geneva Street. I finally stopped at the Sears Appliance Repair to ask for directions. I knew it was north of town off 54, but not exactly where. The guy at the front desk admired the ancient Mercedes.
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