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Anchor 1
  • Writer: Sheri McGuinn
    Sheri McGuinn
  • Jun 9
  • 12 min read
Man sitting on deck with drink in hand, watching the sunset over ocean.

James watched the sun slide into the ocean and took another sip of his ginger ale. Maybe his decision to forego alcohol had been hasty. He was only thirty-eight. He was still in good shape, thanks to hitting the gym every morning before work. Work, of course, was not doing so well, not in this economy. Some of his investors had been devastated by the slump, but his own portfolio was already recovering.

“I want your life. The view from this deck, your house, your lady, I want it all. Well, not yours, but I want the whole package.”

James turned to his new assistant. At this kid’s age, James had been determined to make his fortune by the time he was thirty-five. He’d actually achieved all of his goals before that, closer to thirty.

“You’ll have it. Won’t take you long,” said James.

“You think?”

“Sure, Dave. You’re good at closing those sales, and you’re pushing all the right products, the ones that give the company the best return.” That’s what had gotten some of James’ clients into trouble. “You’ll move right up.”

“I heard about that woman who went off on you. That was crazy.”

“Yeah, well, looks like you’re ready for another drink.”

James led the younger man back into the house. He wasn’t going to discuss Mrs. Atwater with Dave. Her husband had committed suicide. Everyone told James it wasn’t his fault the man’s investments had tanked. It was the market… But James knew he should have counseled the man to get out sooner, even though it wasn’t the best move for the company.

Charlotte had insisted on this party for his birthday, including everyone from the office. She wanted him to be the up-and-coming guy she’d hooked up with ten years ago. He’d scared her with his talk of retiring, selling out, maybe getting a sailboat and living on it in the Caribbean.

James was relieved when the last guest left. He just wanted to go to bed.

“Your father called to wish you a happy birthday,” Charlotte said as she put her earrings away.

“When?”

“While you were talking with Bob.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Interrupt you while you’re talking to the head of the company?”

True. He would have been upset with her for doing that a few years ago. Maybe even a few months ago. But today, he’d have taken the call.

“It’s the middle of the night in Kansas. I can’t get back to him now.”

“You can call him tomorrow if you really want to.” Charlotte slid into their bed. “I didn’t think it was that important. It’s not as if the two of you are close.”

She turned slightly, making the silken strap fall off her shoulder, and gave him that smile she’d used to catch him in the first place. What the hell, Dave was right. He had everything he’d ever wanted.

As the weeks wore on, James shrugged off thoughts of retirement. It had been that pushing-forty birthday combined with Mrs. Atwater’s attack, that’s all. He did, however, start making more recommendations that put the customer’s interests first.

When he lost his place as top salesman, he didn’t mention it to Charlotte. Dave was no longer his assistant; he was moving up the ranks on his own, quickly.

When June rolled around, James called his father. “Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”

“James! Good to hear from you. I called on your birthday. You were busy.”

His father had never met Charlotte and never referred to her, as if James were still going through an anonymous string of girlfriends.

“I was hoping you could get away for a week, do some fishing with me,” James offered.

“Actually, I was hoping you could come here for a visit.”

James hadn’t been back since he first left for college. He’d worked his way through school, and it was easier for his father to close the garage for a few days than for James to take time off from multiple jobs. Besides, his mother had died when he was nine. There wasn’t anyone else to see back there.

“You need to get away from that garage, Dad. Come fishing with me. We can meet in San Diego and I’ll charter a boat, see if you can get a Marlin.”

There was plenty of room at the house, James could have had his father come there for a visit and they could still have gone deep-sea fishing, but he told himself his father wouldn’t be comfortable there. He knew he wouldn’t approve of Charlotte. She was gorgeous, an excellent hostess, and had a successful career of her own. She wasn’t interested in marriage or children.

“I was thinking you should meet Sean,” his father said.

“The kid who helps you out at the garage? Hasn’t he gone off to college yet?”

“No, he should have.”

This conversation was going nowhere, like most of their conversations. That’s why it had taken months to return the birthday call. James cut off his father.

“Well, if you can’t get away, you can’t. Let me know when you can and I’ll try to get some time off myself, so we can go fishing.”

“Yeah, we’ll go fishing.” His father paused. “Are you happy, son?”

“You know it,” James replied. “I’ve got everything I ever wanted.”

***

Two weeks later, James was in his cubicle at work when his cell phone rang. Customers didn’t have that number and calls were only forwarded to it when he was out of the office. His brow knit at the familiar number – the garage. His dad always called in the evening or on weekends.

The kid who worked with his dad blurted out the news. “Jim had a massive heart attack yesterday and died before they could get him to the hospital.”

“Just like that? With no warning?” James felt empty.

“Well he’d had that bypass surgery.”

“What bypass surgery?”

“A couple years ago.”

“He never told me he had any surgery.”

“I guess you were busy,” the kid said scathingly.

“He should have told me.”

“The funeral’s Friday, ten o’clock, at Smith’s. We figured you might be able to take a long weekend and actually show up.”

“We?”

“Yeah, the people who cared about him.”

James forgot quiet voice cubicle etiquette. “Listen, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you just worked for him. You get that? Don’t talk to me about my father like that. He was my only family and maybe we didn’t see each other all the time, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t care about each other. You got that?”

James ended the call before the kid could reply. People in the other cubes had stopped working and were staring at him. Now they hastily looked down and got back to their jobs, except Dave. Dave came over to James’ desk.

“Are you alright?”

“My father died.”

“Jeeze, that’s tough. If you need to take some time off, I can watch your accounts for you.”

James stared at Dave for a moment, seeing himself at that age. Of course Dave would watch his accounts for him, and take as many as he could while he was at it.

“The funeral’s Friday. I’ll fly out Thursday night. It might take a few days to arrange for disposal of all his property, but I’ll be gone less than a week. I’ll have my cell and laptop.”

He was surprised when Charlotte insisted on going with him.

“It may take a few days, honey. Do you really want to be in Kansas that long?”

“He was your father. I should be with you.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do. The way that boy talked to you on the phone, you need someone with you who knows you loved your father, that it wasn’t your fault it was so hard for both of you to get away at the same time more often.”

He went online to make reservations while Charlotte made dinner. When he was done, he went to the kitchen and pulled her back against him, and gave her cheek a kiss.

“Thanks for going with me. We’ll fly to Lincoln on Thursday and stay in a decent motel, then drive down to Marysville Friday morning.”

“There isn’t a motel in Marysville?”

“Nothing that shows up online. We should be able to stay at my dad’s house, anyway, once we get there.”

In Lincoln, they rented a Cadillac and stayed at the Marriott. When they got to Marysville the next morning, James drove Charlotte around town to show her the sights.

“It’s changed a lot,” he said. “A lot of businesses are gone, a lot of it’s new.”

“Twenty years is a long time.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t change in my head. Silly, huh?”

“Normal,” Charlotte replied. “I mean, I grew up in L.A., so I’ve watched all the changes happen, but if I hadn’t been there since I was a kid, I wouldn’t know what to expect.”

He drove by his father’s house.

“When I was little, my mother always had a huge garden there, right where they put that trailer. Dad must have sold off the lot. He should have told me if he was having money problems.”

Then they drove past the garage.

“I started working with my dad the summer after my mother died. I was only ten, but he wanted to keep me out of trouble, so he had me helping out, doing clean-up and learning by watching.”

“I can’t imagine you as a mechanic.”

“I was actually pretty good at it.”

“Mechanics always have dirty nails.”

“Yeah. It’s almost impossible to get all the grease off.”

That was the biggest reason he’d never come back. He’d never told Charlotte about losing his virginity with Mary Jo in the back of that old pickup out on the logging road. They’d been lying on the blanket afterwards, enjoying the sun, when Mary Jo took his hand, then pulled back with an instinctive “euw” from the forever grease embedded by his nails. He’d avoided her after that, and when he left for college a few weeks later, he never looked back.

“It’s nine-thirty,” Charlotte said.

He found the funeral home and parked. Mr. Smith wasn’t anyone he remembered, but the man recognized him immediately.

“James, I’m so glad you were able to get here early so you can have a private viewing.”

He led them into the room where James’ father waited in a plain but tasteful casket.

“You got his hands clean,” said James.

“It wasn’t that hard. He’d been working primarily with the customers the last few years. Sean’s been doing all the mechanics.”

James didn’t want to sound ignorant of his father’s life, so he didn’t ask why his father had stopped working on cars, or who had made all the funeral arrangements, or any of the other questions that had started bubbling up as he drove Charlotte around town.

“I’d like a few moments alone with him.”

“Of course.” Mr. Smith led Charlotte out of the room.

James stood staring at the body that had once housed his father.

“Were you proud of me?”

He’d never asked before. Now he’d never be sure. There had been compliments, congratulations on promotions, that sort of thing, but he’d always had a sense there was an underlying disappointment. Mostly, they’d stuck to safe conversations. Except his father’s last question, ‘Are you happy?’ He’d said yes, but was it true?

“James, honey, people are starting to arrive for the viewing.”

He looked up at Charlotte and nodded. “I’m ready.”

He was shocked at the number of people who came through in the next hours to show their respect for his father. He’d been a good man, an honest mechanic, not a prominent man, but a key figure in the community.

“When my husband first died and I didn’t have any income, your father kept my car running until I could find work and start to pay him back.”

The same sort of story repeated throughout the morning. Most of the people he didn’t recognize. He did notice Mary Jo was among those who followed them to the cemetery for the interment. She didn’t seem to be with anyone in particular.

Finally it was over. Charlotte stood by James as people shook his hand and offered their last condolences as they headed for their cars. Mary Jo came up and gave him a quick hug.

“I’m so sorry.” There were tears in her eyes. “He was a wonderful man.”

Charlotte put her arm around James. “We know. We’ll miss him terribly.”

Mary Jo gave Charlotte a long look and nodded, then walked away.

“While other people were talking to you, the attorney let me know he’s arranged to disclose the will formally this afternoon at four,” said Charlotte. “He gave me his card with the address. He said that young man who worked with your father will also be there, that he’s in the will.”

That made sense. His father would remember a loyal employee.

A young man greeted them outside the attorney’s office. He offered his hand to James somewhat stiffly. “I’m Sean. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. Had an emergency repair.”

“Dad would have understood.”

They went into the office together and were shown into a meeting room where they all sat at a table made for much larger groups.

“Well, James,” the lawyer cleared his throat. “Did your father ever tell you his plans for the garage?”

“Not really.”

“Well, your father decided he wanted the garage to stay open, you know…”

James’ first thought was that his father had put in a clause to assure the kid would have the first chance to buy the place. Then the cold certainty that his father had left the garage to Sean settled into James’ stomach.

But the lawyer continued, “What your father decided is to leave the garage to the two of you, fifty-fifty. If you both want to sell, you can do that only after working together at the place for a year.”

“What!” Charlotte was the one who shouted; James was speechless.

“James can’t do that,” Charlotte explained. “He’s got a good job; he can’t walk away from it for a year and expect it to be there when he gets back.”

“That’s always an option,” said the lawyer. Then he turned to James. “But if you don’t come back within a month and stay for a year, the garage is all Sean’s to keep or sell.”

‘Are you happy?’ had been his father’s last question. He’d lied, but his father had heard the truth. A year break might be exactly what he needed to regroup and plan a new career. But he’d need a place to live.

“What about the house?” James asked.  

“You dad sold the house long ago,” said the lawyer, surprised. “You didn’t know that?”

“No, he always joined me for vacations. It was the only way to get him to take time off from work.” No one seemed to believe this half-truth.

“Jim split the property when I was a kid and set himself up in a trailer,” said Sean. “He sold the house to my mother.”

Maybe the kid was his illegitimate half-brother. His father had never been involved with a woman while James was growing up, but after he left, it would have been reasonable for him to get involved with someone.

“The trailer and the property that’s on is yours, James,” said the lawyer.

“So I could stay in it and work the garage with Sean here for a year, then we can sell the place and you can get out of this town.” He finished with a nod to the kid, a truce offering.

“That’s fine with me,” said Sean. “I loved working at the garage, but that was because Jim was there.”

“Your father practically raised Sean,” the lawyer explained.

How could he not have realized? Why wouldn’t his father have said something? There was no striking resemblance, but there was enough. The kid had to be his half-brother.

“There must be a way to break this will.” Charlotte’s voice cut through the uncomfortable silence. “James would lose more by giving up his job than he’d ever get from selling a garage in this little town.”

Her condescension lay heavily in the room.

“Actually,” said James, “I’ve been thinking of making a career change anyway. The year will give me time to sort out the future.”

Charlotte glared at him.

“It’ll take a few weeks to clear things up so I can come back,” said James.

“We’ll clean up the trailer for you,” said Sean. All seemed to be forgiven.

 

Charlotte didn’t talk to him about it until he turned in his two weeks’ notice.

“I went with you to stop you from doing something this stupid. You’re never going to be happy anywhere. Why not keep a good job where you don’t have to be a grease monkey?”

“I need a change. I want to do work that’s useful.”

“You help people plan their future.”

“I help them lose it...”

“Well, I’m not moving to have my future in Podunk. I have a good job here and I’m keeping it. And I’m keeping the house. You’ll be glad when you come to your senses.”

“The garage is only for a year, but I’m not coming back to this life,” said James. “I don’t want to work for a system that pretends to care about people. I want to do something that’s tangible, give people something they really need instead of convincing them to buy whatever will make the most profit for a corporation.”

He moved most of his personal belongings into storage. He and Charlotte worked out an agreement on the house and had a lawyer draw it up formally. When Sean called to let him know the trailer was ready, but not very big for two people, he admitted the relationship was at an end.

***

“Are you sure you’re not going to come to your senses and come back?” asked Charlotte. “You’re not taking much.”

“I’m going to be living in a trailer for the next year. I won’t have room for anything else. I’ll get my other things out of storage when I know what I’m doing next.”

She gave him a stiff hug and watched him drive away.

Three days later, he got to Marysville mid-morning and drove straight to the garage. The big doors were open and Sean was working on an engine. He came out to greet James, wiping his right hand on a rag, then holding it out. James ignored the remaining grease and shook hands.

“Glad you’re here,” said Sean. “Mom’s been helping out with the phone and paperwork, but she’s using her vacation time to do it.”

“Your mother?”

Sean looked over James’ shoulder and grinned. “Come on, he’s here finally.”

James turned into a hug, then Mary Jo stepped back and smiled at him.

“Welcome home.”            


The audio version of this story is at


Defining Moments is a series of character studies and defining moments- short sketches to whet your appetite. If you’d like reading more about one of these characters, leave a comment.

Thanks.


Author Sheri McGuinn in bucket hat at Machu Pichu

 
 
 
  • Writer: Sheri McGuinn
    Sheri McGuinn
  • Jun 20, 2019
  • 4 min read

Updated: Dec 13, 2020


That first day, we made quick polite stops at every house on the block, both sides of the street. Like Jack had figured out, it was a bedroom community, so most houses we ended up tucking the flyers into the edge of the front door. I was going to put the first one in a mailbox, but Jack stopped me. “That’s a federal offense,” he said in that serious lecture tone he shared with Mom. “They probably wouldn’t care, but it’s best to avoid trouble when you can.” I was burning to know more about Jack and trouble, considering all Mom had shouted when he first arrived, but I hadn’t even figured out what to call him. Grandfather was way too formal, Grandpa didn’t really fit either. I thought of him as Jack, but I didn’t normally call adults by their first name – at least not anyone over thirty. “We’ll go back out in the evening,” said Jack. “After dinner. And on the weekend. Take our time and let people get to know us.” That evening, Jack went straight for the house where he’d seen the girl with her head covered. It turned out one of the Apu families was Muslim, from Pakistan, but the other was Hindu, from India. Their dads were doctors at the same office. There was a Hindu girl my age, Ambar, and two Muslim brothers a little older than us, Yusuf and Karim. While Jack chatted with the fathers, Ambar and I sat in her backyard talking with the boys. Her mother kept an eye on us from the kitchen. “I’d never have been allowed to have Muslim boys for friends if we were still in India,” Ambar said. “And when it’s time for me to marry, my parents are going to insist on a nice Hindu boy.” Yusuf, who was sixteen, laughed. “Our parents would be furious if they knew how casual we are at school with the other kids. They wouldn’t want us marrying outside our religion, either.” “I don’t know if I’ll ever get married, and I don’t even go to church,” I said. “We celebrate Christmas, but that’s because everybody does.” “Don’t tell our parents,” said Karim. “That’s worse than being a Christian!” “Definitely,” said Ambar. “So you girls are going to be in high school with us this fall,” said Yusuf. “You’ll probably get Mr. Zeller for math,” said Karim. “He’s a complete burnout—he should have retired years ago. Whatever you do, don’t correct him if he makes a mistake.” We chatted for an hour about the different teachers and what high school was like. We were all friends by the time Jack finished talking with their fathers and said it was time to head home. I told him how nice they all were. “I can’t believe they’ve been on the bus for three years and they never talked to me before.” “They were probably waiting for you to make the first move, Nina. After all, they’re in a country where half the people see someone whose skin’s a little different, who talks with an accent, and immediately they’re suspected of being a terrorist.” I considered that. “Maybe. And I’m usually doing homework or reading.” I started to wonder what other potential friends had never tried to talk to me. “I don’t talk much with anyone else on the bus, either.” “Well, don’t feel bad. They’ve had each other for friends.” Jack laughed a little and slipped into teaching mode. “That definitely wouldn’t have happened if their fathers hadn’t gone to med school together. When India and Pakistan were split apart by religion, the lines weren’t as clear as the politicians tried to make them. It got ugly.” Mom using that tone would leave me bored and looking for a way out. Jack made it feel like he was sharing important secrets, so I didn’t mind. I wanted to share, too. “Ambar wouldn’t be allowed to be friends with the boys anywhere else.” “I’m surprised they let it happen here,” said Jack. “But maybe they figure it’s unavoidable, and they can manage it this way.” It was too late to go anywhere else that night, but we went out every evening after dinner. Three of the houses we visited later that week belonged to university professors. Jack talked with the couples about new developments in stem cell research, globalization vs. isolationism, and the social resistance techniques of Gandhi. In the last discussion, Mr. Parker, a young professor of Social Justice classes, eagerly listened to Jack describing the Berkeley protests he had participated in, with Mom strapped onto his chest. He asked if Jack would be a guest speaker in the fall. “I’ll have to let you know,” said Jack. When I told Mom how much Jack knew about so many different things, she still said he was full of shit. She used that word a lot whenever he was near her, and they argued almost every time they were in the same room—about personal stuff or world affairs, anything and everything. Jack’s check came to our house the first of July and he insisted on giving Mom some of it for room and board, which was probably why she quit saying he had to leave. She was getting more and more stressed about money and not having a new job lined up for the fall. She was on the computer all day every day, putting in applications all over the country. She told Jack she wasn’t putting our house up for sale until she knew where she’d be working in the fall. There was still a chance a French teacher would leave mid-summer, somewhere close enough for her to commute. I finally decided to call my grandfather Jack, like Mom did. I tried it out on him alone first, then at dinner. Neither of them noticed. At least they didn’t say anything about it.

You are welcome to share this link with others, but please respect copyright by contacting me for permission if you want to use the material elsewhere. Even if you’re making it into a school skit, I’d like to know where it’s being heard. Thank you.






 
 
 
  • Writer: Sheri McGuinn
    Sheri McGuinn
  • Jun 12, 2019
  • 4 min read

Updated: Dec 14, 2020


The next morning I made a scramble. Breakfast is my favorite meal to cook. Jack helped and then went to get Mom. They were talking about the empty houses when they came into the kitchen. “I can’t believe the banks just let the yards die off like that,” he complained. “Don’t they know that hurts the value of the house, and everything around?” “Why do you care?” Mom asked. “You never believed in owning real estate, did you?” “I hate to see waste. There are too many homeless people to have houses sitting empty all over this country, left to fall apart.” Jack turned to me. “Anything I can do to help?” “Plates are in that cupboard, silverware in that drawer,” I said. “Put the plates here and I’ll dish this up when it’s done.” “Having homeless people move in wouldn’t help much,” said Mom. She got juice out of the fridge and took it to the table. “They wouldn’t be able to take care of the houses. Ownership’s not cheap.” “They’ll have to sell them under market, the way they’ve let them go. That won’t help your investment.” Mom looked at him like he was speaking an alien language that she understood, but she didn’t expect him to understand. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Even if they sell at a depressed price, the new owners will invest enough getting them fixed up to bring their equity back in line with the rest of the neighborhood. It’ll work out.” “If you don’t have to sell before that happens.” He pointed at Mom. “You should be making a fuss, now, before they sell.” She stretched her neck, tilting her head side to side and rolling once each way. “I hadn’t planned on moving anytime soon.” I caught the past tense – that’s what happens when your parent is an OCD teacher. I whipped around to face her, dropping some scramble from the spatula onto the floor. I didn’t care. “You’re going to sell our house?” I demanded. She took a slow breath before she answered – always a bad sign. “I’ve expanded my job search. We might have to move.” “Great.” I turned away from her and finished dishing up the scramble. I kept blinking to hold back the tears. Everyone was away for the summer. If we left before they came back, would I ever see my friends again? “It’s not a definite,” she was saying. “I’m checking every day for new postings, but there’s nothing within fifty miles of here. French teachers just aren’t in demand.” By the time the plates were ready to take to the table, Jack was cleaning up the mess I made on the floor with a paper towel. “Thanks,” I said as I stepped past him. I couldn’t look at Mom yet. She couldn’t know how close to tears I was. She was doing her best. I knew that. After breakfast, which was really quiet, Mom went back to her job hunt on the computer. Jack helped me clean up the kitchen. “Can you print from that computer of yours?” he asked. “Yeah, it’s wi-fi’d with Mom’s printer.” He looked at me. “Wi-fi like they have in coffeeshops?” “Kind of, but it’s just our local network. We have a password so people driving by can’t access it for anything disgusting or illegal.” “Okay,” he said. “Is it too old-fashioned to print out some flyers offering handyman and babysitting services? Figured we could take them around and introduce ourselves.” I wiped the table and counters. The kitchen was done. “Actually, that’s a good idea. There’s one family I’ve worked for a little. I’ll call and ask if I can give their name and number as a reference. We should put our pictures on it, too. You look nice this morning.” I slapped my hand up against my mouth, but he laughed. “I was pretty scruffy after that bus ride.” “Why didn’t you fly?” “Bus was cheaper by almost a hundred bucks. Train would have been better, but it was almost as much as flying.” I understood being careful with money. Even before she lost her job, Mom had always watched our spending – like not getting cable. She did agree to getting an antenna and we picked up quite a few options with that. “Will your mother see the flyers on her printer?” he asked. He seemed worried. I started to ask why when it hit me. “You’re staying more than a few days, aren’t you.” He grimaced. “Well, I’m not sure where else to go. I’m too dang old for sleeping under bridges. And it seems like Alice can use some help right now.” I thought a moment. “If she sees the flyers, she’ll know you’re planning to stay awhile, but she’ll also see you’re looking for work, and Mom likes that. The only reason I haven’t done more babysitting is we’re away most holidays and during the school year, she says that’s my job… It’ll be okay, whether she sees the flyers or not.” As it turned out, by the time I’d taken and uploaded a photo of Jack and we designed a great flier together, Mom was taking a break, making coffee in the kitchen, so she didn’t even hear her printer.


Update 12/14/2020: I stopped posting Alice because no one was reading it. The book is available on Amazon.


 
 
 


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