Backwater Publishing LLC

By

Clem Mason

(age-16+)

(wc-3980)

The sad discovery.

The old man usually woke about 5:00 A.M., watched the morning news on his small television, ate a bite of breakfast and slept again until about nine o’clock. He’d get dressed and walk down the three flights of stairs to the street; around the corner to Cliff’s B & G for coffee. He liked Cliff’s but hated the cigarette smoke in there. He would sit at the far end of the counter and scowl at anyone who lit up. Needless to say, few people spoke to him. Mostly, they just left him alone; the sour old man sitting at the end of the bar.

He pointed to his empty cup as Carla walked by with the fresh pot of coffee. He grunted.

“Bob, you’ve already had your refill,” she scolded, shaking her finger at him. “I’m keeping tabs on you, you know!”

“Two dollars for one cup and one refill? Hell, in my day, I could buy a bottomless cup of coffee for five cents,” he growled.

Carla turned to face him. “Well, I’m surprised you can remember back that far, Bob.” Her eyes blinked in mock astonishment. “Besides, it’s only $1.55,” she reminded him.

The old man scoffed. “Well, even at that, it sure knocks the living hell outa two bucks.”

The portly waitress looked around for Cliff. When she saw he was busy, leaning over his grill, she reached and poured out half a portion into Bob’s cup. She put a finger to her lips for him to be quiet. Then she leaned close to whisper to the old man. “It’s ‘cause you remind me of my dear, old grandpapa, Bobby. God rest his soul.” She winked. Bob nodded his thanks but frowned at the fact she called him ‘Bobby’. He hated that. She went on about her business; leaving him to his own thoughts then.

And this is pretty much Bob Finklestein’s day.

On the way back to his apartment, he’d buy a newspaper, grumble at having to climb three flights of stairs; not realizing it was good exercise for him, then spend most of afternoon reading and nodding off; reading and nodding off until it was time for supper. However, on this day, his life would be changed forever.

In his mind, one of the first duties in reading the newspaper was to look in the obituaries to make sure his name wasn’t in there. Then he would see if any of his old friends or acquaintances had passed on and he would plan his week accordingly. He scanned down the page. Suddenly, a wave of fear and grief surged through him. Bob sat there,

faintly breathing, as his heart pounded. It was a very long time before he could recover enough to continue reading. Hesitantly, he read aloud.

“April Mae Frantz. Spokane, Washington-Graveside services for April Mae Frantz, 65, will be at 1p.m. Saturday at Oakgrove Cemetery. Miss Frantz died Monday at her home after a long illness.” Bob choked back a sob. He didn’t want to believe what his eyes were showing him. The pain in his heart was almost unbearable. He forced himself to read on.

“Miss Frantz was born on April 13, 1940 in Elizabeth, New Jersey. She is survived by a son, R.S. Frantz, Chicago, two nieces, both of Spokane, and two grandchildren. The family suggests memorials to the Visiting Nurses Association.”

He laid the newspaper on the table and tried hard not to break down. It had been so many years; not that he didn’t think of her everyday. A tear trickled down his cheek. Absently, he wiped at it.

“So, she never married!” He shrugged, somewhat happy to learn this information. “It says Miss Frantz.” He sat, thoughtful, recovering somewhat from the initial shock. “Yet she has a son.” He pondered this matter awhile and shrugged. “The news people must have gotten the information wrong. Maybe she was married and her husband died, or something.” he said, after awhile. Then he leaned back, reasoning. “She got married and divorced the old son-of-a-bitch because he beat her and she took her maiden name back just to show him a thing or two.” Bob was pleased and convinced this was the answer to the question. He nodded his approval.

He leaned back farther, fishing his knife out of his pocket. Bob unfolded the blade and slowly, carefully, cut around the article. He folded the clipping and slipped it into his shirt pocket. Then, with purpose, he descended the stairs once more and walked to the library at a pace that made him pause at the door, gasping for air.

On the Internet, he searched for the cheapest airline tickets he could find but he didn’t have much luck. There was nothing within his price range since he was a bit of a miser. Then he exited out of that and searched to find bus tickets; then train tickets. He muttering to himself at his bad fortune. “Damn people want an arm and a leg,” he muttered under his breath. “What the hell is an old man suppose to do on a fixed income?” he said to no one. Someone shhhed him.

Then he sat back, pondering a way to Spokane, Washington.

An idea came to him and he hurried back home to pack a suitcase. Then it was back down stairs to wait for the local bus.

Away out west.

Judy met John at the door. The look on her face told him something was seriously wrong. His eyebrows  raised in anticipation. She leaned close to whisper.

“Your dad’s here,” she said.

John frowned and looked towards the kitchen. “What the hell’s he doing here? This can’t be good.” He hadn’t noticed the suitcase sitting inside his front door.

Judy shrugged.

John walked into the kitchen and acted surprised. “Dad! To what do I owe this honor?”

Bob pointed to the chair across from him. “Sit down son. I need to talk to you.”

“Uh-oh,” John said, ”this sounds serious.” He sat down.

Bob retrieved the obituary from his pocket and laid it on the table, smoothing out the crease with his hand. He tapped his finger on the clipping, wanting John to read it. Slowly, John leaned forward to read.

“April Mae Frantz?” he read slowly. “So? Who’s this?”

Bob’s bowed his head. “It’s an old girlfriend,” he admitted.

“So?”

“So I need to get out there to this Spokane and attend the services for her, son.”

John sat silent for a moment, digesting this information. “And where do I fit in to this equation?” he eventually asked.

Bob hesitated. “I need you to drive me out there.”

John jumped to his feet. “Drive you out there. To Spokane?” he shouted, pointing west. They just stared at each other for a long time, waiting for the other to make a move. Eventually, John sat back down.

Bob slumped back into his chair and looked into his son’s eyes, pleading. “I need you to drive me out there, son. I’ll pay for the gas and eats…and everything,” he added as an afterthought.

John asked quietly. “What about plane tickets? A bus. As if it makes any difference!” he asked, thinking he’d buy the ticket.

Bob shrugged. “Over $700 for the airline. Round trip. $500 for the bus; but I wouldn’t get there in time. …Too many stops.

My luggage would probably get lost. And the train was…about $500 too.”

John snorted and looked at his dad for a long time. “Basically Dad, you come here twice a year; Christmas and Marci’s birthday. Than, all of a sudden, your old girlfriend dies and you want me to drive you clear to Washington so you can…can plant this old girl.”

Bob sat in silence. Eventually, he said softly, “I wish you would have a little more respect for her than that, John,” he said quietly.

Suddenly, John realized that this was more than a mere girlfriend to his father. He studied the old man for a long time, seeing a part of him that he’d never seen before. He actually had feelings for this woman who he had never heard of.

John leaned forward. “Let’s see. This is Tuesday. That’ll give us four days to get out there. That should be plenty of time, I think. Even if we leave tomorrow. Bob was shaking his head. John went on. I’ll have to tell Bonny I’d be gone a few days; maybe a week. She’ll see to it that my commitments were met.” He lurched back, throwing his hands in the air. “Hell, I might as well close down the whole goddam shop and give everybody the rest of the week off…with pay.”

Bob sat silent.

Suddenly, Judy rushed in. “What’s all this shouting about?”

John gave her a pathetic look. “Dad needs to get to Spokane”

“And what did I hear you say about closing the shop?” Judy asked angrily, her voice raising.

John nodded. “Just a week, maybe!”

“No!” Judy hissed. “No way! We can’t afford it. Spokane?.”

Bob deflated. He was doing fine until she came in. Then all of a sudden, the whole trip is off. He didn’t like Judy. She was always too domineering. John needed someone who would have said, “Honey, your dad needs you right now and you should drop whatever you’re doing and take him where he needs to go.”

“Why do you need to go to Spokane in such a big…frickin’ hurry?” she yelled. Suddenly, Bob realized she was talking to him.

“Judy, you don’t need to talk to him like that,” John said softly.

One look told John he’d better be quiet.

Bob swallowed hard. “April died,” he whispered. He couldn’t help it but a tear escaped and ran down his cheek. They both saw it.

With a look of utter shock, Judy put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God! Bob, I am sooo sorry.” When it comes to death, Judy is the softest, most sympathetic person in the whole world.

John snorted, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t even know who this April is, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t.”

She glanced at her husband. “It doesn’t matter. You should drop whatever you’re doing and take your dad out to Spokane.” She sniffled.

“He…he has to say good-bye.” Judy burst into tears, turned and ran from the room, leaving Bob and his son to sit in silence. Bob thought to himself. “I’ve always liked Judy.”

The trip begins.

John made a few telephone calls, packed a suitcase, kissy, kissy and it wasn’t long before they were on I-80; headed west.

Bob was excited as a kid at the carnival. Absently, he watched the scenery move by. Then he noticed how slow they were going and turned to John, frowning.

“Why’re ya driving so slow?”

“Because this is my car and I don’t drive 90 frogging miles an hour, thank you very much,” he shot back.

“Well, it seems to me son, that everybody’s passing us up.”

“Sooo! I’m not going to no fire like they are. I’m going to Spokane and I’m driving as fast as I want to go.” They were silent for awhile. “Don’t worry, dad. I’ll get you to Spokane in time for the services,” John said with certainty.

Silence.

“So!” John said, after awhile. “Tell me about…this April woman.”

Bob looked at his son for a moment, trying to determine how interested he really was. John turned to look back, his eyebrows raised.

“Well,” Bob said, “She’s an old girlfriend.”

“Duh!”

“And I loved her very much,” Bob admitted.

“This, dad,” he said, “is the first time in my life that I have ever heard you use the word…love.”

“Oh, horse’s patoot. I use that word all the time. ‘I love coffee; the TV. I love taters and gravy.’ I love lotsa things.”

“It just…surprises me, using it…talking about someone.” He mused awhile. “So, this was before mom, right?”

Bob snorted. “Of course it was long before your mother. I was seventeen and April was sixteen and we went to the same church. That’s where I met her…in church.”

John laughed. “You…church?”

Bob ignored him, remembering back to his youth. “God, she was beautiful. We…we just…matched, her and me. We belonged together.”

“Sexy?”

The old man scoffed. “Sexy doesn’t even begin to describe her.”

“Really!” John said.

“We’d meet at the movies. We’d sneak off and grab a coke.”

“Sneak?”

“Her parents, Stenen and Thelma didn’t like me very much. Thought I was too old for her. Anyway, one time when they had to go out of town, she called and wanted me to come over to their apartment.”

“While her parents were gone?” John asked, his voice raising.

“Yeah! So what’s the problem?”

“Well, it seems to me that back in those ancient times, stuff like that was forbidden,” John said, laughing. “You’re lucky you both didn’t get Biblically stoned to death.”

“Smart ass!” Bob muttered. “Anyway, one thing lead to another…”

He jerked around. “You didn’t! Dad! You nailed her?”

“What? You want me to draw you a picture or somethin’?”

“Hey! I’m a graphics designer. I love pictures.”

Bob nodded. “Well, it wasn’t long after that she just disappeared.” He sat, thinking back. “Just dropped out of sight. I’d call over there and her parents were as rude as hell. And they said they were going to call the police if I didn’t leave them alone.” Bob shook his head sadly. “I think they put her in another school. It…it just broke my heart, son.”

The miles went by in silence.

“And then?” John asked.

“And then I married your mother, she got pregnant, you were born, she died, I got old and here we are,” Bob said with some sarcasm.

“You didn’t…love mom, did you? Not like you loved this ‘April’.”

“I…I respected your mother,” Bob said.

“But you didn’t love her, did you?”

“No. Not like I loved April.”

John shook his head. “That is just too…too sad.”

“What! What’s the matter?” Bob asked.

“I’m not sure I like the things I’m hearing here. You know, I often wondered why you and mom wasn’t very close and that you didn’t,” he quoted with his fingers, “mourn when she died.”

“I’m sorry, son but it just wasn’t in me.”

John looked at him. “You’re sorry? You’re sorry? You know, I’ve never forgiven you for me not having a brother or sister,” he growled.

Again, they were silent for a long time.

“I didn’t know that,” Bob admitted.

“Well, it seems we’re finding out all kinds of stuff today, aren’t we?”

“You’re mad at me ‘cause Mary and I didn’t have any more kids?”

John spoke softly. “I grew up…a lonely kid, dad. You just don’t know.”

He pulled onto an exit ramp. “I’m tired. You’re gettin’ a motel.”

The passenger.

They had stopped for lunch just outside of Chicago at a fast food, ordered from the drive-tru window and was back on their way when Bob noticed a hitchhiker at the on ramp, holding a sign that read ‘West’.

“Let’s give this guy a lift, John.”

John scoffed. “I don’t pick up hitchhikers.” He drove on past him.

“But he’s goin’ west; we’re goin’ west and he don’t look too dangerous to me. Come on, John. Stop the car,” he insisted.

John pulled to the side of the road and watched the man in the rearview mirror. The hitchhiker turned to look but didn’t move.

“He’s just standing there. I guess he don’t want a ride. Oh well!”

Bob turned to look back. “Well, why don’t you back up?”

“You can’t back up a ramp, dad.”

“Well, honk your horn or something. I don’t know. I think it would be a good jester to help this guy. It might bring us good luck.”

Reluctantly, John gave the horn a short toot. “Yeah, he could be Jesus Christ. Who knows?”

The hitchhiker picked up his bag and slowly walked towards them.

“Take your sweet frickin’ time,” John said to the rearview mirror.

Bob grew impatient and opened his door and got out.

“Hop in the back there, young fella,” he said when the man arrived.

“Thanks,” the stranger said as he threw his bag in. He settled into the back seat and nodded at John who was frowning in the mirror.

Bob got back in and half turned around. “Better lock yourself in there partner ‘cause my son here is a pretty wild driver.”

John snorted and eased the car into motion.

They all rode in silence for a while.

Finally, Bob asked over his shoulder. “You don’t have a gun or any weapons, do ya?”

John exploded. “Goddammit, dad. He isn’t going to tell you he has a gun.”

“Well, I’m just tryin’ to make conversation.”

“I don’t have a gun,” came the reply from the back seat.

They ignored him.

“You’re…just tryin’ to make conversation by asking him if he has a gun? Oh, sweet Jesus!”

“I don’t have a gun,” the stranger insisted.

“See? See there?” Bob said. “He said he doesn’t have a gun.”

“And you believe him. He’s not going to tell you he’s packin’.”

“I don’t carry guns. I don’t like guns. I do have a pair of finger nail clippers here in my bag, though,” the hitchhiker admitted.

“See,” Bob said. “I told you he was okay.”

John turned to glower at his father.

Bob half turned again. “So, where are ya from?”

“Dad, we just picked him up outside of Chicago. I’ll bet he’s from around Chicago.” He glanced in the mirror. “Chicago?”

The stranger nodded. “Chicago.”

“Married?” Bod asked.

“Yeah!” came the curt reply from the back. “Are you?”

Bob glanced at John, frowning. “My wife died four years ago.”

There was a long silence.

“I’m…sorry I reminded you, really.” the man said with feeling.

“Well, you live, you die and life goes on,” Bob said. “By the way, my name’s Bob. Bob Finklestein.” He reached his hand over the seat.

The stranger took a hold of it with a firm grip. “Steven.”

“And this is my son, John.”

John glanced in the mirror and nodded.

Steven nodded back.

There was another long silence.

“So, Steven.” Bob began.

John moaned, shaking his head. “Oh, God!. Now what?”

“How long you been married? You got any youngin’s?”
Steven snickered. “I wouldn’t exactly call them…youngin’s.”

“Why not?” Bob asked.

“Because my oldest has been married over two years and they’re expecting their first child in just a few months.” He smiled to himself. “I’m gonna be a grandpa.”
“That’s great news,” Bob admitted. “I’m a grandpa, myself.”

“And my daughter is twenty five and is engaged.” He fell silent for a while, thinking about those things. “They’re out on their own now and pretty much have their own lives to live.”

“So, what do you do for a living?” John asked him.

“I work at a small print shop. Die-cut operator.”

That got John’s interest. “Really! What kind of press?”

Steven looked at John’s eyes in the mirror. He was surprised John would interested in the printing business. “A Husky.”
John actually smiled at the stranger in the mirror. “I’m a graphics designer. I own a little shop in Elizabeth and I’ve been thinking that I need to expand into the printing; die-cut business.”

“Wow! Small world, huh?” Steven said sarcastically.

The happy discovery.

Snow blocking Lookout Pass forced them to hole over in Missoula.

They got the all clear Friday morning so they began the last leg of their journey.

“Thanks for putting me up, Bob,” Steven said. “I mean it.”

“You’re welcome.” Bob said, wincing at the cost of the motel.

“I can’t afford fancy motels like that,” Steven admitted.

Bob scoffed. “Hell, I can’t either.”

“They don’t pay too good there at the print shop, huh Steven?” John asked.

Steven ignored him. “We should be in Spokane in about three hours.” He pulled a cell phone from the bag and began dialing. He waited. “Casey? Steven. Yeah, I’ll be there in about three hours. Yeah! Okay. I’ll meet you there. Okay. Bye-bye.” He folded it up.

“Casey?” Bob asked.

“My cousin Casey. She wants me to meet her at Hardies as soon as we get in, if you don’t mind. I hope it’s not out of the way.”

John maneuvered around the piles of snow in Hardies parking lot, trying to find the closest space next to the door. They went inside and ordered lunch. They found an empty booth towards the back and settled in. They pretty much ate in silence. Steven kept looking around for Casey. He smiled and stood up when she appeared. “Casey, over here.”

A very pretty, slender blonde joined them. She sat down and looked to Steven for introductions. When none came, she held out her hand to Bob. “Hi. I’m Casey Morris, Steven’s cousin!”

Steven laughed. “Hell, I’m sorry. This is Bob…Finklestein and this is his son John.”

A shocked expression came to Casey’s face. She held onto Bob’s hand, studying him. “Tell me, Steven. How’d you all meet up.”

Steven laughed. “I was thumbing on I-80 and they picked up just outside Chicago. Why?”

“And you don’t know who they are?” she asked.

“I’ve never met ‘em before in my life,” he said.

“Have you told them why you’re here?”

“No. I didn’t want to bother them with my problems.”

Casey was giggling. Her eyes glistened. “Tell Bob why you’ve come to Spokain, Robert Steven Frantz.”

Bob’s head shot around to look at Steven in shocked amazement.

“I’m here to bury my mother,” he said softly.

Bob couldn’t speak. He just sat there in silence, staring.

John asked. “April Mae Frantz?”

“Yeah! How the hell did you know that?” Steven asked suspiciously.

John reached into his dad’s shirt pocket and brought out the news clipping. It was the same obituary that Steven had seen in the Chicago Tribune about his mother. Word for word.

Casey pointed to the clipping. “I’m the one who ran this in both the Chicago Tribune and the Elizabeth Gazette. I was praying the notice would bring certain people together. I had no idea it would ever come to this; like arriving in the same car. It just couldn’t have worked out any better.”

“Dad cut this out of the paper back home,” John said. “And forced me to drive him out here for her services. I never pick up hitchhikers but he made me pick you up in Chicago.”

“Steven,” Casey giggled. “This is your father. Bob Finklestein. Your mother told me all about him years ago and swore me to secrecy. I…I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before.”

Everyone sat and stared at each other, absolutely speechless. Except for Casey; she was giddy with excitement.

“Oh my God!” John cried out with tears in his eyes. “I have a brother? I have a brother!” John reached and grabbed Stevens hand and shook it vigorously. “We’re…brothers.” Then his eyes narrowed. “I knew I didn’t like you the moment you got in the car.”

They all bust out laughing. Tears were flowing freely.

And life goes on.

If you liked this story and you feel the poor, old author deserves compensation in his retirement for this creation, please feel free to send $1.00 to Clem Mason, c/o Backwater Publishing. 66021-0213.

Please tell your friends where you found this web site.

Questions and comments are welcome. Thank you for your honesty and integrity.

(based on a true story)