Red Clover (23 page)

She gave him an affirmative head jerk and disappeared to the other end of the bar.

It didn’t take DeRam long to spot Lee. He approached him with his usual cop-like swagger even though he wasn’t wearing his uniform. Lee didn’t get up off his bar stool.

“So what keeps you comin’ back here, Winecrap?”

“The name is Winekoop.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I know.”

DeRam’s disgusting smile made Lee want to slap it right off his face.

“It’s a free country...at least the last time I looked.”

“You’re messin’ around where you shouldn’t be, karate boy.”

Lee shrugged. “I haven’t broken any laws. And you?”

DeRam lowered his voice. “Just make sure you know what business is yours to mind and what belongs to someone else, ya hear?”

“I’m sorry. Did you say something? It’s so loud in—”

The sheriff leaned in and whispered near Lee’s ear, “You heard me, smart ass.” His cheap cologne caused Lee to stifle a cough.

Lee watched him walk back to his group. Whatever DeRam said to the others caused two of them to slap him on his back. Lee cringed at the thought DeRam was bragging about bullying him.

After the party was over and the crowd at the bar had thinned out, CJ made her way over to Lee.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. Just some bullshit.”

“Why, Socrates, I’ve never heard you swear before.”

“He does that to me. Listen. I’m all moved in to my new place, and so is Shaneta, but that’s another story. We’re going to—”

“Get outta here. You and Shaneta?”

“Not that way, you ditz.”

“Ditz? Did you just call me a ditz?”

“Sorry. I got carried away.”

“Well, keep it up. It suits you.”

“Anyway, we’re going to throw a little housewarming party on Labor Day weekend, and I’d love it if you, Francine, and the boys could come.”

“Most definitely. Can we bring something?”

“Just yourselves. And just so you know, Shaneta is cooking a boatload of authentic Jamaican food.”

“A theme party, then. None of us has ever had Jamaican food.” She shot him a sidelong grin. “So what will your family eat?”

“They won’t be there. They always have a big Labor Day affair at the lake house on that weekend.”

“You’re not going?”

“Apparently I wasn’t invited.”

“Whoa.”

“Long story.”

* * *

Lee stopped by Earl Lundberg’s office the next day to ask him about building a small guesthouse on the property. Earl told him that he could probably start construction in November, and it would take about the same amount of time as the first house, maybe less if he didn’t go A-frame. They talked a bit about the costs, and then Lee said he would be back in touch with Earl about it.

His next stop was Rockford Coin and Stamp to get an appraisal on the coin collection he had inherited from “Uncle Nelson,” which was still in a safe deposit box in Chicago. He had seen it only once a few years back, at which time he had jotted down descriptions of some of the more interesting-looking coins.

Lee described what he thought he had to the owner of the store, who said he would be more than happy to appraise them, but due to the potentially high value of the collection, only if they met on neutral territory with a third party present. Lee called the Winekoop family attorney in Chicago and arranged for the three of them to meet at the bank the following week for the appraisal.

When Lee got home, he called Stonebugger’s secretary and asked her if she would ask Stonebugger if he had any issue with him constructing buildings on the property using his own funds, not from the trust fund. She said she’d get back to him.

The next week, Lee drove seventy miles to the First Chicago Bank, where the coin collection had been residing for the past twenty-seven years, to meet with the attorney and the Rockford coin expert. When the three had settled themselves at a large table in a private room, the appraiser tenderly opened the oversized lockbox containing Lee’s inheritance. He inspected each coin through a magnifying lens attached to his glasses, stuck a label with a number on each, and created a written inventory that included the coin’s shape, color, denomination, date, size, and inscription. He did this with amazing speed, picking up a coin with his left hand and hand-writing the information with his right, sometimes picking up the next coin before he had finished writing about the previous one.

When all was said and done, the inventory included 253 coins. The appraiser told them off the top of his head, it wouldn’t surprise him if Lee had a quarter of a million dollars worth of coins.

He went on to explain that he would provide Lee with estimates of market value and replacement value for each coin, as well as recent auction prices if available. He said he had no doubt that all the coins were authentic, but if Lee required certificates of authenticity, there would be an extra cost. When Lee asked him if he would consider buying some of the coins himself, he said that he would indeed and could give Lee a better price than a wholesaler.

Lee basked in the satisfaction he was feeling from being in control of his own actions. Determined to keep the ambiguity of his family situation from interfering with his newfound gratification, he vowed, at least for now, to avoid any communication with them.

Two weeks later, the coin appraisal arrived in a large box—one sheet for each coin. In his cover letter, the proprietor provided a tally of $315,900 for the whole lot, the most valuable coin being a 1943 bronze wheat penny with an estimated market value of $55,000. He also included a list of the coins he wished to buy from Lee and what he was willing to pay for them. His offer totaled $75,000.

“Thank you, father,” he said to the heavens. “You just paid for my guesthouse...and then some.”

* * *

In the days preceding Labor Day, Lee woke up every morning to the intoxicating aromas of Shaneta’s jerk-spiced chicken, ackee and saltfish, pilau, stewed peas, coco bread, banana fritters, and plantation tarts, as she prepared for the housewarming party.

On Labor Day morning, Lee dressed in a tie-dyed t-shirt Shaneta had made for him, khaki-colored linen pants, and a Panama hat. He went outside, and greeted by a warm sunny day, watched Shaneta decorate the patio with lanterns, bamboo torches, and red, yellow, and green streamers. She then placed bowls of bananas, mangos, and pineapples out on tables set with brightly colored paper tablecloths. The floral centerpiece, with a paper toucan nestled among the petals, was her finishing touch. To make his own contribution to the ambiance, Lee brought out a tape player and a recording of Jamaican folk music that he’d picked up at a local record store.

CJ, Francine, Wayne, and Travis arrived at noon, all sporting tropical shirts. One by one, gifts in hand, the other guests arrived, all the same people who had come to his Memorial Day barbecue, minus the Winekoops.

Once everyone had toured the new house, they all went out to the patio table where Shaneta had placed a half-hollowed-out coconut by each place setting, complete with a paper umbrella and hibiscus flower. Lee poured Jamaican punch into each one, spiked for those who wished to imbibe. The amount of food on the table would have easily fed twice the number of guests. Lee sat back and enjoyed the cheerful conversations while they passed the dishes around the table—conversations that differed considerably from the ones he’d overheard on Memorial Day…delightfully normal conversations.

At the end of the meal, Lee stood up and tapped a spoon on his water glass to get everyone’s attention. He thanked Shaneta for her contribution to the party and invited his guests to partake in a lively limbo contest. Afterwards, he said the girls could have their nails painted by an artist who would soon arrive and that there would be dessert and a gift-opening ceremony after that.

Just as the limbo contest was about to begin, Lee saw his brother Bennett emerge from the side of the house. Lee hadn’t spoken with him since their awkward run-in on the phone. His brother wasn’t smiling, and Lee’s first thought was that something had happened to their mother.

“Is everything okay?” he asked him.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. It looks like I picked a bad time to come see your new house,” Bennett said.

What’s he up to?

“No problem. You’ve met everyone here.” Lee gave him a puzzled look. “I would have thought you’d be at the lake house today for their big Labor Day party...with your family.”

“Can we talk in private for a minute? I won’t take you from your guests for long. I promise.”

“Okay.” Lee excused himself and led Bennett into the house.

Bennett didn’t waste any time getting to the purpose of his visit. “I’ll make this short. I’ve done a lot of thinking since we last spoke, and I have to tell you, well...I have to tell you that you were right. You were absolutely right.”

“About?”

“Me. I’m not connected with myself. I never
have
been. You said it perfectly that day on the phone—I’ve been more interested in what others think about me than I am in what I think about myself. It took me a while to come to that realization...even after you flung it in my face like you did.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Lee said.

“Don’t be. I’m certainly not.” He reached out for Lee’s hand. “Peace?”

They shook hands.

“Of course.”

They had never shaken hands before. Hadn’t ever touched each other before. Lee studied Bennett’s face. He hadn’t realized until now just how handsome a man he was—strong jaw line, dark wavy hair, warm green eyes, and one of those smiles that made you feel at ease.

“And that speech you gave Mother and Father after the picnic, when you told them you were your own person, not someone molded by their expectations...bravo. They needed to hear that. We all needed to hear that.”

“I was scared to death saying what I did.”

“You had courage to say what you did.”

“Thanks for saying that. Means a lot to me.”

“You mean a lot to me, and I really mean that.”

“So why aren’t you at Mother’s party?”

“I was. I feigned a headache so I could come over here.”

“And your family?”

He hesitated before speaking. “Daphne left me. And she took the children with her.”

“What?”

“She went back to Colorado to live with her parents.”

“What about you? What about your kids?”

“I have an attorney. We’re trying to work things out.”

Lee put his hand on Bennett’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. That really stinks.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I didn’t know you two were, well, having trouble.”

“I didn’t realize myself our marriage was in such trouble until I came home from work one day, and she and the kids were gone.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. No warning? No note?”

“Oh, there was a note all right. From her attorney.”

“Jesus. So she’s divorcing you?”

“Well, the letter was cleverly written. They’re suggesting no action will be taken for at least six months while we make an effort to work things out, but I think that’s just for show because when someone files under irreconcilable differences, the courts ask you what you’ve done to try to resolve the differences. They want to be able to say she spent six months trying to save the marriage.”

“Seems like such a ruse.”

“It is. Look, I’m going to leave now. You’ve got other guests. I just had to clear the air with you before any more time passed.”

“Why don’t you stay? We can talk more after everyone leaves.”

“No, I’ll get going. I’ll call you later this week.” He turned and headed for the door. After opening it, he turned back around. “Lee?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks for the wake-up call.” He left without waiting for a response.

Lee went back out to the yard where the limbo contest was in full swing. CJ’s boys, who had an unfair advantage being much closer to the ground than the men, were clearly going to be the winners.

Lee finished watching the game and then chatted with the men while the women had their nails painted with fanciful Jamaican designs. When that had been completed, he gathered everyone around him while he opened the presents.

He grabbed CJ’s gift first. It was a teenage mutant ninja turtle cookie jar that her boys had picked out.

From Francine, a cookbook,
The Joy of Cooking.
“I figured you didn’t know how to do much in the kitchen.”

From Earl Lundberg, his builder, a home fire extinguisher. “Looks like this goes right along with
The Joy of Cooking
, he said and then laughed loudly at his own joke.

From architect Dennis Freborg, a brass horseshoe, which Lee learned signified good luck in a new home.

From hardware store owner, Lenny Vinik, a starter toolbox. “I’ll explain what each one does later.”

From Dr. Rad and Adishree, three welcome mats—one for each door. “Thank you for making me feel so welcome, my friend.”

From Shaneta: A “Kiss the Cook” apron. “I may want to borrow this from time to time,” she teased.

As Lee was about to lift his glass of Jamaican punch to toast everyone, he heard the bark of a vaguely familiar voice.

“Lee Oliver Winekoop...you’re under arrest.”

When Lee looked up, he saw Bernard DeRam in his sheriff’s uniform accompanied by another officer.

“What?”

“You heard me.” DeRam walked over to Lee, holding up a pair of handcuffs.

“What for?”

“Illegal harvesting and possession of marijuana. Turn around.”

22 | A Brother’s Faith

Arrested for growing marijuana in front of all of his friends. It made no sense.

Lee struggled in the back seat of DeRam’s patrol car to find a position in which the handcuffs didn’t cut into his wrists. Convinced it was one of the sheriff’s sick scare tactics, Lee felt confident the ordeal would soon be over. But what if DeRam was capable of fabricating enough evidence to convince a judge or jury he was guilty? Then what? He’d be a convicted felon? He’d go to jail! And then what? He’d have a criminal record? The whole thing was overwhelming.