Tenure Track (15 page)

For lunch Lewis chose a chicken roll-up and salad, while Mandy selected a cheeseburger and curly fries. She had not yet reached the age at which her metabolism failed to keep up with her appetite. “So, I assume you’ll be spending the break with your mother and stepfather?” he asked once they sat at a small table.

“
Yeah, part of it,” she replied, swallowing a bite. “I’ll see Daddy on Saturday.”

“
Ah, so he does exist,” Lewis blurted out. “You don’t talk about him much.”

She gave him a defensive glare. “Well, you don’t talk about your dad, either.”

He realized this was true. He thought nothing of asking questions about her family, yet revealed little about his own. “Sorry if I’m out of line.”

“
No, I’m sorry. Daddy’s just kind of a weird topic,” she confessed.

Lewis looked at her sympathetically, but feared asking too much. Instead, he replied, “So’s mine. He’s dead.”

Mandy looked at him blankly. Thinking she was embarrassed to have asked, he quickly reassured, “No, it’s okay. My folks were both killed in a car wreck a few years ago. They liked to travel a lot, but Dad fell asleep at the wheel on a mountain curve and that was that. My brothers are scattered across the four winds.”

“
Your book jacket said you grew up in New Mexico,” she revealed.

Lewis was impressed that she had even looked at his book. “For awhile,” he confirmed. “My folks were kind of delayed hippies. They thought it was noble to live a vagabond life. Few possessions, lots of adventures.”

“
Like your brother,” she added, surprising him again.

“
You’re familiar with my baby brother, are you?” he smirked.

“
I’ve read a couple of his books. And his blog is wicked.” Lewis grimaced slightly.
So much for waiting to impress her with my famous relation.

“
How’d you know Donovan Bennett was my brother?” he asked.

“
Easy. I just Googled you.”
Damn that Internet!
“His blog doesn’t talk much about his family, but a few times he’s mentioned some things. I found a few other things on my own: Your parents were Tom and Ruth Burns, founders of Earth’s Best health food company. When you were kids your folks sold the company for a ton of money, then gave it all to charity and dropped out of society. Is it true you guys once lived in a shack with no indoor plumbing or TV?”

Lewis nodded in embarrassment as she continued. “That sucks. . . . Let’s see, home-schooled, traveled a lot, wound up in Canada, got your GED, then went back to New Mexico for college. Your folks died when you were at UNM, but you graduated Summa Cum Laude, then got a Ph.D. from Harvard.”

“
Your research is very thorough,” he complemented. “Only one fact-check correction: they didn’t give all their money away. They used one-fourth to establish the Burns Foundation and split the rest into trust funds for us boys. But yes, we never experienced the fruits of our parents’ wealth when they were living. They were ascetics by choice. We moved to New Mexico to help run the foundation’s first effort, an adult literacy program on a Navajo reservation. Once that was firmly established, it was onto greener pastures and new ventures.”

“
Your folks sound like free spirits,” she assessed. “Kinda like my daddy.”

“
Really?” he was surprised by the comparison, though the similarities seemed to make Mandy more comfortable talking about herself.

“
I was mostly raised by my Mammaw and Pappaw Evans,” she rambled on without ceasing. “My Momma and Daddy were just kids when they got knocked up with me. At least they got married, but only long enough to have me, then Daddy split, and I didn’t see him again until I was twelve. We lived with Mammaw and Pappaw on their farm while Momma commuted to college, then law school. She even left me with ‘em her first few years in practice. She was workin’ a lot, never woulda seen me.”

Mandy continued to talk about her deceased grandparents, whom she clearly adored. She and Lewis shared stories of rural life as he revealed embarrassing tales involving outhouses and she described helping raise chickens and goats.

“
Your grandparents sound like wonderful people,” Lewis surmised.

As they talked, Mandy’s face reflected the pain from the old man’s sudden stroke-induced death and her grandmother’s lost battle with breast cancer. Lewis sympathized, relating still-unresolved feelings about his parents’ sudden passing. Strangely enough, even though they were discussing death, both felt uplifted by the conversation.

“
So anyways,” she concluded, “I’m meetin’ Daddy at the farm this weekend. My grandparents left the place to me. Momma wanted to sell it after Mammaw died, but I wouldn’t let her.”

“
So you’re still a farmer!” he teased.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Nah! It’s more like a weekend place now. Since Momma remarried, they like to use it for hostin’ social events ‘n’ stuff. That way my stepdad can pretend he has a ranch, like Bush did, even though I really own the place. We put in a pool and have some guys take care of it durin’ the week. It’s nice. We’ll do Thanksgiving dinner there, then the folks are off on some lobbyist suck-up trip and Daddy’ll come over.”

“
Never the twain shall meet,” Lewis observed. “Your parents, I mean. You don’t have them together at the same time?”

“
Oh no!” she replied with emphasis. “It’d be a cold day in hell before Momma’d agree to that!”

“
So how did Dad come back into your life?” he pressed.

“
Well, after Momma got to be a hot shot lawyer, she tracked him down in state lock-up to hit him up for back child support. Somehow he got a loan to pay her off. The flip was that once he paid up, she had to let him see me if I wanted. I guess she thought I’d hate him, like her, but I didn’t. I mean, he screwed up, but he’s still my Daddy, ya know?”

Lewis nodded sympathetically.

Mandy continued, stirring her diet soda with a straw. “Yeah, well Momma didn’t get that. It really pissed her off. Daddy wrote me a letter ‘fore we met, apologizin’ for all the pain he’d caused us. He was in this rock band when he met Momma, thought he was gonna be famous, but then he spent more time doin’ drugs than playin’ guitar. Pretty soon he was just doin’ drugs. And sellin’ ‘em. That’s what he was in for, running a meth lab. He said he’d gotten saved in prison and was trying to make up for his past sins. So after he got paroled, he came to see me. He’s actually a pretty cool guy, kinda laid back biker dude. That what he does now—fixes up Harleys. He’s still in a band, too, plays honky-tonk clubs, mostly to make biker contacts.

It’s weird. I haven’t been around Daddy as long, but I feel closer to him than to Momma. We’re kind of like, friends, ya know? It’s not like with Pappaw, but, I don’t know, Daddy just
gets
me. Maybe it’s just that he’s the type who takes everybody as they come, ya know?”

Lewis sat rapt as she continued. “It’s funny. One time Mammaw heard me repeat somethin’ bad that Momma said about Daddy and she jumped all over me. I’ll never forget it.” Mandy mimicked the tone of the elderly farmer’s wife. “She told me, ‘Young lady, ya don’ always knows what’s goin’ on wit folks. Sometimes they’s jus’ havin’ a hard time handlin’ thangs in their life.’”

“
Wow,” responded Lewis. “That’s a pretty understanding attitude.”

“
Yeah,” Mandy agreed, wistfully, “but she was right, at least about Daddy. When I met him, he really, really seemed sorry for runnin’ out on us. And he’s been clean since prison. I’m actually kinda proud of him. I’m proud of both my folks, in a way. I mean, they both got over tough stuff to do better for themselves, right? Momma, she coulda just been another single mom with a high school diploma, gettin’ by on minimum wage or welfare. Instead, she worked her butt off to become this great lawyer.

Daddy coulda been just another druggie who kept messin’ up and gettin’ thrown back in jail, but he changed himself, ya know? He even works with a prison ministry to help other guys get straight. That’s pretty cool. Momma never knew it, but he came to the hospital to visit Mammaw a buncha times before she died. She really liked seein’ him. They prayed together a lot. So like, when Mammaw passed, I made sure Daddy came to the funeral. He bought a new tie and everything—he cleans up pretty nice. Dude, was Mom pissed! She was engaged by then, so she made a big point of showin’ off, ya know, like to say ‘Screw you! I found somebody better.’ I was so mad!”

“
How’d your Dad take it?”

“
Oh, Daddy was really cool, I think ‘cause he’s dealt with much worse crap. He mostly hung with me, tryin’ to make me feel better while Momma was dealin’ in her way.”

“
Sounds like your Mom has a lot of unresolved issues,” he noted. “At least that bad experience didn’t stop her from getting remarried, so she must not have been totally scarred by love.”

“
Well, I don’t know if I’d call her marriage for love. They have a . . . political marriage. I can say that, now that I’m a Gov major. Kind of a Bill ‘n’ Hillary thing. I mean, I think they really like and respect each other, but there’s no passion, ya know? I mean, I really can’t imagine them havin’ sex or nothin’, though I guess they do.” Mandy crinkled her nose, as if inhaling a putrid smell at the mental image of her mother and stepfather having marital relations.

“’
Sounds very empty,” Lewis observed, inwardly comparing the relationship she described to his own union.

“
Naw, I think it’s fine for them,” Mandy offered without judgment. “They both seem happy. At least they get what they want outta it. It’s just a different idea of marriage. More like . . . arranged marriages in old European political families, ya know? I think there’s a parallel.”

Lewis could see her college studies shaping Mandy’s ideas. “There you go,” he said, “you already have a subject for your senior thesis: an analysis of the modern political marriage.”

Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, yeah. Awesome. ‘Course, I don’t think Momma’d want me to mention her. Ya know what I think?” She lowered her voice, as if revealing a secret. “Ya know, they say there’s a fine line ‘tween love ‘n’ hate. I think part of her’ll always be in love with Daddy. That’s what she hates. He was the love of her life and broke her heart, but if she ever let her guard down, he’d still make her go all willy-nilly in the knees. It’s that good girl/bad boy thing. ‘Drives her nuts. My stepdad is safer; she can stay in control.”

The depth of her armchair analysis was interesting, and possibly accurate. “First love can be a powerful thing,” he agreed.

“
So who was your first love?” she asked, changing the subject.

He did not have to think long. “Oh, that would have to be Lorena Lapahie. She was a Navajo girl, with jet-black hair and the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen. ‘Gave me my first kiss when I was 10.” He smiled at the memory of that innocent, overly wet smack of tightly pursed lips briefly joined together one afternoon in Lorena’s front yard.

“
I don’t mean crushes,” Mandy pressed. “I mean real love.”

“
Mmm. . . . I guess that would be Jenny McAfee. I don’t know that you’d really call it love, I was only 16, but I certainly thought it was love at the time. ‘Broke my heart. Dumped me for a hockey player.” His smile faded with the more bittersweet recollection of teen infatuation, replete with the grand, hormonally driven passions of lust and heartache. He did not think any adult romantic experience could ever really reach the ecstatic heights or crushing lows of teen emotion.

“
So whatever happened to Jenny?” Mandy asked.

He shook his head. “Don’t know. That was in Canada. I don’t keep up with those friends very much. I see Lorena sometimes when I go back to the rez. She married a Navajo guy and still lives there, with four kids and lots of sheep. She runs the program my folks started; always invites me to dinner; makes the best mutton stew and fry bread. Mmmm. . . .” His mouth began to water at the thought of the tasty comfort food. In truth, he had no desire to keep in touch with Jenny, who had introduced him to the thrills of sex, but whom he had come to recognize as more shallow and self-centered than she was worth. Lorena, on the other hand, had proven to be a good friend even into adulthood.

Turning the question back to Mandy, he asked, “What about you? Who was your first love?”

Without pausing, she declared, “I haven’t found him yet.”

He was surprised. “You’ve never been in love?”

Mandy shook her head. She had dated quite a few boys, and slept with two, but could state with a clear head that she had never been in love with any of them. One thing she had learned from her mother was to never confuse infatuation with love. In that respect, she had remained her mother’s daughter, level-headed and in control when it came to matters of the heart.

“
I can honestly say I’ve never been in love,” Mandy confessed. “But I hope to be, someday. I’ve heard it’s worth the wait.”

Lewis marveled at how wise beyond her 19 years Amanda seemed. He knew he had not been close to that mature at 19.
Nor even,
he thought,
at 34.

The lunchtime conversation helped raise Lewis’s spirits somewhat, but he was still depressed. Rather than spend the holiday moping at home alone, he decided to accept the feast invitation with the Roardan-Straussman family. Dropping by a liquor store on the way home to buy a bottle of wine for the luncheon, he impulsively picked up an expensive bottle of scotch as well. He stayed up half the night drinking and watching violent action movies. At some point in the middle of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s third machine gun attack, he passed out on the sofa, covered by the blue afghan.