The Second Half (28 page)

I
don't wanna get putty.” In the backseat, Jake had that lip out again.

“Too bad, sport. I'm not going to leave you out here in the car alone. Come along inside.” Ken unlatched the child seat restraints and swung Jake to the ground. “Besides, shopping in clothing stores is boring, but hardware stores are fun.”

Jake followed him into Cramer's Hardware, still pouting. “They're
not
fun. I don't wanna.” He raised his head. “I smell popcorn.”

“Yep. The store has a carnival-style popper, and they offer their customers free popcorn. I suppose they figure if you spend longer in the store eating popcorn, you'll buy more.”

Rather than search all the aisles with little grumpy-pants, Ken just asked an employee. Smiling, she led him directly to a shelf of various kinds of putty and wood fillers. He never ceased to be amazed at the arcane knowledge these salespeople had of every item in their store. Millions of items, if you count nails and screws.

Brian was right, overkill of choice. Ken was carving basswood, and here was basswood-colored repair putty, along with oak, maple, cedar, and mahogany putty, as well as a couple exotic wood names he didn't recognize. He got the small can, thought again, and got the larger one. If his life was going to go as it had been, he'd need a lot.

“Okay, Jake, let's get your aunt's furnace filters and…”

“Don't wanna get furnace filters!”

“…and then get a couple bags of popcorn.”

“Don't wanna get pop—” Jake paused and closed his mouth.

Ken already knew where the filters were; he bought many. He grabbed four one-inch twenty-by-twenties—two for Marit and two for him—tossed them in the shopping cart, and continued on to the gaudily painted popcorn maker. From inside the glass cabinet, Ken retrieved a bag and handed it to Jake, then got himself one. “Over here.” He led the way to the display of patio furniture and sat down in a surprisingly comfortable wrought iron patio chair.

Jake sat down in the chair beside his. “This is good.”

“I agree. They salt it well, and I think they put that artificial butter-flavored stuff on it. We just won't tell your aunt.” He waited a few moments. “Okay, Jake. What's this business about ‘I don't wanna' all the time? You don't even think before you say it.”

Jake glanced up at him, looking a little guilty, and shrugged. “I dunno.”

Ken figured he would say that, and no doubt it was the truth. A five-year-old has trouble articulating thoughts. “So what do you think about when you're not thinking about anything? For instance, when you're building with Legos, you're thinking about what you're doing and what you're going to do next. But like when you're riding along in the car, and there's not much going on?”

That shrug again. Jake carefully concentrated on his popcorn, so Ken gave him the time. Finally, “I guess mostly about Mommy and Daddy. I'm scared Mommy won't ever come home again. I'm hoping she'll miss us so much she'll come home and quit fighting with Daddy, and she won't yell at us anymore. But if she comes home, she'll go to the wrong house, in Texas where we don't live anymore.”

“Jake, that's pretty deep stuff. Think about anything else?”

“Daddy. Mostly Daddy. I'm scared Mellie's right. She thinks he's dead and he's never gonna come back. She's just saying she thinks he's alive because that's what you and Grammy want to think. She doesn't want to make you quit hoping, you know?”

“That's very thoughtful of her.”

“She loves you muchly.” Jakey looked up at Ken. “So do I.”

“And you already know Grammy and I love you as much as a kid can be loved.”

“Yeah, I know.” He had most of his popcorn gone already. “Can we stop for ice cream?”

“Isn't your tummy full?”

“The ice cream will melt down around the edges so it doesn't take up any space.”

This kid was going to be an engineer. Ken better start saving up for the tuition to MIT. It wasn't cheap.

They did indeed stop at the ice cream parlor for a single dip each. Ken ruminated on their conversation as they ate their ice cream and then drove home. No doubt Marit would say that Jake was handling the situation age appropriately, acting out his fear and anger. Ken would say the kid was wise beyond his years. Probably they both were right.

He would relate the whole afternoon to Mona tonight when the kids were in bed, so that she would know about Mellie's little subterfuge.

His shirt pocket began beeping. He pulled into a drugstore parking lot, checked the screen, and answered. “Hey, Sandy.”

“Gerald wants us to meet with his firm's attorneys. He just called. Tomorrow, eleven at their office.”

“Probably wants to give us the final bill. All right, see you there.” What more could happen now? From the tone of Sandy's voice, he felt this did not bode well.

The next morning in the conference room of the eminent law firm Ross, Vorstein, and Schumacher, Ken could not feel lower if he were lying facedown in the basement. Beside him, Sandy looked just as low. Across from them at the huge mahogany table sat Gerald and the senior partner in their law firm, Henning Ross.

Mr. Ross raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness and let them flop. “Since I'm mentoring Gerry, he brought your problem to me. I worked on it; the whole board ended up working on it. You might say it became a challenge for us, to find a way to reverse the university's executive board decisions. We could not find a remedy of any sort. Your university lawyers covered all the possible loopholes.”

“And my department—my former department—is now without any funding at all.”

“Save for a nickel here, a dime there, yes. Basically, it's dead. I begrudgingly give the devil his due; the university's legal staff is top-notch.”

“But they acted illegally!” Sandy exploded. “Surely we can sue or something.”

Mr. Ross drew a deep breath. “They acted clandestinely, but no closed meetings. They acted unethically but short of actually breaking any laws.”

Ken knew well that unethical and illegal are two different things. And if the whole board of Ross, Vorstein, and Schumacher, attorneys-at-law, could not find a way to change the situation, there almost certainly was no way. The bean counters and profit people had won. The department Ken had worked so hard his whole career to build was toppled. Permanently.

And there was nothing he could do to save it.

“I'm sorry, Ken. I am so sorry.” Sandy blew her nose.

“Don't be. You did everything humanly possible. Never apologize for doing your best.”

A faint smile whisked across Gerald's face. “How many times did I hear that!”

Ken smiled slightly himself. “It worked, didn't it?” He looked at Ross. “How much do we owe you?”

“Postage. Four dollars and eighty-seven cents.”

“No, I mean the whole bill. All of you did your best for us; those were billable hours.”

Mr. Ross dropped forward, elbows on the gorgeous table. “Dr. Sorenson, we hired Gerry here provisionally because he seemed, well, rather timid. Mild mannered. When you're defending in court, you cannot appear meek. But his education at Stone was the very best we've seen in a new hiree. He knows his stuff, and he can think quickly, inside or outside the box. And when he has to be forceful, he steps right up to the plate—excellent self-confidence, good presence. He attributes all that to you. You helped him get financing, you encouraged him, you built his self-esteem, you pushed him. This firm has a crackerjack employee who will soon become a junior partner, and it is because of your efforts.” Mr. Ross sat up straight. “It's the least this firm could do. I'm just sorry we couldn't do more.”

What could he say? “I'm grateful. Immensely grateful for all you did.”

Sandy spoke up. “You may not realize the gift you just gave us, Mr. Ross. The legal expenses were coming out of Ken's pocket, not the university's; naturally they would not financially support his crusade. I was going to try to help him with that. I thank you, too.”

The man smiled. “We rather thought that. Gerry told us the kind of person you are.” He stood up and extended his hand. “God's blessings on your retirement, Dr. Sorenson.”

Ken stood and shook. The man's hand was warm and firm. “Thank you. Blessings on you as well.” He reached for Gerald's hand. “You make me proud, young man. Thank you for all you did. Blessings on your career.”

Mr. Ross looked at his watch. “Eleven forty-five. Gerry, you might as well take these two to lunch. Put it on the company card.”

“Thank you, sir. My pleasure.” Gerald led the way out.

Ken's brain was mush. Less than mush. He was getting hit on all sides by too much of too much. Now this last door, open just far enough to admit a tiny glimmer of hope, had slammed shut. His academic life. His career. Everything he had cared about. Gone.

They rode the elevator in silence; they walked a long hall between oil paintings of beautiful landscapes in silence; they crossed the sumptuous atrium in silence.

“Where shall we eat?” Gerald asked as he pushed out the huge front doors.

Ken didn't want to eat. He didn't want to talk to anyone or make nice. “Not one of the food services at the university.”

“I agree. You know all the restaurants and cafés around here,” Sandy said. “You pick.”

“Let's go to the Boulangerie. It's in this next block, and they have lunches to die for.”

Oh, let's not!
Ken's heart screamed.

Shut up and cooperate!
his rational mind snapped back.

And a sudden realization almost stopped him in his tracks. This was not just sadness he was feeling; this was a moment of full-blown depression. He recognized the symptoms from Mona's bouts of depression. Ken Sorenson, ever the optimist, the guy who could see an answer to whatever problem needed answering, was in the throes of a genuine, debilitating depression.

And another realization burst in on him. This despondency and feeling of worthlessness was what Mona had dealt with and dreaded and fallen prey to her whole life. Although his head knew that her depression was an illness, an imbalance beyond her control, his heart had always thought of her spates of depression more or less as an inconvenience for them both. Not the devastating woe that would suddenly engulf her.

What could he do to make it up to her? Apologize? For what? Ignorance?

He would tell her about this revelation, of course. It certainly opened his eyes. Perhaps the best course was simply to ask her how he could help ease his burden and hers. His depression would run its course, probably; he was naturally rather ebullient. But hers had to be beaten into submission. Every time.

“Here we are.” Gerald held a door open for Sandy and Ken.

They entered a carefully manufactured mock-up of a Parisian sidewalk café, with recessed lighting and the kind of tables and chairs a person expects of a place like that. A smiling hostess in a beret led them to a cozy table in a corner. Frankly, all the tables in here were cozy or tried to be. Ken instantly disliked the place with its phony airs. He and Mona had dined in a real Paris sidewalk café. This wasn't it.

He sat down and a menu was plopped in front of him.
Wait.
Another thought grabbed him. Was his dislike of this café his actual opinion, or was it the depression intruding? Mona had once said that what she thought and what her depression dictated were different things, and often things she liked when she was “normal,” so to speak, did not appeal to her when she was depressed.

Now he could not even trust his own feelings.

A server came for their drink order, a slim fellow in a white shirt and a beret. Sandy requested herbal tea, so Ken said, “For me as well, please,” without really giving it any thought. He did know he had never cared for herbal teas. Did depression also lead you to make poor choices? He would ask his resident expert, Mona.

He read down the menu, but none of the words registered. And yes, he could read the French fluently. His inattention had to be something else. When the server returned, pencil in hand, he pointed at random to a selection and sat back.

Sandy asked, “How was your trip to Chicago?”

“Fell through. Jakey got sick.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Is he okay now?”

“He will be.”

That disappointment and all the others washed over him, a tsunami of negativity. He wanted to show the children Shedd Aquarium, with its centerpiece Caribbean reef, its amazing fish and jellies…Steig and Marit had loved Shedd. Ken wanted their children to know its wonders, and now that dream was shattered. And the Field Museum with its Tyrannosaurus Sue. And all the other things that delight and were now out of reach.

Their meals came. Sandy and Gerald enjoyed an easy camaraderie, but then, they had been in frequent contact during this whole ordeal. Ken ate what he had ordered, but it was virtually tasteless. Well, it wasn't, not really; more accurately, he had lost his taste for food. He recalled that during severe bouts of depression, Mona lost the desire to cook or eat out or anything.

He learned another thing: He really did not like herbal tea, not even with sugar in it. They used turbinado sugar here, crystalline brown stuff, not white, cheery
real
sugar.

Gerald and Sandy made light conversation. Ken moped.

Sandy frowned. She looked at her watch. “It's not still noon, is it? I'm afraid my watch stopped.”

Gerald glanced at his wrist. “Twelve twenty.”

“Oh, dear.” She stared at the cute little candle glass in the center of the table. “I have to get my hair done at one. I'm meeting Arch Tarkensen and a fellow from the University at Madison who's in town at the moment. Their School of Medicine and Public Health. Arch thinks I'm perfect for a position that just opened there.”