Page 39 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
Barbara had gotten my dinner out of the oven and set it on the table. “Sit down and eat your supper.”
“Well, just don’t put that onmycredit card,” Nana Cole said, meaning the groomer. I intended to do just that. Then to her friends, she added, “Samuel would just spit. Taking a dog to a beauty parlor.”
Samuel was my grandfather. She didn’t talk about him often. Dinner was an overcooked pork chop, mashed potatoes and peas. Its time in the oven hadn’t helped it. I didn’t care though, it was still better than what I could cook for myself and I hadn’t had to lift a finger.
After my first bite, I asked, “Bobbie LaCross has a son. Do any of you know his name?”
“Of course, we know his name,” Nana Cole said but didn’t offer it.
“Hal Buckwald,” Barbara supplied. “He does odd jobs.”
“Whatever happened to his father?” Bev asked.
“He was from the UP,” Barbara said. “He wasn’t here long. Too citified.”
“This? This is too citified?” I said, somewhat appalled.
“You’ve never been to the UP, have you?”
I shook my head. “And, clearly, I don’t want to go.”
“It’s beautiful up there,” Bev said. “You really should see it.”
“More trees than people,” I guessed.
“Oh, by quite a margin.”
“Any idea why Hal was estranged from his mother?”
“They weren’t estranged. They just didn’t get along,” Barbara said.
“Um, actually?—”
“We don’t really know what goes on between a parent and a child,” my grandmother said. “We shouldn’t judge.”
“Excuse me?” I said, judging was Nana Cole’s primary form of exercise.
“Well, Bobbie wasn’t a very good mother,” Bev said. “I don’t think I’m being judgmental when I say that. Her primary interests were men, alcohol and drugs. Usually in combination. That has to be rough on a child.”
“It is,” I said, bringing conversation to a halt. There they were again, the similarities between Bobbie and my mother were apparent. Well, the men part definitely, alcohol periodically, and drugs, well, there she was an amateur. I was the professional in the family. Oh God… That felt like something I should talk about at a meeting.
Nah. Probably not.
To break the silence, I said to Bev, “Isn’t your arm getting tired? If she’s asleep you can probably get her into the car seat, and she won’t even notice.”
“Oh, I’m fine. My nephews are thirty-three and thirty-five. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent this much time with a baby.”
Barbara grimaced a tiny bit. It had probably been twenty-some years since she’d held her dead grandson in her arms. She had to be thinking that. I certainly was.
Despite her protests, I took Emerald from Bev and gingerly tried to get her into the car seat. Of course, she woke up and began fussing almost immediately.
“We can set her up on the sofa,” Nana Cole said, referring to the elaborate arranging of pillows we’d devised so she didn’t fall off.
“I have to go to Main Street Café.”
“You’re taking the baby to a bar?”
“Well, I’m not leaving her alone with you.”
