After a few more lifts, I flipped him upside down and carried him into the kitchen, holding him up by his feet. "Look what I caught! I think he's kind of small. Should I throw him back?" I held him out towards his mother.
"Put me down! Put me down!"
"I don't want him!", she said, snorting and smiling.
I turned towards Marilyn. "Here, you take one leg and let's make a wish!"
Marilyn laughed and grabbed one of Michael's legs, as he kept yelling for me to let him go. Eventually the noise level got too loud and Mrs. Lefleur told us to put him down. I slowly dropped him to the floor, and let him loose. Michael scampered away, but only after asking me to pick him up again. Mrs. Lefleur shooed him out of the kitchen, and then turned to face us.
"Mom, I'd like you to meet Carl Buckman."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lefleur." I held my hand out and she gave it a solid shake.
Harriet Lefleur did everything solidly, because she was a very solid woman. A large woman. A hefty woman. She was also a short woman. Marilyn was only 5'4" tall, but she was at least an inch taller than her mother. Harriet wasn't quite as wide as she was tall, but seemed to be approaching that size. She was a good person, and a nice person, but a very unattractive person. When I first met her, I thought it was because the stress of having ten kids had taken a toll on her body, but then I saw the wedding pictures, back when she was nineteen. That was when I realized she hadn't just been hit by the ugly stick, somebody had smacked her with the entire damned tree! She was from some tiny village north of Plattsburgh up by the Canadian border, and all I could think of her husband, also from the same small village, was that there must have been some mighty slim pickings on the frontier!
It was then that Big Bob Lefleur came in, through a side door to the kitchen. Big Bob's nickname was tongue in cheek and given to him by his kids, like calling a bald guy 'Curley' or a tall guy 'Shorty'. Big Bob was anything but big. He was only about 5'9', maybe, and slim. He was one of the most incredibly depressing people ever put on the planet, with a perpetual hangdog look, permanently slumped shoulders, and an ever present sense of foreboding. We used to say that when things were bad, he would be worried they would stay bad, and when things were good, he would be worried they were about to go bad. He would ultimately be diagnosed both as depressed and bipolar, a hell of a combination.
On the other hand, Big Bob really got his nickname because he thought big thoughts! He was an absolute dynamo in his business. He came up with a dozen ideas a day; eleven would be totally off the wall and useless, but the twelfth? That twelfth idea might actually make you some money!
He was an incredibly complex guy. He had grown up much like my father, in a Depression era farmhouse without electricity or water, but unlike my Dad, had dropped out of school at 16 to get a job. He had never graduated high school, but still managed to build the largest trailer dealership in New York. Harriet wasn't much different, but she had at least gotten through high school. They married when they were 19, and started having kids at 20, and never stopped. They were also the purest form of white trash I had ever seen! Christmas lights were kept up all year long. Have you ever wondered who buys those singing fish on plaques you see on late night television commercials? They didn't buy just one! They bought them for family and friends! Forget about going to Vegas or Europe or Florida for a vacation - send them to Dollywood!
Lest anyone think I didn't like them, that really wasn't the case. We had absolutely nothing in common save their daughter. However, they had many fine qualities. They were absolutely scrupulously honest, and treated their customers far better than the industry average. While I had my differences in how they raised their kids, I had to admit they did a fantastic job - 13 children all married off and gainfully employed, with no drug or alcohol problems and nobody ever in jail. They were deeply involved in their church and donated heavily to it.
They could also be said to be mean spirited at times, treating family worse than the employees. They had absolutely zero interests outside of the Catholic Church and the family. They certainly considered me to be a burden inflicted on them by God, despite my ace record in sales and management for them, and somehow got the idea I was a drunk and couldn't hold a job. Again, very complex people, and I spent far more time with them than my own family. I worked for them 14 years before Marilyn and I bought a piece of the pie, along with some of her siblings.
I liked them, but I wasn't planning on a repeat of my previous history with them. Once was quite sufficient.
Big Bob came in and saw me, and Marilyn introduced me to her father. I shook his hand and he mumbled something to me, and then he kissed Harriet. Then he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and headed out of the room, not saying anything to either Marilyn or me. I glanced at Marilyn curiously, but she just smiled. That was a good greeting, as I recalled.
Marilyn sat down on a bar stool at the kitchen island, so I sat down next to her. It was surprisingly quiet in the house, although I suppose that is a relative term when there are ten kids around. Michael kept running through, and Harriet kept shooing him out. A little girl, Ruth, about two or so, wandered through and Marilyn had to change her diaper, but as soon as that was done, she wandered away again. The newest addition, maybe a month or two old, was Peter, and he was sleeping and rocking in a little baby chair gizmo on the end of the counter. Otherwise, that was it. None of Marilyn's other brothers were around.
Harriet wasn't making dinner, since it was Friday. This was always pizza night, for decades! It was a good thing, too, since I was not looking forward to dining there otherwise. Marilyn was without question the worst cook in the world, but she came by it honestly. Her mother was the second worst cook in the world. I always found it significant that every single one of the kids found a spouse (even the girls) who was a massively better cook than what they grew up with. Partly this was because of Big Bob, whose taste buds must have been surgically removed as a child. Salt and pepper were exotic foreign spices. Worse, all meats had to be cooked thoroughly. Forget rare, even well done wasn't well done enough! If it was at all moist and flavorful, that simply meant it needed to be cooked some more, to make sure it was thoroughly cooked. I planned to take Marilyn to dinner on Saturday night, and make sure I departed on Sunday before supper.
The quiet was short lived. By about five-thirty teenage boys started filing into the kitchen, to be surprised by the new face sitting there. Part of Marilyn's problem was that after she came along, there were seven boys, all of whom she was expected to help take care of, since she was a girl. By now she was treated as the second mother, only without the respect that their real mother got. Most of the boys treated her like furniture. Then again, in a lot of ways, it was way better than my family, even on the last go-around. Like I said, I generally preferred her family's company to mine. Two boys were given some cash and sent out to pick up the pizzas. Here's the list of family members:
Marilyn, my beloved, just turned 19 over the summer. Yes, she was actually older than I was, by a few months. I never let her forget this, that she was an older woman. It made my birthdays so much easier.
Matthew - 18, just out of high school and driving a truck for Lefleur. He was a pretty good guy, cranky as hell at times, but a good friend. He and Marilyn basically bracketed me in age.
Mark - 17, senior at Notre Dame. Very smart, he ended up going into sales for Lefleur. He had arrogance by the bucket load! He made me look humble. He rose to be Number 2 in the firm, and when Big Bob didn't name him boss in the mid-90s, he took his marbles and went home. He quit and bought a dealership 60 miles away and went into business for himself. There was a huge amount of bad blood over that! Good businessman, and a good person, but not on Marilyn's or my list of good friends.