“He said he had to leave town. He made it sound like it was temporary. Little did I know.”
“Did you ever get up to Swann’s Flat?” I asked.
“God, no. Good riddance, as far as I’m concerned.”
“What about Beau? How’d he end up there?”
“That came later. I remarried in 2002. Beau wasn’t happy about it, and it got worse once I had Ashley. He was so jealous of that child. I thought it was nuts. What’s there to be jealous of? She’s a baby, you’re a teenager. It got to be unbearable. He and Colin were at each other’s throats, day and night. I was worried they’d kill each other. After high school he announced he was going to live with his father. I begged him not to. He was so smart, he had good grades. He could have gone to college. But Colin convinced me not to fight it. He said it was healthy to give Beau some space. I should’ve trusted my instincts.”
I remembered Beau’s story — horseshit, I now realized — about shooting a mountain lion.
How old were you?
Ten or eleven... I basically lived out here as a kid.
“Are you in touch with him?” I asked.
“Not really. Colin died three years ago, and I moved here to be near my daughter. She goes to Mills. Some part of me thought, Oh, you’ll be closer to Beau, too. It hasn’t worked out, though. He calls on my birthday. But we don’t see each other.”
Jack brought her drink, hesitating when he saw her remote expression.
She smiled and said, “Thanks, as always.”
“Ma’am.”
He left the glass and took the empty.
Kathleen picked up the celery, stirred. “I’ve tried to make my peace with it. But it’s hard.”
I nodded.
“He was a beautiful boy. For the longest time, we were on our own together, me and him, two of us against the world. We didn’t have any money but we had fun. We liked to go camping on the beach. We did that all the time.”
“A child of the land.”
“Come again?”
“That’s how Emil described you. ‘She was a child of the land, and a child of the land she begat.’ ”
“Somebody shoulda glued his lips shut years ago.”
I laughed.
“He’s not wrong, though,” she said. “That’s one thing about Emil. There’s enough truth in what he says that it makes you question yourself.” She sipped. “At any rate. I’d like to think Beau knows that he can come to me if he needs. I’ll always be his mother.”
A tear escaped. She grabbed at her napkin to dab it away.
“When I do speak to him,” she said, “it’s Emil I hear.”
Back at my office, Clay Gardner had an email waiting in his inbox. The sender had a Hotmail address. Mistaking it for spam, I almost deleted it before noticing the first line.
Dear Mr Gardner
My name is Al Bock. I would like to talk to you. Call me at your earliest convenience. I dont have a computer so its better if you call.
His number followed.
PS sorry again about your car
Chapter 19
“Did you get the check?” he asked.
“I did, thanks.”
“Don’t know if that’ll cover it. You can also send me the bill once it’s fixed.”
“I appreciate it. How’d you email me, if you don’t have a computer?”
“Library in Millburg has ’em.”
“You drove all the way there to get in touch with me.”
“I was going anyway. But you deserve the courtesy, after the scare I gave you.”
“What’s life without a little excitement?”
“Nice and quiet, is what. Let me save you some time, son: I’m not selling. To you or anyone else.”
“The property’s listed.”
“As a public service,” he said. “I want folks to understand what they’re getting into.”
“What are they getting into?”
“A mess. Take it from me: You don’t want none of it.”
I said, “Mr. Bock, since you’re being frank with me, I’m going to do the same. I’m not interested in buying your house. I’m trying to understand how things work in Swann’s Flat. I think you’re the person I’ve been waiting for. And if I’m reading you right, I’m the person you’ve been waiting for.”
He said, “About damn time.”
Like a lot of people with festering grievances, Al Bock was eager to talk.
“In 1997, I was stationed at the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center in Twentynine Palms, California. I saw a notice up on the board. Land for sale. There was pictures of the beach. It looked like a goddamn painting. I called the number and spoke to this fellow who gave me a song and dance. ‘Act fast, they’re going like hotcakes.’ Fourteen thousand and four hundred dollars for a quarter-acre lot.”
“Do you remember the salesman’s name?”
“I most certainly do. Bill Arenhold.”
“Must’ve been a very persuasive conversation.”
“I was ready to be persuaded. That was where my head was at. My marriage just ended. I was staring into the future and seeing question marks. Arenhold — he sent me a buncha charts, showing how much money I stood to make. I know I sound like a damn fool.”
“No.”
“I was a damn fool. Didn’t know my ass from my elbow. They teach you a lot of things in the military, but common sense about money ain’t one of them.”
In 2002, after twenty-six years of service, Bock retired.
“I was supposed to leave before that, but after nine eleven I stayed on a while.”
The cost of living in the real world came as a rude awakening. He had his pension, but the divorce and the down payment had eaten up most of his savings. He spent some time in the private sector, scrimping, rebuilding his nest egg.
“Doing what?” I asked.
“Training law enforcement. I taught marksmanship. I did that most of my career.”
“You weren’t trying to hit me, were you.”
“If I was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
To raise cash, Bock put the Swann’s Flat property on the market, expecting a quick sale.
No one wanted it.
“And I mean no one,” he said. “It sat there. I called Arenhold. ‘You promised it’ll be worth ten times what I paid.’ He starts yammering on, the economy, blah blah blah. He says, ‘Lemme see what I can do.’ Soon I get a call from this other guy, says he’s a corporate acquisitions specialist. Whatever the hell that is. He offers me seven hundred bucks, take it or leave it.”
“You didn’t take it.”
“Hell no. I told him where to stick it, then called Arenhold and told him I was gonna sue his pecker off. He hung up on me. Stopped taking my calls. I think he figured I’d give up.”
“Most people do,” I said. “That’s their business model.”
“They never met me.”
Life had handed Al Bock a shit sandwich. He decided to turn it into a tasty lunch.
“My plan was to build and flip. To keep the cost down I did it myself.”
“You were the GC.”
“No, sir. I mean myself.”
“You built that house?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Alone.”
“I had a guy helping me for about a minute. But yeah, me and Godzilla. My puppy.”
“I think I met him when I was there.”
“No, sir. You met King Kong. Godzilla passed, rest his soul.”
“Did you have construction experience?”
“None. I was reading library books, making it up as I went along. I bought a little run-down chain saw mill and used what was available for timber. Anything else I had to bring in, by boat or truck.”