(This story started here.)
Sharon pointed at the huge wooden piling that blocked the U-town end of the bridge. It looked really old and weathered — even the multicolored paint that covered a lot of it was very faded.
“This is the barricade,” she said. “It was placed here, blocking the bridge, on the night of the founding of U-town. This was to stop the trucks and troop carriers that were coming over the bridge from the city.”
We helped each other climb up onto the barricade.
“Some people,” she said seriously, “say that the barricade was placed here to block the tanks, but that’s not true. I’ve seen the photographs — we studied them in school — and there were no tanks on that first night. The tanks came later. In fact–”
On an impulse, I pulled her to me and hugged her.
“Oh,” she said, and then she hugged me back.
“I’m very glad you invited me here,” I said.
“I didn’t know if you’d want to come,” she said. “For a whole weekend.”
That morning, after we’d established that, yes, I did in fact want to visit for the whole weekend, she’d opened her small suitcase and, between that and my school knapsack, we managed to pack enough clothes for me for the three days.
We climbed down from the barricade on the U-town side, and I asked, “How did they move this into place, on that first night? How many people did it take?”
She frowned. “I asked that question when I was in school, and the teacher just laughed and said that Vicki did it all by herself.”
“Vicki?”
“Vicki Wasserman. She was one of the founders. She’s the head of the government now, but she wasn’t originally.” She smiled. “Come on. I’ll show you around. Craig had to stay late at work, so dinner will be a little late anyway.”
“That coffee wasn’t very good, I take it.” Mr. Bostwick said, leaning forward in his wheelchair.
He and I were alone in the living room, with the door to the kitchen closed, so I nodded and said, very quietly, “It was pretty bad.”
He smiled. “I won’t tell them. They only made it because Sharon has said that you like it. They don’t drink it, or at least the boys don’t, and I can’t anymore. I was prepared to envy you the flavor, but then I saw your expression — which I know you were trying to hide — and then I didn’t mind so much.”
This conversation (or interview — at least that’s what it felt like) had obviously been prearranged. After dinner, Mr Bostwick had asked me to wheel him into the living room, and to close the door behind us. Sharon and her brothers had said that they would clean up the kitchen and do the dishes.
“What is your name?” he asked.
I hesitated, since we had been introduced.
He smiled, slightly. “You were not born named Michael.”
“Margo,” I said, my throat dry.
He shook his head. “That was probably inappropriate. I’m sorry, and I won’t mention it again.”
He leaned back in his wheelchair. “I should explain something, Michael. I first met the Golden quite a few years ago. They had…” He noted my expression. “That’s what people around here call them. The Golden. They were much younger then — by appearance around ten years old — and they had arrived here with no money and no possessions other than the clothes on their backs. They might even have stolen the clothes; I never asked.
“We got together by mutual interest. They needed food and shelter, and I had this house and a small income. I needed help around the house after I lost the use of my legs, and I certainly couldn’t have afforded to hire somebody. So they moved in. They learned how to cook and how to fix things around the house, and I insisted that they go to school.
“School was a bumpy experience for them at first, but they had each other, and they really like to learn. I had a new will drawn up to leave this house and my little money to them when I died. I’m sorry I’m going on and on, but it’s important that you understand how I feel about them.”
He sighed. “This is perhaps inappropriate to say, but at my age I don’t care. They are far more important to me than my own children. And I cannot describe how grateful I am to them — the Golden — for saving me from having to go live with my daughter.
“But then the unexpected happened, as it usually does, and I have continued to live, decrepit and feeble and well into my nineties. I had assumed, and maybe even hoped, that I would die with at least a little money left, but the money is gone. The Golden had wanted to go to college, but instead Will and Craig got jobs and Sharon went to college by herself. And every night after dinner, or at least every night Sharon is here, they sit around the kitchen table and review what she learned that day.
“I had assumed that Sharon would not be popular at school — she is very odd, as I’m sure you’ve noticed — and for a while she had no friends. But then, very suddenly, she had a boyfriend and she was staying with him two or three nights a week.” He spread his hands wide. “You can understand why I was concerned. I imagined that some young Lothario had seen how lonely and inexperienced she was, and… Well, she is, if you have unconventional tastes, quite attractive.
“Having met you now, I see that you’re not the… Well, you’re not what I was afraid of.” I felt myself blushing. “You can understand my concern, I hope.”
I nodded. “I had worried about something like this… today, but I thought I would be getting it from her brothers.”
He laughed. “Well, you see how out of character that would have been. It does not occur to them, I think, that boys and girls are supposed to be different.”
“Sharon told me about her–“
He read my expression and we said the word “beard” at the same time, laughing, and for the first time I started to relax.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I didn’t say anything about that. Sometimes I try to intervene, but with that one I confess that I couldn’t resist just letting it play itself out.” He got serious again. “I did try to step in when they decided that Sharon would be the one to go to college. I thought it would be better if one of the boys… But she got a better scholarship offer, so that decided it.”
He smiled wryly and leaned forward, extending his hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Michael.”
For someone so decrepit and feeble, his grip was firm.
