“June’s wonderful, and thank you for making the introduction. I love spending time with her, and she’s a great kid.”
Of course, I don’t allude to the fact that June’s dad and I have been engaged in heated lovemaking more times than I can count now, but it seems that Fred Walsh knows, judging from the twinkle in his eye.
“Good, good,” the old man says in a light tone. “I’m glad it worked out.”
Then, we continue to chat for a few more minutes about school and my future plans, and I’m hopelessly vague about everything.
“So are you excited to leave Sheridan come fall?” Mr. Walsh asks.
Just a few months ago, I would have nodded with excitement, but now I merely sip my lemonade slowly.
“Maybe, but I’ve also applied to some local schools including Evergreen Junior College and Sheridan Community College.”
Mr. Walsh cocks his head at me, his blue eyes curious.
“Is that so? I thought you were only applying to four year schools.”
I nod.
“I was, at first,” I say in a careful tone. “But I realized that I’d miss Sheridan if I went too far away, and so maybe I’ll stay local. I did apply to the University of Wyoming and Wyoming State, of course,” I add. “But I just wanted to give myself options.”
Mr. Walsh’s crafty eyes seem to read between the lines.
“I see,” he says in a light tone while folding his frail, blue-veined hands together. “Well, you’ll do fine wherever you end up, Natalie,” he says. Of course, I don’t add that I might not go anywhere, period, seeing that I’m about to have a baby in seven months or so. Instead, I merely smile like nothing’s wrong and reach for the book once more, flipping it open to the bookmarked page.
But before continuing, I hesitate a moment because maybe I should bring up the startling rumors that have been circulating about the two of us. But then I sneak another look at Fred and decide against it. The elderly man looks so tranquil in his wheelchair, with his eyes closed and face turned toward the sunlight streaming through the window. He’s just waiting for me to begin reading, and I don’t want to disturb the peace.
As a result, I turn to the tale again, and the story’s gripping. It’s about a family that escapes the Oklahoma Dust Bowl by migrating to California, and their trials and tribulations as migrant laborers in the Golden State. The story is both gripping, sympathetic, and enraging at once, and that credit goes to Steinbeck. He’s a master raconteur, and once again, I’m lost in the words as my voice rises and falls in a rhythmic cadence.
Suddenly, the door behind us slams open and before I can even look up, police officers swarm the room.
“Hey!” I gasp. “What’s going on?” To my horror, law enforcement is trying to manhandle Mr. Walsh out of his wheelchair. “What are you doing?” I scream. “He’s almost eighty for crying out loud! Stop, stop!”
Mr. Walsh seems just as surprised as a female officers picks him up bridal-style in her arms.
“Sir, you’re under arrest,” she begins to drone. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.” As the woman continues speaking, another officer slaps handcuffs on the old man’s wrists and he snaps into action.
“Call my sons,” he barks at me. “Then tell them to call my lawyers!”
With that, Mr. Walsh is carried out of the room and I look on with absolute horror as he’s manhandled into a waiting police car.
“What’s going on here?” his housekeeper gasps, rushing onto the lawn. “Hey, hey!”
Meanwhile, I’ve lost it. I run onto the lawn as well and begin screaming again.
“What are you doing? You can’t just take him to jail! He has a heart condition!” But my words are useless and the police vehicle with Mr. Walsh in the backseat speeds off. Tears are obscuring my vision now as the housekeeper and I turn to each other.
“What was that?” Mrs. Schmitz whispers in shock.
“I don’t know,” I sob. “They just came and carted him off!”
But then, a middle aged woman dressed in an ugly suit comes over and introduces herself.
“I’m Detective Lynn Harris,” she begins. “You are?”
“I’m Natalie Sherwood, and I’m reading to Mr. Walsh. What the hell happened here?”
She shoots me a thorough look while pursing her lips together.
“Miss Sherwood, is it? Well if you don’t mind, can we step into the house to talk? I have some questions.”
I nod numbly and we take seats in the sitting room that was just vacated.
“What is this about?” I ask in a trembling voice. “This is so fucking crazy! I read to Mr. Walsh every week through a program called Reading with Seniors, so this is insane! What did he do wrong?”
The detective nods while flipping through a small notebook.