Chapter 8

My last Monday of working that summer and I was fired up. I was also feeling pretty good. Vince’s prescription for dealing with two-a-day workouts had definitely done the trick for me. Art picked me up and we drove to pick up Manny and Emilio at the nursery.

“It’s my last week, Art.”

“I know that, Amigo. I bet you’re ready to take a break.”

“How are you guys going to manage without me?” I asked, laughing.

“You’re joking but it’s not a joke. You’ve done well. It’s hard to get good help, you know, people that will work hard.”

“Oh. So, it will be difficult?” I asked.

“No,” he said as we got out of the truck. “We’ll just have Manny pick up the slack.” Okay, now who was joking? I hadn’t really thought about it. I was trying not to be a liability. Instead, I was an asset. I don’t know why that was surprising to me but it was.

We picked up a trailer full of mulch and a couple of plants and Emilio and Manny climbed in.

“You two have an easy week ahead of you,” Art said. “Jack said he could do the work of three men,” and they laughed and thanked me.

The forecast for the week was perfect. Unless something came up, I’d have enough to pay off the ring by the end of the week. Sweet. Our first house that morning had a new pond in the backyard. We walked around to inspect it. Mr. Richardson had put in a liner, and a pump, and had started decorating around the edges. He came out to greet us.

“No fish yet. I’m supposed to let the water adjust for a week first.”

“You’re happy with it?” Art asked.

“It’s just what my wife wanted. Yup. Is it too late to trim the azaleas?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t,” I said, and the other guys looked at me, a bit surprised. I hadn’t given advice to a homeowner before. They waited. “You need to catch them within three weeks of their last bloom in early spring. If you cut this late, you won’t get many flowers next year.”

Mr. Richardson looked at Art. Art nodded in agreement. “Well, I guess we’ll wait then. I’ll get out of your hair and let you work.”

And that’s when the ribbing began. They asked for my advice on everything. Later that day, we were at lunch and Manny asked me if it was a good time to go to the bathroom. I told him I’d wait until Spring. It was non-stop but it was funny. Fortunately, it only lasted the rest of the week. Sometimes, I joked back with almost unintelligible Spanish, making them cringe at how bad I could be when I tried. Truthfully, it didn’t take much effort to be bad.

Franklin showed up early Tuesday evening and we drove to a kung fu school up Highway 61 in West Ashley. We pulled into the parking lot of a much smaller school than the one we’d been to before. “We can’t learn much from the parking lot,” Franklin said.

“If this looks good, are you really interested? Would you take lessons, too?”

“I might. I had fun boxing the other day. Mink’s is pretty far away by comparison. Let’s find out.”

We went inside and were immediately greeted by a young boy. He pointed us to a row of seats and said he would tell Sifu Chen we were there. We thanked him and sat. He bowed and disappeared around a corner. A couple of moments later Sifu Chen greeted us. He was almost as tall as me and probably forty but it was really hard for me to guess. He had on lightweight black pants, a shirt with funky buttons, and a gold sash. We stood when he approached.

“I’m Feng Chen,” he said in perfect English. I’d expected an accent. “My students call me Sifu Chen. Welcome to our academy. Our class starts soon. Would you like to watch?”

I liked him immediately and I couldn’t explain why. I guess he just seemed friendly. We followed him into the next room and took seats. When he started class, there were no warm-up exercises. The students had already done that on their own. Instead, they began with stances and footwork, then moved into a series of hand movements. They paired up and practiced this strange hand game. It almost looked like they were wrestling but with just their hands.

Sifu Chen told them a few things they should work on and congratulated someone on a new baby. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. No one got hit. Interesting. A couple different conversations started and Sifu Chen walked over to us.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s different,” I said, stating the obvious, at least to me.

“What did you see?”

“I saw a bunch of arm wrestling. I don’t know how to describe it. What is that? What is it for?”

“Chi sao. In English, it is called sticky hands. There are many styles of kung fu. Wing chun is known for being a close style. Other styles prefer to use long-range kicks. We kick too, but our focus is more on control.”

“Is it practical?”

“Ah, yes,” he said, smiling. “You are skeptical, though. That’s good. Would you like to see?”

I looked at Franklin and he put his hands up in surrender. I knew that look. It’s all yours, Buddy.

“Sure,” I said, really curious how sticky hands could be used to defend yourself.

“Come with me,” he said and I followed him onto the workout area. “Let’s see your hands,” he said and I held them out. It was a little weird, but he seemed to be studying me. “You’ve been working. Very strong. Very lean. Limber?” he asked.

“I’m not sure how I would measure that.” He nodded, then folded my hand into a fist, then looked at my knuckles.

“Good. Do you have any injuries or health issues?” I shook my head. “Good. I’ll show you sticky hands. Punch me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, a little surprised by his challenge.

“If you hurt me, I will take lessons from you,” he said, almost but not quite laughing.

“Punch you? Like, in the face?” He nodded, so I punched him in the face. Except that I didn’t. One minute, I was throwing a punch and the next minute, I was looking up at the ceiling. He was holding me up so that I didn’t land hard on my back. He was looking down at me, smiling.

“Try again. You can do better.” He helped me up. I looked over at Franklin who was trying not to laugh.

I got into a boxing stance and began to circle. He smiled at that. If he wanted me to try to punch him, I was going to give it my best shot instead of fooling around. I looked for any kind of clues but he didn’t give anything away. I threw a jab, and he slipped it. He didn’t blink, either. I kept circling, threw a couple more jabs that he easily slipped, then moved in closer and tried to connect with my right. There I was, looking up at the ceiling again.

He helped me back up. He hadn’t hit me. He hadn’t hurt me. “How?” I asked.

“Sticky hands,” he said with a smile. “Who taught you to box?”

“Show me what you did,” I said. I wanted to know so bad.

“Yes, yes. But first, who taught you to box?” he asked.

I realized I didn’t know Timex’s real name. “I learned at Mink’s.”

“Of course, but who taught you?”

“Timex.” He laughed, but it was a friendly laugh. “Do you know him?” I asked, surprised.

“Oh, yes. He is a good boxer. Very good.” He saw the confusion on my face. “We are old friends. It is a long story. Perhaps another time. When you see him, tell him Seiko says, ‘hey.’”

“Seiko?”

“Seiko is a very good watch, like Timex. But it is Japanese, not Chinese, like me. It is our joke. Also, I don’t say, ‘hey’ to anyone else. Also, our joke.”

I was as mystified as when he first told me he knew Timex but I figured that’s all I was going to get. “I’ll tell him. But, how did you do what you did?”

He took me through it, step by step. Sticky hands is designed to adjust to your opponent’s pressure. Once he made contact with my forearm, his hands never left me. He guided my force past him, took a small step behind me, and readjusted my balance. That’s the way he explained it. He was super-fast, but when he walked me through it in slow motion, it made sense.

“Can any of your students do that? Can they all do that?”

“No, no. Takes a long time. Western boxing is very good if the right person knows how.”

“I want to be better able to defend myself. I don’t want someone to sticky hand me,” I said and Franklin joined us on the mat. “How many people can do that?”

“Very many, but not here. Maybe only a few here. Watch,” he said and moved into a fighting stance. He showed me that in boxing, you didn’t have to defend against anything that went against the rules of boxing. I was open to kicks. He showed me how easy it would be to kick me in the balls. I winced when he showed me by kicking close, missing by just an inch or two. Then, he moved my left leg a couple of inches to the right, making it harder for someone to do that. A small change but a big improvement in defense against someone that kicked. Then, he had me lift my left leg when I knew the kick was coming, using it to block the kick.

“That’s it?” I asked, amazed that a couple of small changes could protect me so well.

“No, no. I can still kick you. It would just be more difficult. There is much to learn but small changes make a big difference.”

“Definitely. Are there a lot of people around here that I should be worried about?”

“Not from being kicked. Not from sticky hands.”

“That’s a relief,” I said, relaxing. I believed him.

“You want to walk knowing you can defend yourself,” he said as a statement rather than a question. I nodded. “Boxing is good. But if someone who knows judo, or jujitsu, or wrestling, can get inside your defense, you will not do well. If someone has a knife and knows how to fight with it, you will not do well.”

“That’s probably a lot of people. How am I supposed to learn to defend myself against all of that?”

“That is the age-old question. Why does someone want to fight you? Take that away.”

I thought about that for a minute. It sounded like Sun Tzu stuff. “Make him not want to fight me? Is that it?”

“Yes, yes. Do you want to fight me?” he asked and I shook my head. “Because you think you would lose and you have nothing to gain. It is enough for you to think that. That is deterrence. There are many other ways. You have much to think about. You are welcome here, if you choose to learn. Wing Chun is much more complex but that was tonight’s lesson so I showed you how it was practical. I teach much more than sticky hands.”

“You already did,” Franklin said. “We really appreciate it.”

We thanked him again and made our way out to the car. We drove in silence for a while. Finally, Franklin asked, “What do you think?”

“I think I’m going to get some sleep. Too much to think about. He knows Timex. That’s crazy. I couldn’t touch him. That’s crazy too. Who do you think would win in a fight between them?”

“I don’t think they’d fight,” Franklin said and he was probably right.

Franklin dropped me off and after a quick, but healthy snack, I hit the sack. I was ready to sleep but I kept thinking about what Sifu Chen said. He said to take away the reason someone wanted to fight me. I thought that would work a lot of the time but couldn’t get to one hundred percent. Sometimes, I thought, you just had to fight. And then another thing crossed my mind. Sifu Chen had been able to get the best of me without hurting me. What would it have been like if he’d wanted to hurt me? Holy crap.

All that rolled around in my head for a while and I finally came up with an answer. Actually, I came up with a question. I’d go say ‘hey’ to Timex and ask him what he thought of Seiko and his sticky hands. Maybe he’d tell me how they met. Having figured that out, I fell asleep.

Wednesday morning, Art picked me up and we drove to the nursery again. “Autumn is almost here. Not yet, but soon. We’ll finish the summer with a crew of three. We’ll do big lawns the next three days so it will be easier to make them ready for winter.”

He could see that I was concerned. I’d worked with them all summer and now I was bailing out. Was this when they needed me the most? I didn’t want to abandon them. I guess he saw that.

We pulled into the nursery parking lot but before we got out, he put his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve done good work all summer. Work will slow down. We can finish the summer.” I guess I didn’t seem convinced. “Two other crews are already down to three. We’ll be fine,” he said, smiling.

“This is my first job, you know? I want to finish well.”

“Good. Then let’s get these houses ready. We have a good forecast and we won’t have to work too late to get it done.” I was good with that.

We focused on gardens for the rest of the week, cleaning them out and adding mulch to insulate for when it eventually got cold. We trimmed a few trees that needed it, and thinned some shrubs that had really grown that summer. At each house, Art talked to the homeowner to ask if they had any special requests. Every one of them said they trusted us to do the right things for their yards. That felt pretty good to hear.

Thursday evening, Franklin, Karen, Veronica, and Kim were all over for dinner. Mom made Mongolian barbeque, which tasted a lot like Chinese stir fry. It was good and we all complimented her on it. After dinner, we cleared the table and talked through our itinerary for the trip. It was a pretty sweet deal, having Franklin and Karen to advise us with such recent personal experience. We planned to do a few things they hadn’t but I guess they had other things on their mind. We wrapped up at ten. Dane had brought luggage down from the attic and we picked what we each wanted. Kim had plenty of her own.

“Tomorrow’s my last day,” I told her, when we were alone together at her truck.

“I’m proud of you, Baby. I’ve been practicing.”

“Mom and I heard you last week. Don’t call me a dufus anymore.”

“No promises,” she said and that was worth a kiss. “Remember when you said you wouldn’t let me marry a little boy?” she asked. I remembered and nodded. “You don’t have to worry about that. You’re my man.” I stood up a little straighter.

“I feel good. This has been a good summer.”

“Not over yet, Aquaman. The best is yet to come, right?”

“Very definitely,” I said, we kissed again and she drove off.

I hit the sack but didn’t sleep well, waking up two or three times. I woke up before my alarm went off and went to make breakfast. I stood there in the kitchen for a long time, thinking about it before Mom came in.

“Hey, Buddy. Oh, oh. Something’s on your mind. What’s up?”

“I don’t know. Last day, I guess. I’m not hungry,” I said.

She shook her head. “Dane already went in,” she said and I didn’t get it. Then she put her hand on my forehead to see if I had a fever.

“Funny,” I said.

“Maybe your stomach will tolerate a protein shake. Let me mix one up. You need something before you go in.” I nodded and she made one.

I drank half of it and took the rest with me. Emilio picked me up and he could tell something was wrong, too.

“What’s wrong, Amigo?”

“I don’t know, Emilio. I just feel funny. Last day and all, I guess.”

“Will you have enough to pay off the ring?”

“I should have a few bucks extra.”

“That’s why you worked this summer. Everything is good then, eh?”

“It should be.”

He thought for a few minutes, then looked at me while were stopped at a light. “Amigo, I have been doing this for a long time. People come and go. No one thinks poorly of people when they go. No one will think poorly of you.”

I breathed a big sigh and realized that was probably it. Art told me it was fine but hearing it from Emilio was different. Art was management. “You sure?” I said and I knew he’d say it was.

“Yes. Many of us won’t be back next spring. Manny and Art will be but I will stay in Jalisco with my family. They will be fine without us.” I nodded and we drove in silence for a while. When we pulled into the nursery parking lot, he said, “We really enjoyed the pool party, you know? All of us at once was very nice.”

“You think we should do that again?” I asked, actually hoping he’d say ‘yes’.

“No, no. It was very nice, though, but you don’t need to do it again.” We got out of the truck and started walking toward Art and Manny. “Labor Day is just a few weeks away, though,” he said and smiled as big as I’d ever seen him smile.

“Labor Day,” I said, and we both smiled. It was as good as done. Pool party, round two. I felt a lot better after that.

We worked until noon and were ready for a lunch break. It was a good thing because my hunger had caught up with me in a big way. We piled into the truck and Art looked over his shoulder at me and asked, “Where to?” He never did that. Whenever the crew went out for lunch, it was almost always to a Chinese buffet.

My choice. “Turn left on Savannah Highway,” I said. Let’s have some fun, I thought. Last chance with these guys until Labor Day. I asked him to turn in at the Bombay Café. If I was going to enjoy some culture shock, they could have a little culture shock, too.

We sat down just long enough to order drinks. Then they followed me through the buffet line, trying to figure out what they were putting on their plate. I had fun just watching their faces. The best part about it, was that Art was the first to finish eating and back in line, filling his plate for a second time. I was expecting someone to say something about how good it was, or that they hated it, or something, but we all just ate. When we got back out to the truck, Emilio said, “We should go back.” Art and Manny both echoed, “Monday,” and we laughed. I took that to mean they liked it.

At four that afternoon, Art said, “Just three more houses,” and I sort of slumped in my seat. I had worked hard all week and was ready to be done. I sort of dozed in the back seat until we stopped.

We stopped and I opened my eyes, trying to figure out where we were. “Come on, Amigo. They’re playing with you,” Hector said. We were at the jewelry store. Hector handed me an envelope. I opened it and counted it quickly. “Enough?” He asked. I nodded and led the way inside.

It’s not every day that a jewelry store has five landscapers come in to finish a purchase. There was no one else in the store and I was greeted by my favorite saleslady and the jeweler came out, too. I made the last payment. She wrote a receipt and passed me both the ring and the receipt with an appraisal certificate for the diamond. She said they would inspect the setting, to ensure the prongs were sound, and clean it anytime we wanted. The setting was guaranteed for life.

I popped open the box and let each of the guys have another look. It was Hector’s first look and he approved. “It’s very pretty,” he said, in English.

“But not as pretty as Kim,” I answered and the crew agreed. The saleslady and jeweler congratulated me on my summer and wished me luck. I told them Kim had stood in the backyard hollering ‘yes’ for practice and they all laughed.

I said goodbye to my crew, promised to have them all over for Labor Day, and climbed into Hector’s truck for the short ride home. We rode in silence for a while which was fine by me. I looked at the ring and read the certificate. Beautiful and interesting but until it was on Kim’s finger it didn’t mean much. We pulled into the driveway and both got out. Hector walked up to the front door with me and I wasn’t sure why. He rang the bell. Curious.

Mom answered, “Hey Hector. Buddy. What’s up? Come on in?”

“No. I just came to tell you what a good job your son did this summer. I would gladly hire him anytime. He is the youngest I’ve ever hired. He’s a good worker.” Then he turned to me and said, “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Hector. I learned a lot and earned enough.”

“Yes. My crews learned some things too. They talk about you. Good things. Now, two cups of Epsom salt in hot water. Take a long hot bath, my friend.”

“That sounds pretty good right now.”

I thanked him again and Mom talked with him for a couple of minutes. I wasn’t sure if fatigue or hunger were going to win but there was a serious battle going on. I peeled my boots off and set them aside, glad for their purchase. I knew they had saved my feet more than once. My Wranglers were in pretty good shape. The first week, Art told me, ‘Levi’s for dancing. Wranglers for work.’ He was right about the Wranglers. My work gloves were somewhere on James Island, right where I left them, two or three houses ago. I wasn’t going back for them. My work shirts were probably all ready for the dust bin, as Mom called it.

“Come on, Aquaman. I cooked your favorite. Let’s get dinner in you because we’re going dancing tonight.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, about your favorite, yes about dancing. Quiet evening.”

“Whew. Don’t mess with me like that. I think I just want to eat, maybe take a bath, and sleep until we leave for the airport on Monday.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll serve.”

Mom’s shrimp and grits was always good but she’d added something. She was always tinkering with it but never got far from her recipe. Yellow bell peppers. That’s what she added. I stuck a fork in one and held it up, smiling. She nodded. I liked that. I liked to spot the differences and I knew she appreciated it when I did. I ate a couple of plates full, together with corn pone, washing it down with sweet tea. I’d eat and drink healthier in two weeks when we got back from vacation.

I had two days before we left on vacation and I didn’t know what to do with them. After dinner, I had a bit of energy and didn’t really feel sore so I skipped the bath and took a hot shower instead. I had been thinking about my marriage proposal and the thought came to me that it was something I would only do once in my entire life. There aren’t a lot of things like that. I called Karen and asked if I could come over and talk to her about it.

Thirty minutes later, we were enjoying dessert at Ye Olde Fashioned Ice Cream Shop on Savannah Highway. Having her pick me up was much better than the long walk to her house. Chocolate ice cream was a great side benefit. Karen asked me a lot of questions about working, landscaping, and gardening. She wanted to start a garden but they were renting. She hated to invest all kinds of time and energy on it, only to move away. I suggested starting a container garden in the spring and she liked that idea. That settled, we talked about marriage.

“What’s your goal?” she asked.

“You mean when I propose?” She nodded. “I guess it’s to sort of formalize what we’re already planning on.”

“You could do that over the phone,” Karen said.

“Not much romance in that.”

“No. So, I guess I’m asking what your secondary goals are?”

“Franklin proposed to you at a nice restaurant. Did the location matter?”

“It was a nice dinner. We go out for dinner a lot. I don’t think it mattered that much.”

“Were you surprised?” I asked.

“I would have been if we hadn’t gone out to nice restaurants before. Kim’s not going to be surprised that you’re asking her. No one will be surprised. It’s like the worst kept secret in history.”

“I want it to be special. I’m only going to do it once.”

“Then it doesn’t need to be at someplace fancy. It doesn’t need to be a surprise. It can’t be a surprise. The most important thing, in my opinion, is that your proposal is memorable. Heartfelt, sincere, and memorable. It will be memorable no matter what you do or say but you know what I mean.”

“I guess I wish I knew how I wanted her to remember it. I want her to smile when she remembers, that’s for sure.”

“Okay, how about this? When you’re married, you might have kids. Let’s imagine you have a girl and after she’s gone on a couple of dates and really likes a guy, she asks Kim about it. When Kim tells your daughter about the time you proposed, you want your daughter to smile. You want her to say, ‘that’s what I want.’ How does that sound?”

“Wow. Okay, I can work with that. The place doesn’t need to be special and it doesn’t need to be a surprise but it should be memorable and Kim should smile when she remembers.”

“I didn’t say the place doesn’t need to be special. It doesn’t need to be fancy.”

“Got it. Okay. We’re going on vacation and I have two weeks to think about it.”

“Are you going to ask her while you’re on vacation?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I’m going to ask her the Saturday after we get back. Definitely before we go back to school.”

“How many people have asked if you’re sure?”

“Pretty much everyone but you and my work crew. They wanted to know how I was sure.”

“And you think that you were sure when the summer started and you’ve had forty hours a week for ten weeks to think about it and you’re still sure.”

“Exactly.” We talked for a few more minutes. She gave me a few tips about the menu in Puerto Rico and she drove me home and dropped me off.

I hollered “Hey” to let Mom know I was home and settled into my favorite chair in the library. Nashville was an hour earlier. I thought about it for a minute. Nine on a Friday night? I called. Mrs. Hinkleman answered and called for Sally.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” back to you, she answered.

“Oh? Feeling southern?”

“I wish.”

“Oh, oh. What’s going on?” I asked.

“You’re getting ready to go on vacation. You don’t want to hear my problems.”

“I absolutely do. What’s bugging you?”

“Alright, you asked for it. First, our vacation got canceled because Dad had to work. Jeff is getting ready for some pre-season football camp, but that’s okay.”

“And? There’s something more,” I said.

She was quiet for a minute. “I found a couple of brochures for Madison Academy. It’s Nashville’s version of Porter-Gaud.”

“Oh, oh. You think your dad is going to try to send you there?”

“Why else would he have brochures for it?” she asked.

“Could they be from before you talked with him?”

“No. I threw them all away. That’s not true. I started a fire and burned them all. Probably the only time anyone in Nashville has ever had a fire in July.”

“But he hasn’t said anything about it?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to McGavock. He’s never home. He can’t stop me.”

“What about your mom?”

“It doesn’t matter. She’ll just go along with Dad. If he tries to send me to Madison, I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to get expelled.”

“Sally, be careful. Remember Andy Mercer?”

“Not really.”

“He didn’t want to go to Porter and he got expelled so his parents sent him to a military school in North Carolina.”

“Crap. He would do that, too. How did the Mercer kid get expelled?”

“He started a fire in a trash can by the football field,” I said.

“That’s it? I mean, that’s a bad thing to do but it doesn’t seem like enough to get expelled.”

“It wasn’t. He got a three-day suspension and the day he came back; he lit a fire in the boy’s bathroom by the science lab.”

“Yeah. That would probably do it.”

“Well, don’t do that. He hasn’t said anything about it, though, right?”

“Not yet,” she answered.

“Maybe the brochures just came in the mail. Throw them out. Don’t say anything. Don’t make a big deal about it. Just throw them out.”

“Out of sight, out of mind?” she asked.

“Maybe. You said he’s gone all the time. Don’t burn them, though.”

“Why not?”

“Two reasons. One, your dad will smell the fire and know what it was for. Don’t remind him.”

“Okay. That makes sense. What’s the other reason.”

“I don’t want you to get in the habit of lighting things on fire. Don’t pull an Andy Mercer, whatever you do.”

“I’m not going to light the school on fire. I’ll toss them out.”

“Good. Let’s hope he ordered them before you put your foot down. Give him the benefit of the doubt. I can’t believe I just said that.”

“That’s what I’ll do. What about you? Are you done working? Oh, my gosh. Did you ask her yet?” she asked and she was actually excited at the idea.

I told Sally about work and that I’d bought the ring and all that. We had a good conversation. I didn’t really want it to be about me but when you’re getting ready to propose, that’s a tough thing to downplay. We talked for two hours about everything. We finished by talking about the books we were each reading.

Sally was reading Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy by John Le Carre. I told her I’d discovered Robert Parker and was taking a couple of his novels together with a Leon Uris novel to Puerto Rico. She promised to let me know if her dad was going to pressure her to go to Madison Academy.

We hung up and I sat back in my seat. I’d become tense after hearing about the brochures. I hoped I was right about them having been requested long ago. I decided I’d take an Epsom salt bath after all. I gave it a try and it actually made me feel pretty good. I managed to push Mr. Hinkleman out of my mind and slept like a rock.

Saturday morning, I was awake earlier than I intended. Once I’m up, that’s pretty much it. I’m up. I decided to go for a swim before breakfast, threw on some shorts and walked through the kitchen and mudroom to the back. It was beautiful outside. If every morning was like that, Charleston would be paradise. Perfect.