my mother said, and I replied, “We already ate. I’m sorry for not calling ahead, but we just were in Houghton.” By this point, I very much regretted our decision to arrive unannounced. Another silence descended, and my mother said, “Let me at least get you something to drink.”
At the same time, I said, “Oh, we’re fine,” and Charlie said, “I’ll take a beer if you have one.”
“I’ll help.” I stood. “Anyone else?”
“Beer does a real number on Lars’s stomach,” my grandmother announced authoritatively. Although I may have been the only one to notice, my grandmother was emanating supreme self-satisfaction.
“Bloating, gas, and the like,” Mr. Enderstraisse—Lars—affirmed. He spoke genially, and I wondered, was he really dating my mother? I had never seen him not wearing a postal uniform.
“Alice, sit,” my mother said, and uncertainly, I complied.
“Alice, I’ll bet you haven’t heard about the breakin at the Schlingheydes’.” My grandmother had turned to Charlie and me. “It’s the talk of the neighborhood. Don and Shirley slept through the whole thing, but in the morning, they saw that a kitchen window had been shattered and the television set was gone, along with Shirley’s silver. Now, the bizarre bit is that they found half a turkey sandwich left out on the drain board, with just a few bites taken from it and the other half gone. Can you imagine having the presence of mind to fix a snack at the same time you’re robbing a house? He’d even spread mayonnaise on the bread.”
“When was this?” I asked.
Over her shoulder, my grandmother called into the kitchen, “Dorothy, was it Sunday night?”
“Monday,” my mother said as she appeared in the doorway carrying Charlie’s beer. “It sounds to me like a very disturbed person.”
She passed the beer to Charlie, who said good-naturedly, “Some friends of my folks got robbed one time in the sixties, and the thief left behind a shoe.” Charlie had, of course, no idea how irregular Lars Enderstraisse’s presence was.
“I hope you’ve been keeping the doors locked,” I said.
“Oh, the Riley PD will catch the fellow in no time.” My grandmother’s tone was festive. “If Sheriff Culver manages to tear himself away from Grady’s Tavern for more than an hour, that burglar won’t stand a chance.” Without warning, my grandmother said to Charlie, “Now, what is it you’ve done to earn a visit to Alice’s ancestral home?”
“I’ve won her heart.” Charlie grinned, and I felt a nervous curiosity about whether he and my grandmother would like each other. While they shared a certain high-spiritedness, I was not certain it was of the same variety, and sometimes different varieties of a similar tendency were worse than total dissimilarity. Under the table, Charlie took my hand.
“Charlie, are you also a teacher?” my mother asked.
“No, ma’am, I’m in the beef industry.” When Charlie squeezed my hand, I wondered if he could tell I was tense. “I divide my time between Houghton, Madison, and Milwaukee.”
Did Charlie assume that I’d previously told them who his family was? Given that I hadn’t, perhaps I ought to now, when my indirection was on the cusp of turning into an outright lie.
My grandmother lit a cigarette she’d extracted from a pack beside her plate. “You must be paying a pretty penny at the gas pump.”
“Charlie, I heard Alice say your surname is Blackwell,” Lars Enderstraisse said. “I don’t imagine you’re a relation to Blackwell sausage or the former governor.”
“I should hope not,” my grandmother said cheerfully. “What a chokehold that man had on this state!”
In a loud voice, as if I could retroactively cover up her remark, I said, “Harold Blackwell is Charlie’s father.”
There was a silence, and Charlie was the one who broke it. He said, “Nothing like politics to inspire passionate disagreement, is there?” He smiled—a feeble smile, but he was trying.
“
“And Charlie’s running for Congress next year,” I said. “But it’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone.” I glanced over to see if he was irritated, and he appeared to be less than thrilled, though it was hard to say whether this was because of my grandmother’s comment or my own lack of discretion. But wasn’t it better to get all of it over with at once? Or would this visit be the abrupt death knell of our relationship, the revelation of how little, against the backdrop of my upbringing, we actually had in common?
“Running for Congress—goodness gracious!” my mother said, and I was reminded of my ignorance of her political leanings. “What an exciting time for you.”
“I won’t announce my candidacy until January,” Charlie said. “Frankly, I’ll have a tough road ahead of me with an incumbent like Alvin Wincek. But I can honestly say it would be a privilege to serve the people of Wisconsin’s Sixth District.”
“You’re a Republican like your father?” she said, and when I did dare to glance at her, I saw that she was staring unabashedly at Charlie.
“Indeed I am,” he said, and his voice contained a jovial defensiveness
“In a progressive town like Madison, I’d think that would put you out of step with your peers,” my grandmother said.
“Appearances can be deceiving.” Charlie’s tone was still perfectly civil. “The students holding their protests are loud and strident, but the backbone of Madison is hardworking middle-class families.”
