_______________________________________________________________________
“Yes! I mean, yes we did call the police, but the closest police department is in New Buffalo, and because we’re not incorporated here, they told us to call the state police, and we did, and they came and the girl made out a report. But after that, so far as I know, nothing ever happened… You want me to call the police for you, Marcie?”
“Yes! Please, Dottie, get them on the phone for me.”
Dialing “O,” Dorothy asked the operator to connect her with the state police.
Stubborn pride aside, while waiting, Marsha Lipensky came to a decision.
________________________________________________________________________
Skokie, Illinois
June 24, 1958
Coming from work, entering the house…
“It came!”
“From Marsha?”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah? No kidding!” The words he’d prayed to hear, on this day finally did.
“Yeah!” Mortie, followed by Larry, came from the den with an envelope in his hand.
Knowing just how much his brother had been looking forward to receiving this letter, “Here, Mitchie,” Morton said happily. “You got a letter from Mikey.”
There was additional postage on the thick envelope. Addressed to him in Marsha’s neat, small handwriting, the return address on the corner read: Michael Lipensky, c/o Red Dot Grocery, R.R. 2, Lakeside, Michigan.
“Yeah, I knew it! That is where they are!” Looking at his brothers, he considered going upstairs to read the letter in private, but knowing that they, too, missed Marsha and Michael, and that they, also, had waited day after day for a letter from Marsha, going to the kitchen, Mitchell sat at the table and, his hands shaking, opened the flap and removed a folded sheet of school notebook paper. Unfolding it, inside were four pictures. Catching his breath, a mist covering his eyes, he slowly looked at each picture then handed it to Lawrence, who studied the picture then gave it to Morton.
Two were snapshots of Michael at the beach. In one he was sitting naked in the sand at water’s edge. The second showed him standing precariously in the sand with his knees and arms akimbo, trying to balance himself for the seconds it took to snap this picture before falling. There was a picture of him sitting on wooden steps in front of a cottage. The last was before a storefront with the name Red Dot Grocery lettered on the window that had Michael standing with both hands held aloft by his mother, who was standing behind him. Wearing cut off shorts and an off the shoulder blouse, Marsha’s long, slender legs were spread to either side of her son. Smiling, her face was tilted upward. Leaning forward, the fissure formed by her hanging breasts under the yawning blouse was clearly visible, and, Oh, God, Mitchell thought, she looks so good! Handing the last picture to his brother, taking a deep breath, he read:
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June 20, 1958
Dear Daddy;
Mommy thought you would like to see some pictures of me so you can see how much I’ve grown.
We are living in Mama and Papa’s cottage in Michigan and go to the beach almost ever day, and even if I can’t swim yet, Mommy always takes me in the water so I can splash.
Now that it is summer and warmer I am having a good time, but I miss you and would like you to come and visit me.
Your son,
Mikey
________________________________________________________________________
Rereading the letter, Mitchell’s mind lingered on, “I miss you and would like you to come and visit me.”
Marsha wrote this letter, not Michael, of course, he thought. And what she’s saying is that she misses me and wants me to come to her. “Oh, God!” Standing, grabbing Morton, swinging him in the air, “Marsha wants me to come there!”
****
Wanting the letter to sound noncommittal, or at least have the appearance of being noncommittal, Marsha had written and rewritten the short, simple letter a number of times.
There were so many things she wanted to say to Mitchell, but yet so many things she did not want to say, at least in any way that he’d be able to know that that’s what she really wanted to say.
****
If only she’d have ended it with “Love, Mikey” rather than “Your son, Mikey.” But, grasping at straws, Mitchell further thought, If Marsha really didn’t care what I think, she would have written “Love!” But because she really does care, but doesn’t want me to know she cares, she wrote, “Your son, Mikey,” and really does still love me!
****
She had given that a lot of thought, and decided the words “I miss you and would like you to come and visit me” were enough, because saying “Love, Mikey” instead of “Your son, Mikey” would, in her opinion, definitely tell Mitchell that she did still love him—which she did—but Marsha did not want Mitchell to think that she did until she knew if he still did love her, especially since he hadn’t taken the initiative to locate her… or make the first move.
****
And this picture! Mitchell’s eyes focused on Marsha’s bare legs and the deep fissure formed by her hanging breasts. She knows how to get to me! She knew this picture would turn me on! Remembering, knowing what was hidden beneath the blouse and under the cut off jeans did, indeed…
****
Turn him on! I want to send a picture that’ll turn him on! she’d thought, studying, then deciding on one of the three pictures that she had asked Dorothy to shoot a number of days before meeting Gordon Nathanson.
The fully exposed roll of film had remained in the Kodak camera at the bottom of the diaper bag until Marsha had met the despoiler of her paradise; until the catalytic meeting had caused Marsha to have the film developed, then make contact with her husband.
****
Sure now, or at least pretty sure, that Marsha still loved him, the dark cloud that Mitchell had lived under for two months, almost to the day, lifted.
Going to the calendar that hung on the back of the broom closet door, today’s Tuesday and I’d love to see them this weekend. Hell, I’d love to see them right now! But, he thought wisely, let her suffer a little, too. And besides, lifting the page, turning to July, he saw, the Fourth is on Friday and I’d rather spend three days than two.
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June 24, 1958
Dear Mikey;
You will never know how happy I was to get your letter today.
You have grown so much and look so pretty that I just can’t wait to see you, so why don’t you tell your mommy, if it is okay with her, that I will come to visit you over the Fourth of July weekend.
I know that is ten days away, but then I can be with you three days instead of just two. So I will be there on Friday at about eleven in the morning, and will stay with you until Sunday night.
But tell mommy not to worry, because, if she would rather, I will not sleep there but find a room someplace else. Or is she wants to, maybe she can find one for me.
Mikey, I can’t wait to see you!
Daddy
____________________________________________________________________
He had considered mentioning his new job, but then thought better of it and, damned if I’ll say I love her before she says she loves me! Wanting his letter to be at least as noncommittal as hers, he licked the envelope flap.
“Hey, kids, I wanna get this to the post office! Cricket, come on, I’ll take you for a ride!” Holding the screen door open, he stood aside as the Dalmatian ran though the door and, her hiplike tail wagging, waited till he opened the car door to let her in.
****
“Brenda, hi! It’s Mitch Lipensky. How are you?”
“Fine, Mitchie,” she said loud enough for her husband—who was at the table finishing dinner—to hear. “How are you?”
“I’m just fine. At least now I am. How’s Denny?”
“Denny’s fine, too. Your Mom’n’dad? The kids?”
“Fine. Everyone’s okay.”
Polite salutations through, the line was silent a moment.
“Uh, Roger around?”
“Oh, yes, sure, Mitch… Roge, it’s Mitch Lipensky.”
Bringing his coffee to the phone, “Hey, Mitch!”
“Roger! How’ve you been?”
“Okay, Mitch. You?”
“Fine… Listen, Roge, I heard from Marsha today and I’m going to see her and my son over the Fourth, but I don’t know how to find your parent’s place and thought maybe you’d give me instructions.”
“Mitch, I told you last time…” Turning to Brenda, he shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t help you.”
“No, Roge! I really did hear from Marsha! She sent me a letter and asked if I’d come to see her’n’Mikey, but didn’t give me the address, only…” looking at the return address on the envelope, “care of Red Dot Grocery, on Rural Route Two, Lakeside.”
Roger knew that if his sister hadn’t told him, he would have had no way of knowing that. “Okay, Mitch.” Relieved the secrecy was over, “You remember how to get to Union Pier?”
“No, not really. Last time I was there I was sixteen and wasn’t driving yet.”
“Okay, you got a pencil?”
“Yeah, but go slowly.”
“Okay, look, all you got to do is go south on the Outer Drive till it becomes Lake Shore Drive, that’s U.S. 41. Stay on 41 and it’ll become 90, and that’ll take you through Hammond and Gary to 94. Just stay on that through Michigan City and New Buffalo and then, when you pass the Union Pier turn off, go about three miles and watch for the twin towers on your left, and make the next left! Go about fifty yards and turn right onto the dirt road, and that’s it, second cottage on the left… Got it?”
“Lake Shore becomes 41, then 90 to 94. Go past Union Pier to the first left past the towers, right on the dirt road… Right?”
“Right!”
“Got’ch’ya! Thanks, Roge.”
****
“Mitchell,” looking at the pictures he’d handed her as soon as they came through the door, seeing how her grandson had grown since she’d last seen him, and how much of his life she had missed, holding back tears, “I’m very glad you’ve heard from Marsha, and I’m glad you’re going to see Michael. Only…”
“Only don’t just fall into bed with her like you did last time,” Walter interjected. “The two of you have lots of things to settle!”
