Free Above Us Only Sky by Michele Young-Stone Page A

a respite . . . How are you? I miss you. A mother is supposed to see her son.” Ingeburg had to say everything in one fell swoop.
    Downstairs, she told the Old Man, “There’s someone on the phone for you.”
    â€œWhen did the phone ring?”
    â€œYou must not have heard it.”
    The Old Man looked confused. “Who is it?”
    â€œJust take it,” she said.
    Putting the receiver to his ear, the Old Man said, “Who is this? What do you want?”
    â€œDad,” Freddie began, “I don’t want anything.”
    The Old Man looked accusingly at Ingeburg. “Freddie’s on the phone.” Ingeburg shrugged. To his son, the Old Man said, “You always want something. You would not telephone if you do not want something.”
    â€œI called to say hello.”
    â€œHello. Can we say good-bye now?”
    â€œDad! Listen: Veronica called me.”
    â€œIs that your wife who is not Lithuanian and not German, and not worth a cent red? The one you don’t live with? The one you never talk to? Is that the wife you married without anyone’s consent?”
    â€œYes, that’s her. But that’s beside the point. She said you called her house. She said you called Prudence. Why did you do that?”
    The Old Man looked to Inge and pointed at his cigars before beginning his dissertation. “Listen, my one and only son, Freddie, I am an old man, but I remember that when the Nazis came and they chased the Soviets away, the first thing they did was write everything down. First names and last names and your parents’ names and their parents’ names. I knew enough German. I could say ‘Heil Hitler.’ I could say anything they want after the Red Army. The point is, I know your name. You are my son. You know my music. You are my son, but I do not know the little girl who is growing up, and she is your daughter, and I do not think that even you know her since you do not live with her, so I am going to see her. She is blood. I am going to introduce her to our Lithuania, a country that exists in the hearts of a people. I am a speech maker these days, but really, I am just an old man, and this is something I must do. Can you be there in Florida to keep your strange wife away from me? Or maybe she will want to hear about my sisters and your grandparents. I do not know. I know you, son, and I was wrong not to know my own grandchild before now.”
    In Nashville, the toilet flushed. The groupie was back in Freddie’s bed.
    Freddie asked his father, “When are you planning to go to Florida?”
    â€œI don’t know. We are asking Andrei one block down to help for the plan. He has been to Florida before. And I am only joking about you being there. You are too busy for us. We do nothing for you but give you life.”
    â€œI’ll come home.” Freddie peeked into his bedroom. The groupie was examining her legs.
    â€œYou’ll do what?” The Old Man looked to Ingeburg. “He says that he’ll come home.”
    Using calf muscles she’d forgotten she had, Ingeburg jumped, her old feet rising a good inch off the ground.
    â€œCalm yourself down. He won’t come home.”
    Folding her hands together, Ingeburg pressed them to her lips.
    Freddie told his father, “Tell Mom that I’m coming.”
    â€œThat’s what the boy says, Inge.” He grumbled, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Surprisingly, the Old Man did believe it, and he felt a kinship to the son he had nearly disowned. Maybe age had made the boy Freddie wiser. Maybe age had made the Old Man softer. Either way, their lives were going to change irrevocably. The Old Man felt it. It felt good, like if he opened his mouth to scream, to warn his sisters that something bad was coming, they would finally hear him.

9
    Prudence
    T he clouds rolled in and bore down on the Los Vientos pier. The brown baggers weren’t catching