SEPTEMBER SKY
A novel by
John A. Heldt
Copyright © 2015 by John A. Heldt
Edited by Aaron Yost
Cover art by LLPix Designs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, with the exception of brief quotes used in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
NOVELS BY JOHN A. HELDT
American Journey Series
September Sky
Mercer Street
Indiana Belle
Class of '59
Northwest Passage Series
The Mine
The Journey
The Show
The Fire
The Mirror
Audiobooks
The Mine
The Journey
The Show
The Fire
September Sky
Follow John A. Heldt online at:
johnheldt.blogspot.com
In memory of Alice and Emil
On that day all the springs of the great deep burst forth, and the floodgates of the heavens were opened. – Genesis 7:11
The sky seemed to be made of mother of pearl; gloriously pink, yet containing a fish-scale effect which reflected all the colors of the rainbow. – Buford T. Morris
If you're going through hell, keep going. – Winston Churchill
The past can be used to renew the present, not just to bury it. – Terry Eagleton
Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone – we find it with another. – Thomas Merton
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright and Disclaimer
Novels by John A. Heldt
Dedication
Quotations
Chapter 1: Chuck
Chapter 2: Chuck
Chapter 3: Chuck
Chapter 4: Chuck
Chapter 5: Justin
Chapter 6: Chuck
Chapter 7: Chuck
Chapter 8: Chuck
Chapter 9: Chuck
Chapter 11: Chuck
Chapter 12: Justin
Chapter 13: Chuck
Chapter 14: Justin
Chapter 15: Chuck
Chapter 16: Chuck
Chapter 17: Justin
Chapter 18: Chuck
Chapter 19: Chuck
Chapter 20: Wyatt
Chapter 21: Justin
Chapter 22: Chuck
Chapter 23: Chuck
Chapter 24: Chuck
Chapter 25: Justin
Chapter 26: Chuck
Chapter 27: Chuck
Chapter 28: Justin
Chapter 29: Justin
Chapter 30: Chuck
Chapter 31: Chuck
Chapter 32: Chuck
Chapter 33: Justin
Chapter 34: Chuck
Chapter 35: Justin
Chapter 36: Chuck
Chapter 37: Emily
Chapter 38: Chuck
Chapter 39: Justin
Chapter 40: Wyatt
Chapter 41: Chuck
Chapter 42: Justin
Chapter 43: Chuck
Chapter 44: Chuck
Chapter 45: Justin
Chapter 46: Chuck
Chapter 47: Chuck
Chapter 48: Wyatt
Chapter 49: Chuck
Chapter 50: Chuck
Chapter 51: Justin
Chapter 52: Chuck
Chapter 53: Emily
Chapter 54: Chuck
Chapter 55: Justin
Chapter 56: Justin
Chapter 57: Chuck
Chapter 58: Wyatt
Chapter 59: Chuck
Chapter 60: Chuck
Chapter 61: Emily
Chapter 62: Justin
Chapter 63: Chuck
Chapter 64: Chuck
Chapter 65: Chuck
Chapter 66: Justin
Chapter 67: Chuck
Chapter 68: Chuck
Chapter 69: Chuck
Chapter 70: Justin
Chapter 71: Emily
Chapter 72: Justin
Chapter 73: Chuck
Chapter 74: Emily
Chapter 75: Justin
Chapter 76: Justin
Chapter 77: Emily
Chapter 78: Justin
Chapter 79: Emily
Chapter 80: Chuck
Chapter 81: Justin
Chapter 82: Chuck
Chapter 83: Charlotte
Chapter 84: Chuck
Chapter 85: Chuck
Chapter 86: Chuck
Chapter 87: Chuck
Chapter 88: Chuck
Chapter 89: Justin
Chapter 90: Justin
Chapter 91: Chuck
Chapter 92: Chuck
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER 1: CHUCK
San Francisco, California – Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Charles Townsend lifted the small, framed photo from the corner of his desk and studied the boy with the bat. Justin had been eleven then, a young man just discovering the joys of baseball, teamwork, and competitive sports.
He noted his son's posture and concentration as he brought the aluminum bat around to meet a fastball. Even then, Justin had demonstrated the form that would serve him well through nine years of Little League and high-school ball.
Chuck knew that this particular swing had led to a home run – Justin's first – in the district finals. The ball had flown cleanly over the fence in deep centerfield and landed noisily in an empty metal garbage can two hundred fifty feet away.
He knew this because his wife – his now deceased ex-wife – had explained the home run in great detail. She had been there when Justin Townsend had hit the Shot Heard 'Round Mission Viejo – and he, predictably, had not. The life moment was just one of many he'd missed in more than sixteen years as a decidedly distant dad.
Chuck placed the photo next to other belongings in his Big Box of Regrets and then stared out his office window at the buildings and the bay beyond. He loved the view from the eighteenth floor of one of the city's oldest high-rises, but like so many things he loved about his job, it was one he would have to give up.
He turned away from the window and put more items into the box, including three awards for investigative reporting. He was particularly proud of the most recent honor, which he had earned as part of a team that had uncovered waste and fraud in several social services.
Chuck's hard-hitting series in the spring of 2015 had forced the resignation of three municipal officials and prompted calls for reform. It had raised awareness and pushed leaders in the right directions, but it had not provided him with job insurance in the digital age.
When the newspaper's publisher had decided in October to restructure his product as an online publication, he decided to do so with fifty fewer reporters and editors. In the end, even lavish praise and prestigious awards couldn't keep Chuck from the unemployment lines.
Chuck let the irony linger in his mind for a moment and then returned to the box. He started to put the lid on the container and what was left of his journalistic career when he heard a familiar voice from the side.
"It's so unfair."
Chuck swiveled in his chair and looked up at the friendliest face in the building. At twenty-three, Jamie Cantrell was the youngest and newest reporter on
the staff but one the higher-ups had decided to retain. Working for peanuts had its privileges.
"Oh, hi, Jamie," Chuck said. "What's unfair?"
The wiry brunette, Olive Oyl's twin, stood in the doorway of the tiny office. She folded her arms and shook her head.
"This whole thing is unfair – the cuts, the reassignments, the layoffs, all of it," Jamie said. "If anyone should be packing a box, it should be me. I just started here. You've been here forever. You're the heart and soul of this place."
Chuck laughed.
"Didn't they teach you in journalism school that hearts and souls are expensive?"
Jamie looked at him thoughtfully.
"They taught me a lot of things, including the fact the world is a cruel and unjust place," she said. "I have no business being here now."
"Oh, yes, you do," Chuck said. "You're bright and talented and, most of all, adaptable. You're just what a twenty-first-century newspaper needs."
"If you say so."
"I say so."
Jamie smiled sadly and shook her head.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Thanks also for taking me under your wing and showing me how journalism works in practice. Not a lot of people would have done that."
"It was my pleasure. I only wish I could stick around and see you light the world on fire. You have a lot to offer this dying profession, Jamie. Don't squander it."
"I won't."
Chuck nodded.
"I know you won't."
"So what's next for you?" Jamie asked. "What are your plans?"
"Long-term or short-term?"
"Both."
Chuck fixed his gaze on Jamie.
"My long-term objective, of course, is to find another job – hopefully in the Bay Area and hopefully at a salary that will allow me to remain in the Bay Area."
"How about your immediate plans?" Jamie asked.
Chuck smiled and laughed.
"That's an easy one. I plan to drive to L.A. on Friday, meet up with my son after his last final, and then blow my severance on a cruise to Puerto Vallarta."
"Oh, how fun."
"I hope it'll be fun, but I'm not sure it will be," Chuck said.
"Why wouldn't it?" Jamie asked.
"Because I expect to spend most of my time trying to talk Justin out of dropping out of college."
"Isn't he the one who wants to be a doctor?"
"He's the one who wanted to be a doctor," Chuck said. "He called yesterday to tell me that he needed a break – a big one. My mission next week is to set him straight and convince him that two failures in the family are one too many."
CHAPTER 2: CHUCK
Los Angeles, California – Sunday, March 20, 2016
From a motorist's standpoint, the trip from Westwood to San Pedro was practically perfect. Chuck encountered no delays, Sig-Alerts, or traffic issues as he moved south on Interstate 405. The first part of the thirty-mile drive, the bane of many commuters, was surprisingly pleasant.
It was also frustratingly quiet. Despite Chuck's best efforts to get his usually talkative son to open up, he had come up short on this sunny Sunday.
Justin had mentioned things like "stress" on Friday night and "relationship fatigue" a few times on Saturday, but he hadn't offered much in the way of elaboration. He had decided to leave school, after the second quarter of his junior year, for reasons he kept to himself.
Chuck wasn't about to give up though. If twenty-three years as a reporter had taught him anything, it was that persistence paid off. So when he left the 405 and merged onto the 110, or Harbor Freeway, he turned again toward the person in the passenger seat of his Honda Civic.
"Is this about something I've said or done – or haven't done?" Chuck asked. "Because if it is, I'd understand."
Chuck looked for an answer but didn't find one. He instead found someone who clearly had no interest in a conversation, a young man who continued to stare blankly at the urban landscape.
The newsman returned his eyes to the road and berated himself for asking the question. Here he was again thinking about himself. He knew if Justin's decision to leave school did have anything to do with him, he'd never say so. The kid had too much class. He would never dump that much guilt on anyone, much less his father.
Chuck wondered how a boy with a hundred reasons to be bitter had turned out to be so pleasant. But he didn't wonder for long. He knew the answer. Justin had had a great mother, just as Charles Townsend had once had a great wife.
He took a moment to think about the life he'd had in the late nineties, when he'd tried to support a wife and a young son on a reporter's salary in Northern California. Chuck had long considered that time to be a low point in his life.
From an economic standpoint, it was rock bottom. For years the family struggled as Chuck went from job to job and town to town in search of something better.
From the perspective of two decades, however, Chuck could see that that time was a blessing in disguise. He'd had it all – or at least all that mattered. He'd had a kind, patient spouse and an amazing son who achieved something new and notable almost every day.
For a while, Megan put up with the downsides of that life. She never complained about the late hours or the tight budgets or the shoddy apartments with the running toilets. Indeed, she had once told Chuck that she had everything she needed. As the years passed, however, she realized that she didn't have the one thing she wanted most – a fully engaged husband and father.
When she began to measure their weekly time together in minutes rather than in hours, she realized it was time to go. So she left Chuck a note and her wedding ring on the twenty-fifth day of the new millennium and returned to her hometown of Mission Viejo with five-year-old Justin. She had asked for nothing but the freedom to raise their son in a more nurturing environment.
Chuck did not contest the divorce. Instead, he let Megan return to her parents and give Justin the kind of time and support he needed and craved. He jumped back into his work and parented the way he parented best – through emails, phone calls, and birthday cards that always seemed to arrive a few days late.
The arrangement worked well – at least for the career-driven reporter – until one rainy day in September 2013 when a text-messaging teenager drove his pickup into Megan's hybrid sedan as she entered an intersection. Megan's parents, who rode in the passenger seats, died instantly. The teen suffered minor cuts and walked away. Megan sustained mortal injuries. She lived just long enough to say goodbye to her college-bound son and plead that he live out his dreams.
Chuck looked away for a few seconds as he remembered the awkward reunion with Justin at the triple funeral and the weeks that followed, when Justin attempted to set aside his grief and get on with the business of earning a college degree.
He pondered the significance of that dark time as he returned his attention to the road and then to the touch-screen video display in his car's dash. An early seventies song, "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin, began to stream through the speakers. Talk about timing, he thought. He continued the journey in silence until reaching San Pedro.
Chuck exited the freeway and drove eastward toward the waterfront. When he reached a red light at Harbor Boulevard, near the entrance to the World Cruise Center, he again turned toward his son and repeated his question using different words.