For Jeremy.

Harvey had been a dissolute youth. He’d always thought it came from being born during the Roaring Twenties, and having to grow up during the Great Depression. Maybe his mother was a little too fond of the bathtub gin that was so popular in Chicago. Maybe it was the poverty that sent him out on the road at such a young age, riding the rails. Lots of kids did it at the time. Seemed the only thing to do, given the circumstances.

But soon there was The War. Joining the Army finally ended his life on the road, but even then he was hardly what you could call an exemplary character. He ended up in France, but didn’t ever want to talk about it. “’Greatest Generation’ my rear,” he’d grumble, years later. “We just went where we were told. Not much so great about that.”

When he came back to the states, he tried to settle down. He really did try. Met a nice girl. Got married, with a pretty little daughter coming six months after the wedding. Effie she was. Named after her grandfather, Efram.

Harvey could never stand Efram, but he loved little Effie. At night, he’d sometimes wake up and just go look at her, wondering how such a thing had happened.

But then the road started to call again. He took a job as a traveling salesman, hoping that would be enough. But his wife hated him being away so much, and within a year she’d found someone else. Someone who could offer Effie a good life, she said. He didn’t fight it, but just accepted it like he always had everything else. He’d really meant to keep in touch with Effie, but by the time he finally got back to town, they’d moved on. He shrugged and figured it was probably for the best.

And so he spent his youth and his middle years. Traveling from place to place, never really settling down and making any ties. He had several younger brothers, but they were years younger than he was, and between the rails and the army, he’d never grown close to them. They barely found him in time when his mother died. He’d been on the road a lot that year, and it was just luck that he’d stopped by the office. When his brothers couldn’t reach him, they’d left a message at his office, on the hopes that he’d check in there.

He made it to the funeral, just in time, but felt an outsider among them. They were just kids when he’d left for the road—not the he was much more than a kid himself back then—and they never really knew him. But they’d been lucky. Things had gotten better about the time he went into the army. The war really did change everyone’s life, in ways even years later it was hard to fathom. So there he was, watching his mother’s body being laid into the ground, surrounded by strangers.

They invited him back to the house, for dinner, afterwards, but he didn’t feel right about it somehow. Felt like he was intruding. So he’d gone instead to a local diner. He had an affection for diners—of course he’d have to, after so many years on the road. Those big chain restaurants might have better food, but they didn’t have the people.

But somehow, sitting there eating his potato and what passed for steak, he suddenly felt lonely. Wished that he had gone with the others. Could talk with them about the woman who’d been his mother, whom he’d barely known. So he paid his bill and left. Headed back to the house.
They were surprised—shocked even—when he came back, but despite that, he realized they were glad he was there. Rarely had anyone ever been truly glad of his presence.

And somehow that changed everything.

Remarkably, he found another job with minimal effort, and within a year he’d bought a small house and was pretty much settled down. Nearly as remarkable was how easily he’d taken to this, his new life.

It was the young couple living next door that brought Effie to his mind. She was nice enough looking, a secretary, but one with a college education. She was mighty proud of that, and said that she wasn’t going to be a secretary forever, it was just something to do for now. And at that he wondered how Effie was. Where she was. What she was doing. He suddenly regretted losing touch with her, but lacking any way to contact her, he ended up spending more time talking to the young couple next door.

He was as thrilled more than he could have imagined when they had a little boy, and then his life changed once again. Betty was her name, and she’d come to stay for a few weeks, to spend time with her daughter and her new grandson. They were married that summer, and he much to his surprise, he was really, truly happy.

So he found another job, and they moved back to where she was from. They sold her place and bought a house together, a place that was new to both of them. She had friends where she was, and didn’t want her daughter to feel like her mother was looking over her shoulder all the time. After hardly any time at all, he felt that he had finally found his way home.

He was in thoroughly enjoying one of the more strenuous activities of retirement when he started to feel funny. Betty rushed him to the emergency room, where they told him it was his heart. They gave him some medicine, and some exercises to do, but he figured that if it was his time, then it was his time.

Sure he had regrets, but he’d done the best he could.

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