Summer of '69(42)

“So, Jessie,” Pick said. “How are things?”

“My father got here last night,” Jessie said. “He’s a lawyer in Boston and only comes on weekends. I thought he would bring a letter from my brother, Tiger, but he didn’t.”

“Tiger is in Vietnam,” Pick said, as if Jessie didn’t know.

“I miss him,” she said.

“He’s your half brother, right?” Pick said. “And you have two half sisters?”

“Blair and Kirby,” Jessie said. She bristled at the fact that Mr. Crimmins seemed to have shared even more family particulars. If they weren’t allowed to use the qualifiers half and step, why should Pick be able to? She decided to turn the tables on him. “Do you miss your mother?” she asked.

Pick blew out a stream of air but said nothing, and Jessie felt like a complete heel for asking.

“There’s stuff I didn’t tell you,” Pick said. He leaned forward. “She left for a reason. There was a man at the commune named Zeppelin, and he and my mother were together, but he used to hurt her, so she ran away.”

Jessie thought of how badly she had wanted to get away from Garrison. “Did she tell you she was going?”

“No,” Pick said. “But when I woke up and found out she had left, I knew that was why. It had nothing to do with me.”

Jessie wondered if this story was true or if Pick had invented it to make himself feel better.

Pick said, “I was afraid Zep might come after me when my mom left, but he took up immediately with a woman named Bunny.”

“Oh,” Jessie said.

“Things were kind of like that at the commune,” Pick said. “Sharing, partner swaps, no traditional relationship roles. My mom knew it was okay to leave me because there were plenty of other people to care for me.” Pick stood up and peered over the railing like Plumb Lane was a pool that he was about to dive into. Jessie stood as well. She should get back to the main house. It wasn’t impossible that Kate, in her melancholy state, would want to put her eyes on Jessie, the only child remaining at home. If she found Jessie’s bed empty, who knew what she might do.

“I know where to find my mother,” Pick said.

“You do?” Jessie said.

“There’s going to be a big concert in August,” Pick said. “In a town called Woodstock, New York. Jimi Hendrix is playing, and Creedence, Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane, the Who, Joe Cocker, Joan Baez, the Band, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young—”

“The Beatles?” Jessie asked hopefully. She had heard of most of the people Pick just mentioned but they weren’t her favorites. “What about Joni Mitchell?” Jessie thought about what it would be like to hear Joni Mitchell singing “Both Sides Now” in person. Jessie had yet to even play her record on the Magnavox.

“The point is, everyone is going to be there,” Pick said. “And my mother…well, she wouldn’t miss it, I know that much.”

“So you’re going?” Jessie asked. “You’re going to Woodstock, New York?”

“In August,” Pick said. “I’m saving my paychecks. I figure I’ll hop on the ferry a couple days before, take the bus to Boston, and hitchhike from there.”

“And then how will you get back?” Jessie asked. She supposed what she was really asking was if he was coming back at all.

Pick shrugged. “My mom and I will figure it out. There are going to be thousands of people there; I’m sure someone can give us a ride. My mom is good at making friends.” Pick turned to Jessie and a smile lit up his face. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Jessie opened her mouth to laugh at the absurdity of the offer or maybe to lament that she was still too young to leave the island alone. But instead of doing either, she said, “Okay.”

“Okay, you’ll come?” Pick said.

Jessie nodded. She was in love, she realized then. Completely in love with this offbeat boy whose mother had abandoned him.

Pick stuck out his hand. “Shake on it,” he said.

They shook hands and Pick held on for a few extra seconds. “This is great,” he said. “Now I don’t have to go alone.”

He doesn’t have to go alone; she will go with him, though she hasn’t the foggiest idea how she will manage to do this. But it’s still nearly two months off, so she has time to figure it out. Maybe Kirby will take her, or maybe the war in Vietnam will end and Tiger will make it home in time to go with Jessie and Pick. That, of course, would be almost too good to be true.

Jessie stares at the letter she’s writing, then out the window at Fair Street, and she wonders what Tiger will be looking at when he reads it.

I hope you’re well. I think of you every day, and just in case you’re wondering, nothing is the same without you. Write soon please.

Love, Messie





Piece of My Heart



For the ride to the Cape in Joey Whalen’s Lincoln Continental, Blair ties her Pucci scarf over her hair and puts on her round black sunglasses, a fashion statement she flat-out stole from former First Lady Jackie Kennedy. Joey wants to ride with the Lincoln’s top down because it’s a nice day, and Blair says fine; she’s just happy the vehicle is spacious enough to accommodate her girth.