Page 32 of Summer of '69
Jessie warmed at his use of the pronounwe,and also, her stomach rumbled. “I’m starving,” she admitted. “My grandmother passed out before she could make me any dinner.”
“Bill told me your grandmother likes her gin,” Pick said.
“She does,” Jessie said, though she hardly thought it was a good idea for Mr. Crimmins to share this detail with Pick. But Jessie supposed that the family secrets would all be revealed, now that the Crimminses were living among them. Jessie eyed the cardboard box. “What did you get?”
Pick unfolded the flaps. “Meat loaf,” he said. “And cod cakes. There’s plenty, so help yourself.”
Jessie loathed cod cakes and would eat meat loaf only under duress, but she was hungry and she was so happy to be sitting alone with Pick that the food tasted more delicious than any she could remember. They both ate with their fingers and a couple of times their hands met when they reached into the box. Then Pick offered Jessie the last bite of meat loaf, which she declined, but he said, “Come on,” and popped it into Jessie’s mouth, and his fingers touched her lips in a way that made her feel faint.
She drank some of her ginger ale—it was cold and spicy—and wondered if she should leave, but Pick cleared away the box, then turned around so that his back was to the railing and he was facing Jessie. He stretched out his dungareed legs, one of which was grazing Jessie’s bare knee. He might not have noticed it, but Jessie was 100 percent nerve endings, all of them alert and yearning. It was funny the way being touched by Garrison had been offensive and gross but the slightest contact with Pick made her feel like she had eaten magic beans.
“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. Iftheyweren’t allowed to use the qualifiershalfandstep,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,everyoneis going to be there,” Pick said. “And my mother…well, she wouldn’t miss it, I know that much.”
“So you’regoing?” 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.”
