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When they said more money than you would know what to do with and bathed in riches they weren’t fucking kidding.
Pete knew it would be a lot of money. But he hadn’t really understood what that meant. He had a team of people who helped manage his account, which as far as Pete could tell just meant Pete asked to withdraw money, and they made it happen, no matter how much.
He’d tried really hard to run through the money at first. Spending with wild abandon. He started multiple charities, gave money to every person he could think of, and purchased useless shit that didn’t fill the void in his chest. Still there seemed to be more money every time he checked his accounts. He’d spent more money than he could really fathom, and the only explanation he got was money makes money.
He kept running into red tape and stupid fucking regulations. He couldn’t just throw money at organizations, they all needed paperwork or wanted to name a fucking building after him. It was easier to give money to random individuals, but that presented its own problems. They either did recognize him and thought he was crazy, or they did recognize him and then they really thought he was crazy.
Isn’t he the one who pointed a gun at The Major?
He gave up trying to keep ahead of it at that point. He wanted to be rid of it all, for someone else to be in charge of it, someone smarter than he was, someone with more drive to change the world than he had.
He’d had that drive once, it was dead now.
It was easier visiting people he had a connection to.
Art’s grandmother. Stebbin’s mother. Even Barkovitch’s memaw.
Ray’s mother was the hardest, but he still did it.
He had a rotation. A dozen different people he went to see each month. Today was Clementine. He’d been avoiding seeing her face to face for so long but he had welcomed her forcing him to sit down for tea the last time he’d delivered money to her.
February first, nine months after the walk had started, Peter McVries stood looking at the Olson house. Clementine had been about ready to pop the last time he’d been here. She would have a newborn now. She had implied the baby would be born before Pete came again, at least.
He came earlier in the day than he had previously, the sun was still up. This time instead of ditching an envelope of cash on the porch, he also had a wrapped gift and a guitar slung over his shoulder.
He hesitated before knocking on the front door, but he promised Clementine he wouldn’t run away anymore. So he knocked.
Clementine’s eyes lit up when she opened the door and saw him standing there. “Pete! Come in.”
“I brought a layette set,” Pete said, holding up the wrapped present. “The guy at the store said it was good for a newborn.”
“Oh we’ll certainly use it.” Clementine led Pete into the living room, and gestured for him to set the present down on a coffee table. “Kids go through clothes fast. Don’t they?” Her voice went high and sweet as she bent down over a small bassinet. She picked up the baby and held him up to her shoulder. He let out a small sound that resembled an owl hooting. She turned slightly so Pete could be face to face with him.
“This is Andre.”
“Pleased to meet you sir.” Pete said with an exaggerated dip of his head. He only got another soft coo in return. Pete didn’t have a lot of experience with babies, or kids at all for that matter. He always had the impression that all babies kind of looked the same for awhile. He didn’t think he should be able to see Hank in this kid’s face, but he could. He was mostly Clementine, but Hank was definitely there too.
“Do you want anything? Tea?” Clementine asked, setting Andre back in his bassinet. “I’ll need to feed him and settle him down for a nap soon.”
“Nah, I don’t need anything. Besides, you just gave birth and I can buy as much tea as I want.”
“It’s really no trouble,” Clementine said, disappearing into the kitchen.
“Make something for yourself, I’ll babysit.”
“He’s three weeks old, Pete. There’s not much to look after.” Clementine’s voice drifted through the house.
Pete deposited the money envelope and gift on the coffee table, then pulled his guitar from where it hung behind his back and settled on a sofa next to the small bassinet.
“You like music, kid?” Pete asked. Andre was staring into the middle distance, definitely not giving a fuck about Pete.
“Maybe you just haven’t heard anything you like yet.” Pete propped the guitar up on his knee and strummed it a few times, plucking out a few random notes from the first chord of the song he wanted to play. He watched the little movements and noises the kid made. After a minute or two he sneezed and scrunched his face. Pete chuckled.
“I just learned this song. So you’ll have to let me know what you think.”
Pete started playing the song, and singing quietly so as not to startle Andre.
From this valley they say you are going,
We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile.
For they say you are taking the sunshine
That has brightened our pathway a while.
Come and sit by my side, if you love me.
Do not hasten to bid me adieu.
But remember the Red River Valley
And the cowboy that loved you so true.
Pete watched Andre look around himself, clearly the kid didn’t have much control of his neck muscles yet, as he flopped his head to one side jerkily. Pete let out a laugh between verses, but he didn’t let it keep him from continuing the song.
For a long long time, I’ve been waiting,
For those sweet words you never would say.
But now everybody has told me,
That you are a-going away.
Come and sit by my side, if you love me.
Do not hasten to bid me adieu.
But remember the Red River Valley
And the cowboy that loved you so true.
Pete strummed the guitar a few times to end with a flourish. Andre hiccuped and let out a frustrated whine.
“That bad?” Pete asked with a chuckle. “I’ll work on it.”
“Did you write that?” Clementine sat down next to Pet and placed two cups of tea on the coffee table. “It was beautiful.”
“I told you not to make me anything.” Pete said. He set his guitar aside and picked up the tea she had set in front of him. “And no, I didn’t write it. It’s an old folk song. Ray has—Ray’s mom has a record of it. I’ve been spending time at her place, and she gets mad when all I do is chores for her so I started learning a few songs from their old record collection.”
Pete took a sip of the tea to stop himself from continuing to ramble, it burned his tongue.
“Well I’m glad you haven’t been avoiding her for months too.”
“I tried. She actually cornered me like you did. Only took her two months though.”
Clementine made an amused face at Pete as he set the tea back down and breathed through his mouth for a second to try and cool his tongue.
“Have you seen anyone else?”
It took Pete a moment to parse what Clementine meant.
Andre whined again, it sounded like it might verge on crying soon. Clementine picked him up and bounced him lightly on her knee.
“Yeah. A few. Art’s grandmother.” Pete finally answered. “I actually never tried to avoid her. I needed to give her Art’s rosary in person; just felt like it deserved that respect.”
“Are you religious, Pete?” Clementine asked. She absentmindedly stuck a knuckle into the baby’s mouth, which he gladly began to suck on.
“Nah.” Pete shrugged. He tried another sip of tea, it was still quite hot, but it didn’t burn anymore. “But Art was. And he was the only person to actually ask us to do anything personally. I wanted to honor that.”
Clementine shifted Andre and looked between Pete and her mug of tea. After a moment of contemplation she looked back at Pete and asked, “do you want to hold him?”
Pete froze, and Clementine must have seen the fear on his face because she laughed and added, “I promise you it’s not hard.”
Before Pete could actually protest he had a baby being passed into his arms. He held Andre as if he were the carbine he held all those months ago, like with one wrong move, one wrong twitch of his fingers could spell disaster.
“My parents and Hank's parents are over all the time. And my best friend Cathy is too. But I still always find myself needing an extra pair of hands when they aren’t around.” Clementine reached for her mug and blew into it before taking a sip. She tried in vain to hide a smile as she watched Pete panic about how to hold a baby properly. “Relax, you’re doing fine.”
“Easy for you to say, you’ve got a three week head start on me.” Pete said, finally getting his arms around the kid in a way that felt like he couldn’t possibly drop him.
“You’re supporting his head. You’d be surprised how few people do that their first time.”
Pete looked down at Andre in his arms, and tried not to think about Hank crying out on the road as he died.
Clementine took another long gulp of tea and put her mug down. “I can take him back if it’s too much,” she said gently.
Pete wanted to be helpful, but actually did feel a little overwhelmed.
Clementine held her hands out, and Pete passed Andre back to his mother.
They talked for a few minutes, mostly about the struggles of motherhood. Clementine bemoaned her sleep schedule, and lack of free time, but in the same breath cuddled Andre close to her cheek and said she’d never been happier.
“It’s an odd thing,” Clementine said once the conversation began to wind down. She smiled down at her son. “Holding all this grief and love at the same time. He makes me smile every day. I try not to feel guilty about it, but I still do.”
Pete hated to see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “I don’t think Hank would want you to feel guilty.”
Pete had spent maybe an hour total with Clementine since he first met her outside the gates of the starting line all those months ago, but he was already getting pretty good at reading her expressions. She was an extremely unguarded person. So when she instantly blinked away the sadness in her eyes and lifted a skeptical eyebrow at Pete he knew right away she was calling out his hypocrisy. God, she was perfect for Hank.
Pet nodded and pressed his lips into a thin line.
“I don’t have to say it, do I Pete?”
“No Clementine, you don’t.” Ray wouldn’t want him to feel guilty. Pete knew this. “Easier said than done, I guess.”
Clementine nodded. She looked like she was going to say something else, but Andre let out a frustrated cry.
“Oh my,” Clementine said, smiling down at her son. “Is someone hungry?”
Pete took that as his sign to leave. He pushed himself up from the sofa with a grunt, retrieved his guitar, and moved to the door.
“I should leave you to it.”
“You don’t have to go.” Clementine stood and followed him to the door.
“I know,” Pete said with a small smile. “I’m taking baby steps. Perhaps next time I’ll stay for half an hour.”
Clementine laughed. “Perhaps, next time you can move up to holding him for five whole minutes.”
“Next time I’ll have learned an actual lullaby.” Pete wiggled a finger in front of Andre’s face, as if the newborn baby could even really react to it, before stepping out onto the front path of Clementine’s house.
“I don’t think he cares what a song is about.”
“It’ll help me to branch out from obsessing over my dead—” Pete stumbled over the word friend, it wasn’t right. “Obsessing over Ray’s old records.”
“Alright then,” Clementine said. She cradled Andre in one arm and made his tiny fist wave at Pete. “We will expect lullabies next month.”
“I’ll learn some really good ones,” Pete called back to them. And he meant it.