[2013] Consequential Damages Read online

“Oh come on, Grandma. You’re the youngest seventy-seven-year-old I know. You’ll be fine. It all starts up here.” Amanda pointed to her temple. “How about if I make some tea?”

  “That would be nice.”

  Amanda left Jake alone with her grandmother as she excused herself to prepare the tea. The situation felt familiar to Jake. During high school and college, he had worked at a neighborhood grocery store, where he spent much of his time delivering groceries to housebound customers. Most of them were elderly women, many were infirm, and almost all were lonely. At first, he had found it intimidating and uncomfortable because he didn’t know how to deal with them. He quickly learned that he had it within his power to lift their spirits, and made it a challenge to do so with each visit. He discovered that the littlest things could really brighten their day. Sometimes he would do simple chores for them. Sometimes he would tell them a joke. Sometimes he would ask about their families. If he was able to get a smile out of them before he left, he felt like he had accomplished something.

  He had another trick that was tried and true, and he had come prepared to use it if the opportunity presented itself. He pulled a chair alongside Mrs. Chang’s, produced a deck of cards from his pocket and smiled at her. “I know a card player when I see one, Mrs. Chang. What do you say?”

  Amanda returned a short time later with a tray of tea and crackers. “Tea time,” she called out as she opened the door. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared in amazement at the unexpected scene before her. Her grandmother was sitting up straight in her chair, looking very much like her old self, lively and alert.

  “Three eights,” Jake announced, spreading out his cards.

  “Three jacks!” Mrs. Chang replied, rubbing her hands together gleefully.

  “Son of a gun, how did you pull that off?” Jake demanded, feigning shock and surprise.

  “Young man, I come from Chinatown, where we take our poker play very seriously.” She sounded boastful and cheerful at the same time.

  Neither of them looked up when Amanda came in. She set up a folding tray next to them and laid out the refreshments. “Well, well, you two seem to be getting along famously.”

  “Your grandmother thinks she can take me at poker. We’re going to see about that! Pull up a chair, I’ll deal you in.”

  Amanda poured the tea and then joined in the game. Jake needled Mrs. Chang in a good-natured manner as they played. She chattered constantly, obviously enjoying herself. Amanda was overjoyed to see her grandmother in good spirits. She caught Jake’s eye as her grandmother dealt the cards and silently mouthed, “Thank you,” admiration and gratitude beaming from her face. Jake smiled back and mouthed, “You’re welcome.”

  After Mrs. Chang beat Jake’s straight with a full house, he announced, “You’re killing me! I surrender. You win.”

  The old woman beamed. “Well, thank you for the game. I enjoyed that,” she replied, obviously pleased with herself.

  “Okay, let’s change the subject now,” Jake suggested, a trace of mischief in his voice. He looked at Mrs. Chang, then at Amanda. Then, looking back at Mrs. Chang, he said, “Tell me about Amanda when she was a little girl. I’m sure you’ve got some great stories.”

  “Oh no, you’ll embarrass me, Grandma,” Amanda pleaded, with a good-natured laugh.

  Mrs. Chang ignored her, clearly thinking that this was a great idea, as Amanda was without a doubt her favorite subject. She proceeded to regale Jake with story after story about Amanda as a baby, Amanda as a young child, and Amanda as a teenager. Most of the stories were opportunities for Mrs. Chang to comment about how smart, talented, pretty and kind her granddaughter was. Amanda’s embarrassment was obvious, but she endured the accolades, because she could see how much her grandmother was enjoying the conversation. After some time, Jake spoke up. “I really should give the two of you some time to catch up. I think I’ll go for a walk and check out your neighborhood.”

  Jake walked for over an hour. It was late afternoon when he returned to the Chang house, where he found Mr. and Mrs. Chang beginning to make dinner preparations.

  “If you don’t have plans, we’d love to have you join us for dinner, Jake,” said Mrs. Chang, just as Amanda entered the kitchen.

  “Would you mind if we ate here, Jake?” asked Amanda. “I know we were planning on going into town, but Grandmother is in such great form that I hate to leave her right now.”

  “That sounds great. I’d love to,” Jake replied.

  Amanda wheeled her grandmother into the dining room and they sat down to a delightful dinner of Cantonese food, the like of which Jake had never tasted on the South Side of Chicago. Grandma Chang chatted happily throughout the meal, and Amanda and her parents found their own spirits buoyed as a result.

  After dinner, Jake and Amanda cleaned the kitchen together, and then excused themselves to start the drive back to Stanford. Amanda’s parents and grandmother remained at the dinner table, drinking tea and sharing their impressions of the young man they had just met. As Amanda’s parents exchanged observations, Grandma Chang spoke up in a tone that left no room for argument. “He’s the one.”

  “What do you mean, Mom?” Mr. Chang asked.

  “I mean, he’s the one—the man Amanda is going to marry. No question about it.”

  “What makes you say that?” asked Mr. Chang. “They haven’t known each other very long.”

  “I just know it. I can tell by the way she looks at him. And by the way he looks at her. He’s the one. And do you know what? That’s a good thing. He’s the right one.”

  Amanda and Jake climbed into her Honda, and she started the ignition. Then she turned it off, and turned to face Jake. “I hope you don’t mind that we wound up spending almost the entire day here. I know that’s not what we had planned.”

  “I don’t mind at all. Your family is great. I’m really glad I had the chance to spend some time with them.”

  She looked at him silently for a long moment. Her eyes became misty. “You’re a very special person, Jake McShane. I’m glad I met you.” She leaned over and threw her arms around him. Then she quickly kissed him on the cheek and started the ignition.

  CHAPTER 15

  Over the next two months, Jake and Amanda were virtually inseparable. While their respective workloads remained demanding, finding time for each other became their highest priority.

  Fortuitously, their career paths seemed to be converging, and pointing both of them in the same direction: Chicago. Amanda had heeded Dr. Marsh's advice and made arrangements to visit both Northwestern and the University of Chicago during the first week of November to learn more about their fellowship programs and meet the people in charge. Jake had begun the fall interview process on campus and received flyback offers from several of Chicago’s elite law firms. He was able to schedule those interviews during the same week Amanda had scheduled hers. They decided to stay for the weekend following their interviews so that Jake could show her around the city.

  After four grueling days of nonstop interviews, they were able to spend all day Friday together sightseeing. They visited the Art Institute of Chicago, Navy Pier and the Willis Tower. Late in the afternoon, they browsed the glamorous shops on Michigan Avenue, had a casual dinner of authentic Chicago style pizza, and then went to a blues club on Rush Street for the evening.

  At breakfast on Saturday morning, Jake began making suggestions about other notable Chicago sites they could visit. Amanda stopped him. “Let's not play tourist today. I’d like to see the real Chicago. I want to see where you grew up.”

  “Sure, we can do that, but I have to warn you, it's nothing like this,” Jake replied, gesturing toward the glitzy hotels and high-rises along Lake Shore Drive.

  They drove south, through downtown, and then through some of the more blighted areas on the city’s South Side, before arriving in Beverly about thirty minutes later. Jake took Amanda on a brief driving tour of the neighborhood. For starters, they drove along Longwood Drive, a winding street at the
bottom of the only real hill in the entire city. Perched atop the hill, looking out over spacious, well-manicured lawns, were large stately homes designed by some of the most renowned architects of the early and mid-20th century. They traveled up the hill and proceeded to drive back and forth through the grid-like pattern of the neighborhood streets. The homes were mostly old brick structures, with an occasional stucco or frame house here and there adding a bit of variety. Many of the homes were quite large and impressive, remnants of a time years ago when this was an exclusive neighborhood for the well-to-do. Just as many homes were more modest, bungalow style structures that had sprung up in the post-World War II era, providing affordable housing for city workers and tradesmen within the city limits. While there was great disparity among the size and appearance of the neighborhood’s homes, the grand and the simple were seamlessly bound together by the innumerable trees lining every street. Maples, oaks, chestnuts and elms dominated the landscape.

  “These are my old stomping grounds,” Jake said as Amanda marveled at the brilliant fall colors. “I've got to take you to a very special place.”

  He pulled up in front of a smallish grocery store with a 1950s vintage sign that simply read “Quinn’s Fine Foods.” The parking lot was full, so they parked half a block away and made their way on foot. “This is one of the real nerve centers of the neighborhood,” Jake explained as they joined a throng of shoppers entering the old but well-kept building. “I worked here all through high school and college.”

  The inside of the store was a flurry of activity. Unlike the large supermarket chains Amanda was accustomed to, Quinn’s had only three aisles, each of which was barely wide enough for a pair of shopping carts to pass in opposite directions. Customers were lined up several rows deep in front of the meat counter, where half a dozen butchers carved up fresh meat on large wooden butcher blocks and then wrapped their orders in crisp white paper for the waiting customers. A small army of women in their fifties and sixties wearing pale blue smocks scurried around, filling grocery carts from shopping lists and then disappearing into a back room.

  Jake recognized nearly everyone, customers and employees, as he strolled through the store with Amanda, exchanging warm handshakes and friendly hugs with old friends and acquaintances.

  As they made their way toward the produce section, they observed a short, trim man with a shock of white hair walking briskly and purposefully toward a customer. “Mrs. Callahan,” he called out in a strong voice with a thick Irish brogue. “You forgot your pastries.” He held up a small white bag as he chased a customer down the third aisle. “Hello, Jacob,” he said casually as he hurried past them, as if he were used to seeing Jake on a daily basis.

  “That's Mickey, the owner. He’s my former boss.” Jake explained. “He must be nearly seventy by now, but he still runs around like a kid.”

  A moment later, Mickey was back. “Jake! Great to see you, lad!” He beamed and shook Jake's hand enthusiastically. “Who's your lovely friend?” He turned toward Amanda, and Jake made introductions. They made small talk for a minute or two until Mickey noticed an overweight middle-aged woman searching for something she was obviously unable to find in the frozen food section. He gave Jake and Amanda a look that said, “duty calls.” “Can I help you, dear?” he called out in a strong, friendly voice, as he hurried off.

  They squirmed through the crowd in front of the butcher counter. “I can’t believe how busy this place is,” Amanda said. “Are they giving something away?”

  “Nope. To the contrary, Mickey can’t compete with the big chain stores on price, but he’s still fabulously successful. He’s built this place into a neighborhood institution, even though he breaks all the traditional rules of business.”

  “How does he do it?”

  “It's simple. Mickey's goal is serving the community rather than trying to maximize his profits. His store is the vehicle that enables him to do that. He truly couldn't care less about how much money he makes. And because he places such importance on community service, people flock to his store, and the business thrives even though he does things that many business owners would consider utterly foolish.”

  “Like what?”

  “For one thing, he provides a delivery service. There are a lot of elderly people in this neighborhood who don't drive, or have health problems or for other reasons have difficulty getting out to the store. They can phone in their order and have it delivered to their door—at no charge. Mickey employs a small army of people who take the orders, do the shopping, box up the groceries and then deliver them. His accountant continually harangues him because he loses his shorts on that service, but taking care of those shut-ins is important to Mickey. He doesn't care what it costs. Not only that, he employs lots of high school and college students, probably twice as many as he really needs. Mickey believes he's providing gainful employment and valuable job experience that prepares them for the working world. Keeps them off the streets, too. Because of that, he’s got a tremendously bloated payroll, but he doesn't care. He's making a positive difference in people's lives.”

  “Sounds like quite a man.”

  “He’s a special person – I can’t think of anyone I admire more. Come on, I'll give you the private tour,” Jake offered, as they walked into a narrow entranceway leading to a swinging door. He led Amanda through it into the back room, which was bustling with activity, as the ladies in the blue smocks packed their groceries into boxes, which were then lined up along the floor leading to the back door. Two young men were busily carrying the boxes out the door and loading them into an old van. Jake looked at the names and addresses taped to the boxes and recognized most of them.

  “Hi Kenny,” Jake called out as one of the young men burst through the back door and lifted another box.

  “Jake! What the hell are you doing here?” Kenny asked, winded from the exertion.

  “Just stopped in for a visit. Looks like you're on your way to the Waiting Room. Say hi to all my girlfriends there.”

  “Will do. Gotta run now. See ya!” Kenny hustled out.

  “Girlfriends?” Amanda asked with amusement. “What's the Waiting Room?”

  “It's short for ‘God's Waiting Room.’ It's a big apartment building about a mile from here. A lot of the residents there are elderly, and never leave their apartments. It's as if they're just passing time, waiting to meet their maker. Somebody dubbed it ‘God's Waiting Room’ years ago. Pretty crass, huh? It's been shortened to just the Waiting Room.”

  “That's terrible,” Amanda said with mock indignation.

  “We take great care of them. Sometimes, we're the only person from the outside world they see all week. I'm not sure what they would do if Mickey didn't provide this service.”

  “I can't believe how many people you know around here,” Amanda remarked as they made their way out of the bustling little store.

  Jake shrugged. “I've lived my entire life in this neighborhood, and spent almost six years working at this store.”

  They spent the remainder of the afternoon visiting with Jake's parents at his childhood home, a few blocks up the hill from the grocery store. Of Jake's four siblings, only his youngest sister, Colleen, still lived at home. She was a senior in high school, and like Jake, was enamored of the idea of going to school on the West Coast. She eagerly peppered Amanda with questions about colleges in California, and seemed equally interested in hearing about the beaches, the mountains, and the California lifestyle.

  Mrs. McShane prepared an elegant prime rib dinner, and they continued visiting into the early evening, until Jake announced, “We'd better be going now. I promised Amanda I would show her the neighborhood's primary form of entertainment.”

  “Oh no, you're not going to take her to the dive bars on Western Avenue, are you?” asked Colleen. “Talk about a way to ruin her impression of our great city!”

  Jake looked at Amanda. “You wanted to see the real Chicago, right? Drinking beer at the local taverns is the primary form of so
cial activity around here.”

  “Yeah, for lowlifes and drunks,” said Colleen. “You can’t take Amanda to a place like that!”

  Jake was unconcerned. “Too late. I've already committed us. I told Johnny we'd meet him at Riley's.” Then looking at Amanda, he asked, “You're still up for this, right? It may be a bit of a culture shock.”

  She laughed. “I think I can handle it. I may be living here someday, so I better do my best to learn the local customs. When in Rome ...”

  They said their good-byes and walked toward Western Avenue. It was chilly and looked like it might rain, but it was only a few blocks. Western Avenue was the only commercial street in the Beverly neighborhood, and formed its western boundary. The east side of the street was lined with retail shops, fast food restaurants and small office buildings. The west side of the street hosted similar occupants, along with a wealth of drinking establishments. From 99th Street to 115th Street, there were bars on every block. At the moment, their names included Riley's, O'Brien’s, Kelly's, and McSweeney's, but they changed frequently, usually from one Irish surname to another.

  As was typical for a Saturday night, Riley's was crowded and noisy, although a bit less crowded and noisy than most of the other nearby taverns. For that reason, Jake preferred it to the others. One could actually carry on a conversation without too much exertion.

  On their left as they walked in was a long bar with a shiny brass rail around it, and two bartenders behind it, hustling to keep up with drink orders. On the opposite wall were tall circular tables surrounded by high barstools, every one of which was occupied.

  “Hi Jimmy!” Jake yelled to the bartender as they approached.

  “Jake! Good to see you! Who's your friend?” The bartender had a booming voice and a friendly face.

  “This is Amanda. She's visiting from California.”

  “Welcome, Amanda! I hope you're enjoying the Windy City. Drinks are on me. What'll you have?”

  Jake ordered for them both. Amanda was not much of a beer drinker, but gamely sipped at the brew Jake handed her. They made their way toward the back of the bar. As in the grocery store that afternoon, Jake knew almost everyone in the place. He shook hands with many of the guys, hugged a few of the girls, and introduced Amanda to them all.