Some accounts of Steve Heldt’s journal omit this entry, while other versions of his story make no mention of any diary at all. I place full credence in both the journal and its disputed, penultimate entry, which feels true, like a purge. A years-long gap followed in its wake: this, too, makes sense to me. Steve began journaling with a view toward completing an unpleasant task, and when he thought the job was done, he stopped.
I wonder if I can really tell you what it was like to lose Linda, how heavy the blow was to me. She was the mother of my only son; that’s not even what I really mean, when I hear it out loud like this, because he’s not my son, he’s our son. In February 1978 I drove her to Mary Greeley during a snowstorm in the middle of the night, because the contractions were coming too fast for us to wait any longer; she was sailing through early labor really fast, and we were young and scared, and I didn’t know what would happen, but I tried to stay strong, because I thought that was what she needed, and I always try to stay level-headed in choppy waters: that’s what I’m good at, it’s one of the things people know me by. Good old Steve, never flies off the handle. But I couldn’t stop my mind from scaring up all these worst-case scenarios, things I was afraid of: complications, terrifying grisly scenes. In my daily life, at work, at home, I don’t dwell on possible bad outcomes. What’s the point? If anything worries me I swat away the worry like a bug, but on the drive to the hospital it was like waves of worry crashing inside me. I focused on the road and told Linda just to keep breathing, that it wouldn’t be long.
That was the night our son was born! Men cry all the time now, it seems like, over any old thing, but it wasn’t like that then, and anyway, I’m not ashamed to admit I cried. Our son was so beautiful. He was perfect. A round little baby boy. Linda was tired afterward, so tired, and she and Jeremy both slept almost constantly for the next three days, and again I started worrying: that something might be wrong, that it wasn’t normal for him to sleep so much, that we ought to call the doctor. But she comforted me, and she said in that quiet, whispery voice: Steve, it’s OK. That’s what she was like. Even in her own exhaustion she helped me stay the course. All this is normal, she told me, that little baby so sweet, sound asleep on her chest and the house so quiet, and then as the ship steadied itself we began to grow into the family we became, a happy family for sixteen whole years. His first day of school. Christmases. Summer vacations. You don’t think about how you really have your whole life planned out until a part of it goes missing suddenly one day. You’ll panic then. I don’t care who you are. But for Jeremy’s sake and to make Linda proud I kept myself sane, and we got through it.
I’ll always miss Linda and I know Jeremy does, too, but he almost never talks about her, and I don’t know what I should do. I can’t tell if he needs help, if there’s something special a father’s supposed to do for his son when they’re in a situation like ours. I’m a guy who works on projects with blueprints, but I’m on my own here. It feels dark a lot of the time; I thought it would clear up, and it’s eased a little, but it’s still dark. So I watch what’s left of my life like a security guard on the night shift, checking the locks when I know I don’t need to, pacing the perimeter of someplace nobody’s going to break into, except that you never know. Something could happen. So you keep watch. They don’t pay security guards just because they’re a few bodies short on the payroll.
He drove home up Interstate 35, the sky so dark, the air cold. Reading the highway signs for Saylorville Lake he got that sentimental urge some men get to spend a day fishing with their sons. It seemed like a good opening. When he got home and found Jeremy in the living room watching the highlight reel, he tried it out: “Passed Saylorville Lake on the way home,” he said.
“Yeah? Bob Pietsch says he had to throw back more bluegill than he could take home last time he went out,” Jeremy said.
“We should get out there sometime,” Steve offered, pleased with himself: no false notes in the opening. They were talking like guys at work.
“Sure,” said Jeremy.
Steve kept his eye on the TV as he spoke. “Had dinner with Shauna Kinzer,” he said. “Did I tell you about Shauna Kinzer?”
Jeremy looked at his dad over there on the other end of the couch, the screenlight flickering on his face. “I don’t think so,” he said.
“Well, she’s somebody I met at a job site.” Baylor was beating the Cyclones again. “We kept running into each other and then tonight we got supper together. It was kind of a date.”
State couldn’t seem to do anything against ranked opponents this year. Jeremy wanted to tell his dad it was all right if he went out on a date, but he wasn’t sure if he meant it or if it just felt like the right thing to say, so he waited.
“We had a good time. She’s a really nice person. It’s nice to have somebody to talk to. I’d like to ask her out again.”