c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(6-26)
Amanda Breen never had lazy days, as a mother with a young son, a small business selling bakery goods, and an appetite for the lively social scene in her native, California district. But upon hearing her mother confess that a man once shared their apartment in central New York State, while stirring a summer romance that had been doomed from its inception, her pace slowed reactively. She found herself dogging through the days. Distracted and obsessed about the true cause of her conception. For a lifetime, her identity had seemed certain. A fact never questioned or disputed. Yet now, she researched online sites for clues about this mysterious figure from her mater’s past. Someone she had never seen in old photographs, or read about in diary entries. A veritable specter, lingering in the shadows.
Finally, her emotions erupted with the bubbling fury of a teakettle on the boil.
“Mom, what the hell happened to Townie Link after you came back to Cali? You left out that part of the story!”
Jessica sat with a glass of wine, in her library nook. She had been reading about Edie Sedgewick, and her association with the pop icon, Andy Warhol.
“C’mon honey, does it really matter? That’s all ancient history now, a bad memory better left in the lore of yesterday. I should never have mentioned it...”
Her offspring huffed with irritation at this dodge maneuver.
“You just left and never saw him again? Did he know you were pregnant?”
The former hippie disciple shook her head and whispered.
“I didn’t know until after returning to Santa Barbara. Your grandparents were shocked and wanted me to go back. I got letters almost every day from that kid, he was homeless for a few weeks, freezing on the streets of Ithaca, living in his VW Beetle, and then went to stay with relatives in Ohio. That broke his spirit, I think. Things were very different from the chaos of our wild fling at the hillside flophouse...”
Amanda bristled at this bout of honesty.
“Letters? Did you save them? How many were there before he disappeared?”
Jessica shielded her eyes as if being interrogated under a bright light.
“Dozens and dozens. He was really in love, though I doubt the poor guy could literally understand what that entailed. He was still a teenager, after all! Not someone with any idea of what it meant to take responsibility for being alive. He was careless and crazy, and casual about everything...”
The young femme pressed her progenitor in the issue, without mercy.
“AND YOU WERE HAPPY TO BE A COUGAR ON THE PROWL, FOR SOME DRINKS AND FUN IN THE BEDROOM?”
Her mother reacted with a predictable measure of embarrassment.
“We didn’t use that word in those days. I can’t quantify it, but he had something that clicked with me. We were both artistic. I liked to paint and design, while he was a musician and songwriter. Our fling was satisfying, at least for a brief interlude. But I had my own child to raise, and he didn’t seem to get the parenting thing. We were living on whatever money could be scraped together, from welfare or food stamps, and odd jobs. That kind of lifestyle couldn’t last. I would have lost everything!”
Amanda crossed her arms and stood tall on a pair of stiletto heels.
“So, you didn’t answer his letters? You didn’t talk to him on the phone?”
The senior female sighed heavily, while reflecting on her memories.
“We did speak on a couple of occasions. He had gotten a warehouse position, in Cleveland. His intention was to save enough for a drive out here in his ratty Volkswagen, which I thought sounded risky. I guessed that it would barely get to the border with Indiana. But he was determined to reconnect. I admitted to being knocked-up, but claimed to have had an abortion. That turned him cold, I think. I could tell that his zest for living had faded. His parents were very conservative people, and had him sleeping on the couch in their living room. I can imagine that they were horrified by the whole situation...”
Her daughter turned pale at this candid confession. It added another dimension to the story.
“Admit it, you knew in your heart that he was my dad. You knew it all along, but let both of us live with a lie! How does that make you feel now, Grandma Breen?”
Jessica stroked her long, gray curls while trembling. She had reached the edge of an emotional cascade into silence and despair.
“I thought it was the right thing to do, we were too far apart in age and experience. Not to mention, in our locations on the continent! I mean, Ohio is a whole world away from California! It’s like he was puttering along on a back road, and I’m here riding in the fast lane of a super highway! How could anyone make that work?”
Amanda did not relent in her quest for information. She wanted to know every detail about the man that might have sired her own existence.
“But it did work, for that summer at least. Am I correct? You must have loved him on some level. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have read his letters or answered his calls!”
Her mater stammered vocally, almost to the point of sobbing.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes! I did feel something for that kid. He was capricious and impractical, but made me feel free. I could see the light in his eyes when I showed him a painting. Or a set of jewelry I had made. He got the importance of shapes and colors. Something most people miss completely. I appreciated that, we were on the same psychic wavelength...”
There was a pause as both women caught their breath. Then the younger of this pair sat on a chair in the corner, with her head down, and eyes closed.
“You dumped my real father, like taking out the trash. Just say it out loud! He was good enough to be a lover, but not good enough to be a husband or a life partner. Not good enough to ever see that face of his own genetic spawn, in person!”
Jessica surrendered to the teeming wave of memories, at last. Her tears spilled and splashed uncontrollably. She sniffled noisily, while holding a tissue to her nose.
“YES, YES, YES I DID! I DID IT TO SURVIVE! I DID IT BECAUSE THERE WAS NO OTHER CHOICE! AT THE TIME, I HAD NO OTHER CHOICE! I COULDN’T JUST GIVE UP ON EVERYTHING!”
Amanda stiffened, and stared straight ahead. A plan was taking shape inside her skull.
“Mom, tell me, what was his legal name? Townie Link doesn’t sound right, that’s more like a made-up moniker for the clubs. What did it say on his birth certificate? What was he called as a newborn infant? What was his actual name???”
The answer dribbled out like a final burst of precipitation after a storm had passed.
“TOWNSHEND CARR LINCOLN! SUPPOSEDLY, A DESCENDANT OF OUR 16TH PRESIDENT!”
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