The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County: A Novel

61. Karl and Gloria

235 Karl and Gloria 61 W hy is my mother coming to Link Lake? thought Karl Adams as he drove along Highway 10 on his way to the Appleton airport. She’s associate editor of the Los Angeles Journal. Why didn’t the paper send a reporter, not someone of her stature, to cover the Stony Field story in Link Lake? What’s going on? Gloria’s flight was right on time. Karl waited at the baggage claim area for her, and after a few minutes, there she was. They embraced, talked briefly about the flight, found Gloria’s luggage on the carousel, and then headed for Karl’s car, neither saying anything. Once away from the airport, they headed back on Highway 10 toward Waupaca, and then Link Lake. Karl broke the silence. “Mom, why are you coming to Link Lake? Are you here to cover the Stony Field story? It’s turning out to be a circus with media people here from all over the country.” “Yes and no,” Gloria answered. “What in the world does that mean?” “Yes, I’m coming because of Stony Field. And no, I am not here to write a story about him.” “Now I really am confused,” said Karl. “Why in the world would you come to Link Lake, Wisconsin, in the middle of nowhere just because a famous writer lives here?” “Well, where should I begin? It’s all kind of complicated.” “Mom, you are not sounding like your old self. What’s going on?” “Well,” she began, “now that we know who the real Stony Field is, it’s probably time that you knew who the real Gloria Adams is.” “What?” was all Karl could think to say. “I suppose I should start at the beginning. First, you should know that my name has not always been Gloria Adams,” she said. 236 Karl and Gloria “Huh?” said Karl, glancing at his mother beside him, her hands together on her lap, a strand of gray hair falling over one eye. “I was born in Chicago in 1944 and moved with my parents to Link Lake in 1955, when they opened the Link Lake Supper Club. My parents were Fred and Barbara Jones and my name then was Gloria Jones.” “Wait, wait,” said Karl, trying to take in all that he had just heard. “Your last name is not really Adams?” “Oh, it’s Adams alright, but I’ll get to that part of the story later,” said Gloria. “Is . . . is Marilyn Jones your sister?” asked an incredulous Karl Adams after a brief pause. He was running one hand through his hair as he drove with the other. “Yes, Marilyn Jones is my sister. I haven’t seen her since 1966, when I moved to California when I had a breakup with the family.” “You . . . you haven’t talked to your sister since 1966?” “I talked to her once, when our folks died in a car accident in 1973. I told her she could have the supper club. Appears she has done quite well.” “Wow, I don’t know if I can handle all this. Hard-driving, ultraconservative Marilyn Jones is your sister.” A few hundred yards ahead, Karl spotted a rest area and he pulled in, stopped, and turned off the car. “Okay, Mom, so Marilyn Jones is your younger sister?” “She sure is, and I’m more than a little anxious about seeing her again, after all these years.” “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it,” Karl said as he ran his hands through his hair again. “Is Marilyn well?” “Oh, she’s well alright. In fact she probably looks years younger than she really is. For all her faults, she’s a darn good businessperson. She’s got the Link Lake Supper Club humming. Had a little setback a few weeks ago when a tornado tore the roof off the dining room and smashed up her office, but she’s got it all back in shape and doing better than ever.” “Well, that’s good,” said Gloria. Both Gloria and Karl had gotten out of the car and were now sitting opposite each other on a picnic table that was on the banks of a little stream that ran by the rest stop. 237 Karl and Gloria After a couple minutes of silence, Karl said, “So my name is not really Karl Adams?” “Oh...