Harvey Summers and Michael Kimpel of Hainesborough, Tennessee, were arrested from Boo’s Country Western Bar at nine twenty-five on July 20th, 1980, after an attempted robbery and an attack on local record producer Billy Long.
The article went on to say that bail had been set, although Candice guessed that no one had been able to meet it. After another Google search, she read that Michael Kimpel had served fifteen years in a state prison before passing away in 2011, at home in Hainesborough, Tennessee.
Harvey Summers had served a longer prison term. It was hinted that he was violent in prison and didn’t play by the rules. He was eventually released in 2015, but his current status was unknown.
Candice shivered. This was her mother’s first husband, her mother’s abuser. It bothered her that they didn’t know where he was. But it wasn’t like he knew that Candice, Lindsey, and Henry existed. It wasn’t like he’d ever bothered their mother again—probably because she’d changed her name and disappeared. It had been an act of protection.
Candice was beginning to understand. But it was heartbreaking.
24
The drive from Nashville, Tennessee, to their mother’s hometown of Hainesborough, Tennessee, took no more than six hours. Candice and Lindsey alternated driving, both of them quiet, flicking through radio stations and drenching themselves in country songs. When they spoke, they agreed it felt as if they were driving into another dimension. As though, when they arrived, they would meet an alternate version of their mother, and maybe even alternate versions of themselves. They tried out their Southern accents, cackling.
But it felt serious, terrifyingly so.
When they pulled into the little mountain town, it was a little after six in the evening. According to the map, which barely loaded because their data struggled to reach them this deep in the mountains, there was a little restaurant down the road. It was maybe the only public place in the entire town. They went there, hoping to get advice and maybe some food.
The restaurant was more like a sports bar, with television screens showing four different types of sports and long tables and barstools. At this time of night in such a tiny town, it was hopping, with men and women and families sharing platters ofchicken, pizza, and other greasy bar food. Everything smelled of onions and grease.
Lindsey and Candice grabbed two seats at the bar, remembering how easy it had been to talk to Matthew and how quickly that had led them to the truth. The bartender was a man in his thirties who didn’t seem as interested in serving him as he was in watching at least three of the four sports on the various televisions. He smacked his thighs and said, “Come on, guys!”
When he did come over to take their order, Candice and Lindsey opted for white wine and grilled cheese sandwiches. “And we’ll share some fries,” Lindsey said at the last minute, giving Candice a funny smile.
“They’re good,” the bartender said. He smiled at Lindsey, as though sure she was flirting with him, then tapped their order into the screen and said, “What are those accents? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“We’re from Massachusetts,” Candice said.
“Got a couple of Yankees here,” the bartender said, laughing. “Did you ladies take a wrong turn on your way to the mall?”
Candice wanted to roll her eyes. But Lindsey knew that the fastest way to get answers was to be agreeable, it seemed, so she laughed and said, “You know how it is deep in these mountains. We didn’t know which way was up!”
“It’s hard if you don’t know the roads up here,” the bartender said seriously, as though he planned to abandon his shift and guide them through the woods himself. He poured their wine and settled over the bar, his eyes on Lindsey. “I don’t work tomorrow, if you want a little tour. City folks always lose their minds when they see what we have up here. Waterfalls. Bears.”
“Oh no!” Lindsey shrieked.
“They’re not so dangerous,” the bartender said. “But I always bring my gun, just in case.”
Candice shivered. After hearing what had happened at Boo’s Country Western Bar, after hearing what their grandfather had done (waving a gun around, threatening everyone), the last thing she wanted to hear about was more guns.
“Are you ladies married?” the bartender asked.
“We’re not, actually,” Lindsey said. “We’re sisters, traveling around.”
“Sisters! You don’t look that alike,” the bartender said.
Candice’s stomach flipped. They didn’t look alike because—as they’d just learned—they were only half siblings. Candice had a different father, a father named Billy Long. She hadn’t yet braved searching for him online. Maybe this was because she was so enraged at what Billy had done to her mother. Or maybe it was because she was worried he’d passed away, and she’d have to figure out how to mourn a man she’d never known—the man who’d fathered her and left.
For what felt like ages, Lindsey pretended to flirt with the bartender, who eventually introduced himself as Willy. Willy confirmed that he was in his thirties, that he’d lived in this town his entire life, that he was divorced, and that he had three kids of his own.
“Three kids!” Lindsey cried. “That’s a lot.”
“Don’t worry,” Willy said. “My ex-wife takes care of them ninety-nine percent of the time.”
Lindsey was the perfect actress. She didn’t betray how gross she probably thought that was. Candice thanked her lucky stars that Nathan had always been a very willing participant as a father. He’d always wanted to take on at least 50 percent of the work. He’d wanted to know their children as people, as growing and changing humans in the world.
By the looks of things, most of the other fathers in this bar were loving, just as Nathan was. Many of them pointed at the screens, trying to explain the sports to their children. Many ofthem made sure their kids were well fed and well cared for. This bartender was not like them.
He was probably more like Stella and Sally’s father, Michael Kimpel.
