The Hope of Poker Westman

By N.E. Cardenuto

Emotionally lost and alone in the world, Poker Westman is yanked out of all he knows by his father, who has no idea how to communicate. Together, they move to Irian Jaya, Indonesia, to escape the deep scars of the past.
As a transport pilot, Poker's dad unknowingly takes a job that propels them into the middle of a loving and supportive expat community. There, the father-son duo heals while experiencing the adventures of a foreign culture and the mysteries of a crashed World War II fighter plane, the Black Widow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645364801

Book preview

Epilogue

About the Author

After spending a lifetime involved in the teaching–learning process with fellow learners from kindergarten through graduate school, N. E. Cardenuto strives to cultivate creative and innovative learning paths for herself and those interested in peeking into her life. Her experiences with cultures outside the United States began in 1982 in Irian Jaya, Indonesia, and continued to expand throughout other areas of our complex world. Currently, she resides in Vermont and thrives on the beauty, live music, and warm community Vermont offers.

About the Book

Emotionally lost and alone in the world, Poker Westman is yanked out of all he knows by his father, who has no idea how to communicate. Together, they move to Irian Jaya, Indonesia, to escape the deep scars of the past.

As a transport pilot, Poker’s dad unknowingly takes a job that propels them into the middle of a loving and supportive expat community. There, the father-son duo heals while experiencing the adventures of a foreign culture and the mysteries of a crashed World War II fighter plane, the Black Widow.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the precious people who believed in me when I had little faith in myself and to the once-upon-a-time community in Sentani, Irian Jaya, Indonesia, that taught me the foundational skills of a loving community.

Copyright Information ©

N. E. Cardenuto (2019)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Cardenuto, N. E.

The Hope of Poker Westman

ISBN 9781645364801 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019909672

The main category of the book — YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Action & Adventure / General

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

I would like to acknowledge Marcia Mayo for her undying support of an insane and hidden artist and Sean Walker for modeling true friendship.

Chapter 1

Before the Adventure Begins

I remember it clearly. It was a Sunday night. I was in my room as usual when there was a knock at my door. In walked both Mom and Dad.

There’s somethin’ we need to talk about. Mom sat on my bed. I was at the desk, so I moved the books off the other chair for Dad.

Poker, there’s no easy way to say this. Your mom and I have decided it’s better if we don’t live together for a while. Dad’s hesitant voice seemed distant and unemotional.

Geez. They finally noticed there’s a problem, was my unspoken response, but I only shrugged my shoulders and gave a disinterested look, mirroring Dad as he ran his hand through his long blond hair. I can still remember his blue eyes staring at his hands as he absentmindedly played with the ring on his finger.

We want you to know this isn’t because of you. Your dad and I think it best to take some time apart. Mom masked the truth, trying to make the situation sound normal.

I sat there at my desk waiting for them to finish. I hated being talked to, and they looked at me like they wanted me to join in the conversation. I wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted to shout, Grow up and learn to get along! but I just shook my head and plopped down on my bed, hiding my head under the pillow.

Mom gently pulled the pillow away. If your dad and I live in two different places, we’ll need to know who you’d like to live with.

I sat up as my mind shouted, You can’t do this to me! How can I decide? It’s not fair! My thoughts raced with a mix of seemingly unrelated fears. But all I did was shrug my shoulders and mutter, I don’t care.

Mom playfully pulled at my light-brown afro. She took my hands into hers. My tan skin was pale as it rested against her ebony arms. We don’t have to look at this as a negative. You’ll have two homes instead of one. There might be more opportunities for you.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. My head felt like it was going to burst. My world was coming apart, and Mom sat there with a positive attitude. I turned away.

Suddenly I turned back and looked into her eyes. I could feel the anger growing inside me. How could you ask this question? Without thinking, I spit out the words, I wanna live with Dad. Fulltime. What I didn’t say was that I wanted a family. A real family. A family that loved each other.

The next day, Mom decided to drive to Georgia to stay with her sister for a while. As she stood at the door ready to leave, she dropped her suitcases by her side and held me by my shoulders. Looking into my eyes, she said, I need to think things over a bit more before we make this change. I’ll only be gone two weeks. I promise.

Dad sat frozen in the living room. He didn’t look out the window when Mom’s car coughed to a start and drove away. He didn’t even look up when I asked, Are you alright? So I left him there and walked back up to my room.

The time went by slowly. Grandma and Grandpa stopped by almost every day. I guess they were worried we’d starve. They didn’t understand what was happening any more than I did. They kept asking me questions, but I didn’t know what to tell them. I hoped this time apart might be all Mom and Dad needed to smooth things over. But my hope was foolish; I wasn’t at all prepared for what happened next.

It seemed like the middle of the night when the phone rang. Dad answered. He didn’t say enough for me to tell what was going on, but I knew something had happened to Mom. Get up, Poker. We’re headed to the airport.

We jumped into the truck and drove recklessly through town. On the way, he told me snatches of what he knew about Mom’s accident. She must have fallen asleep at the wheel because she veered off the road and drove directly into the path of an on-coming tractor-trailer. The accident happened somewhere in Kentucky.

Dad’s truck screeched to a stop in front of the hanger where he’d worked for the past 13 years. We ran in. Dad walked over to talk to some of his buddies, and then we headed out toward his Cessna. We jumped in and he started the engine before I had all my belts buckled. As we flew south, the guys back at the airport radioed updates on Mom’s condition. They assured us that someone would be at the airport in Corbin, Kentucky to take us to the hospital.

When we arrived in Corbin, sure enough, there was a car waiting. The driver didn’t waste any time getting us to the hospital. Dad was a mess. He rushed in the front doors grabbing everyone along the way to ask for directions to Mom. A doctor approached and touched Dad softly on the shoulder. That was all it took. Dad seemed to understand. The doctor shook her head. I’m sorry. She didn’t make it.

Dad sank into a chair. I came up behind and glanced over into a darkened room. The outline of Mom’s face was lying perfectly still. I walked into the room and inched my way over toward the bed. Mom’s beautiful curly hair was gone and her face didn’t even look like her, yet I knew it was.

I chose to hurt her by saying I wanted to live with Dad. Why did I say that? Why did I hurt her? Overwhelmed by guilt and grief, all I could do was turn and walk away.

Chapter 2

The Arrival

Man, I’m glad this flight is over. Dad stretched his long arms above the seat he’d sat in for close to 13 hours. Bits of his blond hair stuck out in every direction. It’ll feel good to sleep in a real bed tonight after being cramped for so long on this plane. Glad there’s only one more day of travel ’til we get to Irian Jaya, Dad spoke without looking at me. He bounced his oversized backpack onto his shoulder.

Come on, Poker, grab some of these bags. Dad took off down the aisle without checking to see if I was following. I hesitated. My hands brushed at my wild afro, hoping to tame it a bit. I wanted to follow, but I was scared. Could I trust him to lead us into the unknown world we were entering? He’d been silent and mysterious ever since Mom died. I never knew what he was thinking or what to expect from him. But, hey, I was just a 12-year-old kid. What do I know? I could only follow.

Wait up! I fumbled with the leftover bags and stumbled after him, not sure I could keep my focus. I was disoriented after such a long flight and having trouble keeping my eyes open.

My mind wandered to thoughts of my friends. They’d be playing hockey, then fooling around to see if they could pull together enough money to go to the movies. When they found out I was leaving Jamestown, they teased me that I was going to the ends of the earth to be eaten by a one-eyed monster. Now, they are nothing but a memory. Gone.

Hot, humid air slapped me in the face as I stepped out the doorway of the plane. It zapped away the little strength I had left. Struggling with the bags, I walked down the stairs and onto the steaming pavement to a bus waiting at the bottom. Dad turned and looked at me as we pushed to get on with the other passengers. He didn’t say a word. The look in his eye told me that I’d better keep up. Holding straps suspended from the ceiling, we stood silently with the other passengers while the bus took us from the plane to the airport.

As the doors opened for us to exit, I began to hear snatches of a strange language. Living near the Canadian border in Jamestown, New York, I’d run across distant French radio stations on the dial, but I’d just change the station. Knowing other languages was never an issue, until now.

A woman greeted