Leaving Yesterday (9 page)

“Well, look who we have here.” Rick’s voice was firm but not unfriendly. He stuck out his hand and Kurt shook it. It was beyond me how men could shake hands at a time like this, even if they were only a step away from estranged. “Good to see you, Kurt.”

Kurt nodded. “Good to see you, too, Dad.” I wondered if they were both remembering the last time they were together. If Kurt was picturing the hard set of his father’s face as he heard he was no longer welcome in this house. If Rick was picturing the pain that dulled Kurt’s eyes in spite of the defiant expression. If either remembered Kurt’s final words that I sometimes still heard during the darkest of my dreams:
“I’d
rather die than ever come back here.”

The scene was still so real and vivid to me, it could make me physically ill if I thought about it for too long. After today, I planned to write it off as simply a bad dream that never really happened. My reality was starting right here, in this very moment.

“Where’s Short Stuff?” Kurt looked toward the house as if expecting Caroline to come running out at any moment.

“She’s at softball practice. Her friend Jenny’s dad will drop her off at the house in about twenty minutes.” I didn’t tell him how Caroline had cried when she found out she wouldn’t be here to greet him. I also didn’t tell him that Rick had insisted Caroline not be here in the beginning, until we “check this whole thing out.”

Kurt’s eyes looked tired, empty almost, as if the spirit had been sucked right out of him. An uneasy sensation gnawed at me as we turned toward the house. What if he turned and ran? Well, I would not let that happen. As we walked through the front door, I linked my arms through his and squeezed tight. I planned to clamp down for dear life if he tried to so much as slow down. It was hard enough to know that he would be leaving here in a few hours to go live with my sister. Only the knowledge that she loved him almost as much as I did made that fact bearable.

Kurt took a step inside the door, then stopped. He looked all around as if seeing his childhood home for the first time, nodded occasionally, and took a few deep breaths. “I’d forgotten how much I missed this place.”

I started to say something along the lines of “It hasn’t been the same without you,” but I didn’t want to say anything that he might take as an accusation. Instead, I said the only thing I could think of. “Let’s sit in the living room for a little while. I’ll bring in some chips and guacamole, and we can spend a few minutes relaxing before dinner.”

I heard the sound of a car in the driveway and realized Caroline must have finished practice a little early today. She would be thrilled about that since it would mean more time with Kurt. I walked to the front door and opened it, preparing to call out a thanks to Jenny’s father and an offer to pick the girls up from practice next week. Only that’s not what happened.

When I saw the black car sitting in my driveway, I gagged on my revulsion. I looked at Rick, who sat in the living room with his son, not one trace of guilt on his face. How could he do that? I knew very well he had set this up. This was why he insisted Caroline go to softball practice. He didn’t want her to be here when the police arrived to question her brother.

“Who’s here?” Kurt asked.

I turned my gaze from Rick to Kurt, trying to keep my voice and expression calm, although I was nothing even close to it. “It’s a detective. He’s been wanting to talk to you for a while.”

“Talk to me?” His voice sounded so surprised. So innocent. He looked at his father and nodded, shoulders back. “I guess I better talk to him then.” He walked to the front door and met Detective Thompson on the front porch. He extended his hand as if he were applying for a job rather than talking to a detective. “I’m Kurt Stewart. I understand you’d like to talk to me.”

Detective Thompson nodded toward me. “I know you’re right in the middle of a reunion, so if I could ask a couple of quick questions, that would be great.”

Kurt nodded. “Fire away.”

“Did you know Rudy Prince?”

Kurt looked at me for a split second before he nodded. “Yeah, I know him.”

I noticed the way he used the present tense instead of the past. I hoped that Detective Thompson noticed, too. Kurt obviously didn’t even know Rudy Prince was dead, much less have played any part in it.

“Your friend Rudy was beaten to death a while back. We’re talking to everyone who was associated with the guy.”

“He was no friend of mine, and I didn’t
associate
with him. I bought drugs from him. In fact, I’m pretty sure I still owe him some money.” His voice was as flat as the look in his eyes. No emotion, no energy. I hoped it was the strain of rehab, not the permanent work of drugs, that had removed the spark from him.

“A little over a thousand dollars, according to his records.”

“Yeah, well, is that why you’re here—to collect the money? Do I need to pay that to his next of kin now?”

Detective Thompson seemed surprised by the sarcasm. “I’d say you’re a lucky man in the debt department. Let’s see how well you do in the truth-telling department. I need the name of the rehab facility where you’ve been, and I need to know the date you entered.”

“I stayed at Serenity by the Sea, and I have no idea what date I entered. It was a couple of months ago. I think I went in on a Saturday, but I couldn’t say for sure. That time is mostly a fog I’d rather not look back through.”

Detective Thompson smiled amiably. “Yeah, I’m sure I understand that. Listen, I don’t want to hold up your dinner any longer. I just need an address and a phone number where I can reach you after I check out a few things.”

Kurt gave him my sister’s address and phone number. “I’m not sure what I can do to help you, but feel free to give me a call.” He said it with such conviction, such innocence, I was sure that Detective Thompson now realized he’d wasted his time in coming here.

We walked back into the house, and I glared at Rick, wishing we were alone right now so I could tell him exactly what I thought about his little stunt. He didn’t look at me, and instead sat staring at the carpet. I almost thought I saw a shimmer of liquid in his eyes. Good. Surely now even he saw how wrong he’d been. I turned my attention back to Kurt, determined to salvage this evening. “What would you like to drink?”

Kurt looked at me and his mouth dropped open. Then just as quickly he smiled and shook his head. “Thought you were offering me a martini there for a second, then I realized who it was doing the offering. Oh, Mom, it’s been too long.” He put his arm around my shoulders and grinned, and as he did I thought I saw a brief spark of his old self. “Do you have any cream soda?”

“It just so happens that I do.” Our entire pantry was stocked with every single thing I could remember Kurt ever liking, and cream soda had been his favorite since childhood. It would take weeks for us to eat through the leftovers, but I didn’t care. My son had come home.

One cream soda later, just as we seemed to be running out of safe topics to talk about, I heard a car pull into the driveway. This time I went to the door with a bit of trepidation. I reached for the handle, but the door burst open before I could touch it, nearly knocking me down.

“Kurt, Kurt!” Before I even realized what was happening, Caroline had crossed the room and flung herself into Kurt’s lap.

I rubbed my shoulder, took a step out onto the porch, and waved at the retreating car. “I’ll pick up Jenny after next practice.”

“No problem.” Her father waved out the driver’s side window as he pulled off.

I walked back into the living room to find Caroline with her arms wrapped around Kurt’s neck, murmuring, “I missed you, I missed you,” over and over again. Oh, how I envied a child’s lack of restraint right now.

Kurt put his arms around her and squeezed, his eyes closed. “I missed you, too, Short Stuff. I’ve missed you bunches.”

He kissed the top of her head. “So, what have you been up to? Have you gotten married or engaged or anything while I’ve been gone?” His eyes began to twinkle and his voice had regained some its former energy.

“Gross! I’m only ten.”

“Ten? Ten? You’re kidding me. You look so grown-up I thought you must surely be at least fifteen or sixteen.”

She preened with satisfaction at the comment, then leaned back and took his face between her hands. “I’m eleven years younger than you. Remember?”

“No way. That would make me an old man. Like thirty-two or something.”

“
Twenty-one
.
Eleven
plus ten is
twenty-one
.”

“That’s right.” He rocked her side to side and squeezed her. “I was just making sure you’re keeping up with math.”

I looked toward Rick, who was watching the exchange. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and turned toward me. He looked at me evenly for a few seconds, gave the briefest of nods, then looked toward the floor. I knew that he was struggling not to break down, just like I was.

Caroline put her head on Kurt’s shoulder. “Please don’t use that word in my presence again.”

“What word?”

“M-a-t-h,” she spelled it out for him.

“Oh sorry, didn’t mean to offend.”

“You’re forgiven. This time.”

With every second of the exchange, more and more of the son I had known emerged from this shell of a broken man. I realized then that it would happen. It might take time, but Kurt was returning to me. To us. Every lost bit of him.

Twelve

“So, what have you been doing with yourself these last few years?”

The fork dropped out of my hand and clanked against the plate, splattering sour cream–laden stroganoff sauce all over the tablecloth and my clean white shirt. I dabbed at a spot on my blouse, not because I was worried about the stain but because I was relatively certain that if I didn’t keep my hands busy, I would reach over and try to knock some sense into my husband’s dense head. Whether or not he was less optimistic about this reunion than I was, what kind of question was that to ask your formerly drug-addicted son? There was no truthful answer that he could possibly want to tell, and certainly none that we would want to hear.

“You okay, Mom?” Caroline’s innocent question came between left-handed bites of egg noodles. “I’m the one who ought to be dropping stuff, since I’m eating left-handed, after all.” And she was, in spite of my earlier admonishments. She couldn’t eat with her right hand because her right arm remained firmly latched on to her brother. The poor guy could barely move his left arm at all, but given the grin on his face every time he looked down at her, I didn’t think he minded so much. Even Rick had let the indiscretion slide.

“I’m fine. Still as clumsy as ever, though.” I tried a little fake laugh, which I was certain fooled no one. While I had the floor, though, it was time for yet another of my tactful changes of subject. “So, tell us what your Aunt Jodi and Uncle Monte have planned for you.”

I, of course, knew the answer. After my conversation with Kurt yesterday, I’d called Jodi and spent over an hour on the phone, talking with my sister about every single detail.

He shrugged and finished chewing his current bite of stroganoff. “I guess Uncle Monte’s decided it’s time to quit dabbling and really turn the place into a self-sustaining olive farm. He wants me to clean out the old orchard that was already there, and then we’re going to be planting several acres more. Apparently I’ll be helping with odds and ends with the gift shop that they’re building, too.”

Rick shook his head. “I don’t get what those two are thinking. Templeton is smack dab in the middle of wine country. People go there to visit the wineries, to taste the wine, to see the vineyards. Who is going to stop at an olive farm in the middle of all that?”

“Aunt Jodi seems to think a lot of people will. She says it’s different from the status quo and that works in our favor. Everbody’s using olive oil in their cooking now, and apparently the organic thing is huge. She says if we can produce something local and sustainable, folks will jump at the chance. Plus, I think she plans to make soap with some of the oil, too. Maybe some other things.”

My heart soared at the longest string of words yet I’d heard from Kurt. And there was a glimmer of his old sharp mind. It was like every passing minute released one link more of the chain holding him.

“Soap.” Rick snorted. “Sounds just like her. If ever there was a flower child who just never got over it, it is your Aunt Jodi.”

Kurt toyed conspicuously with the noodles on his plate. He glanced up at me, then quickly back down. I was sure he could sense the tension between Rick and me. Add that to the fact that Rick and Kurt had been clashing for the last ten years, long before drugs became the excuse, and that Kurt was about to go live with the family that Rick partially blamed for Nick’s death. Let’s just say, the tension was thicker than any clichéd phrase you might want to use for it.

I was not going to have it. I was the mother, I was in charge of setting the tone here, and it wasn’t going to be set this way. We needed to change the subject to neutral topics for a while. For tonight, I just wanted this evening to end with no explosions of temper, no accusations, and none of the familiar altercations between my husband and son.