The Shortest Way Home (35 page)

“He knew they would need these in the world, and he gave them as any parent might give their young adult a warm jacket before they leave for college, or a set of dishes before they move into their first apartment.

“God blessed his children, even after they goofed up. Just as he blesses us all.”

Sean waited for some sort of rebuttal to commence in his mind, but nothing came. The absence of his own annoyance seemed foreign and slightly suspicious to him. When it was time to take Communion, it still tasted bad, but he was able to make himself return to the pew for the final blessing rather than scurrying out the door like a refugee.

He resigned himself to seeing his father when everyone rose to leave.
What am I going to do—run?
he thought.

The older man stood and turned toward the aisle, spied his son a few rows back, and stopped in his tracks. The people beside him also stopped, waiting for him to exit the pew.

“Come on, Da,” said Sean wearily. “You’re holding up traffic.”

CHAPTER 42

“I’m very sorry about that prodigal comment the other night,” Da said, as they walked out into the sunlight. “I had no desire to insult you.”

Sean shrugged his acceptance. It still bugged him, but what could he say in the face of such contrition. The older man followed him around to the bench to which George was tied. Da let the dog sniff him, and when she seemed satisfied he gave her a scratch behind her ears. “And who’s this beauty, I’d like to know.”

“This is George. She’s Aunt Vivvy’s.”

Da’s head snapped up, his eyes disbelieving.

“Yeah, I know,” said Sean. “I can’t really explain it.”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment. “I was on my way to get some supper,” said Da. “Would you care to join me? We could get a sandwich and sit outside.”

Sean was about to say no, he had to get home, but that was a lie. And, like going back to church, there was a little part of him that felt the need to probe at his father’s presence, as strangely contradictory as it was to his absence all those years. It was an experiment in proving the reality of a ghost.

They went up the street to a deli and took their food to the Dudley Ball Field. No one was playing. They sat alone on the bleachers and spread their meatball subs and cans of soda on the bench between them.

“You’re still at the Comfort Inn?” asked Sean idly.

“Yes, but not for long. I bought my ticket. Flying out of Logan in a little over a week.”

“Must have been expensive.”

“It was dear, but I have funds. Once I was sober, Declan Kelly, that boy in Tacoma, helped me go after the workman’s comp for my hand.” He poked a loose meatball back into the recesses of the bun. “I could pay for you and Kevin, too, if that’s what’s holding you back.”

“I can’t. I have a million things to figure out. Deirdre’s leaving after her show next week, and I have to come up with some sort of plan for Kevin and Aunt Vivvy. He’s got some problems, and she’s starting to . . . not be quite so sharp.”

Da’s eyes flicked toward Sean. “She’s failing?”

“Not exactly. But she doesn’t always know what’s what. I think it might be Alzheimer’s, but she won’t let me take her to a doctor.”

“Stubborn old nag,” he muttered.

“We’ve all got our short suits,” Sean said, quick to defend her. “Don’t we?” Despite her faults, Viv had buckled down and stuck it out. Neither of the two of them could say as much.

Prodigals,
thought Sean. He hated to admit it, but maybe the old man had had a point.

“I’ve no right to speak ill of her,” Da conceded.

They ate their meatball subs and sipped their sodas. The wind kicked up a bit, and they had to hold the butcher paper down to keep it from flying away. Sean thought about his father’s trip to Ireland. There was something appealing about it. He hadn’t been on a plane heading to a foreign country in a long time. Not that Ireland was as foreign as other places he’d been. But the draw of travel—any travel—tugged at him.

But the thought of being separated from Rebecca quelled the daydream like ice water. His need to be back in the fray of disaster would override the attachment to her soon enough. Ireland was not nearly reason enough to leave.

As Sean and George walked Da back to his car in the church parking lot, the older man said, “I’d like to meet Kevin before I go.”

Sean’s first thought was to deny him. He certainly hadn’t earned the right to make demands. But Kevin might want to meet his only grandparent, and Sean didn’t want to make the choice for him. “I’ll talk to him about it and see how he feels.”

“I’m his grandfather.”

“I’m aware of that fact, but it’s up to Kevin, not me—and not you.”

* * *

T
here was a foot nudged up against Sean’s groin when he woke on Sunday morning, and a breast by his ear. He smiled and turned his face into it, thinking there could not possibly be a more blissful way for a guy to gain consciousness. Rebecca arched her stomach against his chest. He kissed her ribs.

“Stop—that tickles!” But she didn’t sound like she meant it.

Sometime later they got up and showered. Sometime after that they dressed and went down to the kitchen for breakfast.

“I’m picking up Kevin at noon,” he told her. “I’ll probably sleep at home tonight.”

“I’d like to meet him,” she said. “I feel like I know him already.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, too. Just let me see how he is.”

At quarter to noon, Sean was sitting in the Caprice in the parking lot by the Scout House with George in the backseat. Half an hour later he let George out to pee, and the two of them stretched their legs with a walk around the lot. By quarter to one he was starting to get worried. Had Frank Quentzer’s car broken down? Had there been an accident?

There were a couple of other people waiting in cars, and he walked up to one with an
I’M
PROUD
OF MY
SCOUT bumper sticker on the back and tapped on the window.

“Supposed to be noon, right?” he asked the middle-aged woman with a Red Sox cap.

“Yeah, but that’s kind of approximate. They probably called, but my cell phone died. Did you check yours?”

“I don’t have one.”

The woman blinked at him from under her cap. “You don’t have a cell phone?”

“No.”

“Then I guess we’re both in the dark.”

Just then Frank Quentzer’s gray Suburban rolled into the parking lot and came to a stop in front of the Scout House. Boys piled out on both sides, and Sean found himself anxiously searching the unruly herd. Kevin was the last to emerge.

It was tempting to run up and say, “Hey! How are you? How’d it go?” But the boys were unloading the rear of the truck, and the other parents were standing around the edges, like wallflowers at a dance waiting to be noticed.

From a distance, Kevin looked sunburned or dirty, or both. His sleek black hair stuck out at weird angles. Sean watched him lug a cooler with another boy. As he held up his end, his gaze scanned the parents until he saw Sean with George on the leash. A little grin lit his face.

Yes!
thought Sean.
Happy!

Eventually the unloading was done and items sorted, and each boy stumbled off with his parents hauling his trunk or duffel. Sean hoisted Kevin’s bag and said, “Hey, camper.”

“Hey, Uncle Sean.” He squatted down next to George and rubbed his hands all over the dog’s neck and back. “Hiya, girl,” he said. “Did he walk you? Did he take good care of you?” The dog’s tail wagged madly.

They got in the car and drove toward home. “So? How was it?”

“Good,” said Kevin, head turned toward the window.

“Come on, I need details!”

Kevin didn’t answer. He slid down on his seat until the lap belt was across his chest. And then he put a hand up to his eyes and started to sob.

Sean almost crashed into a mailbox. “Whoa! What’s going on? What happened?”

Kevin didn’t answer. He just kept crying, chest heaving for gulps of air. Sean reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but the boy flinched away, and Sean silently chastised himself. He knew better than that.

Kevin was still scrunched down on the seat sobbing when they pulled into the driveway.

“Kev,” soothed Sean. “Kev, you gotta tell me what happened. Were kids mean? Did somebody do something?”

From under his dirt-streaked hands, Kevin shook his head. The sobbing slowed and shifted toward hiccuppy little gasps.

“Okay,” murmured Sean. “Okay, that’s it. Breathe, buddy.”

Kevin inhaled an enormous sniffle and wiped his drippy hand on his pants. His breathing recalibrated to a more normal pace. Sean waited.

“It was good,” Kevin muttered. “Mostly.”

“Yeah? Because a minute ago you didn’t look like it was all that good.”

“No, it’s just . . .” He looked exhausted, like he had barely enough energy to form words. “Sometimes it was all . . . you know . . . loud and stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . at meals everyone’s jammed into this big room. And they squish into picnic tables. And then they sing these really loud songs.”

Camp songs,
Sean realized.
I should have thought to warn
him.

“How’d you handle it?”

“I made sure I sat on the end of the bench. And I went outside when they started to sing.”

“Good thinking!”

“And I didn’t cry.” His face got tense. “I didn’t cry
all week
.” And he burst into tears again.

“Ah, Kev,” Sean murmured. “You did great. And now you just have to blow off some steam. You’ve been holding it all in. Just let that sucker out.”

Kevin wept for another few minutes. But he didn’t cover his face this time.

* * *

D
eirdre was home for dinner. “So, how was camp—disgusting?”

“Yeah, really disgusting.” Kevin was clean and his still-damp hair was shiny again. He shoveled rotini pasta into his mouth like he was trying to beat the clock.

“What was the most disgusting thing?” she asked with a conspiratorial smile.

Kevin nodded as he chewed and swallowed, as if this were a game the two of them had played before. “The latrines are the worst. But after that comes our tent. This kid William cut the cheese like a hundred times a night. Mr. Quentzer thinks he might be lactose intolerant.”

“ ‘Cut the cheese’?” Deirdre said. “I’ve never heard you use that expression before.”

“All the kids say it.” Kevin loaded his fork up again and stuffed it in his mouth. Deirdre raised her eyebrows at Sean, amusement playing across her face. Aunt Vivvy’s expression was decidedly less amused.

“Must have been hard to sleep,” said Sean, “with all that cheese happening.”

“Mr. Quentzer gave us little branches of pine needles, and we kept them by our pillows so we could sniff them when William cut one.”

“Might we turn the conversation to another topic?” said Aunt Vivvy. “I’m developing indigestion.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Deirdre. “When do you guys want tickets for
Joseph
? There are shows every night starting Tuesday, and the last show is the Sunday matinee. I get four for free.”

She didn’t want them to come opening night—she said she’d be too nervous. They decided they would go Wednesday. After dinner, Aunt Vivvy went up to her room, and Kevin said he had a lot of TV watching to catch up on. As Sean cleared the table, Deirdre said, “So I notice you haven’t been around as much lately. Like, at night.”

Sean handed her a stack of plates. “I’ve been at a friend’s house.”

“A friend?” she teased, sliding the dishes into the dishwasher.

He smiled despite himself. “Yeah, a very good friend.”

“A
beneficial
one?”

He shot her a look, and she put her hands up in mock surrender. “Hey,” she said. “Just asking. It doesn’t matter to me—do what you like.”

“I will.”

“You always do.”

* * *

T
hat night when the house was quiet, he called Rebecca and gave her the update on Kevin and invited her to come with them to see Deirdre’s play. She told him she had hired movers to transfer her parents’ furniture to the garage and her elderly client’s pieces into the house. Eventually they were talking about almost nothing at all, but the sound of her calm, melodious voice kept him on the phone like a drug addict inhaling all that he could.

CHAPTER 43

W
alking through the woods up Jansen Hill with Sean and George the next morning, Kevin said, “I was thinking about something at camp.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to tell me, or should I guess?”

Kevin didn’t answer for a moment. The three of them were walk-ing single file up the path, Sean bringing up the rear, so he couldn’t see the boy’s face.

“Um,” said Kevin. He picked up his pace and Sean had to hurry to stay close enough to hear him. “I know you like living in other countries and stuff . . . but I wish you would stay.”

And there it was.

Sean was caught off guard. It seemed like every time the subject had come up before—with Deirdre or Aunt Vivvy, or even Cormac or Rebecca—no one had actually said the words. They had insinuated or implied. Rebecca had blatantly told him she knew he wouldn’t stay. Sean had been able to build a sort of seawall against the lapping waves of their disappointment. This was different.

“Kevin . . .”

“Don’t you like it here?”

No!
he wanted to say.
I’m a goddamned change maker at my friend’s coffee shop. Aunt Vivvy’s going crazy, and she wasn’t even that nice when she was lucid. I don’t want an e-mail account or a cell phone or any of that extraneous crap. I want to go back to my life!

“I really like being with you,” Sean said. And when the words came out, and he heard himself say them, he knew they were true.

“I like being with you, too. A lot.”

Sean sighed. “There are a lot of things up in the air right now.”

“Yeah, that flux thing.”

“I’m trying to work it out so everyone gets what they need. Can you just trust me on that one? That I’m figuring it out?”

“Okay,” said Kevin. “I trust you.”