The Farewell Season (14 page)

***

As I approached the house, I saw Mom huddled on the porch swing. Her mouth was set in a worried frown. Then she saw me.

If I'd expected her to jump to her feet with cries of joy and relief at the site of me, I'd have been dead wrong.

Mom stood slowly, deliberately, one vertebra at a time. "How dare you stay out all night and worry me half to death."

What could I say? There was too much to explain, so I just said, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it. Get in the house. Now. We have to talk."

I went inside and flopped down on the couch. "Mom, I've been doing a lot of—"

"I'll talk." Mom paced around in a tight circle. "You listen. I should've had this talk with you months ago. Instead, I tried to pretend that everything was all right. I guess I thought I was protecting you with my silence."

She sat next to me and poked at some daisies in a vase on the coffee table. "Maybe I was protecting myself, because it hurt to talk about it."

I wondered if I should tell Mom about last night, but she wanted me to listen, not talk. Besides, I didn't know if I could explain that struggle in the dark, because I didn't completely understand it myself. At least, not yet.

"However," Mom said, "Paul Lindquist convinced me—"

"Lindquist!" Coals of anger deep inside flared at the mention of his name. "Why do you listen to that wimp? Why go out with a guy like
that?
He's nothing like Dad—"

"Eric! That's enough! I mean it!" Mom slammed her hand on the coffee table. She took a deep breath and let it out in a long, low sigh. "I'm not going out with Paul. He and your father were more than business partners. They were very good friends. You know that. He misses your Dad almost as much as we do. That's why he hangs out here so much."

I rolled my eyes.

"Really, Eric. He has no romantic interest in me whatsoever. I am not now … and for all I know, may never be … interested in "dating." He's certainly not trying to take your father's place. Paul Lindquist is a fine man, a good friend. He is very concerned about you. He says … and I agree … that it's time for you to confront your grief."

"Yeah, maybe …." I shrugged. I wasn't convinced, but I decided to keep the peace for now about Lindquist.

Mom blinked with surprise. I guess she'd been expecting an argument.

Suddenly I felt another surge of anger. "What about Coach Horton!"

"Coach Horton?" Mom blinked again. "What about him?"

"I saw you talking to him at practice one day. You were all smiles … and he…." I paused and pointed at Mom. "He smiled at you!"

"So …?"

"Horton never smiles!"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes, Eric." Mom slapped her forehead. "I'm not one of his players. I'm your mother. He's your coach. I introduced myself, welcomed him to Crystal Lake and wished him good luck on the season. That was it. We were just being friendly and making polite small talk. Adults do that, you know."

"Mmmph," I mumbled. I wasn't completely persuaded about that either, not with the kind of smile Horton had on his face, but I didn't give her any more grief about it.

"Back to what I wanted to talk about in the first place," Mom quickly said. "I've made an appointment for you
this
afternoon with a grief counselor in Eugene. It was just luck there was an opening due to a cancellation."

"This afternoon?" I grumbled. "Mom, I'm beat."

"
This
afternoon!" Mom spit out each syllable. "No excuses."

I raised my hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! What time?"

Mom cocked her head and looked at me as if she couldn't quite believe that the person sitting next to her was her son. "Two-thirty."

"Fine."

"All … all right," Mom said, her voice breaking. She stretched out her arms.

I hesitated, but then for the first time in a long time I welcomed her hug. For a moment we held each other and didn't say a word. Then Mom sat up and smoothed back a stray lock of hair.

I wasn't sure what to do or say now. "Um … how're Rolf and Kirstin?"

"Rolf's okay, physically. No broken bones. But his feelings … well, you can imagine."

I nodded as Mom paused to let that sink in.

"Kirstin, you won't be surprised to hear, is madder than the proverbial wet hen."

"I guess I have some heavy-duty apologizing to do."

"I guess so." Mom stood up. "It's been a long night. How 'bout some breakfast?"

I shook my head. "I'm gonna hit the sack."

"If you need anything, I'll be in the shop all day," Mom said. "Don't forget your appointment. Two-thirty. Take my car."

"Okay …."

"Oh!" Mom said. "One other thing?"

What now? "Yeah?"

"It's my birthday tomorrow …."

Crap! I forgot all about that. I didn't have present for her. Not even a card. "Oh, yeah," I said, as if I'd remembered.

"I think I … we … should…celebrate." Mom seemed to have trouble getting out that last word. "It's time we, uh, did something like that. I … I want you and Kirstin both here for dinner."

"Yeah. Sure." I tried to sound enthusiastic for Mom's sake.

"When I mentioned this to Kirstin, she insisted on fixing a special meal, birthday cake and all." Mom managed a small, tentative smile.

"Oh. Uh. Nice …."

"Kirstin wants to invite Rolf …." Mom didn't have to add,
So you'd better apologize to him before tomorrow evening!

"Uh, yeah. I'll … um … yeah."

"Paul Lindquist will be here, too."

Jeez, I have to put up with that jerk? "Um, yeah. Okay."

"If you'd like to invite someone …."

"Um. I don't know …." I wasn't sure what Glynnie thought about me after last night.

"Oh. Okay. So … anyway, dinner tomorrow," Mom said.

"Right. I won't forget."
I'm not looking forward to it, but I won't forget
. "Uh, I'm kinda tired …."

"You go take a nap or whatever," Mom said. "Just be on time for your appointment."

"Right." With an exhausted sigh, I trudged upstairs. Just as I turned down the hall to my room, Kirstin popped out of the bathroom, shot me a look that could've turned me to stone and stomped right by me.

I was too talked-out to talk to her then. I needed more time to figure out how to apologize.

In my room I didn't even get out of my clothes. I plopped down on the bed. Starburst, who'd been sleeping on the corner of the mattress, trotted over, curled up on my stomach and purred. I fell into a deep, solid sleep.

***

When I first woke up, I just lay there stroking Starburst and thinking. I couldn't remember too much, but I knew I'd been dreaming—for the first time in months.

I probably would've stayed there thinking about that, but I glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost two. I brushed Starburst off my stomach, changed into some clean clothes and flew into the kitchen for a quick bowl of cereal.

Then I dashed into Mom's shop, got the name and address of the grief counselor, hopped in Mom's car and headed for Eugene. Now that I was actually going there, I wondered why I hadn't protested more when Mom insisted that I go. Me, talk to some stranger? About my feelings? How would I start? What would I say?

With a few minutes to spare, I found the counselor's office. I sat in the waiting room and pretended to read an ancient copy of
Vegetarian Times
. I stared at a picture of an ear of corn for what seemed like hours, but it probably was only minutes. Then it was my turn to see Mrs. Coleman-Dickerson. Jeez, a five syllable, hyphenated name. 

Coleman-Dickerson stood up and shook my hand when I walked in. She looked as if maybe she was a little older than Mom, and I was surprised at how short she was. At first I didn't know what to say, but Mrs. Coleman-Dickerson made it easy for me. "Just talk about whatever's fresh in your mind, Eric."

So I started with what happened last night. I talked. I cried. I talked some more. "I remember … at the funeral … thinking that … that I'd just wait until I was older. I thought maybe
then
I'd figure it all out."

"Sometimes people think they can build a wall around themselves to ward off pain," Mrs. Coleman-Dickerson said. "It doesn't work. Not for long."

"Yeah …."I took a deep breath, then I told how last night I'd screamed at the sky that I hated Dad for dying.

"It's natural to get angry with someone for dying, and it's healthy to get that anger out. In order to keep your pain buried, you had to bury all your other feelings too," Mrs. Coleman said. "Sometimes it's easier to deal with anger rather than some other feeling … such as fear or grief. You probably held onto your anger as if you'd drown if you didn't keep holding onto it."

I wasn't sure. Is that what I did?

"Now that you're starting to face your grief, Eric, you'll need to talk about your father's death, yes, but also your memories of him. His death has left an empty space in your life, but you can try to fill it with memories and personal reminders of him."

I nodded.

"Since you're just beginning to grieve, remember, everyone has a different timetable for healing. It will take as long as it takes. So go easy on yourself. Any unfinished business you have with your father … such as saying, 'Thanks for being a great dad' … put it in a letter addressed to him, or something. You need to express your positive feelings as well as your negative ones."

"Yeah …," I said, not very convincingly, I'm sure.

"Close your eyes. Picture yourself with your Dad, with his arm around your shoulder."

I closed my eyes and I imagined Dad there with his arm around me.

"What's he saying?"

I tried to think. "He … he isn't saying anything. He's just standing there. His fingers pressed into my arm."

"Show me where his hand is, Eric."

I touched my arm, right where his fingers would be.

"Can you feel him? Is he there?"

"I … sort of." He … he was there, in a way.

"He's part of you, isn't he, Eric?"

"Yeah …." And I was part of him. Okay. I could see where Mrs. C-D, as I was starting to think of her, was going. Here was where I would find him. Not in the cemetery. Right here with me. Or at the stadium. Or at the fair.

"Nothing can take away your memories."

That's right. Nothing could take away my memories of Dad. They were good memories. Too short. But good.

The time I spent with Mrs. C-D seemed like five minutes instead of almost the hour it took. I thought that one session was it, but she had me schedule another appointment. I figured Mom would be pissed if she found out I didn't.

I left feeling half as if I never wanted to talk about it all ever again and half wanting to talk some more. I did want to start my apologies. Not just to get it over with, but, I hoped, to make things right.

As I hit the outskirts of Crystal Lake, I remembered Glynnie said I should explain my sudden break-up to Hedy. So I decided to start with her. Not because it was the most important. I just thought—hoped—that'd be easiest and maybe give me the nerve to apologize to Kirstin and Rolf.

I circled the block a couple of times then pulled in front of Hedy's house. I sat in the car wondering if maybe talking to Hedy was a dumb idea. Maybe I should just leave it alone. But then I noticed a face peeking out the window at me. It was Hedy.

Slowly, I got out of the car, walked up the sidewalk, climbed the front steps and tapped on the door.

Hedy answered. With a tentative smile she said, "H-hi, Eric."

"Hi." For a moment, I stared at her face. I'd almost forgotten how beautiful she was. As I studied the way her shiny black hair tumbled carelessly over her shoulders, and her dark, satiny eyes looked at me with deep longing, I couldn't help but remember why I'd hooked up with her in the first place.

"Would … would you like to come in?" Hedy asked uncertainly.

"Huh?" I snapped out of my trance. "Uh, that is, let's sit on the steps. Okay?"

"Sure."

We sat down. Hedy looked at me with hope in her eyes.

"Look," I said. "I … I came here to apologize. For the way I broke off with you. I wasn't very … nice."

"Oh, Eric. That's okay—"

"No. No, it's not okay. I'm sorry. I want to explain."

"All right …."

"After my father died … I just couldn't … it hurt so much that ….  When I broke off with you I just wanted to avoid a big emotional scene. I'm sorry for the way I've treated you. Really."

Hedy chewed her lip. "Does … does this mean you want to get back together now?"

Of course she'd think that.
Did
I want to start seeing her again? She was so nice and so beautiful.

But. No. I had been planning on breaking up with her anyway, before Dad …. Dealing with Dad's death hadn't caused the breakup. It just made it harder. Hedy and I didn't have much in common, and I was tired of dating a girl just because she looked good on my arm.