The Newman Resident (15 page)

Years before, in his own, private ceremony, Richard had given the hill a name. He’d never told anyone, not even Andy or his parents. Its name was the one thing he felt as he was growing up that only he knew. Though others certainly knew the hill, they didn’t know the name. And without the name, they’d never know the hill.

This was where he’d come when he was younger to write, to think, to dream, to laugh, to pray. He felt that the last time he’d done any of those things very well was the last time he’d sat on this hill.

He stood up, in front of his rock, and looked out once more upon the rolling hills before him. True, he loved the colors here in the fall, but in summer everything seemed more peaceful, more
humble. Everything was green, and nothing appeared to be trying to outdo the others with spectacles of color.

“Ktaadan,” said a voice from behind him.

Richard turned sharply. There he was, just a few feet from Richard, in jeans, hiking boots, flannel shirt, and blue jean jacket.

David.

“I called the folks,” David said. “Mom told me you’d gone for a drive. It wasn’t hard to figure out where you’d be, big brother. Ktaadan.”

Richard started walking toward the Jeep, not even looking at his brother. He stared at the earth in front of him as he walked, feeling the anger build.

David grabbed his brother’s arm. “Don’t go, Richard.”

Richard pulled away and stared his brother in the face. “How do you even know about this place? How do you know the name?”

“Have you blocked that out, too? You brought me here, when I was fourteen, the day before you left for college. We sat on the rock together, and you told me the name.”

“I would remember that,” Richard said as he turned back toward the Jeep. “That never happened.”

“Yes it did, Richard,” David shouted. “You can’t take that away from me.”

Richard stopped. He hadn’t heard his brother’s voice for almost five years, but he felt like he’d just heard it the day before. “I told you the name?”

“The mountain Thoreau wrote about in
The Maine Woods
. The mountain where he was shaken up by nature and had to confront those awful, powerful feelings. After you left for college, I bought a copy and read that chapter over and over. ‘What is this Titan that has possession of me? Talk of mysteries! Think of our life in
nature, daily to be shown matter, to come in contact with it, rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks!’”

“‘The solid earth.’” Richard said. “‘The actual world. The common sense.’”

The brothers recited the last few words together. “‘Contact! Contact! Who are we? Where are we?’”

“Who are we, big brother? Where are we?”

“You know what happened, David.”

“I made a mistake.”

“Is that what you call it? Dropping out of college to be a full-time junkie—that’s a mistake? Getting busted for drugs, dragging Dad out of bed to dig you out of jail while Mom cried herself sick at home—that’s a mistake? Then all that wasted time as an addict, living in a hole somewhere, never making anything of yourself. You broke their hearts,” Richard said. “You almost killed them.”

“No, I hurt them. I hurt them bad. But you’re the one almost killing them.”

Richard grabbed David by the jacket and threw him down to the ground. He jumped on top of him and held his brother’s arms hard against the earth. “You liar!” he yelled, inches from David’s face. “You’re the one! You’re the one!”

“If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be yelling.”

Richard got off of his brother and sat on the ground next to him. David sat up, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the ground.

“Are you clean?” Richard asked, studying the grass in front of him.

“Almost four years.”

“How could you do that to them, David?”

David stood up and started walking down the hill. “I give up, big brother.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to lose my little brother?”

His brother turned, shaking his head. “Sorry, big brother, that doesn’t wash anymore. The hurt comes with the caring, and caring is risky. It always is.”

David walked out of view down the hill. Richard wanted to call after his brother, but didn’t have the words.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR

“W
hat’s the deal with David?” Richard asked when he walked into the kitchen.

“Well, hello to you, too,” his mother said. “He said he’d know where you’d be.”

“Did you know he was here? Does he live here now?”

“No, no, no, but I wish he did. He owns a music store down in New Haven, near Yale.”

“Music store? They got rid of those years ago.”

“I know,” she said, “but he’s making this version work. Collectors can buy records and CDs, or you can listen to music and download it there for a discount. People buy from him because he knows his music, how to connect them with artists they’ll care about. Like a bookstore for music. You ought to go there sometime.” She opened the dishwasher and started putting the dishes away in the cabinet. “He also works on computer programs at night. He’s very gifted with the computer, Richard. Already sold an app.”

“Sounds like you keep in touch with him.”

“He calls at least once a week. We have good talks.”

“Did you tell him I’d be here this weekend?”

She turned. “Of course I did, is there anything wrong with that?”

“Sorry.”

“David always asks how you and Carol and Christopher are doing. When he found out you were coming, he said he’d come up and stay with the Taylors.” She pointed her finger at Richard. “It’s shameful both of my sons are in town at the same time, and they can’t stay in our home together.”

Richard walked over to his mother and hugged her.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to interrogate you.”

She pulled away. “He’s a good boy, Richard, you should give him a chance.”

“We had a talk.”

“You did? Did everything go all right?”

“I guess.” He saw the hope she was feeling. “I don’t know, I’m not as good at forgiving the prodigal son as you and Dad are.”

“Just remember, he’s our prodigal son, not yours.”

“I’m part of the family, too.”

“Absolutely. And which one are you in the parable?”

He didn’t really mean to, but he smiled. “You’ve never been known for subtlety, have you, Mom?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Richard left his mother in the kitchen and stepped out onto the front porch. He leaned against a post for a moment, taking a deep breath and savoring the crisp, pine air.

“Time to get a move on,” Grandpa said. “We’ve got some of those memories to make.”

Richard smiled. “One question: all those times you and I chopped wood, did we have plenty out here? I don’t remember.”

“Always.”

“Then why were we chopping wood?”

“It’s a secret,” Grandpa said, winking. Grandpa turned to the side of the house and shouted, “He’s ready!”

Christopher came running around the corner of the house, hose in hand, aiming right at his dad.

“Let’s go, buddy!” Grandpa shouted as he grabbed part of the hose.

Christopher paused, smiled, then turned the nozzle wide open, drenching his dad in seconds.

“You’re it!” Christopher shouted as he and Grandpa dropped the hose and ran. They left the nozzle turned on, so the hose danced all over the yard, spraying water in every direction. Richard thought they’d turn off the water and the joke would be over, but the spray kept coming. Finally, he dove after the nozzle, but it kept getting away from him until he got a good hold on the hose. Without thinking, he ran.

“Revenge!” he shouted as he ran around the corner of the house. He couldn’t see anyone in the backyard. No one was under the deck or near the stump. A giggle came from off to the left, and when Richard turned he saw the sleeve of a shirt moving from behind an oak. He aimed the hose at the tree and ran toward it. Both Grandpa and Christopher ran out from behind the oak, trying to escape the blast of water and laughing every step.

“Help! Help!” Grandpa shouted. “Attorney on the loose!”

Both victims were entirely soaked when they decided to join forces and jump their attacker. Christopher grabbed Richard’s knees and Grandpa tackled his waist, so they all three tumbled down to the ground, the hose still blasting between them. They rolled around on the ground, shouting and laughing, the hose was wrapping itself around them until they were hopelessly knotted up.

Grandma came running out onto the deck.

“Hey. Hey, you boys!” she shouted. “Stop that! Listen to me!”

The three dripping-wet generations of Carson men stopped their wrestling. Christopher finally thought to turn off the nozzle, but it still took them a minute to untangle themselves from the hose. The three stood side-by-side, in order of age, looking up at Grandma like boys caught with a bat at their feet and a broken window behind their backs.

“That’s better,” Grandma said. “I can’t believe you three, acting like children. Now, do me a favor and roll around in the flower beds. They need some water.” She smiled. “And they’ll get plenty of fertilizing from you three as well.”

She turned to go back into the house, and they looked at each other, nodded, and then Richard took the nozzle and turned it on, aiming right for his mother.

“I was always completely alert and on top of things,” Richard said as he walked into the living room. While he finished up the dinner dishes, he’d heard his mother talking to Christopher about when he was a boy. “Don’t believe anything your grandmother tells you.”

“Too late, son,” Grandma said. “I’ve got the pictures to prove it, and he’s looking at them with me as we speak.”

Richard sat next to them. “Lies. All lies.”

“Your daddy used to always do that as a boy,” Grandma said to Christopher, pointing to a photo of Richard as a four-year-old. “Sometimes I’d walk through this room and see him just sitting on the couch, in his own little world. An hour later I’d walk by, and he’d still be just sitting here. ‘What are you doing?’ I’d ask. ‘Just thinking,’ he’d say, when I finally got his attention.”

“I do that too, sometimes,” Christopher said, leaning over to get a better look at the picture.

“Well, you and your daddy are a lot alike.”

“I know.” Christopher smiled and nodded, looking down at a picture of his father as a little boy.

Grandma looked over at Richard and they smiled at each other.

“So what have you been thinking about, son?” Grandma asked.

“I don’t know, I guess Carol. I wish she could have come with us.”

“It would’ve been fun to spray her,” Grandma said, laughing.

“Mother!”

“Well, it would have. I know I enjoyed getting all wet.”

“You and Carol aren’t alike,” Christopher said.

“Maybe not,” Grandma said, “but we may be more alike than we are different.” She pointed to another picture. “Ah, this is one of my favorites.”

“What’s that thing he’s sitting in front of?” Christopher asked.

“Oh, that’s our old Underwood typewriter. It was actually my mother’s and she gave it to us. It was ancient even back then. Sort of like a computer, but people had to be real careful when they poked at the keys because it was so hard to correct mistakes. And you didn’t have to turn it on and off. And it didn’t have a screen.”

“Doesn’t sound much like a computer to me.”

“You’ve seen typewriters before, haven’t you?”

“I don’t think so. At least not one that looked like that. If there isn’t a screen, how do you see what you’ve typed?”

“See the paper there? When you typed, the letters appeared on that paper, not a screen. Then, when the paper was full, you just pulled it out and you had what you wrote.”

“Did he write very much when he was little?”

“Oh, yes, even as a little boy your daddy loved to write,” she said. “He loved to write short stories. One time he divided the paper in fourths and typed on each fourth a short story about knights and castles. Then, after he’d typed several pages, he cut each sheet of paper into four pages, stapled them, and had himself a little book he’d written all by himself.”

“Hey, little buddy,” Grandpa said, coming into the room carrying
Winnie-the-Pooh
. “Ready for some Moose Tree Corner?”

Christopher jumped up.

“I forgot to tell you about that,” Richard said.

“Let me guess.” Christopher took a deep breath. “When you were just a kid Grandpa had a dream about walking in the forest and finding a giant tree full of mooses sitting in the branches reading books,” he took another breath, “and so from then on every time your family wanted to sit around in the family room and read someone would say ‘Let’s have Moose Tree Corner’ and you’d each grab a book and start reading.” he stopped to catch his breath. “Is that about it?”

“Close.”

Christopher grabbed Grandpa’s hand and led him out of the room.

“Grandpa loves that book,” Grandma said to Richard. “Hasn’t read it for ages.”

“I always used to think of our house as being right in the middle of the Hundred Acre Wood,” Richard said, looking up from the album. “And in a couple of days I have to drag my own little Christopher back into the city. Doesn’t seem right, does it?”

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE

T
he last three days had been the best vacation Richard had ever had. The family meals, hikes, games—just what both he and his son needed. But now they were at the small train station in his parents’ town. Miles down the track was Penn Station and later would be Grand Central. Time to leave. There were only a few people at the station, but they all acted like they knew each other. Several people smiled at Grandma and Grandpa as they walked along the platform behind Richard and Christopher. Richard stopped and placed the bag down next to him. He looked at his watch, then at the station clock, worried.

“We got here in plenty of time, son,” Grandpa said. “If the train’s on time, it won’t be here for another fifteen minutes.”

“Now will you tell me what’s in the bag?” asked Christopher, pointing to a large canvas bag his grandfather had been carrying ever since they’d left the Jeep.