The Shortest Way Home (15 page)

“We have a real nice group of kids,” said Frank. He had a low, quiet voice, and Sean had to listen hard to hear everything he said. “And sixth grade is the perfect time to start. He’ll be right on schedule with the other boys his age.”

“On schedule?”

“For advancement. Each boy progresses through the ranks at his own pace. You can join any time, but most begin around eleven, and it’s nice if he doesn’t start out too far behind,” Frank explained calmly. “Don’t worry about getting a uniform right away. He won’t need it till the school year, when we start doing the meetings and ceremonies.”

Ranks? Uniforms? Ceremonies? Sean wasn’t too crazy about all the soldierly jargon. He’d had about enough of quasi-military organizations overseas. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. “Well,” he said, backpedaling. “I’ll let you know if he’s interested.”

“You know,” said Frank, “if he really wants to see what it’s like, he should come on our next camping trip. We’re hiking Mount Frissell this weekend.”

Sean agreed to propose this to Kevin, thanked Scoutmaster Quentzer for his time, and went to find his book, in no great hurry to discuss with his nephew what he’d deemed a nonstarter. He was up to
The Horse and His Boy
in
The Chronicles of Narnia
. Eventually Kevin came out of the den, glassy-eyed from long-term television exposure.

“Who were you talking to?” he asked.

Sean described the conversation he’d had with Frank Quentzer. “I don’t think it’s your cup of juice,” he said. “Sounds pretty . . . regimented.”

“They’re climbing Mount Frissell? That’s the highest point in Connecticut.”

“No kidding.” Thinking the conversation was winding down, Sean glanced back at his book and began skimming to where he’d left off.

“It’s not the highest
summit
in Connecticut. That’s Bear Mountain. See, Mount Frissell is on the line of Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New York, and the summit is in Massachusetts. But the part that’s in Connecticut is the highest you can be in the whole state.” Kevin plopped down onto the couch next to Sean, jostling the book in his hand. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I have this . . . it’s like a
list
. Like all the things I want to do someday?”

Sean gazed at the boy. A list. Probably everyone had a loose idea of the things they wanted to accomplish in their lives. It seemed kind of unusual to start so young, though. “What’s on your list?”

Kevin seemed suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t write it down or anything. I don’t walk around with a piece of paper or anything stupid like that.”

“Got it. It’s like a mental list.”

“Yeah! And one thing I definitely want to do . . . you know, someday . . .” He took a breath as if he were about to reveal something dangerous and subversive. “I want to climb to all the highest places in every state. Every one. Even Mount McKinley. That’s in Alaska.”

Sean watched the boy’s face glow with excitement. “How many have you done so far?”

Kevin slumped back against the couch. “Mount Washington, but it doesn’t count.”

“Mount Washington—that’s huge. How could it not count?”

“Because we
drove
up. It was so lame.” Deirdre had been trying out for a production of
The Sound of Music
, Kevin explained, and she wanted to feel what it was like to be on top of a really high mountain. New Hampshire was the closest she could get to the Alps without taking a plane. “We did it all in one day,” he grumbled. “I threw up on the ride home.”

“So it sounds like you might want to try Boy Scouts.”

Kevin chewed at the inside of his cheek. “What if I don’t like it?”

“Hey, I’m not pushing you, trust me. But if you went on just this one trip, you could count it toward your highest places.”

“Okay,” he said anxiously, as if it were a highly dangerous mission. “I’ll go.”

* * *

T
hat night Sean called Frank Quentzer and told him that Kevin had decided to join them.

“That’s great!” said Frank, his low voice rising slightly. “Now we can go.” He explained that the other leader had backed out at the last minute, and he was about to call off the trip.

“You can’t go with just one leader?” asked Sean.

“No, it’s not safe if someone gets hurt, and it’s against policy. No adult is supposed to be alone with kids, ever. Have to be two-deep at all times,” he said. “It’s great you can come.”

“Wait—me? You thought I was coming?”

“Well . . . yeah. It’s not that Kevin can’t come without a guardian—that’s fine and all. But I just assumed . . . I mean, you’d send him off with a bunch of guys he doesn’t know?” Frank’s voice was quiet, but the incredulity came through quite clearly. “You’ve never even met me.”

Shame burned at Sean as if he’d just stumbled into a campfire. “Oh, God, no . . . I just . . . I didn’t . . . I wasn’t thinking. Of course I’ll go. I love to camp.” He hadn’t technically camped since his teenage years with Hugh, but he was certainly comfortable in rustic conditions.

“Good to have you on board,” said Frank. “You’re going to love it.”

CHAPTER 16

T
he next morning, Sean remembered that Chrissy Stillman was supposed to come over on Saturday, and he got a little ticked off about being shanghaied into the camping trip. Now he’d have to cancel with her because he’d be 150 miles away at the highest point in Connecticut. Which was sort of like saying he was blowing her off to visit the coldest place in Florida.

Okay, yes, they could reschedule. But she was obviously a busy person—maybe her interest in training George was more of a whim, Sean ruminated, and now that it was postponed she’d get committed to other projects, other dogs.

He called her, but only got voice mail. He left a message, but had a feeling it would be a while before she got back to him. She’d always been like that—sort of . . .
capricious
was the word that came to him.

This, of course, reminded him of Hugh, and how they had howled with hilarity over Auntie Vivvy’s “secret capriciousness.” It served to dial back his self-pity. Kevin, who for all intents and purposes was a friendless orphan, was more important than a stupid dog-training session. Even if it was with the woman of Sean’s teenage—and possibly adult—dreams.

It would have helped to talk to Cormac about it. Cormac was a guy you could count on to commiserate and then tell you not to be an idiot. But he was no doubt at the Confectionary, up to his elbows in cruller dough or butter cream frosting, and not available for a pep talk.

Sean found himself dialing Tree of Life Spa. His back wasn’t killing him, but it did ache, accelerating to a solid throb now and then. A massage would help him settle down, find his balance. Chrissy Stillman had always had a way of throwing him off kilter, which was both intoxicating and exhausting at the same time.

“Rebecca’s booked until next Thursday,” Cleopatra told him with utter apathy.

“She’s got no openings for a
week
?”

“Um, when you call on a Thursday, that’s generally what ‘booked until next Thursday’ means.”

Sean was about a nanosecond away from telling her to go—

“It’s him,” Cleopatra murmured, her voice aimed away from the mouthpiece. “Psycho high school stalker guy.”

A distant voice groaned,
“Jesus, Brittany!”

“Fine, talk to him yourself, then,” she said.

Sean heard someone take a very deep breath and let it out. “Hello?” said the voice.

“Becky?”

“Hi, Sean.”

“Hey, I was thinking of coming in, but your wacko receptionist says you’re booked solid.”

“I am. I’m just waiting for my next client.”

“Really? You don’t have anything for a whole week?”

“Yep,” she said. “I have to go now, I’ll talk to you later.” And she clicked off.

Sean put the phone down. Becky had hung up on him. He didn’t even know what to think about that.

A moment later the phone rang and he picked it up.

“Hey, sorry, I had to switch to my cell phone,” Becky murmured furtively. “I wanted to tell you . . . I don’t have to treat you here. You could come to my house.”

“Really? That’d be great, because I—”

“The spa is closed Sundays and Mondays,” she murmured. “That’s when I see private pay clients.”

“Not till Sunday?” Disappointment nibbled at him. He really wanted to see her today.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he hoped she was reconsidering. “Sundays and Mondays,” she confirmed. “Here’s my cell number. Call and let me know what time works for you.” And she was gone again.

Sean called back immediately, hoping to convince her to let him come to her house that night, or even Friday night. He and Kevin would be leaving early Saturday morning for the camping trip and wouldn’t be home until late Sunday afternoon. Her voice mail picked up. “This is Rebecca Feingold,” said her calm, melodious voice. “Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as I can.” It still seemed strange to hear her refer to herself as Rebecca.

“Hey, Becky,” he said. “If there’s any way you could squeeze me in before the weekend . . . But if not, how about Sunday night—maybe around seven?” He hung up and chuckled to himself. It had almost sounded like he was begging her for a date.

* * *

T
he Belham Scout House was a nondescript little brown cabin tucked into the woods near the Town Beach. There was a gray Suburban SUV parked in front, and a bald guy with a slight paunch standing by the open rear gate. He wasn’t actually doing anything himself but seemed simply to be watching the boys do the work of loading gear into the back of the vehicle.

Sean looked at Kevin. “Ready?” he said.

Kevin’s face had that squinched-up look he got when he was anxious. “I only know one of those kids,” he muttered, “and he’s a jerk.”

“I bet the others are really good guys.”

“Doubt it,” said Kevin.

“Hey,” said Sean. “You wanted to come, remember? Highest peak in Connecticut and all that. Don’t start off with a bad attitude.”

Kevin lowered his chin and bit at the inside of his cheek.

Sean softened. “Besides, if they really are all jerks, you’ll hang with me, we’ll make the best of it, and the whole thing will be over tomorrow afternoon. You never have to come back.”

Kevin cut his eyes toward Sean.

“Piece of cake,” said Sean.

They took their stuff out of the Caprice and walked toward the group.

Sean went over and introduced himself. “Glad to have you with us,” said Frank, though he didn’t actually look all that glad. He had one of those faces that barely moved when he spoke. Sean wondered if he might have a mild case of Bell’s palsy. Frank called to a boy of about fourteen who was heaving a cooler into the back of the Suburban.

“This is Jonathan,” he told Kevin. “He’s your senior patrol leader for the trip. That means he’s in charge of all the boys.”

“Hey,” mumbled Kevin.

“Hey,” said Jonathan. “That your stuff? Let’s toss it in back.” The two boys loaded the packs, and Jonathan took Kevin up to the scout house to get more supplies.

Once they had finished packing up, all six boys climbed into the back of the Suburban. Jonathan sat in the middle behind Frank and Sean, and Kevin sat to his left behind Frank. Sean could just see him out of the corner of his eye, staring out the window as they left the familiar confines of Belham behind.

“We’ve got a lot more kids in the troop than this,” said Frank, apropos of nothing, as they pulled onto the Massachusetts Turnpike heading west.

“Oh?” said Sean.

“Yeah, but in the summer a lot of them are in camps or on vacation. Trips during the school year are bigger.”

“That’s good to know,” said Sean, though he didn’t really think Kevin would be around to experience these more populated expeditions. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to make conversation or just let Frank drive in peace. The boys wiggled and laughed in the back. Kevin continued to stare out the window.

“You like to camp?” Jonathan asked him.

“Um, yeah,” muttered Kevin.

“Where’ve you gone?”

Kevin said something, but Jonathan couldn’t hear him. “Where?” he asked again.

“
No
where.”

“This your first trip?”

Sean could see Kevin deflate even further into the seat back. “Yeah.”

“Excellent!” said Jonathan. “It’s an honor to go with a guy on his first campout, you know. Hey!” he yelled to the others. “It’s Kevin’s first trip. Tell him what’s good about camping.”

“Food!” one of the guys yelled. “Yeah!” the others concurred. “Meatballs!” screamed another. Then there was a cacophonous chorus of all the foods the scouts liked. Pancakes with tons of syrup. Stew cooked in aluminum foil over the fire. Reflector-oven brownies.

“All right, settle down,” said Jonathan. “He’s gonna think we’re a bunch of pigs.”

“We are!” yelled a thin little voice.

“You need to work on that one, Ivan,” another guy teased.

“Knives!”

“Yeah, whittling! Cutting stuff!”

“You got a knife?” Jonathan asked. Kevin shook his head.

“Good. You can’t use a knife until you get your Totin’ Chip. It’s a badge that says you know all the safety rules and stuff. But you can get that pretty soon if you want.”

Kevin’s green eyes went round. “I can?”

“Yeah, you can use an axe, too.”

Sean saw Kevin smile, and for a moment he looked just like Hugh.

The boys continued to call out the things they liked. Fires, fishing, magic cards. They laughed and teased and poked one another. Jonathan did a good job of keeping Kevin in the mix.

“It’s important not to help too much,” Frank said out of the blue.

If he thinks I’m the type to hover,
thought Sean,
he’s got another think coming.
Sean had never been fully responsible for another person his whole life. He’d never even babysat, other than for Deirdre and Hugh.

“Jonathan knows what to do,” Frank went on. “They’re supposed to go to him with problems or questions.”

“Pretty big job for a kid his age.”