WILLEM (The Witches of Wimberley Book 1) (28 page)

I pulled out my phone and went through the contacts list. All my acting contacts were there. All my bartending contacts were there. Nobody else except for family.

Messages didn’t give up any clues either. No messages at all. None sent by me. None received by me.

Pressing my mother’s contact number I listened to the ring.

“Hello?”

“Mom, hey.”

“Will! How are you?”

“Good. I’m actually on the way there. Didn’t I tell you I was coming?”

“No. I think I’d remember something as momentous as that.”

I chuckled. “Okay. Well, should be there tomorrow night.”

“In time for dinner?”

“If you like.”

“Of course I like. I’ll make your favorites.”

She sounded as excited as if she’d won stuff on a game show and I wondered what I’d done to deserve great parents.

“I’ll save up room and come starved.”

“You do that, sugarbunch. I can’t wait to see you.”

It was so comforting to hear her thick Southern drawl. It had all but disappeared in modern times, what with Midwestern being spoken from a flat screen while grabbing a beer at the bar, waiting in line at the bank, waiting for a flight at the airport, even waiting for the gas tank to fill up.

“Love you. See you soon.”

I ended the call and looked at the open suitcases. How was I going to explain all this?

I’d spent a lot of time sitting in the car. Maybe a walk would clear my head.

When I got down to the street, I asked the doorman, “I want to walk a little and eat a little. What do you recommend?”

“Fancy or just good food?”

“Just good food.”

“You like Chipotle?”

“Who doesn’t like Chipotle?”

He chuckled. “It’s about eight blocks.”

“That’s perfect. It’s a nice night.”

“Yes, sir. Exactly seventy degrees.”

He gave me directions. I gave him a tip.

It felt good to walk. I arrived ten minutes before they closed at eight so I ordered a burrito to go. I walked it back to Discovery Green, which was only a block from the hotel, bought a beer from a small step-in bar, and ate on a park bench while listening to a small jazz band playing for tips.

Everything about the moment was good. The burrito. The beer. The park. The music. The temperature. The fact that I had a black American Express in my pants and a Porsche Boxster parked at the Four Seasons where I was staying. So why did I feel so unsettled? So incomplete? Like something absolutely essential was missing?

It was inexplicable. I had the feeling that I was missing a chunk of my stomach, the place where peace and sense of well-being reside.

After a restless night of dreaming about being arrested for auto theft, identity theft, credit card theft, and burrito theft, I checked the weather the next morning before I left. Sunny all the way. So I reverse engineered the convertible top using the same method. You Tube video. The valet parker was a big help. I found out that it’s easier with two people.

I sped through east Texas, over the Atchafalaya Swamp, took I12 north of Pontchartrain because it was the most direct route, but got off long enough to find a lakefront crawfish bar for lunch.

When I got back on the road, I passed a turn off to New Orleans and felt something tug at my mind. There was something about that I was supposed to know, but couldn’t remember.

I picked I10 up again close to the Mississippi border, but decided to take old Highway 90 to Biloxi because it hugged the shoreline and was a beautiful drive. I remembered that from times I’d driven the route before the L.A. years.

The water was gorgeous, the sunlight creating a sea of sparkling silver over blue. I alternated between watching the road and appreciating the scenery. Going through Pass Christian I turned my head to the right to see the beach. For a second I thought I saw a woman in the car with me, hair black as night pulled back into a ponytail that was ruffling in the breeze. I didn’t see her face. It startled me enough that I jerked the wheel and got a honk from a truck in the oncoming lane.

When I felt safe enough to glance back at the passenger seat, no one was there. I was pretty sure I was going crazy.

When I passed the casinos and resort hotels at Biloxi, the Hard Rock caught my attention. What was it about that? Something I couldn’t quite remember, but it bothered me like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

As planned, I made it through Mobile before rush hour and pulled into the driveway at Fairhope right at five o’clock. By the time I got the door open and stepped out of the car, my mother was rushing out the door.

“Oh, my lands, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Willem!” She pulled me down so that she could give me big smooches on both cheeks. Her enthusiasm made me laugh and temporarily forget my troubles. Eventually she was able to take adoring eyes away from me and look at the car. “And what heaven’s name is this?”

“Car.”

“I’ll say! Looks like a nice one. Love the color. And I think it suits you. So does this mean you’re a movie star?”

“Hardly. It means I’m a failed actor slinking home with his tail between his legs.”

“Well, you slink in mighty fine style.”

“Come get settled in while I finish dinner. What do you think we’re having?”

“Fried catfish?” She nodded and grinned. “Lots of lemon slices and tartar sauce?”

“Of course. If I didn’t know that about you, I wouldn’t be your mama.”

“Mashed potatoes?” She nodded. “Green beans with bacon?”

“Hundred percent correct. And a special surprise for dessert.”

“Nobody cooks like you, Mom. It’s kind of a wonder that I escaped from home without weighing three hundred pounds.”

“Oh, now. We have salad sometimes.”

I laughed. “Yeah. As an appetizer before an entrée of something deep fried.”

“Well, I don’t cook Cal-fusion cuisine. Whatever that is.”

“I could explain it.”

“No.”

“Okay. Is it just the three of us for dinner tonight?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Everybody is coming.”

“Oh, good.” I wasn’t sure I sounded sincere, but I tried.

Actually I was glad there’d be a crowd because it would be easier to hide all the stuff I didn’t know about my life. I hauled the bags around to my old room at the back of the house. There was something really comforting about the fact that it hadn’t changed at all in ten years. Maybe the folks had left it alone because I was the only one who didn’t have a
real
home.

My two older brothers had gone into the construction business with my dad and were doing well. My sister’s husband worked at the resort so, strange as it is in this day and time, the entire family stayed close by in Fairhope.

That meant that the house would be filled to bursting with siblings, in-laws, nieces, nephews, and me. Mom fussed that there was no hope of seating everybody at the large dining table so we had to be satisfied with just the adults. The older kids were allowed to fill plates and eat on the picnic tables outside. The kids too young for that were fed in the kitchen, moms running back and forth between adult talk and kiddie care.

It was a circus.

And I loved it.

Right up to the minute when the dreaded question popped up.

“So, Will, what about that car?”

Geoffrey asked the question, but it could have been anybody. They all wanted to know.

I’d been over the answer to that question a hundred times in my head and still didn’t have a satisfactory answer. At the moment of truth, I lied.

“It was a parting gift from my agent. I think she felt bad about the fact that she’d never gotten me a single acting job in ten years.” Eight pairs of eyes stared at me like they were waiting for more. “Sorry, guys. There’s no more to the story. The car looks good, but it’s not new. I got it used.”

“Oh, well,” said Geoff. “That makes
all
the difference.”

Geoff was born second after my brother, Thadeus. He liked to stir the pot, which was exactly what he was doing.

“Yeah,” is all I said.

Mom rescued me. “Well, it’s a beautiful car. It’s nice you have something to show for the time you spent in California.”

“So what are you gonna do now?” asked Thaddie.

“Go back to school. And maybe write some young adult fantasy books.”

“About what?” asked my sister, Vivienne.

I smiled. “I had this idea about a beagle who thinks he can turn into a big black bear.”

Viv laughed. “Sounds like fun.”

Geoff’s wife, Linda, said, “I’ll preorder right now.”

Mom had disappeared into the kitchen, but I began to smell something incredible.

“Mom!” I yelled. “Are you making Bananas Foster?”

She poked her head out. “In your honor, prodigal son.” She looked at Viv. “Vivienne, round up a couple of the grandkids to help carry to the table and come dish the ice cream for me.”

Viv got up and disappeared into the kitchen.

Before any more questions were posed that would require lies for answers, I did a preemptive strike with questions of my own.

“What are you working on right now, Dad?”

He was sitting at the end of the table, still fit with a flat stomach, and tan. I’d heard somebody call him handsome, but I couldn’t remember who.

When he smiled, the skin formed crinkles around his eyes. “We’re working downtown Mobile. Renovating an old apartment hotel. Turning it into something called a ‘boutique’ hotel. Irish pub, flower shop, hotel entrance on street level. Rooms above. Stripped it right down to studs so we could rewire, reconfigure the floor plan, and fit with new plumbing. They’re calling it Suite Home Alabama.”

I chuckled. “Catchy. Wonder where they got that idea? Sounds like the only thing you’re keeping is the place on the block.”

Dad chuckled. “Pretty much.”

Kids were coming in and out delivering bowls of bananas foster which meant that people sitting at the table forgot all about conversation for a few minutes.

“Mom!” I yelled. “This is incredible!”

She came to the kitchen door and took a bow.

As soon as I’d finished with dessert, I got up, carried it into the kitchen and dove into cleanup. There was some resistance since dinner was supposed to be in my honor, but I insisted on doing dishes.

“It’s your welcome home dinner. You’re not supposed to do dishes.”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” I said. “Let me feel useful.”

I did the dishes with two sister-in-laws, kept them talking about their kids, school, soccer, swim team, etc. Since it was a school night, everybody packed up and headed away early leaving me with my mom and dad.

“Y’all are gonna have to forgive me, but I’m turnin’ in early.”

“Oh, sure. You drove all the way from Los Angeles by yourself. Of course you’re tired.” Mom gave me a quick hug.

“Yeah. Night.”

I had no idea whether I’d driven from Los Angeles or not. And that bothered me. Where had I been and what had I been doing during the last year that had gone missing from memory? Where was I coming from when I ‘woke up’ on I10?

Shutting the door of my old room, I glanced at the bags sitting on the twin bed across the room from the bed I slept in. I pulled off my boots, stripped down to my boxers, and unzipped the small bag. The book was sitting right on top. I picked it up, turned on the bedside lamp, turned off the overhead light, and crawled into bed.

It was only eight thirty, but I had to escape before I was forced to tell more lies. Lying to parents had ceased to feel recreational before I turned twenty.

I focused on the book. There had to be a reason why it was the only one I had with me.