Leaving Yesterday (8 page)

When the phone rang, I ran into the hallway and through the kitchen to find the closest handset. I snatched it up, looked at caller ID, and saw Private Caller.

My heart began to pound. “Hello?”

“Mom. It’s me.”

I sank down onto the bed, tears of joy already clogging my throat. “Kurt, how are you?”

“I’m making progress. Starting tomorrow, I’ll be released from the full-time residential program.” His voice sounded stronger than it had when he called last. Healthy and happy. Like it used to sound. Before.

“I’ve just been in your room, getting everything all cleaned and set up for you. So you’ll be here tomorrow, then?” I could scarcely grasp the reality of my son finally coming home to me. It had been such a distant dream since he’d left that I’d hardly acknowledged the dream existed. Now I knew that I would do whatever it took to make certain my son stayed sober. Yes, when he got home I would watch him, help him, support him. It would be a long and hard process, perhaps, but a team effort we were all willing to make. I saw the paper and pencil on the bedside table and picked them up. “By the way, what’s your phone number there?”

I could hear my son breathing on the other end of the line, so I knew that he was still there. He just didn’t speak.

“Kurt?”

“I … thought Aunt Jodi would have called you by now.”

“Jodi?” I thought about the message she’d left on my phone today. “We’ve played a little phone tag. She called, left a message. I was just about to call back.”

“Did she tell you anything? In the message, I mean?”

“All she’s told me is to call her back, that we needed to talk. What were you expecting her to tell me?”

Again, the sound of his breathing on the other end was the only thing that let me know he was still there. Finally, he sighed and continued. “That I’m moving in with them.”

A giant tourniquet squeezed the air from my lungs, as if my body wanted to stop the flow of pain into my heart. I couldn’t breathe. “Why?” The word croaked out of me.

“The treatment center where I’ve been staying has a satellite program in Paso Robles, and they’ve already arranged for me to attend daily sessions. I don’t think I can come back to Santa Barbara, where my old friends and old habits are just a phone call away. Besides, Uncle Monte has offered me a job working his olive orchards. Hourly rate plus free room and board as long as I work hard, stay out of trouble, and keep my grades up.”

In spite of the ache that filled every bit of my being, I knew that logically I should be glad that my son was now clean, glad that he was turning his life around. Why did the thought of him choosing to live with my sister over me feel so much like rejection? Like one more level of the failure that had been taunting me through his life for all these years. “Your grades?”

“I’m getting my transcripts together so I can start summer school at Cuesta College. I’ve been talking to the counselor there, and she believes that if I keep my act together and my grades up, I’ll have a good chance of returning to Cal Poly for my junior year.”

“It’s hard to believe that the same person who lived here, who never planned even a week ahead, has managed to map out the next few years of his life so beautifully.” I choked up and stopped talking before I lost it. After a couple of deep breaths, I managed to continue. “I am so proud of you.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard those words.” His voice was every bit as thick as mine. “From anyone. But no worries, Mom. Things have changed. I’ve changed.
A lot.”

The tourniquet loosened with each word. “I’ve got to see you. At least let me help you move in at Jodi’s. Besides, Caroline is going to be a basket case if she can’t get her paws on you soon.”

He laughed. “How is the munchkin? I bet she’s become quite the little lady since I last saw her.” He paused a moment, then continued. “I’ll be driving through Santa Barbara tomorrow night on the way up to Templeton. You want to have dinner or something?”

The menu began to form in my mind. Kurt’s favorite meal had always been beef stroganoff, even though I refused to cook it very often because of the high fat content and the amount of time it took to do it right. Today, neither thing mattered. “Of course I want to have dinner. You just wait, I’ll fix you a meal that’ll make you wonder what you ever did without me.”

“I know what I did without you, Mom, and it wasn’t pretty.” Again, his voice choked up. I heard someone in the background telling him that his time was up. “Look, Mom, I’ve got to go. Would you rather just meet at McDonald’s or something? It’ll make Short Stuff happy, and I know Dad doesn’t want me coming around there. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

This definitely wasn’t the right time to mention the separation. When Kurt came to dinner, I would make certain Rick was here, and we would all pretend that things were just fine. “Of course he wants you coming around here. He was thrilled when I told him that you were in rehab. He will be as excited as I am to see you.”

Kurt’s resulting laugh had a bitter edge to it. “Okay. I’ll call before I leave, just in case you change your mind before tomorrow.” He paused for a minute. “Mom, I love you.” The phone clicked, signalling the end of our conversation.

“No! I love you, too. I love you, too.” The tears poured down my face as the words kept ripping themselves from my very heart and into the phone, over and over and over again. I knew he’d hung up before he ever heard the first word, but I couldn’t stop myself. How many years had I spent wanting to say those words to him? Once I started, I just couldn’t stop.

Ten

I was still holding the phone in my hand when the doorbell rang. I had no idea how long I’d been sitting there. It could have been a couple of minutes or a couple of hours. Whatever the time, it had passed in daydreams of my son’s return.

I shook myself out of my thoughts, set the phone in its cradle, and walked to the door. Only after I opened it and saw the look on Kevin Marshall’s face did I realize how I must have looked.

He took a step backward. “I’m sorry. I should have called before I stopped by.”

I wiped my eyes and smiled at him. “Oh no, no, it’s fine. These are happy tears.” I ran my finger tightly under my eyes, hoping I was removing any trace of running mascara rather than smearing it. “Actually, I just got some terrific news.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” His smile warmed me clear through.

“What brings you here?”

“I was at work in the shop yesterday, getting out a couple of bulbs, and it made me think of your brake light issue. Since I had to come to Santa Barbara today anyway, I thought I’d stop by, see if you’d taken care of it.”

How long had it been since Rick had gone out of his way to do something for me, simply to be nice? I couldn’t even begin to remember a time—the fact that he could probably say the same about me notwithstanding. “No, I’ve managed to completely neglect it. So that would be wonderful.”

“I’ll go get my tools and meet you in the garage, okay?”

I raced through the house and smacked the garage door button, then hurried back out to stand beside him as he looked through the toolbox on his truck. “It’ll only take a minute or two.” He pulled a bulb out and began working on the car. He kept his eyes focused on his hands, but he spoke easily as he worked. “I saw the funniest-looking VW on the street today. It was covered entirely in stone—you know, like builder’s stone. It looked like somebody got tired of his sidewalk, rolled it up, and put it on his car. The thing must have weighed a ton.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it, too. Caroline calls it the Flintstonemobile.” I tried to think of something amusing to add to the conversation. The best I could come up with was, “It’s pretty clever though, you’ve got to admit.”

“I’ll give you that, and if you ask me, what the world needs a little more of right about now is funny. There’s been way too much of the other stuff for my liking in the last few years.” He looked over his shoulder. “ ’Course, I’m not one to complain to you.”

I shrugged and put on my bravest expression, the same one I put on at all my conferences. “Your problems are no less valid than mine.”

“There, all better.” He put the plastic cover back over the bulb, then turned his Paul Newman eyes toward me. “You said you got some terrific news. Anything you want to share?”

“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact.” I said it absently because what I’d really been thinking was that today, more than any so far, I was glad for the eight or nine pounds I’d lost over the past weeks. The thought was fleeting enough, but I recognized it for the danger that it was. Why should I care whether Kevin Marshall thought I looked good? “Do you remember Nick’s younger brother, Kurt?”

He nodded but didn’t say anything. And of course he wouldn’t. What choice would he have except “Oh yeah, isn’t he that kid that went from a straight-A scholar-athlete to a drug addict?”

“Well, he gets out of rehab tomorrow. I just talked to him, and he’s really serious about turning his life around. At least we won’t have to live with yet one more tragedy from the attack.”

“That’s great news.” He took a step closer, and for just a moment I thought he might hug me. He didn’t. “Chris will be thrilled to hear it. He has always worried about Kurt, and your entire family.”

It gave me pause to think of one of Nick’s friends still worrying about us. Sometimes in the course of grief I convinced myself I was so alone. It was strange to think about the people who cared that I never even knew about. I felt myself getting choked up and didn’t want to go there. I reached out and touched the back light panel on my car. “Well, thanks for this. How much do I owe you?”

“Not a thing. Just one friend helping another.”

“It really was a nice thing for a friend to do.” I extended my hand and he shook it.

His palm was warm against mine, his grip so firm and assured and safe. I wanted to hold on to that feeling for as long as I could. And he must have felt it, because I’m pretty sure we held on a few seconds longer than necessary. Maybe not—maybe I was just lost in my own fantasy.

I pulled myself out of whatever it was that was messing with my brain and nodded toward his truck. “You tell Chris that we’re going to be just fine.”

“You can bet I will.” He climbed into his truck and drove away.

I watched his truck disappear. Long after he was gone, I stood in my driveway doing nothing. Completely alone.

Eleven

Rick arrived early on Thursday, carrying a bouquet of flowers. “I thought these would look nice on the table.”

I stared at the multicolored mixture, too stunned to even react for a moment. “Wow. Thanks.” Flowers? From Rick? Even though they were just to make the place look nice for Kurt, I knew the gesture was way out of his comfort zone, and I appreciated them all the more for it. He really was going to try. Once I finally recovered my senses enough to remove the vase from his hands, I went to arrange it on the table, removing the flowers I’d already set there. I placed them on the coffee table in the living room.

“I guess I should have told you I was bringing those, huh? It would have saved you some money and effort.”

I flipped my hand dismissively. “A girl can never have too many flowers.”

He turned and walked toward the window. “I’m terrified, Alisa. I want this to be for real.”

I nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. We waited then, mostly in silence. It wasn’t hostile, or even awkward. I think we were both simply too nervous to make small talk.

When I saw the rusted junker pull into my driveway, a joy pulsed through my veins like I can’t begin to describe. I thought of all the times I’d heard the story of the prodigal son, in Sunday school as a kid, then in sermons as I’d gotten older. Looking back, I realized that even as an adult I’d always focused on the son and his journey back, the courage it took to return home defeated. Only in this exact moment did I fully understand the depth of the father’s love and pain as he stood watching down the road day after day. I thought of the part where he saw his son coming when he was still far off, and as I looked at the tired red car in my driveway, I understood every bit of his elation at the first glimpse of his son. Tonight, I was certain part of that ancient father’s spirit must be with me. The only thing missing here was the fatted calf, but for Kurt, beef stroganoff was probably even better.

My fingers pressed against the handle, prepared to fling the door open, when I felt Rick’s hand on mine. “We have to be responsible, Alisa. Do not, under any circumstances, give him money.”

His words sucked the joy right out of me. “Why would you say something like that? Our son is back. He’s turned his life around. Why would you want to belittle him by making the comment you just made?” I took care to keep my voice soft, for fear that it might carry to the driveway, but everything inside me wanted to scream.

“I know my son. That’s how I can say it.” His eyes had dulled to that look I’d grown so accustomed to. What had happened to the man I used to know, the same man who had been standing in this living room just moments ago? The one who even dared to hope a little? At that moment, I began to realize we might not be able make it through the evening without Kurt realizing we were separated.

I jerked my hand off the handle and Rick took the hint.

“At least give him a chance.”

“I will give him a chance. I’m just not going to give him any money, and I don’t want you to give him any, either.”

There were plenty of reasons from Kurt’s past that made this a valid concern, I knew it. But I was willing to put all those bad things behind us and move toward a new future with the son who had returned to us. I jerked the door open and ran to meet him, never looking back at the man who used to be my husband. “Kurt, oh, sweetie.” I threw my arms around him and he hugged me tighter than he’d ever hugged me in his whole life. He didn’t let go.

“Oh, Mom, it’s so good to see you.” He continued to hold me. “I’m so sorry, so sorry.”

I held on for as long as I could, before emotion forced me to pull away. The sting of tears was prickling my eyes, and I would not ruin this moment by crying. I didn’t want to be a weak female. I wanted to be his strong mother who was here for him and would support him no matter what happened. His hair was closely shorn, his face a bit pale, his body painfully thin. The last four years of hard living made him look older than his twenty-one years, but I had no doubt that he would reclaim his former charm after continuing with a sober life. I intended to do all I could to assist him with that.