by Nan Rossiter
Josh stepped up beside Katie and put his arm around her. “I think it’s time for all unruly children to go to bed.” He tried to guide Katie toward the house, but she twisted away from him, swaying precariously, and refocused on Linden. Jon stepped toward her too, but she pushed him away and almost fell again.
A small group had begun to gather in the driveway and Katie felt encouraged by their interest. She took a sip from her cup and announced matter-of-factly, “Callie was pregnant, Linden. That’s why she broke up with you.” She swayed a bit before continuing. “The father of the baby is a big mystery too, but I heard he was married.”
Linden, who had been curiously waiting to hear what she was going to say, just stared at her.
“Katie, shut up, okay? You’ve said enough!” Jon commanded.
“But, thersmore, Jon,” she slurred, leaning on the car to steady herself. “I heard something’s wrong with him. I heard her son’s retarded and thaswhyshestocome home.”
Josh whistled softly. “Nice, Katie, you certainly have a way with words.”
Katie looked at her brother defiantly. “He was going to find out anyway. Don’t you think it’s better that he find out from us?”
“You mean from you,” Jon corrected.
Linden didn’t say a word. He just listened to them talk about him as if he weren’t there, and then he bit his lip and looked away. Finally, he turned and started to walk toward his truck. Jon called after him. “Linden, wait... .”
But Linden just put up his hand and said, “Thank your parents for me.”
Twenty minutes later, Linden was sitting on the dark porch with the dogs, watching the stars flicker and fade and then grow bright again. Katie’s words echoed through his head and, for the first time in a long time, Linden thought about the months that had followed his breakup with Callie.
After that Fourth of July, he had been devastated and confused, and he’d had no desire to return to school. His parents had argued vehemently with him about making such a rash decision and he’d answered them by drinking his way through the summer and fall months, trying desperately to forget. By Christmas, he’d had all he could take of his mother’s constant badgering, and he packed up his things, brushed the snow off his truck, emptied his savings account, and headed south. He had no plan. He just wanted to get away from everyone—and everything—that reminded him of Callie. With no particular destination in mind, he just drove, sleeping in truck stops, eating in diners, and continuing on until he reached Georgia.
He had pulled into a quiet parking lot to take a nap, not at all sure of where he was. But when he woke up, he realized he had parked right in front of a sign marking the beginning of the Appalachian Trail. Initially surprised by its appearance on his wayward path, he had had a sudden epiphany: What better way to numb emotional torment than with physical suffering? He’d climbed out of the truck, stood in front of the sign, and thought about the countless backpacking trips he’d been on as a Boy Scout. In fact, he’d probably already hiked the hardest parts of the Appalachian Trail—through the White Mountains. At that moment, he decided, and, by mid-February, he had sold his truck, bought a used backpack, and researched the supplies he’d need to thru-hike the entire trail. In the weeks that followed, he bought a tent, rain gear, nonperishable food, and a lightweight cooking set. His final purchase was a pair of leather hiking boots, which he promptly trudged through puddles and mud to break in.
Then, on a cold, rainy March morning he dropped a picture postcard of the Chattahoochee National Forest addressed to his parents into a mailbox outside the courthouse in Dahlo-nega, Georgia; hitched his backpack onto his shoulders; pulled the straps tight; and turned toward Springer Mountain. He signed into the AT log book under the trail name Wounded Finch and disappeared into the wild terrain of the most famous footpath on the East Coast. No one heard from him again until he emerged at the summit of Mount Katahdin five months later with a full beard and two dogs by his side.
But still, in the years that followed that trip, how was it that he’d never heard about Callie? Especially if, as Katie said, everyone knew. His parents had surely found out before they’d moved back to Boston, and his mother would have certainly told him. It would have been a major coup for her in her effort to prove that Callie wasn’t the right girl for him. Linden just couldn’t believe she would have been able to withhold such damning evidence.
But all this was beside the point because, if it was true, then how ... and why? Oh, Callie, why?
13
Callie silently berated herself while Henry cried inconsolably in the backseat. How can I be so stupid? What was I thinking? I wasn’t, obviously! What kind of mother does this to her child? When they finally got home again, she lifted him out and whispered, “I’m sorry, Hen-Ben. It’s obviously going to take me a while to figure this out, but I will, I will! I promise!” She sat him on the bathroom counter, pulled off his sweatshirt, gently wiped his face with a warm washcloth, and helped him get ready for bed. She pulled down the Mickey Mouse sheets and Henry, finally calm and rubbing his eyes, pointed to Mickey and climbed in. He also pointed to Travelin’ Bear, and Callie handed him the beloved brown bear. Henry tucked him under his chest, and Callie knelt beside him and gently pushed the wisps of blond hair back from his forehead. Then she closed her eyes and whispered his prayer. When she opened them again, he was sound asleep.
She got up and got ready for bed too, and then fell onto the bed in the next room. Even though she knew Henry was exhausted and would probably sleep through the night, she couldn’t stop worrying. Every time she dozed off, she dreamed he was running down the road and she’d wake up with a pounding heart. Finally, she just got up, pulled her old patchwork sleeping bag out of her closet, and lay down on the floor next to his bed. She finally slept, but the next morning when she got up to make coffee, every muscle in her body ached.
She reached for the coffee can and thought about all the things she wanted to do that morning: the hardware store, food shopping, and visiting her dad, all before lunch, all before Henry grew tired, and all before the phone company came to restore service. As she lifted the plastic top off the can, she suddenly pictured a similar can that her dad had always kept in the back of his closet. The only reason she knew about the can was because she had knocked it over once when she was playing hide-and-seek with a friend. But, in the years that followed that misstep, she’d sometimes peeked in the closet to check on its continued existence, but that was a long time ago, and now she didn’t think it would still be there. She went down the hall and, feeling as oddly intrusive as she had back then, opened his closet door. The familiar scent of Aqua Velva drifted from his suits and, when she knelt under them, they felt as if they were cloaking her in protective warmth. She started to move an old wooden box to the side but then stopped, pulling the box toward her and opening it to look at its neatly stored contents. She remembered her dad opening the wooden box’s hinged top and setting out the items he needed to polish his shoes: the small round can of black Kiwi shoe polish, the torn cotton rag covered with brown and black smudges, and the long, soft belt of chamois cloth. She could hear him whistling softly and could still see his hands as they worked: twisting the clever mechanism on the side of the can to pop off the top, dabbing just the right amount of soft, dark polish on his already-shiny shoes, rubbing it evenly into the smooth leather, and then stretching the chamois tight and tugging it swiftly back and forth across the top of his shoe until it shone. When he finished his shoes, he had always looked up at her and politely inquired, “Shoe shine, Miss?” And Callie had always responded with a shy nod, holding out her scuffed Mary Janes. Her father had set the box in front of her, and she’d placed her shoe on the shoe-shaped handle and he’d start the process all over. When he had come to the final shine, he had always folded the soft chamois in half the long way so he wouldn’t get polish on her snow-white stockings, and then he’d tug it back and forth so fast that it tickled her toes and made her giggle. She had loved havi
ng her shoes shined.
Callie’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the quiet stillness of the house and her heart stopped. Where is Henry? She hurried down the hall, looking in all the rooms, but to her relief, she found him in the bathroom, meticulously lining up the toiletries. She looked at his neat arrangement of creams, shampoos, perfumes, and Dixie cups and wondered if she would ever understand how his mind worked.
She returned to her dad’s closet, pushed aside the garments, and couldn’t believe her eyes. Lined up in the shadow along the back wall were eight dark blue coffee cans, overflowing with bills and coins.
14
On Monday morning, Linden was up and out early. He pulled around to the lumber yard behind Belletetes. He needed a twelve-foot length of fir to replace the rotting pine steps and two narrower widths of cedar for the window frame. He also needed stain, but he’d have to get that inside.
Callie parked in front of Belletetes and helped Henry climb out. She’d let him walk as long as he held her hand. All they needed were eyehooks, but if his mood allowed she also hoped to look at the gadgets that were used for child-proofing. She glanced down at him as he trundled along beside her. Sometimes he can be so good!
“Hey, Linden, what can I get for you?” Linden turned to see Jack Ryan walking toward him. They talked briefly and Linden told him about his projects. Jack picked out three perfect boards, straight and clear of knots, and Linden slid them into the bed of his truck. When Jack asked if there was anything else, Linden said he was all set with wood but needed to go inside and look at the stain. Jack nodded and handed him a slip for the wood. Linden thanked him and walked toward the back entrance of the store. It was still early, but he could already feel the oppressive summer heat radiating from the pavement.
Henry was wide-eyed as Callie guided him past the myriad of charcoal grills, shovels, wheelbarrows, wagons, and even a John Deere lawn tractor. Henry pulled toward the tractor, but Callie was firm. “Not now. Maybe on the way out if you’re good.” They made their way to an ancient set of wooden drawers in the back of the store that catalogued every size nut, bolt, and screw imaginable. Callie held on to Henry’s hand as she tried to decipher the system and find the drawer containing eyehooks. Suddenly, Henry reached up and pulled out a drawer labeled ¾” Lag. The old system of drawers, Callie quickly discovered, had no stops, and the one Henry pulled on slid all the way out and clattered loudly to the floor, scattering its contents across the worn linoleum. Surprised and frightened, Henry yanked his hand free from Callie’s grasp and covered his ears. Distracted and embarrassed, Callie let go and knelt down to pick up the bolts, but when she looked up, Henry was gone.
Linden stood in front of the Cabot display and tried to remember the color he needed. He could see the stain-dripped can on the basement shelf, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember the name of the color. He was studying the chart when he heard a loud crash in the back of the store. He winced and wondered what poor soul had caused the loud calamity. A moment later, quick, light footfalls drew close to his aisle. He looked up in time to see a little boy run past.
Callie had just slid the refilled drawer back into place when a teenage clerk appeared and asked her if she needed help. “I do need help! I was trying to find eyehooks,” she said in a flustered voice. “But, right now, I need to find my son.” She turned away from the perplexed clerk and hurried to find Henry. The clerk shrugged, walked over to an adjacent wall, lifted two packages containing different-sized hooks off a display rack, and called after her, “I’ll just bring the hooks to the counter.” Callie nodded and tried to remain calm. I cannot panic every time I lose sight of him, she thought. Besides, how far can he get in a hardware store? She thought of the tractor and headed in that direction, calling his name and looking up and down every aisle.
Linden finally decided he would have to wait on the stain. He hung the chart back up and started to walk toward the register to pay for the wood. As he neared the end of the aisle, the small running figure he’d seen a moment ago rounded the corner at full speed and plowed headlong into his legs. “Whoa, there, little fella! Where are you off to in such a hurry?” He picked the boy up and their eyes locked. Then Linden heard someone calling and felt the boy squirm. Linden studied his face. “Are you Henry?” he asked, poking his finger at Henry’s chest and smiling. Linden heard the voice draw closer and made his way toward it. A young woman walked hurriedly down the next aisle and Linden called after her, “Excuse me, ma’am, is this who you’re looking for?”
Callie stopped at the sound of the familiar voice but didn’t turn around. Instead, she tried to think, not knowing what to expect, not ready for this moment. She unwittingly bit her lip as she tried to fight back the tears that were suddenly stinging her eyes. Finally, giving up, she turned and, through the blur of remorse, looked at the face of the boy ... man ... who was holding her son in his arms.
Linden’s heart stopped. For years he had wondered what he would do—what he would say—at this moment. And now all he could do was clench his jaw, and all he could say, in a voice barely audible, was, “Hey ...”
“Hey ...” came her soft reply.
They stood silently on the edge of disbelief, trying to absorb each other’s presence, trying to grasp each other’s continued existence on Earth because, up until this moment, they had only been haunted by the memory of that existence and, up until that moment, all they had been doing were the things that were necessary to sustain life but not to actually live it.
“I’m sorry,” Callie said, nodding toward Henry and reaching out to take him. “Thank you for corralling him.”
“It’s okay,” Linden said, smiling at the little boy who, he realized now, looked just like his mother.
Henry had just lost interest in the button on Linden’s faded blue oxford and begun to squirm. Linden stepped forward and handed him to Callie.
“How’ve you been?” she asked with a smile that stole his heart.
Linden searched Callie’s eyes and his mind filled with a long litany of rehearsed replies. “Fine,” he lied. “You?”
“Oh, managing,” she said with a tired smile.
“How’s your dad?”
“He’s ... he’s in the hospital,” she stammered.
“I’m sorry. What happened?”
Callie’s chest tightened. “He had a stroke and ...” Henry began to protest at the delay, and Callie shook her head in dismay. “I’d better go.”
Linden nodded.
“It was good to see you.”
“It was good to see you too.”
Linden stood and watched in stunned silence as the only girl he’d ever loved turned and walked away with her little boy in her arms.
PART II
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason
—Robert Frost
15
Callie’s heart was still pounding when she reached her car. Henry had made a fuss when she’d tried to pry him from the tractor seat, and she could only pray that Linden had already left the store and hadn’t heard the commotion or witnessed the humiliating scene of her son rolling on the floor. There was a fine line, she decided, between a child’s inability to cope with his surroundings and just plain bad behavior. Every child has tantrums, she thought, so how does the parent of a child with autism know if the trigger is some inner turmoil or plain, old-fashioned defiance? She looked at Henry’s teary eyes and wanted, more than anything, to understand. She slipped the toy tractor the store owner had given her into his hands, knowing full well that he’d just wanted them to leave. Henry wiped his eyes and studied the little John Deere. Callie was not a fan of bribery, but at the moment it was the only thing that seemed to work. Besides, with Henry, she believed giving him something new to play with could just as easily be characterized as distraction.
She opened the car door and the trapped he
at rolled out. She threw her wallet and the bag of eyehooks onto the passenger seat and reached into her pocket for her keys. Her heart sank; her pockets were empty. She must have left them on the counter. She looked in the rearview mirror at Henry, who was already strapped in. She could not bring him back in the store and she couldn’t leave him in the car. She rested her aching head on the steering wheel, felt beads of perspiration trickling down the sides of her face, and recalled all the horrible stories about people who left their children and pets in vehicles unattended in the summer heat. Finally, in frustration, she looked through the windshield and fumed, “Do you think you could let one thing go my way?”
She got back out of the car and marched around to Henry’s door. Just as she did, a blue Ford pickup drove out of the lumber yard and slowed down beside her. Callie looked up, embarrassed, and Linden stopped and asked, “Is everything okay?” Callie explained her dilemma.
“Go get them,” he said. “I’ll stay here.”
She looked at him in amazement. “Are you sure?”
Linden put the truck in park and said simply, “Go.” Callie ran back inside and found her keys where she’d left them. When she came back out, Linden was standing beside the car with Henry’s door open.
She gave him a relieved smile. “You don’t know what a huge help that was.”
Linden nodded and Callie studied him, still unable to believe that he was actually standing in front of her, handsome and honest, still wearing faded Levis that hung from his slender hips in the same easy way they always had ... and still smiling that same sweet, sheepish smile. The years hadn’t touched him. She watched him push his dark chestnut hair back with his long, tan piano player fingers, and she searched his eyes for a trace of the tender passion they’d once known.
