The 747’s wheels bounced and rolled as the plane touched down onto the runway. Scott peered out the window at the short trees that raced by the edge of the tarmac. Anchorage, Alaska. His dad would be waiting. Scott breathed a heavy breath. He already felt a million years removed from the tropics, even though he had just been in Guam that night before. He remembered waving to his uncle and aunt and watching Ruth wipe a tear from her eye as he disappeared down the ramp. Would he ever see them again?
Scott felt the cool fall air rush into the plane as the door opened. “Currently 59 degrees,” the stewardess had said. He shivered. He had grown accustomed to the 80-degree weather of the islands.
As Scott emerged from the plane he saw his dad, Robert Calloway, MD. He was standing tall and in a leather jacket, arms folded across his chest and a tie showing below the expensive leather.
“Hi, son.” His dad stepped forward and caught Scott in a sideways hug. “Glad to see you.” Scott shivered just a little bit. “Looks like the islands made you soft.”
“I know.” Scott looked down at his tanned legs sticking from his khaki shorts. “I forgot that the end of August was cool up here.” He held his arm up next to his dad’s. “See the sun difference.
His dad’s white wrist and forearm contrasted heavily with Scott’s tanned and freckled arm. His dad had to pull up his sleeve to compare.
“You’ll probably get skin cancer,” Robert grunted. “C’mon, let’s get your bags.”
The two headed to the baggage claim and waited with the crowd.
“So how was your stay at John’s?” Robert asked.
“Oh, good. I spent a lot of time of with a girl I met there though, so I wasn’t there a lot. They were really nice to me,” Scott finished and looked up at his dad.
He nodded, expressionless. His thinning hair left a bald spot shining. “I just wondered if they were bothered.” Little lines in Robert’s face showed as he scowled. “Do I need to write them a check for your stay, Scott?”
Scott shook his head. “No, they said nothing of the kind. I didn’t hardly cost them anything anyways. I tried to give them $100 when I left, but John refused, and told me to save it so I could come back and snorkel with him.”
“And your hospital visit?” Robert watched Scott reach out and heave a bag from the carousel.
“Doctor didn’t do anything other than just give me a cream for my foot. I would be surprised if it cost much, if anything at all.” Scott set the suitcase down with a heave. “Let’s go Dad, I have my bag.” Scott didn’t like how his dad treated him like he was so naïve.
“I’m still going to write them a check.” Robert scowled. “I don’t want them telling tales of us.”
“They wouldn’t tell any tales, Dad, I know them.” Scott protested. “I had a lot of fun with them.”
“A lot of fun, eh?” Robert shook his head. “You haven’t lived as long as me, Scott, and if I know anything from my 12 years of college, it’s that money is very important to people.”
That ended that. Scott knew better than to argue with his dad about his college experience. He sat quietly in the front seat as his dad pulled out of the airport. Scott watched as the Ted Stevens International Airport sign went past his right side, rows of petunias and pansies planted around its base.
“There’s already some fall colors in the trees,” commented Scott, glancing at several tinges of yellow in the passing birches. “It’s only August 21.”
Robert nodded and grunted he pulled into a post office. “Better get that check mailed off.” He pulled an envelope from the door and wrote out a check for $300.
Scott watched. In the memo, he wrote: For distant relative inconvenience. Scott turned and stared out the window, frustrated.
“You stand in line to mail this, Scott. I think that’s fair since you’re the reason for it.” Robert reached across the seat and handed the pre-addressed envelope and check to Scott. “Make sure to get it certified. I’ll be waiting here in the truck.”
Scott opened the door and stepped out of the truck, anger and frustration seething inside him.
“Do you have enough money to mail it?”
“Yes, Dad, it’s not a problem.” Scott closed the pickup door and walked into the post office. He knew better than to ask his dad for postage money.
An hour later, Scott and his dad were nearing Wasilla. They had talked about the economy and the newfangled Internet. Scott had told his dad some stories from the Marshall Islands. It was good to talk with his dad, despite his rude comments. He felt that his dad was genuinely glad to see him, as long as Scott kept him in a good frame of reference.
“So I suppose you’re done messing around and are gonna get a job so you can go to school, then?”
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet, honestly, Dad,” Scott replied. His face was pressed against the window. “The change is so sudden. I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going to do now. I was expecting to be in the Marshall Islands for two more years.”
“Well, you flaked out on that. Make sure you don’t flake out on life.”
At home, Scott greeted his mother. He thought she looked older than last time he’d seen her. It must be the extra gray hair, Scott mused.
“You’re back just in time.” She hugged him again. “You’re like a board, Scott, loosen up.”
“Oh, sorry,” Scott mumbled. It wasn’t that pleasant to have her squeezing him.
She was still holding on to him at arm’s length as she talked. “We’re having a family dinner tomorrow night so everyone can see you.” She beamed at him. “Your Uncle Owen and Aunt Tiffany will be coming over, along with your brother, Phillip.”
Scott stepped back, discreetly releasing himself from his mom’s hold. “Since when has Owen been ‘Uncle?’” He twitched his fingers like quotation marks.
“You better watch your mouth, Scott, before you find yourself in a bad spot,” Robert warned menacingly. He had returned from the kitchen with a shot glass of whiskey between his fingers.
“I’m just asking,” Scott protested.
“And I’m just telling you,” Robert replied evenly. “Owen was best man at my wedding, and he’s still my best friend. If you want to stay under my roof, in my house,” Robert’s voice rose in a crescendo, “you better not so much as look at him wrong. Are you picking up what I’m laying down?” He glanced darkly at Scott before draining the shot in a single gulp.
His mom glanced at Scott apologetically, wringing her hands. “Scott, why don’t you take your suitcase up to your room and then bring me any dirty laundry you want washed.”
“And bring a quarter, too, because laundry service isn’t free around here anymore, either.” Robert slammed his shot glass down on the counter and reached for the remote that sat by his favorite recliner. “Time for sports.” He sighed and sank into his chair, shooting a sideways glance at Scott. “Don’t keep your mom waiting.”
Scott hurried upstairs. It felt like dark walls had sprung around him and he was being suffocated by the gloom. He felt a familiar vault door swing shut across his heart. His dad’s words bore into his mind, and there was no opening that vault door now, he knew. No one in this house knew the combination, not even him. It had been over a year since he had felt this stony hardness. He hadn’t needed it in the Marshall Islands. It had taken him a while to unlock this mysterious vault door over his heart, and now it had slammed back shut on him. He had developed this hardness as a child. It was normal back then. He had thought everyone must be this way. His dad telling him he was no good and yelling at him daily, while his older brother met with constant approval. Scott winced physically as he stepped into his room. Maybe his heart wasn’t completely locked from the pain yet. This house with so many memories. He turned in the door to face his brother’s room directly across the hall.
The door was open and the lights were on. It was neatly cleaned and rows of Star Wars figurines stood in perfect order across the dresser. A poster on the door read, “The Force is with you.” Scott stepped across the hall and into the open door. A picture as large as a small poster was hanging above the figurines. It was of his brother, Phillip, in a cap and gown shaking a smiling Robert’s hand. Gold letters boldly embossed a title across the bottom. Phillip Robert Calloway receiving a diploma for a bachelor of science in psychology.
The picture was arranged so the lamp shone directly onto it, giving it a prominent glow. Scott sighed and stepped back across the hall and into his own room. No such picture adorned his wall. His room was dark and dusty. A stack of boxes and some buckets blocked half the room.
He flipped the light on and discovered that two cats where sleeping on his bed while a cat box sat in the corner. Didn’t his parents remember he was allergic to cats? Scott angrily shooed the fat cats from his bed and stifled a sneeze. He had to get the window open. He cranked it open and hurried into the hall for fresher air.
Downstairs, he met his mom in the laundry room with a small armload of clothes. “This is everything, Mom. I didn’t bring much back.” He laid the pile on the washer.
“I’m sorry about your father, dear.” She looked flustered as she nudged the laundry room door and lowered her voice. “Your father is very easily angered when anyone says anything about Owen at all, since he loaned him that money.” She shook her head. “Whenever I bring it up, he just gets angry and watches TV.” She turned and glanced out the door discreetly. “I’m worried too, because he’s been drinking a lot recently.”
“I don’t care, Mom. I don’t want to get involved.” Scott’s voice was flat. “I’m just going to try to stay out of his way.” He turned, frustrated. “Why is there a cat box in my room?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, our cat box used to be in here, but your dad moved it so he could have room for a new safe.” She touched a large metal box as she spoke. “I couldn’t talk him out of it.”
Scott glanced at the polished silver safe curiously. “Why did he get that?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Foolish, if you ask me, but he says he needs it for business purposes.”
“I don’t know why you’d need a safe for counseling and prescribing anti-depressants, but I do know there’s no way I can sleep in my room unless we get all that cat stuff out of there.”
“I’ll see if I can arrange something. Just let me deal with it. Your dad is in a bad mood right now.”
“I could have guessed that,” Scott grunted. “Is my truck still parked by the woodshed? I think I’ll go for a drive.”
Scott went out the garage door so he wouldn’t have to walk past his dad. All he knew was that he needed to get out, before anything more happened. His old Chevy pickup fired up without any problem. His dad had used it for hauling firewood.
Scott noticed that the fuel needle was right on empty, though he was sure he had left it with a full tank. Better not complain about that. His dad would be sure to turn it around on him.
Scott arrived at the gas station a few minutes later and stood outside while the fuel pump slowly chugged away. He stuck his hands in his pockets and turned so the wind could rustle his hair. The smell of diesel drifted up to him from the pump.
He paid the attendant, grabbed a Sprite, and pulled away from the station. He turned his truck toward Palmer and let one hand steer as he sipped his soda. He needed time to think. The familiar sights along the Palmer-Wasilla highway greeted his eyes as he drove: Wasilla Lake, a gravel pit, the fire station and potato farm. He looked up toward the large snow-capped Pioneer Peak rising majestically to his right. His gaze swept the valley, Matanuska Peak, Lazy Mountain; he’d climbed both of them before. If I can find a new start, this isn’t a bad place really, he mused. Scott rolled down the window and let the cool fall air roll into the cab around him. It smelled of birch and grass.
Halfway to Palmer, Scott turned off the highway. A minute later he was rolling up at a familiar brown house. He switched the engine off and stepped out onto the soft gravel. A golden retriever barked from the porch and trotted with tail wagging to greet him. Scott stroked the silver muzzle.
“You still remember me, Wagner?” The golden retriever gave a friendly thump of his tail and turned his trusting eyes up to Scott. Scott patted the dog’s head. “Of course you do, old boy.” He turned and headed toward the door, the old dog walking next to him, brushing him with his furry tail.
Scott rang the old doorbell and waited. He heard soft footsteps and then the door opened. A silver-haired man with a bushy gray beard stood in the door, wearing round reading glasses and fur slippers. He held a sandwich in one hand.
“Scott?” The man swayed for a second. The half-eaten sandwich loosened in his hand and a piece of chicken fell to the floor. Quick as a flash, the old dog licked it from the porch, barking excitedly. “Scott, it is you! I sure wasn’t expecting to see you in this half of the world.” The tall man stepped forward and stooped slightly as he shook Scott’s hand and caught him in a friendly hug. He stepped back, his blue eyes bugging slightly behind his glasses as he stared at Scott. “You caught me having a bite to eat. I wasn’t expecting company for another half an hour, but come on in, lad, you’re welcome to join me.” He chuckled softly as he turned in the door.
“Tim, I’m so glad to see you.” Scott stepped through the door. “I wasn’t expecting to be here either.”
Tim walked across the living room and sat down in a leather-backed chair. “Well, whatever happened?” He reached across the coffee table and took another chicken sandwich from a stack. “Care for one?” He held the plate out to Scott, who took a sandwich and bit hungrily into the soft white bread, mayonnaise and peppered chicken slices.
“Thanks. I’ll explain.” Scott stopped eating. He related to Tim his tale. “So now I’m here.” He spread his hands. “I blew in with the fall breeze.”
Tim sat facing him calmly, a leg drawn up across his lap, his slipper-clad foot tapping softly. Other than that, he seemed very relaxed. He took another bite of sandwich and paused to lick the mayonnaise off the tip of his finger.
“Well, sounds like an interesting story.” He nodded. “What are you wanting to do now?” He peered at Scott, then he began to leaf through an open book next to him. He set it down a minute later.
“I don’t know exactly,” Scott admitted. “But I’d like to find a job and a place to stay other than my parents’ house. I know that for sure.”
Tim wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Your dad being hard to live with already?”
Scott shook his head dismissively. “I don’t want to give him the chance.”
He nodded. “Well, lets just take this one step at a time. Up until now, I was thinking you were on the other side of the ocean, teaching school, and diving with man-eaters.” His eye held a twinkle. “At least you won’t have to worry about sharks here.”
He laughed at Tim’s soft humor. “I guess that’s right.”
Tim looked thoughtful. He uncrossed his leg, and thumbed through an address book sitting by the chair. “I do know of one thing, though. I’ll have to give a guy a call. Speaking of shark attacks, how do prosthetic limbs sound to you?”
Scott looked confused. “I’m not sure what you mean. I still have my foot.”
Tim smiled knowingly. “I know a man who is in the business of making artificial limbs. He needs a steady assistant he’d be willing to train into his company, if he took a liking to him.”
Scott leaned forward. “Making artificial legs?”
Tim nodded. “And feet. You’d be making pretty good money once you get going, too.” He eyed Scott thoughtfully. “The man I’m talking about goes on trips to Cambodia twice a year. There are a lot of people who’ve had their feet blown off by land mines there.” He turned and looked out the window. “I just talked to him, and he was saying he needed a young guy to help him. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, if you’re looking for something different.”
“Let me think about it, Tim. I have something else I need to talk to you about, too. It concerns Matthew and Owen, and a journal I read in Guam.”
Tim looked at Scott quizzically. “Really? I’m very curious. I want to hear all about it.” He glanced at his watch. “The problem is, I wasn’t expecting you to be here and I have an appointment with a Methodist minister in five minutes.”
“Oh,” Scott said, disappointed. “When would be a good time?”
“Tomorrow night, I’ll be free,” Tim said. “I’m sorry that it can’t be sooner. If I’d known, I would have had my schedule open for you.”
Scott stood shakily from his chair. “Thanks, Tim, I really appreciate it. I want you to know that.”
Tim smiled. “No problem.” He heaved himself from his chair and headed to the kitchen, carrying his sandwich plate. He stopped by Wagner and let the dog lick the crumbs from it. “You and I go way back, and I’ll make sure to have time for you. Eight o’ clock sound good?”
“Yes, it sounds great, but we’re having a family dinner tomorrow night, so I don’t know if I can make it.”
Tim nodded. “Then come over the next morning, and if you really need to talk, you can come a little after eight.” He turned back into the kitchen.
“Okay, I’ll see you.” Scott waved and petted Wagner as he left. “Good boy.”
As Scott got into his truck, a gray Corolla pulled up next to Scott with a distinguished looking man inside. He nodded gravely to Scott as he backed out of the driveway. It seemed that there was quite a demand for Tim these days. Scott shook his head. He turned his truck and headed for home.
Robert ignored Scott when he came inside. He was still slouched in his chair, watching a football game. He glanced over his shoulder. “Your mom’s in your room.” He turned back to the TV.
Scott walked up the stairs and found his mom finishing vacuuming the bed, the cat boxes had disappeared, but the cat smell still remained.
“Where’s Phillip?” Scott asked.
“Oh he doesn’t come home except for weekends. He’s living in Anchorage and doing his apprenticeship with a doctor there.” His mom was busily fluffing a pillow. “We keep his room neat so he has a place to stay if he ever decides to stay here. Didn’t your dad tell you?”
Scott shook his head. “He told me he was apprenticing in Anchorage, but I didn’t know he wasn’t at home.”
“Your father is so proud of him.” Mom was plugging a fan in, “He would be proud of you, too, if you would just go to school and make our family look good.”
Scott’s face darkened. “Mom, I’m different from Dad. He and Phillip both love cats. I’m allergic to cats. They both are psychologists, I’m not interested in psychology. They agree on everything. Dad and I clash on everything. I just don’t understand why you can’t get that.”
His mom looked a little upset. “I know your dad’s not perfect, but I think he’s right about you needing to go a different direction. Your Uncle Matthew, bless his heart, did you wrong when he directed you to mission work.
Scott was fuming. “He died before he ever did that. The only work he ever directed me toward was construction!”
“You know we never approved of you running off to the Marshall Islands and wasting a year of your life, and it looks like we were right. You’re right back where you started.”
Scott shook his head. “That’s not true Mom, I don’t regret it for a second.”
She picked up the vacuum. “Well, I guess we differ on that. Anyway, I’m going to make dinner, come down and talk with your dad and me.” She turned and walked out the door.
Scott sat on the bed. Every time he came into this house, he felt himself close up and angry feelings run around inside.
He banged his pillow, then stifled a sneeze. It still smelled like cats!
*****
The next morning, Scott awoke to his dad knocking on his door. “Since you’re just sleeping in and waiting for something to do, I left a list of things I’d like done on the table. I’m going to actually go to work now, so I’ll see you tonight.” He turned and walked out, leaving Scott sitting up in his bed, feeling stuffy and confused.
Where am I? He rubbed his eyes. It was 7:30 AM, and he had a stuffy nose and headache. The cats. It all flooded back to him. He was at home.
Downstairs, he found a list of items written on a neat Post-It note on the table: stack wood, move tires, take trash to dump, paint trim, and empty cat box. That was adding insult to injury!
Scott could hear the water running upstairs, so he knew his mom was still in the shower. He helped himself to some Cheerios and slipped into a coat and boots and headed outside. The stack of wood was enormous, so it took him until almost noon to finish it. He went on to the other items, only coming in for a quick lunch. The afternoon was passing quickly.
“Thanks for helping, Scott.” His mom opened the screen door. “It’s almost 4 o’ clock, everyone’s coming at 6, are you finishing up?”
“Yes, Mom.” Scott turned, wiping the paintbrush across the roller pan. “I’ll just take the trash to the dump then.”
When Scott arrived back from the Matanuska Land Fill, two new cars were parked in the driveway, a shiny Porsche and his dad’s pickup truck. Scott had to carefully steer his old truck around the new cars to get to his parking spot next to the woodshed.
Scott stepped from the cab, took a deep breath and headed for the front door. Inside, his brother Phillip was leaning against the counter, a glass of wine in one hand, his white shirt unbuttoned, a heavy gold chain showing below the collar.
“Hey brother.” Phillip turned to Scott. “You back from the dump, I mean the islands?”
Scott’s dad laughed from behind the counter. “I think you got them confused, Phillip.”
Phillip leaned on the counter for a second, smirking at his own humor. He glanced at Scott, noticing his offended expression. “I’m totally joking.” He stepped forward. “Give a brother a hug.”
Scott stiffly hugged Phillip. “Good to see you.” He looked out the window, changing the subject. “Whose Porsche is that outside?”
Philip turned from the counter. “You talking about that cherry looking car in the driveway?” He smiled. “It’s mine, got it as a graduation present. You’ll get one if you finish your degree, too.” He turned back toward the living room, “She purrs like a kitten. The girls like that car, too.” He winked at Scott and walked toward the living room. “When’s Owen and Tiff getting here?”
“Should be soon.” Mom made her first appearance, moving in from the hidden pantry, carrying some croutons and a block of cheese. “Scott, help me set the table, will you?”
Scott turned and walked to the kitchen, taking a stack of plates from his mom. His dad and Phillip were on the couch, arguing about who was going to win the Superbowl. Scott was quietly setting the silver dessert forks around the table when a Suburban rumbled up the driveway. Scott glanced up from the table, looking out to see the sign printed on the side of the vehicle. Davis Construction and Renovation. He shuddered, despite himself.
“Uncle Owen and Aunt Tiffany are here,” Mom called to the living room. “Come be social.”
His dad and brother rose and made their way into the kitchen just as Owen stepped through the screen door.
“Good to see you, man!” He pumped Phillip’s hand. “And who’ve we got here?” He pointed and smiled at Scott. “Is this Limpfoot?” Everyone laughed.
“Hey, Owen.” Scott stepped forward and shook his hand.
“Not much of a limp, though.” Owen eyed Scott. “I was told right, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you were.” Scott explained, “But my foot is healed, so you wouldn’t know now.”
“Well, you’ll have to tell us all about your adventure.” Aunt Tiff stepped into the circle. “Let me take my coat off and help you in there.” She turned to where Scott’s mom was still preparing a salad in the kitchen.
Soon everyone was sitting around the large oak table, fresh herbed salmon, salad and rolls arrayed out in front of them. Scott was used to saying a prayer before each meal, but his mom didn’t wait, and was soon spooning salmon onto plates. “Pass the tartar sauce and lemons.”
Phillip wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Good fish Mom.”
Owen forked a pink slab onto his plate. “You catch this yourself, Robert?”
Robert shook his head. “One of my buddies went to Seward silver fishing this last weekend, caught his limit plus a king.” He nodded. “Good silver run this year.”
“We gotta go, some time.” Owen nodded. “If things get under control in the business, we might be able to spare a weekend.”
Robert nodded. “Tell me about it.”
Scott looked up from his plate. He was about to ask about the business when his aunt spoke. “How’s fishing out in those islands, the Martha Islands? Isn’t that what they’re called?”
“No, actually it’s the Marshall Islands,” Scott corrected. “The fishing out there is good, though it’s a lot different from Alaska.”
“Tell us about it.” Scott’s dad squeezed a lemon over his fish.
“Well, I did a lot of spear fishing, when I was there. Grouper, parrotfish, jack tuna and snapper.” Scott was hesitant, not sure how much to say.
“How’d that go?” Owen was staring at Scott.
“Oh, good.” Scott told how the natives sometimes fished with dynamite, and talked about how he used to fish off the pier for sharks. “The water’s really beautiful there, great visibility and warm, lots of reefs and fish. It’s a whole other world.”
“Sounds like you got good fringe benefits ‘working.’” Phillip used his fingers as quotation marks. “Is that all you did out there, Scott? Swim and fish?”
Scott gulped. “No, I taught school and worked quite a bit. We only had a couple days off a week. The rest of the time, I was working.”
“Well, I guess I’ll go somewhere tropical sometime,” Phillip stated. “But I’ll go when I can afford to play seven days a week.” He smirked at Scott.
The dinner conversation continued, mostly talking about inconsequential subjects. Scott remained reserved, careful about his choice of words and subject matters. Though everyone seemed happy, there was a certain tension Scott detected, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.
Maybe it was when Owen commented about how Tiffany needed to watch his mother, Jean, cook fish, because, “You can always learn from the experts.” Tiffany looked up, eyes flashing, but she said nothing.
After dinner, the group moved to the living room. Scott’s mom brought pie and ice cream, and Robert turned on the nightly news.
“I’ll get some of my spiced rum, that will go good with dessert, won’t it, Owen?” Robert grunted as he sat up from his chair. A minute later he returned with a glass bottle and several small glasses. He poured several glasses and handed them around.
Scott shook his head. “I don’t want any.”
“Still too good to drink?” Robert muttered. Phillip looked at Scott as he sipped his glass. “Am I going to hell, Scott?” he asked sarcastically.
“No, I don’t feel that way, the alcohol just doesn’t agree with my stomach.” Scott squirmed uneasily.
“Don’t bother him,” piped up Tiffany. She walked into the room carrying a piece of pie from the kitchen. “I don’t want any rum either, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Owen grunted. His eyes glinted as he took a sip of his drink and leaned back. “There’s nothing wrong with a drink, either.”
Scott was afraid to drink with Owen. He had never been one to handle alcohol very well, and it always made him talk freely. He knew that if he loosened up too much, he might say something he wouldn’t want to. He also remembered how his mom had told him months earlier that his dad and Owen were drinking a lot more than usual. At the time she had said it, Scott hadn’t thought about it much. He had been too busy with life at the mission to worry about matters in distant Alaska, but now that he was here, it seemed much closer and relevant.
Scott looked around the living room. His dad and Owen were visibly relaxing as the alcohol fl owed through them. His brother, Phillip, made witty remarks and sipped his glass, a smirk across his face. His mom and aunt were in the kitchen, talking. Scott was intrigued. Before he had left, he had never remembered his parents drinking with guests, or at all for that matter, other than the occasional glass of wine at a New Years party. This was strange for his dad. What had changed?
Scott decided to start a new conversation. “Why don’t we all plan a fishing trip to Seward, Dad, before the summer’s over? I haven’t been there for a couple years now.”
His dad turned in the couch. “Can’t do it.” He shook his head. “Don’t got the equipment.”
Scott cocked his head, confused. “What do you mean, we don’t have the equipment? Don’t we have Matthew’s old fishing boat and gear?”
“Don’t have the boat anymore.” His dad shook his head.
Scott frowned. “Did you sell it, Dad?”
“It was actually my boat, Scott.” Owen looked up from his chair darkly.
“Oh, okay, I didn’t know that.” Scott responded meekly. It had been parked at his dad’s house after Matthew die though. He was confused.
“We went out deer hunting, Dad, Owen and I,” Phillip piped up. “Long story short, the boat’s still stranded out there on a gravel beach, engines both dead, and a hole in it.”
Aunt Tiffany and Scott’s Mom walked back into the room.
Owen stirred on the couch again. “The boat was a piece of trash from the beginning. I don’t feel that bad about it.” He poured himself another glass. “Matthew didn’t know the first thing about boats. Just the first few times I took it out, it started acting up. I couldn’t help that he passed a lemon on to me.”
Scott remembered how his uncle had bought that boat. He had carefully poured over its manual, and talked to its previous owner for several hours before he had paid the hefty price, $12,500. Scott remembered how that boat had been his uncle’s pride and joy. He had carefully cleaned and oiled it, had a new outboard motor installed. He had taken his family fishing in it several times before his death. It had never ever had trouble when his uncle used it. Scott had assumed it was his dad’s after Matthew’s death, but Owen must have claimed its ownership after he married Tiffany. He held deed to her deceased husband’s property. Scott was sure his dad hadn’t resisted Owen, even if he hadn’t liked it. Scott already knew that it was Owen who had ruined the boat. That was obvious by his dad’s silence.
“Matthew sure did pay a lot for that boat for it being a lemon, though,” Scott couldn’t help saying.
“Like I said he didn’t know anything about boats,” Owen said. “I think he must have been naïve and stupid to be swindled into paying as much as he did.”
Scott’s dad was still silent. Everyone sat mutely for a second. Aunt Tiffany cleared her throat. “When I was married to Matthew, he always took very good care of that boat. We never had any trouble with it at all. Why don’t you just admit that it was you who ruined it?” Her tone was icy.
Owen sat up and slammed his empty glass down on the table angrily. “Since when were you a boat expert, Tiff?” His eyes were red. “I think I know a tad more about what I’m talking about than you. Why don’t you keep your focus on learning to cook the fish?”
Tiff bristled. Everyone sat in stunned silence. “It’s pretty hard for me to cook fish, since you destroyed the boat we caught them with, don’t you think, Owen? Or do I not know what I’m talking about? Just like Matthew didn’t know anything about boats?”
Owen was standing shakily, the vein showing red above his forehead. “Tiffany, you’re as stupid as your old husband who fell off the roof.” Saliva dripped from his intoxicated lips. “I can see why you two were so good together now,” he snarled.
Robert stood. “Now, now, we’re all family here, let’s not get out of hand.” He tried to stand between Tiff and the irate Owen, using his calm psychiatrist voice.
Tiffany shrugged him aside, like he wasn’t there. “You pompous ass, Matthew never treated me as badly as you do!” She flung her napkin angrily at him, and turned. “I’m leaving.” She marched sobbing toward the door.
“Not without me, you aren’t, Tiff.” Owen stumbled toward the door. “You wouldn’t want something bad to happen to you, would you, Tiff?” His tone was threatening. Robert was trying to protest, but the larger Owen moved him aside. “Thanks for the purty,” he slurred. “Sorry Tiff has a forked tongue like she does. I would have liked to stay longer.” With that, the two stumbled out into the darkness, Tiffany crying and Owen talking loudly. “Just shurt up and get in the truck and drive, woman.”
Everyone stood in the house, shocked and dismayed, the empty pie plates and half-empty glasses cluttered around the living room and table. Scott’s mom was dabbing her eye with a napkin and sobbing. “Oh my, oh my.” She was wringing her hands. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”
Robert stood wavering in the entrance, clearly shaken up, his tie loose around his neck. He was sweating slightly. “Good job, Scott, way to make a problem.”
“Ya. Way to play your aces, dumbo,” Phillip chimed in. “You knew what you were doing when you made your comments.”
“I didn’t know anything had happened with the boat until this conversation! I thought the boat was Dad’s. And Dad, you know as well as I that it was Owen who ruined that boat, not Matthew.”
“I know,” Robert admitted. “I still told you very clearly not to cause any problems.” He was struggling with what to say, still indecisive. “I’m not saying that was all your fault, but you definitely didn’t help.”
His dad turned and walked from the room, pacing to the kitchen. He suddenly turned. His face darkened. “Scott, I want you to leave. I’m a man who keeps my word.” He turned and walked again. “I’ll reconsider whether or not you can stay here in the morning.”
His dad opened the screen door and disappeared into the evening darkness. “I want you gone before I get back,” he called over his shoulder.
Scott stood speechless in the hall. His dad’s truck started and the lights flashed across the front window as he turned down the driveway.
His mom was crying angrily. “Just go, Scott.” She turned and thumped up the stairs and slammed the door to her room.
Phillip stood and shrugged his shoulders. “Tough,” was all he said, he walked past Scott and disappeared outside. “I’m leaving.”
That night as Scott pulled down the driveway, a few fall leaves swirling in his headlights, he felt empty. More then emptiness. He felt something else, too. Maybe it was cockiness, or confidence. He knew where he was going and he was glad to go.
“Dad,” Scott said calmly into the darkness. “I wish you well.”
The End.
Look for the second part to this exciting series!