Billy's Bones (24 page)

Kevin laughed and spontaneously leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. Tom felt his face flush for probably the first time in his life, and when he glanced over at Sue, he saw that she was amused by the exchange.

But the professional mask dropped almost instantly back into place. “Being hypnotized may allow you to recall some details of the dream that you’ve forgotten, Kevin. Would you like to try it? At no time will you be out of control. You’ll be able to wake yourself the moment you encounter anything too frightening or disturbing.”

Kevin agreed, if somewhat reluctantly. Tom moved to a chair so Kevin could lie down on the sofa, while Sue drew the blinds to dim the light in the office. Then Sue drew her chair closer to Kevin and told him in a gentle tone of voice, “All right, Kevin. Close your eyes and relax. Focus on my voice and let everything else go. We’re going to start with some deep breathing….”

Sue walked him through a basic induction technique Tom was familiar with, though he rarely used hypnosis in his own therapy sessions. But when she told Kevin, “Your right arm is growing very light—so light that begins to drift upward, floating toward the ceiling…,” nothing happened. Sue repeated the suggestion, but still Kevin’s arm remained motionless.

“All right, Kevin. You can open your eyes now.”

He opened his eyes without hesitation, looking a little sheepish. “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t do it right.”

“Not at all. Some people just aren’t very suggestible. We’ll try something else next time.”

Kevin sat up and rubbed his face with his hands. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You are coming back, I assume?” There was a note of warning in her voice. Tom knew she was unlikely to give Kevin a third chance if he bailed again.

“Tom’ll kill me if I don’t.”

“This isn’t about Tom. It’s about whether you want to work on these issues or not.”

“Yes,” Kevin replied irritably, and Tom was certain he’d bitten back a sarcastic “ma’am” at the end of it. But all he said was, “I’ll come back.”

“Good. In the meantime, I think Tom’s suggestion that you talk to your mother is a good idea. If this boy was a real person from the years you have trouble remembering, perhaps she’ll remember him.”

Twenty-Two

I
T
WASN
’
T
until the following Saturday that Kevin announced, “Okay, I think it’s time to go see Mommie Dearest.”

Tom was washing up the breakfast dishes and contemplating buying a dishwasher when the announcement came out of the blue. He turned off the water and turned to face Kevin. “Today?”

“Might as well.” Kevin didn’t look happy about it, but he seemed to have resigned himself to the idea. “We can drive over to Riverview as soon as you’re done with the dishes, if you want.”

“Maybe we should call first.”

“It’s not like she’s gonna be out,” Kevin said testily.

“It would still be polite.”

“I don’t want to talk to her on the phone. If you want to go, let’s just go.”

Tom decided not to push it. He finished up the dishes, and they took Shadow out before leaving. The weather was still too hot to leave the dog in the car for more than a few minutes, and Riverview was unlikely to let them bring him inside. But with the baby gate blocking access to the basement and any rooms that had doors closed, there wasn’t too much trouble Shadow could get into, so Tom and Kevin had gotten into the habit of leaving him free to roam around while they were out of the house. Indoor “accidents” were infrequent now and as far as they could tell, Shadow mostly slept on the couch until they returned.

Kevin insisted on driving, even though Tom knew the way. Perhaps he wanted control over the escape route if he felt it necessary to get out of there. Tom didn’t argue.

Riverview was a converted Victorian home that didn’t house nearly as many elderly residents as some of the more hospital- or hotel-like facilities. It was rather expensive. Tom hadn’t pried into it, but he knew the house didn’t accept Medicare, and it seemed unlikely Mrs. Derocher would have collected any life insurance after her husband’s obvious suicide. Somehow Mr. Derocher must have made certain his wife was well provided for.

The staff person at the front desk did not seem pleased to see them when Kevin mentioned his mother wasn’t expecting him. But she said she would see if Mrs. Derocher was up for receiving visitors and then disappeared into one of the inner rooms. She returned a moment later, looking no friendlier. “Mrs. Derocher is in the garden, if you’ll please follow me.”

The garden was a small, pleasant area outside the dining room. French doors opened onto a flagstone patio with small metal tables surrounded by chairs. Gravel pathways led from the patio off in different directions through a large garden of roses and rhododendrons and other cultivated flowers Tom knew nothing about. This late in the fall, few of them were in bloom, but it was a clear, sunny day, and the space was serenely beautiful.

Mrs. Derocher appeared at the far side of the garden, walking toward them along one of the gravel paths, pulling gardening gloves off her hands. Kevin had been born late in his parents’ marriage when they were both in their midthirties, which made his mother about seventy now. She was still a striking woman, straight and not at all stooped with age, though her abundant, braided hair had gone white, and her face was lined.

Her expression at seeing her only son was far from joyous. “What can I do for you, Kevin?”

“I just came to visit,” Kevin said uncomfortably and not very convincingly.

“Well, have a seat, then.” She gestured at one of the nearby tables.

“Would you like anything brought out to you, Ellen?” the staff person asked her.

“Could we have some coffee, Sarah?”

Sarah disappeared back into the house, while Kevin and Tom found seats at the table and Mrs. Derocher joined them.

“Are you planning on introducing me to your friend?”

Kevin fidgeted in his chair and said, “This is my friend, Tom.”

He glanced quickly at Tom, perhaps to see if he’d angered him by referring to him as a “friend.” But Tom didn’t think a dramatic revelation about Kevin’s sexual orientation was likely to help their cause much. That could wait for another time.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Derocher,” he said.

For him—a stranger—she could manage a gracious smile. “I’m pleased to meet you too, Tom.”

“So how are you doing, Mom?” Kevin asked.

The smile faltered. “I’m fine. The people here are friendly; the food is decent. In the summer, I have the garden to keep me occupied.” She paused as Sarah returned with a tray containing coffee cups and a silver carafe. Once the woman had poured them all a cup and left the tray for them to serve themselves sugar and cream, Mrs. Derocher continued, “I hear you’ve divorced.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s too bad. She was a nice girl.”

She’d either heard nothing about the suicide attempt and the miscarriage, or she chose not to mention them.

“Tracy’s great. It wasn’t her fault.”

“Are you seeing anyone now?” she asked, opening a packet of artificial sweetener and emptying it into her coffee.

Kevin glanced at Tom, who gave him a barely perceptible shake of the head. Kevin looked down at his coffee cup. “No.”

“Your Aunt Maggie called a few weeks ago. Do you remember Uncle Howard?” Kevin looked at her blankly, but she continued, “He passed away last…. When was it? May, I think. Pancreatic cancer.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You should call her. It would mean a lot to her.”

“Mom,” Kevin said, his impatience beginning to show, “I haven’t seen Aunt Maggie since I was a kid. I barely remember her.”

“Well, she remembers you. She asks about you every time she calls.”

Kevin sighed. “Okay.”

“It won’t kill you to give her one sympathy call.”

“I said ‘okay’. I’ll call her.”

“Right after you stop by the cemetery to pay your respects to your father, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Kevin replied coldly.

The three of them drank their coffee in near silence after that, mother and son apparently having no desire to continue the charade of polite conversation. Tom asked Mrs. Derocher a couple of harmless questions about the garden, which she answered, but the conversation failed to gain any momentum.

After they’d finished their coffee, Mrs. Derocher smiled and picked up her gloves from where she’d set them on the one empty chair and said, “Well, that was lovely. But I really should get back to—”

“I need to ask you something, Mom,” Kevin interrupted.

She didn’t look pleased, but she said, “Well, then ask.”

Kevin glanced at Tom again, but Tom merely waited for him to continue. “I’ve been having really… strange dreams lately. I keep seeing this kid’s face. He’s probably ten years old or so. Kind of shaggy black hair. Big brown eyes. I don’t remember ever knowing a kid who looked like that, but I thought maybe you’d remember if I had a friend coming around to the house—”

“Do you mean Billy?”

Kevin’s face suddenly drained of all color, and his eyes widened. His leg, which had been tapping as it always did when he was agitated, froze in position. “Billy…,” he said softly.

“He was the only friend you ever had over to the house that I recall. And he only came around for a few months when you were… I think eleven. I’d hoped you were beginning to come out of your shell, but… no.”

Kevin seemed to have turned inward, saying the name “Billy” quietly to himself as if trying it out on his tongue. Tom had no doubt they were on to something.

He asked Kevin’s mother, “Billy stopped coming to the house? Why?”

“Why?” She looked surprised at the question. “He ran away from home, if I remember. The police were asking everyone around town about it, asking all the kids in the school if he’d told them what he’d been planning. They came to the house, of course, to talk to Kevin. But he didn’t know anything. Nobody did.”

Tom looked over at Kevin and asked him gently, “Do you remember him?”

Kevin was staring blankly ahead, as if seeing something that wasn’t actually there, but he merely shook his head.

“Do you remember Billy’s last name?” Tom asked Mrs. Derocher.

She made a face, sort of a grimace with her eyebrows raised. “Oh Lord. It was so long ago. We really didn’t know him all that long. I think it started with an
S
—Sherman or Shepherd or….”

In unison, both mother and son said the name, “Sherrell.”

Twenty-Three

“T
HAT
was it,” Mrs. Derocher said with some satisfaction, apparently oblivious to the effect the name was having on her son. “Billy Sherrell. He was a very… almost
pretty
boy. I’m sure he grew up to be a very handsome man. I wonder where he is now?”

It was obvious to Tom that Kevin needed to get out of there as soon as possible. He didn’t appear to be breaking down, exactly, but his eyes had become fixed in a sort of glazed stare, as if he was no longer processing what was going on around him.

“Unfortunately, I have to be somewhere soon,” Tom lied. “I hate to cut things short….”

“No, not at all. It was very nice to meet you, Tom.”

“It was nice to meet you.” Tom stood and was relieved to see Kevin do the same. “Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Derocher.”

Kevin followed him out without even saying good-bye to his mother. That probably wouldn’t help their tense relationship much, but Tom didn’t have time to worry about that. He just wanted to get Kevin to the truck before he had a meltdown.

Once there, however, he came up against an obstacle. “Shit. I can’t drive a standard. Do you want me to call a cab?”

“I’ll drive,” Kevin said quietly. “Just give me a minute.”

They sat in the cab of the truck for much longer than a minute, while Kevin struggled to calm himself with the deep breathing exercises he’d learned from Tom and Sue. Tom remained silent, allowing him to take the time he needed until, at last, Kevin inserted the key into the ignition, and they pulled out of the parking lot.

To Tom’s surprise, they didn’t go straight home. Kevin pulled the truck into the lot at Lee’s Diner and parked.