Things I Want to Say (35 page)

“Humph. My dad would find something to complain about if he was a millionaire who’d just won a marathon.” He looked out across the river again. “What about your dad? He have a good visit?”

Casey shifted. His mom would probably walk across hot coals before she’d tell any one—much less her brother—about her troubles, but Casey wasn’t as reticent. “Not really. He and Mom had a fight and he left early.”

“Oh? What were they fighting about?”

He dug a groove in the sand with the heel of his shoe. “I don’t know. I think maybe he wants her back in Denver and she feels like she needs to stay here.”

Del looked up at the sky. “That’s my sister. Always trying to make everybody happy and making herself miserable.” He picked up his empty beer can and shook it, then crumpled it. “Time for a refill.” He wedged his pole between two rocks, then stood and lumbered over to the cooler.

Casey reeled his pole in, saw the worm had been stolen and set about impaling another one on the hook. He had just cast again when Del returned. “Here.” He tapped Casey on the shoulder with a beer. “Drink up.”

Casey took the beer without comment and cracked it open. It tasted good going down, so cold it made the back of his throat ache.

“I’m not trying to be hard on your mom,” Del said as he settled back against the tree trunk once more and opened a beer. “She’s a good woman. Probably too good. She’s got it into her head that if she does right by the old man, looking after him and everything, he’s going to appreciate it. I’m here to tell you, it ain’t gonna happen.”

“What makes you say that?”

Del looked at him a long moment, as if trying to decide how much to share with his nephew. “Martin Engel cares more for a bunch of birds with funny names than he ever did for his own family,” he said after a moment. “I could have been the worst juvenile delinquent in the history of Tipton, or the class valedictorian, and it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference to him, as long as I didn’t interfere with his plans to fly to Africa or spend two weeks in the Galapagos trying to see the Blue-footed Booby or whatever.”

He spoke the words matter-of-factly, but the lines on either side of his jaw deepened, and his eyes reflected bitterness.

“I don’t know.” Casey wedged his rod between his feet and leaned back on his elbows. “I think he would have cared.”

Del shook his head. “I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. I’m his son and every time I walk into that house, it’s like I’m a stranger. I bet he couldn’t tell you today what’s going on in my life.”

“I bet he could. He pays attention to stuff.” Casey rose up and drained the last of the beer, then reached for another. “I think he has really deep feelings about stuff. He’s just one of
those people who doesn’t know how to show his emotions. Like…like he never learned how, or something.”

“What makes you think that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, just…when he looks at birds, the way he talks about them…for him they’re like poetry, or music. Something so beautiful and special…I don’t think somebody with no feelings would see them that way.”

“Maybe he’s like that with you. He isn’t that way with me. Hey, looks like you got a bite.”

They began catching fish in earnest, then. In between baiting hooks and casting, Casey drank more beer. He began to feel a pleasant buzz. This is how life should be—no hassles, no worries. Just take life as it comes….

Karen wandered restlessly about the house. Dad was asleep, worn-out from his morning therapy appointment. Del had picked up Casey hours ago and taken him God knows where. Fishing, he’d said. Something they both loved. Something she hoped would keep them out of trouble.

She took out her notebook and consulted her list. There must be something on here that would occupy her, at least for a little while. But every item she’d written down was neatly crossed through. Tasks completed.

She ripped out the page, crumpled it and tossed it toward the trash. It bounced off the side of the can and rolled under the sofa. She let it lie, half-afraid if she lay down on the floor to retrieve the paper, she’d stay there, weeping, until Casey came home and found her.

She stopped in front of the phone, staring at the silent receiver, willing it to ring. If only Tom would call her. They could talk. Find away around this horrible silence between them.

She shook her head and turned away. And what would she say?
I want to be different. I want to be the wife you want, but I don’t know if I have that in me.

Is it so wrong for me to want you to love me in spite of everything I’m not?

She passed her bedroom and heard a snuffling noise from beside the bed. Investigating, she found Sadie lying on the rug. At first, she thought the dog had one of the rawhide chew toys Casey had bought her, but as she drew closer, she recognized one of a pair of leather sandals she’d bought for herself on her recent shopping trip with Casey.

“Sadie!” she shouted.

The dog jumped up and at tempted to dive under the bed, but she was too large. So she simply lay there, her head shoved under the bed spread, the rest of her sticking out. It would have been comical if Karen hadn’t been so furious.

She grabbed the dog’s collar and dragged her out, gathering up the mangled shoe with her free hand. “Look what you did,” she said, shaking the shoe in the dog’s face. “These were brand-new. How could you?”

Sadie’s eyes rolled upward and she at tempted to duck her head. Karen could have sworn the dog’s bottom lip trembled. The dog began to shake and whimper pitifully.

“Stop that.” Karen released her hold on the collar. “I’m not going to beat you. What kind of a person do you think I am?”

The kind of person who couldn’t tell her husband she loved him. The kind of person who wasn’t even sure what love meant anymore.

Sadie whined and shoved at Karen’s hand, her nose cold and damp, an icy jolt to the senses. Karen felt hot tears slide down her cheeks and dropped to her knees beside the dog.

Sadie gently licked Karen’s cheek, and nudged her hand again. She stared into Karen’s face, eyes filled with concern. When was the last time anyone had cared so much what she, Karen, was feeling? Was that because no one cared, or because she was so careful to hide her emotions from others?
She had spent so many years being the strong, practical one in any group, she’d forgotten what it meant to be vulnerable.

Sadie moved closer, into Karen’s lap, and licked harder at the tears, her whines more insistent. Karen put her arms around the dog, surprised at how com forting hugging the furry beast could be. “I’m a mess,” she said out loud.

Sadie whimpered, whether in agreement or sympathy Karen didn’t know. Karen hugged her more tightly. “We women have to stick together,” she said. “We’re out numbered in this household.”

The dog’s tail thumped hard against the floor, a steady rhythm. Like a heartbeat.

Karen laid her head along side the animal’s soft side. “I never had a dog before,” she said. “So I’m new at this whole relating to animals thing. Then again, I haven’t done such a great job relating to people.” She drew back, and looked into the dog’s soft, understanding eyes. “Maybe you can teach me a few things, huh, girl?”

Sadie barked and wagged her tail more wildly. Karen shut her eyes, squeezing back more tears. How pitiful was it to be over forty years old, and taking lessons in love from astray dog?

But she had to start some where. And she could trust Sadie not to judge her efforts too harshly. If only she could show the same compassion to herself.

Casey thought he must have fallen asleep. The next thing he knew, Del was standing over him, nudging him with the toe of his boot. “Wake up, boy. Time to head back to the house.” He held up the string of fish. “We’ll get Mary Elisabeth to cook us up a mess of catfish.”

Casey shoved into a sitting position, then fell back, the world spinning crazily. He groaned. Dell’s face loomed closer, distorted, like the view in a shiny hubcap. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

“Nah, I’m not drunk.” He sat up more slowly this time, steadying himself with one hand on the ground. “I jus’ need to wake up.”

“Well, come on. Mary Elisabeth will be home from work soon. She and your mom will be wondering where we disappeared to.”

Somehow he managed to stand and carry the now-empty cooler up the slope to the truck. Once there, he slumped in the seat and closed his eyes. “You okay?” Del asked. “You’re looking kind of green. I don’t want you throwing up in my truck.”

“I’m fine.” He turned his face to the window, the cool glass against his cheek.

When Del started the car, Casey aimed the air-conditioning vent toward him. The cold air revived him some, and he sat up straighter. “Thanks for inviting me to come with you today,” he said. “I had a great time.”

“No problem. You’re not bad company. You want to stay for supper?”

He was tempted, if only to see Mary Elisabeth, but decided against it. “I’d better get home. Help with Grandpa.”

“It’s your funeral.”

Del dropped Casey off in front of Grandpa’s house, then drove over to his trailer next door. Casey climbed the steps to the front door, holding on to the railing for support. Maybe he shouldn’t have had those last few beers. Or had more to eat than part of a sub sandwich for breakfast.

He was hoping he could slip into his bedroom without being seen, but Mom met him at the door. “How was your fishing trip?” she asked. “Did you catch anything?”

“A few. Mary Elisabeth’s going to cook them.” But the words came out jumbled, more like “Few. Mar-liz’beth’s gonna cook ’em.”

Mom’s eyes widened. “Casey Neil MacBride, are you drunk?”

“Nah. Only had a few.” He tried to push past her, but her hand around his forearm was like a blood pressure cuff pumped up to full pressure. When did Mom get so strong?

“What did you have to drink?” she asked.

“Jus’ beer.” He blinked, trying to steady his vision. When
he looked straight ahead, her hairline swam into view. Hey, he was taller than her now. Sweet.

“Del gave you beer?” Her voice rose to a squeak. She still had a hold of him, fingers digging into his skin. He wanted to ask her to let go, but all of a sudden he was feeling a little queasy. He didn’t want to risk opening his mouth.

“How many did you have?” she asked.

He shrugged. They’d been talking and drinking and fishing. He hadn’t counted. All he knew was the cooler was full when they started and empty when they headed home.

“So many you can’t remember.” She released his arm with a shake. “Go to your room. I don’t want to see you again until morning. And I hope you have a hell of a hangover.”

He knew he should apologize to her for coming home in this condition, but all he could manage was a groan. His stomach rolled and churned, like a restless sleeper. He lunged past her, down the hall and toward the bathroom.

He almost made it. Instead, he ended up on his knees, puking up his guts just outside the bathroom door.

His mother loomed over him again. “You clean that up, then go to bed.”

He looked up at her through bleary eyes. From this angle she looked about six feet tall. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m going next door to give your uncle a piece of my mind.”

He nodded, and used the wall to climb back to a standing position. The stench of vomited beer almost made him heave again. He edged around it and found a couple of old towels in the back of the linen closet. Being stuck here cleaning puke wasn’t the very worst thing he could imagine doing right now.

The worst thing was being Uncle Del when his mom lit into him.

Karen had to grant her brother one thing: the man wasn’t dumb. He must have known how furious she’d be with him,
so he hadn’t stayed around his place long after dropping off his nephew. He’d probably gone to Mary Elisabeth’s or to one of his no-account friends who’d be sure to take him in. She stood on the steps of his trailer and stared at the empty carport where his truck usually sat. Cold chills overtook her as she realized not only had he gotten her underage son drunk, he’d driven him home while Del himself was almost certainly feeling no pain.

She sat down on the top step and hugged her arms around her knees. In a minute she’d go back and check on Casey, make sure he wasn’t still vomiting or blacked out or anything.

“Thief! Thief! Thief!”
The sharp cry of a Blue Jay drew her attention and she looked up to see one eyeing her from the top of the crepe myrtle bush beside the steps. It turned its head and fixed one black-rimmed eye on her and fluffed its feathers.
“Thief! Thief! Thief!”
it repeated.

“Do you know the thief who stole my little boy and replaced him with…with that drunken man throwing up in my hall?” she muttered. Casey was taller than her now, and the arm she’d grabbed was wiry with muscle. That as much as seeing his eyes glazed and hearing his slurred speech had frightened her. Somewhere in the last few weeks or months he’d trans formed. He wasn’t her child anymore. He was his own, in dependent person, one with secrets and dreams and dirty deeds she’d never know about. She’d known this would happen. She’d already been through it with Matt, but she had imagined she could hold on to Casey, her dreamer, a little longer.

One afternoon with Del and he’d gotten away from her.

She stood and headed back toward the house. Tomorrow, she’d deal with Del. Right now, she needed to find the aspirin, and check on her wayward boy.

The next morning, Karen was over at Del’s as soon as she saw his truck pull into the driveway. She intercepted
him as he inserted the key in his front door. “We need to talk,” she said.

He gave her a sour look. “Not now, sis. I’m busy.”

“You’re not too busy to talk to me.” She followed him into the house and stood between him and the bedroom door, in case he got any ideas about re treating there and locking her out.

“You’re mad about Casey.” He tossed his truck keys onto the kitchen counter, wincing when they clattered against the tile top. He looked about as rough as he must have felt—his hair needed combing and whiskers stuck out a quarter inch all over his chin.

“You took a sixteen-year-old and got him drunk!”

“Hey, I didn’t pour the beer down his throat. And what’s wrong with him having a couple of beers? It didn’t hurt anything.”

“It was more than a couple. He was sick all over the floor as soon as he got home.”

Del made a face. “He’ll learn to hold his liquor better when he gets older.”

“I don’t want him learning that kind of lesson.”

“Learning that lesson is part of growing up. Deal with it.” He sank onto the sofa and rubbed his temples. “Now that we’ve had this little discussion, could you leave me alone?”

“No, I won’t leave you alone. We’re not through talking.” Anger and frustration pressed at the back of her throat, sending words rushing out of her. “You may think it’s all right to waste your life sponging off other people and playing the charming rogue, but I want better for my son. I don’t want him to be like you.”

Del narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I know. You want to make him into some uptight worker bee, someone who keeps his nose clean and
contributes
to society and does his mama proud. It’s really all about you, isn’t it?”

“It’s not about me.” What was wrong with wanting to be proud of her child? Or wanting to know that he was finan
cially secure and successful? “It’s about Casey growing up to be the best he can be.” All he needed was a way to channel his talents, something that would interest him enough for him to focus. He wasn’t going to find that sitting on a riverbank, drinking beer with his uncle.

“Then quit trying to force him into a mold you’ve made for him. He’s his own person.” Del sat forward, his gaze burning into her, his voice a menacing growl that made her take a step back. “He’s more like me than you’ll ever admit. The sooner you accept that and let him be, the happier we’ll all be.”

“I won’t accept it.” She pushed back a wave of panic and took a deep breath. “I’m his mother. My job is to help shape his life. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is if you can’t be happy with him the way he is. Keep trying to make him into what he’s not and you’ll drive him away for sure.”

“That’s not true.”

“What would you know about it? You’ve spent your whole life trying to be whatever anyone wanted you to be. And it didn’t make you any happier, did it?” He sagged back on the sofa and closed his eyes. “Get out of my house. Before I throw you out.”

She ran from the trailer, gasping for fresh air, trying to clear the ugly images his uglier words had conjured: of Casey growing up to be like Del, and of herself as some ever-changing chameleon, trying to please People—her father, Tom, even her boys—who could never be pleased.

The idea made her cold. Was she that way? Maybe, but was it so bad—to want to make the people you loved happy?

But what about making yourself happy?
The voice in her head was quiet, but clear, and the question repeated itself over and over, a mantra she couldn’t shake.

Karen had calmed down some by the time Casey shuffled out of his room shortly before noon. When he saw her, he
ducked his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I know I messed up.”

“Good. Then you’ve saved me the trouble of hauling out my lecture on the evils of underage drinking.” She folded her arms across her chest and studied him. He was still wearing the clothes he’d had on yesterday, and his hair stuck out in all directions. He looked like some homeless per son—or a typical teenage boy, de pending on your perspective. “I don’t want you going off alone with Uncle Del anymore.”

“Aw, Mom.” He frowned at her. “This wasn’t his fault.”

“He brought the beer. And he didn’t do anything to stop you from drinking it. If I know Del, he probably encouraged it.”

The guilty look on his face told her she was right. “He’s supposed to be the adult,” she continued. “But he certainly didn’t act like one.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I like Uncle Del because he doesn’t treat me like a kid.”

“But you are a kid.” She looked him up and down. “Not a little one, but you’re not an adult yet, either. And I don’t even want to think what could have happened if there’d been an accident on the way home. Del certainly wasn’t in any shape to be driving.”

“But nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened this time. I’m not willing to risk a second chance. I’ve already spoken to Del. He knows how I feel.”

He shuffled past her to the refrigerator, where he took out a Coke. “So what’s up with Dad? Why’d he leave early?”

She winced. Leave it to Casey to change the subject to something even more upsetting to talk about. Her first instinct was to try to get the conversation back on track, but that was the easy way out. The one that didn’t require her to be honest about her feelings.

She took a deep breath. How much harm had been done
already by never revealing how she truly felt? “He thinks I should put Grandpa in a nursing home and come back to Denver right away. I’m not ready to do that yet.” That wasn’t the only problem, but the only one she was willing to share with Casey.

“Uncle Del thinks Grandpa doesn’t care about anyone or anything but birds.”

She sat at the table and stared at her folded hands. “Sometimes it seems that way.”

Casey sat across from her, long legs stretched out in front of him. “I told him I think Grandpa cares about a lot of things. He’s just not one to show his feelings.” He took a swig of soda. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to show them.”

She wanted to hug him then, but the fear she’d break down altogether if she did so held her back. “E motions can be scary things,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “People have different ways of showing them.”

He nodded. “I know.” He leaned over and awk wardly patted her hand. “Dad will come around. He just misses you a lot. When you’re back home again, he’ll understand you couldn’t just run out on Grandpa.”

She nodded, unable to force any words past the knot in her throat. If only it were that simple.

Casey stood and tossed the empty Coke can into the trash. “I think I’ll take a shower.”

She watched him go, thinking about the things each generation passed on to the next. Casey had her hair and her nose, and his father’s eyes and chin. But he had an emotional openness she’d never known, and a tolerance for others’ differences his father certainly didn’t possess. Something outside of them had shaped his character. It gave her hope he’d avoid the mistakes she’d made.

Mistakes she was still making. She looked back toward her father’s office. He was in there, ex changing e-mails with his birding friends and making plans for his next expedition.
She hoped before too many weeks he’d be able to look after himself, or at least get by with the help of a house keeper and maybe a visiting nurse.

She stared at the closed door of the office. All these weeks she and her father had tiptoed around each other’s feelings. They talked, but never said anything too important. She’d been waiting for him to make the first move—for him to apologize for his distance over the years, to thank her for caring for him now.

She’d been waiting for him to tell her he loved her. As if a man who’d been silent about his feelings for seventy years would suddenly find words to express them.

Oh, she was her father’s daughter all right—keeping her emotions locked away where no one could ridicule or reject them. Which left her like a child standing outside the door, waiting to be invited into the party, but too afraid to ring the bell.

No one was going to ring it for her. No one could break this family curse but her. On shaking legs, she stood and walked down the hall, to the door of the study. She waited a long moment, then raised her hand and knocked, holding her breath as she listened for an answer.