by Steve Gannon
“Yeah,” said Arnie slowly. “What I can’t handle is dragging other people down with me. That’s not the way I want to end my career, Dan. If I retire now, the whole thing goes away. No more Snead, no more IA, no more hassles.”
“Arnie, if you’re worried about getting me involved in—”
“It’s more than that. It’s about being able to face myself in the mirror every morning. I’m processing out a week from Monday.”
“Jeez, Arnie. I don’t know what to say.”
“How about wishing me luck?”
“Well, sure,” said Kane. “If I can’t change your mind, then I … I hope it works out.”
“Thanks.”
Kane stared at his hands in resignation. “Arnie, I have to ask one more time. Is there any way I can talk you out of this?”
“I’m afraid not, partner.”
“Are you sure?”
Arnie sighed. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
19
That night Kane arrived home to find Catheryn, Allison, and Nate gathered in the kitchen. For some reason he’d never been able to fully explain, the entire family had always seemed to prefer the ambience of a crowded kitchen to that of any other room in the house. Catheryn theorized it stemmed from man’s prehistoric desire to huddle around a fire for safety and warmth; Kane suspected it was simply a good way to keep an eye on the food.
“As you were, troops,” he said as he entered, trying to shake the dejected mood he’d been in since learning of Arnie’s decision. Although a detectable current of tension still charged every family gathering, during the weeks following Allison’s attack all the Kanes had struggled to get things back to normal, and Kane was determined not to hinder the nascent recovery with his own problems. He bent to kiss Catheryn, checking the contents of a simmering pot she was stirring. “Mmm, smells good. What are we having?”
“Lentil soup,” Nate answered, looking up from his task at the cutting board. “Mom’s letting me chop all the vegetables.”
“You’re letting him, huh?” said Kane. “Kate, sometimes I underestimate you.”
“I did all the potatoes, celery, onions, garlic, and tomatoes. Now I’m doing the carrots,” Nate continued with a smile. He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers. “And look. Still got ’em all.”
Since the breakin Kane had noticed that Nate had been strangely distant, his normal high spirits dampened to the point of cautions reserve. Glad to see him smiling again, Kane said, “Damn, I like some meat in my soup. Kate, as we’re apparently not having fingers, do you have anything else to put in?”
“Lamb. It’s already in, along with a secret ingredient Nate forgot to mention.”
“What secret ingredient?” Nate asked suspiciously.
“Spinach,” Allison answered from her perch on the counter across from the stove. “Mom always puts it in.”
“Spinach? Yuck. She does not.”
“Yes, she does. And you always eat it.”
“I do not!”
“Whatever you say,” Allison agreed, uncharacteristically backing away from the skirmish.
Noticing this, Kane glanced at Catheryn, then continued. “I’ll tell you something, Nate,” he said, trying to keep the conversation on an upbeat note. “Spinach is one hell of a lot better than some secret ingredients you might find in food. Take Chinese, for example. Anybody care for a something to drink?”
“I’ll have something with an umbrella in it,” said Catheryn.
“Gee, sure thing, Kate. How about some apple juice for the rest of us? Ali?” Kane pulled a gallon jug from the fridge and slid it across the counter. “Pour some for me and your brother, too.”
“What about Chinese food?” Nate persisted.
Kane popped the top off a Red Hook. He looked at Nate thoughtfully, then closed the fridge, returned to the stove, and handed the beer to Catheryn. “I’ll tell you this,” he advised sagely, lowering his voice in sepulchral confidence. “Never, under any circumstance, send your food back at a Chinese restaurant.”
“Why not?”
Kane lifted a glass of juice that Allison had poured for him and took a long pull. “Why not? Well, the first thing that happens when your food gets back to the kitchen is some skinny Chinese cook starts cussin’ about the barbarian lowlife who had the nerve to complain about his culinary masterpiece. Then he hocks a huge lunger right in the middle of your plate.”
“Dan! That’s not true,” protested Catheryn.
“It sure as hell is,” Kane insisted. “Your stir-fry comes back with a big ol’ Chinese oyster on it.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Nate, looking slightly green as he tried to remember the last time he’d eaten Chinese food.
“Believe it, squirt,” Kane went on with a wink. “I’ll let you in on another little secret—”
“I think it’s time we changed the subject,” Catheryn said firmly. “I’m cooking a nice dinner, and you’re talking about lunkers.”
“That’s lungers,” corrected Allison.
“Right,” said Kane. “And I totally agree. Let’s talk about something else. Did you hear on the news today where some lady died in the emergency room and her body somehow gave off a cloud of poison gas? Half the doctors who breathed it are still laid up.”
“Really?” asked Nate, his eyes widening in amazement. “What do you think she was eating?”
“Probably Chinese food,” said Kane.
Accompanying Catheryn’s sigh of irritation, the front door banged open. Travis wandered in, followed by Tommy and Christy. “Somebody say we’re having Chinese tonight?”
“No, lentil soup,” answered Catheryn with a petulant glare at Kane.
Spotting the Red Hook in his mother’s hand, Tommy walked to the refrigerator and pulled one out for himself. “Great! One of my favorites. You put lamb in it this time?”
“Yeah,” said Nate. “And tonight yours is gonna have a secret Chinese ingredient, too.”
“Nate!”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“What’s the midget babbling about?” asked Tommy.
Although Nate was long inured to Allison’s habitual denigration, his face fell at the unaccustomed taunt from his older brother.
“Never mind,” said Catheryn. “And that wasn’t a nice way to say hello to Nate. You shouldn’t—”
“You know something, Tommy?” Allison broke in. “Every ninety minutes a teenager commits suicide. Why don’t you try upping the stats?”
The entire family stared at her in surprise.
“Jeez, sis,” said Tommy, taken aback by her venom. “Since when did you start sticking up for Nate?”
“Drop dead.”
“That’s enough, both of you,” warned Catheryn.
“Jeez, Allison defending someone besides herself,” said Travis, trying to break the tension. “This momentous occasion calls for a beer. Okay, Dad?”
Catheryn answered before her husband could respond. “Absolutely not,” she said. “No matter what you think, Travis, sixteen years old doesn’t make you an adult.”
Following another uncomfortable silence, Christy spoke up. “Your soup smells wonderful, Mrs. Kane.”
“Thanks, Christy. You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner.”
“Oh, I don’t want to impose.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re family. And besides, you won’t be imposing. You can help with the dishes.”
Christy smiled. “Okay, I would love to stay. I’m starving.”
Catheryn looked up from the stove, noticing a change in Christy that she couldn’t quite place. Tommy’s girlfriend had always been a beauty, but tonight she seemed nearly luminescent. “You look great, honey,” she said. “But what’s different about you? Your hair … ?”
“She’s been putting on a few ell-bees, that’s what,” said Kane. “Looks good on you, Christy. I always said that swimming made you too skinny.”
Christy ducked her head self-consciously. “Thanks.” Then, changing the sub
ject, “How’s your job with the orchestra going, Mrs. Kane?”
“Fine,” Catheryn answered, glancing at her husband. Her position with the Philharmonic had become even more of a sore subject since Allison’s attack, and she and Kane had pointedly avoided discussing it. “Rehearsals have been going extremely well, and I’ll be joining the performances starting mid-August. Arthur West, the principal cellist, just moved me down to the second tier,” she added proudly.
“What’s that mean, Mom?” asked Nate. “Is that good?”
Catheryn turned to her youngest. “Yes, it is, Nate. You know how we all sit on those raised platforms that step up toward the back? The principal cellist is down in front, right by the conductor, with the associate and assistant principals occupying the other two titled positions. Everyone else is arranged behind them according to ability—the most inexperienced high up in the back. It’s quite an honor to be moved down this soon.”
“Sounds to me like the new kid on the block is messing up the pecking order,” Kane observed. “Moving you forward means everybody behind you got moved back, right? Bet that caused a few catfights.”
“Some,” Catheryn admitted.
“Well, congratulations, Mrs. Kane,” Christy said. “I can’t wait to come and hear you play.”
“Thanks, honey.” After grabbing an insulated glove from a drawer beside the stove, Catheryn checked a loaf of French bread she had heating in the oven. “This will be done shortly,” she announced. Let’s all get cleaned up and sit down at the table.”
Minutes later the entire group squeezed around the circular kitchen table and, following grace, turned their attention to the steaming bowls before them, industriously dipping bread and spooning up the thick, delicious soup. The only sound heard for several minutes was a noisy slurping from Kane and Nate. After he had finished his first bowl, Kane looked over at Travis. “Been seeing a lot of that Wallace kid, huh?” he said. “Kissed her yet, Romeo?”
A flush crept up Travis’s neck, quickly spreading to his cheeks. “Jeez, Dad. What kinda question is that?”
“Just asking,” said Kane. “McKenzie seems like a spunky little broad. You like her, huh?”
Travis shrugged. “McKenzie? I guess so.”
“He’s been out with her every night this week,” offered Allison. “He sees her more than I do.”
“That’s not saying much,” countered Travis. “McKenzie says you hardly call anymore. Lately you barely even leave the house.”
“Hey, Mom? Check this out,” said Nate, cleaning his spoon with a napkin.
Ignoring Nate, Catheryn looked over at Travis. “You could start spending more time at home yourself,” she said sharply. “Like in the music room, for instance.”
“Trav’s practicing not meeting up to your specs, Kate?” Kane interjected. “This calls for severe punishment. Allison, go get the cattle prod.”
“Dan, this isn’t a laughing matter. He hasn’t been putting in nearly the time on the piano he should.”
“Hey, the kid’s got other things to do. He finally decides to stand on his own two feet, and you—”
“I’ll decide when Travis can start making his own decisions.”
“Jeez, Kate, listen to yourself. Can I make a suggestion here?”
“No. You stay clear of this. I don’t try to tell you how to beat a confession out of a suspect, do I? Trav’s music is my concern.”
Kane quickly backtracked. “Sure, Kate. Whatever you say.” Then, to Travis, “Watch out, kid. I can tell you from experience that when it comes to trouble with your mother, it’s a lot easier to stay out than get out.”
“That’s wonderful, Dan,” said Catheryn. “Thanks for the support. Did you think up that tiny bit of wisdom all by yourself?”
“He stole it from Mark Twain,” said Allison.
“I figured as much. Travis, I want to speak with you after dinner.”
“About what?”
“After dinner, Travis,” Catheryn repeated.
Travis lifted his shoulders in a puzzled shrug. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Look, everybody!” Nate said urgently.
“Nate, try using your mouth to eat,” suggested Catheryn, still regarding Travis sternly.
“That’s right, Nate,” added Kane, looking at Catheryn curiously. “Can’t you see your mom’s busy picking on your brother?”
“Dad, please look,” Nate cried insistently. “Neat, huh?”
Kane finally turned to his youngest, noticing he had his soup spoon dangling from the tip of his nose. “Gee, Nate, that’s swell,” he observed. “Kate, do you have any mental infirmity on your side of the family? He sure doesn’t get it from me.”
Nate quickly removed the spoon.
Christy, who until now had sat with the slightly embarrassed air of someone forced to eavesdrop, smiled thinly and rose from the table. “I’m going for more soup. Anyone else want some while I’m up?”
“I’ll take a little more,” answered Tommy.
“I’ll take a lot more,” said Kane.
“Can you bring me the big serving spoon when you come?” asked Nate.
“No!” everyone yelled in unison.
After Christy had collected Tommy’s and Kane’s bowls and headed into the kitchen, Kane laced his fingers behind his head and looked across the table at Catheryn. “I got some bad news today,” he said. “Arnie’s retiring.”
Catheryn looked up. “I thought something was bothering you,” she said sympathetically. “Is it because of the shooting?”
“That has a lot to do with it,” Kane sighed.
“I’m sorry, Dan. I know how you must feel. You two have been partners for a lot of years.”
“Yeah,” Kane said glumly. “Things won’t be the same.”
“He’s been talking about retiring for quite a while now, though, hasn’t he?”
Kane nodded. “I knew it was coming. I just hate to see it go down like this.”
Catheryn remained silent for several seconds. “Why don’t you invite him over for dinner next week?” she said. “I’ll make something nice.”
Kane shrugged. “Sure.”
“Hey, Dad?” said Tommy, glancing at Travis as he spoke. “Guess what? Our job’s ending next week. Remember you promised we could hike the Mineral King loop before I left for training camp? That’s just two weeks off, so how about it? Think you can break away from work for some backpacking?”
“No way.”
“Can Trav and I still go?”
Just then Christy returned from the kitchen. She set Kane’s and Tommy’s refilled bowls before them, along with a second basket of bread.
No longer hungry, Kane ignored his soup. “Mineral King, eh?” he said. “When do you plan on leaving—assuming I give my okay?”
“Early Saturday, right after our last day at work,” Tommy answered, again glancing at Travis. “We want to get to the lakes by late afternoon and over the pass the next morning.”
“You two wouldn’t be thinking about climbing that wall, would you?”
“After you told us not to? Don’t worry, Dad. Our climbing gear will stay right in our room.”
“Okay. See that it does.” Kane paused thoughtfully. “Your last day at work is coming up, you say? Hmmm. I just had an idea.”
“That’s strange. You’re not due for another one of those until next month,” Catheryn joked, attempting to nudge her husband out of the funk he’d been in since discussing Arnie.
“Funny, Kate,” said Kane. Then, to Tommy, “What time do you get off?”
“Three-thirty. But by the time we roll up and get the equipment stowed, it’s usually closer to four. Why?”
“Never mind,” said Kane mysteriously.
Following dinner, Kane and Catheryn moved to the living room for coffee and a more private discussion of Arnie. Tommy grudgingly agreed to help Christy with the dishes, leaving Travis, Allison, and Nate to clear the table. After finishing his part of the cleanup, Travis spent a half hour readin
g in his room, then ambled down the hall in search of his mother—morosely deciding nothing was to be gained by a continued avoidance of the after-dinner meeting she had so pointedly requested.
Not finding Catheryn in the living room, Travis made his way downstairs. He found his mother in the music room. She was sitting on her chair by the piano, her left hand traveling the strings of her instrument, her bow quietly teasing out short, muted phrases that Travis recognized as some of the more difficult sections of the Beethoven sonata they had been practicing together since spring. With Catheryn spending so much time with Allison, they hadn’t played it, or anything else, for weeks. Feeling a surge of regret, he realized it was a lapse that hadn’t occurred since he’d first started taking lessons.
More than any other part of his long hours spent at the keyboard, Travis loved playing with his mother, whose presence had always seemed intimately woven into the fabric of his music. From the very beginning she had been there beside him at the piano, guiding his hands through endless scales and chords and exercises, and he remembered her joy at each step of his progress—mastering his first piece, performing his first recital, winning his first competition. Throughout she had celebrated his triumphs as though they were her own, and over the years their hours spent together in music had formed an enduring bond between them that none of the other children shared. He missed it.
Catheryn glanced up. “I think it’s time we started working on this again, don’t you?”
Glad to postpone whatever lecture she had in store, if only temporarily, Travis nodded. “Sure, Mom.”
Travis took his place at the old Baldwin. He paused to massage his hands and loosen the joints of his fingers, then opened the sheet music.
Beethoven’s Sonata for Cello and Piano, Op. 5, No. 1, the composition they had been working on for the Bronislaw competition, was one of two for cello and piano that the master had written during his “early period.” Unlike most of the accompanied keyboard works of the time, the F Major sonata constituted a virtuoso collaboration, with neither instrument subordinate. The first movement followed the classic sonata form and encompassed a wide range of contrast and resolution—with two differing themes presented in the initial exposition, expanded and elaborated in the development that followed, then ultimately reconciled in the final recapitulation. A spirited rondo imbued the second movement with a mood of cheerful abandon, concluding a piece that was one of Travis’s favorites.