by Steve Gannon
Not waiting for his siblings, Nate started up the slope, picking his way through rows of brass memorial plaques that curved across the hillside like contour lines on a map. Eager to explore, Callie bounded past Nate, enthusiastically sniffing her new surroundings.
“Nate, dogs aren’t allowed,” Allison called.
Ignoring her, Nate continued up the rise, his head lowered against the early-morning sun.
With a smile, I watched as my children approached. They hadn’t spotted me yet, and I felt a familiar surge of pride as I followed their progress up the slope. At nineteen, Travis was now in his second year of college at USC, and more and more I sensed he had matured in some indefinable manner. Tall and lanky, with long limbs and an artistic economy of movement not inherited from me, Travis had developed a hard layer of muscle over the past year. The construction job he’d held for the third consecutive summer had worked wonders, although I realized Trav would never have the strength and agility at sports that had come so naturally to Tommy.
Allison had matured lately as well. At seventeen, she’d finally emerged from a gawky phase of adolescence that she had considered her own private hell since turning fourteen. Her figure had softened with the emerging curves of womanhood, but strangely, the more she’d developed, the more she’d taken to hiding behind a constellation of baggy sweaters, broad-brimmed hats, and an endless collection of jackets, work shirts, and loose fitting jeans—like the odd mismatch she wore today. As she broke from shadow into sunlight, I noticed that her long reddish hair, a trait all the Kane kids had inherited from me, seemed to have recently darkened, deepening to a rich auburn more like her mother’s. Like Catheryn, Allison was going to be a beauty. Everyone saw it but her.
“Nate, wait,” Allison called again.
Nate glanced back and stubbornly picked up his pace, ensuring he’d be first to arrive. As the youngest at eleven, Nate had always fought to surpass his older siblings, cherishing any victory, however small. Furiously competitive, quick to both laughter and anger, his moods as transparent as glass, Nate—God help him—was the most like me.
“Aw, let him go,” said Travis. “We’ll see him at the top.”
“Whatever you say, genius-boy,” said Allison. “Figure out what you’re gonna tell Dad yet?”
A steady breeze was moving up the canyon, carrying the smell of cut grass and sounds from lower down. I’ve always had excellent hearing, and I could easily make out their conversation.
“About that,” said Travis. “Run it by me one more time. How did I get elected to be our spokesperson?”
“Simple. Now that Tommy’s gone, you’re Dad’s favorite, and—”
“There are no favorites in the Kane clan,” Travis interrupted. “Dad berates us all equally.”
“Nevertheless, you’re the favorite now, the new anointed one,” Allison persisted. “And besides, this was your idea.”
“Yeah, well, about that … I’ve been thinking—”
“Thinking? Trav, I thought you’d learned your lesson on that.”
“Sorry,” Travis laughed. “I’ll try to control myself in the future. But seriously, Ali. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“Look, I know you’re nervous,” Allison said firmly. “I am too. But we decided to do this, and we’re going to.”
By now Callie had raced ahead and was nearing the top of the rise. Spotting me, she stopped warily, glancing back to see how Nate and the others felt about the stranger she had discovered. Not sensing a warning from them, she proceeded cautiously. Finally catching my scent, she raced the final distance, mouth split in a joyful canine grin. When she arrived I knelt and scratched her ears. “Damn, girl, you act like you haven’t seen me in months,” I said softly. “Well, I’ve missed you, too.”
Out of breath, Nate finally gained the top of the hill. Allison and Travis were still some distance behind.
“Hey, squirt,” I said with a smile. “I’m happy to see you, but what are you guys doing here? Without me around to roust you rookies, I figured you’d be sacking out till eleven, then catching the last Mass.”
“Eleven?” Nate scoffed. “You and Mom never let us sleep past eight on weekends, especially on Sundays.”
“Damn right,” I agreed, giving Callie’s head one final rub before rising to my feet. “Nothing of consequence happens in bed, at least nothing we’ll be discussing till you’ve heard your Mom’s dissertation on the birds and the bees. And get your mitt out of your mouth, kid. If you don’t quit soon, you’ll be nibbling your fingers till you’re ninety.”
Recently Nate had begun biting his nails. When he ran out of nail, he would proceed to his cuticles. It was a bad habit, a tough one to break, but I knew he wanted to stop. He pulled his hand from his mouth in surprise, apparently unaware of what he’d been doing.
“Back to my question,” I said. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Don’t buckle under Dad’s third degree,” counseled Allison as she and Travis finally arrived. “He has to read you your rights before beating a confession out of you, and you get to have a lawyer present anytime you want, if only to witness the carnage.”
“’Morning, Ali,” I said.
“And I’ll tell you something else, Nate,” Allison continued sagely. “You don’t need to sit through Mom’s explanation of the birds and the bees. I can sum it up in three little words: Bees are scum.”
“Thanks for that tiny bit of wisdom, Ali,” I said, sensing she was anxious and, as usual, trying to disguise her feelings with a blizzard of words. “Where’d you get it? TV?”
“Where else?” she answered, forcing a smile. I noticed that she had carried a small bouquet of daisies with her from the car. Not meeting my gaze, she started plucking petals from one of the blooms.
“Hi, Dad,” said Travis.
“Morning, Trav. It’s great to see you three, especially this early on a weekend. So what’s up?”
“Not much.”
Allison glanced at her older brother, obviously expecting him to continue. When he didn’t, she sighed impatiently and walked to a rectangular brass plaque set in the hillside several yards away. The marker still lay in shadow, but the inscription was clearly visible.
Thomas Daniel Kane
Beloved Son
Kneeling, Allison brushed a handful of lawn trimmings from Tommy’s plaque. Immersed in my own solitary thoughts, I watched as she placed her bouquet on the grave. Then, deciding to approach the mystery of my children’s presence from another angle, I asked, “Your mom know you’re here?”
“She thinks we’re at church,” Travis replied.
“You lied to her?”
“Well, she … she has her final rehearsal this afternoon before the Philharmonic goes on tour,” Travis stammered. “She’s going to be busy packing after that, and we—”
“What are you getting at?”
Travis shifted uncomfortably. “We wanted to see you alone.”
“Alone? How’d you know I’d be here?”
“It didn’t take a whole lot of deduction, Pop,” Allison interjected. “You come out here every weekend.”
“You’ll get your turn, Allison,” I said. “Right now I’m talking to your brother.”
“Interrogating him, you mean.”
I hesitated, realizing she had a point. “Okay,” I said more moderately. “You kids clearly have something on your minds, or you wouldn’t be here. Who’s gonna tell me what it is?”
“We came out here to talk with you, Dad,” Travis answered. “In private.”
“Why?”
“To tell you to stop being so mean to Mom and come home,” said Nate, anger darkening his face.
Allison and Travis stared in shock at their younger brother. In their eyes I could see the realization that Nate’s outburst had pushed them to a juncture from which there would be no turning back. “Is that what this is about?” I asked. “You don’t approve of the way I’m treating your poor defenseless mother?”
&
nbsp; “Approve isn’t exactly the right verb,” Allison said hastily.
“And there’s more to it than that,” added Travis. He hesitated, then squared his shoulders. “Dad, we all think Mom deserves this trip. When she started performing full-time with the Philharmonic, you were against that, but things worked out. This will, too. And it’s not as though she has a choice. She’s the associate principal cellist. She has to go. Besides, it’s only a few weeks.”
“It’s six weeks.”
“Okay, six weeks. We’ll all pitch in while she’s gone.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“No, sir, I’m not. The point is that Mom’s going whether you approve or not. Why make things hard on her? Don’t you want her to be happy?”
With a surge of regret, I thought back to the argument I’d had with Catheryn the previous evening. I had stopped by the house in Malibu to pick up some clothes. Before I’d left, bitter words had been exchanged between us. Typical of arguments rooted in a soil of deeper disagreement, topics had germinated and developed and grown, one familiar hurt following another. “It’s as though you’ve become a stranger,” Catheryn had said as our words spiraled past the point of no return, wounding us both like flying shards of glass. “I don’t even know what you’re thinking anymore. I don’t even know how you feel about me.” And to my shame, I had been unable to respond. Now, confronted by my children, I once more found myself at a loss for words.
At last I spoke. “Let me tell you kids something,” I began uncertainly. “Things aren’t always as simple as they seem, but I’m going to try to answer your question—after which this subject is closed. Of course I want your mom to be happy. I’m proud of what she’s doing, and of course I support her going on tour. That’s not the problem. The truth is, I can’t explain what’s going on. Maybe you’ll understand when you’re older. Maybe not. I still don’t, but I do know one thing: Even though two people love each other, sometimes things go wrong between them, things no one can fix.”
“So when are you coming home?” asked Nate.
“I’ll be back the day after tomorrow to take care of you and Ali while your mom’s in Europe.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know, Nate,” I said. “I don’t know the answer to that.”
“Mom said something about the possibility of your joining her for a few days in Europe,” Travis interjected hopefully.
“Maybe,” I said. “That was before last night. I’m going to see your mom again this evening and try to straighten things out. I want it to be a surprise, so don’t say anything, okay? As for joining her in Europe, that’s doubtful. If I do go, though, Grandma said she’d be available to stay with you. Christy said she would be around, too,” I added, referring to Tommy’s steady girlfriend before the accident. Christy lived nearby, and after Tom’s death she had remained a close family friend.
“When you see Mom next, try being nice for a change,” said Allison. “It’ll be easy. Just make believe you’re somebody else.”
“Thanks for the advice, Ali,” I said, trying not to smile and further encourage her insubordination. Then, changing gears, “Now, as Travis pointed out, Kate’s leaving soon. Trav, you may be living at USC during the week, but while she’s away I want you home every weekend to help. It’s a short drive across town.”
“No problem,” said Travis.
Turning to Allison and Nate, I continued, “During the week, it’ll mostly be just the three of us, so—”
“Don’t forget Callie,” Nate interrupted.
“Okay, the four of us. During that time I want your homework done and all chores completed without fail. I’ll expect full cooperation, devotion to duties, and no back talk. Allison, that last part goes double for you.”
Allison brought her hand to her forehead in a sloppy salute. “Aye, aye, Pop.”
“And don’t be such a wiseass. You’ll get along a lot better in life.”
“Like you, Dad?”
“Yeah, like me,” I said. “Now, if there’s nothing else, it’s time for you three to shove off. You’ll just have time to make the last Mass, after which there are probably plenty of things you could do to help your mom get ready.”
“We’re leaving,” said Allison. “But I’m glad we had this little talk. Communication is so liberating, don’t you think, Dad?”
“Beat it, Ali.”
“Right, Pop.”
Side by side, Allison and Travis headed down the hill. Callie, who during the past minutes had been prowling the bushes—undoubtedly in search of something to fetch—bounded out to join them. Nate lagged behind, hands sunk deep in his pockets. Struck by something in his manner, I called after him. “Nate, come back for a sec. Allison and Trav, keep going. Your brother will join you shortly.”
Callie noticed Nate turning back. She hesitated, then started again for the car, apparently deciding the prospect of breakfast outweighed loyalty, at least until after she had eaten. Dejectedly, Nate returned, eyes averted.
I knelt and absently began pulling blades of crabgrass from the lawn. “What’s up, kid?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, sure. You’re a barrel of laughs this morning. Come on, talk to me.”
Nate’s gaze drifted to Tommy’s plaque. Seconds passed. “You miss him a lot?”
“Yeah, I do,” I answered.
“Me, too.”
“I know you do. We all do.”
“Do you think Tommy’s in heaven?”
“I don’t know, Nate,” I said, running my fingers through my hair. “I would like to believe all the stuff they teach you in church about souls and heaven and all, I truly would. Only … well, if there is a heaven, I’m sure Tommy’s up there,” I finished lamely.
“Do you think he can see us? Maybe hear what we’re saying?”
“Maybe. Why?
“I … I never got to tell him goodbye.”
I nodded. “There’s a lot I never got to tell him, either. But I think he knew how we all felt.”
Nate glanced away. “Dad, sometimes unless I think real hard, I can’t remember his face. I have to look at a picture of him to remind myself.”
“That’s natural, son. Life goes on.”
“Will you ever forget?”
“I don’t know. Come on, Nate. Is this what’s eating you?”
“Sort of. Last night when you and Mom—”
“Nate, that discussion is over,” I interrupted. “With the exception of those calls we keep getting about your fighting at school, last night’s disagreement had nothing to do with you.”
At the mention of school, Nate’s face closed like a fist.
Abruptly, I realized what was wrong. “You think the argument between your mom and me was because of you?”
Nate didn’t answer.
Unconsciously, Nate started working on his nails again. This time I let it go, struck by the web of hurt and misunderstanding that had ensnared our entire family since Tommy’s death. “That argument wasn’t your fault, Nate,” I said gently. “And anyway, a little scrapping at school is normal for a boy your age, as long as you don’t overdo it. Too much of a good thing can get you sidelined.”
“But …”
“Nate, the spat last night between your mom and me may have started as a discussion of your so-called brawling in the classroom, but things definitely progressed from there.”
“Mom was really sad after you left.”
I stared at my hands. “I know.”
“Dad?”
“What?”
“Do you still love Mom?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why don’t you come home?”
“Like I said, it’s complicated.”
“Are you and Mom going to get divorced?”
“Jeez, Nate. What are you saying?”
“Are you?”
“I don’t believe this. I thought I taught you kids better than that. What’s the most important thing about bein
g in our family?”
Nate’s response was automatic. “Kanes stand together, no matter what.”
“That’s right. No matter what. Now, your mom and I may have problems, but she’s not getting rid of me that easy. We’ll work things out. I promise. Okay?”
Instead of answering, Nate threw his arms around my neck. Taken off guard, I clumsily returned his hug. He clung to me fiercely, then squirmed from my arms and raced down the hill.
Just then my cell phone rang. I checked the number. The call was from the West Los Angeles police-dispatch operator. With a sigh, I realized it would probably be a workday for me after all. I didn’t answer, deciding to return the call from my car.
Still pondering Nate’s unexpected embrace, I watched as his small figure receded down the knoll. Puzzled, I touched my face where his cheek had pressed. Withdrawing my hand, I saw that my fingers were damp with his tears.
With a feeling of profound sadness, I wondered how things in our family had gone so wrong. I glanced one final time at Tommy’s marker. Allison’s daisies had already started to wilt, the yellow blooms sagging sadly atop the cold brass plate. At last I rose and started down the hill, wishing more than anything that all of life’s heartbreak and uncertainty could be healed with an unction as simple as Kanes stand together … no matter what.
2
Pushing the speed limit when traffic allowed, I navigated the freeways from Burbank to Santa Monica in under thirty minutes. As I drove, the sun rose higher into a clear blue sky, promising another day of sunshine and smog for the inland communities of Los Angeles. A few miles from the ocean, however, the air temperature abruptly plummeted, with a marine layer shrouding the coast in a blanket of gloom more typical of June than November. Mood matching the weather, I took Pacific Coast Highway north under progressively darkening skies. At Sunset Boulevard I headed inland, turned left on Palisades Drive at the mouth of Santa Ynez Canyon, and climbed into the coastal mountains.
The Palisades Highlands subdivision, displaying a typical Southern California complement of palms, red tiled roofs, and Mexican paver patios, had been built at the base of the canyon some years back. I continued up Palisades Drive, passing through the cheery suburban neighborhood to an enclave of custom homes higher up. It took several minutes to locate Michael Lane, the multiple-homicide location that police dispatch had given me when I’d finally called back. Upon arriving, I found an LAPD black-and-white parked inside an open entry gate that guarded a handful of homes beyond. Several hundred feet down the road, I could see more squad cars parked at odd angles. I flashed my badge at an officer stationed at the gate and drove through, pulling to the curb beside of knot of police vehicles in front of a gray, colonial-style home.