Descending Son

by Scott Shepherd

  Three years later the platinum blonde had run away with a TV Western star, the doctor had taken early retirement, and Walter Stark was sole owner of the newly branded Stark Medical Clinic. Flash forward four decades and Walter owned six more medical facilities, twice as many desert properties, and every year was among the richest and most influential people in the Desert.

  Walter liked to tell everyone that he made his fortune from the ground up. Jess knew this had to be bullshit; if Walter Stark wanted something, nothing stood in his way of getting it. Jess had no proof but was certain that Walter got his hands on that first clinic by blackmailing the old physician.

  Jess stopped at the foot of the driveway and rolled down the window. He looked at the gate bell and hesitated. It wasn’t too late—he could still turn around and make it back to LA before rush hour hit. Then, he glanced up at the security camera. His arrival was on tape. Beating a retreat would only result in another call from Kate Stark and him looking like a chickenshit.

  His brand-new Oxford shirt crinkled as he reached for the bell. (He’d tossed the one with Tom Cox’s blood on it after purchasing new threads at Target.) The intercom over the speaker crackled and a woman’s voice laced with Spanish methodically spoke.

  “Stark residence.”

  For the first time since he had returned his mother’s call, Jess smiled. “Lena? It’s Jessie.”

  He could hear the intake of breath, almost a “whoopee” if people still talked like that. A happy, thankful murmur in Spanish followed, and then the gates were buzzed open.

  Jess navigated the SUV up the steep driveway. Enormous cacti of every exotic variety surrounded desert flowers on both sides of the asphalt. The driveway bent to the right where jagged shadows from the mountain ridge cast a shadow over the car. He rounded the last bend and sunshine poured over the mountaintop, revealing the Stark manse in all its pueblo glory.

  It took four architects (and countless arguments between his folks that kept Jess and his siblings up many a night) more than three years to build the showpiece that got a six-page spread in Architectural Digest. It was his mother Kate’s pride and joy—but Jess always considered it a soulless mausoleum his parents chose to occupy on this side of the grave.

  The concrete driveway gave way to thousands of pebbles collected from a La Quinta quarry, and the SUV kicked up more than its fair share as Jess parked. The manse’s front door—which could exist at the Prado without shame—swung open and a tiny Latina woman in her late fifties and wearing maid’s uniform came bustling through. She raced across the pebbled car port and threw her arms around Jess.

  “Ay, Dios mío¡ I told your mother—no way he comes!”

  Jess returned the hug—awkward since her head rose only halfway up his chest, but genuine because there was obviously a good deal of history and affection between them. “I can’t believe you’re still putting up with her, Lena.”

  The woman smiled. “She won’t let me leave.” They both laughed and finally broke apart. Lena gave him the once-over. “You look tired.”

  “I’m not used to the long drive.”

  She poked him in the stomach with a quick finger. “You’re not eating either.”

  “I’m twenty-nine years old…”

  “I’m the one who wears her age, muchacho.” Lena ran a hand through her reddish hair that had its modestly placed share of gray.

  “You look terrific, Lena.”

  She smiled, gratefully accepting the compliment she was fishing for. Lena Flores was the one servant Jess’s parents could never bring themselves to dismiss. That was because Jess knew she had more pride and resilience than any other person to reside under the Stark roof all these years—including the Stark children.

  “How’s Maria?”

  “She graduated in May.”

  “From high school? Wow…”

  “Not high school. College.”

  “Little Maria who used to run out of the room whenever I came in it? That Maria?”

  “First in our family to go and finish.” Lena reveled a bit in the incredulous look on Jess’s face. “You’ve been gone a long time, Jessie.”

  He thought back to the conversation with the sheriff out on the highway. “Not the first time I’ve been reminded of that today.”

  Lena started to walk toward the back of the SUV, her indentured instincts taking hold. “You have luggage…”

  Jess gently pulled her away from the car and steered her in the direction of the house. “One step at a time. When walking into the lion’s den, it’s good to have both hands free and an escape hatch.” He dangled the SUV key.

  That gave Lena reason to chuckle. But as they got closer to the house, a cloud slipped over her demeanor. She gripped Jess tightly at the elbow, pulling him close. “It’s good to have you home, Jessie.”

  “I’m glad to see you too, Lena.”

  Her tiny dark eyes searched his face, finding satisfaction and solace in that truth. But Jess could tell she saw something else there as well—his intention.

  “You’re not staying, are you?”

  “Just as long as necessary.” He held the front door open, motioning for Lena to enter first.

  “Your mother is in the garden.”

  “Does she know I’m here?” asked Jess.

  Lena shook her head. “She pays little attention to the phone or door. Señora Kate keeps to herself a lot these days.” She stepped inside the house.

  But Jess hesitated, lingering at the threshold with trepidation. He had never expected to enter this house again. The day he had left, Jess had made a solemn vow never to return. But he had never imagined his father on his deathbed. He figured the bastard was going to live forever.

  Lena was already walking down the hall when Jess called out to her.

  “Lena?”

  She turned around. “Yes, muchacho?”

  Jess swallowed before asking, “Just how bad is he?”

  “Not good,” she replied glumly. “Not good at all.”

  Growing up, if Jess ever needed to find his mother, the first place he checked was the Cactus Garden. There, Kate would sit on the gypsum bench and he would lie on her lap and listen to fairy tales and Aesop fables. Eventually, Jess was able to read to himself and spent many an afternoon curled up on the same bench buried in the latest Hardy Boys case while Kate tended to some desert rarity or trimmed her orchids in the greenhouse at the rear of the garden. By the time he was a teenager, the visits to the Cactus Garden were more infrequent—usually to ask for the car keys or tell his mother that he wouldn’t be home for dinner.

  Upon entering the enclosure this time, it occurred to Jess that the two of them had been passing through the garden in different directions all those years. He was growing up and questioning everything. She was getting older and retreating into a world where she didn’t want to provide any answers.

  He stood under the canopy of cacti that formed the garden’s entrance and watched his mother clip and trim a bulbous cactus. Kate Stark was an impressive woman in her early fifties. She possessed movie-actress good looks and an exquisite bone structure that made one think New England crusty when in fact she was a tomboy who had surfed the Wedge in Newport Beach every weekend in high school. This accounted for Jess’s athletic prowess on the football field. He certainly didn’t inherit any physical talent from his father’s side of the family.

  Finally, Kate took a step back to admire her handiwork and became aware that Jess was watching her. She dropped the pruning shears to the ground and started to bring a hand to her mouth. Then, she became aware of this grandiose gesture and was remarkably able to effortlessly lower her hand without reaching its original destination.

  “You actually came.”

  Jess was pretty sure she wasn’t going to race across the garden and throw her arms around him, but he figured he ought to at least give her the chance. Kate didn’t disappoint—she stood her ground.

  “You didn’t leave me much choice,” Jess said.

&nbs
p; Kate motioned toward the house. “You should have told me. Lena could have had lunch prepared, made up your room…”

  “I’m not going to stay here.” Jess really hadn’t decided until that very moment, but two minutes in the Cactus Garden had made the choice clear.

  “But…”

  “I just came to see Dad.” His tone made Kate back off. She looked back over her shoulder, then at her watch. “We’ll have to see if he’s up. He sleeps a lot—especially during the day. Nights seem to be better.”

  She walked forward until she reached the son she hadn’t seen in seven years, and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Thank you, Jessie.”

  He let her hand remain for a moment, and then nodded. The fables and fairy tales seemed as distant as the time in which they were written. His mother prattled on like an anxious child. “I didn’t tell Walter that you were coming. Just in case…”

  “I didn’t show?” Jess said, finishing the thought. “It’d be a shame to disappoint him.”

  He turned around to leave the garden.

  “You really hate us that much?”

  Jess didn’t miss a step as he passed beneath the canopy. “Let’s just go see Dad and get it over with, huh?”

  The living room could easily host a state dinner or a decent touch football game. As Jess followed his mother through it, he couldn’t recall spending more than five minutes at a time in it as a child. He was commanded to come and say hello to dinner guests or good night to his parents. The one time he had ventured in to read a book, he sat on the sofa with his feet up on the antique coffee table. His father found him there, and after that Jess found it painful to sit down on anything else for a good week.

  In seven years the house had changed about as much as Jess’s feelings—very little. Every wall, each nook and cranny, reminded him of what had transpired here. The familiar trappings made him want to get out the door, down the hill, and back onto Interstate 10 that much quicker.

  The only real difference he could see was that there were more photographs, mostly of famous people. There was not one single picture of the Stark brood. No surprise there. Jess couldn’t remember ever posing for a family portrait. The fact that his father was in every single picture was candid proof of whose realm Jess was walking through.

  The only photograph of Walter and Kate was in a frame on the piano. Both were dressed in formal wear. Kate sported a lot of jewelry and whatever else it took to look picture perfect. Jess thought Walter Stark had the same expression as the rest of the photos in the living room—a no-nonsense attitude that said he was doing you a favor allowing himself to be captured on film.

  Kate pointed at the picture frame. “That was taken three months ago on our anniversary. It’s hard to believe.”

  As if to demonstrate her point, Kate opened the lanai door. She stepped outside and motioned for Jess to follow.

  The first thing Jess saw was the wheelchair.

  For a moment he thought there was just a blanket piled on the seat, but then realized it was covering somebody.

  “Walter. There’s someone here to see you.”

  A heavy sigh, then a groan emerged from beneath the blanket. Kate motioned for her son to step around the chair and join her.

  Jess looked down into a pair of cold piercing eyes. It was the man from the photograph on the piano. But he looked at least fifty years older.

  Walter Stark could have been a living ghost.

  5

  Walter Stark looked at Jess like he was a mirage. The old man’s mouth opened to speak but then quickly shut. For the first time in Jess’s life, his father was at a loss for words. Someone had to break the ice.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  This time Walter mustered a nod and soft response. “Jessie.”

  The blanket shifted. He thought the old man was trying to find a comfortable position. He was shocked when he saw his father’s withered pale fingers emerge from the blanket. Jess couldn’t remember a handshake between himself and Walter. That would signify a warm greeting, or, heaven forbid, an acknowledgment of a job well done.

  Jess reluctantly offered Walter his hand in return. The man who ruled boardrooms with an iron fist could barely grip his son’s palm. They only shook hands briefly but Jess was shocked by how cold Walter’s fingers felt.

  The doorbell rang deep from inside the house. Kate checked her watch. “It’s three o’clock. That must be Edward. You’ll excuse me a moment?” She bent down and dutifully kissed her ancient husband’s forehead.

  She slid open the screen door and entered the house. With great effort, Walter turned to watch her disappear. Jess noticed his father trembling. Whether this had something to do with Kate or his illness, he couldn’t tell.

  As Walter turned back to face Jess, he gripped the armrest for support. This quieted the shakes and allowed him to focus on his son.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard you weren’t feeling well.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  An awkward silence followed. This was nothing new to Jess. On the rare occasion he had dinner with his parents growing up, barely a word was spoken between him and Walter. Maybe one of them asking to pass the butter. Usually it was Jess asking to be excused.

  “This was your mother’s idea, no doubt.”

  “She reminded me it was your birthday.”

  “Whoop-de-doo.”

  Walter began trembling again. The blanket slipped halfway down his torso. Jess leaned over him to help pull it back up but Walter waved him off.

  “I can do it, damn it!”

  As Walter managed to yank the blanket away from Jess, their hands brushed again.

  “You’re freezing…”

  “That’s me. Cold-blooded as always.”

  Jess moved around to the back of the wheelchair. He grabbed the handles and started to push Walter toward the patio edge where the desert rays beat down.

  “Maybe we ought to get you some sun.”

  “No!”

  Walter kicked out with his dangling feet. The commandment of his voice and the tone that had filled his son with dread his entire life caused Jess to let go of the wheelchair. His father immediately calmed down.

  “Here is fine,” he murmured.

  Footsteps approached from the living room. Jess started to turn to see who was coming when his arm was clutched by his father’s icy hand.

  “Jessie.”

  Jess swiveled back toward him. For the first time since Jess had come out onto the patio, Walter’s bloodshot eyes looked alert.

  “Come closer.”

  Jess leaned forward. Walter pulled him further until they were face to face. For seven years Jess had put a hundred miles between the two of them—now they were inches apart.

  “They’re killing me,” Walter whispered.

  Jess looked stunned. “They? Who?”

  Walter started to respond, but a booming voice cut him off.

  “And how are we feeling today, Walter?”

  Jess turned to face the thirty-five-year-old man who had come through the screen door with Kate. Walter glared at the man without loosening his grip on Jess’s arm. “Like crap.”

  Then Walter lowered his voice and whispered quickly in his son’s ear. “We’ll talk more tonight.”

  Jess stared incredulously at him. Who was this man in the wheelchair masquerading as his father? Walter Stark never wanted to talk to his son. He was never frightened or delusional. But not this new sickly version—he was all of the above.

  Jess had dozens of questions, but was unable to ask them because the new arrival was already approaching with an extended hand.

  “You must be Jessie.”

  Jess nodded and instinctively took the proffered palm.

  “Dr. Edward Rice. I’ve been looking after your father. Give me a few minutes with him and we’ll chat. I’m sure you have plenty to ask me.”

  “That’s an understatement,” replied Jess, echoing his father’s earlier respons
e. He glanced at Walter. Was Jess imagining things, or did the old man actually crack the most infinitesimal of smiles?

  Kate motioned for Jess to follow her back inside the house. “Let’s get you something to eat and drink. Then you and Edward can talk.”

  Jess couldn’t believe it but he was actually reluctant to leave his father. For years, all he had thought about were ways to get away from him. But it wasn’t every day that the man cried out for help.

  In fact, Jess could never remember it happening.

  He looked one final time at Walter. Father and son locked eyes. The meaning on Walter’s face was crystal clear—they were by no means finished.

  And strangely enough, Jess could feel himself in violent agreement.

  “I’ll see you later, Dad. Promise.”

  Half an hour later, Jess took the last bite of a childhood memory—Lena’s triple-decker BLT. To this day she wouldn’t reveal the secret spread she placed on each piece of toast, but Jess was sure she could open a franchise of restaurants with the concoction.

  “Chili pepper and Thousand Island?” he guessed.

  “I’ll never tell,” said Lena.

  “Am I even close?”

  Lena laughed and took the plate toward the sink. She almost bumped into Rice as he walked into the kitchen. “Excuse me, Doctor,” Lena mumbled. She quickly rinsed the plate and placed it in the dishwasher. “Let me know if you need anything.” Lena made herself scarce before either Jess or Rice could take her up on the offer.

  “Mind if I join you?” asked Rice.

  Jess motioned for him to sit in the chair across the breakfast table. He studied the physician as he seated himself. Jess had no idea where Rice had gotten his medical degree, but had no doubt that the man had aced the interview process. Rice was extraordinarily handsome, but it was more than just the perfect tan he got on the Ironwood fairways every Wednesday afternoon. Rice possessed that certain charm women succumbed to and men envied—unless you were someone like Jess who wondered why Rice walked around the Stark mansion like he owned the place.