After a silent breakfast of his own, eaten with eyes downcast to obliterate anything but his cereal bowl, the child slipped away to a solitary play, leaving his father to the privacy of the cabin.
~ * ~
Lance failed to notice his son’s silence. In fact, Lance frequently failed to notice his child at all. It was much easier that way for both of them.
Picking up his sketchbook, Lance drifted slowly through the forest until he found a suitable subject. He crouched on one knee while his deft fingers made the charcoal fly across the page, capturing the fluid lines, the impudence of the grin and cheeky eyes of a squirrel perched upon a moss covered stump, making chips fly from a pine cone.
As page after page was filled with the same animal, catching it in different poses, Lance’s face lost its taut lines, his eyes, too often bleak and introspective, took on a warmth, a glow. His usually grim mouth curved in a slight smile. All this was wiped out as his son came tearing through the bush, not expecting to find his father at work in this place.
Kevin yelped like a stepped-on pup, his face becoming pinched, white, his eyes round and staring. His lip quivered. “I didn’t see you, Daddy, I didn’t,” he whispered, backing away, clenched fists held tightly by his sides.
Lance felt the rage he was scarcely able to control building in him. His teeth snapped shut as he clenched his jaw in order not to roar at the boy. But why? In God’s name why did the kid have to be such a namby-pamby little thing? Why did he have to cower and cringe? Why does he have to look at me like that? With great effort, Lance forced himself to relax, but the tension was still in his voice as he spoke.
“Was there something you wanted?”
“No, Daddy.” Again, the whisper, the lowered head.
“Then go and play.” How difficult not to bellow, then get the hell out of my sight!
Kevin said, “Yes, Daddy.” Sad eyes in a guilt ridden face surveyed Lance for one brief instant before the boy crept, too late quiet, through the trees and underbrush.
The woods were scary, full of awful silences which made the roaring in his ears so loud Kevin wanted to make noise just to hear something other than nothingness or wind in trees. Even hearing his big, gruff father speak to him was better than silence, though it made him want to cry.
Lance groaned softly as he put the palms of his hands to his aching head. What the hell was the matter with him? Why had he spoken to the kid like that? And why had Kevin’s attitude been what it was? What a stupid idea this had been! If only he had listened to Lorraine, as always, instead of letting Keith talk him into this farce, this fiasco.
Keith Summers, an old friend who just happen to be a pediatrician as well had recommended this month—totally isolated, trapped on the island, in an fourteen by twenty-foot cabin with Kevin. It was all Keith’s fault. No, he amended, not entirely his. He, Lance, had not been forced to do it, but desperate, he had decided to forget the fact that Keith disliked Lorraine and would say anything simply to disagree with her.
Lorraine had said, “Look, Lance, I know both you and Kevin inside out. You can’t get along with him for more than two minutes, and he’s scared stiff of you. If you don’t want to listen to me anymore, let Marsha have him.”
“Marsha will never get her hands on him again. You know how I feel about that,” he had exploded.
“Of course I know,” Lorraine cut in smoothly as always, wanting to soothe him, make his path easier. Good, efficient Lorraine…
“But Lance, he’d be so much better off with someone who truly loves him.”
“Don’t you?”
“Frankly, no. And neither do you. He’s too much like— He’s not easy to love. Too prickly, too easily hurt.”
“But why doesn’t my own son love me? He used to. Lord knows I want to be the kind of father he needs. . And I think he wants me to as well. Trouble is, I can’t seem to break through the barriers, to get to know him. As Keith said, I have to learn about him and the only way to do it is like this.”
Lorraine’s mouth had thinned, and she remained silently disapproving for such a time that Lance found himself apologizing. “I’m sorry, Lorraine. I know I’ve always followed your lead when it comes to what’s best for Kevin, but this time I have to try it my way.”
“Keith’s way,” she had snapped, and sailed out, chin at an aloof, disapproving angle.
~ * ~
Kevin wandered across the narrow, south end of the island, staying close to the creek. Here, it was not so dark, so gloomy as under the trees. Dappled sunlight lit the shallow water and the child squatted down on the bank to talk again to his only friends—two silent trout. They reminded him of the goldfish Auntie Lorraine had let him have when he wanted a puppy like the one Mikey and Jennifer got. She said that the puppy was noisy and would bother Daddy and that the goldfish were better. They were quiet and clean. They stayed small, too, because they lived in a little bowl. Kevin had wanted a huge fish tank like at the aquarium, where they even had sharks with big, sharp teeth. Those sharks—even the salmon in other tanks—we big.
Maybe that was why his fish weren’t growing. Could it be that all the worms he’d been feeding them in the past three days since he and Daddy came here would never help them get big? Maybe they needed more room.
“I’m going to make your pool bigger, fish,” he told them, “and then you’ll be able to grow up and be big, big fish and go find your mother. I bet if you could find her, she’d like you.” He dug with his hands at the bank of the creek, hoping to widen it, but the mud and gravel just came right back in. He got a big stick and used that. The rocks he moved didn’t make the creek wider, they just sat there looking like little islands, until one rolled down and came up against a big limb, which had fallen from a tree and stuck in the stream. He noticed how the water sort of stopped for a minute or two when it came to the rock and the limb, then rose up and spilled over it. Where that happened, the creek was a bit wider, a little deeper, too, he thought. He dragged more fallen tree branches and put them with the first one. Mrs. Ford had showed the class how beavers built dams. That’s what’d he do. Build a dam to make his fish’s pool bigger. But the force of the flow carried the branches away, tumbling them downstream toward the western shore of the island, a place he had not yet visited. Daddy had told him not to go near the ocean. He had to stay where he could hear Daddy call when it was time to come and eat.
He wondered if Daddy would help him make a big pool for the fish. But Auntie Lorraine said he wasn’t to make a nuisance of himself or Daddy might get mad and then his head would hurt. Besides, Daddy was always too busy.
With a sigh, he gave up his attempt at dam building. “Sorry fish, but I guess you’ll just have to stay small until I’m big enough to make a better pool for you.” The fish swam uncaring into the shade of a the devil’s club again and settled onto the bottom. Kevin threw a small rock into the pool and watched successive rings of waves lap at the gravel bar. It wasn’t long past breakfast, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt just to follow the creek a little way… He walked on down the course of the stream, head hanging, deep in thought.
His quick imagination conjured up the next-door family. Mickey, only five, but bigger than Kevin, Jennifer, the three-year-old and Mr. and Mrs. Lawson. Mr. Lawson laughed a lot and sometimes smelled like beer, especially when he was barbecuing. Mrs. Lawson was pretty and made cake.
He tried to imagine them walking beside the creek with him, but they kept getting far, far away and waving, saying, “Bye, Kev. See you next month,” just like they had when they left for Disneyland the day before he and Daddy had come here.
It must be nice to have a mother. He tried to make Mickey’s mother come back like he sometimes could night when it was dark and he was just about asleep. Then, Auntie Lorraine would fling open his door and say, “What’s that doing in your mouth?”
Always, she waited until he was nearly asleep, feeling warm and happy thinking that Mickey’s mother had just tucked him in and kissed him and given
him a cuddle like she had one time when he’d had a sleep-over at Mickey’s house.
When the door opened and the light flashed on all the same time sometimes he couldn’t get his thumb out of his mouth fast enough and then she scolded him and put that awful stuff on it.
Kevin was sure Mickey’s mother wouldn’t do that, and if he had his own mother, she wouldn’t either. It wasn’t Auntie Lorraine’s fault. She had never been a mother and didn’t know that at night it was dark and something might come out of the shadows, and the thumb made it not so bad. That’s what Mickey’s mother said, anyway, and she said she’d cuddle him just any old time he wanted her to. She had lots of cuddling room on her lap. But still, it would be nice to have a mother of his own…
So deep was he in his dream that he almost missed his great discovery. He thought, as he squatted down, that if it hadn’t been for the root he had tripped on, he would’ve missed it altogether. He touched gently, patted once, then rose to back away quietly. When he felt he was clear, he darted along the very edge of the creek, feeling the thick tangled underbrush tear at his jeans, at the bare skin of his torso. Panting, he skidded to a stop, wondering why he was running.
He didn’t know where Daddy was, and even if he could find him, what would happen if he told him what he’d found? Daddy would get mad at him for interrupting… But maybe, just maybe, if Kevin could manage this all by himself, Daddy wouldn’t mind. It might even make him happy!
He retraced his steps, this time making no attempt at stealth.
~ * ~
Lance sat idly, listening to the sweet, hushed sounds of the forest, breathing in the scented air. Salty aromas wafted from the shore fifty feet down along a trail. The tide must be out, exposing seaweed. Faintly, he heard the lapping of waves on the rocky beach from which jutted a short pier and a floating dock. Now he owned the island, he supposed he should buy a boat for the two mile trip out here from the nearest inhabited island, where his friends, Jim and Mary Hopkins lived, instead of relying on them to transport him. Not that they appeared to mind. He smiled. The elderly couple were good folks, and as the previous owners of the island, had built the dock and renovated the cabin he and his son now occupied. Not much had changed since the time, nearly three years ago now, he’d spent four months in that cabin alone but for the occasional visit from Mary and Jim, bringing fresh supplies to him. At least, that’s what they’d claimed to be doing. He’d figured then, and still did, they’d been checking on him to make sure he hadn’t jumped off a cliff or something. He hadn’t been suicidal, just under huge stress and grieving the loss of his mother, not to mention the failure of his marriage and the business he’d inherited from his father.
That had been then. This was now, and he while he was still dealing with the fall-out of those disasters, he’d hoped the peace and seclusion might provide the same kind of healing as before.
Mingled with the ocean sounds came the muted roar of a waterfall as it spilled from a small lake in center of the island, tucked into a fold of the hills. The first day he’d flown over the island, unnamed until he chose to name it, he’d resolved to hike up there and sketch, then possibly paint that waterfall—in watercolors, of course. It would be a change from the animals and plants he normally used on his line of note-paper and greeting cards. Why not tomorrow? he asked himself, anticipating the way the light would stream through the trees, fall in golden patches on moss and grass in natural openings, the mist that would drift up from the base of the waterfall, blackening the rocks, glistening in drops on whatever vegetation thrived in its moist environment. Yes. He would go... That’s what this month-long trip to his island was all about, wasn’t it? Exploring the place—and maybe, his own mind.
Then, he remembered. Kevin. He couldn’t go. It would be too far for a six-year-old to hike over such rough terrain. Nor could he leave his son.
Dammit, he shouldn’t even have brought Kevin with him but…
His mind wandered back to the time, only a few weeks ago, when his friend Keith had lowered his stocky frame into a basket chair on the back porch. Keith, drink in hand watched Kevin, who played in a sandbox with the kid from next door. The two little boys made roads and ran plastic cars and trucks along them.
“Scrawny little guy, isn’t he? He used to be chubby,” Keith said with a chuckle in his voice, but the undertone of professional interest was evident. “He looks pale, too. Too pale for this time of year. Hell, in July most kids I see are toasty-brown from the sun, unless they’re sick and in the hospital. Does he eat well?”
“All right, I suppose.” Lance sensed disapproval in Keith’s snap diagnosis of Kevin’s condition. “Lorraine doesn’t complain.”
“Don’t you keep an eye on that sort of thing?” the doctor asked with deceptive casualness. Then he added, “I’m glad you asked me to come out this afternoon. It’s been too long. I haven’t seen Kevin since he was a toddler. That’s the trouble with being too busy—you only get to see sick kids. Say, call those two up here and let me have a better look at that son of yours, will you?”
Reluctantly, for Kevin always managed to make Lance feel like a dreaded tyrant and consequently guilty as hell, he called out to Kevin. Both boys froze in their play, casting apprehensive glances toward the porch. Kevin approached slowly, feet dragging, head down. Mickey skinned through the gap in the hedge, headed for home and safety.
“Yes, Daddy?” Kevin said, monotone.
“Nothing much,” Lance said, trying to keep his voice easy. “I want you to meet a friend—”
“Keith Summers!” boomed the doctor shoving out a large hand that engulfed the hand of the startled child. “Hi, Kev. I used to know you when you were just a little boy. Go to school now, don’t you?”
“Kindergarten,” Kevin replied as he surveyed the stranger with suspicion which would’ve done justice to a maiden lady interviewing a prospective gardener.
“Hey,” Keith grinned. “I went to kindergarten, too. I wonder if you know the song? He sang, ‘There was a man named Michael Finnegan…’”
Lance watched the quiet transformation of his son’s face as it went from suspicion to cloaked interest and then through the whole gamut of emotions until he was leaning, a bare half hour later, confidently against Keith’s knee, grinning up into the doctor’s face as he listened to yet another wild story.
Lorraine’s arrival brought it all to a halt as she spoke sharply. “Kevin! I told you your father had a guest and to play quietly in the yard. What are you doing here?”
Before Lance’s eyes the glow of pleasure fled Kevin’s face and he became once more the subdued shadow Keith’s personality had temporarily illuminated. The doctor now ruffled the child’s hair and held him firmly beside his leg while smiling up at Lorraine.
“Hi, Lori,” he said, a gleam of pure devilment in his brown eyes as he delivered what Lance knew—and Keith knew Lance knew—the much hated shortening of her name. “How’s it going?”
“Hello, Keith,” Lorraine replied coolly. Then, ice crackling in her voice, she said, “Would you please release Kevin so he can come in for dinner?”
“Already?” Keith’s mobile face expressed mock dismay. “You did say six-thirty, didn’t you, Lance? It’s not even six yet and I had a late lunch.”
“Kevin,” said Lorraine said in a taut tone, “does not dine with us.”
“Oh, but we were just getting reacquainted after all these years,” Keith protested, then appealed to Lance, “Let’s make an exception this once. School’s out for the summer and a treat never hurt anyone.” He smiled at Lorraine, but a note of steel had crept into his voice. “Why not give Kev a little snack now to hold him over till dinner time?”
Kevin’s too-solemn eyes never left his father’s face as Lance thought for a moment before saying stiffly, “I never interfere with Lorraine’s decisions regarding Kevin.”
Lorraine extended an imperative hand toward the boy. “Kevin, I spoke to you.”
“Yes, Auntie Lorraine,” he murm
ured, so low that Lance could barely hear him. He was unsurprised. Kevin always spoke like that.
Keith, however was amazed and showed it. His sparkling brown eyes shone with indignation under his unkempt eyebrows. “It’s nice to see an obedient kid, but it makes me sick to see a cowed one. Damned managing female. That’s one good little guy you have there, Lance, and I’d like to spend a bit of time with him. He seemed to take to me. Let me try to find out if there’s a problem you—or Lorraine—might have missed. Say,” he brightened visibly. “Let me give you a break tonight. I’ll read him his bedtime story.”
Lance looked blank. “His…?”
“Doesn’t he get one?”
“I wouldn’t know. That’s Lorraine’s department.” Lance was becoming increasingly weary of discussing Kevin. Heaven preserve us from overzealous baby doctors, he thought, mixing fresh drinks for himself and his guest.
“When I told Lorraine you were back from your year in Australia, and that you were coming for dinner tonight, she suggested making it a foursome,” he said, to change the focus of attention away from his son. “She’s invited a friend of hers, but she won’t make it until after seven. I think you’ll like her—name’s Michelle Kowalski. I’ve met her a couple of times before. She seems like a nice enough woman—a good listener, if nothing else.”
“Ha! Too much stock put in that ‘good listener’ stuff. Girl’s probably just as brainless as your redoubtable housekeeper, brainless, but with enough clues to hide it by keeping her mouth shut.”
“Leave Lorraine out of this. You’re too hard on her. She’s not brainless by any means. She runs this place like a clock.”
“More like a ship… A prison ship… Everything done by the bells. I tell you Lance, it wouldn’t have hurt Kevin to stay up for once. I wanted to see what is eating habits are like. He’s too darned thin!”
“Now wait a minute! Are you here as a guest, or as a bloody doctor?”
Gypsy Magic (The Little Matchmakers) Page 2