Random Road

by Thomas Kies

I was still holding her hands when she tried to pull away.

  I held tight. “Caroline, you hardly know me.”

  She continued to look away from me, staring out over the water. “I know that my dad loves you. And that you love my dad. And my dad says he’s known you his whole life.”

  I squeezed her hands even tighter until she turned back to face me. Caroline had tears in her eyes. “Dad says you’re a good person. He says you have a good heart.”

  I shrugged. “When we were kids, I once saw your dad eat a bug to win a bet. So what’s he know?”

  She smiled nervously for a second and then we stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time until Caroline asked, “So, can I?”

  I sighed. “Nothing’s going to happen to your dad, honey. I won’t let it.”

  She kept looking at me with eyes so much like Kevin’s that I could have cried. Finally, I said, “But in case anything happens, and it’s not going to, you can come live with me.”

  That’s when the tears really started, both hers and mine.

  She stood up and came around the picnic table. I stood up at the same time and we just hugged each other. We hugged each other so tight I didn’t think we’d ever let go.

  We had nothing in common and we had everything in common

  We both loved Kevin.

  So we both loved each other.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  When we finished crying, we talked and laughed, finished our cheeseburgers, fries and learned about each other. I gave her the sanitized version of my life, leaving out the ugliness of three failed marriages and a drinking problem. I figured that if she ever did become my roommate, she’d learn about all of that in its own sweet time.

  I discovered that, for the most part, Caroline likes school. She aces English and History but struggles with Math. Her best friend is Jessica Oberon who lives with her two moms on Evans Road just three blocks from Caroline’s house. She told me about Rob Wempen who’s in her English class and is kind of dorky and cute all at the same time but she finds him interesting because he reads poetry and wants to write novels.

  That was the segue to her mom. She told me how much her mother had enjoyed books, all kinds of books—mysteries, romance, travel, adventure, poetry, even the classics. And Caroline talked about how they all like watching movies together in their family room. Their favorites were National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and all the Toy Story and Shrek movies but their absolute favorite was Princess Bride.

  She talked about how strong her mom had been when her dad was sick for an extended time and they were, as her mom put it, “a little strapped for cash.” But her mom never complained and her dad eventually went away for a little while.

  That’s particularly curious. It sounds suspiciously like a stint in rehab.

  She went on to tell me how her mom got sick right after that, and then it was her father’s turn to be strong.

  I knew this part of the story wasn’t going to have a happy ending so I feigned looking at my watch and suggested we’d better head back to her house just in case her dad got home before us and started to worry.

  As we drove back, I wanted to ask her a tough question. She was looking out the passenger’s side window of my Sebring, staring at her neighbors’ houses as I drove past them on Providence Avenue. “Caroline?” I raised my voice to be heard over a Taylor Swift song on the radio.

  She turned toward me, cheerfully. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t get pissed off at me if I ask you something, okay?”

  She shrugged. “Okay.”

  “It’s serious.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you have an eating disorder?”

  I cringed inside even as I asked it. I’d watched her as she ate her lunch, a big, fat double grease burger, a bucket of fries, and a large Pepsi. She hadn’t wolfed it down, but she’d finished most of it.

  She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Who told you that? Aunt Ruth?”

  I’m a fanatic about protecting my sources, but I really don’t like Ruth. “Yeah.”

  Caroline turned off the radio so that she wouldn’t have to shout. “Sometime last May, Aunt Ruth was over at our house for dinner. I had a stomach bug. Dad grilled some scallops. I hate scallops. After we ate, I ran off to the bathroom and barfed. When I came out, Aunt Ruth was standing there waiting for me. She asked the same question you did. She asked me if I had an eating disorder. I told her no, but she wasn’t hearing any of it. She told me that she wanted me to see her stupid therapist, Dr. Tina Beaufort. She said that if I had a disorder or I didn’t, it would be a good idea to talk to the doctor because I’d been through a lot, what with Mom dying and all.”

  I swung my eyes away from the road for a moment and studied her face. She was gazing out the windshield, looking in the distance at something that wasn’t there. “Well, honey, you did go through a lot. Did this Dr. Tina help you?”

  She cocked her head to one side when she answered. “I had a couple of sessions with her and then she gave me a prescription for antidepressants.”

  “This doctor gave you pills? Do you think you’re depressed?”

  “I dunno, maybe I was. It was pretty bad when Mom got sick.”

  Even worse when she died. And now this kid is facing the same thing with her father.

  “Are you still taking the pills?”

  “I took ’em for a couple of weeks,” Caroline said. “Then I stopped. I know that Aunt Ruth is on some kind of meds. I don’t want to be like her. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking at the world through a pill bottle.”

  We didn’t say anything more for a while which gave me time to consider it all. I wasn’t altogether sure that Caroline still didn’t suffer from a mild form of depression. A couple of weeks in therapy isn’t much. But who wouldn’t be depressed? She’d watched her mother die a little at a time, inch by agonizing inch, right in front of her eyes.

  There’s nothing about death that’s fun. And for someone as young as Caroline, it’s particularly hard. When you’re that age, you don’t think that anyone should die.

  Period.

  But Caroline didn’t have bulimia. She was thirteen and had the metabolism of caffeinated ferret. Anything she ate, her body burned off. I’d been the same way right up until I got to college and everything I ingested took up permanent residence on my hips.

  “So Ruth told you I had bulimia?” Caroline asked.

  I sighed. “Yup.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know.”

  But secretly, I did know. I’d left out the part about Ruth blaming me. Aunt Ruth was hoping I’d catch a bad case of the guilts and disappear, leaving her the queen bee of the Bell hive again.

  That Ruth was one twisted woman. Maybe Dr. Tina should ramp up the dosage on her meds.

  ***

  As we got to the corner of Random Road, Ruth was just driving her powder blue Mercedes into Kevin’s driveway, parking behind his truck. I pulled my dusty Sebring in right next to her.

  Before I’d switched the motor off, Caroline was out of the car and dashing up to her father. I watched them hug each other as I got out.

  “How’d it go?” I lifted my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun.

  Before Kevin could respond, Ruth answered brightly, “The doctors at Mount Sinai think Kevin is an excellent candidate for a promising, new procedure they’re trying.”

  I reached out, put my arms around Kevin, and then gave him a long, lingering kiss. I wanted to make certain that Ruth got an eyeful.

  His lips are the best. He’s a wonderful kisser, soulful, passionate, and willing.

  When we finished, I took a breath. “New procedure?”

  He attempted a smile. “Promising new procedure.”

  I nodded. “Well, that sounds great!”

  I was surpris
ed to see that Ruth had gotten close enough to touch my elbow. She said in a low voice, “They said that this is Kevin’s best chance.”

  Hearing her words, Kevin’s face twitched like he’d just been zapped with a snapping jolt of static electricity.

  I said, “Well, I called a friend of mine. He’s a gastro specialist at Yale. He has some new protocols he wants to talk to us about. We have an appointment Friday afternoon. I’ll drive us up to New Haven.” I reached up and massaged his arm. “Maybe we’ll grab some pizza while we’re there.”

  “Protocols?” Ruth arched her eyebrows.

  “Specific to this type of illness,” I said in whisper, aware that Caroline was listening.

  “We already have a plan of action, “she said.

  “Only a fool wouldn’t look at all the options.”

  “Time is of the essence,” she argued. “Every second wasted reduces Kevin’s chances at survival.”

  Before I could say anything, Kevin reached out and put his hand on each of our shoulders. “Time out.”

  I couldn’t help but notice that tiny diamonds of perspiration were slowly trickling down from his hairline, etching crooked lines next to his eyes. It was hot, but not that hot. His face was flushed and his eyes were glassy.

  “We’ll look at all of it, okay? Right now, I need to go in and take a handful of those pain pills.”

  Ruth and I stood by the rear bumper of her sports car. We watched Kevin walk deliberately up the sidewalk with Caroline at his elbow, open the door, and disappear into the house.

  Concerned about his sudden pain, I was ready to follow him when Ruth grabbed my wrist and put her nose only inches from my own. “You have no idea what we’re facing here.”

  I stared right back at her. “Gee, Ruth, I think I do.”

  “Really?” Her voice low and guttural. “He has a zero chance of surviving this. Zero! Unless we do something radical.”

  I leaned in close. “That’s why I’ve got an appointment with the best liver guy at Yale.”

  Her eyes were angry slits. Ruth hissed, “You know he brought this on himself.”

  “What?”

  Ruth nearly growled when she announced, “He’s an alcoholic. They won’t even consider him for a transplant.”

  “He’s been trying to get his life back together.”

  Ruth stepped back. “Did he tell you what he put his family through?”

  I crossed my arms, staring at her, waiting.

  She balled up her fists. “Up until Joanna got sick, Kevin was a worthless drunk. He pissed everything away.”

  Don’t believe her.

  “For years he made my little sister’s life a living hell. She’s from a good family and he treated her like trash. Kevin ruined his life and he ruined hers too.”

  As she talked, I shook my head in denial.

  She’s lying. Kevin would never do that.

  Ruth continued spinning her venomous web, “Kevin lost everything. When he and Joanna were married, he had a good reputation and a thriving business. They had money in the bank, they bought this house, had a beautiful daughter and a real future. Kevin threw it all away. By the time he was done their universe was a cesspool. He inflicted indescribable pain on this family. He was a bad husband and a horrible father. As far as Joanna and Caroline were concerned, during that time, the best thing he could have done for them was die quietly in some gutter.”

  “What?”

  “The only thing that got him straight was when Joanna got sick.” She set her jaw in defiance. “Her sickness saved his life. He got himself clean, at least until she died.”

  I stepped back away from her. I was so angry at her my hands were shaking. “If he was so bad to your sister,” I asked with difficulty, trying hard to force my voice through a throat that was tight with fear and rage, “why are you trying to take care of him?”

  She straightened her back and walked around to the driver’s side of her car. “Because, on her deathbed, Joanna asked me to,” Ruth said. “She begged me to take care of Kevin and Caroline. And, by God, that’s what I’ll do.”

  With that, she got into her car, backed it out of the driveway and roared away.

  I lost track of how long I stood in the merciless heat and humidity, staring out at the empty street.

  Don’t believe her.

  My Kevin? The man I love?

  It’s Ruth. Don’t believe her.

  I held him to a higher standard that any man that I’d ever known. Did Kevin put his family through a booze-induced hell?

  Ruth lied to you about Caroline. Why is she telling you the truth now?

  The answer was simple. Ask Kevin. He’d tell me.

  He’d tell me the truth.

  Would he?

  When I walked into his house, I was shocked to see Kevin up on a ladder in the corner of the living room, nailing a last bit of crown molding to the wall.

  “What the hell are you doing up there?”

  He looked down at me with a serious expression. “Finishing up.”

  “I thought you were in pain.”

  He hammered in the last of the nail and started down the ladder. “I was. Listening to Ruth was killing me.” Suddenly he bobbed his head from side to side to peek around behind me. “Is she still here?”

  I shook my head. “She drove off in a cloud of fire and brimstone. So what are you doing?”

  He glanced around the room. “I’m tying up loose ends. I think most of it will be done by the end of today.”

  Scanning the room, I had to agree. It looked pretty nice. “The whole house?” I asked.

  He nodded. “It’ll need a little spackle and paint, but the heavy lifting is almost done.”

  How early had he gotten up this morning? I was amazed at his progress. Was this sudden urgency an unexpected byproduct of his illness?

  I changed subjects, “So your meeting at Mount Sinai went well?”

  He turned around to put his hammer into his toolbox. “About like I expected.”

  I’d hoped to hear a little more optimism in his voice. “And what were you expecting?”

  Wiping his hands off on a rag, he turned back to look at me. “That whatever they suggested was going to be long odds, really long odds.”

  Not sounding good.

  I reached out and took his hand. “But did they sound hopeful?”

  “Do you want me to tell you what you want to hear? Or do you want me to tell you the truth?”

  Please. Tell me what I want to hear.

  I answered, “I want you to be honest with me.”

  “Ruth and I spent the morning learning about all the experimental drugs and therapies that they want to try. Then after Ruth left the room, I asked the doctor what my chances really are?”

  I don’t really want to know.

  I asked the question anyway. “What did he say?

  “I have a one percent chance of lasting more than a year. The actual odds? I’ve got maybe a few months…tops.”

  Christ Almighty.

  Not going to accept that. I moved in close to him, put my arms around his waist, and my face against his chest. “Look, let’s see what my guy at Yale says.”

  He held me tight but ignored my offer. “So what are your plans for tonight?”

  “At nine, I’m covering a boat cruise full of ghost hunters. But I’m free for dinner before that.”

  “Ghost hunters?”

  “My job’s full of surprises.”

  “Dinner sounds like a plan. What are you doing after your cruise?”

  “I should be done around midnight,” I answered. “Want to grab a drink?”

  The man has liver failure, stupid.

  “That was beyond thoughtless,” I mumbled.

  He laughed. “Told you, the damage is done. I want to g
rab a drink and then grab you. I’ll pick you up for dinner around six-thirty?”

  “You’re driving? You get your license back?”

  He frowned and shook his head. “What are they going to do to me?”

  He had a point. I guess they could give him a ticket. They might take his license away completely. But Kevin didn’t care. He had bigger fish to fry.

  Before I kissed him good-bye, I considered asking him if Ruth was telling me the truth about what he’d put his family through. I’ve been with him…I’ve been drinking with him. I didn’t see it.

  This wasn’t the time or the place to ask him. It was a subject that could wait.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  I started driving home so I could walk Tucker. Three blocks from Kevin’s house, I burst out crying and couldn’t stop. I cried so hard that I had to pull off the road and park in the CVS parking lot.

  Years ago, I saw a therapist who, after only a few sessions, told me that I was clinically depressed.

  Big surprise. Almost everyone I know has the blues.

  But he also told me that I was highly functional and would be fine if I continued to see him at a hundred bucks an hour and take a regimen of antidepressants.

  Much like Caroline, I hated the idea of living from the inside of a pill bottle. The allure of a liquor decanter was much more appealing. Taking Kevin’s advice from childhood, I figured I could walk it off, as long as I self-medicated.

  On that summer afternoon, it all caught up with me.

  I don’t know how long I sat in my parked car, but I know I cried until my throat burned and my eyes ached. And when the storm was finally over, I put my soggy, torn wad of Kleenex back into my bag, switched on the key, and drove home, determined that I was going to somehow make things right.

  Tucker always makes me feel better. His slobbering, unbridled enthusiasm when I walk through the front door is like a fresh breath of puppy air. Walking him is one of my great joys in life. Consequently, I always feel guilty when I have to leave him alone in my apartment again.

  Yet I had to earn a living to pay for dog food and needed to get back to my office, so after a quick walk around the backyard, I checked my mailbox, stuffed a handful of bills into my bag, and started for the car.