The Summer Kitchen

by Lisa Wingate

  If a person wanted to disappear, the young police lieutenant said after he checked the car for signs of foul play, this is how they’d do it.

  “Mom, it’s Chris.” Christopher’s voice drove home the sharp thought that I might never hear Jake on the phone again. The sting of loss was followed by the rapid awakening of parental guilt. Christopher had dropped his phone in the swimming pool last week while he was feeding Bobo. Rob had told him to go ahead and use Jake’s.

  Rob and I had argued about it later. I’d told him he was acting as if Jake had ceased to exist.

  It’s just a phone, Sandra, he’d said. We can’t keep putting everything under glass, waiting for Jake to come back.

  I don’t want him to get back and think we just … gave away his things! Tears overcame me, and I ran away, feeling split down the middle like a piece of worn fabric. Letting Christopher use the phone wasn’t giving it away—I knew that in some logical part of myself. But even after six months with no word from Jake, keeping everything ready for his return seemed important. It was the only way to retain some control, to avoid the fact that we didn’t know if our son was alive or dead, or if he ever intended to return, or who he’d be if he did. He wouldn’t be our Jake, who smiled and laughed at everything, who knew the world was basically good, and believed that his Guatemalan mother had delivered him to an orphanage because she loved him and couldn’t take care of him. He would be a young man who’d learned some of life’s harsh realities. What would he do if he found out that his mother had tried to sell him in the marketplace before abandoning him there?

  “Hi, Chris. What’s up?” The words were overly cheerful—like a picture painted with artificially bright colors. I didn’t want Christopher to think I was sorry it was him instead of Jake.

  “Mom, where are you? Are you home?” The statement drifted into space, ending in an eerie pause that caused the hair to prickle on the back of my neck.

  “Chris, what’s wrong?” There’s been some news about Jake. Something bad. The thought raced across my mind, leaving a white-hot trail. Surely if there was news, Rob would be calling instead of Christopher.

  “Where are you?” Chris asked again. A car alarm was blaring in the background, almost drowning out the call.

  “Christopher. What’s wrong?”

  “Can you just come …” A sob choked the end of his sentence. The sound grabbed my lungs and squeezed out a painful breath. This wasn’t the voice of Christopher, the suddenly mature, fiercely independent young man who didn’t need anyone’s help anymore. This was my little boy, who ran home in tears when his friends talked him into vaulting off the edge of the culvert on his skateboard and he broke his arm.

  “Christopher, where are you? What’s going on?”

  “Near the steak place. In the parking lot. I had a wreck.”

  “Oh, Christopher.” The reproach was a knee-jerk reflex. Chris had been involved in fender benders twice already in less than eight months of driving. “Are you all right? Is everyone all right?”

  “Yes.” Christopher’s voice trembled, growing faint, so that the car alarm seemed louder and louder. “My head’s bleeding. It’s just a little cut. It wasn’t my fault, Mom. I don’t think it was my fault, but the guy says I cut him off, but I didn’t, I don’t think—”

  I interrupted Christopher’s frantic tide of words. “Stay where you are. Just don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right there.” My mind snapped to reality. I wouldn’t be right there. I couldn’t be. I was all the way across town.

  I tossed the paintbrush into the water bucket. What was I doing here? Why wasn’t I in Plano where I needed to be? “Chris, are you by yourself? Was anyone in the car with you?”

  “No. It’s just me. It’s just me and the guys in the other car. They say it was my fault, Mom, but it wasn’t. They called the police… .” Chris’s voice turned weepy and uncertain again, almost panicked.

  Digging my keys out of my purse, I headed for the door. I imagined an officer taking statements, an adult driver making accusations on one side and my confused teenager babbling almost incoherently on the other.

  “Christopher, listen to me,” I ordered, and Chris stopped sniffling and muttering about the accident. “Have you called Dad?”

  “The desk said he’s in surgery.”

  “All right,” I said as I struggled to open the burglar bars on Poppy’s front door. “All right, listen. I’m all the way across town. It’ll be a while before I can get there. I want you to calm down and think about the accident. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “I can’t, Mom. I can’t. The guys are mad. They’re looking at their car, and yelling and stuff. I’ve got to get out of here. I don’t know if my car’ll drive … I don’t … I’m not … the tire’s rammed in …”

  “Christopher!” I hollered, slamming the burglar bars shut behind me. Two little girls on a porch across the street watched as I rushed to the yard gate to retrieve Bobo. “Is the steak place open? Christopher, is the restaurant open?”

  “No. It’s closed. It’s still closed. Mom, they’re coming over here. They’re—”

  “Christopher, I want you to get in the car, lock the doors, and wait until the police come. Get in and lock the doors. Right now. Do you hear me?”

  “All right. Okay,” he sobbed. “Dad’s gonna kill me. Oh, Dad’s gonna kill me. The car’s messed up. It’s really messed up.”

  The incessant blaring of the alarm quieted as Chris closed his car door. “I’m in my car.”

  “Good. Just take a minute to catch your breath. Don’t try to start the car.” After getting Bobo loaded, I climbed in, backed out of the driveway, and rocketed up Poppy’s street. My fingers trembled on the steering wheel as I waited to turn off Red Bird into traffic, and it seemed ludicrous that I was the one telling Chris to get his wits about him. Calm down, I told myself. Calm down and watch what you’re doing. “Dad’s not going to kill you, Chris. The main thing is that you’re all right. We’ll figure this out. Now listen. You stay where you are. Don’t get out of your car. I’ll call Holly and get her or Richard to come down there, okay?”

  “Okay.” Chris’s voice was a thin, frightened ribbon. “Mom?”

  “I’ll call you back in a minute. I’m going to get Holly now.” Please let Holly be somewhere near home. Please. Please.

  “Mom … I’m sorry.”

  “We’ll talk in a minute. I’m sure it was an accident.” Was it? Chris’s record was abysmal. So much of the time, his head seemed to be off in a cloud somewhere. By contrast, when Jake was sixteen, we hadn’t experienced a moment’s hesitation about letting him drive. Jake had never so much as put a scratch on the car. After Chris’s first fender bender, we’d delayed plans to get him a newer vehicle. He doesn’t seem to be ready for it, Rob had said, and of course he’d said it in front of Christopher.

  I tried to convince myself to believe my son’s side of the story as I called Holly. She was on the way to pick up the twins from a cheerleading meeting. She headed for the steak house parking lot instead. “I’ll tell the girls to catch a ride with Stephie’s mom,” she said.

  “Oh, Holl, thanks. I’m sorry to have to ask you to do this. Chris is so upset. He really needs an adult there.”

  “I’m just down the road. Anyway, I don’t mind. You know I’d do anything for Christopher.”

  “I know you would, Holl. Thanks.” I was filled with tenderness. There was never a time Holly failed to be there when we needed her.

  “No problem. Okay, I can see the steak house. It doesn’t look like the police are here yet.”

  “Holly, be careful.” It occurred to me that I didn’t know what the situation might be by now. “Chris said the guys were threatening him. Don’t get out of the car if you’re worried.”

  “Hey,” Holly chirped. “I’ve been to Neighborhood Ranger School, remember?” Then she added, “Gotta go,” and hung up the phone.

  I dialed Chris’s number again and waited for him to answer. As I passed b
y the low-rent apartment complex, my mind spun off momentarily. I looked down the narrow strip of pavement between the buildings, thinking of the three boys in the alley, the kids in the Dumpster, and Cass with the toddler on her hip. Where were they now?

  Christopher’s voice broke up the thought. He still sounded weepy, so different from the tough mini-man who’d been hitting the books night and day these past six months, determined to handle everything on his own.

  “Hi, honey, Holly’s almost to the steak house. I’ll be there as soon as I can get across town.”

  “Okay.” Chris’s relief was obvious. “I see her car.”

  “Where are the other guys now? Are they still harassing you?”

  “They’re looking at their car again. They’re really mad. Mrs. Riley just got out. She’s talking to them. I better go.” Chris hung up, and when I called back, he didn’t answer.

  Holly sent me a text a few minutes later:

  Under control. Told them I’m your lawyer. LOL!

  By the time I finally got back to Plano, Holly had brought Christopher home. She was hovering over the sofa, dabbing the cut on his forehead with antiseptic, while Chris tried to protest.

  “Hold still!” she commanded. Christopher looked up as I came into the media room, and Holly took advantage of the chance to swab his forehead with the cloth. “This might need stitches.” If not for the situation, Chris and I would have laughed. Holly’s first reaction to every injury was hydrogen peroxide and then, This might need stitches.

  Chris winced as the antiseptic started to bubble, then he let his head roll back against the sofa, and closed his eyes.

  “He shouldn’t go to sleep,” Holly advised. “He could have a concussion.”

  “I’m fine.” Chris’s voice had lowered, had once again taken on the controlled tone of an almost-man. “I’m okay … I’m … sorry I messed up again.” A tear drifted from beneath his lashes, fell down his cheek and swirled around his ear. Dried blood had colored the tawny curls there, turning them a brownish pink.

  I felt guilty and sick. I wanted to rush to him, hold him the way I had when he was little, tell him it was all right, it wasn’t his fault. At the same time, I felt the need to know what had happened and who was responsible. As much as I yearned to soothe the hurt and disappointment, a third fender bender in only eight months was no small problem.

  “The main thing is that you’re all right, Chris,” I said.

  Holly nodded and patted his arm, giving him a sympathetic look before standing up. “Hang in there, kiddo.” She laughed softly. “Hey, you’re not even close to Cammie’s record yet. By the time she made it through her first year of driving, every police officer in the city knew her by name.” Holly’s eldest daughter had been our first cooperative experience with teenagers. Cammie was notoriously distractible, chronically late, and way too addicted to her cell phone. She’d been famous for backing out of parking spaces and running into things, including the Riley garage door. Twice.

  Chris groaned, his lips spreading into a weary smile over teeth that had only recently been freed of braces. “Now she’s comparing my driving to Cammie’s. Go ahead and just pour some more of that stuff on my head, okay? Let me die.”

  “Christopher!” I said, and both Holly and I chuckled. Chris’s response to dire situations had always been to go for a laugh. It was comforting to see him acting more like himself. I hadn’t heard him crack a joke or seen him really smile in months. He had a wonderful smile. Rob’s smile. The first time I saw Rob, I was working part-time at the hospital reception desk, and that smile caught my eye from across the room. He’d had the presence of a doctor, even though he was just a med student.

  “Look on the bright side. You haven’t taken out the garage door yet,” Holly quipped. “Cammie’s still way ahead of you.”

  Chris’s smile faded to something more forced. “Thanks for coming today, Mrs. Riley.”

  “Oh, hey, anytime, kiddo.”

  “You sure gave those guys heck.”

  “I think they really believed me.” Holly giggled. “It was some entrance, huh?”

  The question won another grin from Chris. “Yeah. I thought that one dude’s eyes were going to pop right out of his head when you tripped and acted like you were about to fall on him.”

  “For a guy whose back was supposedly injured, he got out of the way pretty quickly, didn’t he?” Holly’s face narrowed. “Jerks. They saw a kid in a car by himself, and they figured they could get something out of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hit you on purpose.” She slanted a glance at me, her expression serious. “I got their names and license number, and the name of the police officer who did the report. If anything comes of this, y’all should research and see if those guys have been involved in scams before.”

  If anything comes of this… . “What did the police say? Did they give Chris a ticket?”

  Holly squeezed one eye shut, grimaced, and shrugged toward the kitchen. “You get a Band-Aid on that cut, Christopher,” she instructed, her voice an airy contrast to the dark look on her face. “That’d be a terrible place to catch staph.”

  “Thanks for coming, Mrs. Riley,” Chris said again, then sagged against the sofa, his mouth somber.

  “Take care, sweetie.”

  “I will.”

  Holly waited until we were in the kitchen before giving me the details of the accident. “I just got a weird feeling about the whole thing,” she finished. “These guys seemed really … professional—like they knew exactly what to say and do. Chris told me that, at first, they acted like the wreck was no big deal. They offered to push his car off the road, and then after they got in the parking lot, they were all over him about the wreck being his fault, and they were kind of, well, prepping him for the police statement almost, trying to bully him into it while he was upset and confused. It’s a good thing he called you.”

  “I’m so glad you were here.” Smoothing my hair out of my face, I felt a tiny crust of dried paint. Holly seemed to notice it at the same time, then she quirked a brow and looked me over from head to toe, spattered sweat suit and all. “Holly, thank you so much.”

  “I don’t mind.” She continued surveying me narrowly. “Where did you say you were again?”

  The sense of having been caught at something caused me to look away. “Across town. So, what happened when the police officer got there? Did he say who was at fault?”

  Holly’s shoulders rose and fell. “To tell you the truth, he didn’t seem very … interested. Both cars had been moved by the time he arrived, and if there were any witnesses, they didn’t hang around. He didn’t give either one of them a ticket because by then you couldn’t tell what had happened. But those guys were pretty determined. They were being careful about what they said. I don’t know what statement they gave to the officer in private, but I’m afraid you’ll hear from them again.”

  “Ohhh, what next.” I let my head fall into my hand, feeling the weight of yet one more major issue atop the others. When was our family, our life, ever going to return to normal? When would things be good again? Right now, I didn’t think we could hold up under one more straw. “Rob’s going to have a fit. He’s already been frustrated with Christopher about his driving. He probably would have taken the car away by now if it weren’t for the fact that Jake’s …” I couldn’t force out the word “gone,” so I just let the sentence rest without it. “Anyway, Holl, thanks so much for helping. It was a lot to ask.”

  She gave me a perplexed look. “You know I’d do anything for you, or for Christopher.” She laid her hand on my arm, over a spot where spatters of paint had dried when I flipped the bristles off the edge of a shelf and accidentally sent up a shower. “Girlfriends, right?” Leaning over, she tried to find my gaze. “That’s what girlfriends do. Just like you did for me last year.”

  “I know.” Was it only a year ago that I’d held Holly’s hand during her lumpectomy, driven her to chemo, brought her soda crackers and Sprite, and shuttled h
er girls around to activities? Just last year? It seemed a lifetime ago. Jake was doing well in college, Christopher was busy with his music, all was right with the world. “How did everything else go with the doctor visit the other day, by the way? I forgot to ask.”

  Holly continued watching me intently. “All right, except that he told me I’m too fat. What does he expect? I’ve got six and a half kids constantly bringing junk food into the house, and the rest of the time I’m working on catering. None of that’s on Jenny Craig, I’ll tell you.”

  “We need to get out and walk more.”

  “Yes, we do. How about tomorrow?”

  Poppy’s house, the mess on the counter, and the issue of sandwiches flashed through my mind. If the real estate agent brought anyone over, they’d find painting supplies and masking tape everywhere. “I don’t know about tomorrow. I may be tied up with Christopher and his car. Where is the car, anyway?”

  Holly chewed her lip, then answered. “Richard and the girls went over there to push it to the side of the parking lot. The restaurant manager said it would be all right there until you can get it towed.”

  “Tell Richard thanks, okay?”

  “I will.”

  Holly started toward the door, then stopped and looked back at me. “Is everything all right … with you, I mean? Everything else?”

  “Yeah, sure … why?”

  “You just … normally wouldn’t go out running errands looking like that.” She motioned to the splattered sweat suit. “In all these years, I can’t remember you ever leaving the house without looking perfect.”

  The statement made me seem shallow and self-focused, but Holly was right. In my mother’s home, appearances were everything, which was ironic, considering what went on when nobody was looking. “You know what, Holl? With all that’s happened these last few months, it just doesn’t seem … so important.”