The Farewell Season

by Ann Herrick

  "This afternoon!" Mom spit out each syllable. "No excuses."

  I raised my hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! What time?"

  Mom cocked her head and looked at me as if she couldn't quite believe that the person sitting next to her was her son. "Two-thirty."

  "Fine."

  "All … all right," Mom said, her voice breaking. She stretched out her arms.

  I hesitated, but then for the first time in a long time I welcomed her hug. For a moment we held each other and didn't say a word. Then Mom sat up and smoothed back a stray lock of hair.

  I wasn't sure what to do or say now. "Um … how're Rolf and Kirstin?"

  "Rolf's okay, physically. No broken bones. But his feelings … well, you can imagine."

  I nodded as Mom paused to let that sink in.

  "Kirstin, you won't be surprised to hear, is madder than the proverbial wet hen."

  "I guess I have some heavy-duty apologizing to do."

  "I guess so." Mom stood up. "It's been a long night. How 'bout some breakfast?"

  I shook my head. "I'm gonna hit the sack."

  "If you need anything, I'll be in the shop all day," Mom said. "Don't forget your appointment. Two-thirty. Take my car."

  "Okay …."

  "Oh!" Mom said. "One other thing?"

  What now? "Yeah?"

  "It's my birthday tomorrow …."

  Crap! I forgot all about that. I didn't have present for her. Not even a card. "Oh, yeah," I said, as if I'd remembered.

  "I think I … we … should…celebrate." Mom seemed to have trouble getting out that last word. "It's time we, uh, did something like that. I … I want you and Kirstin both here for dinner."

  "Yeah. Sure." I tried to sound enthusiastic for Mom's sake.

  "When I mentioned this to Kirstin, she insisted on fixing a special meal, birthday cake and all." Mom managed a small, tentative smile.

  "Oh. Uh. Nice …."

  "Kirstin wants to invite Rolf …." Mom didn't have to add, So you'd better apologize to him before tomorrow evening!

  "Uh, yeah. I'll … um … yeah."

  "Paul Lindquist will be here, too."

  Jeez, I have to put up with that jerk? "Um, yeah. Okay."

  "If you'd like to invite someone …."

  "Um. I don't know …." I wasn't sure what Glynnie thought about me after last night.

  "Oh. Okay. So … anyway, dinner tomorrow," Mom said.

  "Right. I won't forget." I'm not looking forward to it, but I won't forget. "Uh, I'm kinda tired …."

  "You go take a nap or whatever," Mom said. "Just be on time for your appointment."

  "Right." With an exhausted sigh, I trudged upstairs. Just as I turned down the hall to my room, Kirstin popped out of the bathroom, shot me a look that could've turned me to stone and stomped right by me.

  I was too talked-out to talk to her then. I needed more time to figure out how to apologize.

  In my room I didn't even get out of my clothes. I plopped down on the bed. Starburst, who'd been sleeping on the corner of the mattress, trotted over, curled up on my stomach and purred. I fell into a deep, solid sleep.

  ***

  When I first woke up, I just lay there stroking Starburst and thinking. I couldn't remember too much, but I knew I'd been dreaming—for the first time in months.

  I probably would've stayed there thinking about that, but I glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost two. I brushed Starburst off my stomach, changed into some clean clothes and flew into the kitchen for a quick bowl of cereal.

  Then I dashed into Mom's shop, got the name and address of the grief counselor, hopped in Mom's car and headed for Eugene. Now that I was actually going there, I wondered why I hadn't protested more when Mom insisted that I go. Me, talk to some stranger? About my feelings? How would I start? What would I say?

  With a few minutes to spare, I found the counselor's office. I sat in the waiting room and pretended to read an ancient copy of Vegetarian Times. I stared at a picture of an ear of corn for what seemed like hours, but it probably was only minutes. Then it was my turn to see Mrs. Coleman-Dickerson. Jeez, a five syllable, hyphenated name.

  Coleman-Dickerson stood up and shook my hand when I walked in. She looked as if maybe she was a little older than Mom, and I was surprised at how short she was. At first I didn't know what to say, but Mrs. Coleman-Dickerson made it easy for me. "Just talk about whatever's fresh in your mind, Eric."

  So I started with what happened last night. I talked. I cried. I talked some more. "I remember … at the funeral … thinking that … that I'd just wait until I was older. I thought maybe then I'd figure it all out."

  "Sometimes people think they can build a wall around themselves to ward off pain," Mrs. Coleman-Dickerson said. "It doesn't work. Not for long."

  "Yeah …."I took a deep breath, then I told how last night I'd screamed at the sky that I hated Dad for dying.

  "It's natural to get angry with someone for dying, and it's healthy to get that anger out. In order to keep your pain buried, you had to bury all your other feelings too," Mrs. Coleman said. "Sometimes it's easier to deal with anger rather than some other feeling … such as fear or grief. You probably held onto your anger as if you'd drown if you didn't keep holding onto it."

  I wasn't sure. Is that what I did?

  "Now that you're starting to face your grief, Eric, you'll need to talk about your father's death, yes, but also your memories of him. His death has left an empty space in your life, but you can try to fill it with memories and personal reminders of him."

  I nodded.

  "Since you're just beginning to grieve, remember, everyone has a different timetable for healing. It will take as long as it takes. So go easy on yourself. Any unfinished business you have with your father … such as saying, 'Thanks for being a great dad' … put it in a letter addressed to him, or something. You need to express your positive feelings as well as your negative ones."

  "Yeah …," I said, not very convincingly, I'm sure.

  "Close your eyes. Picture yourself with your Dad, with his arm around your shoulder."

  I closed my eyes and I imagined Dad there with his arm around me.

  "What's he saying?"

  I tried to think. "He … he isn't saying anything. He's just standing there. His fingers pressed into my arm."

  "Show me where his hand is, Eric."

  I touched my arm, right where his fingers would be.

  "Can you feel him? Is he there?"

  "I … sort of." He … he was there, in a way.

  "He's part of you, isn't he, Eric?"

  "Yeah …." And I was part of him. Okay. I could see where Mrs. C-D, as I was starting to think of her, was going. Here was where I would find him. Not in the cemetery. Right here with me. Or at the stadium. Or at the fair.

  "Nothing can take away your memories."

  That's right. Nothing could take away my memories of Dad. They were good memories. Too short. But good.

  The time I spent with Mrs. C-D seemed like five minutes instead of almost the hour it took. I thought that one session was it, but she had me schedule another appointment. I figured Mom would be pissed if she found out I didn't.

  I left feeling half as if I never wanted to talk about it all ever again and half wanting to talk some more. I did want to start my apologies. Not just to get it over with, but, I hoped, to make things right.

  As I hit the outskirts of Crystal Lake, I remembered Glynnie said I should explain my sudden break-up to Hedy. So I decided to start with her. Not because it was the most important. I just thought—hoped—that'd be easiest and maybe give me the nerve to apologize to Kirstin and Rolf.

  I circled the block a couple of times then pulled in front of Hedy's house. I sat in the car wondering if maybe talking to Hedy was a dumb idea. Maybe I should just leave it alone. But then I noticed a face peeking out the window at me. It was Hedy.

  Slowly, I got out of the car, walked up the sidewalk, climbed the front steps and tap
ped on the door.

  Hedy answered. With a tentative smile she said, "H-hi, Eric."

  "Hi." For a moment, I stared at her face. I'd almost forgotten how beautiful she was. As I studied the way her shiny black hair tumbled carelessly over her shoulders, and her dark, satiny eyes looked at me with deep longing, I couldn't help but remember why I'd hooked up with her in the first place.

  "Would … would you like to come in?" Hedy asked uncertainly.

  "Huh?" I snapped out of my trance. "Uh, that is, let's sit on the steps. Okay?"

  "Sure."

  We sat down. Hedy looked at me with hope in her eyes.

  "Look," I said. "I … I came here to apologize. For the way I broke off with you. I wasn't very … nice."

  "Oh, Eric. That's okay—"

  "No. No, it's not okay. I'm sorry. I want to explain."

  "All right …."

  "After my father died … I just couldn't … it hurt so much that …. When I broke off with you I just wanted to avoid a big emotional scene. I'm sorry for the way I've treated you. Really."

  Hedy chewed her lip. "Does … does this mean you want to get back together now?"

  Of course she'd think that. Did I want to start seeing her again? She was so nice and so beautiful.

  But. No. I had been planning on breaking up with her anyway, before Dad …. Dealing with Dad's death hadn't caused the breakup. It just made it harder. Hedy and I didn't have much in common, and I was tired of dating a girl just because she looked good on my arm.

  So, as easy as it might've been to simply pick up where we left off, I said, "No. I just wanted to explain. I hope we can … be friends." That was kind of a copout, but I didn't know what else to say.

  There was a hint of tears in Hedy's eyes, but acceptance, too. "Sure, Eric. We can be friends."

  There was nothing more to say. I took her face in my hands and kissed her goodbye.

  When I stood to leave, I saw Glynnie ride by on her bike. I waved. She didn't wave back.

  I wondered how she could've missed seeing me. Or did she? Maybe she was ignoring me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Just as I pulled the car into the garage, I saw Kirstin in the back yard out by the fish pond. Apologizing to her was not something I was used to, but I had to do it. Big time.

  I swallowed hard and threaded my way through the shade of the fir trees along the spongy, mossy path. Kirstin was kneeling at the edge of the pond, so busy feeding the fish that she didn't hear me coming. It wasn't until she saw my reflection in the water that she realized I was there.

  She jumped to her feet. "Go away! Leave me alone."

  I flinched, surprised at the level of fury in her voice. "I-I just want to talk. I want to—"

  "I don't want to talk to you." Kirsten's face was tight and blotchy.

  "But—"

  Kirstin slapped her hands over her ears and spun away from me. Her long silver-blonde hair seemed to hang down her back like a steel curtain. "Leave … me … alone."

  I'd never felt such pure anger from anyone, much less Kirstin. I needed time to figure out what to do. "Okay," I said softly. "I'm going."

  As I picked my way back through the shade garden to the house, I had a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. How could I get through to Kirstin?

  What could I say? I tried to think. Could I … maybe … put it in a letter? I went to the living room and got a pen and piece of paper. I sat at Mom's desk and tried to think. But words wouldn't come.

  I stood up. I stared out the window. I paced around the room.

  Then, just as I heard Kirstin come in the back door, I had an idea.

  I ran over to the piano and sat down. I hadn't played since forever, so, even with the music in front of me I had a hard time picking out the notes. But I kept at it and hoped Kirstin would recognize what I was playing. I'd been thinking of it as the song Dad always sang with her. As my fingers slid over the keys, I remembered that he used to sing it to me, too, at bedtime, when I was little—until I told him I was too old to be sung to.

  I plunked my way through a few bars and started to think it was hopeless. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Kirstin standing in the doorway. In a shaky voice, I tried to sing "All Through the Night," but my voice trailed off before I could finish the first line.

  "Oh, God, Eric. I miss him so much."

  "Me too …."

  Next thing, Kirstin and I were in each other's arms. Our tears ran together.

  For a few seconds we couldn't speak. Then Kirstin wiped away some of her tears. "Eric, I just want to remember Dad. I want us to keep him close to our hearts."

  "Me too …." I paused, then took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I'm sorry about last night. I don't even know why I did it. I was such a jerk."

  "No kidding." Kirstin's voice was still teary, but there was a familiar sarcastic tone in there, so I knew she'd forgiven me. "I just hope you can patch things up with Rolf. You really hurt him."

  "I know." I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand, trying to erase the image of my fist smashing into Rolf's nose.

  "I mean, you really hurt his feelings," Kirstin scolded.

  "Yeah, I know … but I don't know how I'm going to make him see how sorry I am …."

  "I don't know either." Kirstin crossed her arms in front of her chest. "But you'd better do it soon. As in right now."

  "I don't know … maybe I should wait … let things cool off a—"

  "Er-ic!" Kirstin's voice rose an octave on the last syllable. "Immediately is not soon enough."

  "Yeah, yeah, you're right." It wasn't that I didn't want to apologize to Rolf. It was that I was afraid to. I mean, Kirstin would always be my sister. But I might have lost Rolf's friendship for good. I wasn't sure I could face that. Still, I had to try.

  So it was back to Mom's car for the long, winding drive out to Rolf's. I tried practicing what I was going to say. But when I turned into the entrance to Holst Farms I was still clueless. I parked in the crowded lot and sat and watched the customers asking questions, poking at flowers, paying for plants and shrubs at the stand next to the farmhouse.

  Finally, it got too hot to sit in the car. I got out and looked around, hoping I'd find Rolf right there in the center of things. Maybe it'd be easier to talk to him if we weren't alone.

  I spotted his grandfather. Or was it his great-grandfather? The Holtz men were all made from the same burly, blue-eyed, apple-cheeked mold. The percentage of white hair was about the only way to tell the difference from a distance.

  Still, there would be no problem with the name. "Hi, Mr. Holtz," I said, finally determining it was Rolf's grandfather when I got close enough to tap him on the shoulder.

  "Eric, how are ya?" Mr. Holtz's hand landed on my shoulder like a slab of prime beef. If he knew what happened and had any hard feelings for what I did to Rolf, he didn't show it.

  "I-I'm …. W-where's Rolf?"

  "Way out back." Mr. Holst gestured toward the Southwest corner of the farm. "Loadin' trees into the truck for delivery."

  "Okay if I talk to him?" I asked, almost hoping Rolf was too busy.

  "Yah, sure!"

  "Oh. Uh, thanks …." I felt exposed and vulnerable as I walked through the rows of shrubs in the outlying fields. The air was still and the chatter of customers faded into a dusty silence. In the clear wide sky the sun seemed to focus on me as if it was shining through a magnifying glass. Any minute I was sure I'd spontaneously combust and disintegrate into a pile of ashes.

  Or maybe that was what I was hoping.

  Finally, I saw Rolf, but he didn't see me. I had time to turn and run. Still, I drew closer, watching Rolf lift trees in twenty-gallon containers into the truck as if they were kindling.

  He could have snapped me in half like a twig last night if he'd wanted to. Maybe he just didn't want to exterminate me in front of Kirstin. Maybe he just wanted to wait until there were no witnesses.

  I was still picturing my gory demise when Rolf looked up
and saw me. He slammed a tree onto the truck, wiped some sweat off his forehead, stood with his hands on his hips and stared at me.

  "Hi," I said, feeling incredibly stupid.

  Rolf didn't say a word. He just kept staring, with a look in his eyes I couldn't figure out. His nose was kind of swollen and starting to get black-and-blue, but I'd seen him look a lot worse after a game.

  "Hey," I said, feeling even more dumb the second the word was out of my mouth.

  "What do you want?" Rolf's voice was hard. "I'm busy."

  I gulped. Without a torrent of words flowing out if his mouth, it hardly seemed like Rolf. "I … I came to apologize."

  "Okay. You apologized." Rolf grabbed another tree and flung it onto the truck.

  "I'm a jerk! An idiot! A fool! A … a … a …." I tried frantically to think of a word to describe my complete failure as a friend and a human being.

  Rolf set down the tree he'd started to pick up.

  "I'm sorry! What I did was awful! Terrible. Horrible. I don't even know why I did it. I saw you kissing Kirstin and I was … was …." Suddenly in my babbling confession it dawned on me. "I was jealous."

  "Jealous?" Rolf raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised.

  "When I saw you with Kirstin, it was like … like I was losing her to you. And you to her. I couldn't stand to lose anyone else. Especially not my … my best friend."

  "That's crazy …." Rolf shook his head.

  "I know … I'm just figuring it out." I took a deep breath and let it out. "That must be why I was so blind to what was happening with you and Kirstin. I couldn't admit to myself what the whole world could see, that you … that Kirstin … that you and Kirstin …."

  "Love each other?"

  "Yeah."

  "You dope." Rolf gave me a shove. "As if I can't … you know …." His face turned a beefy red. "It's not as if I'd have to choose between you and Kirstin."

  "Okay, so I'm clueless."

  Rolf let loose his big-hearted laugh. As soon as the last notes of laughter faded, he touched his swollen nose. "I'm really gonna hear about this at practice on Monday."

  "Say you ran into a door." I still wasn't sure if I wanted to go to practice, that I would play football. I loved the game, but things were so different.