“Good. I’m actually on the way there. Didn’t I tell you I was coming?”
“No. I think I’d remember something as momentous as that.”
I chuckled. “Okay. Well, should be there tomorrow night.”
“In time for dinner?”
“If you like.”
“Of course I like. I’ll make your favorites.”
She sounded as excited as if she’d won stuff on a game show and I wondered what I’d done to deserve great parents.
“I’ll save up room and come starved.”
“You do that, sugarbunch. I can’t wait to see you.”
It was so comforting to hear her thick Southern drawl. It had all but disappeared in modern times, what with Midwestern being spoken from a flat screen while grabbing a beer at the bar, waiting in line at the bank, waiting for a flight at the airport, even waiting for the gas tank to fill up.
“Love you. See you soon.”
I ended the call and looked at the open suitcases. How was I going to explain all this?
I’d spent a lot of time sitting in the car. Maybe a walk would clear my head.
When I got down to the street, I asked the doorman, “I want to walk a little and eat a little. What do you recommend?”
“Fancy or just good food?”
“Just good food.”
“You like Chipotle?”
“Who doesn’t like Chipotle?”
He chuckled. “It’s about eight blocks.”
“That’s perfect. It’s a nice night.”
“Yes, sir. Exactly seventy degrees.”
He gave me directions. I gave him a tip.
It felt good to walk. I arrived ten minutes before they closed at eight so I ordered a burrito to go. I walked it back to Discovery Green, which was only a block from the hotel, bought a beer from a small step-in bar, and ate on a park bench while listening to a small jazz band playing for tips.
Everything about the moment was good. The burrito. The beer. The park. The music. The temperature. The fact that I had a black American Express in my pants and a Porsche Boxster parked at the Four Seasons where I was staying. So why did I feel so unsettled? So incomplete? Like something absolutely essential was missing?
It was inexplicable. I had the feeling that I was missing a chunk of my stomach, the place where peace and sense of well-being reside.
After a restless night of dreaming about being arrested for auto theft, identity theft, credit card theft, and burrito theft, I checked the weather the next morning before I left. Sunny all the way. So I reverse engineered the convertible top using the same method. You Tube video. The valet parker was a big help. I found out that it’s easier with two people.
I sped through east Texas, over the Atchafalaya Swamp, took I12 north of Pontchartrain because it was the most direct route, but got off long enough to find a lakefront crawfish bar for lunch.
When I got back on the road, I passed a turn off to New Orleans and felt something tug at my mind. There was something about that I was supposed to know, but couldn’t remember.
I picked I10 up again close to the Mississippi border, but decided to take old Highway 90 to Biloxi because it hugged the shoreline and was a beautiful drive. I remembered that from times I’d driven the route before the L.A. years.
The water was gorgeous, the sunlight creating a sea of sparkling silver over blue. I alternated between watching the road and appreciating the scenery. Going through Pass Christian I turned my head to the right to see the beach. For a second I thought I saw a woman in the car with me, hair black as night pulled back into a ponytail that was ruffling in the breeze. I didn’t see her face. It startled me enough that I jerked the wheel and got a honk from a truck in the oncoming lane.
When I felt safe enough to glance back at the passenger seat, no one was there. I was pretty sure I was going crazy.
When I passed the casinos and resort hotels at Biloxi, the Hard Rock caught my attention. What was it about that? Something I couldn’t quite remember, but it bothered me like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.
As planned, I made it through Mobile before rush hour and pulled into the driveway at Fairhope right at five o’clock. By the time I got the door open and stepped out of the car, my mother was rushing out the door.
“Oh, my lands, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Willem!” She pulled me down so that she could give me big smooches on both cheeks. Her enthusiasm made me laugh and temporarily forget my troubles. Eventually she was able to take adoring eyes away from me and look at the car. “And what heaven’s name is this?”
“Car.”
“I’ll say! Looks like a nice one. Love the color. And I think it suits you. So does this mean you’re a movie star?”
“Hardly. It means I’m a failed actor slinking home with his tail between his legs.”
“Well, you slink in mighty fine style.”
“Come get settled in while I finish dinner. What do you think we’re having?”
“Fried catfish?” She nodded and grinned. “Lots of lemon slices and tartar sauce?”
“Of course. If I didn’t know that about you, I wouldn’t be your mama.”
“Mashed potatoes?” She nodded. “Green beans with bacon?”
“Hundred percent correct. And a special surprise for dessert.”
“Nobody cooks like you, Mom. It’s kind of a wonder that I escaped from home without weighing three hundred pounds.”
“Oh, now. We have salad sometimes.”
I laughed. “Yeah. As an appetizer before an entrée of something deep fried.”
“Well, I don’t cook Cal-fusion cuisine. Whatever that is.”
“I could explain it.”
“No.”
“Okay. Is it just the three of us for dinner tonight?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Everybody is coming.”
“Oh, good.” I wasn’t sure I sounded sincere, but I tried.
Actually I was glad there’d be a crowd because it would be easier to hide all the stuff I didn’t know about my life. I hauled the bags around to my old room at the back of the house. There was something really comforting about the fact that it hadn’t changed at all in ten years. Maybe the folks had left it alone because I was the only one who didn’t have a real home.
My two older brothers had gone into the construction business with my dad and were doing well. My sister’s husband worked at the resort so, strange as it is in this day and time, the entire family stayed close by in Fairhope.
That meant that the house would be filled to bursting with siblings, in-laws, nieces, nephews, and me. Mom fussed that there was no hope of seating everybody at the large dining table so we had to be satisfied with just the adults. The older kids were allowed to fill plates and eat on the picnic tables outside. The kids too young for that were fed in the kitchen, moms running back and forth between adult talk and kiddie care.
It was a circus.
And I loved it.
Right up to the minute when the dreaded question popped up.
“So, Will, what about that car?”
Geoffrey asked the question, but it could have been anybody. They all wanted to know.
I’d been over the answer to that question a hundred times in my head and still didn’t have a satisfactory answer. At the moment of truth, I lied.
“It was a parting gift from my agent. I think she felt bad about the fact that she’d never gotten me a single acting job in ten years.” Eight pairs of eyes stared at me like they were waiting for more. “Sorry, guys. There’s no more to the story. The car looks good, but it’s not new. I got it used.”
“Oh, well,” said Geoff. “That makes all the difference.”
Geoff was born second after my brother, Thadeus. He liked to stir the pot, which was exactly what he was doing.
“Yeah,” is all I said.
Mom rescued me. “Well, it’s a beautiful car. It’s nice you have something to show for the time you spent in California.”
“S
o what are you gonna do now?” asked Thaddie.
“Go back to school. And maybe write some young adult fantasy books.”
“About what?” asked my sister, Vivienne.
I smiled. “I had this idea about a beagle who thinks he can turn into a big black bear.”
Viv laughed. “Sounds like fun.”
Geoff’s wife, Linda, said, “I’ll preorder right now.”
Mom had disappeared into the kitchen, but I began to smell something incredible.
“Mom!” I yelled. “Are you making Bananas Foster?”
She poked her head out. “In your honor, prodigal son.” She looked at Viv. “Vivienne, round up a couple of the grandkids to help carry to the table and come dish the ice cream for me.”
Viv got up and disappeared into the kitchen.
Before any more questions were posed that would require lies for answers, I did a preemptive strike with questions of my own.
“What are you working on right now, Dad?”
He was sitting at the end of the table, still fit with a flat stomach, and tan. I’d heard somebody call him handsome, but I couldn’t remember who.
When he smiled, the skin formed crinkles around his eyes. “We’re working downtown Mobile. Renovating an old apartment hotel. Turning it into something called a ‘boutique’ hotel. Irish pub, flower shop, hotel entrance on street level. Rooms above. Stripped it right down to studs so we could rewire, reconfigure the floor plan, and fit with new plumbing. They’re calling it Suite Home Alabama.”
I chuckled. “Catchy. Wonder where they got that idea? Sounds like the only thing you’re keeping is the place on the block.”
Dad chuckled. “Pretty much.”
Kids were coming in and out delivering bowls of bananas foster which meant that people sitting at the table forgot all about conversation for a few minutes.
“Mom!” I yelled. “This is incredible!”
She came to the kitchen door and took a bow.
As soon as I’d finished with dessert, I got up, carried it into the kitchen and dove into cleanup. There was some resistance since dinner was supposed to be in my honor, but I insisted on doing dishes.
“It’s your welcome home dinner. You’re not supposed to do dishes.”
“I won’t take no for an answer,” I said. “Let me feel useful.”
I did the dishes with two sister-in-laws, kept them talking about their kids, school, soccer, swim team, etc. Since it was a school night, everybody packed up and headed away early leaving me with my mom and dad.
“Y’all are gonna have to forgive me, but I’m turnin’ in early.”
“Oh, sure. You drove all the way from Los Angeles by yourself. Of course you’re tired.” Mom gave me a quick hug.
“Yeah. Night.”
I had no idea whether I’d driven from Los Angeles or not. And that bothered me. Where had I been and what had I been doing during the last year that had gone missing from memory? Where was I coming from when I ‘woke up’ on I10?
Shutting the door of my old room, I glanced at the bags sitting on the twin bed across the room from the bed I slept in. I pulled off my boots, stripped down to my boxers, and unzipped the small bag. The book was sitting right on top. I picked it up, turned on the bedside lamp, turned off the overhead light, and crawled into bed.
It was only eight thirty, but I had to escape before I was forced to tell more lies. Lying to parents had ceased to feel recreational before I turned twenty.
I focused on the book. There had to be a reason why it was the only one I had with me.
The first part was a history of Wimberley. It was reported that it was founded by an English couple about the same time Sam Houston was fighting the Battle of San Jacinto. It was rumored that the husband had been a highwayman in England and that they’d fled with stolen money to a new life one step ahead of the law.
I turned the book over and looked at the cover again. The story seemed so familiar to me, I was thinking I must have read the book before and forgotten about it. Reading on through Deck Durbin’s history with the Texas Rangers and Pleasant Wimberley’s determination to keep the ranch and tavern going on her own, the story continued to feel overly familiar.
Sometime during the night I woke with the book on my chest and the bedside lamp on. I turned off the light, put the book down, and tried to go back to sleep, but a nagging feeling of emptiness clawed at me, like a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied.
The next morning light poured in between the white shutter louvers that covered the windows in my room. I brushed my teeth, threw water in my face and hair, smoothed it into submission, pulled on a pair of jeans and padded into the kitchen.
“There you are beautiful boy,” came my mom’s cheerful voice. “How about some coffee?”
“Yes,” I croaked. “Sorry. Morning voice.”
“Sit yourself down right there and let me bring it. I’m not always gonna want to wait on you, but you’ve been gone a long time and I feel like fussin’ over you a little.”
I did as I was told and sat down at the big kitchen booth built in the shape of a crescent moon. “Dad already gone?”
“Long time ago. He’s still an early riser.” She set a cup of coffee in front of me. That was followed by cream and sweeteners. “What are you doing with your day?”
I stared into the cup of coffee. “Not sure. Matter of fact, I was wondering if I can just have a few days to do nothing? I won’t stay long. I just need to kind of check out for a little. Would that be okay?”
She scoffed. “Of course, Will. If you’re still here in six months, we’re going to have a talk, but you’re welcome to sanctuary for a few days.”
It was such a relief to hear that, it felt like a reprieve. I waited for the brick in my stomach to feel lighter, but nothing happened.
The first day I sat on the side of my bed spinning the black American Express end over end in my hand. When Mom called me for dinner, I said I wasn’t feeling up to snuff and asked if I could just eat in my room. She agreed, but looked worried.
The next day I went out, bought myself a laptop at Best Buy, had the geekoids set it up for me, ate tacos at Jack in the Box, and drove home.
I got my folks’ wifi password and found out that I could withdraw fifteen thousand dollars in cash before the card expired in fifteen days. But I could buy condos, cars, and all manner of things that could be sold so that I could matriculate through a degree without having to work.
It seemed like a good plan, but I would have to get busy if I wanted to close real estate transactions and buy tons of resalable stuff in two weeks. And that was the rub. I didn’t feel motivated to get busy. I didn’t feel motivated to do anything except sit in my childhood room and wonder what I’d forgotten.
After four days of this behavior, my mother knocked on my door. I opened it.
“You could use a shave,” she said.
I palmed my face and rubbed. “Yeah.”
“And you look awful.”
“Yeah.”
“Come have an iced tea with me.”
“Mom…”
“Now.”
“Okay.”
I trudged behind her to the kitchen. She’d cut a few fresh canna lilies from the garden and set them on the table.
Dutifully, I sat at the table and waited. She set an ice tea in front of me.
“What’s the problem, Will? You’ve spent four days in your room doing something that looks a lot like hiding. You’re thirty. Too old for that nonsense. What’s going on?”
There were only two choices. Lie or tell the truth. If I lied, she’d know. If I told the truth, she might think I’m crazy.
“Heart to heart? If I tell you the truth, it has to be confidential. You have to promise.”
“You know I’m good at keepin’ stuff to myself when I want to. What’s the problem?”
“It’s big.”
She blew out a breath. “Am I going to need an Arnold Lit?”
“It’s ten in
the morning.”
“Answer the question.”
“Maybe.”
She got up, and set an ice tea glass on the counter. She pulled the gallon jar of sweet tea out of the fridge and poured until the glass was a third full. She then pulled out the gallon jar of lemonade and filled the glass another third full. Stepping out the back door, she pulled a sprig of mint from the plants she kept by the back steps, ran tap water over it and threw it in the glass. Next went in enough ice cubes to fill it almost all the way up. The last step was the part that caused my mother to rename her favorite concoction Arnold ‘Lit’. She added three ‘splashes’ of vodka to the Arnold Palmer and stirred. Satisfied that she was ready for anything, she sat down again.
“Okay. Hit me,” she said.
I blew out a breath. “Okay. Here goes. I don’t know any other way to explain this. I woke up behind the wheel of that car to find that I was being pulled over by highway patrol on I10 the other side of Houston. He said I was doing eighty seven in a seventy five. Anyway, disoriented doesn’t begin to cover it. I thought he was gonna say it was grand theft auto. ‘Cause I have no idea where that car came from or how or why I was heading east on I10 with a black American Express card and six pairs of cowboy boots.”
The smile left my mother’s face. I had her one hundred percent attention. She took a drink of Arnold Lit without taking her eyes away from me.
“He asked me for proof of insurance and my driver’s license. What I pulled out of my wallet was an Alabama license with this address on it. Same for insurance. My name. This address. So he gave me a speeding ticket and let me go. I don’t have to tell you that doesn’t make any sense because I haven’t used this address for more than a decade.”
I took a drink of tea and a deep breath before continuing.
“So I have five thousand dollars cash in my wallet in addition to the black American Express card that expires the end of this month. In ten days. I have no idea where any of that came from either. What’s more? I’ve lost a whole year. Last thing I remember I was planning to quit acting and come home, but that was October of last year.”
“Do you think you’re mixed up in organized crime? Drugs?”
WILLEM (The Witches of Wimberley Book 1) Page 19