Page 11 of The Leaves In Autumn
“Am I right?”
The tears rise and I hold them in, by the force of will. Van reaches inside his pants pocket and brings out a folded piece of paper.
“If you decide to talk with someone about it, here’s a good choice. I think you should at least give it a shot. What do you have to lose, bro?
“Where did you get this? Who knows you were going to give it to me?”
“Nobody knows. It’s my idea and I’ve kept it to myself. One of the brokers I work with was talking about how much she helped him when her son died of suicide.”
I take the paper. Without opening, it is stuffed in my pocket.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.”
Despite my protest, he’s glad I didn’t toss the number on the table. I can tell.
“Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
Driving toward Nobel’s property at dusk puts me in a reflective mood. It is a conspiracy of the trees and river and the big sky to make me face myself. They are stoic, if nature can be defined in human terms. Taking what comes, regardless of the size of the storm. I must be a weaker sort. I have to work to make it through a sunny day.
I didn’t expect the darkness to get worse. There is no denying it has. The pockets of real joy I feel seem to be getting fewer. Except for Teddy. He is the one reliable happiness I have had. Then there is Barbra. A person I have only known for a handful of years. When I am with her, the weight of sorrow seems lighter. Probably because she never knew my wife, or Kristen, or the old me. The one my family misses and will never know again. You cannot revert to the old you when something so dramatic has shaped you into something new.
Maybe I will check the shrink out. Shit. That is what it has come to. Having to ask a stranger to make things better. Pitiful. Weak. I can always say thanks but no thanks if I hear any kind of bullshit though. If she is the upbeat type or she digs too fast. Or if the telling is too painful, I can run away again, back to this internal stillness. That’s a laugh. As if it comforts at all.
Nobel’s property. I was unaware I was even driving the last few minutes; didn’t even realize I had turned onto the long drive. Talk of the upcoming wedding will lift everyone and take the attention off me tonight.
The two-story copper roofed house sits on a clearing bordering an open field. Wildflowers look Instagram perfect this time of year. Another few weeks and they will be at their zenith. The Yellowstone River and Paradise Valley are on display in a three sixty view.
Seeing old Maudie’s ramp to the house tugs at my heart. The big sheepskin dog bed at the door is long gone, but I still see it. The old girl was a gem and Nobel loved that dog deeply. We all did. Death has wounded us repeatedly. People, animals, relationships. All just passing through. Guess it is everyone’s story in life. Sometimes I wonder how we can act so happy.
Their cars are in the driveway. How many times have I worn the title of last to arrive? Parking behind Scarlett and Parrish’s SUV, I take a deep breath before exiting. The front door opens onto the wide wrap-around porch with the wooden chairs. Dad walks out carrying his granddaughter and a margarita. His full beard has taken getting used to, but it goes with his Uggs and an artist’s nature. Living in Paris last year changed both their styles a bit. They sort of regressed to their bohemian days in the sixties. He raises his glass in my direction.
“It’s a Mexican theme! Your mother is already feeling good.”
“Hello, Princess Poppy!”
Scarlett’s daughter sends me a shy smile and buries her face in Dad’s shoulder.
I take the steps up, hug the bear and exchange cheek kisses.
“How does Mom put up with that? It scratches.”
“I don’t tell her what to do, and she doesn’t tell me. That’s how.”
“Very modern of you, Dad.”
“It isn’t modern at all. Our generation invented the idea. Where’s your partner in crime, son?”
“Who’s that?”
I get a pointed stare for my attempt to plead ignorance. Guess that’s where Van gets it from. I fold to the master.
“She’s on a date. Sends her regrets.”
“Too bad. I like that one.”
