Well, that shut me right up.
“What?” he asked, seeing my dismay.
“I’ve tried to think of a way to tell you this,” I said miserably.
He stared hard at me.
I drew a breath. “When your mother called you at the Mission Viejo Library, did you call her back?”
“No,” he said warily. “But what business is that of yours?”
“I think she called to tell you about your father,” I began. “Was-was he ill?”
“Yes,” he answered, then his eyes widened.
“Yes.”
All the color left his face. He lowered his head, exhaled loudly. He made no other sound for several long minutes. But then, as the shock seemed to wear off, he stood up, fists clenched. His face, so pale just moments ago, was now flushed with rage. “I can’t believe it!” he said angrily. “I can’t believe she-she asked you to tell me-”
“She didn’t!” I said quickly.
“You just took it upon yourself? Why on earth-”
“Because… maybe you should sit down again.”
“No,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me, as if trying to read my mind. “Something’s happened-what’s wrong?”
“Travis, I’m sorry, I’m-so sorry to have to tell you this, but your mother was in a car accident and-”
“She’s hurt? Where is she?”
I shook my head. “She was killed, Travis.”
“Killed?” he said blankly, as if it had become a foreign word. “Killed?”
I nodded.
“By a car?” Still unable to grasp it.
“She was crossing a street…” I said, but trailed off as I saw his face twist up with grief. “Oh, Travis-” I reached out toward him.
“No!” he said.
He turned his back to me, took a faltering step, then sat down hard in the chair. He brought his knees up, sitting sideways, curling himself up in the chair, hiding his head in his arms. “No, not her. Not her,” he said, again and again, until he began sobbing too hard to say it.
The dogs had gingerly stepped onto the deck by then, and stood with hips leaning against my knees in what I took to be some sort of pack formation against danger, their ears forward and watching him with concern. Deke looked back at me, then ventured forward first, sniffing at his shoes and singing a single, high-pitched note of anxious sympathy to him. I was going to call her back, but he reached for her and held on to her soft black coat, and soon Dunk was also sidling in to offer whatever comfort he could.
I started to go inside the house, to give him some privacy, but turned back at the last moment, unwilling to let the dogs be smarter than I was, deciding that the family stubbornness that had pitted the two of us against one another might be put to better use.
The dogs moved away as I knelt next to him. I put an arm around his shoulders. He stiffened. I half expected him to tell me to go to hell, but instead he tentatively took hold of my hand, then squeezed it tightly, not letting go. After a time, he shifted in the chair, uncurling enough to put his head on my shoulder, and we held on to one another until this first wave of grief was exhausted.
He quieted, then pulled away awkwardly and went into the house without saying anything to me. I stretched and got up off my sore knees, waited a minute or two, then followed him in, dogs trailing. I heard the sound of the bathroom tap running, and figured he was washing his face. I went into the kitchen, busying myself with wiping off the counter and rinsing the dishes from lunch.
He hadn’t come out yet by the time I finished, so I sat on the couch and waited for him. Cody took advantage of this time to lie on my lap, splaying paws and purring loudly as I scratched the particular place under his chin that cannot receive enough attention.
Eventually Travis came into the living room. He seated himself on the couch, but as far away from me as possible. Staring at the empty fireplace, he said, “Tell me what you know.”
“About the accident?”
“Whatever you know about-what happened to my parents.”
I began by talking about his father’s death, because he seemed to have known of Arthur’s illness. “I don’t know much,” I said, “only what was on the death certificate.”
“He had cancer,” Travis said quietly.
“Yes, that was listed as the cause of death.”
After a moment, he said, “I guess you know something about that. Mom told me about your mother.”
“My father, too,” I said.
“Really? Patrick died of cancer?” he said, with a kind of mild curiosity, as if I had just told him that we had graduated from the same high school.
“Yes. In fact, the doctor who treated your dad was my dad’s doctor.”
He didn’t react to that. He seemed to be caught up in some distant memory. After a long silence, he said, “Mom used to tell me this story about you. That you held me when I was a baby.”
“Yes,” I said, hoping to God he wouldn’t ask me to talk about it just then.
He seemed to sense that, though, and said, “What happened to my mother?”
I tried to be gentle in the telling, but the facts of the matter were like axes, and couldn’t be used for fine work. After a time he again grew very pale, held up a hand, then murmured, “Excuse me.”
He hurried into the bathroom; I could hear him getting sick.
When Rachel came over a few hours later, exhaustion had led to a truce on both grief and bickering.
“Where is he?” Rachel asked, as she walked into my kitchen bearing a large, foil-covered baking dish.
“Taking a nap out in the Cosmobile,” I said.
“His camper?”
“Yep. He turned down the guest room.”
“You told him about his parents?” she asked.
“Yes. He took it pretty hard. Anyone would.”
“You didn’t have such an easy job, did you? You okay?”
I nodded. She didn’t say anything for a moment, then asked, “Aren’t you afraid he’ll just drive off?”
“He might, but I don’t think he will. He wants to see Aunt Mary and to visit Briana’s grave. But he said he’d like to wait until tomorrow- wasn’t ready for either one today. I don’t blame him. And as for driving off, I suppose he’ll probably bring my cat in first.”
“Cody?”
“Yes. Cody was fascinated by the camper. Full of interesting scents and all kinds of nooks and crannies. Travis seemed to like having his company, and even left a window screen open so that Cody could get in and out if he wanted to. But I think Cody’s there for the duration.”
“So that’s why Cody isn’t in here begging. I brought lasagna,” she said, putting the dish in the refrigerator.
“Sounds great, but Travis might not have much of an appetite.”
“You two getting along any better?”
I shrugged. “Hard to say, under the circumstances.”
There was a soft knock on the front door. I opened it to find Travis standing on the front steps, sleep-tousled and pale. His fists were shoved into his pockets and he was staring at a point somewhere near my shoes. “I don’t think I can sleep any longer,” he said. “Mind if I come in for a while?”
“Of course not. Did you lose the key I gave you?”
He shook his head. “No. But your privacy…”
“Next time just use the key. You won’t disturb me. You’re here as my guest.”
He saw Rachel as she walked up behind me. She took one look at him and said,
