Going Home

To Tiffany, Kelsey, and Matt,

who have given me life’s

greatest gift—meaning.

The Old House

often I go back

searching out familiar

corners

the carpet frayed

by years of boots

and shoes bare feet

the wooden door

once splintered

by an angry fist

somewhere I’ll find a piece of twine

a cord

a Christmas ribbon

to tie up

bits of sentences

and words

perhaps a song

will drop like crystal

on the broken step

– from Going Home, poems by Margaret Grote

Going Home

I drive home

following the sparrows

searching for the hidden sun

it’s fifty years to Bakersfield

this way the conveyor belt

neatly measured in fence posts

every twelve feet

and hammered down

by metal ferrules

in two colors

even the blue haze

moves with me

closing off the exits

one by one

into the mustard fields

– from Going Home, poems by Margaret Grote

For My Son Who Was Killed

how could they put you

into this small box

your spirit floating

like a seabird

on every wisp of wind

your hands gentle

as a whisper

how can the twinkle

of your eyes

fit so squarely

into the corners

even in your bones

you were impelled

to struggle

like a gull beating its frantic message

on a window glass

if your spirit

should return

it will not be

to these ashes

in this familiar place

where the pine needles

soften the rugged cliffs

but to the craggy peaks

or the lone hills

where the fog

folds the moon

in great blankets

– from Going Home, poems by Margaret Grote

Prologue

The belt was tight around his neck, but he was alive. Alive, but falling. Freefalling from an impossibly high bedroom ceiling.

His voice, nearly shouting, echoed in the chambers of Brad’s inner ear. Help me, Brad, help me! I don’t want to die!

Brad hurtled through the air with him, frantically struggling to loosen the belt. Perspiration flowed freely from his forehead. He blinked rapidly as it seeped into his eyes, making it even harder to help his brother.

Then, the loud snap of the suddenly taut belt.

Brad jerked his head violently back into the pillow. His heart beat like the wings of a caged bird. He swallowed, licking dry lips, then glanced at the red digits on the bedside clock: 3:24 am. The sweat was real, large drops rolling down his face. He used the sheet to dry them, then flipped the pillow to the cool, dry side.

This was a new nightmare—the falling. He often dreamt of walking through the bedroom doorway and crashing into the swaying body. Sometimes the body was lifeless, but other times Eric was alive, calmly speaking, telling him it was okay, that this is what he wanted. Then, in the next dream, he would run smack into a decayed body, unrecognizable as being Eric. But he had never had one like this—falling through space, unable to save him. This one was the worst.

Tension escaped his body like a slow leak in a helium balloon. But sleep was impossible. If only I could hold Ann in my arms. We would make love and everything would be okay. I could exhale and everything would be fine. If only I had Ann right now. She’d make everything alright.

At last, dawn slipped through one end of the curtains, ending the tortuous night. Daytime was easier.

Chapter 1

He arrived ten minutes early to Palisades Park. In a light drizzle, the girls raced back and forth on the well-lit field. To the right were baseball diamonds, and beyond the playing fields, a small lake and acres of rolling hills dotted with large eucalyptus trees.

He drove up and down the aisles of the parking lot, searching for a space. Parents waited in their cars for practice to end. The cars of players braving the raindrops in an adult softball game filled the rest of the lot. Now in the middle of the aisle closest to the field, he glanced behind. Not blocking anybody, so he turned off the engine. Eight-year-old Caroline galloped up and down the field like a slightly out-of-control young colt.

He rooted as if it were a game. Something about watching your child compete—almost as if he were out there with her, bumping the other kids out of the way to clear a path. C’mon, Caroline! Go get it! Get it! C’mon!

A short, polite honk from a mini-van interrupted his spectating. He started his car and left the lot, finding a spot about a block away on the street, just out of sight of the field. The freight train ring tone on his cell sounded.

Hello, Ed. What’s the latest?

I don’t have good news—the landlord’s not budging. They’re sticking with annual rental adjustments and a fifteen dollar allowance. That’s their final offer.

He stomped his foot on the floorboard. Shit! They’re not gonna go for it, man. I can’t believe this is gonna die over these two bullshit things. The extra TI money is ninety thousand and the rental adjustments probably add up to less than a hundred. For chrissakes, it’s a six million dollar deal!

Brad took a deep breath, exhaled, and spoke in a softer tone, as if he was confiding something. Ed, if it were me, I’d sign on the dotted line right now. But I’m not calling the shots, I’m just the messenger. And they’re telling me they’re gonna walk unless the deal’s a little sweeter.

Well, I hate to bring it up, but your side of the commission adds up to about two hundred, fifty grand. If they end up staying put, you got nothing. You may want to talk to your partner about pitching in some of your fee to help make this happen.

He pounded the steering wheel in rhythm to his words. Listen to what I say, Ed. The. Fee. Is. Not. On. The. Table.

Alright, alright. I was just throwing that out there. I’m not sure what else we can do.

He ran unsteady fingers through the silver strands which had invaded the dark brown hair of his youth. Let’s review the deal points one more time.

They spent the next several minutes going over the basics of the transaction.

How about term? If we go to seven years instead of five, what’s that worth? Brad asked.

I don’t know. You think that’s something your guys would consider?

Not sure, but I can ask. Why don’t you find out if the landlord will give us the extra TI money and stretch out the rental adjustments if we go to seven … oh shit! I gotta go. Gotta pick up my daughter. Talk to you tomorrow.

The digital clock on the console read 7:15. In a panic, he jumped out and raced toward the soccer field. He stopped at the parking lot entrance and rubbed the back of his neck. No lights—no children.

He shivered, but not from the chilly, late October evening. He shouted, Caroline!

Other than lights on the baseball diamond, the surrounding park was ominously dark, made more so by the low hanging rain clouds blocking the moonlight.

He jogged through the now half-full parking lot. Caroline! Caroline! One occupied car caught his eye as he ran past. He motioned for the man to roll down the window, then recognized Caroline’s soccer coach. Breathing hard, his elbow resting on the roof of the car, he spoke in short bursts. Ron, thank God it’s you. I was supposed to pick up Caroline but got caught up in something. Do you know where she is?

Ron Taylor sat ready to turn the keys in the ignition. His daughter, Allie, held a soccer ball in the passenger seat. No, I figured she was with you. She was the last one here—waiting right over there. He pointed to the sidewalk next to the children’s play area. Allie, did you see her?

The rosy-cheeked girl pulled her dark, wet hair back in a fist and leaned toward the driver’s side window. I asked her if she needed a ride and she said she was waiting for her dad.

Brad nodded and straightened, looking over the car to the empty play area. Suddenly everything moved in slow motion. The distant thud of a bat connecting with a softball, then the cheers from the dugout, reached his ears like a forty-five RPM vinyl playing at thirty-three speed.

Ron’s voice brought him back. I loaded the balls, cones and nets in my car—when I looked back to check on her, she was gone. I figured you had picked her up. You sure your wife didn’t get her?

Coach Taylor, his soaked Red Sox cap firmly in place, unfolded his lanky six-foot, seven-inch frame out of the car and began scanning the grounds. Brad looked up at him, momentarily startled by his height, then reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone.

Hey, Bobby, this is Dad. Is Caroline home?

She’s not here. I thought you were picking her up at soccer.

I am, but … is Mom there?

Lauren came on. Brad? What’s wrong? Where are you?

I’m at the soccer field, but I got here a little late and I can’t find Caroline.

What!? How could you get there late!? With all the creeps that hang out in that park! I swear to God, Brad … I’m coming over there right now.

He moved the phone away from his ear and stared at it, shaking his head before stuffing it back in his pocket. He began jogging up and down the length of the parking lot. Caroline! Caroline!

Ron yelled out, I’ll check the restroom.

The two men returned, Brad battling hyperventilation. I swear, I … I gotta … start exercising. The shoulders of his suit coat were darkened by rain. A combination of rainwater and perspiration rolled down the sides of his face. She might’ve started walking home. We live pretty close, at the other end of the park.

A white Toyota Land Cruiser squealed to a stop next to them. Lauren jumped from the car, her face nearly matching her plain, white t-shirt. Any sign of her?

We were thinking that maybe she started walking home. We’ve walked here lots of times, so she knows the way.

She glanced at Coach Taylor, then back at Brad. There was a note of hysteria in her voice. Did you call the police?

No. This just happened. I mean … she’s probably just …

Lauren shot him a thunderous look. We need to have them keep an eye out. She got her phone from the car and dialed 911.

Brad ran to his car to retrieve a flashlight and Ron got another out of his trunk.

By the time he came back, she had finished the call. They say … She paused, took a deep breath and released it. that this does not warrant sending someone. She told me to look around the park, check our home, and if we don’t find her, call them back. Oh, Brad, I just want to find my baby!

The four of them did a fast jog across the soccer field, then spread out into the darkness of the massive park.

Chapter 2

He jogged, walked, then jogged again, up and down the gentle slopes. He called into the darkness, Caroline!, heard Ron Taylor, then Lauren, do the same, as though they were echoes. He swallowed, or started to, but couldn’t find a drop of saliva. Where is my little girl? She’s usually so cautious about everything, it’s hard to imagine her voluntarily going this way. The high, wet grass soaked his leather shoes and the bottom of his pant legs. On a downslope, the grass ended and he slipped on a patch of reddish brown mud. He fell hard on his hip, the flashlight flying out of his hand and rolling to a stop several feet away. Well, that’s what I get. That was pure karma.

The cold, muddy wetness soaked through to the skin, up and down his left side. He planted his hand firmly in the mud to get himself upright. Nothing hurt too bad. He bent over for the flashlight before making his way carefully down the small hill. Caroline! He shone his powerful beam in all directions, but only tree trunks were illuminated, no little girls. Caroline! If a homeless person lurked amidst the eucalyptus, he was well hidden. Faintly in the distance, Daddy! Finally! His heart leapt. He answered the call, Caroline! Nothing but silence. Is it my imagination? Caroline! Again, silence in return. A beam of light appeared in the distance.

Caroline! Ron Taylor’s call let him know the light was his.

His eyes darted left, right, then behind, in search of his daughter. Ahead, through the forest—lights, the streetlights at the edge of the park. In a few minutes he arrived at the street and checked for Ron, Allie and Lauren. He reached for his cell to call his wife, but she appeared a ways down the road as he dialed. Any luck? he yelled out as he ran her way.

Tears mixed with mascara stained her cheeks. No, nothing.

Ron and Allie emerged from the park about a hundred yards down the road.

Brad dialed the house, but it rang twice and went to the answering machine. The boys aren’t picking up, he muttered. Let’s go to the house. Maybe she beat us there or maybe she found a ride.

Lauren nodded.

Nothing, huh? he shouted to Ron and Allie.

Nope.

We’re heading to the house.

Alright, we’re right behind you.

BRAD ARRIVED FIRST and swung the front door open. Caroline! Are you here?

I’m in my room.

He sagged against the door jamb like a stretched-out old sweater, closed his eyes, and said under his breath, Thank God. He called exhaustedly to Ron, Allie, and his wife, who were coming down the driveway together. She’s here!

Lauren pressed the palm of her hand to her chest, then brushed past Brad into the house. Ron apologized for letting Caroline out of his sight. But it was unnecessary. It was nobody’s fault but Brad’s, and he knew it. His daughter was the most precious thing in the world and he had put her in harm’s way. They joined Lauren and Caroline in the family room and he gave his daughter a hug.

Caroline turned her head toward Allie. What are you doing here?

Allie put her hands on her hips. We were looking for you. Where’d you go?

Caroline stepped back from the embrace and looked up at her father. "Where were you? I waited and waited and looked all over. Finally I just decided to walk."

Brad knelt down, wrapped his hands around her head, and looked her in the eye. I’m so sorry I was late, honey. I promise it’ll never happen again, okay?

Okay. It was kinda scary in the park. I ran most of the way.

Lauren held her by the shoulders. We’re just happy you’re okay, sweetheart. And don’t worry, we’re not going to be late again. I’ll pick you up from now on. She shot a glance at Brad that might have killed a lesser man.

BRAD WALKED BACK through the park with Coach Taylor to retrieve his car. After returning, he drove Lauren back to get hers.

He stole sidelong glances at his silent wife in the passenger seat. I’m really sorry, honey. The parking lot was full so I had to park down the street. Then I got sidetracked by this big deal I’m working on. It’ll never happen …

She cut him off in mid-sentence. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, and with you not sleeping well, with the nightmares and all … it can’t be easy.

That’s no excuse. I just screwed up.

But she’s fine and everything turned out okay.

Thanks for understanding. I’m sorry and it’ll never happen again.

There was silence for the rest of the short trip. He pulled alongside the Land Cruiser and parked the car. Okay, honey, I’ll see you at home.

But she didn’t open the door. Her hand was on her forehead and tears gathered.

Honey, what’s wrong?

Oh, Brad, I don’t know. It’s just everything. I know you’re doing the best you can, but you’re never there. I want a partner. It’s just really … hard. She searched his eyes for an answer that wasn’t there. I know we’ve talked about this a million times.

It’ll get better, I promise. If I can get over the hump on this one deal—we’re so close. They’re arguing over …

She put a hand up and interrupted. It’s always one more deal. Ever since we’ve been married, it always been, ‘everything will be fine after I finish the next deal’.

Honey, I …

It’s okay. It’s not you, really. It’s me. She bowed her head and spoke softly as tears rolled down her cheeks. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.

Sorry—what do you mean? Sorry about what?

But she didn’t answer, just got out of the car and closed the door.

WHAT’S THE JOKE of the day? Caroline jumped up and down in little hops. She looked like her mother—thick, blonde hair, blue eyes, and skinny as a rail.

He put his hand to his chin and frowned. Hmm … knock knock.

Who’s there?

Ben.

Ben who?

Ben waiting out here forever. What took you so long to answer the door?

She giggled. That’s a good one, Daddy.

Other than being deserted by your father at soccer, how was your day?

It was really great. You’ll never guess what happened. She started hopping again.

Still on one knee, he smiled and put his hands on her shoulders, bringing her to earth. What? Tell me.

You know the painting of the panda bear I did in my art class?

Yeah?

His cell rang. Before she could tell him her news, he eyeballed the screen with a grimace.