Better Late Than Dead: Episode 5

This is episode five of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins.

Episode 5

Rich drove the Jeep into the driveway at home. He turned the engine off. It seemed strange to him that, two years after the death of his dog, Duke, he still expected Duke to run, bark, and wag his tail to happily greet him.

The odor of the evening meal greeted Rich at the back door: pot roast with potatoes and vegetables. He walked through the kitchen. He greeted his mom and went to the bathroom to wash for supper.

Dad sat at the head. Mom and Rich sat across from one another. They passed the food and began eating.

“How was your day, Mom?” Rich asked.

“So, so,” Mom said.

“How ‘bout you, Dad?”

“Same ole, same ole,” Dad said. “What about you?”

“Well, this may come as a surprise…”

Mom interrupted. “You’re moving out.”

“Yeah,” Rich said.

“Where ya movin’?” Dad asked, seeming more interested in making sure he had plenty of potatoes.

“I’m moving to…” Rich grinned, and his eyes moved back and forth from Mom to Dad. “Well?”

“I thought you might complete my sentence,” Rich said.

“Those fancy places on the west side?” Mom asked.

“No,” Rich said. “I’m moving back to Maine.”

“What!” Dad stopped chewing. His look was nearly scornful. “I called a friend who is the news editor of a newspaper in Augusta, Maine. He has a job for me.”

They continued eating as if nothing had been said. Only the sounds of the utensils against the plates could be heard.

“I start the first of the month,” Rich said, and waited for some sort of question or curiosity. “As soon as I get a place, I’d like for you to come up and visit,” Rich said.

“Nothin’ there I’m interested in,” Mom said.

“Just lobster,” Dad mumbled.

“Potatoes too,” Mom said. “I bought some Maine potatoes at the grocery store last week.”

“I like the ones from Idaho better,” Dad said.

“They grow potatoes just north of here,” Mom said.

“They ain’t very good,” Dad said. “They use them for potato chips. That’s about all they’re good for.”

“Didn’t you work with a guy who was a potato farmer?” Mom asked.

“Bob Shoemacker,” Dad said. “And it was sugar beets, not potatoes.”

“Who was the potato farmer?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know a potato farmer,” Dad said.

“Bob Shoemacker grows potatoes, not sugar beets,” Mom said. “Remember, he brought us a fifty-pound bag of ‘em.”

“The only person to bring us fifty pounds of anything was Sam Ellers,” Dad said. “And that was fifty pounds of apples from his dad’s orchard.”

Rich cleared his throat.

“What!” Mom said.

“I wanted to talk about moving,” Rich said.

“So, you’re moving,” Dad snapped. “People are always moving.”

“I know, but I wanted to talk about us,” Rich said.

“What about us?” Mom said.

“Yeah,” Dad said. “Is there something wrong with us?”

“No,” Rich said. “It’s just that I wanted to leave on better terms than I did the last time.”

“The last time!” Dad gripped his fork.

“Yeah, Dad,” Rich said. “I took all the blame, not to be gracious but to put forth the truth. It was my fault.”

“We weren’t good enough for you,” Mom said, shoving her plate forward.

“Look, there’s nothing more I want to do than hug both of you and shed a tear as we say goodbye.”

“What about the first time?” Mom said. “We had plenty of tears, but you weren’t around.”

“Your mom got fired because of you,” Dad snarled. “She worried herself sick.”

“And you should have seen all the looks we got,” Mom said. “We were outcasts. Nobody talked to us. We lost all our friends.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I lost all of mine, too,” Rich said.

The fist holding the fork hammered on the table. It echoed like a crashing chandelier. Rich calmly leaned back in his chair. His chest tightened, and his head began to tingle. Suddenly, it was nine years ago. He felt like a fifteen-year-old boy.

“Mom, Dad, I didn’t want to bring up bad memories or for any of this to happen.”

“We began to lead a peaceful life,” Dad said.

“Yeah, and I came back,” Rich said.

“You only came back to show us how good and decent you turned out without us,” Mom said. “You’ve been rubbing our nose in it for two years. Everybody is saying how proud we must be of what you have done with your life. A writer. Sailed around the world. A reporter for the newspaper.”

“No sir,” Dad added. “You ain’t gonna be like one of us heathens. You’re refined.”

“You know,” Rich said, “I’ve never said a word to anybody about sailing around the world or writing two novels. The only person I’ve said those things to is a guy I work with and the personnel manager at the paper. Mom, I’ve heard you on the phone telling everyone about me. And Dad, a couple of your old buddies told me that you told them all about me.”

Mom and Dad looked at each other with nothing to reply. Rich turned to his mom.

“Do you remember the night you tried to kill us all by aiming the car at a tree?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Mom said. “No such thing happened.”

Rich turned to his Dad. “That night, you and Mom were drinking. You didn’t know what theater I was at. You couldn’t find me when it was time to pick me up. You went back to the bar. You never looked for me. And in a drunken tirade, you blamed Mom for infidelity. And you blamed it all on me! That went through my head for six years, and only after I found Bridgett was I able to forget and forgive.”

“But you won’t forgive, right?” Dad barked.

“Forgiving is only possible with remembering,” Rich said. “It takes cutting, digging, and scraping. It’s painful. Did you do any of those things?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dad said.

“Did either of you ever talk about that night?” Rich said, bracing his emotions.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Mom said.

“Will you go with me to the records section of the courthouse?” Rich asked. “There is a complete report on the accident. You two said a dog ran out in front of you, but Mom, you were overheard sobbing and saying you wanted to kill us all.”

Mom stood and swiped her plate off the table. “Why, why are you doing this!!!” She panted.

“I don’t know,” Rich said. “I don’t know. I wanted us to heal. When I first came home, I thought we were well on our way. I tried on several occasions to talk, but you were both looking for an exit each time. I knew it would be hard. I was always willing to shoulder more than my share of the blame. I would take it all.”

“Look what you’ve done,” Dad gnashed. “You haven’t changed one bit.” His jaw tightened, and his lips quivered.

Rich stood. “I’m sorry,” Rich said. “I’ll pack. I’m leaving tonight.”

Rich plodded up the steps. He packed a garment bag, a duffel bag, and a seaman’s bag. He hauled everything to the Jeep. Mom and Dad watched the television as he walked by the living room entrance. They paid no attention.

He started the Jeep. He looked up at his bedroom window. The light was on. Thoughts ran through his mind about how many times, while away, he wished he could lie in the solitude of that room and feel safe and loved. He paused.

The room fell dark.