The Farewell Season (16 page)

"Hey, can't a guy get creative in the kitchen once in a while?"

"That depends." Before I could stop her, Kirstin pinched off a piece of coffee cake and popped it in her mouth. "Hmmm. If the results are this good, I guess your creativity is okay."

We sat down for breakfast. Mom wolfed down two pieces of coffee cake. "That was great, but I've got to get to work and catch those early-bird shoppers."

I was just thinking maybe I should offer to help Mom, when Mr. Lindquist arrived. I felt a twinge of irritation at him for showing up at our door. Of course, with him helping Mom, at least I'd be off the hook.

After Kirstin and I finished eating, I started clearing the dishes off the table.

"You wash and I'll dry," Kirstin said.

"Okay. Thanks."

For a few minutes we silently washed and wiped dishes. Then Kirstin said, "So, you going to ask Glynnie to Mom's birthday dinner?"

"I dunno. No."

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "Um, I know she's busy then." I didn't want to tell Kirstin I was afraid to ask, because I thought Glynnie was mad at me for pawing at her the other night.

"Oh. Too bad. I have a great dinner planned, and a surprise dessert."

"Yeah?" I said, trying to work up some enthusiasm. "Sounds good."

As soon as we finished cleaning up, I decided I'd better do something about getting a card and present for Mom. I didn't feel like driving to Eugene, so that pretty much left the Crystal Lake Flower and Gift Shop a couple blocks over on Glenwood Avenue, in the opposite direction of Glynnie's house. I walked kind of listlessly along the hot sidewalks, gazing without thought at other pedestrians I passed along the way.

The little bell over the door jingled as I entered the gift shop. I was greeted by a blast of cold air. Mrs. Sven, the shop owner, always kept the air conditioning on full force all summer.

"Good morning, Eric," Mrs. Sven said cheerily. "Is there something I could help you find?"

"I'm just looking right now," I said. For what, I wasn't sure. The store was packed with all kinds of little gifty things that tourists like. I decided to pick out a card first. I almost chose a funny one, but then went for the frilly pink one that said stuff about what a great mother she was. I figured Mom deserved that after putting up with me lately.

I checked out the flower arrangements in the refrigerated display case. Front and center was a "Birthday Bouquet." I thought about getting that for a second, but figured Kirstin would bring in flowers from her garden that would be just as nice, maybe nicer.

I looked over all the little vases and paperweights and other knick-knacky stuff, but didn't see anything that seemed right. Maybe I should've driven to the mall. I was just wondering if I still had time, when Mrs. Sven said, "I have perfume now, some very nice fragrances, right over there."

Perfume? Yeah, Mom liked perfume. I walked over to the counter Mrs. Sven pointed to. I wasn't sure if I should sniff each one, or just go by which came in the prettiest bottle. Then I saw it. Something called "Blue Riviera." The label also said, "Made in France."

It came back to me that every once in a while Dad got Mom some French perfume and she'd get totally excited. "Ooh,
French
perfume," she'd always say. "How extravagant!
Thank
you!"

I picked up the bottle of Blue Riviera. It was kind of expensive.

Mrs. Sven suddenly appeared at my side. "That's a lovely fragrance." She picked up a tiny sample bottle, opened it and held it out for me to sniff.

"Mmm. Yeah. That is nice." What the heck. I owed Mom a nice gift for her birthday. "I'll take it."

"Would you like me to gift wrap that?" Mrs. Sven asked. "It's free."

"Sure. Thanks." I felt good about the perfume. The gift thing turned out to be easier than I thought.

Practice, however, was a different matter. Nothing easy there. It was hot, I was tired and Horton yelled at me for not hitting hard enough. So on the next play, when the ball went to Steve Grant, I remembered what coach had said. I hit Grant hard. Coach blew the whistle, but I kept going, knocking Grant to the ground and thumping the wind out of him.

Horton went nuts. "What the hell are you doing? You hear that whistle, you stop! You do what I say or you don't play. Understand?" He didn't wait for answer. "Hit the showers! Practice is over for you today!"

I'd never been thrown out of practice before, ever. As I stomped off to the locker room, I was one inch away from quitting. My stomach twisted into a knot. I was so numb with rage I couldn't think, so I didn't even try. I was on autopilot as I showered and dressed.

When practice was over, Rolf found me waiting in his truck. I could've walked home, I guess, but something made me wait.

"He's no Coach Short," Rolf said. It seemed like forever since Coach Horton replaced Coach Short.

"No kidding." I wondered what Rolf would say if I quit the team?

"But, you know …." Rolf glanced at me as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Horton treats everyone the same."

"Huh?" If Rolf was going to defend Horton me, I was going to jump out of the truck no matter how fast we were traveling.

"Yeah, he treats us all exactly the same … like dirt." Rolf seemed to be weighing his words carefully. "Think about it."

Before I could say anything, Rolf launched into speculation of what Kirstin would fix for Mom's birthday dinner.

I decided I was too tired to argue with Rolf about Horton. Plus, I figured I'd better be on good behavior for Mom's birthday. Why ruin her evening? I could always hash it out with Rolf some other time.

***

Kirstin went all out for Mom's dinner—flowers from her garden, the good china, silver tableware, and crystal glasses. There were piles and piles of food, everything from Swedish meatballs, cabbage rolls, and Swedish sausage to yellow pea soup, pickled herring, rye bread, and Swedish cookies.

There was so much ooh-ing and ah-ing and asking for second and third helpings of everything that I didn't have to worry about making conversation. Not that it was ever a problem with Rolf around. He was a one-man talkathon as usual, praising every morsel. So it was easy to pretty much ignore Lindquist, except to note how much food he managed to shovel into his mouth. He came close to eating as much as Rolf, and, from the pleased look on her face whenever Lindquist raised his fork, Kirstin took note of this, too.

Mom was happy enough, I guess, except sometimes I thought it looked as if she was trying too hard to look as though she was having fun.

Just as I was sure I was reaching the point where I couldn't possibly eat another bite, Kirstin announced, "And now for Mom's birthday cake!"

Kirstin ducked into the pantry where she'd hidden it and emerged carrying a huge cake topped with tiny paper Scandinavian flags and one candle. "Ta da!
Lagkage
."

That's a soft sweet cake made with a variety of fillings and on top there's always a thick layer of icing and whipped cream.

Kirstin cut a slice of cake, placed it on a small plate and handed it to Mom. "It's got your favorite filling—strawberry! Happy Birthday!"

With that Lindquist, Rolf and I all echoed, "Happy Birthday!"

"Thank you," Mom said, her eyes looking kind of misty. "And thank you, Kirstin, for putting only
one
candle on the cake!"

Kirstin laughed. "As Gramma always said, "a lady never gives her age!" She filled five glasses with sparkling cider and handed them out. "To Mom!"

We clinked glasses and Kirstin gave the rest of us some cake. It was getting harder for me to pretend that this was okay, that Dad wasn't here—and Lindquist was—but I wasn't going to spoil Mom's birthday for her.

Once we convinced Kirstin that none of us could possibly eat even one more crumb of cake, she cleared the table. "Okay, time for presents!"

Lindquist gave Mom a huge box of Euphoria Chocolates.

"Oh, my favorite!" Mom exclaimed. "Thank you, Paul."

"You're welcome, Erica," Lindquist said. "A person can never have too much chocolate, I say."

Anyone who knew Mom for more than five minutes also knew that Euphoria Chocolate was her favorite candy, so while it was a nice gift, I was glad it was nothing too personal.

Kirstin gave Mom a pretty blouse in her favorite color, yellow, and Rolf gave her a nice pin I'm sure Kirstin helped pick out, because, as Mom noted, it would look good with the blouse.

"Here." I handed Mom her gift from me.

Mom looked at the package and grinned. "Hmmm. You must have had some help wrapping this. It's beautiful."

"Ha, ha." I grinned back at Mom. Okay, I wasn't the best present wrapper in the world.

Mom didn't linger over the great wrapping job, though. She tore the paper right off. "Ooh, perfume!" She read the label on the bottle and there was a cloud over her face as if she was, I don't know, confused. "B-blue Riviera…."

"Yeah," I said. "It's French. I remember Dad used to get you French perfume sometimes."

"Yes … yes, he loved to get me Channel Number Five or …."

Crap
. Did I buy the wrong stuff? "I can exchange it if you want."

"Don't be silly." Mom put on a wide smile, dabbed a little of the Blue Riviera on her wrist and sniffed it. "This … this is lovely." She held her wrist under Kirstin's nose, then Rolf's, then Lindquist's. "Isn't it
lovely
?"

Everyone agreed that it was lovely.

"I could get you some of that Channel stuff," I said.

"Oh, no." Mom hugged me. "It's fun to wear different fragrances. This is a wonderful perfume. Thank you
so
much!"

"Sure …."

With a big smile Mom asked, "More sparkling cider, anyone?"

Even Rolf couldn't take in one more molecule of nourishment, so the party quickly wound down. As he left, Lindquist wished Mom a Happy Birthday again and gave her a little pat on the back. That back pat probably wasn't too personal, but I still wasn't thrilled to see it.

Kirstin wanted to show Rolf some new solar lights she'd put along the garden path, or at least that was the excuse she used to go out back with him.

While I cleared off the table, Mom fussed over her presents again, saying how nice everything was and all.

The doorbell rang.

"That must be Paul," Mom said. "He probably forgot something."

Yeah, he forgot to leave and stay left.

I heard the front door creak open and then a kind of familiar male voice said, "Happy Birthday, Erica."

Silence.

Then the male voice said, "Mmm, after all these years you still wear Blue Riviera .…"

Chapter Eighteen

"T-trevor…?" Mom said.

I peeked around the corner just in time to see that the familiar voice belonged to that Rock guy who'd stopped in Mom's shop, and who I saw at the Fair. I was wondering why he was still lurking around town, when he handed Mom a bunch of flowers. She nudged him out onto the front porch and closed the door behind her.

What the hell?

I didn't know what to do. Eavesdrop? Run out on the porch and punch out that Rock guy? I couldn't move. I was stuck to the floor like a cleat in old Astroturf. Maybe I should call 911. I didn't hear Mom scream or anything, though. But … maybe the guy had a gun. Maybe he was kidnapping Mom!

I unfroze, ran to the door and yanked it open—just in time to see Trevor Rock climb into his pickup truck and start the engine. He waved as he drove off.

Mom didn't see the wave. She was looking at a bunch of flowers in her hands. "I tried to give them back …." Mom had an elaborately casual expression on her face.

It looked like one of those Birthday Bouquets that Mrs. Sven had in her refrigerated display case.

We stepped back inside.

Mom sniffed the flowers. "He insisted I keep them …."

I watched, unable to speak, as Mom got a vase out of the cabinet, filled it with water and stuck the flowers in it. "Maybe I'll put them in the shop tomorrow morning … they'll brighten up that dark back corner."

I found my voice. "Who the hell is that Trevor Rock guy? Why is giving you flowers? What did he mean by that damn crack about Blue Riviera?"

Mom faced me square on. "Don't swear at me, Eric."

"Okay. Fine. Same questions minus the swearing."

"Let's sit down," Mom said.

"I don't feel like sitting."

"I said
sit!
" Mom pointed to the kitchen chair across from her. "If you want answers, sit."

"Okay, okay." I scraped the chair across the floor and sat.

"I knew Trevor in college."

"In college?"

"Yes. Before I met your Dad."

"Before? I thought you and Dad went together all through college."