A Curve in the Road(45)

Thankfully, those worries fall away when the door opens from the treatment room and Ruby leads Winston out to the reception area. Though he still wears the cone around his head, he’s on his feet, tail wagging, excited to see us.

Zack and I make a big fuss over him, and then I pay the bill, and we take him to the car. He jumps into the back seat, just like his old self, delighted about a ride in the car.

“He seems a lot better,” Zack says as we buckle in and pull out of the parking lot.

I glance at Winston in the rearview mirror. He’s smiling from ear to ear, tongue hanging out while he trots back and forth from one window to the other, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Maybe we should take him for a short walk today, down to the waterfront.”

“That sounds good.”

We drive in silence for a moment, and then Zack turns to me and asks tentatively, “Mom, when are we going to go home? I mean . . . now that the funeral’s over.”

I glance at him briefly. “You don’t want to stay another day or two?”

“I’ve already missed a lot of school.”

“I’m sure your teachers won’t expect you to come back right away. They know what happened. They’ll make allowances for that.”

“I know,” he replies, “but I’d still like to be at home. Sleep in my own bed. I want to start figuring out how we’re going to live.”

“You mean . . . without your dad.” My stomach turns over with dread because I’m not sure I’m ready to face this new future.

Zack gazes out the window at the houses as we pass. “It’s going to be weird. Especially when we walk through the door the first time. But I want to get through it, you know?” He turns to me. “Don’t get me wrong, Mom. I love being with Gram and Aunt Carla and the girls, but I keep thinking about the fact that Dad’s sneakers are by the front door. I noticed them when Maureen came to pick me up, but I couldn’t bring myself to move them. I’m kind of dreading seeing his stuff when we get home—like his clothes in the closet and his medical magazines on the coffee table. It’s hanging over my head.”

I understand exactly what he’s saying because I’m dreading it too. “You want to face it head-on.”

Those were Carla’s words to me.

“Yes,” Zack replies. “Let’s just get it over with. And after we get through all that hard stuff, I was thinking . . . maybe we could do something special for Dad.”

My stomach starts to actually hurt, because I’m not sure where Zack is going with this, and doing something special for my lying, cheating husband isn’t exactly at the top of my priority list right now. I just want to figure out how to get up in the mornings without wanting to smash our framed wedding portrait against the corner of the kitchen table.

“What do you have in mind?” I ask, wrestling my true feelings into submission.

“I don’t know. Maybe we could brainstorm. But I was thinking about a scholarship fund for students in need. Maybe for kids who have abusive parents. Or even foster kids. I think Dad would approve of that because of how he grew up. He was lucky to get away from Grandpa and go to college and live a better life. I mean . . . seriously, Mom, we had a perfect life.”

A perfect life.

I bite my lip because I feel as if I’m being ripped in half, straight down the middle. Part of me is proud of my son for recognizing the challenges his father faced as a child, for wanting to do something to help other kids in the same position, and most of all for reminding me how rough Alan had it growing up. I can’t ignore the fact that he was raised by a cruel and heartless man who probably played a significant role in Alan’s need to feel adored. Maybe he genuinely needed the adulation Paula gave him when I was too busy at work or fielding Zack’s activities.

Another part of me doesn’t want to spend a single second of my time analyzing why Alan needed Paula—because he had a wife at home who loved him—nor do I want to expend effort to create a lasting legacy in Alan’s memory, where he will be honored for years to come . . . revered as a generous, courageous, loving family man.

Yeah, right.

There’s a heavy pounding in my ears, and my stomach burns.

“That might be awkward,” I say, “considering he was a drunk driver.”

The heated words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. I want to take them back, but I can’t.

Zack darts a look at me, and my cheeks flush.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s fine,” he replies. “You’re right. I didn’t think of that.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Why was he drunk, Mom? It makes no sense. I never thought he would ever do something like that.”

There are a lot of things I never thought Alan would do, but here we are.

We’ve almost reached my mother’s house, but I decide I should keep driving and continue this conversation. I flick my blinker and head up the hill toward the old Lunenburg Academy.

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” I say. “Something I found out yesterday.”

“What is it?”

I pull over onto the side of the road and shut off the engine, then find myself becoming very selective about what truths I wish to reveal. I suspect I’ll have to tweak certain details.