Thursday
morning at 5 o’clock, as another sultry summer day began, the front door of the
large, family house shut quietly and a tall, fair-haired young man, carrying a
bulging, soft-sided holdall, strode down the few marble steps and along the
pathway to the garage doors. He
opened the electronic doors using the manual override and waited for the heavy
metal doors to slide up and over to reveal the multiple-bay garage. He cringed at the grinding of the motors and
glanced round nervously before he strode inside.
A few minutes later a car crept slowly out through the doors and along
the gravel drive towards the wrought iron gates.
They opened
automatically on silent hinges, then closed behind it
as the red Ferrari turned right and accelerated, disappearing from sight behind
the high, brick walls.
~***~
By 7 o’clock
there was the usual noisy commotion that announced the beginning of a day in the
summer vacation, when the four children were all home from school. There was still a week to go before the
family decamped for their annual holiday.
This year they were going to spend some time on the yacht, cruising to
their recently acquired private island in the Caribbean.
In the sunlit
dining room, John Svenson was eating his breakfast and studying his newspaper,
oblivious to the whoops and thundering footsteps upstairs which indicated that
his two youngest children were up and dressed. As usual, his portable
communicator was beside him on the table, flashing to alert him to text
messages, missed calls and stock price information.
Peter, his
second son, was seated on his left and was reading the sports pages as he
munched toast from the silver rack set by his plate. Dressed in a white shirt and shorts, his
feet in white tennis shoes, it was obvious where his destination lay and the
presence of a collection of rackets by the front door merely served to confirm
that deduction.
Sarah Svenson
swept into the room. She was wearing
a charming summer dress in pastel colours, with low-heeled sandals, and she was smiling. She was determined to be her usual
cheerful self even if she acknowledged - to herself, at least - that the
cheerfulness was somewhat forced these days.
When the
children were away at school, she knew better than to try to get a conversation
from John before he went to work, but now they were home and the family was
together again, she felt it was their duty as parents to show an interest in
whatever their offspring had planned.
She had explained this concept to John the day before the children
arrived and her husband, after giving the matter some thought for a moment or
two, had turned his eyes back to the newspaper with a slight sigh, and said
nothing.
She glanced around the table and on
receiving a nod of acknowledgement from her husband and a muttered, ‘Hi, Mom’
from her son, sighed with the realisation that she wasn’t going to get any more
from either of them. She could hear, only
too clearly, the noise of her youngest children rushing about upstairs, and
momentarily wondered where her other son was.
It wasn’t like Adam to be late for breakfast, although he had been out
and about a lot lately, coming home late and being more unforthcoming than usual
about what he was doing. She hoped
that if the cause of this reticence was a young woman, he had enough sense to be
careful.
Not that he can take his father as a good example
there… she thought, glancing at her husband with fond amusement.
Sighing, she
helped herself to coffee and took her seat opposite John. Neither of the others spoke or even
acknowledged her presence at the table. She
refused to be cowed by their silence.
“Good
morning,” she said brightly.
John looked up
over the newspaper and nodded.
“’Morning,
Mom,” Peter muttered, his mouth still full of toast.
Silence
descended once more. The noise from
upstairs faded slightly as the youngsters moved along the building.
Sarah had
hoped that Peter might make an effort to say something more to her that just
‘good morning’, but since his return from boarding school he’d been taciturn in
the extreme. This was somewhat out
of the ordinary as Peter was always vocal in expressing his grievances and
arguing his point. However, she knew
he was worried about whether he’d got into Harvard, and concluded that this was
the reason for his reticence. He was
pinning his hopes on emulating his older brother and making the grade at sixteen
years of age, but, although the doubt was unspoken, his parents’ expectation was
that he would not get in this time.
She knew he’d see that as a personal failure and wondered again how on earth to
improve the relationship between her eldest sons.
Peter’s
competitiveness was made all the more intense by the ease with which Adam seemed
to achieve almost everything he attempted. They’d already heard that he’d gained
first class honours in every subject he’d taken at Harvard and his proud father
had presented him with a vintage classic Italian sports car as a graduation
gift, and without the usual cantankerousness he so often exhibited towards his
eldest son as well. Just
seeing that desirable red trophy in the garage every day was bound to make Peter
even more resentful.
This could be a long, uncomfortable summer, Sarah
thought mournfully.
She’d barely
started on her muesli when the door burst open and the two youngest Svensons
tumbled into the room.
John slammed his newspaper down, a warning
frown on his brows.
“Katherine!
David! What’s all this uproar
about?” he growled.
“Momma,” Kitty
shrieked, ignoring her father. “Adam’s
gone!”
“Gone? What are you talking about, Kitty? Have you been into Adam’s room again?” Sarah shook her head disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t go bursting into his
room, especially not this early anyway - ” Goodness knows who you might find in there
with him, she added to herself, then drew a breath and continued, “He’s
asked you not to do it before now.
Anyway, if he’s not there, he’s probably gone out for the day; there’s
nothing unusual in that,” she said, although her heart sank as she looked at her
daughter’s pale face and trembling bottom lip.
Kitty shook
her fair head. “He’s gone – everything’s gone… ll his
stuff…” she declaimed theatrically.
“Then he’d
have needed a fleet of juggernauts,” Peter said sourly, “and we’d have noticed.”
“It has gone!” she raged at her sceptical
brother and turned to her younger brother for confirmation. “Hasn’t it, Davy?”
David nodded;
his blue eyes were tear-filled and Sarah noticed for the first time that he was
holding a large teddy bear dressed in a leather jacket that resembled that of an
early air pilot, right down to the miniature goggles perched on top of its
golden-brown head. It was ‘Lindbergh’,
her oldest son’s most treasured possession, and Sarah knew David would never
have dared take the bear from the room if his brother had been there.
“Davy?” She reached for him and drew him to her side,
where he buried his head in her shoulder and reluctantly surrendered the teddy
bear to her. “You know Adam doesn’t like
you playing with Lindy. You should
have left him in Adam’s room.”
“But Adam’s
gone and he’s left Lindy here,” Davy sniffed against her shoulder. “I was only going to look after him, till
he comes back.”
“He’ll be back
tonight…” Sarah began reassuringly.
“No he won’t!”
Kitty screamed. “Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me? He’s gone – all his clothes and his
personal stuff – all gone. He’s not coming back!”
She started to
cry and threw herself against her mother.
Sarah’s other
arm enveloped her daughter and David took the opportunity to reclaim the teddy
bear. She looked questioningly at
her husband over the children’s heads, a suspicion forming in her mind that
maybe they were right. “John, would
you go check, please?”
she
asked as steadily as she could.
She
instinctively shied away from sending Peter, the antagonism between her two
older boys meant that neither crossed the threshold of their respective rooms
these days.
“I don’t have
time for this tom-foolery,” her husband snorted, draining his coffee cup.
“John.”
He knew
instantly from her tone of voice that she was in deadly earnest and he glanced
at her.
Sarah was an
attractive woman and she had a seemingly limitless supply of energy, so you
rarely saw her sitting still. Now
she sat as rigid as a statue, her face a mask of concern and her grey eyes
boring into his like gimlets. If
this was true, he knew who she’d blame.
“Very well.”
He threw down
his napkin, pushed back his chair and strode to the door.
Kitty broke
away from her mother and ran after her father, gabbling persistently that she
was telling the truth. Sarah, with David holding tightly onto her with one hand
and with Lindy clasped in his other, followed them. Peter watched them go with a
thoughtful expression on his face.
He took
another slice of toast.
The procession
made its way up towards the back of the house, where Adam’s bedroom and study
were located.
John knocked
on the door and abruptly opened it, crossing the small, book-lined study to the
bedroom door in a few quick strides, Kitty still at his heels.
That door was
already open and as he stepped into the light, well-furnished room, some doubt
began to form in his mind. He
surveyed the room for a few moments, his daughter standing silently at his side,
as if she was stricken again by the aura of emptiness. The surfaces were bare: no brushes, no cologne and none of the
usual signs of habitation – apart from his son’s cell phone lying on the bedside
table.
He heard
Sarah’s step beside him and turned to see her fling open one of the wardrobes.
There was nothing in it except the row of tuxedos and formalwear.
Galvanised
into action again, Kitty opened a drawer and said triumphantly, “Look, no socks
or underwear… I told you – he’s gone!”
John’s eyes
met his wife’s in shock. He was
speechless at the misery he saw in her face and took a step towards her,
reaching out with one hand. She
shied away from his touch.
Swallowing
compulsively, he eventually managed to speak. “So – he’s gone somewhere. But why is that such a surprise, Sal?” he
said in some bewilderment. “He disappears for days on end these days without so
much as ‘by your leave’. Kitty’s
over-reacting. I’ll call my parents;
he’s probably gone there – he so often does,” he added, desperate to stave off
acceptance of what he felt must be the truth of the case this time.
“He’d have
said,” Sarah replied, a dull ache in her voice. “And he wouldn’t have taken everything.”
“Where’s he
gone, Momma?” Davy asked urgently.
“I don’t
know…”
She hugged him
against her side, like a talisman.
David was her ‘little Adam’: his fair good looks reminded her so much of her
eldest son as he was growing up and she knew that, as a consequence, she spoilt
him and mothered him far too much.
Adam had always been too independently minded to allow much mothering – even as
a child. There was an independent
and stubborn streak in him that strongly echoed his father and contributed in no
small part to making the relationship between them a turbulent one. David was far more biddable.
“I do,” Kitty
said suddenly. “I bet he’s gone to
fly planes with the W.A.S.…”
“Nonsense,”
her father snapped. “He’s given up on that idea.”
“He hasn’t,
you know,” his daughter retorted. “He’s given up telling you about it – that’s all.”
“Katherine!”
John exclaimed angrily.
“It’s true!
He was saying to Todd Carpenter the other day, when he was here, that he’d even
resigned himself to getting his hair cut…”
“I told him he’d have to do that before he
came to work in the company,” her father explained brusquely.
“That wasn’t why he was going to do it,”
she answered insolently.
Before the
argument could get any more heated, Peter appeared at the doorway, with a letter
in his hand. He held it out towards
his mother and, seeing the emotion on her face, his voice was genuinely
compassionate as he said:
“Mom, Rosa’s
just given me this - for you. She
said Adam left it with her.”
Sarah took the
envelope and realising that she couldn’t trust her legs to support her, sat on
the edge of the bed to open it.
The room was
silent as she read:
Dearest Mom,
Forgive me for taking the coward’s way out and just
leaving a note. I was trying to tell
you what I was planning to do the other night, after dinner, but somehow it just
descended into another argument with Dad about working for SvenCorp and after
that, I simply couldn’t face yet another one.
Coupled with all the fuss my going away would have created, I thought
this was the better way. I’d made my mind up that I had to leave
and I knew delaying things would only make it harder for me and things were
already tough enough as it was.
You’ve probably guessed that I’m going to a WAS
training camp - a place in Wisconsin.
I’ll let you know when I get there.
I’m deliberately not taking my cell phone – maybe one of the kids could
use it? – or you can give it away – I’ve cleared all
the personal data off it. I’ll get a
new one, and, in a little while, I’ll try and call you. In the meantime, I guess you can reach me
through their office at Atlantic Airport, if you want to. You don’t have to speak to me if you’d
rather not – I’ll understand.
I hope you can understand why I’m doing this, Mom.
I guess we all have a choice of which path we take in our lives, and I couldn’t
face the idea that I might live my life knowing I hadn’t taken what I truly
believe is the right path for me. You’ve taught me to be honest with myself and
to take responsibility for my actions, so I’m only sorry to be so selfish as to
hurt those I love by leaving like this.
I don’t regret going.
Whatever you do, please don’t worry about me
– I’ll be fine. This is what I’ve
always wanted to do and I can’t let the chance pass by without giving it my best
shot. If I pass the WAS assessment
training well enough I’ll get to be a test-pilot and then maybe you can be proud
of me again.
I’m sorry for the uproar this is going to cause, but
I’m sure it’ll be less painful than if I’d actually told you what I intended to
do – r I wouldn’t have done it this way. Please try to make Dad understand
that I’d be no good for the company and tell him – tell him, I am truly sorry.
I will miss everyone.
All my love, dearest Mom,
Adam.
P.S. Try
and keep Davy away from Lindy … I can’t take him with me, but I would like him
to be in one piece when I come back!
If you’ll have me back, that is?
As she read
the final words of the letter, she felt as if her world had constricted to no
more than this small room. Her heart was hammering against her ribs and she
almost had to remind herself to breathe.
“Momma?” Davy’s quavered appeal brought her to her senses.
Speechless, she handed her husband the
letter and, forcing herself to remain calm for the sake of the youngsters, she
gently took the teddy bear from David’s hands and gave him what she hoped was a
reassuring smile.
Hugging Lindy
to her heart, she walked to the window and sat him in his usual place, pausing
to stare out across the garden towards the tall iron gates her son had left by,
just a few short hours ago. Then,
aware of the concerned eyes following her every move,
she went over to her husband and took the letter back.
Their eyes met
and, as was so often the case, his fell.
“Everyone out
of here,” Sarah ordered briskly. “This room is out of bounds as of now, until
Adam gets back.”
“It shows no
sign that he ever intends to come back,” Peter said, almost successful at
masking his delight beneath a grave expression.
“He’ll be
back,” his mother said firmly, as she ushered the younger children out. “When he’s good and ready.”
Peter glanced
at his father’s face, trying to gauge his reaction to this not entirely
unexpected bombshell. He was well
aware of the strife between his brother and his father, and often tried to turn
it to his own advantage.
John caught
his son’s eye and stared back at him.
“He must’ve
packed one hell of a suitcase,” Peter said sardonically, and turned to follow
his mother.
Pausing in the
doorway John stared back into the empty room, already acquiring a sobering air
of abandonment.
“You may’ve
won this time, Adam, but it isn’t over yet, not by a long way,” he muttered. “One day, you'll
come to your senses. You will come back. And then you’ll stand at my side, just as
I stood at my father’s and he did with his; just as I’ve always intended you
should – and just as you were born to do!
It seems I need to give you a little more time..."
Turning on his
heel, he slammed the door closed behind him and, taking a deep breath, went to
face what he knew would be the furious condemnation of his wife.
~***~
In a rest area
overlooking Lake Erie, a young man sat in a dusty, red Ferrari munching on a
burger and fries. The sun was
slipping down towards the horizon and the shadows were lengthening and he was
debating whether to drive on to the next town, or look for a motel here: one
more day’s driving should get him to his destination.
He screwed up
the food wrappers and walked over to a trash can to dispose of them. It was good to be mobile, so he locked
the car and took a stroll by the lake.
By the time he got back it was too late to drive on, so he drove around the
small town until he found a motel and checked in.
Lying on the
narrow bed, he sipped a can of soda and channel hopped. On a local network something caught his
attention. A voice he recognised,
reciting familiar words. He spoke
aloud, along with the poet:
I shall be telling this
with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages
hence:
Two roads diverged in a
wood, and I—
I took the one less
traveled by,
And that has made all the
difference.
“Yeah,” said
Adam Svenson, as he switched channels.
“That’s just how I hope it’ll be for me too.”
Author’s
Note:
Quote taken from ‘The Road Not
Taken’, by Robert Frost.
Inspiration taken from ‘She’s Leaving Home’ by Lennon and McCartney and ‘Only a
Dream’ by Mary Chapin Carpenter.
Another ‘Captain Blue’
back-story; one I wrote many years ago and forgot about until last year when I
dug it out, revised it and tried to give it a suitable title.
I hope you enjoyed reading it enough not to think I’d have been better
forgetting about it altogether…
Thanks, as ever, to Hazel
Köhler, beta-reader par excellence, friend and fellow ‘Scarletini’ and to Chris
Bishop, without whom we wouldn’t have such a wealth of Scarlet fact and
fiction at our fingertips and who I am
fortunate to also call my friend.
Marion Woods
October 2013.
Other stories from Marion Woods
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