John Verdon - Let the Devil Sleep

Madeleine shrugged. “Kyle. To see you.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Your tinnitus isn’t that bad.”

“My son, Kyle? Came from the city on a motorcycle? To see me?”

“To surprise you. He originally planned to be here at three. Because that’s when you said you’d be back. Three at the latest . Then he decided to arrive at two. So in case you got home earlier than three, he’d have more time with you.”

“You set this up?” It came out as half question, half accusation.

“No, I didn’t ‘set it up.’ It was Kyle’s idea to come up and see you. He hasn’t seen you since you were in the hospital. All I did was tell him what time you’d be here-the time you said you’d be here. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Seems like quite a coincidence that yesterday you were suggesting that Kyle and Kim would make an interesting couple and now here they are, out for a walk together.”

“Coincidences do occur, David. That’s why the word exists.” She turned her attention back to the wok.

Gurney felt more disturbed than he wanted to admit. He decided it was a symptom of his deep dislike of having his plans changed, the challenge to his illusion of control. That and the fact that his relationship with Kyle, his twenty-six-year-old son from his first marriage, had long been fraught with conflicting emotions and rationalizations. And the ibuprofens he’d taken for the pinched nerve in his arm were wearing off, and the overall achiness from his fall in the basement was getting worse. And, and, and…

He tried to keep the hostility and self-pity out of his voice. “Do you know where they went on their walk?”

Madeleine took the wok from the burner and added its contents to the rice and onions in the baking dish. She didn’t answer until she’d scraped the wok clean, returned it to the stove, and added more oil. “I suggested the ridge path around to the trail that leads down to the pond.”

“When did they leave?”

“When they discovered you’d be an hour late.”

“I wish you’d told me about this.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“Of course it would have made a difference.”

“That’s interesting.”

The oil in the wok was beginning to smoke. Madeleine went to the spice cabinet, came back with powdered ginger, cardamom, coriander, and a bag of cashews. She turned the stove exhaust fan to high, put a handful of the nuts into the wok, a teaspoon of each of the spices, and began stirring it all together.

She nodded toward the window next to the stove. “They’re coming up the hill.”

He stepped over to it and looked out. Ambling up the grassy path through the pasture were Kim in Madeleine’s wildly hued Windbreaker and Kyle in faded jeans and a black leather jacket. They appeared to be laughing.

As Gurney was watching them, Madeleine was watching him. “Before they get to the door,” she said, “you might want to put a more welcoming expression on your face.”

“I was just thinking about the motorcycle.”

She tipped the nuts-and-spices mixture from the wok onto the other ingredients in the baking dish. “What about it?”

“A fifty-year-old classic restored to mint condition isn’t cheap.”

“Hah!” She put the wok in the sink and let the water run on it. “Since when has Kyle ever owned anything that was cheap?”

He nodded vaguely. “The only other time he came up to this house was two years ago to show off that goddamn yellow Porsche he’d gotten with his Wall Street bonus. Now it’s a pricey BSA. Jesus.”

“You’re his father.”

“Meaning what?”

Madeleine sighed, looking at him with an odd combination of exasperation and sympathy. “Isn’t it obvious? He wants you to be proud of him. Granted, he goes about it in a way that doesn’t work. You two don’t know each other very well, do you?”

“I guess not.” He watched her put the baking dish into the oven. “This glittery, luxury stuff… all this brand-name crap… it just brings back too many memories of that materialistic gene he inherited from his real-estate-broker mother. She was great at making money, even better at spending it. Kept telling me I was wasting my time as a cop, I should go to law school, because there was a lot more money in defending criminals than in catching them. So now Kyle’s in law school. Ought to make her happy.”

“Are you angry because you think he wants to defend criminals?”

“I’m not angry.”

She shot him a disbelieving glance.

“Maybe I am angry. I don’t know what I am. Seems like everything is getting on my nerves lately.”

Madeleine shrugged. “Make sure you remember it’s your son who came to see you today, not your ex-wife.”

“Right. I just wish that-”

He was interrupted by the sound of the side door opening, followed by Kim’s excited voice in the hallway. “No way, that’s much too weird! I mean, that’s like the single sickest thing I ever heard!”

Kyle came into the kitchen first, smiling broadly. “Hey, Dad! Good to see you!”

They greeted each other with awkward hugs.

“Good to see you, too, son. Kind of a long trip up here on that bike, wasn’t it?”

“It was perfect, actually. Traffic was light on 17, and from 17 to here the roads are ideal for a bike. How do you like it?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one that looked that good.”

“Me neither. I love it. You used to have a bike like that, right?”

“Not that sharp.”

“I hope I can keep it like that. I just got it two weeks ago at the Atlantic City Classic Motorcycle Show. Hadn’t planned on buying anything, but I couldn’t resist. Never saw one that nice-not even the one my boss has.”

“Your boss?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of half back on the Street, working part-time for some guys from the old firm that went under.”

“But you’re still at Columbia?”

“Sure, absolutely. First-year crunch. Tons of reading. Designed to weed out the unmotivated. I’m so busy I’m nuts, but what the hell.”

Kim came through the doorway into the kitchen with a cheery smile for Madeleine. “Thanks again for the jacket. I hung it up in the mudroom. Is that okay?”

“Fine. But I’m dying of curiosity.”

“About what?”

“I’m trying to imagine ‘the single sickest thing’ you ever heard.”

“What? Oh! You heard me say that? Kyle was telling me something. Yuck.” She looked at him. “You tell her. I don’t even want to say it.”

“It, uh… it’s about a peculiar disorder some people have. This might not be the best time to go into it. It takes some explanation. Maybe later might be better?”

“Okay, I’ll ask you again later. Now I’m really curious. In the meantime would you like a drink or a snack? Cheese, crackers, olives, fruit, anything?”

Kyle and Kim looked at each other, shook their heads.

“Not for me,” said Kyle.

“No thanks,” said Kim.

“Then just make yourselves comfortable.” Madeleine gestured toward the armchairs around the stone fireplace at the far end of the room. “I have to finish up a few things. We’ll be having dinner around six.”

Kim asked if she could help with anything, and when Madeleine said no, she excused herself and headed for the bathroom. Gurney and Kyle settled into a pair of wing chairs that faced each other over a low cherry coffee table in front of the hearth.

“So…” they began simultaneously, then simultaneously laughed.

Gurney had a strange thought. Apart from the fact that Kyle had his mother’s mouth and jet-black hair, looking at him was like looking in a magic mirror at a restored image of himself-with two decades of wear and tear sanded off.