Linwood Barclay - Too Close to Home

“We never even came close,” Derek told me later, as if this constituted a defense.

They were doing so much thumping up there that the night janitor called the police. They got off with a warning, largely because they hadn’t actually vandalized anything. I was furious when the cops brought him home.

“Another fucking stunt like this,” I said, “and you can find some other place to live.”

I regretted it later. I didn’t mean it, that his next fuckup would be his last under our roof. Teenagers, honestly, sometimes they did some stupid shit, but you stood by them no matter what. It was all part of what you’d signed on for.

If Derek really was sick, I didn’t want to drag him out to push a lawn mower through the heat and humidity. But it occurred to me that it might not be an actual illness he was suffering from.

“You hungover?” I asked. It was hardly an outrageous question. Only a month ago I’d found a six-pack of Coors hidden under some old storm windows that were leaned up against the back of the shed.

“No,” he said. Then, abruptly, he threw off the covers, rolled over, and swung out of bed in one swift movement, bumping into his mother. “Fine,” he said. I think Ellen and I were both surprised to see that he was still in jeans and T-shirt. He reached for his work boots, ignoring the sneakers right next to them. “I’ll work. So I’m sick. No big deal.”

Ellen looked at me expectantly, like she was wanted me to pick up on this, ask him what was the matter. But I just shrugged and said, “Good.”

“There’s some bacon already made,” his mother said. “Would you like me to make some eggs for-”

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

Ellen got up, leaned back, held up her palms in the universal backing-off gesture. “Okay, fine,” she said and walked out of the room.

“I’ll be out by the truck when you’re ready,” I said, left, and closed his door behind me.

Ellen was standing there and said, “You think he’s hungover?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. If he is, pushing a noisy lawn mower first thing in the morning is exactly what he deserves.”

I brushed my teeth, took a baby aspirin because Ellen had heard some doctor on Oprah say it was a good idea, and went outside. There was hardly any breeze and you could tell it was going to be a scorcher.

We have a building behind the house, what I call the shed, but it’s really a double garage with one big wide door on it, where I have a workbench and a place to keep all our stuff. I’d picked up half a dozen used lawn mowers for next to nothing and got them in decent running order so that if either of the two we took with us each day crapped out, I had a replacement set to go. Just the one lawn tractor, however, a John Deere, its green paint and yellow striping fading from constant sun exposure. It sat on the short trailer already hitched to the back of my Ford pickup, which has Cutter’s Lawn Service and a phone number stenciled on the door, as well as my name, Jim Cutter.

I did a quick check to see that we had everything we needed. The hedge trimmer and extension cords, four small red plastic containers with plain gasoline for the lawn mowers and the tractor, and a fifth with a mix of gas and oil for the handheld trimmer and the leaf blower, which I hated for the racket it made, like a goddamn jet coming in for a landing, but it was a hell of a lot faster for clearing lawn clippings off driveways and sidewalks than a broom. When you wanted to pack up and move on to the next job, speed was everything. And after I’d already been pushing a mower or wielding the trimmer, the last thing I wanted to do was sweep by hand.

I glanced into the truck to make sure we each had our work gloves and our earmuff-like gadgets to keep the noise out of our ears. I opened the glove box, checked that I had a replacement spool of filament wire in case the weed whacker ran out.

Something was missing, though. I was trying to think what it was when I heard the back door of the house open and close and Ellen was standing there with the mini-cooler. The lunches I’d made the night before. I smiled, went over and took it from her.

“How’s it going in there?” I asked her.

“I’m just staying out of his way,” she said. “We should do something this afternoon if you’ve got any energy left. Maybe go down to Albany, do a bit of shopping.”

“Shopping,” I said. “That’d be fun.” I wasn’t using my sincere voice.

Ellen gave me a look. “We could go someplace for dinner. See a movie. There’s that new Bruce Willis thing. Die Really Really Really Hard or something. I need a break from all this literary stuff.”

I gave her a noncommittal shrug. “Let’s see how the day goes. Going out for dinner sounds good. The shopping thing, not so much.”

“You need to take at least one long weekend this summer. You didn’t even take the Fourth. Let Derek run things for a day. He’s got his license, he can drive the truck. He could get as much done as he could on his own; the next day you could squeeze in a couple extra jobs. He needs to handle the extra responsibility. It would be good for him. We could drive up to Montreal. Go hear some jazz or something.”

That was actually a pretty good idea, but all I said was, “We’ll see.”

“We’ll see. We’ll see. That’s what they’ll put on your tombstone.”

She turned to go back in as Derek came out. He walked past her without a word, hair falling over his eyes, and headed for the truck.

“I guess we’re off,” I said to Ellen, and she rolled her eyes, a kind of “good luck” gesture.

As I got into the truck I said to Derek, “You wanna drive?” He shook his head. “I’m guessing you had no breakfast. You want me to stop along the way? A McMuffin or something? A doughnut? Coffee?”

Another shake of the head.

“Okay then,” I said and turned the ignition. I had the windows down for now, would probably close them and turn on the air later. I pulled the column shift into drive and eased down on the accelerator. The trailer, weighed down with the Deere and other equipment, rattled as we picked up speed. As we headed down the lane, about halfway to the highway, the Langley house came into view. I noticed the Saab SUV parked out front of the house, as well as Donna Langley’s Acura sedan.

“I thought they were going away,” I said.

“Huh?” said Derek.

“The Saab’s there. I thought they were going to some lodge or something. In Stowe? Somewhere that way?”

Derek glanced over. “I guess they didn’t go.”

“Didn’t Adam say they were going up there for a week or something? Didn’t you go over there to see them off last night?”

“They must have changed their mind after I left,” Derek said, looking away from the Langleys’ and out his own window.

“Just seems funny, is all,” I said. “You book a place for a week and change your mind.” Nothing from Derek. “Maybe Albert had something come up, some new case or something, they had to cancel at the last minute. I guess that kind of thing happens when you’re a criminal lawyer.” I glanced over at Derek. “Not that he’s a criminal. Just that he represents criminals.” An old joke. I’d probably only used it a hundred times or so.

When Derek said nothing, I raised my voice a notch and said, “Yeah, Dad, that’s probably what happened.” Dropped it a bit. “You think so, son? You think that’s what happened?” Up again. “I’d say so, Dad, yeah. You’re never wrong about these things.”

Quietly, “Leave me alone, Dad.”

We got up to the highway and I hung a right, heading north, which would take us into Promise Falls. It’s an average-sized city, forty thousand or so, but we’ve got all the major fast-food joints and a Wal-Mart and a Home Depot and a multiplex and most of the major car dealerships except the really high-end ones, like BMW. There’s the college on the north side of town, so that accounts for the Volvo dealership.