What Happened to the McCrays?

Chapter Twelve

Twelve

Kyle was in the middle of setting the table, trying to remember which flatware went where, when his dad shuffled into the kitchen. “Can you…?” he asked, gesturing toward the red tie strung through the collar of his white shirt. His khakis were cinched tight with a belt—he hadn’t put much weight back on yet—and his gray hair was combed flat.

“Wow,” Kyle said. “You look nice.”

“You don’t.”

Kyle looked down at his T-shirt and jeans.

Dad spread his hands. “Is Thanksgiv-ing.”

“I didn’t bring any dress clothes with me, Dad. I don’t think I own any dress clothes.”

Roll of the eyes. “Help.” He flipped up a length of the tie.

Kyle stood before him and worked on knotting it, trying to remember how to do it correctly. The last time he’d worn one himself was probably his and Casey’s tenth wedding anniversary, when he surprised her with a trip to Manhattan. They had a lot of places on their wish list back then, the one they kept taped to the mirror in their bedroom, and they’d managed to hit some in the Northeast—Boston, Cape Cod, Bar Harbor. New York City had always been on the list, and it was an amazing week, full of museums, theaters, room service, and long walks. It had taken him ten years to make it happen. Getting away from the garage was tough, the trip cost a chunk, and he had to wait until Casey was comfortable leaving Charlie. He was five by then, and she knew he’d be fine at Angie’s house, but that Higgins wariness had never left her, and she didn’t like to be parted from him for more than a few hours. Their income had taken a big hit when she decided to stay home with Charlie until he started school, rather than return to her teaching job. But she wouldn’t have it any other way, so neither would Kyle.

His first two attempts with the tie failed miserably, and his dad blew out an impatient sigh. “You want me to do this or not?” Kyle asked.

He put his hands up in surrender and raised his chin.

Kyle moved behind him. “Maybe from this angle.”

Dad leaned back a bit, trying to assist. Almost a month after the stroke, his mobility and speech had improved and were only getting better. His left arm was still twitchy, his grip loose. He continued to use the walker, but his speech was steadier, and his cognitive functioning was back to normal, almost no lapses in memory or repeat questions. The rehab team told them yesterday these were all great signs, that the first few weeks after a stroke were a good indicator of overall recovery.

Kyle finished his third attempt and stepped around his dad to check it out. “Looks good.”

Dad felt the knot, ran his hand down the tie to confirm. Then he waved for Kyle to follow him to his makeshift bedroom. Once they were in there he went to the closet and started sorting through hangers.

The other thing that had happened the last few weeks, that had snuck up on Kyle, was this: his relationship with his dad was also improving. They’d fallen into a peaceful routine together. Kyle had kept Casey’s advice in mind, and he’d worked hard to keep not just the house and the pickup neat and organized, but also their schedule. They woke up and ate meals at the same time each day, arrived for rehab ten minutes early, kept a written calendar on the fridge and ticked the days off as they passed. All this made Dad feel more in control. Back in the day he had nagged Kyle endlessly about his tendency to procrastinate, the messy state of his bedroom and general person, his reluctance to plan ahead. Now Kyle realized some of his dad’s need for control back then probably came from having his wife walk out the door one day and leave him a single parent.

“Here.” Dad pulled a blue button-down from the closet and held it up to Kyle. “It’ll be… loose.” He raised his brows. “Cuz I’m still big-ger.”

Kyle laughed, accepted the shirt, and changed. “Better?”

Dad pointed to his hat.

“Fine.” Kyle took it off, ran fingers through his hair. “Good?”

“Need a cut. But not bad.”

Kyle went back to the kitchen to finish setting up. Casey and Wyatt would arrive soon. He hadn’t talked to her since the Jake Renner incident. When Kyle had looked across the road Sunday evening to see Renner hassling her and getting handsy, he’d bolted over there without a second thought. He still wondered what the hell that whole scene was about. Here’s what Kyle knew about Jake Renner: when they were in high school, he was considered good-looking in a country club way, he went to UMass, he owned the largest property management company in the county, and, after the other night, Kyle now knew Jake had a brand-new SUV and a really nice house on a big piece of land that fronted the river. Casey said they weren’t a thing, but something had gone on there, and clearly she didn’t want to talk about it.

He’d stayed in the truck with her after that, hoping to smooth things over before this dinner. But even after she said she was fine with Thanksgiving, he was reluctant to go. He kept finding himself in that position with her, looking for a way to connect—he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He was close to giving up when he thought about the hockey team. Sure enough, as soon as he brought those kids up, she responded. She made eye contact, engaged in the conversation. It was like the only time he saw her come alive was when she was around those kids, or talking about them.

And the thing was, he really liked being around them too. They were bright, funny, moody, full of personality, and he truly enjoyed working with them. Initially Will had been tough. Every time Kyle laid eyes on that fine blond hair and bashful smile, heard Will’s gentle voice, watched his natural skills on the ice, he couldn’t help but think it: if Charlie had lived to be thirteen, he would have resembled Will in both appearance and manner. Sitting in the Bronco with Casey that night, he actually thought they might talk about him, offer each other a little comfort. But once again she’d slammed the door in his face. That’s when he decided he was tired of getting burned and needed to just stay in his lane. She was the only person in the world who knew exactly what he was feeling in that moment, and she basically told him to get out of the truck.

To Kyle that meant nothing had changed. She still didn’t need or want him around any more than she did two and a half years ago. And even though she had never once said it, to Kyle that meant she still blamed him. For everything.

Casey and Wyatt made the short trip in the Bronco. The road was too rutted out for Wyatt’s wheelchair, and they were bringing dinner. The initial awkwardness was eased by the busy work of maneuvering Wyatt up the portable ramp they used when he came over, and then helping Casey carry in the food. Both tasks were tricky when Star kept loping circles around them. A true shepherd, she had always been happiest when everyone was together. Casey had gone to a lot of effort and included all the traditional dishes. Kyle was glad he’d changed clothes; both she and Wyatt had dressed up. Staying in his lane or not, he was quick to notice how nice she looked in a simple long-sleeve navy blue dress that ended above her knees.

While she went to work heating things up—he offered to help but she said no thanks—Kyle set his dad and Wyatt up in the living room with beers, flipped on the football game, and listened to the two of them catch up. Their method of communication had always been debate. They loved to argue about everything from beer—Wyatt’s indie craft beers versus Dad’s big-brew domestics—to their favorite teams. Wyatt was a Steelers fan because his father had been born in Pittsburgh, and, like a lot of upstate New Yorkers, Dad was a diehard Bills fan. They went back and forth for a while, but settled into the game after Wyatt challenged Dad to a race: My chair against your walker, Danny. My walker against your canes, Wyatt.

When Dad went to the bathroom during a commercial, Kyle figured it might be his only chance to get some info from Wyatt about Casey and Renner. He considered his words first. This topic was tricky, but he had to know. So he leaned toward Wyatt and lowered his voice. “One night while you were gone Jake Renner showed up at the house. He was drunk. Started giving Casey a hard time right there on the front lawn.” He gestured across the road with his beer. “I had to intervene.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah. It was strange, almost like something was going on between them…”

Wyatt’s expression went flat. “You trying to ask me a question?”

Kyle felt his face heat up as he offered something between a shrug and a nod.

“Were you a monk the last two and a half years?” Wyatt asked. When Kyle dropped his gaze Wyatt said, “I didn’t think so.” Then his attention shifted to the TV, and that was the end of that.

Kyle sat back against his chair, drank some of his beer. Damn it, that was as good as a confirmation that something had gone on between Casey and Renner. And no, Kyle hadn’t been a monk. There’d been exactly three encounters over the last year, after the divorce was official. But they were random and fleeting, always drunken and regrettable, and he would never see those women again. This was different. He drank more beer. Whatever had happened between them, it seemed like it was over the other night, at least for Casey. But who knew… Jake had a lot to offer, more than Kyle had ever been able to give her.

His eyes drifted to the kitchen, where she was at work. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, the dress skimmed her hips and brushed her legs as she moved about, and a sick feeling roiled through Kyle as he wondered where Jake’s hands had been. Before he could wonder beyond that he looked away and drank more, and more, until he finished the bottle. But he still felt angsty, and he had no interest in the game. So he stood and wandered over to Star, who was dozing by the kitchen door.

“Hey, girl,” he said. “Let’s go fetch.”

“Fetch” had always been the magic word, sure to get her up and moving and whining to get outside. Kyle didn’t get that reaction, but she did pick her head up and look at him.

He put his jacket on and injected more enthusiasm. “C’mon, Star. Let’s fetch snowballs.”

That got her tail wagging—she loved fetching snowballs—but she didn’t get up.

Kyle glanced at Casey, who had her hands full but wouldn’t accept his help, and then at Dad chatting with Wyatt, who had just put Kyle squarely in his place. Then he looked back down at Star and mouthed the words Please, Star .

Initially she just tilted her head, but when Kyle opened the door, she rose and trotted outside. She sighed as she did it, like she was doing him a favor. But she did it. And they played fetch in the yard until the food was ready.

When he came back inside he saw a cheery smile on his dad’s face and rosiness to his cheeks. He was only on his second beer, but it was his first alcohol since the stroke. He and Wyatt sat across from each other, arguing about some call a ref had made in the game. Casey moved between the counter and table, serving everything up. Kyle didn’t bother to offer assistance, why get shot down again. He just cracked a beer and had a seat.

Wyatt rubbed his hands together. “This looks great.”

“Dig in,” Casey said. When she started soaking pots and wiping down the counter, basically looking for stuff to do, Kyle got it. This was surreal and awkward and sad. But there was only one way through it.

“Casey,” he said, “we’re all set here. Why don’t you sit down.”

She tossed the sponge in the sink and took her chair across from him.

The only sounds for a few moments were the handing off of dishes and clinking of utensils while they passed food around and loaded up their plates. The quiet felt strained to Kyle, like they were all trying to figure out how best to manage this delicate dinner.

Dad was the first to break the silence. “Good we have… potatoes. Last year…” He pointed at Wyatt. “Dropped the bowl.”

“All over the floor,” Casey said.

Wyatt held his hands up. “I’ll just remind you who ruined Christmas dinner two years ago when someone broke her arm and we had to go to the ER.” He raised his brows at Casey.

“How did you break your arm?” Kyle asked, wondering why he’d never heard about that, then asking himself why he would have heard about it.

“I was coming back from bringing the Foleys some cookies and slipped on the porch stairs.”

“It was a sheet of ice outside,” Wyatt said. “I told you to wear your boot chains, but as usual you didn’t listen.”

“True,” Dad said.

“I was just going next door.”

“Well, that was far enough, wasn’t it,” Wyatt said around a mouthful of stuffing.

“All day at the hospital,” Dad said, shaking his head and giving Casey a rueful smile.

“Remember the nurse who brought us dinner while we were waiting?” she asked.

Wyatt laughed. “Yeah, the one who was flirting with you, Danny.”

“She was not…”

While they rehashed that day and debated whether the nurse was flirting with Dad, Kyle could feel his frustration level mounting. He didn’t particularly want to hear about their holidays and inside jokes from the last couple of years. While the three of them were together, Kyle had spent those days alone. He’d been invited to places here and there. His boss in Spokane often asked him to holiday dinners. But Kyle had never had the desire to spend holidays with someone else’s family. Though it felt a bit like that’s what he was doing right then. The people at this table had always been the only family he’d ever had, but hearing about things he’d missed while he was gone, time with them he would never get back, made him feel on the outside. As if he didn’t belong anymore.

So he half listened and focused on his food, which was delicious. But that was no surprise. Casey was a good cook. She’d gone through a learning curve early on, the first few years they lived together. He remembered coming home from work once to find her in tears after she’d failed to realize she had to cook the noodles before putting a lasagna together. He was so touched by her effort he’d eaten that crunchy lasagna with a smile on his face.

Eventually the discussion moved on to the topic of Robar’s toilets. Apparently a petition had gone around town in protest to the board’s threat of forcible removal, and it had caused a lot of drama, pitted neighbors against each other.

“I signed it,” Casey said. “What he does on his land is his business.”

Dad shook his head. “Eyesore.”

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice going softer. “Kind of feels like something would be missing if they were gone now.”

“I’m just tired of the whole issue,” Wyatt said. “Especially the recent write-ups in North Country This Week , about the ‘game of thrones’ going on in our ‘flustrated’ community…”

Kyle didn’t know about the petition or the write-ups, so he didn’t weigh in. But he was getting tired of being left out of the conversation, like he was invisible. When he realized his bouncing leg was making the table jiggle he stopped it.

“You know, Danny,” Casey said, “everyone was asking about you at the food bank last weekend.”

“I worked in a food bank last Thanksgiving,” Kyle said, maybe a little louder than he’d intended. He sipped his beer and focused on his plate then, but he could feel their eyes on him, and each other, while they decided how to respond.

“Look at you,” Wyatt said. “Doing good deeds. Where were you?”

“Spokane. Eastern Washington.”

“You’ve been there…” Dad said. “How long?”

“Little over a year and a half.”

“So, what’s it like out there?” Wyatt asked, helping himself to more turkey.

“The Pacific Northwest is really nice,” Kyle said. “It’s big-sky country, everything’s spread out, lots of mountains and rivers. Some of it would remind you of here, though it doesn’t get nearly as cold there. And I laugh when they complain about the snow.” They mumbled agreement—all upstaters believed nobody dealt with the kind of snow they did. But Kyle couldn’t help wondering if it was as weird for them to hear about where he’d been, hear about his other life, as it was for him to talk about it. He glanced across the table to see how interested Casey was in hearing about this, but it was hard to tell. She was looking down at her plate, sliding food around with her fork more than eating it. “Before Spokane I moved around a lot. Pittsburgh was my first stop.”

“Get to a Steelers game?” Wyatt asked.

“No, I was only there a couple weeks.” His whole time in Pittsburgh had been a dark fog of pain and regret, and he’d pushed on before long. It was too close to home, and he became afraid he’d turn around and go back. “After that I made my way west. Worked in Chicago for a while, then Denver. I spent that first winter in Salt Lake City. Then I drove through Montana and Idaho, saw Yellowstone and Glacier…”

Casey’s shoulders slumped then, and he felt an ugly victory of sorts. He’d hoped to see regret or disappointment, some recognition from her that all those places had been on their wish list. But the victory was brief and hollow. What the hell point was he trying to make… that she may have gotten their family in the divorce, but he got the wish list?

“I haven’t made it to the Pacific Ocean or Alaska yet though,” he said.

She picked her head up at that.

He wasn’t sure why he wanted her to know he hadn’t crossed everything off their list. But it was occurring to him right then that maybe that’s why he’d stopped in Spokane. Checking off the whole list would have been another ending between them.

Wyatt asked Dad about his rehab then, and to Kyle it was a relief to sit back and hand the spotlight over to him. Navigating conversation with and around Casey felt increasingly precarious. It was like there were land mines lurking under every subject that came up, and even seemingly harmless topics triggered memories and emotion. He was gun-shy at this point, afraid of saying the next thing that would upset her or make them both sad. It was exhausting.

They talked about Dad’s recovery and recent visits he’d had from the guys at the firehouse, which brought them to the end of the meal. By then they were all sitting back in their chairs, silverware laid across plates, napkins tossed beside them.

Casey looked around the table. “We made pretty good work of this food.”

“You didn’t,” Wyatt said. “You hardly ate anything.” His voice had an edge to it, like that was more than just a casual observation.

“I had plenty,” Casey said, gathering dishes.

But Dad held up a hand to her. “Please. Just… wait. I want to say some things.”

As she settled back in her seat her eyes pinged Kyle’s in surprise. It wasn’t like Dad to ask for the floor.

“I know this, tonight, was f-for me,” he said. “Thank you, Wyatt. For coming.”

Wyatt grinned and shrugged. “Had nowhere better to be.”

Dad next turned to Casey. “Thank you. For finding me that night… for this…” He waved over the food and patted her hand. “For everything. Can’t say it all.”

She smiled, and they shared a look of pure affection.

“And, Kyle, thank you for coming home. Helping me…” He gave his throat a gruff clearing. “You’re a good son. And a good man.”

In his forty-two years Kyle couldn’t remember hearing his dad say anything quite like that to him before. It was probably a mix of the stroke and the beer and the holiday that was triggering this emotional speech. But he held Kyle’s eye for a moment, like he was trying to impart the sincerity behind those words.

Kyle did the same when he said, “Thank you, Dad.”

He nodded. “Today I’ve also been thinking of people who aren’t here. Your parents,” he said, looking to Casey and Wyatt. “Your dad was a helluva guy. And your mom… She was a great friend to me. I still miss her. All the time.” He took a moment then, and it was clear he was fighting emotion so he could finish saying what he wanted to say. When he turned toward the large framed photo that had hung on the kitchen wall for many years, Kyle knew what was coming next. It was a picture of Dad and Charlie in front of the firehouse. Dad was in uniform, and Charlie sat on his shoulders, wearing his grandpa’s helmet. They were holding hands and flashing big smiles. “And Charlie,” Dad said. “My little buddy. He brought… so much joy to us…” His voice wavered and trailed off.

Kyle locked eyes with Casey then, and it felt like so much passed between them, none of which needed to be said, or could be said. It would have been impossible to put into words how much they missed Charlie, how much they were feeling his loss right then. But he could see his own pain reflected in her watery gaze, hear it in the way her voice shook when she spoke.

“He loved holidays so much,” she said.

Memories drifted across Kyle’s mind: Charlie making place cards with crayons for previous Thanksgiving dinners, the pride he took in wrapping Christmas gifts he made or bought with his allowance, he and Casey setting out cookies and milk for Santa Claus, the pure excitement on his face when he woke to a pile of presents under the tree the next morning.

“He’d be happy,” Dad said. “To see us here tonight.”

Kyle, Casey, and Wyatt nodded, and it was quiet for a while, each of them sitting with those words.

As fraught as this whole meal had been, Kyle was only grateful in that moment. To Casey and Wyatt, for making it happen. To his dad, for having the courage to say the hard things that should be said on this day. To Charlie, for the happiness he’d brought to their lives, and for bringing out the best in all of them, even after he was gone.

Kyle was grateful to be sitting at this table, with these people, because it was true, Charlie would have wanted nothing more than for all of them to be together that day.

After a pumpkin pie dessert, Casey worked on cleanup while Kyle helped Wyatt make his way outside and into the passenger seat of the Bronco. After loading the wheelchair and Star in the back, he climbed into the driver’s seat to turn the truck on, get it warmed up. Part of him hoped it wouldn’t start so he’d finally have an excuse to pop the hood, but it started on the second try. He said good night to Wyatt, told him he’d be in the shop to help next week. Back in the house Dad was in front of the TV, and Casey was in the kitchen, working at the sink, the sleeves of her dress pushed up.

“Wyatt and Star are ready to go,” he said. “I can finish in here.”

“I’m almost done.”

He walked over to stand beside her while she rinsed a pot in soapy water. “Thank you for tonight,” he said. “I guess we survived it.”

“I guess so.”

Standing this close he caught a whiff of her hair and knew right away she was still using the same shampoo, the one that had always made him think of the lilacs that grew in their old backyard. “You gonna be at the scrimmage on Saturday?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Good. Maybe you can have a chat with Rosie. She keeps trying to give me pointers.”

That made her smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“She reminds me of you sometimes.”

“Me too.”

He watched her work for a moment, which is when he noticed the scar. A long vertical scar on the inside of her left wrist. The skin was sunken and puckered, and small cross scars hinted at stitches. “Ouch,” he said. “Is that from when you broke your arm?”

Her eyes followed his to the scar. “Oh. Yeah.” She dropped the pan in the sink, turned off the faucet, and pulled her sleeves down. “I’m gonna get going.”

“Okay.” He picked up the paper bag on the counter that was packed with leftovers. “I’ll take this out to the truck—”

“No, I got it.” She grabbed for the bag and pulled, which is when it ripped and the contents spilled onto the floor. After staring down at the mess for a moment, she dropped to her knees, started gathering Tupperware containers. Kyle crouched down to help, which is when he noticed her hands were shaking. When she mumbled “Sorry” it sounded like she was close to tears.

“It’s all right,” he said.

They collected the containers, and he loaded them in another bag while she put her coat on. She was in such a rush her arm had trouble finding the sleeve. Then she held her hand out for the bag. But she wouldn’t look at him.

“Casey,” he said, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Wyatt’s waiting for me, I have to go.” She flapped her hand, a request for him to give her the bag.

He didn’t right away though. He kept it and thought about finally asking why the hell she was always running away from him. But he knew by the closed-off, impatient look on her face it would do no good to ask her that question. So he handed over the bag, and she was out the door.

When he realized her cell phone was still sitting on the table he felt a kind of satisfaction, knowing she’d have to come back. He picked the phone up from the table and held it out. Within seconds she opened the door again, reached in, and took the phone from him without saying a word.

He shook his head after she was gone, wondering what he’d said wrong this time. To be fair to himself, the list of things he wasn’t allowed to talk to her about was growing so fast it was hard to keep track of. He couldn’t talk about the past or Charlie or what he’d been doing since he left, couldn’t ask about her truck or offer his help in any way.

When Kyle thought about it, keeping track of the things he was allowed to talk to her about would probably be a whole lot easier.