Reunion

 

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt: your character looks outside the window and sees something strange. This week’s story comes from the pen of Phil Yeats.

In April 2024, Phil published The Body on Karli’s Beach, the third book in his Barrettsport Mysteries, a series of soft-boiled mysteries set in a fictional South Shore, Nova Scotia town. For information about these books, The Road to Environmental Armageddon, his trilogy about the hazards of ignoring human-induced climate change, and his latest, a novella titled Starting Over Again: A Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy visit his website: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/.

 

Reunion

by Phil Yeats

 

David Clarke glanced out his living room window as he savoured the last of his morning coffee. A young man with a small dog attracted his attention. It was his son, Davey.

David had seen or heard from Davey since he stormed from the family home ten years earlier when he was eighteen. Should he go out and greet his wayward son? Or hold off and gather more data?

He chose the latter, locked the front door, and avoided looking across the street as he got into his car and drove away. He parked around the bend and walked back.

His front door was ajar. The white dog with tightly curled fur was tied to the porch railing. And Davey? He must be inside.

David found his son standing on a kitchen chair and reaching a small plastic box down from on top of the upper cabinets. It was little-used space, and things tucked to the back were invisible to anyone standing on the floor. Davey stepped off the chair and stood with it between him and his father. Did he view this meeting as an encounter, not a reunion?

“So, Davey, or should I call you David, what brings you home?”

“I’m going by my stage name, Arthur Cochrane, so Art or Arthur.”

“Arthur, after your maternal grandfather, and Cochrane, your mother’s maiden name. Does that mean you blame me for the disintegration of our family?”

“No, Celia and I know the way Mother had to have her way on everything was the reason.”

“But I could have tried harder to support your efforts. But I repeat my question. What brings you home now?”

“Passport. I need it for our upcoming tour.”

David furrowed his brow. “But that passport would be thirteen years old. Long since expired.”

“When I left, I had no clear path. Thought I’d be living rough. Mother offered to keep stuff like my passport and birth certificate safe for me. I came back and retrieved it before our first tour, and renewed it since, but left it here for safekeeping.”

“Why?”

Davey looked at the floor, unwilling to make eye contact. “I took her offer as an attempt to make peace without admitting she drove me away, but after I returned and she insisted I leave my new passport with her for safekeeping, I realized it was an attempt to maintain control of my life. I had a key, and I knew where she kept my stuff. It let her imagine she was still in control.”

“You didn’t come to Cecelia’s wedding, or attend your mother’s funeral?”

“I didn’t attend Celia’s wedding because we were on tour, but I avoided Mother’s funeral. I would have caused a ruckus and probably regretted it.”

“And you’re in contact with Cecelia?”

“She’s fine. Two children, cute little guys who are full of mischief. And a side hustle, an influencer with a podcast about dealing with difficult family relationships.”

“And you. Was this visit your effort to mend relations with me?” When Davey nodded, David continued. “Then why did you wait until I left for work?”

“Fear you’d reject my attempt,” Davey said as he pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket. “Two tickets to our send-off concert before we start our tour. Celia will be there, and I hope you’ll come.”

 

Davey, or should he now call him Arthur, left a few minutes later, taking the box with him. David stared at the two VIP tickets for a concert on Friday night at the city’s premier concert hall.

He thought about his life and the way he’d let his children down. He couldn’t blame his wife, at least not entirely. His parents had pushed him away from his interest in art to a living as an investment banker who dabbled in painting on the side. Long hours at work meant time spent on his side interest withered.

When he married and they had children, his long hours meant insufficient time with his kids. She was partly to blame, being attracted to the up-and-coming business executive and confident she could manage the kids. That was a cop-out. The only time he insisted on anything related to their high-society lifestyle. He insisted on the architectural gem he still lived in, when she would have preferred one of the six thousand square foot mausoleums others in their social set lived in. They had swimming pools and tennis courts and acres of manicured lawns and gardens tended by hired staff. David had a small lot and gardens designed to complement his unique house.

A little later than his usual unbusinesslike hours, he ambled into the commercial art gallery where he had studio space and showed Jenn Jefferson, his business partner, the tickets. “Know anything about this band?”

“Jesus, David, get your head out of your paint pots. Kaleidoscope is the biggest thing since April Wine left Halifax in 1970. And VIP tickets. You must have a connection to get these.”

“My son, he goes by the name Arthur Cochrane, gave them to me.”

“The keyboardist. Yeah, I see the resemblance, and he’s good. Well, they’re all good, but you can tell he had classical training.”

She returned the tickets. Did he detect a whimsical look as she passed them over? “You seem to know a lot about this band.” He held up a ticket. “You want to attend the concert?”

 

***

 

The Spot Writers:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/