Chapter 16

Bob came home from the rehab hospital three months to the day of the robbery. It was a pleasant and unseasonably warm afternoon in late March, made all the more sunny to the Liebkind family by the fact that Bob walked from his room to the waiting minivan without any assistance save that of a sturdy hospital crutch. The paralysis of his left side was very much in evidence—he dragged his left foot, and his gait was laborious and unsure—but two months under the tutelage of a very skilled and determined physical therapist had paid off dramatically.

"What's the first thing you want to do?" Will asked when they pulled away from the rehab hospital.

"Have dinner someplace where they have big slabs of red meat, and decent beer on tap. The bland shit in rehab made me want to chew the paint off the walls for some flavor."

"You look good, dad," Erica said from the third row, and Will found himself nodding in agreement. The month of tube-feeding and the subsequent two months of hospital food had slimmed Bob down considerably. Will guessed that his brother's weight was actually under the ideal number for his height. The clothes that Christa had brought him from home flopped on his now-lean frame, and Bob's own belt hadn't been sufficient to cinch his pants tight enough, even though he had used the last hole for the buckle latch. Will had made him another hole with the awl on his pocket knife, and that one had been a good inch away from the formerly last hole in the row.

"You do look good," Claire said. "The short hair gives you a totally different look, and with the weight off..."

"He looks like a whole new person," Christa said.

"Yeah, well, that was a bitch of a makeover," Bob said, and they all laughed.

The surgery team had shaved Bob's head in preparation for the surgery three months ago, and it had grown back into a very rugged-looking sort of buzz cut that greatly minimized the impact of Bob's receding hairline. Will thought it looked far more clean and dignified than Bob's previous untidy longish hair, and he had to admit that his brother actually looked tough now, like a gruff Marine Gunnery Sergeant.

"Let's see. Red meat and beer," Claire said. "We could do that new tavern place out on Parkside. I hear they have like twenty microbrews on tap, and their steaks are supposed to be pretty good. 'Ribeyes big as dinner plates', Libby says."

"My kind of place," Bob said with finality. "Let's go, before the dinner rush."

Much to Will's surprise, Bob only managed most of his sixteen-ounce ribeye, half of a baked potato, and only three pints of beer, despite them spending over two hours at dinner.

"Hell," Bob said when Will pointed this out. "It seems that my stomach's gotten smaller with the rest of me in that place. Couldn't fit in more if I tried."

"You don't want to overdo it anyway," Christa cautioned. "You'll just barf it all up, and then the new van will stink like semi-digested garlic mashed potatoes for a month."

"Looks like we jumped the gun on that van," Will said to Christa. "No wheelchair to haul. We could have just gotten him a new pickup truck after all."

"I like that van," Christa said. "Wheelchair or not, it's nice to have all that space inside. It rides much nicer than the truck did, too."

"Not a fair comparison," Bob interjected. "That truck had shocks that were almost as old as Erica. You can't judge a new vehicle by that kind of standard."

"You think you can get used to the van?" Will asked. "I'm sure we can work out something with the dealership and have them give us credit towards one of those Rams instead."

"No, it's alright," Bob shrugged. "Much easier for me to get into that van than climb up into a truck. And I guess it's nice to be able to haul more than two and a half people."

Christa's sigh of relief was almost audible, and Will grinned. She had fallen in love with the Caravan over the last month or two, and he was sure she wouldn't have surrendered it without a fight.

When the waiter came around with the dessert menus, Bob initially declined, but then caved in to peer pressure when everyone else at the table ordered dessert.

"Well, gotta join the crowd, I suppose. That Oreo sundae looks pretty damn good, actually."

They spent another half hour talking over their desserts, sharing bites with each other. Will marveled at the ease with which Claire had been assimilated into the family, and how everyone treated her as if she had been part of the dinner table for years. She took the offered bites of Bob's sundae and Erica's apple pie, sharing her chocolate brownie with them in exchange.

You know you're part of the family when they eat off your fork, and you off theirs, he thought with a smile.

"Have you thought about my proposal?" he asked Claire later, when the two of them were sitting on the front steps of Bob's house.

"Moving the store to Maine?"

"Yeah. It's not that I'm antsy to get back up there, but..."

" ... this is not where you want to grow old," Claire finished for him.

"Something like that," he smiled. "It's alright, but it's not New England. I love my seasons, and fresh seafood, and the foliage, and all that."

"What about Bob and Christa, and Erica?"

"Well," he shrugged, "the kid is going off to college in two years. Did you know she already skipped a grade? They wanted her to skip two, but Bob wouldn't let her because he figured the older kids would pick on her too much. After she's off to college, mom and I are just going to have to put the thumb screws on those two and get them to move up to where the rest of the family lives. I know mom has to be getting sick of making that flight four times a year."

"If this is where he wants to live..." Claire said, and left the sentence unfinished.

"Goodness," he said, and took a sip of his beer. "It sounds like I'm the most selfish prick on the face of the earth, doesn't it? Trying to get everyone I care about to move close to me, instead of the other way around."

"You have to try and do what makes you happy, Will. So does everybody else."

"And what would make you happy?" he asked. "Seriously, and don't try to spare my feelings. If you'd like it best if I moved to Knoxville for good, just tell me."

"Would you do it?" she asked, and there was the hint of a smile on her lips. "Would you do it if I asked you?"

"For a while," he replied. "I know I want to be with you, and if you can't see yourself anywhere else, I'd honestly try and make it work down here. I mean, I'm a writer—I can work from damn near anywhere as long as I have access to a computer and a mailbox, right?"

"But you wouldn't be totally happy," she said.

He shrugged his shoulders and studied the streetlights that had flickered to life a little while ago.

"I don't want to give up the store, Will. It's mine, I built it up from scratch, and I've worked hard to make it turn a profit, which is a hard thing to do with a little bookstore in this town, believe me."

She paused and leaned her head against his shoulder briefly.

"But you have a point. It's just a building, I guess. It's what's in it that counts, and that stuff can be moved to a different building, I suppose."

"So give it some thought," Will said. "Let Lauren run the store for a few weeks and come back up to Maine with me. Hire someone else to help her at the store if you need to. I'm not in a rush to get us up there. Take your time to train someone new, but then give it a chance and come to Maine with me again. Get a feel for the area, look for some good locations for a store, that kind of thing. If you think that it won't work, I'll come to live with you here in Knoxville without a fuss."

He grinned as he continued.

"Well, maybe we'll take four vacations a year in Maine, but we won't get around that anyway. Not with mom wanting to see the family for every major holiday."

He looked at her, and touched her cheek with the palm of his hand. She accepted his touch with closed eyes.

"Just give it a chance," he repeated. "Just so we can see if we can get something off the ground that's ours from the start, even if it's just a fixer-upper by the train tracks in Brewer or something."

She looked into the distance for a while, focused on a spot that Will couldn't make out. Then she nodded slowly.

"Alright, Will. You make a good case there."

Then she looked at him again, and kissed him on the mouth.

"But you can forget about living by the train tracks, mister. I'll be damned if I give this whole family thing another shot if the kids can just get mangled by the five o'clock freight train when they go out to play."

Will had considered the question of a family of his own, but Claire's reference to possible children seemed to open the door into an entirely new and exhilarating realm of possibilities. The mere thought of it made his head swim a little.

"I never asked you how you feel about the offspring issue," Will said.

"Afraid to bring it up because of my prior history?" she asked, and he nodded reluctantly.

"I just sort of figured you were soured on the idea," he said.

"I'm soured on the idea of having a child with the wrong guy," she said. "You're not the wrong guy, Will."

"How can you be sure?" he asked.

"I'm sure," she said simply. "I'm sure. All I have to do is watch how you treat Erica, and Oliver, and Libby, and your brother and mom."

He studied her earnest face, and he felt his cheeks flush with the heat of embarrassment.

"Just be who you've been since I met you, Will. I don't know the Will from five or ten or fifteen years ago, and I don't really care. All I know is that the guy I met is the guy I want to have around from now until I'm ready to collect those Social Security checks."

He laughed, and pulled her close to plant a kiss on her forehead.

"Then so it shall be," he said. "So it shall be."

March gave way to April, Bob's birth month. Kate came down from Maine once more for his birthday, which the family celebrated in the traditional fashion. Every year since their wedding, Bob and Christa had gone out to the nearest Nathan's for chili dogs, and Erica had been included in the tradition from the time she could gum a hot dog roll. This year, the trek to Nathan's took two vehicles to accomplish, since Will and Claire were in attendance as well. Will knew that Kate didn't usually come down to Knoxville for birthdays, but this year had been anything but ordinary for the family.

The only Nathan's in town was located at the food court in the mall. Will and Christa parked their respective cars next to each other in the parking garage of the mall, and they all walked to the food court together.

"Oh, look," Bob said when they passed the pet store, where they had puppies on display in the windows. "It's the Puppy Penitentiary."

"That's horrible," Claire said. "Poor things, all bred in those crummy puppy mills, and they want more money for them than you'd have to spend on a well-bred dog."

"Oh, wow. Check this out," Will said, and stepped closer to the store windows, where a half dozen puppies of indeterminate lineage were playing in the shredded newspaper that had been put down for bedding. "That sign says you can buy one now, and then make payments."

"Buy a puppy on credit?" Claire said in horror. "Good grief."

"Yeah, that's pretty crummy," Bob said. "If you can't afford to buy the poor thing outright, chances are you can't afford the food or the vet bills, right?"

"The dachshund breeders I know will interview the people who come to buy their puppies. They hardly ever make money on a litter, and they'd rather keep a pup than sell it to the wrong person."

"I doubt they interview future owners in this place," Erica said glumly.

"Oh, sure they do," Bob interjected. "Problem is, they just ask, 'Cash or charge?'"

He pulled his daughter close and kissed her on the top of her head.

"Dearest daughter, always trying to save the world. You're a good person, you know?"

"You think so, dad?" she asked, looking up at him with a smile.

"Absolutely. You know, whenever I think that I'm just a huge screwup, I look at you, and I think to myself that I can't be all that bad if I managed to raise someone like you."

She beamed up at him, and Will saw Claire smiling at the sight of this father daughter exchange.

"Getting knocked on the head has made him all mushy," Will whispered to Claire, intentionally loud enough for Bob and Erica to hear his comment, and both of them just smiled.

"Chili dogs with fries," Will groaned when they were on the way back to Bob's house. "I can't believe you ate two of the things. I thought your palate was refined."

"Yeah, whatever," Claire said. "You didn't seem to mind 'em too much, either."

"The dogs were pretty good. It's the chili that's killing me every time."

They were alone in Will's car, the rest of the family following them in the minivan. Will was now familiar enough with Knoxville that he no longer needed a map or written directions to most of the important places--the mall in particular had been a frequent target of his outings with Erica, and just about everything else that mattered in Knoxville was located on one main thoroughfare called Kingston Pike. Since that road ran parallel to the Interstate, it was exceedingly difficult to get lost in this town.

"The new girl at the store is working out pretty well," Claire said.

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A Bettered Life

Michael Lindgren

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