His mother lived in a secluded enclave of villas near West Palm Beach, one of the first purchases he made with his royalties. After the acrimonious divorce, she had become a bitter and unhappy woman, who constantly clung to him. Once she moved to Florida and found a few friends, her attitude improved, and Kevin never regretted moving her south, especially since it reduced their interaction to just several times a year.
He pulled his rental car into the small driveway and walked up the short tiled sidewalk to the door. Before he reached it it opened to reveal his mother, dressed in a tropical print caftan. She gave him a tight hug and kissed both cheeks before admitting him into her home.
It was decorated in the almost-standard Florida style - pastels and blues, seahorses, lighthouses, shells. The tiny backyard was dominated by a small pool, with several concrete lion fountains along the sides.
"How was the flight, Kevin dear?" she asked, as she ushered him into the open kitchen and poured him a glass of his favorite lemonade.
"It was smooth, no worries. How have you been, Mom?" She busied herself behind the counter, assembling a platter of hummus and pita chips. She set a linen napkin in front of him before sliding the plate within his reach. "You always like to use linen napkins."
She smiled. "It's no trouble and it looks nice. I've been fine. Yesterday, I met up with the girls for a little bunko game and some wine." She continued puttering around the kitchen, chatting about her friends. He let the words roll over him, used to her conversations.
By the time she finally wound down, Kevin had finished his snack. "Kevin, dear, what do you want for dinner tonight?"
"Anything you make is wonderful, Mom. For now, I'm going to take a shower and nap a bit, if that's alright with you."
She patted his arm. "Of course, go freshen up and relax. I'll have dinner ready at 5:30." He stood up and gave her a kiss.
"Thanks, Mom, I love you."
* * *
Later, he woke up, feeling better. From the bed he could see outside to a lone fountain with arecia palms and hibiscus as a background.
Whenever he felt the need to flee the DC area, he invariably went to a warmer clime, even as his friends headed for Jackson Hole or Masanutten for snow skiing. It was under the palms trees and the blue skies that he felt best.
He checked his dive watch. It was about 4:30, so there was still time before they ate. It was a good time to complete his unpacking.
As he pulled out his shirts and slacks, a small card fell out of his case. He picked it up, and thought about the beautiful woman who had given to him. Was she shivering in the cold air that had invaded Virginia right before he left?
He reached for his phone, intending to call her, when his mom knocked on the bedroom door. He left his phone and the business card on the counterpane and left to go set the table.
* * *
Over a dinner of broiled tilapia and arugula salad, he told his mother about the television deal. She clapped her hands and smiled. "Oh Kevin, I'm so proud of you! I can't wait to tell my friends about this, the next time we meet up."
Kevin used her euphoria to get to the real reason he was here. "Mom, I want to talk about what happened to me when I was eight."
She immediately stiffened, a sure sign of her reluctance. "Why talk about it now? It happened so long ago." Her face took on a note of alarm. "Are you having problems again? Have you had a CAT-scan? You still speak normally. What's wrong?"
He soothed her. "Nothing is wrong. I'm revamping my biography and I noticed a few gaps in my life story. What do you mean by 'speaking normally'? I don't remember much from then."
She was quiet for so long, he thought she wouldn't answer. But she walked over to a rattan couch and sat down with her hands tightly clasped together.
"It was like there was a completely different boy living in my son's body," she began in a low tone, "Almost nothing was normal. He spoke with a strange accent that the speech pathologist couldn't recognize. And these strange mannerisms. He would bow to everyone, and didn't like to be touched. He used a fork and a spoon at the same time, one in each hand."
Kevin felt chilled as he hear his mother describe him in as a third party. He also sensed long-forgotten memories stirring in the back of his mind.
"We got a child psychiatrist involved. And gradually you came back to us. You had to relearn the alphabet, relearn to read. It felt like years before you called me "Mom" again." Tears pooled in her eyes as she continued, almost desperate for catharsis. "You never really called your father "Dad" again. And you spent hours staring at nothing outside, holding your stuffed elephant. I wasn't even sure where you were then."
He slid off the bar stool, and walked over to sit on the couch with her. He tried to rub warmth in to her cold hands. "I'm okay, Mom, really. Didn't I turn out alright?"
She reached out with a trembling hand and cupped his cheek. "You're still my Kevin, right, baby?" He pulled her into a hug as sobs racked her body.
"I'm here, Mom, I'm here."