The Visit

"Happy birthday, sweetheart." Ann wiped her hands and walked into the front room to hug her son. She couldn't believe it, he was 18 years old. Where did the time go? The last eight years had been wonderful, since they left Kaleb's father and the dreadful little house in the dreadful little town in the Midwest and moved to Dallas. Their life in Dallas had been everything she had dreamed and more. Her job as an abuse counselor with the small Baptist church was satisfying and had led to a career as a sought-after speaker. Kaleb was top in his class, valedictorian and had formed a jazz ensemble that was booked for months ahead at the local clubs. Yes, these had been the best eight years of her life.

"How was your da..?" The question died on her lips. It wasn't Kaleb. It was his father; or, more correctly, it was the ghost of his father. Marvin had died of a drug overdose six-months after they moved to Texas.

"Is he here?" It was as hard to hear his words as was to see his specter. The shape standing in the doorway was a smoky haze, the voice like the sound of water trickling into a metal pan. Even so, she knew, it was Marvin.

"No." Her voice was cold and hard, the way she always felt when she thought of him. She tried not to think of him. Kaleb never spoke of him. In fact, he had taken her ex-husband's last name as soon as he was old enough to go to court and petition for the change. Her ex, Dave, was one of their best friends and had been more than willing to take on the father-figure role for her son. They were closer than Kaleb and his own father had ever been.

"I want to see him." The tinkling sound coming from the gyrating smoke screen was disconcerting.

"Why?"

"I need to see him. I need to tell him things." The smoke seemed to be breaking up. Rather than being in the general shape of a man it was beginning to drift through the house. She could feel a panic building in her gut. She knew, somehow, that he wanted to infiltrate their life; that he wanted to soil their lives. She would not allow that to happen.

"I need to be with him. He's my boy."

"Not anymore, he's not." She knew what she had to do. She walked toward the climate control panel that Dave had installed last weekend. She remembered laughing about the model he had selected when he brought it by. Maybe he had known something she hadn't - until now.

"What are you doing?" She heard the last of the tinkling words as she switched on the smoke-eater.

"Just clearing the air," she was saying to herself as her son walked in the door. She wiped her hands and turned toward him.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart."