The Long Road, Part 2
A story about friendship, grief, and middle age
If you missed it, you can read Part 1 here: https://adamkozak.substack.com/p/the-long-road-part-1
Download a DRM-free pdf of the entire story here.
They turned left, away from the beach, and walked in silence.
Ted was slumped, head down as he walked. Harry kept glancing at him but was preoccupied with the roiling anger and frustration in his mind that was fighting with the shame for laying into Ted the way he had.
Harry listened to the sound of his boots tramping on the sidewalk. The lights spilled out of shop windows onto the pavement, though Ted seemed untouched by the light and moved in his own kind of shade, his face hard set.
After fifteen or twenty minutes they found the broad sweeping building with rows of police cars in the lot.
“I’m gonna wait out here,” Ted said and sat down on a bench by the door.
“Alright,” Harry said, wondering why he wouldn’t go in.
The reception area was brightly lit. An unshaved, bedraggled man in dirty clothes with his wrists in cuffs sat snoring, head back, mouth open, on a wooden bench. From behind the tall front desk a police officer with short brown hair and lips an alarming shade of pink eyed Harry in a business-like manner.
“What can I do for you?” she said.
“Uh, hi, officer. My truck was stolen. I need to file a report.”
“You’re sure it was stolen? Did you leave it unlocked? Was it maybe towed for being parked illegally?”
“Yes, no, and there weren’t any no parking signs.”
She sighed and reached under the desk. Out came a clipboard with paper and a pen.
“Fill this out.”
Harry took the clipboard and sat down on a bench. He approached the officer again a few minutes later.
She took the clipboard from him and frowned. “Your gun was in the truck?”
“Yes, ma’am. Unfortunately.”
She looked at him and arched an eyebrow. “You memorized the serial number?”
“Yes.”
“This address is in Iowa.”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s where I live.”
“You didn’t write your phone number.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
She looked at him like he had just told her the Earth is flat.
“You don’t have a phone?”
“No, I don’t have a phone. I don’t need one.”
“Seems like you need one now.”
“What’re you, my mother?”
“I’m just saying. Well, I guess you’ll have to stop by to check in and see if we’ve been able to locate it.”
“Fine by me. When do you think that will be?”
She shrugged, focusing on the computer screen. “Can’t say. Could be days. Longer than that and it might be gone for good.”
“Great. Excellent. Fantastic.”
“You’re taking this surprisingly well.”
Harry grimaced. “I’m glad it seems that way,” he said, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.
Ted looked up as Harry exited the building. Harry responded to his questioning gaze: “They said they’d see. I’m not too hopeful.”
“Sorry, Harry.”
Harry stared at the traffic passing by. “Not as sorry as the guy that stole my truck is going to be.”
“You’re not going to find him yourself.”
“I suppose not. Guess we’ll be sleeping on the beach tonight.”
“Bad idea. Sand is really cold.”
“A motel then.”
Ted sighed and stood up. “I might have an idea.”
Harry eyed the big house with the neatly manicured yard, landscaping with maples and oaks, hydrangeas and roses, a sweeping porch, shutters, and a deep red front door. The house was dark, illuminated only by the street lights.
“Doesn’t look like anyone is home. You know these people?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
The uncertainty was apparent in Harry’s voice. “Uh, Ted. I’m not breaking into anybody’s house.”
Ted shot an angry look at Harry. “Jesus, what do you think of me?”
Harry shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know, I thought desperate times, desperate measures or something—.” He trailed off.
“Come on.”
Harry followed Ted up the front steps and watched in wonder as Ted pulled a keychain from his pocket, selected a key, fitted it into the lock, and swung the door open.
They stood in the dark foyer.
“Make yourself at home,” Ted said. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
Ted headed off into the dark house. Harry fumbled around by the door for a light switch. Light flooded the room. There was a closet and stairs leading up. To the left was a living room with a couch. To the right were french doors leading to an office, which caught Harry’s attention.
The office was well appointed with oak paneling and a large desk. On the wall was a painting of a sunset over the ocean. Next to it were several diplomas. Harry examined them.
One from the University of California, Los Angeles that said: Theodore Mason, Bachelor of Science. Another from Stanford: Theodore Mason, Doctor of Medicine.
“A doctor? He’s a doctor?” Harry said.
“Yeah, I’m a doctor.”
Harry turned around. Ted was standing in the doorway looking exhausted.
“Why didn’t you tell me? And what are you doing bumming around?”
Ted shrugged. “Bumming around was kind of the only plan I had.” Ted motioned to Harry.
Harry followed him into the kitchen. On the way, he saw a portrait on the wall. A family portrait of Ted, a woman, and two children, a boy and a girl.
Harry’s heart sank into his shoes.
Ted sat down at the kitchen table. A lone light burned over the table casting shadows over the high end kitchen, all granite and stainless steel.
Ted poured two glasses of what looked like whisky. and motioned for Harry to sit.
“What happened to your family?” Harry said.
“Car accident.” He scoffed. “Car crash. I hate the word accident. Anyway, I wasn’t in the car. They all died, my wife immediately, the kids a few days later. They never woke up. Some drunk guy hit them.” He raised his glass and leered at it then drained the contents. “Nothing we haven’t heard a thousand times on the news. Just another family dead in a car crash. Reporters come around chasing your grief, trying to get a taste and spin it into money. Vultures. And then everyone forgets. Everyone except me.
“So I just left. The house is paid off. I canceled everything except gas, electric, and water, put them on automatic payment from my bank, left my credit cards behind so I couldn’t be tracked, locked the door and started walking. Kind of like that montage from Forrest Gump except without the soundtrack, just running, getting far far away.”
He let out a small laugh, grim and sad.
Harry looked down at the table and spun his whisky glass using only his middle finger on each hand. Confessions like this made him squirm. Too much sharing. Too many feelings. He knocked back half his whisky and tried to rise to the occasion.
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Did it help, getting away?”
Ted shrugged.
“Yeah, you can’t really get away from that, can you? Not much that time will do either, I don’t think.” Harry gestured then said, by way of apology: “Not that I really know. I never had kids or a wife to lose.”
Ted poured more whisky for both of them. They clinked glasses.
“So when you asked to go to California, did you feel like it was time to come back?”
“I guess. It’s hard to know when you’re ready to pick up the pieces, especially when there aren’t really any pieces left to pick up. What am I supposed to do, just live in this empty house?” he said, gesturing at the room.
“You could try to find someone.”
Disapproval was plain on Ted’s face. “I did that. It’s not happening again. I don’t even want it to.”
“You could try.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
The whisky dulled the sensation but Harry still felt like he’d been hit. “What?”
“You’ve never been married, you don’t have kids, no family. Don’t tell me I could try. I did it. You could try.”
Harry was hurt but tried not to let it show. “Maybe I did in my own way by picking up your sorry ass and dragging you around the country.”
“I didn’t ask for any favors. You invited me, as I recall.”
“Screw you and your blonde hair,” Harry said and threw back his whisky. He stood up, wavered, and fell back into his chair.
Ted laughed. “You’re drunk.”
Harry smiled, a little sheepish. “You’re drunk. What is this anyway?” he said, examining the dregs in the glass.
“Macallan 18.”
Harry looked at him quizzically.
“Scotch,” Ted said. “And very expensive scotch at that.”
“Too good for J&B, eh?”
“Yeah, I am actually.”
“Did the high opinion of yourself come with the diploma or were you born with it?”
Ted grinned. “Bit of both.”
“So how much for the bottle?”
Ted shrugged. “Couple hundred bucks.”
“Jeez, good money as a doctor, huh?”
“Yeah, neurosurgery is well paid.”
“You’re a brain surgeon?”
“Was, but yeah.”
“Wait, wait. You’re a brain surgeon but you don’t know where Chicago is?”
Ted half smiled and arched one eyebrow.
“You were kidding,” Harry said.
“What about Liz Taylor?”
Ted sat up. “Okay, that happened but it was just some woman claiming to be Liz Taylor and I very politely turned her down.” Ted laughed, genuine laughter. “I can be a bit silly sometimes. I guess I leaned into that a bit too much.” His face became grave. “I guess it helped me forget. Silliness can be intoxicating, just like this stuff.” He held up his glass and sipped.
Harry refilled both glasses.
“Tell me about them.”
“My family?”
“Yeah.”
“No. I don’t know. I can’t really.”
“Might help.”
“Might hurt too.”
“It’s always going to hurt.”
Ted sighed. “My wife, Liz, was a doctor too. OB/GYN. She loved it. Working with women and babies. Bringing new life into the world.
“Katie loved sports. She played soccer and I coached her. She was trouble,” he said with a wry grin. “Tom was quiet. Loved reading. They got along pretty well, actually. They were only two years apart.” Ted sighed and wiped his eyes.
“They sound wonderful.”
“Yeah, they were.”
“Your parents still around? Did they come looking for you?”
Ted shrugged. “Probably, I didn’t bring my phone so I wouldn’t know. I hope they understand why I left, even if they didn’t approve.”
Ted knocked back more whisky. Harry joined him.
“You know what kills me?” Ted’s voice was starting to grow sharp while his eyes took on a distant cast, like he was looking down at his scotch from a long way away. “It’s the kids, you know? Every parent thinks their kid is perfect just the way they are, which is never true. You know, they were perfect for me, I thought they were wonderful and amazing and a pain in the ass. The thing that kills me is that every child is innocent. They might not be perfect, but they are innocent. They didn’t deserve what happened to them. Neither did my wife but it’s different for kids. They’re just along for the ride in this world in every situation and the adults who are responsible let them down.
“I think that’s why I didn’t like seeing that deer killed.” He scoffed. “Didn’t like—I hated it. It reminded me of my kids. It was totally innocent, going about its business, then wham! It didn’t ask for a highway to be built there. It’s not responsible. I know it wasn’t your fault either,” he said, not looking at Harry. “I just—it took me back and I was so angry.”
“I know,” Harry said.
They both drank and Harry refilled their glasses.
Ted started humming low and slow. “Ever seen Jaws?”
“Of course.”
Ted sang quietly. “Show me the way to go home. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”
Harry grinned and joined in. They both sang:
“I had a little drink about an hour ago and it went right to my head. Wherever I may roam, on land or sea or foam, you can always hear me singing this song. Show me the way to go home.”
They both drank and started again, faster this time.
Ted poured more whisky, spilling some on the table. They drank and started the song again even faster.
Harry met Ted’s eyes as they sang. The feeling of wild abandon was reflected back in Ted’s eyes, that wonderful freeing looseness only good liquor enjoyed with friends can induce like there’s nothing wrong and everything right with the world.
More scotch. More singing.
They were both singing so loud they were shouting, words merging into each other as the pace of their singing outstripped their ability to pronounce the words.
They ended on the final note of “home!” and slapped the table, gasping and grinning ear to ear.
“What is foam?” said Harry.
“What?”
“Foam. Land or sea or foam. What kind of foam? Sea foam, foamed milk, styrofoam?”
“I think they just needed a rhyme with home.” Ted sighed. “You know, I used to sing that to my kids. My wife was wonderful. She could sing and she knew all these songs but I’d need to sing them to sleep and I couldn’t think of anything and it just came to me.”
“Hey, you do what you need to.”
Ted nodded. “I did. I did. I always did.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
Ted rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Sleep. Sleep, sleep. That’s what I’m going to do.”
Harry meant what was he going to do with his life now but somehow in the moment that didn’t really matter all that much and he wasn’t going to push it.
Harry stood up, walked with a list over to the sink, and filled two glasses. He drained one, refilled it, then brought them both back to the table, setting one in front of Ted.
“How long has it been since you slept in this house?”
Ted screwed his eyes shut thinking. “Almost two years.”
“That’s a long time. I can take the couch.”
“I’ll be in the spare room, if I can make it up the stairs.”
Harry watched Ted go around the corner and listened to him stumble up the stairs. A minute or two later he heard the toilet flush.
He got up, wandered around until he found the bathroom, then went to the living room and collapsed onto the couch.
He took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out through his mouth. His tongue tasted of whisky. It felt raw on the roof of his mouth. He wondered where his truck was. Probably getting stripped for parts.
He frowned.
“Could be worse,” he said to himself. “Your family could be dead. My family is dead. Your wife and kids. I don’t have a wife and kids.”
He fell asleep pitying Ted and himself.
Harry woke up to the smell of bacon. He groaned, sat up, pulled on his suspenders, and walked into the kitchen rubbing his eyes.
“Mornin’,” Ted said. He gestured at the counter. “Food. Coffee.”
Harry helped himself to bacon, toast, and coffee and sat down at the bar top. Ted was shockingly chipper.
“Aren’t you hungover?”
“Huh uh,” Ted said through a bite of toast.
Harry took a sip of coffee and thought a moment. “I don’t feel so bad myself.”
“That’s what good scotch does for you. Worth every penny.”
“You went to the store already?”
“Yeah, I was up pretty early.”
Harry watched him, looking for the signs he knew so well. The slouch, the grim set face he would attempt to hide.
He seemed at peace but Harry couldn’t read his mind and he knew Ted was good at hiding things. One night of heavy drinking wasn’t going to fix his problems, as much as it seems it will in the thick of it.
After breakfast, Ted showed Harry around the first floor. He didn’t ask to go upstairs. In Ted’s library they discovered that they shared a love of Raymond Chandler and John MacDonald. They passed Saturday and Sunday discussing their favorite passages, drinking beer, and eating anything that could be easily grilled.
After dinner on Sunday, Harry and Ted, each with a beer, sat on the patio in the backyard watching nothing in particular.
After a lengthy silence Ted said, “I can’t stay here. What am I going to do, keep this place as a mausoleum, a memorial to my family for all time?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I sell. Get rid of most of the stuff. Get a little apartment. Maybe practice medicine again.”
Harry nodded. “Good for you. It’s time.”
“No, it’s not time. It’s never time, never feels like the right time. It just has to be done.”
The next day, Ted drove Harry to the police station in his British racing green E-type Jaguar. True to its name, the engine roared and purred as Ted handled it magnificently out of the driveway and down the road.
“Just like scotch, you’re too good for a Honda Civic, huh?”
Ted grinned. “I am indeed.”
The police station, quiet the other night, was crawling with people during the day. Ted parked the car.
“Coming in?”
“No, you go ahead. I’ll wait.”
“Did you have to—?” Harry pointed to the building. “Here, when—?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright.”
Harry waited in line to talk to a harassed-looking officer with glasses and a hare-lip. Harry gave him the case number.
“Here we go. Fulton. Good news! They found your truck. Bad news, it’s probably missing parts and your gun was not recovered.”
“Cool. Great. Fantastic. I guess I could be worse.”
The officer handed him a ticket. “Take this to the impound lot. The address is on there. We’re through with it so you’ll be able to pick it up there any time.”
Harry and Ted drove to the impound lot where a bored and surly attendant pointed out Harry’s truck.
Harry walked circles around the truck, inspecting every part and panel, checking for scratches and dents, not wanting to lift the hood for fear of what he might see.
The inside had been completely tossed. His scant belongings, what was left of them, were everywhere. A combination of fury, revulsion, and violation filled Harry. He liked everything in its place and not only was the cab a mess but his things had been pawed through and stolen. He had a definite desire to kill whomever was responsible.
Ted kept a respectful distance, merely uttering words of quiet condolence to Harry.
“Well, could be worse, I guess. At least I got it back.”
He put the key in the ignition. The engine groaned and turned over.
“And she even runs!”
Ted followed Harry around in his truck until he found a mechanic to check the truck and make sure it was road worthy.
They stood out on the sidewalk enjoying the sun, the smell of grease and oil wafting over from the open garage door.
They spoke little. Harry was aware of a feeling of finality, like something was coming to an end. He pushed it aside and commented on the weather.
When it came time to pay, Ted set his credit card on the counter.
“No. No way,” Harry said.
“Harry, I’ve been riding around with you for months for nothing. Paying for nothing. Doing almost nothing. Let me pay. Besides, if it hadn’t been for me asking you to come out here, it wouldn’t have been stolen. It’s kind of my fault.”
“Ted, it’s over a thousand dollars.”
“That’s like three bottles of scotch.” Ted grinned. “Look, yeah, it’s a lot of money. I know what a dollar’s worth. But just let me do this, okay?”
“Thanks, bud.”
“No, thank you.”
Harry looked at Ted. The lines around his eyes seemed softer, the dark circles under his eyes lighter. “For what?”
“Bringing me out here. Helping me. I mean, you were a total stranger. Who does that these days?”
Harry shrugged. He didn’t know what to say.
Harry followed the Jag back to Ted’s house. Ted pulled into the garage. Harry stopped the truck in the street in front of the house.
As he got down from the truck, Harry felt a kind of jittery electricity in his chest that shot down through his legs. His boots were heavy like they were trying to slow him down. The sound of each footstep was deafening.
“Coming in?” Ted said.
“I really should get back on the road. I’ve got another job waiting for me and my week’s almost up.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course,” Ted said, doing his best to look unconcerned.
Harry found he was having a hard time figuring out where to put his hands. They alternated between his pockets and the back of his neck and in between as he crossed his arms.
“You good here?” Harry said.
Ted looked around. He glanced at the house.
“You know what? Yeah, I think I am.”
“You staying here?”
“No, I’ll find somewhere to stay, then call a realtor in the morning.”
Harry nodded then walked up to Ted and hugged him.
“Take care, man. You’ve got my address? Look me up if you’re in Iowa. I’d say call, but I don’t have a phone.”
“I will,” Ted said.
Harry turned and walked away. He got into his truck, turned the key, put it in gear and looked out the window. Ted was still standing in the driveway, same blonde hair and lanky build in a t-shirt and jeans looking more like a surfer than a doctor. He looked content, but sad, the upturned corners of his mouth fighting with the frowning downturn of his eyes. He waved.
Harry waved back, smiled, and drove away.
“Ah, shit,” he said. He wiped his eyes.
Ted was still there in the mirror. Then Harry turned and he was gone.
Just him and the road now. The open road. Nothing but the open road.
He stopped at the red light to leave the neighborhood.
He watched the traffic go through the intersection. Someone in a real LA hurry honked at a car driving at California surfer speed.
Palm trees mingled with pines on either side of the road. The sun was low and dropping lower. In the distance, the Pacific glittered. Harry shuddered. Too much water, he thought.
A sound at the passenger door made Harry instinctively reach for the gun which was no longer there.
The door opened. A panting, gasping blur jumped in.
“You really should lock your doors,” Ted said.
“What are you doing?”
“You helped me so I’m going to help you.”
“What are you, a shrink? I’m good. I don’t need anything.”
“Oh yes you do. You can’t just live your whole life in this truck.”
“Sure, I can. What’s wrong with that?”
Ted recoiled. “Look, I wish I didn’t feel like this,” he tapped his chest, “but I don’t regret my life for a second. You need to live and you haven’t yet.”
“What about your house?”
“It’ll still be there.”
Harry shook his head. “What is this, an intervention?”
Ted was serious. “Absolutely.”
Harry smiled, a small ironic smile. “I can’t get rid of you, can I?”
“Nope.”
“Am I going to have to make sure you don’t jump off the first bridge we see?”
A slow grin spread across Ted’s face. “It’s a distinct possibility.”
“Seriously.”
Ted shrugged. “Probably not.”
“I’m going east. It’ll be a while before we’re back.”
“I know.” Ted paused and pointed straight ahead. “Next stop, Omaha!”
Harry looked at him. “Omaha?”
Ted met his gaze. His eyes twinkled. “Do you remember who lives in Omaha?”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. No way.”
“Oh yes. Dawn.”
“I don’t even have her number.”
“It’s okay,” Ted said, holding up a scrap of paper, “I have it.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Ted, I don’t have a phone.”
“We’ll get you one.”
“I live in Iowa.”
“How many days out of the year? You can just as easily live in Omaha. Iowa and Nebraska are both flat and full of corn. They’re practically the same state.”
“Spoken like a true coastal elite.”
Ted cackled. “The truth hurts.”
“I’m happy in my truck. Just me and the open road and the next job.”
“Fine, but there’s so much to life you haven’t experienced. And I’m going to make sure you do.”
“What about you? Do you get a free pass?”
“No, but I had my life. I did all the big things. Family, career.”
“Don’t you have any friends in California you can bother?”
“No, they’re kind of all jerks,” said Ted.
Harry paused. He liked his little world. Truck, jobs, road. Always moving. Didn’t like disruptions to his routine.
Is that really true? he thought. You picked up Ted, didn’t you?
“Man, I don’t know how to talk to women,” Harry said.
“That’s okay. I’ll help you out. You just have to be yourself.”
Harry leveled a stare at Ted.
“Seriously,” Ted said. “She already gave you her number. You’re a shoo-in.”
Harry sighed. “Alright, alright. Get your feet off the dash and buckle up.”
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, strictly a product of the author’s imagination. Any perceived resemblance or similarity to any actual events or persons, living or dead, and any perceived slights of people, places, or organizations are products of the reader’s imagination.This fiction is the result of a partnership between a human writer and the character(s) he accessed with his creative subconscious as he raced through the story with them.No generative AI was used in any way to write this story.
Is there going to be a third? I was waiting for the heart attack but it didn't come. I am invested here. What about Dawn? or did I miss the third?
Love this... reminds me of Cormac McCarthy and what I enjoyed about The Passenger (but more hopeful)