I decided to go to the house where I had grown up after I left the Tastee Freeze just to see if anything had changed. When I got there, I parked across the street where the Douglas family had lived. Last I heard, they had moved to an apartment. Now a different family lived there, not that I cared.

Sighing, I got out of the car and stood there watching my old childhood home. It felt as though I was looking through a fence even though the yard didn't have one. After a few minutes, I started to get back in the car when the front door opened and my mom stepped onto the porch. She looked in my direction with a curious expression. Then when she realized who I was, she quickly walked to the car and threw her arms around me. Tears were running down her cheeks as she pulled away to get a better look at me.

"Steve, is it really you?" She asked in disbelief.

"Yeah mom," I replied. "It's really me."

"Well, why are you standing out here like a stranger? Come inside."

I followed her into the house and saw that not much had changed.

"I take it dad's out?" I asked. My father had never been one to stay in the house for long.

My mom looked at me. "Your father passed away earlier this year. I tried to call to tell you, but your phone was disconnected."

I took a minute to let my mother's words sink in. "How did he die?"

"He had a heart attack while he was out golfing with some friends," she replied. "When he died, I thought my family was gone. I didn't even know if you were even still alive or dead in a gutter somewhere."

"Mom, I'm right here," I whispered.

"And I want to touch you to make sure I'm not dreaming," mom told me as she touched my cheek just like she used to do when I was little. "Why the surprise visit?"

"I'm moving back," I said. "I'm staying at the old motel down by the railroad tracks until I can get a job and get an apartment."

"You could stay here," she told me.

"That's what Darry said," I said with a small grin.

"You have people who care about you," she said softly. "I get letters from Ponyboy every so often and he always asks about you."

I was surprised, yet pleased to hear that Ponyboy had been staying in touch with my mom. He had never known her that well while we were growing up.

"You know, I was almost afraid to come here to the house," I admitted.

Mom looked at me in surprise. "Now why on earth would you be afraid to come here?"

I sat down at the dining room table and sighted. "I thought I wouldn't be welcome. After our last conversation, I thought I wouldn't be wanted here."

"Steve, your father and I didn't want to watch you destroy your life with those drugs. We didn't mean we didn't want to talk to you or see you."

Memories of my father telling me to get out of the house and never returned filled my mind. I spent many nights on the couch at the Curtis's back then. To hear that he might have welcomed me if I had returned sooner was hard to believe.

"Your father cared about you," mom said as if she were reading my thoughts. "I know you don't believe me and I don't expect you to, but you should know that while you were in Vietnam and even after you left to go to Chicago, he worried about you constantly. He may have been too harsh with his choice of words, but he still loved you."

"Dad worried about me while I was in Vietnam?"

"We all did," she whispered. "But for him, knowing that you were over there brought back memories of him being in World War Two. He knew better than the rest of us what you might have been going through. And when Soda died, he actually broke down and cried."

"I was back here when Soda died," I reminded her. I had been home for almost six months when Soda lost his life.

"Yes, but your father knew that it could have been you. He knew that day you left for the war that it could have been his last time seeing you."

"I never knew that," I said.

"Your father was always to proud to show any real emotion," mom replied. "Kind of like you."

I looked at her.

"The two of you always buried your emotions in work or other things. Your father with his job at the factory and you with all those cars you used to work on."

"And the heroin," I whispered.

"You can get help for that, Steve," mom told me.

"It's too hard."

"I never said it would be easy," she replied. "And I can't force you. Neither can your friends. What I can tel you is if and when you decide to get help, we'll all be there to support you. You can get clean again. I know you can."

"I don't know," I mumbled.

"Steve you can do anything you set your mind to. You just have to believe it."

"Well, maybe it is time that I faced my demons instead of always trying to run from them," I sighed. "I just don't know if I can do it."

Mom just gave my hand a reassuring squeeze as she stood up to leave the table. I recalled the times when I was younger and she told me that she believed in me. Apparently that was still true even though I had managed to make a big mess out of my life.