Chapter Nine

Woody had forgotten how cold Wisconsin was. Not that Boston was much warmer. He pulled his coat closer around him and dug his winter gloves out of his pocket. "Don't you have heat in this thing?" he asked Cal, indicating his SUV.

"I do…it just takes it a while to warm up." Cal was driving his brother out to Kewuanne, which was about 45 minutes outside of Milwaukee. "Give it a minute."

It had been a long time since Woody had been back in Kewaunne. Once he left it behind…left Annie and the memories, he had vowed never to return. Each Christmas, he had told his Aunt Jean that he couldn't come home because he had to work – he was new on the force and would have to take holidays for a while until his seniority was built up. Then he could come home for Christmas and New Years.

But that had never happened. After a while she had quit asking, as if she sensed Woody didn't want to be at home and face the memories that it held for him. Instead, she had always mailed out his Christmas presents and he had always sent her flowers for the holidays…and Mother's Day…and her birthday. "Just…Woody…when you meet the right girl, please bring her home and let us at least meet her once," Aunt Jean had begged.

And he promised her that he would. As soon as he did. If he ever did. He thought he had…but he couldn't be sure until he finished this.

"Damn, it's muddy from all the snow," Cal complained as he pulled his SUV off the main highway and onto a back country road.

Woody nodded, silent at the memories the countryside was bringing back to him. There was the elementary school he attended… and the middle school…and the high school. He had been picked on a lot in elementary school and middle school. He had been chubby….and had stuttered. It wasn't until high school that he had gained a little ground under his feet. Suddenly his muscles had grown into his lanky six-foot-four-inch frame and he found himself a football star…And his stutter hadn't mattered. The girls thought it was cute…they thought he was cute.

But his dreams were cut short all in one night…

He heard the transmission shift in the car as Cal put the vehicle in park. "We're here, " he announced. He looked closely at his brother. Woody hadn't eaten hardly anything since he had been in Wisconsin. He hadn't slept much at all, either. Cal had heard him tossing and turning all night. Calling out for Jordan a couple of times. Now he was as worried as she was about Woody. "You sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Give me a few minutes….then come."

Cal nodded and Woody got out of the car, slowly walking through the gate that surrounded the graveyard of St. Paul's Catholic Church. He walked down the main path and took the third one to the right. At the end, in the Hoyt family section, he paused in front of his parents' graves. He squatted down looked at his mother's name. She had died when Woody was four, and to be honest, he really didn't remember much about her. She was kind. And sweet. And loved him. She had him and Cal less than two years apart. After she had Cal, it was like she had never really gotten well. The doctors diagnosed her with lymphoma. She had lived less than two years after that. One day his mother was baking cookies and taking him to preschool…the next day, they were sealing her in a casket and putting her in the ground. His world…his stability… had been ripped out from under him and he hadn't been the same since.

Life had been tough on his dad after that. At first, Grandma Hoyt helped out all she could…then she got sick and died, too. At that point, the boys were old enough to take care of themselves most of the time. Woody had tried hard to please his father…getting himself and Cal up, fed, and off to meet the school bus. Making good grades, making sure Cal did his homework, cleaning the house, cooking dinner. Looking back, Woody wasn't sure how he managed it at the age of twelve. The age when most boys his age were out playing ball after school and noticing girls. He tried hard to please his father.

And always felt like he had failed miserably. His father always found something to criticize…something that fell short of perfection. The stress the boy found he was under manifested itself in a speech impediment. Woody stuttered. Often uncontrollably. To this day, if he ever found himself in a highly stressful situation, he would often relapse into the stutter.

But he had worked hard on it after he was in high school. He had a wonderful speech therapist at Kewuanne High that helped him. By the time he was out of his freshman year, the stutter was nearly gone. That boosted his confidence. He began to talk more…try to have more friends, even though he still worked hard to take care of Cal and the house. Then the football coach came and talked to him one day after school. He had been watching Woody during sprints in PE class. He thought he would do well playing football. He encouraged Woody to try out for the junior varsity team that summer.

Excited by the coach's praise, Woody began to lift weights and run. His father had laughed at him, but that did nothing to dampen the young man's spirits. He kept at it – as well as keeping his grades up and the house and Cal. He amazed even the coach when during summer tryouts, he completely passed the junior varsity team and made the varsity team. He lettered the next year.

The town had gone crazy over him. There wasn't a lot going on in Kewuanne…and their high school football team was both their pride and main source of entertainment. Woody found himself a sort of local celebrity. For the first time in his life, things were looking up. His junior year was just as successful. He was the leading runner. Colleges were already beginning to whisper his name. He made the all-state team.

Everything had been going great until that weekend. That god-awful weekend that Woody could still see in his mind. It played over and over on an endless loop in his brain. Alcohol wouldn't even dim the memories…and neither did Jordan…or Devan.

That weekend when his world turned completely upside down. His father had been on another weekend bender. His dad didn't drink all the time…but sometimes the bitterness he felt about his wife's death overcame all reason. Most of the time the resentment he felt about being left with two boys to raise manifested itself with the belt. Any little thing that Woody or Cal did to irritate his father….they would be beat. His father's belt would come out of his pants in a flash and land on the backs and backsides of the two boys. Woody would often throw himself over Cal to protect the younger boy. The beatings continued until the day his dad died.

The day he died. That weekend. His dad was coming out of the drunken haze he was in…he had to go to work. He was a deputy sheriff. He was called to a robbery at a gas station and walked in on the 18 year-old pulling the heist. Before his dad could react and reach for his revolver, the teenager pumped five shots into his father. His dad had lingered in the hospital for ten days before he died in Woody's arms.

And Woody's world had altered forever. After the debts had been settled and the house sold, there wasn't a whole lot of money left. The sheriff's department had issued some benevolence funds for the two boys to be held in a college trust. Woody and Cal went to live with their father's sister, Aunt Jean, and her husband, Lloyd. Lloyd was dairy farmer that didn't have much use for high school ball. Woody never played another football game in his life. He worked the dairy farm with Uncle Lloyd. Woody had never complained, but he knew that was the point where the downward spiral in his life began to accelerate. He graduated a nobody from high school without any college football offers.

"You were a piece of work, you know that?" he whispered to his dad. "You could have at least left life insurance or something…a will…but no. You died just like you lived…for yourself." Woody stood up and sighed. "But you're dead now…and it's over. You can't hurt me anymore. I may not have ended up being a college football star, but that's okay. I'm a detective…and I like my life. So it turned out fine. I just wish …." His voice broke.

"Woody?" Cal came up behind him and put his arm around Woody. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Why was Dad like he was, Cal? I tried so hard to please him…"

"Wood, it wasn't you. Dad wasn't happy with anything or anybody after Mom died. She was the love of his life. Aunt Jean said he died a little each day after Mom passed away. He didn't know what he was doing at the end…he was just in pain. No one could have made him happy…not you…not me…not anyone."

"But I tried so hard…."

"I know. I remember. I remember how hard you always worked. But it's time to let it go, Woody. Let him rest in peace…let you get some peace. It doesn't matter now. Let it go."

"Have you?"

Cal laughed. "Yeah. Years ago. When I realized that the only person I had to answer to now was myself…and as long as I could look myself in the eyes in the mirror with no regrets, that was all that mattered."

"I just wish….I just wish I could have understood him better…that he would have talked to us more about how he was feeling…"

Cal nodded. "I do, too. But men of his generation didn't do that. They weren't supposed to have feelings..."

Woody swallowed hard. He knew that. But now, after all those years of hating his father, at least now he felt some closure…some peace. Maybe now he could walk away from this gravesite and not see it nearly every night in his dreams.