The following Thursday, Frank called again.
I was sitting beside the kitchen window when the telephone rang.
I recognized his number.
"Hello, Frank."
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Larson."
He asked how I was feeling.
I told him my walking was improving.
He sounded pleased.
Then he mentioned the car.
"I thought you might like to know it's doing well."
I smiled.
"Is it?"
"Yes. I've been using it for work."
He explained that he had taken it on several longer trips.
The engine was still reliable.
The brakes were good.
He had replaced a small part and cleaned the interior.
I asked whether he had found anything else in the trunk.
He laughed softly.
"No. Nothing like that."
I laughed too.
Then he said something that made me pause.
"I kept thinking about how carefully your husband must have prepared that package."
I looked toward the bedroom.
"He was always careful."
Frank said he had been impressed by the way the money was wrapped.
He had never seen somebody store savings in such a thoughtful way.
I told him Walt had believed in being prepared.
"He sounds like he was a good man."
"He was."
We talked for a few more minutes.
Before ending the call, Frank asked whether I would mind if he kept the car.
I was surprised by the question.
"Of course you can. You bought it."
"I just wanted to make sure there wasn't some reason you'd want it back."
I looked toward the empty driveway.
For a moment, I remembered the morning I had returned from rehabilitation.
The nurse helping me out of the vehicle.
The empty space.
The shock of discovering Kevin had sold my car.
I remembered how helpless I had felt.
But now the memory was different.
The car had gone to somebody who treated the transaction honestly.
Frank had returned something that could have changed his life.
I didn't want the car back.
I wanted the peace I had begun to find.
"Frank, it's yours. Take good care of it."
"I will."
After we ended the call, I sat quietly.
Then I looked at Walt's photograph on the shelf.
It was taken years earlier.
He was standing beside the sedan with one hand resting on the roof.
Kevin had been a teenager then.
He was standing beside his father, smiling at the camera.
I picked up the photograph.
I remembered that day.
We had gone to a little park outside town.
Walt had packed sandwiches.
Kevin had complained about having to sit in the back.
It had been an ordinary family afternoon.
I put the photograph back.
I didn't want to remember only the painful things.
My son had once been a happy part of my life.
That was still true.
But the past couldn't excuse the present.
A few days later, Kevin visited again.
He arrived without groceries this time.
He asked whether I had heard from Frank.
I told him we had spoken.
Kevin looked uncomfortable.
"Is he still driving the car?"
"Yes."
He nodded.
Then he asked whether Frank had mentioned selling it.
I looked at him.
"Why?"
"Just curious."
I told him the car was Frank's now.
Kevin shrugged.
"I suppose."
He sat down.
We talked about my recovery.
Then he mentioned that he had been having a difficult month.
I listened.
He said some expenses had come up.
I knew what was coming.
Before he could ask, I spoke.
"I can't help you financially, Kevin."
He looked at me.
"I wasn't going to ask."
I nodded.
"Good."
He seemed irritated.
But he didn't argue.
For the rest of the visit, we discussed ordinary things.
When he left, I didn't feel guilty.
That was new.
I had always felt responsible for making sure Kevin was comfortable.
Now I was beginning to understand that he was responsible for his own life.
That evening, I made a simple dinner.
I washed my dishes.
I checked the new front door lock.
Then I turned off the kitchen light.
The old sedan was gone.
But the lesson it had left behind was still with me.
Click here to continue reading: PART 19: When Kevin Finally Put His Promise in Writing, I Realized That Forgiving Him Would Not Mean Giving Him Control Again
I Came Home From Three Weeks of Recovery and Found an Empty Driveway Where My Car Had Always Been
Part 18 of 20
