The first week after Kevin's visit was peaceful.
He called twice.
Both conversations were short.
He asked how my hip was doing and whether I needed anything from the grocery store.
I answered politely.
I wanted to believe something had changed.
But I had learned not to confuse a few kind words with a new habit.
Kevin had promised to repay the money from the car.
He had said he would write down a payment plan.
I waited.
On Wednesday, I received a text message.
He said he was working out his finances.
He promised to call me on Friday.
Friday came.
No call.
I didn't chase him.
I had spent too many years reminding my son about promises he had made voluntarily.
I wasn't going to do it anymore.
That afternoon, I sat at the kitchen table with Walt's notebook.
I opened the page where he had recorded the money we had lent Kevin.
There were dates.
There were amounts.
There were little notes about what the money had been for.
I ran my finger down the page.
It was uncomfortable seeing everything written so clearly.
For years, I had remembered those loans as separate incidents.
One emergency here.
One difficult month there.
But on paper, they looked different.
They looked like a pattern.
I closed the notebook.
I didn't want to spend the rest of my life counting my son's mistakes.
I wanted to enjoy what I still had.
The following Monday, Kevin finally called.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hello."
"Sorry I didn't call Friday."
I waited.
"Things got busy."
I nodded, although he couldn't see me.
"All right."
He asked whether I had been feeling better.
I told him I was.
Then I asked whether he had prepared the repayment plan.
There was a pause.
"I'm still working on it."
I looked out the window.
"Okay."
He seemed surprised that I didn't argue.
"That's all?"
"What else should I say?"
He sighed.
"Mom, I said I'm going to pay you."
"I heard you."
He began explaining his bills again.
I listened.
Then I told him I understood that he had responsibilities.
But so did I.
I reminded him that I was living on a pension.
The thirty-two hundred dollars had belonged to me.
He said he knew.
I asked him to send me a written plan when he was ready.
Then we ended the call.
I placed the telephone down.
I didn't feel angry.
I felt tired.
That evening, Mrs. Collins visited.
She brought a small container of homemade vegetables.
She noticed the notebook on the table.
"Are you organizing your papers again?"
I smiled.
"Trying to."
She sat down.
We talked about the weather and the neighborhood.
Then she asked whether Kevin had been visiting.
I told her he had come by once.
"Was everything all right?"
"Mostly."
I didn't tell her about the missing repayment plan.
I didn't want to turn every conversation into another discussion about my son.
A few days later, I received a letter from the bank confirming that my savings arrangements had been updated.
I read it carefully.
I checked the figures.
Then I placed it inside my folder.
I felt better knowing the money was no longer sitting in a hiding place inside an old car.
Walt would probably have approved.
I imagined him sitting at the kitchen table, looking over the paperwork.
He would have asked whether I understood everything.
Then he would have reminded me to keep copies.
I smiled.
Some habits stay with you.
On Saturday, Kevin sent another message.
He said he would visit the following week.
He also said he was sorry things had become so difficult between us.
I read the message twice.
I wanted to believe him.
But I wasn't going to let an apology erase what had happened.
I put my phone down and returned to my book.
For once, I didn't spend the evening waiting for another call.
I had tea.
I watched the evening news.
And I went to bed at my usual time.
I was learning something important.
I could love my son without making his problems my responsibility.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: The Old Sedan Was No Longer Mine, but the Man Who Bought It Gave Me One Last Reason to Smile
I Came Home From Three Weeks of Recovery and Found an Empty Driveway Where My Car Had Always Been
Part 17 of 20
