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around and was once again bouncing in front of me. I petted her softly on the head and shook my head no. It wasn’t him.
    Over the course of the next days and weeks, the same scene played out over and over again until despair had begun to take root in all of us. He wasn’t going to call.

    One Tuesday afternoon I answered the phone yet again and stood looking at Caroline’s hopeful, bouncing self. “Hello.”
    “Mrs. Stewart, this is Ray Brooks. Do you remember me?”
    I gave the usual disappointed headshake to Caroline, whose shoulders slumped a little as she walked back to her homework on the kitchen table. I turned my attention back to Ray Brooks. The name sounded familiar, and I tried to search through the memories of names and faces that each increasing year seemed to fade a little more. Something deep inside me ached at the sound of his name, and I knew he’d had something to do with one of my sons. “Your name is so familiar. Please remind me.”
    “I was Kurt’s soccer coach back when he was in junior high.”
    How could I have forgotten? His face came into my memory in vivid detail. A good twenty years older than the average soccer coach, Ray Brooks continued to coach long after his own children had grown up and moved away, simply because of his love for kids and for the game. “Sure, I remember now. Kurt loved that team.”
    “I’m not sure if you know it or not, but Kurt had been living in a little workman’s cabin at one of our orchards.” I had a vague recollection that the Brooks family owned a large chunk of the avocado farms in and around Santa Barbara.
    “No, I didn’t know. We … lost touch during the last few years.” How would this man, who dedicated so many years of his life taking care of kids who weren’t even his own, feel about a mother who lost track of her son? The embarrassment at this admission had its usual effect on me—I chattered. “I did talk to him just a couple of weeks ago, though. He’s in rehab and turning his life around.” I felt the panic build in my stomach. Was Ray Brooks calling to tell me that Kurt had left rehab, was back in town and causing trouble? Did he want him off his property?
    “Yes, so I’ve heard. I’m really happy for him, and for you. Hey, the reason I’m calling is that our family has sold the lower orchards. The new owner plans to begin work on the property immediately, and first on his list is to demolish the little cabin Kurt was living in. I assume that he will be looking for something a little nicer when he gets out of rehab and gets a full-time job anyway, so I hope that it won’t be a problem for him.”
    “No, he’ll probably want to stay with us while he gets on his feet again.” At least, that’s what I hoped for and what I had planned. I couldn’t bear thinking that Kurt would want something different. Rick might vent and rage a little about making him earn his own way back, but this was the last time I would take a call from a former soccer coach that had taken better care of my son than I had. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be sure to give Kurt a heads-up when I talk to him next.”
    “Well, the thing is, he still has some of his belongings at the cabin. I think he took some clothes with him when he went in for treatment, but there are still a few things, photos and such, some clothes, that he left behind. I was wondering if you would want me to bring those things by your house? I’ve got an appointment in Santa Barbara tomorrow afternoon. It’s not too much. The kid traveled light.”
    The tone in his voice said those words like it was a good thing, and I appreciated him for it. The unspoken fact was that a kid who’d spent every single penny he earned, and then some, buying drugs could only afford to travel light. Still, I thanked him. I couldn’t have Kurt yet, but this would be a start.
    When I got home from work the next day, an old green pick-up truck sat backed into my driveway. Ray Brooks climbed out as