Season of Change(118)

                “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Slade asked.

                “Get me to the 101 and head south” was all Takata would say.

                They ended up in front of a very small shop in Healdsburg, tucked away on a back street.

                “A tobacco shop?” Slade frowned. “Are you out of cigars?”

                “I’m out of Cubans.” Takata glanced furtively up and down the street. “They’re illegal, you know. They only sell them on the down low. Cash.” He handed Slade some bills. “If you go in there and they think you’re a cop and they don’t sell me my Cubans, I’ll...I’ll...”

                “You’ll what?” Slade almost smiled at the idle threats of a man half his size.

                Takata poked a finger in his direction. “I’ll make your life next door to me a living hell.”

                “Like it isn’t already?”

                That comment earned him a wrinkle-edged glare.

                Less than ten minutes later, Takata had his precious underground Cuban cigars, and they were back on the road to Harmony Valley. Before they took the highway exit home, Takata made him stop at a grocery store, where he bought a small bouquet of flowers.

                “Take a right on Kennedy,” Takata directed as they came into town.

                “Why?” That would take them directly past the cemetery.

                “Because I said so.” Despite Takata never having been a father, he had the lingo down.

                Slade turned onto Kennedy. “We’re not stopping.”

                Takata huffed, “Then slow down as you pass and I’ll jump out. Just don’t run me over as you speed away with my Cubans.”

                Biting back a comment about ornery old men, Slade turned into the iron gates of the Harmony Valley Cemetery. The air-conditioning in the truck that had felt so comfortable moments before now blew out icicles that made every muscle in his body shiver.

                “Head toward the back.”

                “I’m not going to his grave.” Cold. Slade was so cold. Goose bumps blanketed his arms.

                “Don’t make everything about you,” Takata muttered. “My mother and wife are entombed in the back. I haven’t been out here in months. It’s not as if Larry wants to drive me over every Sunday. And no one wants to come in the heat.”

                Slade shut up and drove to the rear of the small cemetery. He parked, planning to let Takata have a private visit with his family, but Takata said, “Bring the Cubans and the flowers.”

                Slade glanced toward the hill where his parents were buried. So close. Too close.

                He got out of the truck. It was like stepping out of a meat freezer into a broiling oven. The temperature transition weakened his knees. It had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn’t been this close to his parents since his father’s funeral.

                The heat didn’t seem to bother the old man. He kept trundling along. Slade followed him up the shady path toward a grand tomb tucked in the back of the cemetery.

                “When I owned this place, I wanted nothing but the best for my loved ones in their eternal rest.” Takata paused to catch his breath halfway up the hill.