by Rex Bolt
The librarian had a calm voice and a gentle manner. “It’s all right,” she said.
They sat there quietly for a minute. “Do you want me to try it again?” Pike said.
“Please.”
“Well I want to go 1993. If I miss my location that’s probably not the end of the world, but the time frame is something else again.”
“And you’re aiming to follow the rules? From the leather book?”
“As best I comprehend them yes . . . Not sure if I explained it, but what you do, you use your mentality to initiate the transport. I know that sounds ridiculous.”
“Please continue,” the librarian said.
“So say I’m going back a couple weeks. If I hold a specific event in my head--like for example a bunch of us went to the races at the fairgrounds on a Saturday night two weeks ago, and we knew one of the guys driving, and he came in third in his heat, and the sights and sounds and smells are familiar and right in your face--then you have a decent shot at landing it.”
She took her time digesting this. “1993 then, by contrast,” she said, “wouldn’t have a similar component. Is that it?”
“Yeah. I mean I wasn’t even born until ‘99. There’s nothing I can come up with, to connect to back then.”
Pike could tell she was thinking pretty hard.
Finally she said, “I must get back. If you’d like to call me later, I might have a recommendation for you.” She wrote down her number, and without any fanfare, went back to work.
Pike got home around 5, and coming up the driveway he could hear what must be Hannamaker playing the drums. A, the guy was impressive, he definitely had some natural talent, and B, you had to strain to hear much, meaning their insulation job was pretty damn successful.
He got in the house, wolfed down a tamale that happened to be sitting there on the counter and looked perfectly fine, and went downstairs.
There was the rope staring you in the face, and he scaled it, dove through the hatch and sat down to listen to Jack. They had added some floor pads to the drum room, which they had started referring to as The Box, so you had room to sit down, or even lie down if you wanted.
It was kind of an oasis actually, you didn’t need to always be playing drums to appreciate being in there.
Jack finished off his groove with a buzz roll and a cymbal crash and said hi. Pike may have been reading him wrong, but he sure seemed in a particularly upbeat mood.
“Yo, what’s up man?” Pike said.
“I’m good,” Jack said. “Fired up actually. Thanks.”
Pike assumed he meant thanks for helping with a solution for the drums, so he wouldn’t have to sell them back to Tall Toad Music. But that wasn’t it.
“She’s a really nice girl,” Jack said. “What can I say, it’s picked up my game.”
“Speak English here,” Pike said, scrunching up his face and squinting at Hannamaker. “What the heck you talking about?”
“Gee. I guess word doesn’t get around as much as I thought. Thanks to you, that little tip you gave me, I’m hooked up with Cathy now.”
“What?”
“Why are you surprised? You’re the one told me, the dude wasn’t floating her boat.”
“Okay fine,” Pike said, “but I didn’t expect you to act on it like that. Point-blank. Jeez . . .”
“Wow . . . Sorry, then.”
Pike picked up a loose drumstick and starting twirling it around.
“Nah, that’s on me,” he said. “I would have done the same thing.”
“I mean why waste time?” Jack said. “If you’re contemplating something anyway.”
“I agree,” Pike said. “Well good luck to you, dog.” They both stood up, and even though it was the last thing he felt like doing, Pike gave Jack a man-hug and a pat on the back.
They climbed their way out of The Box and Pike said, “Okay now to the important stuff. Where do you want to get something to eat?”
“Ah heck, I’d love to,” Jack said. “Except I’m picking up Cathy actually . . . This has been tremendous by the way, I got to come over for an hour first and play. There’s something therapeutic about it, at least in my case.” The guy certainly was enthusiastic, wasn’t he?
“Well, see you soon,” Pike said.
“Oh yeah, catch you tomorrow. If not here, then at school, whatever.” And Jack used the new private side entrance, which he seemed quite familiar with already, and he went bounding up the outside steps like a kid in a candystore.
Nobody’s fault, but it was pretty darn quiet right now in the basement.
Chapter 16
Pike got in his pickup and cruised around for a while. They were into December now, it was getting dark early, and people were bundling up, at least by central California standards.
He stopped for gas on 8th Street, and son of a gun, filling up across from him was that guy Henry who picked him up hitchhiking that time.
“What are you doing here?” Pike said. “You live in Uffington, right?”
“Another game at your gym,” Henry said. “Different daughter this time, my freshman. She hates it when I watch, so I drop here off and kill time, like getting gas.”
Pike flashed back to his own games, always thankful that his dad didn’t take it seriously and didn’t come unless Pike wanted him to, and even then his dad would never yell or cheer or draw dumb attention to himself like a lot of the parents.
He was so angry at him these days that it was easy to overlook some of the good qualities.
“Well how’s your brother?” Pike said, meaning the poor guy who had been crippled in the football accident, which according to Henry happened in his very first ever game.
“Not good, quite frankly.”
“Oh. You mean, even compared to last time? When you all gave me that ride?”
“He’s declined. His spirits are in the toilet . . . Then of course, the physical part--whatever he’s got left of it, which ain’t the greatest--that follows suit.”
As Pike was learning, there were minutes and hours and days . . . and then there were moments.
This was one of them. He said, “Can you please tell your brother . . . to just hold on? That we might be able to help him?”
Pike could see that Henry appreciated his spirit and didn’t want to challenge him, but he was clearly deflated.
There was a third car getting gas, a couple of kids Pike recognized, but they finished and left. It was just he and Henry for a minute. The little gas station convenience store had closed.
Pike said, “Can I ask you to trust me--please--that I might be able to help him? You don’t have to believe me, you just have to trust me.”
It was a screwball question, and Henry didn’t know how to respond. Pike stepped around the gas pump, peeked into Henry’s vehicle to make sure no one was in there, and crouched down low and came up with the side of the white Suburban in his hands. The thing was tilting way left, as though if Pike raised it up any higher it was going to flip.
Pike took one hand off it and the side of the SUV stayed where it was, four feet off the ground. He switched hands and nothing changed. He took a good, long look at Henry, who appeared to be peeing in his pants.
“Are we good?” Pike said, still tilting up the Suburban, about as effortlessly as you would hold open the lid of a kids’ toy box.
Henry’s eyes were wide and he mumbled that they were. Pike eased the vehicle back down.
“I can’t deal with him right now,” Pike said. “But tell your brother, when I’m able to, I’ll do my best. I promise.”
Henry didn’t say anything more, and got out of there pretty fast. There was always the chance that he would think Pike was a freak, to be avoided at all costs, but Pike could only hope that something registered.
It seemed about the right time to call the librarian. He wanted to give her room to think, so he didn’t want to bother her too early, but he didn’t want to be rude and risk waking her up either.
When she answered
he said this was Pike, and then realized they didn’t know each other’s names, so he added: your customer.
“Hello there, I’m glad you called,” she said. “I’m Frankie, by the way.”
Pike said, “Gee. Frankie?”
“I know,” she said. “It’s technically Francesca . . . Listen, I have a few ideas for you. My day-off is Wednesday, we could meet at Starbucks if you like.”
Pike said that’d be fine, if he wasn’t putting her out. Frankie said it would be her pleasure, though not to expect a panacea. Pike was tempted to ask what that meant, but figured he could look it up and not embarrass himself. They agreed on 3:30.
Now what? The Chico business was weighing on him. There was a big-time fear of the unknown that had crept in. It wasn’t just, how would you get there on time (and in one piece, always a worry in the back in his mind).
It was also: If you did make it, how the heck do you work it from there?
Do you try to find the dude a job in another state and encourage him to take it? Maybe you try to break them up, young Mr. and Mrs. Milburn, nip the whole shebang in the bud, so they go off happily ever after with other people. Except then the one small detail, Audrey and Hailey wouldn’t be around.
Or do you simply encourage them to settle down in Chico -- maybe maneuver something where they get a key to the city, or get honored at a parade, so they fall in love with the place and can’t bear to leave.
Pike stopped himself and thought, what are you doing, this is insane.
The bottom line was he’d have to get there and wing it, take stock of the situation and use his best judgment. He was getting a headache.
Was it too late to swing by the Milburns’? Pike checked the time, it was 10:42. Nah, why not?
The house looked awfully dark as Pike came up the walkway and approached the front door, but he decided life’s too short--so to speak--and if something seems important, don’t wait on it.
It took a minute but Mr. Milburn answered, in his robe and slippers. “Come on in son,” he said, sleepy but friendly. It didn’t seem like he’d been drinking tonight, or if he had it had worn off.
Pike thanked him and took a seat in the living room and asked if Audrey was available. “I’m not sure, I’ll check,” Mr. Milburn said, and few minutes later she appeared, also in a robe and slippers.
She sat down. “Well this is certainly something different, on a Monday night,” she said.
Pike said, “Everyone asleep early then, huh?”
“Apparently so,” she said. “Since mom . . . I suppose we’ve lost a good deal of our motivation around here.” She seemed so forlorn. So fragile. It was tough for Pike to take.
“I won’t keep you,” he said. “What did your parents do when they lived in Chico?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll re-phrase it . . . What made them move there, and what made them move back to Beacon after those three or four years?”
“Those three or four years?”
“Yeah. That’s what I need.”
Audrey took a good look at him. She seemed more awake now. She said, “Pike you’re a good guy. But how can I put this delicately? . . . Are you having any mental issues, at all?”
“Maybe. Why?” Giving her the straight face.
Audrey said, “If I get my dad, will that put to rest your concerns?”
Pike said it might, and she went and got Mr. Milburn. This was going to be awkward. “Sir,” Pike began, “out of curiosity, Chico.”
“Ah yes,” Mr. Milburn said. “It’s a fine town. Not particularly glamorous, but relatively stimulating, with the university there as a sort of anchor. Also damn hot in the summer, pardon my French.”.
Hmm. It was probably too simple, but Pike said, “That why you moved back to Beacon then? Those hot summers?”
“That might have played a part. Though we would have had to be in denial of course, since Beacon is crazy hot in the summer as well.”
“So . . . what else would it have been? Why you didn’t stay there?”
“This is getting, like, way off the charts,” Audrey said.
“It’s fine,” Mr. Milburn said. “Ultimately, I believe all things being equal, we were comfortable raising a family here . . . Beacon is what we knew.”
“But there was no, like, event?”
“That precipitated it? Well, no. But what may have accelerated things, I was working for an interstate trucking company, and they announced they were moving their base to Iowa.”
“What was the name of the company?” Pike said.
“Oh my God,” Audrey said.
“Sure, it was RJ Rangler and Sons.”
“You mean wrangler, like in cowboying?”
“Spelled differently though. But yes, I always liked the name, I liked thinking of it that way too.”
“So why didn’t you go with them? To Iowa. I mean, if you could do it all over again . . . something you’d consider?”
“I don’t believe so,” Mr. Milburn said. “I enjoyed the job, such as it was, but it wasn’t really a long-term fit.”
“Oh,” Pike said.
“Now you seem disappointed,” Audrey said. “Like the air went out of a balloon.”
“Just of of curiosity,” Mr. Milburn said, “it’s flattering of course, to be asked about, but why are you interested?”
Pike struggled with how to answer that one. You could go real different ways.
He made his decision. “It ties into something I’m trying to accomplish in my own life . . . I know that sounds awkward.”
“Not at all, son. Gathering as much as you can from others, I think that’s a wonderful approach to life . . . I’ve going to retire, and let you two finish up. Good night.”
“Good night, sir,” Pike said.
When he was gone Audrey said, “On the one hand, you’re a piece of work Gillette . . . On the other hand, that was mildly entertaining.”
Pike moved next to her and kissed her, and if she was flustered or uncomfortable, she didn’t show it.
“That was . . . surprising,” she said quietly.
“Shifting gears for a second,” he said, “what are the odds Hailey might walk in?”
“Please. What a mood killer.”
“I’m serious. I need to tell you something.”
“You’re fine. She goes to sleep early, and once she turns off the light that’s it.”
Pike put his arm around her. “Will you go out with me for two days?” he said.
“Very funny . . . The strange this is, I feel like I know you better than I do.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re in the same class all the way through. I mean, going back to kindergarten, Mrs. Chegwidden . . . 6 years elementary, middle school at Brookhaven . . . the works.”
“No,” she said, “this feels different than that.”
Pike kissed her again, longer this time. “It does for me too,” he said.
Audrey said softly, “Please don’t go for a little while.”
Pike took a deep breath and here goes.
“What I need to tell you,” he said, “what I’m going to try to do . . . bring your mom back. I tried it once. I thought I had it, but it only held for four days, then it collapsed.”
“I’d ask you what on earth you’re talking about, but you’ve had me so off-balance tonight, I don’t know where to start,” she said.
“Just hear me out . . . If I make it this time, if it works--then we have the collateral damage. That’s the downside.”
“Unh-huh.”
“Which means I won’t have known you . . . You good with that?’
“Sure. Whatever you say, boss.” She put her feet underneath her and was nuzzling up to him now.
“Good then,” Pike said. “On a lighter note, are you still as amazing a student as you used to be? I mean are you still looking at fancy colleges and stuff?”
“I was. But I’m going to the JC, I’ve decided. I need to keep an eye on my dad.”
Pike realized this wasn’t a lighter note now, and he was kind of afraid to ask but he did anyway. “His legal problems, is he still in hot water?”
“Very much so. And of course the drinking, exacerbated by all the stress . . . Not sure if you heard about it, but in addition to the police issue, he’s now been served with a lawsuit by Mr. Foxe.”
“Unreal,” Pike said. “But not surprising . . . I’m telling you right now, if I can’t do what I was just talking about . . . then I’m gonna at least take care of Mr. Foxe.”
“Now let’s don’t fantasize about anything silly . . . please,” Audrey said. She had her head on his shoulder and her fingers were lightly stroking his chest.
“Your parents,” Pike said. “What would stop them from moving back to Beacon from Chico? Anything you can come up with along those lines?”
“Here we go again,” Audrey said. “But I talked to Jack at school by the way. He said you’re friends. I think he admires you.”
“Well Hannamker’s the type dude,” Pike said, “who you can roll both ways with. Fine line between getting along with him, and not.”
“Well the main thing,” she said, quietly again, “please don’t go anywhere right now.”
“Second request?” Pike said.
Pike pulled her a little closer and Audrey didn’t answer, and Pike realized she had her eyes closed. And for the moment, the world was a pretty simple place.
Chapter 17
Tuesday in second period, History, Mr. Waphley turned to write something on the blackboard, and at that point everyone checked their phones.
There was a text from Dani, from a half hour ago, which never happened, not this early on a school day. It said to call her, nothing more.
Pike tried her at lunch and it went to voice mail.
This was one more thing to be slightly concerned about now. He wanted to leave on Thursday with a clean slate if possible. Dani didn’t return his call until late in the afternoon, when he and Hannamaker were hanging out in The Box.
“My lawyer knocked on my door this morning,” she said. “They’re close to charging me with a crime in Palm Springs . . . if you can believe it.”