Forever, Again

by Victoria Laurie

  “Anybody else?”

  Cole frowned. “It’s really hard to tell,” he said. “All of the other photos of Ben are either team shots, action shots at a football game, or with his arm around Amber.”

  “It’s the same in this one, too,” I said, tapping the junior yearbook. Then a thought occurred to me. “What about their senior year? Didn’t you grab that yearbook?”

  Cole frowned. “Ben and Amber were dead by the time it came out,” he said. “We get our yearbooks here the last week of school—mid-June. I figure it was the same back in the eighties, too.”

  “Wouldn’t Ben have ordered one, though?” I asked. “I mean, I know he wasn’t around to collect it, but maybe it got sent to your grandmother’s?”

  “If it was, I’ve never seen it,” Cole said.

  “Bummer,” I muttered. “There could’ve been some good clues in that yearbook.” Then I thought of something else. “Would your mom know any of the kids that Ben used to hang out with?”

  Cole took a pull from his Dr Pepper. “Maybe,” he said. “Sometimes, it’s hard for her to talk about Ben. She said that his death on top of her dad’s death was a lot for her to deal with.”

  I blinked. “Right. He was killed in a car crash?” I said, remembering what Dr. White had told me.

  Cole nodded. “Yeah. About a year and a half before Ben was murdered. Mom says he wasn’t much of a dad, but he was the only one she had.”

  “Why wasn’t he much of a dad?”

  Cole shrugged. “I guess he drank a lot. Supposedly, he was heading home from a bar when he crashed his car about two miles away from their house. Ben got to the scene of the crash before anybody else did. It was bad. The car was on fire, and his dad was trapped inside.”

  “Ohmigod,” I gasped. “I didn’t know Ben was there. That’s awful!”

  Cole nodded. “Ben was the one that broke the news to my mom. She says that he became the head of the house after that. He worked after school to help my grandma pay the bills and stuff.”

  I felt bad for thinking poorly about Cole’s grandmother. She’d suffered two unimaginable blows nearly back to back. No wonder she was harsh.

  “Your poor grandmother,” I said.

  “Yep,” he agreed. “She’s had a rough life.”

  “Your mom had it rough, too,” I said.

  “She did. But she worked really hard in school and ended up getting a scholarship to UVA. Now she’s an RN, and she just finished her master’s last year.”

  It was easy to see the pride that Cole had for his mother. I liked that about him. I liked a lot about him.

  “What about your dad?” I asked, curious.

  Cole played with the straw in his drink. “He was from Canada, and when they got divorced he went back. He lives in Toronto now with my stepbrother and -sister.”

  There didn’t seem to be any bitterness in Cole’s voice. Was he really as okay with his absent father as he seemed to be? “Do you get to see him?”

  “Every summer for the month of July, and every winter break. It’s not much, but we make it work.”

  “That’s nice,” I said.

  I wondered if I’d ever get to a place of peace with my dad. I was still feeling bitter about the fact that he’d come to my grandmother’s house that morning to confront her about the discussion between her and his girlfriend, and he hadn’t even bothered to ask for me.

  “Should we talk to your mom about Ben’s friends?” I asked.

  Cole glanced at his phone. “It couldn’t hurt,” he said. “As long as we’re careful not to upset her. You’d think after all these years she wouldn’t miss my uncle so much, but when we visit his grave on his birthday, she gets pretty upset.”

  “I’ll let you do the talking,” I said.

  He grinned and then tapped out a text. Within a minute he had a reply. “She says she can take a break if we want to meet her at work.”

  I gathered up the wrapper and empty cup from lunch to take to the trash and said, “Let’s go.”

  “BAILEY, LET GO!” STACEY YELLED, pulling me from my thoughts. I moved over to where she was struggling to free her little canvas purse with the wood handle from Bailey’s mouth. My dog thought it was a fun game of tug-of-war and jerked Stacey nearly off her feet.

  “Whoa!” I said, grabbing Bailey by the collar to get her attention. She let go of Stacey’s purse immediately.

  “She ripped it!” Stacey cried.

  Mentally, I berated myself. I should’ve been keeping a closer eye on Bailey, especially knowing that Stacey liked to keep snacks in her purse. I’d been so distracted worrying about Spence that a lot was starting to slip my mind and my notice.

  “Oh, Stace,” I said squatting down in front of her and taking a look at the two-inch tear in the fabric along the handle. “Please don’t worry. My mom can mend that no problem.”

  Stacey’s eyes were watering, and I hoped she didn’t start crying. I couldn’t take it when Spence’s baby sister got upset. The guilt was twofold because I’d promised to watch her while Spence mowed his Tuesday-night lawns, and his mom was on the other side of town cleaning some big house that always took her hours to finish. Stacey was only eleven and had spent too many afternoons home alone for my taste.

  “I promise we can fix it,” I said gently. “And I know Bailey’s really sorry.”

  Stacey swallowed hard and glared at Bailey.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “If my mom can’t mend that good as new, then I’ll buy you a new one.”

  Stacey wiped at her cheeks and tried to put on a brave front. “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to. I know you’re saving for college.”

  My heart melted with love for Spence’s little sister. True, I had been saving for college, but it wasn’t my college I’d been saving for. Spence had gotten word that his SAT scores were much improved from his first two tries, but weren’t anywhere near what he’d scored a few months back, and the coach and UCLA, suspecting strongly that Spence had cheated, had pulled the scholarship. UCLA hadn’t denied Spence admission, thank God, but now he had no way to pay for school, and the coach had told Spence that the best he could do for him was allow him a shot as a walk-on.

  Because of the break-in, Spence now had no more than a few hundred dollars to his name. Even if he worked all summer, he still wouldn’t have enough for the tuition at UCLA, let alone books, room and board, and other living expenses.

  I’d promised him all of my savings, which was only eight hundred dollars. Not much, but it was a start, and I hoped that with the two of us working overtime this summer, we’d come up with enough for the first semester.

  And yet, when I looked down at Stacey’s freckled face, I couldn’t resist trying to make her feel better with a treat. “Come on,” I said. “The shop where I got you this one should be open for another hour if you’re up for the long walk.”

  “Really?!” she said, jumping with excitement. “Really, Amber?”

  I took Bailey’s leash from her hand and said, “Yes, sweetie. Let’s get you something pretty.”

  Stacey and I stayed at the specialty shop until closing—mostly because she couldn’t decide which pattern she liked. The store had dozens and dozens of wooden-handle Bermuda bags, and I even caught myself fawning over a blue-yellow-and-peach plaid purse with a light wood handle. At last, Stacey picked one that was mint green with little hot pink hearts, and it suited her. I parted with the twelve dollars a bit guiltily and we headed back to her house, which was a mile and a half away.

  As we approached, I saw an unfamiliar car parked in front of the Spencers’ house.

  “Who’s that?” Stacey said, pointing to the porch.

  In the dim light I could just make out Spence and a man with his back to us, standing close to each other. The hair on the back of my neck rose. There was something tense about the way they were facing off.

  Gripping Stacey’s hand and tightening my hold on Bailey’s leash, I quickened my step toward the house. All
of a sudden the man gripped Spence by his shirt and shoved him hard up against the house. I was so surprised I stopped in my tracks. “Oh my God, isn’t that—?”

  “Why’s he doing that?!” Stacey yelled as she squeezed my hand. “Amber! Don’t let him hurt Spence!”

  “Hey!” I shouted to get their attention and began trotting down the street with Bailey and Stacey. “Hey!”

  But neither of them paid me any attention. Instead, Spence shoved back against the man, who was his equal in height, but not nearly as muscular. “Get off me, Bishop!” Spence yelled. I stopped again as Spence shoved hard and the man let go. We were three houses away.

  “You tell anyone, you little shit-ass punk, and I will end you!” his assailant roared.

  With that he turned and rushed down the stairs, over to his car, and drove away, all before we could reach the front steps to Spence’s house. For his part, Spence simply stared angrily at the departing car, his face red, hands balled into fists.

  “Spence!”

  He either didn’t hear me, or he was intent on ignoring me, because he continued to stare down the street, working his jaw, and clenching and unclenching his fists.

  “Benny?” Stacey whimpered. “Are you okay?”

  The call from his sister seemed to break the spell, and he finally glanced over, as if noticing us for the first time.

  “Yeah, I’m fine, Spunky.” Turning to me, he said, “Can you get her inside?”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. There was a look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. It scared me so much it left me speechless.

  “Come on, sweetie,” I said, taking up Stacey’s hand again. “Let’s get you some dinner.”

  It was ten minutes later when I realized that Spence had left the porch and taken off for parts unknown.

  COLE, HIS MOTHER, AND I SAT on the porch of the coffee shop across the street from the clinic where Mrs. Drepeau worked.

  “Oh, I knew I should’ve taken the day off,” she said, leaning back in her seat and cupping her iced coffee in her hands. “It’s too nice a day to be working.”

  Stacey Spencer Drepeau didn’t strike any familiar chords with me. Maybe it was because she was now a middle-aged woman, and the Stacey that Amber had known had been a little girl. I tried to picture the pretty mom with chestnut hair, light brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose as that little girl, but I couldn’t. There was something about her that was ageless and wise, and to imagine that in an eleven-year-old wasn’t something I could do.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” I said, holding my own iced drink aloft. She’d been nice to treat us.

  She smiled warmly at me. “My pleasure,” she said. “So, what’s up?”

  We hadn’t mentioned anything about why we’d come to see her, and as promised, I let Cole do the talking.

  “We got an assignment in English this week,” he explained. “We have to research and do a presentation on an ancestor we admire. I’m doing mine on Uncle Ben.”

  Mrs. Drepeau winced, but then her expression softened. “That’s nice, Cole,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “I know I tell you this all the time, but you two are a lot alike.”

  Cole and I exchanged an amused glance. He took out his phone and said, “Can I record you and ask you questions?”

  “Sure.” His mother sat up a little and leaned forward. She didn’t speak until Cole’s phone was recording, and then she began to tell us about Spence. “Your uncle was the greatest guy. He was smart, funny, warm, and kind. He looked out for us, you know? Your grandma and me. Even before Dad died, Ben worked cutting lawns—just like you—and gave Mom the money so we could keep a roof over our heads. He was so responsible for someone so young,” she added wistfully. “Did you know that after your grandfather was killed in that car crash, we found out there was nothing? No savings or anything. So when Ben turned eighteen, he got himself a life insurance policy. I don’t know what we would’ve done without it when he was murdered. Your grandma and I would’ve been out on the street for sure because she couldn’t even function after Benny died. She didn’t work for three years afterward. She was so heartbroken she could barely get out of bed. It was very, very hard.”

  Mrs. Drepeau dropped her chin and I could see how much her brother’s passing still affected her.

  “Mom?” Cole asked.

  She looked up again. “Sorry,” she said. “I miss him.”

  Cole glanced at me, and I could see that he was beginning to regret bringing up the topic of Ben to his mom. “We don’t have to talk about him,” Cole said.

  She shook her head. “No, honey, I’m fine. Besides, it’s your assignment, and I think it’d be good for the other kids to hear what an amazing young man your uncle was.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She smiled gamely at him. “Positive.”

  “Okay…uh…how about friends? Did he have any close friends?”

  She laughed. “Oh my God, did he! The whole football team was always trooping through our house. And the track team. And the cheerleaders. And the girlfriends of all the players. On weekend nights, it was like a frat house!”

  “Anyone specific?” Cole pressed.

  Mrs. Drepeau pursed her lips. “Well, yes, honey, but if you want names I’m not sure I’d be able to give you those. It was a long time ago, and a lot of the details of those years got blocked out of my memory. The therapist I went to when your dad and I were divorcing said that I’d very likely had a good case of PTSD back then. Lots of names, dates, places, events, and stuff got muddled together.”

  Cole frowned. “Okay, well, what about Amber?”

  Mrs. Drepeau seemed surprised that he’d brought her up. “What about her?”

  “Well…did you like her?” he asked.

  She smiled sadly. “I loved her, Cole. I loved her deeply. We all did.”

  “And you don’t think she killed Uncle Ben, right?”

  Mrs. Drepeau inhaled a long breath and turned away. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t.”

  I leaned in and rested my elbows on the table. “You don’t?” I asked. I needed to believe she knew Amber couldn’t have done it.

  She turned back to me with watery eyes. “No, honey. I don’t believe that Amber Greeley did anything to harm my brother. And I’m not convinced that she committed suicide, either.”

  I had a sudden urge to hug her, but held myself in check, knowing it’d be weird. Still, I was grateful for her answer.

  “Do you have any theories about who could’ve murdered Ben?” Cole asked.

  “Yes, in fact.”

  “You do?” Cole and I said together, shocked.

  That made her laugh. “I do,” she said. “But the police weren’t about to take my word for it.”

  “What do you mean?” Cole asked.

  “Well,” she began, “a few weeks before my brother was murdered, a man came to our house and threatened him. I have no idea over what, but he shoved my brother and told him that he would kill him. Amber was with me that night, and I always suspected she knew who the man was.”

  “But you didn’t know him?” Cole pressed.

  “No. But my brother called him Bishop. That always stuck with me. I didn’t know if Spence was referring to the man’s name, either first or last, or if it was perhaps a title. I just heard him call the man Bishop, and then a few weeks later both Ben and Amber were dead.”

  “And you told the police?” I asked as something tickled at the back of my mind. That name. Where had I seen it?

  “I did,” Mrs. Drepeau said. “Well, at least I did indirectly. I told my mother, and she went to the police station. She came back hours later to tell me that a detective had promised to follow up, but as far as I know, he never did. Once Amber died and her suicide note basically confessed to the crime, the police closed the case.”

  “How come you never told me this?” Cole asked.

  Mrs. Drepeau took a long sip of her drink before answering. �
��Because you never asked, and I didn’t want to stir up the past. It’s also something that I’ve never been able to reconcile, honey. I mean, this man showing up and threatening my brother and then possibly killing him—what was my brother mixed up in? I’ve always believed that Spence was, like, this larger-than-life character. He’s been my hero my whole life, and I don’t really want to find out otherwise.”

  Cole’s mom glanced at her watch. “Oh, God! Look at the time! Honey, I’ve got to get back to work. If you want to ask me more questions later at dinner, that’d be okay.”

  We said good-bye to Mrs. Drepeau and watched in silence as she raced back across the street. When she disappeared through the doors of the clinic, Cole turned to me and said, “Well, that’s a crazy twist.”

  Suddenly, I remembered where I’d seen the name Bishop. “Can you give me your keys?” I asked, jumping to my feet with excitement. “I need to get something from your car.”

  Cole eyed me curiously, but handed over the keys. I raced off the porch of the coffee shop and was back a minute later with Spence’s junior year yearbook. Flipping frantically through the pages I stopped on one where Amber and eleven other students were posing with a teacher. The caption read, Mr. Bishop congratulates the top three GPA students from each class! Swiveling the book around I held my finger next to Mr. Bishop’s name.

  “Do you think it could be the same guy your mom saw threatening Ben?”

  Cole studied the photo. “She did say that she thought Amber knew the guy,” Cole said. “Is he in any other photos?”

  I pulled the yearbook back around and skimmed through the index, then went to the corresponding pages.

  “He taught algebra,” I said. “Freshmen class math.” Flipping to the next photo I gasped. “Cole,” I whispered, turning the page back to him.

  He leaned over and studied the photo, which was captioned, Mr. Bishop administers the SAT exams on an early Saturday morning.

  “That’s my uncle,” he whispered.

  Seated in the first row was Ben Spencer. “They knew each other,” I told him.

  Cole sat back and looked at me like he could hardly believe it was that easy. “I think we just found our starting point.”