Rock

by J. A. Huss

  “A newspaper?” she asks, her thumb and index fingers coming up to her chin as she thinks about my request. “We have them of course.”

  Her thinking makes me nervous. Does she not want to show it to me? Is she afraid of what I might read? “Can you point me in the right direction?”

  “I’ll find it for you. Come on.” I follow her into the main part of the library and we veer off to the left where the computers are. “In the old days you’d have to search and search for things like this. But now, RK, we can pull it up with a few clicks. Oh.” She looks over her shoulder at me as she bends forward to type on a keyboard. “If you have internet at your house you can probably do this at home.”

  I just stare at her.

  “Do you have internet, RK?”

  I want to say, Hell, yes. What kind of hillbilly mountain man do you take me for? But the truth is, I have no clue. “My phone works.”

  “Well, that’s probably sufficient.” And then she goes on to explain whatever the fuck she’s explaining that probably any three-year-old could figure out these days, but apparently I’m as dumb as a bag of hammers and require an entire course on accessing periodicals online.

  Can I blame her for thinking I’m an idiot? Does the whole town know I don’t remember that night?

  “Here we go.” Mrs. Schaffer straightens up again, beaming a smile at me. “This is the first day. If you click forward you can look for all the updates.” And then she places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I’m so sorry about what happened to your rock band friends, RK.”

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  She walks off and leaves me to it. I force myself to stare at the headline.

  Melissa Vetti dies from

  I stop reading and turn around, trying my best to unsee it.

  “RK?” Mrs. Schaffer asks still only a few feet away. “Are you all right?”

  I turn back to the computer screen.

  Melissa Vetti dies from

  But then the word goes blurry. It’s not Melissa. Melanie Vetti dies. It says Melanie. I turn around to look for help. “Mrs. Schaffer,” I call in a hoarse voice. “Can you read this headline to me and tell me what it says?”

  She walks back over and puts her hand back on my shoulder, squeezing again. What’s with this town and their sympathetic shoulder squeezes? “It says Melanie, RK. Melanie. Not Melissa.”

  I take a deep breath and nod. “OK, that’s all I needed for now.”

  “Would you like me to print it for you? So you can read it later?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head.

  “It will just take a moment.” And then she clicks the print button on the screen and walks off to find the printer, which must be behind the main desk, because I can hear it whirring to life.

  I walk to the front door and try to leave, but it’s locked. I twist the key to unlock it, but that Mrs. Schaffer is quick. She’s already pressing the printout into my hand. “Take care, RK. Margie already called the sheriff to let them know we found you. But I’ll call again and tell them you’re on your way home. And if you need any more help with research, just let me know.”

  I pull the door open, give her a cursory wave over my shoulder, fold the article up into quarters, and stick it in my back pocket as I walk to my truck.

  I get in and take a deep breath. What the fuck was that? I knew that headline said Melanie, but I swear, my eyes saw Melissa. It’s like… I couldn’t help myself. Like I was forcing myself to see Melissa’s name.

  Like you’re delusional, RK.

  I start the truck and back out onto the street, hoping like fuck no one just saw me. I just want to go home. I turn onto Grand Avenue and head up into the mountains towards my house.

  Participate in your recovery, RK.

  I put it out of my mind as I wind my way up the road, looking at that fucking guard rail. My dad’s words coming back to me. They don’t keep you safe, they only make you feel safe.

  That might be true, but I’m happy to settle for that little bit of double-galvanized steel when my other option is going over the side of a cliff.

  There are two sheriff’s cars at the bottom of my driveway. One guy gets out of his car as I approach, waving me over to the side of the road.

  Fuck.

  I pull over and lower my window, the hot mountain breeze of early summer blowing my hair back. “Hey,” I say.

  He eyes me with a mixture of anger and relief. “Mr. Saber. We’ve been looking for you since yesterday morning. Did you get our messages?”

  “Ah…” I feel my pockets for my phone, take it out, and hold it up. “Sorry, no battery.”

  The deputy stares at me for a moment. “Do you mind telling me where you were? We’ve been ordered to keep an eye on you at all times, so deliberately slipping away to avoid—”

  “Hey,” I say, interrupting. “I didn’t slip away, OK? It’s not my fault you guys can’t keep up.”

  The other deputy walks towards us, his hand on his side arm, his face tucked into his shoulder as he speaks into his radio. “Mr. Saber,” he says, once he reaches us. “How you did you get your truck from town? Do you remember being driven home Saturday night by Gretchen Linnie?” He leans to the side a little, like he’s trying to see all the climbing equipment piled up on my passenger seat.

  “Yeah, of course.” Shit. I have no idea how I got my truck back. “I just walked. It’s only like five miles.”

  “Why would you walk, Mr. Saber?” the first cop asks. “Why wouldn’t you ask Miss Vetti for a ride? Did you leave in the middle of the night?”

  “Am I under arrest for something?”

  “No, of course not,” number two says.

  “Then it’s none of your fucking business.” I pull away from the side of the road and continue up my driveway, parking in front of the garage once I get to the top of the hill. I sit in the truck and get myself together for a few seconds, and then get out.

  My eyes flicker over to Missy’s house and I see the curtains flutter for a second. I’m heading over there to see if she’s mad when I hear her call out from behind me.

  “RK?” Missy calls. I turn and find her standing in my front door. “Where are you going?”

  Not, Where have you been?

  I look back at her house and figure it’s just the air conditioning making the curtains flutter like that, and then walk towards her. The two sheriff’s cars pull up just as I make it to the walkway leading up to the front door. They even make that fucking berrrp-berrrp sound and flash the lights like they do when they are half-heartedly pulling someone over.

  “Jesus Christ,” I say, stopping halfway between Missy and the road. “Now what?”

  Deputy One gets out of the car while Deputy Two talks on his radio. “Mr. Saber—” Deputy One starts.

  But Missy is up next to me now, one hand up, like she’s warding the deputy off. “Hey,” she says. “What are you doing? You were told to observe, not confront.”

  I look at her. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Miss Vetti, there was a county-wide search for Mr. Saber based on your information. Now I realize what our job is, but we have a lot of resources to account for and that means paperwork. So I’m going ask Mr. Saber questions whether you like it or not.”

  “I’m calling TJ,” she says, like this is a threat he needs to be aware of.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I ask again. Only this time I’m less polite that I was down the road. “I was rock climbing, asshole.”

  Both Deputy One and Missy turn to look at me.

  “Is that against the law? Am I under house arrest? Because if so, that’s news to me. I was told to stay in Grand County and I have. But no one said I wasn’t allowed to leave my house without an escort.”

  “How did you get to town to pick your truck up? Did someone come get you?” Deputy Two asks, suddenly appearing on the scene.

  “I walked,” I growl back at him. “I just told you that.”

  “You did n
ot walk, RK.” I squint my eyes at the guy, recognizing him as Angelo Marzetti. “We had two cars down at the end of the driveway all night. So you wanna start being straight with us? Or should we take you in for questioning?”

  “Questioning for what?” I snarl.

  “TJ,” Missy says in her phone. “Angelo is here asking RK questions.”

  “Just tell us where you were,” Deputy One says.

  “Rock climbing,” I say, pointing to the harness around my hips. “And if you had any deductive skills at all, you’d conclude I rappelled down the cliff at the back of my house and then hiked through the canyon that leads to the Bighorn Trailhead, and came out right on the edge of town. One mile as the crow flies. No need to take the long way around.”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth I know it’s true. I actually see myself doing this in my mind.

  “Go check the other side of my back deck for the anchor bolts and cams in the rocks. There’s gear and rope at the bottom. I put that shit in the second day I was home.”

  “Why?” Missy asks.

  I look at her to answer, but… I don’t know why.

  “Go check it out,” Angelo says to Deputy One.

  “Can you take me to the back, Miss Vetti?” Deputy One asks Missy.

  She sighs loudly and then says, “Whatever. TJ is just down the hill and he’s on his way.” She shoots Angelo a glare that might be a warning and then walks back into the house with One.

  “Look, RK,” Angelo says, like we’re old friends. I knew him. Sort of. We never ran with the same crowd. He was never into music. He was more like Sean. A jock. Minus Sean’s cool side that made us click back then. “I’m just trying to help you out, man. That’s all.”

  “Appreciate it,” I say. “But not necessary.”

  “Well.” Angelo laughs. “Tell that to TJ. And my boss. Because they want you watched twenty-four seven.” He waits to see if I’ll say anything to that, but I don’t. “So until I get new orders, I’m gonna track your every move. Whether you like it or not. Now, the sooner you tell me where you were, the sooner I’ll go back down to my post at the bottom of the hill.”

  “I told you, I was climbing.”

  “Where?”

  I shrug. “All over.”

  “Why didn’t you just wait for Missy to take you into town to get your truck? You do realize your actions are a little crazy, right?”

  “Why do I have to explain myself to you? I wanted to climb, so I did. End of story.”

  TJ’s Jeep screeches into the driveway and he get out without turning the engine off. “What the fuck are you doing, Angelo? You better get your ass back down the hill right now if you want a job tomorrow.”

  Angelo shoots me a dirty look, complete with a growl of, “I’m going to figure you out, RK. You can bet your ass on that.”

  “You’re not getting paid to figure shit out, Angelo,” Teej says, following him back to his vehicle. I stop listening. I can’t hear them anyway. Angelo gets in his car and TJ leans in the open door as they have some kind of whispered argument.

  “We’re all set, RK,” Deputy One says, coming back around the side of the house with Missy. “Thanks for letting us know about the route. Maybe you should open that climb up to tourists.” And then he mutters, “Crazy fucker,” as he brushes past me and joins TJ and Angelo out in the street.

  Missy wraps her hands around my bicep and I look over at her. “Hey, sorry about this,” I say. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

  She just sighs, and then lets go of me and turns towards my front door. “We need to talk, RK,” she calls over her shoulder. “So when you’re ready for that, you let me know.”

  I watch TJ finish up with the deputies and then they leave. Presumably to go back down to their posts at the bottom of my driveway.

  TJ watches until they are out of sight and then looks at me, pointing his finger. “You,” he says, “are an asshole.”

  “Sorry. Jesus. I’m a fucking grown-up, TJ. I don’t need the babysitters. And I really don’t get what this fucking county arrest is all about anyway. If they want to blame me for the crash, then fucking let them. I got a whole team of lawyers. I got enough money to take care of things. I’m not in need of help.”

  TJ just stares at me. Turns away. Rubs his hand down his unshaven face. Then turns back. I wait for his comeback. You’re a fuckup. You’re a selfish asshole. You’re on your own then. All that kind of shit he’s known for saying when he’s feeling superior.

  But he doesn’t. He just shakes his head, gets back in his running Jeep, backs out, screeching his tires, and leaves me standing there.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I go inside, instantly thankful that Missy has the air conditioning on because I stink like a mountain climber. She’s not in the front room. It’s littered with all my boxed-up shit, so I stop and rifle through the clothes to find some shorts. I need a goddamned shower. I find a pair of tan cargos, then spy a few carabiners lying in a pile next to the box I taped up the other day.

  Secret, a voice whispers in my head.

  I walk over to it, slinging my shorts over my shoulder, and then pry the top of the box open. And this time I know the name for every piece of equipment.

  Tons of gear. Cams and bolts. Nuts and quickdraws. Lockers and slings. Two more harnesses. Another entire box filled with carabiners. Climbing pants, climbing shorts. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven pairs of climbing shoes.

  I step back and take a breath.

  “Yeah,” Missy says. “I found that too. I figured it was something you did in California, not something you were doing now. You could’ve told me you were leaving, you know. If you want to climb, climb, RK. I’m not going to stop you.”

  I stare out the window, my back to Missy. “I’ve been blacking out.”

  Silence.

  “At least three times since I’ve been home. The first time no one probably even knew. But I ended up over in Granby to see the ENT doctor. Chancer?” I ask. “You heard of him?”

  “No,” Missy says. “Never had a reason to see the ENT guy in Granby.”

  I turn around to face her. She looks tired. Probably up all night wondering where the fuck I was. “Well, I showed up there in a lot of pain. I yelled at you that first night and then got drunk, I guess. Anyway, I just remembered what happened that weekend. Just now, when I was standing outside with the cops.”

  I pick up a bright yellow power drill from the climbing gear box. “I bolted the route down the cliff. Just for funsies, I guess? Just because I could? I don’t know. It felt good. It felt… normal. I don’t know why I blacked out the climbing. Weird. But fuck, my head’s so messed up these days. Melanie, Ian, Elias, Mo, my dad. I have all these fucking people in my mind. Anyway, I screamed when I got to the bottom. I did on purpose even though my throat was sore. A victory scream, you know? And it fucking hurt all night, so I drove over to Granby to see that Chancer guy.”

  “We were mean to you that first night.”

  I huff out a laugh. “Bitches, you were.” She smiles, and I do too, for a second. And then I stop. “I don’t get it, Missy. You were acting like Melanie that night. TJ was such an asshole to me when I came to the bar.”

  “I know,” she whispers. “We made things worse. Gretchen wanted to see if you remembered whether it was me or Mel who died. And pretending to be her for a second was the only way.”

  I shake my head. “It fucked with me. Pretty bad, Miss.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry.” She lets out a long breath of air. “And Margie ripped Gretchen a new asshole for that too. She was pissed off.”

  “Margie,” I say. “I saw her this morning.”

  Missy nods. “She called us after you left.” Missy stares at me for a moment. “Did you go to the library?”

  I nod.

  “Did you find the articles from when Mel died?”

  I nod again.

  “Did you read it?”

  “No,” I say,
shaking my head. “I mean, I tried. But I swear to God, Missy, my head is playing tricks on me. I would’ve bet a million dollars that when I read that first headline it said Melissa, not Melanie. It took me a minute to realize I was seeing things. I had to call Mrs. Schaffer over to read it to me. To make sure it was real.” I clear my throat. “And then I just couldn’t read anymore.”

  Missy frowns at me.

  “But Mrs. Schaffer printed it out and made me take it.” I pull the folded-up piece of paper out of my pocket, stare at it for a few seconds, then thrust it out to Missy. “I can’t read it.”

  “Why not?” Missy asks, her voice low and soft.

  “Because…” I swallow hard. “Because I don’t think it says what I think it says.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “I’m fucked up, aren’t I?”

  “No, RK.” Missy comes over to me, taking the article out of my hand, and presses herself up to my chest. “You’re not fucked up, OK? You’re a goddamned rock star. You write the most beautiful music. You have friends. You laugh and have fun with us. You’re not fucked up. You’re just confused because of the way you left things after Melanie died. And that just built up and up and up over the years until it became real to you. But you’re home now. And you’re here with us, and we love you, and you’re going to be fine. Everything is going to heal. Everything is going to get better now.”

  I take the paper out of her hand and unfold it. Missy never lets go of me. Her arms are wrapped tight around my middle. Her cheek is pressed against my chest. “Read it out loud, Rowan Kyle. Read it out loud and get it over with.”

  I stare at the headline. “‘Melanie Vetti dies from… suicide.’”

  Missy starts breathing funny and I know she’s crying.

  “‘On the night of May seventh, Melanie Vetti killed herself by jumping off a cliff near Berthoud Pass on US Highway 40.’”