“Things just came easily to me when I was young. I didn’t have to study much, but always got good grades. I was usually the best player on any team we had, and sports was pretty much my life. Then, when I discovered that the cute girls and the easy girls in school went for my bad boy act, I just played that up.
“Before I knew it, I was out of high school. When I didn’t get an athletic scholarship, I was pretty surprised. So rather than paying to go to school, I figured, screw them, I don’t need to waste my time with that. When I look back, I can see that if I hadn’t let my pride get in the way, things would have been different.
“It’s no one thing, Mitch. It’s lots of little things put together. So, I accept that prison may have been the best thing ever to happen to me, and now I intend to work my ass off to make something of myself instead of feeling sorry for myself. You get it?”
“I get it,” Mitch said, and he really did.
Around that time, Tony met a smart and attractive young woman named Emily, and it was clear they had fallen in love. She accepted him for who he was, despite his past mistakes, and she encouraged him to grab life with both hands and go for it. She was a big fan of his Thursday night hoops because she knew how good it was for him to excel at something again, and frankly it got him out of her hair for a night. He was nuts about her, and the feeling was mutual. Danny and Mitch were both a bit envious, which meant they teased Tony endlessly about Emily.
Time wore on and Mitch and Danny continued not to be so lucky in love. Because Danny was such a good-looking guy, he didn’t have any trouble getting dates, but when he saw the relationship Tony had with Emily, he knew that real love was worth the wait. Mitch was a bit of a perfectionist, and was convinced he would know the right woman on sight when she came along. Danny told him he had been reading too many of those weird books he was always talking about, but Mitch was unshakable in his conviction. So there they were, both reasonably good catches in their twenties who had outgrown the dating game. And that’s how they found themselves on a Friday night with nothing to do.
After hoops that night, Danny mentioned he’d run into a girl he knew from his childhood, who had told him about a club up in Putin-Bay, on Lake Erie, where they had terrific live music every Friday night. It was called Lakeside Bar, and she had suggested they check it out. Initially Mitch wasn’t very interested, until Danny told him that Macon Peach, an Allman Brothers cover band, would be playing. They were supposed to be incredible; the two guitarists could knock off the harmonic lead guitar parts note for note. Mitch liked Southern rock a lot, but he absolutely loved the Allman Brothers, so he was sold.
As they expected, the dance floor was crowded when they got there, and Danny looked around for his friend, Carolyn Hamilton. Danny felt a special bond with Carolyn because of her father’s visits when they were at Chillicothe, though they never talked about that time. Finally he spotted her across the floor, with an entourage of guys circling her. When she saw Danny, she ran over and told him how glad she was that he had made it because she had someone she wanted to introduce—or rather reintroduce—to him.
“Reintroduce, what do you mean?”
“A long time ago, when you were leaving the field after a game, I introduced you to my good friend Rachel, but you were too busy running off to a keg party to notice,” she said, with a laugh.
“Well that sounds like me, back then. By the way, I want you to meet my friend, Mitch.”
All this time Mitch had been standing there, admiring Carolyn’s golden hair, deep-blue eyes, and great shape, feeling a little like Michael Corleone when he was struck by the thunderbolt. He was smitten just looking at her, but then when she laughed and smiled, and he heard her voice, he literally felt a flash. He felt as if he had known her all his life, though he had yet to say a word to her. He knew she was the one he had been searching for.
Mitch, who was normally quite talkative, was speechless. He opened his mouth and out came a sort of croaking sound, leading Carolyn to cup her ear and shout, “What did you say?” The music was pretty loud, so that gave him a chance to regroup.
Danny jumped in to save his friend. “Mitch is a great guy. He’s an okay basketball player, but just about the best architect you’ll ever meet. He went to Geauga a few years ahead of us.”
Mitch got back to his natural footing and started talking about the high school, and some of the teachers there. Carolyn said her favorite was Mr. Ercolano, and Mitch mentioned that he’d heard he quit teaching to go write the Great American Novel, and on it went. Then Carolyn spotted Rachel, and said excitedly, “Danny, there she is. Come with me.”
For the rest of his life, whenever he heard the opening licks to “Sweet Home Alabama,” Danny would think of Rachel. Because the instant he took her hand, that’s the song the band broke into.
Rachel let out a screech of delight and started dancing to the music. “I just love this song! You want to dance?” she asked Danny, grabbing him by the hand as they disappeared onto the dance floor, not to be seen again for hours. Mitch and Carolyn eventually made their way outside where it was quieter, to a veranda that overlooked Lake Erie. They began the conversation that would continue to this day, fifteen years of marriage and three boys later.
Danny and Rachel, however, beat Mitch and Carolyn to the altar by three months.
For the next ten years, the couples were inseparable. Mitch and Carolyn bought a house in Chesterland, and it wasn’t long before Danny and Rachel found a place two blocks away.
When Rachel was pregnant with her first boy, Evan, Rachel and Danny wound up adopting Maryann, Rachel’s cousin, who was then twelve years old. Maryann’s parents had died within a year of each other, when she was six, after which she had been shuffled around from foster home to foster home. When Maryann called Rachel to tell her that her latest foster family was going to move out of state at the end of the month, and she wasn’t sure where she would wind up, Rachel did a typical Rachel move.
“Well, then you have to come live with me and Danny.”
“I couldn’t do that, Rachel. You’re pregnant, and what would Danny say?” But Maryann had been hoping that Rachel would offer to have her live with them, so she held her breath.
“Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him and call you back later.”
Rachel couldn’t stand the idea of her cousin being alone and unprotected. She knew what it was like to be a young woman without a safe home. When she broached the subject with Danny, she was delighted that he was instantly behind the idea. He understood that sometimes you just did the right thing even when it didn’t make sense on the surface. That was a lesson he had learned from Kevin Grant.
The years went by in a whiz, filled with work, kids, school, sports, holidays, birthday parties. Rachel watched Carolyn’s kids and vice versa. Their boys thought of one another more like cousins or extended family than neighbors. And Maryann was like a big sister to all of them, and a great babysitter to have available. There was a bond between the two families that could not have been tighter.
Tony turned out to be exceptionally industrious, and bought out his dad when Steve was ready to retire. About a year later he had an opportunity to purchase a small chain of sporting goods stores from a fellow in Akron who was nearly bankrupt, and Tony closed the Chesterland store and moved to Akron. He named the new chain Steve’s Sporting Goods, after his father’s store, and convinced Danny to join him, with the offer of two shops to manage at the outset; Tony had plans to expand, and he needed his brother’s help.
When Rachel told Carolyn that she and Danny had found the most wonderful house in a development in Akron named Wingate, on a strange-sounding street called Caves Road, the reality hit them, and they both started to panic.
“Rach, I don’t know how I’m going to make it without seeing you every day,” Carolyn said.
“I feel the same way, sweetie, but you know we’re going to talk every day, and we’ll make sure to get together at least once a month, you know that.”
And so the day came when the big green and yellow moving van was packed and the two families watched it drive off to Akron with all of the Turner belongings.
Their SUV was sitting in the driveway, with the engine running. Evan, Christopher, and Maryann were in the backseat, excited to be going to their new house, but sad to be leaving their friends. Luke and Joey Bianci ran around both sides of the car getting in some last-minute jibs and pokes, which was their way of telling their friends they would miss them.
Mitch and Danny broke into a man hug. “We’ve been through a lot together, my friend,” Mitch said.
“I know, I know,” Danny replied. “Don’t worry, we’re not that far away. We’ll still get together for hoops.” They both turned and looked off into the distance, so they wouldn’t see each other tearing up.
“We’ll meet at the stadium to watch the Indians invent a new way to lose real soon,” Mitch offered, to break the awkward silence. Then they turned to look at their wives.
Carolyn and Rachel were holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes. Of course they were both crying, and making promises to stay in touch and speak every day. Finally, Danny and Mitch had to pull them apart. They climbed into the car, with Rachel mouthing “every day, every single day” to Carolyn, and then Danny pulled their big maroon SUV out of the driveway and they headed off to Akron.
When they were just about twenty feet down the road, Rachel screamed “wait!” and suddenly the car screeched to a halt. She jumped out and ran over to Carolyn; she had forgotten to give her something. She handed her a piece of paper, and then ran back to the car and off they went, this time for real. Carolyn opened the paper and recognized her own handwriting, and the phone number she had written on it the day they met.
CHAPTER 6
November Sky
What’s done cannot be undone.
—William Shakespeare, Macbeth
EIGHTY-THREE CAVES ROAD, Danny and Rachel Turner’s new home, was set back on an acre of land, like all the other houses in the Wingate subdivision. Its long, curving driveway made the house feel isolated and remote. Tom Schroeder reduced his speed as he rolled up the driveway, until the house came fully into view. Unlike the other homes in the neighborhood that were bustling with activity on this typical Wednesday morning, the Turner house was completely dark, which was the first thing to strike Tom as odd. What was it that Tony had said about the weird voice mail or e-mail he’d gotten from Danny?
The barren trees that framed the house gave an already bleak November morning more of an ominous feeling, sending a shiver through Tom. His whole body shook uncontrollably for an instant. “Where the hell did that come from, Schroeder? Goose walk across your grave?’ he said out loud in an attempt at frivolity meant to counter the creepy sensation that had suddenly descended upon him.
Before getting out of the truck, Tom scanned the windows, room by room, hoping to see even a single light. But every room was black. For an instant he thought he saw a figure at the window of the master bedroom, but when he glanced back it was empty and dark. Something told him he might wind up having to shimmy open a window, so he rummaged around in the glove compartment until he found a screwdriver; however, he knew he really was hesitating because of an overwhelming, irrational desire to leave.
He instinctively felt for his cell phone as he stepped out of his truck, and tried to figure out what it was that didn’t seem right. Why would the whole family have taken off in the middle of the week, when the kids were due at school and Danny at work? It wasn’t like Tony to jump to conclusions or worry unless there was a good possibility something was up. He tried to reassure himself that there could be any number of reasonable explanations as he shuffled through the leaves and headed for the front door.
He rang the bell several times. No answer. He knocked hard, hammering on it.
“Hello, Danny? Rachel? Anybody home?” Still no answer.
Tom circled the house, cupping his hands to peer into a few windows, and then punched Danny’s home number into his phone. He could hear it ringing from outside the window, and then the Turner voices answering through his phone. It was downright eerie. He hung up, frustrated, and was about to try a window when he glimpsed something scurry across the foyer floor. It looked like one of the kids, but he couldn’t be sure; whoever it was had just whisked by and was now out of sight. But someone was in there for sure. Why hadn’t they responded? What the hell was going on? He rapped on the window with the handle of his screwdriver and shouted as he sped around to the front door.
Suddenly he heard the sound of feet coming toward him, down the steps and across the floor. From inside a child’s voice shouted, “Someone’s at the door! Are we late for school?”
Tom let out a sigh of relief. “It’s Tom Schroeder. Can you let me in?”
The mahogany door instantly swung open and there stood Christopher Turner, Danny and Rachel’s eight-year-old son. He was wide-eyed and very excited, but looked scruffy, like he had just rolled out of bed—yet he was dressed for school in jeans and a white Cleveland Indians T-shirt.
“Chris, where are your mom and dad?” Tom asked while shielding his eyes from the sunlight that was streaming across the foyer.
“I don’t know,” Christopher said, blinking. “Are we late for school?”
“Christopher, where are your mom and dad?” Tom repeated, louder.
Without answering, Christopher turned and ran back up the stairs. Tom followed after him, taking two steps at a time, and reached the hallway on the second floor. The boy was standing outside his parents’ bedroom, excitedly waving his hand toward the darkened room. Tom put his hands on Christopher’s shoulders and gently moved him aside as he gave the door a poke and it wobbled open. He took a few steps forward and then stopped at the threshold, frozen in place. There, in the stillness, the morning sunlight shone upon a crumpled mass of covers, saturated in blood. Next to the bed, splayed grotesquely across the floor, her head crowned by a pool of blood, lay Rachel Turner, motionless and obviously dead.
Tom looked at Christopher, whose trusting expression implied that he thought this grown-up would fix the bad thing that hurt his mommy. Schroeder shuddered as he glanced back over his shoulder, into the room, and then hurried Christopher down the stairs, babbling “everything will be all right,” because he had no idea what else to say.
His quivering fingers could barely find the numbers as he dialed 911.
“This is Tom Schroeder, I’m at the house of Danny and Rachel Turner,” he told the operator. “Something very bad has happened; we have an emergency; we need an ambulance; please send someone right away, right away.”
“Can you be more specific, sir? What is the address?’
His mind could not process the information. “Please, you must be able to trace the call; send someone immediately.” Finally the street popped into his head.
The dispatcher, in her trained noncommittal voice, assured him someone was already on the way. He turned to Christopher, who was standing passively at his side.
“Christopher, where is your dad?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s your brother, Chris? Where’s Evan?”
“I think he’s upstairs in his room.” With that he took off again, ran up the stairs, and stood in the hall, pointing into the room next to where Rachel lay.
“There he is!”
Praying he would find Evan sleeping soundly, Tom’s heart sank when he noticed a faint, bloody handprint on Christopher’s shoulder. He held the boy firmly to him as he looked into the bedroom to see Evan, lying on his back, his covers a deep purple, a dark red streak arcing up the wall behind his head. His face was almost unrecognizable. He did not need to enter to verify his condition. It suddenly dawned on Tom that whoever did this might still be in the house, and that, in any event, he had seen enough. With that, he scooped up Christopher and carried him outside, into his car. His smallness made the awful magnitude of the situation excruciatingly real.
> In the distance he heard the sound of sirens approaching. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around the little boy, kneeling down beside him to hold him close. Tom repeated his reassuring lie like a mantra: “It’s gonna be okay, little guy. I know it’s gonna be okay. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be okay.” But in his heart, he knew he was praying for the child in his arms to somehow find the strength to overcome the events of the most awful day of his life.
A few hours earlier, as the sky began to fill with light, a black Cadillac Escalade pulled to a stop approximately thirty feet from the edge of the cliff at Nicholson’s Quarry. Danny Turner had come here many times in the past when he had no other place to turn and needed to be alone. He loved the beauty of the vista, the crunch of the granite under his tires; he had come to believe he had a spiritual connection to this place. The official town history always included a mention that the Cuyahoga Indians had revered this lookout as sacred ground and somehow had pushed two enormous boulders up the cliff to create a natural gateway of astounding beauty. Whenever he stood in the center of the opening, looking over the precipice, into the ravine, Danny would be overtaken by the awesome power, not of God, but of the random nature of life. Occasionally, he would pause to ponder the big questions.
How can there be a God? If I wanted, I could just jump off of here and end it all. Am I in charge, or is He? And if He is, then why has He let things get so out of control? If only . . . if only this, if only that. How can this beautiful world be so cruel? Danny always had more questions than answers. He knew one thing. He knew love existed because he loved Christopher and Evan, and, most of the time, he loved Rachel. But then life got in the way, and things had gotten so complicated. Where was God when he needed Him? Maybe some sort of God existed, pulling him to this spot, or maybe this was just one of those gifts of nature. After a cigarette and a few moments’ contemplation, he would return to his car, determined to confront whatever dilemma was before him. But most often, he would just go home, have a few beers, and watch the game. It was better not to admit there was a problem, because then he might have to do something about it.
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