“I know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve gone back on that, haven’t I, C.J.?” C.J. looked down at the floor and didn’t answer.
“I’d rather die than do that.”
“God, Danny, don’t say it like that.”
“I’m being pulled apart inside,” Danny repeated, as though he hadn’t heard C.J., as though he were standing there alone. “Not by Brian, but by me.”
C.J. breathed, “Shit. How’d we ever get into this mess, anyway?”
“How are we ever going to get out of it?”
“Let’s hope Brian’s right and it’ll all turn out okay.”
In the cafeteria that day, Ian Baker, the shortstop on the baseball team, came over and asked Danny, “Are you still bummed about losing the game last week?”
“Who said I was bummed?” Danny asked back.
“I heard that’s why you’ve been acting so weird lately.”
“Who’s acting weird?”
“If you want to know what I think,” Ian said, “you better not take losing so hard or you’ll never have the stuff to pitch winning ball. It’s time you stopped acting like a freshman.”
“Like I might ever give a shit what a pompous ass like you thinks, Baker.” Danny got up from the table, dumped his tray in the trash and hurried out.
“What’s up with him?” Ian said, and when no one answered, he went away.
From the cafeteria window the boys could see Danny walking across the basketball courts, his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, his head down. It looked like he was talking to himself.
C.J. said he was worried about Danny.
Brian said, “God, I wish school was over.”
“Yeah,” Rick answered.
“We better make sure he’s all right,” Brian told the others, but when they looked out the window again, Danny was gone.
On the bus ride home, Danny glowered at Brian. “What the hell kind of lies are you spreading about me?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Baker.”
“I didn’t say anything to Baker. I wouldn’t—”
“Next time keep your mouth shut.”
Brian leaned forward, his face inches from Danny’s. “Danny, I didn’t say anything to Baker. Honest.”
When C.J. got off the bus, he could see Danny’s face, tight and tense, staring blankly out the window.
That night, C.J. rode his bike over to the house. He found Danny walking aimlessly with Mutt through the field out by the backyard. The night was cool and Danny should have worn his sweatshirt or jacket, but he seemed unaware of the weather, unaware that he was shivering. C.J. mentioned how cold Danny looked. Danny wasn’t listening. “I’m worried about us,” was all he said.
“Us?”
“The four of us. Us. We. The boys who killed Lamar Coggin.” Danny kept on walking and shivering. C.J. tagged along, not saying anything. “You see,” Danny said matter-of-factly, “I’m alone here all night and I’ve got a lot of time to think and I’ve got it all figured out.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be alone so much,” C.J. said. “You can come over to my house anytime you like. Like now, even.”
Danny ignored him. “Brian’s going to survive this. And that worries me. Rick is going to survive it, too, because he does whatever Brian does. And that also worries me.” C.J. thought Danny was making a joke, but when he laughed Danny did not laugh with him. “I’m worried about you, C.J.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When I’m not here to take your side.”
“Where are you going? Are you running away from home or something?”
Danny didn’t answer the question, all he said was, “Brian’s got Baker thinking things about me that aren’t true. And I’m doing things that I know I shouldn’t do. Hey, that rhymed.” Danny laughed through his chattering teeth.
“Brian never said anything to Baker. Danny, you’re acting weird.”
“That’s what I mean. You need me to remind you that it’s okay to act weird sometimes.”
“Okay. But I’m getting cold out here. Let’s go inside.”
“That worries me, too.”
“That I’m getting cold? You’re not making any sense.”
“Is he?” Danny asked. “Just think, he’s been out there all this time, in the rain and everything. He must be so cold and lonely.”
“Who?”
“Lamar Coggin. Is he making any sense?”
“I don’t—”
“He’s still out there. They haven’t found him yet.”
“They must have.”
Danny shook his head.
“You didn’t go back there, did you?”
“We’d have heard. We’d know.”
“Did you go back there, Danny?” C.J. realized he was shouting.
“I go back there every night. In my mind.” Danny was speaking in a soft monotone. “I see him hanging there. It’s like he’s asleep all alone out there. It’s funny. I can’t sleep and that’s all he does. It’s like a tradeoff, my sleep for his.” They walked a little further into the field. Mist was rising off the ground like a veil. “We all know better and we still behave the way we do. Now can you see why I’m worried about us?”
“Let’s go back to the house, it’s cold out here.”
“Funny, isn’t it, how cold it’s gotten these past few days. If it had been this cold last Friday we’d’ve never gone out to Otter Creek. Never gone swimming.”
“I can’t stay out here much longer.”
“He’s cold, too, you know.”
“Stop talking about him. You’re scaring me.”
Danny rubbed the top of C.J.’s head and laughed. “Don’t be scared.”
Mutt found something to chase and Danny called to him and whistled.
“I had dinner with my dad tonight,” Danny said. “He kept asking me why I wasn’t eating. Why I looked so tired. I lied to him. What do you tell your folks when they ask why you aren’t eating? Why you look tired?”
“They don’t ask. I usually just eat with the twins and they don’t give a shit about anyone.” They walked a little further. “I’m worried about you, Danny.”
“Worry about you. It’s every man for himself.” Danny whistled for Mutt a second time, turned and walked toward the house.
“What’s that mean?” C.J. said, following along.
Danny picked up the pace, walking faster and faster through the plowed ground.
“What’s that mean?”
But Danny didn’t answer.
Back at the house, they sat upstairs in Danny’s room.
“You feel like watching TV?” C.J. asked.
“I feel like sitting here.”
“I could probably stay over if you like.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think I’m acting weird, like Baker did?”
“No.”
“We should all be acting weird. We are all acting weird if you think about it.”
“What else can we do?” C.J. asked, a minute later.
“Do what you think is right. It’s every man for himself.”
“I wish you’d stop saying that.”
“Go home. It’s getting late.”
At school the next day, Danny was standing under the stairwell softly calling C.J.’s name.
“What are you doing?” C.J. asked.
“I just want to apologize for last night.” Danny’s eyes looked dark and hooded. “I’m sorry I scared you like that.” Overhead, the stomp and clatter of student feet drowned out his voice. Danny might have said, “I shouldn’t have done it.” Or, “I’m ashamed.” And then he said, “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” C.J. managed a smile.
“I have something for you.”
“Are you all right?”
Danny pulled his blue Hawaiian shirt out of his backpack. The shirt was balled up and full of creases. He thrust it into C.J.’s
hand. “Take it.”
“What are you doing?”
“Take it. Please. I want you to have it. Really.” C.J. said, “Thanks,” because he didn’t know what else to say.
More stomp and clatter and voices reverberating off the walls.
“Wear it at the lake this summer,” Danny said. “It’ll be way cool.”
“Yeah…Cool…”
“Promise that you’ll wear it for me this summer.”
“Sure, Danny. But why—”
“You have to stand up for yourself. You have to do it without my help, C.J.”
“What do you mean?” Danny was scaring him again. It was Danny’s voice, the way his eyes homed onto C.J.’s face.
“You can’t let them push you around.”
“Let who push me around?”
“Like they push me around.”
“Who’s pushing you around?”
“You have to stand up for yourself. Even when it hurts.”
“We’ll stand up for each other. Together,” C.J. said, looking for, expecting, some reassurance. But it wasn’t there.
Danny stepped around him and walked up the stairs. C.J. called out for him to wait, but Danny only walked faster.
Danny wasn’t in the cafeteria at lunchtime, and later in class, when the boys wanted to know where he’d been, Danny only said, “I had to take care of something.”
The boys could not get him to tell them what “something” was.
When Danny got off the bus that afternoon, the boys went with him. “Not today,” he told them. “Go on over to C.J.’s or something. I’ve got work to do.”
“What kind of work?” Brian wanted to know.
Danny gave Brian a long look and said, “Things. Just things. Don’t you ever have things to do? Doesn’t anyone but me have things to do?”
Brian said, “Take it easy.”
“You think I’m going to go back on my word?”
“Hell no. But you’re our friend and you’ve been acting a little—”
“Weird?”
“No. Like you’re not—”
“I have things to do.”
“Things,” Brian repeated.
“Things,” Danny said under his breath, and headed home. “Things.”
The boys kept a good distance behind, and if Danny knew they were following him, it didn’t seem to bother him. He never turned around, he never looked back. He went inside the house, Mutt barked, a moment later the back door opened and closed and there was silence.
Brian told C.J, “I’m worried about him.”
“I am too,” C.J. said back. But that was all he would say. He didn’t want to talk about last night or about this morning. He was trying to forget it, trying to convince himself that Danny would snap out of it. Talking about it to the other boys would only make it more real, and reality was not a friendly place these days.
Brian wanted to sneak inside “just to keep an eye on him.” Rick and C.J. talked him out of it. Instead, they parked themselves in the corner of the porch beneath the living room window.
“He’s really going to like this,” Rick said, and rubbed his arms nervously. “Us spying on him.”
“It’s not spying,” C.J. said.
“We just want to make sure he’s okay,” Brian explained.
“What’s he doing in there?” Rick whispered.
“How should I know?” Brian whispered back.
Rick started to stand. Brian pushed him down.
A minute or two passed and the boys were feeling pretty foolish crouched against the side of the house. C.J. wanted to leave. He was sure Danny would find them and “go ballistic.” But Brian said, “I want to make sure he’s all right,” and they stayed where they were.
A few more minutes passed. Then they heard Danny playing the piano, softly, gently. He played unself-consciously and relaxed, one song, then another, and another after that. It put the boys at ease, it comforted them. Their guilt and conflict had exhausted them, now they closed their eyes and rested while Danny played. Maybe he chose the music to soothe his own nerves. Maybe it was to give himself courage for what was to come.
The music, sad and lonesome to their ears, made the boys feel quiet inside for the first time since the day at Otter Creek; as though Danny were playing a lullaby just for them. One song, a momentary pause, and then another. One song to the next. Each played carefully and clean. The boys felt their breath catch in their throats.
C.J. began to sob, then Rick and Brian as the music played, coming at them, making them aware of the terrible thing they’d done until they could not bear what they were feeling.
First Brian stood, then Rick. C.J. remained. He said he wanted to listen for a few more minutes. Brian and Rick only nodded their heads, quietly swung themselves over the railing and walked away.
Danny never stopped playing. C.J. sat and listened. He wasn’t worried that Danny would find him. But Danny never stopped. One song to the next, the pace never varying, or the intensity. It was a beautiful and lonely sound. Or was it C.J.’s own loneliness? One song to the next, with hardly a moment’s pause. One song to the next. One song to the next.
C.J. stayed until sunset. When he got up, Danny was at the door.
“I was waiting for the other guys to leave.” Danny spoke softly, vacantly. “Do you want to come in now?” His voice, his presence, made C.J. uncomfortable.
“I better be going. Thanks.” And C.J. walked home in the quickening darkness.
The next morning, Danny wasn’t on the school bus, or at his locker when classes started, and when C.J. called the house after first period, there was no answer.
Brian called and there was still no answer. “Maybe he just wants to be alone for now.”
At lunchtime, C.J. called, and Brian, then Rick. Each believing his touch would make the difference. But there was still no answer.
When the boys were told to meet at the Harrisons’ house—Hal and Vicki Clarke sitting with Brian. Carl and Mandy Ainsley sitting with C.J., Rick sitting with Arthur and Celeste—they were sure they’d been found out. They drummed their fingers on the arms of chairs, their legs twitched and jiggled nervously. No one spoke, not even the adults, not for a minute or two. The boys assumed everyone was waiting for Danny.
When Arthur said, “Something terrible has happened,” Brian looked sharply at Rick, whose face had gone pale. C.J.’s stomach turned and he started gagging. Then Arthur told them Danny had killed himself. The boys broke down and wept.
“It was an accident,” C.J. told Jack. “I should’ve told you—it was Brian’s idea to go to your house—to see if Danny told—I mean—” He stared at the floor. “And when you started asking about…”
“You covered your lies with more lies.”
C.J. nodded his head. “Then we heard that they thought Lamar killed himself, and when we came back from vacation we heard about that man they arrested and it’s just like Brian said.” He shifted uneasily. “I don’t know—I mean, Brian never comes over—Dr. Owens,” he asked, “what are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure.”
Jack wanted to leave and he wanted to stay there all day. He wanted to grab C.J. and hug him for how pathetic and broken he looked. He wanted to beat the shit out of him and the rest of the boys. He wanted to take control of the situation. He wanted to fall apart. He wanted to tell the boys’ parents, point fingers, lay blame. He wanted to decide what was best. He wanted to hide. He wanted to tell Marty. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to call his father. He wanted to dream about every good day he’d had with Danny. He wanted it all to happen simultaneously and he wanted none of it. He was overwhelmed by all there was to do and how little could be done. He could feel himself being pulled in a hundred directions at once—being pulled apart. It was a suffocating feeling, as though a blanket had been thrown over his head—as though a plastic bag…
Jack got up from the chair. His shirt was damp with sweat and made a thick adhesive sound as he pulled it away
from his skin. “What the hell time is it, anyway?” He didn’t wait for an answer, he walked to the door. “Your accident was no accident, was it? You were trying to kill yourself. There’s been too much of that.” He told C.J., “Try to remember Danny as he really was.”
The sunlight hurt his eyes. His body ached. When he walked to his car each step made his head pound. If there is such a thing as mental stasis, he had attained it. He experienced no cognition, there was nothing left to think, and if there were, it would have served no purpose. He had nothing left to lose and nothing remained to be saved. There was nothing he could feel in this moment that he hadn’t felt all summer. There was nothing left to consider, no insight to lean on, no consolation. There was nothing to deconstruct, reconstruct, churn, dissect or analyze. There was nothing left but this: it was his little boy standing in the cold field. It was Danny alone out there.
XXV
The sun was shining above the ruins. Jack could smell the river in the air. He’d been sleeping in his car and was awake now only because Marty was shaking him. The top of the car was down, Marty was leaning over the passenger seat and smiling.
Jack groaned, “Oh shit.”
Marty seemed to be out of breath. He asked, “What are you doing out here?”
“Sleeping.”
“I guess you were.” Marty smiled again.
“What are you doing out here?” Jack squinted into the sunlight.
“Running. I saw your car and I—” His face was wet and sweat had soaked through his T-shirt. He was still out of breath. “Are you all right?”
“Working late. I was too tired to drive home so I stopped to take a nap.”
“Strange place to take a nap.”
Jack didn’t acknowledge what was surely meant to be a question. He shaded his eyes and watched Marty’s face. The face of his friend from the summer. The athletic-solid face that three months ago had done something remarkable and courageous with its eyes and expression when Jack needed to see that in the face of anyone who chose to come to his door. Now the face was giving Jack a thorough going-over and the expression was neither remarkable nor courageous, just curious.
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