“Um, mid-thirties maybe,” Will said.
“Good looking? Kind of quiet?” the waitress asked.
They both shrugged their shoulders. “Maybe … we don’t know him. It was our Dad’s friend.”
“I’ll bet its Peter Taylor. He lives up on the hill.”
“Peter Taylor …” Will whispered. “That sounds about right.”
“Yeah, it does,” Jenn agreed. “He lives up on the hill, huh?”
“Yup. On Sixth Street. It’s right across the street from the old orchard. Last house on the left—like the horror movie,” she said with a smile.
Will frowned at her unprovoked horror movie reference.
“The orchard, huh?” Jenn said, flashing a knowing smile towards Will.
“Yeah. Old man Taggard owned it, God rest his soul. Tore most of the trees down to build his house. Not sure who owns it now, though. Probably his kids, I suppose.”
“Hmm,” Will murmured. His eyes met Jenn for a moment and she smirked.
Wanda leaned in closer before glancing at the old men sitting around the table. She spoke almost soundlessly. “He died—old man Taggard— a few years back. Fell out of his own damn tree house and broke his fool neck.”
Both Will and Jenn’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, wow,” Jenn said. “How terrible.”
Wanda nodded. “Quite mysterious circumstance, too.”
“Mysterious huh, how so?” Jenn probed.
“Aw, you know me; I’m not one to gossip.”
“Right,” Jenn said.
“North on Sixth Street, you said?” Will asked.
“Yup.”
“Thanks, Wanda. I’ll tell my Dad. Maybe he’ll want to pay a visit.”
Wanda sat up from her stool and grabbed the coffee pot. “Don’t mention it, sweetie. I better go check for empty cups before the geezer party stage a protest. They’re on edge as it is already.” Wanda filled out the check for the coffee and donuts and sat it down in front of Will’s coffee cup, apparently not a big fan of women’s lib. She started to leave and then stopped, reeling herself back in and whispering, “If you see Peter, tell him to stop in for coffee one of these days. It would be nice to chat with someone under the age of sixty-five for a change.”
“We’ll tell him,” Jenn said.
When Wanda was out of earshot, William said, “That’s definitely our guy.”
“I would say so. This was a good idea. Good job, Will.”
“Thanks.”
They finished their coffee and Jenn gave Will the rest of her donut. He crammed it in his mouth and wiped the jelly off his chin with a napkin.
Jenn watched him do so. “That’s attractive.”
“Right?”
She slapped his shoulder playfully. “Let’s get going. I’m anxious to see this guy.”
Will laid out enough cash to cover the bill and a tip. They both stood from their stools while Wanda finished topping off the old men’s coffee. “Thanks, kids,” the waitress said over her shoulder.
They both thanked her back as they scooted past the table of angry old men. Outside, the sun was high and burning hot. Will shielded his eyes from its harsh glare and didn’t see the boy coming up from behind them.
Jenn saw him, though. “Excuse us,” she said.
“Damn. What’s your name?” the boy asked. He had a video camera in his hand, and he pointed it at Jennifer.
She flashed a bashful smile and looked away from the camcorder. “My name’s Jennifer. This is Will.”
The boy glanced at Will for a second but the camera remained on Jenn. “My name is Leo, and I’m making a movie. This may sound crazy, but I’m willing to fire my female lead right now if you’ll agree to make this movie with me. I’m totally serious. You’re perfect for it.”
Jenn laughed, “Uh, sorry. We’re just passing through.”
“That’s a terrible idea. Like, really, really bad. You’re making a huge mistake. Let’s take your little brother home, and I’ll show you the script. You’ll love it.”
Will reached for Jenn’s hand and gently pulled her towards him. “Stand down, Dawson. The lady said we’re busy.”
The boy finally lowered the camera and stared at Will confused. “I said my name is Leo, and, look, it’s not a porno or anything. It’s a horror movie. The script won second place in the Mid-Plains Young Adult screenwriter’s competition. It’s gonna kill … seriously. It’s a great opportunity.”
“I’m sorry, really, but we have to go,” Jenn said.
The young man sighed and shook his head. “Alright, but if you change your mind, I’ll be around.”
“Okay,” Jenn said.
“I mean it, Jennifer. Leo Barrows. Find me.” He looked once more to Will, “I could even find a role for you, Pacey, if that’s what it would take.”
Will smirked and walked away. “Bye, Leo,” Jenn said as she turned and followed.
“Someday you’ll read about me and rue this day,” Leo hollered as they walked away. They didn’t turn back … but, as it turned out, they would read about poor Leo Barrows someday.
The two crawled into her VW and Jenn pulled away from the curb.
“That dude was crazy,” Jenn said.
“This whole town is crazy.”
“Don’t think I didn’t catch that sick Dawson’s Creek reference back there,” she said. “What was that all about?”
Will smiled. “The Creek? My Mom used to watch it. I may have caught a few episodes.”
“I bet you did.”
They continued down Maine Street. Four blocks east, they found Sixth Street. She turned north, and two minutes later, the end of town was in sight.
“Here it is,” Jenn said.
“What are we gonna say?”
She shrugged. “Good question.”
Will sighed and twisted in his seat, suddenly unable to get comfortable. “Maybe my old man did just run off. Maybe he found some piece of ass out here.”
“Don’t say that. You can’t think that way. We are so close. Listen, we’re about to find out what we came all this way to find out and you’re nervous. That’s okay, Will. It’s okay.”
“He better not have. He better not have run out on us.”
Jenn didn’t respond, but she did think of her own adulterous father.
Will pointed at the field of trees fast approaching on their right. “There’s the orchard.”
“So that must be Peter’s house.”
Wanda was right; it was the last house on the left. The ranch-style home was small and made of bricks the color of dry ashes. A late model Ford sedan sat at the top of a long, steep cement driveway next to the house.
“Shit. It looks like he may even be home.”
“Yup. No turning back now.” She flipped a U-turn at the end of the block and parked in front of the house. The curtains in the large picture window fluttered. Or maybe that was just Will’s imagination.
Jenn killed the engine and Will reached for his door handle. He paused when he noticed Jenn wasn’t moving. “You okay?”
“Shit,” she murmured, “Now I’m nervous.”
“No, you were right, let’s get this over with.”
“Wait. Maybe this is … maybe you were right. Maybe we should turn back.”
“Listen, why don’t you stay in the car and wait for me, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Jenn exhaled loudly and a nervous chuckle escaped her throat. “No. I’m coming. I’m just being a little girl. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
Jenn shot him a thankful smile and looked away, deciding instead to stare at the car stereo.
“This means a lot to me, Jenn. I can’t even begin …” He struggled to formulate the words and now neither of them could manage to maintain eye contact. “Why did you do this? I mean, why did you drive all this way for me? I love that you did and I’ll never be able to repay you, but why?”
Finally, Jenn did look at him and this time she didn’t flin
ch. “I like you. From the first time I saw you, I liked you. I don’t know why … I still don’t know why, but I do. I could see the pain you were in. I could see it in your eyes and I could hear it in your voice. I thought, ‘what if I could fix that? What if I could make a difference for you?’ That would be a pretty damn rare thing if I could. And I would never pass that up.”
They sat in silence and neither noticed the eyes observing them from the picture window.
“Thank you, Jennifer. Really.”
“Let’s go see this guy.”
“You sure?”
She nodded and smiled, which lit up her entire face and deepened her dimples. Not for the first time, William noticed how truly beautiful she was. Suddenly, the car seemed too small and much too hot.
They approached the house side by side. Weeds belched out of the cracks in the sidewalk, and crabgrass and dandelions overwhelmed the front lawn.
They arrived at the door. At their feet, a doormat read: We already found Jesus. We like our vacuum, and we already gave at the office.
“Everyone’s a comedian,” Jenn whispered.
Will grunted. He turned his back on the door and took his first good look at the wooded orchard. He tried to picture it as his father would have all of those years ago. He thought he could. “That’s it. That’s where that damn tree house is … I know it.”
“You’re probably right,” Jenn whispered, afraid the man of the house could hear them. “We can ask Peter all about it.”
Will smirked and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say maybe we will. His finger hovered over the doorbell, “Here goes.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Meeting Mr. Bleaker
From his own couch, Peter replayed last night in his head for what seemed like the hundredth time. He was getting sloppy, but he didn’t think that would matter much longer. The man from the rest area had been skinny and wiry, but he’d been strong too. Peter had heard the phrase country-strong before but he’d never understood what that meant until last night. He looked at his watch and wondered if the dead man’s wife was still sleeping peacefully in their shitty little camper. She may not even know that poor old what’s-his-name (Clint, wasn’t it?) hadn’t come back from the pisser yet. No great loss. Dirty rednecks that smelled of cheap beer, ditch weed, and body odor. No great loss, indeed.
A car drove by, returning Peter from his daydream, but he didn’t think much of it. His house was out of the way but he did get some traffic. Then the vehicle stopped and the engine died. Now that was unusual. Peter stood up and winced at the pain in his shoulders; drawbacks from his chosen night time activities. Not the only drawback, but the one he found most annoying in this moment. He peaked around the curtain in his living room window and saw a blue Volkswagen Beetle parked at his curb. The license plates were out of view but he knew instantly that they weren’t from around here. He didn’t know anybody with that model and he certainly wasn’t expecting company. Suddenly, Peter began to feel something very unusual in the back of his mind. It wasn’t fear and it wasn’t nerves. Simply, unease.
It was two people. They didn’t immediately get out of the car, and Peter wondered aloud if they were lost. He could see them talking; using hand gestures. The more they gesticulated, the more Peter’s unease began to grow. But then the door to the passenger side opened and a man climbed out. But it wasn’t a man—it was a boy.
Probably not old enough to shave, he thought.
A few seconds later, the driver, a tall, lanky girl with long red hair exited the car. Peter saw at once that the girl was no older than her traveling companion.
“What is this?” he mumbled.
They walked slowly down the sidewalk towards his door. Peter released the curtain, careful to be discreet and returned to the couch.
What do these kids want from me?
It was a question that he couldn’t imagine. He didn’t like not having answers. Uncertainties are unacceptable for a man like him—especially with his pastimes. But they were just kids, and he had become really good about detecting threats. Detecting them and destroying them.
The doorbell rang. Peter approached the door and paused as he spotted his own reflection in the mirror that hung next to the door. He was his father. The resemblance was uncanny. He wondered how he had never noticed before.
No time for this.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. There was company at his front door and it was time to focus. He offered up a smile to the mirror. It wasn’t perfect but it would have to do.
The doorbell rang and Peter opened the door, once again, grimacing from the pain in his shoulder.
“Hello, kids. What can I do for you?”
They were both young, younger than he imagined.
Neither of them spoke and Peter could see that they were nervous. He raised his eyebrows and urged them to continue. Finally, the young lady spoke.
“Hello. My name is Jennifer and this is my friend, Will. We were wondering if we could have just a moment of your time.”
She was very pretty, Peter thought, and would be gorgeous in a few years. “What is this about?”
“Oh, right. Uh, we were wondering—” the girl’s words stopped. She looked uncertain how to proceed, perhaps uncertain if it was her place to proceed. She looked to the boy for guidance.
The boy stepped forward. “I think you know my father. His name is Brandon Grant.”
Peter didn’t know what he expected; maybe kids selling cookies, raffle tickets, or possibly magazine subscriptions, but he didn’t expect that. Suddenly, he could hear the blood pumping in his ears and it sounded like a rolling ocean.
The boy paused and Peter could feel the little shit’s eyes burrowing into him. Did he let the surprise (fear) show on his face? No. He didn’t think so. And what if he did? They were only kids.
The boy continued, “He grew up here and he told me of you.” The boy reached inside his pocket and held up a picture. Underneath his icy exterior, Peter was fuming. How dare this little piece of shit bring this to his door? And now! In the midst of his most important and life altering juncture. He wanted to end this boy and his mouth. The girl would have to go too and that would be a shame.
Peter counted to three and offered a wan smile. He leaned in to look at the picture, wondering why this boy thought he would give a shit.
Oh my God, Peter thought and he chuckled despite himself.
There in the picture was he, Brandon and the tree house. “May I?” he asked the boy, reaching for the photo. The boy nodded and Peter grabbed it. He stared into the pixels, aware he wore a stupid child-like grin but not caring much.
So much fun back then. Sometimes, it was easy to forget the good times when your childhood was full of so much pain. Peter suddenly remembered he wasn’t alone. There were two unwanted strangers on his porch. “Yes, this is me and Brandon. We were very close. In fact, he was my greatest friend.”
Only friend, he thought but didn’t say.
“May we come in?” the girl asked.
Peter hesitated a moment longer than normal. Finally, he said, “I’m afraid I don’t have much free time today. I need to drive up to Sterling to get some shopping done, so—”
“We’re very sorry,” the girl interrupted, “but we came a long way. He—Mr. Grant, Will’s dad—is missing.”
Peter hesitated again. He was off his game today and he didn’t like it. “Oh no, I’m so sorry.”
The three of them stood there in awkward silence. Eventually, the boy asked, “May we come in and ask you some questions?”
Peter fumed. Kids today. So arrogant. So presumptuous. “Of course,” he opened the door and stepped aside. “Please, come in. Welcome.”
Peter led them through to the sofa and asked them to sit, which they did. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea?”
“No thanks,” the boy said.
Peter nodded politely and sat in the recliner opposite the sofa. “I’m very sorry to hear about your dad. How lo
ng has he been missing?”
“Almost three years,” the boy said.
Three years next month, Peter thought.
“That must be very hard. Again, I’m truly sorry.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Well, what can I do for you kids?”
For a few seconds, neither of them answered. Both kids shared a glance, and Peter could tell that they were both in deeper than they realized. Eventually, the boy cleared his throat and spoke. “My Dad told me he was gonna come out here to see Grandma—his mom. Then he was gonna come here.” Will’s voice broke and again, he cleared his throat. “I thought maybe he stopped by and maybe you know where he was going …”
“Hmm,” Peter said. He thought about lying but decided against it. In fact, he found himself enjoying this conversation. “Yeah, I did see your dad. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but—I actually got drunk with your old man. We had a very nice visit actually.”
The girl practically sprung out of her seat. “That’s great, right, Will?”
“Yeah,” the boy said, not exactly sharing in his lady friend’s enthusiasm. “What did he say? Was he okay? Where is he?”
“Will …” The girl placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder. Peter saw this but his eyes never left the boy. Finally, he smiled warmly at the girl, “It’s okay.” He returned his attention to the rude little boy. “I understand your frustration, Will. I lost my father when I was just a boy.”
“So tell me what happened,” Will said.
Peter heard the girl groan. “Well, it was a long time ago. And I know you may not see this now, but some things are better left unknown.”
“Not this.”
“Yes, of course. Well, as I said, Brandon was my best friend—”
“Was?” Will interrupted. “Are you no longer friends?”
Peter found it near impossible to wear his fake smile in front of this insufferable boy, but he did his best. “No. I suppose we are still friends. It’s just—”
“Then I would prefer if you didn’t use the past tense if that is all right with you?”
“Of course. I apologize. I meant no disrespect. Okay, we are great friends and it was wonderful to see him.” Peter looked off towards the large picture window behind them and chuckled as if suddenly remembering an old joke or warm childhood memory. “He saved my life.”
The Complete Bleaker Trilogy Box-set Page 18