Annie and Donna Tomassi, each in floral summer dresses, stood over to the side of the tent, gossiping animatedly.
“Pete, you look so handsome,” Donna called out. John Tomassi, unmistakable in a loud plaid sportscoat, caught up with Peter a few minutes later.
“Don’t embarrass yourself, Reverend.” Tomassi didn’t take up space like his normal robust self to Peter’s eyes, but he looked a hell of a lot better than the last time he’d seen him.
“What is that, a Scottish horse blanket? And thanks for your confidence.”
“De nada. You good?” Tomassi looked at him closely. “I mean except for the obvious wardrobe malfunction.”
Peter quickly checked his fly. “Asshole.”
“Doofus.”
Kenny Johnson strolled over, a walkie talkie in his hand. “No wedding crashers allowed.” He pointed to his Fiori Orchards shirt. “Security.”
“Oh, yeah. I feel safer now,” Tomassi said. “Hey, you got some dirt on your lip.” He and Peter cracked up.
“Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.” Kenny affectionately stroked his sparse mustache. “Hey, do me a favor. This is a sketchy crowd. If you see something, say something.”
CHAPTER 55
JOSH HESITATED TO CALL MIKE TOMASSI MUCH AFTER he started working at the Consortium. Mike, inundated with his course load, didn’t have the time or inclination to hear Josh’s misgivings about the water bottling project.
“Dude, it’s a job. A well-paying job. The corporate world doesn’t give a shit if you’re unhappy. Just suck it up. Hey, I gotta go—study group in five minutes. Be safe.”
But when John Tomassi asked Mike how Josh was doing, Mike told him he didn’t like his new job at all.
“What’s he doing?”
“Some analyst position at the Consortium. Would you believe his mother sent his resume in without Josh knowing about it? And then he gets the job.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me he was working there?” Tomassi senior stopped drinking the beer he had just opened and waited, suddenly riveted to Mike’s words.
Mike stared at him in disbelief. “Dad, what’s the big deal? He’s working on some big production facility. He hates it.”
“You heard from him lately?” Tomassi’s hand remained frozen in place, the beer bottle a perfect right angle away from his lips.
“No. What—you gonna nail him for littering?” Mike shook his head at his father.
“Nah, come on. Just asking. Josh is a good kid.”
“No shit. He’s probably buried under all those numbers like I’m buried under all this reading.” Mike slammed shut the case book on tort law. “God, talk about boring.”
When he didn’t hear back after texting Josh for two days straight, Mike got worried. Josh always replied with funny emojis, if nothing else. So, Mike reluctantly contacted Mrs. Richardson to make sure everything was all right.
“Mike, it’s so nice to hear from you,’” she said. “Josh and Emmie went on a vacation to Canada. They’re not using their phones because it costs too much for international.”
“OK, that makes sense. I just didn’t know. Thanks, Mrs. Richardson.”
The next day, Mike got a call from his dad.
“Mikey, you heard from Josh?”
“Again with this? How ‘bout asking how I am?”
“Michael—this is your father calling to inquire about your health. There, that better?”
“No. So, I asked his mother. Josh and Emmie went to Canada, some kind of vacation. Too expensive to keep their phones on.”
After a long pause, Tomassi said, “Hey, speaking of phones, call your grandmother. She’s on my case something awful.”
Josh and Emmie were long gone by then. They left Bridgeville quickly in the dark of night, driving cross-country to California in Emmie’s Ford Focus. Josh donated his Subaru, damage and all, to the ASPCA. No questions asked—he filled out a few forms, mailed them the title and they sent a tow truck to pick it up. Emmie let her sister stay in their apartment, with the rent paid through the end of the month. Josh and Emmie each took out $5,000 from their bank accounts and rolled the twenty-dollar bills into rubber-banded packages of $200. Josh also bought a bunch of pre-paid Visa cards and some cheap burner cellphones.
“This is so sexy, Josh. We’re like under the radar, like good outlaws.”
Planning the trip had been great for their sex life, Josh had to admit. The tricky part had been Josh’s mom.
“Going on vacation, Mom. We’re gonna explore, most likely Canada.” Josh gave her a bigger hug than usual.
“You already get a vacation? They must really appreciate all the work you do. Be careful, drive safe.” Just as he backed the Focus out the driveway, she came running. “Wait,” she yelled, waving something in her hand.
“What is it, Mom?”
“Here, take a little extra cash. Buy me some souvenirs; I’ve never been to Canada.”
Car packed to the brim, Emmie and Josh stopped only for gas and bathrooms on their drive to Roanoke, Virginia. After a surprise delicious meal of Vietnamese pho from a tiny strip mall and a lackluster night of sleep in a cheap motel, they picked up Interstate 40 and blasted off to Tennessee. Memphis provided great barbeque that Josh ate on a park bench while Emmie picked at a salad. She wouldn’t kiss him until he brushed his teeth.
“You’ve got meat breath.”
From Memphis, they drove to Austin, Texas—a killer drive. More terrific barbeque eaten on a bench. They decided to chill in Austin for a few days, loving the music scene and spending next to nothing at a unisex barber shop to radically redo their hair. But, Emmie wanted to get to California as soon as they could.
“C’mon, Josh. I want to see the Pacific. I want to walk on the beach.”
She now had an auburn asymmetrical bob, cut very short on the left side. Josh had grown a stubble beard to go along with his bleached taper fade. They drove close to Mexico on I-10, marveling at the scrubby landscape.
Tucson offered phenomenal tamales, including Emmie’s beloved vegan options like black bean and blue corn. Finally, Emmie drove the last leg of the journey along I-8 from Tucson to San Diego. Josh kept his baseball cap pulled low, reliving the events that sent them fleeing from Bridgeville. He kept peering out the window, amazed as the landscape changed from desert to scrub to massive sand hills to traffic jams to the glistening horizon of the Pacific Ocean.
CHAPTER 56
JOHN TOMASSI COULDN’T SHAKE THE FEELING—AN anxious feeling about Josh. And Tomassi’s instincts rarely led him astray. At the station the next day, he dropped by Kenny Johnson’s desk.
“This is a pig sty, Kenny. Too much crap here.” Tomassi gestured with irritation.
“Sorry, Sarge.” Kenny read Tomassi’s mood loud and clear, and immediately made two stacks of files into one big one.
“You seen Josh Richardson lately?” Tomassi leaned his rump into the side of Kenny’s desk that had been tidied up just for him.
Kenny brushed a pile of crumbs into his hand as he continued the housekeeping. “Yeah, I saw Josh running a couple weeks ago. He was sucking wind, let me tell you. I think he said something about doing some steady corporate work and making bank.”
“Mike says he’s on vacation in Canada with his girl. Lemme know if you see him. I gotta ask him something.”
Kenny mumbled, his attention focused on an ant crawling along his desk.
Tomassi swatted the ant dead and flicked the corpse onto the floor. “You still coaching baseball in Hatfield?”
“Yeah. Team’s getting better, actually.” Kenny cautiously lifted some papers, half-expecting to discover a thriving ant colony.
“Doing good, Kenny. Department likes to see community outreach. Don’t forget to put it on the review form for your file.” Tomassi rose with difficulty. “And clean this shithouse up.”
What no one knew is that Josh couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t unwind after hitting the deer. He chugged the first beer Emmie gave
him before she could sit down. He couldn’t eat the chips she put in front of him, he couldn’t watch TV, he knew he’d be shit in bed, and he sure as hell couldn’t sleep despite Emmie falling asleep in the middle of their conversation. Dread pumped through his veins, and his heart raced. He finally spooned her as she slept, smelling her fragrant hair and trying to match his breathing to her slow rhythm. He needed her skin-to-skin, nothing sexual about it, just to feel her aliveness. Stripping off his boxers, he pushed the big tank top she wore all the way up to her shoulders and held on for dear life. Slowly, he came back to himself.
“It’s a sign, I know it’s a sign. I’m on the wrong side of right.” A kaleidoscope of images exploded in his brain—the deer, the reservoir, the Consortium, his mother, huge dollar signs the size of mountains, California, billions of water bottles.
“What?” Emmie roused herself with difficulty. “What did you say?” She wriggled against him and sighed happily.
“Just go back to sleep, babe.”
“C’mere, you.” Emmie grabbed his arm and pulled it across her breasts and under her chin. “Just close your eyes. You’re OK—we’re OK.”
The sound of steady rain on the roof comforted Josh, and he hoped the downpour would wash the deer’s blood off the car.
When the alarm blared at 6 A.M., Josh felt like he had been run over by a truck.
“I think I’m gonna call in sick.”
“Yeah,” she said, bustling around the room. “Just take the day.”
Emmie left at 7:15, and by 7:45 Josh had enough of tossing and turning. He didn’t have the stomach to eat breakfast.
The car looked like it had hit an elephant not a fawn.
“Piece of shit.” Josh kicked the front driver’s side tire, being careful not to make contact with the ruined front end. At least the rain had washed the exterior clean.
He walked slowly but purposefully back inside and sent his boss an email detailing the symptoms of his sudden stomach flu. Josh gulped a cup of coffee and decided to take a ride up to the reservoir. He grabbed his messenger bag and took out the folder with the projections and spreadsheets. He didn’t bother to open it. Instead, he stuck it in the big envelope he’d received from HR. Shaking out all the glossy brochures and manuals, he jammed the folder inside. As he walked out the door, he doubled back to his bag and removed the flash drive, safe in its Consortium pouch, and chucked it into the envelope. Almost in the car, he cursed and pivoted back inside to the kitchen. He rummaged for a plastic garbage bag, a big towel, a roll of paper towels, and some tape.
“Just in case it’s a hurricane in there with all the blood and whatever. I can tape the bag to the seat.”
Striding purposefully back out to the car, he spread the towel over the gross front seat, climbed in and cautiously accelerated. It wasn’t as messy as he had remembered. Maybe Emmie had tried to clean it up while he was having his nervous breakdown under the hose.
“Go, come on.” Josh didn’t care about the clunking sounds his shuddering Subaru made. He just wanted to get to the reservoir, fast.
He was afraid the cops would stop him for driving an unroadworthy car, but if Kenny pulled him over, it would be OK. He and Kenny were cool. Tomassi, probably, not so much.
Josh looked down at this buzzing phone. His boss hoped he felt better soon.
“Thanks,” Josh snorted.
He coaxed the car up the final hill and parked. He wanted to walk around the reservoir so badly that he started to run towards it. He left the envelope and everything else in the car. The morning air still felt refreshing, especially under the canopy of trees. When he could just glimpse the reservoir gleaming in the sunlight as he crested the steep bank, he noticed a hunk of rope hanging off a tree.
“What the hell is that for?” It almost looked like someone had fashioned it into a small noose. Josh untied the rope and stuffed in in his cargo shorts. At the water’s edge, he took off his socks and put them in his other pocket. He tied his shoelaces together and draped his sneakers over his shoulder.
The rocks were too sharp and slippery. He waded back to shore like he was walking on hot coals. On his way back to the car, he stumbled and then tripped into a huge hole in the ground. It looked like space junk had tumbled down from the heavens.
“Son of a bitch,” he yelled as he felt the stinging scrapes on his legs and hands. His ankle killed, too. “Terrific.” But sitting there on the ground, rubbing his sore ankle and wiping the dirt and blood off with his sock, he saw the possibilities.
“Hmm. What about, wait—no. Fuck, it’s the answer.”
He got up and limped back towards the car, stopping to pick up a branch that looked like a decent walking stick. Right near it, he saw several cinder blocks that must have fallen out of the back of someone’s truck. He could still see the tire tracks. When Josh got to the car, he used the paper towels to dab his scrapes. Opening the garbage bag, he slipped the envelope inside. After propping himself up against the doorframe, he tore strips of tape with his teeth and fastened the bag into a neat tight rectangle.
As he limped back towards the crevasse, Josh stopped short. He stood frozen as if struck by a thunderbolt, only his eyes darting back and forth. Gnawing on his lower lip until it bled, he headed back to the car. From the trunk, he gingerly removed the leather jacket he’d used to move the deer. It reeked so badly that he vomited, all coffee and stomach acid.
“Shit.” He wiped his mouth and looked around. Furtively, he wrapped the oozing jacket around the neat package encasing the envelope and tied it with the rope he’d found. Crutch-walking with the branch, he retraced his steps to the hole, and tentatively lowered the jacket. It fit with room to spare.
“I want someone to find this. I can’t do it—I’ll go to jail. Someone will find this and do the right thing.” He covered up the hole with sticks and leaves and hobbled ten yards before turning around to study the site.
“No, it’s not good enough. Some animal will smell the blood and dig it up and rip everything to shreds.” Josh thought for a minute. “It needs better protection, maybe deeper and heavier.”
He tried to remember exactly where he’d seen the cinder blocks. He limped back and forth, using the stick for balance and tapping the ground near trees like a blind man. When he finally struck gold, one last hurdle remained. The heavy block, too awkwardly shaped to hold in one hand while crutching with the other, made him move like a mutant jackalope.
Josh threw the stick towards the hole and jump-hopped until he got there.
Crouching didn’t give him the angle he needed, so he lay on his belly like a reptile and tied the rope encircling the jacket to the cinderblock. Grabbing handfuls of dirt, rocks, leaves, and sticks, he buried the smoking gun. Staggering to his feet, he paused for a minute and pissed on it.
Josh played his stomach flu like a fiddle for two days. His boss thought he had eaten at Chipotle or some other food emporium afflicted with mass e-coli breakouts.
“Is it still puking and the runs? I don’t want you coming in when you’re sick. Those damn employees don’t wash their hands. You did a bang-up job on Eautopia, Josh. Maybe you worked too hard.”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry that I’m missing work. But I could try to come in, I don’t know what might happen. I mean, I would wash my hands carefully. I could ask my doctor about maybe using adult diapers or something.”
“Good God, no. Absolutely not.”
Josh had to cover the phone to muffle his laughter. He mouthed, “He’s buying it,” to Emmie who was laughing so hard that she fell to the floor and lay there, clutching her stomach and moaning.
“Is that your girlfriend? Don’t tell me she’s got it now, too. That’s terrible. Take as much time as you need. More.”
CHAPTER 57
MARTI AND LORI GREETED ALL THEIR GUESTS LIKE everyone had come to a great party that just happened to be their wedding. Murphy stood by them, handsome in a stylized Schnauzer trim of a tufted fur skirt below his shaved torso and bushy e
yebrows. Marti’s white tuxedo flattered her tall frame and fit her like a dream. Lori rocked a sexy low-cut cream-colored gown with a fish-tail hem.
They had very little trouble agreeing on their matching platinum rings. But choosing between Virgil’s Love conquers all and The Song of Solomon’s I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine as the inscription proved more difficult.
The ceremony also required some negotiating. Marti had her heart set on a wedding arch,
“I love those, but it has to be made from apple branches and white silk. I’m not Jewish but, so what? They’re beautiful.”
“Cool. I want a red carpet down the center aisle. It will show off my fishtail and my kitten heels won’t get stuck in the grass.”
“Red? What is this, the Oscars?”
“It’s perfect. Red is the color of happiness, and I’m so happy.”
Peter kissed each woman on the cheek as they settled in front of him after walking together down the aisle, arms linked.
Their families were not surprised by their choice. “Down with the patriarchy,” Mr. Welles and Mr. Dunn joked when told of their non-participation.
Peter motioned to the crowd to sit down. Jeff tried to corral Brutus and Murphy, but they brayed in the aisle at all the hub-bub until he finally herded them over to Annie.
Peter had written the sermon of his dreams. After everyone sat, Peter smiled delightedly at the audience, put on his bifocals and started to read and extemporize from some note cards.
“Welcome, everyone. We are blessed to be here to celebrate the marriage of Marti Dunn and Lori Welles. I was thrilled when Lori and Marti asked me to officiate. I am, just so you know, legally certified by the Universal Life Church now, and I’m loving being a holy man.”
Tomassi’s guffaw was audible. Peter glared at him sternly before grinning. “Beware my righteous wrath, infidel.”
Jeff, sitting in the first row, aimed a not-so-gentle kick at him to get Peter back on task. When he connected, Jeff grinned happily
Peter resumed his remarks after rubbing his shin. “The earth nurtures us and gives unselfishly of her bounty; we are uplifted by her love. As we gather here above our beloved river in this beautiful orchard, surrounded by apple trees laden with fruit, it is no coincidence that apples are the theme of this occasion.”
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