When he returned with two cut-crystal goblets, heavy old-fashioned things, I said, “Now let’s start again. This is really out of the blue. I didn’t know about Guy.”
“Like I said, Neil doesn’t confide in me. That’s how it is. I’m kind of surmising. His schedule at work changes a lot. He tells me, of course, he’s very considerate. Until this week he was working days, now he’s back on nights. Anyway, in the last month or so he’s stayed out a couple nights. Two or three times.”
I was certain Theo had an exact count and could even name the dates.
“Or came in so late I didn’t hear him. I never ask questions, it’s none of my business. He’s renting a room until he gets on his feet, he doesn’t owe me an explanation.”
“So when did you hear about Guy?”
“On the weekend. The Sunday news, at six o’clock. We had the television on in the kitchen while I was making a salad, and when the reporter showed the house, Neil looked closer and said, ‘I know him.’”
Theo has a television set in his kitchen, in the study, and in his bedroom, but not in the living room; he disapproved of televisions in living rooms.
“What else did he tell you?” I asked.
“Not much. That they’d seen each other a few times. I knew what he meant by the way he said ‘seen.’ I didn’t think Neil was a eunuch, you know.”
“It sounds like you had a rule of ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’”
Theo looked down at his glass, didn’t laugh, and I realized he’d yet to drink from it. “I’m pretty upset by all of this. I don’t want the police questioning me.”
“But you never met Guy. You didn’t know him, did you?”
“Of course not. I’ve never laid eyes on him.”
What an odd notion – to lay eyes on someone – as if sight were a tactile sensation. “Then you’ve nothing to worry about.”
Theo grimaced. “I can’t imagine Neil and Guy making it.”
“You’ll be fine, Theo. You’ll get through this. Sheila’s really upset about Guy.”
“They’re friends?”
“From the antique mall.”
“Maybe that’s where he met Neil. This change in life has thrown him.”
Neil didn’t seem the antiquing type to me. “If he came out to his wife he must’ve had some idea of what he was getting into. He didn’t wake up one morning and say, ‘From today on I’m going to sleep with men.’”
“He’s probably bisexual,” Theo said.
“I don’t think you have the full story. What else did he say about Guy?”
“That he was new in town and didn’t have many friends. And I think he said Guy was clingy.”
“That’s not a word I’d use for him, but we weren’t close. Did Guy ever call here?”
Theo’s eyes widened. “No,” he said quickly, but added, “Neil has his own cell phone. He doesn’t use mine.”
I wondered if Theo was telling me the truth. I didn’t ask if I could take a quick look at Neil’s room, but it crossed my mind.
Clingy. Poor sweet Guy. Could be possible.
“Your friends’ son should have found someone his own age. Neil’s worried about his daughters. He told me he doesn’t want to be involved with anyone now, he doesn’t have time. His wife’s poisoning the girls against him – he worries about them a lot. He’s been a good father.”
“You’re taking his word for that.”
“You have to trust people.”
“That’s what we’ve been taught.”
We laughed and at the same time took swigs of wine. But it bothered me that Theo twice used the phrase “your friends’ son” as if Guy didn’t have a name.
The front door opened and a voice called, “Yoo-hoo, I’m here.”
It was Daphne.
“Make way for supper,” she announced. “I brought everything. I’ve got goodies.”
We stood up as her footsteps crossed the hallway. She stopped at the entrance to the living room and said, “How are you I haven’t seen you for a long time,” in one breath.
Like her brother, Daphne was trim and conscious of her appearance, but she exuded nervous energy while his calm bordered on lethargy. There was more gray in her hair than I remembered, and it was now cut in a short bob with bangs that fell over her forehead. She wore a blue denim shirt waist, with gold hoop earrings, and gold bangles on her left wrist, which caught the light as she moved about.
“I’ll get you some sherry,” Theo offered.
“Oh, nice.” She handed him two plastic bags. “There’s a roast chicken in this one. Will you join us?” Daphne asked me. But before I replied, she looked at Theo. “Is Neil back?”
He shook his head.
“That’s not good,” she observed. “Not good at all.” Turning to me, she crossed the room, sat down on the sofa and said, “Now tell me how you’ve been.”
I mentioned my upcoming exhibition while she fluffed the velvet pillow beside her. “And you?”
“There aren’t enough hours in the day. I told Theo I intended to use my retirement well, but some days I think it would be easier to have my job back.”
Unlike her brother, Daphne was happy to leave her house, to volunteer as a docent at the botanical garden, join a book club, and sign up for night classes in Spanish – the list went on.
“You wouldn’t think we’re related, would you?” Theo joked on returning with Daphne’s drink in a proper sherry glass. He held a bottle of wine in his free hand.
“I’ve heard about your friends’ boy,” Daphne said. “Theo told me everything. It’s times like this that make me glad I never had children. They must be heartbroken.”
“That’s fair to say. Theo, what did you want to tell me about the house?”
“I’m not moving anywhere. Not yet. The couple’s financing fell through. Who knows when I’ll get another offer.”
“It’ll sell soon,” Daphne assured him. “I have a good feeling.” She turned to me. “Greeks have the sixth sense, you know.”
“I wish I could phone the police station,” said Theo, refilling our wine glasses. “I’d like to know what’s happening.”
“Oh, Theo.” Daphne groaned. “That’s a terrible idea. I won’t let you do it, I forbid it.”
Theo settled in his chair. “Whatever you say, Daph.”
8
Friday, April 27, and Saturday, April 28
We are shadows – insubstantial, transient – and after we die, it’s as if our shadows remain behind, lingering on, only now they’re called ghosts. Or memories. Who was Guy? I asked myself that question many times in the following days. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt the need to find out.
Neil returned from the police station while Theo and Daphne finished the meal she’d brought. I hadn’t stayed for dinner, but Theo told me this the next day, relief in his voice. It appeared that a full investigation of Guy’s death was underway. Theo even recalled that when the police came to his house they’d asked where Neil had been on Saturday evening, and Theo told them he’d been at home, in his room, and they’d watched Saturday Night Live together. Then I remembered a remark of Hedy’s, that the pathologist’s report suggested Guy had died more than fifteen hours before his body was found. Which suggested sometime Saturday afternoon, perhaps before supper. Watching late-night television with Theo didn’t give Neil an alibi.
But Guy and Neil? Attraction – that funny old puzzle. It made no sense for a healthy young man to trouble himself over a middle-aged closet case. While I never understood Neil’s charms, something about him drew out Theo’s generosity. Would he lie for Neil? It didn’t seem likely. Yet I’d never have expected him to rent a room to Neil, to anyone, in fact. And it took another leap to think of Guy and Neil as lovers. A drunken one-nighter, sure. But Guy didn’t touch alcohol, and the autopsy had found none in his system. I saw only one reason for Neil’s appeal: he was the guy next door. He could brag about his wife, his kids, the family’s tomato plants or yellow Lab. He might
have been the postman, the furnace repair man, the local bank manager. Easily overlooked, Neil threatened no one. And sometimes availability’s the bottom line – Oberlin’s not a big town.
It struck me that Guy’s autopsy had taken longer than necessary, even for a body found on a Sunday morning. Considering his age, and the lack of an obvious cause of death, had the police been suspicious from the start? I could hardly ask Hedy. Or tell her what I’d learned at Theo’s. An image of Guy’s unlined open face appeared to me – that smile so eager to please – followed by his tentative laugh as he handed me a soft drink in his kitchen. I knew what I had to do. First, I’d phone Hedy.
“Nick’s sleeping,” she replied when I asked how they were. “Or trying to. He’s been up all week. All hours.”
It was just eight p.m., still early. “I hate to ask, but about the funeral plans…”
“There’s not going to be a funeral.”
“No funeral?”
“It’s unnecessary. He was cremated yesterday. This is very difficult. Funerals are for the living, and his soul, well, he’s already in another plane. That’s our belief. But it’s killing me. I gave birth to him, he knew life through me. A funeral won’t bring him back.”
Everybody still has to do something with their dead, but I wouldn’t mention Guy’s ashes. “If you’re free this weekend…”
“Sunday might be good. I’ll ask Nick.”
We agreed to talk again soon, and then I phoned Theo. “Why don’t you come for dinner tomorrow?” I suggested. “You and Neil.”
“Tomorrow?” he hesitated, probably surprised that I’d include Neil in the invitation.
“Sure, it’s the weekend. I’ll enjoy cooking something.”
“I was going to make…”
“Let me cook instead. You and Neil have had a rough week.” I was about to say that we could put some steaks on the grill but remembered that Theo no longer ate red meat. “Is there anything Neil doesn’t like?”
“He loves pasta. Any kind.”
There’s justice for you – skinny Neil’s a pasta fan. “Is Daphne still with you?”
“No, she went home this morning.”
That simplified things. “Check with Neil, okay? It’ll be nice for you to get out. Both of you.”
An hour later Theo called to confirm dinner. “And Neil says thanks. What can we bring?”
“Just good appetites.”
The thought of Guy’s ashes continued to trouble me, a young man reduced to little more than cinders. His picture now belonged on his dining-room bookshelf, along with the daguerreotypes of youthful dead soldiers, their open faces a rebuke to human stupidity.
On Saturday I shopped for dinner, straightened up the house, and made a quick pesto sauce. Since I rarely entertain any more, each chore reminded me of how reclusive I’ve become.
Theo and Neil arrived fifteen minutes late, or suitably on time, with a bottle of California red. I’d already set out a bowl of salted cashews, and offered drinks. Neil asked for a beer and Theo wanted wine, so I served them and poured a Scotch for myself. Down to business, but slowly at first. Neil might be wary. After a few words about my campus exhibition, which he’d heard of from the college security office, I asked for an update from Theo’s real estate agent.
“I’m back to square one,” he said, “but that’s okay, though I wanted to be closer to Daphne.”
Neil looked relieved. He had a good deal. When I’d phoned the other day Theo remarked, in passing, “I’ve got to get our laundry out of the dryer,” and as soon as he said it, he took a gulp of air, as if to eat his words. Maid service, too.
“Daphne’s cool,” Neil said.
Cool – what a dumb word. And with no relation to Daphne.
We moved to the dining room. I brought out the food, and a plate of asparagus made its way around the table.
“You like to cook?” Neil asked.
“Not as much as I used to. But I like good food.”
“I hate cooking,” Theo chimed in. “If I could take a pill instead of eating, it would be fine with me.”
“Not me,” Neil said, spooning grated cheese over his pasta. “That would be awful. Food’s about all I have left.”
His silver-blond hair was cropped short to conceal a receding hairline, and his left ear had once been pierced, though he no longer had anything in the lobe. Like Guy, Neil had unusually white teeth, and lean, sinewy tanned arms, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows in a studied casual look. He resembled a mature model in a catalogue from L.L. Bean, the blue checks on his shirt matching the blue of his eyes.
“How did you meet Guy?” I took the plunge.
“Neil doesn’t like talking about it,” Theo said.
“I don’t mind,” Neil countered, twirling fettuccine around the prongs of his fork.
It was Theo who minded. Was he jealous?
“At the gym. Lifting weights.”
“I’ve known his family for decades. His mother since high school, though it’s hard to believe.”
“Yeah, Guy said you were an old family friend.”
“Are you interested in the Civil War too?”
“Huh?” He picked up a spear of asparagus and bit off the tip.
“Guy was a collector. Of war memorabilia.”
Theo watched us, his empty fork in mid-air.
“Oh, that stuff. He said he’d tell me about it one day, but I never cared much for history. All those dates. But my girls like it. Can’t think where they get it from.”
“Your wife, maybe?”
He shook his head. “Not her. Neither of us.”
“Guy loved history.”
“I only saw him a couple times. That’s what I told the police.”
Neil didn’t seem shy about discussing Guy. His encounter with the police must have frightened him out of his man-boy pose. Or was this more subdued Neil a performance?
“That night on the common, when it was raining…” I started to say, and realized from the way Theo leaned forward that he hadn’t known about it.
“It’s bad, what happened to him, but I don’t know anything about it. I’ll be frank with you, that’s what you want. I knew it when Theo asked me to join you. We had sex a couple times, and he was more uptight than I am. There’s not much else to say.”
“Was he pestering you?” I asked. “I’m sure he meant it innocently.”
“I told him not to get attached, I don’t want strings. He phoned me a lot at work, on my cell, and I told him to stop. They don’t like outside calls when you’re on duty, and I need this job. I can’t afford trouble.”
“Everything’s going to work out,” Theo said.
“Guy seemed pretty upset that night. On the common. If you were trying to break off…”
“There was nothing to break off. It was all in his head.” Neil set his fork down and looked me directly in the eye. “That’s the last time I saw him. But I’m in a mess anyway. If my wife hears about this, her lawyer will go to town, and things are already bad enough.”
“How did the police know about you?” I sounded like an inquisitor.
“Some neighbor of Guy’s – some fuckin’ busybody. She saw my car parked in his drive a couple times overnight and wrote down the license plate number. That’s what the cops said.”
Helen Wheeler’s tenants. Reliable spies.
“It’s a fuckin’ police state, you never know who’s watching you. And I don’t need any trouble. I’ve never been a suspect before.”
With a look of concern, Theo seemed about to burst into tears.
“They try to trip you up,” Neil continued. “Yes, no, yes, no. They can make you say anything. They took my fingerprints like I was a bum. A criminal.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
And I meant it.
9
Sunday, April 29
A long and troubling week and a half had passed since Guy’s death, we were back in another stretch of unseasonably hot weather, and, as
I opened the thick Sunday newspaper, I heard Sheila pull her SUV into my drive. Unannounced as usual. It was just nine o’clock, too early for company. At least I’d already showered and put on jeans and a clean T-shirt, as if I’d had a premonition.
Sheila waved to me through the kitchen window, but without a smile. She’d brought her mother along.
“I want to get an early start, before it’s too hot,” she explained when I joined them in the yard. “Mother wants to see your lilacs.”
A row of old bushes ran across the back of my property, familiar standards and rarer specimens planted half a century ago by someone unknown to me. Their blooms were nearly finished, a few already browning at the edges, but their scent lingered over the garden.
The women walked across the grass together, Sheila striding purposefully.
“That’s a Madame Felix!” Mrs. Carney exclaimed, at her own pace. She soon touched a white, single-petalled sprig. “One of the best whites.”
“I didn’t know,” I said, following them, my Times left behind. “I just made coffee, if you’d like some.”
“Not me,” Sheila said. “I want to get started.”
“It would be very nice, dear,” Mrs. Carney said, adding, “I used to love it with sugar but my diabetes won’t allow it anymore.”
“I thought you were going to help me, Mother.” Sheila carried a battered plastic pail with her tools and gardening gloves.
“First, we’re having a little visit,” replied Mrs. Carney, who wouldn’t be cowed by her daughter. “You know I never turn down coffee.”
Sheila often complained about her mother’s disappointment in not having grandchildren. “She won’t let go of it,” Sheila would say, exasperated. “What am I supposed to do now?”
When I returned with two full mugs, we sat beside each other on the back porch steps. I imagined my paperback Aristotle waiting on the kitchen table. Ari – that great classifier, a man of categories – thought there were three reasons for friendship: usefulness, pleasure, and goodness. The first two, inevitably, have limitations, while pure goodness is rare. I would not ask myself which reason now worked in my garden; nothing’s that simple.
The Blue Hour Page 6