“I didn’t say there was,” Ben replied, and he hated the defensive edge apparent in his tone. “But I looked into the reports and found at least thirty other instances of livestock theft in the area from the last ten years. It’s odd.”
“Odd, maybe. But not unusual. You can get a fair price for sheep and cattle, you know. What are you doing looking into a decade’s worth of police reports anyway?”
Ben’s lips twitched, and he was unable to find an appropriate response. Keith returned bearing their dinners. Ben was thankful for the momentary distraction.
“I just thought it was interesting,” he said when Keith left.
“Ben,” Andrew said, his tone clipped and serious.
“It is interesting,” Ben replied, and he berated himself for sounding so apologetic.
Andrew leaned against his side of the booth and regarded his son for a long, unsettling moment. Ben detested the way his father could still make him feel like an awkward teenage boy.
“So that’s it,” Andrew said finally.
“What’s it?” Ben asked.
“That’s why you’re here.”
Ben shrugged as he pushed at the fries on his plate and did not look up to meet his father’s eyes.
“If you say you’re here to write about it, I can tell you right now you might as well go back to Boston. There’s no story, and I doubt anyone in town would want to know Point Pleasant ends up painted as the home of some imaginary freak show in your next book.”
“They wouldn’t know, would they? Because I write under a pseudonym. Your idea, remember,” Ben replied. He sounded bitter even to his own ears.
Andrew regarded Ben in stony silence.
Ben exhaled in defeat. “Look, I don’t know if I will even write anything about it, I just thought it would be something to look into.”
“Yeah, well. I doubt the sheriff will take kindly to you sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. You’re not from here anymore, Ben.”
“Jesus, Dad.”
“You watch your mouth, Benjamin Andrew Wisehart.”
The use of his full name made Ben bristle like a worn brush. Andrew picked up his burger and started to eat as if the issue had been resolved. Ben’s appetite disappeared, but he took a bite of his own burger. It did not taste of the happy nostalgia he had anticipated; it was greasy and charred. Maybe it was the best burger in Point Pleasant, but he had eaten better burgers elsewhere during his time away. Andrew was right; Ben was not from here anymore. He did not belong in Point Pleasant.
Ben dropped the burger onto his plate and wiped his fingers on a coarse paper napkin he yanked from the dispenser at the end of the table. “I don’t want to fight. I know you wish I had a ‘real’ job. But this is what I do. And people like it. I write because of something I believe in, something that happened to me that I saw with my own eyes. If it’s still here, I want to see it again. I want to see if it makes me write better stories. I can keep up my end of your ruse. I can tell everyone I write for a newspaper like you tell them,” he said, and he noted how his father rolled his eyes at the last part.
Ben had discovered the lie a few years ago from Kate, who had patiently agreed with every word of Ben’s ensuing twenty-minute long ‘Dad’s an asshole’ rant.
“I can go to the Ashby Hotel and stay there for as long as I need to,” Ben continued. “And then I’ll go back to Boston, and you don’t have to see me again. But I am going to look into this because it’s important to me.”
Andrew swallowed a mouthful of food and placed his half-eaten burger on the plate in front of him. He seemed to consider his son before he sighed. “Ben, you can stay at the house. I just don’t want you starting trouble. This town is a powder keg. It’s ready to explode. I don’t want you to be the one who lights the fuse. You’re not the one who has to stay here and live with the mess. You flutter off and pretend nothing happened. As always.”
Ben diminished against his seat and clenched his jaw. “Why do you do that?” he asked. “Why do you just assume I’m going to ruin things?”
Andrew opened his mouth to reply, most likely with a retort, but a familiar voice rose from the other end of the diner. The twang of its West Virginian accent was unmistakable.
“Ben Wisehart!”
Ben looked up and smiled. Mae had emerged from the office in the back and spotted him. He stood and hugged her when she approached. The embrace was warm and teemed with the scent of magnolia.
“Honey, let me look at you!” Mae withdrew to take in his appearance, and Ben took in hers.
Mae was still youthful and spry even though she was nearing her sixties. Her wavy, auburn hair had whiffs of gray, and her wide, hazel eyes were offset by wrinkles, but she was almost identical to the younger version of herself from Ben’s memory. The version who had made Ben a vanilla milkshake after her husband patched up Ben’s bike tire.
“Hey, Mae.”
“You’re all grown up and fancy!” Mae declared with a laugh.
She pushed Ben into the booth and slid into the seat next to Andrew, who had grown quiet and reserved.
“I’ve asked your daddy about you a lot over the years,” Mae said. “You’re a reporter, right?”
Ben smiled again, but he felt a heavy weight in his stomach when his gaze flickered to his father. “That’s right. For a magazine. In Boston.”
“Magazine? I thought it was a newspaper?”
Ben maintained his good-humored countenance as another lie flowed off his tongue. “I was at a newspaper, but I got a job offer. It had better pay.”
“Well, good for you, honey!” Mae said. She brushed Ben’s hand as it rested on the table and added, “Andy’s just so proud of you and Kate both.”
Ben laughed. It was a polite, sociable laugh but a laugh nevertheless, and Ben was certain that only Andrew could hear its falseness. Ben watched as his father gestured to Keith to ask for the check.
“When did you get into town anyway? You staying long?” Mae asked. “I hope you’re staying. The festival’s next week!”
“Just got in. And yeah. I’m staying for a while. Don’t know how long, yet, but I’m staying.” He gave his father another glance and saw that Andrew was watching him. “My boss sent me,” Ben lied. “She wants me to cover the festival and give our readers a look into small town traditions and identity. I told her about the Point Pleasant Harvest Festival, and she wants to feature it in next month’s spread.”
Mae seemed impressed, but Andrew scowled from his side of the booth. Ben knew he was fertilizing his field with such excessive bullshit that he would need a pair of Wellingtons to slosh through it if he was not careful, but he had stumbled into a cover story that would enable him to interview the townspeople with little suspicion, so he figured he might as well grab a shovel.
“What magazine did you say it was, again?” Mae asked.
Ben kept smiling as his mind raced for an adequate affiliation. “Jump the Shark,” Ben said. “Mainly publishes on modern Americana. Kinda like a contemporary, monthly On the Road. Have you heard of us?”
“No, but I expect you to send me a copy when it goes to print with your story.”
“I’ll send you two,” Ben said. He was surprised by how easily he took to the lies, particularly with Mae. But if Andrew wanted Ben to be someone else, he would be someone else, especially if it made his mission in Point Pleasant easier.
“All right, Mae,” Andrew said. “Ben had a long drive, and I had best get him home.”
“Of course,” Mae said. “You come back in tomorrow, honey. I’ll make sure we have a fresh apple pie just for you.”
Ben rose with her and nodded, though he had no intention of partaking in the Duvall’s house special. He had not touched a slice of pie—apple or otherwise—in over thirteen years.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Ben assured her.
“I’ll pay, you go start the car, Benji,” Andrew said with a clipped tone that made Ben sigh inwardly.
With t
hat, Andrew limped to the other end of the diner where Keith fidgeted behind the cash register. Ben offered Mae a final smile and headed to the door, ignoring the curious looks he received from the other patrons as he passed their booths.
Outside, Ben adjusted his suit jacket. The night air sent a chill down his neck. Main Street was quiet. He turned to the Camaro and stopped to stare at the figure who lingered beside the car with his back to Ben. From behind, Ben could only see that the man was dressed in the muted brown tones of the Mason County Sheriff’s Department; he was a cop.
“Evening, Officer. Did we double-park?” Ben asked, and he made sure to keep his tone easy and non-confrontational as he approached. The police officer spun around at Ben’s voice.
Ben’s polite facade faltered at the familiar face. Nicholas. His pace slowed, and he came to a halt as he took in the sight of his old friend.
“Ben,” Nicholas said, his voice deep and graveled with age.
Once more that evening, Ben stood a little taller and a little straighter. His gaze travelled from the golden badge on the man’s left breast pocket to the duty belt around his waist that bore holsters on each side; one held a nightstick, the other a Glock. Nicholas’ hair was short to the point of military precision, but his jaw was sprinkled with the evidence of a well-past-five-o’-clock shadow. If he had sported a full beard, Ben could have easily mistaken the tall, imposing man before him for Sheriff Nolan.
“Nicholas.”
Nicholas smiled, and the expression revealed faint lines around his lips. He was older, but Ben was too.
Nicholas moved forward, and Ben tensed. Was he going to hug Ben like Andrew and Mae? Nicholas also seemed uncertain of how to proceed and stopped a foot away from Ben. An awkward beat passed before Nicholas stuck out his right hand. Ben blinked in stupefied surprise until he realized that Nicholas was offering a handshake.
Ben shook without resolve. The calloused skin of Nicholas’ fingertips was a warm contrast to the frigid wind that blew against the nape of Ben’s neck. The contact lasted only a few seconds, and Nicholas pulled away first.
“Did you just arrive?” he asked, and Ben hated himself for wanting to burrow into the warm drawl of Nicholas’ accent.
“Yeah, a couple hours ago,” Ben said. “I was just having dinner at Duvall’s.”
Nicholas’ eyes were as blue as Ben remembered—as blue as Ben’s favorite mug in his apartment back in Boston. Ben’s treacherous heart thudded in his chest when Nicholas smiled again. Fuck.
“Are you visiting Andy?”
“Partly,” Ben realized he sounded cold even as he spoke the word.
There was a flicker of something in the other man’s eyes before he finally subsided, giving Ben a further foot of space between them.
Another rush of wind stole the smoky wafts of Ben’s breath, and his words seemed to disappear with the breeze. Perhaps he had used them all on Andrew and Mae. Perhaps the thirteen-hour drive had fried his thought process. Perhaps some small part of him knew he was still hurt from the last time he spoke with Nicholas well over a decade ago.
“When did you become a cop?” Ben asked when he could think of nothing else to say to fill the silence.
“After you left.”
“Obviously,” Ben said, forcing an awkward laugh.
Nicholas tilted his head, and that unreadable something passed over his features once more. Ben wondered if it was pity, but he pushed the thought from his mind.
“Are you in town for long?” Nicholas asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” Ben said, fisting his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket as he shrugged.
Nicholas nodded, but he seemed almost distraught for a fleeting second. “You’re still driving her, then?” he asked, gesturing to the Camaro.
“Yeah,” Ben said, his tone turning as icy as the windchill. “I still prefer driving stick.”
The radio clipped to Nicholas’ duty belt sputtered with the voice of a dispatcher who recited a jumble of ten-codes, and Nicholas furrowed his brow.
“I’m on duty,” he said, letting out a heavy sigh. “I should be moving on.”
A surge of bitter emotions rose up like bile in the back of Ben’s throat. Me too, he thought, but he gathered himself to reply. “I won’t keep you.”
Nicholas pushed his hands into the pockets of his heavy brown uniform jacket, and Ben only distantly registered the Mason County Sheriff’s Department crest on its sleeve.
“It’s good to see you, Ben,” Nicholas said. “We should have a beer or something while you’re here.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ben said, knowing they would not. “We’ll do that.”
Nicholas hesitated and offered his hand again. The gesture seemed like some kind of metaphorical white flag. Ben shook the other man’s hand for a second time but made sure to withdraw first.
A weak smile guttered across Nicholas’ lips before he crossed Main Street. Ben supposed he was heading to the Sheriff’s Department on the other side of the town square.
Andrew emerged from the diner, limping slightly as he drew closer. “I thought you were gonna start the car?”
They drove home without speaking after Andrew snarked about the magazine lie Ben had spun to Mae. When they reached Cardinal Lane, they entered the house, shared awkward “goodnights,” and Ben took his bags upstairs to his old bedroom.
Andrew had told the truth when he said the room was just as Ben left it. Ben dropped his bags off in the corner, sat down on the edge of his bed, and chuckled at how small it felt to his adult frame. He stood and wandered over to a bookshelf where he examined a row of dusty paperbacks and CD and cassette cases as he undressed.
He took the pile of fresh sheets and pillowcases that Andrew had given him and changed the bedclothes before he curled himself under the covers.
Sleep met him soon, but, in the moments before unconsciousness, as he lay in a room so full of memories from his childhood and adolescence, Ben stared at his hand and thought of Nicholas.
POINT PLEASANT
July 1999
“We’re getting married!” Lily said, and she squealed as she shoved her left hand into Ben’s face.
There was a ring on her finger; it was modest but elegant. Ben recognized it as the ring that Nicholas’ mother sometimes wore with the plain silver band she never removed from her left hand.
Ben had been on his way to Duvall’s for his lunch break when the two of them had approached from the south side of Main Street. Dumb shock gripped him like a vise. Something about the idea of Lily Conrad wearing Mrs. Nolan’s engagement ring made his stomach wrench.
“Engaged?” Ben asked. He kept his voice careful and controlled as he finally looked to Nicholas.
Nicholas wore an easy smile; he looked happy. Not over-the-moon-happy like Ben would have hoped for him to be with such a decision, but pleased-with-the-decision-happy. In that moment, Ben hated him.
“When did this happen?” Ben asked, trying his best to look as pleased for Nicholas as Nicholas looked for himself.
“Last night!” Lily said, squealing again, and Ben found that he did not hate Nicholas; he hated Lily. Lily and her stupid fucking squealing glee. “He took me to the Marquee for the Bogart double-bill, we went for a walk around the square, and then he got down on one knee in front of the fountain. It was perfect.”
Lily gazed up at Nicholas, and her eyes glazed with the dreamy quality of someone who had just won the lottery. Ben supposed she had.
“You’ve been dating for six months,” Ben said, and he was aware of his awkward tone. The details of the proposal were infuriating. The Marquee was his place with Nicholas, not hers. Nicholas had been taking her there more often, though, while Ben sat home alone and brooding.
“And?” Nicholas asked, turning from Lily to Ben. His tone was placid, but there was almost a hint of daring to it as if he was waiting for Ben to say something negative.
“Nothing,” Ben said. “I just wasn’t expecting this.”
Lily shifted inelegantly, but Nicholas reached for her hand and held it in his own. The gentleness of the gesture shattered Ben’s heart.
“It’s good,” Ben said. “Good for you.”
Lily gave him a sympathetic nod as if she had anticipated his less-than-excited reaction. Perhaps she had expected him to worry he would lose his best friend. Ben wanted to ball up her sympathy like an old rag and shove it between her lips to stifle any future squeals.
“We should celebrate,” Ben said, but his cheerful tone was forced.
“We’ve already arranged it,” Nicholas replied. “Tonight at The Point.”
Ben put on a smile, but the expression was without mirth. “I’ll come up with a toast.”
“Keep it clean, Wiseass,” Nicholas said, grinning.
Lily giggled and poked Nicholas’ arm with a girlish affection that gnawed at Ben’s insides like a dog chewing the bars of its kennel.
“I have to get back to work,” Ben said, taking in a controlled breath. “I’ll see you later.”
“We have some other people to tell,” Nicholas said. “See you tonight, Ben.”
Lily waved as Ben spun on his heel and walked away, keeping his pace neutral until he rounded a corner. He spent the rest of the day in a slump with his thoughts wandering to Lily’s ridiculous giggles, the way the Nolan ring sat too loose on her bony finger, and Nicholas’ passive happiness.
Ben realized in his senior year of high school that he was in love with his best friend. He never told Nicholas, of course. The situation was his fault and his alone. Ben could be mad at Nicholas all he wanted, but Ben was acting like an asshole, and he knew it. There had been so many opportunities when he could have told Nicholas. So many chances when Nicholas was never dating, never interested in anyone. So many times when Ben felt the moment had been right, but he had still kept quiet.
Ben simply did not know how Nicholas would react. They grew up together. They had been born on the same day in the same hospital; their mothers had shared a room at County General after their deliveries. For every moment of Ben’s young life, Nicholas had played a pivotal role. They were brothers without the blood relation, each of them an accepted member of the other’s family. They shared a horrific experience together during their youth, which only cemented their established bond. For Ben to tell Nicholas that he was unwaveringly in love with him? No, that would not do.
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