by David Bell
Clinton took a moment to respond, his eyes boring in on Bill, who would have sworn one side of the boy’s mouth tilted up into a smirk. “Why did I hit her? I didn’t hit her. None of us did. Why did you hit her? Why did you grab her and shake her on Halloween?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bill lunged forward, reaching for the boy, but he slipped back, sliding into the driver’s seat of the car and pulling the door shut in one fluid motion. It flashed across Bill’s brain to grab the handle, to lash out with the keys in his hand and cut into the pristine white paint.
But he stopped himself. He huffed and puffed, but he stopped himself.
The car started and drove off, the driver’s side window sliding down as it pulled away.
Bill heard one word, almost obscured by the wind and the distance.
“Asshole.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Bill’s heart thudded as he drove back to the hospital, his encounter with those kids playing in his mind. He wished he’d forced them to say more, or gone after them, followed them wherever they were going. He couldn’t believe any kid would speak to an adult that way. Curse at him. Defy him. Who did they think they were? Who did they think he was?
And again he asked himself: How can I know so little about the world?
His phone rang. Hawkins. Bill scrambled to pick it up.
“Where are you, Bill?” the detective asked.
“I’m driving.”
“I thought you were going back to the hospital. We have a tech there to take the DNA sample.”
Bill felt deflated. He thought he might be getting news. Important news of some kind.
“The guidance counselor at school says Summer was upset about her mom’s death right before she disappeared. Have you looked into that?”
Hawkins sighed. “We’re looking into everything. But you said nothing unusual had happened with Summer before the disappearance. No red flags. Nothing, right?”
Bill eased to a stop at a light, two blocks from the hospital. He saw the building looming in the distance. It was his turn to sigh. “No. Nothing.”
“You know I spoke to the investigator from the coroner’s office, the one who responded to your wife’s death. She said there was nothing out of the ordinary about it. An accident in the home.”
The light changed, and Bill rolled forward. “That’s right.”
“There’s no reason to think anything else, is there?” Hawkins asked.
“God, no. No.”
There was a pause as Bill turned into the hospital lot.
Then Hawkins said, “Get that DNA test taken care of, Bill. And then check on your daughter. I’ll talk to you later.”
The technician met Bill in the hallway and swabbed the inside of his mouth with a giant Q-tip. Then he went into Summer’s room where Paige sat. She held a wrinkled, well-thumbed magazine, her glasses pushed on top of her head and into her thick hair.
“Did that weird little cop technician find you?” she asked, then licked her finger and turned a page.
“She swabbed so hard, I doubt I have any DNA left.”
Paige looked up, her face stony. She didn’t smile, didn’t exude any warmth toward him. Bill recognized the look, one that made her resemble their mother. He knew she was pissed about him grabbing Summer on Halloween. His sister, champion of the oppressed and defender of the downtrodden.
“Are you ready to lay into me?” he asked. “I see your face.”
Paige turned her attention back to the magazine, although he suspected she wasn’t really reading any of it. She licked her finger and turned another page, this time trying to make the paper snap a little.
“I’m thinking about Summer, really,” Paige said, nodding toward her bed. “She doesn’t look well.”
“Obviously.”
“She seems thin. Had she lost weight recently?”
“Maybe. She’s taller. She’s growing up. What are you suggesting?”
“Teenage girls sometimes don’t eat.”
“An eating disorder? Look, Paige, you always come up with crazy theories. You’ve always been a conspiracy nut. Remember all those JFK assassination books you read in high school? The ones that said the Mafia or the Cubans or LBJ pulled the trigger? She eats fine.”
“Okay, not that. And I’m not a conspiracy nut just because I try to think about things and look at them from different angles.” Paige frowned with concentration. “I haven’t seen her for a while, but I’ve seen pictures on Instagram. She just looks thinner. But I don’t know. . . .”
“And that’s it? That’s all you want to ask me? What else have you cooked up? Mom’s dead, so you’re the only one who can get up my ass this way.”
Paige started to object, but the look of disappointment returned in full force. “I want to hear it from your own mouth. About what happened with her when she called the police.”
Bill found himself remembering something from their childhood. When he was seven and she was five, Paige borrowed Bill’s new Schwinn—midnight blue with a banana seat—and started riding it around the cul-de-sac at the end of their suburban street. Around and around Paige went, laughing and pedaling, her hair billowing behind her in the wind.
Bill stepped out into the road and ordered her to stop, but she refused. She kept riding and laughing, circling closer and closer to her brother but never getting off the bike. Every circuit she made raised the temperature on Bill’s anger, so he bent down and found a small stick in the gutter. When his idiot sister made her next pass, Bill brought the stick down on her knuckles, bashing them against the solid handlebar grip. When Bill saw the hysterics the blow brought his sister to—and knowing the trouble he faced—he ran into the house, hiding in his bedroom.
For a moment, a foolish moment, he thought he’d get away with it, that Paige would wipe her tears, suck it up, and refuse to tell their mother what had happened.
But, of course, it all came out. Mom heard Paige crying. Paige showed off her bloody knuckles. And their mother appeared in his bedroom doorway, that look of crumbling disappointment one of the worst things Bill could ever see. He preferred anger or yelling or punishment to that maternal disappointment.
And that day in Summer’s hospital room, Paige wore a similar look.
She pushed her sweatshirt sleeves up past her elbows and stared straight at him.
“Is it true?” she asked. “What that cop said you did to her?”
“You don’t even want to discuss this outside?”
“Did you?”
“You know, Paige, it’s really easy to sit there and judge when you have two parents in the house.”
“I think of all the stupid stuff when we were kids. The way you tried to hurt me.”
“Really, Paige? Now? Are you talking about the bike? We were babies. Didn’t you ever spank your kids?”
“Never. And grabbing them that way isn’t the same as spanking.”
“Sometimes I think the whole generation should be spanked, whether they deserve it or not.”
Paige played with her sleeves, tugging one down and then pushing it up again. “I’m just surprised, Bill. Did you apologize to her?”
Bill took a couple of deep, steadying breaths. “Do you know what happened the night I hit you with that stick? You and Mom went out that night. I don’t know where. And I was home alone with Dad. He was watching TV, probably a Reds game, and I was sitting on the floor. I told him what I’d done to you. I guess Mom hadn’t even told him.”
“Figures. If I’d hit you, Dad would have known. And he would have chewed me out.”
“The point is, Paige, I told him I felt bad about what I’d done, that I made you cry by hitting you with that stupid stick. And you know what he said?”
“I guarantee you he didn’t tell you to apologize, because you never
did,” she said. “And Dad never apologized to anyone his whole life.”
No, he didn’t, Bill thought. And I’d never, ever call him an asshole.
“Exactly,” Bill said. “He told me to forget about it. He didn’t even take his eyes off the TV screen. He just told me to forget about it, as though even talking about it was trivial and unimportant.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Paige asked, some of the anger out of her voice.
“Because you asked me if I ever apologized to Summer for what I did.” Bill looked over at her unconscious form, the gentle rising and falling of her breaths. Those words she repeated came back to him like a chant. No. No. No. No. No. Was she remembering the night he grabbed her? Dreaming of it?
Was she afraid of him?
“No, I never did apologize to Summer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The next day, when Bill returned home for his afternoon shower and shave, he saw Adam Fleetwood sitting on the back patio, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and two glasses on the table next to him.
It was late February, almost spring but still cool, and the sky above was robin’s egg blue, not a cloud in sight. Adam wore sunglasses and lifted his left arm in greeting as Bill came closer.
“What are you doing here?” Bill asked.
“Checking in on you.” He nodded toward the bottle and glasses. “I figure you probably don’t get a chance for a pick-me-up at the hospital.”
Bill’s scalp itched, and he felt dirty. But he sat down in the vacant chair and said, “Sure. I’ll take one.”
Adam poured two shots, and then both men lifted their glasses. For a long moment, they locked eyes as Bill waited for Adam to say something before they drank. He was a guy’s guy, the kind of man other men liked to have around.
But he offered no words of wisdom. He waited on Bill.
So Bill said, “Here’s to better days.”
Adam clinked his shot glass against Bill’s, gently, not spilling a drop, and the two men drank.
Bill felt good, sitting in the sun, the gentle, warming buzz of the whiskey working its way through his body. In that moment, he tried to pretend nothing else was wrong, that Summer would soon enough come breezing home from school, sending the evening into its predictable cycle of homework and dinner and television.
Bill remembered a poem he once read in college. He couldn’t remember who wrote it, but it said something like “The world is too much with us.” He understood that line better than ever. The world was too much with him. There was nowhere to hide, even on a pretty day with a bottle of good whiskey and a good friend nearby.
A silence settled over the two men. A blue jay fluttered from one tree to another, its bright feathers catching Bill’s eye until the bird disappeared into the branches.
“I know you must really miss Julia,” Adam said. “I mean, at a time like this.”
“I do.” Bill stared into his own glass, and then glanced at Adam. “She was a fan of yours.”
“Who?”
“Julia. She always said what a nice guy you were, what a good neighbor.” The liquor loosened his tongue. “How handsome. Remember, I used to joke with her that if anything ever happened to me, she could just walk over to your house.”
“I remember you saying that.” Adam smiled without showing his teeth. “That’s flattering.”
Bill swirled the amber-colored liquid in his glass. “Yeah, I guess it was.”
“You’re a good dad, though,” Adam said, nodding. “You’re here for Summer. Every day you were here for her. I haven’t seen my son in months.”
Bill looked over, surprised at the mention of his son. He waited because it seemed like Adam had more to say.
“Kid doesn’t know me that well, living down in Tulsa,” Adam said. “But you, you’re right here. Every day. And you’re sitting next to that hospital bed.”
“I’m here at home now.”
“You have to take a break, right? That’s why your sister is here.”
“Yeah. In fact, I came home for a quick shower, and then I want to get back.”
“How is she?” Adam asked. “Summer.”
“About the same. It’s hard to see much progress. I’m hoping they’ll take that chest tube out soon.”
“That would be a good step.” Adam poured himself another shot, but when he went to fill the other glass, Bill waved his hand in the air, declining. “You sure?”
“I don’t think I can go back to the hospital and sit at her bedside smelling like whiskey.” Before Adam could drink, Bill asked, “Why aren’t you at work? Are you off the road this week or just taking a midday break to check on me?”
“Well, I did want to check on you.” Adam nodded, his upper teeth resting on his lower lip, which gave him a slightly canine appearance. “I did want to see you about something else. Maybe we should talk another time, though. You’re wanting to get back.”
“I am, but you have me curious. If it’s something happy, like you won the lottery or bought me tickets to next year’s Super Bowl, I’d like to know. I could use the boost.”
Adam smiled and looked away. He tapped his fingers against the armrest of the chair. “I wish it were that. I do. But I was going to tell you I’m moving.”
“Moving?”
“Yeah, I thought about not telling you, what with everything you have going on. This has been a possibility for a while, but it all came to a head pretty quickly over the last week.”
“Where are you moving?” Bill asked.
“Down to Tulsa. My son and my ex are down in Texas. Dallas. She’s remarried and everything, but it’s a lot closer than here. I can see the kid on weekends. I’ve been thinking for a while that maybe I need a change in my life. You know, a realignment of my priorities.”
A light breeze kicked up, scattering the remaining dead leaves across the patio, a tumbling race. “Oh.” A strange twinge jabbed Bill in the chest. “You’re happy about this?”
“I think so. A different place. A new adventure. I’ve been here almost ten years. That’s a long, long time for me.” Adam considered Bill, his eyes probing. “Think of all the times we sat outside on a warm night, drinking and shooting the shit. We’re always saying we want to do something different with our lives, make a new plan and follow it. Try some new venture.”
“Sure. I’ve had the same thoughts. The budget cuts at work are squeezing me. Maybe all the way out.”
“Exactly. We always say we want a change, so I’m making it happen.” Adam was trying not to smile too much or look too satisfied with his plan. “Should I not have told you? I mean now, with everything on your mind.”
“No, it’s fine,” Bill said, waving his hand at Adam. “I’ll miss having you as a neighbor. And a friend. And I am a little envious. A new start sounds . . . intriguing. Hell, we’d talked about that investment opportunity. Going in on it together.”
“Right. Yeah.”
“I guess that’s out. You haven’t mentioned it for the last month or two.”
“Yeah, I think it is over. I haven’t talked to the guy for a while. It’s tied up in bankruptcy. People are suing other people. It’s kind of messy.”
About eight months earlier, Adam came to Bill with the chance to invest in a self-storage facility south of town. A friend of Adam’s was buying in, taking over the failing business, and he needed partners to put up some money. Bill was intrigued but uncertain about the risk. Adam showed no fear at all about putting in his money, and his confidence spilled over to Bill and nudged him along, enough so that Bill started checking his bank accounts and seriously considering it. But with Adam leaving and everything more up in the air than ever . . .
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t be risking my money anyway,” Bill said. “Everything is so uncertain these days. And that was before this happened to Summer.” Bill pointed to the bottle between them
, forcing a smile. “I will say I doubt anyone who moves in behind me will bring me whiskey.”
“This is bad timing, isn’t it? I mean, you’re devastated. Crushed. I was going to come by the hospital and talk to you, but I figured that’s not a good place. The news said Summer’s still in the ICU. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. She’s a fighter. She’ll get better. I have to believe that.” Bill tried again to put on something close to a real smile. He held his hand out to shake Adam’s, felt the bigger man’s strong grip, saw his hand swallowed up by his friend’s. “I’m happy for you. It sounds like this will be a good change.”
“I think so.”
“And I guess it won’t happen right away. You have to sell the house and pack, so there’ll be time for a few more of these visits. Hell, maybe we’ll have something good to celebrate, something like Summer coming home.”
“I’d love to do that.” But Adam looked sheepish. “It might be quicker than normal. The company’s going to help me sell the house and put me up in a place down there. They need me pretty soon.”
“Wow. Okay.” Bill eyed the bottle and the empty glass but pushed the urge away. He put his hands on the armrests and rose from the chair. “Well, I think I need to get back.”
“I’m sorry, bud. I should have waited.”
“No, you’re cool,” he said. “Heck, maybe we’ll take a trip down and visit you when Summer’s better. I’ve never been to Oklahoma.”
Adam nodded. “You bet. It’s still touch and go, though?” Adam asked.
“Yeah, it is. It might be for a while.”
“She’s not even awake? Or talking?”
“Not awake.” No. No. No. No. No. “She kind of forms words. Maybe just sounds. She makes a weird face when you say her name. Like she wants to react in some real way but can’t. It’s hard to tell what she’s trying to do.”
“I haven’t heard much in the news about suspects or anything. Maybe the cops are playing it cool.”