by Kaje Harper
“Can you take her to court? Is she breaking the divorce terms?”
John took a long minute before answering. “Yeah, but I really don’t want this to turn into a war. She has too many ways to win.”
“What do the kids say?”
“I don’t know.” John rubbed his forehead tiredly. “They’re teenagers. Talking to them on the phone is like pulling teeth. I call a lot, but they don’t say much.”
“You should get a webcam. Skype them or something.”
“Um, yeah, what you said. Except that I’m technologically incompetent, and barely manage to text on my cell phone. Which is the best way to talk to my kids, incidentally.”
Ryan had to smile. “That was last year. Listen, maybe I could come over sometime, help you get set up. With a webcam you can see them and talk in real time. Better than nothing.”
“Maybe.” John seemed distant. “Here. Turn in the drive with the yellow mailbox.”
Ryan took the sharp right and pulled in. The driveway wound between two tall old trees, and then ended in a circle in front of a big, two-story house. The place looked like a farmhouse, with a gabled roof and a long, wrap-around front porch. It was painted cream with butter-yellow accents. The trim had fancy gingerbread curlicues and it was well-maintained. Ryan pulled up in front and parked.
“Hey, nice place.”
“It’s too big. But the kids love it. And their rooms are here for them, when they do come. Right now it’s pretty empty.” John sat in the truck, staring at the house without opening his door.
After several silent minutes, Ryan figured he’d better make the first move. He slid out of the cab, taking the jolt of hitting the ground on his good leg, and walked around to open John’s door. “Come on. I’ll walk you in.”
John seemed to come back to himself with a sharp breath. “Oh! You don’t need to do that. I’ll get out here. Except this is my truck, so you can’t get home. Shit. Here, I’ll call you a taxi. On my credit card.” He fumbled for his cell phone and wallet. The phone went onto the gravel. The wallet ended up on the cab floor.
Ryan laughed. “Maybe I’d better do that. Later. Come on, I want to see what this place looks like on the inside.”
“It still needs work.” But at least John was moving toward the door. Ryan stopped to retrieve his textbook and cane and lock up, and then followed with the keys.
The entry hall was floored in old wide-board maple that glowed softly as John snapped on a light. Off to either side, dark rooms waited, while ahead a kitchen sat bathed in a bright gleam of moonlight.
“Come on in.” John headed for the kitchen. “Can I get you something? I don’t keep alcohol in the house but I have coffee, tea, apple juice, Mountain Dew.”
“Coffee would be good.” For both of them.
“Coming up.”
As John slowly and carefully filled the kettle and set it on the stove, Ryan looked around. The kitchen was a mix of old and new. The cabinets were lovely wood, stained and varnished, with small glass panes in the doors. The countertop was old, stained Formica. The floor was laid with the same satin boards as the hallway, but topped with a rag rug that had seen better days. The stove was old, the refrigerator ancient. The small kitchen table was a piece of art. It looked like a slab of huge tree trunk cut in a three-foot-long oval, deep-grained and lovely, supported by curving legs that seemed too slender to hold its weight and yet balanced it perfectly. The chairs were metal, old and clearly the type that were made to fold. Although judging by the warp of the legs, they might not manage that anymore.
John turned on the stove, and then reached to fumble with the switch of a small lamp. Cupped inside the swirled branches of a fanciful tree, carved from dark polished wood, the bulb sent out soft rays of light. “I like the moonlight.” John gestured at the huge picture window. “But it’s not quite enough to see by.”
“That lamp is cool,” Ryan said. “I’ve never seen one like it.”
“Yeah?” John shrugged. He pulled coffee out of the freezer and set a drip cone on top of an old, plaid-patterned thermos. “I’m going to make extra. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
Either the man was really into retro, or he was short of cash. Ryan pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m in no rush.”
“So what about you?” John had his back to Ryan, peering into the refrigerator. “You have family?”
“Two brothers.” Now. “Sister-in-law, two nephews. All on the west coast. My dad lives out in Oregon. My mom passed away ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Ryan shrugged. She’d died two months before 9-11. Three months before David did. Maybe it was for the best. She’d always been a happy woman. He pulled his thoughts away from the past. “No wife, no kids. I’m starting to regret the kids.”
“You have time. Although if you don’t regret the wife, that may be a problem. Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Nope. Not right now.”
John straightened. “No milk, sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
John meticulously poured hot water into the cone, and then leaned up against the counter and peered at Ryan. Still a little drunk, Ryan thought.
“What about that little blonde?” John said. “The one with the cute nose and curly hair. She looks like she’s interested in you.”
Ryan blinked. How does he know? It was a bit creepy.
“I saw her chase after you out on campus,” John said, apparently sober enough to catch the recoil. “A couple of times.”
“Oh. Yeah, she might be interested. But she’s so freaking young, you know? Not just years, although I’m betting she’s barely over twenty-one. But in experience. She comes off pretty shallow.”
“Don’t need deep to have fun.”
“Mm. I’ve done that but… I think I’m done with shallow.” Because the next girl he went to bed with would have to look at his leg, and his scars, and be cool about it. Which he had trouble imagining. Which was why he hadn’t gotten laid in a year. Hell, the closest he’d had to a tender touch in months was John cleaning up his head injury. Maybe he could stage another fall, in front of that tall, curvy redhead. She looked like she could handle it.
“That’s okay,” John was saying. “That’s good actually. Shallow can get deep all of a sudden, and then you end up married to someone you thought was just a fun time.”
Ryan softened his voice. “Is that what happened to you?”
John turned away, pouring coffee from the thermos into mugs. His voice was muffled. “Not exactly. No. Here. Best coffee in all of York.”
Ryan took a sip and blinked. That was amazing. “Wow. I might stop by here sometime, just to hit you up for more of this.”
“I get it mail order. Grind it fresh every morning. It’s my biggest indulgence.”
“Worth it.” Ryan drank again.
“So.” John seated himself at the table. “You know my whole sorry history. What brought you out drinking by yourself on a school night?”
Ryan laughed. “My roommate is definitely not done with shallow. In fact, he’s a master at it. I’m waiting until the heat of passion cools a bit, so it’s safe to go home.”
“You don’t like his girlfriend?”
“That’s girlfriends, plural. No, even that’s giving him too much credit. It’s one-night stands. And he likes them young, loud, and air-headed. And did I mention loud?”
John smiled. “So you escaped to a pub.”
“I like a beer or two. The Copper Stein seemed like a decent place.”
“My favorite. The music’s good and played at a reasonable volume, the bartender knows his stuff, and the bouncer doesn’t tolerate much nonsense. They even have some live music on Saturday nights that can be worth hearing.”
Ryan let a sip of liquid darkness flow down his throat. Mm, good. “I’ll have to check that out.”
“Not this week. Girl with a harp, and way too much affection for Irish ballads. Next weekend though, there’s a
decent trio with a fiddler who can burn up the strings.”
“I’ll remember that.”
John pulled out his cell phone. “You must be tired of hearing me blather on. I’ll call you a cab.”
“No rush.” It was relaxing, in this dim kitchen with the moonlight streaming in. No noise, no music, just someone to talk to, and the heavenly smell and taste of that coffee.
John stared at his phone. “Good, because the damned thing is dead. Let me put it in the charger for a bit.” He pulled over what Ryan had thought was an abstract sculpture, and set the phone into it, plugging in a jack. Ryan leaned forward to take a closer look. The piece was made of wood, in long swooping curves that looked abstract. Until you put the phone in it, and then the shape resolved into a pair of hands, cradling the phone as if it were precious.
Ryan ran a finger over the luster of the wood. “Wow, that’s cool too. Same artist that did the lamp, right?”
When John didn’t answer, he looked up to see the man was…blushing?
“You made this?”
“It’s just a hobby. I pick up the stray bits of wood I find and fiddle with them in my spare time. It’s just for fun.”
“Well, I’ve seen worse in fancy galleries with major price tags. If you’re ever short of cash, let me know. My sister-in-law would love this.” Grace had a thing for melding form and function. When it was done right, like these gorgeous pieces.
“It’s just a hobby,” John said firmly, almost angrily.
“Okay.” Ryan took his hands off the sculpture and sat back.
John held out his hand. “Let me have your phone. I’ve got a number for the taxi company somewhere. I’ll call you that cab and they can charge it to me. It’s the least I can do.”
Somehow the easy comfort between them had disappeared. Ryan pulled out his cell, passed it over, and silently drained his cup.
Chapter Three
The early-October air was still warm and pleasant on campus in the middle of the day. Ryan had a sandwich, a soda and a lovely biochemistry chart of the Krebs Cycle to study. He headed across the grass, looking for a shady spot to enjoy them.
At the bottom of the nearest hill, there was a stand of old pines. He vaguely remembered seeing a bench set under them. It was always easier to stand up from a raised seat than get himself back up off the ground. He headed downhill.
As he approached the trees, he heard women’s voices raised anxiously. Two students stood under the tallest pine, looking up. One blonde, one brunette, both young enough to definitely be undergraduates, and both very anxious.
“Come on now. This is silly,” the blonde was saying as he reached her.
“What’s up?” He looked into the tree, following her gaze. About fifteen feet above them, another girl with long brown hair was climbing slowly.
“Come on, Alice,” the brunette beside him called. “That’s high enough!”
Ryan checked out the tree. Like many old pines, it had a veritable ladder of sturdy side branches running up its trunk. The girl had another twenty or thirty feet to go before the branches got too thin to be safe. Although she wasn’t wearing good shoes for safe climbing. “What’s she up to?” he asked the blonde.
“We don’t know. She’s been odd all morning, not really there. Then after poetry class she got spacey, talked about the squirrels of the air. Nancy and I figured we’d better keep an eye on her. She just marched down here and started climbing.”
“Her name’s Alice?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, Alice,” he called up. “What are your plans? How high are you going to go?”
“Squirrels climb,” the girl’s voice floated down. “The trees are their highways, to reach the realms of sky.” She pulled herself up another rung.
Not a good answer. “Alice. Your friends are worried about you. We’d like you to stop there for a bit.”
“But the sky is above me.” He could see what they meant by spacey. The girl’s voice seemed to float on a breath with no emotion behind it. “Up, up and up. To real lightness of being.” Another branch higher.
“What should we do?” the brunette asked.
“Does she do drugs?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so,” the blonde said slowly. “But lately she’s been… different. And that shit about squirrels, that’s not Alice. I had to convince her to take the poetry class, because she said it was too abstract for her.”
“Okay.” The girl was thirty feet up now, and the branches were smaller. Still safe enough, but she showed no sign of stopping. “You’d better call 911. Tell them you think she may be high on some kind of medication, and she’s reaching a risky level in the tree.” He glanced around. A couple more people were headed their way, but not close enough. He dropped his cane and kicked off his boat shoes. Knew he should have worn sneakers today.
“What are you going to do?” the brunette asked, as the blonde pulled out her phone.
“I’m going up after her. Maybe I can talk to her, convince her to come down. Or even grab her if she falls.”
“Do you think you’re able…?” Her eyes dropped to the cane.
Ryan hated that, freaking hated it. “Sure. Climbing is all about arm strength.” He reached up and hauled himself skyward.
The old pine was like a ladder, an easy climb. Except for the needles in his hair, and the rough, sappy texture, it was easier than a ladder. He reached, chinned, braced his right foot on the next rung, and repeated. Fast and smooth. If it weren’t for that fool girl, it would almost be fun. It was a long time since he’d done something like this.
“Alice,” he called. She was eight feet above him now, four sets of branches. He didn’t want to make her slip. “Alice. I’m just going to come up there and join you, okay? I bet the view is great from there. I’m just going to climb up slowly on the other side okay?”
“The squirrels are jealous of the birds,” Alice said. “Flight is beyond them. But they can come close.” She stood up on a branch where there was a gap in the tree. Holding with one hand above her head, she reached out with the other and leaned into space.
“Easy there.” Ryan used his best talk-jumpers-off-a-ledge voice. “You don’t want to slip. Why don’t you hold on with both hands, honey.” He slid farther around the trunk, and chinned the next rung. Two more levels.
She looked down at him and smiled. It was a scary smile, serene and empty. “But that’s why they keep trying. Because next time, they will fly.” And she leaned forward into the space, and let go.
He lunged for her, his feet slipping, grabbing at air. His fingers weren’t even close as she plummeted past. He used all his core strength in an emergency twist, body arching, one fierce grip away from following her to the ground. Luckily, since his injury he’d put a lot of time into upper-body strength. He hauled upward, got his other hand on a branch, and pulled himself safely against the trunk.
He didn’t want to look down. But he had to.
Alice had landed on the grass, taking a couple of branches with her. He remembered the crunches as they broke, as she hit. He didn’t remember the girl making a sound. A group of people gathered around her crumpled body. One girl began trying chest compressions and mouth to mouth, but Ryan had no illusions. You don’t survive a fall like that.
One person’s face was turned up at him, rather than staring at the dead girl. The groundskeeper, John, was looking fixedly his way, his eyes wide. Ryan sighed, and began the descent. Easier than the climb up, he could just do this hand over hand. As he hit the ground, a newly familiar grasp on his elbow steadied him. “Here.” His cane was placed in his hand.
“Thanks.” He gripped it and took the two steps to lower himself to his knees beside the fallen girl. Alice. It was always better if you didn’t know their names. The brunette who’d tried rescue breathing was sitting back on her heels, white-faced. Ryan reached for Alice’s carotid pulse, unsurprised to feel nothing but clammy, lifeless skin. The no-resistance, loose roll of her head even at h
is gentle touch put an end to any idea of resuscitation. Neck gone. No hope.
Bracing the damned cane, he struggled back to his feet, then winced, and inspected his palm. Abrasions and pine sap. John was somehow still right beside him. Ryan asked, “I don’t suppose you have another one of those wipes?”
“Not on me.”
In the distance, a siren swelled, growing quickly louder.
“I wasn’t fast enough,” he said down to his sock-clad feet, rubbing his sappy hand on his jeans. Bad mistake. They were his favorite jeans. But he couldn’t seem to stop. He worked his shoes back on, balancing carefully with the cane.
John touched his elbow and then withdrew. “I saw the end of it. She didn’t hesitate. Just let go and boom. She didn’t give you time.”
Ryan looked up. Those hazel eyes were as wonderfully compassionate as the last time.
John added, “Did you hurt yourself? I almost had a heart attack thinking you were going down with her.”
“No, I’m fine. A few scrapes.”
“Good.”
The emergency vehicles were bumping toward them over the grass, police and fire rescue. Too damned late. Although John was right. She hadn’t hesitated.
The paramedics came running over and knelt beside the girl for a moment. The older one shook her head. “Skull, neck, chest. Not a chance. How far did she fall?”
“About forty feet,” Ryan said.
The campus police were joined by a city police car, and more than one doctor drawn from the classrooms by the sirens. Ryan sighed and waited. So much for a lunch hour of studying. So much for some stupid mixed-up kid’s life. At his back, John waited too, a solid presence, as the paramedics and police did their thing. At least, there’s no shortage of doctors to pronounce the death. Ryan looked away from the too-familiar scene. After about five minutes, a cop came over to them.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said to Ryan. “I’m told you were the guy who went up the tree after her?”
“Yes.”
“And you are?”