by Charles Ayer
“I’m thinking that would be your son.”
“Yes, it’s Donnie. I don’t have to tell you how it was.”
“Let me guess: A nine year-old kid named Chandler shows up at a Pee Wee football practice one day, and from that day on, he was the anointed future Devon Central starting quarterback.”
“Big surprise, right?”
“How’s he doing?” I said.
“He’s doing okay, I guess. The team went 5-5 last year, but they’re hoping to do better this year.”
“Does Donnie just have a weak team behind him?”
“Not really. It would have been better if Kenny Junior had stayed with them, but they’re pretty decent.”
“And you’re saying that’s creating an awkward situation between you and David and Kenny and Allie? You feel like Donnie would be doing better, but Kenny Junior let him down?”
“No, I’m not saying that.”
“Doreen, I know you’re his mother, so this is kind of a tough conversation, but how good is Donnie?”
She put down her iced tea and looked at me hard. “Let’s just say that Donnie is no David, okay?”
“That must be tough for him. He has a lot of expectations to live up to.”
“It’s tough for all of us,” said Doreen. She was quiet for a few long seconds, but I knew she had something more to say. “But that’s not the really awkward part,” she said, finally.
“Then what is?” I said. I was pretty sure I knew what was coming, but I didn’t want to be the one to say it.
Doreen picked up her tea glass and took a sip. She put the glass down carefully.
“The reason Kenny Junior quit the football team is that he thought he should be the quarterback, and he felt he was never given a fair chance because of who Donnie’s father was.”
“And?”
“‘And’ what?”
“Was he right?”
Doreen gave me another hard look. “Maybe,” she said.
“Putting aside the family stuff,” I said, “that must have been a tough situation for Kenny Senior.”
“I felt awful for him. What was he supposed to do, go to the head football coach, who reports to him, and ask him why his son didn’t get a fair shot to be starting quarterback?”
“And what about David?”
“What was he supposed to do, go behind his own son’s back and tell the head football coach that he might have the wrong guy leading his team?”
“That must have been terrible for the both of them, and for you and Allie, too.”
“To tell you the truth, Matt, Allie and I have never been all that close. But it’s been miserable for Kenny and David. Once you pulled your disappearing act, Kenny was David’s best friend in the world.”
“And vice versa, I suppose.”
“I guess, but it was tougher on David. You know Kenny, big man around town and all that. But David’s always been quieter. His life has always revolved around the kids, and he never wanted to do anything that would harm his image. So he’s never been a joiner, and he kept his social life separate from his professional life. His friendship with Kenny is just about all he has.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, but I noticed that I’d lost Doreen’s attention as she stared past my shoulder.
“And here comes the other problem,” she said, quietly, followed by a louder, “Hi, hon! Come here! I want you to meet someone!”
I turned around to see seventeen year-old Doreen in a white tennis outfit striding toward us, a racket dangling from her left hand. I shook my head, and saw the real Doreen smiling at me.
“Laura, this is one of your father’s and my oldest friends, Matt Hunter.”
“Hi, Mister Hunter. You’re the third one, right?”
“I guess you could say that,” I said.
“You still look like you did in the picture.”
“That’s the nicest thing anybody’s said to me all year,” I said. Laura laughed. It was Doreen’s laugh. She and Donnie were fraternal twins, I knew that much. But I hadn’t seen either of them since they were barely out of diapers, so I really didn’t know much else.
“So what are you up to this afternoon?” said Doreen.
“I’m gonna run upstairs and take a shower, and then I’m meeting up with Jessica and Paula. Paula’s parents just got a new sailboat, and we’re going to take her out for a spin on the Hudson.”
“You girls be careful, do you hear me?” said Doreen. “You know how much barge traffic there is on that river these days.”
“Oh, Mom, please,” said Laura as she turned and headed toward the house. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hunter.” She waved her tennis racket at me.
“Nice to meet you, too, Laura,” I said, but I wasn’t sure she heard me.
“She may look like me, but she’s all David,” said Doreen, her eyes following her daughter back to the house with one of those stern maternal gazes.
“It’s hard to believe they’ll all be heading off to college in a year.”
“It sure is,” said Doreen.
“Any idea where they want to go?”
“Not really. Someplace expensive, I’m sure of that.”
“They’re all expensive nowadays, even the state schools.”
“I just don’t know how people manage. The debt kids are piling up just to get an undergraduate degree is scary, and it’s just going to get worse.”
“What have you told your kids about David?” I said, not wanting the conversation to jump completely off the tracks.
“I told them he got called away for business and that he’ll be back soon. They aren’t asking any questions for the moment, but they’re smart kids, and they don’t really buy it. Luckily, they’re both keeping themselves busy for the summer, so they don’t have a lot of time to dwell on it.”
“Is Laura interested in sailing, or is she just going along to be with her friends?”
“Please. She’s been winning Star Class races since she was ten. She’s skippered boats all over the East Coast, and she’s already making plans to sail from New York to London after she graduates from high school.”
“And tennis?”
“She’s competing in the Junior Nationals next month down in Florida. David is supposed to go with her.”
“How do you think she’ll do?”
“She’s going to win.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow.”
“She sounds like a great kid. How’s she doing academically?”
“Right now, she’s second in her class.”
“Who’s ahead of her?”
“Who else? Kenny Junior, that’s who else.”
“What about Donnie?”
“He’s in the top ten percent, but, frankly, he’s not at the same level as his sister or Kenny.”
“And is that what you meant when you said, ‘Here comes the other problem’?”
“Not really.”
“So what then?”
“She and Kenny Junior are crazy about each other. They have been since 8th Grade.”
“I don’t see why that should be a problem,” I said.
“Neither do I,” said Doreen, sighing. She looked out at the pool. I was apparently treading on sensitive ground.
“So?” I finally said.
“So Allie absolutely forbids it.”
“What? Why?”
“She thinks that Kenny’s never going to escape this town if he marries a local girl. At least that’s what she says. She’s also told him that he can only apply to out-of-state colleges, and they won’t pay his tuition otherwise.”
“What does she have against Devon-on-Hudson?”
“I don’t know,” said Doreen. “I guess you’d have to ask her. Allie’s always had kind of a chip on her shoulder, but it seems to be getting worse. All I know is it’s putting a lot of strain on the relationship between our two families, not to mention the relationship between her and her son. Are you finished with the sandwiches?”
T
he non sequitur caught me off guard for a second. “Yes, thanks,” I finally said.
“I think we’ve had enough serious talk for one day,” she said as she rose to bring the tray back into the house. “It’s awfully hot. Do you want to go for a swim before you leave?”
“That sounds great,” I said, “but I don’t have a bathing suit.”
“No problem,” said Doreen, “we always keep extras in the cabana. I’m sure you can find one in there that fits you. Go change while I clean up.”
In a few short minutes, we were both in the water, horsing around and splashing the way we always had. I had always been awkward in the water, but Doreen swam like a dolphin, and her sleek body mesmerized me as she cavorted around the pool.
But she wasn’t Flipper. She was my client, and she was my best friend’s wife.
And I was headed for trouble if I didn’t keep that in mind.
CHAPTER SIX
I WAS SITTING IN MY LIVING ROOM WITH MY FEET UP eating a pizza and watching a Mets game on my newly plugged in TV. I had a half-full bottle of Budweiser in my hand and there were two empties keeping each other company in the kitchen sink. I was hoping that the combination of beer, pizza, and the Mets would help me get my mind off of David and Doreen and the whole mess for a while.
I’d been surprised to see the cable company truck parked outside my building when I’d gotten back from Doreen’s. I’d been told by the customer service representative I’d spoken to, she’d actually called herself my “customer advocate,” that, due to the overwhelming demand for their state of the art services, it would be at least seven to ten days before I’d be connected. The mystery was solved when, after the installation was completed, the technician, who was about my age, and whom I thought I might recognize if he took off his hat and got rid of his bushy moustache, had reached into his truck and pulled out a plastic folder that contained a page from the Times Herald Record dated Sunday, November 20, 1997, the day after our final victory over Cornwall. The entire top half of the page was taken up by The Picture.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for twenty years,” the guy said, as he lovingly removed the paper from the folder.
“For what?” I said.
“Look,” was all the guy had said.
I’d seen that photo so many times that I’d stopped paying attention when I looked at it.
“I’m sorry, buddy, but I’ve seen this picture a lot.”
“I know, but look,” he said, pointing at the picture.
I looked down again, and finally saw what he’d wanted me to see: The picture been autographed by Kenny and David, but not by me.
“After you left town I didn’t think I’d ever get this chance,” the guy said, holding out a pen. “Please be careful, it’s pretty brittle. All the acid in the newsprint, you know?”
“I know,” I said, as I signed the picture and handed it back to him. He placed it back in the folder reverently, like it was an original menu from the Last Supper. “And hey,” I said, pulling a ten dollar bill out of my wallet that I really couldn’t afford to part with, “thanks for the prompt service.”
He held is hands palms out, like I was offering him poison. “Oh, no,” he said, “your money’s no good with me Matt, I mean, Mr. Hunter.”
“It’s Matt,” I said, as I gratefully re-pocketed the ten. “I’m sorry, I’m really bad with names. I know I remember you.”
“It’s Hugh, Hugh Bauer. Class of ’98, just like you.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”
“Aw, that’s okay Mr. Hunter, I mean, Matt. We were in 10th grade Geometry together. I sat right behind you, but I wouldn’t expect you to remember that.”
“Sure, sure,” I said, not knowing what I was sure about, “good to see you, Hugh. And thanks again for the great service.”
As he drove away he waved at me, a big grin on his face. I waved back. Why not?
How many more reasons did I need to convince myself that returning to my hometown was perhaps a big mistake? I’d come here to get my act together and to face the future, not dwell on past glories. I thought of Kenny, growing fat and aging badly but still stuck in The Picture, like Dorian Gray’s picture in the attic, still snagging free beers off of old memories. It didn’t seem to bother Kenny, or if it did he was hiding it well, but I knew I couldn’t allow myself to live like that. The scary part was realizing how easy it would be if I decided to stay in Devon-on-Hudson. There were a lot of Hugh Bauers out there, just waiting for a chance to buy me a Heineken.
The game was between innings. There was still half of the pizza to deal with, and I was just getting up to get myself another beer when the doorbell rang. I felt a guilty thrill of hope that it might be Doreen, and I wished I didn’t smell like beer and hadn’t dropped that slice of pepperoni on my shirt. The door opened before I had a chance to get up.
It wasn’t Doreen.
“What, can’t you even say hello to your own sister?” said Lacey Jeanne Hunter.
“Hey, Lacey,” I said, trying not to sound surprised. The “Lacey” had come from “Cagney & Lacey,” Mom’s favorite television show. Mom and Dad had their quirks.
She was five years my junior, but she didn’t look it. Lacey had lived hard. I’ll never know whether it was partly due to being forced to live in my shadow or if she was just born that way, but at the age of fourteen she’d turned rebellious in a serious way. It had started out with weed and binge drinking, but had rapidly escalated to cocaine and, finally, heroin. At the age of sixteen she’d dropped out of school and disappeared. My parents had made a half-hearted effort to look for her, but she’d worn them out, and half-hearted was about all they had left. She was gone. When they spoke of her they never sounded bitter; they spoke fondly, as of a relative who had passed away. By that time I was in New York City at John Jay getting ready to graduate and preparing for the Police Exam. I’m ashamed to say it, but I rarely gave my sister, my only sibling, much of a thought after that.
Then about five years ago she’d resurfaced. She’d looked more like forty-five than the not even thirty that she was at the time, but otherwise she’d seemed fine. She’d gotten herself clean, earned her GED and an Associates Degree in Computer Technology from Orange County Community College, and was now working for a small software firm in Newburgh. She patched it up with Mom and Dad as best she could before they’d decamped for Florida. The two of us were working at it hard, but we still had a long way to go.
Of course, we’d never really known each other in the first place, what with the age difference and my preoccupation with school and sports. I’d invited her out to Mount Kisco a couple of times, but to say that she and Marianne hadn’t exactly hit it off was a gross understatement, which hadn’t surprised me. By that time, if you didn’t somehow further Marianne’s professional goals she had no use for you, and she was petrified of what Lacey might do in the presence of polite company. At least it wasn’t just me.
The one thing Lacey hadn’t done, and wouldn’t do, was talk about her past. She called it “The Lost Decade,” and she resolutely refused to discuss it. Which was fine with me. After all those years as a cop I knew more about the lives kids like Lacey lived than I ever wanted to know, and I didn’t want any of the faces that haunted my memory resembling my sister.
Still, Lacey looked great. She was rail thin, and her skin was lined, but it had good color. There was a little gray already streaking the honey colored hair that she’d inherited from Mom and still wore long; but it was thick, and it shone with good care. She was wearing a faded pair of jeans with a hole in one knee, sandals with no socks on her feet, and a loose-fitting tee shirt with a picture of Yosemite Sam on the front and the words, “Bite Me” on the back.
“Pretty swanky,” was all she said as she let herself in and took a look around.
“Brave words coming from a woman who drives around in a ’93 Saturn.”
She glared at me. For some reason she was defensive about her car.
“An
yway,” I said, getting off the subject, “it’s only temporary.”
“Jesus, I hope so. So you and Marianne are finished, huh?”
“It looks like it.”
“Good. You don’t need her brand of shit. I feel bad for the kids, though.” Lacey wouldn’t have been a good fit at the United Nations.
“So do I. But it wasn’t exactly good for them to see us fighting all the time, and having their mother explain to them that we wouldn’t be fighting if their father weren’t such a failure.”
“She is a sweetheart, isn’t she?”
“Can I get you anything?” I said, picking up the pizza box from the table.
“Why don’t you leave that pizza box right where it is and get me a diet soda. If you don’t have any diet soda a glass of water will be fine.”
I had a six-pack of Diet Coke keeping the beer company in the fridge, so I brought her a can and a plate for her pizza, but when I got back, she was sitting on the sofa with the box on her lap, looking completely content. She’d turned off the TV.
“The Mets suck anyway,” she said.
“Thanks for coming to see me, Lace.”
“I figured I might get old waiting for you to come and see me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve only been back for a few days and things have been pretty hectic.”
“Just needling you, Matt. It’s okay. So, you’re setting yourself up as a private eye, is that it?”
“Yeah, at least that’s what I hope to be.”
“Do you have any clients yet?”
“I’ve got something I’m working on for an old friend,” I said, and proceeded to tell her about David’s disappearance.
“I’ve heard of these people of course,” she said when I was finished. She’d polished off the rest of the pizza in the short time it had taken me to tell her about the case. “I know who Doreen is. It’s hard to live in this town and not know who Doreen is, but I really don’t know any of them. I remember you playing football, I guess, but that’s about it. There are gaps, you know?!”
“I know,” I said, “that’s okay. Anyway, I’m guessing that you didn’t come over to talk about my job.”