by Amy Waeschle
“Why?”
“Because.”
Jessie huffed, and turned away from the door.
In a few minutes, Stef returned. He seemed in a hurry to leave so they raced across the highway and skated down Pioneer Hill.
“What did you get?” she shouted over the sound of their growling wheels.
To her frustration, he only continued skating, steadily pulling away from her.
They returned to the house and left their boards at the base of the treehouse like before. Stef peered into the small dumpster. Jessie watched, unsure. Sometimes he moved so fast. And what was he looking for? Stef returned with a handful of what looked like paper used as packaging.
He scanned the area with his eyes, then moved towards the back of the house with long, purposeful steps. She followed him to an area behind the garage where the grass hadn’t grown in yet.
Stef squatted down and removed the items from his coat pocket: a package of cigarettes, a rubber band, and a book of matches. He placed them on the gravel next to the newspaper. He removed one of the cigarettes.
“How did you get those?” she asked, picturing the neat rows of boxes lined up behind the convenience store counter. Wasn’t Stef too young to buy them?
Stef shrugged. “Easy. The guy was watching football.”
Jessie’s mouth hung open. “You stole them?”
Stef was busy arranging the items. “Well I wasn’t gonna pay for them.”
Jessie’s cheeks warmed with the shame of causing him to steal. I shouldn’t be doing this.
Jessie squatted down across from him. The book of matches had been flipped open and Stef placed one end of a cigarette perpendicular to the red heads, then replaced the lid and secured it with a rubber band. He placed this next to him. Then he rolled up some single sheets of the packing paper, the way Zach had taught her to light a campfire. Stef made a little tent of the newspaper rolls above the matchbook contraption.
He gave her a look as if to ask, “ready?”
Jessie nodded.
Stef slid an orange plastic lighter from his hip pocket. He flicked the wheel and pointed the flame at the outer edge of the cigarette till it glowed.
“Why the cigarette?” she asked. “Why not just light the pack of matches?”
Stef sat back, giving her a silent flick of his hazel eyes.
Jessie watched the cigarette make a tiny trail of smoke as it burned down. When the cigarette reached the matches there was a hiss and a larger flame burst to life. In a snap, the paper was engulfed in flames.
“It’s another timer,” Jessie said, shuffling backwards from the surprising gust of heat. She watched the flames grow high, huffing as it consumed the air around it. Then, without more fuel, the fire slowly shrank until it petered out.
Stef handed her the cigarettes, a rubber band, and his lighter. “Your turn.”
Chapter 21
Zach
Zach loaded his mud-caked mountain bike into his truck after an early-morning grind, preparing to return to the house and knock out the rest of the third wall of siding. Pulling out of the trailhead parking lot, his phone buzzed in the console.
“You still want that interview?” Mike Brewer’s curt voice said.
Zach’s shoulders instantly tensed. “Yes,” he replied.
“Looks like he’s getting released.”
“When?” Zach said.
“In about an hour,” Mike replied.
“I’m on my way,” Zach said, accelerating towards the highway.
“Good luck,” Mike sighed.
During the hour-long drive to the county courthouse, Zach let his thoughts drift. He unpacked Dana’s story about Evan’s infancy again, tried to examine all its parts. Was it postpartum depression? Something else? Had she hurt Evan—or had it been Leif—or was it all a figment of Dana’s sleep-deprived and chemically imbalanced brain? When she had caught Leif screaming at two-month-old Jessie, she knew she had to leave him. Once they were free, Dana described how Jessie went from being an easy baby to being an easy kid while Evan hit roadblock after roadblock. Dana blamed all of it on herself, for staying with Leif for so long, for not getting help.
Knowing all this now, and seeing it play out years later settled hard inside him, like a rock sinking to the bottom of the sea.
But Dana’s trouble was more serious than he thought: the stolen pill bottle. Zach had done some checking, calling up Martha & Mary like he was following up on a patient. His gut instinct was right: Eight-eight-year-old Annabelle St. Clair had passed away a week before after complication with hip surgery.
Good God, he thought. Dana could lose her job. She could lose everything.
If he could find Evan, would she stop? Zach could only move forward, hoping to pick up a lead. Garret could be the key.
Zach parked in front of the brick two-story building and crossed the wide walkway to the steps, though didn’t go inside. Instead, he settled his butt on the cold concrete edge of the planter containing the remnants of summer’s flowers. Above him, the State flag fluttered in the sea breeze coming off Sinclair Inlet.
The kid who strutted out of the double glass doors looked like the Garrett he remembered, but the changes shocked him.
“Hey, Garrett,” Zach said, practically leaping off his perch.
Startled, the kid’s posture changed in an instant and his sunken eyes glared at Zach. “Who’re you?” he asked. The handsome, round face Zach remembered had been replaced by narrow cheeks, his chin and jawbone more pronounced, giving him an aggressive, edgy look. He was growing a goatee but it’s spiky, yellowish hue only made him look more like a criminal.
“My name’s Zach. I’m a friend of Evan Brinnon’s,” Zach said.
Garrett’s quick eyes gave Zach a once-over, sizing him up. “I don’t know no Evan Brinnon,” he said, and continued walking towards the steps.
Zach stepped in aside him, not too close. Zach had seen the twitch in the kid’s eyes at Evan’s name—he was lying. The kid moved fast. Zach didn’t have much time.
“You and I met once, in Port Townsend, at Evan’s graduation ceremony. We had lunch at that Mexican place.” He flashed the folded twenty-dollar bill he had tucked into his palm. “Will this help you remember?”
The kid got to the edge of the parking lot and took a quick, short breath. He was so skinny Zach imagined hearing his ribs rattle.
“How about I give you a ride somewhere. We can stop for a cup of coffee or something to eat. Jail food sucks. You gotta be hungry.”
Garrett glanced at him. “What’s to say you’re not going to drive me off into the woods somewhere and chop me into a hundred pieces?”
Zach put up his hands. “I would never do anything like that. Look, I’m a firefighter.” He dug out his card. “It’s my job to help people.”
The kid glanced at his card. “I still don’t remember you.”
Zach shrugged, but his shoulders were clenched so tight that they felt glued down. He put his wallet away, but wondered if the kid had seen the other twenties poking from the billfold.
“I just want to talk to you. I’ll make it worth your while. And I can take you wherever you want.”
The kid threw his head back and huffed a shallow breath. “Fine.”
Zach’s heart leaped. “That’s my truck over there,” he said, pointing.
Garrett moved toward it, his motions jittery and sharp. His dingy jeans hung from his hips and the fake leather jacket shifted loosely against his frame.
They both got in the truck, and Garrett sat back, placing one black skate shoe against the dash. Zach decided not to comment.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Bremerton. Anywhere along Kitsap Way.”
“There’s a McDonald’s,” Zach said after they were on the road. “How about we stop there?”
“Sounds beautiful,” Garrett said, looking out the window.
Zach turned on the heat. “You know, Evan’s mom tried to contact you a few months back,” h
e said.
“Sorry,” Garrett said, his tone bitter. “I’m a little busy these days.”
Selling drugs, Zach thought. “Evan disappeared around the same time you left Port Townsend,” he said instead.
Garrett didn’t answer. Ahead, Zach saw a coffee stand, and pulled into it. He bought them both coffee and Garrett a muffin. When he turned away from the window, Zach saw Garrett tuck a phone back into the cargo pocket of his pants. It happened so fast Zach almost missed it. He wondered who Garrett was texting.
Zach pulled back onto the road. Garrett held his cup without drinking and stared out the window at the gray blue inlet scuffed with wind chop. Anchored in the center, the hulking mass of a barge towered above the water.
“I talked with Skye,” Zach said.
Garrett paused from blowing across the opening in the lid of his coffee. Zach could almost see the wheels of his damaged brain searching for the source of the memory her name had presented.
“The trip leader?” Zach added.
“Nature Girl,” Garrett said in a voice that was almost tender, as if the old Garrett had found a way to surface.
Zach felt the momentum of this shift and tried to feed it. “She talked about you,” he said.
Though Garrett was looking straight ahead, Zach saw his face change. “She told me about the river crossing,” he said.
Garrett took a sip of his coffee.
“That must have been intense,” Zach said, choosing his words carefully.
“Yeah,” Garrett replied, his voice back to its hard edge again.
“But you must have felt pretty good after, right? I heard you saved Evan.”
Garrett didn’t reply.
“You know you can always go back,” Zach said, unable to stop himself. This once handsome, smart kid was breaking his heart. “Get clean again.”
Garrett scoffed. “You sound like the cop I talked to.”
“It’s always an option,” Zach said.
Garrett adjusted his boot. “Nah. I’m doin’ fine.”
Zach felt the disappointment sink in. He wondered how much longer Garrett would survive on the streets.
“Do you have any family nearby?”
“Not anymore,” he said with bitterness. “Look, are we there yet? You’re making my brain hurt.”
Zach spotted his exit. “Almost,” he said.
A few minutes later they pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot. For an instant, Zach worried that the kid would bolt, but he followed Zach inside.
Zach ordered two Egg McMuffins and more coffee. He carried the tray to the booth Garrett had chosen.
They ate in silence for a minute, then Zach washed his throat clean with a sip of coffee. “So when did you last see Evan?”
Garrett swallowed a huge bite, his eyes bugging out. His hunched posture reminded Zach of a wolf hurrying through a meal, afraid someone bigger was coming to steal it.
Zach slid the twenty across the table.
The bill disappeared into the jacket pocket. “I don’t know, it was still summer.”
“How did he find you?”
Garrett shrugged. “It was weird, you know? I didn’t know him . . . before. Like, we never partied together or anything.”
“Is that what he wanted? To party?” Zach asked after another bite of his sandwich.
“I told him I’d get him hooked up,” he said. “He had a car so I was like, ‘sweet.’”
“And then what happened?” Zach said, the bite of food going down so dry it hurt.
“I don’t really know?” he replied. “I mean, we scored, and then we sat in his car. I don’t really remember what happened after that.”
“Did Evan party with you?” Zach asked, wishing he could channel Mike’s use of the correct lingo. I’m so out of my element here.
Garrett shook his head. “He smoked some weed.”
Zach tried not to show the devastation this caused him. “Did Evan try to get you to go back to rehab?”
Garrett slowed his chewing. His eyes flashed on Zach’s wallet sitting just out of reach. “Uh, I don’t remember?” he said.
Zach obeyed, and slid another bill across the table.
“Actually, he wanted me to come with him,” Garrett said, sipping his coffee.
Zach froze, but quickly recovered. “Oh?” he replied, trying to sound casual. “Did he say where?”
A man entered the restaurant, and Garrett looked up. The man turned and headed for the bathroom.
Zach frowned. The man was tall, wearing a black hoodie and faded jeans with silver stitching on the back pockets. His black biker boots clomped with each lanky step. Garrett followed him with his eyes, setting off a nervous twinge in Zach’s belly.
The man tossed his dark hair with a sudden shake of his head, making his features clear just for an instant before pushing through the swinging door of the bathroom.
Zach felt his heartbeat pop into his ears. It was the dad from The Grove.
Garrett balled up his wrapper and slid to the edge of the booth. “I gotta use the john,” he said.
“Wait,” Zach said, realizing too late what was happening. “Just tell me where he went.” He held out his last twenty.
Garrett’s body was practically quivering in anticipation. His eyes were bright and shifty. “Something about Alaska, that’s all I know.”
“What do you mean?” Zach said, standing to detain him just a little longer.
“He wanted us to go fishing, okay? Now I gotta go,” he said, his eyes darkening.
“Fishing?”
“Yeah, and I told him to shove it. No way am I doing that job. Not for any amount of money.”
“Do you know where? What kind of fishing?” Zach asked, desperate.
The kid pushed past him. “Look, I don’t know anything else, okay?”
Zach grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Hey!” Garrett cried.
Zach spun him around and gripped him by the lapels. “Why did he want you to go with him?” Up close to the kid like this, Zach could smell his sour skin and the decay eating his molars.
Garrett’s angry eyes glared back. “How the fuck should I know? To relive our happy times working at that shitty boatyard with that ogre of a boss and with fuckall to do except think about using again?”
“Why Alaska?”
“I. Don’t. Know.” Garrett put his wiry hands on Zach’s to resist him.
Zach let him go, realizing that he had gone too far. “Sorry,” he said, releasing a burst of air from deep in his lungs. He tucked his card into Garrett’s hand. “If you think of anything, call me. And the offer stands if you ever need help.” He swallowed, thinking about the man in the bathroom, and what he was capable of. “Or a hot meal. Okay?”
Garrett gave him one last hard glance and turned away.
Zach stood helpless, watching Garrett close the gap to the door. To where the dad from The Grove was waiting. This is what he did all day? Meet up with kids who sold his drugs? Then beat up his own kid when the urge struck? Lord, what a mess, he thought.
When Garrett slipped inside, the door making a soft thump, Zach lowered his head, his fingers clutching uselessly at nothing. He bussed their table and walked to his truck, calling 911 but knowing it was futile. Sure enough, because he had no proof or was not in danger, the dispatcher said they’d send a car when one became available.
A tiny thread of hope that Garrett would emerge and beg Zach to drive him to the nearest detox center kept him waiting a few minutes longer. Then the man exited from a side door, and Garrett quickly followed from the front, not giving Zach’s truck another glance.
Zach bounced his fists against the steering wheel, disgusted, furious. He started the truck and cruised to the exit, feeling empty. He wondered what Garrett’s family thought about all of this. Had they simply given up on him?
Evan had changed, too, as an addict, but nothing like he saw in Garrett. In Garrett, he saw death.
So, Evan had smoked weed. Did tha
t mean he’d relapsed? Garrett hadn’t mentioned alcohol, but that didn’t mean anything. Zach guessed that Garrett was on either heroin or meth, or both. So, they had scored and Garrett had gotten high and then Evan had tried to convince him to go to Alaska. To fish. Was that even true or had Garrett been lying to him in order to separate him from his money?
The image of Garrett shooting up in the McDonald’s bathroom haunted him. Zach felt guilty for being the one to give him the money to get high. He’d find a way without your help, Zach tried to rationalize. But the idea that he was to blame for the mess Garrett was in intensified.
He dialed Dana’s cell as he drove up the highway, but she didn’t answer. He ended the call then punched the button for Martha & Mary. After what seemed like ages, finally, he heard her voice.
“I may have found him,” Zach said.
There was a pause. “What?” Dana finally said, her voice rising. “Where? Oh, God, is he . . . ?”
“I’m hoping to get a crew list for each vessel, then we’ll know for sure.”
“Wait, back up. Crew list?”
He tried to slow down, but he was too tense.
“Evan’s on a boat?” her voice was frantic, breathless.
Zach merged onto the highway. “According to Garrett,” he said. “Evan’s friend.”
“You found Garrett? Zach, this is—”
“I know,” he said, reading her mind. “I’ll explain all of it later.”
“Okay,” Dana said, her voice calming.
“And if he’s telling the truth, Evan tried to get Garrett to go to Alaska.”
“Why?” Dana breathed.
“Money, as far as I can tell.” Zach had thought about this. “He may have tried to get on for king crab season.”
Dana gasped. “That’s so dangerous!”
“But it’s lucrative.” He tried to imagine Evan’s wiry frame hauling hundred-pound crab pots from the line in the dark, in fifty-foot seas.
“I’m going to start calling right now, see if I can find out what boat he’s on.”
“No, Dana,” he growled, unable to hold back his frustration. “You won’t be able to get a hold of him.” He shook his head. This was not how he wanted this to go! “Not until the season’s over. Look, he asked you to back down.”
