The cop’s partner showed up and talked with some of the other guys. Eventually the one interviewing Jake said he was done for now.
“I’m taking him to the hospital,” Franklin said.
“No, man—it’s fine.”
“You need to get checked out,” the cop said. “You got banged around pretty bad. You probably have a concussion.”
Franklin helped Jake to his feet and put an arm around his side to guide him. Jake looked at the entryway to the apartment, normally stifling in its off-white drabness. He could see the spattering of blood on the wall and the tiled floor.
That all came from me? he wondered in surprise.
“I’m coming with,” Alec said as the rest of the guys stood by the doorway.
The others said they would be there even as Jake said they didn’t need to, that it was fine. He looked at Carnie and would almost have sworn that there were tears in the guy’s round and usually jovial eyes.
“I’ll be okay, man,” Jake said. He made a thumbs-up gesture, trying to be funny.
It made everyone laugh. Everyone but Carnie.
TWENTY-TWO
June 2005
“YOU WERE THE REASON I left Providence,” a grinning, young-looking Mike Fennimore told me in the bottom of his Chicago condo.
We sat in a room adorned like a tiki bar with bamboo walls and Jamaican artwork, talking about old times and listening to some of Mike’s greatest hits. Right now, Morrissey’s Your Arsenal cranked out of the stereo speakers.
“I mean, what was I supposed to do? All my friends were gone.”
“It wasn’t my fault I graduated,” I said. “I tried my best to stay another couple years.”
Mike laughed and took a sip of the martini he had made himself. I had passed on one and drank a beer. Seemed like the civil thing to do. Haley, Mike’s attractive wife of three years, had left Mike, Bruce, and me downstairs for the moment. Bruce was drinking a martini, which meant typical trouble.
“I appreciated the invitation to the wedding,” I said to Mike.
“Me too,” Bruce chimed in.
“Come on. How many years had it been?”
“Did anybody come?”
“Franklin’s the only one I’ve stayed in touch with. And that’s more from business functions. I occasionally do some work with his company.”
Mike looked and acted different. He said he had just lost sixty pounds on a diet, but that’s why he still resembled the old Mike. It was his tone and attitude that were different. He was no longer the younger kid trying to bond with older students. He was his own person. Married, successful, living a comfortable life in downtown Chicago. No kids, but a little terrier that roamed the condo and occasionally jumped in your lap unannounced.
“So what do you do?” Bruce asked.
“Exciting stuff,” Mike said. “I work with stone.”
“What—building houses?”
“Yeah. A lot of commercial developments. Or expensive houses.”
“You lay the stone?”
Mike laughed at Bruce’s question. “I’m more like part owner of the company.”
Bruce nodded, looking ridiculous as he sipped his martini from the fancy glass. I could tell Mike didn’t particularly want to talk about work.
“Remember seeing this guy in concert?” he asked, referring to Morrissey.
“You rushed the stage.”
“I still have part of his shirt.”
“That sounds kinda disturbing.”
“You got his new album? Came out last year.”
“He’s still recording? I didn’t know.”
“That’s one of the great things about Chicago. We can go see basically every big group that comes around.”
“Still into all the old music?”
“I haven’t listened to this album in years,” Mike admitted. “I like a lot of stuff. You into Wilco?”
“Haven’t heard much of them.”
“You gotta get Yankee Foxtrot Hotel. Like immediately. They’re amazing. Let’s see. Poi Dog Pondering.”
“Poor dog what?” Bruce asked.
Mike ignored him and rattled off half a dozen other singers and groups that I needed to check out. I’d been out of it for a while, not keeping up on the latest groups and not reading Spin or Rolling Stone.
Morrissey’s song “We Hate it when Our Friends Become Successful” began playing, and Bruce raised his glass.
“Amen to that.”
Mike looked at me for a moment, and I could read his mind.
“You guys can spend the night, you know. I’ve got a guest bedroom down here, and this couch—”
“Is huge,” Bruce said the obvious.
“I don’t know. We don’t need to.” I shrugged.
“How long has it been?” Mike asked me. “Like—way too long. Why didn’t you ever call?”
“I always thought it’d be easier that way.”
“Yeah. Probably was.”
“You ever run into Alec?”
“Alec?” Mike laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“No calls or anything?”
“You know—for a while he lived in Chicago. I actually saw him a few times—this was like a couple years after college. I had just graduated. He knew some buddies of mine. Then he disappeared.”
“Where to?”
“Nobody knew. No big deal to me.”
“Any calls? Anything?”
Mike looked at me with defensive eyes. “You’re loaded with questions.”
“Yeah. There’s a reason why.”
Mike opened out his hand to take my beer. “That thing’s been empty for ten minutes. Let me get you another.”
I looked at his palm and noticed the five-inch scar that ran between his middle finger and the base of his wrist. For a moment I couldn’t help staring, then I looked back at him and nodded, giving him my beer.
Something clicked. And I remembered. Sometimes it’s just that easy.
In a different life, another person would have sat in the bar pounding beers and playing pool and listening to music and relishing the moment. It wasn’t like I was so against enjoying myself, because I was having a good time in spite of the fact that I’ve never been particularly good at pool. But playing in the back of the small bar a few blocks down from Mike’s place, listening to a steady dose of trip-hop and alternative music, wasn’t like it used to be. It wasn’t necessarily like I was opposed to drinking more beer—it was just that my stomach felt full. Those times of being able to drink sixteen or twenty beers in a night were long gone. And I didn’t miss them one bit.
Bruce and Mike finished playing a game, and Bruce took off to the men’s room while Mike came over to the table. I’d just bought him a fresh beer.
“You’re a fine man.”
“I know,” I said with a smile.
“Pool?”
“I’m done. No point embarrassing myself any further.”
“This is so weird. I didn’t think I’d ever see you guys again.”
“I didn’t think it’d be in this particular way. And after this long.”
An old song from Tricky played in the background and added to the murky red glow of the bar.
“What happened to you last year?” Mike asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I heard some stuff. I don’t know—Franklin said some things.”
“Like what?”
“Like you became a missionary or something. I don’t know. You climbed a mountain and found God.”
“I’ve climbed lots of mountains. But I’ve never become a missionary.”
“Didn’t you have an accident or something?”
I nodded, knowing I couldn’t escape talking about last summer’s expedition. Bruce might not have known about it and Kirby thankfully didn’t bring it up. I wasn’t sure if Alyssa knew either, but I doubted it.
“My climbing partner died on Everest last June.”
“That’s intense,” Mike said. “You made it out, tho
ugh.”
I nodded. “It was pretty dramatic. Sorta crazy too. You’d think that after everything happened—you know, with Carnie—that that would’ve gotten my attention. But no. This was the proverbial last straw.”
“You quit climbing?”
I quit running, I thought. I quit trying to do it on my own.
“No. I just tried—I needed—to get my life in order. I changed some things.”
I wanted to tell him more, but I wasn’t sure how.
I’m so bad at this.
Bruce came back, his hands holding four beers. Mike looked at me and grinned. “Not everything changes.”
“Huh?” Bruce asked. “They were having a clearance sale. Come on. Drink up!”
The beer was at least cold and fresh. I took my time with it. Bruce lit up and seemed in his own world. I thought it was as good of a time as ever to ask the question I’d been wondering about for the last couple hours.
“Mike.”
“Huh?” he asked, surprised by my tone.
“Where’d you get that scar?”
“What scar?”
“The one on your hand.”
Mike looked at his right palm as if he hadn’t seen it before. “I don’t know,” he said convincingly. “I’ve had it for a long time.”
“You don’t know?”
“What? Do you?”
“What do you remember about that spring break?”
He seemed to turn white and looked serious, and for a moment he stared at me, then over at an uninterested Bruce, then back at me. “I remember a lot of drinking.”
“Yeah, me too. But how much do you remember? How much do you know?”
“Know? What should I know? What are you talking about?”
“Mike—”
“You saying I got this back then?”
“I know for a fact you got it then. I remember helping you bandage that sucker up—I remember it still bleeding.”
“That was a long time—”
“Not that long. Just be honest.”
“What about Bruce there? What do you remember?”
“About what?” Bruce asked.
Mike turned back to me. “And what do you remember?”
“Not much,” I admitted.
“Really? That’s convenient.”
“It’s the truth.”
“And I’m lying?” Mike asked. “Is this why you showed up out of the blue?”
“I told you. I’m looking for Alec.”
Mike shook his head. “And I told you. I haven’t seen the guy in years. And spring break happened eleven years ago. Sorry I’m sorta foggy about that. Have you seen Franklin?”
“No,” I said. “Franklin doesn’t particularly want to see us.”
“I wonder why.”
“We were all there.”
“But why now? What’s the big deal?” Mike asked.
“Somebody doesn’t want the truth coming out. It’s like they’re suddenly ticked that I’m trying to get in touch with Alec.”
“Who would care? That was a lifetime ago. We were all—different. Younger. Stupid, you know?”
I nodded. “This all comes down to Alec. Look—I just need to find him.”
“That’s all you want? Find Alec, tell this guy, whoever he might be, then what—just forget about everything else?”
“Mike—I thought I understood. …”
“Understood what?” He looked irritated.
“After everything that happened with Carnie—I always assumed. I assumed—I don’t know. I assumed a lot.”
Mike finished off his beer and wiped his lips. “I swear to you, Jake, I don’t remember getting this scar. You don’t have to believe me, but you know me. It’s been a long time, but you know me.”
I nodded. I still knew Mike. I couldn’t call him a liar. He remembered as much as I did. As much as Bruce did. As much as Shane did.
The past can do strange things over time. Sometimes you bury memories, and they’re gone.
I stared at a half-full bottle of beer and decided I was finished for the night.
The days of being out of control and feeling fun and alive because of it—it was all a façade. I knew those days were past.
Sometimes you bury memories, and they’re gone.
And sometimes you bury a friend and know that the memories he had are gone too.
TWENTY-THREE
March 1994
IN HIS DREAM, THE SUN ROSE and crept into his small hospital room. And so did Alyssa Roberts, with a caring and concerned look that greeted him as he opened his eyes. She was sitting in the chair by his side for some unknown reason. And when he finally focused on the young woman in the red turtle-neck sweater, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup on a still perfect face, Jake knew he wasn’t dreaming at all.
“Hey,” was all he could muster.
She started to speak, but her face wrinkled and her eyes closed and she began to cry.
“Hey—whoa, Alyssa. It’s okay. I’m okay—look, I’m fine.”
She wiped her eyes and nodded her head and looked at the wall across from them to regain her composure.
“Do I look that bad?”
There were lines under those dark eyes of hers, which made this a first. It had been a night of firsts, in fact. His first official beating. His first filing an official report or complaint. His first time being taken to the hospital. And now, the first time he ever saw a tired and upset Alyssa in tears.
“How long have you been here?” Jake asked.
“Since six,” she said.
And why are you here? he wondered.
“What time is it?”
“A little after eight.”
“Hey—are the guys—”
“Carnie, Franklin, and Bruce are still out there. The rest of them went home.”
Jake went to move his head and felt the jostling of a thousand bricks jarring him. “Ouch.”
“You had a pretty nasty concussion,” Alyssa said.
“Feels like I still have one.”
She just looked at him, sad and almost grieving.
“How’d you hear—?”
“Franklin called me around midnight.”
“Sorry,” Jake said.
“I am too.”
His throat felt dry, but that was probably more from the drinking last night. Jake tried to wrap his mind around what happened.
“The cops picked up Brian Erwin and Chad Hoving this morning for questioning,” Alyssa said.
“Chad who?”
“One of Brian’s friends. One of the guys who did this to you.”
“So they just got questioned? What about arrested?”
“That was all Franklin said. He was the one dealing with the cops. You want me to get him?”
“No, no. That’s fine.” Jake chuckled. “Franklin the politician.”
“Why would they do this to you?”
“I guess Brian’s not a big fan of mine.”
“Did you do something?”
“Not recently. There was the other night—putting a cigarette out on his forehead. I knew he wasn’t happy about it—I guess I underestimated how truly angry he was.”
“They’re talking about charging them with home invasion.”
“Did they invade my apartment?”
Alyssa shook her head and managed a smile for the first time since Jake opened his eyes. “It’s a felony.”
“Good.”
She gave him that grave look again.
“What?” he asked.
“Wait till you see yourself in a mirror.”
“It feels like this is pretty bruised,” Jake said of his right eye.
“They’re both black. That one is black and purple and swollen.”
“Nice,” Jake said. “I bet this makes me even more attractive.”
“You could have died,” Alyssa said.
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m not trying to be. I’m being honest.”
&n
bsp; “If I didn’t have this hand in a splint, I would’ve done some major butt-kicking.”
“Jake—”
“Okay, maybe not.”
Alyssa sat in a chair facing the bed. He never in a million years would have pictured this scene.
“See what a guy has to do to get your attention?”
She didn’t smile.
“You don’t have to stay here, Alyssa. You look tired.”
“I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. At least, not all your fault.”
“Hey—this time, I had nothing to do with this.”
She didn’t reply. Jake could actually see anger on her face.
“What?”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“I don’t get what?” he asked.
“It’s not your fault when you get kicked out of school. It’s not your fault when you break your hand.”
“That was my fault. I take credit for that.”
“Don’t you see a pattern?”
“Look, Alyssa, if I wanted my parents here, I’d call them.”
She shot him an angry and hurt look.
“I’m sorry,” he quickly said. “That was mean.”
“It’s easy to disappoint and then ask forgiveness after.”
“Who’s asking for forgiveness? Look at me. I didn’t do this to myself. I wasn’t the one throwing the punches.”
“Aren’t you tired of all this? I can’t believe that you enjoy it.”
“I don’t like getting beaten up.”
“Fine,” Alyssa said, picking up her purse.
“Did you wait all this time just so you could start preaching at me?”
“I’m not preaching at you. I’ve tried hard not to preach to you.”
“Go ahead. Preach away. I want to hear how you can spin this to somehow make it sound like this is all part of God’s grand plan.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then how do you sum it up?”
“You reap what you sow,” Alyssa said.
Jake cursed. “That is so cliché. You can do better than that.”
“It’s true.”
“How did I sow getting my face beat in?”
She shook her head, her dark eyes looking at the floor, then back at him.
“It’s a lifestyle. This is the road you’re traveling down. This is what happens.”
“It’s part of college. What am I supposed to be doing on a Saturday night? Studying? I like to have fun. Fun. You remember what fun is? And just because I like having fun doesn’t mean I deserved this.”
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