by Cronk, LN
“I don’t owe her anything,” he said, his feet pounding away.
“I didn’t say that you owe her anything. Charlotte doesn’t need you to forgive her . . . she’s going to be fine whether you forgive her or not. You need to forgive for you, not for her . . .”
“I’m fine,” he said, dismissing me with his hand. “I’ve forgiven her. I’m fine.”
He managed to run even faster . . . he was driving me nuts. I reached over to the treadmill and pulled out the safety key, causing it to grind to a stop.
“You haven’t forgiven her!” I cried. “If you’d forgiven her you’d be able to talk about her . . . you could stand to be in the same room with her . . . you could go and tell her that you’ve forgiven her.”
He glared at me.
David . . . have I ever asked you to do anything for me? I’m asking you now. I want you to please go see Kyle over your Christmas break. Will you do that? Will you do that for me . . . please?
“Jordan,” I said, “have I ever asked you to do anything before?”
“Um, yeah,” he nodded, wiping his face with a towel. “You asked me to go minister to a bunch of kids who live in a landfill in Mexico.”
“Okay, fine, Jordan. Just fine! Go off to college this fall mad at Charlotte – see if I care.” I was yelling at him now. “You’re all the time telling me how you want to pay me back for everything, but then when I come over here and ask you for one thing you can’t do it for me. Thanks a lot.”
I got off the weight bench and headed for the door, but before I stepped down into the yard I turned around and faced him one more time.
“You know, Jordan, you always talk about how you want to do what God wants you to do. Until right now I always thought you actually meant that.”
I stepped down into the yard and was almost to the corner of the house when I heard him.
“I’ll tell her.”
I turned around and looked at him. He had followed me to the doorway of the shop and was standing there, looking at me.
“You will?”
He nodded.
Promise me. I need to hear you say it.
I promise.
Promise what?
I promise I’ll go see Kyle . . .
Over Christmas break? Say it . . . over Christmas break.
Over Christmas break.
“You promise?” I asked him.
He nodded again.
“Say it.”
“I promise.”
I decided that was good enough.
~ ~ ~
THE NEXT DAY I was in my office working when Laci called from the living room.
“David!”
“What?”
“Come here!”
I went into the living room.
Laci was standing there with the remote in her hand, pointed at the noon news which was frozen on the screen.
“What?” I asked again.
“Watch this,” she said, hitting play.
“Authorities say that a body was discovered in the trunk of a submerged car found yesterday at Cross Lake . . .” the anchor woman said as footage of a car being towed from the water played on the screen. “License plates and registration tags indicate the vehicle may have been underwater for six years, but further details are not being released at this time.”
“So?” I said.
“Don’t you recognize that car?” she asked me, rewinding and hitting play again.
I looked at the car. It did look familiar . . . familiar enough that I knew what she was thinking, but . . .
“David!” she said. “That’s Tanner’s dad’s car!”
“Naw,” I said, shaking my head at her while at the same time thinking that it did look an awful lot like the car I’d learned to drive straight-drive in . . .
“Yes it is, David. Yes it is! I went to the prom with Tanner in that car! He drove you and me home from the state championship game in that car! It’s Tanner’s dad’s car . . . you know it is!”
I kept shaking my head at her, but the whole time all I could think of was that she was absolutely right.
~ ~ ~
BY THE NEXT day, dental records had confirmed that the body in the trunk was that of Tanner and Jordan’s father. The official cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the head and the body was released to the family one week after it had been discovered. It was strange to have a funeral service for a man who had been dead for six years . . . a man whom everyone previously had assumed had disappeared of his own volition.
Following the service we went to a local cemetery and after the burial I talked with Jordan and Tanner’s middle brother, Chase, for a few minutes. It had been a long time since I’d seen him because he lived just outside of Chicago now and I told him that it was good to see him again and I told him how sorry I was.
After that I scanned the graveyard and saw Mike, standing alone at his own father’s grave. Danica hadn’t come with him. I walked over to him and stood a few yards away until he spotted me.
“Hi . . .” he said.
“You doing all right?”
“Yeah,” he nodded and looked back down at the grave as I took a few steps closer.
“Do you come here a lot?” I asked.
“No,” Mike said, shaking his head. He looked back up at me and gave me a slight smile. “He’s not here . . .”
He’s not here . . .
I gave him a smile back.
~ ~ ~
THREE DAYS LATER I was in the backyard with Dorito when Jordan appeared from around the side of the house.
“Hi,” he said, climbing the deck steps.
“Hi Jordan!” Dorito yelled from his swing.
“Hi, Dorito.”
“How are you doing?” I asked him as he sat down. I hadn’t seen him since the funeral.
“I don’t know,” he answered, shaking his head. He stared out into the backyard and watched Dorito swing.
After a moment Laci stepped out onto the deck and walked over to him. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him and held him for a minute and then she kissed the top of his head.
She rubbed his shoulder and then called to Dorito.
“What?”
“Come on in and get a popsicle.”
“Are there any red ones?”
“Yep.”
“Yeaaa!”
He jumped off the swing and raced onto the deck, stopping for a moment in front of Jordan.
“I get to have a red popsicle!”
“I know,” Jordan said, trying to smile. “I heard.”
“Yummy!”
Laci held the door open for him and then closed it behind her, leaving me and Jordan alone.
Jordan sat staring out at the swing that was still swaying slightly back and forth. I was pretty sure I knew exactly what was going through his mind. Even though his dad had been gone for six years, a part of him had probably always hoped that one day . . .
“I lied to the police,” Jordan said.
On the other hand, maybe I had absolutely no idea what was going through his mind.
“Huh?”
He nodded. “I lied to the police.”
“About what?”
“They asked me if I had any idea what happened.”
“And what’d you tell them?”
“I told them no.”
“How’s that a lie?”
“Because,” he said. “I think I know who killed my dad.”
“You do?”
He nodded again.
“Who?”
I saw tears well up in his eyes and then he put his head down on his hands and started sobbing.
“Jordan,” I said, sliding my chair over toward his so I could put my hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on? Who do you think killed your dad?”
Although he was crying pretty hard he finally choked out a response.
“Tanner,” he said. “I think Tanner did it.”
I almost pulled my hand off of his shoulder
in disbelief, but managed to shake his shoulder instead and then I patted him on the back and tried to calm him down.
“Jordan . . . what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Tanner. I think Tanner killed my dad and stuffed his body in the trunk and then drove it into Cross Lake . . . that’s what I’m talking about.”
“Why in the world would you think that?”
“Because,” Jordan said, trying to compose himself a bit. “Everything fits . . . everything.”
“Like what?”
“The week my dad disappeared I was at a baseball training camp in Oklahoma,” Jordan began. He was calming down now . . . as if he were really glad to be finally talking about it with someone.
“When I came home Mom told me that Dad had left. ’Course I was upset, but I really wasn’t all that surprised. I mean, they’d been fighting all the time and I’d already heard Mom talking about leaving him . . . I just kinda figured he’d gotten outta there first.”
“Okay . . .”
“But there were some things that didn’t really make sense. Like if he was going to move out, why wouldn’t he take his sunglasses . . . his toothbrush . . . his favorite jacket? I mean that didn’t seem right, but I was only ten years old, so I really didn’t put a whole lot of thought into it . . .”
“I don’t really see how–”
“But then one day I go down in the basement to look for a donut for my bat. At camp they’d had us use ’em and I thought I’d remembered seeing one down there so I thought I’d go look around for it, ya know?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So I go down there and everything’s . . . different.”
“Different how?”
“Like . . . all cleaned up.”
“So your mom cleaned . . .”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not cleaned up like that. Just . . .”
“Just what?”
“Everything was all rearranged and shuffled around. If she’d been cleaning it would have been neat and organized, but it wasn’t.”
“Yeah, but–”
“And everything had been bleached . . . the cement floor, the walls . . . I mean it smelled like bleach down there for weeks after I got home.”
I just looked at him.
“I didn’t think a whole lot about that either at the time, but that’s where it happened,” he nodded with certainty. “Somebody killed him there and then they cleaned it all up.”
“Well, what makes you think it was Tanner?”
“My mom and I went over to his place to tell him about it after the police told us. He didn’t even act surprised. I mean, he was upset . . . but he wasn’t surprised.”
“Well,” I said. “Maybe he saw the footage on TV . . .”
“Ya ever notice how Tanner never wants to go to Cross Lake?”
Maybe . . .
“What reason could he possibly have for going to Makasoi all the time?” Jordan continued.
“I don’t know, but–”
“Maybe because it gives him the creeps to fish in the same lake where he dumped our dad’s body?”
“Oh, come on, Jordan . . .”
“Well who else could have done it?” he cried.
“Anybody! Anybody could have done it!”
“Well, who else would have cleaned up with bleach in the basement?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” I stammered. “Your mom?”
Oh, that’s real good, David. Make him think his mom did it. That’s bound to make him feel loads better.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “My mom and Chase went to my grandmother’s in Missouri that week to help her paint her house . . . that’s why Chase didn’t go to baseball camp with me. My dad was the only one home . . . and Tanner was less than an hour away at school. It had to be Tanner.”
“There’s no way Tanner killed your father. There’s got to be a logical explanation.”
“Like what?”
“I . . . I don’t know, Jordan. Why don’t you just ask him about it?”
“You mean like ‘Hey, Tanner? I’ve been wondering . . . did you kill Dad?’ Yeah, David . . . that sounds like a great plan!”
“Just go talk to him . . . I’m sure you’ll see how ridiculous you’re being . . .”
But Jordan just shook his head at me and stared back out at the swing set again.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” I finally asked quietly.
Jordan looked at me and nodded.
~ ~ ~
AS I DROVE over to Tanner’s that afternoon I tried to sort it all out. I thought about everything Jordan had said and I tried to get the image out of my mind of Tanner stuffing his dad’s body into the trunk of the car and then driving it into the lake.
There was no way he could’ve done it . . . no way.
I could hardly wait to get there so he could explain to me how there was no way.
~ ~ ~
“HI,” TANNER SAID, opening his front door.
“Hey. Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“No . . . not really.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
I stepped into his living room.
“You want something to drink?”
“Uh, no. I’m good.”
“You wanna sit down?
“Yeah.”
“So what’s up?” he asked, sitting down opposite me.
“Ummm . . . Jordan came by this morning.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah . . . he was pretty upset.”
“It hasn’t been easy . . .” Tanner said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, well . . . listen,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “He was like twelve when your dad disappeared . . . you know . . . he was just a kid.”
“Yeah . . . so?”
“Well, you know . . . a kid that age can have a really big imagination . . .”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, he just . . . I don’t know . . . he saw some things when he was little and he’s just got a lot of questions and he was so upset that I told him I’d come over and talk to you.”
“Questions? What kind of questions?”
“Well, he’s convinced that somebody killed your dad in the basement and then cleaned it all up and everything and . . . I don’t know . . . he’s just got himself all upset . . .”
Tanner’s eyes narrowed.
“My dad’s dead. Talking about this isn’t going to bring him back.”
“I know, but . . .”
“I need you to just drop this.”
“But he . . . he was murdered.”
“I said you need to drop this.”
“But–”
“Listen, David . . . I’m asking you as a friend . . . you’re my friend right?”
“Of course I am,” I said.
“Because what I need right now is for you to be my friend.”
“You know I’m your friend . . .”
“Then I need you to forget about this.”
“But–”
“Please? Just stop it. Okay? Please?”
Be supportive . . . be a good friend.
I looked at him for a long moment and then gave him a little nod.
“Okay . . .” I managed.
“Good.”
He stood up. Apparently our conversation was over. I stood up too and he walked me to the door. I opened it, stepped down onto the porch, and turned to face him again.
I just couldn’t leave well enough alone.
“Tanner,” I said again, looking up at him. “I don’t understand what the big deal is. Just tell me what’s going on . . . or at least tell Jordan . . . I mean he thinks that you killed his father!”
Tanner looked at me for a moment.
“Is that what you think?” he finally asked.
And do you know what I did?
I hesitated.
Not for long. Just long enough to wonder again why Tanner always refused to go fishing at
Cross Lake. Just long enough for that image of Tanner killing his father and stuffing the body into the trunk of that car to flash through my mind one more time. Just long enough for Tanner to know that I’d actually considered that he might have done it.
“You know what, David?” he asked, glaring at me with a look on his face I’d never seen before. “You can go to Hell.”
And then he slammed the door in my face.
~ ~ ~
I THINK THE best word to use to describe me after that was probably despondent.
I refused to tell Laci what was going on. All she knew was that I’d had a fight with Tanner, but she had no idea what about.
I’d never before felt so burdened about anything in my entire life and I wasn’t about to have her feeling the same way. I wished that Jordan had never told me.
What was I supposed to do? At what point did I stop being supportive and stop being a good friend? Shouldn’t I call the police and tell them what I knew? Wasn’t it a felony to withhold information? How long was I supposed to just keep my mouth shut and pretend like everything was fine?
“Why don’t you go see Mike?” Laci asked quietly the next day. She’d been a lot more understanding than I thought she would be when I explained to her that I didn’t want to tell her anything, but that didn’t stop her from worrying about me or trying to help.
“Because I’m not running to Mike every time I have a problem,” I snapped.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I just thought maybe you could use a friend.”
Not only was I not going to burden her with this . . . I wasn’t going to burden Mike with it either.
But Laci was right about one thing . . .
I could use a friend.
~ ~ ~
FOR THE SECOND time in a week I found myself at a cemetery. I stopped first at Gabby’s grave which had fresh flowers on it. I didn’t know who had put them there. My mom . . . Laci’s mom . . . Laci . . . Mrs. White? They all came here a lot, so it could’ve been any one of them. I on the other hand hardly ever came here because when I did, it just made me feel like crying.
