by Avery Kirk
He’d put on his clubbing gear, that was for sure. French cuffs with silver cufflinks on his crisp, white, textured shirt; his designer jeans that we’d picked out together and square-toed shoes. His hair was a mess at this point. I felt sad for him. I leaned on the bar right next to him, setting my hand on his back so I wouldn’t scare him.
“Hey, you!” I said with a little too much enthusiasm.
“Hey,” he replied, sounding tired. His voice was coarse, as though he hadn’t said anything for quite some time. His eyes were pretty squinty.
Mike walked over with my beer and set it down.
“On the house, honey.”
“Thanks, Mike. You’re a sweetheart.”
“You are, Mike. You are a sweetheart,” Kevin said, almost on top of my words while looking up at Mike. The words sounded odd, and while he had a glint of humor in his eye, his face remained serious.
Mike raised his eyebrows and smiled with his lips closed. “Thanks, man. You let me know if you need anything, Kev.” I observed a noticeable concern in his eyes.
Kevin was really lighthearted, typically. I hated this other mood. Sure, he’d been drunk before, but normally he was the fun guy. The guy who would tell everyone not to worry about the drive home. Keep the momentum going. We’ll get a cab. All is good. Focus on the fun.
I took a gulp of my beer. I enjoyed the bitter depth of it; its cool fizz was perfect. I held it in my hand for a moment, looking around. I could feel Kevin staring at me but I ignored it. I doodled on the frosty glass and was quiet. I wanted to stare at him, to be sure everything was all right and ask him a hundred questions about what had happened. What happened with his girlfriend, what happened with Eddie, what did the girl look like that Eddie had left with, was she drunk, was he—and where did they go. But, I didn’t want to seem overbearing so I let it be.
I took another drink of the beer and snatched a cold chicken wing after I was sure I could nab a nearby napkin for the stuff that would be stuck to my fingers. I wiped my fingers aggressively and felt Kevin’s stare growing in intensity.
As I turned to look at him, he hooked his elbow around my neck and pulled me toward him.
“How are you, Mel? How’s my girl doin’?” I smiled at him and looked into his bloodshot eyes. I noticed wing sauce on the side of his mouth. I was still holding the napkin and used it to wipe his mouth. He was nearly on top of me so this was a challenge. He smiled widely, no care in the least that he may have had that sauce on there for like an hour.
“I’m good. I’m good, how are you?”
He touched our foreheads together and closed his eyes. “I’m actually really good. A bit tired, really. I’m so glad you weren’t busy. I didn’t realize how late it was. Is, I mean.” He was sounding sloppy all of a sudden. His eyes were still closed.
“What do you feel like doing?” I asked casually, slowly unlatching myself from him. I kept my left hand on his right knee, patted it reassuringly, and reached for my beer with my right. He was still leaning toward me with his eyes closed. He shrugged in response.
“Do you wanna head out now?” I suggested, figuring that he wasn’t paying too close attention to my beer.
“Yes, Amelia, I’m ready when you’re ready.” His gaze was locked on me intensely. I shied away from it, not sure what this was all about.
“Wow, all formal, eh? Do we…” I looked for Mike. “…need to grab the bill?”
“Ummm…yeah, I think so. Mike!” He found Mike, who looked over. Kevin made a giant signature motion in the air. Mike gave him a quick nod and headed to the register.
Kevin then reached over and grabbed my now half-full glass of beer. He over-carefully balanced the glass on the way to his mouth. It still sloshed around. He took a giant mouthful and set the glass back on the counter with a slam. Then he began to reach back for his wallet. He always put his wallet in his front pocket when he went to the bar. He said it was because your butt is exposed to more people than your face, which he found hilarious. But he seemed to forget this as he searched.
“Kev, check the front. Here,” I offered.
He was standing now so I pushed the wallet from the bottom of its lump in his right pocket, and it appeared at the top. I grabbed it for him.
“Can you find it? I’m so tired. I must have car-monoxide poison or somth’n’. They should get a test here. It’s tiring.”
“It’s OK, bud. I got it.”
I rifled through Kevin’s wallet for a credit card and handed it to Mike. Kevin sat with his head resting against the wall behind him. Some girls on the way to the bathroom stopped apparently to admire him. He heard their nearby giggling, I guessed, because he slowly lifted his head up and fixed his eyes on them, his expression unchanged. They belted out ‘hi’ all at once and their unexpected unison greeting sent them falling all over each other laughing.
The corner of Kevin’s mouth lifted in an attempt at a smile but he set his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. They laughed themselves into the bathroom, all arm-in-arm bumping into each other. One of them looked me up and down with a glare. I rolled my eyes.
Mike tapped my shoulder and leaned in to me. “I took care of him. Took almost half off,” he said in a forced whisper. It was still quite loud.
“Thanks, Mike. I appreciate it. I’ll see you soon, OK?”
“You better,” he said, pointing at me. “I need some woodworking advice.” Mike moved over to Kevin and set a hand on his crossed arms, squeezing. “You’ve got a good girl there, Kev. Take care of yourself.”
“Mmm, best girl. K, Mike. Best,” he said, without opening his eyes.
I looked at the bill. If this was half off, he was going to have a rough time in the morning. I tipped Mike 50 percent of the new total and signed Kevin’s name without trying to match his real signature. I turned to my passenger.
“Hey, you wanna slam that water before we hit the road?” Kevin usually alternated drinks and water to lessen the bad parts of the day after. It didn’t take me long to guess that he’d probably skipped that habit tonight. He opened his eyes and looked at me but didn’t answer.
“Do you…have to go to the bathroom?” I asked, ignoring his lack of response.
“Just wanna go, K?” he said, standing up with his hand on my shoulder. He got up with a fair amount of effort and stood next to me, squeezing my shoulder and then heading for the door. I grabbed his card and wallet and shoved them into my bag, rushing to keep up. He was already near the door by the time I looked over. I waved to Mike again, but he was busy with last-call orders and bills. I got to the door and pushed it open. The cool night air was a gift. I breathed in deeply.
Kevin was standing with his hands in his pockets, waiting for me. I hooked my right arm in his left arm and led him to the truck. I breeched my non-overbearing etiquette and opened his door for him. He didn’t seem to mind. He tumbled in the truck, and I put his seatbelt on for him.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said in a rough whisper. I closed his door and went to the driver’s side to get in, worrying that this man would barf in my truck.
It was a quiet ride to his house. I had a Gatorade waiting for him that I’d grabbed from home when he’d called. He looked like a heap of a man, legs sprawled and his arms crossed over his chest. Even though he was asleep, he had a furled brow.
I managed to get him into the house, although I wasn’t sure he was totally awake. He dropped to the floor and sat on the step by the front door once we got inside.
“Hey, bud, what do you feel like doing? Can you walk to your bed?” I asked. He responded by shaking his head, still in his hands. I squatted down in front of him and put my hands on his hair for a moment and then on his knees. He picked his head up and looked at me. I smiled reassuringly at him. But he looked sad.
“I know, you’re probably so pissed at Eddie. I’ll beat his ass when I see him,” I said.
He puffed an unamused laugh. “It’s not Eddie. It’s Lanie.” H
e dropped his head. His voice sounded distant. “It didn’t work out.”
I woke up at around 10:30 the next morning. I’d slept in the spare bedroom at Kevin’s house—it had the best view of the front yard. It was still hazy outside but looked like it was going to be a sunny day. The gently muted sun beamed through my window and cast a distorted square on the blue-and-white rumpled bedding. I got up and made the bed, cringing as I caused the floor to squeak.
The wall was decorated with some random and very vanilla pictures—clearly Lanie’s doing. They matched the comforter perfectly, a fact that I found highly annoying. I knocked on the glass of one of the framed pictures with my knuckle in protest of her recent breakup with Kevin and breaking his heart, and I accidentally cracked the glass. Crap.
I went into the living room and sat on the sofa backward, leaning over the back so I could peer out the front window. Kevin’s neighborhood was a kind of mix between those who had lived here since the neighborhood was built and those who just recently moved there. The street was tree lined with an old-time feel to it.
The majority of the neighbors were over sixty. Kevin liked that because they were good at watching the house and telling him all the neighborhood gossip. He would help fix this or that for them, and they’d give him food and were happy for the conversation. They all thought he was a letter-sweater kind of guy.
Going to the bathroom to wash up, I noticed signs that the bathroom had been used in the middle of the night: The hand towel was wet in the sink and the rugs were out of place. I rinsed my face and freshened up more quickly than I’d planned and opened the creaky door to Kevin’s room. He looked and smelled lousy. I knelt on the floor and leaned on the bed, placing my chin on my fist. I was quiet for a moment, deciding what to do. He was sleeping on his back, left forearm flung over his eyes, right arm across his belly.
He stirred, so I took it as an opportunity.
“Kev?” I said, gently. He responded with a hum.
“Kevin?” I tried again, shaking his index finger playfully. He looked right at me and rolled onto his side, rubbing his eyes hard. He sat up and looked at me. His eyes moved to my makeshift pajamas—his sweatpants rolled at the bottom and a T-shirt from his favorite BBQ place.
“Thief,” he accused flatly in a thick, gravelly voice.
“Hey, grabbed the first thing I could find,” I defended myself, laughing lightly. “How are you?” I asked.
“Rough,” he admitted.
Yes, that I could tell. I thought of offering to make eggs or something but figured I’d better not. Sometimes the smell of eggs when I’m hung over throws me right over the edge. Plus, he was real picky about his eggs and I didn’t think I could perfectly scramble eggs this morning. He hated any browned pieces.
Inspiration struck me: “How about this: I’ll go out and I’ll rent all the Superman movies—even the crappy ones. I’ll set up the family room with blankets and stuff so it will feel just like bed and if you’re feeling up to it later, we’ll order Chinese food—PJs the whole time. I’ll get 7 Up with extra lemons and as much tea and toast as you want. We’ll just hang out, no worries in the world. All day long. What do you think?” Please say yes, I thought. I loved the idea of a veg day.
He paused, and I thought he wasn’t going to go for it. “Don’t you have to hang that door today? The big wood one?” he asked.
I was supposed to do that. But Murray wouldn’t mind at all if I did it on Monday early as long as it got done before the afternoon walk-through.
“I got it covered…” I said with a Jersey accent. “So, what do you think?” He eyeballed me suspiciously.
“I think—‘Tea. Earl Gray. Hot,’” he said with a devious smile.
“Yes!” I agreed in quiet excitement. “OK, you stay here. I’ll run out and get the movies and set it all up.” I was smiling ear to ear. Kevin plopped his head back on the pillow and left his hand in the air to wave goodbye.
I drove home to get some TV tables before picking up the movies. Also, I wanted to talk with my grampa and explain why I never came home. My good mood quickly faded. I’d left a note on the fridge to tell him I went out, but it was the first time in the years that I’d lived with him that I didn’t come home. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach about seeing him, knowing that I’d messed up.
Part of me was practice-arguing that I was an adult and what I did was my business. The problem was that I respected and loved my grampa and I felt lousy about every argument I was coming up with.
I pulled into the driveway and my grampa was sitting on the front steps. Obviously, he was bothered. Any normal Saturday, he’d be inside watching college football. I stopped short in the driveway and got out when I saw him.
“Grampa, I’m sorry. I slept in the spare bedroom at Kevin’s. He had a bad night. I really didn’t do anything wrong except not telling you where I was. I’m super sorry. He broke up with Lanie and his cousin Eddie left him at the bar. Eddie’s such a jerk. Kevin called, and I didn’t want to wake you, but I didn’t realize I would stay over—in the spare bedroom I mean.” I was scattered and rambling. I really felt sorry.
My grampa was quiet for what felt like a long time. I waited.
“Hon, you’re a good girl. I know you are. I have my ways of checking on you. It’s why I’m not always bugging you. You’ve always been very strong willed—even as a kid. Now then, if you need me, I need you to tell me. Do you promise you’ll do that for me? I need you to promise because I’m not real good at working that stuff out.” He spoke as he looked at the ground between his feet. He only looked up at the end.
“Yeah, Gramps, I’ll tell you if I need you. You know I’m sorry, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, I do. I’m not mad, I’m just concerned. You understand?” he replied, looking at me.
I was about to respond to let him know that I understood when Dave’s mean mother, Mrs. Edwards, came running over to us. I’d never seen her run—ever. So I knew something was wrong.
“Have you seen Dave?” she shrieked as soon as she thought we could hear her. “I think he’s taken the boat out by himself.” She was crying hysterically.
We shot looks around—no sign of Dave. We ran to the back of the house near the canal.
“We had the boat off the hoist because we were getting ready to run it up to dry dock for the winter,” she explained. We all ran to the backyard to see that the boat lines were hanging in the water.
“How long ago did you notice the boat missing?” Grampa said.
“Just a few minutes ago. He’s on it, isn’t he?”
My grampa looked at me. “Stay here with Mrs. Edwards,” he instructed as he jumped onto his boat. I could hear him get on the marine CB and contact the Coast Guard, asking them to look for a special needs man who took out a 1968 Lyman named Dehydrated.
“This is the Lazy Day. I’m calling for a missing person. I repeat a missing person.”
“This is the Coast Guard. Go ahead Lazy Day.”
“We have a special needs man sailing a vessel named Dehydrated. He’s in a 1968 Lyman”
“Say again”
“A 1968 Lyman captained by a special needs man has gone missing. He is not an experienced sailor, and we’re concerned for his safety.”
“What is the last known location, sir?”
“Near the 9 Mile Pier.”
My grampa ran out to the stern of the boat and shouted to me, “Grab that line for me. I have my cell phone. I’m going to look for him. Call me if he shows up.” I agreed, but I wasn’t very happy about it. I thought about arguing, saying that if grampa found him he’d need help, but my grampa had been a diver for the Navy. He wouldn’t need help.
I waited on our dock at the edge of the canal, anxiously darting my eyes around in the direction of the canal where it opened to the lake, waiting to see Dave’s messy grin any minute. Mrs. Edwards sat at the picnic table shredding probably her eleventh tissue. She was in pieces about her son. Meanwhile, her husband was nowhere to
be seen.
“He was so angry with us,” she told me as Grampa pulled out. “About his future and what we said might happen after we’re gone. He said we should know that he can take care of himself. That he’s not stupid.”
I didn’t say anything. She went on for a little while about how Down syndrome children are so difficult, trying to justify her unkind words to him. I listened to her go on and on for a while. Meantime, I made a sweeping pattern with my eyes to try to spot anything moving in the canal and lake opening that could be Dave or the boat.
About half an hour passed with Mrs. Edwards going on and on. She’d been on the phone with every neighbor with a boat asking them to look for Dave. Just then, my grampa called.
“Has he come back by any chance?”
“No, we haven’t seen him.”
“Ok, call me if anything changes.”
“I will.”
I listened to Mrs. Edwards for a few more minutes, and then I took off running to the street just next to us. Mrs. Edwards called after me, but I didn’t respond. After I ran through the houses to the next street, I stopped hard and darted my eyes toward the west. I thought I heard something. I listened intently.
I jogged over the lawns to the houses down the road that had their yards directly on the lake. I thought I saw a boat bumping into one of the longer docks. My stomach heaved and I broke into a sprint. When I reached the boat, it was too far away for me to board. I jumped up and down on the dock calling Dave’s name. No answer—no sign of him at all.
I ran farther down the dock and noticed something floating in the water on the next dock over. No. It couldn’t be him. I rushed back down to the lawn and then ran as fast as I could to the next dock where I thought I saw something in the water.
It was Dave. I saw him. I wanted to call his name so he would look over, but I only managed to say it with a demanding sound. I said it with anger, expecting him to notice me running towards him and ask why I was pissed. He didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t move. I looked around for the Coast Guard. Dave was under the side of the longest dock. He didn’t seem to be bleeding, but he wasn’t awake.
