Dying to Remember

by Judy Fitzwater

  He grinned at her with his young, good-looking, tousle-headed boy smile, which made her remember why Seth had been such a big man on campus. He was the only other one of Danny’s group to ever take any interest in her.

  His charm had a character all its own. He made everyone feel worthy of his attention, as if he saw the real person, the one other teenagers ignored.

  But that attention had its limits. As soon as Seith turned his head, as soon as a person was out of his field of vision, his focus shifted to someone else, and it was as though he’d never known whomever he’d been so intent on just minutes before. That’s why Jennifer didn’t trust him, even if he was an assistant district attorney, and why she found it so strange that he’d sought her out tonight, that he actually seemed to remember who she was.

  “My books will sell,” she said, sounding more confident than she felt at the moment.

  “You married?” he asked, looking down at her. He was tall, blond, and still slender, and wore his tailored suit like he was comfortable in it. He must be many a woman’s dream, she thought. He’d certainly been a lot of girls’.

  “Nope. You?”

  “Just finished with number three.”

  Must be that field-of-vision problem.

  “Danny Buckner was looking for you earlier,” he said casually, and then looked her in the eyes. “Did he find you?”

  She nodded. “I talked to him for just a moment.”

  “He was nuts about you in high school,” he said, shoveling the last of the mints into his mouth.

  That comment made her pause. She hardly expected anyone other than Danny, Sheena, and herself to remember that she and Danny had ever dated.

  Before she could think of a clever response, he grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Gotta go. They’re giving me a signal. Maybe I’ll give you a call.”

  A call? Jennifer stifled the laugh bubbling in her throat. Maybe she was further from high school than she’d thought. There was a time when she would have given a lot to have Seth Yarborough give her a call, just so she could tell her girlfriends about it. Those days were long gone.

  She watched as Seth bounded up on stage and took the mike. Maybe something interesting would finally happen. This night had turned into its own special kind of never-ending hell.

  “All right, gang, this is it, so listen up,” he said. While waiting a moment for the talking to die down, he stood there bouncing with all the energy of the member-of-every-club sort of guy she’d remembered him being. It made her tired just to watch him.

  “In my capacity as one of your senior class presidents,” he began, “one who graduated—it’s hard for me to believe—twelve years ago, I’d like to welcome all of you, no matter when you graduated, back to Riverside High.”

  The crowd cheered and clapped.

  Seth Yarborough bobbed his head at them and grinned with that friendly aw-shucks attitude that made everybody like him whether they wanted to or not. “Unfortunately, Gwen Hollen, president of the class celebrating its tenth reunion, couldn’t make it this year. She’s in England on her honeymoon. She sends her regards. But if you’re disappointed Gwen couldn’t be here, we’ve got a really special treat for you. Gavin Lawless is with us.”

  He paused dramatically, as though waiting for the room to explode into applause. “Okay. So you don’t know his name yet, but you will soon. He’s one of the rising stars on the folk circuit. I got a promo of a single from his next, soon-to-be-released CD in the mail, and I can guarantee that he’s going to be the next big name on the folk charts.” He looked down as though speaking directly to someone at the foot of the platform. “They do have charts for folk music, don’t they?” He grinned, looking back up and out over the crowd. “So, Gavin, how about coming up and giving us a sample?”

  He waited for several seconds, but nothing happened. No one stirred. “I know he’s here. I saw him come in. Anybody know where he is?”

  Someone in the back hollered, “Who the hell cares?” and the group broke up with laughter as Yarborough’s face flushed.

  “Okay then. Why don’t we just get on with the evening’s festivities. Personally, I’ve always felt that if you had the good luck to make it through prom unscathed, you shouldn’t push it. Unfortunately, the planning committee didn’t ask my opinion, so here goes.”

  He pulled out an index card and read from it. “It’s my pleasure to once again introduce your court and your king and queen of ten years ago, an echo from your past of what truly must have been a Night to Remember.”

  Jennifer felt stunned, like she’d been hit upside the head. This was a room full of seemingly mature adults. Had they all lost their minds?

  A woman passed by and thrust a small plastic bag filled with confetti into Jennifer’s hands. Watching was one thing; participating quite another. Numbly, she handed it to the woman next to her who seemed delighted to have two.

  The crowd parted and there she was. Sheena Cassidy Buckner, queen for a day, beaming as though she’d just been crowned Miss America.

  The simple truth hit Jennifer in one brilliant revelation: Sheena Cassidy Buckner had peaked in high school, when she’d been named prom queen. Why else would she try to re-create that glory?

  Sheena brushed by with her escort, a rather handsome fellow who apparently was that year’s king and who made Jennifer wonder where he’d been hiding when she was in school. They made their way across the floor, through waves of confetti, and up onto the stage.

  Sheena came complete with crown, sash, long-stemmed red rose to match her dress, lips, and fingernails, and a million-dollar smile.

  The crowd clapped politely—wondering, as she was, Jennifer suspected, exactly where all this was going and why they were going there.

  “So, Gary, do you have a few words to say to the crowd?” Yarborough asked.

  The king, sans crown or sash or any other outward sign of his regal status, shook his head and stepped back, his neck coloring just enough to indicate his true feelings.

  “Sheena?”

  She took the mike, grinned, and took a deep breath. Before she could get a word out, a tall woman with dark, bobbed hair broke from the court behind and went after Sheena, grabbing the crown with one hand and the mike with the other, bobby pins flying every which way.

  “You scheming witch. I was robbed,” the woman yelled. “Ten years I’ve waited for this, you—you—”

  The two swayed back and forth like a push-me-pull-me toy as flashes from a camera went off and Jennifer, as well as everyone around her, stood frozen in horror. The other woman, who obviously hadn’t peaked in high school, apparently had wanted to.

  “You counted the votes. A candidate can’t count the votes,” the woman gasped out between gritted teeth, forcing Sheena backward, her back arching dangerously toward the edge of the stage.

  Sheena let go of the mike and soared forward, grabbing a handful of her opponent’s hair, yanking hard, but never once losing her grip on the treasured crown.

  The other woman went down squealing. The brunette’s escort, who had at last recovered from his paralysis, managed to ram his body between the two women and drag the sobbing brunette away.

  Jennifer winced. This was too painful to watch. Jerry Springer had come to Riverside High.

  She hoped the woman wouldn’t tear back on stage, her eyes glowing a dangerous red. All they needed to make the evening even more interesting was a Southern version of Carrie.

  Sheena brushed dark hair from her hand, regained the mike, adjusted her crown and sash, and addressed the crowd.

  “I’m so sorry you all had to see that. Obviously, Mary Jo has never gotten over being first runner-up for the honor I so proudly bear, your Miss Riverside High School. It is truly delightful to be among you tonight. As chairman of the planning committee, I hope each of you is having the most wonderful time. I’d like to take just a few minutes to thank the people in my life who—”

  Yarborough snatched the mike away. “Thank you, Sheena. Now
I’d like to take you back, back to that night however many years ago when you were eighteen, love was sweet, life was simple,”—he threw a pointed look at Sheena, who appeared ready to take him on like she had Mary Jo— “and the biggest question on your mind was will she or won’t she. Find that special gal or guy of yours. It’s slow-dance time.”

  Yarborough replaced the mike in its stand and pointed at the deejay. Strains of “The Time of My Life” filled the air. The group on stage broke up as spouses joined members of the court, and couples made their way to the gym floor.

  But something was wrong.

  Left alone at the edge of the stage, Sheena had dropped her rose and, shading her eyes with one hand, peered out, searching the crowd. Where was Danny Buckner?

  Something seemed to catch Sheena’s eye. She turned toward the main doors, and so did Jennifer.

  Al Carpenter had just come in from outside, his face grave, and he was beckoning to her. Sheena hurried down the steps, holding her crown in place with one hand, and made her way through the crowd.

  Jennifer watched as Carpenter tried to pull Sheena toward the door. She struggled out of his grip, her lips moving rapidly, as if spitting out words, her face no longer pretty. Al placed one hand on each of Sheena’s shoulders, shook his head, and then spoke to her. She crumpled, Al catching her in his arms before she hit the floor. Then she threw back her head and let out a wail that rang above the music and through the room like a banshee’s cry. A shiver went straight to Jennifer’s soul.

  The crown fell from Sheena’s head and rolled across the floor.

  Chapter 9

  “Danny can’t be...” Jennifer couldn’t bring herself to say the word, as she clutched the lapels of Sam’s jacket.

  “Dead?” Sam supplied, one hand resting on her hip, the other holding a large Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.

  She pulled back, suddenly not wanting to be associated with someone, even Sam, for whom that word came quite that easily.

  “Are they sure it was him? Maybe they made a mistake,” she insisted, again grabbing his lapels and splashing the coffee. Maybe if she argued long and hard enough with Sam she might be able to bully him into changing what had happened.

  “I don’t think so. His wife made a positive ID,” Sam assured her, pulling a napkin from his pocket and mopping up the coffee that had spilled down the side of the container. He handed Teri the cup and put his arm around Jennifer.

  “Sheena. She must be devastated,” Jennifer said. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for Danny’s widow, even if she was Sheena. “Where is she?”

  “Talking to the police, I’m sure. You’re shivering,” he told her. “Let me give you my coat.” He let go of her and started to pull off his jacket, but she pulled it back into place.

  “No, I’m fine. Really,” she insisted, patting his chest.

  Teri came up beside her, linked arms, and gently tugged. “You need to sit, my friend.” She pulled her down onto the bleachers, but Jennifer bounced right back up.

  “Sam, how long has he been...gone?” Jennifer asked, managing, somehow, to get at least that word out of her mouth. She was too numb to feel grief, but not too numb to feel guilt. She’d let Danny walk away from her earlier that evening and he had died. Maybe if she’d made him stay with her...

  “They’re saying an hour, maybe more,” Sam told her. “It probably happened shortly after the reunion began.” He’d lost his professional distance. He seemed concerned, his face solemn, not because of what had happened but because of her reaction to it.

  He tugged her down next to him as he sat.

  She reached for Teri’s hand and clutched it in a death grip. She only wished she knew where Leigh Ann had gotten off to. She wanted all of her friends safe and accounted for.

  Gently, Sam leaned over, tipping her chin up and staring at her with those deep, dark blue eyes of his, the ones that were the well of truth. “Just how well did you know this guy?”

  She winced and dropped her gaze, swiping at the water gathering in her eyes. “Long time ago. We...were friends.”

  Teri made a kind of choking sound, and Jennifer elbowed her.

  Whatever Sam thought, he let it pass.

  For several moments they sat there, no one talking, Jennifer staring out at the gym floor. Sam took back his coffee from Teri and sipped it, his arm still circling Jennifer’s shoulders. She knew she should have found it comforting, having him that close, but somehow all she felt was confused.

  “I know this is hard for you,” he said gently. “When someone you grew up with dies—”

  “That’s not what this is about,” she snapped at him, shrugging out of his embrace. She had all kinds of trouble dealing with mortality, her own as well as everyone else’s, but what Sam was saying was only part of it. She touched his arm. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Danny had a problem. He needed help.” And she hadn’t given it to him.

  “What kind of problem?” He took her hand, lacing his fingers with her own.

  She jerked back, her fingers stinging from a twelve-year-old memory.

  “Sorry,” she repeated sheepishly. “I can’t do anything right tonight.” It’d help if she could get herself under control. Danny had pulled her over the line, back into the past, and then he’d gone and died on her, leaving her half here and half there. Where was that maturity she’d struggled so hard to develop?

  “I want to go home,” she announced.

  “You can’t. Not until the police have questioned everybody,” Sam told her.

  Teri leaned across in front of Jennifer. “What are you doing here?” she asked Sam. “Don’t they let you off work even for one evening?”

  Quietly, Sam explained that he’d picked up the police call off the scanner and gotten over to the school as soon as he realized they were talking about the reunion. He’d assessed the situation outside as quickly as he could, made some notes, and then waded through the crowd to find Jennifer.

  “Can I get the two of you anything while we wait? Maybe a cold drink?” he offered.

  Jennifer shook her head. At this point she didn’t want anything except to relive the last two hours, to handle things differently, to insist that Danny tell her what was wrong, to keep him from going out to his car and...

  God. How could this happen? Danny Buckner was her age. Her age. People weren’t suppose to die that young, especially not someone she’d once cared about. Especially not Danny.

  Teri hugged her shoulders. “Hey, sweetie, it had to have been an accident,” she told Jennifer. “It sucks, but accidents like that happen all the time. You get a hole in your muffler and you sit there with the motor running and your windows up and all that carbon monoxide building up—”

  “Why would you sit in your car with the motor running on a spring night?” Jennifer demanded.

  “Air-conditioning, maybe?” Teri suggested.

  “They’re saying suicide,” Sam said. “A piece of hose was stuffed into the tail pipe, the other end into the driver’s side window. Some kind of T-shirt or cloth was found wedged between the glass and the door frame to make a seal. His skin was flushed a bright red. I think they’re right on target with this one.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Teri volunteered. “How could someone not notice a car running like that?”

  “Someone did,” Sam said, “just not soon enough. Some guy had come by to pick up his wife, took a swing around the lot looking for a space, but nothing was open. So he pulled around to the side of the building, behind a car parked in a no-parking zone near the service ramp. He noticed the car was running and got out to ask if the driver was leaving.”

  Danny had died in his favorite parking place.

  Her stomach lurched, and she stuffed her free hand, which had begun to shake, under her thigh. Her ears rang and she felt a little dizzy. Suicide. How could he? She thought he had more courage than that.

  “He’d obviously been there a while,” Sam added. “Not much activity in the lot. Most everyone was in her
e having a good time.”

  Jennifer shot him a glance. Not everyone.

  “Besides, no one would think too much about some guy sitting in a car like that, and the sound of the motor in these new cars is low-key.”

  “How could he kill himself?” Jennifer blurted out. “Why would Danny do that? Why would—”

  She stopped when she heard her name, and turned to look up into Seth Yarborough’s grave face.

  “How you doin’?” he asked, touching her hand.

  She shook her head, suddenly unable to speak. Seth had been Danny’s friend, too.

  “Seth” was all she could say. She let go of Teri, stood and hugged him to her, the tears she’d tried so hard to keep back now flowing freely. She pulled back, suddenly embarrassed. She and Seth had never been more than acquaintances. He offered her his handkerchief. She used it to wipe her face.

  “I know,” he said. “If you need to talk, you call me at the courthouse. Any time. You hear me? Or at home. The police will be speaking with you, but you may feel more comfortable with someone you know.” He pressed his card into her hand. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a ring sometime tomorrow, and—”

  “There she is!” It was as if Sheena had appeared out of nowhere, a policeman on either side, shrieking like one of the pod-people unmasking a human in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

  Seth squeezed her hand and pulled back. “Tomorrow” was all he said before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Sheena shrieking.

  Jennifer looked behind her, hoping beyond hope that Sheena was pointing at someone else.

  “She knows,” Sheena said with absolute certainty.

  A policewoman approached.

  Sam was immediately on his feet. “What’s this all about?”

  “Are you Jennifer Marsh?” the officer asked.

  Jennifer nodded. “But I don’t—”

  “Come with me, please.” The woman gently directed her by the shoulder.

  “You can’t—” Sam began.