Spark

by J. P. Scott

  “That was fun. I hope you need them again soon.”

  I had been with guys who loved and others who abhorred them. I was glad Cody was one of the former. They added spice and variety. The toy became something different in the lover’s hands than my own. I typically used them on my own, but preferred it when it could be a team effort.

  “I’ve got some others you might like.”

  Cody nestled in close to my neck as he lay on his side. I felt his breath on my skin and said, “I’m glad you came over.”

  “I thought you might be up. When I found the door unlocked, I decided to let myself in.”

  “You’re welcome anytime.”

  “Thanks for coming into the restaurant, too. I like spending time with you—even if it is only to give you more wine.”

  “You’ll be seeing a lot more of me, I think.” Yes, definitely a lot more. I did not know if it was too early to talk about relationship stuff, but I wanted Cody to by my boyfriend. I doubted I would be able to stay away from the restaurant on nights he was working. And if he was not working, I imagined we would be here hanging out together. It felt right. “I’ll try to come alone next time. I didn’t know Josh would show up.”

  Cody propped himself up on his arm, “He seems like a nice guy. Sexy, too. What’s wrong with him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No one’s ever the full package, right? I mean, I barely have two pennies to rub together. You, well, I don’t know your flaw—”

  “—I could lose a few pounds.”

  Cody kissed my arm, “You’re sexy. I guess I mean he seems like a catch. Why are you with me and not him?”

  “Why not you and him instead of me? You’re a catch, too.” Was it true that there was a perfect person for everyone? Or did it all come down to timing? Josh and I easily could have been the ones who were in bed right now, but the timing seemed to be off. Maybe that timing was off because he was not the one for me—but Cody was. “He’s right for someone, I’m sure.”

  “I’d bet he wishes he were me right now.”

  “What do you mean?” But I knew what he meant. Josh wanted me. If he had not pulled away from his kiss, I would have ended up in bed with him tonight. Cody would have found an empty cabin and had a lot of questions.

  “I saw him looking at you. I know he was flirting.”

  I shook my head.

  “Don’t try to deny it. I may be young but I’ve seen a thing or two in my life. I know when a guy wants to get with another guy.”

  My heart beat faster. Had Cody seen anything in me that would suggest an interest in Josh? “So, what if he does?” Whatever fantasy there was about Josh, it could only be just that—a fantasy.

  “He can want…but you’re mine.”

  “Good.” I hugged him close.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I did not see Josh running the next morning while I had my coffee and played with Beau. Cody grabbed some fruit and was off to run some errands before heading to work.

  I had the morning to be alone with my thoughts. The main thing on my mind was Josh’s kiss. What did it mean? Why did he pull away?

  My fantasies last night had been focused on Cody—except for a late entry from Josh. Would that have happened if there had not been a third person in the porn I was watching? I was glad that it was Cody standing in my doorway. He made me happy. I could not help but feel youthful myself as he sang in the shower and bounced around as he got ready.

  After my coffee, I finished getting ready. I grabbed the box of records and headed to the office. Josh left a note for me on the door saying he had already left for Phoenix, so I let myself in. I looked at the remaining boxes and dreaded the sorting process that awaited. That chore could be put on hold for another day.

  I left the office and walked down the porch to the residence entrance and knocked. I assumed George was home and opened the door, calling his name.

  “In the kitchen.” I headed that way and found him enjoying coffee, the remnants of toast were on a plate.

  “I’m going to assume your doctor is okay with the caffeine.”

  “You sound like Josh,” George said with an eye roll. “This crap is decaf.”

  “You’re still a man who had a heart attack. You need to take care of yourself.” I poured myself a cup, but suspected I would not like the taste. It was more of an excuse to sit and chat than any need to consume more coffee.

  “How’s your book coming?”

  “It’s progressing.” At least, it was progressing when I was not heavily distracted by some hot men. That discussion could quickly derail me from what I really wanted to talk about.

  “I’ve been rereading your old stuff.” After a couple summers of my staying here, I had discovered George had created a special shelf on the living room’s bookcase exclusively for my novels.

  “Most of those were written up here.”

  “I’m still waiting for the royalty check.” George ribbed me, his voice wheezy and breathless.

  “I’ll check with my publisher. I’m sure they got lost in the mail.”

  “Yeah, I bet you will.”

  I let a pause creep in to the conversation. I wanted to bring up the things I had found in the boxes, but I did not know how George would react. Once I went down this road, there would be no going back. There were many directions this could go, and I feared alienating a friend.

  “I’ve been going through some of the old boxes you had stored in the office.”

  “Snooping around, huh?”

  “The breathless tale of who checked in and to which cabin they were assigned—so thrilled with the secrets I’ve uncovered. I don’t suppose there’s anyone more famous then me who has ever stayed here?”

  George laughed, “I never knew you were famous.”

  “D-list at best. I just thought before we purge any old record that if there was a famous person’s signature, it might draw some attention to the place. You know, like George Washington slept here.”

  “Huh, no George Washington.” He looked out the window for a bit and then back to me. There was some actor who stayed here a few times. Late 80’s, early 90’s, I think.”

  “Do you remember who?” Scanning for a specific name would be much easier then reading each one and checking to see if that person was famous.

  “He was on that TV show.”

  That did narrow it down—a little. It also meant I might have to comb over each page of each journal. How worth it would it be?

  “Find anything else in those boxes?”

  “Nothing significant for the business. I did find some newspaper clippings. I was going to compile everything from all of the boxes and bring them by. I figured they would bring back some memories.”

  “Newspaper clippings? Of what?” George’s back stiffened and he sat up higher in his chair. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened as he looked at me.

  “They were all of the same person. I assumed it was a friend of yours. Local stories from high school and sports and some from Phoenix. Seemed like you were keeping tabs on someone you knew well.”

  George scratched his chin and was silent. I thought I saw his eyes dampen with moisture—tears as he remembered someone important? “Trash, probably,” he said.

  “Don’t you want to see them?”

  “No, toss them.” He pushed his coffee cup away. “Do me a favor and toss this, too.” He stood and attempted to steady himself before taking his first step away. His hip bumped into the table sending a shockwave that spilled coffee from both cups onto the table.

  “George, are you okay?”

  “Yes, just getting old. I’m going to lay down for a bit.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Just put those clippings in the trash. Better yet, burn them.” George disappeared down the short hallway and shut his bedroom door.

  I had never known George to get flustered by anything. He was usually so calm and put together. A whole lobby of guests with demands were hi
s specialty—they all left with what they needed and with a smile. There was something about these newspaper clippings that had rattled him. It was probably none of my business and I should follow George’s wishes, but my curiosity was piqued and I wanted to take another look.

  I cleaned up the coffee cups and the spills and returned to the office. I scanned ledgers for signs of TV stars, trying my best to recall shows and who the stars were. I found no other clippings. At the end of office hours there was no sign of Josh and not a peep from George. I thought about knocking but decided to leave him alone. I locked up and returned to my cabin and gave Beau some attention.

  Cody texted and said he would be late at the restaurant. I asked if he would be stopping by later. He wanted to, but he had to be back at it early and needed some sleep. He included some emojis that I did not fully understand. I replied back with the one that looked like the face was sending a kiss—he replied with the same which seemed promising that I had sent the correct one.

  I sat down to write with an open bottle of wine. I stared at the document on my screen, my mind not really into the story. Instead, I brought up a browser and googled Gray Whitlock.

  I saw results linking to articles, all of which were out of Payson. The most recent was from 2002. I started reading and found the morbid details of Gray’s death. A body had been found along the shores of Crystal Reservoir, a lake not far from the cabins. The body and Gray’s Mercedes were found in a remote area of the lake. Gray was assumed to have been seated on or leaning against a fallen tree when he shot himself in the head. Based on decomposition, he had been there for two days before being found by fishermen who had come to shore on their boat. No foul play was suspected, but there were also no theories about why a dentist from Payson had driven out there to die. He was survived by his wife and daughter.

  I printed out the article and went back to the search results. Surely there would have been a follow-up article. Gray was a hometown kid, football hero, and prominent professional in the community. His death would have been big news. Local residents would want to know details that came out after investigations and autopsies.

  I searched with additional key words but found nothing past that initial article. I retrieved the folder of clippings and added the news article I had printed, placing it in the back. I flipped through the other articles until I came across the wedding announcement from 1995. Two high school sweethearts marry after being separated for many years while attending separate colleges. Gray Whitlock and Valerie Clark smiled for the camera on their wedding day.

  Valerie was a beautiful, young woman and Gray was a handsome man. They made a very attractive couple. Each probably broke a few hearts of other would-be love interests. Had they even dated anyone else when they were separated? It was hard to imagine they had not. No doubt Gray’s success as a dentist was driven in part by how handsome he was. I would have had no qualms about keeping my regular appointments if I has the opportunity to look up at him from the dental chair in his office.

  I turned back to the computer and did a new search for Valerie Whitlock. I located a new wedding announcement for her in 2005—she married a man named Ben Cassidy, both local teachers. I printed that announcement and scanned for anything else that might be relevant in the searches. I wanted to read more about Gray and Valerie, but there was nothing else that I could find. I doubted there were any clues to his death in later articles and mentions of Valerie winning for best quilt at an annual fair. Had there been additional articles written and just not added to the web? And did Valerie still live in Payson? Something about her seemed familiar—had I possibly met her or seen her in the grocery store?

  “You’re crazy, Alex. Are you going to track her down and show up at her door?” I hoped admonishing myself out loud would stop my curiosity and keep things from getting out of hand. My only connection to any of this had already told me to burn everything I had found. I should respect his wishes.

  If someone I knew had committed suicide, would I want some stranger digging through the past to drag everything up again years later? What would be the purpose? Gray Whitlock was dead, Valerie had remarried, and George had forgotten the newspaper clippings had ever been saved. They did not seem to have lingering questions.

  I set the folder aside, but my mind was too wired to focus on my work. Instead, I turned on some music and started organizing and cleaning. Upkeep was pretty much up to me for the summer—a deal I struck with George long ago. I stripped the bed of sheets and started a load in the stackable washers in the back of the cabin. Dishes were next. Then I dusted. Finally, I was out of chores and unwilling to force myself to write. I took my wine to the porch and Beau and I watched the stars.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I rolled over in the middle of the night and woke when I did not feel Cody next to me. I smiled at the thought that a part of me expected him to be there—that was where he belonged. My phone showed me it was just past four in the morning. I sent him a simple test, “Miss you.”

  Sleep did not return when I closed my eyes. I changed positions, hoping to find just the right spot, but soon realized I was wide awake without any hopes of falling back to sleep. I pulled myself to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee brewing.

  Mornings could be the best time to write. I was hopeful that I could get in a solid block of writing and keep George, Gray, Valerie, and the mysteries of the past out of mind for a while. The words did start to flow and if Beau had not become restless, I might not have noticed the sun was out and the day was well on its way.

  I checked my word count and smiled. A very productive morning. I had earned time on the porch to relax. I might even catch Josh on his run. Before heading out, I retrieved my phone and saw Cody had responded about an hour ago with an emoji with a big smile. I smiled, too.

  I did not see Josh out running, but his car was parked down the way, so I knew he was back. I could go into the office and do some more digging, but another thought entered my mind. I showered, fed Beau, and grabbed the folder with all of the Gray Whitlock intel. In minutes, I was pulling out of the entrance to the cabins and onto the highway pointing to Payson.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A few times on the drive I told myself I was crazy and to just turn around. I missed the side street where the library was located and turned into a fast food parking lot, intending to turn around. Instead, I pulled into the drive thru and ordered food. While I waited in the line of cars, I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. “George never has to know.” At least I hoped so. I would find my answers and that would be the end.

  I continued to the library and parked in a shaded spot. I stalled from going in by finishing the breakfast I had ordered. The library was small—smaller than the satellite branches in the Phoenix system. Could this place possibly hold the records that I needed? Or were those stored somewhere else? Or did they even exist anywhere?

  When I entered, a woman in her fifties greeted me with a smile. Her hair was graying and was swept back by clips. She wore a simple blue dress that looked handmade and well-loved. “How can I help you today?”

  “I’m doing some research. I’m a writer and I came across some newspaper clippings that got me curious about some events that happened in the area. I tried to find more information online, but came up short. Do you have copies of newspapers from fifteen years ago?”

  The woman rose from the desk and pointed towards the back of the library, “We have those records in the back. Let me show you the way. Fifteen years ago, you say?”

  “Approximately. 2002 to be exact. In the summer.”

  The woman paused in her stride, cleared her throat, and then continued. “Anything in particular? I’ve lived here most of my life. I might even know more than what would be written in the newspaper. My friends at the newspaper try their best to deliver a quality product, but resources can be limited in a small town. Meanwhile, the gossip mill produces a lot more interesting information.”

  A first-hand account might be
more insightful, but how much was gossip and conjecture versus facts? “I’d like a read a bit first.” We reached the back room that was dimly lit and quiet. “Maybe if I have any follow-up questions, I can bend your ear.”

  “No doubt you will. The local paper is small and not too investigative. Most articles stick to the facts and not much else.” She crossed to a shelf and pointed, “2002 is here, bound in four volumes.” She pulled the third from the shelf and turned to me, “Summer and the events that followed should be here.”

  “Thank you.”

  She stepped towards the main part of the library, paused, and then slowly stepped again, “I’ll leave you be.” She disappeared as I opened the large book on a nearby table. The article I had seen online was near the front. I turned pages, scanning the headlines on the days that followed. I hoped to find a follow-up story—answers to why Gray shot himself at the reservoir.

  Nothing.

  I sat back and exhaled. Why had I really expected to find? Gray had shot himself. It could have been for any number of reasons—money problems, marriage problems, the list went on. Would knowing the answers make any difference to George? Would it ease the pain of losing someone who was clearly a friend? If they were indeed friends, maybe George already know why Gray killed himself. This search today was more about my own curiosity.

  The situation bothered me. I felt like I was missing something, something other than Gray’s motives for ending his life. I closed my eyes and ran through all that I had learned about Gray Whitlock from the newspaper clippings I had found. Local football star who went to Arizona State, went on to dental school, returned home to start his dental practice and marry his high school sweetheart, had a daughter, and then suddenly ended it all.

  If he had made a different choice, where would he be now? Still running his practice in Payson? Would he be retired? I calculated how old Gray would be now—high school graduation was in 1986. 50? Yes, give or take a year depending on how well I was remembering the dates. Gray would be looking at his last years practicing and possibly grooming someone to take over. He might even be semi-retired, taking his wife on vacations and spending time with his family—no doubt he would have grandkids. Where were they now?