Asylum Lake

by R. A. Evans

  April laughed, “Daddy, stop!” She grabbed Brady’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Brady is quite the fine and upstanding citizen. You probably remember his dad and grandpa; they worked for the Sheriff’s Department.” Turning to Brady, “Wasn’t your grandpa the Sheriff for a while?”

  Brady forced a smile, “Yeah, he was. Buck Tanner. It was a long time ago.” He watched the rigid expression on Henry’s face soften.

  “Good man, Buck Tanner. Only man I ever knew who wore a Stetson. Looked like a real cowboy if you ask me.” Henry lowered the tongs and nodded at Brady before turning his attention back to the grill. “Now move along, this meat ain’t gonna cook itself.”

  April squeezed Brady’s hand once more as she led him to the picnic table. “See, he likes you.” She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ve got you a surprise. Close your eyes.”

  Brady obliged, his world still spinning about from his liquid lunch with Frank.

  “Ok, open them!”

  Brady smiled. April held a bag of Funyons and an ice-cold Mountain Dew. “Hors ‘devoures are served.”

  Hangover aside, the evening couldn’t have been more enjoyable. Brady was able to nurse a single glass of wine, instead savoring his Mountain Dew and some ice water. The meal was delicious and helped settle his churning stomach. The real treat, however, was sitting back and watching April in her natural surroundings.

  While Brady and Henry guarded the picnic table, the girls danced and played in the yard. Gruff kept a close watch on Abby, never wandering more than a few feet away and paying scarce attention to anyone or anything else.

  Brady nearly laughed himself hoarse watching April teach Abby how to properly use a hula hoop. He was hypnotized by April’s swaying hips and found himself wondering when Abby would finally call it a night. Next to him Henry was already snoring.

  April must have been reading Brady’s mind, “Okay missy,” gathering Abby into her arms and hoisting her into the air, “I think it’s about time we call it a night. Your grandfather is already sawing logs.”

  Abby giggled in her mother’s arms. “I want Brady to read to me tonight.”

  “Now that’s a deal, sweetie,” Brady promised standing to his feet and taking Abby from April’s outstretched arms. Gruff’s low growl caught everyone off guard.

  “Easy boy, you can come to,” Brady joked, wondering what had gotten into his furry friend. “How about instead of reading you a book I tell you a story about the time I filled my mom’s bathtub with frogs? Moms love when you do that, ya know!” He winked in April’s direction, receiving a sarcastic grin in response.

  Abby’s cackle was magical, “Did you hear that Gruff? We’re getting froggies tomorrow!”

  The tiny trailer was finally quiet, except for Henry’s snoring from the bedroom down the hall. It sounded like waves crashing on the beach. Brady stretched out on the fold-out sofa in the den nervously waiting for April. He felt like a teenager on prom night, minus the tux and bad haircut.

  Abby had thoroughly enjoyed the frog story. Brady had secretly made plans with her to sneak off the following day to do a little frogging at the creek near Stewart Road. The thought of April discovering a bathtub full of frogs made Brady giggle as hard as Abby.

  Gruff hadn’t shared their enthusiasm. He had placed himself squarely between Abby and Brady on her tiny bed; even going so far as to bare his teeth as Brady leaned in to place a kiss atop Abby’s golden curls. Brady had enough on his mind and tried to just let his dog’s behavior pass, but something kept tugging at the edge of his memory.

  Enter April; minus the comfortable jeans. Her silky skin, coppery from time spent beneath the Michigan sun, practically glowed beneath the moonlight trickling in through the trailer’s small window. The tank top, which so perfectly cradled her full breasts, was the only stitch of clothing that remained between them.

  “Finally, Mr. Tanner,” she purred, gliding forward to join him on the bed, “I have you all to myself.”

  Brady’s erection was instant and enormous, pushing through the band on his boxers. Her lavender scent was intoxicating, and Brady felt his head begin to spin as he reached for her.

  Their kiss was soft yet passionate, an introductory exploration of what was to come. His fingers traced the softness of her jaw-line and down her neck. Holding her face in his hands was like holding a small piece of the sun; the touch of April’s lips heated Brady to his core.

  Brady’s kiss became hungrier as he rolled on top of her, holding her hands firmly against the sofa’s thin mattress. Breaking the kiss, he stared deeply into her sparkling eyes.

  “You do realize this could change everything,” Brady teased, gently guiding himself inside her.

  April responded with a breathless moan and raised hips. “Promise?” she whispered, digging her fingers into Brady’s back.

  Her question hung in the air, a spoken response unnecessary. Everything was changing, in ways both magical and mysterious. Little did either realize, however, just what those changes would bring.

  Brady counted thirty-four ceiling tiles hanging over the pull-out sofa. April slept beside him, her naked form claiming most of the bed, yet Brady found himself counting ceiling tiles.

  It’s not that he was afraid of falling asleep, although lately his slumber had been plagued by nightmares. Instead, Brady found himself trying to find distraction from the guilt that was building inside. The tug of war between his heart and head over what he had just shared with April was both physically and emotionally painful. Brady tasted the salty tears before he realized he was even crying.

  April stirred, raising her sleepy head from the pillow. “You still up?”

  Brady turned his face to April’s, the sting of tears fresh on his cheeks. “Yeah, trying to figure out what the use for algebra really is. I’m convinced it’s merely the textbook industry trying to line their pockets.” He paused, forcing a smile and raising a hand to brush the hair away from April’s face. “Seriously, have you ever once had to figure out the whole two trains traveling in opposite directions thing?”

  April found Brady’s hand and brought it to her lips. “Tell me about Karen, Brady.”

  For the next hour Brady talked and April listened. He had met Karen while in college at Northwestern. For six weeks he had followed her around campus, not in a creepy stalker way, much more like a love-struck puppy. He knew her class schedule, where she had eaten lunch and even her secret place in the library, tucked away behind the stacks of Medieval Literature, where she would steal away for naps and to nibble on carrot sticks while studying.

  April listened as Brady described his life with Karen. Feeling the raw emotion pouring from the man with whom she was falling in love broke her heart, but also made her realize how deeply she cared for him and how damaged he truly was.

  Fresh tears welled in Brady’s eyes as he described the surreal experience of finding his brother-in-law waiting for him at the airport with the news of Karen’s death.

  “She was consumed with being healthy,” he explained, fresh light brightening his reddened eyes, “especially during the pregnancy. Everything was about diet and exercise. Hell, I even lost ten pounds trying to keep up with her.” Brady’s voice was thick with adoration as he recalled his wife’s little idiosyncrasies; the small details shared between only them.

  His face darkened as he continued, “She was walking Gruff. Every day they would walk to the park near our apartment, a winding four mile loop that she insisted would keep her ass from growing out of control.” Brady smiled in spite of himself. “According to the police report she was walking down Lexington, not two blocks from our apartment, when it happened.”

  April held her breath, unsure of where this memory was going, yet suspecting where it might end. She squeezed his hand in support.

  “The kid was fourteen,” for the first time a trace of anger entered Brady’s shaking voice, “A fucking punk with nothing better to do than wave a gun around a liquor store.”

>   April tensed; this was not exactly where she imagined this story would be leading.

  “Funny thing is, the gun wasn’t even loaded,” Brady laughed; a heart wrenching sound that seemed misplaced with the tears now streaming down his face. “Kid got his money and bolted for the door. He almost made it, too.” More silence. When Brady continued his voice was little more than a whisper. “His gun wasn’t loaded, but the cashier’s was. The place had been held up a dozen or so times. He emptied that .38, spraying bullets everywhere. He got the kid in the shoulder, a flesh wound that did little more than drop him to the ground. He laid there crying his eyes out until the police arrived.”

  April moved closer to Brady, wrapping her arm across his bare chest. His beating heart was working overtime.

  “Wrong place at the wrong time,” he continued. “She never even knew what was happening. One minute she’s walking Gruff, probably thinking about paint colors for the nursery or how to celebrate the news of my book, and the next she’s…gone. Sixty-eight bucks, that’s the going rate for a life in Chicago these days. Hell, two for one at that price.”

  April’s tears splashed onto Brady’s chest. His pain, although agonizing to witness, was also a blessing to share. She felt helpless in easing it, however.

  “Coroner said she didn’t feel a thing. The bullet tore through her brain; she was dead before she hit the ground.” He wiped the tears from his eyes and continued.

  “Gruff went ballistic,” Brady continued, smiling weakly at the thought of the young pup standing guard over his fallen wife. “Little guy wouldn’t let anyone near her, not even the paramedics. Finally, one of the cops had to shoot the poor little fur-ball with his tazer,” his fragile smile strengthened briefly, “Only dog on the planet that can charge cell phones by licking them.”

  Brady’s last wall of defense finally crumbled, his sarcastic humor swept away by the rivers of grief flowing down his face, “I don’t know how long the baby held on for; the coroner didn’t say and I couldn’t bring myself to ask.” He hesitated, speaking aloud for the first time what he had always kept secret. “I named her Sara, after her grandmother. Karen was hoping for a girl.”

  The rest of the night was spent in silence. April had no words to soothe Brady’s hurt. Brady had survived the last few months by making himself numb, to everything and everyone. Alone in the darkness, the couple clung to each other, knowing that Brady’s promise of change had been fulfilled.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Brady looked up from his bowl of Fruit Loops to find Henry Mayer standing over him. Wearing nothing more than a saggy pair of tighty whities and a coffee stained t-shirt, April’s father looked every part the grizzled old man he was.

  “Sir, um…Mr. Mayer, I, uh…” Panicking, Brady looked across the table for help from Abby. She smiled, lowering her half-filled bowl of cereal from the edge of the table for Gruff to share. Helpless, Brady did what any reasonable man in his situation would do, “April! April, you better get in here!”

  Clutching her robe at her breast and balancing a twisted bath towel on her head, his knight in shining armor stepped from the bathroom off the kitchen. “Daddy,” she scolded, “this is my friend Brady Tanner. He had dinner with us last night.”

  Henry glared at Brady through his thick glasses and grunted something unintelligible before plopping down onto the seat directly across the table. April returned to her morning routine. Her shift at Kroger’s started at nine.

  “Where’s my corn flakes,” barked the half-dressed muppet.

  Brady looked again to Abby. She rolled her eyes in response and skipped to the pantry, returning with the cereal, “They’re right here, grandpa, bottom shelf next to the oatmeal.” She wrinkled her nose at the mere thought that anyone would choose to eat the tasteless paste.

  Henry busily poured his cereal and set to work heaping shaking spoonfuls into his mouth. Much of it spilled down his unshaven chin and onto the stained t-shirt. What kind of bizarre world am I in? Brady wondered, sipping the fruity milk from the bottom of his bowl.

  “I knew a Tanner in school,” He volunteered around mouthfuls of cornflakes. “Johnny or Jimmy, maybe; hell’uva ball player.”

  Brady lowered the bowl from his lips. This fossil went to high school with my dad? Doing the quick math in his head, and recalling how frail his own father had looked during his last visit, Brady accepted Henry’s statement as fact.

  “John, it was John Tanner,” Brady offered. Growing up, Brady had seen his father’s old high school yearbooks. The man had been a four-year varsity player in baseball, football, and basketball, with plenty of offers to play at the college level. Instead, John Tanner had followed in his father’s footsteps; something Brady was sure his own father had wished for him.

  Henry returned to his corn flakes as Brady walked to the sink to rinse his bowl. Abby and Gruff had already vacated the kitchen, not even a good morning wag from his furry friend. Something is definitely up with that dog. Brady was pondering the possibilities when Henry’s voice intruded.

  “He came by, ya know? Yer’ dad, asking about the hospital.” Henry had finished his corn flakes and was scooping sugar into his coffee. The elderly man’s lack of coordination revealed the reason behind the stained t-shirt. The poor man winced with every sip as it dribbled from the corners of his mouth.

  “Hospital,” Brady asked, returning to the table with a cup of coffee of his own, and a paper towel for Henry. The man accepted the offering with a nod and wiped the coffee from his chin.

  “Nut house is more like it,” Henry continued. “Place gave me the creeps.”

  Brady hesitated. A million questions came to his racing mind, but Henry’s fragile memory would surely fail under the weight of a heavy interrogation.

  Instead, he let the silence do the work for him.

  “Diggin graves; two bucks a hole.” Henry kept his eyes on his coffee. “I was just a kid, but my dad let me tag along. He did some work up there now and again.” A pain-filled shadow passed over Henry’s eyes. “A lot of holes.”

  April breezed into the kitchen, her blue Kroger vest doing little to distract from her casual style. Even without make-up she was breathtaking. “I’m late,” she declared, digging through her purse for car keys. “It’s just a three hour shift. I’ll be home about noon.” She smiled triumphantly, raising her ring of keys into the air. “Abby’s fine here with dad, she’ll watch Dora. Or, if you don’t mind, let Gruff keep her company.”

  Brady’s worries of being asked to baby-sit evaporated. As for Gruff, he wasn’t sure he had a choice in the matter of whether the dog would be staying.

  “Sounds good to me,” Brady smiled. “I’ve got a few things to do. How about we connect later this afternoon?”

  April stepped forward and kissed his cheek, her hand brushing against his arm. “Sounds like a date to me.” She turned from Brady and playfully tussled her father’s thinning hair. “I’ll be home in a bit, behave yourself.”

  Brady watched her walk from the room, stopping briefly to give Abby a hug before leaving. Henry was lost in thought, staring into the bottom of his empty coffee cup. Brady cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. Henry nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound.

  “Who the hell are you,” he demanded, staring blankly up at Brady as if the man had magically appeared in his kitchen.

  “Good grief,” Brady muttered, running for the door. “April!”

  Brady listened to his iPod as he drove. Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby by Counting Crows was playing. He had never been much of a Crows fan, and couldn’t recall having loaded it to any of his play-lists, but with more than 10,000 songs at his immediate disposal, he wasn’t completely surprised by the pleasant surprise. “If dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts…” Brady connected with the words, thinking of his own recent bout of sleepless nights due to nightmares. The melody was contagious and Adam Duritz’s voice was hypnotizing. “The price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it br
ings…”

  If my life were a movie what would the soundtrack be? He mused, scrolling mentally through the entire Pearl Jam catalog. He quickly realized that even Eddie Vedder had yet find word to describe the rambling wreck of a movie his life had become.

  Brady’s thoughts drifted from music to the tasks at hand. His mental checklist included connecting once again with Frank to hopefully learn more about his father’s make-shift crime lab/work room/detective bureau upstairs; this time sans the PBR.

  Good ol’ Hank Mayer and his ramblings about Brady’s father’s visit to ask about digging graves at the hospital had planted the seeds of some fresh thoughts in the fertile soil of Brady’s over-inquisitive mind.

  And finally, Brady felt an odd pull to reconnect with his old pal Jeff Ryder. In the years since that terrifying night on the float, and beneath the waves, the two friends had spoken only once, briefly by telephone from Brady’s bedside in Traverse City. It had been what the two boys had left unsaid that had bound them so closely together.

  Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby ended as Brady neared the Up North House. He could still smell April’s lavender scent on his skin, and drank it in by holding his arm up and taking a big whiff. His i-Phone skipped, which it never did, catching the next track in mid-song, as he pulled his Jetta in behind Frank’s truck.

  “Yes, I understand

  That every life must end, uh huh

  As we sit alone,

  I know someday we must go, uh huh

  Oh, I'm a lucky man

  To count on both hands, the ones I love

  Some folks just have one

  Yeah, others they got none, uh huh

  Stay with me,

  Oh, let’s just breathe”

  Just Breathe, Pearl Jam’s haunting tale of loss, wasn’t exactly one of Brady’s favorites, but since Karen’s death it had held a special, yet painful place in his fractured heart. So much so, that he had removed it from all of his play-lists; the lyrics chipped away at his unsteady resolve to just feel…nothing.