Matt laughed. A young couple paddled by. The boy, sitting in the stern, dropped his paddle. He reached for it, almost tipping the canoe, before it steadied.
“Remember our first camping trip?” Emma asked.
“Rained the entire time.”
“We ate cold beans for three days.”
“Best trip ever.”
Time flew by as Matt and Emma reminisced, but eventually Emma had to go.
“Want to walk me home?” she asked.
“I’m going to hang here for a while.” They would see each other the next day at graduation, but this was goodbye. There was no point in prolonging the agony.
They hugged fiercely, reluctant to let go, as if time would stand still as long as they were holding each other. This time Emma was the one who started crying. “I’ll always love you,” she said through her tears when they finally pulled apart.
“I’ll always love you too.”
He watched Emma walk away and out of his life. The words to Sonya’s refrain came back to him. I’ll always love you. I’ll always love you…Until I find somebody new.
The black cloud descended. He didn’t want to find anybody new.
TWENTY-FIVE
“I’ll see you after the ceremony,” Matt’s father said the next day before going into the stands where the families of the graduating students were seated.
Matt wished graduation wasn’t taking place on the football field. Not that it made much difference—no matter where the event was held, he would still have to hobble across a stage in front of all these people. The fact that he would have to do it here, on the site of his former triumphs, was just one more bitter irony in a life full of bitter ironies.
Steve Kowalski and a few other teammates, all wearing caps and gowns, stood by one of the goalposts. Matt joined them. “They tell us individuality is the key to success, and then they make everybody dress like this,” he joked.
“And charge us fifty bucks for the privilege,” Steve said.
“They should have charged you a hundred,” Matt said. “There’s enough material there to clothe a village.”
Steve was searching for a comeback when The Goon joined them. “Gentlemen.”
“Goon,” everyone yelled in unison, mocking his desire to shed his undignified nickname.
The Goon amiably gave them the finger. “Hard to believe this is the last time we’re all going to be on the field together,” he said, turning serious. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you guys.” The others murmured in agreement. “I know I’ll get over it in time, but those first ten minutes are going to be brutal.” Everybody laughed.
Matt spotted Emma talking to Rona. He was about to walk toward them when Coach Bennett came up to him, wearing a powder-blue cap and gown from his alma mater, the University of North Carolina.
“Can you come by the office tomorrow?” the coach asked. “There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
“Sure.”
Matt was wondering what the coach wanted, when Anthony Blanchard tapped him on the shoulder.
“Man, it is good to see you,” Anthony said as the two boys hugged.
“You too.”
“How’s it going in LA?” Matt asked.
“I’m settling in. You were right. I just needed some time.”
“That’s great, man.” Matt was genuinely happy for Anthony, but he felt a twinge of envy as well. If only.
An announcement boomed over the PA system. “Would everyone please take their seats.”
“Are you coming to The Goon’s tonight?” Anthony asked as he and Matt walked toward the folding chairs in front of the stage. The Goon was throwing a party for the team’s seniors.
“For sure,” Matt said. He met Anthony’s eyes to let him know that this time he meant it.
Once everybody was seated, Principal Mosley said a few words of introduction and then called Sonya to the stage to give the valedictory address.
“Congratulations, seniors,” she began. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it. She kept her speech short, but she hit all the right notes. She recalled her first anxious day as a freshman, recited a few of her favorite memories and mentioned some of the highlights of the past four years, including the state championship—which drew a loud and sustained cheer from the crowd. She even threw in a joke: “Your parents are incredibly proud of you, so today would be a good time to ask them for money.” Everyone laughed. “It’s been an amazing four years for all of us,” she went on. “We’ve forged friendships that will last a lifetime—or at least through the weekend.” That drew another laugh. “But in a very real way our lives are just beginning. So as great as the past four years have been, don’t let them be the best of your life.”
Was it his imagination, Matt wondered, or was Sonya looking at him?
Principal Mosley stepped up to the podium and began reading out the names of the graduating students in alphabetical order.
“James Allen.”
Jimmy bounced up the steps and across the stage. He shook hands with Mosley, who muttered a few words as he handed him his diploma.
Mosley read out the next name. “Allan Baker.”
“Goon!” the entire football team shouted. Goon blew them a kiss and then claimed his diploma.
“Matt Barnes.”
It was the moment Matt had been dreading. He slowly climbed the stairs. A hush fell over the crowd as he lurched toward the principal. He was halfway there when someone started clapping.
“Clear eyes,” Anthony’s deep voice boomed out.
The rest of his teammates joined in. “Full hearts. Can’t lose.”
By the time Matt reached the podium, the entire graduating class was applauding, along with their guests. Everybody was on their feet. A chill ran up Matt’s spine.
“Congratulations, Matt,” Mosley said, his voice cracking with emotion as he handed Matt his diploma.
The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. Matt didn’t know what to make of what had happened. Was it love or pity?
Probably both, he thought.
TWENTY-SIX
Jesse was outside the office, munching on a chocolate bar, when Matt arrived the next day. He held out the bar to Matt.
“Sorry I’m late,” Matt said, suppressing a yawn as he took a square. The Goon’s party had lasted until four in the morning. Everybody knew it was the last time they would be together as a group, and nobody had wanted it to end.
“You only graduate once,” Jesse said. “I heard about what happened at the ceremony yesterday. That must have been something.”
“It was weird.”
“How so?”
“It isn’t like I actually did anything—other than get maimed for life.”
“There’s a lot more to it than that.”
“I know. But nobody would have cheered if I hadn’t limped across the stage.”
“I know how you feel. When I got out of prison, people treated me like I was a hero. But I hadn’t done anything either. I felt like I was being celebrated for being a victim.”
Exactly, Matt thought.
“It was like I had a name tag on my shirt that said Jesse Donovan, Wrongly Convicted. I bought into it until I realized that just because other people defined me as a victim didn’t mean I had to define myself the same way.” Jesse smiled. “Sorry for the sermon. Angela says I should have been a preacher.”
“That’s okay.” Matt didn’t mind getting a sermon from Jesse. “How long did it take until you threw away the name tag?”
“It took a while.”
Matt decided not to ask how long.
“That was a great speech you gave,” Matt said to Sonya when he was seated at his desk.
“Thanks. But it was your day.”
“I’m glad it’s over.”
“It was inspiring.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It inspired me. It gave me the courage to tell my parents I was gay.”
“Really?”
>
“I told them when I got home last night.”
“What did they say?”
“My dad said they were wondering when I was going to tell them.”
“Parents,” Matt said with a mock shake of his head. “Who can understand them?”
Sonya laughed. “They want to meet Morgan.”
“I hope that goes better for you than it did for me. After Emma and I had been going out for a few months, her parents invited me to dinner. I was nervous at the start, but they were really friendly. Everything’s going great. Then, while we’re having dessert—I’m sitting across the table from Emma and her dad—I decide, for some insane reason, that it would be a good idea to play footsie with her. I start rubbing my foot against her leg. At least, I think it’s her leg—until she gets up and goes to the washroom.”
Sonya erupted in laughter. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Her dad looked at me and said, I really like you too, Matt.”
Sonya laughed again. “I’ll tell Morgan to keep her feet on the floor.”
“Take a seat,” Coach Bennett said, gesturing to a chair when Matt arrived at his office. “That was something else yesterday. Brought a tear to my eye, I don’t mind telling you.” He took a swig of his coffee. “I’ll get right to the point. How would you like to work with the team next year as our quarterback coach? I’ve got some money in the budget—not a lot, but we’d be able to pay you a couple thousand dollars. We’d have to work around your class schedule, of course, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Matt didn’t know what to say. The money would come in handy, but he didn’t know if he could stand being on a football field, watching other people do what he no longer could.
“I’m thinking of putting in the wishbone offense,” Coach Bennett continued. “It would take advantage of Damon’s athleticism,” he said, referring to the previous year’s backup quarterback, who would be stepping into the starting role. He looked at Matt. “You don’t have to decide now. We don’t start practice until the middle of August. Think it over, and get back to me.”
Matt walked down the deserted hallway. Coach Bennett’s offer reminded him of an episode of Friday Night Lights. The team’s all-star quarterback, Jason Street, had ended up in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down, after a nasty hit on the football field. When his coach offered him a job as quarterback coach, he jumped at the offer. And he’d had it a lot worse than Matt did.
But that was a TV show. This was his life.
He stopped in front of the mural of the team’s victory parade. A familiar sadness settled over him, but a moment later it was replaced by anger. Anger at himself. Was he going to just lie down in a corner and whimper for the rest of his life because there weren’t going to be any more parades? Screw that.
He walked back to the coach’s office. Too bad he didn’t know anything about the wishbone offense, he thought, but fortunately there was someone at home who did.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The little boy with the Mohawk haircut was running through a sprinkler on the lawn of the Richardsons’ former house when Matt and Sonya arrived Saturday morning. The heat assaulted Matt as soon as he got out of the car. It was going to be another scorcher. He was glad they only had four houses to visit.
Nobody at the first three houses had any helpful information. No surprise there, Matt thought. That left Ella Didrickson, the woman who had seen Walter and Gwen on the day they were killed. As they walked up the front path, Matt saw a wrinkled old face peering out at them from a window.
Sonya knocked. The door opened a few inches. It was secured by a chain. The wrinkled face stared out at them.
“Who did you say you worked for?” Ella Didrickson asked after Sonya explained why she and Matt were there.
“The Justice Project.”
“Do you have ID?”
Sonya held out her business card. A liver-spotted hand snatched it. A minute later Ella unlatched the door and led them into the living room.
“Please sit down.” She pointed to a couch covered in plastic.
Ella confirmed what she had told the police. Walter arrived around four, and Gwen drove up fifteen minutes later. She didn’t have anything else to add.
“Were you outside when Walter arrived?” Sonya asked as they got up to leave.
“Why do you ask?”
Matt wondered the same thing.
“I notice that you can’t see the Richardsons’ house from here.”
Matt looked outside. He could see the house across the street and a couple of others farther down, but the Richardson house was out of his line of sight.
“I was at the window,” Ella explained. “There had been several break-ins in the neighborhood, and I was keeping an eye out for anyone who looked suspicious.”
Matt smiled to himself as he recalled what Derek Costello had said about her. She’s the neighborhood watch all by herself.
“I guess that’s it,” Matt said dejectedly when they got to the car.
“Maybe Ralph Chadwick will come up with something,” Sonya said, but she didn’t sound very optimistic.
“Let’s hope, because I really don’t want to have to tell Jolene there’s nothing we can do.”
As they drove away he spotted Ella back at her post by the window.
“What are you doing tonight?” Sonya asked when they arrived at Matt’s apartment building.
“Nothing. Dinner with my dad.”
“The Thin Blue Line is playing at the Fox. It’s a documentary about a guy who was wrongfully convicted of killing a police officer. We should go.”
“Sounds good.”
Life is strange, Matt thought as Sonya drove off. If anybody had told him a month ago that he and Sonya would be friends, he’d have said they were crazy.
His dad was hooking up his computer to the TV when Matt walked in. “How’s it going, Coach?” his father asked.
Matt’s dad had been thrilled when Matt announced that he was the Falcons’ new quarterback coach. And his mother, who had made her weekly call from Saudi Arabia the night before, had been over the moon. “That’s fantastic. Really fantastic,” she had said. She couldn’t have been more enthusiastic if he’d been elected president. She obviously felt this was some kind of turning point—and maybe it was.
“I downloaded some Oklahoma game tapes from the nineties,” Matt’s father said. “Nobody ran the wishbone better than they did,” he added, referring to Coach Bennett’s new offense. “The key was their quarterback, Jamelle Holieway. In the wishbone, the quarterback has to make a split-second decision on every play, and Holieway was a master at it.”
It didn’t take long for Matt to see that his father was right. Jamelle Holieway was amazing. You never knew what he was going to do with the ball until the last second. “Cool as a cucumber,” his dad said after a particularly outstanding play.
The next hour flew by, triggering memories of all the times Matt and his father had studied game tape of the Falcons’ opponents. But the memories were bittersweet. As much as he enjoyed sharing his passion for football with his dad, it was painful knowing that they weren’t preparing for one of his own games.
“I know it’s not the same, but I never thought we’d be doing this again,” his dad said quietly when the game was over. He put a comforting hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I have to go see a client. I’ll be back for dinner. Don’t forget to take out the trash.”
“Okay.”
Matt glanced at the trophy cabinet after his dad left. It looked bare without the MVP award. No, he thought, it’s not the same. Not even close.
He hit the Play button and watched the game again, this time taking notes. Matt was as impressed with Jamelle Holieway as he had been the first time around. He really was as cool as a cucumber.
Matt finished watching the game and then took the trash outside and threw it into the bin in front of the apartment building. He waved at a neighbor across the street whose dog was doing his business against a sign
that read This Is a Neighborhood Watch Community.
Matt was on his way upstairs when the thought struck him. Ella Didrickson said there had been a lot of burglaries in the neighborhood at the time of the murders. Was it possible they had been committed by the same person who’d broken into Gwen and Walter’s house?
Matt navigated to the Sentinel’s website to see what had been written about the other burglaries, but the site was temporarily down for a server upgrade. He called Sonya.
“I was just about to text you,” she said. “The film starts at seven.”
“Change of plans.”
Twenty-five minutes later they were at the front desk of the Snowden Public Library. “The back issues of the Sentinel are on microfilm,” the librarian said. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll bring you the ones you want.”
Matt took a seat in front of one of the microfilm readers while Sonya went to the washroom. A few minutes later the librarian returned with a cardboard box.
“Here you go,” she said. “Do you know how to use the reader?”
Matt nodded.
“Great. Bring the box back to the desk when you’re done.”
Matt opened the box. Inside were a bunch of smaller boxes, one for each week’s newspapers. Matt took the one labeled March 28–April 4, removed the spool, threaded the film into the reader, and scrolled through it until the Wednesday, March 31 issue was on the screen in front of him.
RICHARDSON PLEADS GUILTY the headline screamed above a picture of Ray being led out of the courthouse in handcuffs. Son of Mayor’s Driver Sentenced to Life in Prison. Ray looked like a thirteen-year-old kid.
The case had made the headlines the previous two days as well. Tuesday’s offering: Son of Mayor’s Driver Charged with Brutal Murders. Monday’s lead item: Mayor’s Driver and Wife Slain in Home Invasion.
No wonder Doug Cunningham suspected the Chief had made a deal to keep his name out of the headlines, Matt thought. He was going through the paper for Sunday, the day of the murders, when Sonya rejoined him. She sat down at the reader beside him.
The Justice Project Page 10
