Rob lifted his feet off the rock, sliding back into his seat, then leaned forward, his hands clasped together between his knees. He laughed. “Sounds like that scotch didn’t sit well with you.”
Only half-amused by his comment, Neil laughed accordingly. The insinuation was a bit insulting. He was a very capable drinker, and the idea that drinking too much the night before would cause hallucinations was ludicrous. He knew the t-shirt was there. He knew the knives were there. He’d touched them for Christ’s sake.
“It doesn’t explain how I ended up in the middle of the forest, does it?” he asked, unable to disguise the irritation in his voice.
“Do you sleepwalk?”
“Never.”
Rob leaned back into his chair, fingering the tuft of hair on his chin. “You’d be surprised how often a single incident or event can trigger a subconscious behavior. Have you been sleeping okay?”
“What are you, my therapist?”
“Four years of psychology at Princeton,” said Rob. Neil’s surprise must have shown on his face because his friend added, “I own a bar on South Street in Philadelphia. Four years of listening to lectures and writing papers about phobias, disorders, and all that crap. I just didn’t have the energy, or the interest to go any further with it. I couldn’t bear to be a respectable psychologist with regular office hours, patient lists, and spending my time listening to other people’s problems.”
“So you went and got yourself a bar?”
“A highly successful bar for ten years,” Rob said. “Jasper’s Folly.”
Neil didn’t quite follow that last remark. “Huh?”
“Jasper’s Folly. That’s the name of my bar.”
Nodding his head, Neil watched his friend lean back into his chair once again, stretching his legs out and placing his heels upon the same rock. As Rob tilted his head back and closed his eyes, Neil was forced, for a moment, to admire his friend’s laid-back manner. Every fiber exuded a sense of relaxation, a lack of stress and tension. Rob’s breathing was steady, slow, and barely perceptible while his shoulders hung loosely, without any of the tautness that Neil often felt. With the ongoing demands of back-to-back trials, he was constantly plotting his next rebuttal, his next motion, the next subpoena, every item of legal wrangling that he could think of. There was rarely a moment when he wasn’t thinking of his latest case. Even while having sex with Sheila, his mind was often preoccupied with whatever case he was working on at the time. She never noticed. He’d always prided himself on being a good multitasker.
Envy streaked through Neil’s soul as he watched Rob stretched out by the dead campfire. What must it be like to let go of all concern for one’s responsibilities for an hour, a day, or even a weekend?
Neil said, “Who’s Jasper?”
Lifting his head up, Rob opened his eyes, gazing through half-closed lids. “Don’t know. The place was named that when I bought it.”
“It’s a nice place. Might be a bit lowbrow for a high-priced lawyer like you,” said Jeremy.
Rob raised one eyebrow, then laughed nervously. Jeremy abruptly turned his attention back to the frying bacon, flipping the thin slices in the pan with a stainless-steel spatula. Neil felt the moment of awkwardness hanging in the air between his two friends.
“You been there?” Neil turned in his chair to look across at Jeremy.
Still shuffling the bacon around in the pan, Jeremy replied, “Yeah. Once or twice. When was the last time?” He looked at Rob, as if asking for help. “Was it a couple years ago? That was the last time I was back in Philly.”
Rob, without opening his eyes, gave a brief nod. “Yeah, I think so.”
“My clients’ schedules don’t leave me much time for travel. The rich and powerful like their personal trainers to be at their beck and call twenty-four seven.” Jeremy’s voice changed, taking on an air of condescension. “You never know when they need to drop a few pounds to get into a gown or tux.” His deep laugh resonated through the air.
“How’d they take the news that you were abandoning them for the weekend?” asked Rob.
Jeremy laughed. “You know how these Hollywood types can be. One actually offered to pay me to be available by phone.”
“So you’re on a three-thousand-mile leash?” Neil said.
“No cell service here,” said Jeremy. “They weren’t happy, but they’ll get over it.”
Footsteps approaching from the direction of the bathhouse made Neil turn his head, catching sight of Steve and Patrick’s return. With his towel draped around his neck, Steve was still rubbing the end of the terry cloth over his damp head. Patrick, shirtless, had his towel carelessly tossed over his right shoulder. His chest was smooth and hairless, just as it had been when they were young, but Patrick’s abs and pecs held far more definition.
“What’s so funny?” Steve asked.
Rob replied, “Jeremy was just telling us how his rich, fat clients keep him busy.”
Jeremy waved the spatula in the air, pointing it at Rob. “They’re not all rich.”
“Just fat,” Patrick added.
As they laughed, Jeremy removed strips of bacon, dripping with grease, from the frying pan, laying them on a paper-towel covered Dixie plate. With the drippings still sizzling in the pan, Jeremy grabbed two brown eggs from a nearby carton. “How do you want your eggs cooked, Steve? Over easy?”
“Perfect,” came the reply.
The sizzle from the frying pan grew louder as Jeremy struck the edge of the pan with an egg, expertly separating the two halves of the shell. Steve disappeared into the cabin while Patrick circled the stone ring, kicking Rob’s feet out of the way as he passed. Thrown off balance and almost tumbling out of his chair, Rob quickly righted himself, cursing at Patrick. Neil laughed as he watched his friend settle into the chair across from him. “You been to Rob’s bar?”
The briefest of glances passed between Rob and Patrick, but it hadn’t been brief enough for Neil to not notice. Patrick shook his head. “No.” As Steve returned from Sequoia Lodge, Patrick added, “What about you Steve? You ever been to Rob’s shithole bar?”
Rob exclaimed, “Shithole?”
Steve let out a hearty laugh. “Yeah, a couple times.”
Neil’s eyes followed Steve as he crossed to the picnic table. “What’re we doing today?”
“How about a little two-on-two football? Jeremy, you still got that arm of yours?” asked Rob. “You can QB for both sides.”
“Might still be able to lob a few around. But I’ve got my eye on that zipline,” Jeremy said as he scooped two eggs out of the pan and set them on a plate. “Here you go, Steve,” he added. Grabbing two more eggs, Jeremy cracked them over the pan and asked, “Brewster, how do you want yours?”
“Scrambled.”
Steve grabbed the plate, pausing as he glanced at his eggs. “This is what you call over easy?”
“I’m cooking on a camp stove. How did you think they’d turn out?”
Steve laughed, grabbed a plastic fork, and piled three slices of bacon on top of his eggs. Standing by the picnic table, he jabbed at the eggs with his fork, lifting a piece to his mouth. The flimsy plate was balanced on his fingertips, drooping precariously under the weight of Steve’s breakfast. Neil wondered how long before it would completely surrender its shape to the wiles of gravity.
“Football? Haven’t played in years,” said Patrick. “I’m with Jeremy. Let’s do the zipline.”
“I’m game for either,” said Rob. “How ’bout you, Neil?”
“Football.” His answer came out more abruptly than he’d intended. He hoped that no one had noticed. He had his reasons for wanting to avoid the zipline, if at all possible.
Patrick had paced out the end zones and marked them with the four camp chairs they’d brought from the lodge. The sandy clearing where their cars were parked would be more than
adequate for a bit of two-on-two football. There’d been, at first, a lot of enthusiasm among Neil’s friends toward spending the morning on the zipline. But to his relief, he’d been able to convince them to forego the zipline for a quick game of football.
With Jeremy acting as quarterback for both teams, they split up—Rob and Neil against Patrick and Steve. Neil flipped a coin, with his team winning the toss. Choosing to be on offense first, he, Rob, and Jeremy huddled for a moment, then lined up for the first play of the game.
Jeremy could still throw the ball straight as an arrow. As for the rest of them . . . Neil would never say it was bad, but it certainly was far from good. Although Jeremy’s passes were usually right on target, Neil, more than a few times, found himself able to get his fingers on the ball but unable to haul it in for a catch. He wasn’t too concerned about his poor performance as his friends weren’t doing much better.
A half hour into the game, they all showed signs of improvement as eighteen years of proverbial rust was worked out of their systems. Catching a long ball, Neil managed to go the distance for a touchdown, with Steve trailing behind him without a prayer of making the tackle.
“That’s how you do it!” Neil exclaimed, spiking the ball and breaking into a little dance.
Steve, leaning over with his hands on his knees, said between gasps, “I almost had you.”
“Almost doesn’t count.”
As he caught his breath, Neil looked up the field, catching sight of Jeremy, Rob, and Patrick waiting impatiently for him and Steve to return. His eyes were drawn, however, past them into the forest beyond. Standing deep among the trees was a solitary figure. The distance made it difficult for him to see any details clearly, but the figure was wearing a pale blue shirt and bright red cap. It had been the cap that first caught his eye. Its color stood out from the foliage. The figure stood motionless, as if watching them.
Neil glanced at Steve, who was wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Are we the only ones in the camp?”
“Yep.”
Turning his head back toward the figure, Neil said, “Then who is . . .” His words trailed off. The figure was gone.
Steve followed his gaze. “Who’s what?”
“There was . . . I could’ve sworn there was someone watching us.”
Looking around, Steve said, “I don’t see anyone.”
Neil gestured toward the forest. “A red cap. Someone was wearing a bright red cap.”
“There’s nothing there now.” Steve placed his hands on his hips, pausing for a moment. “Red cap? Didn’t Bateman used to wear a red cap?”
Neil felt his face grow warm, a momentary wave of anger flashed over him. He glared at his friend.
Steve smiled. “I’m just messing with ya.”
“Sometime today!” shouted Patrick from the other end of the clearing.
Steve laughed at Patrick’s impatience. “We’re coming!” Then he glanced at Neil and added, “Neil’s just seeing things again!”
Neil scowled at his friend’s remark. Steve returned the scowl with a smirk and then laughed aloud.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” shouted Patrick from across the field. “He needs to get his head examined.”
Neil allowed his irritation to simmer just below the surface. No point in letting them know that they’d struck a nerve. He’d never been able to tolerate being on the receiving end of ridicule, even as a child. The “love thy neighbor” philosophy was one that he’d never been willing to embrace. He’d always preferred “Do unto others before they do unto you.”
They continued to play football for another hour, moving the ball up and down the makeshift field with the score remaining relatively even throughout. Despite his best efforts, Neil remained distracted, his eyes always drifting toward the surrounding forest. If the figure with the red cap returned, he wanted to get a good look.
Breaking from the huddle, Neil lined up to Jeremy’s right, planning to run a crossing route that, if successful, would put him within easy reach of another touchdown. When the ball snapped, he charged down the field with Steve an arm’s length behind. Steve was left stumbling to compensate after Neil made a sudden turn to the right. Glancing over his shoulder, Neil saw Jeremy’s hand draw back for the throw. A red blur among the trees captured his gaze. It darted through the forest on the clearing’s edge, weaving around the trees and crashing through the underbrush. Distracted, Neil slowed his pace—almost involuntarily—coming to a halt in the middle of the field.
For a moment, the blur came into focus, giving Neil the impression of a thin figure dressed in tan shorts and a pale t-shirt. The same pale blue color as the defaced camp t-shirt he’d seen earlier in the morning. He couldn’t see the front of the shirt, couldn’t tell if it was the same one.
When the football slammed into his shoulder, Neil was thrown off balance and was sent to the ground. Jeremy had always had a strong throwing arm, and he’d proven throughout the morning that he could still put a great deal of power behind a throw. This one had been the hardest Neil had felt. He rolled onto his side, grabbing at his shoulder in pain. “Damn it!”
“Why’d you stop?” shouted Jeremy from down the field. “You were wide open!”
As the pain subsided, Neil climbed to his feet, brushing the sand from his hair and clothes and spitting grit from his mouth. “I got distracted.”
Scanning the forest, he tried to find the figure with the red hat but saw nothing. His glimpse had been brief, but he would’ve sworn it was the same figure from earlier. As they walked back up the field, he considered telling Steve what he’d seen but decided against it. Best to keep it to himself.
“Enough with football, let’s go hit the zipline,” Jeremy said as they approached.
Rob was quick to agree with Jeremy. “Count me in.”
Neil felt a knot begin to form in his stomach. He knew this moment was bound to happen at some point during the weekend. His friends had shown far too much enthusiasm the previous night when they learned of the camp’s zipline. He knew they’d want to ride it, and he’d have no choice but to go with them. Choosing to simply not participate would mean admitting his fear, and that was not an option.
“I’m all for that,” said Patrick.
Steve placed his hand on Neil’s shoulder. “What d’ya think, Neil? Want to brave the zipline?”
For a moment, Neil wondered if his friend’s question held some underlying subtext, as if Steve knew his secret. He’d worked hard to conceal his fear. With a reputation to uphold, it would have been to his disadvantage if any of his friends knew. He’d hidden it well, even from Sheila. Neil had thrived on exploiting people’s weakness for his own amusement—sometimes even for gain. He never wanted to give anyone ammunition that they could use against him.
He faked a casual smile. “Is it safe? The camp’s been closed down for a couple years.”
Steve replied, “Yeah. I had one of our engineers give the whole camp a quick once over—at least the stuff we might use.”
“I’m not sure how reassuring that is,” Neil said, laughing. It sounded lighthearted, but the laugh concealed the underlying anxiety that continued to grow in intensity with each moment. “Experts on ziplines, these engineers of yours?”
Steve replied. “They’re good enough. Stop worrying about it.”
“Who’s worrying? I’m just being cautious.” He was lying.
“Steve, you better hope those engineers of yours are right,” said Patrick. “Because if the big-shot lawyer gets hurt, he’ll probably sue your ass.”
“Trust me, it’s all good,” came Steve’s reply. “Everything’s ready.”
To Neil, the reply seemed more like a pronouncement, and with it the agenda was settled. Whether he liked it or not, they were riding the zipline.
Chapter Thirteen
Sammy crept through the underbrush, tryi
ng to stay away from the main camp trails. The brambles and thickets didn’t bother her. She’d always had a knack for being able to scramble through the thickest underbrush without getting a scratch. Most of her childhood had been spent exploring the forest surrounding Camp Tenskwatawa, and she was certain there wasn’t an inch of the camp that she hadn’t seen at one time or another.
Recalling her childhood brought a smile to her face. Hot summer days running along sandy trails chasing imaginary pixies and fairies came to mind, and, for a moment, she was wistful for the innocent days of her youth. Things had been simpler then, no heartbreak and no pain. If only she could turn back time, turn back the days to before . . .
She froze at the sound of their voices, crouching into the underbrush and remaining still. The main trail around the lake was to her right. They’d be coming along it at any moment. She’d let them pass and then work her way around to the far side of the zipline.
As they drew closer, Sammy heard his voice among the others. His dulcet tones were smooth and pleasant to listen to. She could understand why Neil had been so successful in the courtroom. It’d been his voice she’d first fallen for twenty years ago. For her, it still held some magic.
“Next thing I know, he’s jumping out of the witness box and lunging at me,” she heard him say.
The other four laughed as he continued to recount his tale. She lifted her head up, just enough to peek over the thick brambles. They were passing close to her, giving her a good look at them. Eighteen years had changed each of them, some more than others. Sammy remembered the last time she’d seen each of them. Five, maybe six months ago. It had been a brief ceremony, if you could call it that. Just a few quick words, and then letting the ashes scatter across the lake in the wind. Five of them standing on the shore of Lake Friendship, silent and morose. Neil was the only one who wasn’t there. But then, that had been the plan all along.
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