“I—I don’t care what you do. This is what he wanted. You’ll take them and not bother me about it. I have enough to handle without you fighting me over stupid shit.”
Jackie hid her face with the handkerchief again and turned away. But as she appeared ready to buckle in tears, she whipped her neck back with sudden venom. “Take them! Just fucking take them! What does he need them for? To fucking rot around them? Take them and shut up!” She threw the ring on the ground at Beau’s feet. It bounced beneath a flower arrangement.
His sister began to cry, and his heart ached for her. But there was also his mother.
Alone.
Luke felt alone in most things. Particularly as of late, since no one seemed to feel what he did. But amid all the “I’m sorry”-ers and “He’s in a better place”-ers, Jackie was like him. Tom DuBelle had helped by recognizing and acknowledging his fury at the unfairness of it all; however, he hadn’t appeared to share it. Jackie’s anger made him feel better.
He went to his mother and hugged her.
“Thanks, Mom.” Luke was glad he’d already pushed the ring onto his finger as he patted her shoulder with his open hand. Her chest heaved, but she didn’t pull away. He put his cheek on her hair, and when he inhaled, she smelled warm and alive. “I’m so glad you’re still here.”
The simple statement seemed to ease his mother, and she slipped into easy breaths. He wondered if this was what she’d wanted someone to say to her. With all the attention on her husband’s death, did she feel as forgotten as Luke often did?
Maybe I’m really not as fucked-up. I’m a support. An important support.
He peered around Jackie’s head at Jake.
That ass licker wasn’t watching. Jake was wiping the side of his fingertip under Beau’s eyes. He kissed his sister’s forehead, completely missing what a comfort Luke was to Jackie.
But consoling his mother was still good despite Jake not observing it. Jackie wasn’t overly affectionate, and Luke had always suspected that, like his father, she preferred Beau.
Mom didn’t bring Jake in though. And she wasn’t the one who cast me away.
During the fight, Jay had said he spoke for them both, but Jackie hadn’t been present. Who was to say she hadn’t taken Luke’s side? Perhaps with Jay gone, Luke could now carve a space for himself. She clung to him as if she needed and wanted him. She hadn’t hugged Jake in the same way. She—
“We should go. Everyone’s waiting.”
Luke flirted with the idea of biting Jake’s hand as it appeared on Jackie’s shoulder. Jake ruined everything.
Always. And again.
His mother pulled back and pushed a piece of Luke’s dark hair behind his ear. The biting inclination somewhat dissipated.
“I know you told Ging you were tired, but come with us.”
Luke had immediately declined the dinner invitation when it’d been made. Who wanted to sit around at his grandparents’ house and listen to everyone spew how great Jake was? Besides, he had work to do. He needed to research Tom DuBelle, and the optimum sleuthing environment consisted of him being alone.
“Please.” Jackie smiled at him through her tears, her hand still at his temple.
He hesitated. The chance to publicly lounge in his newfound importance gave “after-viewing meatloaf party at Grandma’s” an attractive veneer.
Maybe they won’t spend all night jerking off to the sound of Jake’s voice. Everyone will see how I’m the good son now. Luke looked away from Jackie and began to fidget with the class ring as he considered his options. What more was I planning to do anyway? Google Tom’s name? There are no other leads. He’s just some random guy Dad probably went to school with and—
His thoughts broke off as he smoothed his finger over the indentations of his father’s name on one side and graduation year on the other.
“I’m sorry. I’m really tired, Mom. You understand, right?”
There was a lead. Jay had more than a class ring. He also had a yearbook.
✩
In the two hours he’d been sole master of the house, Luke had managed to smoke half a pack of cigarettes on the porch, change and wash his clothes to hide the aforementioned deed, and Google Tom DuBelle.
As anticipated, the Internet hadn’t yielded much. It confirmed that Tom was from the same state his father had grown up in, but he couldn’t locate an address or telephone number. There didn’t appear to be a social media profile, and Tom’s name had only been mentioned in older, random articles without a picture to confirm the pianist was the same man. Even if he was, who cared? Tom could play a Viennese waltz with a Goddamn kazoo up his ass—it wasn’t relevant to Luke’s purpose, which he’d realized was even greater than mere curiosity now.
After closing the computer, he went to the bookshelf in his parents’ library to search for the yearbook. As he knelt and ran his finger along the spines, he imagined Jake’s smug face. While it was true that Beau was also hiding something from him—
That shit hole is hoarding secrets about my father. And no matter how much Mom wants me now, he’ll still think he’s better than me. Sure, he’s probably let Beau in on some of it, but I know he’s kept the majority to himself. I’m doing us both a favor.
He was hot on the trail, his fingertips tingling with anticipation.
There we go.
Luke pulled the volume from the shelf, its top covered in dust. Vaguely, he recalled Jay showing it to him several years ago for whatever reason. The book only stood out in his memory because of how ugly it was. Unlike his own dignified, black-bound senior yearbook, his father’s was wrapped in a corny red plaid.
He tucked the book under his arm and walked to his room.
I am powerful. I am the one in control. And I’ll have the satisfaction of riddling this out myself. I’ll discover what Beau knows and more.
Luke fished a bottle of bourbon from under his bed, already feeling the accomplishment and internal applause. He sat the half-full liquor bottle on his desk beside the yearbook and opened the cover.
The 2005 senior photos were a juxtaposition from the rest of the book’s overblown graphics. Unlike the other students’ black-and-white photos, senior pictures were broadcast in full color, with names in elegant script below each image. The paper of their section also had a distinct, shiny texture. The teenagers all wore identical dowdy gowns—girls in red, boys in blue—and were positioned in the same pose—left arm folded on the table, right in a relaxed fist under the chin. It was a hall of Rodin’s Thinkers. Luke wondered how many of them flipped burgers and shoveled garbage.
Leafing to the subsequent sections of dismal teenagers, it was clear that their poses were irrelevant as long as no one gave the finger. Here his cleverness was rewarded as he recognized Tom’s face. Thirty-three years had left their mark on the man, but there was no mistaking Tom. If his name hadn’t been listed on the side, the same sarcastic grin would’ve given him away.
Luke marked Tom’s page with his thumb and moved forward to the colorful senior photos. Jay was in the second row on the fourth page.
Pinching the pages that separated the two pictures, he turned them back and forth. Tom looked older now, whereas his father hadn’t changed much from his senior portrait. Jay’s hair had been streaked with gray when he died, and there were wrinkles around his eyes, but otherwise he was himself. Luke let go of the senior section and faced only Tom.
So, you definitely went to school with Dad. And you were close even after he moved.
Luke wasn’t exactly sure when Jay had left his home state. His father had been a private person, and he hadn’t said much about his life before meeting Jackie and moving to Pennsylvania. It was like he’d decided that was where his life started.
Luke drained another glass of bourbon.
He could name all the schools his mother had attended, the activities she’d been involved in, and boring bits of trivia on both. All he knew about his father was that he’d attended a high school with an ugly yearbo
ok.
He could retell many of Jackie’s adventures with her siblings, family, and various friends through the years. Jay had only had one brother. But Uncle Gordon had died when he and Beau were in grade school, before Luke met him. He remembered that his father hadn’t seemed upset, but that wasn’t remarkable. Jay’s father had also died without knowing his grandchildren. The man had gone to war when Jay was in high school and hadn’t returned. Jay called him a war hero, but hadn’t been inclined to talk about him. He’d never mentioned having a friend.
Luke returned to his father’s picture and looked into his unblinking eyes.
I don’t feel you understood or knew me. But I didn’t know you either. This interpretation scared him to an extent. You had this whole life you didn’t share with us. Why the secrecy? Maybe if you’d told me your experiences—if you’d shared your knowledge, I wouldn’t have made so many mistakes, and I could be a better person.
Further guilt heaped itself onto Luke’s already-large pile. Jay had never given him a chance, but had Luke ever given his father one? Jay hadn’t been cagey. Information had come easily from him, when he was asked direct questions. He’d never purposefully hidden anything. His father just recognized that no one cared to hear anyone else’s past. People only loved to talk about themselves. Luke was only twenty-six. Why would he have given a shit about Jay’s childhood? He still wouldn’t be thinking of it if he hadn’t met Tom DuBelle and fallen down a bourbon-assisted rabbit hole.
Maybe this is my fault. The whole thing. Whatever my career, the fight aside, I never gave a fuck about you. How could I expect you to love me as much as you love Beau or Jake?
“I’m sorry,” Luke whispered. “But it’s too late, and now you’re lost to me.”
He touched his father’s photograph with the tip of his finger. Jay’s cheerful smile blurred under tears that Luke blinked away. He snapped his hand to the glass of alcohol. The high school class ring, which he’d placed on his ring finger, clinked sharply. He swigged the drink, refilled the glass, and twisted the ring from his hand.
He was glad his mother had chosen to not have Jay buried with the only jewelry he ever wore. He had memories of playing with his parents’ class rings when he was a child. With their large gaudy jewels, they made perfect pirate treasure or status symbols for a great king.
Luke ran his thumb over the red garnet in the center, its cuts dulled by everyday wear. He peered at the inside; the date Jay had received it was inscribed in calligraphic script: February 18, 2007. He slid the ring back on his left hand and thought of himself as a little boy, thrusting a bedazzled hand to anyone, commanding his rings to be kissed. No one but the dog had complied, but he’d imagined them quaking at his power.
Along with the happy memory, hope rushed back to replace the sorrow. Didn’t Luke have a breakfast engagement with someone who’d known Jay as a young man? Surely he could coax Tom to reveal enough to satisfy his desire to recapture what was missing. He could bring the yearbook to refresh Tom’s memory and get the stories flowing.
Luke drained another glass and looked at his father’s picture with renewed cheerfulness. His gaze trailed over the dark hair and light eyes they shared. Jay seemed to stand out in a friendly way, the garnet of the ring appearing dull in the poor school lighting—
Luke dropped his glass. It shattered on the floor as his mother’s key turned in the front door lock.
Chapter Six
Years of practice enabled Luke to pass off being asleep when Jackie opened his bedroom door minutes later. The glass and spilled bourbon hid under the bed in a soggy T-shirt mess, and the yearbook lay under the blanket.
He kept any tension from his face when the pads of her fingers touched his cheek, and she sniffed the air. There was no way to help the room’s smell with so little time available. Anything he might’ve dribbled around to cloak the alcohol would’ve been equally suspicious.
But a harsh wake-up and rebuke didn’t come. He pictured her surveying the room and released a long sleep sigh in case she was uncertain if he was alive. Her hand came away, and he hoped he hadn’t overplayed it.
The ruse appeared effective. When he heard footsteps descend the stairs, Luke opened his eyes to the room’s blackness. Rather than relief, anxiety churned in his stomach, along with a sense of vertigo. His calf burned where it lay across the yearbook, and he twisted the ring on his middle finger.
His father had graduated in 2005. The ring was engraved with the year 2007, not in itself a big deal—class rings could be purchased after the fact. When Beau had asked about the date, Jay had freely told them it’d been an unnecessary expense in 2005.
“Dad died a couple years before that.” Jay had said. Luke was hopping from one foot to the other. One of his eyes had been covered by a plastic patch, and the other shot between Beau and the ring his father held. He’d devised the perfect place to hide it. “These things are expensive, and we were barely making ends meet. I bought my own later.”
“In 2007?” His sister had asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s the date on the inside? The date you bought it?” Beau tilted her head.
“Sure.” Jay had turned to Luke, his eyebrows drawn together. “Are you okay?”
“Yeeessss. I know right where I’m gonna bury it.”
“Mom and Meecie have their full names inside theirs.” Beau had drawn their father’s attention to her.
“I’m not them, am I? I let you bury my valuable objects all over the yard.” At last he’d dropped the ring into Luke’s small cupped hands. “Don’t make it too hard for your sister to find.”
“I always make maps.”
“They aren’t very good ones,” Beau added.
“Yet you always manage to uncover what he’s squirreled away.” Jay had petted a lock of hair behind Beau’s ear, but he’d been focused on Luke. “If a secret is important, you leave clues for someone to figure it out. If they really want to.”
In the present, Luke’s heart raced. It was as if Jay spoke beyond the grave.
Twenty years ago you set me up for this. Told me you were leaving something for me to find. He stared at the dark ceiling and worried the ring around his finger while he felt the yearbook under his leg. You lied about this ring, or that yearbook photo is fake. But why would either matter? What are you hiding?
Before Luke could waste all night delving into various conspiracy theories, the furnace kicked on. The push of tepid air into the room brought with it the smell of coffee. He threw off the covers and got out of bed, his head only mildly cloudy from alcohol.
This isn’t some Illuminati shit, Luke. There’s a simple solution. Go ask Mom.
He left the yearbook in his room and crept downstairs. He rubbed his eyes, making a conscious attempt to keep the lids only at half-mast as if he’d just woken.
When Luke entered the kitchen, he was relieved to see only his mother at the table. Jackie stared into a mug, but she looked up as he entered the doorway. She didn’t try to hide the tears on her cheeks, yet she smiled at him. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry if I did.”
“No, I haven’t been able to sleep well since—” Luke dropped into the chair opposite her and took the filled cup in front of him. Her puffy face and the redness around her eyes were too evident to discount. He’d have to be careful broaching the subject. “I haven’t slept well for a while.”
“Me either.” Jackie leaned across the table. She pressed her hand to his forehead and patted his cheeks. “Do you have a fever? Or is your temperature because of the alcohol?”
“I just woke up, Mom.”
“You look flushed, and it’s not worth lying to me. If there was a liquor store open, believe me, I wouldn’t be having coffee.”
“Yes, you would.” His mother always had coffee. If she could, she’d have a constant drip flowing into her veins. It wouldn’t surprise him if she drained two more pots that night.
“But I’d have it with a side of vodka. No glass, right from the bott
le. I could be hungover tomorrow.” She took Luke’s hand and rolled her thumb over Jay’s class ring. “But, Luke, if you drop your dad’s casket because you’re wasted, I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive you.”
“That’s why there are six of us. The five Puritans can pick up the slack when I go down.”
“Or you can be a good boy and stay sober.”
Jackie still looked at the ring, and she drew in a ragged breath. It was as good a bridge as any.
“Mom, thank you for the ring. It means a lot to me.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s what he wanted. He said you were to have the class ring, and Beau was to have the wedding band.”
“Do you know why?”
“Sentimentality?” She tilted her eyes up to him. “I don’t know why your dad did a lot of things. I felt I was only along for the ride sometimes. It was a good ride.” Luke felt guilty for saying anything as her lower lip quivered. But she forced past the emotion and retrieved another smile. “For the record, I don’t care what you do with my things.”
“We won’t have to think about that for a long time.”
“You shouldn’t have had to think about your dad for a long time.” She looked past him as if he were invisible. “We assumed I’d go first. I’m older, and he’s always been in better health. He was hardly ever sick.”
“It doesn’t matter how healthy you are when you get mowed up by a Honda Civic.”
Jackie focused back on him. “I’m not saying right now. I’m not saying tomorrow, a week from now, a month, a year, so on. But someday, you’ll need to get over that.”
“I don’t have a problem forgiving the driver,” Luke said. “He was a careless douche bag, and he didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I could give a shit if you forgive him. Accident or not, the result is the same—he killed someone. You can stay upset with the driver for the rest of your life. I’m going to. I meant you’ll have to get over yourself. Dad loved you. It broke his heart when you ran away from us and—”
“I didn’t run—” His anger started to boil.
“Shh.” Jackie continued in a calm voice. “We won’t be arguing that tonight. Your interpretation of events isn’t relevant when we’re talking about what your absence did to him. He was devastated when you left like that, Luke. And you ignored us. For a year—”
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