You Say Goodbye

by Keith Steinbaum

  Adam turned back to the left, angling himself toward Sean. “A friend in need, right?” he replied. “We wanted to help, Sean. We couldn’t just sit around doing nothing.”

  “Well, it must have hit you hard, too,” he said. “You were friends with Merissa before I even met her.”

  “Yeah, I was, but things changed after she met you. Not that I didn’t understand, but a fact’s a fact.” Adam turned to look out the side window. “Not that it matters now, but admittedly I was hurt a bit.”

  Neither man spoke for a while, but when Sean did, he dove right into the question he needed to ask.

  “I guess you were with Eleanor the night of the murder,” he said. “Probably having a peaceful evening doing whatever, right?”

  The ensuing silence coerced him to look at Adam. Sean’s surprised open eyes met Adam’s narrowing ones.

  “That’s a strange thing to ask,” he said. “What we were doing that night isn’t even worth talking about.”

  Sean clenched his jaw in an uncomfortable moment of silence. “I only meant it as a comment about how unpredictable life can be,” he said, responding with the first excuse he could think of. “I’m sorry I brought it up. It’s just that...”

  “Just what?” Adam snapped.

  “It’s just that...” Sean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, stumbling over his thoughts. “It gives me the chance to close the door on everything about that night.” He felt defensive and needed to say more. “You’re not the only one I’ve asked. I’ve talked to some of the other guys at work, too. Roger and I talked about it at lunch recently.”

  Adam took an audible sigh. “All right,” he said. “Sorry if I got a little uptight, but I’ve avoided thinking about Merissa for my own good. We all handle things differently, I guess.”

  “Let’s drop the subject, okay?” Sean said, reaching for the radio dial. “It’s bowling night, my man!”

  When Sean parked his car in the lot, Adam reached over and placed his hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Just so you know,” he said, his voice calm and steady, “you were right about the peaceful evening. I was home that night with Eleanor, watching TV.”

  ***

  Aided by Sean’s three-holed cannonball scattering the two and seven pins to finish with a spare on his final throw of the night, McDougal’s Ford Marauders defeated Tolbert’s Chevy Terrors by a narrow margin. After dollars were collected and the trash talk faded, groups of twos and threes returned to the parking lot and dispersed to their cars. Sean remained behind with Adam, chatting inside about the pros and cons of the new floor models until Eleanor’s text announced her arrival. As the two of them walked toward her car, Sean waved.

  “How are you, Sean?” she asked, her tone revealing unwanted pity.

  “Doing well, Eleanor,” he replied, his lighthearted response a forced one. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thank God,” she answered, crossing her chest. “The Lord tests us in many ways, but he who has faith will always be in His hands.”

  Her answer validated his feelings about Eleanor’s probable disapproval of the wagering and beer drinking. Adam only ordered sodas but threw his money down like everyone else.

  He said she didn’t ask many questions, so maybe Eleanor didn’t know.

  “Sorry, honey,” Adam said, “but suddenly I have to pee real bad. Talk with Sean until I come back.”

  Sean hoped Adam’s leak time turned out to be shorter than his comment inferred.

  “So tell me, Sean,” she said, her brows furrowed, “have you moved on again? Are things better?”

  “I’m fine, Eleanor,” he replied, patting her arm.

  “That’s good to hear,” she said. “I’ve prayed every day, asking the Lord to watch over you.”

  “Well,” he said, nodding his head in acknowledgment, “keep those prayers coming, okay? I could use all the help I can get.”

  Eleanor glanced toward the doors. “There’s something personal I want to tell you that Adam wouldn’t want you to know.” Eleanor leaned her head outside the window and stared at Sean. “The tragedy you suffered affected us more than you realize. Before it happened, we started seeing a marriage counselor because...well...let’s just say we were having problems and needed help.” Closing her eyes for a moment, she bit her upper lip and inhaled deeply. “Things were at their worst the night Merissa was killed. Adam didn’t even come home until a quarter to one. He told me he picked up a dinner and just sat in his car somewhere, but it doesn’t matter now. After what happened that night, the Lord helped guide us and make it clear what’s really important and how much we appreciate what we have.” She crossed herself again and looked skyward. Offering a tiny smile, she added, “I just wanted you to know.”

  Gripping the open portion of the window, Sean leaned forward, looking down at Eleanor. “Adam wasn’t with you that night?”

  “No,” she answered, shaking her head.

  “Then why did he tell me he was watching TV with you?” he asked, confusion mixing with anger. “Why would he lie to me?”

  Eleanor placed a hand under her chin, pursing her lips as she looked into his eyes.

  “My husband’s a proud man, Sean. He probably didn’t want you or anybody else knowing about the problems we were having. Knowing my dear Adam like I do, he might have thought people wouldn’t think the same of him.”

  Sean didn’t respond as he pondered Eleanor’s reply. Her answer seemed logical but he felt troubled about the lie.

  “Please don’t say anything,” she said. “If he told you he was with me, he must have had his reasons.”

  Chapter 15

  Walking back to work with Roger after another lunch together, the familiar sound of a Stevie Ray Vaughan guitar riff announced an incoming call from Sean’s cell phone. His stomach knotted as he read Dr. Lodin’s name on the screen, and preferring to converse with him in private, he let the phone go to voicemail.

  Returning to the dealership, he took several slow, calming breaths nearing his cubicle in preparation for the return call. Before he got the chance, however, the general manager, Tom Claiborne, approached him and pointed outside toward a couple reading the sticker on the window of a white Taurus.

  “They asked for you,” he told him. “The woman said she was a big fan of yours.” Placing his hand on Sean’s shoulder, he smiled and winked. “Hey, if it helps sell a car, sing ’em a damn song.”

  Sean lowered his head in underwhelming excitement. “I need to call my doctor, Tom,” he said. “As soon as I’m done, okay?”

  Claiborne’s smile disappeared. “Can it wait?” he asked.

  The two men stared at each other in silence for several moments.

  “I don’t want to lose any potential sales,” Claiborne told him, “so make it quick and get out there.”

  Beverly answered on the second ring, sounding harassed as usual, but when she heard Sean’s voice her tone changed to a softer and friendlier one. Biting his lip, Sean wondered if the softness and friendliness represented a reason for sympathy.

  “Doctor Lodin is with a patient and has another three to see before the end of the day,” she told him. “But he wanted me to call you to let you know he has the results and wants to talk about them today. Can you call back between four and five?”

  Sean stared at his photo of Hendrix on the desk. “Can you tell me anything, Beverly?” he asked. “The good? The bad? The ugly?”

  “No, Mr. Hightower,” she answered. “And even if I knew something, it wouldn’t be right of me to discuss it with you. I’m sorry.”

  “Damn it,” Sean muttered. Craving an answer but forced to wait, Sean felt alone and upset. He slid his chair back and grabbed his hip as he stood. The pain didn’t jolt him as much as other times, but still registered on the discomfort meter. Moving in a slow, step-by-step manner toward the showroom doors, he walked outside and approached the couple, both appearing to be in their mid to late fifties, waiting in the shade by their car. A quick glance at their Bus
h/Cheney bumper sticker preceded the extension of his hand.

  “Hello,” he said, grasping the woman’s hand first. “My name’s Sean. I heard that you asked for my help.”

  The woman didn’t say a word for several seconds before turning toward her husband. “It sure is, Wayne!” she exclaimed. “Sean Hightower!”

  If Sean had the power at that moment to unleash a swarm of hornets on the woman’s head he’d have done it with pleasure, but he smiled instead, keeping his dark thoughts to himself.

  “I’m Margie Blankenship,” she said, finishing the handshake. The man reached out and grasped Sean’s hand. “I’m Margie’s husband, Wayne,” he told him. “Nice to meet you, Sean.”

  “‘Looking Glass’ was one of my favorite songs when it was playing on the radio,” she told him. “I heard it all the time.” With a slow shake of her head, she chirped, “Wait until I tell the girls in my reading group about this. They won’t believe it!”

  “So which car would you like to look at today?” he asked.

  “Well,” she said, dabbing her forehead with a tissue, “whatever we get needs to have a good air conditioner! It never seems to cool off in this city.”

  “First thing we’d like to do is test drive the Taurus SEL,” Wayne told him. “It’s come down to a choice between that one and the Chevrolet Malibu. We only drive American cars. Always have, always will.”

  During the test drive, Sean continued glancing at his watch, trying to will the time ahead. By the time they finished, he needed a beer, some weed, and a speed-of-light departure from Margie and Wayne Blankenship. His self-control reached a tipping point with these two complainers, and their disagreeable voices still echoed in his head.

  ‘The seats aren’t comfortable.’

  ‘The air conditioning isn’t strong enough.’

  ‘There’s not enough leg room.’

  ‘There’s no pick up when I accelerate.’

  ‘I don’t like the way it steers.’

  ‘I feel the road too much.’

  ‘The sound system isn’t good.’

  Sean expected the Blankenships to leave, happy that he’d never have to see them again.

  “Well, Sean,” Wayne said, “the car may not be perfect, but what the hell is nowadays, right?” He chuckled and then continued. “I don’t want to get on my bandwagon, but let’s just say we’re heading into trouble if we don’t protect America. We’re getting soft, and buying American cars sends a message to those foreign car lovers that there’s nothing wrong with the things we produce in this country. That’s why we may be back.”

  Sean stared in disbelief. “Let me ask you something,” he said, pointing toward their bumper sticker. “Do you really think those two guys invaded Iraq to protect America?”

  The Blankenships looked at each other before turning their heads in unison toward Sean.

  “As a matter of fact, I do!” Margie exclaimed, her dark eyebrows furrowing. Straightening the posture of her smallish frame, she tilted her chin upward, looking him in the eyes as wisps of her neck-length dark brown hair hung in limp, sweat-induced strands across her forehead. “And you and your liberal friends better hope God continues to bless those two men.”

  “And God bless those young men and women protecting our freedom,” Wayne added.

  “Protecting our freedom?” Sean repeated, his voice rising. “You’ve got to be kidding! Remember what Cheney told us back in 2003? That we’d be greeted as liberators? Five years later, seems more like lubricators to me. You know why? Because our military’s getting screwed!” He shook his head and took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Remember Osama bin Laden? That bearded asshole sitting in a cave somewhere in Afghanistan with his Al Qaeda buddies? In case you don’t remember, they’re the ones who attacked us, not Saddam Hussein, and seven years later we haven’t even caught him yet!” His eyes opening wide, a sarcastic smile emerged. “But, hey, why settle for one war dance when you have a chance for two?” Sean shuffled his feet forward one at a time before stepping back the same way. “Call it the Chickenhawk Cha-Cha!”

  From seemingly out of nowhere, Roger appeared, placing himself between Sean and the Blankenships. “I’m very sorry,” Roger said, easing him away. “My friend has been under some pressure and--”

  “Hey, I forgot to ask,” Sean shouted, “did they ever find those WMDs?”

  Roger placed his arm around his friend’s shoulder and steered him toward the showroom. “Calm down, buddy. Let’s go inside.” He brought a second chair to his cubicle and placed it next to his own. “Sit down here and don’t go anywhere,” he told him. “I’ve got to go upstairs to check on a lease and then I’ll bring us some coffee, okay?”

  Sean stared ahead, nodding in an almost indiscernible way.

  Leaning forward, Roger placed his hand on his shoulder. “Not to say it wouldn’t have been fun to see a little political punch-out, but I don’t think Tom would take too kindly to it. Or your father.”

  As he walked away, Sean looked toward the door as the Blankenships rushed in, scowling and animated as they approached Vicky Hamlin’s desk, a co-worker of theirs. Glancing in his direction, she said something to them before rising from her chair and walking toward the back.

  Sean stared at a young guy in blue jeans and Green Day tee shirt looking at an F-150, and wondered if the kid would ever have cancer. Such a stupid thought, but he couldn’t help himself. Looking at his watch, he decided not to wait until four o’clock and called Dr. Lodin’s office again, perhaps catching him between patients. As Sean waited for Beverly to answer, he stared at framed photos of Roger’s wife, Anita, and another of their son and daughter at Disneyland, standing on the left and right of someone in a Goofy costume.

  “Hi, Beverly, it’s Sean Hightower again,” he said. “I’m wondering if Doctor--”

  “Oh, Mister Hightower,” she said, cutting him off. “Hold on, let me see if Doctor Lodin can talk with you now.”

  Sean felt his heartbeat increase as he attempted without success to stay calm. Strumming his fingers on the desk, his head swiveled from the ceiling, toward the doors, and at the black Escort on the showroom floor before the sound of the doctor’s voice caused him to lurch forward in his chair.

  “Hello, Sean,” he said.

  Sean swallowed what little saliva remained. The tone of Lodin’s voice sounded as he expected; ominous and resigned. Placing his right elbow on the desk, he rested his head on his fist and closed his eyes, ready for the worst. “Okay,” he said, his voice tight and raspy, “what’s the news, Doctor?”

  “You’re fine, Sean,” he replied. “That shadowing we originally saw in the X-rays turned out to be nothing more than a variant of the normal vasculature.”

  A rush of lightheadedness infiltrated his ability to speak for several moments. “I’m...fine?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “Apparently, those wider than average mediastinal structures are nothing more than a harmless anomaly you were born with. It caused me to think there might be something there.” Lodin chuckled. “But as the saying goes, ‘there’s no there, there.’”

  Sean felt a sense of momentary nothingness, as if his entire being consisted of little more than the surrounding air. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, watching the blur of the overhead lights through the suddenness of watery eyes. A deep exhale preceded his response. “Wow,” he whispered, wiping his hand across his eyes. “What an enormous relief.”

  “As it was for me, too,” Lodin said. “Unfortunately, I’ve had to deliver the bad news to a number of others, but not this time.”

  Sean attempted to stand but his legs weakened as he descended back into his chair. “Thanks for the great news, Doctor Lodin. I better get back to work now.”

  “Before you do, wait on the line for Beverly. She needs to give you Dr. Jillson’s office number. They asked us to have you call them for some information they need.”

  When Beverly greeted Sean again, he grabbed the pen on Roger’s desk but found
nothing to write on. Opening the drawer to his left, he spotted a notepad with something written across the top of the page. The moment he saw the message, Beverly’s voice faded away and everything around him disappeared. In an instantaneous recognition of her swirling and angular style of handwriting, he read these words:

  Roger, please forget whatever ideas you have about you and me. I love Sean. I also want to remind you that you’re a married man.

  Your friend, Merissa

  Chapter 16

  “Do you remember which chord ‘Feelin’ Groovy’ starts with?” Sean asked, handing Kayleigh the guitar.

  “Uh-huh,” she replied, nodding her Lakers cap covered cue ball head. “The D chord.”

  “So let’s hear it.”

  Kayleigh wriggled in her chair until creating enough space from the lemonade table to hold the guitar on her lap. Sean watched as she simultaneously worked her bony fingers into the correct position while sliding the exposed tip of her tongue between her lips. A hesitant, but not-so-bad-sounding D chord followed.

  “Excellent, Kayleigh!” Sean exclaimed. “And after you strum that chord, you sing the first word, ‘slow,’ and then you go where?”

  “The A chord,” she answered, rearranging her fingers.

  “You’re a quick learner.”

  Kayleigh played the chord.

  “...‘down, you’...” Sean sang.

  Kayleigh stared at Sean and bit her lip. “Sorry,” she said, “I forgot what comes next.”

  Kneeling, he grasped one of her fingers and removed it from the neck. “All you have to do now is leave these two fingers right where they are. It’s still an A chord, but a different kind. Now you sing the next two words, ‘move too,’ before putting that finger back on like this and...”