Lost Things (A Short Story)

by John Rector

  “I’m fine.”

  “Evan?”

  “It looks worse than it feels,” I said. “I’m not going to see a doctor. I’m fine.”

  Veronica stared at me, frowning. “You’re lucky you didn’t fall over the edge all the way down to the street. You could’ve died.”

  “You’re right, it could’ve been a lot worse.”

  She watched me for a moment longer, then she reached out and put her hand on my chest and winced.

  I took her hand and kissed it. “Let me get in the shower. We’ve got the entire day ahead of us.”

  “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

  She was giving me an out, but I didn’t take it. I was awake now, and staying home would give me too much time to think, and that was the last thing I needed.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Veronica leaned in and kissed me. “What is it with you and Peter?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It seems like something bad always happens when you two get together. Why is that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never thought about it.”

  Veronica nodded, turned away. As she walked out of the bedroom, she said, “Maybe you should.”

  Veronica and I spent the entire day driving from one store to another. The plan had been to pick up bridal shower invitations for her friend, then grab lunch. Instead, we spent the day shopping. By the time we got home, the sun had started to set, turning the air cold and blue.

  We grabbed the bags from the backseat and walked up to the porch. As we got closer, I heard the phone ringing inside the house.

  “Hurry,” Veronica said.

  I unlocked the door and she ran past me.

  She answered the phone, laughed, and then said, “No, we just got home. Yes, we got them. They look great. You’re going to love them.”

  I carried the bags to the kitchen. Veronica saw me. She pointed to the phone and rolled her eyes. “Wendy, please don’t worry about it. It’s going to be perfect, trust me.”

  I went out to the living room and sat on the couch. It was the first time all day that I’d stopped moving, and I didn’t think I could stand up again if I tried.

  A few minutes later, Veronica hung up the phone, and then came in and sat next to me.

  “How’s Wendy?” I asked.

  “High strung.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “She asked if we wanted to go out with her and David this weekend. What do you think? It could be fun.”

  “Fun for who?”

  “Stop it, they’re nice people.”

  “David tucks his T-shirts into his jeans,” I said. “How do you talk to someone like that?”

  Veronica smiled. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. You’re good with people.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Will you do it for me?”

  “For you?” I moved closer. “What’s in it for me?”

  Veronica smiled and leaned in to kiss me, but before she could, the phone rang. She stopped halfway and touched my chin. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

  Veronica got up, and I watched her walk into the kitchen. It was a hell of a sight. Once she was gone, I eased myself back and sank into the cushions.

  I heard her answer the phone. She was quiet for a long time, and then she said, “Yeah, he’s here. Hold on a minute.”

  She came back into the living room with the phone. “It’s for you.”

  I sat up, slowly. “Who is it?”

  “Guess.”

  I felt my stomach drop, but I did my best to hide it.

  Veronica handed me the phone. “He sounds upset.”

  “WHERE the hell have you been?” Peter’s voice was tense, urgent. “I’ve been calling you all day.”

  “What happened?”

  “What happened?” He laughed to himself. “The cops have been outside all fucking day. They’re going around and talking to everyone, asking questions.”

  “Calm down.”

  “I think we were wrong,” he said. “They’re all over the place down here.”

  “They’re investigating,” I said. “That’s all.”

  “We should’ve called it in when we had the chance.”

  “Pete, relax. Just ride it out.”

  “Ride it out?”

  “Once they talk to a few people, they’ll decide it was a street fight and they’ll leave, just like we said.”

  Peter was quiet. I heard the scrape of a cigarette lighter, and then he said, “They’re going to find him.”

  “Find who?”

  “The one who ran off.” Peter pulled the phone away and coughed. When he came back, he sounded worse. “He’s going to tell them what happened. He’ll ID us.”

  I heard Veronica shuffling in the kitchen. I got up and walked to the front of the house and the bay window overlooking the street. When I spoke next, I made sure to keep my voice low.

  “You have to calm down, right now.”

  “Don’t you get it? They’re right outside on the sidewalk. I didn’t think—”

  “Yes, you did,” I said. “This is what cops do. They look around, they ask questions, and they try to find answers. We talked about this. As long as there’s nothing that points back to us, we’ll be fine.”

  “If they find that other guy, if he shows up—”

  “He won’t.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Peter started to argue, but I stopped him.

  “They won’t be able to trace this back to us,” I said. “Even if he does show up and talk to the police, they’re not going to believe him.”

  “But—”

  “We did all we could,” I said. “Now we wait it out.”

  “I don’t know how long I can sit here like this, not with them right outside.”

  “Then go to the studio, paint, bury yourself in work.”

  Peter paused. “I can do that.”

  “It’ll help get your mind off it,” I said. “When you get back, they’ll be gone and this will all be over.”

  “You think so?”

  “Trust me. I’m right about this one.”

  Peter laughed, and this time it sounded almost genuine. “If they stop me and ask questions—”

  “You’ll answer them,” I said. “And you’ll stick to the story.”

  It took a few more minutes for him to calm down enough to get off the line. When I finally hung up, I went back into the kitchen and put the phone in the cradle.

  Veronica was sitting at the breakfast table, flipping through a bridal magazine. She didn’t look up.

  “What was that about?”

  “Pete being Pete,” I said.

  “He sounded upset.”

  “Some girl he was dating ran off with one of his paintings.” I lied. “He needed to vent.”

  “So he called you?”

  There was weight behind the question. Normally, I’d ignore it, but not this time.

  “What the does that mean?” I asked.

  Veronica looked up from her magazine. “What?”

  “Why wouldn’t he call me?” I asked. “Who else is he going to call?”

  Veronica sighed, closed the magazine, and turned to face me. “Do you want to do this now?”

  “Do what?”

  “Talk about Peter and how he doesn’t make a move without checking with you first.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Every problem he has becomes your problem. You’ve said it’s been like that since you were kids.” Veronica shook her head. “At some point, he’s going to have to grow up, and you’re going to have to let him.”

  “You want me to turn my back on him?”

  “I want him to live his own life,” she said. “It’s not up to you to solve all his problems.”

  It was an old argument, and normally I’d nod along and agree just to get past it, b
ut not this time.

  This time, it struck a nerve.

  When Peter was nine, his father came home and told him to pack some clothes in his backpack, that he was going to stay with his aunt Rachael for a few days.

  This wasn’t unusual.

  Both of his parents were drinkers, and the fights were constant. He was used to staying with his aunt until the storms passed, and this time was no different.

  His father drove him to a house on the outskirts of town and parked half a block away. When Peter asked where they were, his father didn’t answer. He just sat there for a long time, staring at the house, mumbling to himself.

  Then he stopped and looked at Peter.

  He said, “Don’t ever get married.”

  Peter watched his father get out and walk around to the back of the car. He took a ball-peen hammer from the trunk and started toward the house. When he got to the front door, he stepped back and kicked it in, hard, then went inside.

  After a while, Peter got out of the car and followed.

  He never told me what he saw.

  He didn’t have to.

  “You have no idea what he went through as a kid,” I said. “No idea.”

  “I know what you’ve told me,” Veronica said. “His father caught his mother with another guy, and he killed them both. I get it, and it’s terrible, but—”

  “In front of him.”

  Veronica paused. “What?”

  “He killed them in front of him.” I shook my head. “He didn’t tell me everything, only that they were tied up, and there was blood everywhere. He used a hammer.”

  “Jesus.”

  “His father didn’t know he was there,” I said. “Peter saw the entire thing.”

  Veronica was silent.

  “All the trouble he got into later.” I stopped. “It starts to make sense.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “He’s not a bad guy,” I said.

  “I never said he was.” Veronica shook her head, then closed her magazine and stacked it with the others. “It’s just sometimes I worry he’s holding you back, keeping you from growing up.”

  “Keeping me from growing up? Are you fu—”

  The words were there, riding a swell of anger I didn’t think I’d be able to control. Somehow I did, but when I spoke again, it took everything I had to stay calm.

  “I’m getting married, I have a career, and I have a mortgage,” I said. “If you put my life up on display, I’m guessing most people would call me a fucking grown-up.”

  Veronica stared at me, and I could see her jaw muscles working under her skin. I braced myself for a bigger fight, but then her shoulders dropped and she shook her head.

  “You know what, forget it. He’s your friend, and it’s not my place.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “It’s not.”

  A flash of anger passed behind her eyes, then it was gone just as fast. She set the magazines down on the table and stepped closer. “I don’t want to fight.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”

  I nodded, kissed her, soft. “It’s OK.”

  She kissed me again, and this time we let it last.

  When she finally pulled away she said, “So, some girl stole one of his paintings?”

  “Apparently.”

  Veronica kept her arms around my neck, staring into my eyes. “Aren’t you glad you don’t have to deal with any of that stuff anymore?”

  “What stuff?”

  “Being single,” she said. “The drama of it all. It’s tiring to even think about.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess it is.”

  “The slow, quiet life. It’s so much better.”

  I nodded, said, “You’re right.”

  And she was.

  I took the same advice I gave Peter and spent the rest of the week buried in work. It wasn’t hard to do. A development on the south side took all my attention. Even if I wanted to think about something else, it would’ve been impossible.

  Despite all the extra work, I still made a point of watching the local news each night, just in case. As it turned out, one dead homeless man in the bowels of the warehouse district didn’t merit the airtime.

  When Friday afternoon rolled around, I was stuck in a staff meeting. By the time it ended and I got back to my office, Colin Davis, the project supervisor and one of the firm’s senior partners, was already waiting for me.

  “Where we at?”

  I dropped my notebook on my desk and said, “I’ve got the demolition inspectors coming out early next week. If everything checks out, we’ll be able to move ahead by the end of the month.”

  Colin nodded, then crossed one leg over the other and tapped his thumb against his knee. “What about the other issue?”

  “The historical preservation society?”

  He looked at me, frowned. “Of course.”

  “We still don’t know how far they’re willing to go,” I said. “Nothing’s been filed so far.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Colin said. “These people don’t give up, trust me. They’ll be back out there causing problems before you know it, especially if we keep going with the demolition as scheduled.”

  I listened to him, waiting for him to offer some kind of solution, but instead he just shook his head and stood up.

  “I don’t envy you having to deal with those people,” he said. “But if it’s any consolation, you’re not the first around here, and you won’t be the last.” He started toward the door, then looked back. “Don’t screw this one up, Evan. A lot of people are watching you. Play it right, and you could be up for partner.”

  I smiled.

  “You didn’t hear it from me.” He reached up and picked at his tooth with his thumbnail, and then examined the find as he walked out of my office. “Best of luck.”

  Once he was gone, I dropped into my chair behind my desk and looked out the window at the soft blue sky and the dark clouds rolling in from the distance.

  I let my mind roam through all the possibilities. If it was true, if I was really being considered for partner, my life was about to change in all kinds of ways. Just thinking about it made it impossible to sit still.

  The air in the office felt electric.

  My skin buzzed.

  I picked up the phone to call Veronica, but I didn’t dial right away. I had to figure out the perfect way to tell her the news. In the end, I decided to wait. I wanted to surprise her in person.

  I dialed home.

  Veronica answered on the second ring.

  It was all I could do not to blurt the news out then and there, but before I could, she asked, “Are you ready for tonight?”

  “What’s tonight?”

  Veronica sighed, deep, and for my benefit. “We’re meeting Wendy and David for dinner. You agreed to this a week ago.”

  I closed my eyes. “Right, sorry.”

  Part of me had hoped something had come up and they’d been forced to cancel, but of course nothing had.

  “If you don’t want to go, just say so,” Veronica said. “I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  This was a trap.

  I’d seen it before, I’d learned from it, and I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

  “No, let’s do it,” I said. “I’m packing up now. I’ll meet you at home in about an hour.”

  Veronica hesitated. “I’m serious. If you—”

  “I’m serious too. Having dinner with Wendy and Mr. Excitement? I’m all over it. It’ll be fun.”

  “Please be nice.”

  “I’m always nice,” I said. “It’s part of my charm.”

  Veronica laughed. “OK, I’ll see you in an hour.”

  I hung up and grabbed my bag off the floor. I opened it on my desk next to a stack of land development files that I needed to go over before Monday. I tossed a few in, shouldered the bag, and started for the door.

 
I’d just turned out the light when my phone rang.

  I considered ignoring it and walking out, but something pulled me back. I walked around my desk and looked down at the caller ID.

  It was Peter.

  I reached for the phone, stopped, and listened to it ring a couple of more times. I tried to decide if I wanted to start my weekend with a call from Peter.

  Of course I didn’t, but I picked up anyway.

  “I thought I missed you.”

  Peter’s voice was calm, peaceful, especially when compared to the last time we’d talked. It wasn’t what I was expecting.

  “I’m just walking out,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “I have to talk to you. Can you stop by the studio on your way home?”

  “Tonight?” I looked at my watch. “Can’t do it. We’re meeting a couple of Ronnie’s friends for dinner. What about tomorrow? I can swing by in the afternoon.”

  Peter was quiet for moment. When he spoke again, a lot of the calm I’d heard earlier was gone. “I need you to come by tonight. It’s important.”

  “I’ll come by tomorrow,” I said. “Best I can do.”

  “It can’t wait.” He pulled the phone away, coughed, then he was back. “How soon can you get here?”

  I pulled out my chair and slumped down into it. I told myself that this was my fault, that I should’ve known better than to answer the phone.

  “I can get there tomorrow.” There was an edge to my voice, and I didn’t try to hide it. “I have plans tonight, and I’m already going to be late. You know how Ronnie gets about being late.”

  “It’s about what happened the other night.”

  I stopped talking.

  I felt something cold form in the center of my chest, grow heavy, and then settle in the pit of my stomach. I pushed myself up from my desk, walked to the window, and looked out over the streets below.

  There was a man outside.

  He was standing in the middle of the street, cars passing him on either side, not seeming to notice he was there at all. He was wearing a blue down coat. One of the sleeves was torn at the shoulder.

  He was staring up at me.

  There was blood.

  I stayed at the window, unable to look away. I still had the phone in my hand, pressing it hard against my ear, but I couldn’t say a word.

  Peter was the first to speak.

  “Evan,” he said. “Something’s happened.”