Someone Knows

by Lisa Scottoline

  Berman’s eyes went wide. “You’re fifteen? You look twenty! What are you, six five? Do you go to Bakerton?”

  “I will next year. My mom and I just moved here.”

  “From where? Did you play?”

  “Columbus,” Kyle answered, hoping it would suffice.

  “Is that near Akron?”

  “About two hours away.”

  “My nephew keeps talking about some kid out there, a phenom with a funny name. You heard of him?”

  “LeBron James? He’s awesome.” Kyle knew about LeBron James. Everybody did, back home. His mom had taken him and some of the guys to a game once, to see LeBron play.

  Rodriguez folded his arms. “Berman, focus. It’s an adult league. They’re going to challenge him when they see how good he is.”

  Berman scoffed. “So we make an argument. It’s a case of first impression. There’s no precedent. Are we not lawyers?”

  “Are we not men?” Patel said, and they all laughed.

  Berman looked over. “Ross, you were here when the league started. Did they say anything about minors?”

  “Not that I remember. I think he’s eligible. He lives here.” One of the younger dads came over, tucking the ball under his elbow, and they clustered around, discussing the pros and cons.

  “We didn’t submit him in advance of the game—”

  “—so we submit him now—”

  “—he needs a shirt—”

  “—I got one in the trunk—”

  “—they’re gonna challenge him—”

  “It’s a fucking development league.” Berman winked at Kyle. “Sorry about the language.”

  “I’ve heard it before.” Kyle shrugged happily. It was nice being around dads again.

  “Oh man, this is excellent!” Berman clapped his hands. “We might actually win! Kyle, you in?”

  “Sure, but I have to ask my mom,” Kyle answered, and they all burst into laughter, and one of the dads patted him on the back.

  “Good answer. You were raised right.”

  Another dad said, “Kyle, is your mom single? I’ll ask her.”

  The other dads laughed, but not in a gross way, and Kyle thought it wouldn’t be the worst thing for his mother to meet a nice dad. Maybe starting over was this easy. Join a dad team. Rescue a friendly cat. Meet a beautiful girl. Life could change for the better.

  “Excellent!” Berman clapped him on the shoulder. “You want a ride, Kyle? I’ll take you home.”

  “No, thanks. I have my bike.”

  “Okay, hurry, go ask her. Gimme your phone number, and we’ll call in an hour.”

  Kyle gave it to him, excited. He jogged off the court with his ball, jumped on his bike, and pedaled home, his heart pumping. It was a short ride, and he steered around the corner in no time. He waved to an older neighbor like he was Mr. Brandywine Hunt. He spotted his mother’s car, so she was home from shopping, and Sharon’s Honda was there, too. Kyle dismounted on the fly, running with his bike to the door, leaving it against the wall, and hustling inside, since the front door was unlocked.

  “Hi, Mom! Hey, Sharon!” he called out, hustling toward the kitchen with the ball.

  His mother looked up from the nook, where she was sitting with Sharon, and something was wrong. His mother had been crying, her eyes watery and puffy, and crumpled tissues sat next to a Kleenex box and a glass of water. Sharon turned to face Kyle, her expression was pained.

  “What’s the matter?” Kyle asked, his mouth dry. Buddy came over, wagging his tail.

  “Your father,” his mother answered, her voice soft. She pushed back a strand of hair.

  “What?” Kyle set the ball down, stricken. It was his worst fear. “He’s not . . . dead, is he?”

  “I wish.” His mother snorted. “He gave an interview from jail to the Dispatch. Now everybody knows about us. Reporters from Philly got our number and address. They’ve been calling for the past hour. See for yourself.” His mother slid a paper across the table, a faxed copy of a newspaper article from home, with a headline that made his stomach drop. DR. BRIAN HAMMOND “DR. DIRTBAG” TELLS ALL, EXCLUSIVE JAILHOUSE INTERVIEW, SOON AN EPISODE OF DATELINE ON NBC-TV.

  “Oh, no.” Kyle controlled his reaction because his mother was so upset. This couldn’t be happening. He had just met Sasha. He had just had one good day. Sadness washed over him. And shame. Everybody would know what his father had done. The newspapers had called his father Dr. Dirtbag and said he fingered cancer kids. Kyle put his hand on her shoulder, reading the article:

  . . . Dr. Brian Hammond, 47, once a trusted and respected pediatric oncologist at New Albany General, is serving twenty-five years in prison for twelve counts of unlawful sexual conduct with a minor, gross sexual imposition, and sexual battery . . .

  . . . Dr. Hammond was found guilty of sexually abusing twelve female patients between the ages of nine months to seven years old . . .

  . . . the crimes took place on hospital grounds and were discovered by his wife, Barbara, nee Gallagher, who reported her husband to local authorities . . .

  . . . civil lawsuits brought by outraged parents bankrupted Dr. Hammond and have cost New Albany General over seven million dollars in negligence lawsuits . . .

  . . . New Albany General has been found liable for negligent supervision of Dr. Hammond and with respect to security procedures . . .

  . . . Barbara Gallagher divorced Dr. Hammond and returned to her hometown of Bakerton, Pennsylvania, with their son, Kyle.

  His mother sniffled. “The reporters faxed it to Sharon, since we don’t have a fax.”

  “How did they know? How did they find us?”

  “Your father gave them an earful, all of it lies, like that I lied on the stand to ruin him, and he only pleaded guilty because his lawyer coerced him, and he’s unjustly accused. The Philly newspapers are going to print everything, that we moved here, that we changed your name, that you’re going to Bakerton High in September.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mom.” Kyle sank into a chair, and his mother’s expression showed a familiar anguish, her eyebrows sloping down like a collapsed roof, her cheeks slack, her mouth downturned, her lips trembling.

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this is happening all over again, and to you.”

  Sharon interjected, “You guys will get through this. Don’t talk to the reporter, and that will shut it down.”

  “That won’t shut it down, Sharon.” His mother reached for a Kleenex and mopped her eyes, leaving reddish streaks. “The mistake I made was coming back home. It was too easy for Brian to figure out. I should’ve gone somewhere else entirely, like California.”

  “No, that’s not it.” Sharon patted her hand. “Don’t blame yourself.”

  “He knew I’d come home. We should move again.”

  “Mom, we just got here,” Kyle blurted out, before he could even understand his own feelings. “I played basketball,” he started to say, and his mother looked at him like he was crazy.

  “We can’t stay here, we can’t. Do you know what they’re going to do to you? This reporter is going to run a story if I don’t speak to him and he’s going to run a story if I do speak to him, and there’s other reporters where he came from, and a TV show—”

  “But we didn’t do anything wrong, Mom. We have to stop running.”

  Sharon interjected again, “Barb, Kyle’s right. You turned Brian in. You testified against him—”

  “That’s why they want to talk to us. He says I lied, and they want my side of the story. They’re not gonna let up.” His mother’s eyes filled with tears, and she turned to Kyle. “Honey, this is killing me, for you. I could handle it for myself, but I hate to see you so hurt, trying to start over. We have to go. Right away. I could do this, but it’s you I worry about.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mom, I don’t want to move again—” Kyle started to say, but he could see she had made up her mind, and he had lived this nightmare already. He had become the son of Dr. Dirtbag. Not Hammond, not ev
en Gallagher. Sasha wouldn’t give him a chance now. He wasn’t going to play basketball with dads. School would be a nightmare. He would make zero friends. The teachers would look at him funny. Everyone would be gossiping about him. He’d been through it before, and now it would be worse. Because the Gallaghers were frauds, and his father had busted them.

  CHAPTER 25

  Sasha Barrow

  Sasha came out of the shower, toweling off her hair, her bathroom thick with steam. She bunched the bath towel on the rack and slipped into her robe, glad to be done with the drama at Allie’s house. Sasha had felt bad for Allie, and her mother had been crying in the car when Sasha had run from their house. It made Sasha grateful for her own mother, who totally had her act together.

  Sasha left the bathroom, went to her desk, and got on her computer. She logged on to AOL Instant Messenger, and her Buddy List came up immediately. Julian was already online and messaged her first:

  Heir2Throne987: hey sash i was about to IM u

  SashaliciousOne: we shld have fun tonite

  Heir2Throne987: totally

  SashaliciousOne: lets meet @ the tree

  Heir2Throne987: k when

  SashaliciousOne: half an hour

  Heir2Throne987: pick u up

  SashaliciousOne: no meet me there & tell the others

  Heir2Throne987: who

  SashaliciousOne: david & allie u lamo

  Heir2Throne987: why

  SashaliciousOne: youll see

  Sasha jumped up and hurried to her closet to decide what to wear.

  CHAPTER 26

  Julian Browne

  Julian could barely control his excitement after Sasha’s IM. He had been about to ask her out on his dad’s boat, but now she was asking him out, sort of. He would’ve preferred to be alone with her, but he would take what he could get. He checked his Buddy List for David, but he wasn’t online, so Julian picked up the phone and called him.

  “Hybrinski residence,” said a male voice, and Julian realized it was David’s father.

  “Oh hi, Mr. H, this is Julian. Is David there?”

  “Sure. How are you doing, pal?” Mr. H’s tone warmed up, and Julian wondered how much it had cost his father for Mr. H to call him pal.

  “Great, how are you, sir?”

  “Terrific. How’s the tennis going? I hear you and David played today.”

  “He beat me in straight sets, so if you ask me, it went lousy.”

  “Ha ha ha!” Mr. H laughed as if Julian had said something super funny, showing social skills that would drive anybody out of business.

  “So is David around?”

  “Sure, he’s up in his room. I’ll get him. You take care, pal.”

  “Will do.” Julian waited while Mr. H covered the phone and called David, and a moment later, there was a click and the extension was picked up. “David?”

  “Hey, Julian,” David answered, and there was another click.

  “Dude, guess what?” Julian couldn’t wait to tell him. “Sasha invited us to meet her at the tree in half an hour.”

  “What?” David sounded preoccupied, but he had probably been reading.

  “Sasha wants to meet us at the tree in half an hour. You and Allie, too.”

  “Why?”

  “For fun.”

  “What kind of fun?”

  “I don’t know; does it matter? Let’s go.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “What? Dude. Come on, it’ll be fun.” Julian could hear David sounded bummed. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “My dad sucks.”

  “Dude, so what?” Julian figured it was about the store rent, but he didn’t want to bring it up again. “For real, you gotta come. I’m begging you. Sasha wants you and Allie to go. I don’t know if she’ll go if you guys don’t.”

  “Julian—”

  “Please do it for me.” Julian got an idea. “If you go, I’ll read your book.”

  “No, you won’t. You say you will but you won’t.”

  “No, I will.” Julian felt desperate. “I might not get another chance with Sasha if this new guy steps up his game. Don’t let me down, not now.”

  David sighed. “All right.”

  “Dude, thank you. I swear I’ll read your book.”

  “You’re not gonna. You don’t have to read it.”

  “I will,” Julian said, but he wouldn’t. Nobody in his right mind would read a thousand-page book. “And you have to ask Allie.”

  “Why me? Why not you?”

  “She likes you.”

  “What if she’s busy?”

  “Allie? What could she have going on?”

  CHAPTER 27

  David Hybrinski

  Faggot.

  David lay in bed, the word reverberating in his ears. His father had never called him that before. David knew he’d meant it from the way he said it, like he’d been holding it back for a long time. His father always said that David was gay for David Foster Wallace. And once he’d even called Julian his boyfriend. His mother had shot his father a stern look, one she used for her students.

  David tried not to cry. Once when he was little he’d cried and his father had said stop or I’ll give you a reason to cry, and his hand had moved to his belt buckle. The twins cried whenever they wanted. Jessica cried when water ice stained her My Little Pony shirt and Jennifer when her gerbil ate its babies. But the Hybrinski men didn’t cry.

  David wondered if he was gay. Secretly he’d been asking himself that question for a while. He didn’t have a girlfriend, but he went out with girls and had gotten pretty far with them. Melissa, Jodi, Abby, Hanna, all of them were cute, popular, and crazy about him. He was a virgin, but he was only fifteen, and David Foster Wallace had been a virgin at fifteen, too. David knew because he had read it in one of DFW’s tennis essays. Still, he wondered if you could be gay and not know it. There were a lot of things that people didn’t know about themselves. For example, his father didn’t know he was a jerk.

  David opened his eyes, and his gaze went to his bulletin board, where he’d thumbtacked photos from Tennis magazine, which they used to get before his parents canceled all their magazine subscriptions. Another clue to their family finances that he had missed. So maybe he’d just missed the clues about himself being gay. Maybe there were clues he didn’t want to see.

  The photos were of Pete Sampras, Andre Agassi, and Arthur Ashe, and older greats like Rod Laver and John Newcombe, an Australian with a cool handlebar mustache. David had vowed to grow one of those mustaches someday. Did that mean he was gay? Was he gay for handlebar mustaches? Next to the tennis greats on his bulletin board were photos of DFW cut out from The New York Times. David loved David Foster Wallace, but did that make him gay?

  David scanned the wall and realized that there wasn’t a single picture of a woman. Why? Julian was so in love with Sasha, and the other guys on the team had girlfriends and pictures of models on their locker doors. Troy Burkett loved his poster of Farrah Fawcett in the red bathing suit. You can see her nips, Troy always said excitedly. But David had to admit that Farrah Fawcett’s nips didn’t excite him.

  His troubled gaze found the last photos on his bulletin board, group shots of the tennis teams. He was standing next to Julian because they’d always been doubles partners. There were two pictures of him and Julian, after they’d won juniors doubles under sixteen, each holding a handle of the silver trophy.

  David loved Julian like a best friend, but he wasn’t gay for him, was he? He didn’t feel that way. He wasn’t attracted to him. David wasn’t attracted to any other guy, either. David wondered if Julian was his boyfriend, like his father had said. David had dismissed that, until now. His father had called him a faggot, and David thought Maybe I am.

  David felt miserable, deep inside. His father made jokes about gay men who came into the store, calling them fruity and light in the loafers. If David was gay, his father would make jokes about him. And maybe hate his guts.

  He wi
ped his eyes, realizing he had a secret. He was getting used to being a phony. He was phony about having a happy family, because they didn’t. After the twins were born, his mother got involved with them and left him and Jason with his father, on their own sucky little island.

  David didn’t want to think anymore. He got up, went to his computer, logged on to AIM, and looked for Allie.

  CHAPTER 28

  Allie Garvey

  Allie lay on her side, watching the clock on the nightstand, an electric Westclox that glowed so bright at night that she had to cover it with her panties. It was seven minutes after five o’clock, which was ninety-five minutes after Jill had died, one year ago. Allie had cried so much that her eyes actually burned. She was still in her Jog For Jill shirt, and the late-day sun came through the window. She had been so shocked to see Sasha upstairs, and Sasha looked like she felt sorry for her, which was even worse than her laughing her ass off.

  Allie’s father was downstairs, unable to deny anymore that her mother was in bad shape. Aunt Fran had said her mother was having a nervous breakdown and wouldn’t even come in from the car. Her father had gone out to talk to her, and Allie had watched from her bedroom window, horrified that her mother had refused to speak to him. Her father had pounded on the car window, honey, what is it, what did I do, but Aunt Fran had shouted at him, yelling that her mother needed to be admitted inpatient somewhere, then she’d gotten in the car and driven away, leaving her father standing in the driveway.

  The neighbors had peeked out their front doors to see what was going on, and Mr. Selig across the street abandoned his riding mower and hurried inside his house. Allie had watched, trying not to cry as her father had shuffled inside, stunned.

  Their house had fallen quiet and still. Half her family was gone. Her sister was dead. Her mother was crazy. Her father was probably sitting at the kitchen table, his glasses off and his hands over his face, hiding from someone, maybe himself. He was an orthodontist, used to straightening what was crooked, but families were always crooked, or at least the Garveys were.