Chapter Fifteen: Clouds of Sorrow Depart
"Foster, are you finished in there? We're going to be late."
I opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the room. "I'm ready."
Reagan took my hand in hers and squeezed. "Are you sure you want to go? We can go to the movies or something instead."
"I'm sure," I said, squeezing back. "Let's go."
We walked across campus, still holding hands, twin sisters in black. Outside the auditorium stood dozens of students, some smoking, some deep in quiet conversation. As we approached, I caught sight of Stephania.
"How are you feeling, Foster?" she asked as she embraced me. "You are healed from your accident, yes?"
"Yes," I smiled. "Thank you for asking."
"This is horrible," she said, looking around. "So much talent and Poof ! Gone."
As Stephania was Poofing I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning, I came face to face with Aaron. Dark circles pooled under his eyes but the rest of his face was calm and smooth.
"Foster," he said, hesitating.
"Hello, Mr. Hagan." I reached out and took his hand, mending the coarseness between us.
"How are you holding up, Aaron?" Reagan asked.
"Oh, you know," he sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "Okay, I guess. I’m just confused. Why was he there in the first place? Did he jump? He was so talented …”
"Talented, yes," Stephania echoed.
"... so career-driven. We had just seen him days before. Remember, Reagan? Stephania? At the bar ... "
"I remember," Reagan said, glancing in my direction. I didn't react.
"So horrible," Stephania said again.
"I mean, did he do it on purpose? Was he feeling guilty for …" Aaron choked and glanced my direction. “… for things he may have done?”
"Maybe it was an accident," Reagan interrupted.
"They found his car at the park, Reagan," Aaron said, turning to face her. "Near the bridge."
"But, no body."
No body. My stomach turned over. Stephania put her hand to her mouth and whimpered.
"Why are you being so cold?" Aaron asked, still facing Reagan.
"I'm not meaning to be. I'm sorry. I just don't know what to say."
Another trumpet student walked by Aaron, patting him on the shoulder. Aaron asked him for a cigarette.
"You don't smoke," I said.
"No. I don't." He lit the end and inhaled.
"I'm going in," Reagan said. "Foster? Come with me?"
I touched Aaron’s arm. "Want me to save you a spot?"
Aaron nodded, staring ahead at nothing particular.
"I'll come with you," Stephania said. She took my arm opposite Reagan, whose lips tightened into a thin line.
The auditorium was packed with both staff and students. We secured seats in the middle of the room and soon Aaron joined us. Dr. Carter took the stage.
"Good afternoon," he said, commanding, yet softer than the night McGammon was first introduced. "We are joined here today in sadness to honor a man of ambition and of talent ..."
Several people sniffed.
I sat, ankles tightly pushed together, eyes transfixed on the photo that was displayed on the stage. It was his staff photo. His lips were etched in a reserved smile but his eyes were alive. I took a shaky breath and looked at my knees. Aaron reached over and put his hand on my leg. I didn't look up for the rest of the memorial.
____________
"That was a nice service," a blonde said, passing us. Another, a brunette, nodded and wiped her eyes.
"Well," Aaron said as we reached the courtyard. "That's that."
"Are you leaving?" Stephania asked. "Leaving school?"
"Leaving? No way. I'm staying. They've already hired an interim teacher. I hear he's good. Besides," Aaron said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. "I have other reasons to stay. That is, if that reason will forgive me for being such a self-focused, uncaring asshole."
Stephania clapped her hands together and broke into a smile that didn't fit the mood of the day. "Favoloso!" she boomed, patting us both on the shoulders. Then seeing someone else she knew across the yard, waved. "I see you later, yes?"
"Yes? No? When is she going to learn to speak English?" Reagan said, watching her bounce away.
"When are YOU going to get over that fighetta?" a voice asked.
"What are you doing here?" Reagan turned, kissing Grant on the cheek. He returned the affection then faced me, pulling me to his chest.
"Hello, gorgeous."
I breathed in his clothes. "Grant ..."
"I knew two of my best ladies would be here," he said, still holding me.
"Grant," Aaron said, reaching to shake his hand. Grant returned the formality.
"How are you holding up, Aaron?"
"As expected, I guess.”
“Yes,” Grant said, eyeing him. “I’m sure.”
"Is Vicki here?" Reagan asked.
"No. She’s busy. But she sends her condolences. Foster, she said to feel free to call her later."
As I looked up at him, I could see it. Grant knew everything. He knew of the plan. He knew of the night on the bridge. I saw a brief flicker in his eye. My knees weakened and I swayed.
"Whoa. Hold up, there." Grant grabbed my arm. Aaron reached over to help. "Don't lock those knees. You know better."
"I'm fine." I said, then hugged him tighter. "Too much cologne, I guess."
Grant hissed at me but held me tight, putting his lips on the top of my head. The unspoken understanding between us was strong. No one else noticed.
Everyone stood there, talking about McGammon, the memorial service, and the shock of it all for ten minutes. After letting go of Grant, I moved close to Aaron, my eyes scanning the courtyard. Hundreds lingered under the trees, some crying, some smiling. Most were wearing black. It was an odd scene against the bright spring day.
"... his car was parked right in the open," Aaron was saying. "It wasn’t like he was trying to hide being there."
"So I guess the trip to Sweden is off," Grant said.
“Postponed,” Aaron continued. “Out of respect.”
“How did they know where to start looking for him?”
"Apparently,” Aaron said, “someone called the missing persons tip line from a pay phone the next day."
My eyes continued across the crowd. My piano professor, Dr. Alexander, was speaking quietly with a student who was weeping into a tissue.
Then I saw him.
Dr. Lane was standing by himself, a hand resting in the pocket of his corduroy slacks. We found each other at almost the same time.
I pulled away from my group, who were still trying to solve the Jacob McGammon mystery on their own.
"I'll be right back," I said and moved across the courtyard. As I approached, Dr. Lane smiled, the wise lines around his eyes also grinning.
“Good afternoon, Foster,” he said, extending his hand.
“Dr. Lane. How are you?” I asked, squeezing his hand. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“I thought I should make an appearance. The death of a faculty member is a pretty traumatic event.”
“And you’re the doctor.”
“Yes,” he said, the smile still hinting on his lips. “Although I wouldn’t want to be seen as an ambulance chaser. But I like to make myself available.”
“Well,” I said, feeling safe just being near to him, “I know I’m happy to see you again.”
“You look well.”
“Thank you. You, too.”
We stood there in silence, looking at the others around us. It took everything I had to keep from running into his chest and embracing him.
“Are events like this difficult?” I asked. “Because of your daughter?”
Without looking at me, Dr. Lane slowly nodded. “A day doesn’t go by when something isn’t difficult. But we learn how to adapt and remember the good times. Such is
the way of life.”
I wanted to cry. I wanted to let him know that his daughter’s death has been repaid. But all I could do is nod with him.
“Well,” I finally said, “I guess I’d better get back to my friends.”
“Of course. And thank you.”
“For what?” I asked, stopping in mid-step.
“For asking about my daughter. For asking about Lucy. I think you two would have gotten along well.”
“I’m sure we would have,” I said, a tear welling up in the corner of my eye. “Until later, Doctor.”
“Yes, until later. My door is open anytime.”
As I turned to walk away, I made a last minute decision. Like a little girl I ran into his arms. For a moment he froze but soon his arms rested on my shoulders. As I pulled away, I saw his bottom lip quiver.
“Thank you, Doctor Lane.”
I didn’t look back at him but I could see him standing there in my mind, his Converse sneakers peeking out from the bottom of his pants, his beard neatly trimmed.
On the spectrum of adult men in this world, he and Jacob McGammon were on opposite ends of the spectrum, one hurting, one healing. I said a silent prayer to give thanks for those like him.
As I approached my friends, I noticed Reagan's wide-eyed gaze. She stood there in a checkered black and white dress with a big pink bow around the waist, laced-up boots on her feet, and her hair incredibly frizzy in the humidity. My heart expanded.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” I said, throwing my arms around her neck. “Everything is going to be just fine.”
Epilogue: 2016