“God, it sucks,” Jordan said, as they approached the restaurant. “It’s so hard to believe that Mr. Y is dead. It’s, like, final. You can’t change it or take it back.”
“Right, I know.” Chris had actually had the same thought about death. That it was final, and forever. “It’s difficult to wrap your mind around.”
“Is this place any good?” Evan asked, still texting as Chris opened the door to the restaurant, which was packed.
“My mom likes it,” Jordan said, and Chris felt a twinge at the mention of Heather. He pointed at an empty table, and a harried waitress gave him a nod. They went over and sat down at a tiled circle, fitting with the island scheme of the restaurant.
Chris eyed both boys, but only Jordan was paying attention. “Sorry you had to practice this morning, guys. I was surprised that Coach Hardwick held it after the news about Mr. Y.”
Jordan nodded sadly, but didn’t reply. Chris could see Heather’s features in her son’s face, the warmth of her eyes and the shyness of her smile. He wondered what it would be like to have Jordan as a son. Or to have a son at all.
Evan glanced up. “Coach Hardwick holds practice, no matter what. I think his wife could die and we’d still have practice.”
“Jordan, Evan, you know, the school’s worried that any time you have a suicide, you guys are going to start getting strange ideas. They’re going to have grief counselors there on Monday.” Chris wasn’t lying. He’d already gotten a flurry of emails from Dr. McElroy informing the CVHS community of Abe’s death and setting up preventative counseling for CVHS students. “Do I have to worry about you guys? You wanna talk about it?”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Coach.” Jordan managed a smile.
“Me, either,” Evan said, still texting away, his thumbs flying.
“I’m glad to hear that. But just let me know, don’t be ashamed. Everybody gets down sometimes, when you just don’t feel like yourself.” Chris sensed he was talking about himself, but stayed on track. He needed information about his four suspects—Evan, Raz, Trevor, and Dylan. “You know, being new, I don’t know the team very well, but what about some of the other guys? Raz, for example. And Trevor and Dylan?”
Jordan sighed. “Raz was upset, but I don’t think he would ever do anything like that. I hope not, but since his dad died, you know, he’s been down.”
“No way, he wouldn’t.” Evan shook his head as he texted.
“I’ll keep an eye on Raz. I know he’s got some trouble at home he’s dealing with, so this is a hard time. But I’ve got his back.”
“Good, Coach.” Jordan smiled, and Chris wanted him reassured so that the two boys didn’t become close again. Raz was on Chris’s list of suspects and had chosen the Bill-of-Rights side in Chris’s classroom exercise. The profile of his suspect would be a kid with a grudge against the government, which had been Timothy McVeigh’s motivation in blowing up the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City.
“Jordan, tell me about Trevor. He’s a helluva third baseman, and I got to talk to him a little at the game. What’s he like?”
“Beef, he’s a nice guy,” Jordan answered, as the waitress came over with a tray of water glasses, setting them in front of them with a hurried “be right back,” which made Chris think about Heather.
I quit my job!
Suddenly Evan looked up from his phone with an excited grin. “Dude! Looks like Brittany freed up. She wants me to come over.”
Jordan’s gaze shifted sideways. “You mean Miss Booty Call?”
“Ha! Coach, you mind if I bounce? She goes to a different school, and I never get to see her. Check her out.” Evan scrolled through his phone, swiping through photos, then held one up of a pretty blonde making a duck-face kiss. “I mean, you feel me? This girl is haaawwwt!”
“Go ahead, Evan. As between me or her, I’d choose her too.” Chris turned to Jordan. “I’m assuming you guys took Evan’s new car. If you did, I can take you home, so Evan can go.”
“Uh, okay.” Jordan smiled. “We did take his car. He loves that car. He’d sleep in it if he could.”
“Dude, you love my ride, too.” Evan jumped up. “Coach, sorry. Later, Jordan.” Evan took off, leaving Jordan alone with Chris, who paused before he resumed the conversation.
“How about Evan? You ever worry about him becoming depressed?”
“No, are you kidding?” Jordan looked at Chris like he was crazy. “He has too much to live for. He’s dating, like, four girls in rotation.”
“He’s got a varsity and a JV?”
“Hell, he’s got a farm team.”
“Ha!” Chris wanted to know more about Evan, who was on his suspect list. “He seems like a pretty happy guy to me. Is he?”
“Yes, totally. He’s, like, so popular.”
“But Mr. Y was popular, so that doesn’t tell you anything.”
“Right.” Jordan’s face fell.
“What’s Evan like?”
“Like what you see. Easy, cool. I’m not that friendly with him, but he’s got nothing to be bummed about. His family is rich, and his dad is a big deal. They belong to the country club my mom works at, er, quit from.”
“She told me. Good for her.”
“Right.” Jordan brightened. “She hated that job.”
Chris felt fleetingly the warmth of the bond he shared with Jordan, especially in Heather, but he put her out of his mind. “So does Evan have a lot of friends outside of school?”
“Not friends, just girls. If it’s a girl, he’s there. They come to him.”
Chris moved on, so it wouldn’t seem like an interrogation. “Tell me about Trevor. What’s he like? He seems so outgoing.”
“He is. He gets along with everybody. He’s a farm boy.”
“You mean he lives on a farm?” Chris didn’t understand. He had researched Trevor online and learned that the boy lived with his family in a development in Central Valley. Trevor’s social media was sparse except for the weight lifting videos.
“Oh, whoops, I guess I shouldn’t have said anything.” Jordan grimaced. “It’s, like, secret.”
“What’s secret about it? I won’t tell anybody.”
“Trevor doesn’t live at the address they have for him at school.” Jordan leaned over. “Like, it’s the wrong address in the Booster directory. His family has a farm but it’s outside the school district, near Rocky Springs. They told the school he lives at his uncle’s address in town so he could go to CVHS.”
“Is it a dairy farm or what?” Chris’s ears pricked up. If Trevor lived on a farm, he could have access to fertilizer and a place to store it. But he’d need fifty bags or so to make an IED powerful enough to blow up a building, which would explain why he’d be stealing more from Herb Vrasaya’s farm.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been to the farm. But that’s how he got so big. He can bench press, like, 250. He’s a monster.”
“What’s his personality like? You don’t think he would be the kind of guy to get depressed, do you know?”
“Nah. The only thing is he’s got a temper.”
“I saw, at the party. How about Dylan?” Chris was ticking off the names on his suspect list. He’d pump Jordan until he struck oil.
“Dylan’s a nice guy.”
“He seems it.” Chris was starting to see the shortcomings of his unwitting. Jordan liked everything and everybody, and Chris would have to pull teeth to get better information. “But he’s the quiet type, isn’t he?”
“Totally. He works so hard. He gets really good grades. Evan thinks he’s a total geek.”
“Do you know Dylan?”
“Yes, him, I know. He played JV with me, too. He’s not superhard-core into baseball. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great player and I don’t want to dis him to you—”
“No, I get that.”
“He plays because his parents make him, and he’s so tall, like the tallest on the team, and it helps him in the outfield. And he can hit. His mec
hanics are good.”
“Right. Where are they tonight, Dylan and Trevor? Do you know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who do they hang with?”
Jordan shook his head. “Nobody I know. They’re both, like, loners. Trevor especially. He never goes anywhere because he has so many farm chores.”
“Where’s the farm?”
“On Skinny Lane Road. It’s called Skinny Lane Farm. I remember the name because Raz said it should be called Meathead Lane Farm, for him.” Jordan sipped his water, chuckling.
“How about Dylan? Who’s he friendly with?” Chris’s research on Dylan’s social media had shown that the boy had only six friends who were people and the other fifteen were scientific organizations like CERN, NASA’s Hubble Space Telescope, and Curiosity Rover. Chris thought it didn’t get lonelier than having an inanimate object for a friend.
“Nobody, he studies all the time. Like on the bus to away games, he puts his headphones on and keeps studying. Once I asked him what he was listening to, and he said ‘nothing, I just want to block you guys out.’”
Chris had another thought. “I wonder why he’s not in our AP Government class. He must be on the AP track, right?”
“Yes, but he took Government last year. He takes everything ahead of everybody else. He’s on an independent study now. He took Physics last year, too.”
“How about Chemistry?” Chris asked, since Dylan’s interest in the sciences was a red flag.
“I don’t know.” Jordan shrugged. “Come to think of it, Dylan is kind of weird. Maybe you should be worried about him, with depression and all. He seemed weird this morning when we heard about Mr. Y. Everybody was upset, but he wasn’t. He told all of us about it like it was a news story.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” Chris said, meaning it. Dylan showed a marked lack of empathy when he told everyone about the scene at the high school, with the crying teachers. In contrast, Raz had been holding back tears, his face mottled with emotion, not to cry in front of the team.
Jordan wheeled his head around. “Wonder what happened to the waitress? Maybe we should just go?”
“Okay, it’s getting late. Your mom’s probably wondering where you are.” Chris didn’t want to arouse Jordan’s suspicions and he was looking forward to seeing Heather again. Maybe they’d have another talk over water and cookies.
“No, not tonight.” Jordan stood up. “She’s out on a date.”
“Oh, good,” Chris forced himself to say, rising.
Chapter Twenty-seven
For Heather, the check couldn’t come fast enough. She hadn’t ordered dessert, but her date had, oblivious to the fact that she was having a horrible time. She sat across from him, muting him in her mind, like a commercial she couldn’t fast-forward. He was decent-looking and had a great job, but she didn’t want looks or even money. What she wanted was a man who was interested in her, and she knew that her date wasn’t interested in her by the appetizer, a mixed green salad.
It only went downhill from there, when, in response to her so what do you do for a living, he started mansplaining title insurance. They’d ordered entrees, and she’d listened to him drone on through her poached salmon with yogurt dill dressing. She could’ve put up with it if he had just asked one question about her. That was her test for first dates—whether he learned as much about her as she did about him.
But by the time the check came, he still had no idea whether she had children, a job, a dog, or preexisting illness. That didn’t stop him from pawing her in the parking lot on the way to her car and forcing his tongue into her mouth. She pushed him away, got in the car, and drove home, looking forward to taking off her bra, getting into her pajamas, and watching her DVRed shows, which were backing up like a Things To Do List for the unemployed.
Suddenly her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the screen, surprised to see it was Raz, so she answered. “Raz? How are you?”
“Sorry to call you so late, Ms. Larkin.”
“That’s okay.” Heather didn’t know what was going on, but Raz sounded upset, his voice shaky.
“I’ve been calling Jordan. Do you know where he is?”
Heather hesitated. She didn’t relish being the one to tell Raz that Jordan was with Evan. She wondered if he and Jordan had talked since practice. Jordan had been upset about Mr. Y’s suicide and had spent the day in his room, on his computer and doing homework. She told Raz, “I think he’s at the movies. Maybe he has his phone on silent.”
“Who did he go with?”
“Evan, I think,” Heather answered, because it couldn’t be avoided. She didn’t know what Raz could have expected after he’d punched Jordan. She heard a woman’s voice in the background, probably Susan, but the words were indistinct, like it said on closed captioning. WORDS INDISTINCT.
Raz cleared his throat. “See, uh, I wanted to say I’m sorry to you, too. I lost my temper and I didn’t mean to hit Jordan, I’m sorry about that.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to say. But I think Jordan is the one you owe the apology to.”
“That’s why I’m trying to reach him.”
“Well, good. It’s between the two of you. You have to make it right.”
“I know, I went too far.”
“Yes, you did.” Heather felt a pang of sympathy for him, he sounded so upset. But still, she’d been happier knowing that Jordan was out with Evan and she sensed Jordan had been looking forward to it, too. Not that he’d told her as much, but he’d put on a clean T-shirt and jeans. And Heather couldn’t believe it when she saw Jordan and Evan driving off in a BMW that cost more than she made all last year.
“Mrs. Larkin, my mother wants to talk to you.”
“Okay, no problem, good night.”
“Good night,” Raz said miserably, then Susan came on. “Heather? I’m so sorry about what Raz did. I hope you accept his apology.”
“Of course I do,” Heather said, softening up. She felt guilty that she hadn’t gone up to Susan at the game. “I’m so sorry about Neil, and you have my sympathies. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you yesterday.”
“Right, thanks.” Susan sounded shaky, too. “It’s been so hard, and I’m not saying this is an excuse, but Raz has been very upset about losing his father.”
“I can’t imagine,” Heather said, though she could. Jordan never knew his father, but he still never punched his friend in the face.
“He’s been so angry lately and withdrawn, and he spends a lot of time in his room on the laptop. I’m beginning to worry what he’s up to.” Susan’s tone turned vulnerable, which surprised Heather. They didn’t know each other at all.
“Jordan spends a lot of time in his room too. They all do. They’re growing up.”
“I know, but this is different. I think he’s withdrawing and I don’t know who he’s online with, all the time.”
“Tell me about it.” Heather steered onto Central Valley Road, almost home.
“I hope that what happened won’t affect his friendship to Jordan. I always liked that they were friends. Jordan is such a good influence on Raz.”
“Thank you.” Heather didn’t think Jordan should have to raise Raz, but whatever. The traffic on Central Valley was light since most of the businesses were closed, the storefronts darkened and their signs turned off. Only the Friendly’s sign was still on, blasting into her apartment. She always thought, Not so Friendly, are you?
“Heather, I need to ask you a favor. I’m hoping there’s something you could do to facilitate things between the boys. You could broker a peace.”
“How?” Heather asked, unprepared for the request. Susan had a big job at ValleyCo, so maybe she was used to asking for things. Heather had always wished she could be more like that. She never asked anybody for anything. She relied on herself. She waited. As Dr. Phil would say, How’s that working for you?
“Please talk to Jordan and tell him that Raz is having a hard time. I don’t know if you heard, but his brothe
r Ryan was arrested last night for vandalism, and that’s upsetting everybody.”
“Oh, my,” Heather said, as if she hadn’t heard, though she had.
“I hope you’ll try to just get us through this time. It’s a rough patch and I think Jordan would really be key to helping Raz. Jordan hasn’t answered his calls.”
“He was at the movie, so maybe he didn’t get it.”
“Raz has been calling him all afternoon, too. And texting. Jordan’s not responding. He would’ve apologized to him at practice but for the news about Mr. Y. It’s so terrible. I feel like we’re all in a bad patch lately, don’t you?”
“In a way, yes. I just left my job.” Heather reached her apartment building and turned left into the driveway, then had a thought. “Susan, you work for ValleyCo, don’t you?”
“Yes, I’m Marketing Manager.”
Heather hesitated, then thought of Dr. Phil. “Do you know of any openings, for me?”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Mindy scrolled through Facebook on her phone in bed, not bothering to comment on the funny animal videos, baby pictures, or inspirational sayings. Usually she was a Facebook slut, liking all her friends’ posts and counting the likes on her posts. But not tonight. She was completely preoccupied, waiting for Paul to come home. He was late, the second night in a row. And again, he’d only texted, got held up at the hosp, sry.
She kept scrolling, watching the posts flip by like a slot machine. She remembered when she used to read in bed, but Facebook had replaced books. She’d been happier back then, but that could have been a coincidence. Finally she heard Paul’s car pull into the driveway and glanced at the bedside clock: 12:15.
The house was quiet, and Mindy waited for him to get inside, so that when he finally did, she could almost hear the mechanical ca-chunk of his key turning in the lock downstairs, then the slight squeak of the front door opening, and the comforting sealing sound as it was shut and the deadbolt thrown. She knew Paul’s routines so well, the way a wife does a husband’s, so that she knew he would drop his keys jingling on the console table, which he did, then his messenger bag on the chair beside the console table, thud, then he’d turn off the light she’d left on for him, and last would come a sigh, which she used to think of as a sigh of contentment. But after he’d had his affair, she wondered if his sigh was one of resignation, like, I’m home, having no other choice.