Chapter Thirty-two
Mindy reached the door to Evan’s room, listening. No sound came from inside, so she twisted the knob as quietly as she could and entered. Moonlight shone through the open window, and she could see the familiar form of her son, his breathing soft and regular. Evan’s iPhone was recharging on his night table, and she tiptoed over, unplugged it, then backed toward the door, and slipped outside, closing it again.
She hurried across the hall into Paul’s home office, then ducked into its bathroom, and closed the door behind her. She didn’t know Paul’s phone password, but she knew Evan’s—and Evan didn’t even know she knew. She had been curious who he was texting all the time, so one day, when he didn’t realize she was looking, she’d watched him plug his password into his phone. A not-so-dumb housewife, after all.
She sat on the toilet lid and touched the phone screen, then plugged in the passcode 0701, the birthday of their old Lab, Sam. The passcode worked, revealing the home screen, a photo of Miley Cyrus in a wacky outfit, with her tongue out and showing a dream-catcher tattoo on her side. Mindy thumbed to the text function and scanned the list. The boys’ names jumped out at her because there were so few of them and they were his teammates—Jordan, Trevor, Raz. Mindy didn’t bother to look at those texts because Evan wasn’t buying presents for his teammates. Then she had a second, scary thought. What if Evan was doing drugs and buying them from one of the boys? She didn’t know Jordan or Trevor very well, but Raz was a wacko and his brother had just been arrested.
Mindy was just about to take a screenshot of the people Evan texted with, but she realized that if she did that and sent it to herself, Evan could tell from his Sent email box, so she got her phone and took a picture of the screen, then scrolled down and took another picture, then another, and finally a fourth, until the names finally started to repeat. She couldn’t believe how many people Evan texted with. It was a miracle that he got anything else done.
Mindy started with the girls, opening the text from the first girl, Brittany, and reading the text bubbles:
Brittany: where r u? i thot u were coming over
Evan: cant
Brittany: why not? what r u doing?
Evan: movies
Brittany: w who? r u w maddie rn
Evan: larkin
Brittany: wht about after? wanna come over?
Evan: cant
Mindy paused. Brittany seemed needy, and Evan never had liked that kind of girl. Mindy used to worry if he’d find a long-term girlfriend, but high school wasn’t the time for that, anyway. In any event, Mindy didn’t get the impression that Evan was buying Brittany any presents. To double-check, she scrolled backwards, trying to get closer in time to the cash withdrawal in March, but there were so many damn texts it was taking forever to load and she didn’t want to get caught.
She thumbed to the other girls Evan texted, and touched the screen on the next girl’s name, which was Maddie:
Maddie: i thought we were going to rita’s
Evan: cant make it
Maddie: why where r u? mall? we can meet you
Evan: w the guys
Maddie: where?
Evan: movies
Maddie: want us to come?
Evan: no gotta go
Mindy shook her head, feeling sorry for the girl. She wished Evan didn’t lead them on. She scrolled backwards to see if the earlier texts showed a relationship that would justify gift-giving, but she wasn’t finding anything. It looked as if Maddie was always asking for Evan’s time, but he wasn’t coming around. Mindy knew the feeling.
She thumbed back to the list of girls Evan texted and touched the third name, which was Amanda, a name she didn’t recognize. It must’ve been one of the girls who didn’t go to CVHS or a girl in a different class. The text opened, and the screen filled with a nude photo of a girl—showing her full breasts, tiny little tummy, and a completely shaved pubic area. Her legs were partly opened, a crudely pornographic pose.
Mindy recoiled, shocked. This was a sext, for God’s sake! What were these girls thinking? What the hell was going on? The photo didn’t show the girl’s face, but it was a selfie of her body, and she had a tattoo of a dream catcher on her side, too, like Miley Cyrus.
She scrolled backwards through Evan’s texts with Amanda:
Amanda: ur at movies? don’t u kno what ur missing?
Evan: oh man
Amanda: did u forget?
Evan: no way
Amanda: get here. im so wet.
Evan: cant
Amanda: i need u. get over here. i need it hard
Evan: gimme ten
Amanda: dying 4 u luv u
Evan: luv u 2
Mindy felt aghast. She scrolled backwards, and the texts were a blur of dirty talk and nude selfies—Amanda’s perfect butt, fleshy breasts, tan tummy, and a belly button as taut as a frown. It was positively pornographic, but Mindy couldn’t help but look at the girl’s waistline with envy. Her own waist had never looked like that, and her belly button was a thing of the past.
Mindy went into contacts, looking for more information about Amanda. She searched under A, but there was no other contact information but a phone number. Mindy took a picture of the contact information, then went back to the screen of people Evan texted, touching the next girl’s name. She wanted to make sure there weren’t any other girls he was buying presents for, or whatever was going on.
She went through one girl, then another, and then finally the third, but it was getting late. Plenty of those girls had sent him naked pictures, but something told Mindy that Amanda was the one Evan was buying gifts for, or maybe he was even giving money to. Mindy had to figure out what to do, but she couldn’t do it now.
She turned off the phone, left the bathroom, and headed back toward Evan’s bedroom. She crept inside, replaced the phone, plugged it in, and slipped out, closing the door behind her. She headed down the hallway, turned into her bedroom, and crawled under the covers beside her snoring husband.
She stared at the ceiling and realized she still didn’t know for sure who was withdrawing the money, since both Paul and Evan could withdraw from the account. It seemed more likely that it was Evan, but she didn’t know why, and that left the question why Paul had lied to her about Carole’s birthday.
You have to let it go. We’ve been through the mill. We’ve worked through it, and we did everything we were supposed to do. We’re past it now.
Mindy didn’t know if she’d ever get to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-three
Sunday morning dawned sunny and cool, and Chris joined the back of the crowd filing into the modern church. Dr. McElroy had sent the CVHS faculty an email saying that Abe’s passing would be mentioned at the church service this morning, the first Sunday after his death on Friday night, since he and his partner Jamie Renette had been such active members of the congregation. Chris had decided to come and follow up on Abe’s suicide because he couldn’t put his doubts to rest until he had investigated from this angle.
Meanwhile, he’d worked all night reviewing his tapes and research files, but learned nothing more about Dylan or Trevor. The Rabbi was setting up the work-around on the Kiefermanns’, but that wouldn’t happen until tomorrow, if then. Chris was running out of time.
He spotted a man he assumed was Jamie at the front, talking with the female pastor and a group of teary men and women, presumably close friends of the couple. There were also faculty from CVHS, among them Dr. McElroy, Courtney and her husband, Rick Pannerman and his wife, and Coach Natale and his wife. Behind them was a weepy clutch of students but so far, Chris didn’t see anybody from the baseball team.
They filed into the church, a modern building made of sandstone-faced bricks with stained-glass windows depicting flowers, trees, sunny skies, and a cross. A tan spire soared at its center, and the glass entrance was flanked by banners that read, Everyone Is Welcome at Our House of Worship. Chris had been raised without a religion, and as an adult, his career infi
ltrating neo-Nazis, drug cartels, and human traffickers had provided him ample evidence that God needed to do a better job.
Chris reached the church and entered a hall with an American flag, a Pennsylvania flag, and a rainbow flag. The congregation filed into sleek oak pews, greeting each other with hugs, then settling into seats. He sat on the end of a pew in the back, and the church was shallow and wide, so he could keep an eye on Jamie, his friends, and the CVHS faculty. The pastor appeared on the elegant altar, flanked by banners with an embroidered cross and a white dove. Live music began, a string quartet in the balcony.
The pastor crossed to the pulpit. “Ladies and gentlemen, friends of our church. We welcome those who are here today to support Jamie in the heartbreaking loss of his partner, our beloved Abe. We thank you all for being here at this difficult time.”
Chris heard sniffling, and Dr. McElroy patted Jamie on the back.
“Before we begin the service, allow me to remind you that God does work in mysterious ways, and at times like these, we are at a loss to understand the mystery of those ways.” The pastor’s voice softened. “I say this because there is no one in this congregation who does not have an Abe Yomes story. Mine is the time he told me I shouldn’t wear green vestments because ‘nobody looks good in green except leprechauns.’”
Chris heard teary chuckles and wished he had gotten to know Abe better.
“Abe was a fixture at all of our volunteer efforts—he happily doled out the carbohydrates at our Thanksgiving Day meal, he worked on our voter-registration drive, and he delivered Christmas gifts to the children of those less fortunate.” The pastor smiled sadly. “He was the least credible Santa Claus, because he was way too thin and refused to wear the beard.”
The congregation laughed, and there was more sniffling and hugs. Chris realized that Abe had earned this tribute by his relationships with everyone—a partner, a set of friends, students, and a larger community, grieving together. Only the Rabbi, Flavia, and the twins would show up for Chris’s funeral.
“Abe’s death is especially difficult to understand because it came by his own hand.” The pastor paused. “I don’t want to avoid that topic because this church is about honesty. No one of us knows the struggles that others undergo. Abe experienced hardships, but they made him a better servant of God and a better friend to us. They gave him the empathy and the sensitivity that carried him through every day, through his volunteer work, his teaching, and his home life.”
A group of female students burst into tears, and Dr. McElroy, Courtney, Rick, and Coach Natale tried to comfort them. Chris realized that no one from the baseball team had come. He couldn’t seem to puzzle out the connection between the team, the plot, and Abe’s death, but that only told him that he needed to keep digging.
“Our church has always been about love, and today we celebrate our service to God and rededicate ourselves to His community, as we know that Abe would want us to. And now, let us begin.”
Chris watched as the pastor led the congregation in prayer, hymns, and a homily about universal understanding. The service ended in signs of peace, and he hugged the people near him, relieved that he wasn’t wearing a shoulder holster. He filed out of the church, and the congregation went outside. Dr. McElroy, Courtney and her husband, Rick and his wife, Coach Natale and his wife, and a weepy group of friends and students clustered around Jamie, and Chris approached the group, who turned and smiled at him.
“Chris, how wonderful of you to come,” Dr. McElroy said, reaching over for a hug. She didn’t have her knee scooter anymore, but her big black orthopedic boot was on, matching a black dress.
“Deepest condolences, Dr. McElroy.”
“Thank you.” Dr. McElroy gestured to Coach Natale. “I assume you’ve met?”
“Yes. Hi, Victor.” Chris shook his hand. “Sorry about this loss. This is very sad.”
“It sure is.” Victor gestured to his wife. “Please, meet Felicia. I think I mentioned her to you. She knew Abe, too.”
“Yes, of course, the reading support specialist.” Chris shook Felicia’s hand, and she smiled back.
“Hi, Chris.” Courtney gave him a hug, her eyes puffy, without her usual sparkle. She had on a black pantsuit and sagged against her husband, a blocky linebacker type with blond hair. Chris remembered that Abe had called him Doug The Lug.
“Courtney, I’m very sorry about your loss.”
“I can’t believe he’s really gone. I don’t believe it.” Courtney rallied to motion to her husband. “Please, meet Doug.”
Doug extended his hand. “Chris, nice to meet you. So I heard you’re from Wyoming.”
“I went to school there. Are you from Wyoming?” Please don’t be from Wyoming.
“No, I’m from here. Abe was a great guy, and it’s nice that you came today. It’s been hard on Courtney.”
“I’m sure.” Chris noticed a crestfallen Rick standing next to an attractive Japanese woman with long dark hair, presumably his wife, Sachi, dressed in an artsy black smock. Chris turned to greet them, extending a hand. “Rick, I’m so sorry about Abe.”
“Thanks. You, too.” Rick squeezed Chris’s hand. “It’s not possible. It doesn’t seem real. We were just together. Remember, we were joking? ‘Mr. Y?’”
“I know.” Chris turned to Rick’s wife. “And you must be Sachi.”
“Yes, nice to meet you.” Sachi smiled sadly. “Have you met Jamie, Abe’s partner?”
“No, I haven’t.” Chris extended a hand, and Jamie shook it, managing a shaky smile. His brown eyes were bloodshot, and grief etched lines into his smooth face. He was trim and compact in a sharply tailored dark suit with a crisp white shirt and blue-patterned tie, a stylish standout in the crowd of outlet gear.
“Oh, you’re Chris Brennan. It’s so kind of you to come today. Abe told me about you.”
“I’m so sorry about your loss,” Chris said, meaning it. “Abe was a wonderful man, and you have my deepest condolences on his loss.”
“Thank you.” Jamie’s eyes glistened. “He was so excited about you. No one from Wyoming ever comes out here. He hadn’t lived there in so long, but he was nostalgic about the place. He had even pulled some pictures for you.”
“How nice.” Chris felt touched.
“You know, a few of the other teachers and our closest friends have set up a little brunch back at the house. I’m not ready to be alone, and my friends know that. Why don’t you come back to the house? It would mean so much to me if I knew that you saw the pictures. He wanted you to see them.”
“I’d love to, thank you.”
“Terrific. You can follow us.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Heather cracked an egg into the Pyrex bowl, humming happily to herself. Susan Sematov had known of three job openings, one as an assistant in ValleyCo’s corporate office and two from the outlet stores for Wranglers and Maidenform. She had already applied online for all three jobs and was planning a shopping trip to get a nice interview outfit.
Heather scrambled the eggs, making a yellow funnel so perfect it could’ve been in a surf movie. She wasn’t Ina Garten yet, but she was on her way. She was going to surprise Jordan with French toast because he needed cheering up. He had been sad about Mr. Y’s suicide, returning home from practice subdued and staying in his room all day. She’d tried to buck him up at dinner, telling him the good news about her job prospects, but that hadn’t worked.
Heather added a dash of vanilla, feeling good about herself for the first time in a long time. If she got an office job, with nine-to-five hours, she could be home and make dinner every night. From recipes. With fresh herbs. And pretentious butter from Whole Foods. She’d spent last night fantasizing about that ValleyCo job, which could become a stepping-stone to a real career. ValleyCo had a scholarship program for employees, and Heather vowed she’d never be in a dirndl again.
She lifted a piece of bread into the egg mixture, then sprinkled on cinnamon, and let it soak, her thoughts straying to a f
antasy that had nothing to do with gainful employment. She’d found herself thinking about Chris, more and more. He was a total hunk, and sensitive, but in a manly way. He listened to her, learned about her, and he’d coached her, to boot. And he was so good to Jordan. She knew that it was an inappropriate fantasy, but no fantasy worth having was appropriate. The man was Marriage Material on Wheels.
“Hey, Mom.” Jordan shuffled into the kitchen in his Musketeers T-shirt and jersey shorts that hung around his knees.
“I’m making French toast!” Heather looked over, expecting applause, but Jordan was reaching for the pot of brewed coffee in the machine.
“Good, thanks.”
“I even have powdered sugar for the top.” Heather’s mood was too good to be brought down that easily, like a balloon that refused to pop.
“Great.” Jordan set his phone on the counter, reached into the cabinet for a mug, and then filled it with coffee. Just then, a text alert sounded on his phone, and Heather glanced over, reflexively. The text was from Evan, and it read sharing is caring—underneath a photo of a woman who was completely nude from shoulder to thigh. Her face wasn’t showing, but her breasts and private parts were crudely exposed.
“Jordan! What is that?” Heather almost dropped the fork. “Evan is sending you naked pictures?”
“Mom, wait.” Jordan reached for the phone, but Heather grabbed it first and went to the table, where the light was better. The photo was like something out of Playboy, but a real girl. She had a small dream-catcher tattoo on her side.
“Jordan, what is going on here? Is this a girl Evan knows? Do you know this girl?”
“I don’t know, I never got one of these from him.”
“One of these? What does that mean?”
Jordan flushed. “I heard that sometimes he sends pictures to the guys on the team.”
“Are you kidding me?” Heather felt shocked. She’d seen this on Dr. Phil. “Do you swear he never sent a naked picture before?”
“I swear. It’s a group text to the team. I was never on it before. Mom, you don’t need to freak.”