Michael lifted the cordless phone from the kitchen wall and wandered into the living room.
From his favorite recliner—strategically parked in front of the TV—Tom MacKenzie shouted, “What is The Exterminator?”
Josh shot him an outraged look from his place on the floor, three feet from the TV screen. “No, Dad. What is The Terminator? The Terminator,” he repeated for emphasis. The contestant on the screen echoed, “What is The Terminator?”
Michael felt the muscles in his neck tighten.
“See?” Josh said.
“I knew that.” His father flopped back in his chair. “It just came out wrong.”
“Yeah, tell that to Alex Trebek.”
Michael watched as Josh and their father engaged in their nightly ritual. Josh had been planning for two years to win big bucks on Jeopardy! His father liked to think of himself as Josh’s personal trainer, although Michael seriously doubted they even had such a thing for game-show contestants.
That was his dad for you. Whatever his sons aspired to, he was right behind them every step of the way. Michael sometimes wondered if maybe his father had his own unfulfilled dreams. Still, he seemed satisfied enough with his position as manager at the local A&P.
For a few minutes he stood beneath the archway that separated the dining room from the living room, watching Josh and his dad; then he took the cordless phone up to his room and dialed Darcy’s number. He was certain that her afternoon message was her way of making sure he’d call her that evening.
But all she said was, “What time are you picking me up?”
The phone felt slippery in his hand. “I don’t know. What time does the party start?” He couldn’t believe he had said that. He no more wanted to go to this party than he wanted to go to Siberia. And at the moment Siberia didn’t sound half bad.
“Eight, I think. Nobody’ll be there till later.” He could hear her soft breathing on the other end. “So I guess eight-thirty’s good.”
“I just got home,” he explained, as if that made any difference.
Darcy didn’t say anything for a while. Then she cleared her throat and said, “So you want to make it later?”
He didn’t want to make it at all. “Eight-thirty’s okay. I already took a shower at the pool.”
“You okay?” she asked.
He tried for a casual chuckle, but it stuck in his throat. “Fine. Why?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“See you at eight-thirty,” he said, trying to put an end to the conversation. Then he hung up before she could ask any more questions.
michael fished around with his fork for chunks of chicken in the clump of mushy noodles on his plate. Josh had already finished eating and was back in front of the TV, watching Wheel of Fortune. Tom MacKenzie helped himself to a can of beer from the refrigerator. He still had half a plateful of food. Only Josh—who, according to his father, had the appetite of a boa constrictor—had eaten everything.
Michael’s mother looked at their plates and sighed apologetically. “I guess I overcooked the noodles.”
Nobody said anything.
“Well, I wouldn’t have been so late tonight except the shop was a madhouse today.” Karen MacKenzie worked at Briarwood Florist. What had begun as a part-time morning job two years earlier had evolved into a full-time position. Michael and his father were used to her talking about the place being a madhouse, especially around holidays. But it wasn’t a holiday.
Tom MacKenzie took a swallow of beer and frowned. “A madhouse? In July?”
Michael’s mother began scraping the food from her plate into the trash compactor. “It’s that Ward funeral. Everybody’s sending flowers, even though the family specifically asked people to make donations to charity instead.” She sighed. “Only nobody paid any attention, of course. So we’re swamped.”
Michael did not look up. He saw his mother’s freckled hand slide deftly beneath his gaze and lift his plate. “Finished?” she asked.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“I read somewhere that he had a fifteen-year-old daughter. She probably goes to your school,” his mother said, looking at Michael. “Do you know her?”
He shook his head. The chicken casserole turned over in his stomach. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Jenna Ward probably did go to Briarwood Regional. After all, the family was from Briarwood, although they lived on the other side of town. He hadn’t recognized her from the picture in the newspaper, so he’d been sure he had never seen her before. Now he began to worry about what he would do if he saw her in the halls in September.
“Such a terrible tragedy.” Slowly his mother lowered herself back into her chair, looking thoughtful.
“A stupid tragedy.” His father pounded his fist on the table. In spite of himself, Michael flinched. “That’s what happens when irresponsible people play around with guns.” His father squeezed Michael’s shoulder. “That’s why I’ve taught my boys to respect guns.”
Michael felt the pressure of his father’s fingers digging into his collarbone. He wondered if his parents could see that he was shaking. Slowly, using all the muscle control he could muster, he stood up. Praying his legs would not give out on him, he turned to leave. “Sorry,” he said, “I’ve got to pick up Darcy.”
“Got a date with Darcy?” his father said. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Here.”
Michael glanced back at his father and saw that he was holding up the car keys. He looked very pleased with himself.
Michael felt his face flush. What could he say? His father would never believe he’d pass up a chance to drive the car. So in the end Michael simply took the keys, thanked his father, and headed upstairs to change his shirt. He told himself this was just another stone he had to swallow, and a small one by comparison. What was driving without a license compared to killing a man?
A half hour later he was standing at Darcy’s front door. Darcy looked beautiful. Her thick hair hung almost to her waist in tight little waves. She wore pale peach shorts with a flowered top. Michael blinked in admiration.
“You’re actually on time,” she said, stepping outside. Then she turned and shouted back through the front door that they were leaving for the party.
Michael was glad she was ready to go. The last thing he felt like doing was talking to her parents.
Darcy looked out at the road. “Hey, your dad let you have the car!”
“Yeah. Well, maybe by the end of the summer I’ll have my own wheels.” He said this because he thought it was expected. He’d been saving for a car for almost a year, and all his friends, including Darcy, knew it.
They drove toward Steven Chang’s house just as the streetlights came on. The light filtered through the branches, spreading leafy patterns on the sidewalk and street. Darcy reached for his hand, and the gentle pressure of her soft skin hurt him in a way he had never known.
He wanted to say something to her. He had even rehearsed it in front of the bathroom mirror. He would tell her they were seeing too much of each other, that they should start dating other people. But now, sitting next to Darcy, it sounded so phony. Everyone said that kind of crap when they wanted to break up with somebody. And the truth was, he still cared about her. He just couldn’t be with her right now. He couldn’t be with anyone.
Steven Chang’s house was only two blocks away. Michael could hear the music even before they turned onto Steven’s street. He was relieved when they made it through the front door without ever exchanging a word. Darcy never even mentioned how he’d forgotten her the day before. He was sure, after the scene at the pool that afternoon, that she was planning to read him the riot act. But so far she hadn’t said anything.
Once they were inside, Darcy left him while she went to talk to two of her girlfriends in the kitchen, saying she’d get him something to drink while she was out there. Michael watched her disappear into the other room. He liked to watch her leaving and entering rooms. She had the most graceful body he’d ever seen. She seeme
d so at home in it.
The room was wall-to-wall kids. Somebody put on a rap CD and turned the volume up full blast. The furniture had been pushed back so that people could dance.
The smoke in the room stung Michael’s eyes. The music was already beginning to give him a headache. He scouted around for a place to sit, finally deciding on the stairs leading to the second floor. He sat on the bottom step, back braced against the wall.
Two girls stepped over him to go upstairs. Michael recognized them, although he did not know them well. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he heard Jenna Ward’s name.
The taller of the two, a girl with tight cutoffs and straight blond hair, was going on about how sad it was, especially since Jenna Ward was a classmate of her younger sister. “Can you imagine how freaky that would have been?” she said to the other girl. “One minute you’re talking to your father, who’s up on the roof, and the next minute he’s lying at your feet … dead.” Their voices drifted off as they reached the top step and started down the hall.
Michael pressed his palms against his eyes. Hard. So Jenna had been there when it happened. She had seen everything. Why hadn’t that been in the newspapers?
His first instinct was to bolt. He had to get out of there. He would make up some excuse to tell Darcy later. He was so intent on planning his escape, he barely noticed that someone had tapped him on the shoulder.
He smelled her perfume before he actually heard her voice, her soft, throaty “Hi, Mike.” Michael looked up and found himself staring right into Amy Ruggerio’s brown eyes. They were heavily rimmed with black eyeliner. Even with the air-conditioning on, the room was unbearably hot. Amy’s face was shiny with perspiration that had streaked her makeup.
Michael nodded but said nothing. He did not want her to sit down next to him. What if Darcy saw them together? Besides, all he wanted was to leave. He wondered if Amy was with someone or if she had just wandered into the party on her own.
He remembered how Joe Sadowski had shown up with her at Michael’s birthday party a few days earlier and announced, when Amy was out of hearing distance, that he’d brought her for Michael. She was his birthday present, Joe told him. Joe usually referred to her as the pig, and he’d made it clear he wouldn’t have been caught dead with Amy under any other circumstances. He seemed to think it was a pretty good joke, too, claiming that Amy was so dumb she actually thought he wanted to go out with her.
“Great party,” Amy shouted above the music. She sat down on the next step up. Michael kept his attention focused on the kitchen door.
“Yeah.”
“Not as good as yours, though.”
Michael wished she hadn’t mentioned his party. It made him think of those ten minutes in the garage with her. And he didn’t want to think about that, not now, not ever.
“Want some?” She held her bottle of iced tea out to him.
Michael shook his head. Darcy had just come from the kitchen and was crossing the room holding two cans of soda. She handed him one without acknowledging Amy’s presence. Amy stood up, saying she was on her way upstairs to use the bathroom. Darcy sat down in Amy’s place without looking at her. It was as if she’d never been there at all.
For the rest of the night Michael went through the motions. He danced dutifully when Darcy suggested it. He accepted the food and drinks she brought him, even though he did not want them. He managed to carry on a conversation with some of his friends, although later he would not remember what they had talked about. He even had the obligatory can of beer out back with a few of the other track stars. By ten most of the kids at the party were drinking beer. Michael knew Darcy hated it when he drank, so he usually didn’t.
Steven’s parents were upstairs. They had promised not to interfere with his party unless there was trouble. They had no idea that one of the seniors had gotten his older brother to supply the party with a couple of cases of Coors.
By midnight Michael’s head was throbbing. He wanted nothing more than to go home to bed. Then, just as Darcy was maneuvering him through the crowd for another dance, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. Joe Sadowski belched his beer-soaked breath in his face. “Hey, man. Haven’t seen you all night.”
Michael could see that Joe was drunk. His friend could barely stand up. His eyes were a watery pink. He leaned on Michael for support. “The word’s out. Your party dropped to second place two cases of Coors ago. Sorry, man.” Joe patted him on the back, pretending to be sympathetic.
Darcy looked grim. Michael knew she disliked Joe. She would be even less patient with a drunken Joe. “I’ll just take him outside in the fresh air,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”
Darcy rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, then nodded. She would be out in the kitchen talking with Suzanne, she told him. Suzanne and her boyfriend had broken up only an hour ago.
Michael steered Joe out the back door onto the patio and sat him in a lounge chair. “Man, you’re really gassed,” he said.
Joe grinned up at him. “That’s what parties are for, man. Get with the program.” He narrowed his eyes. “You ain’t gonna preach to me, I hope?” He shook his head and snorted. “Nah, you wouldn’t dare.”
Michael didn’t have to ask what he meant. His body tensed. He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone had overheard. He began to worry that Joe might say something to someone—the wrong someone—while he was in this condition, something they’d both regret.
“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he said.
“Can’t go home,” Joe slurred. “My folks’ll kill me.”
Michael considered this for a minute. He didn’t want to leave Joe there on the lounge chair. “We have a couple of old sleeping bags in my garage. You can spend the night there,” he told him. He thought of calling Joe’s folks to let them know Joe would be staying at his house, but then thought better of it. What if they said no? Or worse, asked to speak to Joe?
No, he would have to do this without telling anyone. He only hoped he could get Joe into the garage without too much noise. Michael didn’t need his parents calling the police. But as it turned out, the police would have been preoccupied anyway, because at that very moment two officers were standing on Steven Chang’s front stoop.
Darcy came bounding through the back door and grabbed Michael’s arm. “We’d better get out of here. The cops are out front.” For one terrifying moment Michael believed they had come for him. He stared down at Darcy in horror.
“The neighbors are complaining about the noise,” she said. “But if the police find out kids have been drinking …”
“Help me get him out of here,” Michael said.
“What?” Darcy looked down at Joe as if he were a pile of squirming snakes. Her upper lip curled in undisguised revulsion.
Michael knew that if the cops spotted them getting into his car, they’d probably ask to see his license. Especially if they thought he’d been drinking. And walking beside Joe was like holding up a neon sign that screamed GO AHEAD, BUST ME. But he didn’t dare leave his friend behind.
“We can’t leave him here for the cops to find,” Michael said, lifting one of Joe’s arms. “Take his other arm.”
Together he and Darcy got Joe to his unstable feet and began steering him across the yard, just as another police car rounded the corner.
5
joe was already gone when Michael checked the garage the next morning. A tangled sleeping bag lay in a heap where he’d spent the night.
Fortunately the police hadn’t noticed the three of them leaving the party the night before. He and Darcy had managed to get Joe to the car without further incident, except for a brief detour into the Delaneys’ front yard, where Joe vomited into the hydrangea bushes. For a moment Michael had thought Darcy was going to be sick, too. Her face had turned a waxy white in the moonlight. But when he drove her home after helping Joe settle in, all she said was, “Have you ever thought about getting yourself a new best friend?”
Michael neatly rolled up the slee
ping bag, put it back on the shelf with the other camping equipment, and stepped outside. Dark clouds hinted at approaching thunderstorms. No one would be at the pool today, although Michael knew he would still be expected to be there. He would spend the day doing indoor jobs for Simon Goldfarb, probably painting over graffiti. Not that he minded this kind of weather. It had been an unusually dry summer so far, and they needed the rain.
A loud clap of thunder echoed in the distance. Michael headed back to the house. But as he put his hand on the screen door he heard his parents’ voices coming from the kitchen. They were talking about the Ward case.
Michael’s hand rested for a moment on the doorknob; then he let it drop to his side. He would skip breakfast this morning. Instead he headed straight for the community pool.
he had been right about painting over graffiti. He and the two other male lifeguards spent the day rolling coats of thick white paint over the men’s locker room walls, while the three female lifeguards painted the women’s locker room.
All that morning he was haunted by the thought of trying to eat another meal with his family while they speculated about Charlie Ward’s killer. So during his lunch break Michael called home, knowing full well he’d get the answering machine, and told his mother not to expect him for dinner. Then, because he realized he needed a reason, he added that he was spending the night at Joe’s. But even as he said this, he knew that Joe Sadowski’s was the last place he would go. Because, like it or not, his best friend had become a part of what Michael so desperately wanted to forget.
it had stopped raining by the time he finished work, although a steamy mist hung over everything, blocking out the sun. Michael walked to the library, planning to read the most recent newspapers. He had forgotten it was Friday night. The library closed at five. For a long time he sat on the front steps, wondering where to go next.
Finally he bought a Coke and a salami-and-tomato on pumpernickel at the Corner Deli, and ate at one of the public picnic tables near the community pool. When he looked at his watch again, it was only six.