The Moment Before

Chapter Ten

TEN

 

Connor meets me at the edge of Forest Park, on a trail known for the disposal of dead prostitutes. Amid newly fronded ferns and tri-petaled, pale purple trillium, he greets me with a slouched posture, again shrouded in a hoodie, but this time without my sister’s earring dangling from his lobe. “Hey,” he says.

            “So,” I say. “I heard you quit school.”

            “Yeah? Well, I’m thinking of transferring to BALC, finish up there.”

            Beaverton Alternative Learning Center or balk, as it’s sometimes called, is the school where the druggies go before flunking out completely. I must be wincing because Connor follows it up with, “No, seriously, they have a great wrestling team.”

            “You’re going to go back to wrestling, then?”

            Connor slouches further into himself and says, “I think my cheer career is like, you know, over.”

            My fingers are playing with the phones in my pocket. I want to get on with it. I’ll barely get home by 7:00 as it is. “So, thanks for, uh, meeting me. You think you can help?”

            “Jailbreak Sabine’s phone? Yeah, I can do that. But I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

            The boulder of Ivan’s unhelpfulness appears in Connor’s face. Not him, too.

“I mean, why?” he asks. “Why do you want to get into her business?”

            “Personal reasons,” I say.

            “Look, I know you two were tight, but there’s stuff about her you don’t know and, well, I don’t think she would want you messing around there.”

            “Like what?”

            “Brady, you should let this go.”        

            An unleashed dog comes romping up and sniffs our crotches, its frantic owner behind it, calling “Cookie. Cookie. Get over here.”

“Let what go? What are you getting at?”

Connor holds the runaway dog’s collar while the owner fumbles up the trail. Whatever Connor’s referring to will have to wait until we’re done with this interruption. I’m impatient. I should be getting home. My fingers shuffle the two phones in my pocket.

Once the owner and his pet are out of earshot Connor says, “How well do you know Nick?”

“He practically lived at our house the last couple of years. Pretty good, I guess. Where are you going with this?”

“Sabine had some secrets,” Connor says. “I made a promise to her. She told me stuff in confidence.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I’m furious now. Why would Sabine confide in Connor and not me? “Look,” I tell him. “I just want to hear her voice. I miss it. Can you do that? Just clear her voicemail so I can hear her again?” I pull Sabine’s phone out and hand it over, like it’s a foreign document and Connor’s the translator.

            Connor takes the phone, puts it in his pocket and we walk along the darkening path up and up, when we should be walking down, back toward our respective homes. It’s getting chillier and my windbreaker isn’t enough. An early evening breeze shoots through to my bones. A couple of birds, big black ones, flap the air as they cut across the path in front of us. Into the silence between us Connor says, “That so-called boyfriend of hers, he’s an asshole.”

            “You keep saying that. I mean, I know you guys had your differences, but he really loved my sister.”

            Connor lets out the sort of laugh that’s not really a laugh. A sneer mixed with disbelief. “Love. Right. Who he loves is himself. The guy’s up for 6A lacrosse player of the year. He’s got full ride offers all over the country. Kid just turned eighteen, can barely vote, and he acts like he’s Bill Fucking Gates.”

            “Bill Gates?”

            “OK, maybe David Beckham. Thinks he walks on water. If I told you what I know about him? Jesus.”

            Something occurs to me. “So, was he dating Martha before Sabine died?”

            Connor shakes his head. “Nah. He was obsessed with your sister. And not in a good way.”

            We get to a fork, and we follow the sign for Wildwood, going deeper into the woods. It’s past the time when the runners are out. The dog-walkers are all home. It’s getting colder and darker. I don’t feel scared though. Next to Connor, weirdly, I feel safer than I’ve felt in weeks. “Spill it.”

            “Nick? Let’s just say, the Beenick thing? You know, all that Brangelina stuff? Bullshit.”

            We hike through muddy ruts, our sneakered feet in step. Where it’s really mucky there are planks. The path wanders up and down. The creek below us flows in its spring enthusiasm. A few bold crickets chirp. Or maybe they’re frogs. Night sounds are overtaking day sounds and we’re continuing on.

            A question pops out of me, so fast that it doesn’t even register until it’s out of my mouth, “Did you love her?”

            “Your sister? Shit. Everyone did. She’s, she was, the hottest girl at Greenmeadow.”

            His answer feels like a line from Cosmo, and it disappoints me. The dismissiveness of it.    I slap his arm, lightly, like you do with a good friend who’s just pissed you off. Then, “I was looking at her timeline picture. Her doing that Scorpion stunt, and you holding onto her foot that way? That looked real to me, the way you held her.”

            “That Scorpion stunt. Yeah. There was no holding your sister. Put it that way.”

            He stops on the trail, fishes around his jeans pocket, and pulls out a doob, then a match. Lights it, cups his hand and sucks in the skunky weed and the tip of it lights up his face. Around the joint in his mouth he says, “Don’t imagine you want a hit?”

            I shake my head. “I need to get back.”

            We turn around and retrace our steps, the marijuana cigarette lighting our way. When we’re close to the main road, I change my mind about the messages. “Look, I want to know. I need to know. If there is stuff on her phone, don’t erase it.”

            “You’re aiding and abetting a criminal, Brady,” he says. “I think it’s illegal to break into someone’s privacy.”

“You did love her, didn’t you?”

Connor sucks in another hit. Doesn’t answer. Even though it’s totally dark now, I have the sense that all around us are living things. Crickets, crows, ivy.

We part ways and agree to meet the following day. It’s nearly 8:00 by the time I board the bus. When I finally see our porch light illuminating the driveway, and pad up toward the front door, I stop in my tracks beside Sabine’s Volvo. The barely shining map light is on, and there’s Dad, reclined in the driver’s seat, his eyes closed. In his fist is a bottle of something, and next to him, on the passenger’s seat, is the Ziploc baggie we’d brought to the coast, filled with the charred bits and fragments of his oldest daughter.

 

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, check out the entire book at http://diversionbooks.com/ebooks/moment