Already Gone (4 page)

I’m struggling to fit a stack of papers into my bag when I hear someone knock at my office door. I look up as Anne Carlson, the department chair, steps inside.

“Got a minute?” she asks.

“Sure, come on in.”

This is the first time Anne has been in my office. I start to apologize for the mess, but she doesn’t seem to notice so I don’t point it out. Instead, I motion to the chair across from me and say, “Do you want to sit down?”

“No, thank you. I only wanted to stop by and see how you’re holding up after your first week.” Her eyes drop to my bandaged hand and the stack of papers. “Do you need help with those?”

“I think I do,” I say. “You never realize how much you rely on both your hands until one is gone.”

Anne smiles. She takes the papers and straightens them on the desk then slides them into my bag. “How’s your hand healing?”

“Slowly, but it’s getting better.”

She nods, and I can tell my answer was irrelevant.

“Mr. Reese, I thought you should know that I got a call the other day from a Detective Nolan. He said he was investigating the attack.”

“Why did he call you?”

“That’s what I asked him. Turns out, he had a couple questions that needed to be answered. Questions about you.”

I pause. “What about me?”

“He wanted to know if I’d noticed anything out of the ordinary. If you’d had any strange guests, missed a lot of work, that kind of thing.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him the truth,” she says. “I explained that this was your first year and I didn’t know you well enough to decide if something was out of the ordinary.”

“Did he say why he wanted to know?”

“Not directly, but I got the impression he thinks you’re wrapped up in all this, and that what happened to you might’ve been a direct result of your involvement.”

“My involvement in what?”

“He didn’t give specifics.”

“Of course he didn’t.” My voice comes out sharp, and when I speak again, I make an effort to stay calm. “I can’t defend myself against baseless accusations.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“I think he’s lazy,” I say. “He’s looking into my case, but since he doesn’t have anything to go on, he’s assuming I’m somehow to blame because of the trouble I got in as a kid.”

“But your not?”

“Of course I’m not. Are you worried about it?”

Anne shakes her head. “No, Mr. Reese, and I apologize for putting you on the defensive like this. I hope you understand it’s not something I enjoy. It’s just the university isn’t accustomed to police detectives investigating our staff.”

I keep quiet.

“All I can go on is my instinct and your word,” she says. “My instinct tells me to trust you and that this is all a misunderstanding.”

“That’s good.”

“I can assure you, if you tell me you’re not involved in anything illegal or in anything that might harm the reputation of the university, then I’ll support you one hundred percent.”

We stare at each other, silent.

“Can you tell me that?”

I smile. “I’m not involved in anything, illegal or otherwise, that might harm the reputation of this university.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

Behind her, there’s a quick knock at the door, then Doug’s voice. “Jake, you in here?” He looks in and sees Anne. “Sorry, I’ll come back.”

“It’s okay, Doug,” Anne says. “I just stopped by to check in on Mr. Reese, see how he’s managing after his first week.” She hands me my bag. “I hope you’ll come to me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

I tell her I will.

She turns, and I watch her walk out.

Doug closes the door behind her and says, “Didn’t expect that. What did I miss?”

I don’t answer him. I’m thinking about what I’m going to say to Nolan the next time I talk to him. There are a few different ways I see it going, each one ending badly.

“Hey,” Doug says. “What the hell happened?”

I sit and lean back in my chair. I still want to yell at someone, but not Doug. That wouldn’t do any good; he’s known me too long. If he reacted at all, he’d probably just laugh, and that would make things worse.

“The detective investigating my attack called and asked questions about me.”

Doug nods. “She told you about that?”

“You knew?”

“I heard this morning.” He sits in the chair across from me. “I was coming down to talk to you about it.”

“A little late,” I say. “I could’ve used a warning before she showed up.”

“Don’t worry about her, and don’t worry about that detective. He’s a cop, and they ask questions. It’s what they do.” Doug pauses. “Is there something else going on?”

“Something else?” I get up and slide my bag over my shoulder. “Like what?”

He shakes his head. “Forget it. If you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

He’s right, I would, and hearing him say it makes me wonder why I haven’t come to him. Doug has been there for me since I was a kid, and there’s nobody I trust more.

The first time we met, I was locked in the Summit Juvenile Detention Center outside the city where Doug had come to tutor a class in English and composition. He walked in with a stack of books and handed them out. The one he gave me was about a group of boys stranded on a deserted island. I never opened it in class, but when I got back to my room, it was waiting for me on my bed along with a note.

It’ll set you free.

I sat down and read it, and over the next six months, I read every book he gave me. Some were better than others, but all of them made an impression.

Later, when I was in college and I told him I wanted to write a novel based on my life before I was arrested, he supported me every step of the way. Sometimes he offered advice, but mostly he just read the pages and encouraged me to keep going.

When the book was finished, he pushed me to submit the manuscript to the university press. I fought him at first. The book was mine, a way to let go of my past, but Doug didn’t let up. After it was published, he put my name in for the open teaching position at the college.

Any way you look at it, Doug changed my life.

I start toward the door, then stop and say, “Do you want to get a beer?”

“Of course I do.” Doug gets up and looks at his watch. “It is almost noon.”

“Then let’s go.”

“What about Diane? Is she going to object to you drinking in the middle of the day?”

“She’s in Phoenix.”

“You don’t say.” Doug puts a hand on my shoulder. “In that case, my friend, I know the perfect place.”

I let Doug drive, and I don’t pay attention to where we’re going until it’s too late. When I see the sign, I have to laugh.

“You’re kidding.”

“Give it a shot,” Doug says. “They’ve got a great buffet.”

“The Body Shoppe? You’re serious?”

Doug pulls into the parking lot and turns off the engine. “Trust me, the food is good. You’ll like it.”

The building is a one-level box, no windows, and the paint is weatherworn, peeling away in long strips. The sign out front shows the silhouette of a woman bending forward with a man kneeling behind her and lifting her skirt with a car jack.

“Do you come here a lot, Doug?”

“No,” he says, drawing the word out. “Almost never.”

“I was thinking of someplace quieter.”

Doug looks at me. “What do you want to do? Sit in a booth at Applebee’s and drink piss beer and eat fake ribs? Why don’t you live a little?”

Live a little.

I look up at the sign and shake my head, then I follow Doug through the front door and into The Body Shoppe.

I decide right away that I’m not going to eat.

The air inside is heavy and thick and has that sour smell that only comes to a place after years without sunlight. The music is loud, and there are several dancers on stage, each one swaying back and forth in the swell of smoke like naked corpses dangling from the rafters.

Doug taps my arm then points to the far wall and a line of booths facing out toward the main stage.

“The buffet is back there,” he says. “It might be quieter.”

I follow him through the maze of tables toward a booth at the back of the room. A waitress comes by and asks us what we want.

“Beer,” I say. “In a bottle.”

“Me, too,” Doug says. “A glass is fine.”

Once she’s gone, Doug leans into the seat and says, “It’s a clean place, Jake. You can get a glass.”

“I don’t think I’ll take the chance.”

Doug shakes his head.

I glance up toward the line of dancers on stage.

It’s a hell of a sight.

None of the girls look younger than thirty, not even close. What I see is a showcase of caesarian scars and stretch marks, bruises so deep even the red and purple stage lights can’t hide them.

I stare at them for a while, then turn away.

“So, what’s going on?” Doug asks. “What’s the story with this detective?”

I’m not sure where to begin, so I start by telling him about the jar and my finger. Doug listens and doesn’t interrupt.

When I finish, he says, “Jesus, Jake.”

“This detective is worthless. He thinks I’m involved because of the trouble I got in as a kid.”

“The fights?”

“He doesn’t have anything else to go on. Meanwhile, I’m watching Diane slip away, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“That’s bullshit. She loves you.”

“That might not be enough.”

“Is that why she’s in Phoenix?”

“She said she had to go for business, but there’s more to it.” I lean forward and tap one finger on the table. “The thing is, I could end this today. One phone call to Gabby and it’s over, all of it.”

Doug watches me. “You’re not considering calling him, are you?”

“Why not?”

“You really need me to tell you?”

“Someone out there is after me, and I have no idea why. The cops aren’t doing a thing about it.”

“Give them time.”

“How much time?” I ask. “I can’t walk out my front door without looking over my shoulder. My wife is scared. My marriage is falling apart. I can’t sit around and wait for the police.”

“It’s playing with fire. Gabby will want something in return, and you know it.”

“Not with me. He’ll help if I ask.”

Doug pauses. “Yeah, I guess he might.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway. I told Diane I wouldn’t call him. She wants to leave it to the police.”

“Good,” he says. “I understand your frustration, but wait and see what happens. The cops might surprise you.”

I laugh. “No, they won’t.”

The waitress comes over with our drinks. She sets them on the table, says, “Help yourselves to the buffet.”

We both watch her walk away.

“You eating?”

“Not hungry. Go ahead.”

“In a minute.” Doug leans forward. “Listen to your wife, Jake. Trust her. She knows you, and she loves you.”

“All she knows is what I put in the book, that’s it.”

“There’s more?”

“Some.”

“She never asked?”

“She wanted to know more about my dad. I told her what I remembered about him and about my mother’s suicide. That’s about it.” I pick up my beer and take a drink. “We made a deal before we were married to keep the questions to a minimum.”

“You two must like surprises.”

“I’m not hiding anything from her. She read the book. The worst of it’s in there.”

“Then trust her,” Doug says. “It’s her love for you that’s going to get you two through this, despite all your shortcomings. I know it.”

“We’ll see.”

Doug slides out of the booth and motions toward the buffet. “Sure you’re not hungry?”

“I’m sure.”

Doug shrugs, walks around to the buffet.

I stay at the booth and think about what he said. I’m not sure if it’s his optimism or if it’s the beer, but a part of me feels better.

Diane and I have a good life. We’re happy together. Everything that’s happened might’ve put some pressure on us, but there’s nothing that’s going to break us.

We’re going to be fine.

By the time we leave The Body Shoppe, we’re both drunk. The sun has dropped behind the mountains, turning them into a jagged black silhouette along the horizon, as if someone reached up and ripped away the bottom of the sky.

Doug is standing in the doorway, talking to the bouncer. I’m leaning against the building, watching the cars pass along the street, wishing I were home.

Neither of us is in any condition to drive, so we have the bouncer call a cab. Fifteen minutes later, it pulls into the parking lot.

The drive home is quiet. When the cab pulls up in front of my house, I look over and see Doug leaning against the door with his eyes closed.

I sit forward and hand the driver several bills and say, “This should cover getting him home.”

Doug sits up. “What the hell, Jake?”

I tell him it’s a therapist fee and not to argue.

For once, he doesn’t.

I open the door and step out.

Doug leans over, stopping me before I close the door.

“I have an idea,” he says. “Why don’t you and Diane take off at the end of the semester? Go away for a while, reconnect. I’ll give you the keys to my place in Mexico. It’s right on the water. You’ll love it. I haven’t been down in a couple years, so I don’t know what shape it’s in, but—”

“Thanks, but I can’t go anywhere right now. Maybe once all this is cleared up, but not yet.”

“Okay.” Doug nods. “Of course.”

He holds out his hand and I shake it.

“Let me know when she get’s back from Phoenix. I’ll have you two over. We’ll grill a chicken.”

I tell him I will, then I close the door and watch them pull away. Once the cab is out of sight, I turn and walk up the driveway to my front door and go inside.

The house is dark and empty and feels too big for just me. I think about Diane and wonder what she’s doing right now. Picturing her touches something raw inside me.

I set my keys on the kitchen table and take a beer from the refrigerator. I walk down the hall to my office. There’s a copy of my book in the closet. I take it out and start reading somewhere in the middle, hoping it will spark some long-forgotten memory.

Instead, there’s just the familiar sick feeling I get whenever I think back to those wasted days. I don’t get far before closing the book and dropping it on the desk.

It’s pointless.

I knew so many people back then, and hurt so many more. The only way I’m going to find out who’s after me is if I call Gabby for help, and that’s not an option.

I sit behind my desk until the beer is gone, and then I walk back to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator for another beer, but I change my mind and grab the bottle of Johnnie Walker Black from the cabinet above the sink. I pour a good-sized shot into the bottom of a small rocks glass and drink it in one swallow.

It burns in the best possible way.

I pour another on my way to the living room. It’s been a long day, and the night is threatening to be even longer.

I’ll take all the help I can get.

I sit on the couch and sink into the cushions. Outside, the wind picks up, and I hear the branches of our ash tree tap against the window.

A few minutes later, thunder, and eventually rain.