Beneath the Weight of Sadness (18 page)

“Who doesn’t?”

I laughed, too.

“So you did or do have a thing for her?”

“I think she’s a pretty sweet girl. Sweet looking and just plain sweet. That’s one thing I could never understand.” He shook his head.

“What’s that, Steve?”

“I mean she fucking loved Truman Engroff. Everyone knows that. She would’ve dropped Tommy Beck in a heartbeat. All Truman would’ve had to do was say the word. But there was no chance of that, of course.”

“How do you know that?”

“Carly and I had long talks. I knew a long time ago he was gay. I kept it confidential because of Carly. And most of the time that’s what she talked about: Truman.” He shook his head again. “It’s terrible what happened to that kid. I still can’t believe it.”

I was surprised this had turned to the subject of Truman without me directing it toward that end. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, I didn’t want to seem anxious.

“It’s part of the reason I’m here, of course. I wanted to talk to you about Tommy Beck and his temper.”

He’d had one leg tucked underneath him in a casual way, but he pulled it out and leaned forward.

“Are you thinking Tommy Beck has something to do with the murder?” His face brightened and I was suddenly reminded he was just a kid. He might’ve been a brainiac, but he was still only seventeen. “I wondered why you’d come over here just to ask me questions about what happened last summer.”

“Do you think Tommy might’ve been involved, Steve?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past that son of a bitch. He definitely has the temperament for it.” He raked the hair back from his face. “My mother and father, when they heard about Truman, first thing they said was, ‘Wonder if the Beck kid was involved?’ I mean, it stands to reason if he was willing to beat the crap out of me for just talking to Carly, I can’t imagine what he’d do about Truman.”

“Was Tommy drinking the night you two had the fight?”

He laughed again, smugly this time. He was enjoying this now that the attention had been turned toward the Beck kid.

“I wouldn’t call it a fight, Detective. He hit me on the side of the head before I even had a chance to know what was going on. And yeah, he’d been drinking.”

“Do you think Tommy was aware of Carly’s…what? Her strong feelings for Truman Engroff.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t imagine he wouldn’t have been. Though I guess you never know. I don’t think he’s too bright.”

“How well do you know him?”

“I don’t, really. I know he’s a great athlete…I mean, sometimes the two go together.” He touched the side of his head with his finger. “But I doubt if it was the case with that kid. I mean, I never knew what Carly saw in him, actually. She said he was really kind to her.”

It was clear from his tone he looked down on sports. I let it go. I’d known people like that my whole life. People who thought that if you played sports, you were obviously not qualified intellectually.

“Do you know if he ever hurt her?”

“Not to my knowledge.” He looked at his watch as if he had a pressing engagement. I ignored the gesture. He looked at me impatiently.

“I just have a few more questions.”

He shrugged again. For an instant I wanted to pat Tommy Beck on the back. “Did Carly ever tell you why she broke it off with Tommy?”

He suddenly sat erect in his chair. “I didn’t know they had broken up. Where did you hear that?”

“She told me.”

He smiled and shook his head. “It’s about time, if you ask me.”

“So you didn’t know they’d split with each other?”

He shook his head and smiled. He actually rubbed his hands together. I’d read a good amount of Charles Dickens, loved his novels, how his characters matched their personalities. I’d admired his view of people and their behavior, and I thought Steve Brown, young or not, was a perfect example of his looks and actions matching who he was. I had a strong feeling Carly Rodenbaugh would never be attracted to this kid. I didn’t want to disabuse him of his hope, though. I wanted him to learn it on his own.

“I didn’t know,” he said.

“Is that something that would be common knowledge in school? Would a situation like that reach kids fairly quickly?”

“I don’t really know, Detective Parachuk. I don’t really get the inside info from the…the hoi polloi…I don’t hang with a lot of kids, is what I mean.”

The last part was for my benefit. I guess he considered me part of the “hoi polloi” and figured I needed the term defined for me. I stood and he did also.

“Thank you for your time, Steve. You’ve been a great help to me.”

“Well,” he said magnanimously. “I can’t imagine I’ve been too much help, but I hope I’ve helped in some small way.”

“You have,” I said. I put my pad back into my jacket pocket and then put out my hand. We shook and, like one of Dickens’s characters, his handshake was predictably feeble. I started for the door and then turned back and looked at him.

“By the way, Steve, what were you doing in the early hours of March 28
th
…say around three a.m.?”

Immediately his face flushed. I could tell the question had unhinged him for a moment. “I was here, I think. At home here…sleeping.”

“You ‘think’…you’re not sure?”

He put his fingers to his chin and looked up at the ceiling. “No, I’m sure. I was here. Why?”

“Thanks,” I said. “Do you know Logan Marsh?”

“Logan? Yes, I know him. I think him and Truman were pretty good friends. I imagine he was pretty devastated.”

“Is Logan gay?”

He laughed at the question.

“I really wouldn’t want to say, detective. I don’t like to pry into a person’s personal life.”

“So you wouldn’t have heard that particular bit of information from the hoi polio. Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he said.

As I let myself out I wondered if there were any copies of Dickens’s novels in his father’s library. I imagine that would’ve been too full of irony.

Ethan

Ten days after Truman’s death

Loss. There is no intelligible means in which the loss of a child can be described or defined. I thought about it when Truman was alive, of course. Amy and I both thought about it. From the moment the child is in the womb, its parents begin an odyssey of overwhelming happiness and fear.

Initially I was selfish. I wanted a Truman, a boy. I was cavalier toward that desire and goal. But the larger Truman—eventually yes, Truman, and what a delight when he was pulled out of Amy’s birth canal—became in Amy’s womb the less I was concerned about gender and the more my only wish became good health. That concern was compounded the day I walked into Truman’s room, sat on his couch and was told by my only son, my lovely son, that he was gay. Not that Truman hadn’t already etched out a life that was different from the life Amy and I had both expected. He was different. But we delighted in that difference. We celebrated his aberrant view of childhood and teenage-hood the way some parents rejoice in honor rolls or athletic achievements. We knew, smugly, that he was capable of what he considered mundane accomplishments. And aren’t they, after all? What do first in the class, star athlete, member of the National Honor Society really mean in the large scheme of the human journey? But along with that pride, engendered from his unique personality, was also a dread that persisted like a yearlong toothache. I can’t really mark the moment when we began to worry, formally, about Truman’s safety.

And then our worst fear became a reality. Someone killed our son! And what is that loss like? There is an emptiness, a void that will never be replaced as long as I live on this earth. I feel it the moment I wake up. No matter how I feel when I open my eyes, the actuality that Truman is not here floods my consciousness and overtakes every other emotion. Every time another thought begins to suffuse the dread I’ve felt since the moment those cops knocked on my door, their hats tucked under their arms, the reality of my dead son returns.

Yes, it has only been ten days, but I already know those ten days will creep into ten months and then ten years and then the final days of my life. I’m as certain that my life has been permanently altered as I’m sure about the changing of seasons or the certainty that violence will always be a part of man’s deeds.

And now I’m worried about Amy. It’s not that I’m stronger than she is, but I’ve not lost the balance in my life. For Amy the loss of Truman has pushed her into a dimension where she only has her inner self to rely upon. I’ve longed for her to be with me in this, but I know that is an impossibility.

Amy probably sees my behavior as a betrayal. I’ve gone to work daily since the funeral; it’s the only way for me to remain sane. What she doesn’t know is that once I get to my office I close the door and tell Susan, my secretary, I am not to be disturbed. Lester Briggs can handle whatever needs to be handled. He’s been my smartest move since I began the business. Lester is smart, savvy about when we should expand and when we shouldn’t, and since the loss of Truman he and Susan have been my saviors. They just go about the business at hand and they have not troubled me with one single issue concerning TRUAM. I am grateful for that. I have whiskey in the bottom drawer of my desk and my only concern is whether I will get a DUI on the drive home. Twice, Susan has driven me the twenty miles to Persia. Lester has driven me once. Neither of them has said a word about my condition, nor I to them. We’ve made a tacit pact and all of us have stuck to it.

But the phone call this afternoon after my second martini has shifted my view of the future. It was Rich Beck. At first I didn’t understand who it was or why he was calling. I knew he was not calling to extend sympathy, and why would he? Amy and I hardly know him and his wife. Our only exposure to them has been at a few parties, and our knowledge of their son in the local papers as a high school athletic star, and the boy’s recent interest in Carly, and hers in him. But it became immediately clear he was angry. I remember I picked the phone up on the third ring. Amy wouldn’t answer it and there were parts of our life that had to continue to function despite our heartache.

“Yes,” I said.

“Mr. Engroff,” the voice on the other end said.

“Yes, this is he. May I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Rich Beck. I suppose I should extend my sympathy about your son, and I will.” There was a silence on his end and I waited. I was certain he had something to say and I didn’t particularly care whether he got it said or not. I’d gotten to the point since my loss of Truman that mostly nothing interested me. I guess I was numb, as the conventional wisdom claims happens when a major part of your life goes missing.

“I’m sorry I have to do this, but I must lodge a complaint about your wife.”

This was not something I’d expected. I’d thought he was going to petition Amy and me to go to church or get involved in a group for parents who’ve lost their children.

“Who is this?” I wasn’t sure I had the right person after all. How could this man possibly have any complaints about Amy, who hadn’t left the house since the funeral? She was having everything we needed delivered.

“Rich Beck. My son is a year ahead of your…he’s a year ahead of Carly Rodenbaugh.”

“Yes,” I said. “I thought I heard you right. What kind of complaint could you possibly have about my wife?”

He laughed uncomfortably. He seemed to have lost some of his steam, probably when it dawned on him he was on the phone with a parent who not even two weeks ago had lost his only son.

“Well, Mr. Engroff, the truth of the matter is that your wife called Debra…my wife, and made the accusation to her that either I or my son Tommy killed your son.”

“Oh,” I said. “Are you sure this wasn’t a prank call?”

I knew it wasn’t. I knew it was possible for Amy to do anything at this point.

“No, I’m fairly certain it wasn’t. She, your wife, identified herself in such a way that Debra knew it had to be her. She didn’t want me to call you at a time like this, but I can’t have this sort of thing going on. I mean I understand the pain your wife…”

“No, Mr. Beck, you don’t. You don’t understand the pain at all.”

He didn’t and I wasn’t going to listen to him suggest he did; I wasn’t going to listen to anyone who hadn’t suffered what we’d suffered say they understood. I was actually embarrassed that Amy had done such a thing, but this wasn’t the Amy I knew. It was the Amy who had lost Truman. She was someone else now, just as I was someone else. That’s what a loss like this was doing to us. It was going to change us forever.

“Well, perhaps not…”

“Not
perhaps
at all! You don’t. I apologize for the call my wife made. She wouldn’t have done this ten days ago. She doesn’t even know you. I don’t even know you.”

“I just don’t want my wife upset. You can understand that. She was at home and suddenly she gets this call out of the blue making these ludicrous accusations.”

“Yes, and I’m sure your wife was upset, and rightfully so. I have no idea why Amy would do such a thing and I apologize she upset your wife. I’m sure it wasn’t Amy’s intention. I will speak to her about it.”