The Grove (4 page)

Louie’s Liquors didn’t open until eleven o’clock. I parked my truck across the street and sat with the windows down, watching the traffic. At exactly eleven, a neon OPEN sign blinked on in the window. I crossed the street to the front door and went inside.

I came out with eight bottles of Johnny Walker and a case of Budweiser. I put all of it on the floor in front of the passenger seat, then took one of the Johnny Walker bottles from the bag.

It was ten after eleven and I figured Megan wouldn’t get off work for a few hours. If I wanted to see where she went, who she saw, and what she did, I’d have to wait. And judging by the way she’d acted in the café, I had a good idea she knew something.

I considered going home for a few hours until her shift ended, but if I did I knew there was a chance I wouldn’t make it back to town.

I thought about my options for a while then capped the bottle, started my truck, and pulled out of the parking lot.

Jefferson High School was less than a mile away.

I’d driven by hundreds of times over the years, but I hadn’t set foot on campus since I’d left school halfway through my senior year. I drove around the main building and parked in the senior lot next to the baseball diamond. I got out and looked over the field.

The scoreboard above centerfield was new, but the logo was the same as it had always been—a blue and white bear paw. The Jefferson Bears. There were metal stands on either side of the field and wooden ones built in behind home plate. The field was green and the dirt was red and it all shone clean under a bright yellow sun.

I grabbed my bottle and crossed the parking lot to the gate. It was locked, so I followed the fence along the stands and down toward left field. The fence was lower there, and I climbed over without a problem.

I stayed by the fence for a moment, taking it all in, then crossed to center field and got down on one knee. I ran my hand over the top of the grass.

I had a feeling that no time had passed, that I’d never left. I looked around. Except for the years with Liz and Clara, this was where I’d been happiest. Now, all of that was gone, and coming back was like visiting a graveyard.

I pushed myself up, and crossed toward first base, my position, and stood in my old spot. The bag wasn’t out, but the foul lines were chalked and the dirt under my feet felt familiar and good.

I stared up at the stands, remembering how they’d looked when they were full. In small communities, any home game is an event, and sometimes it seemed like the entire town came out to watch us play.

Now, everything was silent, but in my head I could still hear the chaos.

I took the bottle from my pocket and took a drink. The sun felt warm on my neck. I lay back and let myself sink into the grass.

Above me, the sky was a perfect blue.

I could hear the crowds in the stands, cheering me on. I closed my eyes and imagined Jessica sitting out there among them, surrounded by her friends, laughing and joking, completely unaware of what was coming.

The way it should’ve been.

The image felt so real and so peaceful. It was like a warm wave covering me and pushing me along, farther and farther away from the shore.

“Number twenty-one, Dexter McCray.”

I look around the dugout, but I’m alone. There are people on the field, and the sky behind them is a swirl of red and gray. I hear the announcer again, and this time I get up and climb out to the field.

The stands are full. People are on their feet. I can see them clapping and cheering, but the sound is covered by the wind and the thunder in the distance.

There are bats lined up in front of the dugout. I pick one up and move toward the on-deck circle. Someone grabs my arm. I turn around. Clara looks up at me and shakes her head. She is wearing her white bicycle helmet and a long-sleeved pink top with a yellow sunflower design in the middle.

“You can’t use that one,” she says, motioning to the bat. “It’s not fair.”

I look down. The wood feels good in my hands.

“What should I use?”

Clara turns and runs back to the dugout, disappearing down the steps. When she comes back she’s carrying a long black tire iron. She holds it out to me.

“This,” she says.

I take the tire iron and let the bat drop to the ground. The metal is cold and heavy. I start to turn away, then stop and look back.

“I need a helmet.”

She unstraps her bicycle helmet and hands it to me. I slide it on and head for the batter’s box.

The umpire is standing behind the plate. He’s staring at me, but I can’t see his face, only a swirling gray void behind the mask.

I look back toward Clara, but she’s gone. Instead, Jessica is sitting in the stands right above the spot where Clara was. She’s wearing sunglasses and her black and gold uniform from the café.

She sees me and waves.

I wave back and smile.

“You ready or not, McCray?”

I look out at the players in the field—more empty faces—then down at the tire iron in my hands.

“I’m ready,” I say.

“Then play ball.”

The catcher adjusts his stance, the umpire crouching behind him. I raise the tire iron over my shoulder and wait for the pitch.

It comes fast—too fast, catching me in the side of the head. The pain is white and everywhere and I drop to the ground.

No one moves to help.

I stare up at a heavy, rolling sky, the color of blood and ashes.

Someone screams, far off, and then I close my eyes. When I open them again, Jessica is kneeling over me. Her sunglasses are gone and her eyes are dark and swollen.

“I’ll help you,” she says. “Don’t worry.”

I look over and see Clara’s helmet on the ground next to me. It is cracked. There is blood on the white surface.

“Is that mine?”

Jessica puts a finger to my lips. “Quiet now,” she says. “None of that matters anymore.”

She’s wrong about that, and I want to tell her she’s wrong, but the words don’t come.

Jessica leans in close and whispers to me.

“I’m here now.”

Her words are soft and sweet and as smooth as silver. When I look into her face I see my reflection in her eyes and I can’t look away, no matter how hard I try.

“Hey.”

Something hard was pressing against my ribs. I opened my eyes. For a moment I didn’t know where I was; then it all came back.

“You can’t be out here,” the voice said. “What the hell are you thinking?”

The man was old and bent. He had a key ring in one hand and a broom in the other. He tapped the handle against my chest as he spoke.

“There ain’t no kids around, thank God, but this is still a school. You can’t come here and drink. A man should know better than to do something like that.” He waved his free hand in the air, shooing me away. “Don’t make me call the police, now. Go.”

“Sorry,” I said, pushing myself up. “I used to go here. I just wanted to see—”

“I don’t care nothing about any of that.” He stared at me as he spoke, and then his eyes went wide. It was a look I’d seen before.

He knew me, and he was scared of me.

“You need to get out of here now,” the old man said. “I’ll call the police, you understand me?”

I understood fine.

I grabbed my bottle and walked back across left field to the fence. I could still hear Jessica’s voice in my head, and I tried to hold on to it. There was such warmth in her voice. I didn’t want it to slip away.

At the edge of the field, I looked back. The old man was still standing by first base, staring at me. I waved to him, then slid the bottle into my back pocket and pushed myself up and over the fence.

As I was going, my foot slipped and I went down, landing hard on my back. The fall knocked the wind out of my lungs. I felt the bottle crunch under me, and a cool wetness spread around my waist.

I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball, waiting for my breath to come back. When it did, I braced myself against the fence and got to my feet. A river of whiskey ran down my leg and into the dirt.

The old man was still watching me.

I raised my hand and yelled, “I’m OK.”

He turned away, moving slowly toward the stands.

I walked along the fence to the parking lot then out to my truck. When I got there I undid my pants and stepped out of them. They were soaked from the waist to the knees. I pulled the bigger pieces of glass from the back pocket, then crumpled the pants into a ball and tossed them in the back end of the truck.

I heard the gate open and turned around. The old man stepped out. He looked at me, standing by my truck in my underwear, and shook his head.

I started to explain, but he ignored me.

I watched him lock the gate and cross the parking lot toward the main building. When he got there he took his key ring and unlocked the tall glass door, then turned back and waved again.

“Go on, get out.”

His voice was thin at that distance.

I waved back.

My boxer shorts were soaked through, and I didn’t want to get in the truck with them on. I had two choices. In the end, I slipped them off and tossed them in the back with my pants before driving away.

I started toward home, glancing at the clock on my dashboard. It was past one o’clock. If I went home, I wouldn’t make it back in time to follow Megan. But I was naked from the waist down, so I kept driving.

I wasn’t sure how long the lunch shift lasted or if she was already gone. I figured I should at least drive by and check. If she was still there, it would be an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.

The smell of whiskey was thick in the cab. If I got pulled over, I’d have a lot to explain. I looked down and shook my head.

I could hear Jessica laughing.

“It’s not funny,” I said, but she didn’t stop. The sound made me smile, and soon I was laughing with her.

When I got to the Riverside Café, Megan was sitting on the steps out front. She had a book open on her lap and didn’t look up when I drove by. A block down the road I doubled back then parked across the street and watched.

Jessica’s voice was buzzing in my head. No words, just a low steady pulse of mumbles and noise. I tried my best to push the sounds away, but my thoughts seemed to go by too fast, one after the other. I couldn’t slow them down.

I leaned over and grabbed a new bottle from the floor in front of the passenger seat. My hand wavered, but I managed to open it and get it to my lips. I concentrated on each movement, talking myself through it.
Lift, drink, swallow, breathe. Lift, drink, swallow, breathe.

I knew if I focused, I’d be able to slow my mind down long enough to stop the voices. An old trick, one that I’d used when things got bad, before I had my pills.

Sometimes it worked.

When I was younger, the voice I’d heard most often was my father’s. It would scream through me, ripping and destroying. Jessica’s voice was different, soothing. I wanted to drown in it, and that was almost as bad.

I’d been on the medication for so long I’d forgotten how easy it was to let it all get away from me.

I kept my focus, and slowly Jessica’s voice faded and I began to feel calm. I leaned back and closed my eyes, taking in the silence. When things felt normal again, I took another drink.

I tried not to think about how easily her voice had slid into my mind, how comfortable it had felt, how safe. Instead, I turned my attention back to Megan.

She was still on the steps, reading. She never looked up from the book. Five minutes passed, then ten. I wondered who she was waiting for. Then I saw a black and silver Ford Mustang pull into the parking lot and stop in front of the café.

Megan closed her book. She crossed the parking lot to the car and leaned into the passenger window. A moment later she opened the door and got inside. The Mustang circled around and pulled out onto the road.

I watched it for about a block, then followed.

It was the same car in the photograph, and part of me couldn’t believe it. I’d seen the stories of teenage murder plots in the news, but I’d never expected to see one around here.

Greg told me once that when someone is murdered the killer is almost always someone the victim knows.

But why kill her?

I followed the Mustang down Main Street. The car slowed at Ridge Road before turning left and heading toward the wildlife refuge by the river. There were no houses down there, just state and federal land. The area was deserted. If I followed them, they’d notice.

But I didn’t need to follow them. I’d seen enough.

When I’d been in high school, there was only one reason couples went to the wildlife refuge. I doubted much had changed.

I drove past Ridge Road and headed toward home, letting them go.

On the way, I thought about Jessica and felt bad for her. She’d been betrayed by people she’d trusted.

I let my mind drift and imagined her sitting next to me as I drove, leaning against the passenger window and staring out at nothing.

I thought about what I might’ve said if she’d been there, but nothing came to me. I would’ve wanted to help, but I wasn’t good at that kind of thing.

Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything.

Jessica spoke to me.

“I’m not surprised,” she said, her voice clear and calm. “But it’s OK. They deserve each other.”

The insistence and strength of her voice shocked me.

I pictured her next to me, staring out the window, her face reflected in the glass.

She was smiling, and she was beautiful.