The Rebuilding Year (5 page)

John’s drawl got slower. “Yeah. Which means I’m out on the grounds, every day, all year. If it happens outside the buildings, I probably know about it.”

“But you were pretty familiar with this particular girl?”

“I’d noticed her. Mostly because she changed a lot from her freshman year. I like when college does that for a kid, makes them grow. I’m really sorry it ended like this.”

“Taking drugs isn’t growing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“So how many of the undergraduates do you know, sir? Five, ten, twenty?”

Ryan could hear the suspicion in the cop’s voice, but somehow John answered calmly. “I can probably tell you which year or program a couple hundred are in. The ones who stand out in any way. I know names of about fifty.” He nodded at the huddle of Alice’s friends, still speaking to the paramedics. “That dark-haired girl is a senior, with an interest in literature. She likes to read Proust on the rocks by the daffodil bed. The guy with the bright red hair over there is a med student. Second year, I think. The short kid next to him is Brian. He skateboards. Also a med student.”

Ryan twisted to look at John, surprised. He got that warm smile in return.

“I like the kids,” John said. “I have two of my own, not quite in college yet. And I have a good memory for names and faces.”

“Apparently,” the cop said sourly. “All right, sir. That’s all for now. We’ll be back in touch.”

As the cop headed back toward the body, John came over and dropped onto the bench beside Ryan. “Whew.”

“He seemed like he was interrogating you.”

“Yeah. I guess I can see it. Thirty-seven-year-old guy knows the name of a pretty undergraduate who may have committed suicide. They’d like it to be about sexual abuse, or for me to be her pusher. Tie the case up neatly.”

“Too bad for them.” Ryan frowned. “I don’t think it was suicide. Not really. More something like PCP or ketamine. She wasn’t thinking right. But she was too calm for either of those drugs. Maybe acid, on a really mellow trip.”

“Yes. Serene. That first time I saw her I thought it looked like a nice high. Maybe not so much now.”

“Not so much.”

Ryan was in no hurry to get up, and walk past that spot. And John sat next to him, patient, his bulk warm and steady in the shade of the giant pines.
 

Chapter Four

Two weeks later, John was raking out the bushes in front of the library, when he heard a familiar voice curse inventively. He glanced up. Ryan stood at the top of the steps, pulling on the locked doors.

“They’re closed,” John called up to him. “Something about maintenance. It was posted yesterday.”

“I forgot,” Ryan called down to him. “Damn.”

He came back down the stairs and walked over to where John was working. “What are you doing here so late? A gardener’s work is never done?”

John smiled. “I was bored and restless. Figured it was this or the bar, and I’m trying to cut back.”

“I haven’t seen you drink too much. Well, not since that first night.”

I don’t when you’re around.
It was when he was alone in a darkened room that that first glass became a second and a fifth. They had met several times at The Copper Stein, happening on each other and glad of the company. Ryan was bright and fun. They had kept off the subject of Ryan’s firefighting days and his own bad marriage, since that first time. But the conversation ranged far and wide. The man had an interest in travel, and science, and politics, and sports. John had enjoyed those evenings.

Two moves and a divorce had isolated him from his old friends. And here at the college he was in an odd position. The faculty were not about to socialize with him, and yet he didn’t fit in well with the staff either. Until Ryan, he hadn’t found anyone whose company was more comfortable than an evening spent alone. And he’d recently realized how often those evenings alone included too much alcohol.

“Yeah, well, I don’t need to spend the money going out either,” he hedged. “What did you need from the library? Research?”

“Nah, just study space.”

“Jason again?”

“Yep.” Ryan leaned companionably against the stone pillar at the bottom of the steps. “He’s got a new girl. Mona. And God, if anyone was ever more appropriately named it’s hard to imagine. On top of which she likes rap. Now, when I leased the apartment, I specifically asked Jason if he listened to rap, and he was all like,
no, man, I don’t like shit that doesn’t have some melody.
But it turns out what Mona wants, Mona gets. Which is rap. On my own stereo system. I can’t study.”

John knew that Ryan’s roommate considered requests for quiet to be suggestions with about a twenty-minute expiry date. Ryan got sick of asking. Several times he’d brought a textbook to the pub, to read for a while, until they got sidetracked into conversation. “I’m about done here. I could give you a ride to The Copper.”

“No. I’m trying to stay away too,” Ryan said. “I like it too much, especially when you’re there. We start talking, I have a beer, and next thing you know it’s midnight, and I haven’t done any work. Besides this is biochemistry. I need someplace quiet.”

“How about my place?” John surprised himself, but now that he thought about it he liked the idea. Better than an empty house and leftovers. “I was going to call out for pizza, work on a little project. You’d be welcome to a piece of the kitchen table. It’s quiet.”

“God, that’s tempting. But I have to work, not socialize.”

“Me too,” John said quickly. “I mean, I have this present for Mark’s birthday that I’m working on, and I need to finish it. And I have coffee. Fresh delivery this morning.”

“You’re an evil man,” Ryan said. “Lead me to it. Although I warn you, if it’s as good as last time, you may never get rid of me.”

Fine with me.
John blinked. Man, he was lonely. Maybe he needed to get a dog. “Okay, let me put the tools away. Truck’s in the green lot.”

On the drive home, John had a moment’s panic about whether he’d left the kitchen in a mess. That coffee had come as he was finishing breakfast. Had he washed the dishes? He made a point of preceding Ryan into the kitchen, and yes, he had. Which was stupid to worry about, because why would Ryan care?

He stuck his phone in the charger, and began getting out mugs. “There’s a flyer for Domino’s on the refrigerator. I think there’s a coupon for a large deep-dish. I eat anything except olives and pineapple.”

“Mushrooms and pepperoni?”

“Perfect.”

Ryan pulled out his cell to make the call, as John lifted down plates. The kitchen felt warm and welcoming this evening. John found the real fabric napkins in a drawer.

“Hey,” Ryan called with his hand over the phone. “I don’t know your street address.”

John fumbled a piece of mail out of the pile on the hutch, checked it for accuracy and passed it over. Behind him, Ryan’s clear voice recited his address. The hot water rose over the ground coffee, filling the air with the amazing scent.

“They say twenty minutes.” Ryan came over and leaned in beside him to breathe in the aroma coming off the grounds. “Oh, wow, nice.” His hair brushed John’s cheek, a light scent of man and lemon herb shampoo. John was struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu. Like he had done this before. Like he had smelled exactly this combination of rich coffee and clean skin and light citrus herbs. Then Ryan stepped back and the moment was broken.
Weird.

“So, what’s the gift?” Ryan asked.

“Huh?”

“The one you’re making for Mark.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “It’s not much.”

“Show me.”

He went to the workshop and brought it back. The bent roots had suggested the final form, an abstract of a baseball player, his bat in motion, shoulders swinging round. There was a lot of polishing to do, but the shape was there.

Ryan handled it gently, turning the piece in his clever hands. “Now that’s something. How old is Mark again?”

“Turning fifteen.”

“Yeah. That might be old enough to appreciate this. It’s not realism, but God, you’ve got the heart of the motion there. You can almost hear the crack of the bat on the ball. You just know he’s going to connect.” He set it carefully on the table. “There’s a reason you’re not making a living charging a gazillion dollars for these, right?”

“Don’t want to.” Damned if he could explain it to himself, let alone someone else. Cynthia had wanted him to. Maybe that was one more reason he didn’t sell the work of his hands. He shrugged abruptly.
Drop it.

Ryan obviously understood when a topic was hands-off, because he just gave a sweet smile. “You are a unique man. Who makes amazing coffee. And was just about to offer me a big cup when I distracted you.”

“Right.” John poured, and passed over his favorite extra-sized mug. “Here.”

Ryan sipped appreciatively. “The woman who left you was a fool.” Before the words were out of his mouth he was making a face. “Sorry. So, is it okay if I crack the books until the pizza comes?”

“Sure.” John felt off-balance. A retreat to the workshop would be good. He was deep in the initial sanding when the doorbell rang.

Before he could get his hands clean, Ryan appeared at the door of the workshop. “Pizza’s here.” His bright green eyes scanned around the room. “This is nice. You’ll have to give me a tour some time. Now wash up and come eat.”

“Yes, dear,” John muttered as Ryan disappeared down the hall. His stomach felt oddly bubbly, like champagne. He obviously needed to eat.

Ryan had cleared his books off the table and set it with the things John had got out. The pizza box sat on a towel in the center, steaming lightly. Ryan sat down and reached in, pulling out a big oozing slice. “This is one of the perks of small-town living.”

“Domino’s?” John sat down and took his own piece. “I hate to break it to you, Ry. But they have Domino’s in big cities.”

“Yeah, but the pizza’s never hot.” Ryan bit in, and licked a strand of cheese off his fingers. “You’re always fourth or fifth or tenth on the delivery list and the pizza’s lukewarm. It just isn’t the same.”

“Glad you like it,” John managed. The pizza was good. Everything was good. He refilled their coffee out of the thermos, and found the remains of a pack of Oreos in the cupboard. Ryan ate six, dark hair falling into his eyes, his teeth dusted with black cookie crumbs when he laughed. John set the man back to studying his books, and washed the dishes in companionable silence.

By ten o’clock he was almost done with the rough sanding on Mark’s present. He stood to stretch the kinks out of his back. He looked over at Ryan’s knock on the doorframe.

“Hey.” Ryan’s smile was bright. “I think I’ve got amino acids down cold. I should probably head out.”

“Already?” John glanced at the clock. “It’s not that late. There’s more coffee.”

“Get thee behind me, Satan. If I drink any more I won’t sleep. Anyway, there’s only more coffee if you make more, because I just might maybe have finished off what was in the thermos.” Ryan gave him a little-boy mischief smile.

“You’re welcome to it.” John sighed and dusted off his hands. He was surprisingly reluctant to have the evening end, even though they hadn’t spent most of it in the same room. The house was a different place with Ryan in it. “Okay. Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“You don’t need to do that. I can catch a cab.”

“Don’t be silly.” He passed through the kitchen and grabbed his jacket off the hook. “You’re no millionaire either.” They hadn’t talked money. John didn’t know what firefighters made. But he had the impression Ryan wasn’t rolling in funds.

“I can pay for gas, then.”

John aimed a swipe at Ryan’s head, and then converted it to a quick steadying touch on his arm as the way Ryan dodged brought his weight onto his bad leg. Just a touch, for balance, and then immediately let go and move away. Because it didn’t take a genius to see that the touchiest point in this man’s life was that leg. “Wow, big spender,” he said lightly. “Both ways, in my truck, you probably owe me a buck fifty. Which is less than I owe you for the pizza.”

“Which balances out what I owe you for the coffee.”

“So we’ll call it a wash, after I give you a ride home.”

“Okay.”

They drove in easy silence. Once, John slowed to point out a doe with her half-grown fawn under the trees along the verge. They eased past. Luckily, Bambi didn’t seem to be in a suicidal mood tonight.

Ryan directed him to a concrete apartment block. It was…basic. Not bad but just a place. Reasonable-sized balconies. Smallish windows. Ryan looked up and then sighed. John followed his gaze.

On the third floor, one of the units was lit up like a Christmas tree. The balcony doors were open, and a couple stood necking in the doorway.

“Jason and Mona?”

“Nope,” Ryan said flatly. “But that’s my place. I guess they decided to have a party.”

“Great.”

“Well.” He opened the door and turned to slide out. “At least I have the right to be a party-pooper. We have a flat agreement on no noise after ten on weeknights. It’s in the lease.”

“Good luck with that.” John reached out impulsively and grabbed Ryan’s sleeve. “Just wait a second.”