Desire Lines (33 page)

She smiles cautiously.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day to tell you that, but you were never home.”

“Well …” She debates whether to tell him now. She had planned to wait. “Some strange stuff happened,” she says. “Someone left an envelope in my car with a picture of Jennifer and a tape of her voice and her favorite song from high school. And when I got home, her voice was on the machine.”

“She called?” Jack says sharply.

Kathryn shakes her head. “I think it’s old. A tape from a long time ago.”

“What did you—Did you talk to—”

“I took everything to Gaffney at the police station. He’s having it analyzed.”

“It could be a prank.”

“Yeah.”

“Or it could be from her, right?”

“Gaffney doesn’t think so. Someone was trying to get her to talk into a tape recorder, and she was sort of resisting. It doesn’t seem like something she’d send.”

“And the song?”

“‘Missing You,’ by John Waite.”

He makes a face of amused disgust. “Really?”

“She used it for her yearbook quote.”

Leaning back against her car, he says, “Wow.

I guess that article had an effect, didn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“That’s good.”

“Right.”

He looks at her intently. “You need to be careful.”

She nods.

“I got you into this, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” she says.

“So do you hate me now?”

“Well, I’ll tell you this,” she says, tapping her foot against the front tire to get off the dirt. “If I disappear, I’m taking you with me.”

He pretends to think about it. “I could be up for that,” he says.

BY THE TIME
they get back to the table on the deck, Will and Brian have arrived. “We saw you two deep-throating in the parking lot and decided to leave you alone,” Brian says, standing up to give Kathryn a
kiss on the cheek and shake Jack’s hand. Brian looks a little different than she remembers; it takes her a moment to realize it’s the glasses, gold-framed ovals. They’ve transformed his look from just plain nerdy to nerdy-hip. She sees him glance at her hair, but he doesn’t say anything.

Will stands up, too, and reaches across the table to cuff Kathryn on the shoulder. “Hey, you. Quite a change.”

“Yeah,” she says.

“Suits you. I like it.”

“Thanks.”

Rachel gazes at Kathryn and then looks down.

Craning his neck to look around, Jack says, “Has anyone seen the goddamn waiter? He took my beer away.”

“What are you doing here?” Kathryn asks Will. “I thought you were in charge of this thing tonight.”

“I am, I’m in complete control,” Will says. “Everything’s all set to go.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be handing out name tags at the door or something?” Rachel asks.

Will slaps his forehead. “Name tags! Damn!” Then he laughs. “Remember Daphne Cousins? Class treasurer? She’s way into all this stuff, so I’m letting her run with it.” He glances at his watch. “I’ll head over there in a while.”

“Delegating always was one of your special skills,” says Brian. “Remember that time I ended up washing your mother’s car because you had a date with Laura Sanford? How did that happen?”

“Like everything else. I bribed you.”

“How can you guys remember this stuff? I have a hard time remembering what I had for lunch,” Jack says.

“Old grudges die hard,” Brian says. “And—oh, yeah—we drank your beer, buddy. It was getting warm anyway.”

Jack flags down a waiter and orders a Geary’s. “Normally I’d order
something decent,” he tells the waiter, motioning toward Brian with his thumb, “but this guy works for Geary’s, and I feel sorry for him.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” Brian says. “We were just voted number one in New England in a blind taste test.”

“Deaf, dumb, and blind,” Will says.

They all laugh. “Why, I oughta …” Brian says, making a fist and pumping it in the air.

“Where’s your little honey?” Jack asks Brian, settling back in his chair. “I thought we were going to meet her tonight.”

“Couldn’t do it,” Brian says. “I was afraid if she met you guys before the wedding, she might call it off.”

“Wise man,” Will says.

The air is less humid now. A breeze ruffles the water, and waiters move around the deck with trays of lit votive candles, putting one on each table. For a moment all of them are silent. Rachel has her feet up on the railing and is looking out over the water, Jack is pouring his beer into a glass, Brian adjusts his glasses, taking them off and putting them on again. Will takes a sip of his root beer and puts it down. Just as the moment is stretching into awkwardness, he says, “I want to get this out in the open and be done with it.” He looks at Kathryn. “I’m sure you all saw the story in the paper this morning. There was some sensitive stuff in there.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Kathryn can see Rachel nodding.

“My mother hasn’t seen it yet, but she probably won’t be too happy about some of the things that came out,” Will says. “Then again, she refused to be interviewed, so she doesn’t have much of a right to complain.”

“I didn’t refuse,” Rachel says in a bitter voice. “Hell, I invited her into my house. And then she fixates on petty high-school bullshit—” She stops, turning her face away and putting up her hand. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to get into it tonight.”

“No, this is good. Let’s clear the air a little,” Will says.

Kathryn starts to speak, but Jack touches her leg under the table. “Can I say something?” he asks mildly. “I assigned this piece because I really want to know where Jennifer is. I think we all do. I think it’s very important,” he says, looking at Rachel, “that we learn as much as possible about Jennifer’s state of mind in the weeks and months before she disappeared. That may mean getting into some petty high-school bullshit.”

“Oh, come on,” Rachel snaps. “That stuff about the prom was completely irrelevant.”

“I don’t think so, Rachel,” Kathryn says.

“Well, of course
you
don’t.”

Kathryn feels her face flush. “Jennifer used Brian, and she hurt you. It was totally out of character.”

“I just don’t think you need to dredge up every little squabble,” Rachel says. “I don’t see what good it does anyone.”

“Well, if you’d tell me the name of the guy she was seeing, maybe I’d have something real to go on.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Will says.

Rachel ignores him, shakes her head. “You’re just jealous she confided in me,” she tells Kathryn.

“Maybe I am,” Kathryn says. “So what? You’re still holding back an important piece of information.”

“Important to whom? The general public? I don’t think so. It’s all about the
story
now, isn’t it? It’s not really about Jennifer at all.”

“Okay, time out,” Will says, making a T with his hands. They both turn to look at him. “What do you know, Rachel?”

“Nothing.” She folds her arms in disgust. “She’s blown this way out of proportion.”

“Blown what way out of proportion?”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “This is so ridiculous I can’t believe I even have to engage it. I said one little off-the-cuff thing and suddenly it’s this big deal. Well, listen,” she says, reaching into the shoulder bag hanging over the back of her chair and pulling out her wallet, “I refuse
to let this spoil my reunion.” She finds a five-dollar bill and drops it on the table. Then she stands up. “I’m heading over there now. I’ll see you guys later.”

Jack reaches up and touches her arm. “Rachel, Rachel,” he says lightly. “Jeez. Sit down.” She pulls away. “No.”

“Is this how it’s going to be all night, each of us getting insulted about something and storming off? C’mon, Rach. Sit down. Okay? Sit down.”

She stands there for a moment, like a deer sniffing the wind. Then, reluctantly, she sits on the edge of her seat. “Good. Okay,” Jack says.

“I’m sorry, Jack, but I don’t think you should have assigned this piece to her,” Rachel says stiffly. “I don’t think she has any distance.”

“That’s the idea. She isn’t supposed to,” he says.

“I think it’s a mistake.”

“Objection sustained,” Will says, slapping his hand on the table. He looks at Kathryn sharply, as if to say
We’ll talk about this later,
and changes the subject.

AT MILLER’S RESTAURANT
, a red-painted one-story building on Outer Main Street, the sign out front that usually advertises steak and lobster specials says
WELCOME CLASS OF
‘86! Kathryn pulls into the gravel parking lot in a convoy of cars. They scatter to find spaces, and when she parks and gets out, Jack is the first of the group she sees.

“Hang in there,” he says as they walk to the entrance.

“She’s tough.”

“She’s a good person, you know that. Just very private.”

“I hate the way you stick up for her,” Kathryn whispers.

He nudges her with his elbow. “She’s right. You are jealous.”

“I didn’t deny it.”

Inside the restaurant a hand-lettered sign points them to the left,
where two vaguely familiar women and a bald man Kathryn doesn’t recognize are presiding over a table of name tags and collecting money in a black tin box. Through the closed doors behind them, Jefferson Starship can be heard singing
“We built this city …”

“Jack Ledbetter!” one of the women trills.

“Daphne, how’s it going?” he says.

“Have you seen Will?” she asks, looking worriedly at the clock above the door. “He said he’d be here by six-thirty, and it’s almost seven.”

“He’s right behind us. Daphne, you remember Kathryn Campbell …?”

“Sure. Hello, Kath. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks, Daphne. How are you?”

“Good, good.” Daphne raises her eyebrows. “Boy, you look different.”

“You, too.” It’s true; Daphne’s put on weight. Kathryn smiles.

“I saw your story in the paper this morning,” Daphne says. “Quite a reminder.”

“I hope it’ll help turn something up.”

“I hope so, too. I really do. It’s just that …” Her voice trails off.

“What?” Kathryn asks.

“I just feel—well, I guess I shouldn’t say anything.” Daphne’s eyes dart around at her companions at the table, who are looking elsewhere. Clearly, they’ve been talking about it. “And I hope they find her, I really do. I just feel it’s a shame that our class reunions always have to be linked with this,” she says. “Sorry. That’s just how I feel.”

Kathryn glances at Jack, who nods empathetically. “I know. It sucks,” he says. “But it’s important for us to keep it on the table. And look at it this way: It does put us on the map. Why else would anyone remember the class of ‘eighty-six?”

“Well, I, for one,” says Daphne, putting her hand to her chest, “have plenty of reasons. There’s a lot more to our class than just this one weird thing that happened. But that’s just how I feel.” She glares at her friends. “I can’t speak for anybody else.”

Jack nods again, and everyone else stands around awkwardly. The
bald guy smiles at Kathryn as if he’s been waiting for a break and holds out a large sticker. “I found your name tag,” he says. “I don’t know if you remember me, Kath, but I’m Pete Michaud. I used to do magic tricks at assemblies.”

“Oh, yeah!” She does remember; she loved those magic tricks—doves out of top hats, handkerchiefs out of his throat. She peels the paper backing off the name tag and puts it on her chest.

“That’ll be twenty dollars, including the buffet,” he says almost apologetically.

“So what are you up to these days?” she asks, bending over the table to write a check.

“Still performing. I have a couple of gigs around town. That’s my card right there,” he says, pointing at a stack on the table. “Course, I’m working at Wal-Mart to pay the rent. But I’m saving up to go to this magicians’ expo in Vegas this fall. Should make a lot of contacts there.”

“That’s great,” she says, tearing off the check and handing it to him. She takes a card. “If I ever need a magician …”

“You never know!” he says.

“I just had to speak my mind,” Daphne breaks in. “No hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings,” Jack says with a big smile, taking Kathryn’s elbow and steering her toward the banquet room. As they open the double doors, “Freeway of Love” comes blasting out.

The large room, with its red-patterned carpeting and red-vinyl-seated chairs, is decorated with crepe-paper ribbons and multicolored balloons.
WELCOME CLASS OF ‘86!
is spelled out across one wall in gilt cardboard letters, like a child’s birthday decoration. There is no discernible theme. Several long tables, joined together and covered with white paper cloths, hold three punch bowls the size of aquariums and platters of what looks like cubed cheese. At the far end of the room, behind the empty dance floor, a disc jockey wearing mirrored sunglasses and an Ozzy Osborne T-shirt sits in the middle of a complicated sound system. The cash bar is mobbed with people.