In the House On Lakeside Drive (30 page)

The little yard grew quiet. “There's something Cooper said, just after Josh was…”

“What?”

“He told the shooter that ‘he wasn't losing his inheritance,' or something like that. What the hell was he talking about? What inheritance?”

Square shoulders rolled as Eric stood, working some feeling back into his frozen legs. “I don't know. Maybe Frank can dig something up. I never knew he was a lawyer before now. Always struck me as the private eye type.”

“Me neither.” Evan's stomach growled. “I'm starving.”

“There's chili in the cabin. Was up all night making it.”

“I could go for chili. Maybe some crackers, too.” The pair got up and went into the cabin. “Least the place has enough firewood,” Evan added. “Might bring Rachel and the kids up here, just to get away for a bit. I don't think Frank would mind.”

A small smile crossed Eric's face. “Sticking around?”

“I just proposed to the girl. Already have one big grown-up kid in Remy.” He sighed. “It'll take time, but…we'll get through it. Somehow, hopefully, we'll get through it.”

Chapter 43

It was loud inside the house. Remy escaped to the back porch, where the sounds of Josh's music collection dulled to a low roar and he didn't have to see more people crying. He'd liked the idea of having an open house of sorts for Josh, but it seemed less like people were talking and remembering and more like people were staring at him. And there were a lot of people. A
lot.

The back porch overlooked a small yard, complete with a private dock that stretched out onto the lake. A giant weeping willow tree stood to the left, halfway between the house and the water. It was enclosed, with large glass windows that let Remy feel like he was watching a nature show on television. He'd gone there in the past to escape Josh's endless questions or annoying comments, but now he found he'd give almost anything to hear the younger man's ever rambling chatter.

“Hey.”

Remy turned and saw Walter Longoria sitting in an overstuffed armchair. It was the one Josh used to curl up in when he wanted to hide from doing dishes. “Hey, Walter.”

“Josh's gone.” The young man's high voice, usually louder than a sonic boom, came out in a thin, muted whisper.

“Yeah. He is.”

“I miss him.”

Remy took the longer chaise lounge and flopped onto it, mussing up his black dress jacket Rachel had picked out for him and the bright green t-shirt underneath it. “Me too.”

“He-he-he was my best friend.”

Remy sighed. “I know. You were his best friend too.”

“Yeah. I was. But he-he-he really liked you though. And Sam. You know? He-he-he wanted to be you guys when he-he-he got older.”

“He wanted to be us?” Remy was taken aback with surprise. “Why us?”

“He-he-he th-thought…thought you were cool. Like from a m-movie, you know? Right out of the movies. And Sam, he-he-he's smart. Like sp-space alien smart.”

Remy shook his head, trying to hide the smile on his face. “Space alien smart?”

“Dude. The guy knows e-e-everything, and he-he-he can't e-e-even see. Like,
anything.
See? Sp-space alien smart.”

Remy decided to leave that one alone. “So, Josh wanted to be us.”

“Yeah. Get girls, pretty girls, like you, and be smart. But he-he-he was funny.”

“He was.” Remy looked at Walter, whose arms were getting more and more animated as he talked. His black-and-orange baseball cap was askew on his head, wisps of brown hair sticking up as though they'd never seen a brush they liked. His dress pants were badly wrinkled, and there was a dark stain on the right knee. He wore a paisley bow tie with his loud neon-orange and white tie-dyed shirt. “Josh did know how to make people laugh.”

“Josh said…Josh said he-he-he chopped down the Christmas tree this year. With…with a real axe and e-e-everything.”

“Well, he did help pick it out.” It took Remy a moment to remember that Walter was famous for inventing stories out of a few basic but nonetheless true facts. “He got to help carry it. We had to have Evan do more than just drive the truck.” He gave a small conspiratorial smile to Walter, and the younger man beamed.

“Yeah, yeah, that was it! He-he-he bossed Evan, and made
him
cut the tree!”

Close enough,
Remy thought. He nodded in agreement.

Then Walter's face drooped. “I miss him,” he said.

“Me too, Walter.” Remy hesitantly clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Me too.”

Chapter 44

The living room was full of people. The sounds of voices, even as hushed and muted as they were, was beginning to hurt Sam's ears. An endless tread of footsteps passed by the staircase where the tall man had holed up, curled into himself. The drone of the CD player wasn't helping matters.

A rush of wind blew at him as the door opened, and the house grew quiet. There was only one set of footsteps discernible to him, and it was a pattern Sam knew well. “Evan,” Miss Rachel's proclamation confirmed what Sam already knew. Her voice nearly broke on the name.

Something shuffled, like cloth being rubbed. Then three more footsteps. “Penny, Mark,” Evan said, his voice more delicate than glass. “I'm…I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Mr. Long said. “Thank you.” Sam could hear what he thought was a hand patting Evan's back, but he wasn't quite sure. “It wasn't your fault.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Long said. She sounded like she'd been crying. There was more cloth shuffling, and then the rest of the guests began to pick up their normal chatter. It wasn't until Sam felt someone sit down next to him on the stairs that he realized he'd zoned out.

“How are you doing, Sam?”

“It…it's hard. I…I can still feel him, on my back.”

“He loved you, Sam.”

“I…I know. But he didn't have to do that. I'd have been okay.”

Evan shifted a little next to him, and cleared his throat. “Did you guys help set this up?”

“Oh, yeah. Mrs. Long was here all night. Mr. Long came this morning. He had to work last night. Plus I think we've had people sitting on the porch the past couple of nights.”

“Which porch?”

“The back one. It's warmer, for one thing.”

“You think?”

Sam shrugged. “There's a lot of noise back there. I think so, but I'm not sure. Remy and Miss Rachel didn't notice, so I didn't say anything.”

“Next time, Sam, say something. It's those little things that will make the difference.” The sound of joints creaking and popping graced Sam's ears. “Spent the last few days clearing my head and cutting a lot of firewood. Ever been to a cabin?”

“No,” Sam said. “I went to schools. I can get around a dorm pretty well.”

“Maybe we'll all go back up there, take a few days.”

“I didn't know you had a cabin.”

“I don't. It's Mr. Parker's cabin.”

The name reminded Sam of something. “Oh, by the way, he came while you were gone. Said there was something interesting he wanted to tell you.”

“Did he say what?”

“No. Just that you would want to know. He kept asking about Remy too. They talked for a while, but when I asked Remy what it was about, he didn't say much.”

The door opened again, and the sound of patent leather clicked against the worn floorboards. “Who's that?” he asked. “I don't know those shoes.”

A puff of air snorted out of Evan's nostrils. “It's your dad,” he said. “What could he want here?”

The patent leathers clicked their way toward the stairs, embarking on them and rising to the fifth step. “Sam,” a deep voice said.

“Hello,” Sam said.

“I'm sorry, Mr…Dyer, is it?”

“Evan. Yeah. What can I do for you?”

“I came to pay my respects. No one should lose a child.” There was a quality to his father's tone that Sam had never liked. It always made him think of someone who thought they were better than everyone else around them, and Sam hated people like that. “Those poor people.”

“I'm sure Mark and Penny will appreciate it.” Evan's voice was stiff and cold, almost too formal. It didn't sound like him at all.

“Sam,” his father said. “Once things have died down, I'm sending for your things. There's a new program near your sister's that looks promising, and they accepted you last week.”

“What new program?” Sam frowned. “Leslie would have called…”

“You know how it is. It's been hectic. In any case, it's all been arranged. You're starting in two weeks.”

A small fire erupted in Sam's gut. “No.”

“It's a good program, designed to…”

“I said, no. I'm not going.”

“Don't be absurd.”

Sam rose. “What do I like to do in my free time?”

“I'm…I'm sorry?”

“I said, what do I like to do when I have free time? What do I like on my pizza? What kind of music do I like listening to?”

“I don't see what any of that matters.”

“You wouldn't. I'm just a thing, aren't I? Something to hide in a corner, for other people to deal with.”

Sam heard a puff of air that he identified as indignation spout in front of him. “I will not be spoken to like that. Now, enough. I'll send for your things next week. We're leaving.”

Sam
clicked
his tongue a little, finding the open spaces on the staircase. He heard Evan shift over a little to the left of him, as though to make room. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“I will not be disobeyed, Samuel. Now come along. It's bad enough the press that's been out about this case.”

Sam chuckled darkly. “Oh, so that's it. God forbid you ask me how I am, Dad. Or if I'm okay. You don't even pretend to care what happened to us. All you care about is bad press.”

“Of course I care. You're here, and you're whole. Nothing to worry about. You're okay.”

The young blind man rose, towering over his father only because of the angle at which he stood on the stairs. “No, Dad. I'm not
okay
.” His voice rose as he spoke, and the anger that had been building toward this man erupted. “Do you want to know what the press
doesn't
know?” he asked, challenging his sire. “How about that they broke into the kitchen off to your right, ambushing us? We didn't have a chance. Or that we were starved, and given only enough water to keep from dropping dead? Maybe you heard that I was made a spectacle of for the amusement of a bunch of depraved drunks and murderers?” Sam quaked with rage, his hands gripping the railing so hard he could feel the screws holding the wood in place. “Or how about that one of my friends—an eighteen-year-old someone like
you
wouldn't be caught dead near, because he wasn't sharp and whole, like you—actually
died
jumping in front of a bullet to save
my
life?” Sam took a breath. “Josh's parents are here, you know. Maybe you want to tell them that their son died for nothing, because me being dead would have solved a giant PR problem for you.”

“Enough!” Sherman Davis barked. “That's enough.”

“Sam,” Evan said gently. “Is this really the place?”

The younger man thought about it a minute. “Maybe not. But I'm not leaving. I know exactly what this is, Dad. It's getting around that Evan was an addict. I hear about the theories people have for why those men took us. For the record, a lot of them are pretty far from the truth. Once again, I'm the black spot you'd love to wash clean, but you can't, so you'll try and ship me as far from you as possible so no one knows your son's not perfect like you are.” Sam took another breath. “I'm nineteen. I'm not stupid. And I can sign my own papers. I'm staying here, in this house, in Otter Lake. You're not packing me off anymore.”

The front hall had grown quiet, and Sam could make out the sound of breathing. The only other noise he heard was the sound of the CD player, chirping away at a slow tune. “I mean it, Dad. I'm done. I can count on my fingers the number of times I've been in the same room with you. Leslie and Loren came up as soon as they heard what happened to me. They were there when I was trying to cope, about Josh. They
cared
whether I was still alive or not. Leslie told me about the phone calls she made to you, about the money. It took the threat of bad press for you to finally cough it up.” A rail-thin arm stretched in front of Sam's torso, and a long finger pointed outward in the direction of the front door. “Get out. I really don't care if I ever see you again. I'm sure it'll be a load off your mind.”

There was a stunned silence. “Very well,” Sam heard his father say. “If that's how you feel about it. I'll send someone out to discuss particulars in a few days. But, mind, Samuel—you want to be a grown-up, you'll have it. And all the things that come with it.”