Rev (31 page)

“Really?” Evan expressed cheerfully. “Sweet. I’m putting a grand on you, by the way. And come out with us after this time, alright? Been too long.”

“Sure.”

I hung up, tossed the phone onto the empty passenger seat, shifted the Pontiac into first gear, hit the gas hard and released the clutch. Within seconds, I’d peeled out of the parking lot and was heading back up to the highway. Back to where I belonged.

Chapter 18

“Jeesh! That was loud!” Jonathan exclaimed. “Some people really don’t give a hoot about the speed limit. Inconsiderate jerks.”

“True,” I concurred, looking around for Dean. He was supposed to be here by now, so I picked up my phone and tried calling.

“Well, anyway, I’m glad you were able to make it Saylor.”

“Yeah, me too.” The call went to voicemail, so I texted him and put the phone back into my pocket.

“The rehabilitation program was so successful last year, we have a record number of volunteer applications. But remember, you always have a spot here—you were with us from the start.”

I looked up at Jonathan. His green eyes sparkled, full of intense and eager purpose.

I wondered what it was like
to be like him. To have things figured out. To be constantly reaffirmed every day in your life mission. Just to be that certain.

“But damn!” Jonathan switched gears. “I want to take a moment and say you look gorgeous.” He put his hands on either side of my waist, leaned back, and scrutinized me with a look of over-the-top intensity and comical, narrow-eyed focus plastered across his face. “Something about you…like a halo…or a glow…” He looked like a fashion designer scrutinizing his work.

“How are Mike and you doing, by the way?” I asked, switching the subject before he started asking too many questions.

Jonathan stepped back and hung his head. “Oh, well… As you know, things were difficult with the trips I have planned in the fall and winter. He’s not into the whole ocean conservation thing and doesn’t want to go with me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Jonathan…”

“Yeah, I had no reason to believe it would work out between us.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Things will get better. Just keep going. You’re a great guy.”

Jonathan smiled. “Thanks Saylor.” He swung the pack he was carrying onto the road. “So, you waiting for a ride?”

I nodded. “Yeah, should be here any second.”

“Alright. I can wait if you want.” He withdrew the keys to his beat-up truck from the pack.

“No. You should get going. I know you’ve been working all the way through the night.”

I watched Jonathan climb into his battered, dark green Ford. It finally sputtered to life after a minute of ignition attempts and crawled out of the parking lot. I watched the tires, worn and beaten by salt and sand, roll slowly past me and out towards the complex of highways and great, wide eight-lane interstates.

Sitting down on the curb, I waited. Every couple minutes, people passed by one way or the other as the aquarium shows let-in and let-out. I kept waiting. I looked at my phone—still nothing from Dean. So, I sat there for half-an-hour.

And then I realized, he probably wasn’t coming.

I’m just not that important to him.

Despite everything that happened last night. Despite what seemed like the point of no return, things had done just that. Everything was back to normal. The tension was broken and Dean was back to being Dean. I should probably have seen that coming.

I wasn’t even angry or upset. A bit hurt was all. All I wanted from the beginning was for him to open up to me. And when he did, when I finally got past that closed-off bearing and gruff buffer he put up against the world, I thought for a minute that we could actually have a life together.

The force of what we shared last night was overwhelming. It eclipsed the danger of what was coming. It gave us a chance against the world that I never though I could escape. The world that now threatened to destroy us both.

I needed Dean Hunter. He was damaged and self-destructive, but beautifully complicated and enigmatic. So, I had no choice. I couldn’t just throw him out of my head. I couldn’t just forget and move-on. I had to keep trying.

The aquarium was about ten miles away from Oak Island. I knew Dean kept the window at the top of the patio—out of sight from ground level—open during the day to keep the beach house aired.

So, I’ll walk.

It was a beautiful day anyway. Sometimes you had to concentrate on the silver lining. There was always something to be thankful for, something to hang on to through the twisted maze of life.

Chapter 19

Two Years Ago…

It was cold and rainy at the cemetery as we laid him to rest. The old man had finally done his liver in. Long nights of drinking, incessant smoking, and a life of yelling in front of the television were a good way to pack it in early.  Forty-five years old, cold, dead, and lifeless.

I’d just finished my bad-conduct discharge hearing. I suppose I was lucky it wasn’t worse. Somewhere, somehow, someone did me a favor. But when they finally stripped me of my medals from the last tour, when I finally got to go home, I got a call from Mr. Garson, Ryan’s dad. He told me the nurse found him, they rushed him to the hospital, and he was pronounced dead. This all happened while I was on my way home.

So there I was, standing out in front of the very few people gathered to see him buried. The man I always hated as much as he hated me. The father who beat his wife and blamed her death on his son. The son who wished in his younger days that he was strong enough to kill his father.

Now what?

Was I supposed to stand here, tempered and honed by the wisdom of my experiences, and give some stirring speech about how my father was misunderstood or about how deep-down he was really a great guy? It was an awkward situation. But people were waiting, in the cold, clutching their umbrellas and wondering how much longer this would take. And I wouldn’t give the old bastard the satisfaction of making them wait any longer.

“I won’t insult my father’s memory by saying he was a good person,” I began. “He was an asshole.”

The few people gathered murmured in agreement. I knew he’d done all of them wrong at some point in his life. But the fact was, they were here. There had to be some reason.

“But the thing is, he was still my father. He was still your co-worker, your neighbor, or maybe at one point—before you knew any better—you called him a friend. Point is he touched our lives, one way or another. And I think that’s why we’re here. To try and work that out.”

I saw Mr. Garson in the crowd. Just last night, we’d been talking about his son. Without a body to bury, he’d put the empty casket to rest just a few weeks earlier. He was shedding a few tears, and I didn’t know if it had something to do with my father or that this moment made him remember something about his son.

“You know, I remember at school one of my teachers told me you can lead by positive and by negative example. I think my father’s legacy was the latter. He worked a job, settled in a community, and raised a family. I don’t think he did any of those things particularly well. But he touched on all our lives, taught me important lessons even if he didn’t intend to, and, well, for what it’s worth: he told a great dirty joke.”

I heard a few laughs and was relieved to have some indication that I didn’t horribly fuck this up.

“I’m going to keep this short, because if my dad was here he would have told me to shut-up and get going already. My dad might not have been a great father, husband, or member of the community, but he played an important role. He had his part in many people’s lives, and he had a huge part in mine. So let’s lay him to rest and remember what he taught us, one way or another… Goodbye dad.”

I watched the casket descend slowly down to the bottom. A comforting hand fell on my shoulder. Mr. Garson.

“I’m sorry Dean, for what it’s worth.”

“I’d say you’re the one who has more to be sorry for. Ryan was a hero.”

“That’s not how it works, Dean,” Mr. Garson cautioned. “You know that.”

I walked back down the rainy street with him. That was the thing about Fayetteville. No one escaped, even in death. Your damn house was down the street from the school, down the street from the church, down the street from the cemetery. Most people stayed on that street, cradle to grave.

“I appreciate what you did for Ryan,” Mr. Garson said, cutting into the silence.

I hung my head. “I wouldn’t say that. I fucked up.”

“You know what would have happened if you hadn’t tried. It would have been a week or more before anything was authorized. By then…” Mr. Garson’s voice trailed off.

“I’m just sorry I didn’t see it coming. I have to live with that every day.”

“So what’s the plan?” he asked, diverting the conversation.

“Well,” I began, hesitating. “I’d like to get out of here, maybe look at some private security firms. Though it’ll be difficult with my record,” I acknowledged.

“You mean eight years of active duty, two dozen medals, and the fastest promotion record in Marine Corp history since the fall of Saigon?”

“And a bad conduct discharge,” I added.

“You’ll find your place in this world Dean,” Mr. Garson encouraged. “I remember you walking back and forth on these roads, books in hand, making your way to the gym every evening. You were the hardest working kid I’d ever seen.”

“Thank you.” I turned to shake his hand as we approached the wire gate around my dad’s house. “And I’m sorry, for your son, for the loss of the best damn guy to come out of this place. He was my idol.”

Mr. Garson paused and looked out over the small house in which my dad had lived out the rest of his miserable life. “It was nice of you, what you did with getting him that nurse and everything,” he said, referring to the arrangements I made as it became obvious my dad was on his way out.

“It didn’t cost that much.” I shrugged. “What else was I going to spend my money on?” I opened the gate and stepped inside the small yard. “You want to come in, have a drink or something?”

He shook his head. “I have to get back. Martha’s still grieving.” He pointed to the annexed garage. “You going to take the car out for a spin? He would have wanted you to.”

I smiled. “I’m not so sure about that.”

We said out goodbyes and I walked back to the house, unlocked the door, and almost stepped inside. But then, for some damn reason, I made my way to that dusty piece-of-shit garage.

It was still there, probably untouched since that day I left for Fort Braggs. I pulled off the grimy tarp and walked around the limited edition Pontiac, examining the car I lusted to drive every single day of my childhood.

What the hell is that?

Affixed to the back bumper with excessive strips of duct tape was a little folded piece of paper.

No fucking way.

I looked around, expecting to see some snickering prankster come out from around the corner. Obviously, there was no one there. So with trembling hands, I ripped the note off the car and opened it:

Dean,

I’m probably dead or else I wouldn’t let you get near my car. But let’s not get sentimental and pretend we didn’t hate each other. My ass is in the ground, my liver finally gave out—mission accomplished—and it’s time for everyone to move on.