Wintertide: A Novel (15 page)

Unlike his father, Seth’s mother had
an indefinable personality. She was very quiet, a part of the house like the
sofa or the kitchen table. As a nurse, she was always working odd hours, but
when she was home she merely smiled and allowed her husband to do most of the talking.
Seth never spoke about her much, and I didn't know her well enough to make any
judgments other than to say she seemed nice enough.

Seth's fear that his father might
one day stop paying his college bills was rooted in some event which occurred
during his freshman year. He never went into details, but he alluded to the
fact that he was on some sort of probation with his father and any tiny hint of
trouble would result in his dad's pulling the rug out from under him. We sat on
the floor of my bedroom that grey Sunday afternoon, leaning back against the
bed, tossing tiny balls of paper into the cardboard box in which my Christmas
present had come. More paper lay on the rug around the box than in it. It was
drizzling outside, causing tiny melted pockmarks to form in the thin layer of
snow still on the ground. Drops occasionally tapped lightly against the windows.

I was watching television in the
living room when Seth unexpectedly arrived. He greeted my mother with his hands
dug deep into the pockets of his jeans. Mom welcomed him cheerily. A swift tide
of apprehension hit me when I saw him. But it dissipated when we went upstairs
to my room and he simply dropped to the floor stating that he didn't want to
sit alone in his house all day. He looked tired.

"I haven't heard from Eddie. Have
you?" he asked.

I shook my head as I set up the box
and ripped some sheets of paper out of a notebook. Then I sat down beside him
and started rolling ripped strips into balls and tossing them across the room. Seth
absently did the same.

"Something's not right. He
should have called one of us by now."

"Why would he call me?” I
asked.

Seth shrugged. "I don't know. I
guess I mean that he should have called me by now."

"Do you want to talk to
him?"

Another shrug. "Don’t know
that either."

“What
do
you know, Seth?”

He blew out frustrated breath.
“Give me a break, okay?” He ran his hand through his hair the way he always did
when he was stressed. “How do you think you would have turned out if you had
his father?" Seth asked me.

"I could never do what he
did,” I answered, understanding what his question implied. “No matter what had
been done to me."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

Seth turned away and stared at the
floor. "My mom says he isn’t going to make it. It’s just a matter of time.
She said his wife hasn't left his bedside since he was brought in. Yesterday
the police came to talk to her and she screamed at them, saying she was going
to hire a private detective because they weren't doing anything to find the
person who beat up her husband."

"A private detective?"

"Yeah, but my mom says she
hasn’t really slept at all and she seemed kind of hysterical."

"So the police haven't done
anything?"

He nodded. "That's what his
wife said.”

"I'm sure the police are not
doing nothing."

"I only know what my mom said.”
He absently rolled a piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger. I stared
out the window at the falling rain.

“I thought you’d be back at school
by now,” Seth said.

  I shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

"What are you doing
tomorrow?" Seth asked changing the subject.

"I have to work."

He nodded at me. Then we both
seemed to be out of things to say. The silence stretched on between us, and I began
to wonder when he was going to leave. I supposed he had planned to spend most
of his vacation with Eddie. "Maybe," he finally said, "the
police won't ever question Eddie about it."

"Maybe," I agreed dully. "What
do you think he did with the fireplace poker?” I asked. It was something I had
been thinking about for some time.

Seth sat up straighter. “I was
wondering about that, too. He probably took it with him. Otherwise, they would
have arrested him by now. The policy definitely have his prints on file, and
I’m sure his fingerprints were all over that thing. He had to have taken it
with him.”

I nodded, silently agreeing.

  "Well, I'd better get
back," he said quietly.

I followed him downstairs to the
door and said goodbye. Mom yelled goodbye to him from the kitchen. I watched as
he walked slowly to his mother's car, not at all bothered by the rain.

"It's so nice that you two are
becoming close again," Mom said when she heard me walk into the kitchen.

"It's only because he doesn't
have anyone else," I replied. I wasn't upset, merely stating a fact.

She turned away from the counter,
where she was filling a pie crust with apple slices, to look at me. "Why
would you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

She eyed me for a few moments, her
lips pursed together, before turning back to her pie. “You’ve changed since
you’ve been at school, Daniel.”

“I know.” I surprised her by giving
her a peck on the cheek. Then I walked out of the kitchen and went into the
living room.

John Benedetti died the next day. I
found out while I was working at Professor Sheffield's house. I’d slept badly
again that night, waking early, sitting in the kitchen alone, wasting time. I
had on the same pants I’d worn to the professor's house last week. When I
reached into the pocket, I found the packets of chamomile tea he had given me
to cure my sleeplessness. I left them on my bed and decided to try the tea this
evening before resorting to another sleeping pill.

The professor's house was
immaculate when I got there. I was stunned. "Barbara insisted on
straightening up a bit before she left," he explained standing
uncomfortably in his newly tidied living room. "I haven't been able to
find a thing since.” The toys were gone. The furniture was dusted and small
bowls of peppermints were again laid out around the room.

I was sitting at the desk, typing
swiftly, putting a great deal of effort into becoming absorbed in my work. I
had just turned on the  radio when the report came on. I heard the name Benedetti,
and my fingers froze over the keys. I sat staring at the tiny speaker with its
little black holes. The man on the radio said the victim died as a result of
his injuries and that there were no suspects in what was now being described as
a murder investigation.

My stomach churned, pushing its
acidic contents up into the back of my throat. I swallowed hard. Eddie killed a
man, and I saw him do it. This wasn’t really news to me, but the reality of it
kept pummeling at me. It was late afternoon, and although I sat at the computer
for another two hours, I did no more work that day. I drove over to Seth's
house when I left Professor Sheffield's. I expected to find him much less
composed than he was. I also expected to find him alone. He wasn't.

"Danny, how are you?”

"I’m fine Mrs. Cooper," I
said. She had on her nurse's uniform, white pants with a white button down
shirt and white thick-soled shoes. She welcomed me inside, and only then did I
see Seth right behind her sitting on the couch solemnly.

"Seth and I were just talking
about the poor man who was found by his wife in that big old house. He died
this morning."

"I heard," I said while
glancing over at Seth. His eyes looked glazed over as he stared at his mother.

"Well it's just awful. It's
all anyone can talk about at the hospital. From the slant of the questions the
police were asking his wife, some of us think maybe the old owners could have
been involved somehow. I'm sure they must be angry about losing their home. And
I heard the husband lost all his money in some business dealings that weren't
exactly on the level if you know what I mean."

"I guess anything's
possible," I said.

"Well, you never can tell
about people," Mrs. Cooper continued. "When I married Will, I thought
I was getting an honest man and look how that turned out."

I looked over at Seth. The color
rose in his cheeks. His mother noticed also. "See there," she said to
me, "now I've embarrassed Seth. I'm sorry, sweetie. I'll go to work now
and leave you boys alone. Please don't go out tonight. The maniac who killed
that man is still out there somewhere.” She picked her coat and purse up off of
a nearby chair, wished us a good night, kissed her son on the cheek and then
walked out to her car, leaving the scent of her floral perfume heavy in the
air. Seth hadn't said a word since I came in.

I walked over to the couch and sat
down on the other end. He turned to me and smiled grimly. His breath wafted
over in my direction. He was drunk. How could his mother not have smelled the
alcohol on him?

"Have you been drinking all
day?"

His grin widened, and he leaned his
head back onto the cushion. "Nope. Just the best part of it."

"Have you heard from Eddie?"
I asked.

“No.”

He stood clumsily, banging his shin
on the coffee table, grabbing the arm rest to balance himself. When he headed
into the kitchen, I followed. He took another beer from the refrigerator and
chugged it. He stopped suddenly, lowering his arm and holding his hand to his
stomach.

I spent the next hour keeping him
company while he got sick over the toilet. His hair was damp with sweat, and
after the first few minutes, I had to crack open a window or else I would have
become ill myself from the stench. After cleaning up in the bathroom, I brought
him upstairs and put him to bed. When I turned to leave, he grabbed my arm. "I'm
sorry, Dan," he said in a sleepy voice.

"For what?"

"For everything."

I wondered if my everything was the
same as his. "It's okay, Seth. Just go to sleep."

I walked out of his room, closed
the door softly behind me, went down the stairs, through the family room and
out to my mother's Buick in the driveway. The wind whistled around me as I
hurried to get the door open. Once inside, I leaned my forehead against the cold
steering wheel. A flood of regret washed over me. I pressed my head hard into
the wheel trying to stop the tears I felt pricking at my eyes. I hadn’t allowed
myself to feel this before. Not completely. Not fully. I’m not sure how long I
sat there. Eventually, I pulled myself together and drove home.

My cell phone rang late that night.
It startled me awake, and I grabbed it off my desk. "Hello?” I heard only
silence on the other end. "Hello?" I repeated. There was no response.
I hung up, annoyed. The caller ID read private number. I had just put my head back
down on the pillow when the phone rang in my hand.

"Hello?” Silence. "Seth?”
Nothing.

I stared at the phone waiting for
it to ring again. I'm not sure how long I sat on my bed, completely still. Finally,
I lay down and closed my eyes. I listened to the familiar creaking of our old
house. At some point my father came home. I could distinguish a motor in the
distance, growing louder as it approached the house. Tiny pebbles in the
driveway crunched under the weight of the tires. Then the motor was turned off.
The front door opened and closed. I heard his heavy work boots and jingling
keys coming up the stairs and going into the bedroom across the hall. I never
fell back to sleep.

When the sun rose, brightening what
had seemed like an endless night, I dragged myself out of bed. I showered
slowly and lazily, dressed and drove to Professor Sheffield's house. He spoke
to me only a few times throughout the day, but I never really paid much
attention. I managed to get through the morning in a daze, weary from a lack of
sleep, my head heavy on my neck. The professor did not keep coffee in his house.
At some point in the afternoon, I took the car, drove to a nearby convenience
store and bought an extra large coffee.

Seth was waiting for me when I
arrived home at the end of the day. I was surprised to see him because there
were no cars in the driveway. "I walked," he explained. He appeared
jittery. I noticed his fingers playing nervously with the buttons on his shirt
while he continually ran his other hand through his hair. But Mom didn't seem
to sense anything abnormal, other than the fact that he had walked three miles
in below freezing temperatures.

"That's the best way I know to
catch cold," she chastised. "Never mind the fact that there's a
murderer running around loose somewhere."

"We're going to go up to my
room, Mom," I said as I headed for the stairs.

"Would Seth like to stay for
dinner? There's more than enough."

"No thanks, Mrs. Hiller. My
mother is expecting me home," he said graciously.

"Daniel will drive you back. Won't
you, Daniel?"

"Sure, Mom,” I called over my
shoulder as I bounded up the stairs.

I barely had the bedroom door
closed behind us when Seth said, "I think Eddie called me last night.”

“You think?”

"Someone called and hung up.
The caller ID said private number."

I raised  my eyebrows at this.
“Really? Me, too. A couple of times.”

"You, too?” he asked surprised.

I nodded. Last night, when I
received the calls, a little paranoid voice in my head had suggested that
caller might be Eddie. But I had convinced myself that it couldn’t have been.
Why would he do that?

"Have you heard anything about
the police investigation?" Seth asked.

“No. You?”

“No.” He took a deep breath and looked
away toward the window.

"Seth, this could drag on for
quite a while. Maybe long after we're both back in school."

He turned back to look at me. His
eyes were bloodshot. "Yeah? So?”

"So, if our decision is to
keep quiet, we have to be able to deal with that. Do you think you can handle
it?"