Just my luck.
Jake almost tripped on some black netting on wooden stakes, but stepped over it, guessing he was approaching the edge. The underbrush reached to his knees, scratching his jeans, but he took a few more steps and stopped. He was close enough, and the undergrowth anchored his feet. He took a deep breath, and the air smelled the way it used to, fishy and vaguely gritty, as if it were still leavened with limestone silt.
Construction of the new corporate center must have begun, because klieglights glowed on the opposite side of the quarry, and Jake could make out job trailers and the hulking outlines of backhoes, dump trucks, and Dumpsters behind cyclone fencing. He couldn’t see anyone walking around, and it was too great a distance for anyone there to see what he was up to. He gazed into the massive crater, dark as night, with the water below glinting like pooled ink.
The sky above him was black, the water below him was black, and he stood at the edge of an abyss that he tried not to see as metaphorical. He couldn’t fathom how he had fallen so low, so fast. He had killed a young girl, left her in the street, and counseled his son into a nightmare. He was no better a man than his father; on the contrary, he was far worse.
He raised the can and dumped the ashes and melted zipper into the quarry. It was too dark to see if it all came out, so he tossed the entire can into the water.
Then he turned around and hurried back to the car.
Chapter Twelve
Jake showered and came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, surprised to find Ryan waiting for him in his bedroom, fully dressed in a white polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and sitting in one of the chairs. He had a good guess about why Ryan was dressed up, but he wasn’t sure.
“Ryan, feeling better?” Jake asked, concerned.
“Not really. Where were you?”
“Out.”
“Did you burn the jacket?”
“The less you know the better.” Ryan’s eyes were puffy, but his mouth a firm line.
“Don’t treat me like a baby, Dad.”
“I’m not, I don’t mean to, but we had this conversation already.” Jake padded to the dresser, leaving wet footprints on the rug. He pulled open the drawer and grabbed a fresh pair of boxers. He usually felt so good after a shower, but not tonight. He felt miserable, depressed, and guilt-stricken. He couldn’t come to terms with the notion that they’d hit Kathleen. A classmate of Ryan’s and so young. Her life had been cut short before it had even begun. In the shower, he kept thinking about her mother and her father. They would never see their daughter again. They would know she had died alone, and violently. That knowledge and burden would be with them every minute, every day they woke up and every night they went to sleep. It had to be hell on earth.
“Are you not telling me to protect me?”
“Exactly.” Jake went to his bottom drawer, pulled out a pair of jeans, then closed it and went over to the bed to put them on. The room was warmly lit by crystal lamps on their night tables.
Ryan fell silent, then asked, “Do you guys ever even use these chairs?”
“Not really.” Jake slid off the towel and into his boxers, even though he was still a little wet.
“Then why do you have them?”
“Your mom likes them. Sometimes, she uses them.” Jake stood up and put on his pants quickly, feeling strange being naked in front of Ryan, oddly vulnerable and exposed.
“What for?”
“To sit down, when she puts on her shoes.” Jake sensed that Ryan was trying to pick a fight, but he didn’t take the bait. He went back to his dresser, opened a middle drawer, and pulled out a plain blue T-shirt. He slipped it on, standing there. He was getting dressed for staying home, not going to any lawyer’s office.
“I don’t know why you need chairs and a table in the bedroom. Like, what exactly is the purpose of this?” Ryan gestured to the sitting area that Pam had created in front of the fireplace, a decorative upgrade that didn’t work. She’d covered its surround with Delft tile and bought a soft chair and a reclining couch in a yellow-and-blue flowered pattern, for either side. She’d finished it off with an antique pine table, its surface only large enough to hold another small crystal lamp and a stack of hardback books.
“I think your mom wanted it to be a reading area.”
“Does she ever use it for that?”
“No.” Jake finger-combed his wet hair into place, eyeing himself briefly in the dresser mirror. He had to bend at the knees to see his face, which didn’t look good. His eyes were bloodshot, and his expression showed the strain. He could still smell traces of smoke on his skin and hair. “You must be hungry. Why don’t we get some dinner?”
“Dad, I really want to go see this lawyer.”
“I said no.”
“I want to, I have to. Kathleen was in my class, Dad. I want to know if there’s anything we can do, and what my options are—”
