The Mass, page 19
“He never told you what happened?”
“The school said he was bullied for quitting football. Wesley never wanted to talk about that, and I never had enough time to be with him to force anything out. That’s what happens when your husband walks out on you.”
“My mother walked out on me.”
She nods. “Folks may think mothers are more important, but the father sets the path for that child’s future. Every boy needs a father. Otherwise, they spend the rest of their lives looking for something or someone to fill the gap. Wesley just got lost along the way. If I could go back, I’d push harder to figure out what broke him. But something tells me now the person truly responsible for breaking him is the one person no one would suspect had done anything wrong.”
“Who might that be?”
“You seem like a smart boy. Who did Wesley fire at first?”
I close my eyes, trying to remember the detailed report of the massacre. It happened so fast; most people don’t recall who went down first. It would make sense that the person closest to Wesley would be shot first, but Wesley started at the podium and worked his way down. So who was at the podium?
Colebrook.
If I had been there, I would have been at the podium accepting Player of the Year Award. Was I the original first target?
Or was it always Colebrook?
“I have to go,” I tell her. “I meant what I said. Goodbye.” I don’t wait for a response. I sprint out of that sad little neighborhood and head back to Main Street. My head is spinning. I keep thinking about all the times Colebrook squeezed my shoulder and how it didn’t start to feel weird until he came to my house to give me my plaque.
I know where Colebrook lives. That’s the perk and downfall of living in a small town. It’s easy to find people. But what if those people don’t want to be found?
What time is it? I check my phone. I have several missed calls and messages from Maya, asking me where I am to then telling me she’s starving and wants to go into town to get breakfast. Maya wants to eat? That’s a surprise.
The only place that serves breakfast this early on a Sunday is the cafe. Their choices are limited, but they have a pretty decent breakfast sandwich. I’d love to meet Maya there, but I’m covered in sweat and preoccupied with Colebrook. What if he knows something about Wesley? After all the years of trust put into him, I can’t even fathom how I would feel if it turned out Colebrook knew something. Or worse, did something to antagonize Wesley.
I text Maya we can go in an hour, that I have to take care of something first. My legs start cramping, but I run the extra mile to reach Colebrook’s house. He’s a porch-kind-of-guy, so it’s not surprising to see him sitting in his rocking chair with his iPad and a glass of orange juice. I slow in front of his mailbox to stretch.
“Daniel!” he calls.
“Oh, hey, Coach! How’s it going?”
“Fine. Just fine.” He rushes over with a long, eerie grin. “It’s good to see you out running. Getting excited for Notre Dame?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“Always smart to run in the morning. Gets too hot during the day. Are you going to the track or just around town?”
“All over. I explored some different areas today. Kind of shocking, but I ran past Wesley Dover’s house.”
“Oh.” Colebrook’s smile takes a U-turn. “That’s not the safest place to be right now.”
“Why isn’t it safe? Because poor people live there?”
“No, it’s just…” He scratches the back of his glabrous head. “There’s been a lot of negative attention on that house.”
“The vandalism?”
“I wouldn’t want someone of your potential to be exposed to such horrors.”
I’m taken aback by that word potential again. Colebrook said Wesley showed potential. Potential for what? And what horrors am I being exposed to? Poverty isn’t a crime.
“What was Wesley like in school?” I ask.
Colebrook blinks several times as though stunned by my question. He composes himself and answers, “He was an outcast. Never spoke much. Kept to himself.”
I know all that. “What about before he quit football? What was he like before that?”
“I never spoke to the kid. He was on JV. I saw him play, and that’s about it.”
“Do you know why he quit?”
Colebrook sneers. “Why the sudden interest in the person who murdered our team? Why do you care what he was like? He slaughtered nineteen innocent boys.”
“I just want a clearer picture of what happened to him. I think if I understood Wesley’s past and his motive, it would give me a sense of peace. Wouldn’t you want that too? I mean, he did shoot at you first.”
“I am a pretty big target.” Colebrook tries to laugh it off, but I can tell he’s disturbed by my inquiry.
“I just don’t understand why no one knows why Wesley quit football. None of his teammates knew. None of the coaches. Not even his own mother.”
“And you think I would know something?” Colebrook folds his arms across his chest. “What are you trying to say, Daniel?”
“I’m just asking questions. If that’s not okay, I’ll be on my way.”
“No, it’s fine to ask questions, but I’m unsure what answers you’re looking for.”
“So am I. That’s why I’m asking.”
“And are you asking anyone else?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Hmph.” Colebrook looks left and right as if I might have a camera crew hiding. His behavior is off.
“I don’t want to take up your time. I have to—”
“There is something I could tell you,” Colebrook interrupts. “But not outside. We’d have to go somewhere private. Would you come inside?”
Why does that sound like a terrible idea?
“I would like to hear what you have to say, but I need to go home and shower first.”
“Then stop by later today. I’ll be home all day.”
“Okay. Definitely. Thanks, Coach.”
He smiles, but his eyes seem sinister. It’s obvious Colebrook knows something about Wesley and blatantly lied when he said he never spoke to the kid. What’s the big secret? What is Colebrook hiding?
I’m incapable of running at this point. The cramping intensifies; I hobble through my neighborhood. Maya’s car isn’t in the driveway. Did she leave without me?
“Maya said she was heading into town,” Dad calls from inside the garage. He’s filling the lawnmower up with gas. He has been quite the yardwork man these days.
“How long ago?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Damn. I just missed her.”
“You better go shower if you want to catch up to her. She said she was starving.”
So am I. But I’m starving for information more than a breakfast sandwich.
Maya
If I’m not careful, food will become my next pleasure ride. How have I lasted two years without pancakes and syrup? Without scrambled eggs and bacon? This is probably the biggest meal I’ve ever consumed. While I wanted Daniel to witness my gorging, he obviously had more important things to do this morning.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asks as she refills my orange juice.
“I’m good. Do you mind if I sit here for a while? I’m kind of too full to move yet.” I hand her my credit card.
“No problem. It doesn’t get busy in here until after church lets out.”
The front door swings open, and four teens parade in, smelling like cheap beer and dirty sheets. I recognize the group immediately. They spoke to us at the diner last night. Too loud to be completely sober, they squeeze into the largest booth by the window. The lone blonde girl moans and rubs her forehead, lamenting about tequila shots.
The waitress returns with my card before greeting the new arrivals.
“Coffee, pronto,” the blonde snaps. What a bitch.
I listen in on their conversation. Blondie is pissed about being hungover. The two white boys are debating how many pancakes to order. And the overly-tired or still-drunk Asian chick is barely able to keep her head up. They must’ve stayed up all night partying, crashed together in someone’s nasty basement, and now they’re out for recovery food.
Daniel texts me.
Daniel: Are you still at the cafe?
Maya: yeah do u want me to order u something?
Daniel: Breakfast sandwich with bacon. I’ll be there in five.
After the waitress serves the hangover club their coffee, I wave a hand to grab her attention. “I have a friend joining me soon. Could I get a breakfast sandwich with bacon for him?”
“Sure, no problem.”
When the waitress returns to the kitchen, one of the boys waves at me. “Hey! Aren’t you Daniel’s girlfriend? Maya, right?”
“Uh, yeah. Travis, right?”
“Yeah. Do you wanna sit with us?”
Blondie elbows Travis in the stomach. Is she that threatened by outsiders or just a nasty person?
“I’m waiting for Daniel. He was running all morning.”
“Why didn’t you run with him?” Blondie snaps, glaring at me like I’m Satan’s whore.
“I prefer REM cycles.”
The boys laugh. Blondie continues to lour. Is she cursed with a resting bitch face? No, there is definite animosity coming from this chick, almost like she means to get up and challenge me.
“Don’t pay any attention to Anna,” Travis chuckles. “She’s just jealous.”
Blondie, aka Anna, elbows the guy again. Jesus, he must be wearing armor underneath his beer-stained clothes not to feel any pain.
“Anna and Daniel used to date,” the other guy chimes in. He’s too far away to be elbowed, but Anna sends him the death glare.
“Oh, I see,” I say. “So, are you the cheating whore or the one who got freaked out by sex?”
I probably should have omitted the word “whore” because now Blondie is up and livid, heading in my direction. But I anticipate her attack and throw my orange juice in her face.
“You bitch!” she screams.
She raises a hand as a means to slap me, but someone grabs her. And it’s not one of the two boys laughing hysterically over our brawl. It’s Daniel, who must’ve made one hell of an entrance for no one to notice.
“That’s enough, Anna. Settle down.” He lets her go and hands her a napkin.
The juice mingles with her smeared makeup. She looks like a Picasso painting now. “Your girlfriend called me a whore.” She rubs her wrist as though Daniel bruised her.
“Well, that doesn’t sound too far from the truth.” He turns to the waitress, who is too nervous to speak. “I’m sorry about the mess these ladies made. Do you have a mop they could use to clean it up?”
These ladies? As in, he’s blaming both of us? Clearly, my move was in self-defense. Shouldn’t Anna be the responsible party?
Biting my tongue, I mop up the OJ so the crazy ex can wash her hair in the bathroom.
“Do you still want that breakfast sandwich?” the waitress asks.
“We’ll get it to go,” Daniel says.
****
“Why are you so pissed?” I ask as soon as we’re outside the cafe. “She came after me first.”
“Why’d you antagonize her like that?”
“Technically, I didn’t call her a whore. I asked if she was the cheating whore or the one who got freaked out by sex.”
“What?” Daniel’s eyes blink a mile a minute. “Why would you ask her that? That’s also revealing personal stuff about Monica and me. They all know I dated Monica too.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t—”
“This is a small town, Maya. If you let one thing spill, everyone finds out.”
“Okay, but it’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal. You don’t get it because you severed yourself from your community. I didn’t. I’m still a part of this place.”
“That could change one day. You might find your life more enjoyable, living somewhere else.”
“It’s not about enjoyment. It’s about doing what’s right!”
He’s yelling now, so clearly, something is bothering him beyond the orange juice. I look around for his car. Did he run here too?
“Did your dad drive you?” I ask.
“Yes, but now I’m wishing I’d driven myself.”
“So you could ride home by yourself? Seriously, Daniel, what gives? Are you that pissed off by what just happened, or is something else going on?” I unlock the Mustang, but he doesn’t seem inclined to get in. “Are you having second thoughts about us?”
“It’s not that. It’s just…” He takes a deep breath and lowers his volume by half. “There’s a lot I’m still dealing with. And I don’t know if you being here is helping.”
And there you have it. I figured he would realize what a disaster I am and end things before I got too caught up in his personal life. I just wasn’t expecting it to happen this soon. Does everything in my life have to be so short-lived? Does anything last forever?
“I have a lot I’m dealing with,” I remind him. “But if you need space to figure things out, you can have it. I don’t fit in with this town anyway.”
“You don’t fit in,” Daniel says. “You stand out. But that’s not a bad thing, Maya. It’s what makes you special to me. But it doesn’t help solve my problems.”
“What problems? If you could just be a little more specific, maybe I could help? Maybe I would know not to talk to the crazy ex-girlfriend, which you could have pointed out last night when she walked by us. I just think you don’t trust me around anyone except yourself, which is pretty selfish of you.”
“Selfish? Maya, you almost drank yourself to death, not even a week ago. I’m terrified of what you might do all on your own.”
“Oh, I see. So, you don’t want me around because I’m not helping to solve problems. But you don’t want me to leave because you’re scared I’ll do something reckless like break my sober streak? That doesn’t sound like a viable relationship to me. That makes me sound more like a burden than someone you’re with romantically. So what am I to you?”
“I can’t put a label on this when I have no idea what possible future I have with you.”
“You said you wanted to be with me. You even called me your girlfriend in front of people. Was that just an act?”
“No, it was real. All of it was real. I just ... I’m stuck, okay? I can’t see the picture ahead of me.”
“Then to hell with that picture. Just focus on the now. What can we do right now to make things better?”
Daniel closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. I miss how his hair used to fall across his face, just enough to shield his eyebrows but not his eyes. I miss holding his hand in Fantasy Land. I miss being with him. Since arriving in Morville, it doesn’t feel like I’m really with him. Even though I’ve let my guard down, several times now, there’s still tension. There’s still so much we have to fix.
“Let me help,” I say. “With whatever’s going on. If it’s the future you’re so worried about, we can talk it out, if that’ll help focus you.”
“No, it’s the now. I need help now.” He opens his eyes and looks at me, almost terrified. “I learned something today about Wesley Dover.”
“The guy who killed everyone?”
Daniel nods. “I don’t know the whole truth. But I need to find out. I just…” He takes a deep breath. “I’m scared to do this all on my own.”
I smile. Only because I’m relieved that his behavior was merely his inability to admit he needs help. “It’s all right to be scared.”
“It’s more than that. I’m not good at investigating things or asking questions or starting something all on my own. I observe and watch; I let others lead. But this time, I’m alone and could really use some backup.”
“So, you need a sidekick?”
“Something like that.”
I take a moment to consider what he is asking. Two years ago, when I woke up in the hospital and saw my leg all bandaged up, my first instinct was to stand. To walk away. But I had to wait. I had to “heal.” Weeks later, when I could get up, every step shot stabbing pains up my leg and into my lower back. I was angry, scared, and confused, but not once did I think about the person who had done this to me. In my mind, my shooter was as real as the shooters in a James Bond movie. The rod in my leg was real, and I did everything I could to not feel it.
“Allen Timberlee,” I say.
“What about him?” Daniel asks.
“He’s dead. But what he did to me still hurts.” I lay my hand against my scar. “Even if I discovered something new about him, it wouldn’t change anything. The people he killed are still dead.”
For a second, Daniel looks pacific enough to let it go. But then his face twists up like he bit into a lemon, and he shouts back, “This is personal for me! Wesley grew up in this town. He went to my high school.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“I’ll be your sidekick.”
I choose to be kind. Because there’s no way to reason with Daniel when he’s still a newbie to death. He needs time to be out of control and figure out what path to take. I hope it isn’t the route of sorrow and despair. That’s not a place I’m willing to go. Not when I’m already at a low from the withdrawal.
So I imagine we’re superheroes fighting crime together. We’re strong and powerful, and we have no weaknesses.
Except for each other.
Daniel
Now that I’ve caught Maya up on everything, she’s more than willing to help. Help as in come with me to Colebrook’s house to gather as much of the truth as possible. She and I both agree Colebrook is hiding a secret. One that could shed some much-needed clarity over Wesley Dover’s motive for slaughtering the team. You can’t just blame video games and bad parenting. The fact that he targeted the varsity team after their first state victory since his time as a player speaks more than enough. It’s just a matter of getting Colebrook to reveal the truth and be willing to share it with others.
