Plan B (25 page)

Although it was still coming down hard, our ears had adjusted to the sound of the rain, relegating it to a background din the way your eyes adjust to the dark, and we could now speak without shouting. I’m sorry, Chuck,” I said softly.

“It’s all right,” he said, rubbing his nose. “Like I said, you fight like a geezer.”

“No, really. I’m sorry about not considering what you have at stake here. You’re right, I had nothing to lose.”

“Hey,” he said. “I didn’t mean all that. Really.”

“No, you were right,” I said, leaning back on my elbows, my feet stretched out in front of me, and tilting my head back to swallow some rain. “I guess I hit rock bottom right before we came up here.”

“Ah, you’re okay,” Chuck said, assuming the same position. “You were just in a funk. Happens to us all.”

“Well, anyway, I’m sorry,” I said.

“Forget it. The truth is, this whole thing was my idea in the first place. I knew what I was getting into. Mostly.”

“That’s right,” I said. “It was your idea, you bastard. I forgot about that. This whole thing is your fault. I can’t believe I apologized to you.”

We lay there on the street for a few minutes and I had to laugh, in spite of everything, at the absurdity of the whole situation. Chuck turned to me with a smile. “I’m sorry I hit you,” he said. “I guess after getting the shit kicked out of me twice, I needed to just hit someone.”

“If you count now, it seems to me that you got the shit kicked out of you three times.”

“Now?” he asked. “I beg to differ. I was so winning that fight.”

“You were so not, tough guy.”

“I was pounding your sorry ass.”

“Uh, no. You were getting whupped, and I know that for a fact because I was there.”

“Assface.”

“Dickhead.”

The door to the luncheonette opened and we both ducked instinctively as Paul Bunyan stepped out under the awning again, sans the Winchester. “Soup’s on,” he called.

“What?”

“Minestrone,” he said. “You want some?”

“Are you kidding?” Chuck said.

“I never kid about lunch,” said the man, before stepping back inside.

We climbed to our feet, and I could feel a river running between my toes. “What do you think?” I asked Chuck.

“Soup sounds good,” he said with a shiver. “You buying?”

I shrugged. “Let’s go.”

We walked into the Schollings’s house around noon, dripping rainwater with every step. “What the hell happened to you guys?” Lindsey asked, staring at us.

“We got you some soup,” Chuck said, handing her a paper bag.

“Thanks,” she said absently, still staring at us, not speaking the questions in her eyes.

“I take it there’s no news?” I said, pulling my sweatshirt over my head and dropping it to the kitchen floor like a twenty-pound weight.

“No,” Alison said. Her face looked positively drained, her eyes frantic.

“You guys better get into a warm shower fast,” Lindsey said, putting her hand on my chest. “You’re soaked through.”

Chuck showered in the hall bathroom and I went into the master bathroom where I discovered that Alison’s parents took their showering very seriously. The shower was its own little room within the bathroom, behind a frosted glass door, with auxiliary
heads along opposite walls so that you could be hit from five spots at once. I stood in the center with my chin to my chest luxuriating in the steaming assault of the hot spray. If I’d known about that shower when we first got there, I’d have logged some substantial hours in it.

I was still standing there fifteen minutes later, letting the water pound my chest and scalp, humming an old Thompson Twins song, when I heard the bathroom door open and shut. I looked up, hopeful that Lindsey had come in to join me, but then the shower door swung in and Chuck stuck his head in and said, “Hey dude, what’s taking so long?”

“Do you mind?” I said, slamming the door against his arm.

“Don’t be so sensitive,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m sure it’s very impressive when you’re aroused.”

“Fuck you.”

“With that thing? I probably wouldn’t even notice.” He then sat down on the toilet lid, having filled his dick joke quota for the time being. “Listen,” he said. “I know I got a little out of hand out there, but still, I meant what I said.”

“Which part?”

“The part about this having gone too far. The part about it being time to cut our losses and go home.”

“Oh,” I said. “That part.”

“Yeah. Well, anyway, I think we should all talk it out, you know? Just kind of air out all of the opinions and see where the chips fall.”

“I agree. But maybe this time without the wrestling.”

“Deal. I think we should do it right now.”

“Well, I’m a little naked right now,” I said.

“Little being the operative word,” he said with a snort, standing up and lifting the toilet seat. “I meant when you get out. You are planning on getting out of there sometime soon, aren’t you?
You’ve been in there for a half hour.” I heard the jiggle of his belt buckle.

“I know you’re not going to piss in here while I’m taking a shower,” I yelled at him.

“Just be glad I don’t have to take a dump, dude.”

I stuck my head back under the main shower head and tried not to hear him as he urinated. Keeping my eyes shut as the water flowed down across my face, I leaned against the cool tiled wall, tracing the grout with my fingernail.

“So things seem to be pretty good with you and Lindsey, huh?” Chuck said.

“Uh huh.”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you, man. She’s really much better for you than Sarah was.”

“Thanks.”

“Way hotter, too.” He did a little shake dance and pulled his pants up.

“Thanks again,” I said, reluctantly turning off the shower as he flushed.

“I never really developed a rapport with Sarah. I’m not sure why,” Chuck said, vigorously scrubbing his hands in the sink. He washed his hands the way he must have been trained to scrub in for surgery, which was something I’d never noticed before.

“Sarah hated you,” I said, stepping out of the shower.

“That may have been a contributing factor,” Chuck admitted, handing me my towel. “Here you go, junior,” he said with an exaggerated look at my crotch, just as Lindsey walked into the bathroom, her eyes widening in puzzlement.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked with an ironic smile. I could be naked in front of Chuck and I could be naked in front of Lindsey, but somehow being naked in front of both of them was more than I could handle. I quickly wrapped the towel around
my waist, wondering at how every so often life could feel exactly like an episode of
Three’s Company
.

“Guy talk,” Chuck said, heading for the door. He turned and gave me a meaningful look at the door. “I’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes?”

“Sure,” I said, pushing my wet hair out of my face.

“So,” Lindsey said after he’d gone. “What happened out there with you two? You guys looked really beat up when you got back.”

“We had a pretty intense argument about what to do now that Jack’s gone AWOL.”

“You want to give me the highlights?”

“Nah,” I said, grabbing another towel for my shoulders. “I have a feeling we’re going to have the whole argument again anyway.”

When I came downstairs ten minutes later, Alison and Lindsey were eating the soup we’d brought them in the kitchen and Chuck was watching a rerun of
Magnum P.I
. in the living room. “You know what always bugged me?” he said. “Tom Selleck was considered the hottest guy in the early eighties.
Magnum
was a hugely popular show. And yet, they could never get a single decent-looking female to guest star. Every time he gets involved with someone, she’s a dog.”

“Standards were different then,” I said, joining him on the couch.

“Bullshit.
Charlie’s Angels
came before
Magnum
and they were all hot. But this show is demoralizing. If a good-looking guy who drives a Ferrari isn’t getting any, what hope is there for anyone else?”

Chuck always employed the Socratic method of viewing television shows. He didn’t seem able to enjoy himself without his pointless commentary. How come whenever there was a band in a sitcom episode, they could never make it look like they were
really playing? Were we really supposed to believe the cops on
21 Jump Street
could pass as high school students? Didn’t you ever want to see Alex and Mallory get it on on
Family Ties?
How the hell did Mulder and Scully justify their travel expenses? At first it was annoying, but after a while I learned to tune him out.

The women finished eating and joined us in the living room. “I think we should split up and go look some more,” Alison said. Chuck snapped off the television and looked at me expectantly, as if it were somehow my responsibility to start this discussion, but I didn’t want any part of it. Alison looked completely strung out, and not in the mood for conversation. Better to spend a few more hours of futile searching before we grappled with the ramifications of Jack’s disappearance. It would give us all time to think about the situation, and our own places in it. I tried to signal that to Chuck with a look, but it was a bit too much for my eyes to convey alone, so I made a small gesture with my hand and shook my head slightly and Alison picked up on it immediately. “What?” she asked, looking at me.

“Nothing,” I said with a frown. “I just . . . nothing.”

“What?” she repeated impatiently.

“Nothing,” I said again, getting up from the couch in order to more effectively ignore the exasperated look I got from Chuck. “Let’s look now. We’ll talk later.” I took Alison’s keys from her. “You and Lindsey stay here, in case he calls. Chuck and I will split up and look some more.”

Chuck followed me out onto the porch shaking his head in disgust. It was still pouring, and the occasional clap of thunder could be heard in the distance. “What the hell was that?” he asked. “You said we’d talk about it.”

“You were free to chime in at any time,” I said.

“Come on, Ben. You know if it came from me she’d go apeshit.”

“Let’s just give it a few more hours,” I said, looking at my watch. “We’ll meet back here at three and by then maybe Alison will have had some time to think about things.”

“You’re just putting off the inevitable,” he said with a frown, fishing his car keys out of his jeans.

“That’s what I do,” I said, pressing the button on Alison’s key chain. The Beamer beeped twice and flashed its headlights. “I may even be the best in my field.”

“I’ll see you at three,” Chuck said darkly as we stepped into the rain.

“Hey, think positive,” I said. “We might actually find him. Or he might come back on his own.”

“Yeah,” Chuck muttered, pulling up the hood of his anorak and stepping off the porch. “That’ll happen.”

Chuck took the Taurus and drove north up 57. I drove the Beamer south, away from Carmelina. I knew Alison had driven this route earlier, but there was just nowhere else to look. Who knew? Maybe I’d find Jack strolling along the blacktop in the rain, waiting for a ride. The rain pelted a smattering rhythm on the sunroof in a minor key that harmonized perfectly with the Counting Crows disc playing on the car stereo. Opaque blotches of water formed on the windshield, refracting the beams of oncoming cars. Not a great day to be outside. Jack had left without anything. Alison’s examination of his room showed that he’d taken only his wallet, not bothering with his shoes, or even his shirt for that matter, and according to Alison, no clothing was missing from the house. As far as we could tell, Jack was out in the rain with nothing but the pants of the hospital scrubs he’d been sleeping in. I was still fairly certain that he couldn’t have gotten very far. His only means of transportation would have been hitchhiking, and few drivers would be inclined to pick up a half-naked, fully soaked stranger.

A flash of lightning illuminated the dense gray and black clouds that covered the sky, and off to my left I saw the actual bolt over a tree-topped mountain peak. The storm was shifting into high gear. As I rounded the next bend, I saw a back-up of four cars, unable to continue because of a felled tree that was blocking the road. “Where are you, Jack?” I said out loud, turning the car around and heading back toward the house.

The suddenness with which the deer appeared in front of me was shocking. It didn’t wander onto the road from the forest as much as it simply materialized in the center. I fruitlessly stomped on the car’s waterlogged brakes and then there was a sickening, crunching impact—felt more than heard—which instantly evoked the soft-hard nature of the animal as it became one with the car. My hands grasped the wheel as I shouted an electrified denial, the brake pedal vibrating furiously under my toes, the high-pitched scream of hydroplaning wheels giving voice to the mute animal as we careened off the blacktop and into the mud-filled gully that separated the road from the forest. The force of our momentum lifted the deer onto the hood of the Beamer, its wet back pressed against the windshield so that all I could see were the perfect zigzag patterns of its sand-colored coat until the airbag exploded into my face as we hit the far side of the gully.