Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [110]
I found Tim and Jack at the free-throw booth shooting hoops for cheap prizes.
When Jack saw me, he shouted, “Seniors! We’re out of here!”
He was as loud as always, but there was something forced in his yelling. For four years, we’d bitched about high school. Now it was over. Forever.
The three of us walked away from the booth and leaned against a blank wall. No one spoke for a while.
“So when do you guys go off to Columbia?” asked Tim eventually.
“Late August. When do you leave?”
“Same.” By a happy coincidence, both Tim and Dawn were going to Truman State up in Kirksville. Jack and I joked about how much money we’d spend on gas visiting each other. But the more I thought about this, the more I had my doubts. The three of us would have new friends, new jobs, new lives. We’d probably only get to see Tim once or twice a month.
And what about after college? None of us had the desire to return to Boyer. Laura had already given up on the town, and I was probably next. We’d all come back here for holidays until our parents moved or we got married and they came to visit us. My friendships with Tim and Jack would turn into Christmas cards and an occasional summer camping trip. A sad ending for guys who’d spent the past decade plus together.
Luckily, Dawn interrupted our melancholy thoughts by coming up and kissing Tim. As a non-Boyer student, she was absolutely not supposed to be at this party, but no one stopped her.
“Logan,” said Dawn, “I just heard what happened to Sage.”
My armpits grew cold. “To Sage?”
“That car wreck. Tim told me she injured her back. I’m surprised it wasn’t in the papers.”
I bit my lip, acting sad over news that was much less depressing than the truth. “It happened when she was visiting friends in Joplin.”
“Poor girl! I wish I’d known about this sooner.” She paused to glare at Tim, who hadn’t kept her in the loop. “She must be bored. When would be a good time for me to visit? I could bring her some DVDs, or read to her.”
“She’s, uh, not taking visitors right now. But thanks for offering. I’ll tell her you said hello.”
“But she must be lonely,” insisted Dawn. “Couldn’t I just stop by her house and drop off—”
“Dawn,” Tim interrupted, “let’s go play bingo.”
I watched them go, hand in hand. I really liked Dawn. She was sweet and was a good influence on Tim. For once, he was at a party and wasn’t making love to the buffet table.
“Hey, Logan,” said Jack, looking unusually serious. “You never did tell us what was going on with you and Sage.”
“It’s complicated.”
Jack made a clucking sound with his tongue. “You know, Logan …” He didn’t finish his thought; he just kind of randomly waved his hand. I’d known him long enough to translate the words guys never actually say to each other sober:
You know, Logan, I’m your friend, and if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. I want to help.
“Thanks, man.” We smacked fists and he left me alone.
I watched my few dozen former classmates eating popcorn, playing games, and acting like nothing had changed. But this was really it.
It was sad, but not depressing. It was time for us to move on. I’d be ready, if not for one enormous regret.
My regret was six feet tall, beautiful, and out of my life forever. And until I could say goodbye to her, until I could go to bed knowing that she was safe and happy, then I couldn’t get on with my life.
How did I end up loving a person I’d driven away and would never see again?
chapter thirty-eight
GRAHAM HALL WAS BUILT just after the Second World War. The tiny dorm room I’d be sharing with Jack consisted of a bunk bed, two desks, two closets, and one electrical outlet. According to Laura, some sociology students had proven that the average convict in a Missouri prison had more floor space than the average Mizzou student.
Mom hadn’t been able to drive me to campus; as usual, she was working. I was happy to learn, however, that she’d requested fewer hours. With only herself living in the trailer