Lifeguard - James Patterson [24]
I stood up.
Dave did, too. “You’re going to see Pop, aren’t you?” I didn’t answer. “That’s stupid, Ned. If they’re looking for you, they’ll know.”
I tapped him lightly on the fist, then threw my arms around him and gave him a hug. My big little brother.
I started to jog down the hill. I didn’t want to turn, because I was afraid that if I did, I might cry. But there was something I couldn’t resist. I spun around when I was almost on Perkins. “It was Darren.”
“Huh?” Dave shrugged.
“Darren Flutie.” I grinned. “Doug’s younger brother. He caught Doug’s last pass in college.”
Chapter 28
I SPENT THE NIGHT in the Beantown Motel on Route 27 in Stoughton, a few miles up the road from Kelty’s bar.
The story was all over the late news. Brockton residents killed. The faces of my friends. A shot of the house in Lake Worth. Hard to get any sleep after that.
Eight o’clock the next morning I had a cab drop me off on Perkins, a couple of blocks from my parents’ house. I had on jeans and my old torn BU sweatshirt. I tucked my head under a Red Sox cap. I was scared. I knew everyone there, and even after four years, everyone knew me. But it wasn’t just that. It was seeing my mom again. After all these years. Coming home this way.
I was praying the cops weren’t there, too.
I hurried past familiar old houses, with their tilting porches and small brown yards. Finally, I spotted our old mint green Victorian. It looked a whole lot smaller than I remembered. And a lot worse for wear. How the hell did we all ever fit in this place? Mom’s 4Runner was in the drive. Frank’s Lincoln was nowhere around. I guess Thomas Wolfe was right about going home, huh?
I leaned against a lamppost and stared at the place for several minutes. Everything looked all right to me, so I snuck around to the back.
Through a kitchen window I saw my mom. She was already dressed, in a corduroy skirt and some Fair Isle sweater, sipping a cup of coffee. She still had a pretty face, but she looked so much older now. Why wouldn’t she? A lifetime of dealing with Frank “Whitey” Kelly had worn her down to this.
Okay, Ned, time to be a big boy. . . . People you loved are dead.
I knocked on the glass pane of the back door. Mom looked up from her coffee. Her face turned white. She got up, nearly ran to the door, and let me in. “Mother of God, what are you doing here, Ned? Oh Neddie, Neddie, Neddie.”
We hugged and Mom held me as tightly as if I’d come back from the dead. “Poor kids . . .” She pressed her face against me. I could feel tears. Then she pulled back, wide-eyed. “Neddie, you can’t be here. The police have been around.”
“I didn’t do it, Mom,” I said. “Whatever they say, I swear to God. I swear on JM’s soul, I had nothing to do with what happened down there.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” My mother put her hand lightly on my cheek. She took off my cap and smiled at my mess of blond hair, the Florida tan. “You look fine. It’s so good to see you, Neddie. Even now.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Mom.”
And it was—to be back in the old kitchen. I felt free for a moment or two. I picked up an old Kodak print taped to the fridge. The Kelly boys. Dave, JM, me on the field behind Brockton High. JM in his red and black football jersey. Number 23. All-Section safety his junior year . . .
When I looked up, my mother was staring at me. “Neddie, you’ve got to turn yourself in.”
“I can’t.” I shook my head. “I will, eventually. But not yet. I have to see Pop. Where is he, Mom?”
“Your father?” She shook her head. “You think I know?” She sat down. “Sometimes I think he even sleeps at Kelty’s now. Things have gotten worse for him, Neddie. He needs a kidney transplant, but he’s past the age when our coverage is gonna pay for it. He’s sick, Neddie. Sometimes I think he just wants to die. . . .”
“Trust me, he’ll be around long enough to bring you more misery,” I snorted.
Suddenly we heard the sound of a vehicle pulling up to the curb outside. A car door slamming shut. I was hoping it was Frank.
I went over to a window and pulled back the