Tyler Buckspan Page 6

  A slice of moonlight entered the room, enough so I saw the line of hair descending from Devin's bellybutton. Morose as I was, I felt a stirring in my groin, looking at his trail.

  Devin laid a hand on my thigh and squeezed. "I know you're surprised and disappointed, but it's for the best."

  "How could that be? You love Jesse, and he loves you."

  "True. But some things are more important than love."

  "Such as?"

  "Money, for one thing. Building a future's another. Jesse will never leave that brickyard, Tyler; I guarantee it."

  I rubbed the tip of my nose with a knuckle and sniffled.

  "Do you love Rev. Patterson?"

  Devin shrugged. "She's good to me."

  "Will I still see you? Can we play basketball and swim at the spring?"

  He nodded. "I'll only be blocks away."

  Under the covers, I shifted my hips.

  "When will you tell Jesse?"

  Devin raised his shoulders.

  "Does Rev. Patterson know?"

  "What?"

  "About you and Jesse? Does she know he's your boyfriend?"

  Devin shook his head. "That's the sort of thing men keep to themselves. Understand?"

  I said yes, but truthfully I didn't understand.

  Not any of it.

  ***

  On Labor Day morning, I lay on the glider sofa, on Grandma's front porch. I stared at the beadboard ceiling and cobwebs festooning it. Mom and my grandma had driven to Jacksonville, where several department stores held holiday sales, so I was alone. A mockingbird tootled in Grandma's gardenia bush. Dew glistened in her Bahia lawn.

  I shifted my hips and blinked. What would I do with my day?

  Then a familiar chug sounded. I rose to a sitting position, just as Devin pulled to the curb in the Chevrolet.

  He'd moved from Grandma's house the week before, and I had not seen him since.

  When he sat beside me on the glider, I smelled his cologne. He wore a sports jacket, a Banlon shirt, dress slacks, and leather slip-ons. His hair gleamed, and my heart fluttered at the sight of his lean physique.

  He said, "I guess school starts tomorrow?"

  I nodded.

  After reaching inside his jacket, Devin produced an envelope. "Something for you."

  Inside the envelope, I found the Chevrolet's certificate of title.

  Devin pointed to his signature on the backside.

  "Now you won't have to ride the school bus."

  My jaw slacked while I studied the document. Then I looked at Devin.

  "I don't understand. What'll you drive?"

  "Grace bought me a Buick convertible. It's a wedding gift."

  I nodded. Fingering the edge of the certificate, I studied Florida's Great Seal: an Indian woman scattering blossoms, a Sabal palm, a brilliant sun, and a double-masted sailing vessel.

  What could I say?

  I looked up at Devin.

  "What about Jesse? Isn't it his car too?"

  Devin shook his head. "I bought it myself and paid for all the parts. He only helped with repairs."

  I licked my lips. "What did he say when you told him you were married?"

  After looking away, Devin rubbed his knees with his palms. "I haven't told him yet; he thinks I'm Grace's tenant, nothing more."

  I started. "When will you tell him?"

  Devin didn't answer. Instead, he gave me the Chevy's ignition and trunk keys; they dangled from a flimsy chain.

  "Give me a ride home, will you, Ty?"

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Two weeks after fall semester began, I leaned against the Chevy's fender in my school's parking lot, waiting for Eric. Cumulus clouds cruised across a brilliant Florida sky, while a northeast wind stirred branches of a nearby live oak. My route to and from school passed Eric's house. Each day, I'd pick him up in the morning; then I'd drop him off in the afternoon. Often, after school let out for the day, we'd leave the County Road on our way home. We'd park behind an abandoned warehouse, and then we'd make love in the Chevy's backseat.

  It was often warm inside the car in September's heat. We'd both sweat, and our skins smacked, wherever we made contact. Our sex was sticky and smelly, but I found each session intensely erotic.

  Now, in the parking lot, Eric approached with a notebook and text under his arm. The breeze tossed his sandy hair, and his untied shoelace flipped here and there. My belly fluttered when I looked at him. Eric had grown taller, more muscular since we'd become lovers. He was no longer a boy, and the thought of lowering his zipper, minutes from now, quickened my pulse. I felt a stirring in my briefs, but when Eric drew near he did not smile as he normally might. His forehead crinkled, and one corner of his mouth turned down.

  "Something wrong?" I asked.

  He raised his eyebrows. "You haven't heard?"

  "What?"

  "About Devin's friend, Jesse?"

  I shook my head.

  Eric looked at something over my shoulder. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he worked his jaw from side to side.

  "Tell me," I said.

  Eric drew a breath and then his gaze met mine.

  "Jesse killed himself this morning. He drove his dad's pickup into the woods. Then he stuck a shotgun in his mouth and blew his brains out."

  What?

  My knees quivered while my vision lost focus. I turned and placed my hands on the Chevy's trunk.

  Jesse was dead? How could it be?

  Eric laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "I'm sorry, Tyler. I know Jesse and Devin were best friends."

  My stomach churned, and I couldn't help myself: I puked, three or four times. My vomit glistened on the Chevy's paint job like so many scrambled eggs, while I sucked air and my chest heaved.

  Jesse, oh no...

  How many hours had I spent with Devin and Jesse, working on the Chevy? Now, in the parking lot, I heard Jesse's laughter inside my head; I recalled his musky scent and thought of the day I'd watched Devin and Jesse make love. It had meant everything to me. Jesse had been so passionate, so full of life. But now...

  Oh-h-h, shit.

  My face crumpled, and then I sobbed like a five-year-old while classmates filed by Eric and me, shaking their heads. Their faces bore puzzled expressions; they clearly had no idea what had upset me. I'm sure I looked foolish, but I didn't care.

  Screw them.

  "Come on, Tyler," Eric whispered. "Let's go home."

  At Grandma's house, two men in business suits occupied chairs in the living room. One was gray-haired and built like a linebacker; the other was slender, younger. They sipped coffee from cups and saucers. Both rose when I entered the room.

  "Tyler," Grandma said, pointing to the older guy, "this is Detective Knox from the sheriff's office."

  I put down my books. When I shook hands with Knox, my hand disappeared into his massive paw. Knox jerked a thumb toward the other fellow. "This is my partner, Sergeant Goodall."

  I shook hands with Goodall. His eyes were dark and piercing, like he knew my deepest thoughts, and I found it hard to look at him. His face bore a five o'clock shadow and acne scars.

  At Knox's request, I sat on the sofa next to my grandma, facing the two cops.

  When Knox asked if I'd heard about Jesse's death, I nodded. A vision of Jesse, lying dead in his dad's truck, entered my mind. The back of his skull was blown out and the truck's rear window was splattered with his blood. Immediately, my head ached and my stomach churned. Would I puke again, right in front of everyone?

  Knox said, "We're certain this was a suicide; we don't suspect foul play, but..."

  I glanced at Grandma; then I returned my gaze to Detective Knox.

  "What?" I said.

  Knox rearranged his limbs.

  "How much do you know about the relationship between Jesse and your half brother?"

  I lowered my gaze. Feeling heat in my cheeks, I cleared my throat. Then I looked up.

  "They were close friends," I said. "T
hey spent a lot of time together."

  Knox looked at my grandmother, then me. After placing his cup and saucer on Grandma's coffee table, he reached into a shirt pocket. Then he produced Jesse's signet ring and gave it to me.

  I held the ring in my fingers, staring.

  Oh, crap…

  "Ever seen it before?" Knox asked.

  I nodded.

  "Why would Jesse wear a ring with your half brother's initials on it?"

  I shrugged and didn't speak. Instead, I handed the ring back.

  Knox looked at Goodall, then at the ring. He rubbed the ring between his thumb and index finger.

  "Tyler," he said, "how well did you know Jesse?"

  I moistened my lips and studied my shoes.

  "He was here a lot, working on the car with me and Devin. We talked sometimes. I know he moved here from Jacksonville. He worked in the brickyard with Devin. That's about it."

  "Did he or Devin ever mention visiting Jacksonville together?"

  I squinted and shook my head.

  "You're quite certain?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  Knox didn't respond. He put the ring back in his shirt pocket; then his knees crackled when he rose. The rest of us stood as well.

  Knox looked at Grandma. "Thanks for your time, ma'am. The coffee was a treat."

  Grandma walked our visitors to her front screen door, and I followed them. Grandma and I stood side by side, watching as the two men climbed into an unmarked vehicle, a black Ford sedan with a county plate.

  Goodall produced a notebook; he nodded and scribbled while Knox spoke. Knox started the Ford's engine; he shifted gears, and then the Ford's muffler growled as they drove away.

  I looked at Grandma.

  "What did they want?"

  She fingered her pearls, still staring out the screen door.

  "Why were they here?" I asked.

  Grandma swung her gaze to me.

  "From now on, I want you to stay away from Devin."

  "How come?"

  "He's a bad person, Tyler."

  "Why? What's he done?"

  "He's a liar and a con artist -- a slick one at that."

  I crinkled my forehead. What was going on?

  Grandma touched my shoulder.

  "Promise me you won't associate with Devin, not ever again."

  "But--"

  "Please, Tyler."

  I shoved my hands in my pockets and studied the carpet.

  ***

  Again, I stood outside my grandma's bedroom door, eavesdropping on her conversation with my mom.

  Grandma's voice was strident, angry.

  "You and Devin aren't nearly as clever as you might think. Some of those bills in the tobacco tin were printed less than ten years ago. And the information Devin claimed he received from Elmer?"

  Grandma hissed.

  "You didn't even return my diaries to their proper places on the bookshelf. How stupid do you think I am?"

  "Mother, you must understand: I'm trying to improve our circumstances. I am sick of the beauty shop, and tired of driving to Daytona in that lousy Dodge. I don't like depending on you for so much, either. Tyler will need money for college, and--"

  "That's how you justify deceiving me?"

  "Devin would never have received approval from the Council if I -- if we -- hadn't done it."

  "And poor Gloria Hagermann," Grandma continued, "she's been deceived as well. That information Devin told her about Helen surely came from Grace Patterson. And that red-haired woman from Ormond Beach, the one who paid me the twenty-five dollars? Go ahead and tell me how that was arranged."

  My mom didn't say anything.

  "Devin's no medium," Grandma said. "He's not clairvoyant. He is simply evil; he uses people, and he'll use you as well. Just wait: your turn will come."

  "Mother, Devin's not a bad person, he--"

  "Listen to me: that boy, Jesse? He wasn't just Devin's friend; they were lovers, Brenda, a pair of sodomites."

  My scalp prickled while I flexed my fingers. How did Grandma know?

  "Mother, I don't believe it. What makes you think--"

  "The boy left a note."

  "Who did?"

  "Jesse. The police found it with his body."

  I shivered in the hallway, feeling like someone had dropped ice cubes down the back of my shirt. Beyond the door, bedsprings creaked. Mom's voice trembled when she spoke.

  "What did the note say?"

  "I wasn't shown; I only know what Detective Knox told me: Jesse was distraught over Devin's marriage; he didn't want to live without Devin's... attentions."

  Tears clouded my eyes. Poor Jesse...

  Grandma said, "I'd be perfectly justified in asking you to leave this house -- I probably should -- but I can't punish Tyler for what you've done. He's a good boy and certainly deserves better. Have you considered how this will affect him?"

  "We'll leave if you'd like," Mom said. "I wouldn't blame you for throwing us out."

  Grandma didn't say anything for a long moment. Then she told Mom, "You and Tyler can stay, and I'll try to forgive what you've done. But don't ever mention Devin in my presence, and don't bring him to this house again. Understand?"

  Later that evening, I lay in bed, in darkness, staring at the ceiling. My bedroom window stood open. Outside, a breeze stirred fronds of a Sabal palm; the fronds made a sound like cards being shuffled. I felt restless and agitated by the day's events: Jesse's death, Knox's visit, the unmasking of Mom and Devin's not-so-clever ruses.

  How much of Devin was a fake and how much was real? Grandma had certainly proved Devin's purported communications with my grandfather a hoax, along with other things, but still...

  I recalled how Devin had sensed my presence at the spring, when he'd made love with Jesse. He knew about me tearing the cuff of my blue jeans, about me stealing his underwear and sniffing them. And the breathing exercise he'd taught me had worked, hadn't it?

  Now, in my bed, I closed my eyes. I drew a breath and held it ten seconds, then let it out. I repeated the process, over and over, for several minutes. Then, as before, I felt as though my mind had left my body. I floated above Cassadaga like a bird, looking down at Rev. Patterson's sprawling home with its turret and columned porch, its multiple chimneys.

  Detective Knox's Ford stood in Rev. Patterson's driveway.

  After descending to ground level, I peeked through a window, into Rev. Patterson's parlor. A brass chandelier with eight arms and shaded lamps lit the room with a golden glow. Devin and Rev. Patterson occupied a leather sofa, Knox a wingback chair, while Sergeant Goodall stood at a marble fireplace, resting his elbow on the mantle. Devin's head was bowed; he held something in his hand. What was it?

  I entered the parlor now, passing through the windowpane as if it weren't there, as though my body lacked mass or substance of any kind. Approaching Devin, I stood beside him and bent at the waist. I squinted at the object he held in his fingers. It was Jesse's ring. A tear slid down Devin's cheek; it reflected the chandelier's glow.

  I looked at Rev. Patterson. She wore a dressing gown made of quilted material, light blue. Her hands trembled in her lap as she listened to Knox speak, but I couldn't hear what Knox or anyone else in the room said.

  Concentrating, I read Rev. Patterson's thoughts. Her mind pictured Devin and Jesse, seated in the Chevrolet, their trousers unzipped, Devin kissing Jesse and touching Jesse between the legs. I sensed a churning in Rev. Patterson's stomach, one similar to the nausea I'd felt in the school parking lot, earlier that day. She rose and scurried to a downstairs bathroom, where she knelt and vomited into the toilet. Another vision entered her head: Rev. Patterson and Devin lay naked in a bed, in an elegantly furnished room. Devin was atop the reverend; he thrust his hips, while she shouted his name at the ceiling.

  Now, Rev. Patterson vomited a second time.

  Back in the parlor, Knox reached inside his jacket. Then he handed Devin a folded sheet of paper; it appeared to be a photostatic copy. What
was it? Devin unfolded the document, he studied its contents before shaking his head. Then he handed the document back to Knox, along with Jesse's ring. Devin said something to Knox. Then Knox looked at Goodall and shrugged. After pocketing the ring and document, Knox rose and hitched his trousers, while Devin remained on the sofa. A crease appeared between Devin's eyebrows; his forearms rested upon his knees, while his hands hung limp.

  Knox said something else to Devin. Devin nodded, and then Knox and Goodall strode from the room. They left the house and climbed into the black Ford with the county license tag. Knox took the wheel; he started the engine and flicked on his headlamps. They drove off.

  Back in the parlor, Devin remained on the sofa. He stared at the floor, working his jaw from side to side. I tried accessing his thoughts, but couldn't. Was he blocking me intentionally?

  If so, why?

  ***

  Two days after Jesse died, when I came home from school, Devin's Buick sat by the curb. Wearing a sports jacket and dress slacks, Devin sat on the front porch glider; he studied a roadmap. He had crossed a knee with an ankle, and his two-toned shoe twitched.

  After sitting beside him, I placed my books on the porch floor. Then I pointed to the map.

  "Taking a trip?"

  He nodded; then he folded the map and set it aside.

  "Where?" I said.

  He shrugged. "I haven't decided, but I'm leaving Cassadaga for good; that much is certain."

  My eyes clouded. Devin would leave? He wouldn't come back?

  I said, "What about Rev. Patterson?"

  He drew a breath; then he let it out, while his shoulders sagged. "She's having our marriage annulled, Ty."

  "Because of Jesse?"

  "Partly. And because the cops think I killed that girl, the one they found at the sawmill. Jesse said so in his suicide note."

  I studied my shoes and licked my lips. I looked at Devin and asked him, "Did you and Jesse ever visit Jacksonville?"

  Devin asked why I wanted to know.

  "Detective Knox asked me about it."

  Devin looked at my Chevy in the driveway. Then he returned his gaze to me. "We went many places in that car, Tyler."