Daniel had to concede that his wife had a point, but he disliked seeing his son being played for a fool. Bobby was comparatively naive and inexperienced, even though he was almost twenty-twom tÑt twenty-. He had not yet had his heart truly broken. Then the girl had ended the relationship after Bobby came back from college for the holidays, and that experience had been forced upon him. There had been no warning, and no explanation was given beyond the fact that she believed Bobby was not the man for her. His son had taken it badly, to the extent that it had caused him actual, physical pain, he said: an ache deep in his belly that would not subside.
The breakup had also plunged him into depression, a depression exacerbated by the fact that this was a small town: there were only so many places one could go to drink, to eat, to see a movie, to pass the time. The girl worked behind the bar at Dean’s Place, and Dean’s was where the young people of the town-and many of the older ones too-had for generations gone to congregate. If Bobby wanted to socialize, then Dean’s could be avoided for only so long. Daniel knew that following the breakup there had been encounters at Dean’s between the two young people. Even then, the girl had enjoyed the upper hand. His son had been drinking, while she had not. After one particularly loud exchange, old Dean himself, who ruled his bar like a benevolent dictator, had been forced to warn Bobby against bothering the staff. As a result, Bobby had stayed away from Dean’s for a week, returning home from work each evening and heading straight for his basement hideaway, barely pausing to greet his parents and only emerging to raid the refrigerator or to share an awkward meal at the kitchen table. Sometimes, he even slept on the couch instead of in the adjoining bedroom, not even bothering to undress. Only after some of his friends came by and cajoled him out did the clouds above his head seem to break for a time, and then only for as long as he avoided seeing the girl.
When his body was discovered, Daniel’s first thought was that he had killed himself out of some misplaced devotion to Emily. After all, there seemed to be nothing else troubling him in life. He was saving for college, and seemed to have every intention of returning to further study, hinting that perhaps Emily might come with him and get a job in the city; he was popular with his friends both there and at home; and his natural disposition had always tended toward the optimistic, or had until the dissolution of his relationship.
Emily should have stayed with his son, thought Daniel. He was a fine boy. She should not have hurt him. She should not have broken his heart. When she had arrived at the death site, just as the body was being carried across the fields to the waiting ambulance, Daniel had been unable to speak to her. She had approached him, her eyes glistening, her arms raised to hold him and to be held in turn, but he had turned away from her, one hand outstretched behind him, the palm raised in a gesture that was plain not only to her but to all who had witnessed it, and in that way he had made it clear where he felt the blame for his son’s death lay.
And so Bobby’s mother had wept tears of grief and pain at the news that her son’s life had been taken from him by others, of incomprehension at the manner of her son’s death, while his father had felt some of the weight lifted from his shoulders, and he marveled at his own selfishness. Now, in the basement, the anger came back, and his hands formed themselves into fists as he raged at the faceless thing that had killed his son. Somewhere above him the doorbell rang, but he barely heard it over the roaring in his head. Then his name was called, and he allowed the tension to ease from his body. He released a ragged breath.
“My boy,” he said softly. “My poor boy.”
Emily Kindler was sitting at the kitchen table. Behind her, his wife was making tea.
“Mr. Faraday,” said Emily.
He found that he was now able to smile at her. It was a small thing, but there was genuine warmth in it. There was no longer any hint of blame attaching to her for what had occurred, and now she seemed more like a link to his son, fuel for the fire of his memory.
“Emily,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess.” She could not look at his face. He knew that his rejection of her at the place of his son’s death had wounded her deeply, and if he had absolved her of all blame then she had yet to do the same for him. They had never discussed what had happened that day, so it was true to say that he had not made any recompense for it.
His wife came over and touched the girl’s hair gently with the palm of her hand, smoothing down some loose strands. Daniel thought that they looked a little like each other: both were pale and without makeup, and there were dark circles of grief beneath their eyes.
“I’ve come to tell you that I’m leaving after the funeral.”
He was surprised. He struggled to find something to say.
“Listen, honey,” he said, “I owe you an apology.” He reached for her hand, and she allowed him to take it. “That day, the day they found Bobby, I wasn’t myself. I was just so hurt, so shocked, that I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”
Words failed him. He did not want to lie to her, and he did not want to tell her the truth.
“I know why you couldn’t look at me,” she said. “You thought it was my fault. Maybe you still do.”
He felt his chin begin to tremble, and his eyes grew hot. He did not want to cry in front of her. He shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I apologize for ever thinking that of you.”
Now she gripped his hand tentatively as his wife placed three cups on the table and poured tea from an old china pot. “Thank you.”
“Chief Dashut came by earlier,” he continued. “He said that Bobby didn’t take his own life. He was murdered. He asked us to keep it quiet for now. We’ve told nobody else, but you, you should know.”
The girl made a small mewling sound. The little blood she had left seemed to drain from her face.
“What?”
“The injuries, they’re not consistent with suicide.” He was crying now. “Bobby was killed. Someone choked him until he was unconscious, then tied him up and forced him forward until he died. Who would do that? Who would do such a thing to my boy?”
He tried to hold on to her, but her hand slipped from his. She stood up, teetering on her low heels.
“No,” she said. She turned suddenly, her right hand trailing. It caught the nearest cup and sent it falling to the floor, where it shattered on the tiles. “I have to go,” she said. &lrsqÑshe said.dquo;I can’t stay here.”
And there was something in her voice that caused Daniel’s tears to cease, and his eyes grew sharp.
“What do you mean?”
“I just can’t stay. I have to leave.”