x x x
Dinner is late and chaotic and delicious. Ten of us crammed around a picnic table under a clear Idaho sky. Ben eats so many ribs that even Richard is impressed, and when Ben explains that he lives in a vegan household, Sylvia throws a few hot dogs on the grill to top him off. I look at this nearly emaciated man and wonder how he can possibly pack it all away. But he does. Two more hot dogs and a pair of ice-cream sandwiches from the Costco box that comes out after dinner. It’s past nine when Sylvia and Jerry begin the epic undertaking of bathing and putting to bed all the hyped-up little ones. Gary heads out to meet some friends. Richard throws some logs on a fire pit in the back of the yard and sneaks into the garage for a couple of beers.
Through the window I can see Richard’s dad, a picture book open, reading to a bunch of kids in bunk beds. I hear the clatter of Sylvia doing dishes. Over the flickering firelight, I catch Ben’s eye, and I swear we are thinking the same thing: How lucky some people are.
I’m hit with a sudden wave of aching nostalgia. I miss this. But how can miss this when I never truly had it in the first place? It was secondhand through Meg. Like pretty much everything else in my life.
The firelight crackles. Richard finishes his beer and stashes the empty in the bushes. “You want another?” he asks us.
Ben shakes his head. “Better not. We have a big drive tomorrow.” He looks at me. I nod.
“So where you going, exactly?” Richard asks Ben.
Ben looks at me, asking the same silent question. I still haven’t told him the whole story.
“Laughlin, Nevada.”
“I caught that much,” Richard replies. He goes to the cooler and grabs another beer for himself and a couple of Dr Peppers for Ben and me. Something in my chest twists, and it’s ridiculous because I’m getting emotional because he remembered what soft drink I like. “I guess my question is really why Laughlin?”
I don’t say anything. Neither does Ben.
“What? Is it a secret or something?” Richard asks.
Ben looks at me. “Apparently.”
“Wait, you don’t know?” Richard says.
“I’m just along for the ride,” Ben fires back.
They glare at each other for a second, and then look at me. Inside, Jerry and the kids are saying prayers, calling out a long list of people to be blessed.
“This is between us,” I say, pointing back and forth between me and Richard and Ben.
“A sacred circle,” Richard jokes. “Or triangle. A ménage à silence.”
I give him a look, and then he goes solemn and promises.
“Remember when I came down and Harry was helping me with the computer thing?” I ask.
Richard nods.
“We found an encrypted file on Meg’s computer, and it turned out that it was instructions from this suicide support group, a group that supports your decision to end your own life. I did some more digging, and I uncovered her posting to these discussion boards. There was this one guy; he was like her mentor. He encouraged her.”
“That’s messed up,” Richard says.
“Yeah, it is,” I say.
“I can’t believe Meg fell for it.”
“I know,” I say. But I lack the conviction on this one. Because now that I know Bradford, I can believe it. “So I found this guy, and now I’m going to see him.”
“You’re what?” Ben interjects.
“I’m going to see him,” I repeat, but it comes out tepid this time.
“I thought you needed to talk to someone who knew about her death, like the Seattle people,” Ben exclaims. He frowns at me like I’ve violated some treaty.
I take a deep breath to keep my voice level. “I’m talking to the person who caused her death.”
“Except she caused her death,” Richard says. “That’s the definition of suicide.”
Richard and I glare at each other. “Bradford made her do it.”
“Which makes going to see him a brilliant idea!” Ben fumes.
“You knew I was looking for him,” I shoot back.
“I don’t know shit, Cody. Because for the last six weeks, you’ve refused to talk to me.”
“I’m talking to you now. I spent the last six weeks trying to smoke this guy out.”
“And how’d you do that?” Richard asks, his gaze ping-ponging between Ben and me.
“Harry helped, but mostly it was me. I kind of posed as someone who was suicidal. You know, me appetizing mouse. Him hungry snake.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Cody!” Ben exclaims. “Are you insane?”
“You mean like Meg was?”
That shuts him up.
“How does one do that? Pose as suicidal?” Richard asks. “My only experience is the opposite. Someone suicidal posing as okay.”
I could bullshit. I could say I lied, made it all up. But I tell the truth. “I found the part in me that was tired of living,” I say quietly. “And I put her out there.” I look down, unable to face their shock, or anger, or disgust. “I suppose that does make me insane.” I sneak a peek at Ben, but he’s staring hard at the fire.
“Nah,” Richard says. “Everyone goes there. Everyone has their days. Everyone imagines it. But you know why my pop says that suicide is a sin?” He points his thumb toward the house, where Jerry is now helping Sylvia with the rest of the dishes.
“Because it’s murder. Because only God can choose when it’s your time to go. Because stealing a life is stealing from God.” I parrot all the awful things people said about Meg.
Richard shakes his head. “No. Because it kills hope. That’s the sin. Anything that kills hope is a sin.”
I chew on that for a while.
“So what do you expect to accomplish? Now that you’ve found this guy?” Ben asks in a strangely formal tone.
“He has to be liable, somehow, as an accessory, or something.”
“So call the cops,” Ben says.
“It’s not that simple,” I say.
“Have you told Meg’s family?” he asks.
“You’re missing the point,” I reply.
“None of this will bring her back,” Richard says. “You know that, right?”
Yes, I know that. That’s not the point, either, though the point is muddled. But I can’t go to the cops or go to Meg’s family. I have to do this—do something—by myself. For Meg.
And for me.