The Wildman

The Wildman - By Rick Hautala


Chapter ONE

B.F.F.





You could say it all started with a late-night phone call in July, but that wouldn’t be strictly accurate.

Pre-conditions can be set, and there are always unseen forces in motion long before we become aware of them. It’s rather egocentric or, we might say, “human-centric” to declare that anything starts at any particular point in time simply because that’s when we first notice it.

And we should never forget that there are always things we don’t know, buried secrets that might eventually come to light with or without our help. Like it or not, there are things that will knock us down before we see them coming.

That’s life, and as they say: “Life moves in mysterious ways.” Like an underground river slithering silently through dark caverns deep within the earth, we never know when something long hidden is going to boil up suddenly into the light. Worst of all, we never know what might be drifting on those dark, mysterious currents until they sweep us away.

So to say all of this began about twenty minutes before midnight on a humid night in mid-July last year when Jeff Cameron got a phone call from someone he hadn’t heard from in so long that it might just as well have been a ghost on the other end of the line is as good a point as any to say this is the moment when this particular story begins.

Jeff and everyone else involved—Evan Pike, Tyler Crosby, Fred Bowen and Mike Logan—and even some of the people who were already dead at this point—Jimmy Foster and Ralph Curran and Mark Bloomberg—had secrets enough to hide and reasons enough to hope those secrets would never see the light of day. The late-night telephone call that begins this story was just the first spark of light that would grow brighter until it ultimately revealed much more than anyone involved ever wanted revealed.

It was Wednesday night.

As usual, Jeff had had a hard day at work at the real estate agency. Every day was tough. At least today was Wednesday—“hump day.” Just two more days on the downhill slide to the weekend. Of course, Jeff’s prospects for the weekends weren’t all that thrilling either, but at least he wouldn’t have to put in any time at work. His assistant, Betty Schroeder, was more than eager to cover the few showings they had scheduled on Saturday and Sunday.

Susan, Jeff’s wife, had left him almost a year ago, and Jeff still hadn’t adjusted. The house seemed unnaturally large and empty without her around. More and more, Jeff found himself wondering why he even stayed at his job when he no longer needed to maintain such a high standard of living, much less a big house like this—especially now that Matt, their only child, was off to college. He could probably make a killing if he sold now, but the real estate market, which had been booming in southern Maine for the last ten-plus years, was finally getting a little soft.

Soft?

How about house prices and sales in free fall?

It figures, Jeff thought bitterly. Just when I’m thinking about bailing out, prices drop through the floor.

For the last six months or more, he had been forced to admit he didn’t really enjoy the peace and quiet at home the way he thought he would. With Susan and Matt both gone, this place with its four bedrooms, huge living room and dining room, family room, and game room in the basement, wrap-around porch, two and a half baths, and three-car garage was much more than he needed or, the ways things were looking, would ever need.

So why not just get a shack somewhere out in the boondocks and save some bucks?

As always, Jeff had eaten supper alone. Tonight, it had been take-home Massaman curry with tofu from the Thai restaurant downtown. He watched the evening news—which was as depressing as ever—and then settled down to read a little before taking a hefty shot of rum—but just one shot to help him sleep—and gone to bed.

He had slept soundly until the phone rang, shattering the quiet.

Confused and disoriented, Jeff sat up in bed and reached for the phone as he glanced at his bedside alarm clock. He’d already taken out his contacts, so the numerals were a bright smear of glowing red lines. Leaning closer, he was finally able to make out the time. His heart jumped.

11:52!

Shit! … Something bad’s happened … Someone’s died!

His throat felt suddenly parched as he mentally flashed through the short list of people who might have died or been injured.

Dad’s heart finally gave out … Mom had another stroke … or maybe it’s the town cops in Ithaca … Matt’s been out partying with his college buddies … he drove after having a few too many … or maybe it’s Barry … Susan’s new husband … Susan ad a heart attack or has inoperable cancer … or she’s killed herself … or started drinking again … or … or …

“H’lo?” Jeff said, licking his lips. His stomach was churning as he readied himself for whatever load of bad news was about to drop on his head.

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. If there had been a dial tone instead of the long, hollow silence, Jeff might have thought he had dreamed the phone had rung, but then—faintly—someone on the other end of the line took a deep, whistling breath.

Jeff’s panic rose, and he kicked away the sweat-soaked bed sheet that was tangled around his feet. Then he swung his legs over the side of the bed, barely restraining the impulse to get up and start pacing just to be doing something to relieve the tension inside him. In spite of the heavy humidity in the air, a chill wrapped around his shoulders like a drape of thin cloth as he straightened up, preparing to tell whomever this was to f*ck off and then hang up.

“’S that you, Jeff?” a man’s voice he didn’t recognize said.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Jeff realized his hand not holding the phone was balled into a fist. He consciously relaxed it. “Who the hell is this?”

Another pause, shorter this time, was followed by a faint, nervous chuckle.

“Sorry,” the voice said. “I was just lighting a cigarette. You’ll never guess in a million years.”

That was all the person on the other end of the line needed to say. A sudden rush made Jeff feel light-headed. In an instant, he was whisked back more than thirty years to when he was a kid.

“Tyler?” he said, incredulous. “No way. This can’t be Tyler Crosby.”

Jeff was amazed to hear himself say the name. A tight smile spread across his face.

“Freakin’-A straight it is,” the voice said. “How’d you know it was me?”

Feeling dizzy from the momentary flood of relief because no one was hurt or dead, Jeff let his shoulders sag as he sat down on the edge of the bed and took a shallow breath. He stared into the darkness as long-forgotten memories filled his mind. When they were kids, Tyler Crosby was always saying a million this or a million that …

“I told you a million times” … “I’ll bet you a million bucks” … “You’ll never guess in a million years” …

Back then, Jeff had jokingly said to him: “If I told you once, I told you a million times—you exaggerate,” but Tyler never got the joke.

“Easy as pie,” Jeff said with a faint chuckle as he dredged up a mental image of his childhood friend. Short, dark-haired with pale blue eyes and a Pillsbury Dough Boy physique. He couldn’t imagine how much Tyler had changed over the years. A moment later, though, his shoulders stiffened again, and he shivered when he wondered why Tyler Crosby was calling him after … how long had it been?

“’S been a helluva long time,” Jeff said, trying to sound a lot more at ease than he was feeling. “And—Christ! It’s late. What’s up?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tyler said. “I forgot. You’re three hours ahead of me. Sorry.”

“I’m guessing you live on the West Coast?”

“Yeah. L.A. I’m a lawyer. Mostly I do entertainment law.”

“No shit.” Jeff was painfully aware of the snap in his voice. Making small talk at this hour was already starting to wear thin. He had to be up at six o’clock to get ready for work. The last thing he needed to hear was that someone he hadn’t spoken to or even thought about much if at all in the last thirty-whatever years was some hot shot lawyer to the stars.

“I just got an e-mail from someone,” Tyler said, “a mutual friend, and was wondering if you’d gotten the same one.”

“An e-mail? I dunno.” Jeff scrubbed his face with the flat of his hand. His skin was oily with sweat. “I—uh, I won’t check my e-mail again until I get to the office in the morning.”

“I’ll bet you this one’s gonna interest you.”

“Bet me a million bucks?” Jeff asked, but Tyler didn’t get that he was poking fun at him. Maybe he wasn’t as conscious as Jeff was of how much he used the expression.

“It was from Evan.”

The instant Jeff heard the name, a dash of cold rippled through him. The surrounding darkness pulsed and subtly pressed in on him, making it hard to catch his breath.

“Evan Pike?” Jeff thought his voice sounded like a faint echo, reverberating hollowly in the darkness.

“Yeah. That Evan. And guess what?”

“I couldn’t guess … not in a million years,” Jeff said, barely aware this time that he was imitating Tyler.

“He wants to have a reunion.”

“A what?”

“A camp reunion.”

“A camp reunion.”

Jeff didn’t like the way he kept repeating everything Tyler said, but the shot of rum he’d had before bed, and being awakened from a deep sleep had thrown him off. He was a little embarrassed that Tyler had caught him off guard like this. He liked to think he was always on top of his game.

“What do you mean, a camp reunion?”

“At Camp Tapiola,” Tyler said, “on Lake Onwego.”

Jeff sucked in his breath with a loud whoosh, but as hard as he tried to focus, his mind was a roaring white blank.

He had no idea how to respond.

The first, most reasonable thing would be to read the e-mail tomorrow, assuming Evan had sent one to him, and see what he thought. Evan had to have invited him if he invited Tyler. There was no reason to think otherwise, but then, knowing Evan—or at least Evan the way he had been when he was twelve years old—he couldn’t be sure without actually checking his e-mail.

“I—ah … I dunno,” Jeff finally said. “Camp Tapiola—Jeeze, I haven’t thought about that place in … ages … not since … well … you know—”

He sighed as he ran his hand across the slick sheen of sweat that sprinkled his forehead. It wasn’t just the humidity, he knew, because an icy chill had formed in the pit of his stomach. He felt like he’d swallowed a snowball.

“I know,” Tyler said breathlessly. “Me, neither.”

Why does he sound so excited about this? Jeff wondered.

“He’s inviting all of us from the tent.”

“All of us?”

There’s that echo again.

“Who does that include?”

“I assume he means him, you, me, Mike, Ralph, and Fred … all of us guys from Tent Twelve.”

“Fred Bowen? Jesus, I’ve always wondered what happened to him. You have any idea?”

“Not a clue, but Evan says he wants to have all of us out there if we can make it.”

“To the camp, you mean.”

Jeff couldn’t imagine why he was suddenly so cranky. Was it just because he’d been awakened so late, or was it because of the memories this phone call was stirring up?

“I—uh … Jeeze, Ty, I dunno. Like I said, I haven’t seen any e-mail yet, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He made an effort to keep the pique out of his voice, but he was sure he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

“Yeah … Sorry,” Tyler said, lowering his voice and sounding truly apologetic. “My bad.”

It was just like Tyler to blame himself. Maybe he hadn’t changed all that much in the intervening years. Jeff narrowed his eyes and tried to picture his childhood friend now. It was difficult—no; it was impossible to imagine Tyler Crosby a grown man—a successful Hollywood lawyer, no less.

“No need to apologize,” Jeff said, hoping he hadn’t hurt his old friend’s feelings.

“I probably should have called you in the morning, huh?” Tyler said. “I definitely should have, but I was so excited about the idea I didn’t even think about the time difference, but after I got the e-mail … I just started thinking, you know? Remembering the good ole’ days, and I just … You know … I thought it was a really cool idea.”

“Yeah … No, I understand,” Jeff said.

He was still having trouble focusing his thoughts as he stood up and snapped on the bedside light. He squinted in the sudden burst of yellow light that made his eyes start to water. He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes, forcing back the sleepiness. He had never liked waking up too fast.

“It’s just that … It’s been so long, you know?” Tyler said. “I mean … we haven’t been very good—none of us have—about staying in touch. I—” He sniffed with laughter, and Jeff could picture him shaking his head at the thought. “Remember how we had that whole BFF thing going?

“BFF?”

“Best Friends Forever.”

“Oh, yeah … right. I remember.” Jeff didn’t like how this conversation was so one-sided. Tyler might just as well have been talking to himself, dredging up reminiscences about the good ole’ days at Camp Tapiola.

“I checked you out on the Internet, so I know you’re still living in Maine. You’re still in Westbrook?”

“Uh … Yeah. Westbrook. I’m a real estate agent at a firm in Portland.”

“You married? … Got kids?”

That question, so innocent, gave Jeff pause because the last thing he wanted now was to get into all of that, especially with someone who was all but a perfect stranger. He still had more than enough emotional baggage to deal with, and this was not the time to get into it with Tyler or anyone.

“I got—uh, divorced a while ago. ‘Bout a year. Got one kid in college. At Ithaca.”

“That’s in upstate New York, right?”

“Yeah. Just south of Syracuse.”

“Got yah. But you’re doing all right, aren’t you?” The genuine note of concern in Tyler’s voice touched Jeff. Once again, he pictured him the way Tyler had looked when they were kids. That was the only memory he had of him with his long, dark hair framing a round face that remained pale no matter how much time they spent in the sun, and his blue eyes that always glistened like wet marbles. It struck Jeff as strange how, all of a sudden, he experienced a wave of nostalgia for his childhood. He must miss those days with his best buddies in some way.

BFF, indeed.

“I’m doing all right, I guess,” Jeff replied. “You know, the usual complaints at our age—gaining weight … losing hair.”

“Tell me about it,” Tyler chuckled softly. “I mean—it’s weird how I don’t feel like I’ve changed all that much, but a couple of years ago, I went to my high school reunion in Danvers, and a lot of people didn’t even recognize me. It’s weird, you know?”

“For sure,” Jeff said, but as he said it, he stifled a yawn behind his hand. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was 12:04.

Damn!

He had to get up in six hours.

“Look,” Tyler said. “I got your phone number and can call you tomorrow.”

“How’d you find me, anyway?”

“Google. It’s amazing what you can do on the Internet these days.”

“It sure as hell is.”

“So I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” Tyler said, “after you’ve checked your e-mail. But let’s make sure we stay in touch, okay?”

“Uhh—yeah … yeah. Sure. It’d be cool to reconnect after all these years.”

“It’s been way too long,” Tyler said.

A million years, Jeff wanted to say but didn’t.

“we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Jeff said “Good bye,” but he wasn’t sure if Tyler heard him or had already hung up. When the dial tone started buzzing in his ear, he replaced the phone. For A long time, he sat there on the edge of his bed, staring off into space, his mind filled with memories and images from long ago.

It wasn’t long before the phone call took on a cast of unreality. Jeff checked the caller I.D. just to make sure he’d really gotten a call from California and not imagined it.

Sure enough, there was Tyler’s name and phone number.

Jeff thought to jot it down before he forgot about it, but he was too exhausted and a little dizzy from the rum, so he turned off the light instead and flopped back onto the bed.

It took a while, but he finally drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, he awoke again with a start. This time it was because of a dream he had about Camp Tapiola, but upon waking, he couldn’t remember any of the details. All he knew was, the dream left him with a cold hollow feeling deep in his stomach in spite of the humid night air.

The only thought circling around in his mind as he tried to drift off to sleep again was that maybe having a camp reunion at Camp Tapiola wasn’t such a good idea. As nice as his memories of it were, there were also things he’d just as soon not think about ever again. And now Tyler’s late night phone call had dredged them up all of.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Jeff received a slew of e-mails, not only from Evan Pike and Tyler Crosby, but also from Mike Logan and Fred Bowen. It was beginning to turn into “Old Home Week” … or “Old Summer Camp Week.”

It wasn’t all fun, though. Jeff learned that two of the people he thought might be included—Ralph Curran and their former counselor, Mark Bloomberg—had both died. Mark had been a high school phys. ed teacher who had a heart attack at the age of twenty-nine, while Ralph, a life insurance salesman in Boston, had been stabbed to death a few years ago in a barroom brawl following a Red Sox game at Fenway Park where the Sox had lost to the Yankees.

As soon as he answered the first e-mail from Evan, he started getting several messages a day at his work account. It wasn’t long before it began to feel like an invasion of privacy, but the upshot of it all was this …

Evan Pike had become an entrepreneur of sorts. He had his fingers, if not his whole hand and arm, in a variety of deals—mostly real estate, but some manufacturing and industrial development as well as property management. He told Jeff about how a corporation called Willow Creek was in the process of buying and developing huge tracts of land in western Maine on the northern shore of Lake Onwego and the surrounding area, including Lookout Mountain. Their plans ultimately called for two eighteen hole golf courses, a ski slope, a huge marina, luxury homes for both summer and year-round residents, a shopping mall, and numerous outfitters for rustic activities such as hiking, camping, boating, fishing, and hunting.

Although the deal didn’t include Sheep’s Head Island, the small island in the southern part of the lake where Camp Tapiola was located, Evan had learned through some insider information that the camp property was up for sale as well. It had been abandoned for the last thirty-five years following the death of a camper, Jimmy Foster. Because of the lawsuit brought by the Foster family against the camp’s board of directors and the attendant bad publicity, Camp Tapiola had been forced to close. That was also the last summer Jeff and his buddies had been campers. It was also the last time all five of them—Jeff, Evan, Tyler, Mike and Fred—had been together … until now.

Because through the magic of the Internet, they had reconnected or were in the process of reconnecting.

And now that Evan had bought not just Camp Tapiola, but the whole island, he’d come up with what he thought was the fantastic idea of having all five surviving Tent 12 campers get together. The only hurdle was finding a weekend that worked with everyone’s schedules so they could meet at Camp Tapiola for a long weekend of drinking and reminiscing.

Maybe it’s the kind of thing that only looks good on paper, Jeff typed in response to the third e-mail he’d received from Tyler the day after that first phone call.

Jeff had a mountain of paperwork to do because—finally—the Howlands were closing on a house they’d been dithering about for the last two or three months. He wanted to make sure he had at least three estimates for the cellar wall repair the couple had requested—no, demanded before they would sign on the dotted line. The last thing he needed was to be wasting time IM-ing and e-mailing Tyler or anyone else he hadn’t seen or talked to in the last thirty-five years.

BING.

The computer flagged a new e-mail, and Jeff groaned when he saw that it was from Tyler, not the contractor who had promised he’d have his estimate done before lunch and here it was, almost three o’clock.

Reluctantly, mostly because he had nothing better to do, Jeff opened the e-mail and read it.

U always were the cautious one. Time 4 you 2 have a little fun. Com’on. It’ll be GR8, trust me.

Jeff sighed and shook his head. He winced when he took a sip of his coffee, which had gone cold more than half an hour ago. It was one thing for his son Matt and his college buddies to butcher the King’s English with their abbreviations and “emoticons,” but Tyler was a bit old for such juvenile shorthand.

He hit reply and quickly typed: I’m just saying late October’s probably not the best time for this. Why not wait until next spring or summer when it’s warmer? As it is, I’m swamped with work.

Without editing, he sent the e-mail, and moments later his computer signaled another new message. This was a reply from Tyler, not the contractor, so he closed the screen, got up from his desk, and wandered out into the front office. His time might be better spent flirting with Debbie Hendricks at the front desk, but then again—the way Debbie had been treating him lately, he was beginning to think he didn’t really have much of a shot with her, anyway.

By the time he got back to his desk half an hour later, there were more e-mails from all of his former friends—Evan, Tyler, Mike, and even Fred, who was replying to Evan’s e-mail for the first time. Rather than deal with any of this now, Jeff forwarded all of the letters to his home account and tried to settle back into work. The contractor didn’t get back in touch with him until almost five o’clock. By the time Jeff replied to him, it was too late to set up an appointment with the Howlands for today. It would have to wait until Friday. Jeff put any thoughts about a camp reunion out of his mind until he got home that evening.

That’s when Evan called.

* * *

“So what do you think?” Evan asked after he had laid out his plans in detail to Jeff, pausing every once in a while to get an affirmative grunt from Jeff before pushing ahead. After a couple of minutes, Jeff felt as though he had already agreed to go to the reunion even though he had never said as much.

No wonder Evan’s so successful in business, he thought. He had a smooth, low-pitched voice … the kind of voice people would call “mellifluous” … and he had a way of making you feel as though you and he were on the same side of an issue with no opposition.

Very slick.

And truth to tell, it didn’t surprise Jeff that Evan had ended up like this. Back when they were at summer camp—which had only been for two weeks a summer from the time they were nine to twelve. Just three years. It seemed much longer, but in that short period of time, even though Jeff had been coming to the camp since he was seven, Evan took right over, acting as though he had always been the unquestioned leader of their little group.

There had always been an unspoken rivalry between Jeff and Evan, and Jeff had never accepted that he was usually demoted to second in command.

Even after thirty-five years with little or no contact among any of them, a sense of competition was still there. Jeff felt it in the way Evan was trying to “sell” him on his idea of a reunion. As detached as Jeff felt from his job in some ways, especially after the divorce, he knew sales techniques when he saw them, and he cringed at how he was falling for the subtle ways Evan had of “closing the deal.” He didn’t like the pressure Evan was applying, and it irritated him to no end to think Evan was so confident he’d fall for it.

“Yeah … sure,” Jeff heard himself say although he wasn’t exactly sure where that had come from. “It sounds like it’ll be a gas.”

A gas? … Christ! I’m already sounding like a goddamned twelve-year-old!

“I’m thinking we can’t really get this together until October or maybe early November,” Evan said.

“That’s kind of late, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but my schedule’s filled solid right through September.”

“I’m just not sure about camping out that late in the year.”

Jeff could tell he was grasping at anything to find an excuse to back out now that, apparently, he had given his tacit approval to the idea.

“The cabins aren’t there any more,” Evan said, “but the dining hall’s still in pretty good shape … at least it was the last time I saw it.”

“When was that?”

“I was out there this summer when they did some percolation tests on the septic system. There’s been a bit of vandalism over the years, of course, but being on the island and all, it’s not as bad as you might think. And there’s the fireplace in the dining hall. Remember that? It’s still in good shape. We can use it for heat and cooking.”

“What are we gonna do about taking a crap?”

“I’ve already arranged for a Port-o-Potty, but com’on. We can take a dump in the woods if we have to. I own the whole damned place.”

Jeff was all too aware of how Evan kept switching from possible objections to appeals to nostalgia, but he closed his eyes for a moment and pictured the huge fireplace in the dining hall. It was made of large, rounded granite beach stones and had a mantel made from a thick, rough-cut log, probably some driftwood that had washed up on the shore. Over the years, campers and counselors had carved their names into the wood.

One year, Jeff remembered, it had rained for a week straight, so the campers couldn’t take their traditional overnight hike into the mountains. Mark Bloomberg, their counselor, had arranged for the boys from Tent Twelve—including Evan, Tyler, Mike, Fred, Ralph, and Jimmy—to camp out in the dining hall. They had cooked hot dogs and, later, when it was time for a scary story, toasted marshmallows and S’mores over the coals.

Good memories, indeed.

But remembering that night also brought back a cold, stark memory of Jimmy Foster. In spite of the warm evening, a chill gripped Jeff.

Jimmy Foster …

That night, after their counselor Mark had told them a particularly frightening story before bedtime, Jimmy had awakened, crying because he was scared. Jeff had heard him sobbing and had talked to him until he finally calmed down.

“Jesus,” Jeff whispered. His eyes widened as he looked around the living room. He half-expected to see his childhood friend in the shadows. He was unaware he had spoken out loud until Evan said, “What’s that?”

“Huh …? Oh, nothing.” Jeff shook his head to clear away the memory. “I was just … You were saying?”

“I was saying we can have a fire in the fireplace and stay warm and dry. We’ll drink beer all night. Smoke cigars. Shoot the shit. Come on, it’s gonna be a blast.”

Jeff chuckled, but it was a short, dry chuckle, and he suddenly found that he couldn’t get the mental image of Jimmy Foster out of his mind. Jimmy had been small for his age, and in spite of the summer tan he always had even before he got to camp every year, there had always been something a bit sickly and feeble about him that had worried Jeff even back then. He remembered feeling sorry for the kid because he knew Jimmy’s father had died when he was little and that he lived with his mother and younger brother in Randolph, Mass.

But maybe Jimmy had always known—even back then—that his life would end prematurely. Whatever it was, there had been something sad, almost pathetic about Jimmy Foster, which only made it worse because of what happened to him.

Jeff considered mentioning that he was thinking about Jimmy, but he decided not to put a damper on Evan’s enthusiasm. Even if he ultimately decided not to show up for this reunion, he didn’t want to ruin it for anybody else by reminding them about what had happened to Jimmy.

It struck Jeff as a bit odd that he hadn’t thought about Jimmy Foster all that much over the years. His death was definitely something he didn’t dwell on, but now that Evan and Tyler had stirred up these old memories, Jeff was surprised to discover how close to the surface his grief and fear—even outright terror—was.

The memory made him more than a little uncomfortable. He shifted on the couch as he cast his gaze nervously around the living room again, not sure what he expected to see.

“Looking at my calendar,” Evan said, “I’m thinking the third week in October is our best bet.”

Over the phone, Jeff heard a series of faint clicking sounds. He had a mental image of Evan scanning the electronic pages on his PDA. Busy, busy, busy.

“Yeah. I can pencil it in,” Jeff said even as, in the back of his mind, a tiny voice was telling him he could always dig up some excuse so he could back out at the last minute. He didn’t even bother to get up and write down the date on his calendar. It would be best to wait until Evan had firmed up their plans so once he did back out, it would be difficult if not impossible for everyone else to reschedule.

Jeff wanted time to think about what he was agreeing to. Like any buyer, he didn’t like being pressured to decide. He saved the hard sell to use on his clients … like the Howlands. Now that the memory of Jimmy Foster had been reawakened and was sharp in his mind, his second thoughts were getting the better of him.

“So we’ll get together on Friday, October twentieth,” Evan said, and then he hissed and said, “Oh, shit. No. Wait a second. Damn it! I have something else that weekend. How does the weekend of the twenty-seventh sound?”

Without his calendar in front of him, Jeff had no idea if that weekend was open for him. Chances were it was, but what did it matter? It’s not like his social life was humming at high speed. Besides, now that he was thinking about Jimmy Foster, he couldn’t help but feel as though this reunion idea wasn’t such a good idea.

Why go back there and dig up all those old memories?

Sure, there were good ones as well as bad, but there were reasons the camp had closed and none of them had stayed in touch after that last summer.

“Works for me,” Jeff said, hoping Evan didn’t catch the hollow tone in his voice that clearly signaled his utter disinterest on his part.

You’re not closing the deal here, buddy, Jeff thought smugly and wanted to say even though he sensed—no, he was sure after only fifteen minutes of talking to Evan that Evan was much more successful in life than he was, at least on the material side of life.

But Evan either didn’t notice or, if he did, was savvy enough not to acknowledge Jeff’s hesitation. He wasn’t going to leave a hole for him to wiggle out of.

“Excellent … excellent,” Evan said. “I’ll throw this date out to everyone else in an e-mail tomorrow. Do I have you home addie?”

“Addie? Jeff thought, smiling that Evan used lingo Jeff usually only heard from his son. He was starting to sound like Tyler. Maybe next he was going to say he’d bet a million bucks they’d have an incredible weekend.

“My work e-mail’s fine,” Jeff said. “I check it all the time.”

“Yeah, but why don’t you give it to me anyway, just in case,” Evan said.

“Sure. It’s J—the letter J, followed by came running … one word—camerunning at Yahoo.com.”

He listened to a few faint clicking sounds over the phone, and then Evan said, “Okay … Got’cha.”

Got’cha! … Jesus, Jeff thought, maybe he never grew beyond twelve years old either … at least mentally.

“We’ll be in touch, then,” Evan said. “I’m really glad this is falling into place for us. It’s something I’ve been thinking about doing for a long time. I’m glad I finally just said—goddamn it, I’m gonna do it.”

“How about women or significant others?” Jeff asked. “Are we gonna include them, too?”

“Naw. This weekend is just for us guys.”

“You never told me. Are you married?”

Evan chuckled softly and said, “Sure. Have been for the last twenty years. My wife will shoot me for not remembering exactly how long, but we’ve got two great kids, and we’re doing really well.”

“And you live in Massachusetts, right?”

“In Medford. Right outside of Boston,” Evan said.

Jeff bristled and was about to mention that he wasn’t stupid; he knew where f*cking Medford was, but he realized he was getting a little edgy … maybe because Evan was so much more successful than he was.

Always taking second place after Evan, he thought bitterly, but he forced a cheerful note into his voice when he said, “I’m glad you set this thing up. I really appreciate all your efforts.”

“Hey … no problem at all,” Evan said. “Catch’cha later then.”

The phone clicked off, leaving Jeff with a steady buzzing dial tone in his ear. He was mildly surprised that Evan hadn’t said something like “Later, dude,”

After a second or two, Jeff replaced the phone and eased back on the couch. He exhaled slowly as he closed his eyes and rubbed them until he saw colored patterns swirling in the darkness. A shiver worked its way up his spine when he thought again about what had happened to Jimmy Foster that summer day thirty-five years ago …

Jesus! Jeff. Thirty-five years ago … almost to the day.

He’d have to check a calendar to be sure, but as he sat there listening to the dense silence of the house, broken only by the distant chirring of crickets outside, Jeff couldn’t help but wonder if there was any chance Evan had picked this particular time on purpose.

Had he purposely waited until it had been thirty-five years since Jimmy died before planning this gathering, or was it just coincidence?

“Either way … Screw it,” Jeff muttered, trying to push such thoughts from his mind.

It was getting late, and he had to be at the office first thing in the morning to finalize that meeting between the Howlands and the contractor. Telling himself he might be getting just a wee bit paranoid about Evan’s motives, he eased off the couch, padded into the kitchen, and poured himself a healthy shot of rum. He shivered when he took his first sip and felt the burn rush down into his stomach.

Rum in hand, he shuffled back into the living room and, heaving a sigh, sat back down on the couch. But no matter how much he tried not to think about it, now that his memories of that long-ago summer had been stirred up, there was no way he could stop himself from thinking about Jimmy Foster and what had happened exactly thirty-five years ago.

“BFF,” he muttered as he leaned back, closed his eyes, and took a huge gulp of rum. “Best f*cking friends.”