“I do?”
Kyle took a long, slow drag and blew the smoke out even slower. “Yep.”
“Right.” Ben stuffed it in his pants, where it made a bulge. “So, you like your new job?”
Kyle looked over his shoulder toward the office. “If you rode your bike from Powder Neck for small talk, we can hang here. But if you’re here for a medicinal consult”—he pointed to the bulge—“we ought to move on.”
Ben tipped his chin at the golf cart. “In that thing?”
“Hell, yeah.” Kyle mashed the cigarette on the cement with his boot, then peeled it off the ground and tucked it in his back pocket. He smiled. “Some poor sucker’s gotta keep this place clean, you know.”
Ben swung himself onto the cracked cart seat. “I think I know the guy. Real loser.”
Kyle laughed as he slipped in next to Ben and turned the key. The ancient cart lurched into drive and they putted over the hill. Ben was grateful the motor was too loud to talk over. He surveyed the neat lines of graves on his left, realizing he had no idea where exactly the Cillo plot was, since the interment of their ashes had been private. Ben turned that off in his mind. Now even Mr. Cillo’s quiet burial of his daughters seemed suspect.
“How do you tell your way around this place?” Ben blurted, wishing his brain would stop chattering. “It all looks the same.”
Kyle squinted, one hand on the wheel, his hair catching wind. “You figure it out pretty quick. See that white thingy that looks like a Greek temple? That’s a whole family in there, the Neros. That’s the west side. It’s called a mausoleum, by the way.”
“Good to know.”
Kyle pointed off to the right. “Those granite tablets flat on the ground? You know what those are?”
“Graves of people whose relatives were too cheap to buy regular headstones?”
“Cremorials. Memorials for people who were cremated. Cremation, memorials. Get it?”
“I get it.” People or sisters, Ben thought.
“Most of the cremorials are on the east side, with the Blue Hills in the background, see?” Kyle said, rubbernecking. “Those plots get the best views.”
“Dead people prefer nice views?”
“Their loved ones do.”
“Loved ones. Nice.”
“The main gate is south. North is the only other way. If you get lost, you look for the hills.”
“You really seem to be fitting in here. Where are the other people?”
Kyle wrenched down the high brake pedal next to a granite bench. “We’re surrounded by people, dude.”
Ben stung. To think that Kyle had become indoctrinated into this ultrasensitive new cemetery world, where Corpses Are People Too.
“Where are the guys you work with? I mean, I assume they’re guys, right?”
“It’s a big place. Not much natural interaction. No water cooler to stand around and chitchat.” Kyle hopped from the cart and took an expansive breath, as if the air was cleaner here.
Ben sat down hard on the granite bench. “Is it lonely?”
Kyle smiled. “Not so much.”
The bottle dug into the crease of Ben’s leg. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.”
“So. Last time I saw you, you had some anger issues. Those worked out?”
Ben dug his toe into the ground, remembering how good Piggy’s cheek had felt under his knuckles. “My parents don’t think so. Thus…” Ben gestured loosely at his hip.
“Zoloft’s serious stuff. You taking it?”
“Nah, not yet. I mean, I’m not sure I will. I don’t want to be relaxed, if that makes any sense.”
Kyle threw his gloves on the cart and collapsed onto the grass, hands behind his head. With his rangy legs sprawled and his work boots flopping to the sides, he looked peaceful. It was a pretty spot, Ben realized. Nicest grass he’d ever seen, even late in the season, the lush blades tight, like a cushion. He imagined Kyle came here a lot, to smoke and to think. It seemed nice. For a moment, Ben let himself forget about what Mira was trying to tell him, what she wanted him to do. He swung his feet onto the bench and lay back, knees folded upward, the granite cold through the back of his too-thin jacket, taking in the wide blue expanse. He was surprised at how chill a cemetery could be.
Ben eased into the silence. “See, Kyle. I got a job to do. And it’s hard to get work done when you’re … unfocused.”
“And a little high.”
“Exactly.”
“Except I don’t imagine it takes much concentration to operate the hot dog rotisserie at the boat club snack bar.” Kyle sat up on one elbow. “What kind of work are we really talking about, Benny?”
Ben stared hard at the sky. “I know why the girls jumped. Mira left me notes. The papers you saw at the quarry: that was them. She told me that her father caused their suicides. And I’ve got to make it right.”
Kyle dipped his head so his hair fell over one eye. The effect was cynical, and Ben felt a stirring defensiveness. “She left you notes that said ‘my father touched my private parts’?” Kyle asked.
“Not exactly. Well, basically. He was touching both of them, all the time. She said that.”
“I don’t mean to be insensitive, man, but did you ever consider that you’re thinking this because of what happened with Coach Freck? I mean, what didn’t happen, but almost could have happened. Like maybe you’re prone to thinking this way?”
“What the hell, Kyle? She told me.”
“She wrote to you.” Kyle softened his voice. “And now you can’t exactly ask for clarification. You get me?”
“I do not get you.”
Both boys fell to their backs, silent. Ben steamed for a minute, then two. Finally, Ben spoke to the sky. “I’m gonna do something about it. Mira wanted me to.”
He wondered if Kyle didn’t hear him, on account of his bad ear. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m gonna do?”
“Nope.”
“Nope?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter?” Ben turned his head. “You’re not going to ask me any questions?”
“A real man knows what he believes in. Once you know what you believe in, you don’t have to check in with your friends or your parents or your priest before you go ahead and do something. You know what’s right, and you do it.”
Ben sat upright on the bench, his sense of peace vanishing. He was becoming annoyed. Here he was pouring his heart out to Kyle because he’d assumed Kyle wouldn’t give him a hard time. Kyle had stood up for Ben, and backed Ben more times than he could remember. Been like a big brother to Ben, trying to make up for what a turd his own brother was to him, maybe, or because he felt bad when Ben’s name turned up on Coach Freck’s list. The reasons didn’t matter to Ben. Yet here Kyle was, talking about old shit that didn’t matter anymore, playing games with him. Something was off. Ben craned his neck to check Kyle’s eyes. Maybe he was on something and Ben hadn’t noticed.
Ben’s stomach hardened as a thought occurred to him. “Are you saying you don’t want to hear any of this?”
“Are you a man, Benny?”
“What does that mean?”