Leaving Blythe River: A Novel (2 page)

He made up his mind that whatever he was asked, or told, or no matter how he was chastised, he would remain silent. He owed his father nothing. And he had no intention of paying the man more than he was owed.

Ethan had worried for no reason. They rode home in silence. Utter, crushing silence.

Still, Ethan trembled.

Five Days Before That Worst Night

Chapter Two: Catch

Three months and five days before his father disappeared

Ethan dragged Glen down the hall to his room by the sleeve of his friend’s hoodie.

“Seriously, dude,” Glen said, for the second time, “what’s in the bag? You’re starting to freak me out. Is this like a drug thing?”

Ethan only snorted at the joke. Glen knew it was not a drug thing because he’d gotten Ethan high a grand total of once. And Ethan had hated every minute of it. Vocally, insistently hated it.

He pulled Glen into his bedroom and closed the door behind them.

“Please tell me it’s not a sex thing,” Glen said.

“Not with
you
it isn’t.”

“Thank you. That’s what I needed to hear.” He flopped onto the end of Ethan’s bed. “I’m totally curious now.”

Glen had been Ethan’s friend since grade school. In other words, since long before Glen had grown five inches taller than Ethan, found a hidden talent for athletics, and sprouted fairly serious facial hair. But Glen had never lorded any of those developments over Ethan, so the friendship continued in spite of a measure of inevitable jealousy on Ethan’s part. Ethan had grown into a straight-A student without even trying hard, while Glen only managed Cs with a lot of study and Ethan’s tutelage. But that didn’t help much, because girls don’t ask to see your report card.

“It won’t live up to the hype in your head,” Ethan said.

Ethan set the small brown paper bag on his dresser and unrolled its top. He reached in and pulled out one of the three lollipops he had bought at the drugstore. The ball-shaped kind with the caramel fudge in the middle and the wrapper that twisted at the base of the stick.

“Unless that’s laced with something,” Glen said, “you’re right.”

“Here,” Ethan said. “Catch.”

He tossed it in Glen’s direction by its stick. Glen reached up and snagged it out of the air. Effortlessly, it seemed.

“How do you make that look so easy? How does everybody make that look so easy?”

“Because . . . ,” Glen began unsurely, “. . . it
is
?”

“Throw it to me.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I need the practice. Please. Throw it.”

Glen flipped the lollipop through the air in Ethan’s direction. It flew end over end toward Ethan’s hand. Then it hit the tips of his fingers, bounced off, and landed on his bedroom carpet.

“Unless you’re Ethan, it’s easy,” Glen said.

Ethan picked it up off the floor and tossed it back. Glen caught it this time, too.

“Throw it again,” Ethan said.

“Somehow I’m missing the point of this game.”

“It’s not a game. I need to learn to do this.”

“Because . . . ? If your goal is to try out for softball, I suggest we practice with a real ball. Seriously, dude. What’s this about?”

“Every time I go into my dad’s office . . . Jennifer has these in her desk drawer. And she always says, ‘Ethan. Think fast.’ And then she throws me one. And I always miss it.”

“Oh. Jennifer.”

“Yeah. Jennifer.”

“How many of these has she thrown you?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see. Three times a week, maybe. For almost a year. So maybe a hundred and fifty.”

“And you haven’t caught a single one?”

“No, I have. I wasn’t being serious when I said never. I catch maybe one in four or five. It’s getting humiliating. She’s nice about it, but now my dad’s been teasing me right in front of her. She says, ‘Ethan. Think fast,’ and he says, ‘Don’t you know by now that Ethan’s a slow thinker?’ It’s starting to piss me off.”

“Yeah, especially since thinking is what you do best. So, let me get this straight. You seriously brought me up to your room so you can practice catching a fudgy pop?”

“If you’re my friend, you’ll just shut up and do it.”

“If this is the kind of stuff I have to do to be your friend, you should’ve warned me when we met.”

They tossed the candy back and forth about two dozen more times. Ethan caught it twice.

Then Glen caught it, held it, and did not appear inclined to throw it back. He cleared his throat. “Listen. Dude. You honestly think Jennifer’s going to change her whole opinion of you because you can catch?”

“No. Of course not. I’m just tired of being embarrassed. Wait. Wait a minute. What do you mean, ‘change her whole opinion’ of me? Why would you even say a thing like that? Her opinion of me is not bad, you know.”

“Didn’t mean it was.”

“Well, what
did
you mean, then?”

Ethan consciously tried to calm himself. He could feel a heat building up behind his ears. He tried to will it away. All he wanted was to sound casual. And, as usual, it wasn’t working.

“I just think she doesn’t see you the way you want her to.”

“She likes me.”

“Yeah. I’m sure she does. But I think she likes you like a kid. You’re her boss’s kid. I’m not trying to be mean, I just—”

“I’m not a kid!”

“I know. I know that, buddy. I didn’t think you were. We’re the same damn age. I just think . . . you know . . . since you don’t look it . . . I just think maybe sometimes people think of you more as the age you look. You know. Instead of the age you really are.”

“She knows I’m seventeen. She sees me as seventeen.”

“She gives you candy.”

“She gives everybody candy!”

It came out as something like a full-throated shout. Glen winced. Ethan was startled by a light rap on his bedroom door.

“Everything okay in there, honey?” His mother’s voice.

“Yeah, Mom. We’re fine.”

He held very still until her footsteps faded down the apartment’s hall.

“Look, I’m sorry, man,” Glen said. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings or anything.”

“I know.”

“Here. Catch.”

Glen flipped the lollipop in Ethan’s direction. A good, arcing throw. Ethan missed it again.

When Ethan arrived at his father’s office, Jennifer was in her usual spot, seated at her desk in the reception area. Ethan’s dad was nowhere around. Nearly one whole wall was a window into Noah’s office, and it wasn’t hard to see that his father’s desk was empty. Ethan couldn’t help being pleased and relieved, but tried to do so in a way that wouldn’t be plainly visible.

“Ethan!” Jennifer said, and her voice sounded delighted. Elated, almost. “Here. Think fast.”

She pulled her desk drawer open, and then the fudgy pop was flying through the air, arcing, flipping end over end in Ethan’s direction. In that strangely compressed moment Ethan thought if he missed it or dropped it—after all that practice—it would just be too depressing for him to live through.

He reached out, and the candy landed in his palm. He closed his fingers around it, fast, and smiled.

“Hey, you got one!” she said.

The phone rang.

“Underwood Financial,” she said in her professional voice, which was strangely different. “This is Jennifer.”

A pause, during which Ethan stared at her. Her perfectly straight hair was so long she had to move it aside to sit down. And her hair and eyes were exactly the same color—the exact color of the buckwheat honey his mother put on the kitchen table every morning at breakfast. Ethan found it hard not to stare at the honey on the breakfast table, too, his mind far away and more drifting than thinking. Once, Ethan’s dad had apparently watched him for a time without Ethan’s knowledge and then asked, “Something going on in that jar that only you can see?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Jennifer said, knocking him back into the moment, “he’s having lunch with a client. Can I take a message?”

He watched her scribble on her pad, occasionally punctuating the silence with “Uh-huh.”

“Okay, thank you,” she said, “I’ll tell him. Right. Bye.”

She hung up the phone and leveled Ethan like a demolition ball by looking directly into his face. His ability to breathe dried up in his lungs, and his skin felt hot.

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. You came by hoping to have lunch with your dad.”

Ethan nodded silently. Now that it was clear he couldn’t have lunch with his dad, having lunch with his dad formed a great excuse for dropping by. And it was hard coming up with excuses. The more the drop-ins stacked up, the harder it became.

“Here’s a thought,” she said. “You and me.”

Ethan tried to swallow and failed. His brain raced like a trapped wild animal, wondering what he had missed.

“Um,” he said, and then feared he might not be able to continue. He put force behind the words. “You and me?”

“Yeah. You and me. Giovanni’s. I have the corporate credit card.”

She held it by its edges and tilted it back and forth as if it were a priceless object on display, itching to be sold. It was silver and shiny, and reflected light from the window into Ethan’s eyes.

“Sure,” Ethan said. “Yeah. You and me.”

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” she said as the waiter held out her chair. “You know, just get to know you more. But right now . . .” She looked over her shoulder at the waiter. “Thank you, Charley, but I’m not even sitting quite yet. I’m going to use the little girls’ room before I do anything else. Ethan, will you excuse me?”

“Of course,” Ethan said, half rising again, bumping his thighs on the edge of the table.

She smiled once, and then Ethan was able to watch her walk away, his single-pointed attention blessedly unobserved. He watched the long, honey-colored curtain of her hair swish back and forth as she walked.

The minute she disappeared from sight, Ethan pulled his phone out of his pocket.

He texted to Glen:
Big news
.

Then he waited, chewing slightly at his lip, willing Glen to be there to talk to him.

Yeah what?

Having lunch with her

How’d you manage that?

Her idea

Right

I mean it. She’s acting all weird like she’s dying to get to know me

A long pause, during which Ethan had no idea what Glen was thinking. And he really wanted to know. In fact, he needed to know.

She say why?

No just that she’s been wanting to for a long time

Look dude

Another painfully long moment of no new messages appearing.

What? Just say it

Don’t get your hopes up too high. I mean I hope it’s a good thing but now I’m worried. I know you. You’ll crash hard if you’re wrong. Maybe it’s just because you’re the boss’s son

Ethan glanced up to see Jennifer walking down the long restaurant hallway in his direction. She smiled at him, and something inside him melted. And he thought,
Right, Glen. Sure. Don’t get my hopes up too high. I notice that advice doesn’t come with a manual of step-by-step instructions.

Ethan had yet to understand how anyone exerted authority over his own hopes. They seemed to chart a course all their own. If anything, it seemed Ethan’s hopes steered him rather than the other way around.

He slipped the phone down into his lap and texted:
Gotta go
.

Jennifer sat across the table from him and smiled warmly into his face. Ethan looked away. It was the wrong thing to do, but he couldn’t help it. Her eyes and her smile felt like fire. Like the sun, burning his eyes if he tried to look directly.