Precinct 11 - 01 - The Brotherhood (11 page)

Jack was an expert in his profession, a loyal friend, and generous. Boone wanted to do something for him. He headed for the local grocery, telling himself it was to carry his weight, to stock Jack’s shelves, express some gratitude. In truth he was there to load half a dozen bottles of cheap wine into his shopping cart.

Boone knew he should just talk to Dr. Sarangan and tell him he was desperate for sleep. The man had volunteered for a most unsavory task and not only broke the news, but also remained with Boone until he could see Nikki. Surely prescribing a sedative would be nothing for him.

But something else was at work here, and it was not lost on Boone. Much as he tried to tell himself that he was the furthest thing from an alcoholic and that he had no plans of becoming a drinker, let alone a habitual one, he
had
turned to booze to medicate himself. Whether it led to problem drinking or not, he could rationalize it, at least for now. He supposed it was part of his thumbing his nose at God, of rebelling against the cliché-ridden emotionalism of his mother’s showy faith.

After rearranging the refrigerator to fit in the steaks and chops he had bought for Jack and storing the wine in the pantry, Boone felt he had accomplished at least one small task. He left a note for Jack, telling him he would be home after dinner and to enjoy the new foodstuffs. None of it appealed to Boone.

Meanwhile, his phone kept buzzing. He recognized names of people he had grown up with, people from his childhood church, his own brothers, people from Community Life, women who had worked with Nikki in the nursery, mothers of other babies, cops, coworkers. They would get Jack’s message and call him for memorial service details—which would be settled once Boone and Pastor Francisco Sosa met with the funeral director.

Nikki’s parents were about ten years younger than the Drakes, and the two couples had never really socialized with each other much, despite that their kids grew up in the same church. Steve McNickle had worked for the judge advocate at Scott Air Force Base in Belleville until his transfer to Alaska when Nikki went to college. The Drakes and the McNickles really knew each other only from their kids’ engagement party, the wedding, and their paths’ crossing when each mother spent time helping Nikki after Josh was born.

By the time Boone showed up at the hotel restaurant, the couples appeared to be longtime friends. All were red-eyed and whispering and touching each other gently, as old dear friends might do. Boone found it all disconcerting. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised at how pale and drawn Mrs. McNickle looked. He had always appreciated his mother-in-law’s mature beauty, and it was no secret where Nikki’s looks had come from.

He joined them and sat awkwardly, recoiling when his mother tried to remove his sunglasses. “Come on, Boone, those aren’t for wearing indoors.”

“I’m not wearing them to block the sun, Mother.”

The couples ordered soup, but Boone ate just crackers, despite the protests of both women. He hated how all four of his elders probed to find out how he was doing and cooed about what he should do and when he should do it. Worse was when the talk turned to the disposition of the house, and they all wanted to know what shape it was in and whether they could see it.

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because my daughter and grandson died there,” Mrs. McNickle said. “I need some closure.”

“Well, I saw it, and it didn’t close anything for me.”

“I want some mementos, too,” she said.

Boone had never had a cross word with her, but that made him flinch. “Mementos?”

“Yes! A piece or two to remember Nikki and Josh by.”

It was all Boone could do to keep from snapping that he didn’t want anyone in there pawing over the family keepsakes. So it surprised even him when he said, “Feel free. Take everything if you want it. I don’t care if I go back there as long as I live.”

Steve McNickle started in with the same advice Boone’s own father had proffered that morning, causing Mr. Drake to nod and uh-huh. Boone threw up both hands. “I’ll decide, okay? I don’t want to discuss this.”

“Can we talk about the funeral, then?” his mother said.

“What’s to talk about? I’m handling the details with Pastor Sosa.”

Pam McNickle pushed aside her bowl. “You don’t want input? ideas? anything that should be mentioned?”

Boone stood. “Just let me handle it, okay? This is going to be hard enough without too many cooks in the kitchen.”

“Where are you going?” his mother said.

“I need to be alone. Do you mind?”

All four looked horrified. “Yes, I mind,” his mother said. “You’re not the only one suffering here.”

“I didn’t say I was! Now I will get you all the details, but unless you want to be involved in picking out caskets . . .”

Boone’s father shook his head sadly, but Steve whispered, “We need to cut him some slack.”

Boone hurried out, feeling both embarrassed and justified. He appreciated Steve’s attitude, but he hated being catered to.

When Boone got back to the apartment, he surprised Jack with how early he was. Keller had changed out of his uniform and was already enjoying a big steak.

“There’s plenty, thanks to you. Want some?”

Boone shook his head and headed for the guest room. “Got to lie down, Jack. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Boones. Ever. You do what you gotta do and let me know if I can help.”

That was all Boone wanted to hear from anybody. Why did it have to come from the guy they all thought was a hopeless case? Jack was the only person Boone felt comfortable with just now, and he didn’t want to spend much time with him, either.

Boone lay staring at the ceiling, trying to calm himself and think about what was coming. What he really wanted was to grab one of the bottles of wine from the pantry, but he was still too embarrassed to do that in front of Jack. The night before was one thing, but he didn’t want to make it obvious that this might become a habit.

It used to be that Boone could lie on his back for ten minutes and drift off. That sounded so inviting—and remote—now.

Jack had the TV on, and soon he turned it off, knocked, and opened Boone’s door. “I’m gonna catch a movie. Want to go?”

Boone shook his head.

“I’ll try not to wake you when I get home.”

Twenty minutes later Boone had rushed through half a bottle of wine and left it on his bedside table. That kind of sleep wasn’t much of a relief, but it was sleep nonetheless.

By morning the bottle was empty, Boone was hungover again, and he was getting a picture of what it would take to survive. Good thing the wine was cheap if sleep was going to require a bottle a night. When he emerged from the bedroom, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains and Jack was gone. He had left a note on the kitchen table.

Sorry, but your pastor called and he’s coming by this morning. He said he knew you would probably beg off, so he was just gonna show up. If you don’t want to see him for some reason, maybe this’ll give you enough warning to find somewhere else to be. See you later. Jack

Great.
Boone knew there would be no avoiding Sosa, but he had hoped to put him off until their funeral-planning sessions. As soon as Boone finished with all his obligations, he would disappear from Community Life, at least for a while. Maybe forever. Sosa was the type who would pursue him, and the day would likely come when Boone would have to be honest with him. Meanwhile, couldn’t Sosa simply leave Boone alone?

He jumped in the shower, trying to think of somewhere to escape to. He wouldn’t hang around headquarters the way some furloughed cops did. Maybe he could just hang out at a public library. Boone needed to figure out how to handle all the legal things that would arise out of this mess. His homeowners policy would rebuild the house, but then he wanted to sell it as soon as possible. The insurance claims on Nikki and Josh would likely be paid after a cursory investigation, but Boone was so repelled by the idea of, in essence, benefiting from their deaths that he could barely stand to think about it. He didn’t feel up to studying these things yet, but he needed something to do to keep himself from being so buried by his grief that he would not be able to function. In fact, he was close to that already.

When Boone headed out to his car, he found Sosa’s parked right behind it. The pastor sat behind the wheel, reading. There would be no avoiding him. Boone approached and Sosa got out.

“I knocked,” he said, “but I didn’t want to ring the bell in case you were sleeping.”

“I was in the shower. Thanks for coming.”

“Let me see your eyes, Boone.”

“Nah. They’re bloodshot, as you can imagine.”

“Not sleeping?”

“Not much and not well.”

“You got someplace to be, or can you ride with me for a few minutes?”

Boone shrugged and climbed in. Sosa drove to a park where young mothers watched their kids on playground equipment. The two men sat on a park bench fifty yards away.

“Don’t want to spook them,” Sosa said. “Nobody trusts anybody anymore.”

“Did we have to come here?”

Sosa looked away. “Life hurts,” he said. “You’re not going to be able to avoid mothers and kids.”

“I can try.”

“In your job? And in our church? I’m not trying to be mean, Boone. I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re all right, get you out of the house a little.”

“You wanted to make sure I was all right?”

“You know what I mean. I know this has rocked me and so many in our church, and that has to be just a fraction of how awful it is for you. Lots of people are praying for you.”

Boone stared at the ground. “It’s a little late for that.”

“There’s never a wrong time to pray.”

“Yeah? What are they praying for? That I’ll get my wife and boy back? I don’t want anything else.”

“Come on, Boone. You know what they’re praying for. That God will come alongside you, make himself known to you, get you through this somehow. I can’t tell you how he’s going to do that. And I’m not saying how long it will take. But I can tell you that you need to let your brothers and sisters embrace you and gather you in and care for you.”

Boone stood and wandered. To his credit, Pastor Sosa let him go without following. Boone turned and called out to him, “I’ve got to tell you, nothing sounds worse. I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want to be cared for. I want to be left alone.”

“You know that’s not healthy.”

“Well, pardon me for not being healthy.”

Finally Sosa rose and approached, but Boone was grateful he didn’t touch him. “Friend, listen. They didn’t teach us in seminary how to deal with stuff like this. I can’t make it make sense any more than you can, and you’re not going to hear me say that God’s got some kind of a master plan and that he’ll make it all clear to you someday. He
does
have a plan, but he’s not the author of death. All I can make of this is that it’s evidence of our fallen world. I’d love to be able to tell you that somehow because of this, a hundred wonderful things will happen that will make it worth it. That’s ridiculous and you know it better than I do. You want my prediction: we’re not going to know the
why
s this side of heaven. In the meantime, all we can do is put our shaky faith and trust in the God we know is sovereign.”

“See? That’s it, Pastor! I’ve believed all my life God is sovereign! I know he’s out there. I just don’t know what he’s doing, and I don’t like what he’s allowing. Am
I
praying? You want to know that?”

“I know you’re praying, Boone.”

“You’re wrong, because I’m not. Frankly, I’m afraid of what I’d say to him.”

“He can take it.”

“I’ve been told that, too. I just have nothing to say to him. I don’t want to speak to him, I don’t want to sing about him, I don’t want to worship him, I don’t want to study him, read about him, or even talk about him. I don’t want to come to church anymore.”

“I know you feel that way now—”

“Do I ever. I’ll go to the funeral because Nikki would want me to, and I’d never hear the end of it from my family if I didn’t. But it’s going to be all I can do to sit through it. I know you’re going to worry about me and be praying for me and will keep coming after me, and I know you’ll think you’re doing the right thing. But I need the freedom to back away. Will you give me that right?”

“Of course, Boone. You have a free will. You’re an adult. But again let me plead with you not to base your decisions on emotion. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. If you need time away, time to be alone, time to not be the center of attention, I understand that. I’ll support that. But don’t tell me I can never check in on you, see how you’re doing, find out what I can do.”

Boone nodded miserably. How would it look to reject even that, much as he wanted to?

“I can tell you one thing,” Sosa said. “People are going to want to rally around you, and you’ll rob them of a blessing if you turn them away.”

“What do I care about their blessing? They can get blessed doing something for someone else.”

“Fair enough, but just so you know.”

As Francisco Sosa drove Boone back to Jack Keller’s apartment, he took a phone call from the funeral director. “He can see us this afternoon,” he told Boone.

“I just want to get it over with.”

“I’m sure he’ll make it as easy as possible. Boone, let me just leave you with one more word. Is that all right?”

Boone shrugged.

“There is such a thing as the nourishment and survival of the spiritual life. If you starve yourself spiritually, you can also die spiritually.”

“I feel dead.”

“Of course you do. How else could you feel? I’m going to accede to your wishes and leave you alone for a while after the funeral, but you can’t keep me from praying for you. And I just hope you’ll stay open to God trying to communicate to you, reminding you that he loves you in spite of how things look now. He will do this through friends and Christian brothers and sisters and relatives. I daresay he’s trying to speak to you through your partner. Jack’s been very good to you, hasn’t he?”