The End of All Things Beautiful (7 page)

She
shakes her head; her tears now dry, but her pain still visible on her face. “Please
go,” she begs. “And don’t come back.”

“Wait,”
I call out, my hand on the door once again. “Can you tell me one thing?”

She
rolls her eyes, a hand on her hip now, the door propped open with her foot. “What?”
she utters clearly annoyed.

“How
did he die?”

“He
killed himself,” she states very simply, and it confirms what I always
suspected. “At first I thought it was a drug overdose,” she pauses as if she’s
thinking about what happened. “He hadn’t used in years. Five years to be exact.
He stopped when he found out I was pregnant. And I really thought things were
changing, that the baby would be what he needed to get well.” She stops again
and shoots me a filthy look. “Why the fuck am I telling you this? I don’t owe
you anything.”

“You’re
right, you don’t,” I say attempting to appease her, but desperately needing her
to keep talking. “Why did you think it was a drug overdose?” I ask even though
I know it might be the question that causes her to slam the door in my face
this time.

“Tommy
was a heroin addict, but like I said he’d been sober for five years,” she says
as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I found him with a needle in
his arm on our bathroom floor. He was already dead.” She covers her face with
her hands and I see the tears spill out from underneath. “But then I found the
note he left. It wasn’t about the drugs, it was about ending his life.” She
again wipes her hands under her eyes, the tears streaking through her makeup.

My
heart breaks for her and their son. A tragedy that could have so easily been
avoided and right now I can’t do anything but blame myself. What if I had come
back into his life? Would he be dead right now? Would we have been able to
salvage what was lost, correct each other’s wrongs and be there for each other?
A secret so great, so debilitating that it’s ruining lives.

“You
need to go, Campbell,” she asserts, my name falling from her lips like a swear
word, cruel and unforgiving. Her arms are now crossed over her chest and she’s
ready to close the door.

“I’m
sorry,” I admit, not entirely sure what I’m apologizing for; the amount of
things too large to even list, but they still run through my head.
 
“I hope one day I can find you the
closure you need.”

She
just shakes her head and closes the door.

I
never expected her to even speak to me, but to know how things ended for him
doesn’t make it any easier to cope with. But it makes his letter scream at me
loud and clear. What I didn’t think I could do, is exactly what I need to. This
cycle of death and avoidance can’t continue.

I
need to find Benji.

Despite
leaving the office several hours ago, I’m on my way back. This whole situation
has spiraled faster than I could have imagined and I’m now going to need more
than just today to sort it all out.

I
know I have a million things on my calendar over the next week, so I’m returning
to take care of handing off clients and making sure meetings that are scheduled
have someone present.

As
soon as I step off the elevator, Claire greets me with a series of missed calls
and all the information I asked her to pull regarding my clients and closings I
have over the next three days. I can’t put these off and I know, without my
presence, there’s a possibility things won’t go the way I planned.

Jack
put me in charge of these clients because they are some of the most difficult.
But as much as this has consumed my life, I can’t let it deter me from taking time
off to find Benji.
 

A
few minutes after I arrive Jack is in my office and I’m handing off all the
information to him. The conversation is completely professional and Jack has
yet to bring up our little stray from the norm and my admission of Tommy’s
suicide.

“How
long do you think you’ll be gone?” he asks as he’s leaving my office.

I
don’t answer him right away because I have no idea. It could be a day or two or
it could be a week. I haven’t been in contact with Benji since I left school so
I have no idea where he’s living or how he’ll respond to any of this once I
find him.

“I
guess as of right now, just a few days, but it could be longer.” I pause and
look up at Jack. I can tell he’s struggling to not ask me any more questions
and for that I’m thankful. I’ve told him more than I planned already.

“Just
keep me posted,” he says as an uneasy look forms on his face. “And Campbell?”
he adds.

“Yeah,
Jack?”

“Be
safe. Call me if you need anything.”

I
raise my eyebrows at him and give him a small smile. “No worries, Jack. I’ll be
just fine.” I try to reassure him, although I know my life isn’t in danger, I’m
still not certain what lies ahead.

He’s
now standing in the doorway to my office, his eyes focused on mine. “You haven’t
been fine in a really long time.”

What
am I supposed to say to that? It’s the truth, but again, acknowledging it is
somehow admitting too much.

When
I don’t respond, he gives me a quick nod and leaves my office. I breathe a sigh
of relief and get down to the other reason I came back to my office.

It’s
about time I find Benji. Nine years apart and while I now realize it’s
something I should’ve done a long time ago, I just wasn’t ready to confront
that part of my life. I’m still not sure I am now.
 

I
start simple by typing his name into Google, but I come up short almost
immediately. Finding only a few old news articles from high school when he
played hockey and some information on his enrollment at Ann Arbor. I try
several different searches, but still come up with nothing. No information on
him since basically after the accident. This shouldn’t surprise me. I did the
same thing. I disappeared for at least four years and it wasn’t until I started
working for Jack that my name began to appear in internet searches.

As
ridiculous as it sounds, I ran searches on myself fairly regularly, because of
the fear that all of this would at some point come back to haunt my life and
not just through nightmares.

We
left the scene of an accident, lied to the police and then all but disappeared.
I was waiting for that moment when they showed up looking for me. It has yet to
happen and there are times that I find relief in the fact that it’s been nine
years, but then again, I worry. I wonder why we were never questioned more than
on just the day that the police showed up to tell us Sam was found dead. It
never extended beyond that day.

After
an hour of searching and finding nothing, I open up a program we use to
research companies and clients before we decide to start the process of
purchasing a business. If Benji works for a large corporation his name will
instantly ping back to me. At the time I left, Benji was majoring in computer
science and instructional technology, so if he graduated, it wouldn’t be all
that unrealistic to think he’d be working for a large business.

But
again, nothing is returned and I’m beginning to grow frustrated. So I use the
one last resource I have and I call in a favor.

“Working
late?” Max says in the way of a greeting when he answers his phone.

“Hey
Max,” I respond. “Sorta. I need a favor.”

“Oh
course, Campbell. What do you need?”

Max
is the private investigator the company contracts out to do all the research we’re
unable to do using the software Jack purchased to do background checks. The
trouble is, he’ll bill Jack for this little search I’m about to have him
conduct and I don’t want him to start questioning me again. It’s just another
lie I’ll have to spin in order to keep everything quiet. Although I’m used to
lies at this point; it’s not like telling the truth now will suddenly right
everything I’ve done wrong.

“Well,
I need you to find someone for me, but I need you to bill me. Not Jack,” I add
at the end rather quickly.

“Okay,
so this is something personal then, huh?”

“Yeah,”
I answer, but don’t elaborate.

“Campbell,”
he states as if he can sense my hesitation. “I’m a private investigator. My job
is to investigate people privately.” He says this last part with a little humor
to his tone, but turns serious again rather quickly. “And that’s not just for
the people I’m investigating, but also for the people I’m working for. Whatever
you need is between you and me.”

I
exhale hard and realize I had been holding my breath. This whole thing makes me
uneasy. Asking someone for help is not something I’m used to doing especially
given what I’m asking him to investigate. I have no idea what he will come up
with or if any of it will link back to the accident or to me or to all of us.

“Thank
you. If you wouldn’t mind, just bill me at my home address. I’ll text it to you
when we get off the phone.”

“No
problem. Let me just get some information from you and I’ll get started right
away,” Max says and I can hear him shuffling through some papers before he
tells me what he needs. “So, I’ll need a first and last name, a date of birth
and if possible a last known address.”

I
give Max all the information he’s requested including the last known address.
Sam and Benji’s address for their apartment in Ann Arbor is still fresh in my
memory like it was just yesterday that they lived there. And when I said his
name, Benjamin Kennedy, a small chill ran through my body, nervousness mixed
with uncertainty and sadness. It’s been years since I’ve said his full name,
but every year when his birthday comes around I feel myself grow desperate for
all those days I’ve missed with him.

“Thanks,
Campbell,” Max says, but it’s me who should be thanking him, given he’s the one
keeping this whole thing a secret. “When do you need this information by?”

“As
soon as possible,” I tell Max before adding, “And really, all I need is an
address or a phone number of where I can find him.”

“That’s
easy,” he brags and it makes me laugh a little.
 

“Oh,
Max, it’s a good thing I like you or your conceitedness would be a real turn
off.”

“Funny,
Campbell,” he jokes. “If I didn’t have a girlfriend I’d find your sarcasm and
bitchiness a turn on.” I giggle a little at Max’s lame attempt at a joke and I
hear him chuckle along with me. It’s been a while since I’ve laughed and it
feels good. I almost forget why I called Max in the first place. But the reason
is back almost immediately and I lose that feeling of happiness, my smile
fading. I hate what this whole thing has done to my life.

“Later,
Max, and thanks again for your help.”

I
spend the next few hours answering emails and preparing to take a few days off;
leaving everything in order for Claire and Jack. As much as I like to believe I’m
organizing all of this to make things easier on them, it’s a distraction of
sorts to keep me from thinking about what Max is currently doing. I doubt he’ll
get back to me today, but I’m holding out hope that he will. Something in me
needs this information, even if I do nothing with it. There’s a need that is
driving me to find out if Benji is safe, if he’s still alive and if he has
moved on with his life. Even though I know I won’t get this information from
Max, just knowing I have a contact number or an address for him might help me
relax. After Tommy’s death and knowing there are only two of us left, I can’t
lose him too.

The
hours pass slowly and I run out of things to do at work and leave around
seven-thirty. Again, wasting time and trying to distract myself, I stop off at
a deli near my house and pick up dinner. The guy behind the counter eyes me
suspiciously as I order enough food for five people.

“And
I’ll have a piece of that cheesecake,” I say and he gives me a curt nod, adding
it to my exorbitant amount of food. I’ve spent the last few evenings drunk and
the subsequent morning hungover. I’m hoping this ridiculous amount of food
keeps me from drinking myself to sleep.

I
take the bag and leave with the judgmental eyes of the clerk watching me and it
takes everything in me not to tell him to mind his own fucking business.

But
by the time I arrive home, I’ve lost my appetite. It’s been six hours since I
first spoke to Max, and while I’ve told myself not to expect anything from him,
I’m desperate for him to get back to me.

As
the time passes, I begin to worry and my mind begins to wander to really
horrible scenarios. I worry that Benji is dead and I’ve missed my opportunity.
My chance to mend the way things ended and now I will find myself alone with
this secret and the guilt of what we’ve done.

But
then I think about the letter. Would Tommy have asked me to find Benji if he
didn’t already know he was alive and well? I hope that he wouldn’t have led me
to find him, only to be upset by his death too. I really need to stop focusing
on this because all these made up situations make things so much worse.
 

So
instead of worrying about Benji, I begin to worry about what Max might find
about him, about us. Is there anything that will show up that will link us back
to the accident? Is there something only the authorities are privy to that will
implicate us in a crime, a crime we committed but won’t admit to? Was what we
did even a crime?

Just
as my thoughts begin to get out of hand, my phone vibrates on the coffee table
and it almost makes me scream out loud.

I
see Max’s name lighting up the screen and in a near panic I grab for it. My
breath already coming hard and fast as the nervousness takes control of my body
and although my stomach is empty, I’ve grown nauseous. The phone feels heavy in
my slick hands as my palms sweat and I worry I might drop it.

“Hello,”
I answer, but my voice doesn’t sound like my own and apparently Max feels the
same way.

“I’m
looking for Campbell Forester,” he says, a small amount of confusion lingering
in his voice.

“Hi,
Max. It’s me,” I say, trying to gain some composure. “I’m guessing you have
some information for me. At least I hope you do,” I add.

“Yeah,
I do and sorry it took me so long to get back to you. This was a tough one.”

And
now the nausea has settled as a tight knot in my stomach, heavy and painful. Why
the fuck would finding Benji be hard?

I’ve
grown silent and I realize it when I hear Max call my name. “Campbell?” he
questions.

“Yeah,
sorry. Thanks, I didn’t think I would hear back from you tonight,” I say,
swallowing hard as I pray my hands stop shaking and I don’t vomit on the spot.

“No
problem. So like I was saying, there’s very little information about this
Benjamin Kennedy after 2006,” he says and again I stop listening to him. That
was the year of the accident and from the little bit of information Max has
told me, evidently I wasn’t the only one to disappear. I know he didn’t come
back to Chicago to live with his mom; our paths would’ve crossed at some point.

“Were
you able to find anything?”

“Have
a little faith, Cam,” Max says and my heart sinks to the ground. He couldn’t
possibly know I hate to be called Cam, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.
I feel the first tear roll down my cheek and I suck in a ragged breath. I can’t
start crying while I’m on the phone with Max. “So, I wasn’t able to find a home
address for him or a listed phone number and in today’s age, that’s really odd.
But what I did find is that he owns a custom carpentry and furniture store in
Hessel, Michigan. It’s in the UP, the upper peninsula, about eight hours from
here; a small tourist and fishing town on the lake.”

I
let out a sigh of relief, grateful that he’s not dead and while I don’t have an
address, the business information will do. If it’s in fact his company, I
should be able to find him there.