An Unusual Occupation Page 4

  7

  Thoughts of Mortality

  October 3, 2006

  I think I’ve made a mistake.

  In my time tutoring David, I’ve come to like his family. My visits have become more about good conversation and laughter than algebra. Things are still going well, but I’ll be leaving soon, and I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to do what it is I came here to do.

  If that’s not enough, Nick suspects me. I don’t really know what he suspects, but he watches me more closely each day. What makes this bad is that I enjoy talking to him so much. Other than with David, I find myself spending the majority of my time with Nick, talking about nothing in particular.

  I don’t think he knows I’m aware he’s watching me, but I’m sure he knows more about me than he pretends to. I never wanted to get so involved. I just wanted to help someone. I just wanted to know that I did more than take from people.

  Teaching came naturally to Bob. In the month he’d been at Oak Mountain, his students’ averages had gone up at least half a letter grade. Markrich even asked if he’d be interested in a permanent position. Bob had to refuse but was honored by the request.

  What Bob did wasn’t any more remarkable than when any other teacher found a way to get through to his students. A few times, David had asked Bob, “Why is it you understand students so much better than other teachers?”

  Sitting at the Taylors’ dinner table at the end of a tutoring session, Bob shook his head and explained that for him, it was easier. “I only have to focus on two months. I don’t have next year or even next semester to worry about. The commitment it takes to make a difference every day of every year is something I envy in your other teachers. I don’t think I’d have that sort of strength.”

  They’d just finished a chapter from a book David was surprised to learn was for calculus, the class David would be in if he could prove he didn’t need to take Algebra II. Several sheets of paper were scattered over the table under the glow of a light fixture made to look like a chandelier.

  David thanked his mentor and ran off to his room. It seemed that David was quite gifted with music. He dreamed of being a sound technician. Bob had kept the teen’s attention by using music theory in the majority of his tutoring sessions. Only a few minutes after David ran into his room, Bob could hear the steady staccato sound of a guitar being plucked string by string.

  Nick noticed Bob open the sliding-glass door to the back porch. He had some lemonade waiting for the substitute at a patio table by the pool. Bob reached past Nick’s legs to scratch under Drew’s chin before sitting down to join the eldest Taylor. Drew was a permanent fixture. He was a mobile statue that would sprout up wherever Nick’s legs were. Nick loved the dog. He found comfort in reliability, and Drew was always there for him.

  They sat out back by the pool and listened to some oldies and had a beer. Well, Nick had a beer. Bob said that he couldn’t drink since he was tutoring David, so he took the lemonade with a smile.

  “I didn’t think you were the type to deflect a compliment,” Nick said. He wanted Bob to know he overheard the conversation with David.

  “I’m not, but I won’t allow the students to blame my absence for any drop in their grades next month,” Bob answered.

  “That’s right, you’ll be finished here in a few weeks.”

  “I’ll be forced to interject myself into some other generous family.”

  Nick grimaced. The man refuses to accept that people like him.

  “Why’s that?” Nick asked.

  “I’ll be moving for a while. I never stay in one place for too long.”

  “Got ants in your pants?”

  “And boy, do they sting.”

  Nick suddenly clenched his jaw. A pain hit his chest, and he couldn’t describe it. He tried to breathe through the sharp, stabbing sensation, but it persisted.

  Slowly, Bob placed his hand on Nick’s back. Nick tried to sense if he felt better just before or directly after Bob’s hand touched him, but the pain made him a bit dizzy. He touched me, and the pain went away.

  “Thanks,” Nick said.

  “You just looked like you had some beer go down the wrong tube,” Bob said with a smile. Nick wondered if he only imagined the forced sound of a chuckle.

  “You ever think about the future, Bob?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “No promises,” Bob answered. “I sure plan on going to Oak Mountain tomorrow and helping my students figure out the quadratic formula, but if I go for the ice cream before Drew’s had any, he might just bite my jugular.”

  “He’s a killer,” Nick said with a chuckle. He wrapped an arm around the spaniel’s girth and rubbed his belly. “Aren’t you, Drew? No one gets treats unless you do.”

  Drew gave a happy yelp and sniffed his master’s nose affectionately.

  “I’ve been thinking about the future a lot lately,” Nick said. He could tell his eyes were glassed over.

  “I’m more confident you’ll wake up tomorrow than I am about myself,” Bob said with a smile.

  “You know God?”

  “No, but I hear he has a soft spot for guys who’re nice to dogs.”

  “Then I’m guaranteed a spot in heaven.”

  “I’m not an authority on the subject, but I’d let you in if it were up to me,” Bob replied. Oddly, his face flickered in what Nick could only guess was ... frustration?

  “In ‘Nam, I didn’t think about death at all; it seemed odd to me,” Nick said. He took another drink.

  “Why did it seem odd?” Bob asked.

  “Everything went too fast,” Nick said. He tried not to think of it too often, but the memories swam into the front of his mind from time to time. “Junction City was the worst.” Nick took another drink. He tried to focus on any single aspect of the eighty-two-day operation, but all he could remember was that it was a called a failure. He remembered chaos and a haze of fighting. He had lived, while 282 of his brothers-in-arms hadn’t.

  “The brushfires lasted for days after they dropped those Thermite bombs,” Bob said quietly. “‘Course that stopped when rain decided to fall again. It was hard to tell the difference between the bombs and the thunderclaps.”

  Nick stared at the young man. He could tell his jaw had dropped. “God, son,” Nick whispered. “You talk like you were there.” Nick could still smell the smoke and hear the thunder.

  Bob nearly choked on a mouthful of lemonade. He took a moment to collect himself. “I’m sorry,” Bob said. He sounded truly regretful, too. “I’m a teacher, Nick.” He took another swallow to clear his throat, or perhaps to give him a second to collect his thoughts. “I know the story of Junction City because I had some students write a report about it a while back. It was the only airborne operation in the conflict.”

  “But the weather ...” Nick managed to say. Bob looked twenty-five, maybe thirty, if he was older than he looked.

  “I really didn’t mean to bring back painful memories,” Bob said as he started to stand. “I’m a jerk. I’ll leave you alone.”

  “No!” Nick shouted. He wondered how old Bob really was. He wondered how a man could talk about something like that fight without being there. Instead, Nick filed the information away. “I wanted to talk about something else.”

  Bob looked uncertain, but he slowly sat down. “What did you want to talk about?” He sounded worried.

  “I worry about David,” Nick said.

  “Now why would you do that?” Bob asked. He tried to insert some of his usual cheerfulness into his voice, but Nick could hear it was forced.

  “He’s a good kid, but he doesn’t take risks.” Nick swallowed some more beer, partly to clear his throat, partly to give himself some courage.

  “And that worries you?” Bob asked.

  “It worries me that he won’t take chances on himself,” Nick said. He didn’t mean for the comment to betray the amount of concern he felt, but it happened. “I’ve realized I won’t be here forever
, and I’d like to see him take a chance on himself just once. I want to know that he believes in himself.”

  He saw Bob sigh and look at Drew. Some didn’t believe a dog could smile, but Nick would punch anyone who doubted it. Drew looked at Nick and, as fast as a seventy-five-pound cocker spaniel could, pounced on his master’s lap.

  Nick laughed as his dog sniffed his face again.

  Oh, all right, Bob thought to himself as he looked at how concerned the dog was for his master.

  “I’m sure David will rise to the occasion when the time is right,” Bob assured his new friend. It shocked him to realize how close he felt to the old man. The last time he felt so content listening to music and talking about nothing and everything simultaneously, he was in Germany with Drisc having a friendly, although heated, debate about some nonsense he couldn’t remember.

  He wished he were back in Germany, or anywhere else. What was he thinking, talking to Nick about Vietnam? Of course talking about that would bring up painful memories.

  David popped his head out of the back door to tell Nick a football game was on. They asked Bob if he’d stay, but he told them as soon as he finished his lemonade, he had to prepare for class the next day. Nick headed inside, but Drew stayed behind.

  Bob decided to sit on the stone steps that led to the back patio. He watched Drew pace a bit. After a few moments, the dog lay down beside Bob and let out a huge sigh. A slight whimper escaped the golden-furred animal.

  Bob started to pet Drew, Taking the dog’s pain. Drew’s breathing slowed immediately.

  “Don’t worry,” Bob told him. “I’ll make sure things work out in the end.”

  Drew lifted his head, looked at Bob, and perked his ears up as if to say, “You promise?”

  “I’m not the right sort of person to make promises.”

  Drew plopped his head on Bob’s thigh.

  “Listen, you can beg all you want, but I can only do so much.” Look at me, arguing with a dog! He doesn’t know what’s about to happen, does he?

  Bob scratched one of Drew’s ears for a moment or two. Drew stomped his back paw a few times in appreciation. After a few minutes of silence, Drew sat up and sniffed Bob’s face. The dog’s constant sniffing had a pig-like sound. He looked into Drew’s dark, endless eyes. He took a long, slow breath. Those eyes saw truths no human could. He grimaced.

  “I give you my word,” he said with a sigh. “If I can help Nick see David succeed, I will.”

  He’d done it. Bob made a promise he didn’t know he could keep. He felt a strange, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. He was worried. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but something about the old, kind-faced dog made Bob want to do this favor. It was the least he could do.

  8

  Something That Must Be Done

  October 5, 2006

  I met Miguel today. He wasn’t happy to see me. No one ever is. At least this time, it was easier.

  Miguel Rojas was seventy-eight years old. The only thing keeping him company during the last year of his life was an annoying machine that beeped to tell him he had managed to live one more heartbeat, and another, and another. His room was sparse. There was only one other bed in the room, and it was empty. Everything was white: white walls, a white TV with a white frame, white bed sheets; even the damn piss bucket was white. Couldn’t a dying man at least piss in a tin pot? he wondered to himself. He was bitter because he had nothing to do but wait. He told everyone to leave him be, and they did. He was angry when he said it and furious when they obeyed.

  So I live to wait to die, he thought bitterly. Someone knocked at the door. The person who entered the room must have been the most unremarkable man alive.

  “I don’t know you,” Miguel spat. A memory tickled the back of his mind—something about his grandson.

  “Would you like to?” the man asked.

  “No!” Miguel barked. He rolled over. A hand touched him, and he suddenly felt better. The pain just ... left, as if someone took it from him. His breathing was just a bit easier. Age had still beaten him down, but it didn’t hurt so much all of the sudden. He rolled over, and there he was, Mr. Unremarkable, reading a book.

  “I said I didn’t want visitors!” Miguel barked.

  “Why are you so angry?” the man asked. He looked truly hurt. Good.

  “Because I’m dying,” Miguel snapped. “You wanna watch or something?”

  “Actually ... ” the man said.

  Miguel looked around. Why am I numb? Why can’t I hear my machine?

  “It’s just something I have to do,” the man said.

  Bob had brought Miguel flowers. He didn’t really know why. He really won’t need them. He made sure to be early this time. It sucked to think he couldn’t be there for the whole thing with Magdalen. He saw death as fleeting, and each millisecond lost was an eternity for someone else.

  He smiled as he watched Miguel die. He fluffed the old man’s pillow before he set the flowers on his chest and left the hospital.

  “Better this time, Bob,” he said to himself. “Much better.”

  9

  A Horribly Average Suspect

  Richard owed Kyle big time, and he knew it. He had watched the traffic footage from the Stampson car accident several times. Whoever it was knew to avoid looking at the camera. How’d he know where they were? Richard considered the possibility that this guy just kept his head down in general, but something nagged him.

  When the phone rang, Richard picked it up without allowing it to ring a second time, as Kyle left without being asked.

  “Hey there,” Richard said. He had the silver dollar Kyle had returned to him, thanks to their last bet when Richard told him the cases were related, and they had been. He flipped it back and forth over the knuckle of his middle finger.

  “Hey, yourself,” Linda replied. “Are you alone?”

  “No, you’re always with me,” he said, smiling.

  “That’s why I love you,” she said. They’d talked the previous night. He was always a little too much of the wrong stuff or just a little short of the right stuff, but with her, he had it figured out. He never knew why, but he always knew how to act around her.

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with my culinary arts?” he asked jokingly. The most complicated meal he’d ever created involved setting the timer on the microwave.

  “No, silly,” she told him. He loved to make her laugh. How’d I ever get so lucky? “It’s because you care endlessly.”

  “There’s plenty of me to care,” he chuckled.

  “You find your bad guy?” The question was a test. Their previous argument was about his willingness to talk about work. He knew what she wanted when she left. He brought her back with the promise to share that part of his life. He knew the moment he showed up at her sister’s with some flowers and that promise that Linda would be back home like nothing had happened. He swore he’d let her in that world a little. He’d talk about the cases and trust her.

  “He’s shy,” he said. It’d take time to get used to talking about grisly murder with the woman he loved.

  “Then you two have something in common.”

  “I found the courage to ask you out.”

  “That’s not how I remember it,” she challenged.

  “OK, so I found the courage to bring your car to you after it was towed.”

  “After who towed it?”

  “I did.” He did not sound sullen.

  “And why’d you bring it back?”

  “Because I couldn’t bear to see you cry.”

  “And you said?”

  “I said I’d rather live my life making someone like you smile than cry.” Richard forgot to mention that she had asked him out somewhere in the middle of their trip down memory lane.

  “You gonna be home tonight?” she asked. He chuckled at the tone she used. He knew he’d find a pleasant situation when he got there.

  He was just about to say he’d be early when Kyle knocked on the door and
held up a piece of paper. Sometimes you have the strangest way of knowing exactly how to ruin my day.

  “Probably late,” Richard confessed to his wife.

  “How late?” she asked, offering a second chance for a happy ending.

  “Not too late,” he said. It sounded more like a question than an answer.

  “Well, at seven, I think I might be tired.”

  “How tired?”

  “I might not even bother putting on pajamas.”

  “What can I do to help you find the energy to stay up?”

  “Tell me why you love me.”

  “Because you love me.”

  Kyle made a vomit gesture. Non-verbal communication was one of his strong suits. Richard said goodbye without too much more flourish.

  Kyle handed the paper he brought in to his partner. Richard looked it over. An old man’s liver had finally given out.

  “I might get home early after all,” Richard said.

  Kyle tossed a set of keys at Richard, who was just a little too slow to react, and they hit him in the chest.

  “Not so fast,” the younger partner said. “A nurse called it in, said our fogey had a visitor.”

  “Let me guess; she couldn’t really describe him,” Richard said. He caught on as to why his partner wanted to look into the case.

  “She said he looked, quote: ‘average,’” Kyle said. Richard grabbed his jacket. “Ask me for the best part.”

  “What’s the best part?” Richard asked.

  “Our guy turned off the heart monitor.”

  “So the old guy could have lived?”

  “Maybe another day,” Kyle answered. “His liver was going, but if that machine had given a heads-up, he might have seen next week.”

  I don’t get it, Richard wondered to himself.