David Bell - Never Come Back

“Hey, girl,” he said.

“Thanks for writing back.”

“I got called in.” He pointed at his shirt. “I have to be there at ten.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Kevin shrugged, casual as could be. “I have to earn my keep.”

“Let’s get going then. These kids bug the shit out of me.”

They didn’t talk much. Ashleigh imagined that the parents on the playground—the ones who always came to watch their kids, whether they knew what had happened there twenty-five years ago or not—had noticed the two of them: a tall black boy and a short white girl, walking side by side. She’d known Kevin for three years, ever since the first day of junior high, when they’d sat next to each other in history class. At first she thought he was dumb, maybe even retarded. He was so big, so quiet. Then she noticed the jokes he cracked at the teacher’s expense, his voice so low only she could hear.

“What’s your plan?” he asked.

They came out into the neighborhood that bordered the park. It was opposite where she lived with her mom and grandfather, and a little nicer too. She supposed it was upper middle class as opposed to simply middle class. Bigger houses, nicer cars. A neighborhood where no one got laid off.

They walked past older homes with nice yards. Retirees lived there, old people who spent their days digging in their gardens and sweeping their walks. If a piece of trash ended up in the yard, they’d probably call the police.

“I don’t have one yet,” Ashleigh said.

“You usually have a plan for everything.”

“I don’t for this.”

They reached Hamilton Avenue, a major road dotted with strip malls and gas stations.

Kevin said, “So you’re just going to go up to this dude and say, ‘Hey, what do you know about my dead uncle?’”

“Be quiet.”

Ashleigh looked down the road. She saw the bus.

“If I go with you…” Kevin sounded uncertain. “I’m going to be late for work. I’ll get written up.”

“Then don’t go,” she said. “Make hamburgers for strangers. Forget about all those football games I went to with you.”

“Come on, Ash. My dad says if I don’t have a job this summer, he’s going to kick me out of the house.”

“And remember how I helped you proofread your history term paper? Heck, I proofread all of your papers last year.”

“You’re going to throw that back at me?”

“I’ll go alone. The guy’s probably not dangerous.”

“You know how my dad is,” Kevin said. “He’s old-school. He worked his way through college, so he thinks I need to earn my keep.”

The bus pulled up, air brakes exhaling. The diesel stank, burned Ashleigh’s eyes. When the door rattled open, she didn’t even look at Kevin. She just climbed on and dropped her coins into the slot, where they rattled like loose teeth. She moved down the aisle and took a seat, staring out the window and watching the traffic go by.

She picked up movement at the front of the bus, something in her peripheral vision.

“Hey,” the bus driver called.

It was Kevin. He ignored the driver and walked right back to Ashleigh’s seat.

She looked up into Kevin’s face. A cute face, she had to admit. Beautiful eyes. A little puppyish.

“What?” she said, trying to sound mad.

“You really want to do this?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Come on, goddamn it,” someone yelled from the back of the bus.

“I have one problem,” Kevin said to her.

“What?”

“Can I borrow fifty cents?” he asked, smiling.

She reached into her pocket and handed him the coins.

Janet tapped lightly on Ashleigh’s door. Nothing. Then she knocked again, using more force.

“Ash?”

The knob gave as she turned. Janet stepped into the darkened room and saw that Ashleigh was already gone, so she pushed the door open all the way. It wasn’t unusual for Ashleigh to leave the house early. Not unusual at all. She’d be with Kevin most likely, or sitting at the library thumbing through books and magazines. Kevin. Ashleigh didn’t bring him around much anymore, not since they’d moved in with Bill. But the two spent all their time together. Janet tried not to pry, tried not to be a nosy mother, but she wondered sometimes. Did her moody daughter have a boyfriend? That at least was a normal concern for a mother to have, worrying about her daughter’s dating life. The other things Janet worried about were a product of her own childhood, and they made her heart flutter…

It’s okay, she told herself. It’s okay to let her out of the house. She’s not a child—she’s fifteen. She won’t get taken and it’ll be okay.

Janet reminded herself to breathe. She’d half entertained the notion of taking Ashleigh out to lunch or shopping, something to break the usual routine and mark the importance of the day. But Ashleigh was living her life, just the way Janet wanted her to. Why burden her or anyone else?

Janet turned her attention to the things in the room. She had to give Ashleigh credit for something else—the girl knew how to keep order. No teenage mess in that room. The bed was made, the closet closed. Janet went over and opened the blinds. The light fell across a neat row of photographs on the shelf above Ashleigh’s bed. The photos were all familiar. Janet and Ashleigh at a school awards ceremony. A portrait of Janet’s mother—high school graduation?—the grandmother Ashleigh never knew. And on the end, facing the light, the last portrait of Justin ever taken, the one that ran in the newspaper and on TV during the summer he disappeared. Janet picked the photo up, ran her hand across the dust-free glass.

Janet had once asked Ashleigh why she kept a portrait of her dead uncle above her bed. The girl just shrugged.

“It’s the past,” she said. “Our past. And isn’t the past always with us?”

Janet shivered. Out of the mouths of babes…

She went to get dressed for work.

Janet had begun working at Cronin College fourteen years earlier. She’d started in the mailroom just after high school, sorting packages alongside work-study college students from all over the country. Ashleigh was a year old then. Janet didn’t think she could work, raise a baby, and attend college, but she took the job at Cronin with an eye toward bigger things. She knew— knew —her daughter would go to college someday, and employees of the college received a huge tuition break. Janet even planned on getting a degree herself and had taken classes over the years as she worked her way from the mail processing center to the copy and print center to the chemistry department and finally to her current position working for the dean as office manager, overseeing a staff of five. She loved her job. She loved supporting herself and her daughter with her own work. She even enjoyed knowing that her job and salary helped her dad hold on to her childhood home.

But she didn’t love her job the day the story about Dante Rogers ran in the paper.

As soon as Janet walked into the office, she knew everyone had read about it. Nobody said anything—at least not right away. But she could tell by the looks on their faces. Her coworkers smiled at her, but they weren’t happy smiles. They were forced, toothless, the heads cocked to the side a little, the lips pressed tight. Oh, you poor thing, the smiles said. The tragedy. You were there that day…

You were supposed to be watching him…

In the break room during lunch, Madeline Hamilton, the office’s resident busybody, approached Janet, sitting down next to her and casually removing a soggy sandwich from a plastic bag. Madeline had known Janet’s mother, had landed the job in the dean’s office with Janet’s help. Janet knew Madeline’s interest wasn’t casual, and Janet even found herself happy to see the older woman cozying up next to her. She hoped someone would break the tension, pop the black balloon that seemed to be hovering over her head.