Russell Andrews - Icarus

He was hungry, wanted a quick lunch, but decided to skirt the center of town. He was not so composed that he was ready to go anywhere near Jack's yet. He knew that he might have to face that soon, but not yet. Not first. So he kept driving, went straight to the university, parked, and, after wandering a bit, found someone who could direct him to the athletic department. When he asked for Coach Kampman, he was then directed across the campus to the football stadium. The security guard at the door checked his list to see if Jack's name was there – it was – then let him pass. He walked through the arena's maze of concrete tunnels before emerging on the field, coming through the entrance behind one end zone. He stood for a moment, watching the team practice in the summer heat and humidity, then moved up the sideline, stood as patiently as he could until one of the coaches whistled for a break. That same coach, with tousled white-blond hair and a boyish face that was craggy and lined by the sun, now turned and spotted Jack. He walked over, extended his hand, and said, "Bobby Kampman." Jack introduced himself and thanked the coach for seeing him. He said he didn't realize that practice began so early in the year, wasn't it still summer vacation, but the coach told him that football at VSU was a year-round game. Then Kampman, perfectly polite but obviously anxious to get back on schedule, skipped any further pleasantries and got right to business.

"I got the photo you scanned," he told Jack. "Or, rather, my secretary did. I couldn't have pulled it out of the computer if I had a hundred years to work on it. But I got it. And I distributed it to all my boys before we started the workout this morning. A lot of the kids were on the team two years ago, maybe twenty. A lot of them knew Haywood and Neufield, those were the two who fought in your restaurant. A lot of my boys were their friends. But none of them knew anyone named Kid Demeter."

"Maybe under a different name – is that possible?"

"I don't think so. They didn't recognize the photo. Not one of them." When Jack didn't respond, the coach said, "We can try to reach the rest of the kids who were on the team at that time, we can probably find most of them, but I don't think it'll do you any good, Mr. Keller. If these kids don't recognize him, I don't think the others will either."

"Maybe they were afraid to come forward. Maybe-"

"Not my kids." Kampman shook his head vigorously. "Believe me. They know how important this is and I guarantee none of them are holding anything back."

Jack was speechless. He was positive he'd find a connection between Kid and the two players who'd fought in the restaurant and later been shot to death. It had seemed so right. The failure was a little bit like walking headfirst into a brick wall. He was stunned and he wasn't sure in which direction he should now step.

"I'm sorry, sir," the coach was saying now. "We all felt for your tragedy. And I wish there was some way we could help. If you can think of anything else…"

Jack couldn't. He thanked the coach, shook his head, and left the stadium. Still rattled by his lack of success, he stood in the parking lot and used his cell phone to make a call and confirm the next stop on his agenda. He got in the car and drove for thirty minutes. When he stepped out, he found himself in a familiar pebbled driveway, staring up at Caroline's childhood home.

– "-"-"I BEEN WORKING for the Hales for thirty-eight years," Louise Trotty was saying.

"And for me, thirty-three," her husband added.

"I know that," Jack told them.

"I loved that girl since she was seven years old," Louise said.

"I've loved her since she was twenty. Nothing you tell me is going to change what any of us felt for her. Feel for her. And I promise you," Jack said, "nothing you say can hurt her. Not now."

The black couple stayed silent and unmoving as Jack slid the photograph of Kid in front of them on the brightly tiled kitchen counter.

"Did you ever see him?" Jack asked.

No movement at all from the Trottys. Then John C. Trotty nodded, the barest of nods, at his wife.

"Yes," she said. "He been here at the house."

Jack had known it, had known it as absolutely as it could be known, but when his knowledge was verified, he felt as if all the air in his body had been released. But along with the blow to his gut also came a strange kind of relief. As painful as it might now be, there was a breakthrough. The connection was made. He didn't know where it would lead, but the unraveling had, at long last, begun.

"Tell me," he said to them.

And they told. Kid had indeed been to this house. Many times. He had first appeared about a month into Caroline's start-up of the restaurant. The Trottys remembered Caroline bringing him there – he hadn't appeared on his own, so she had met him somewhere else; Jack guessed that he had heard about the restaurant and probably surprised her there. They seemed intimate, Louise Trotty said. Very close. He doted on her, complimented her, did everything he could to please her. He spent the night there, they said, slept in the house quite often. Not in the same room as Caroline, Louise was quick to point out. In one of the guest rooms.

"Were they lovers?" Jack asked, keeping his voice as calm as he could.

Louise took a long time before answering. So long that Jack didn't need to hear the answer. He already knew it.

Keeping his voice steady, he asked about conversations they might have overheard. Louise did not have much more information to offer. John recalled one thing very clearly.

"It was two days before the opening. Two days before she was…" John stopped himself, didn't finish that sentence. There was no need to. "He was here. That boy. I served them coffee out on the porch. Reason I remember is that Miss Susanna was here. We was all a bit surprised 'cause she don't come around much. But I remember that she and Miss Caroline had a big fight. I don't know exactly why. Something to do with that boy, though, I believe. Miss Susanna left and Miss Caroline was very upset. She and… her young man friend, they went into the den, that room right off the dining room there. And she closed the door, talked for quite a long time. When they came out, he was very upset. So was Miss Caroline. They sat on the porch a long while after that" – he hesitated, then plunged ahead – "holding hands, I remember that, too. And Mr. Jack, what I remember is that she said she would take care of him. She would make sure he had a place to live and a job. I remember she said he would have a good job. She told him not to be afraid, that nothing would happen, and that she would make sure he was all right."

"Do you remember what he was afraid would happen?" Jack asked quietly.

"No, sir, I don't," John said. "But it was something bad, because that boy was scared to death."

They all heard the noise of a car pulling up in the driveway now. Louise went to look out the window and, with a catch in her throat, said, "That's Miss Susanna's car."

"Yes," Jack told them. "I asked her to come over."

"Mr. Jack," Louise said. "I don't like to say nothin' bad about nobody. But you watch out. Miss Susanna, she's a mean one."

"Yes, I know," Jack said. "That's why I want to see her."

– "-"-"I NEVER LIKED my sister," Susanna Rae Hale said to Jack Keller.

"You made that fairly clear over the years," Jack told her.

"I don't much believe in hiding my feelings."

Jack nodded. "That was pretty clear, too. Your feelings were not very well hidden."

"That whole 'blood is thicker than water' thing…" Susanna Rae shook her head disapprovingly. "I just don't cotton to that."

"Tell me about your sister," Jack said. "Tell me about my wife."

"What is it you want me to tell you?" she asked.