Jonathan Kellerman - Private Eyes

“Harvard.”

Nod. “I applied to a lot of schools, didn’t really expect to get into Harvard. When I did, I decided it was what I wanted, if the financial part could be worked out.”

“Was it?”

“Basically. Between what I’ve saved up, taking a year off to put more away, and some other things, I could have handled it.”

“Could have?”

“I don’t know.” He fidgeted, pulled straps. “I really don’t know, now, if going away is the best thing.”

I said, “Why’s that?”

“I mean, how can I leave when she’s going through something like this? She’s… deep. Feels things more strongly than other people. She’s the only girl I’ve ever met who’s really concerned with important things. The first time we ever met, it was unbelievably easy to talk to her.”

Pain in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he said, reaching for the door handle. “Sorry for bothering you. Actually, I feel kind of dishonest talking to you.”

“Why’s that?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “The first time Melissa called you- about wanting to come in and see you? I was there. In the room with her.”

I mentally replayed the conversation. Melissa excusing herself a couple of times… Oh, darn, hold on … hand over the phone.

“And?” I said.

“I was against it,” he said. “Her seeing you. I told her she didn’t need a- She could work things out herself. That we could problem-solve it together. She told me to mind my own business, that you were great. Now here I am, talking to you myself.”

“None of that’s important, Noel. Let’s get back to where we were- Melissa as a unique person. I agree with you on that. What you’re saying is you feel a unique rapport with her. And you’re worried about abandoning her in her time of need.”

He nodded.

“When are you supposed to leave for Boston?”

“Early August. Classes start September. But they want you to get there earlier, for orientation.”

“Got a major in mind?”

“Maybe international relations.”

“Diplomacy?”

“Probably not. I think I’d prefer something that has to do with actual policy-making. An administrative staff position at the State Department or Defense. Or a congressional aide. If you study the way the government works, it’s really the people behind the scenes who get things done. Sometimes professional diplomats do have impact, but often they’re just appointed figureheads.” Pause. “Also, I think I’d have a better shot at a behind-the-scenes position.”

“Why’s that?”

“From everything I’ve read about the foreign service, where you come from- your family, your background, who you know- is more important than what you actually accomplish. Kind of like making the best clubs in high school. I haven’t got much of a family. Just Mom and myself.”

Saying it matter-of-factly, no self-pity.

He said, “It used to bother me- people put a lot of premium on lineage out here. Meaning money that’s two generations old. But now I realize I’ve actually been pretty lucky. Mom’s really supportive and I’ve always had everything I needed. When you get down to it, a person doesn’t need that much, do they? Also, I got to see what happens to lots of the rich kids- the kind of messes they get themselves into. That’s why I really respect Melissa. She’s probably one of the richest girls in San Lab, but she doesn’t act like it. The first time I met her she’d come into the Tankard with some other kids for a French Club dinner and I was busing for my mom. The rest of them acted as if I were invisible. Melissa took the time to say please and thank you, and afterward, when the others went out to the parking lot, she hung back and talked to me, told me she’d seen me at the Pasadena-San Labrador track meet- I used to do gymnastics until it took too much time from my studies. Nothing flirty- she’s not like that. We started talking and there was this instant… rapport. As if we were old friends. She kept coming in and we got to be really good friends. She helped me with lots of things. All I want is to be able to help her. Is it definite about her mom being…?”

“No,” I said. “Not definite. But it doesn’t look good.”

“That’s really… terrible.” Shaking his head. Scratching the pack. “God, that’s terrible. It’s going to be so hard for her.”

“Did you know Mrs. Ramp well?”

“Not really. I washed her cars every couple of weeks. Once in a while she’d come down and take a look. But to tell the truth, she really didn’t care about them. One time I made a comment about how fantastic they were, and she said she guessed so, but to her they were just metal and rubber. Then she apologized right away, said she hadn’t meant to demean my work. I thought that was pretty classy. Overall, she seemed pretty classy. Maybe a little… distant. I thought the way she lived was… Melissa and I used to… I guess I should have had more sympathy. If Melissa remembers that, she’ll probably hate me.”

“Melissa will remember your friendship.”

He said nothing for several moments. Then: “Actually, it may have gone beyond friendship… at least from my point of view. From hers, I can’t really be sure.”

Looking at me straight on. Begging for good news.

The most I could offer was a smile.

He picked at a cuticle. Bit it. “Great. Here I am talking about myself when I should be thinking about Melissa. I’d better get over there. Got to pack Mr. Ramp’s suitcase. Think he’s serious about leaving?”

“You’d probably know that better than I would.”

“I don’t know a thing,” he said quickly.

“He and Melissa don’t seem to have the makings of a happy family.”

He ignored that, lifted the pack and reached for the door handle. “Well, better get going.”

“Need a ride?” I said.

“No, thanks, got my own car- the Celica over there.” Opening the door, he put one foot on the curb, stopped, turned to face me again.

“What I meant to ask you in the first place, is there anything I should be doing- to help her?”

“Be there for her when she needs company,” I said. “Listen when she talks but don’t feel hurt or worried if she doesn’t want to talk. Be patient when she gets really upset- don’t cut her off or try to tell her everything’s all right when it’s not. Something bad happened- you can’t change that.”

He’d kept his eyes on me and nodded as I spoke. Good powers of concentration, almost eerie. I half expected him to whip out paper and pencil and take notes.

“Also,” I said, “I wouldn’t make any drastic changes in your own plans. Once Melissa gets over the initial shock, she’s going to have to pull her life together. Putting your life on hold for her could even make her more upset. Even if you don’t intend to, you’re obligating her to you. Creating a debt. At this stage in Melissa’s life, independence is really crucial. Even with what’s happened. She doesn’t need another burden. May come to resent it.”

He said, “I never…” He was bouncing the pack. Looking down at it. The canvas was packed tight. It landed on his knee with a dull sound.

I said, “Books?”

“Textbooks. Some of the material I thought I’d be taking this fall. I wanted to get an early start- the freshman competition’s really tough. I keep carrying them around, but I haven’t read a line yet.” Embarrassed smile. “Kind of weenie-ish, I guess.”

“Sounds like good planning to me.”

“Whatever,” he said. “It’s just that I feel an obligation to excel- if I go.”

“Obligation to whom?”

“My mother. Don- Mr. Ramp. He’s putting up any tuition shortfall for the first two years- those are the other funds I mentioned. If I ace freshman and sophomore, I should qualify for some kind of scholarship.”