Friends Like These(4)

As we passed, I caught sight of a large bonfire around back. Two thin, hunched figures stood nearby in the glow.

“I can’t believe people are living there,” I said. “I mean— that’s so sad.”

Jonathan shrugged. “There are a lot of opioids up here, and not everyone has friends like us to swoop in. Or the means to pay for rehab. Keith doesn’t have the means to pay for rehab.”

“I’ve got to be honest, Jonathan, this is less charming than I pictured,” Stephanie said. “Kind of like a horror movie, and you know the Black friend always dies first in those.”

“No one’s dying,” I said. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Um, not really joking,” she went on. “Remind me again, Jonathan, why you bought a place here, when you could have used your piles of money to buy one, I don’t know, literally anywhere else?”

“Funny, Maeve asked the same thing— more than once.” He shot a look in my direction.

“Hey, I was only trying to help,” I said, lifting my hands. “I wanted to make sure you’d thought it through, that’s all. It is kind of off the beaten path up here.” And that was absolutely true.

“Peter and I talked about Montauk, but that’s always such a scene.”

“So you opted for meth alley instead?” Stephanie muttered.

“Our friends, Justin and Bill, just bought a house a few towns over. You know, they own that restaurant on Perry Street?” When Jonathan glanced over, I nodded. But I’d never heard Jonathan mention a Justin or a Bill before. “Anyway, they’ve been married forever.”

They were probably more Peter’s friends. It wasn’t that Jonathan was antisocial, but compared to life-of-the-party Peter, with his wash-board abs and irresistible surfer charm, everyone was an introvert.

The trees were giving way to houses now that we were approaching town, set close together and on the small side, but at least not falling down. There was a Cumberland Farms gas station up on the right. As we slowed to a stop at a red light in front, a wiry old white guy standing at the pumps wearing a baseball hat and a long-sleeved Gatorade T-shirt glared menacingly at our car. When we met eyes, I looked away.

“You know, their coffee isn’t actually half bad,” Jonathan said brightly. “When Peter told me that, I laughed. And we got into a fight about me being a snob. I don’t know, maybe I am. Anyway, Peter was right about the coffee. The people who work there are nice, too. Unfortunately, not everyone in Kaaterskill is so friendly to weekenders.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, unable to resist reaching in to check my phone for a reply from Bates. Nothing yet.

“The locals aren’t the most progressive bunch, that’s all, and weekenders, myself included, can be demanding and tone-deaf. Like this car.” A flicker of emotion passed over Jonathan’s face. He shook his head. “Driving it up here is kind of like waving an asshole flag.”

“At least you’re up here spending money,” Stephanie said diplomatically. “They’ve got to want that.”

“They’d like the upside without the downside. Like everybody,” Jonathan said. “Anyway, we’re not far from the house now, and it is charming, Stephanie. Wait until you see the fireplaces.”

“Okay, but you better have snacks,” she said. “And if I spot one MAGA hat, I’m hightailing it out of Dodge.”

We turned left down the main street, lined with charming shops— Perch Pilates, Patisserie Lenox, De Marchin Antiques, TEA: A Salon. The wood-frame storefronts were brightly painted and had cute, funky signage. But in between there were darkened doorways and boarded-up storefronts, cropping up more frequently as we drove on, like an infection beginning to spread.

“This downtown is adorable, Jonathan,” I said. “We should come back later and walk around.”

“Will the scenic tour be before or after we stuff Keith in the trunk and drive him to Bright Horizons?” Stephanie asked, her tone more sad now than sarcastic.

“Come on, we did it before without resorting to force,” I offered. “And if we can’t get Keith all the way convinced, there’s always next weekend, right? At least we’ll have opened up a dialogue.”

“Oh, no, no. Keith has to go, this weekend,” Jonathan said nervously. “By Monday. Otherwise, my dad’s calling back the loan. If he does that, Keith will lose the gallery— you get that, right? He thought the loan was ‘criminally indulgent’ before he found out Keith was an addict. Now he’s beside himself. As far as he’s concerned, it’s shameful for me to even have a friend like Keith. It’s even more shameful for me to let my dad be taken advantage of in this way. The only way he might hold off is if Keith’s in rehab.”

I wasn’t surprised that Jonathan’s father was angry. I’d be angry, too. Keith was definitely using some of Jonathan’s money to purchase drugs, either directly or indirectly.

“Maybe your dad is right,” Stephanie said. “Keith is a bigger mess now than I’ve ever seen him. It’s like he’s trying to kill himself.”

“Are you really surprised?” Jonathan asked.

“It’s been ten years— how long is Alice going to be Keith’s excuse for everything?” Stephanie asked.