I Will Find You(14)

Nothing.

From the doorway behind, he heard Sophie’s voice. “Sit next to him and take his hand. Sometimes he’ll squeeze it.”

She left them alone. Philip took the seat next to Lenny. He didn’t take his hand. That’s not what they were about. All that touchy-feely stuff. Maybe David and Adam were into that, but not him and Lenny. Philip had never told Lenny he loved him. And vice versa. They didn’t have to. And despite what David had said, Lenny had never told him that Philip owed him one. That wasn’t their way.

“I got to talk to you, Lenny.”

Philip dove in. He told Lenny about David’s visit to his office. The whole story. Everything he could remember. Lenny, of course, did not respond. His eyes kept that same stare. His expression may have grown grimmer, but Philip chalked that up to his own imagination. It was like talking to a bed frame. After some time passed—when Philip was getting closer to the end of the story—he did indeed slide his hand over his old friend’s. The hand didn’t feel like a hand either. It felt like some distant inanimate object, a frail object, like a dead baby bird or something.

“Not sure what to do here,” Philip said, as he started to wind down. “It’s why I came to you. We’ve both seen perps try every which way to claim innocence or justify what they did. Hell, we spent our careers listening to that psychobabble. That’s not what this is. I truly believe that. Your son wouldn’t do that. David believes it. He’s wrong, of course. I wish it was true—God, do I wish it—but Matthew is dead. David did it in some kind of fugue state. That’s what I think. You and I talked about this already. He doesn’t remember and hell, I don’t know about guilt or blame. Neither of us were big fans of insanity defenses, but we also both know David is a good kid. Always has been.”

He looked at Lenny. Still nothing. Only the rising and falling of his chest told Philip that he wasn’t talking to a corpse.

“Here’s the thing.” Philip leaned a little closer and, for some reason, lowered his voice. “David wants me to help him break out. I mean, that’s nuts. You know that. I know that. I don’t have that kind of power. And even if I did, I mean, where would he go? There’d be a massive manhunt. He’d probably end up being gunned down. We don’t want that for him. I still wish he’d tried to get help, maybe a new trial, something. That’s his best chance, you know what I mean?”

A radiator pipe started banging. Philip shook his head and smiled. That damn pipe. It had been banging for, what, forty, fifty years? He remembered trying to bleed the radiators with Lenny, but they could never figure out what caused the banging. Trapped air or something. They’d go down and fix it and it would be okay for a few weeks and then—bang, bang—it would come back.

“We’re old men, Lenny. Too old for this crap. I’m retiring in another year. Double pension. I could lose it all if I mess up. You know what I’m saying? I can’t risk that. It wouldn’t be fair to Ruth. She’s got her sights set on some gated community in South Carolina. Nice weather year-round. But you know I’ll always look out for David. No matter what. Like I promised. He’s your boy. I understand that. So I want you to know. I’ll look out for him…”

He stopped talking. His chest started to heave. Right now, today, this moment—this was probably the last time he’d ever see Lenny. The thought hit him out of nowhere. Like a punch he didn’t see coming. He felt tears start to come to his eyes, but he bit them back. He blinked hard, turned away. He stood and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. There was no flesh there, no muscle. It felt like he was touching naked bone.

“I better go, Lenny. You take care of yourself, okay? See you soon.”

He walked toward the door. Sophie met up with him at the threshold.

“You okay, Philip?” she asked.

He nodded, not trusting his own voice.

Sophie met his eye. It was almost too much for him to bear. Then she looked over at her bedridden brother. She gestured for Philip to turn around. He slowly followed her gaze. Lenny had not moved. His face was still that skeletal death mask. His eyes still stared out, lifeless, the mouth still slightly open in some awful silent scream. But he saw what Sophie was trying to show him.

A single tear track glistening off Lenny’s ashen skin.

Philip turned back toward her. “I have to go.”

She led him back down the corridor, past the grandfather clock and the piano. She opened the door. He stepped out onto the stoop. The fresh air felt good. The sun shone in his eyes. He shielded them for a moment and smiled weakly at her.

“It was good seeing you, Sophie.”

Her smile was tight.

“What?” he said.

“Lenny always told me you were the strongest man he ever knew.”

“Were,” he repeated. “Past tense.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m just old.”

Sophie shook her head. “You’re not old, Philip,” she said. “You’re just scared.”

“I’m not sure there’s any difference.”

He turned away. He did not look back as he descended the concrete steps, but he could feel her eyes on him, heavy and perhaps, after all these years, unforgiving.





Chapter

6