So Long, Chester Wheeler(58)

I waited for some kind of reply, but nothing came back to me. So I took out my phone and searched for Ellie’s number.

“Lewis,” Chester said. He was speaking in a half whisper, and his voice sounded positively iced over with panic.

“What?”

“That’s him. That’s him, Lewis. I’d know him anywhere.”

I sat up quickly and looked out the window. But I couldn’t see anyone. So I opened the side door and stepped out.

I was feeling a little shocked, as though I’d just been wakened from a sound sleep. Somehow I hadn’t been expecting Mike to show up. I know that’s silly. I should have been expecting it. Of course I should have. But I’d been stuck in that endless waiting mode, and somehow I only expected more waiting.

I found myself face to face with a man who seemed to have been headed for the gate before I’d cut him off. He stopped, and we just stood there on the narrow sidewalk considering each other for a few beats.

He possibly could have been Chester’s age, but I would have made him to be in his late fifties. His hair was collar length, curly at the ends, and barely even gray. Just a few threads of silver in otherwise darkness. He was wearing jeans faded nearly to white, and a crisp white shirt. Its cuffs were rolled back two turns, and his forearms were thickly hairy. His face was aggressively tanned and deeply lined. He was several inches taller than me. Well over six feet.

“Mike?”

He tilted his head slightly, the way a dog might do if he failed to understand.

“Do I know you?”

“No. You don’t. But I brought someone here to see you. Someone you know. You haven’t seen him in a long time, but I think you’ll remember.”

I walked him up to the passenger window where Chester sat frozen in panic. Really classic “deer in the headlights” stuff.

We just stood there for a couple of beats.

Then Mike said, “I’m sorry. I don’t . . .”

I made a cranking motion to Chester, to get him to lower the window, but he only threw his hands into the air. I’d forgotten that he couldn’t do that without the keys.

I ran around the front, digging the keys out of my pocket as I went. I jumped into the driver’s seat, fumbled the key into the ignition, and turned it to accessory.

I waited for Chester to power his window down, but he never did. He was frozen.

I did it for him.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said through the open window. “You have to help me out here.”

“Mike,” Chester said. He sounded breathless and quiet. “It’s me. Chet.”

“Chet?” Mike asked. It was clear from his tone of voice that he considered what he’d just said to be impossible.

Then he said nothing. And did nothing. And made no move. He was frozen now, too. Everybody was frozen. Time was frozen. The whole world was frozen.

“Chet?” he said again. “Chet Wheeler? Is that really you? I can’t even recognize you. What happened to you, man?”

I could tell by his face that he regretted that last question. That he was speaking on autopilot. I could see him wince as it came out, but it came out all the same.

“Cancer,” Chester said.

I thought he sounded like he was trying not to cry, but it was only one word, and I could have been wrong.

“I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Well I never thought so, either.”

“You want to come in? Are you gonna try to kill me?”

“It’s really hard for me to get down from here,” Chester said. “I’m in a wheelchair, and getting in and out of it is hard.”

“Maybe we could both get you down,” I said.

“Or I could just come up there,” Mike said. “Since you obviously couldn’t kill me even if you tried.”

He disappeared from the window and tried the side door, which was still unlocked. He stepped up into the rig.

“You have to go, Lewis,” Chester said. “This is between me and Mike. You can’t be here.”

“Fine. No problem. Just call my cell when you want me back.”

I started to step down to the street, but he did it again.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Turn my seat around. Otherwise I can’t see him.”

“Or I can do that,” Mike said. “Just show me how.”

“Yeah, okay,” Chester said. “Go away now, Lewis.”

I stepped down and headed out on foot.

I did not take offense.





Chapter Nineteen:




* * *





Cool

I walked down to the beach, which was not far, and took a stroll along the boardwalk. Except it wasn’t really a boardwalk. Not the way I think of a boardwalk. I mean, boardwalks should have boards, right? This was just a wide, flat concrete street with no cars.

Shops on one side. Informal vendors on the beach side, under umbrellas or square awnings. Tents and impromptu dwellings made of blue tarps everywhere. Palm trees as far as the eye could see.

And there were street performers. Dancers and jugglers and acrobatic tumblers. A guy playing guitar who probably belonged in his own living room. A woman playing violin who might’ve played in a symphony orchestra if life had been more fair.