When Ghosts Come Home(14)

“It’s Rodney Bellamy,” Winston said.

He heard Marie gasp into the phone’s receiver, and he knew she was now attempting to collect herself, probably staring out the kitchen window into the backyard, taking in the news and thinking of how to respond. “That’s Ed Bellamy’s son,” she said.

“I know,” Winston said.

“He went to school with Colleen.”

“I know,” Winston said again. “And he just had a baby. His wife said he went out for diapers last night. I found him shot dead at the end of the runway. And there’s an abandoned plane out here.” He sighed. “It might’ve been full of drugs too. Could’ve been tons, hell, I don’t know.”

“Have you talked to Ed?”

“No,” Winston said. “I’m about to call the high school, ask him to meet me over at Rodney’s house so I can tell his wife.”

“I’m so sorry you have to do this, honey.”

Marie’s voice had come out in a whisper, and he felt her softening toward him after their argument. He wanted to soften toward her too, but he felt a protective shell hardening around him in advance of sharing the news with Rodney’s widow.

“Well, I hate that it has to be done,” he said, “but I’ll head home after that. You want me to pick up anything?”

“No, just come on home as soon as you can. I love you.”

“All right,” Winston said. “I love you too.”

He hung up the phone, and then he looked around Sweetney’s office, searching for a telephone book. He found one in a desk drawer, and he flipped through it until he found the number for the high school.

Winston called the school’s office, and while he waited for Ed’s voice to come onto the line, he pictured Bellamy inside the classroom that he had visited several times while Colleen was a student and a handful of times since. He figured Ed Bellamy was sitting at his desk, grading papers or flipping through a textbook, his thick glasses turned down toward the page, his black crew cut beginning to gray around his temples. A student assistant sent by the office steps into the classroom, whispers to Bellamy that he has a telephone call. Bellamy looks up from his desk, tells the students to continue working quietly, and then he steps into the hall.

While he’d been swept up in Korea, Winston had been too old for the Vietnam draft, and he knew he’d been lucky, but Ed Bellamy was younger than him, and he hadn’t been so lucky. Ed still carried himself like a soldier: rigid, unsmiling, watchful, direct. That’s how he appeared in Winston’s mind as he marched down the hallway at the high school, his feet clapping on the dull linoleum floors, his straight shoulders passing the banks of olive-green lockers that lined the walls on either side.

“Hello,” a man’s voice suddenly said on the other end of the telephone line. “This is Ed Bellamy.”

He’d made it to the phone faster than Winston had expected, and the sound of his voice caught him by surprise.

“Ed,” Winston said, “this is Winston Barnes.”

Silence.

“Ed, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got some terrible news.”

Another moment, and then Winston heard Bellamy’s voice again.

“Oh, Lord,” Bellamy said. “Oh, Lord, oh, Lord.”

“Ed, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Rodney’s been—” But Winston stopped, corrected himself. “Rodney’s passed away.”

“Oh, Lord,” Bellamy whispered again. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

Something in Bellamy’s voice told Winston that his eyes were closed, his face downturned, his free hand raised to his forehead. Winston paused for a moment, considered what to say next. He heard Bellamy stifle a sob on the other end of the line.

“Ed,” Winston said, “can you tell me his wife’s name?”

The line remained silent. Winston waited.

“Janelle,” Bellamy finally said.

“I hate to do it, but I have to talk to her, tell her what happened. I think it would be good if you could be there when I do it.”

“She called me this morning,” Bellamy said. “She said she hadn’t seen him since last night.” He fought another sob. Winston heard him swallow, clear his voice. “How did he— Where did you find him?”

“He’s been shot, Ed. I’m out here at the airport.”

“Shot?” Bellamy said, his voice louder than it had been before. “Shot? At the airport?”

“Yeah, Ed, and that’s about all I can tell you because it’s all I know right now.”

“I want to see him.”

“I know, Ed, and you will. I’m happy to come out to the high school and pick you up. We can ride out to Janelle’s together.”

“No,” Bellamy said, his voice tightening. Winston knew Bellamy’s brain was clicking away from his own grief toward the grief Rodney’s widow would soon feel. “I’ll meet you there, but give me a few minutes. Wait for me before you knock on the door.”

“Okay, Ed,” Winston said. “I’ll see you there.”

He set the phone back on its cradle. He looked around Sweetney’s office. An entire bookcase was dedicated to meticulously constructed and painted model airplanes. Beside it sat two metal file cabinets. Sweetney’s desk was neat and orderly, the chair pushed back as if he had just stood up to step outside. A chair for guests sat on the other side of the desk, and Winston considered taking a seat and calling home to talk to Marie again, but he decided not to. He knew his mind was searching for reasons to stall, for him not to climb into Marie’s car and drive out to the area of Southport known as the Grove to deliver the worst news that Rodney Bellamy’s wife would ever hear. Winston decided not to wait any longer, and he opened the door and stepped into the sunlight.