The Last Romantics(41)

The coach cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Apparently he was talking to the police about his father.”

“To the police?” Renee asked. “What do you mean?”

“Ask Joe about it,” the coach said, not meeting Renee’s gaze. “I think your brother may need some additional . . . assistance.”

The coach’s demeanor put Renee on high alert. Why would the man not look her in the eye?

Renee turned now to the dean. “Please. What about academic probation?” she said. “Something like that. He’ll do better. I’ll make sure that he does.”

“He will have no other chances,” said the dean.

In the end the panel agreed to a two-year academic probation, during which Joe would be required to maintain a B average and be the subject of no disciplinary hearings. The fraternity was prohibited from hosting parties for the remainder of the year and would require a school administrative chaperone at all parties the following year. Joe Skinner was off the baseball team, effective immediately.

Renee shook all the hands, and then she left the wood-paneled room and vomited neatly into a tall trash can in the hall.

“Don’t tell Noni,” was the first thing Joe said when he opened the door to his room at the frat house. A girl, elfin and blond, slipped from behind Joe and past Renee. Her eyes were red.

“Bye, Joe,” she said tearfully, with a quick wave of a tiny hand.

Renee ignored the girl. “Of course I won’t tell her,” Renee said. “Listen, we need to talk.”

In the common room, they sat on a sticky leather couch. The only other furniture was a wide-screen television and three battered beer kegs.

“Will they take away the scholarship?” asked Joe.

“No,” said Renee. “They will not take away the scholarship. You played for the first half of the season. You’re lucky. They could have taken it away. They could have expelled you.”

“Oh, that’s such a fucking relief,” Joe said, and he began to laugh.

“But, Joe,” Renee said sternly, “you have to clean it up. Stop messing around.” She explained the probationary terms offered by the college.

Joe stretched his neck to the left and right. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t get in trouble like this again.”

“You can’t get into any trouble.”

“Promise.” He held up a hand like a Boy Scout and winked. Renee nearly slapped him.

“And baseball is over,” she continued. “You’re off the team.” This part of the deal she felt in her stomach, an achy nausea left over from the meeting. She had no idea how Joe would react; he’d played baseball nearly every day of his life since their father’s death.

But the look on Joe’s face was pure relief. Nearly joy. “Oh, thank God,” he said. “I didn’t want to play anymore. Renee, I haven’t wanted to in years. My throwing arm isn’t what it used to be. I just didn’t want to tell you. Or Noni.”

For a moment Renee watched her brother: the clear blue eyes, the dimples. For the first time, she noticed the faintest trace of sagging purple beneath his eyes, the swell of a belly beneath his T-shirt, a puffiness to his cheeks. His familiar features looked older, altered. She could almost see the kind of man he was becoming.

“You can’t tell Noni you want to quit baseball,” said Renee. “I’ve already talked to Caroline. We’ll tell her you had a knee injury. That’s why you’re off the team. I don’t want Noni to know about the party or the drugs. None of it, okay?”

Joe nodded and moved in to hug his sister. “Thank you,” he said into her hair.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

“Renee,” he said, still in the hug, “have you ever seen Dad?”

“What?” She pulled away from him.

“I mean, have you ever seen him? Like a ghost. Or spirit. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Dad? No, Joe. I haven’t.” Then Renee remembered the coach’s comment. “Have you? Seen him, I mean?”

“I saw him the night of the party. ‘Joe, your throwing arm isn’t what it used to be.’ That’s what he said to me. Isn’t that wild? And he’s totally right.”

Joe’s face shone with an innocent wonder. He believes this, Renee realized.

“Joe, what were you on?” During Renee’s pharmacology class, she’d read about hallucinations induced by all sorts of drugs. Talking animals, aliens, dead people—all the result of chemically altered neurons firing in unexpected ways.

But Joe shook his head. “It wasn’t the drugs. Really. It wasn’t. Dad was standing outside on the back lawn of the frat house, talking to me just like we’re talking now. Really, Renee. It was amazing. I had been hoping for it for so long. And finally it happened.” Joe smiled with such calm satisfaction, such a clear sense of relief, that Renee did not know how to respond.

“Maybe you should talk to someone about this,” she said.

“Someone? You mean like a counselor?”

Renee nodded.

“I don’t need a counselor, trust me. I’ll talk to you about it. You and Caroline and Fiona, but that’s it. You’re the only ones who would understand anyhow.” Joe smiled again: the same relief, same joy. “It’s a good thing, Renee. Don’t look so worried. Someday it’ll happen to you, too. I bet he visits all of us.” Joe yawned. “I better get some sleep,” he said, and hugged Renee again and then disappeared into his room.