Wilde Lake(89)

His voice trails off. From somewhere in his house, a phone begins to ring. It rings twice, stops, goes to voice mail, presumably. Lu remembers another ringing phone, the black squat phone in their living room, how it rang and rang that winter their grandmother was trying to get through to them. Their father changed their home number, then AJ got a phone in his room. Anything to keep the secrets at bay, right, Dad? AJ had a phone in his room, and Lu was so jealous. He was on it all the time. All the time.

“You all talked that morning and agreed on a story. You worked out all the details about what you were going to say.” Right down to the board game you played.

“Everything we said was true, so what was the harm in making sure we said the same thing? I was a lawyer’s son. The key was to protect Davey. I knew what could happen if we opened the door to any doubt. Davey’s future was hanging in the balance. She showed up, uninvited. She and Davey had a big loud argument in his room, but then they were quiet as anything. We did play a drinking game. She passed out, we put her in the Robinsons’ bed to sleep it off, then Bash and Noel took her home. True, it was kind of chickenshit to leave her on the doorstep, but no one wanted to come into contact with her old man under the best of circumstances.”

Lu’s memory for faces and names isn’t good. She’s long been aware of that weakness and done what she can to correct it. She read somewhere that it’s bullshit to say, Oh, I don’t remember names or faces. But she tries. She knows she tries. What she does remember are stories, especially family ones. She could have recited every detail about the short life of Adele Closter Brant, as it was told to her. She can taste the Eskimo pie she ate the day they met Noel, remember the feel of the air on that June night she saw AJ sing in the Tree of Life chorus, count almost every freckle on Bash’s back as he rose and fell on top of Lynne in Lu’s childhood bed. She remembers that Thanksgiving weekend, her father pulling details out of AJ, telling him to stop toying with language about who was invited, who wasn’t invited. And not two hours ago, Bash said of Rudy: He wasn’t invited.

She says: “Rudy Drysdale was there. That night. How—”

AJ stands, walks to the edge of his pool. A lap pool, he defended to Lu when she mocked this expense by ascetic AJ. He and Lauranne needed to swim to counterbalance their vigorous yoga practices. If the kids of his Southwest Baltimore neighborhood ever learned about this hidden oasis, no one could stop them from scaling the fence behind the property. But as much as AJ had given to the community, he had walled off this part of himself. Walled off the pool, the sustainable lawn furniture. AJ didn’t want the world to know what he had, what he desired.

“Not exactly,” AJ says to his lap pool. “He offered Nita a ride home from work. Turns out that when he realized she was going to Davey’s house, he parked his car up the street and sneaked around to the back. Isn’t it ironic—I’m pretty sure it’s irony, at any rate. Davey and I defended him, at that very house, from being a little Peeping Tom pervert, skulking around with his camera. And there he was, in the woods, watching us.”

Lu feels as if she’s approaching a woodland creature, something timid and prone to bolt. She lets him keep his back to her, doesn’t move. “And what did he see, AJ?”

“What we said,” he replies, irritably. “Davey and Nita, having sex. Willingly on her part, best he could tell. When Rudy got wind of the investigation, a week or two later, he was dying to be the hero, begged me to let him talk to the grand jury. He wanted to repay the favor. He said he owed Davey and me everything. I told him to cool it, that it was better to let things lie. Nita barely knew his name, did you know that? When asked who drove her to Davey’s house, she always said: ‘Some guy from the mall.’ That’s all Rudy was to her. Some guy from the mall.”

Lu reaches for a piece of salami from AJ’s platter, although she’s not really hungry. The city sounds are so different from what she’s used to. Traffic, a police siren in the distance, a helicopter whirring overhead. AJ glances up. “That’s a police chopper,” he says. “They’re looking for someone. You learn to tell the difference, living here, between the police copters and the traffic ones. God, this year.”

She is not going to be distracted by idle talk. “What else did Rudy see? That night. You could see everything from the back of that house, if the lights were on.”

“I don’t know, Lu. Four teenage boys, living the life he wished he could live, pitiable as that sounds. Funny, isn’t it? Rudy got teased for being a ‘faggot.’ Yet Noel never did.”

“Why not let him speak to the grand jury, then? What part of your rehearsed story was he going to contradict?”

“I told you, everything we said was the truth.”

There it is again, the carefully parsed argument. Everything we said—what had gone unsaid? What had Rudy seen that AJ didn’t want entered into the record?

“What parts are you leaving out? What did you leave out then? This is your sister, AJ, not the state’s attorney. I need to know.”

AJ’s shoulders sag, weighed down by a secret that four boys, now three men, have carried for thirty-five years. “She passed out. During the game. We carried her upstairs to let her sleep it off. And we started giving Davey shit that she was his girlfriend. Because she was, you know, and that was embarrassing. Nita Flood wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s girlfriend. Davey got angry. He said he didn’t care for her at all. He said he cared for her so little that we could all take turns, if we wanted. So—” He shrugs, his back still to her.