The First Time I Died Page 3

  The surface of the pond was frozen, but the dark water beneath showed through cracks in the ice like veins of blue blood beneath the surface of white New England skin. A No Skating sign was stuck on the sandy bank near the little bay, deterring adventurous souls from venturing onto the treacherous ice — something I was in no way tempted to do.

  In spring, the gazebo-style bandstand located in the waterside park would be draped with heavy bunches of lilac wisteria blossoms, and in summer, couples would sit on the mown green grass, or paddle with their toddlers at the water’s edge. In fall, the maples, oaks and birches would fire up in a blaze of copper, brass and gold leaves, but on this dull winter afternoon, the scene was a palette of monochromatic colors. Snow covered the ground, the naked tree limbs were black against the iron-gray sky, and the gnarled bare vines of the wisteria strangled the pale ribs of the empty bandstand. A lone jogger ran along the trail beside the pond, puffing out clouds of frosty breath. The strip of reflective fabric across his sweatshirt flashed amber against the bleached scene and then was gone.

  I pulled my gaze away from the pond and took in the other side of the road as I drove on. I passed a house with a twenty-foot Douglas fir out front, trimmed with a necklace of soft white lights. That had been Jessica Armstrong’s home. We’d been so totally out of contact that I didn’t know whether her family still lived there, or even whether Dr. and Mrs. Armstrong were still alive.

  Like many of the houses on Pond Road, the old Armstrong house looked like it had been renovated in recent years. This was now prime real estate. Front doors wore stylish wreaths made of fir, holly, pinecones and ivy and garnished with supersized ribbons, but no inflatable snowmen or garish Santa Clauses decorated the front yards of Pitchford’s wealthiest citizens. Even the old Frost Inn — a real dive back when I’d lived here — had a new slate roof, paved parking lot and forest-green window boxes.

  The whole town seemed to have been given a facelift, but I wondered if the veneer of charming good taste and discreet affluence extended beyond Main Street and Pond Road to where the real folks lived. At the turnoff to the road headed out the other side of town, a cluster of matching signs pointed the way to hiking and biking trails, a berry farm and the Beaumont Golf Estate and Hydrotherapy Spa. Yup, nearby towns may have fallen on bad times, but good times had fallen on Pitchford.

  Approaching the next intersection, I hit the signal to turn right onto Algonquian Street, then hesitated, scraping my front teeth over a rough edge of skin on my lower lips. Three blocks up and to the right, at the house on Abenaki Street where I’d spent the first eighteen years of my life, my father would have swept the path and driveway in anticipation of my arrival and would no doubt be anxiously checking his watch and peeping out of the front window every ten minutes. My mother, wearing her St. Christopher medal to ensure travel blessings, would have said a prayer even as she laid out a crystal grid on her altar in the living room — she liked to hedge her bets with all the deities. Both would be full of news and questions. Instead of taking the right, I made a U-turn and headed back in the direction of town, keeping my eyes averted from the pond and the pier.

  Some things couldn’t be faced on an empty stomach or a caffeine deficit.

  4

  THEN

  July 2007

  Most of the usual crowd were already partying under the pier near the Tuppenny Tavern by the time Jess and I arrived late that summer evening. My gaze immediately zeroed in on Colby Beaumont, who was chilling out in a large group of seniors, including two girls called Kathryn and Taylor who were leaning up against each other. Jess and I had a bet going that they’d be the first gay couple to attend the senior prom in the history of Pitchford. Pete Dillon’s best friend, Brandon Nugent, sat cross-legged and swaying slightly, eyes glazed and a doofus smile on his face. I was surprised to see that Colby’s older sister, Vanessa, was also there, along with a big guy who was a local police officer. They’d both graduated high school years ago, and word was she was studying at school in Boston or New York. Maybe she’d come home for her summer break.

  “If, once I’ve blown the popsicle stand that is this town, I can think of nothing better to do with my summer vacation than come back home and hang out with a bunch of teens under the pier, please stage an intervention. Kidnap me and put me on a bus headed out of town,” I told Jess.

  “Okay. Permission to slap you in order to bring you to your senses?”

  “Permission granted.”

  “And where should this bus be headed?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  As if they’d heard my judgy opinion, Vanessa and her boyfriend stood up, dusted the seats of their pants, and walked off in the direction of the Tavern.

  My gaze locked back on Colby. He wore baggy shorts and his blue tee with the hole in the shoulder. The group of girls seated close to him, giggling and exclaiming at his every word, wore bikinis and the alert, eager expressions of hunting dogs.

  “Kill me now,” Jess said.

  My thoughts exactly. But Jess’s gaze was, as usual, fixed on Pete, who stood to the side of the main group, pinning Judy Burns against a wooden piling. They were making out hard enough to earn an R-rating, but by the way both of them kept cutting glances at Colby, I figured they were more interested in his reactions than licking each other’s tonsils. For different reasons, both of them wanted him jealous.

  As soon as the cop was gone, beers were pulled out of bags and coolers, and Blunt ambled up to us, holding a baggy of weed out to me.

  “Hey Jess, and Jess’s friend. Can I interest you ladies in something to take the edge off?”

  I shook my head. I’d smoked pot once and had felt nothing except irritable and tired.

  “Something stronger, then? I’ve got Oxycontin, Vicodin, Percocet?”

  A regular pharmacy, was Blunt.

  “How about serrano, bird’s eye or devil’s tongue?” I asked.

  “What are those, man? Mushrooms? Meth?”

  “Fuck off, Blunt. She’s not interested in your merchandise,” Jess said, her gray eyes — so like her handsome brother’s — filled with contempt.

  He stood still and stared at me for several moments, as if trying to figure my angle, then shrugged and strolled off.

  “He’s dealing pills now?” I asked Jess softly.

  “He’s dealing whatever he can get his hands on.”

  “How? I mean, where does he get them?”

  “He steals pages from my father’s prescription pads and fills them at drugstores in nearby towns.”

  “Jeez. That’s kinda … hardcore.”

  “Yeah,” she said grimly. “I think he’s coming off the rails. He came home the other day bragging to me that he’d beat up a pharmacist in Rutland because the guy had refused to fill the script and threatened to call the cops.”

  “Shit.” I began nibbling on my pinkie nail.

  She automatically pushed my hand away from my mouth. “But maybe he was just talking smack, you know? I don’t believe half of what he says anyway, he’s always out of it.”

  “Do your parents know?”

  “About him using? Yeah. About him dealing and stealing? I don’t think so.”

  “Are you going to tell them?”

  Jess sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know what they’d do about it, to be honest. It’s not like they can ground him or confiscate his cell phone.”

  Blunt had moved out of home more than a year ago, and now lived in a trailer park just outside of town. Rumor had it that he farmed weed in a clearing up in the woods.

  Jess kicked at the damp sand with a toe of her sandal, dislodging a rusted bottle top. “Besides, you can’t report your own kid to the cops.”

  “I guess not,” I said. “What about rehab?”

  She gave me a sad smile and sang, “They tried to make him go, but he said, ‘No, no, no!’”

  I gave her a long hug. She hated what her brother was becoming, but I knew she still cared about him.

 
The group of Colby fangirls ran screaming and laughing into the pond, splashing water at each other and angling their bodies, some lithe, some curvy, to maximum advantage. The display was wasted on Colby, though, who scanned the faces under the pier, caught my eye, and waved Jess and me over.

  Jess told me to go without her. “You don’t need me there, playing third wheel.”

  I perched myself on the damp sand right next to Colby, in the space the girls had vacated.

  “Beer?” he offered.

  I took the longneck and sipped, shuddering a little at the icy bitterness, conscious of his warmth beside me.

  “How’s your summer going?” he asked.

  “Okay, you know, nothing wildly exciting. I help my dad out some at the store and hang out with Jess. And yours?”

  “It’s had its ups and downs.”

  Had he classified breaking up with Judy as an up or a down?

  “You’ve got a job at the town clerk’s office, with Jessica’s mom?” I said, and then silently cursed myself for letting the question slip out. I had no desire for him to know how I tracked his every move.

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “She’s a piece of work, that woman.”

  She was? “In what way?” I asked.

  “Colby! Colby!” the girls in the water yelled. “Come on in!”

  He glanced at them and then stood up, offering me his hand and pulling me to my feet. “Go for a walk?”

  “Sure,” I said, trying to look casually cool rather than super enthusiastic.

  I tried even harder when he kept on holding my hand as we walked away from the pier. His hand was warm, and much bigger than my own, yet our fingers laced comfortably. When we passed Jess, I studiously avoided making eye contact, sure she’d be giving me a you-go-girl! look. We strolled along the narrow fringe of sand at the water’s edge and passed by the little bay that was a favorite swimming spot. The sounds of shouting and laughter faded behind us, swallowed up by the warm air and the water.

  The setting sun reached fingers of light across the sky to touch the patchy clouds with shades of peach and plum, and burnished Colby’s blond hair with gold. A dog ran up and down in the shallows, barking at waterfowl landing on the pond further out. A kayaker pulled his craft onto the sand and hoisted it onto his shoulders to carry it back to his car, whistling to the dog to follow him. On our right, picnickers were shaking their blankets, packing their baskets, and corralling their sticky kids. An old homeless guy sat himself down on the steps on the bandstand and sucked on a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag.

  “You were telling me about your job?” I prompted.

  Colby picked up a pebble and threw it sideways so that it skimmed across the surface of the water, bouncing four times.

  “Well, my dad and uncle wanted me to take a summer job at the water company — you know that’s the Beaumont family business?”

  “Sure.” Everyone knew that.

  I picked up my own pebble, threw it crossways at the pond. It merely sank into the water.

  “But I told them no. It didn’t seem right, you know?”

  I nodded, understanding. “Everyone would know you’re the boss’s kid. It would be … awkward.”

  “Yeah, and not fair. Especially not with jobs as scarce as they are around here. But my father and uncle were pretty pissed that I turned them down. I think they intend for me to take over the business one day.” He skimmed another stone. Six bounces. “They’ve got my whole future laid out for me.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic about it.

  “Your uncle doesn’t have kids?”

  “No, he never married. Not sure why. So, if the Beaumont brothers want to keep it in the family, it’ll have to be Vanessa who steps up. She’d have the head for it — even though she’s studying political science at Boston U. Or if they want someone who has the heart for it, they can wait for my baby sister, Cassie, to grow up. She loves the water better than any of us do.”

  “So, you don’t want to go into business?”

  He mimed cocking a gun and firing it into his temple.

  “What do you want to do then?” I asked.

  “You first.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t decide. I like math and science stuff — physics, chemistry.”

  “You do?” He looked surprised. “Why?”

  I’d never thought about why. “I guess because it’s … definite. There’s a truth to math. You can count on it. Two and two are always four. And if you have three apples and I have one less than you, then we’re always going to have five in total. I like that. It’s solid. Comforting.”

  “You like logic.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Maybe because it was in such short supply in my home life.

  “So, you’re going to be a scientist, or an engineer?” he asked.

  “Maybe. I haven’t decided.”

  We walked further, until we were past the bandstand and alone at the edge of the pond, watching the last sliver of sun setting behind the dark copse of trees on the far side. The night was perfectly still and the water smooth except for the ripples sent out by a lone green-headed mallard paddling toward the bank of tall reeds to our right.

  “So, what do you want to do when you leave school?” I asked again. My voice sounded too loud in the evening hush.

  He ran a hand over the back of his hair and smiled at me ruefully. “You’ll laugh.”

  “I won’t. Promise.”

  “I want to be a cop.”

  The duck laughed then — a low, raspy quack — as if in response to Colby’s words.

  “A cop?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I want to be a cop, right here in Pitchford.”

  Because there was something vulnerable about him in that moment, and because I’d promised, I didn’t laugh. But I wanted to. Who in their right mind would want to stay in Pitchford, let alone as a cop?

  Keeping my voice neutral, I asked, “Why?”

  “I love this place, you know? The pond and the woods and the people. But I think it’s going downhill. Most of the kids ditch town when they leave school, and never come back.”

  That was certainly my plan.

  “So, there’s no new blood or energy. The drug problem is getting bad, thanks to assholes like Blunt.”

  After Jess’s story about Blunt’s violent temper, I wanted to warn Colby to steer clear of confrontations, but I didn’t want to interrupt him. He was passionate about this, I could tell. His face was earnest, and his eyes glittered in the dim light.

  “And where there’s drugs, there’s crime. I can just see this town going to shit. First the petty stuff — theft, shoplifting, prostitution. Then the more serious stuff — rape, assault, even murder. And white-collar crime — shady land deals, corrupt representatives. It snowballs, you know? I want to stop it. Frank Turner won’t be chief for much longer; he’s past retirement age already. He’s careless and forgetful. This town deserves better.”

  Everyone knew Chief Turner was useless. My father said he was as idle as a toad in the bottom of a well. My mother said that he was a typically lazy Leo, and that what this town needed was a heroically brave and suspicious Aries.

  I didn’t know what star sign Colby was. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care. My mother’s theories were seriously dumb, and I wanted nothing to do with them.

  “What about the new cop — Ray? Roy?” I asked.

  Colby grinned. “Ryan. He’s totally into my sister — maybe he’ll follow her to Boston and there’ll be a vacant post soon.”

  “Well, if anyone can do it, you can,” I said, kicking off my sandals and wading into the water.

  “Will you come back to Pitchford once you graduate college?” Colby asked me.

  I was delighted to see that he looked hopeful. Still, I said, “Not if I can help it.”

  He nodded, seemingly unsurprised.

  “I can’t wait to get out of this town,” I said. “The same people doing the same things, the gossip, everyone knowing your business.” Not to mention wanting to leave hom
e.

  He took a step closer to me, brushed a stray strand of hair back from my cheek, curled it around his finger and gave it a little tug.

  “It’s not all bad, surely? There must be something here you like,” he murmured.

  The air shifted around us, pushed us closer. I couldn’t find my voice.

  “I guess we’ll just have to make the most of our time together,” he said, which was as good as straight-up saying “I like you.”

  Smiling at him, I whispered, “Okay.”

  He pressed his lips to mine for a fleeting second. I smelled cola lip balm, and felt my cheeks flush and a goofy smile curve my mouth when he stepped back and tucked the curl of hair behind my ear. Then he took off his T-shirt in the funny way guys do, grabbing it at the back and pulling it over their heads. Wait. He was undressing?

  Not sure whether to panic or to fling myself at him, I just stared, enjoying the sight of his chest and flat belly.

  “Let’s go for a swim,” he said.

  “A swim? Now?”

  “Yeah, the water’s warm, the company’s good, and the stars are coming out. What would you rather be doing?”

  “I’m not wearing a bathing suit.”

  “Neither am I,” he said and ran into the pond in his long shorts.

  I hesitated a moment and then stripped off my sundress and followed him, wearing only my bra and panties.

  “You lied,” I gasped, shivering. “The water’s not warm.”

  But he was. And as he pulled me into his arms and kissed me — slowly at first, tenderly touching his lips against my shoulders, my temples, my lips — I thought I’d never be cold again.

  5

  NOW

  Saturday December 16, 2017

  Dillon’s, on Main Street, had once been a greasy spoon, infamous for old man Dillon’s wandering hands and old lady Dillon’s temper. It now grandly declared itself to be Dillon‘s Country Store and Café. Well, this should prove interesting.