Finding Zach (7 page)

He ducked his head in a nod. “Yeah. I remember.”

Richard released his arm, but not before giving it a good solid rub. “Forest service says the last of the snowpack’s melting and they’re opening the trails around the Peak. You want to go hiking this weekend?”

Zach was quiet a moment, then said, “Maybe a short one. It’s been a long time.”

“You need to add some aerobic exercise to your weights program. You should start using the gym at the office instead of just the one here—it’s got a track….”

“No, I can’t,” Zach said. “I can’t work out in public yet.” He rubbed the base of his throat, where the scar tissue circled his neck. “Not yet. It’s not like we don’t have a pool, you know.”

“You should use it more.” Richard stood, and ruffled Zach’s hair—or rubbed his head, since it was cropped way too short to ruffle. “That’s what it’s there for.”

“Sure, Dad,” Zach said.

Chapter 4

“I
F
YOU
were a guy, I’d marry you,” David said.

“Alex would have something to say about that,” Maggie retorted. “So, you likee?”

“I likee,” David replied, running his hand over the doorframe. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

“It’s not new—it’s a 2004, but it’s the old version of the Saturn before GM completely took over, so it’s a fiberglass body—no rust. And those old Saturns lasted forever. I know someone who’s got a ’93 that has almost 500,000 miles on it, and it’s still running.” Maggie patted the car’s roof. “She’s got about seventy-five thousand miles on her, but Alex made sure she was maintained well, so she’s just a baby, engine-wise. I’ve hardly driven her at all since we bought the urban assault vehicle—it’s just a little awkward getting the mondo car seat in the back. I think the damn car seat is bigger than the car.” She patted the roof again. “I’m just glad she’s going to a good home. Now if we can only find
you
a good home, we’ll be set.”

“Bless you, child,” David said. “Were you able to find any candidates before I got here?”

“Well, there are plenty of places where you
can
live,” Maggie said, and followed David back to the porch, where he’d put a couple bottles of Sam Adams on the railing. The condensation steamed gently in the late afternoon sun. “But whether you’d
want
to live there is another story. High concentration of new construction, you know, from the cardboard-box school of architecture….”

“Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky, little boxes on the hillside and they all look just the same….” David sang softly.

“Another hippie song from your mother’s misspent youth?” Maggie asked, and took a swig of beer.

“Of course. I was raised on hippie songs. They formed an integral part of my psychological development. That and Warner Brothers cartoons.”

“God bless Warner Brothers,” Maggie intoned, and they clicked bottles in salute. “I’ve been looking for something a little more culturally significant as a habitat for you, but so far I am failing miserably. Though, frankly, why you’d ever want to live someplace other than this, I don’t know.” She sat on the porch steps and looked off into the distance.

David watched her serene face in amusement. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yep.”

“I know. And it was hard to leave. Almost as hard as it was to come back.”

Maggie cocked her head. “Do tell.”

“Nothing to tell.” David drank some of the Sam Adams. “Got home yesterday, on schedule. Back in my old bedroom, just like always. Nothing’s really changed.”

“Nothing and everything,” Maggie said wisely. “Have you seen him?”

“Nope. And don’t plan to.”

“What is the deal with that? You never said. I mean, you guys were like best buds. He worshipped the ground upon which you tread. It wasn’t you who sent him off to hell. Unless you mean he blames you for the whole situation. But if I recall correctly, he kissed you, not the other way around. So….”

“I don’t know. I guess he must blame me. He freaked out when his parents asked him if he wanted to see me.” David swallowed the hurt, still vicious after two years, and went on. “I guess he does blame me. It might not make sense to you, but you didn’t spend five years as a hostage in god-knows-what conditions.”

“No, guess I didn’t,” Maggie admitted. “Is it true he didn’t talk for months after he got back?”

“From what I hear, it’s true enough.”

They drank in silence. Finally, Maggie said, “That’s the reason for the moving out, right? So you don’t accidentally run into him again.”

David sighed. “On the one hand, I kind of wish I could get it over with. You know, have the big confrontation, screaming match, fistfight, whatever the hell it’s going to be, and be done with it. But I really don’t want that. I can’t see fighting with Zach. I still see him as this gangling little kid with big eyes and all that hair. Plus I don’t know how a fight would impact Mom and her relationship with Dick and Jane. I mean, she works for them, but they’ve been friends a hell of a lot longer than that. They gave her the job when Dad died so she wouldn’t have to go back to her family, not because she needed the money or anything. But her folks were pressuring her to move back home, and this gave her an excuse not to. Not that my grands are anything but nice, but Ohio’s not Colorado, you know?”

“I know,” Maggie said, and raised her bottle toward the mountains. “That sight gets in your blood. Which is what I suppose is the real reason you decided to come back here, all my superior blandishments aside.”

“Yeah, much as the offer of a gallery show and the job at Wesley appealed, you know it was this place that got me back here. Only place I ever lived that could compete with this was New Zealand, when I had that internship with Weta. It was fucking gorgeous. But they all talk funny there.”

“But those Maori tattoos are hot,” Maggie said.

“No question.”

“So Weta internship, ILM internship—and you
still
want to stick with painting over computer graphics?”

“For now. Mom said Dick asked if I was interested in coming back; if the teaching thing doesn’t work out, then maybe I’ll change my mind. I guess they’re getting into some graphic arts software-building. I like that part of it more than the actual design end, anyway. I’m doing a couple of things with that in my spare time—working with some of the new 3D technology. Did you ever notice some of the effects that Disney got with his early full-length features, using multiple layers of painted cells? You got some really artistic results with that. I’m trying to design a program that will automatically build those layers, but in a way that reflects specific artists’ styles—like Renoir, or Rembrandt, or the individual draftsman—”

“Which sounds pretty damn promising,” a new voice interrupted. David and Maggie looked up toward the end of the porch.

Richard came around the house, hand-in-hand with Jane. “Sure I can’t talk you into coming back to work for me?” he asked with a grin.

“Hey, Rich,” David said, grinning back. He bounded down the steps to grab Richard’s hand for a violent shake, then gave Jane a hug. “No thanks, but thanks! Hey, Jenny, how goes the battle?”

“Endless, as you well know,” Jane replied, hugging him back. “Welcome home, Davey! We’ve missed you!”

“Missed you too,” David replied.

“Hi, Maggie,” Jane said with a smile. “Isn’t it nice to have our Davey home again?”

“I think so, but my husband says I’ve got a screw loose anyway,” Maggie said cheerfully. David pretended to hit her with his beer bottle.

“Behave, or I won’t buy your beater.”

“‘Beater’? I’ll have you know that’s a classic!”

“Are you buying Maggie’s Saturn?” Richard asked. “Good car.”

“Well, you should know, you’ve had what, five? Six?” David grinned.

“Only four, counting the convertible.”

“Guy’s a gazillionaire and he drives Saturns,” David said to Jane.

“I’m practical,” Richard said.

“It’s a change from Volkswagens,” Jane told David. “And we
do
have the Rolls for showing off.”

“Now
that
is a classic car,” David agreed. “A ’36 Silver Ghost? They don’t come any more classic.”

“I thought Alan was going to cry when he retired,” Richard said. “We had to give him visitation rights. He comes by on Sundays and polishes her just for old times’ sake.” He was silent a moment, then said carefully, “We’ve got a few cars in the garage that when they’re restored could probably compete with the Rolls. Zach’s working on the engines—auto shop was always his favorite class in high school—and then we’re going to see about getting someone to do the body work. Right now, he’s working on a ’71 Dodge Charger convertible. It’s a beauty.”

“So how are you getting home?” Jane asked Maggie brightly.

“Oh, Alex is going to swing by on his way home from work.”

“He’s a bright kid, Alex,” Richard said. “His team leader likes him, and George doesn’t like many people.”

David laughed. “George doesn’t like anyone.”

“Okay, well, then,” Richard said, “George doesn’t hate him.”

“That’s about the best you can expect with George,” Jane said.

“You guys want something to drink?” David offered. “I’ve got more Sam Adams in the refrigerator. Or you can have juice, soda, whatever.”

“Sam Adams sounds good. Jenny?”

“Sure,” Jane said, and sat down on the porch steps next to Maggie. Richard sat up a step or two, his long legs tucked around his wife. After David came out and handed them their beers, he swung up onto the porch railing and linked his feet around the slats. “Been hiking yet this year?” he asked.

“We’re thinking of going up to the Peak this weekend with Zach. He hasn’t done any hiking since he came back; at first he wasn’t physically able, but now he’s in pretty good shape. He needs new boots, though; he outgrew his old ones while he was away.”

“He outgrew everything when he was away,” Jane said. “It was silly to keep all his stuff for so long, but I had it in my head that when he came home he’d be just the same as he was when he left. But the difference between fifteen and twenty is pretty substantial. He’s as tall as Richard is now, and his feet are bigger.”

“You never gave up hope that he would come home, did you?” Maggie asked gently.

“No, never,” Jane said with a smile. “I always knew he would.”

“I didn’t,” Richard said bluntly, and he lifted his beer to his lips. When he brought the bottle down, he went on. “I figured he was dead the minute the kidnappers didn’t release him after the ransom. Shit,” he said, “I really didn’t want to get onto this subject. So. David. What does teaching have to offer that working for me doesn’t?”

“Um, let’s see,” David said. “Pathetic salary, lesson plans, staying up all hours grading papers and/or projects, crappy coffee in the teachers’ break room, paperwork….”

“Sounds great,” Richard said. “Sign me right up.”

David laughed. “At least it’s not grammar school. I did student teaching at a grammar school once and it was the longest freaking six weeks of my life. That pushed me toward my master’s more than anything else. As for getting the job at Wesley—I think it was probably more my background at Tyler Technologies that got me the job, rather than my education. They’re really pushing the electronic graphic arts programs there, rather than the traditional forms. But it’s a community college, so they’re going to go for the more economically feasible programs. Doesn’t hurt either that they got a grant for their computer department from a prominent local businessman.” He saluted Richard with his bottle.

“And before you ask, I had nothing to do with you getting the job. I didn’t even know about it until Annie told us yesterday.”

They went on talking about the job, the state of Tyler Technologies, Maggie and Alex’s baby daughter Annabel, and inconsequentials, until Alex pulled up to pick up Maggie. They chatted a bit with him, then the younger couple drove away, and Richard and Jane bid David good night and another welcome home and started their walk back to the main house, hand in hand like a couple of teenagers. David watched them go until they crested the hill beyond the house and vanished from view.
Well,
he thought,
that wasn’t bad.
Apparently, whatever grudge Zach had against him didn’t bleed into Dick and Jane’s opinion; they treated him the same as they always did.

He sat on the porch a while longer, watching the light fade. The sunset was spectacular, as usual; the white clouds stark against the blue gradually turning all shades of pink and purple and orange. He remembered that it was just about sunset the night the world changed, too. Dropping Zach off after a soccer game, the kid all sweaty and excited in his dusty, muddy shorts and uniform T-shirt…. He’d left his game shoes on the floor of David’s Cavalier, and David had thrown the car into park and gone after him with them.

Zach had stopped and turned, grinning—no,
glowing
—with triumph from his team’s win, his eyes bright and his face alight with the soft colors of the sunset, and David froze a half a dozen steps from him, holding the shoes out wordlessly, shattered by a sudden, unexpected realization. He’d never thought of Zach as anything other than the little tagalong, the kid that he schlepped to baseball practice and soccer practice and football practice, that he’d taken on hundreds of hikes, shepherded through skiing lessons, beat in video games, shared the big events and the little. But suddenly he realized that Zach was nearly as tall as his own six-foot frame, and broad-shouldered and strong, with the faint beginnings of a five-o’clock shadow, and the notion shook him. Zach wasn’t a kid any longer.