The Graduation (5 page)

The keys opened the door. Michael knew they would. Bubba was a master when it came to secretive preparations. Glancing down the McCoy’s’ long driveway to make sure no one was watching, Michael quickly slipped into the house and reclosed the door.

I could get arrested for doing this.

That would be a joke. He could share the same cell with Dale Jensen and the local paper could do an article on the shortage of good valedictorians this year. In reality, he wasn’t concerned about getting caught. The chances were against it, and even if someone did call the cops and he was carted down to the station, he didn’t care. It would give him an excuse not to go to graduation. He still hadn’t thought about what he was going to say. Not having gone to the rehearsal a couple of days earlier—he hadn’t been valedictorian back then—he didn’t even know when he was supposed to speak: first, last, or what.

He had hit traffic returning from the coroner’s office and was running behind schedule. He would have to go to Clark’s house after the ceremony.

The house was silent in the manner empty houses are prone to be. Yet it was not a comforting silence. It reminded him of the silence that hung in the air following a major argument or an explosion. It seemed to him that acts of violence somehow transcended time. He remembered when he was a boy going with his mother to a bank where there had previously been a holdup and a fatal shooting. He told his mother it was a “bad place” before she had told him what had happened there. The McCoy house now felt like a “bad place.”

He paused for a moment at the foot of the stairs, looking toward the kitchen. Standing in this spot, Nick had seen Bill with his head bent over the sink. Bill never explained why he had been standing there upset, before the gun went off.

Michael decided to retrace Nick’s steps to the room where Alice had died. He climbed the double flight of stairs and paused at the first door on the left. It had been locked the night of the party, the room beyond silent, and it was the same now. The next door on the left led to the bathroom. The Rock had been there, showering and flushing out his chlorined eyes.

Michael opened the sole door on the right and peeped out onto the second-story porch, where Kats had been getting a breath of fresh air and admiring the stars. It seemed to clear Michael’s mind, going through this ritual. This hallway had one more door on the left. Nick had paused there, too, and listened at the door and heard snoring. Russ said he had been asleep inside. Then again, Russ couldn’t remember where he had been when the varsity tree had toppled to the ground, or whether it had been Polly or Sara who had taken his ax away the first week of school.

The hallway turned to the right. There were two doors on the left. The first swung open easily, revealing a spacious bedroom with an adjoining bathroom. But it had been locked when Nick tried it. and there had been moans coming from inside. Bubba said he didn’t know anything about it. No one seemed to know anything.

Michael came to the last room. The door was closed over, and as he opened it, the hinges creaked loudly, doing wonders for his nerves. The room was bare except for an aluminum ladder set beside the closet. He remembered the ladder from his last inspection the day of the funeral.

The starkness of the wooden floor struck him, as it had before. Every room in the house had carpeting except this one. He found the fact disturbing, although he wasn’t sure why. He stepped inside.

The blinds on the windows—those facing east and south—were down. He raised them, letting in more light. The bullet hole in the wall beneath the east windows had not been plastered over. As he knelt beside it, his conviction that she had not broken her nose falling strengthened. It was less than three feet above the floor and straight as an arrow into plaster.

Yet all this was old news. He searched the room and the adjoining bathroom, and discovered nothing significant. The screens on the windows were all screwed down. There were no trapdoors, as Jessica had once pointed out. There was only one entrance into the room, one exit.

If she was dead before she was shot, was she dead long?

He found himself standing at the east windows, which faced the McCoy garden—as opposed to the south windows, which overlooked the pool—pondering what the coroner had said about the strength of her assailant. Clark had been thin as a rail. In a fight, Michael figured he could have taken him easily.

Then he looked up and noticed the broken shingle at the overhang of the eaves outside the east window. It appeared to Michael as it had before, as if someone had been on the roof and stepped too close to the edge and broke off a couple of inches of the dark brown wood with the heel of his shoe. When he thought about how steep the east slant of the roof appeared from the front, however, he began to doubt that the damage could have been caused by a misplaced foot. Only the original roofers, with the help of safety lines, would have been able to stand that close to the edge. Why wouldn’t they have repaired the damage? It was the only shingle on the entire side of the house that was broken.

Michael wanted to have a closer look at it. But he didn’t bother undoing the screws on the screens. The overhang was too far for him to reach, even if he were to hang out the window. He hurried downstairs to the garage instead, where he found a tall ladder. After assorted jostling and banging noises—and, thank God, Polly’s nearest neighbors were more than a hundred yards away—he had the ladder situated beneath the bedroom window. Unfortunately, it wasn’t tall enough for him to reach the shingle.

He had come down the ladder and was returning it to the garage, walking past the pool where Nick had almost drowned The Rock and beside the covered patio attached to the rear of the house, when he spotted the piece of yellowed paper lying in the grass next to the bushes. He set the ladder down and picked it up.

It was the permission form he had given Polly to have her aunt sign so that he could examine Alice’s autopsy report. Polly had never returned it to him. It looked as if it had been sitting outside in the elements since that day. He stuffed it in his pocket.

He wasn’t crazy about his next plan. He almost hoped, as he searched the garage after replacing the ladder on its hooks, that Polly didn’t have any rope. Then he’d have an excuse not to play Mr. Roofer. But in a cabinet above the workbench, he soon found a fifty-foot coil of one-inch cord.

He didn’t return to the bedroom, but took the second-story-hallway door onto the porch that overlooked the backyard. The shingles came directly down onto the tar floor of the porch, giving him easy access to the roof. Climbing up toward the peak of the house, Michael felt the hot sun on the back of his head, the slickness of the wood beneath his feet. He was glad he had chosen to wear his tennis shoes that morning.

If I slip and break my neck, people will say I committed suicide.

At the ridge, he tied one end of the rope to the sturdiest vent he could find, the other end around his waist. With the life insurance in hand, creeping down toward the broken shingle was not nearly so intimidating as he had imagined it would be. He actually found it quite exhilarating. He wasn’t even worried about the neighbors. Not many crooks climbed onto a victim’s roof in the middle of the day and performed gymnastics.

A moment later he was kneeling beside the shingle, forty feet above the spot where Alice and he had had their last talk over the hot coals of the barbecue. He felt the damaged edge and was immediately taken by its smoothness. There were splinters, yes, but they—

They were turned
upwards
.

Strange, very strange. Did the roofers break the shingle while it was lying upside down on the ground, and then install it? He found that hard to believe.

It was fortunate that he had a safety line. His next discovery almost sent him reeling. Placing his head inches from the finely splintered edge, he noticed a number of tiny round metal pellets embedded in the wood. He dug them out with his nail, studied them in his palm.

They were from a shotgun blast.

The stadium stands were packed, and the football field was jammed with gray folding chairs and blue-robed seniors. The ceremony would start in minutes. Sara still hadn’t finished rewriting her speech. Jessica hadn’t decided which song to sing. It was hot and getting hotter.

“Should I bring up the state of the environment?” Sara asked. “People are always talking about pollution. Maybe I could work it into my overall theme.”

“What is your overall theme?” Jessica asked.

Sara glanced at her notes. “Isn’t it obvious from what I’ve told you so far?” she asked anxiously.

“No.”

“Jessie!”

“Well, I’m hardly listening to you. I have problems of my own. I can’t sing the Beatles song I rehearsed.”

“Why not?”

“Mr. Bark says it’s too racist.”

“‘All You Need Is Love’ is racist?”

“That’s what he says. He wants a song with more of a political message, like ‘Back in the U.S.S.R.’ or something.” She took off her cap and glasses and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her tassel was blue. Sara had a gold one. Both their parents were in the stands. The six of them were supposed to go for an early dinner to an expensive restaurant afterward. Big thrill.

“What if I bring up the space program?” Sara asked. “Everyone likes astronauts.”

“What if I sang Bowie’s ‘Starman’? I know the chords.”

“That’s ridiculous. You can’t sing about spacemen at my graduation.”

“Then you can’t talk about astronauts at mine.” Jessica replaced her glasses and scanned the crowd for Michael. “When is he going to speak?”

“After Mr. Bark.”

“I forget, when do I sing?”

“After Mike speaks,” Sara said. “It’s all there in your program.”

“Michael’s not even listed in the program.”

“Dale Jensen is. You know he’s taking his place.”

“Yeah, you told me—as of this morning.”

“What are you complaining about? I can’t even have notes with me when I go up there.”

“Why not?”

“I have no place to put them.”

“What’s wrong with the podium?” Jessica asked, pointing to the stage in front of the folding chairs.

“It’s been fixed.” Sara smiled suddenly. “You’ll see. Mr. Bark wants to talk before me. He thinks he does. What grade did he give you?”

“A B-minus,” Jessica said angrily.

“He gave me an A-minus.”

“That’s so unfair. You fell asleep the first day I was back.”

“Well, then, I was obviously most improved.”

“You are beginning to bore me. I think I’ll leave.”

Jessica had another reason for splitting. She wanted to check out the piano—how it had been miked. She was a fair pianist; she’d had lessons since she was six years old and could play most popular songs if she had the music in front of her. She knew dozens of Beatles tunes by heart. Although many people complimented her on her voice, she didn’t think of herself as a vocalist. Her singing voice was too similar to her speaking voice, which had always bothered her for some strange reason.

The school piano had a single microphone rigged above it—that was all. Yet the sound appeared to carry fine when she tapped out a few chords. She wondered if it would offend the older members of the audience if she played Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out for Summer.” It annoyed her, being censored by Mr. Bark, especially when he considered himself so liberal.

“Don’t worry,” The Rock said, coming up at her side, a green plastic trash bag in his hand. “The chance of there being a record producer in the audience is five hundred to one.”

She smiled. “I’m not here to get signed. I just want my diploma. What’s with the bag?”

She knew without asking. Being a Big Brother wasn’t enough for The Rock. A couple of weeks ago he had joined the Keep America Clean Society. He took his membership seriously. Tabb High was now the cleanest school in Orange County, or it should have been. Bubba had organized a counter organization: It’s Biodegradable. Bubba had a lot of friends. The Rock could regularly be seen at break and lunch picking up half-eaten apples and banana peels. Nothing irritated Bubba like a social conscience.

“The gang’s getting started early,” The Rock said. “I’ve already collected a hundred beer cans at school today.” He sighed and shook his head. “I hope no one falls overboard tonight.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Stay sober.”

“I’ll try.” Either that or she was going to get stinking drunk.

She was heading toward the stands to ask her mother for a throat lozenge—she wanted to keep her vocal chords well lubricated—when she caught sight of Michael standing alone by the equipment shed on the far end of the stadium. He had his head down and appeared deep in thought. She hesitated to disturb him. As Sara had mentioned earlier, his hair was a lot longer, and he looked so damn good to her that she felt her eyes water. She found herself jogging toward him before she knew what she was doing.

He did not see her coming. She trembled inside as she came to a halt a few feet from him and spoke his name. “Michael?”

He glanced up with a start. Then he smiled. “Jessie. I love your glasses.”

She laughed. She could have cried. She spread her arms wide and gave him a big hug. It might have been the best moment of her life when he hugged her back. Except he had to let her go. What a mush she had become.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said casually.

“It’s good to see you. Oh, God, these glasses. I hate them.”

“Why? You look like a scholar in them.”

“I do?” He was being serious. She should have worn them all along. She giggled, shaking on the outside as well as the inside. No one in the world made her feel this way. She hated it, but only because she knew, like his hug, that it would not last. He would go away again. He always did. “So, how have you been? You look great. I hear you’re building a spaceship at JPL?”

“Not exactly. I’m doing janitorial work.”

“Really? No! You’re kidding. I know you. Our chemistry teacher told us one day he’d never had a student like you. He said you invented the carbon bond!”

He chuckled. “Now I’m responsible for all the life on this planet. What a reputation. What have you been up to?”

She shrugged. “Oh, the usual. I sleep all day in a velvet-lined coffin and then prowl the streets at night. Hey, Sara told me you’re valedictorian. Congratulations! Your mom must be real proud.”

Michael nodded past her shoulder. “Here she comes. You’ve never met her, have you?”

Oh, no, she’s going to hate me. Mothers always hate me.

His mom was massively pregnant; she waddled as she walked. Jessica hadn’t even known she was married. Michael indicated that they should meet her halfway. Jessica could not believe how nervous she was. One would think she was Michael’s fiance.

“She’s due in a couple of weeks,” Michael re-marked as they walked toward her. “Did you know I have a stepfather now?”

“That’s neat.”

“I never see him. They spend most of their time at his place by the beach. I’m still at the old house.”

That was not news to Jessica. She had driven by his place a couple of times and parked down the street to wait for him to come home. But each time he had appeared, her nerve had failed and she’d driven away.

His mother had his black hair and dark eyes, but little or none of his seriousness. Jessica spotted that the moment she spoke; her voice was light, gay. Jessica could tell at a glance she was looking forward to the baby.

“Mom, this is Jessie. You remember her, don’t you?”

“Sure, I do.” She offered her hand. “I spoke to you on the phone once. Nice meeting you, Jessie.”

“Thank you. Nice meeting you.”

The lady turned to her son, handing him a letter. “This came from the observatory this morning. Is it what I think it is?”

“Probably,” Michael said, slipping the envelope into his gown pocket.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” his mother asked, slightly exasperated.

“Later. We know what it says.”

“What is it?” Jessica asked, curious.

“Nothing,” Michael said quickly, catching his mom’s eye.

“All right,” the lady said. “Be that way. Be rude.” She nodded to Jessica and laughed at Michael. “She’s pretty.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

Jessica quickly pulled off her glasses, embarrassed. “I have to wear these stupid things all the time.”

“You look wonderful with them on,” his mother said.

“Like a philosopher,” Michael said.

“A professional woman,” the mother said, reaching out and fixing Jessica’s cap.

“I don’t even have a gold tassel,” Jessica muttered, trembling worse. The lady brushed a hair from her cheek, then took the glasses from her hands and checked the lenses for dust.

“These are strong,” she remarked. “You do have to wear them.”

“Come on. Mom,” Michael said. “Give her a break.”

“I know,” Jessica said. The lady wiped them on her green dress and then carefully fixed them back on Jessica’s nose, momentarily staring into her eyes.

She’s checking me out.

“I hope we get to meet another time, Jessie.”

“So do I,” Jessica replied, a bit confused. Michael’s mother turned back to him.

“Daniel and I are sitting near the bottom on the far right,” she said. “In case you wanted to know. Be sure to thank your mother in your speech for being so wonderful.”

“I’ll mention it several times,” he promised. She hugged him briefly, and then—to Jessica’s surprise—gave her a hug, too. When she left, Michael tugged gently on Jessica’s tassel.

“Would you like to trade caps?” he asked. “I know you would have gotten an A in chemistry if I’d done a better job structuring the universe.”

“Yeah, it’s all your fault.” She added softly, “No thanks.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s fine.” She shrugged. “I really messed up this year. It was my own fault.” She smiled quickly. “Your mom’s neat.”

“I’m glad you like her. I’ll have to meet your parents.”

“That’s right. You didn’t see them when we went out.”

Hint. Hint. Hint. Ask me out again.

Of course he hadn’t asked her out in the first place. He never had in all the time they had spent together. She must be crazy to think he liked her.

In the hospital, however, the morning after Maria’s accident, he had begun to say something that had since given her cause to wonder.

“
I know how you feel. You’re not a bad person. If you were, I wouldn’t care about you the way…
”

She had been crying because Maria had been so bitter toward her. He had probably been trying to cheer her up. She would never know. She had run away from him. She would run away again. She didn’t deserve him. She was going to seduce the football quarterback tonight. It was all she was good for.

She suddenly felt as if she were going to cry. Here it was her last day of school, a beautiful summer day. She had everything: rich and understanding parents, perfect health, a bright future. Yet she had nothing. She had no love. Alice was gone. Michael was going. And Maria hated her.

It was at that precise moment that she saw Maria. Had that not happened, she might have been able to push aside her self-recriminations long enough to invite Michael and his parents to have dinner with her and her family after the ceremony. It was an idea, a good idea. But Nick guiding Maria across the track and onto the football field was bitter reality. She froze in midstride. Michael glanced at her face, then followed her eyes.

“I was going to tell you,” he said.

“I haven’t spoken to her since that morning.” Jessica swallowed thickly. “She’s in a wheelchair.”

“It was a terrible accident.” He lay emphasis on the last word. She found that strange. He had always given her the impression that he didn’t believe in accidents. He was trying to dispel her guilt. He might as well have tried to convince her she would gladly have traded places with Maria. But she wouldn’t have, not for the world, and so her guilt remained.

“I’ll talk to you later, OK?” she mumbled. “I have to get in line.”

She walked off the field and hid in the crowd. Maria had asked Jessica never to make her see her again. It was the least she could do for her crippled friend, Jessica thought.