Yesterday's Stardust (8 page)

A song interrupted her sermon. The Indigo Girls sang “Closer to Fine.” Evan sighed again and shook his head. “What a waste,” he whispered.

She nodded. A captive audience searching for direction, and the whole service came off like a talking Hallmark card. Her eyes burned as the song touted the pointlessness of seeking meaning in life. Who did it comfort? Would the family feel less guilt, less grief, if they were convinced life had no purpose?

“Miguel loved his music. His friends have shared some of his songs with me. I was touched by his poetic ability to put words to the challenges and disappointments common to the human condition. He was a contemplative person, who questioned everything…”

But got no answers.
Dani silently repeated Evan’s observation.
What a waste.

“…work on relationships and not take each other for granted. Each day is a gift…”

Nicky closed his eyes as the speaker prayed; he wasn’t sure to whom.
Life can’t be a gift if there’s no giver, mister.
The guy hadn’t mentioned God once. It didn’t take somebody tight with God to notice the glaring lack of anything religious. Halfway through the message, Nicky had started imagining Gianna, the woman who’d taken over his mother’s job, reacting to the service. He could see her high-heeled foot swinging in time with her agitation, her mouth puckered, her long nails clicking on the open program. But Gianna wouldn’t stop at body language. She’d park herself by the door and give each person a “God word.” Like she’d done four years ago.

“The Lord has a plan for you, Nicky. He’ll pull you out of this and move you beyond the sadness. You’ll see. You can turn your back on Him, but He won’t let go of you.”

He hadn’t believed her promise at the time, and he wasn’t buying it yet.

The speaker stopped praying, or whatever he called it. No “Amen,” the words just stopped. Nicky stood with his father and turned.

The back row was empty.

D
epressing.”

Evan took the keys from her and walked around to the driver’s side. Agatha sputtered when he turned the key.

Not now.
She didn’t want to see the little band of people filing out to cars marked with orange flags. The engine coughed twice then started. Evan backed out of the parking space. “Where to?”

She leaned her head against the door. “Go to the beach where we can talk to kids who didn’t know Miguel.” As they neared the lake, she rolled the window halfway down and breathed in the cooling air. “I should have listened to you. We shouldn’t have gone.”

“Maybe. But maybe it was good that we were two more bodies in a mostly empty room.”

“All those hurting people looking for answers and hearing nothing. Imagine if somebody had gotten up there and told them about God knowing the pain of losing a son and how He longs to comfort those who mourn. I wanted to grab the mic and start preaching.”

What kind of message did the angry Italian need to hear?
God loves you no matter what. He forgives you. He can help you forgive.
She pictured his expression when he’d turned around and recognized her—surprise morphing into hostility.
What’s your story, Dominick?
The reporter in her wondered about the source of the rage.

Maybe it wasn’t just the reporter in her that wanted to know his story.

Evan stopped at a stop sign. “Do you really feel up to talking to strange kids right now?”

“Let’s look for some of the kids we talked to in April. That way they’ll be strange, but not strang
ers.
” She rubbed the rigid muscle on the top of her shoulder. “I need a diversion and a story for next week.”

“So are you looking for good, bad, or ugly kids for this story?”

“Bad. Who wants to read a story about perfect kids?”

“Their parents. The ones who buy papers.”

“Oh. Them. I’ll get to their kids eventually. When I’m in a better mood.” She closed her eyes and fell silent until Evan pulled into the Eichelman Beach parking lot.

“What questions are you going to ask?” He reached in the back seat for his camera case.

“I don’t know yet. Mostly I just want to get reacquainted, build relationships.”

He shook his head. “There’s that fine line again.”

“What ‘fine line’?”

“The one Mitch told you not to cross. Reporters ask questions. Social workers build relationships.”

“Right. And I’m just going to walk up and say, ‘Remember me? The reporter? I know you don’t know or trust me, but I’d like you to spill your guts right here in my notebook, please.’”

“Ick. That’s disgusting.” He opened his door. “Fine. Let’s go forge some lifelong friendships with people half our age. ‘Hello, juveniles, we are here to build deep and meaningful relationships and save you from a future of substance abuse and crime and incarceration and—’”

“They’re half
my
age. You’re practically one of them. Now hush up and take pictures.”

Three boys lounged in the shade of the concession stand. Dani recognized two of them. “Mouthwash,” she said out loud.

“In your glove compartment.”

“No. His name.” She punched Evan’s arm. “That tall kid— remember him? His parents are into that war game.”

“World of Warcraft.”

“Right. What do they call him? It’s some brand of mouthwash.”

“Listerine?”

“Duh. You’re worthless.”

“Well, maybe it’ll come to you when we get out there and
scope
out the situation.”

Dani turned slowly and narrowed her eyes at Evan. “Grandma Agatha had a saying—‘Why be difficult when with a little more effort you can be impossible?’”

“And that pertains to me how?”

After a slow eye roll she got out and led the way to a picnic table. “Okay, Scope and…we met his friend with the backward cap, didn’t we?”

“I’m paid to remember faces, not names. But I do remember him. He had a story that reminded me too much of me. Broken home, controlling mother, father who never says a word unless he’s screaming. He’s an insecure kid trying to look cool.”

“Aren’t they all?”

Two girls crossed the sand toward the boys. “And here come the girls who remind me too much of me. Working too hard to look good for the cool, insecure guys.”

“You and them and the girl in the diary. Nothing new under the sun, is there?”

Dani stuck her hand in her purse and fingered her favorite pen. “What would you say to them if they’d listen?”

“Give it up. Stop trying to please everyone. Stop blaming yourself because your parents are too messed up to know how to love you. Pursue God because really knowing Him is the only thing that will make that emptiness go away.” Evan stopped for a breath. “But they won’t listen.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t convey truth on some level. ‘Preach the Gospel at all times. If necessary, use words.’”

Evan nodded as he snapped a series of pictures from a distance that wouldn’t allow the kids to be easily identified. The girls copped poses, the boys laughed. After a few minutes the girls swayed off, taking full advantage of the audience watching their backsides.

Dani picked up her bag. “Let’s go.”

Scope waved as they approached. “It’s the reporter. Cool story. You doing another one?”

“Yes.” She stuck her hand out. “Nice to see you again, Scope.” She turned to the backwards cap guy. “Sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“Broom.” Bony shoulders shrugged.

Scope nodded at the third boy who hugged a skateboard like a little kid clinging to a teddy bear. “This is Zipper.”

Dani raised both eyebrows. “Dare I ask?”

The boy aimed a slit-eyed look at Scope. “Just Zip.”

“When he was like eight, he got his tongue stuck in his jacket zipper.” Scope reached behind Broom and slapped Zip on the back. The boy only glared. “Zipper makes him sound like a stud.”

Dani laughed. “I’d like some input from you guys for another story. Mind if I ask some questions?”

Broom looked down at the pavement between his shoes. Zip stared, unblinking. Scope was the only one who showed any sign of hearing the question. He looked at Evan. “Do I get my picture in the paper again?”

“I just do what the lady says.”

Dani sat down cross-legged on the blacktop and pulled her yellow pad out of her bag. “What do you guys do all day?” She directed the question at the only kid with a voice.

“Sleep, eat, hang out here.”

“Any of you have a job?”

“We do today.” Scope nodded toward a pickup pulling into the parking lot.

Dani recognized the driver. “That’s your dad, isn’t it?” Scope nodded. “You really messed with his head with that thing you wrote. In a good way. He’s outta the game.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And today he’s paying us to paint our porch.” Both thumbs shot up. “It’s like a reverse Tom Sawyer thing.” He stood. “He’s paying us ’cause we made him think we hate it.”

“But you don’t?”

“Nah.”

Broom smiled. “We paint even when—”

“Hey, we gotta go.” Scope waved. “We’re here all the time if you got more questions. Or wanna take pics of my sweet face.”

“We’ll find you.” Dani laughed and watched them slog away as if they dreaded the work ahead.

Evan scratched his head. “So they like to paint. Next time I’ll bring my collection of wall art photos. Maybe they can autograph a few shots.”

“How’s your exposé going? Any answers to the proposals you—”

Her phone buzzed. By the time she found it in the bottom of her bag it had stopped. The voice mail chime gonged. She punched the number.

“Danielle, it’s Mitchell. I want to see you in my office at eight sharp Monday morning.”

Hands compressed into fists, Dani paced the width of Mitch’s office. “Was it a man? Angry voice, slight Italian accent?”

“I didn’t take the call.” Mitch looked over the top of his glasses. “You think you know who complained?”

“Yes.” She unclenched her fists but couldn’t keep them relaxed.
Dominick Fiorini.
How could she have entertained one second of a Cinderella fantasy about a man whose life goal seemed to be to make the world a more miserable place? “What did he say, anyway? I’d like to report a funeral crasher? It wasn’t invitation-only. I had as much right to be there as anyone else. I knew the guy’s girlfriend, and I thought she’d be there. I thought I could talk to her and…”
“Save her.
” Evan’s words taunted.
“That’s not your job.
”

“And interview her for a story at her boyfriend’s funeral?”

“No! I mean, I might have used something she said, but just in general. I just want to talk to her and make sure she’s doing okay and—”

“
I
know that. But somebody who was there legitimately grieving over the loss of a friend or family member knew you worked for the
Times
and knew you didn’t have any real connection with the kid.” Mitch took off his glasses and ran a hand over his face. “It makes us look like vultures preying on misfortune.”

Duh.
“That’s kind of the definition of news, isn’t it? If no one is suffering, we have nothing to report.”

Sucking his lips in, Mitch shook his head. For a split second Dani was sure she saw amusement in his eyes. “If a teacher kicks the bucket and all two thousand of her past students attend the funeral, you can blend into the crowd. When a crack addict blows his brains out and twelve people show up for his funeral, your being there becomes an ethics problem. Add the minor detail that his girlfriend blames you for the guy’s death, and we’ve got ourselves an issue.”