The Shadow of Seth Page 8

  “She say anything to you?”

  “Nothing that stands out in my memory. Not that night, at least. On other nights we’d sometimes talk for twenty minutes or more. She was a thoughtful person. Had a point of view on life. And on death, I suppose. We didn’t always agree, but I appreciate it when a person at least has a point of view.”

  “What was hers?”

  “Oh, you probably know better than me.”

  “You might be surprised.”

  Pastor Vandegrift turned his right hand over and inspected his fingernails on his own. “She said she always tried to live in the here and now.”

  “In the moment. Yeah, I heard plenty about that.”

  “It’s not far off from what the Bible says, at least in part. ‘Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’”

  “Damn straight.”

  Pastor V didn’t even flinch at my cussword. “I wish I had more to tell you about your mom’s death. I’m afraid that’s all I know. The church was clean the next morning, so I assume she did her job.”

  “She always did her job.”

  “What about you? Who’s taking care of Seth?”

  “Seth is.”

  “You’re living on your own?”

  “I am. I’m old enough that they can’t make me live with anyone if I don’t want to.”

  “And you don’t want to? Where are you living? Same place?”

  “At least for now.”

  “And what about school?”

  “I’m kind of taking a break from school.” This got a nervous look from Pastor V. “I might go back, but I need to think about it.”

  “Think about it. Don’t do anything that is going to permanently mess up your future.”

  “I thought you just told me not to worry about tomorrow.”

  “Worry about it a little bit.”

  I smiled. We shook hands and parted. He seemed like a good guy. Maybe he was someone staying clean in a dirty world. I could see why Diane worked to protect him.

  I climbed in Mom’s Jeep and drove north toward the high school, listening to “Puppets” by Atmosphere on the way.

  A lot of pressure in the middle of those shoulders

  And we ain’t getting nothing but older

  Ain’t nothing changed but the day we run from

  But nobody knows that better than you, huh

  I had fifteen minutes before my appointment with Ms. Edelson, the school counselor. I parked outside the southwest entrance of Heath High School. Even though there was still half an hour before the school day ended, a few other cars were already in line—moms and dads talking on cell phones while they waited for their children to come outside. I used to make fun of the kids whose parents picked them up. Spoiled babies. Afraid to walk or ride the bus. Now, I wasn’t sure how I felt about them. Jealous, I suppose.

  I walked up the stairs to the school’s main entrance. I’d been here just a few days ago, but I felt like I was visiting something from my distant past.

  It was two o’clock, which meant I was in the middle of the last period. I’d be in Algebra 2 right now, on a normal day, trying to stay focused on quadratic equations. The halls were mostly empty, except for a bored security guard and a few stray students walking around with hall passes. None of them gave me much attention until Patrick Naismith strolled sleepily around a corner with earbuds in his ears. When he saw me, he pulled out a single earbud, but kept nodding loosely to the music playing in his other ear.

  “Hey, Seth.”

  “Hey, Patrick. What’re you listening to?” Patrick and I had gone to school together for years. Even in middle school, he’d always hung out with girls more than with boys. He shopped with them, but never dated any of them. The two of us only became friends because of our shared, snobby views about music.

  “Radio Moscow. You heard them?”

  “No. They any good?”

  “Good jams. Not much depth to their lyrics. But if you’re in the right mood, you know? They can definitely play. Hey, is it true what I heard?”

  “About my mom?”

  “No. About you and Azura Lear.”

  “It might be. What did you hear?”

  “That you two were an item. Is it true?”

  “I’m not sure. Who’d you hear it from?”

  “Janine Turner.”

  I pulled out the picture of Azura I’d taken from the driving school. “Check this out.”

  “You carry her picture in your pocket. She’s hot, if you’re into that. What about it?”

  “Any idea who that other person is in the picture?”

  “Looks like Azura’s mom.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Azura and I grew up in the same tennis club. Why do you care?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “Speaking of moms, what were you saying about your mom?”

  “You didn’t hear? My mom died.”

  Patrick pulled out his other earbud. He said, “Dude.” That was the right thing to say.

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I’m here to talk to a counselor. Trying to figure out what to do about school.”

  “I bet. Damn. Hey, you want me to burn you a copy of this?”

  I said yes, Patrick almost gave me a hug, then didn’t. I went on my way.

  An office secretary sat me down outside Ms. Edelson’s office. I waited ten minutes until some pimply-faced girl exited, avoiding eye contact with me. Ms. Edelson poked her head out. “Seth? Come on in.”

  Ms. Edelson didn’t suck at her job. I’d met with her half a dozen times since my freshman year. She was a straight talker. She knew what was crap and what was actually helpful. And she was honest about the little she could do.

  I told her I wasn’t ready to come back. She asked how much time I needed. I said I wasn’t sure.

  She neither smiled nor frowned. “You’ll have to talk to each of your teachers. Some are more willing than others to be flexible.” She must have seen the desperate look on my face, because she said, “I’ll talk to them. Give me your number.” She wrote my cell number down on the page of her desk calendar followed by my name and the words, mother is dead. On another day she might have written late for school or had his tonsils out.

  She said, “If you miss more than two weeks, we’re going to have to look at other options.”

  “Like what?”

  “Hold on. That means, to avoid those other options, you’ll need to be back at school Monday after next, at the latest? Think you could manage that?”

  “I don’t know. What are the other options?”

  “First would be summer school. Probably something you don’t want to hear. The other would be to transfer to Callison—the alternative high school.”

  I knew that place. Not that I’d ever been there. But I knew some of the kids who had. King George types, but not so big or mean. Pregnant girls. Kids who’d been to juvie. Most of them seemed to go for a semester or two before they dropped out altogether.

  She continued. “It’s not as bad as you’ve heard. But it’s not good, either. I think you’re better than that, Seth. You’ve got solid grades for a kid in your situation.”

  “In my situation?”

  “Yes. Don’t pretend you’re in a good spot. You got a rough deal to begin with and now it’s a lot rougher. But don’t make it worse by dropping out.”

  “I get that.” I did. Neither one of us spoke for a while. I looked around her office. There were a couple of decent posters on the walls, meaning they weren’t pictures of cats and they didn’t have motivational slogans on them. Her desk was devoid of any family photos. “Here’s the one thing I can’t figure out,” I said. “If I go to school and do my ho
mework, how do I pay the bills? When do I have time to work? Where do I get the money I need for food or rent?”

  She only had a few more ideas than I did. I didn’t like any of them. I left, promising I’d at least answer the phone when she called.

  Monday after next. Not much time to get life figured out.

  I’d promised Azura I’d pick her up after school, so I went outside and leaned against the Jeep. A few minutes later, the last bell rang and students started piling out of doorways. Soon the courtyard was crowded with kids I knew and didn’t know. I was scanning the faces of my schoolmates for someone I could legitimately call a friend. Instead, I saw Big Red, Zach, and Cody break through a crowd of kids and swagger over to me. “Why are you here, jackass?” asked Big Red.

  I ignored him.

  “Thought you would have dropped out by now. Isn’t that what kids like you do?”

  “Yeah, shouldn’t you be gone?” said either Zach or Cody. I couldn’t tell which one was which.

  “Actually, I’m here to pick up Azura.”

  “You’re what?” said Big Red. “Didn’t you get the message the other day?”

  “I’ve always been a little hard of hearing,” I said, scanning the crowd for Azura. Maybe this conversation was just banter right now, but it was one word away from a full-on fight.

  “Well, even a jackass like you should understand this,” said Big Red. Then he pushed me back hard enough to bounce me off the Jeep. Within three seconds, it seemed like every kid in the courtyard started shouting and crowding around us like a feeding frenzy of piranha. Big Red had his hands up and Zach and Cody were leaning and straining toward me, like pit bulls at the ends of their leashes. The rest of the crowd was made up of the loud, leering faces of kids looking excited and hungry, nervous and expectant. I heard Red’s name cheered by dozens of them. None of them were saying my name.

  A voice shouted above the crowd and Mr. Stevanovich, a weathered teacher and coach, bulled his way through, repeating the words, break it up, break it up, over and over again like some sort of incantation. He grabbed Big Red by the collar and told him to clear out or get kicked out. Red glared at me as he turned away and was swallowed by the mob. Then Stevanovich marched right up to my face and hissed, “Your name’s Seth, right?”

  I nodded.

  “You want to keep going to school here?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “School’s over. You will either leave now or I will expel you. You have five seconds to make-up your mind. Five, four, three…”

  He said the last two numbers to my back. I climbed in the Jeep and drove just off school grounds, parking across the street by the Heath Mart, where underage kids tried to buy beer and cigarettes. I looked in my rearview mirror, wondering if Azura had been part of that swarm of students in the courtyard. Had she stood there, surrounded by all her school friends who were hoping to see me get my butt kicked?

  I climbed out of the car to wait for Azura. Thirty seconds later, the twins, Zach and Cody, were on both sides of me. I had no idea where they came from. Erik Jorgensen stepped into view.

  “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

  “I just can’t stay away from you, Erik. You’re irresistible.”

  “You should try a little harder. Why are you here?”

  “I already told your friends. I’m here to pick up Azura.”

  “Look, man,” said Erik, “I didn’t know your mom just died when we came to see you the other day. If I had, I wouldn’t have done it. Least not then. But I’m still not gonna sit by and watch you stalk Azura.”

  Over Red’s shoulder, I saw a figure approaching. “You think I’m stalking her?” The figure came closer until I could tell who it was, Azura’s dark brown hair in high contrast against her yellow raincoat. “Hi, honey,” I said to her. “I wish you’d call when you know you’ll be late.”

  “Sorry, dear. You been waiting long?”

  “Long enough to get tossed off the campus. Luckily, these nice young men have been keeping me company.”

  “And what have the four of you been talking about?”

  “Azura,” said Erik. “You shouldn’t be hanging around this loser.”

  “Really? Which loser should I be hanging around?”

  Erik’s face kind of caved in. “Are you serious? I’m trying to look out for you.”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.” She climbed in the Jeep like she owned it. I bowed politely to each of the twins—I didn’t have the heart to do it to Erik—and climbed in after her.

  “You practically killed him right there,” I said as I turned the key.

  She shook her head, but I don’t think she was disagreeing with me. Her bangs fell into her eyes and she brushed them away with a manicured hand. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”

  “Other than you, trouble is my best friend.”

  “That was almost sweet.”

  I told her about my lunch with Carlyle and about the APB on Miss Irene.

  “You still think she’s innocent?”

  “You never met her. She’s like a mom to me.”

  “And you already lost one mom,” said Azura.

  I told her that Carlyle said I could now pick up my mother’s body. “I have no idea what to do about that. How am I supposed to plan a funeral? How am I supposed to pay for it?”

  “You’re not supposed to,” she said. “You’ve got enough going on. Somebody should handle this for you. Don’t you have any family around?”

  “No. Mom had some family in Spokane, I guess, but I’ve never met any of them. I don’t even know them.”

  “What about ChooChoo?”

  “What about him? Does he seem like the kind of guy who is good at planning funerals?”

  “Who else?”

  “No one. You know who I’d call if I could? Miss Eye. She would have taken care of the whole thing—church, food, flowers, and every other detail. She would have demanded that she be the one to do it, because that’s how she is. And that’s why I don’t think she killed Mom. But Miss Eye isn’t here, so I’m stuck.”

  “No, you’re not. There’s someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “Me. I’ll take care of it. Just tell me where you want to have the funeral and I’ll figure out the rest. And don’t worry about the money.” She pulled out a credit card. “This one’s on Daddy.”

  It was the nicest thing anyone had done for me in a long time. I told her so. She kissed me, then kissed me again. That was pretty nice, too.

  Thirteen

  I asked Azura where she wanted to eat. She said MSM Deli and I almost fell in love. MSM is a sandwich restaurant stuck in the middle of a Sixth Avenue convenience store, but the sandwiches are big, sloppy, and magical. They’re served with a quartered dill pickle and wrapped up neat in white butcher paper. Unwrapping the white paper around an MSM sandwich is one of the great pleasures of life in Tacoma and it didn’t matter which side of Division Street you lived on. If Azura liked MSM, maybe there was a chance we could last after all.

  I picked two orange cream sodas from the cold case and ordered a Mike’s Deluxe sandwich—roast beef, cheddar cheese, Swiss cheese, sprouts, lettuce, and onions all falling out from in-between eight-inch slices of fresh French bread. We shared the giant sandwich in the back dining room.

  Between bites, she said, “So what about school? When are you coming back?”

  “I talked to Ms. Edelson. She said by the latest I have to be back by Monday after next.”

  “So this coming Monday?”

  “No. The next one. So I can take off next week.” I picked up some stray lettuce and ate it. “But I’m not sure I want to go back.”

  A TV up in the corner was playing local news while we were eating. We both watched it for a few seconds without speaking.

  “You have to come back
, don’t you?”

  “I don’t have to. I could drop out.”

  “That seems stupid.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll be self taught. Like Abraham Lincoln.”

  “Or Richard Branson,” said Azura.

  “Who?”

  “Richard Branson. Virgin Records. Virgin Atlantic Airlines. He was a high school dropout. Now he’s a billionaire.”

  “Not bad. So yeah, maybe I’ll be like Richard What’s-His-Face.”

  “Branson.”

  “Yeah. Him. And once I’m a billionaire, I won’t have to remember people’s names.”

  A grainy, unsmiling photo of Miss Irene appeared on the TV behind the blonde newscaster. It was noisy in the deli and hard to hear, but I could make out something about “wanted in connection with” and “Tacoma-woman, Eve Anomundy.”

  “So that was a picture of Miss Irene?” said Azura. “She doesn’t look very nice in it.”

  “I recognize that photo. It was on the wall behind the counter in Shotgun Shack. In it, Miss Irene is standing next to a famous blues musician named BB King, because he ate in the restaurant whenever his tour came through town. If you could see BB, you’d see a huge smile on his face. Checker Cab used to tease Miss Eye about how grumpy she looked in that photo. She’d say, “That’s because while you were trying to figure out how to use the camera, my biscuits were burning.”

  “I guess it’s hard to tell what someone is like from a photograph,” said Azura.

  I remembered the picture of Azura I stole from the driving school. I pulled it out of my pocket. “Like this photo here,” I said. “The girl in this photo looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world. But the girl across the table from me seems as weighed down as I am.”

  Azura grabbed the snapshot. “Where’d you get this?” She smiled as she studied the photo for a moment, then ran her finger along its edge, tempting a paper cut.

  I said, “It’s a good picture of you, in front of your fine automobile. Who’s standing at the back of the car? Your mom?”

  She didn’t answer. Her smile drifted away, but she kept staring. I repeated the question. “How’d you know?” she said.