Jake was enjoying the sun while sitting on Table Rock, a prominent outcropping that overlooked the Boise Valley. The breeze was light, but chilly, normal for late October. When he stayed with Bill, he liked to come up here. It was high enough to see planes landing and taking off at the airport in the valley below. On most clear days the view extended southwest over sixty miles.
It was around noon on Monday, and he was glad he had taken this hike to get some real exercise. He had not said anything about the trek to Bill, deciding it might be viewed as cruel under the circumstances. Jake took a deep breath and let it out, enjoying the light scent of sage.
Maybe I’ll get a mountain bike from one of the shops. That’ll be good exercise and easy on my knees.
Jake had wondered about Table Rock’s history and nearby Castle Rock, so he had Googled it. The site was considered sacred by the Shoshone Bannock Indians long before the territory was founded. It was considered a healing and ceremonial ground and Jake would bet most Boiseans did not know anything about its history.
Part of the area was reported to be a burial ground and on top of the rock ledge was a 60-foot-high cross that local citizens had fought to keep.
He could hear the buzz of a fly and the drone of an aircraft engine. The wind played with the membranes of his nose. He was distracted momentarily wondering what new tunes were out. With a frown that was half a smile he tried to clear his mind again.
Then it came. Jake blinked.
Something’s wrong.
Chills lit his face and arms. He started running.
He had never been a sprinter, but he made good time back to the car, fired it up and spun gravel getting out of the parking lot. A seat belt was the last thing on his mind as he wiped sweat off his brow and out of his eyes. It was a maybe two miles to Bill’s place along the river and he made it in less than three minutes and was not shy about using his horn, as the feeling of dread grew.
Bill’s front door was unlocked and as he opened the door could smell alcohol and vomit. Bill was lying on the floor, alongside a pill bottle and an empty bottle of bourbon. He had thrown up.
Jake checked to make sure Bill was breathing and pulled his head away from the mess. He started to dial 911 when he realized the pill bottle was full and not open, which stopped him.
What the hell?
Grabbing Bills cell phone, he checked the log and saw that Coach Jackson had called an hour earlier. Jake called the number and waited for Coach to pick up.
“Hey, Bill.”
“It’s not Bill, Coach. It’s Jake.”
“Why are you on Bill’s phone?”
“Because Bill crawled inside of a bottle of booze.”
“Oh, shit! Is he okay?”
“He’s breathing, and he threw up all over himself, but I think he’s okay. What did you guys talk about, Coach?”
Jake listened then swore.
“Damn it! You could have warned me.”
Promising Jackson he would call him in an hour, Jake checked the phone again for Natalie’s mom’s number.
“Rachel, hi, it’s Jake.”
“Well hi, Jake. Is everything okay?”
No, it’s not. Can you keep Natalie from coming over here after school? Bill’s drunk and passed out.”
“What? Why? He doesn’t do that!”
“He got a call while I was out. The Dodger’s released him from the team.”
“Why would they do that without telling you too?”
“Somebody didn’t think it through, Rachel. That the only reason I can think of.”
“I’m so sorry, Jake. Let me know how we can help. I’ll tell Natalie her dad got that news and needs a few days.”
Jake picked up a crumpled piece of paper plate and shook his head. It was the one with Megan’s number on it.
Bill, you idiot.
Quickly checking the call log Jake discovered that Bill had not phoned her, drunk or otherwise.