Blake rented one half of a redbrick duplex on the east side of town. He’d lived there for the past three years, ever since he moved from Lexington, where he’d been living near his parents, to Rossingville to take a job as a salesman for an auto parts manufacturer. I hadn’t been thrilled when he moved to Rossingville, where I’d been living ever since college. I’d just gotten engaged to Amanda when Blake came to town. I had hoped to leave those events and memories from college behind, especially anything having to do with the accident.
For the most part, we avoided discussing that. Yes, we met for the occasional beer. And once we took a guys’ trip down to Nashville for a bland, booze-soaked weekend of watching football, which I regretted pretty much as soon as I checked into the hotel. But mostly we interacted as adults. And Blake seemed to do well at his job, his ability to talk anybody into anything clearly a huge benefit for a salesman. When he and Samantha were in the “on” portion of their on-and-off relationship, Blake came as close to being a normal member of society as I’d ever seen him.
I’d never received a clear answer about why Blake left Lexington and took the job in Rossingville. Sometimes he said it was a great opportunity, too good to pass up. Once or twice he alluded to his father taking early retirement from his corporate job, but he was vague about why. Blake’s dad was a classic workaholic, and I never imagined that he would leave his job when he was only in his late fifties. His dad’s decision to step down seemed to have coincided with Blake’s acceptance of the job in Rossingville.
The driveway in front of his half of the duplex was empty, and a lone light burned upstairs in the bedroom. The night had grown colder, the wind picking up. I still wore shorts, and I shivered as I walked up to the front of the house and rang the bell.
I left Jennifer’s phone in the car for the time being. It was like an explosive device I didn’t want to be caught holding when it blew. I’d seen enough to tell me I needed—really needed—to talk to Blake.
I waited with my hands in my pockets, my shoulders hunched to stay warm. The street was quiet, no neighbors in sight. I hit the bell again, pressing with as much force as I could muster, as though that might make the bell ring louder and summon Blake more quickly.
But I started to accept what I’d known all along—he wasn’t home.
And I had no idea what he was doing.
I rang one more time and was about to walk away when I heard the lock being undone. I perked up, hopeful, and when the door swung inward, I saw Samantha standing there in a T-shirt, old sweatpants, and no shoes, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
She didn’t look particularly surprised or dismayed by someone showing up on her doorstep late at night.
“Oh, Ryan, hey,” she said. “I almost didn’t answer. I thought it was kids playing a prank. No one comes to the door without calling.”
“Is Blake home?”
I wanted to ask if they were living together. As she leaned against the doorjamb, her hand resting on her hip, I took a quick glance to see if an engagement ring decorated her finger, but I saw nothing.
“I don’t know where he is, Ryan,” she said. Sam usually spoke in a precise manner, her thoughts measured and orderly. But when I arrived at the house that night, she rambled a bit, her thoughts jumping from one to another without any noticeable connective tissue. “He was supposed to work late. And he needs to buy his mom a birthday present. Did you hear he stopped drinking?”
“I heard.”
“Were you supposed to meet him or something?”
“Kind of.”
Samantha remained in the doorway. She worked as a kindergarten teacher at a public school, and she always carried herself with the determined enthusiasm and peppiness that job no doubt required. It was too easy for me to joke—but I did anyway—that she was the perfect woman for Blake since she worked with five-year-olds all day.
But that night a measure of her usual easygoing cheer and ready smile was absent. She looked like I’d interrupted her in the middle of something. I knew she tended to work late, preparing lesson plans and classroom projects. Or maybe I’d rung the bell while she was starting to doze off. She rubbed at her eye absentmindedly, a gesture that made her look like a small child.
“Okay,” I said. “Well, can you tell him I came by?”
She stepped back then. “I’m sorry. Why don’t you come in? I was just—I was surprised when I heard the bell ring. I didn’t know what was going on. I have to work tomorrow, of course, and I was organizing some things upstairs. But I guess you have to work too. By the way, how’s Henry?”
“Am I interrupting your work?”
“No, it’s okay. My mind is just . . . It’s got a lot going on.”
She talked as she walked back into the house, leaving the door open, so I followed her. She went into the living room and turned on two lamps, which cast soft light over the space, and then she took a seat on the couch. I followed her in, feeling a nervous energy urging me on.
“He’s good,” I said. “Getting bigger every day. And now his teeth are coming in.”
“I love all the photos you post. You’re so good at it. I feel like a failure at that kind of stuff. Maybe I can take a class or something. And Blake’s no help. You know he refuses to do any of that.”
It hit me I hadn’t said anything about the wedding.
“Oh,” I said, “Blake told me the good news. Congratulations.”
For the first time, her full smile appeared, bright and warm, deep dimples standing out on her flushed cheeks. “Oh, yeah. Thanks! I know it’s all kind of last-minute, but we’ve worked some things out. And neither of us wants to wait anymore. This spot at the Barn was open, and while I would have been happy to take our time and plan, plan, plan . . . You know how I am, right? Well, Blake just told me we should go for it. Get married, grab the brass ring. So we’re doing it. Saturday.”
“I get it. You guys know each other well now.”
She suddenly turned more serious than I’d ever seen her. “And, Ryan, I’m so sorry you and Amanda weren’t invited. I mean, I tried to talk to Blake about it. I did. But he’s still kind of peeved about the thing with Amanda. You know, the thing with Henry and the lampshade.”
“It’s okay—”
“No, it totally isn’t.” She scooted to the edge of the couch, her face serious. “I wanted to call Amanda and tell her, but you’re here now, so I can tell you. Please just come, the two of you, on Saturday. Just come. Blake wants you there. I know he does. And you know I love Amanda. She’s so great, such a great friend. She reminds me so much of my friends from college. Smart. Hardworking. But fun too. She said a lot of harsh things about Blake. I know that. But hey, maybe I’d do the same thing if someone bonked my baby’s head. That’s what I like about Amanda. She’s so tough. So fierce. I get it.”
“Sam, I’m not worried about it. We just want you guys to be happy.”
She placed her hands against her cheeks, and the flush deepened. “But that’s just it, Ryan. I’m not sure Blake is happy. He hasn’t been acting like himself the last few days. He needs you, Ryan. That’s why I’m a little flummoxed tonight. All over the place. I’m worried. Worried he might start to drink again. Or . . . Look, he really needs you in his life. More than ever.”