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They said it was an accident. His car had gone off the highway, and he was rushed to the hospital and died soon after, from trauma to the brain.
These were the only pieces of information my mind could process while my mom and dad sat me down and told me Todd Harrison was dead. I felt numb, and my head was cloudy. I’d just seen my Scout leader the other night. And now he’s gone?
His body was prepared at the mortuary, then Beaumont and Lester brought him to the church for the viewing and the services. I was relieved, as I think the rest of the people were, that we didn’t have to go through another cold, heartless service at Beaumont’s mortuary. Beaumont and Lester kept a low profile and didn’t interact with anyone.
I still couldn’t believe Todd was gone, and I continued to not believe it until I witnessed his body lying in the casket. Right then, I realized why the viewing was so important—for closure. Seeing Todd Harrison was the moment the reality of mortality hit me.
Dressed in his Sunday best, he didn’t quite look like himself. His skin was orange from the makeup, and his face lacked expression, which was in direct contrast to his animated expressions in life. His stone-cold look made him unrecognizable. Above his right eye was a six-inch scar that disappeared into his scalp.
I studied his face for a long moment, scared his eyes would flutter open suddenly and that he would grab me with his cold hands and say, “I’m not dead. They made a mistake.” Because how could he be gone?
I turned to see some of my fellow Scouts gathered by the sofa in the foyer. Tears pooled in most of their red eyes, and Billy trembled, on the verge of weeping. Billy broke and ran into his mother’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn’t blame him. I wanted to do the same. We’d all lost a good friend and mentor.
I wandered toward the entrance, where my family stood, and overheard a lady say, “This is just too much. Two funerals in under a month. And he was so young. Not to mention the Anderson daughter who went missing.”
Another lady answered, “Poor Angie. She’s left with three kids now to raise on her own. We brought dinner to them last night. She’s holding strong, but you know she wants to fall apart.”
Not wanting to look at anyone, I kept my eyes to the floor. A hand, a girl’s hand, reached out low in front of me and took mine. I looked up and caught Dawn’s eyes. They were sad and watery, not for the loss, but for me. Her mouth pulled up slightly at both ends in a solemn smile.
“Hi,” I said.
“How are you?”
“Okay,” I lied.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“Thanks.”
She gave my hand a squeeze, released it, and walked back to her family.
Billy’s sobs got louder, and his crying triggered mine. Tears filled my eyes and spilled over, my chest tightened and convulsed, and I hurried to my mom, who wrapped me in her arms. We left shortly after that. On the way home, my parents stopped at the store and ran in to buy a brownie mix and ice cream. My brothers and I stayed in the back of the station wagon. The slight breeze that blew in through the open windows wasn’t enough to cool us from the heat. We tore off our ties and unbuttoned our shirts, flaring out our collars to release the trapped heat. Tadd pulled out his electronic handheld football game and was immediately lost in it. Scott tilted his head back and closed his eyes to catch a nap.
Jeff turned to me with genuine concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“It’s pretty messed up what happened to Todd. He was a good guy.”
“He was. I still can’t believe what happened.”
Jeff and I shared the middle place in our family. Tadd picked on Jeff, and Scott always pestered me. Because of that, we shared a sense of understanding. I found it easier to talk with Jeff about certain things.
“It’s pretty shitty how someone ran him off the road.”
I snapped around in shock as if a splash of cold water had hit my face.
“Ran him off the road? I hadn’t heard that.”
“It was a hit-and-run. That’s what Larry said.” Jeff’s friend Larry was a reliable source as he was the son of the previous sheriff. “Larry said there were scrapes up and down the side of his car only another vehicle could have made. They left black marks from the paint of the other vehicle. Todd’s car was bright red, so if you see a black car with red paint scratches on it”—he eyed me while nodding his head—“good chance that’s the guy.”
Once home, we all ran to our bedrooms to tear off our uncomfortable clothes and dress in our “comfies.” Scott and I went into our room, and I slipped into shorts and a T-shirt and hung my dress clothes up in the closet. Scott threw his off and left them on the floor. The rest of the night was quiet. We ate our brownies and ice cream and watched a John Wayne movie on the TV, but I couldn’t pay attention to it. My mind swam with the new possibility that Todd Harrison hadn’t suffered from an accident, but was murdered.