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I left Ruben and Ricky.
Not because I didn’t care, and not because I was walking away from what I’d found out about what happened to Patrick.
It just wasn't my place to report anything. I wanted to give that opportunity to Mike.
I called him as soon as I left the house but our phone call only lasted a few seconds. He was late for a meeting and said he'd call me as soon as he was out. Considering there was no real sense of urgency to what I had to tell him—nothing I’d found out would change the fact that his nephew was dead—I’d simply said okay and hung up.
With the phone call out of the way, I drove back to Coronado. The house was empty and Elizabeth was gone. I had a moment of panic before going upstairs to see that her room hadn't been cleaned out and she hadn't run away. It was irrational and illogical, but the entire morning had been a disaster and my emotions were raw.
It was late afternoon before Mike called me back. He apologized for the delay, explaining that one meeting had led to three more and he hadn't been able to shake himself loose. I'd tried to keep myself busy, pulling weeds outside and cleaning the house. I suggested we meet in person, and he didn’t argue or ask why. We agreed to meet on the deck at the Hotel del Coronado.
Mike was already waiting, two beers in front of him, when I got there. The sun was just beginning its slow descent behind the edge of the water to the west. The beach was uncrowded and it looked lonely. A slight breeze was making its way off the water to us and I shivered as it raced across my bare arms.
“Sorry again about taking so long,” Mike said after I'd sat down across from him. “Just usual bullshit that got more out of hand than normal.”
I took a sip of the beer. “No problem at all.”
“So,” Mike said, leaning back into his chair. “What's up?”
There was no reason to beat around the bush. It wasn’t my style, and Mike wouldn’t want it any other way than straight. “Your nephew didn't kill himself,” I said. “It was accidental.”
He didn't immediately react, just raised an eyebrow.
I told him what I'd learned, starting from the very beginning and up through what Ruben told me earlier that morning. He listened without saying a word, just occasionally shifting in the chair and drinking from his beer. When I was done, he just nodded and stared at the half-empty pint glass in front of him for a good ten minutes.
I drank and waited.
“Well,” he finally said, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think the kid meant any harm?” he asked. “Did he do anything with intent?”
“He was definitely angry with Patrick over the band stuff,” I said. “But was he trying to hurt him?” I thought about everything Ruben had said and shook my head. “No. I think he really was just trying to cool things off between them and then panicked when it went bad. If he had to do it all over again, I think it would've been a lot different.”
“Right,” Mike said, looking away from me. He picked up his glass and drained the remaining half. He set it on the table and spun it slowly. “Shit.”
“I know. I'm sorry, Mike.”
“Me, too,” he said, weariness creeping into his voice. “But I appreciate you doing all of this.”
“Of course.”
“I know Elizabeth is home and all that, so I'm sure you would've rather been spending time with her.”
“It's been fine,” I told him. It wasn’t the time to tell him about the slight strain it had put on our relationship. And even if it was, I probably wouldn’t have said anything, anyway. “I'm just sorry I didn't have something better to bring you.”
He shrugged. “Was going to end badly one way or another, right?”
“I suppose.”
He shrugged again. “So there you go. You weren't gonna have any good news for me and I knew that.”
I nodded because he was right.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Truly not a clue,” he said, smiling sadly. “Not a goddamn clue. Any suggestions?”
“Not really,” I told him. “I'm not sure what the right path is and what best serves everyone. The only thing that comes to mind is the logistics. If Patrick had any insurance, the official cause of death will matter. But I'd guess ultimately his mother will have to decide what, if anything, she wants to pursue. I'm happy to help in any way she'd like.”
Mike nodded slowly. “Yeah, I suppose it will be her call.” He sighed. “Alright. And thanks, Joe. Really. I appreciate all of this.”
We talked for a few more minutes before he needed to go. I told him I was gonna stay for a bit longer. We shook hands and I watched him settle the tab at the bar, then amble down the deck back toward the hotel.
I switched to the other side of the table so I could watch the sun do its thing. It was halfway below the water, pinks and oranges dancing across the horizon. The clouds dropped lower, almost like the curtain on a stage.
I knew I was avoiding going home in order to avoid having another conversation with Elizabeth.
And then I thought about Cleo Bullock.
Cleo seemed clear on her son and his demons. She'd tried to do the right thing, supporting him but not enabling him. I wasn't sure what else she could've done. Ultimately, it hadn't been his habit that killed him, but I had to wonder if his death just filled some prophecy that everyone else had written for him. She'd never be able to ask him or have another conversation with him about why he'd taken the Xanax that night. She couldn't ask him anymore about his relationship with Erin or the band's direction. It was all gone, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Uh, Mr. Tyler?” a voice said behind me.
I turned around.
James Barrett, a student from one of my classes, held up a hand. “Hi. I thought that was you.”
I forced a smile. “Hey, James. How are you?”
“Oh, I'm pretty good,” he said. “Hey, I don't mean to bother you or anything, but did you get my email?”
I winched and shook my head. “I did not. I haven't even opened my school email since the break started.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, nodding.
“What's up? Can I answer a question?”
“I was just wondering if you got the essays graded,” he said. “I thought it was kind of a hard question, so I really wasn't sure how I did.”
The guilt I'd been feeling since the break had started and I'd avoided the papers crept back into my gut. “You know what, I have not gotten to them all yet. My daughter's home for the break and I haven't had time yet.”
He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Oh, alright.”
I could tell he was disappointed.
“Tell you what,” I said. “I'll make sure I get to yours tomorrow morning, alright? And I'll send you the grade before I even enter it into the system.” I paused. “I'm sure you did fine.”
“Yeah, I hope so,” he said. “My mom will kill me if I failed or something.”
“I'm positive you didn't fail,” I told him. “I'll email you tomorrow.”
“Okay, thanks. Have a goodnight.”
I watched him turn and walk back down the deck.
I shifted in my chair and faced the sunset again.
I'd do James's paper because I felt guilty and because I told him I would. I didn't want to make it hard on the students I had a responsibility to. That wasn't fair to any of them. I wasn't doing my job and I wasn't sure what that said about me.
Actually, I was starting to think I knew exactly what it said about me.
I picked up the beer, watched the sun dip lower and the oranges and pinks fade with it, thinking about that.