Ignoring Anissa’s edict about entering through the back of the church, Thaddeus went around to the front, intending to walk the perimeter of the grounds until the service started. He couldn’t just sit in a pew and wait in silence for the event to begin any more than he could sit closed up in that car with his parents. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow this would be over and he could leave.
He was surprised to find people gathered in front already, milling around in clutches of twos and threes, talking in low, somber tones. He spotted Phillip talking with Lee Watkins, the guy from the bar, the one who’d also been there that night. Was it weird that he had showed up? Thaddeus supposed not. The guy must’ve felt a connection, having been there, the echoes of that one night rippling across decades, touching people he’d forgotten all about.
He strode over to the pair and laid his hand on Phillip’s shoulder. Phillip startled, turning around with a surprised expression.
“Thaddeus!” he exclaimed. “I thought you’d be inside already.”
Thaddeus glanced back at the church, thinking of the last time they were ever there as a family. The children’s choir had sung and, watching them, his mother had begun to cry. She’d stood up and walked out in the middle of the song, all eyes on her. Though he understood what set her off—he himself had been staring at the spot where Davy would’ve been standing on the risers—Thaddeus had squirmed with embarrassment. He’d never wanted to show his face in that church again. Then, like a miracle, the next week they hadn’t gone, nor any week after that. Church, like normalcy and his parents’ marriage, had disappeared after Davy did.
“Eh,” he said, turning his eyes away from the building, “I’ll go in in a minute.” He looked at Phillip, who, in the moment he’d turned and looked at the church, had somehow made Lee disappear.
“You didn’t have to get rid of him on my account,” Thaddeus said.
“I didn’t,” Phillip said and shrugged. “He left on his own. I think you make him uncomfortable.” Thaddeus started to ask why that would be, but Phillip spoke again before he could.
“Are we good? I mean, after the other night?” His features were pinched with concern. Before Thaddeus could reassure him that yes, they were fine, Phillip continued, “I’m really sorry. I was out of line. I’ve thought a lot about how it must feel to be in your shoes, how upsetting it must be to have it all come back up like this. I shouldn’t have pressed you so much. I just wanted you to know—”
“Phillip, man, don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I caught a ride with Larkin, and we had a nice talk, and it all worked out. I’ve been so busy with everything since then I haven’t given it a second thought.”
“Ok, good,” Phillip said, looking relieved. Thaddeus studied his old friend. The dude had softened as he’d aged. Maybe becoming a dad changed him; he was definitely different from the cocky, defiant athlete Thaddeus had once followed around.
“I just don’t want you to feel guilty anymore. You know, for what happened. It wasn’t your fault. I just hope you know that. I hope—”
“Philly.” Thaddeus clapped his old friend on the back. “Let it go.”
Phillip looked away. When he looked back he was smiling, but it was a forced smile. They were both ashamed, Thaddeus understood. Both guilty for setting the stage from which Davy was abducted. They could fake-smile forever, but it would never make that fact less true.
A memory came back to him and for once he didn’t push it out of his mind. He just let it play. Because wasn’t that what this day was for, remembering? He saw his younger self crossing the field alone, doing his best to sober up as he began to search for his brother. He’d touched his pocket as he walked, making sure the rock was still there. He’d give it to Davy, he’d decided. He’d apologize. He’d try to be a better brother.
Now, all these years later, Thaddeus patted his pocket to make sure the rock was still there. He had to stop carrying it.
“I could go in with you,” Phillip said. Thaddeus thought of how Phillip wasn’t with him that night as he looked for his brother, how he’d faced the bad part all alone. It would be good, he decided, not to be alone for this.
“You could sit with us too,” Thaddeus said. “My sister and her husband are going to sit in the back in case their kids get fussy. So there’s room. If you want.” Phillip swallowed, nodded, and together they walked toward the church.
* * *
As the memorial started, Davy stared out from a huge screen on the stage, looking out at them all with those soulful brown eyes, eyes much older than the face they went with. They’d opened the service with a soloist singing a slowed-down rendition of the song “The Power of Love” by Huey Lewis and the News, the Back to the Future theme song that had been Davy’s favorite when he died. During the song, a montage of photos of Davy replaced the portrait on the large screen. Some of the pictures Thaddeus had seen hundreds of times thanks to the media, but some were more personal, more candid, all evoking so many memories.
When it got too hard to look at his brother, Thaddeus turned away, looking to Phillip instead. Their eyes met and Thaddeus thought he saw tears in Phillip’s eyes. Embarrassed for them both, he turned away, looking to his mother on his other side. She was failing to blink back her tears. He reached out and took her hand, squeezed it. She squeezed back and gave him a sad, brave smile.
He felt someone reach for his other hand and looked to see that it was Phillip. Ok, this is weird. He willed himself not to show his discomfort. He’d reached out for his mom’s hand, so Phillip had reached out for his. His old friend was clearly swept up in the moment, and as Thaddeus had written in his own book, there was no one right way to express grief. It was out of character for the Phillip he used to know, but maybe this was the new Phillip, one more in touch with his emotions.
Then Thaddeus felt Phillip’s grip on his hand tighten. A small sob rose from somewhere deep inside his old friend, and Phillip uselessly tried to hold it inside until it seemed to explode from his mouth.
Tabitha looked at them both, concern replacing her smile. On her other side, his father also looked over, equally concerned. Thaddeus gave them a don’t-look-at-me-it’s-him look and tried to act normal.
All hope of normalcy was lost when Phillip began to sob openly and loudly, his eyes locked on the images of Davy on the screen as he tried to say something between sobs.
His words were nearly unintelligible. Only Thaddeus, who was closest, could make out what Phillip was saying. Or what it sounded like he was saying. To Thaddeus, it sounded like he was saying, “Forgive me.” But that couldn’t be right. Davy had nothing to forgive Phillip for except calling him “McFly.”
Phillip’s grip clenched tighter, to the point that he was actually hurting Thaddeus. When Thaddeus tried to pull away, Phillip would not let go.
October 12, 1985, 9:37 p.m.–October 13, 1985, 1:43 a.m.
Phillip makes his way across the field, tired and filled with regret. Tonight was stupid. Though he’d been everyone’s hero for supplying the beer, in the end his friends had gotten drunk and acted like idiots, caring more about the beer than the person who got it for them. Phillip himself had stopped drinking the minute things got out of hand.
He was glad when it was time to go, his promise to meet his uncle for a ride home a good excuse to slip away.
He pauses to check his watch, switches on his flashlight to see the time. If he hurries, he won’t be late and set his uncle off on one of his tirades. Phillip swings the flashlight left, then right, getting his bearings in the dark, unfamiliar field.
He wishes his uncle hadn’t picked such an obscure place to meet, but that’s his uncle, always ducking and covering, staying under the radar since he is usually driving under the influence. He avoids the main roads, where the cops are most likely to be. Phillip has learned to drive on the back roads, counting the days till he can get his license and the freedom it will bring.
He finds the path that will take him through the woods and spit him out into a neighborhood under construction. It is a neighborhood his uncle is working on, so he knows it well. Phillip does not know why his uncle allowed this night, made it possible, even. He thinks he wanted Phillip to fall in love with alcohol the way he has. But so far Phillip has not seen the point.
He steps out into the cul-de-sac to see his uncle’s car waiting, the tailpipe emitting exhaust and the dim sound of a radio playing within. He walks to the car to find his uncle slumped against the wheel, eyes closed, mouth open. Phillip opens the driver’s side door and the dome light overhead comes on. He nudges his uncle, but he doesn’t respond.
“Uncle Joe,” he says, “I’m here. Let’s go.”
Behind him he thinks he hears footsteps, but when he turns, no one is there. It is creepy out here with the few framed houses, just bones of a home against the night sky. The only light at all is the light in the car—there are no streetlights up yet and not much of a moon in the sky.
Phillip turns back to his uncle and nudges him again, insistent. “Uncle Joe,” he says, louder this time. “Wake up.”
His uncle wakes up swinging, which is normal, but Phillip is caught off guard. The bigger man’s arm—muscular from years of physical labor—catches Phillip in the shoulder and shoves him so hard that he wobbles for a moment, nearly sprawling on the pavement, but recovers, anger welling up inside him. He takes steps back to his uncle, who is looking around wild-eyed, confused, and disoriented. He has forgotten where he is and why he is there. Phillip sees the beer cans on the floorboard of the passenger side of the car. He counts to four and then stops counting.
“I’m driving,” he says to his uncle.
“The hell you say,” his uncle slurs, turning to grip the wheel like a drowning man clinging to a life raft. “This is my damn car and I’m driving it.” He gives Phillip the side-eye. “You get your own car and a driver’s license, you can drive all you want.”
Undeterred, Phillip pleads with his uncle. “If we get stopped, you’ll get arrested. You know if you end up with another DWI, they’ll take your license.”
“I ain’t gonna get stopped,” his uncle says. He hitches his thumb in the direction of the passenger seat. “So get in if you want a ride home.” He huffs. “I wouldn’t even be out here if it weren’t for me having to wait on your ass.”
For a moment Phillip doesn’t move, weighing his options. Though many of his friends live nearby, Phillip doesn’t. Walking home would take at least an hour, and he is tired, and he just wants this night to end. He tries once more to reason with an unreasonable man.
“Please let me drive, Uncle Joe.”
In answer his uncle looks away from him, his gaze on the windshield as he revs the engine and says, “You comin’ or not?”
With a defeated sigh Phillip walks around the car. He thinks he sees movement in his peripheral vision, but when he looks over, nothing is there. He gets into the passenger seat and slams the door harder than necessary. He kicks at the beer cans on the floorboard just to make them clatter.
Before they drive away, his uncle looks over at Phillip. “Don’t I get a thank-you for tonight?” he asks. “Sure would be nice if you showed me some gratitude once in a while.”
Phillip locks eyes with his uncle and makes himself speak.
“Thank you,” he says, forcing the words from his lips.
If he could take this all back, he would. If he could be anywhere else, he would. He’d hoped for something to come out of tonight, but now he cannot name what that something was. Not popularity—he is popular enough. Not more friends. He has friends. Respect, maybe? Or was it just a way to let the other guys know that someone cares about him, will do nice things for him like their families do for them?
“Can we just go?” he asks.
His uncle lets out a mean growl-like laugh. “Well, by all means, Your Highness. I’ll be happy to take your ungrateful ass home right now.”
With his eyes still locked on Phillip, his uncle presses hard on the gas, shooting the car forward at the same moment Phillip turns his head to see that someone is in front of the car.
A boy, standing there for reasons he will never understand.
A boy, waving his arms, saying something they cannot hear.
A boy, who is there, then gone.
* * *
Phillip can feel the skin on his hands blistering under the wooden shaft of the shovel. He stops and pauses long enough to look up at the night sky. They’ve been digging for hours, and time is not on their side. Once the sun starts its climb, someone is sure to see what they’re doing and they will be caught. Arrested. Taken to jail.
What they are doing is wrong, but Phillip has no choice but to go along. It is his fault it happened, after all, a point his uncle has driven home. If not for him, they never would have been out there, and the accident wouldn’t have happened.
As he spears the earth with the blade of his shovel, Phillip’s mind whirls with the images of what happened. He sees the two of them standing over Davy’s still form, his uncle looking everywhere but at Davy. They hear, off in the distance, the sound of voices calling Davy’s name. His uncle panics in response, coming up with a plan that Phillip isn’t sure is right. But all the other options lead to them getting caught. In the end Phillip goes along with his uncle, who is, for better or worse, the one in charge of him.
Phillip tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry, parched from exertion and thirst and fear. His muscles ache, his hands burn, and whatever moisture is left in his body takes the form of tears that collect in his eyes, stinging as he thinks of TJ sending Davy away, of them all laughing at him. He thinks of how the Malcors will be looking for him but will never find him, buried all the way out here. It doesn’t seem fair that they might never know what happened to their son, their brother.
“You’re movin’ too slow. Better speed it along,” his uncle says. He points at the large hole they’re working on. “Keep it up,” he adds, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. “I’ll be right back.”
Phillip watches as his uncle walks over to his car, gets in, and drives away. He is going to smoke his cigarettes and get more beer. He has sobered up in the hours since the accident, but he won’t stay that way for long. He never does.
When his uncle is for sure out of sight, Phillip rests the shovel against a nearby tree and looks over at Davy, lying there so still and quiet beside the hole. Tentatively, he takes one step toward the boy, looks back over his shoulder just to make sure his uncle is really gone, then takes another step, moving quickly, resolved in what he has to do. He stoops down beside the kid, pausing just long enough to whisper.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.” He begins to cry as he tells Davy how sorry he is.
Through his tears, before he can think better of it, he reaches down and begins to remove Davy’s jacket—the special one his mom made for him. Phillip had teased Davy about the jacket, but in truth, Phillip would’ve proudly worn a Marty McFly jacket every day of his life if it meant he had a mother who’d make him one.
All Phillip has is his drunk uncle, and after tonight he risks losing even that. If his uncle is arrested, he will have no one. Phillip’s tears blur his vision. He blinks them away so he can see what he’s doing.
He removes the jacket swiftly, trying not to think about what he’s doing as he does it. He folds the jacket in half, then runs over to an outbuilding not too far away. He looks around in the dark for a place to stow the jacket, thinking—hoping—as he does that someone will find it, that someone will remember that it is Davy’s, and that they will look for him here.
He cannot make up to TJ or his family what he has done tonight, but he can do this for them. He finds a large piece of corrugated tin roofing, lifts it, drops the jacket under it, then drops the roofing back over top of it. It’s a risky move, but Phillip doubts his uncle will notice the jacket is gone or remember what the kid was wearing in the first place. He hasn’t looked directly at Davy since the accident.
Weary but determined to dig as fast as he can so they can get out of there, Phillip grabs the shovel and goes back to the gravesite. As he digs, he thinks that maybe he should pray, but he doesn’t know what to say to God. The only funeral he’s ever been to was his parents’, but he was too little to remember that. He’s never been to church. Other than school, the baseball field, and TJ’s house, he’s never really been anywhere. Plus, he doesn’t know if someone responsible for a death is even allowed to pray.
Instead he says aloud, “I’m sorry, forgive me. I’m sorry, forgive me,” hoping as he does that whoever is supposed to hear it will. He says it again and again, dutifully digging until he hears his uncle’s car returning.
When his uncle gets out of the car, he is carrying a six-pack of beer. He pulls one off and extends the can to Phillip, so cold it drips with condensation. Phillip’s mouth waters as his uncle holds it out to him. There is nothing he can do but take it from his hand.