Man: You’ve done well for yourself.
Mr. Horne: I’ve done all right.
Then they talked about the house for a while, and about some military things I didn’t understand. Also, Greg was trying to distract me and I had to tell him to stop. I caught up a bit later, and I picked up that his last name was Ralph or something like that.
Man: Who was it you were following? Von Hessen? (Something like that.)
Mr. Horne: Yes.
Man: I don’t think they ever found him, did they?
Mr. Horne: I thought they found his body eventually.
Man: No. They never found him.
Mr. Horne: You keep up with this.
Man: Yes.
Mr. Horne: Once I was out, I didn’t want to look back.
Man: That surprises me.
Mr. Horne: Why?
Man: You were always so . . . well, it was long ago.
Then Patty came home and interrupted them. Mr. Horne asked the man to come back in the evening around seven, and he’d grill some steaks. The man said he would. Mr. Horne asked where he was staying, and the man said the Holiday House Motel.
We were still stuck inside the stupid cabana. It was getting really hot. I don’t know what was wrong with me—I guess I was hot, nervous, kind of giddy. We could hear Mr. Horne telling Patty that she would be allowed to go to the Stones concert in New York, and she started screaming. Greg got close to me and we were listening, and before I knew what was happening, we were making out. I don’t even know how it started, and it wasn’t all him. I did it too.
Then I panicked. I was totally freaked out. He calmed me down and said it was fine, that he and Patty both made out with other people. This seemed . . . not in keeping with their constant sucking-face policy, but okay? I asked why we were hiding if it was all okay, and he said that while it was fine, at her house it might be awkward.
We managed to get out of the cabana at some point, and over the fence, and home. I’d temporarily forgotten about the weird conversation I’d heard, but sitting here tonight, it keeps playing in my head.
What the hell even happened today?
JUNE 9, 1978
Okay. Even writing this down makes me feel weird.
I went to Patty’s again today for the normal pool party. I was nervous, for a lot of reasons. In terms of Greg and Patty, everything was totally normal. Same as ever. He whispered to me that he’d told her, and it was all cool. But he said maybe don’t mention it, because that would make it weird. This felt strange to me, but I wasn’t totally paying attention.
The pool furniture was rearranged. Not completely, but several of the chairs, which have always been in the same spots, had been moved. And there was change at the bottom of the pool—a few pennies, three nickels, a dime, and a quarter. It was for sure not there yesterday. It wasn’t in the shallow end, either. It was in the deep end, and kind of in the middle of the pool.
I was staring at it, and Mr. Horne noticed. He asked me what I was looking at, and I blurted out something about the change. Patty started going on about how I’m the smartest person at Liberty, etc. Which was stupid, because you don’t have to be smart to notice change at the bottom of a pool.
Mr. Horne stared at me for a moment and said, “I’m going to have to watch out for you.”
Then he said to everyone, “So, who can get that change out for me? There’s a beer in it for you!”
At which point, everyone but me dove in headfirst to get the change. Then I looked up at Mr. Horne, who was smiling. By this point, everyone was splashing and flailing and dunking each other and trying to beat everyone else to the bottom to get the change.
Mr. Horne said, “It’s a tie! Beers for all!”
He brought beers from the garage fridge and everyone took one. I took one as well, even though I don’t like beer. Then he started up the grill and made hot dogs. After that it felt like a normal pool party, with the smell of the grill and the hot dogs.
But something was wrong. I have no idea what.
JUNE 10, 1978
I called Eric today and we met up to ride our bikes for a while. I must have seemed troubled, because we pulled over by the school and he asked me what was up. I came out and told him about what happened with me and Greg, and that Greg said it was fine and that he had told Patty, and that I knew they made out with other people, but things still felt strange. I didn’t tell him about the other stuff, because what the hell could I say about that? I don’t even know what’s so weird about it or why it bothers me.
He laughed, but not in a mean way.
“That’s going to be news to Patty,” he said. “I love Greg like a brother, but he is a dirtbag.”
I got kind of freaked out, but he immediately calmed me down.
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “If Greg told you that, then you didn’t think you were doing anything wrong. It’s okay. Greg is a jerk. He likes getting away with stuff.”
He ended up making me laugh really hard. Eric is funny.
Eric would make a really good counselor—not camp counselor, a psychologist or something like that.
He offered me a joint. I was embarrassed, but I said I don’t smoke them. He put it away. I know I’m pretty much the only person at Liberty who has never smoked grass (okay, one of three that I know of). I know it’s not a big deal to smoke it either, because like I said, everyone else does and they are all fine. I don’t smoke because I’m an uptight weenie.
I actually said to Eric, “I’m an uptight weenie.”
He fell backward laughing. Shawn never laughs like that. It’s nice to hang out with someone who laughs.
JUNE 12, 1978
Woke up early today. I was dreaming of that conversation I overheard between Mr. Horne and the man who came over to his house. I can’t stop thinking about it. That conversation was odd.
So, since I have time and nothing else to do, I’m going to go over to the Holiday House Motel. I might as well bike over there and get ice cream at the Duchess on the way back. I might as well shut my subconscious up.
UPDATE: 4 P.M.
That did not go how I thought it would. I don’t know what to make of what’s happened. I’m kind of shaking and I’m sitting here at the foot of my bed.
I went to the motel and said that a friend of my dad’s had been staying there a few days ago and left something at our house, and I was kind of worried because he didn’t come back for it. I sort of mumbled the name Ralph, and the woman behind the counter picked up on it right away. She said a man had been staying there, and he never actually checked out. He left his key in his room.
I have no idea where I came up with this, but I said that if I could get a copy of the bill I could take it to my dad and he could help take care of it. She hesitated for a moment, but then she went into the file cabinet and pulled it out. The man’s name isn’t Ralph—it’s Wendel Rolf. I couldn’t make out his whole address, but I saw that he’s from Albany, New York. The bill was for $64, which was for two nights.
So the man never checked out of the hotel?
What do I think happened? That Mr. Horne drowned him in the pool? And while he was doing so, the change fell out of the man’s pockets and landed at the bottom?
Like it’s an Alfred Hitchcock movie or something.
JUNE 13, 1978