That was three days ago. This morning Julianne Aaronson, lifelong resident of Lake Stuart, was laid to rest at Woodlawn Cemetery. I tried to force myself to attend the service and couldn’t. Woodlawn Cemetery is a place I’ve been to once and refuse to return to. That lone occasion was also a winter day, the day my mother was buried, but the month was December instead of February.
The digital version of the Lake Stuart Gazette only gave lean details of the accident. The streetlights were out. A garbage truck was parked where it wasn’t supposed to be parked and the roads were caked with a sheet of black ice. There was a link to click if you wanted to offer typed condolences and I clicked on the link but typed nothing because ‘thoughts and prayers’ aren’t in my vocabulary. But there was also information on the funeral plans and a request to donate to a local animal shelter instead of sending overpriced flowers that no one cares about and will die the next day.
Of course, I could have just called Danny instead of playing internet detective.
This is what I should have done.
The old days of childhood when we were the best of friends are long gone but we touch base now and then and I keep tabs on him. He spent some time playing college baseball in Michigan before being drafted into the major leagues. Danny’s lucky break came when he got called up from the minors after a wave of midseason player injuries left a gaping hole on the roster of the Boston Red Sox. His batting average that season was a personal best and he seemed destined for a seven figure multi-year contract and a permanent place in the sun.
Then his unlucky break came when he collided with the catcher at home plate and suffered a gruesome knee injury. He’s been down in the minor leagues ever since, playing for a second rate league in Arizona, earning peanuts, and hoping for another shot at the brass ring.
I haven’t seen him in a while and we don’t talk more than once or twice a year. Danny knows nothing about my return to Lake Stuart. He would have asked why the hell I’ve come back. The reason is a thorny one. It’s not worth thinking about today.
No, today I’m going to pay a visit to a house I used to like much more than I liked my own. Today I’m going to face my old best friend and shake his hand before telling him I’m sorry as fuck that there was ice and a garbage truck.
Worst of all, Jules left two little girls behind, which multiplies the heartbreak by a million.
The Aaronson family has suffered some hard knocks long before this. Years ago, Danny’s father bludgeoned a summer tourist to death following a traffic dispute. His family was shocked to pieces but I wasn’t shocked at all. Alex Aaronson was a heavy drinker with a crazy temper. He probably still has a crazy temper but I doubt he’s allowed to drink himself silly in prison. Before my dad’s mind evaporated, he had to chase Alex Aaronson off the brewery grounds all the time because the guy would run up monstrous tabs at the bar and irritate the paying customers.
The murder was Lake Stuart’s first one in something like thirty years and it was all anyone talked about. My fists got scraped up more than once from having Danny’s back when he had no choice but to shut people up when they decided to shoot their mouths off. As long as I live I’ll never understand what’s to be gained from kicking someone when they’re down but in high school it’s a regular old hobby. Jules seemed like she was able to brush off the noise and Danny was high enough on the social food chain that he could still hold his head up.
His other sister was another story. Skinny, rabbit-faced little Gretchen was always wound up a little too tight and the stress got to her. One day she snapped, started shrieking her head off in the middle of class and got sent to some hospital for a little while.
I lost track of what happened to her after that because my own life took a turn for the worse and the world of Lake Stuart became a memory. I guess Gretchen is all right now. Last time I heard from Danny he mentioned she was going to medical school.
Or maybe it was business school.
I forget.
School isn’t a subject I take an interest in. Not since I got accused of a phony crime invented by a psychopath and sent to a place that included the word ‘school’ but was the opposite.
But I swore this wasn’t a day to brood over fury and revenge and so I won’t.
Just for today.
From my vantage point at the floor to ceiling front window I can see cars beginning to arrive. They soon hog every inch of curb space and eject overdressed occupants who step stiffly across the ice in uncomfortable shoes. They’re all going to the same place; a two story grey shingle house that used to be more impressive before time and neglect had their way.
Jules, for all her big dreams and fancy scholarship offers, never did leave.
I guess she couldn’t.
Sometimes life delivers a hand of really fucked up cards.
As if on instinct, my eyes sharply jerk to the north. This real estate listing had boasted ‘spectacular lake views’ which is a goddamn joke because the lake can only be seen if you stand on a chair in the kitchen and try to squint between the tree branches. On a frigid day of clouds and fog like this one, the lake would be colorless and flat, not even worth looking at. But I have no complaint because I already knew all of this before I offered seventy-five grand above asking price. After all, this used to be my house, the one I grew up in. I’m already familiar with the views from every window so I wasn’t expecting to see water.
I’m sure he can see all the water he wants to see.
His house, built with a stolen inheritance, hogs a big piece of lakefront and boasts a private dock.
This train of thought gets shut off deliberately, before I can choke on my own familiar rage.
It’s time to take a walk down the street. Danny will be around for his sister’s funeral and if he wants to tell me to get lost then so be it.
Approaching empty handed makes me feel like a dick. I probably should have brought flowers anyway, something colorful to battle the day’s ugly grief. The wind chill probably hovers in the single digits and I forgot a jacket but this level of cold isn’t the kind where you wonder if you’ll still be alive in an hour. That’s a kind of cold I’m familiar with, still dream about and wouldn’t wish on an enemy.
No, that’s a crock of shit.
I would wish it on him. His fingers, his limbs and even his cock could turn purple before snapping off and I’d fucking cheer.
The Aaronson house looks worse up close. There are a handful of roof shingles missing and the front porch floorboards are chipped and loose. This is the oldest house on the block and looks the part in a bad way.
Before I climb the wobbly four steps to the porch I watch a pair of people belted into black winter coats ring the doorbell while breathing out frost clouds. The man turns to the woman and asks, “How long do we need to stay?”
“SHH!” scolds the woman and self-consciously pats the coil of blonde hair on her head.
It’s only when they’ve gone inside that I realize I recognize her. We went to high school together. There are bound to be a lot of people here I’ll know. This isn’t a big town.
I hesitate to knock or ring the doorbell. I doubt I’ve ever done either one at this house. The back door leading to the kitchen was chronically unlocked and I’d just walk right through it with no regard for the time of day. Alex Aaronson, sloppily bearded and perpetually snacking on junk food, was a fixture on the living room couch. If he wasn’t passed out with his mouth open then he’d be sweating over the fate of some sporting event on the big screen television because he’d bet money on the outcome. He was never bothered by the sight of me and I’d get waved upstairs to Danny’s room by a chubby hand. Danny’s room was directly across the hall from Gretchen’s and Gretchen liked to keep her door open unless she saw that I was around.