“No sorries necessary. This isn’t a nine-to-five gig. I’m around whenever you need me. It’s not about that, more that this is a lot—”
“I live in this huge house all by myself?” Her boots clicked against black-and-white-checked marble as she circled the foyer in a daze.
“Um … right now, yeah. I mean, I’m here a lot—you have a sweet home office setup—and you fixed up one of the guest bedrooms for me to stay over whenever—you’re a cool boss like that—but I have my own place in Cobble Hill.” He followed her as she wandered down the hall toward the kitchen. “It’s only a couple miles away, so if you wanted to take the rest of the night to, you know, absorb everything, I could come back first thing, bring you a soy latte…”
“No thanks. Whatever that is, it sounds gross. Maybe some coffee, though? If people still drink coffee in … wow.” She entered the kitchen, which managed to be both lavish and cozy. Mint-green cabinets were complemented by chrome appliances and monochromatic granite counters. A breakfast bar and butcher-block island sectioned off the kitchen from the dining area.
“I know, right? Martha Stewart would cut a bitch for a kitchen like this … which is a compliment. Let me make the coffee.”
“We had coffee makers back in the eighties, you know. It’s this one, right?”
“Right, but—”
“Kenzie, I didn’t grow up in the Middle Ages. If you could just show me where the coffee and filters are…” The annoyance in her voice faded as she scrutinized the sleek appliance’s unfamiliar buttons. “And where they go…”
“It doesn’t take filters, it takes K-Cups. They’re like individual coffee pods.” At her bewildered stare, he offered a calm smile. “It’s easy, but how about you let me do it tonight so we can focus on Internet stuff? Coffee 101 can wait.”
“Sure.” Shrugging, she dropped her bag on a counter and sat at the kitchen island, concentrating on the granite’s speckled pattern to avoid the blurred jumble of her thoughts.
After he made them coffee, Kenzie laid out three slim rectangular devices before her. “Phone. Tablet. Laptop.”
Pointing at the phone, she said, “Well, at least I know what that is. Though it’s a lot different from the ones I used.”
“It’s also a computer. They’re all computers. You ever use one of those?”
She shook her head.
“Let’s focus on the laptop for now.” He flipped open the MacBook and began to type.
“How can it work if it isn’t plugged in?”
“Wireless technology. It’s a beautiful thing.” With a flourish, he turned the computer toward Oona. On the screen was a video of a tabby cat in a blue satin shirt playing the keyboard. “Behold, the Internet…”
After a quick and dirty primer on the World Wide Web, he let her browse, but she kept accidentally closing out of windows and clicking on random hyperlinks. Frustration mounted on both sides.
“For now, I think it’s gonna be easier if you just tell me what you’re looking for and let me search for you,” Kenzie said.
“Let’s start with Dale. I want to know when he died. And how.” Staccato clicks as Oona drummed her nails against granite.
“Didn’t your letter mention that?”
“The how, yeah, but I don’t believe it. Young people don’t die of strokes.”
“I don’t think 2014 You would’ve lied about that.” His fingers edged closer to hers, but she pulled back her hand.
“I want to know for sure. And I want the exact date of his death.” The tone was meant to be stern, but her voice cracked with the threat of tears.
“Okay. I’ll look him up. But even if I find the obituary, it may not mention the cause of death.”
It didn’t, but it did have his date of death: February 27, 1984.
“He was only twenty,” Oona whispered, an ache in her throat. “He would’ve been someone great, but he never got to be … anything.” She wiped at her wet face.
Kenzie exhaled audibly and slid over a box of Kleenex. “I’m so sorry. This is why you weren’t supposed to—”
“I don’t care what I’m supposed to do. 2014 Oona doesn’t rule my life, I do. And I want to know what happened to everyone. All my friends.”
“Then let me make us more coffee.”
Once they were armed with refills, Kenzie took his place at the computer with a resigned hunch. “Who’s next?”
“Pamela Lipscombe.”
Her childhood best friend went on to Harvard Law School, worked as an assistant district attorney in New York, and ended up a federal judge.
“I always knew Pam would make it big. Look at this—she was even short-listed for the Supreme Court in 2010. And her daughter’s an overachiever, too, ranked one of the top twenty chess players in the world.” Somewhat bolstered by her friend’s success, Oona nodded at the screen. “Let’s look up Wayne Sumpter.”
The former Early Dawning bassist now lived in Baltimore, owned a private security company, was married to a petite redhead, and had two grown sons.
“How is all this personal stuff so easy to find?” she asked.
“Believe it or not, people post a lot of it themselves. Social media is … complicated. It’s like people live their private lives in public now.”
Oona tilted her head at the Facebook photo of Wayne on the beach with his family. “So ordinary people act like they’re famous?”
“And many of them actually become famous for nothing. Don’t get me started on celebrity culture. Who’s next?”
“Corey Balcerak.”
Early Dawning’s former drummer was twice divorced (no kids), ended up in real estate, and was in the middle of serving an eight-year sentence in a federal prison for embezzlement.
“Oh my god.” Horrified, she leaned in to get a closer look at the screen. “That can’t be him.” But the orange jumpsuit he wore in the news photo was eerily similar to the one she’d just seen him in at the party. And even with smoothed-back hair and the addition of wire-rimmed glasses and a grooved forehead, the resemblance to his younger self was undeniable. “But he was a good guy. A sweet dork, even if he was kinda dumb. I can’t imagine him being a criminal.”
“Considering he got caught, he’s obviously not a very smart one.”
“I can’t even picture him working in an office. He was all about having crazy hair and playing the drums.” She saw a flash of his quirky grin, his sweat-drenched face after rehearsal. “Does that mean nothing came of the band? Look up Early Dawning opening up for Factory Twelve.”
While the latter went on to massive success, there was nothing about the 1983 tour mentioning the former, nothing in any other search results.
Does that mean I chose London? Did the band break up because of me?
Oona rubbed her bleary eyes.
“Maybe that’s enough for tonight,” Kenzie said.
“No way. I might as well know about everyone else.”
Eventually it all became a blur of careers, marriages, divorces, children, grandchildren, diseases, and, in a few more cases, early death. These people were supposed to be extraordinary, yet most ended up with mundane, marginally successful, or flat-out tragic lives. Aside from Pam, none of the others had accomplished anything truly great.