Finding Jake Page 11

  “We may never know what caused Douglas Martin-Klein to turn on his own classmates. Violent video games, bullying, or mental illness, time will tell. Back to you, Jake.”

  Jake. Adrenaline pumps through my system, a jolt of draining energy that disappears as quickly as it came. Simply coincidence, but the sound of someone speaking to Jake is both hopeful and devastating.

  The anchor introduces another field reporter. This one, somehow, has gotten himself into the library at the school.

  “. . . as first reported by Gawker.com, Douglas Martin-Klein’s Instagram page paints a sad, grisly story of a boy crying out for help. This troubling image, a picture of a red fist bound by a gray cord, was used as his profile picture on the widely popular Web site.”

  There is something familiar about the image, but I don’t remember before the reporter continues.

  “Many may recognize the image from an album cover nearly a decade ago by the band Metallica. I went back and listened to the songs. What I heard will shock you. Here are just some of the lyrics:

  “‘Invisible kid

  Locked away in his brain

  From the shame and the pain

  World down the drain’

  “It makes we wonder how we failed this sad young man.”

  Never a huge heavy metal fan, I did recall that album, St. Anger. Strangely, I didn’t remember it being one of their most popular, or best. I did not, however, know the song the reporter quoted. World down the drain. Sad, but not exactly Sylvia Plath. For that matter, it did not sound all that angry or violent.

  The screen catches my eye, cutting off the thought. High school yearbook pictures pan like a police lineup. I see Leigh and James. Amanda’s smiling face brings back memories of her being at our house, playing with Laney. A couple of unfamiliar kids are shown, and then one of the pictures hits me like a fist to the face—Alex Raines.

  On one particular afternoon, around two months ago, Jake came home and I could tell immediately something was wrong. Anger flared on his face, reddening his cheeks and darkening his eyes. He went up to his room and closed the door. I stood in the kitchen, listening to see if he came back out, but the house was quiet. I tried to give him some time but my own curiosity kept those better intentions from being realized.

  I knocked and waited. When Jake finally opened the door, he looked calm, normal.

  “What’s up, buddy?” I asked.

  “Nothing, Dad.”

  “You looked upset.”

  He gave me a look I knew all too well. He couldn’t lie to me if I asked a direct question but he didn’t want to talk about it. I pushed, so he told me about Alex Raines. I knew the name from baseball. Alex had been big at an early age, a good hitter who never wore anything that did not sport an Under Armour logo. He was the first kid to rock a Mohawk, albeit a coiffed one, in the second grade. I’d never really heard Jake talk about him, positively or negatively, before that day.

  “I was talking to someone and accidentally backed into him. He pushed me. I guess I hit a locker. It sounded bad but it was really no big deal. Just hallway stuff.”

  “You look awful mad for just hallway stuff,” I said.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Amnesty moment, remember?”

  I let it go and by dinner, Jake was his normal self.

  That evening, the guidance counselor called.

  “Hi, this is Phil Hartman, school guidance counselor. May I please speak to Mr. or Mrs. Connolly?”

  “This is he.”

  “Mr. Connolly, there was an incident at the school today. I thought we should discuss it.”

  “Yes, Jake and I talked about that.”

  I felt proud of Jake for telling me, and maybe I wanted to show it just a little.

  “I’m not sure what details you received from your son, but I wanted to let you know that neither student will be receiving any punishment. We feel they both acted out but were remorseful about it.”

  “Both?”

  Mr. Hartman cleared his throat. “Well, yes. Best I can tell, Alex started it. When he called Jake a name, Jake put his hands on Alex.”

  “‘Put his hands on’?”

  “He pushed Alex, Mr. Connolly.”

  I felt off balance, unprepared. “What name did he call Jake?”

  “Well, he . . . he called him a ‘loser.’ I spoke to the Raines boy and he apologized. I just would like to see that nothing further happens in retaliation. Can you reinforce that from home?”

  “Of course,” I mutter. “Thank you.”

  The call ended and for the first time I realized something profound. Jake’s life was not the open book it had been when he was younger.

  I reach out and turn the television off. Alex Raines. His picture still seems to float in the room, hinting at the unthinkable. It is a tie I want to cut, a clue leading to the worst possible reality. I push it back, deny it, and let my mind cloud over.

  Instead, a new picture thrusts out of this nightmare. I see Jake, huddled in the dark, alone and frightened. He shakes, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight. Tears trail down his cheeks and he rocks back and forth, full of shattering regret.

  Would it be better to find him? Or should I hope that he escapes, runs away and starts a new life in hiding? He would be alive, free. But why? Was Jake bullied? Alex sure seemed capable of that, with his elementary school Mohawk.

  I need to talk to Rachel. I need to figure this out. I am plagued by thoughts darker than I can handle. Whereas before, I was sure Jake was alive and well, somehow having avoided this nightmare altogether, now my mind has altered, against my will. Could Jake have done this? My heart tells me, begs me to believe, that such a scenario could not in any way be true. The television, everything else around me, tells me something else entirely. The world claims my son murdered children today. An even more unfathomable thought pops into my brain. Could that be the best outcome—alive and free?

  I stagger to the bathroom and heave. Nothing comes up. My body lurches to near bursting, but there is no relief. I crumple to the cold tiled floor.

  CHAPTER 13

  JAKE: AGE TEN

  The morning dawned with the uplifting sounds of spring. Robins chirped from the bush outside the living room window as the sunlight spread across the kitchen, shining in Laney’s eyes. She sat at the table, coloring a picture she’d brought home from school. Jake sat beside her, a figurine in each hand. One, a monster of some kind, seemed to be getting the best of the blue-clad, futuristic soldier he held in the other hand.

  “Don’t forget to eat.” I glanced over my shoulder at them. “Jake, what do you want in your lunch?”

  “Bologna and cheese,” he answered.

  I busied myself making his lunch, occasionally checking the clock. A Wednesday in February, the morning progressed no differently from most. Rachel left for work before eight AM and the bus arrived at eight forty-five AM. After the bus stop, I planned to go to a coffee shop nearby. There I’d spend a few hours doing work for one of my freelance medical-writing clients.

  “Hey, Dad,” Jake said, still playing with his figures. “Can I invite Doug over after school?”

  I turned away from him before answering, hoping to avoid showing my discomfort. Although Jake had visited the Martin-Kleins’ house a few times, we had not reciprocated.

  “What about one of your other friends?”

  “Like Max?” Jake asked in a flat tone.

  “Yeah, that might be easier to arrange.”

  I lied to him (kind of). A pang of guilt caused me to shake my head. I rarely lied to him, or Laney. I tried to be as honest as I could all the time, yet I lied to him about something as benign as a playdate.

  “That’s okay,” Jake said.

  For a second, I thought he excused my lie. Then I realized he spoke about having Max instead of Doug. I picked up my phone and texted Max’s mother, Jen. We’d become friends. She texted back quickly.

  “Max’s mom will drop him off after school,” I said.

 
“Great.”

  That was that.

  I glanced at my watch as I walked Jake and Laney out to the bus stop. On any given day, fifteen or so adults might congregate at the corner, socializing as the kids waited to leave for school. I used to say that I had a hard time talking to so many people before my morning cup of coffee but, truth be told, I’d drunk two cups already. I always had a hard time talking to so many people.

  I crossed the street and shuffled to a stop beside a group of six or seven moms. The sound of their conversation warbled and waxed as I acted like something needed fixing on Jake’s book bag. As I fiddled with it, I glanced down the driveway at the eight boys, all around Jake’s age, playing basketball.

  “Why don’t you go down there with the boys,” I whispered to Jake.

  “No,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  He ignored me. Laney scuttled away, finding Becca and a couple of the other girls, some as much as three years older than she was. She melded into their game like a pro. I put my hand on top of Jake’s head. He did not tell me to remove it.

  Tairyn turned slightly and mouthed “Hi” to me.

  “Hi,” I said.

  The conversation went on, bouncing within the tight circle of their bodies. I shifted my weight, feeling like I should try to talk to them but having absolutely no idea how to break into the flow.

  “Go ahead and play,” I told Jake.

  I didn’t mean to press him. Honestly, I just needed to say something to someone. He happened to be the easiest target.

  “Dad.” He looked up at me with wide eyes.

  I gritted my teeth together and Karen watched me. I looked away. The bus rumbled into view. When I spoke to Jake, my voice rose, as if wanting others to hear what I had to say.

  “Remember, Max is coming over after school.”

  No one reacted. I hurried back across the street after the bus pulled away. Walking into the house, my body jittered, as if a surge of adrenaline had just worn off. I barked out a sarcastic laugh, realizing neither Jake nor I talked to anyone else while at the bus stop.

  Thinking about how easily my daughter melded into “the group,” I wished, not for the first time, that I could be more like her. I also wished (although I would never admit it) that Jake could be more like her, too.

  Jen waved from her candy apple red minivan as she backed out of the driveway. Max, his yellow hair like a comet, sped past me. Jake met him and the two disappeared down the basement stairs. The sound of their excited voices slowly faded but I could hear their din even after I gently shut the door behind them.

  My work done for the day and the kitchen floor recently swept, I eased down onto the couch in the living room and picked up my book, some geopolitical author predicting the near future. Leafing through to find my page (lost due to Laney’s tendency to pretend that she is reading my books), I listened to the sound of the boys playing downstairs as it mingled with the sound of my daughter and her friend Becca playing in her room. Contentedness served up like a pancake breakfast and I actually sighed.

  Time, as it tended to do when my kids were having fun without me, passed so quickly that I felt disappointment when the doorbell rang. Hesitantly, I put my book down and rose from the couch. Through the decorative glass of our front door, I saw the comically distorted face of Tairyn. I turned the knob.

  “Hi, Simon.” She stood on the front stoop.

  “Hi. Come in.”

  Tairyn entered. She looked around, stepping about three feet into our foyer.

  “Did the girls have fun?”

  I nodded. “It’s like they’re not even here. I don’t think I saw them the entire time.”

  Was that the wrong thing to say? I thought. I wondered if it implied I didn’t watch the girls enough. At the same time, I worried that it would seem odd, or creepy, if I was around them too much. My cheeks flushed and I had to look away.

  “They are buddies,” Tairyn said.

  I walked to the stairs. “Laney, Becca’s mom is here.”

  Muffled voices seeped through my daughter’s closed bedroom door. I waited.

  “Laney, did you hear me?” I called.

  “Yes, Daddy,” she yelled back, but the door did not open. I thought I heard the girls laughing.

  “Sign of a good playdate, I guess,” I muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  I turned to Tairyn and shuffled my feet. “I guess they had a good time. Don’t want it to end.”

  “Oh, I know,” she said, her voice suddenly animated. “When they’re at my house, it’s constant begging to stay longer. It’s cute.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  We stood in the foyer. Time ticked by, each second an exponential increase in the awkwardness between us. I could not think of another thing to say. With Jen, Max’s mom, I could always turn to discussing a teacher at school, or sports (Jake and Max played flag football together). Tairyn and I, on the other hand, shared less in common with each other.

  She ended up being the one to break the silence. “Are you and Rachel going to the progressive dinner?”

  I squinted. My reaction, in turn, caused Tairyn to look more uncomfortable, as if she suddenly wondered if we had been invited. I had no idea.

  I came up with, “No, we can’t make that night.”

  Tairyn did not push the issue, most likely because she still wasn’t sure we’d received an invitation. As I turned, intending to hurry the girls, the basement door swung open, slamming into the wall loud enough to startle Tairyn. She jumped and made a tiny, squeaky noise as Jake and Max crashed into the kitchen.

  “Bang! Bang!”

  “Ra-tatatatat!”

  My son, holding a plastic AK-47, sprayed the house with pretend gunfire. Max dove behind a chair, wielding two pistols like Jean-Claude Van Damme.

  “I got you,” Jake yelled, laughing.

  “Semtex!” Max pretended to lob something at Jake, who screamed and dove out of the way. Max made a break for it, passing within a hair of Tairyn as he stormed out the door.

  “Excuse me,” Jake said, standing in the foyer, gun aiming at the floor.

  With a stunned expression on her face, Tairyn took a step back. Jake calmly walked past, leaping off the stoop and breaking into a sprint. The sound of their fun echoed through the open door. I stepped forward and closed it.

  “Oh-kay,” Tairyn said, her lips pursed.

  I swallowed down my reaction, but I could not help looking at Tairyn. She had three girls and no boys. I chalked her reaction up to that. Thankfully, Laney and Becca appeared at the top of the steps.

  “Bye, Laney,” Becca said, hurrying down the steps.

  Laney followed her. “Bye, Becca.”

  They hugged before Becca sidled up to her mother.

  “Say thank you,” Tairyn singsonged.

  “Thank you,” Becca mimicked.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  Laney waved and wandered off. I watched Tairyn and her daughter follow the front walk to her black Lexus. Tairyn eyeballed Jake as he ran past, shooting at Max. I closed the door and closed my eyes.

  After the kids went to bed that night, I tried to keep it to myself but failed miserably. Within five minutes of sitting on the couch together, I turned to Rachel.

  “You know there’s a party in the neighborhood and they didn’t even invite us?”

  She blinked. I suddenly felt stupid without yet knowing why.

  “We are hosting one of the stops,” Rachel said.

  “Oh.”

  Rachel laughed. “No wonder they don’t invite you to playdates.”

  I looked up and Rachel stared at me. Her head tilted.

  “Relax,” she said. “I’m just kidding. I think these years at home have your head spinning a little bit. I’ve never known you to think everyone was out to get you.”

  “You think I think that?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I do think you overthink some things when it comes to the neighbors, and the kids, for
that matter. And . . .” She paused. “Maybe us.”

  “I don’t overthink us,” I said.

  She laughed again. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

  I let her words hang for a second. At that time, I would not have said we had a “problem.” I would say that we lived in two very different worlds. Both no doubt had their positives and negatives. The funniest part, or maybe not so funny, was that I bet we both wanted to trade places. I yearned for the less complicated, more adult world of the office. I had a strong feeling that Rachel wanted more than anything to be with our kids more.

  On a whim, I said, “Let’s play hookey tomorrow. All of us. We can take the kids to that amusement park in Lancaster.”

  Rachel squinted. “Well, I have a . . .”

  I stared at her. She smiled and said, “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a while.”

  The next day, I awoke half expecting a major disappointment. I knew things at Rachel’s work were crazy, and I half-expected her to have to cancel on our plan. I’d even decided to let her off the hook. Her workload paid for a large portion of our lifestyle. I needed to be more understanding.

  When I opened my eyes, I heard the shower running.

  “Be cool,” I whispered to myself.

  “What, Dad?”

  “Whoa!”

  I spun around and found Jake reclined on Rachel’s side of the bed, reading. He smiled, but his eyes remained mostly hidden under those unruly bangs.

  “What’s up?” I rubbed sleep from my eyes.

  “We’re going to the Wonderpark,” he said.

  Jake liked amusement parks, particularly the games. Laney, on the other hand, loved the rides, the scarier the better. Which explained the shriek of excitement that blasted from my daughter’s room.

  “Daddy,” she called out. “We’re going to Wonderpark!”

  “I hear that,” I called back to her.

  The shower turned off as I talked to Jake about his book. I got up and knocked softly on the bathroom door. Rachel opened it, her hair wrapped in a green towel.

  “I guess you’re playing hookey,” I said.

  She smiled. “Guess I am.”